Thrill Me. Isabel Sharpe

actually to do it.

      She stood just inside the leaded glass doors and pretended to survey the room coolly, trying to control the panic launching her heart into triple time. A circular bar to the left, with pink lighting overhead, around it funky high black chairs with inverted triangle backs. To the right, tables on black carpet, with low round-backed leather armchairs in the same seafoam-green color as the lobby. Several empty seats at the bar, quite a few tables free. Where would she be least conspicuous?

      Possibly at a table, but then if an unattached male did happen to be prowling around, she’d be stuck. Better to sit at the bar, tended by an attractive young woman who looked even taller than May, with ash-blond hair in a perfect French braid, the kind May would love to have instead of her long schoolgirl mop. Either that or the bravery to cut it all off.

      She pulled out one of the fabulous chairs, which she coveted for her kitchen in a more neutral color, and sat. There. She’d done it. Maybe a curious glance or two from the couple on her right, but nothing more than that.

      “Hello there.” The bartender approached with an easy grin and a Southern accent. “How are you this evening?”

      “Fine. Thanks.” May couldn’t help returning the woman’s grin, even if it wasn’t very Veronica-like of her, and instantly felt herself starting to relax.

      “What can I get for you?”

      Ulp. She supposed Miller Lite would not cut it here. Or a blender drink with a cute umbrella. Okay. On to new adventures. “A…martini. Please.”

      The bartender gave a slight nod and waited expectantly. May tried not to panic. What else was she supposed to say? Shaken not stirred? A martini was a martini, no? Her father had always ordered them that way. Or not?

      The bartender reached under the bar and slipped a one-page menu in front of her, heavy white paper, black bordered with an embossed pink HUSH logo at the top. “Just FYI, if you want something other than a straight gin or vodka martini, we have a specialty menu here. The sour apple and Cosmopolitans are our biggest sellers.”

      May nodded, grateful for the quick and gracious rescue and scanned the menu, trying not to bug her eyes out at the prices. She could have dinner at Ted’s Diner in Oshkosh for the price of one drink here. But if Trevor was paying? “I’ll have a Cosmopolitan.”

      “Coming right up.” The bartender grinned again and moved off to start making the drink, holding the bottles up high when she poured, measuring off the doses with graceful flourishes. “Is this your first visit to Hush Hotel?”

      “My first to New York, actually.”

      “Where are you from?”

      May picked up a black box of HUSH emblazoned matches. How much did she want to tell? “Wisconsin originally.”

      “I’m from Oklahoma. Came to seek my fortune in the Big Apple as a makeup artist.” She set the deep pink drink down in front of May. “You try that and tell me what you think.”

      May took a sip and smiled. Icy cold, fruity and sweet, but not too, very nice. “Really good.”

      “Thought you might like it.”

      “You want to be a makeup artist? Like in salons?”

      “No, no.” The bartender laughed. “Movies, video, TV, stage, fashion. Anywhere I can get.”

      May gritted her teeth under a closed-lips smile. Like in salons? She better just keep her mouth shut. Every time she opened it, fresh farm manure came spilling out. “What got you into that?”

      The bartender shrugged her black-uniform clad shoulders. “I guess I love the idea of transforming a person into something or someone he or she isn’t.”

      “I can imagine.” May fingered the black and pink coaster under her drink. Yeah, she and Veronica could imagine all too well the appeal of that concept.

      “Good evening, Miss.”

      “Good evening, sir. How are you this evening?” The bartender’s voice greeting the new arrival changed to a quieter, more respectful tone. Even her accent lessened. But May could swear that under the quiet respect, she could detect amusement. Amusement which also danced in the bartender’s dark blue eyes.

      May glanced over, overcome by curiosity, and registered a man, she’d guess midthirties, tall, nicely built, clean-cut, jacket no tie, about to sit two chairs to her left. She turned back to her Cosmopolitan, wanting to gawk and see if he was really as good-looking as he appeared at first glance, but fearful of broadcasting her wide-eyed interest. Who would a man like that be meeting? Probably Catherine Zeta-Jones’s twin. Funny he hadn’t chosen one of the quiet, cozy tables.

      Or was he on his own, too? And wouldn’t Ginny love that?

      “I’m quite pissed off, Shandi. And you?”

      She laughed. “Doing great as always, Beck, what’ll you have?”

      “Martini, you know how I like them.”

      “I do.” She grinned and reached for a beautiful blue bottle of gin. “Bombay blue sapphire, into which vermouth is barely introduced, shake well and drop in a twist.”

      “Perfect.”

      May watched her—Shandi—make his drink with fluid movements, precise and practiced, and wondered what had pissed the man off and whether Shandi would ask him. Maybe his date had stood him up, too. And wouldn’t that be…interesting.

      She felt his eyes on her and kept her gaze determinedly ahead, the chance of relaxation quickly melting into a fresh attack of nerves. Maybe she should finish her drink and get back downstairs, to—

      What? Sit miserably in her room contemplating her return trip tomorrow and her navel?

      Too depressing. But she wished he’d either speak to her or stop staring. Maybe she needed to goad him into doing one or the other.

      She turned to him with back-off coldness in her eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. His were an unusual blue color, hard to pinpoint in the relatively dim light of the bar. But their effect on May was not remotely hard to determine. From his perspective, her cold wintry stare was probably experiencing a nice spring thaw. She yanked her eyes back to her drink and took a big sip, wishing for a Miller Lite she could chug and be done with.

      “How’s that drink?”

      She took the time for a slow breath, then couldn’t help herself; she threw him another glance. Yes, ten seconds later he was still incredibly attractive. “Very good.”

      Okay, she got three syllables out, that was fabulous. Now it was up to her, the freeze-off or the invitation for more chatter? A vision made the decision for her: of the big, empty, made-for-sex room with her in it, alone, watching the same TV shows she could watch in Oshkosh. “How’s your martini?”

      When he didn’t answer right away, she turned to look at him again. He was half smiling, only one side of his mouth turned up, as if she amused him, but not entirely. His gaze had turned speculative. Was he wondering why she was alone?

      “Excellent.” He lifted his glass toward her. “I’m Beck.”

      “I’m…” She considered giving a fake name, then couldn’t think of one besides Veronica, and what if he turned out to be someone she really liked? Then she’d have to explain a fake name and it would all be way too complicated to extract herself from a lie like that, because—

      “May.” She said her name slowly, at the same time telling her whirling brain to calm the hell down.

      “Are you meeting someone, May?”

      Oh, now there was a question. “I was.”

      “But now you’re not?”

      She shook her head, congratulating herself for not saying too much.

      “Hmm.” He lifted his glass to his mouth,