Книга - Have Me

Have Me
Jo Leigh









“You’re killing me…”

Jake’s voice was as rough as sandpaper. He let his button-down fall, leaving him in his undershirt, and then his pants dropped and he kicked those out of the way.

Rebecca’s gaze moved down to his thigh even as she ran her fingers over her bare tummy. Jake tensed as he waited for her verdict.

“Are you going to just stand there staring?” she asked.

“I don’t know what to do first,” he said. “You’re stunning.”

For all that she was driving him wild, the hint of a blush that warmed her cheeks was almost more than he could bear. “That’s a pretty good place to start …” she said as she covered the distance between them.

“But an even better place would be in the actual bedroom.”


Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the next story in the IT’S TRADING Men! trilogy. We’re in the second month of Trading Men on Trading Cards with the St. Marks Lunch Exchange group of single women in midtown Manhattan, and a new batch of hot hunks have just entered the dating pool!

I’m so excited to introduce you to Rebecca Thorpe and Jake Donnelly. Rebecca is the CEO of a very large philanthropic foundation, and at twenty-eight, she’s not willing to settle for anything less than the perfect husband. So far, several have come close, but none have had that magic something.

When she sees Jake Donnelly on a Trading Card, she falls instantly in lust. He’s completely wrong for her. Jake’s a former NYPD detective, wounded in the line of duty, who lives in Brooklyn. He doesn’t care about the social registry or where she got her degree. He’s the man of Rebecca’s most wicked dreams, and she can’t wait to cut loose with Jake for one night of carnal indulgence. Only, they both soon realise that one night won’t be nearly enough …

I hope you enjoy the fantasy and fun of Have Me, and continue on with Want Me in June.

As always, I can be reached at joleigh@joleigh.com. Hearing from readers is the best thing ever!

Love to you all,

Jo




About the Author


JO LEIGH is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah, in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a house full of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than forty novels and can be contacted at joleigh@joleigh.com.




Have Me


Jo Leigh






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Yael. I strive to create heroines who

are as terrific as you.




1


Where R U???

REBECCA THORPE DIDN’T bother returning her friend Bree’s text because there was no need. She was already walking up the pathway to the St. Marks church basement, the ready-to-be-frozen lunches she’d prepared in a large tote in preparation for the bimonthly lunch exchange. That wasn’t what had slowed her pace though. She took her hand out of her coat pocket and stared again at the trading card she’d been toying with for the past fifteen minutes.

Ever since Shannon Fitzgerald had introduced the idea of using trading cards for trading men, the lunch exchange group, now numbering a whopping seventeen women, had been in a dating frenzy. The concept was simplicity itself: everyone involved recommended men they knew who were eligible and in the market. Whether they were relatives, friends or even guys without that perfect chemistry—for them at least—there was suddenly a bounty of prescreened, fully vetted local men. None of whom knew that they were members of this very select group.

On paper Gerard had seemed ideal. He was gorgeous, not only on the front of the card, either. Tall, dark, handsome, he’d gotten his degree from Cambridge, then had come to New York to work for the United Nations. He was urbane, sophisticated, dressed like a dream. And he’d taken her to dinner at Babbo, which was never a bad thing.

Sadly, like the other three men Rebecca had gone out with, courtesy of the trading cards, there had been no sizzle. Maybe she’d see Gerard again because he was fascinating, and they had many common interests, but the man she was looking for wasn’t him. She’d known ten minutes into the date that the magic was missing, and while she’d been disappointed, she hadn’t been surprised.

She was too picky. Or something. She couldn’t spell out her criteria for the one but she certainly knew when she hadn’t found it. She’d never had luck with men, and that had as much to do with her being a Winslow as it did with her taste, but the end result was that she hadn’t truly connected with a man, not for the long haul, and the trading cards hadn’t changed her luck.

So, with all due respect to the trading cards and to the whole idea of dating, she was done. No more cards for her, no more setups, no more blind dates, no more searching and no more hoping.

If she met someone in the course of doing what she loved, then great. If she didn’t, she was fine with that, too. At twenty-eight she wasn’t willing to say she’d never try again. She wanted to have a partner, maybe even have kids. But for now? Work was enough. Work was almost too much. It barely left time for her to visit with friends, go to movies, the theater, read a book. She was taking herself out of the game.

Determined and damn cold, she walked into St. Marks. The sound of women, of her friends, greeted her the moment she stepped over the threshold. There was a lot of joy to be had in her world, and only a part of it depended on a man.

“There you are,” Bree said, grinning as she met Rebecca at one of the long tables. “Charlie bet me you wouldn’t make it today. He said the donor dinner is getting too close.”

Rebecca started stacking the lunches she’d prepared. “What did you win?”

“Something juicy that would make you blush.”

Rebecca was glad not to have to hear the details. Charlie Winslow was her cousin, and while he was her favorite cousin, and she’d played an integral role in getting him and Bree together, there were certain things she’d rather not have in her memory. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. And he’s right. The dinner is driving me insane. I hate this part. I despise having to ask for money.”

“Hard to run a charitable foundation without funds,” Bree said.

“I know. But it defeats the purpose if I have to wine and dine the donors to the tune of several hundred thousand dollars. That money should be used elsewhere.”

Bree, who looked adorable in skinny jeans with a gorgeous camel cowl-neck sweater, patted Rebecca’s arm. “You could always serve them dinner á la soup kitchen. As a statement.”

“I’ve considered it. But I really do need their money. Besides, the Four Seasons isn’t known for its soup-kitchen ambience.”

“Keep thinking about how much good the Winslow Foundation does. Then suck it up.”

Rebecca laughed, as Shannon, the most important member of the lunch exchange, came plowing through the door. The redhead didn’t know how to make anything but a dramatic entrance.

“I have new cards!” she said, lifting up a box from her family’s printing shop. “Brand-new delicious men. You guys have outdone yourselves this time. Truly.”

Rebecca pulled out Gerard’s card, which had been in the second batch of trading cards. The first exchange had happened in February, a couple of weeks before Valentine’s Day. As this was only the group’s third exchange, it was too early to say how successful the new venture would be overall, but none of the dates had been disasters, and that was something.

She headed toward the front table where the cards were spread out for the taking, indecisive about putting Gerard back into the mix. For a moment, she was tempted. Tempted to forget she’d decided only minutes ago that she was done with all this. Maybe one more try? But that thought was dismissed the moment she remembered what she had waiting for her back at the office. Even if she wanted to try again, now wasn’t the time. The dinner, which was more of a banquet complete with orchestra and dancing, was in just over a week, and if she found time to sleep between now and then, it would be a miracle.

Someone—Bree?—pushed into her from behind into the long table. “Hey, jeez.” What was this, sale day at Barneys? Rebecca dropped Gerard’s card on top of the pile and was in the process of getting out of the way when a tiny little tap stopped her.

She picked up the trading card resting against her hip. Then she stared. The name on the top was Jake Donnelly. The picture made all her female parts stand up and take notice. So to speak. Because he was the single most attractive man she’d ever seen. Ever. He wasn’t the handsomest, but handsome was easy, handsome was proportions and ratios and cultural biases. No, Jake Donnelly was the man who fit her. She hadn’t realized until right now that she’d carried a blueprint in her brain, made of exacting specifications down to the texture of his eyebrows.

They were on the thick side, dark. As dark as his hair, which was parted, long on the collar, unstudied, and, oh, who was she kidding, it was his eyes. They were an astonishing blue. Not pale, but a vibrant, piercing cerulean. The rest of his face was great, fabulous, a perfect frame; rugged enough that the parts of her that weren’t transfixed by his eyes were doing a happy dance about the rest.

A happy dance? Okay, so it wasn’t a sale at Barneys, it was high school and she was swooning over the quarterback. Even when she’d been in high school she hadn’t swooned. This was unprecedented in every way.

She blinked. Took in a much-needed breath. Looked around. Just like in the movies, sounds returned, the picture in her hand wasn’t the only thing in focus and she was Rebecca once more.

