me.”
“I get off in a few, why don’t you let me buy you dinner.”
“You don’t have to buy me anything, and we can pay for our own drinks, Tate. Seriously, today was just an accident.”
She wants to pay?
Okay, I totally didn’t expect that. Then again, Granddad’s probably set her up with a nice bank account by now.
“What if I want to?” I ask. Summer’s breath comes a little faster, as she reaches for her drink and takes a long pull from the straw. “There’s a really nice restaurant at Raydolins with a great view of the mountains and lake.”
“I’ve passed by it,” Summer says. “We’re staying at that resort,” she adds.
Of course she’s staying at Raydolins. My granddad owns it.
“We got in late two days ago, so we haven’t had too much of a chance to explore the resort or visit the shops.” She reaches into her purse, her hand rustling around for something.
“Good, I can be your tour guide. So yes to dinner?”
“Um...sure.” She glances at her watch, dropping a ten-dollar bill onto my tray. I stare at it, confused for a moment. Ah, she’s tipping me. Surprise number two. “I can meet you there at eight, but do you think we’ll get in without a reservation?” she asks, her nose crinkling.
I give her a wink. “I’ve got a few connections, and I’ll pick you up at your door.”
She holds her hands up, palms out. “You can pick me up, as long as there’s no spinning involved this time,” she says, and I laugh. I have to admit, she does have a great sense of humor. Probably has Granddad laughing all the time.
“What room are you in?”
“301.”
“Penthouse Suite,” I say.
Why the hell would Granddad put her in the one place we always stayed, and never rented out. He must be more serious about her than I ever thought. Damn, this is going to crush him. But what choice do I have? I have to protect him. He’s not just family, he means the world to me.
“You know it?” Summer asks.
I nod, and push a rebellious lock of hair from my forehead. I’m normally clean cut, and it’s driving me crazy. I really should have visited the barber before I bolted to the airport. Then again, I guess the disheveled look works better with my ruse. “I know it.”
“Summer’s friend owns it,” Cara informs me.
I nod. “Like I said before, nice friend.”
“Don’t worry, he’s not her boyfriend, or anything,” Amber says and aims a wink Summer’s way, as if to say, not yet.
“After dinner, maybe we can hit the slopes?” I say, banking my anger and putting myself back together.
“Once on the hill today is enough for me.”
I glance outside, take in all the hiking trails. “Okay, I’m sure I can find something else for us to do.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Amber says, laughing.
Summer shakes her head at me. “Ignore her, please.”
Please.
What is it about her saying that one word that gets to my dick? I look at her lush mouth and for a brief second, I envision it wrapped around my thickening cock. Goddammit, the vision is ridiculously hot.
“Can I get you ladies anything else?”
Summer smiles up at me again. “No, thank you for the drinks. You didn’t have to do this, but I really appreciate it.”
I nod and walk away, thinking about all the other things I could give her that she just might appreciate.
Stop it, Tate.
I step back to the bar. Henry has a thin sheen of moisture on his forehead, and his breath is a little more labored as he gestures with his chin, and lowers his voice. “That her?”
“Yeah.” Worried that he’s been working too hard, I grab the glasses from the dishwasher and stack them on the bar, taking over for him.
Henry shakes his head. “Your grandfather must be having a midlife crisis.”
“If that’s the case than I guess he’s going to live to one hundred and eighty.”
He laughs. “At least he has good taste.”
“That he does.”
And therein lies the problem. Summer is breathtakingly beautiful, a girl I plan to expose, except suddenly exposing her—her clothes, that clip in her hair, her inhibitions—is playing out all kinds of wrong in my head.
Summer
I PACE INSIDE my suite, hardly able to believe I’m about to have dinner with Tate the sexy bartender with a body made for sin. He never did give me his last name, and I never gave him mine, which is A-Okay with me. If I’m going to have a hot affair with a man I never plan to set eyes on again, the less I know about him the better.
Wait.
What?
I’m going to have a hot affair with Tate?
My blood races faster, heating my flesh and no doubt turning my cheeks a deeper shade of pink. God, am I really going to do this? I mean, there is no denying the heat between us, the insane, off-the-charts attraction. As soon as he approached our table, crowded my personal space, we created a volatile bubble of sexual energy that even my friends felt to their cores. Off course, after he left, they suggested I jump his bones and have a little much needed fun while I’m on vacation.
Should I?
I walk to the patio window and glance out at the slopes. Honest to God, I have the nicest view in all of St. Moritz. James spared no expense, giving me this suite and setting my friends up in their own rooms. Guilt tightens my stomach. I’m not one to take from people, not at all. I’ve always paid my own way in life, and went without when I couldn’t.
For most of my life, I’ve had my own preconceived notions about the wealthy, thanks to many childhood incidents with the rich boys at my school. Spoiled, entitled, mean boys who bullied me, and set me up for disaster. Growing up in New York and going to Harvard, I’ve met people from all walks of life, most of them kind. But after what those boys did to me when I was a kid, I was never able to shake the feeling of distrust I get around rich people. And, honestly, several summers spent working at an upscale steakhouse in Boston did little to help with that. The tips were great, some of the diners...not so much. But James
