Free Melt Into You by Lisa Plumley Page B

question yourself.” Natasha snatched away her hand. With dignity, she rose. No one in the dark, crowded bar noticed. “While you’re dining alone .”
    “Wait.” Scott gawked. “You’re offended? Oh, come on!” She ignored him. It was hard to behave with poise when you were fishing surreptitiously, foot first, beneath the table for your slingback. Where was her damn shoe? She couldn’t believe she’d come on to him. Of all the people, in all the world ...
    “I mean,” Scott went on in a more conciliatory tone, “you’re a very cute girl. You are! But your real value lies in being close to Damon Torrance, not in being ... well, just yourself. You must know that. It doesn’t mean we can’t be friends—”
    “‘Friends’?” Indignantly, Natasha arched her brows. “I was planning to invite you back to my room tonight, if things went well!” Because of Milo, it was tricky for her to arrange grown-up “sleepovers” at home. Also, Carol lived right next door in the adjacent duplex apartment; not much sneaked by her—including manly overnight guests doing the walk of sexy conquest. Irately, Natasha regrouped. “But now that’s out—”
    “It doesn’t have to be out.” With a suddenly ingratiating demeanor, Scott leaned back in his chair. He smiled, spread his knees, then rested his drink-holding hand near his crotch. He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m still up for it if you are.”
    Oh God. “No, I’m not ‘up for it,’ you moron!”
    Exasperatedly, Natasha gave up on discreetly retrieving her shoe. She dropped to the floor, grabbed her slingback, then stuffed it on her foot. When she rose, Scott was still giving her the come-hither routine. “Moron” was too good for him.
    “I was letting you know what you’ll be missing tonight,” Natasha told him haughtily, “now that you blew it with me.”
    “Oh.” Scott’s brows knit. “I get it.” Then he brightened. “So now that we’re not having dinner—or anything else—together, how about that introduction to Damon? Because if your objection was mixing business with pleasure, well ... there’s no problem now!”
    Natasha grit her teeth. Usually, she tried to be nice. She truly did. But between Damon’s inconsiderate drunkenness this morning—she hadn’t mentioned to Jason that she hadn’t merely tried to sober up Damon; she’d also walked in on him engaging in some (fairly limber) shenanigans with the French acrobat—and Scott’s rude behavior tonight, she was ready to blow a gasket.
    Maybe that’s why, when her iPhone rang, she took one look at the absurdly handsome photo of her grinning boss on its screen and felt like drop-kicking the device back to San Diego.
    “You want to talk to Damon?” Natasha asked Scott archly.
    Like an overeager puppy, he nodded. “Yes! I do!”
    “Then here.” She grabbed her iPhone and hurled it at him. It smacked his chest. “Here’s Damon now. Knock yourself out.”
    Triumphantly, Natasha swiveled on her heel, then stalked away. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as lucky as Scott had been. Because her grand exit was interrupted by the speedster driving the scooter. Before Natasha knew what was happening, she was on the floor. Dazedly, she raised her head. “Hey! Hit and run!”
    The woman tactlessly zoomed toward the next bank of slot machines. A crowd formed as Natasha got awkwardly to her feet. As soon as the onlookers realized she was neither injured nor likely to chase down the scooter driver and exact revenge by assaulting the woman with a bucket of quarters, they lost interest. Chattering and smoking and drinking those foot-long cocktails served in Las Vegas, the bystanders meandered away.
    Although Natasha felt embarrassed—and her knee hurt a little—she did realize one saving grace. Scott hadn’t noticed. In the distance, he merely jabbered away. “Natasha?” she heard him say into her phone. “Yeah, she’s right here.” A pause. “No, she gave me her phone.” Another pause.