Almost.

She turned the card over, found out Donnelly had been recommended by Katy Groft. Rebecca made her way through the tightly packed crowd and sidled up to Katy, an NYU postgrad studying physics.

“Oh, you found Jake.”

“Please tell me he looks like this picture.”

Katy grinned. “Oh, he’s even better.”

“Oh, God.” Rebecca didn’t dare look to see which category he fell in … marrying kind, dating or one-night stand. Not until she asked “Is he already taken?”

“Nope. You’re in luck.”

“Thank God. Because wow. He is …”

Katy sighed. “It pains me, it truly does. Because he’s a sweetheart and he’s funny, decent and very discreet. But he doesn’t want a relationship at all. He’s extremely private, too, so if that’s going to bother you—”

“Private’s good. Private and discreet is even better. Can you call him? Oh, he’s probably at work now.”

“Did you not read the back of the card?”

Rebecca felt a little blush steal across her cheeks. “Um …” She turned it over.

* His favorite restaurant: Luigi’s Pizza in Windsor Terrace.

* Marry, date or one-night stand: One night.

* His secret passion: No idea. But he’s renovating his father’s house in Brooklyn between jobs.

* Watch out for: Nothing, actually. He was great. I found him through my uncle whom I trust beyond measure.

* Why it didn’t work out: Nothing scary here. Hot and fun. He’s not sure what he’s going to do with his life.

Katy laughed, which made Rebecca tear her eyes away from Jake’s picture.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Katy said. “I’ll call him right now.”

“That would be very, very good.”

THE SINK WASN’T COOPERATING. It was a heavy sonofabitch, and he couldn’t just drop it into the new vanity, but the guy on the DIY DVD was talking too fast and Jake needed to rewind to get that last bit. He shifted the sink in his arms until it was balanced between him and the wall, unfortunately on his bad leg, then reached for his laptop. A second before his finger reached the touch pad, his walkie-talkie squawked. “Jake?”

Jake swore, which he’d been doing a lot this morning. This week. This month. It was his father. Again. About to tell him another idiotic cop joke.

Jake would have preferred not to hear another joke. Not while he was installing his old man’s sink in the new master bath. In fact, not while he was still able to hear. But that’s not how this gig worked.

He paused the DVD, lowered the sink to the floor and pressed the transmit button. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

There was a muffled giggle, a hell of a sound coming from a man who was sixty-three years old. “How many Jersey cops does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

Jake sighed. This particular joke seemed to be stuck on repeat, as this was the third time he’d heard it in so many days. “How many?”

Now the laughter wasn’t subdued and it wasn’t only his old man laughing. The other two voices belonged to Pete Baskin and Liam O’Hara, all old farts, retired NYPD, bored out of their stinking minds and drunk on nothing but coffee and dominoes. “Just one—” his dad said.

“But he’s never around when you need him,” finished Liam.

The three of them laughed like asthmatic hyenas. The worst part about it? Someone had to be pushing the transmit button the whole damn time in order for Jake to hear it.

“Yo, Old Men?” he said, when he could finally get through.

“Who you calling old?” Pete yelled.

“You three. I’m trying to put in a sink. You know how much this sink weighs? I don’t want to hear one more goddamn cop joke, you got it? No more. I swear to God.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam said. “Mikey always said you had no sense of humor.”

“Well, I think he’s damn funny looking, so I guess he’s wrong about that, too.”

“I can still whip your ass, Jacob Donnelly,” his father said, “and don’t you forget it.”

Jake went back to the computer, replayed the section about the plumbing, then squared off against the sink. It hung off the wall, so the wheelchair wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, the spigot was motion-controlled so his dad wouldn’t have to touch anything if his hands were acting up.

Jake had already widened the door leading into the new master bath. It used to be a guest bathroom before his dad’s rheumatoid arthritis started getting so bad. The wheelchair wasn’t a hundred percent necessary yet, but soon his father wouldn’t be able to make it up to his bedroom on the second floor, even with Jake’s help.

He picked up the damn heavy sink and moved it over to the semipedestal, the plumbing all neatly tucked behind the white porcelain. It actually set easily, and since he’d been getting better with this plumbing business, he didn’t find it necessary to curse the entire time he secured the top to the pedestal.

The problem wasn’t the tools, but the pain. As soon as he could, he stood, stretching out the damaged thigh. The bullet had been a through and through, but what they don’t say on TV is that it goes through muscle and tendon and veins and arteries on its quick voyage into, in his case, a factory wall. At least the thigh was less complicated than the shoulder wound.

Sometimes he felt as if it would have been better for everyone if the bastard had been a better shot. He rolled his left shoulder as his physiotherapist, Taye, taught him to do, then did a few stretches. This DIY crap had never been his bailiwick, but his dad needed the house to work for him, and the doctors had all thought it would be good for Jake to use his body to build something tangible.

Jake had realized when he was widening the wall that he actually liked remodeling. That was quite satisfying. The actual work itself though sucked like a Dyson.

But this was his life now. Crazy old men on the porch, fixing every problem the world had ever known. It didn’t matter that it was March and as cold as hell outside; they kept on playing their bones, the space heater barely keeping them from hypothermia. Of course they had their cold-weather gear on. These men had been beat cops in so many New York winters the cold didn’t stand a chance.

Thank Christ for electric blankets. ‘Cause Mike Donnelly, for all his bluster, was getting on. It would be good when Jake had the new shower finished. Nothing to step over, nothing his crooked hands couldn’t handle. Then he’d be able to jack up the heating bill to his heart’s content, shower three times a day if he wanted.

In the meantime, there was plumbing to do. Jake limped over to the laptop and continued the how-to. Two minutes in, his cell rang. It was Katy Groft, which was weird. They’d gone out, it had been fine, but Jake had been pretty damn clear about his intentions. He wasn’t one of those guys who said they’d call, then blew it off. None of that bullshit. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jake. Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“I’m sending you a picture.”

“Okay.” His phone beeped a second later. “Hold on.” He clicked over to the photo, and what he saw surprised him even more than the phone call itself. It was … what’s her name, the Winslow who wasn’t called Winslow. Thorpe. That’s right. Rebecca Thorpe. Ran some kind of big foundation or something, was always in the papers, especially the Post. What he didn’t know was why Katy Groft would want him to see Thorpe’s picture. “Okay,” he said again.

“This is my friend Rebecca,” Katy said. “Interested?”

“In what?”

“Her. Going out with her. You know, a date?”

He stared again at the phone, at the picture. Rebecca Thorpe was a beautiful woman. Interesting beautiful. Her face was too long, her nose too prominent, but there was something better than pretty about her. Every picture he’d seen of her, didn’t matter who she was with, she seemed to be daring everyone to make something of it. Of her. Right now, looking at the overexposed camera phone photo, he had to smile. No choice. It didn’t hurt that she had a body that struck all the right chords. Long, lean, like a Thoroughbred. “You do realize you called Jake Donnelly, right?”

Katy laughed. “Yes. I’m very aware of who you are. And who she is. And I happen to believe you two would hit it off well. I’m pretty clever about these things. And don’t worry, she already understands you’re not in the market for anything serious.”

So this Thoroughbred wanted to go out with a quarter horse for a change of pace? “She knows I’m busted up, right?”

“Not a problem.”

He gave it another minute’s thought, then figured, “Sure. Why the hell not?”

“Great. How about the Upstairs bar at the Kimberly Hotel, tomorrow night at eight?”

It was his turn to laugh. “What is this, some kind of gag?”

“No. I swear. She’s great. You’ll like her. A lot.”

He’d have to wear something nice to the Kimberly. But he hadn’t worn anything nice in a long time. Before he got shot, that’s for sure. “I’ll get there a little early. Introduce myself.”

“Excellent. You’ll thank me.”

“I’m already thanking you. For thinking of me. Although I’m still unclear why.”

