The moment Claire registered his face, her only thought was finding a shovel to dig her own grave.

How on earth did she manage to screw up this spectacularly?

Wilbur ended his call, broke away from his group of friends, and strode directly toward her.

His eyes were dark, burning with a predatory heat that made Claire’s knees buckle.

She didn’t even have the strength to run.

Forcing the most agonizingly fake smile onto her face, she gave a weak wave. “Wow. What a coincidence.”

Wilbur looked casually dangerous. His searing gaze raked over her from head to toe, finally landing on the two escorts lingering a few steps behind her.

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow slowly arched upward.

Claire instantly felt a rush of irrational guilt and started stammering. “They hired them! I didn’t hire anyone! I’m strictly here for the drinks!”

The moment the excuse left her mouth, she realized how pathetic and defensive it sounded.

“Where are you staying? I’ll walk you back.” Wilbur didn’t interrogate her, but the temperature in his eyes dropped significantly.

Claire wanted to argue that she could take a cab.

But one sharp glance from him effectively choked the refusal right out of her throat.

She meekly surrendered the name of her hotel.

“Let’s go.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue, smoothly plucking her designer bag from her hand and carrying it on the same arm holding his jacket.

Somehow, this notorious playboy was currently exuding serious doting-husband energy.

But he was definitely a playboy.

Claire trailed behind him like a student caught sneaking out by a strict parent, her head hung low in defeat.

Wilbur paused to tell his friends he was taking someone home and would raincheck the rest of their drinks.

One of his friends shot Claire an incredibly suggestive look. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Playboy Wilbur?”

“She’s a friend of a friend. It’s not what you think,” Wilbur shot back smoothly.

He was clearly drawing a line.

But he wasn’t wrong.

They literally were just friends of friends.

There was absolutely no reason to introduce her to his inner circle.

Yet, hearing him say it sent an irritating, suffocating pang of jealousy straight through her chest.

“Let’s go.”

After dismissing his group, Wilbur urged her forward.

Claire waved goodbye to Jennifer and obediently followed a pace and a half behind him.

Her eyes naturally drifted from his polished shoes, slowly dragging upward.

Damn it, the man’s physique was distracting.

Claire swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

Without warning, Wilbur stopped dead in his tracks.

Claire slammed face-first right into his solid back.

A massive wave of masculine cologne and raw testosterone flooded her senses.

Her brain short-circuited for a second.

Wilbur glanced over his shoulder. “Hungry?”

Claire violently shook her head. “No!”

There was no way she was going to admit she was metaphorically starving just looking at his back.

But Wilbur was talking about actual

food.

s a pretty good

place around the corners

Claire flushed, realizing her gutter mind had completely misread the situation.

Thank god he wasn’t a mind reader, or she would have literally walked into traffic. “Eating sugar this late makes you fat.”

She was an actress, after all. Diet control was everything.

Wilbur didn’t push the issue.

At the valet stand, an attendant pulled Wilbur’s sleek car around.

Since he hadn’t been drinking, he was good to drive.

He opened the passenger door for her.

The movement was so fluid and

practiced, it was obvious he

doors for womenton

regnet

basis

Gontent

Claire slid into the leather seat, her eyes involuntarily tracking his every move.

She watched him shut her door.

Watched him walk around the front bumper.

Watched him slide into the driver’s seat.

Truthfully, Wilbur possessed a lethal kind of magnetism.

The kind that effortlessly drew women in.

Even inside a chaotic, trashy

nighto

he

he managed to carry

himself with an unto Carryne

ic elegance.