“You’ll see,” she said.

“Fair enough.” He disconnected from Katy, but stared at the picture on his phone for a while. God damn, she was something else.

Katy had been only the second woman he’d been with since he’d been put out to pasture. She’d been great, and if his life had made any kind of sense, he might have pursued more than a onetime thing. But the only thing he knew for sure at the moment was that he was a broken ex-cop without a plan in the world except for rebuilding the house he was born in so his father could live out the rest of his days at home. After that was anybody’s guess.

“Hey, Jake?”

He winced at the sound of his father’s voice, tinny over the walkie. “Yeah, Dad,” he said, his thumb finding the transmit button without his even having to look.

“How many cop jokes are there?”

He shoved his cell into his pocket. “Two,” Jake said. “All the rest of them are true.”

Laughter filled the mess of a bathroom, and Jake supposed that as far as problems went, having three lunatics telling him cop jokes all day was pretty far down the list.




2


REBECCA ARRIVED AT HER building just before 6:00 a.m. She needed coffee and lots of it. Facing her to-do list was not something she was looking forward to but there was no getting around it.

Her suite on 33rd was a behemoth. The size itself wasn’t the issue—it was the fussy ostentation that got to her, the image that nearly outweighed their purpose. There was an enormous fresh-flower display next to the huge mahogany reception desk. Warren, the receptionist, wouldn’t be in until eight-thirty, and Rebecca’s personal assistant, Dani, had been coming in at eight lately, an hour earlier than she had to. It was very, very still with no one else on the floor, but then that wasn’t unusual. The air of gravitas was nurtured like a living thing in this fortress.

Rebecca didn’t make a sound on the plush burgundy carpeting in the long hallway that led to her office. She swiped her key card, put her briefcase on her desk, her purse in her credenza drawer, and went to the small private room—the truest symbol of how much the founders had prized their creature comforts. She headed straight for the coffeemaker.

Once she’d finished with the prep and pressed the button for the machine to start brewing, she turned and leaned on the counter. There was a huge LED television mounted on the wall across from the deep and supremely comfortable leather chairs, museum-worthy paintings on the muted walls and a couch with such deep bottom cushions that it was more suitable to napping than sitting. Fresh flowers were here as well, replaced weekly by a service that understood decorum while making a point that when it came to the details, no expense was spared. It was as ridiculous as it was sacrosanct.

She was the first woman to ever run the foundation, and her ideas about modeling their business plan after the great philanthropic organizations like the Rockefeller Trust or the Carnegie Group continued to be an uphill war. Picking her battles had been one of her first and most important lessons.

That’s why she tried hard not to resent the time and money being spent on the donor dinner. The guest list included most of the Forbes top-fifty richest people in the world. They gave millions so that after all these years, their endowments were in the billions. She needed to remember that and just do the job.

Preparing her coffee in her favorite mug soothed her, letting her prioritize the next few unencumbered hours. It wasn’t until she took her first sip that her thoughts turned to Jake. And there was a problem.

Not her excitement, that was a pleasure and a rush. It wasn’t like her to want a man purely for sex. She was, in theory, at least to quote her mother, above that sort of thing.

Guess not, Mom.

When she returned to her desk, instead of clicking on her email, she got her purse from the credenza and took out Jake’s trading card.

Oh, yeah. She wasn’t at all sure why, but looking at him made her clench all kinds of important muscles. She hadn’t even met him and his face started a chemical spike inside her. The exact same reaction had occurred each time she’d sneaked a peek at his photograph. She refused to acknowledge how often that had been.

The problem was, with this level of excitement over the two-dimensional image, how on earth was the very three-dimensional living man going to measure up?

It was all about narrowing her expectations. She could do that. It wasn’t as if she wanted to fall in love with Jake or for him to love her. She hoped to like him, though, because she knew from experience that if he was a complete jerk, her attraction would vanish in an instant.

They were going to meet for drinks and that was to her advantage. She didn’t normally indulge to the point of feeling buzzed, but when she did, she became more forgiving. And, if it came down to it, she could probably get him to not talk at all.

She put his card away, determined not to look at it again until after work. Not only was she slammed for time, but she needed to get home early enough to go the extra mile with grooming. Oh, the joys and pains of getting naked with someone new.

She clicked on her email icon, and the sheer number of new messages was enough to chase away any thoughts of sweaty sex. Especially when the first of the emails was from her father. That never ended well.

THE MORNING COFFEE WAS already made by the time Jake limped his way down the stairs. It was freezing outside. Sitting in the kitchen, his father was bundled up in a thick wool sweater and had a lap blanket tucked around his lower half as he warmed his hands on his old NYPD coffee mug.

“The weatherman says we’re in for a cold one tonight.”

Jake nodded as he fixed his mug. Two sugars, half and half. He didn’t drink until he slid onto the banquette in the breakfast nook. He needed to do something about the cushion covers. They were almost as old as he was and the regular washings had made them threadbare and pale. “I’m going to the city.”

“Yeah?” his dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“Date?”

Jake drank some coffee, sighing in satisfaction as it warmed him. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get Liam to spend the night, then?”

“Already cleared it with him. He’s bringing over DVDs.”

“Ah, shit,” his father said, putting his mug down on the counter, then turning his wheelchair a few degrees so he faced Jake. “That means another goddamn Bruce Willis festival. Swear to Christ, Liam has, a whatchamacallit, a bromance, going with that guy.”

“What’s it matter? Pete’s got a hard-on for his car.”

“Yeah.” Mike picked up his cup again. “Everybody’s got something. Except you. What do you got a hard-on for, Jake?”

“What the hell kind of a question is that?”

“Watch the tone. I’m still your father. I’m wondering, that’s all. You spent a lot of time wanting to be in vice, then all those years doing undercover work. I’m thinking there’s gotta be something else now. Something, please God, more interesting than Bruce Willis movies.”

Jake drank some more coffee, not sure how to answer the question. If he should answer at all. But no, he would. He and his dad had spent a lot of years being distant. What with the work, then with Mom dying of cancer, and Jake having to be so hush-hush about everything. He’d decided to fix up the house by himself because he wanted to know his old man. Wanted someone to know him in return. Now was not the time to back off. “I don’t know, Dad. I got nothing. Just the house.”

“That’s not gonna last forever.”

“Nope. But it’s something to do while I learn how to be a civilian.”

“I hear that.”

Jake nodded in tandem with his father. It wasn’t easy, this talking thing. But dying alone in a warehouse filled with drug dealers wasn’t easy, either. He could do this. The worst that would happen? He’d look like an idiot. He already did that without trying. “I’ve got a date tonight,” he said. “She a looker.”

“Good for you,” Mike said. “Nice woman?”

“Never met her. Comes highly recommended, though.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s a Winslow.”

“Those Winslows?” His dad settled his cup snugly on his lap as he wheeled over to the nook. “What the hell does one of those Winslows want with you?”

Jake laughed. “No idea. Looking forward to finding out.”

“Probably heard who your old man was. Couldn’t resist.”

“You keep telling yourself that. See what happens.”

Mike awkwardly put the cup on the table, and Jake held back his wince. It was getting harder for his father to hold the damn mug at all, as his fingers twisted and bent. But there was no use crying about it. There wasn’t a cure, and the medicines and physical therapy could do only so much. Retrofitting the house was what Jake could do, was doing.

“You know Sally Quayle? Three doors down, her husband was killed in Afghanistan last year?”

“Oh, no, Dad. Come on. We talked about this.”

“We did, and we agreed.”

“I’m not goddamn Santa and I’m not the neighborhood fixer. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m also busy.”

“There’s always time to do right. She’s worried about being alone. Thinking of buying a gun.”

“Ah, crap. You want me to go talk to her.”

“I do. We all do. She needs to know how dangerous that could be. Go over her house security. Make sure she’s safe, yeah?”

Jake sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go over this week. After I get a good start on the new shower.” Why was it the only time Jake sounded like he was from Brooklyn was when he was home? He’d had the accent scared out of him at St. Francis Xavier high school, but it always came back the moment he was in the neighborhood.

“This week is fine. And don’t start anything too big on the shower this afternoon. You need to look your best tonight.”

“I what?”

Mike sniffed. “You’re my only son. And a certified hero. She should know who she’s dealing with, this Winslow woman.”

What could Jake say? “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll shave and everything.”

REBECCA PAID THE CAB DRIVER, then got out on East 50th Street at the entrance to the Kimberly Hotel. She’d chosen it because the rooftop bar had spectacular views of Midtown. Also she liked the way they made their gimlets here with a very unique lime cordial. It didn’t hurt that their luxury suites were gorgeous, the feather beds to die for. Even if magic didn’t happen between her and Jake, she’d enjoy staying the night by herself, and if that happened, she already decided she’d be utterly decadent with room service.

With that in mind, she went inside, her gaze lingering on the lobby’s beautiful grandfather clock as she went to the front desk. She handed them her overnight bag and her coat to put in her room. Registration took no time at all and once her key card was in her purse, she went to the lobby restroom. She had to remind herself that whatever happened would be fine, that if he was an ass, she’d lose nothing but a fantasy. Still, she wanted that fantasy, so she freshened her lipstick, fluffed her hair, checked her breath and let her heart pump and her hopes soar as she caught the next ride up.

It was the express to the roof, not giving her much time to think, which was good. There were only three men in business attire aboard, none of them speaking, although she had the feeling they’d been in the same meeting. They all looked as though they’d been to the battlefield and lost and that drinks at the penthouse bar would be a just reward.

Her nerves hit what she hoped was their peak as they reached the thirtieth floor. It was all she could do not to take Jake’s trading card out of her purse and hold on to it like a talisman. Not that she wouldn’t recognize him. She’d practically memorized his face. He’d look good on the roof with the blue and white fairy lights under the glass domed ceiling, with the city skyline behind him.

Frankly, he’d look good in a crumbling boiler room. But as long as she was making this into some kind of romantic one-night dream date, she might as well have the proper setting.

Another thing she liked about Upstairs at the Kimberly was that the music wasn’t deafening. They catered to a more mature crowd and had some respect for eardrums. It was a bar made for getting to know a person.

The elevator opened at one minute past seven. There were several areas where Jake could be. On the main floor, at one of the tables, at the light-bedazzled bar itself or on one of the leather couches to either side of the bar. She ran her hands down her black sheath dress as she walked into the middle of the room. She glanced to her right, and there he was. He’d scored a hell of a table, one close to the window that looked out at the Chrysler building.

It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she could tell he looked pretty much as advertised. Dark scruffy hair, broad shoulders with a well-fitting jacket, a light button-down shirt tucked into dark trousers. He saw her and stood, and yep, he had slim hips and long legs. Even at this distance, he was hotter than hell, and please, please, let this not crash and burn in the first five minutes.

She hoped he would be equally impressed as she crossed over to him. He took a few steps himself, careful to keep close enough to the table to prevent poaching. It wasn’t until the third step that she noticed his limp.

Katy hadn’t said anything. Meaning she didn’t deem it noteworthy. Rebecca had no problem with that. It was an interesting detail, something to discover by layers.

“Rebecca,” he said, and goodness, yes, that was a great voice. Deep and mellow and she thought about one of her recent not-so-wonderful blind dates that hadn’t been helped by Sam’s unfortunately high and sadly nasal tone.

“Jake,” she replied as she took his hand. It was warm and large, and the shake just firm enough. He also knew when to let go. Big plus. He almost touched the small of her back as he held her seat, giving her the best view.

He sat across from her. The candles on the table gave a hint of his eye color, but she’d need real lights for that. Later. Now was for talking. And drinking because her heart was pounding a bit too hard for her to ignore.

Before they had a chance to start the opening volley, a waitress came to the table. Rebecca ordered her vodka gimlet and Jake ordered a bourbon and water. Nice. Traditional. Masculine.

The second they were alone, he leaned a little toward her. “I’m never great with openings,” he said. “I’ve always thought there should be rules, a standard pattern that all blind dates have to follow. Like school uniforms or meeting the queen. It would make things so much simpler.”

She thought about her trading card, and how that had helped, and wondered if Jake knew he was on a card, if he’d approve. She thought, yes. “You’re right. It’s an excellent idea and should be implemented immediately. What say we start with the basics. The front page of the questionnaire. I’m Rebecca Thorpe, I live in Manhattan and work in the East Village. I’m an attorney although I don’t practice, and I was born and raised here in the city. I’ve known Katy for over a year, and she’s terrific, so I trusted her when she told me we might hit it off. I’m not looking for love, or for more than an interesting evening, which I hope is what you’re after, and … well. That’s about it.”

His laughter suited her down to her toes. It was genuine, easy, relaxed. His smile was even more delicious than his picture had implied. So far, so good. But now, it was his turn.

“I’m Jake Donnelly, I’m currently living in Windsor Terrace in Brooklyn, in the house where I was born. I’m staying with my dad doing some remodeling work. I come from a long line of cops, all the way back to when the Donnellys crossed over from Ireland. I’ve been with the police department since I graduated college. Well, until earlier this year. I have no idea what I’m going to do after I finish the renovations.”

He leaned back as their drinks were placed on the table, then sought her eyes again. “And it appears we’re both looking for a night to remember. How’d I do?”

“Great,” she said, then she lifted her glass and clicked it against his. Jake was totally unlike anyone she’d ever dated. He was from Brooklyn, but he’d given up the accent for something far easier on her admittedly snobbish ears. She knew absolutely nothing about being a cop, about Windsor Terrace, about renovations. She was incredibly curious to know if his limp and no longer being a policeman were connected. And she couldn’t imagine, not for the life of her, staying with her own family for more than about three hours. She and Jake were worlds apart, completely unsuited in every way but one.

He was perfect.

JAKE DRANK A LITTLE AS HE tried not to look as if he was scoping her out from head to toe. But screw it, he was. At least, as much as he could, given she was sitting.

Rebecca Thorpe was, to put it bluntly, off the charts hot. Her hair was golden and shiny in the glitter of the bar, her eyes smoky and intense. She was tall and slender, but the way her dress hugged her breasts made him say a prayer this night would end with him learning a lot more.

No mention of the Winslow name or the foundation she headed. Why not? Being careful? Probably, although why she would assume he didn’t recognize her was a little baffling. Everyone who lived in New York knew of her family. They were like the Kennedys. Politicians, judges, private jets, private clubs, more money than sense if you asked him, but nobody did, and that seemed fair. He wouldn’t know what the hell to do in a room full of Winslows, but being right here, right now with this one? It was his lucky day.

“I don’t know where to start with questions,” Rebecca said. “Do you miss being a cop?”

He’d left himself open for whatever with that intro, but he still wished she’d begun somewhere else. He shouldn’t complain. At least she hadn’t opened with the limp.

He was still self-conscious about the scars. Odd how the shoulder looked so much worse. The leg was no picnic, either. But it hadn’t made anyone run screaming. Yet. What the hell, if it freaked her out, there was nothing he could do about that. He’d just get on home and read up on shower installations. “Yeah, I miss it,” he said. “Hard not to, when it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. I could have taken a desk assignment, but that wasn’t me.”

“Ah, so you were hurt on the job?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Shot in the thigh and the shoulder.

They’re not pretty, but I was lucky. Either one could have killed me, so …”

“I can’t imagine. God, shot twice?” She shuddered, winced. “That’s horrible. I’m always astonished at how vulnerable the human body can be, while at the same time astoundingly strong. I had a friend once who slipped on a leaf. Fell. Hit her head. She was twenty-four, and she died that night. You were shot twice, and you not only survived, but it looks from here as if you’re thriving.”

“It is a mystery. I tell people it must not have been my time, but that’s just something easy to say. I’m not a religious man, or one who believes in fate. Nothing mystical or predestined. I guess I’m a pragmatist. I was in a dangerous profession, in a risky situation. It’s no big surprise I was wounded. I lived because they got to me in time, got me to the right doctors. Thriving? Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m learning to accept my limitations. Oddly, there are fewer than I expected, with the notable exception of losing my career.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but she did lean in. She didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t staring, wasn’t taking his measure. “A pragmatist,” she said eventually. “That’s helpful, living in this city. This world.”

“It is. What about you?” he asked. “What do you believe in?”

She smiled, leaned back in her chair. Her bangs were a bit in her eyes and he wanted to push them back to see her better. Not complaining, just sorta wishing.

“Boy, you don’t fool around, do you?”

“Guess not. We can always talk about this damn cold front, if you’d prefer.”

“I’m good,” she said. “I like the tough questions.”

“I didn’t even ask, would you like something to eat? I haven’t looked at the menu, but I know they serve food here. Or we could go somewhere else for dinner.”

“Oh, food. I’m not starving, but I could eat something. How about you?”

“I could do with more than the bologna sandwich I had around four. Busy day.”

“I happen to know the menu here is excellent. Why don’t you see if anything suits your fancy. Meanwhile I’ll consider my answer to your very provocative question and finish my drink.”

He nodded, grabbed the menu from the center of the table. Not much he didn’t like. When he looked up again, she was still staring at him. He should have been unsettled. He wasn’t used to undisguised interest. In fact, his life had depended on his blending in, fading into the background. Even the dark wasn’t enough to hide behind, but instead of getting that crawling itch to run, he wanted her to look her fill. And he wanted her to like what she saw.

He passed her the menu, then finished his bourbon, signaling the waitress when he caught her eye. “There’s nothing on there I wouldn’t eat,” he said to Rebecca. “Could live without the foie gras, but I like the meat and the fish selections. I think you should pick us out a few, and we’ll have ourselves a small buffet while we go at least one step beyond the surface. How does that sound?”

“Fantastic.”

Their order was taken, fresh drinks requested, and they were alone once more. It was all he could do not to call back the lovely girl and ask her to add a room with a king-size bed to the tab.

“I’m a mutt,” Rebecca said, folding her hands on the shiny table. “Philosophically. I lean toward Buddhism, but I’ve got some roots in the church from when I was a kid. I mostly try to make a difference. Walk the walk, not just talk about it. I tend to connect to people who do the same.”

That could have been a crock of bull, but his instincts said no. She was telling him the truth. It fit with her job, but that wasn’t what he thought she was talking about. Another skill from his vice days was how to listen for the truth. Of course, in this instance, he had to factor in how badly he wanted to take Rebecca Thorpe to bed.

Which was really damn bad.




3


REBECCA LICKED THE TIP OF her thumb as she finished the last of her salt cod fritter. She’d decided to play hardball with the ordering—all of it finger food. Zucchini fritters, lollipop lamb chops, decadent French fries, even the crisp baby artichokes. She’d picked up a lollipop first thing, watching him watch her bring the food to her mouth, take a bite. Gauntlet thrown, she sipped her second drink and waited to see what he’d do.

He started with a couple of fries. Slow moving, deliberate, and his gaze on hers never wavered. As he chewed, his jaw muscle flexed in a way that made her blush. He couldn’t tell, not in this light, yet his thick right eyebrow rose along with the corners of his mouth.

She grinned back, pleased he’d decided to play. Somehow the music had become smoky jazz, and the heat from the temperature-controlled floor slipped up her dress all the way to her very pretty, very naughty La Perla panties.

Through it all, the ordering, the waiting, the cute young waitress flirting with Jake as she set down their plates, Jake hadn’t once lost the thread of their conversation. Rebecca wasn’t sure if they were at the third or fourth level now that they’d reached ex-lovers territory.

“She was great,” he said, using his napkin. “And I like to think I’m a reasonably adventurous guy, but when she started talking plushies …” He shook his head, grabbed a tiny artichoke.

“Plushies. You mean dressing up like stuffed animals plushies?”

“I do. I hope that’s not your thing, but I’d have to say right up front that nope, not gonna go there. I like my partners to be human. It’s a radical stance, but one I’m not going to budge on.”

“Where do you stand on aliens who look humanoid?”

He thought a minute. “Depends. Do they really look like humans, or are they lizard people in disguise?”

“I see your point. I always draw the line at shape-shifters. I include vampires in that, by the way.”

“Damn. There goes my plans for the rest of the night.”

She laughed again, charmed. Not so much at the obvious quip but at his delivery. Very dry. Very … sexy. “Nothing wrong with a little nip here and there,” she said.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “I agree,” he said, putting his napkin on the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

As he walked away, Rebecca let herself linger on the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his legs. He might have a limp, but there was still a swagger to him that had her crossing her legs.

When he got back, she would bring up the room. They hadn’t eaten too much and had only two drinks each. If they wanted dessert later they could order from room service. Everything about the evening led her to believe he was amenable, even though they hadn’t yet touched.

While she could, she retrieved her mirror from her purse. After a fresh coat of lipstick, she stuck a breath strip in her mouth, realizing too late that it didn’t go with vodka gimlets. At all. A quick shudder, then she closed her purse, aware of the room itself for the first time since she’d stepped off the elevator.

There was a sizable crowd for a Tuesday night. Most everyone was in business attire, upscale. While she saw people on the prowl, the atmosphere was not that of a pickup bar. Here, the desperation wouldn’t start until around 3:00 a.m.

She wondered what Charlie and Bree were doing and almost got out her cell to text, but no, Bree could wait on Rebecca’s report. Tonight felt private, different. In other circumstances, she’d have felt this evening was a beginning. She liked him a lot. More than anyone she’d been out with in years.

On the other hand, maybe knowing this was a singular event had made this ease possible. They weren’t at a relationship audition. Sex, yes, but she figured they’d nailed that about five minutes in.

The conversation had gone from philosophy to her explaining the intricacies of preparing lunches and trading them at a church basement, and then somehow they’d landed at exes. Hers, she realized, had all fizzled due to boredom. No, that wasn’t fair. There had been reasons she’d gone out with those few men for longer than a handful of months, but there had been no grand passions. Weirdly, she’d felt perfectly comfortable telling Jake just that.

There he was. Smiling from across the room. She watched as he maneuvered through people and tables.

When he sat down, he covered her hand with his. “I took the liberty of booking a room here tonight. I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if you don’t want to join me, but I’ll also take it like a man.”

She turned her hand over and squeezed his fingers. “The only problem with that is I already have a room here. And since I’m the one who instigated this evening, I win the coin toss.”

He studied her for a long minute. “Wow. That’s … Full disclosure, though. I lied about taking it like a man.”

She grinned. God, he was adorable. “If you’re finished, why don’t I put this on the tab, and we go down to cancel your reservation?”

He fetched his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll be taking care of this. But thanks for the offer.”

They wrapped it up, he put on a dark knee-length coat she hadn’t even noticed, then held the back of her chair while she stood. An old-fashioned move, but one she didn’t mind. Especially because she was a little wobbly. Not from the booze; she hadn’t had enough to faze her. From the touching. The “any second now, don’t know where things are going to go” touching.

After she picked up her purse, he slipped his hand around hers. It wasn’t like the handshake, not at all. It was just … wonderful.

WALKING WITH REBECCA TO the front desk reminded him of his prom. Not the dance, but afterward, going into the hotel in Brooklyn with Antoinette Fallucci on his arm. He’d been in a terrible borrowed tux that was too tight in the crotch even discounting the fact that he’d been seventeen, but Antoinette had looked like a princess in her strapless dress, and she’d been the homecoming queen, a cheerleader and without doubt the most beautiful and popular girl in his senior class. He’d strutted into that hotel. This time, he played it a little cooler, but he did feel that thrill, knowing he was with the best one, that every man in the place was jealous.

It had nothing to do with her being a Winslow. The subject hadn’t come up and he didn’t expect it to. Not when there were so many other interesting things to talk about.

He smiled as they waited for a desk clerk. She smiled in return and he wanted to kiss her. He’d stood close to her in the elevator, gotten a whiff of her perfume, and the effect still sizzled through his veins. He had no idea what the scent was, only that it made him want to spend a hell of a long time exploring that long, graceful neck of hers.

That they’d barely touched was both horrible and hot. He knew she’d be soft, but that was far too vague. How different soft was between the shell of an ear, the skin just under a belly button. His gaze drifted down as he realized there was no word for how it would feel to run his fingers across her inner thigh.

Shit, if he was going to be thinking like that, he should button his coat. Hide the evidence. Thankfully, the woman who’d made his reservation earlier called them to the desk.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“We double-booked. Miscommunication. I hope it’s not too late to cancel.”

“Mr. Donnelly, right?”

Surprised that she remembered his name, he nodded.

“I’ll cancel that right now, sir. It’ll be a moment.”

Jake glanced at Rebecca. He liked that she was tall, five-eight, he’d guess? A six-inch difference was very doable. Not that anything couldn’t be worked around. He signed his name on the line, gave back the key card, and finally, they were free to leave.

“Thank you, Mr. Donnelly,”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, tearing his gaze from Rebecca, but he barely gave the other woman a second because his date, this amazing woman in the sleek black dress, tossed her hair behind her shoulder and tugged him along and it was as if the flag had been lowered in a race he hadn’t known he was running. It took him two steps to catch up, and when they looked at each other, side by side, gripping each other’s hands, they grinned like idiots. Who were going to have sex. Really, really soon.

“Should we order drinks?” she asked as they walked, their speed increasing with each step. “Champagne? Wine? Soda?”

“Wine? Do you like red? Although white would probably be better after vodka. Maybe we should just get some vodka.”

“I like red.” She pushed the elevator button three times, leaning into her thumb every time. “Besides, you’re a bourbon man. Bourbon men don’t drink vodka.”

“Who told you such obvious lies? Whoever it was should be banished from ever tasting another shot of Stoli. And he shouldn’t be able to look at a bottle of Elit.”

The elevator dinged and opened. Finally. A couple walked out, ignoring them completely. It was Jake’s turn to pull Rebecca inside.

“Then why did you order bourbon?” she asked.

He shrugged, astonished they were speaking in sentences when his brain and his body were one hundred percent focused on getting inside the goddamn room. “I like it.”

“Okay.” She pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. “What booze don’t you like?”

He couldn’t stand it, he pulled her until she was flush against him and he was staring down into her dark, wide eyes. “Boone’s Farm.”

She laughed as she pressed her breasts to his chest. He inhaled sharply at the feel of her, the reality of her. Then her hand, her right hand, slipped under his arm, around his waist and up his back. Without his permission, his hips jerked forward, his quickly hardening cock meeting the perfect resistance of her hip. Each floor they ascended felt like foreplay.

“What about you?” he asked, straining to pick up the thread of their conversation, although he was pretty sure if he started talking about pork belly futures neither of them would care. “Is there anything respectable you don’t like?”

“Tons of things. But I suppose you’re talking about liquor.” Her breath whispered against his jaw, and that hand on his back was moving in small circles, the hint of friction electric. “Oddly,” she said, her voice maybe half an octave lower than it had been a minute ago, “single malt Scotch whiskey. I know, it’s very girlie of me, but I hate it. What’s worse, I get very cranky when people get in my face about how superior it is. The age and what kind of barrel it was kept in. Which is ridiculous because I do the exact same thing with wine and champagne, so who the hell do I think I am? But there you have it. Completely irrational.”

“Good to know,” he said, now a few millimeters away from brushing his lips against hers. “I was going to seduce you with my knowledge of Glenlivet, but I won’t now. Pity. I know a lot about Glenlivet, and I’m incredibly charming when I add the personal anecdotes.”

“That’s okay,” she said, as they came to a smooth halt. “I already find you incredibly charming.”

He’d have kissed her right then, right as they stepped out of the elevator, but he wanted it private. Not that anyone was in the hall. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to do anything to this woman until he had her alone and there was a bed nearby. He checked the wall plaque and followed the arrows to room 1562, at the very end of the hall. They didn’t run, but they moved as quickly as his leg allowed.

She got the green light with her key card on the second try and he shoved the door open. His first impression of the room was that it was big for a Manhattan hotel and that it was very full with a sofa and chairs and coffee table, but it could have been the size of a pencil box and bright chartreuse and he wouldn’t have cared. It was theirs, and while there wasn’t a bed in front of him, there had to be one close. Rebecca walked in, but she didn’t get far.

As he slammed the door shut behind him, he gave her a spin, a sweet little twirl that set her back against the door with him blocking her path.

Her smile said she didn’t mind, and her lips parting as she raked his face with her very large eyes told him they were on the same page. She huffed softly as he slipped his hand behind her nape and his tongue in her mouth.

It was hot slick tongues and broken moans as they tried to get his coat off, both of them reaching at the same time. She scratched his wrist then shoved the coat off his shoulder while he was trying to remove the other side of the damn thing, and he twisted his shoulder in all the wrong ways.

He hissed as he drew back, hating his body so fucking much because he could be kissing her right now instead of this.

“I hurt you.”

“You didn’t. We did. I just have to be careful.” He threw his coat with force onto one of the big chairs, then took off his jacket, as well. He turned his head as he reached for his shirt buttons, but her fingers on top of his made him look.

“We can be careful.”

“It’s the scars. Left shoulder, right thigh. I can keep my T-shirt on, turn off the lights—”

She slipped the top button through the hole. “Don’t worry about my delicate sensibilities. I’m fine. As long as we can hurry up and get back to where we’re getting naked together.”

Scooping her into his arms, trapping her hands, he kissed her. Not that panic sloppy kissing, which was good, damn fine, but this was something else. This was a preview, a warning. He liked this part, and he was good at it. So he’d take it slow for the next few minutes, because soon, the moment he had that dress off her in fact, it was going to get crazy again. Messy, wet and hot, and while he couldn’t do everything he used to, he could do plenty.

Her moan was low as she tussled with his tongue. He moved his hands under her hair until he found the top of her dress, the zipper hidden inconveniently behind a fold of material, but he was using his dominant hand, not the one with the intermittent quaver, so no problem. His cock hardened as the zipper lowered until it hit bottom. The feel of her skin beneath his palms made him groan, but when she pushed her hips against his aching erection, he decided the lesson was over, and all bets were off.

He pulled back, not letting her have another chance with his shirt.

“Fine,” she said, chuckling, “be that way.” Then she took two steps away and lifted her dress over her head and let it flutter to the floor.

Jake choked. It took him a minute of coughing to get his act together, and when he did, and he looked at her again, he had to consciously remember how to breathe. “Holy God.”

“So you’re a La Perla fan?”

“I have no idea what a La Perla is, but I’m over the moon about your underwear.”

Her grin let him know she’d planned to knock him off his feet with the stunning bra and panties. Jesus, she was still wearing her heels, and the combination was enough to make a weaker man come without a touch.

The garments were sheerest white. Barely there, except for a small triangle that covered her pussy so he couldn’t tell what she was hiding. He didn’t give a damn. She could be hairy, bald as a cue ball or anything in between, it all worked as far as he was concerned. That he didn’t know even with all that flesh on display made him insane.

The opposite was true on top. There was nothing but that sheer, sheer white covering her stunning breasts. Hard little nipples in the center of pink areolas like iced cupcakes with cherries on top.

And while staring at her was a wet dream all its own, there was so much more to be done. He tugged his shirt out from his trousers, toed off his shoes, then his socks, and by the time he’d unbuttoned the shirt with his right hand, his left had undone his belt and was working on his zipper.

Rebecca was most definitely not helping. In fact, she was making it ridiculously harder to do this circus trick because whether she realized it or not, every move she made turned up the heat a notch. The sway of her hips as she took a single step, the roll of her shoulder, the shake of her head so her hair fluffed around her face. There wasn’t a thing about her that didn’t make him want to beg.

“You’re killing me,” he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper. He let his button-down fall, leaving him in his undershirt, and then his pants dropped and he kicked those out of the way.

Her gaze moved down to his thigh even as she ran her fingers over her bare tummy. Jake tensed as he waited for her verdict. She winced, but her hand didn’t stop moving. He relaxed. She wasn’t freaked out. His first date after had been, and he could never bring himself to blame her, but his gratitude that this woman hadn’t run for the hills knew no bounds.

“Are you going to just stand there staring?” she asked.

“I don’t know what to do first,” he said. “You’re stunning.”

For all that she was driving him wild, the hint of a blush that warmed her cheeks was almost more than he could bear. “That’s a pretty good place to start,” she said as she covered the distance between them. “But an even better place would be in the actual bedroom.”

He swung his arm around her neck and pulled her into a punishing kiss. His free hand went to the low line of her panties, the covered spot, and he slipped his fingers inside the material.

Ah. Not a full Brazilian then, but a landing strip. They needed to get to the bed before he came standing in his boxer briefs.




4


JAKE KISSED HER AS IF HE’D read her diary. All the things she hadn’t written down. How that exact pressure made her shiver. How one of her favorite things was when it wasn’t only thrusting, but teasing and nipping and licking and just plain wanting to feel everything.

His fingers brushing the small trail of hair made her quiver, and God, they needed to stop screwing around. She stepped back from the glorious kiss and took his hand out of her panties. “Now?” she asked. “Please?”

He laughed, dipped somewhat inelegantly to grab his slacks then pushed her along with his hand conveniently placed on her ass.

Finally, there was the king-size feather bed. It wasn’t merely a gorgeous thing to sleep on. The plush headboard, which was actually a built-in feature of the wall, made for comfy bracing, if it should be needed. She hoped it would be needed.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked as he spun her around to face him.

“Happy. Excited. Wishing you were very much more naked than you are.”

“I can do that,” he said. “Here goes—if it’s too much a turnoff—well, I won’t need therapy over it.” He yanked his V-neck undershirt up his chest, quick, like taking off a bandage.

Rebecca was caught by the view of his slim waist, the lines of his abdominal muscles, the almost-but-not-quite-perfect four pack and the fact that he had actual hair on his chest. She swallowed at the blatant masculinity.

She, in turn, felt, well, gooey. Feminine. Small, hungry, attracted, girlie. She moved closer to him, unable to stop her fingers from touching his dark, slender line of hair that rose from just below his ribs until it spread to lightly cover his chest.

He gasped at the brush of her hand, and she watched his muscles shudder. Then he pulled the shirt off the rest of the way, revealing the scar at the top of his left shoulder. “The bullet barely missed the subclavian artery,” he said. “Came in smooth, came out rough, but I was lucky. The doctor says eventually I should regain almost all my mobility.”

She appreciated the heads-up. The small wound was puckered, red, shiny, but nothing horrific. Whereas his back, when he turned, wasn’t nearly as neat. She exhaled hard, not from disgust but from sympathy. His skin was mottled; that same shiny red here though making it look more like a fresh burn than what it was. She raised her hand again, but paused an inch from his poor flesh.

Her gaze moved down to his thigh. That was a deep gouge, something ripped away, not like the torn and battered scarring on his shoulder. “Will it hurt?”

“To touch? No. It’s mostly numb. Not a hundred percent, and sometimes something will press the wrong nerve. But you don’t need to worry. That is, if you still want to—”

She leaned in then, letting her fingers brush the strange terrain as she pressed her lips to the edge of his wound. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

“Me, too.” He turned around slowly. “Onward?”

She was the one to cup his face, to ravish him with tongue and teeth and urgency.

“Well, damn.” He kissed her again, once, hard, then stepped away, carefully maneuvering the waistband of his briefs over his straining cock. She couldn’t look anywhere else but at his darkly flushed erection. There was moisture at the tip, his foreskin barely visible. “I’m going to start begging in a minute,” he whispered.

She forced her gaze up. “We wouldn’t want that.”

He groaned low and loud, his cock jerking against his taut stomach. His hands went to her shoulders, gripping her firmly as he walked her to the bed. He paused before the back of her legs touched the mattress. “Okay, I can’t … I love the …” He indicated her outfit with a sweeping glance up, down and up again. “That bra … Amazing. You’re amazing. But it’s got to go, because there isn’t a thing I don’t want to see. All right?”

She nodded, not able to do much more because he still held her arms.

Releasing her, he reached around and undid the bra’s clasp. Then he kissed the curve of her neck with warm lips as he slipped the straps off her shoulders. The bra fell between them, floated down, touching her skin, and his, too, if his sharp hiss was anything to go by.

His gaze on her breasts, he huffed a breath before he swallowed. “Jesus. Rebecca.”

She blushed again. The heat filled her cheeks and where was all her bravado and determination to be in charge of the night? She felt … shy? A little bit. Pleased, definitely. Not that she didn’t want his praise, but in a moment she was going to duck her chin and twirl her hair because in all her fantasies of how things would go, she hadn’t considered that she’d see him as so much more than the man on the card. She liked him, and even though there wasn’t going to be a second date, she wanted him to like her in return. Not only the sex, but her.

She sent her panties to rest on top of her bra. The only thing he couldn’t see now were her feet but that would change in a minute. He grinned, like he had in the hallway, and fell into a cloud of white down, bringing her along for the ride.

They kissed, deeper now, possessive and exploring and hungry. He sucked the very tip of her tongue, showing her how good he was with small things.

There were hands at play as well, hers brushing over his arms, his sides, down to the tapered waist and slim hips. She loved hip bones with their curves and shapes, but more than that she loved the unlimited access. She suspected he’d let her do anything, feel him anywhere. She could paint his toenails blue and he’d stay hard to the last little piggy. And if he wanted to return the favor? She’d probably quiver so much she’d have nail polish up to her ankles.

She laughed while he was teasing her lips, and he pulled slightly away. “What?”

“I’m already having the best time ever. You’re …” She sighed. “You’re fantastic.”

The sound he made wasn’t a word, but when he turned them both so she fell back on the feather bed, she gathered he liked the compliment.

“Condoms,” he said. “Pocket.” Then he rolled off the bed to his feet, and she got a show of his extraordinary butt as he rifled his trouser pockets.

“My,” she said, when he turned around. His cock looked exceptionally eager. It was well proportioned, longer and thicker than average, and it was straining so that with every move it tapped his belly, leaving a trail of liquid excitement behind.

She rose to her knees, unable to lay back passively when she was as eager as he was to discover the next sensation, to taste and to touch and to let herself be carried away.

He got back on the bed, ripping open the condom as he shuffled to the center, then he brought his lips so close to her ear she shivered with the warmth of his breath. “I want you to ride me. The first time. So I won’t miss a thing.”

Rebecca nodded. She’d thought it might be easier for him with his injuries, but that wasn’t her main consideration at the moment. She wanted to watch him, as well. See the expression on his face as he entered her. “You need to put that on,” she said, touching the rubber.

Jake slung another pillow where his head was likely to land, then eased the condom on his cock, hissing the whole time. As he straightened his legs, he put his hand on the base of his prick, holding it steady, and he eased back, his head canted so he would have a perfect view.

Rebecca wasn’t particularly showy in bed, always a little too self-conscious, but something about Jake … Still on her parted knees, she took hold of her right nipple with her fingers. Two fingers. Her nips were hard enough that when she squeezed them, the tip poked out, swollen and dark pink.

“God damn,” he said, his voice an endearing combination of breathless and raspy.

Her free hand moved slowly down her chest to her tummy. She circled her belly button, then walked two fingers down and down until they reached her landing strip. She hadn’t stopped with the nipple play, so Jake’s gaze was going up and down, his lips parted as his breathing became more ragged.

He couldn’t seem to help moving the hand on his cock. He stroked himself and it must have felt dangerous because the muscles in his jaw tightened and so did the tendons in his neck. Then he closed his eyes, groaning as if she were killing him dead. “Rebecca. I’m already going to embarrass myself with how fast I’m going to come. Do you really want that to happen before I’m inside you?”

She removed her hands from her body and she felt flushed with more than anticipation. She liked driving him crazy. Which was only fair. She was feeling kind of nuts herself.

“Point taken,” she said. She crawled close to his body so she could kiss him one more time. It started slow and sensual, but it turned into hot and burning in seconds. “Ready?” she asked, her voice a breathy whisper.

“Dying.”

She got into position, took over for his steadying hand by reaching behind and lowered herself so slowly her thighs trembled. Watching him every second.

His pupils were huge, his nostrils flared, his lips were parted and he sounded as if he’d just finished a marathon. It was fantastic.

She didn’t want to look away from his face, but movement down below forced the issue. It was his muscles. Pectorals, abdominals. Clenching, trembling. Chest rising and falling like a piston, and there was a sheen of sweat that made her feel like the Vixen Queen of Planet Earth.

As much fun as it had been to watch him unravel, now all her attention had switched to her own body. Because, whoa. He wasn’t lying there anymore, he was thrusting. Up. His hands had somehow gripped her hips when she wasn’t looking, and he was moving her to suit himself. She didn’t mind. At all.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, and that was the voice she’d remember. The wobbly, wrecked croak that was just this side of recognizable speech. “Hot and wet and, Christ, when you grip me like that. Dammit … warn me next time. No, don’t warn me. Do anything you want. Just make sure I haven’t passed out. I don’t want to miss any … ahhh.”

That made her tighten like a vise and she leaned forward enough to where his cock rubbed her perfectly. She’d been so close that all it took was a slight thrust with her hips and she was coming, her head thrown back, her mouth open and gasping, keening in a pitch she didn’t recognize.

When she could see again, she realized he’d come, too, and she’d wanted to watch. Dammit.

She fell sideways, sprawling, gasping away. She managed to turn her head to find him looking at her. Grinning like a very satisfied kid at Christmas. “That was …”

He nodded.

“Again?”

His eyebrows rose and he blinked at her. “I’m thirty-four, not seventeen.”

“How long?”

He breathed for a while. Then grinned. “Give me half an hour. I’m feeling inspired.”

“I’ll order drinks.”

“See if they have Red Bull.”

She laughed. “I’m sure they can oblige.”

Well, how was it?????

OMG, Bree! Lunch? Here? 1:30?

Ur making me wait? I HATE u!

U do not. Bring caffine & IV.

LOL. C U later.

REBECCA CLICKED OFF HER phone as she stared at her open briefcase. It felt as if she was forgetting something, but given the lack of any sensible amount of sleep, she had no chance of remembering. She shut the damn thing, aware of how much work she’d skipped in order to indulge her libido last night, then put on her coat. She’d meant to have been at the office for hours by now.

It had been worth it, though. She grabbed her purse and briefcase. There was no one in the elevator, but that would change as she headed down. It was eight-thirty already; she wanted the espresso she hadn’t had time or patience to make for herself. The elevator stopped two floors down from her twenty-eighth-floor condo, and she exchanged the traditional noncommittal, no-need-to-speak smile with the man who was exceedingly proud of his Swiss watch. She had at one time known the brand, but all she could remember now was that it cost over a million bucks, and that this guy with his salt-and-pepper hair and his cashmere coat took every opportunity to flash his prize possession. It reminded her of a girl with a new engagement ring.

The elevator stopped at almost every floor, and everyone got very chummy by the time they reached the lobby. She was, of course, stuck in the back, and Mr. Swiss Watch’s back was squishing her boobs. Thank goodness for the layers of coat and clothes between them because she only wanted to think about her boobs in terms of last night and Jake.

She smiled as she crossed the lobby, nodding at the concierge and the doorman before hitting the street. It was freezing even though there was no snow left on Madison Avenue.

What she should have done was immediately get in line for a cab, but what she did was cross the street, swimming with the tide of dark coats and clicking heels, to Starbucks. Inevitably there was a long line, but she was desperate.

While she waited, she took out her cell phone and called Dani, her assistant, who would be wondering where the hell Rebecca was. Dani would have called her by nine, but not before.

“You okay?” Dani asked immediately.

“Headache. Late night. Everything okay there?”

“Except for your to-do list, everything’s great. Mr. Turner called, of course.”

Rebecca sighed. Turner was in charge of catering at the Four Seasons. “What now?”

“Something to do with the gift baskets for the guests, but he wouldn’t tell me what because I’m either a spy for another hotel or an idiot, I’m not quite sure.”

“I’ll call him when I get in. Do me a favor?”

“I’ll start the coffee in fifteen minutes. Are you getting something to eat?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“See you soon.”

Rebecca tried not to yawn, which made her yawn, and then she decided, the hell with it, she was going to think about Jake. To say he’d left an impression was … well, leaving him at the crack of dawn had been ridiculously difficult.

They’d been outside, on a very public street, and still she hadn’t been able to stop kissing him. She’d blamed him, of course, said it was all his fault, but it hadn’t been. She’d gotten all tingly the moment her lips met his. Tingly. God, who even said that. No one, that’s who.

The one very good thing he’d done was not ask for her phone number. Because that would have been stepping over the line. Last night was a one-night deal. Okay, so they’d technically had sex this morning in the shower, but that went under the rubric of one-night stand, so there was no need to get picky about it. The essence of the agreement, from both sides, had been that it was to be a singular event. Nothing more. One incredible, fantastic, amazing, toe-curling night. The end. Anything else was out of the question.

It would have been different if she was the kind of woman who regularly practiced recreational sex. She knew a lot who did, but she wasn’t one of them. First of all, she had too much on her plate as it was, and second, it never worked, not really. Sex and the City tried to glorify it, but in the end, all that fooling around didn’t amount to much.

She’d rather do without, thanks.

But goodness, if there was ever a man who appealed in a Sex and the City way, it was Jake. She closed her eyes as she pictured the way he’d looked at her with so much hunger she’d forgotten how to breathe. His hands on her bottom in the shower, such big hands, and such a very hard cock—

“Hey, lady, move it. Some of us got jobs to go to.”

Rebecca’s eyes jerked open, her face flushed with heat, even though she knew no one could tell what she’d been thinking, but her voice was firm and in control as she ordered the biggest espresso they made. And a lemon bar.

“LEAVE IT ALONE, OLD MAN.”

“I didn’t say a word.” Mike Donnelly rolled himself out of the path of the coffeemaker.

“I’m in no mood,” Jake said, filling his cup for the third time since he’d gotten up.

His father looked at his watch again. Jake knew it was noon. So he’d gone to bed the minute he’d gotten home, what of it. He wasn’t missing out on a day of work. And he’d already called to reschedule his physio appointment.

“You’re not gonna tell me anything? Not you had a good time, the dinner was crap, nothing?”

“The dinner was great, I had a terrific time and I’m not seeing her again, so what difference does it make?”

“Oh. What happened? She say something?” He leaned forward, his eyes wide. “You say something?”

“No. Neither of us said anything. It was the deal. That’s all. It was never going to be more than the one night.”

“Oh. So you work these things out ahead of time, huh? Like something in your day planner or your BlackBerry appointment book.”

“I don’t have a day planner or a BlackBerry. Pa, it’s no big deal. It was a setup, we had a nice night. She was … great. Really great. But no more than that.”

“Huh.”

Jake let out a hell of a sigh. “What?” He sat down at the nook, his thigh killing him. Worth it, though. Every ache and every pain. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. Which wasn’t an option.





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