Not that she was an inveterate man hater. She had many male friends, like Paul Olomide and Dr. Botende, but there was nothing sexual between them. Sex was where the trouble came in.
Or maybe not the sex, because women got something out of that even if it was only the physical release. It was the men who pretended they liked you, even loved you, in order to get to the good part, the sex. Perhaps they thought they had to lie to get you to have sex with them. She wasn’t that gullible. But the pain that was sure to come when you allowed your tender heart to open up to someone, and then that someone trampled on it? That was unforgiveable.
She believed if a woman was interested in making love to a man, she should do so. With no expected declarations of love afterward. That was honest. She had stipulations, though. No married men, or men involved with someone else. Here’s where it got tricky—if the deal wasn’t based on truth. There were so many liars out there. Gareth had lied. Could she depend on the next male she found attractive and worthy of sharing her body with to not be a liar, too? She had no idea. She hadn’t tested her theory yet.
She sighed. She’d finished her meal, left a good tip for her waitress and now made her way to the cash register by the exit. This was such an unassuming place to have such delicious food. But then some of her best meals in Kinshasa had been prepared by unlicensed chefs just trying to make ends meet.
On the street again, she walked for several blocks, enjoying the sights, window shopping and people watching until she ended up on Fifth Avenue in front of the hotel she’d always been curious about. The place seemed to take up an entire city block. She glanced up at the golden angel statue beside a gentleman on a horse out front.
She felt a bit intimidated as she stepped beneath the awning with flags flying above it. But the doorman merely gave her a friendly nod hello and held the door open for her to enter.
Once she was in the lobby she tried not to stare at the elegant trappings of one of New York City’s five-star hotels. When she was a little girl, she’d read the Eloise books. She almost expected Eloise herself to skip down the stairs. But no, only posh people were in the lobby, going about their business. No one gave her a second look, for which she was grateful. She wasn’t exactly dressed for these digs in her jeans and safari jacket.
She continued walking and stopped suddenly when she noticed they had a shop devoted entirely to Eloise, the fictional little girl who, in the children’s books, had lived in this hotel.
Some rich little girl could pretend she was Eloise and take back home with her all sorts of Eloise memorabilia. Ah, to be a child again. Petra beat a hasty retreat before she was tempted to buy something.
She discreetly looked around for a bar. She was determined to have a drink here. A place this size probably had more than one bar on the premises.
She kept her gawking to a minimum. There was so much to see. They had everything anyone could imagine wanting. There were even shops where you could buy clothing if you happened to have forgotten a cocktail dress when you’d packed for your stay.
Finally, she found a bar that looked like a throwback to the thirties. Upon entering the darkened watering hole, she noticed the bartender looked like he could pick her up and toss her across the room, he was so big. He smiled when she sat down, though, and asked her what her poison was.
Other patrons were sitting around the bar, whose mirrored walls, behind the shelves of every conceivable alcoholic beverage you could think of, reflected their images back at them.
“Whiskey, neat,” said Petra, returning his smile.
He poured her whiskey into a glass and placed it in front of her.
“Thank you,” said Petra.
She picked it up, admired its color for a moment and then tossed it back. She didn’t drink whiskey because she liked the taste. She drank it for its effects.
The bartender smiled as if he approved of her manner of drinking. But he didn’t ask her if she wanted another drink. He simply continued polishing glasses as he’d been doing when she’d walked up to the bar.
Petra felt the warmth of the drink as it hit her stomach and began inching its way into her bloodstream.
Her cell phone buzzed while she was sitting there and she looked down at the display. It was her sister Lauren sending her more photos of Colton Jr., or C.J. as everyone was calling him. Petra smiled at his adorable image. She looked forward to finally holding him in her arms when she got to Raleigh, North Carolina. She gave a contented sigh. She missed her family.
She sent a quick text thanking Lauren for the photos and telling her she was still in New York City and would be in Raleigh as soon as possible. She and her sisters were planning an anniversary party for their parents. She was part of the surprise because her parents had no idea she was back in the States.
I can’t wait to kiss my nephew’s chipmunk cheeks. He’s adorable, she wrote. It’s about time one of you made me an aunt!
It’s going to be your turn soon, Lauren texted back.
Nah, not me. I’ll be the kooky aunt who gives weird presents, she countered. And she couldn’t help laughing out loud at the thought of that.
* * *
As he entered the bar, Chance heard the delightful sound of a woman’s laughter. His gaze followed the sound and discovered the owner of that laugh, an exotic-looking, brown-skinned woman with the most beautiful head of hair he’d ever seen. It was dark and wavy and fell almost to her waist. She couldn’t be more than five-four, he judged, and was wearing the least seductive outfit he’d ever seen on a woman. But then, he was used to women who went to bars to ensnare a man. And this woman wasn’t showing any skin.
Curiosity made him sit down on the stool next to her. The bartender zeroed in on him. “Welcome back,” he said in his friendly manner. “What’s your poison tonight?”
“A Scotch on the rocks,” Chance said. “Thank you.”
The bartender moved away to prepare his drink, and the woman beside him was looking intently at her cell phone and smiling with pleasure. Must be a man she’s texting, Chance thought.
On closer inspection he noticed she had dimples, a cute nose, long lashes, a full mouth—the lower lip a bit poutier than the top—and that her fingers were slender and she didn’t wear nail polish. Her nails were neatly trimmed. As she typed on the keypad of her cell phone, she bit her bottom lip.
She let out a soft sigh suddenly and put her phone into the pocket of her jacket. When she did, Chance got a whiff of eucalyptus. It reminded him of that cold medicine his mother used to rub on his chest when he was a kid. A strange perfume for a woman to be wearing, sure, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
* * *
What’s with men staring at me today? Petra wondered. This guy probably thought she hadn’t noticed him boring a hole in her with his eyes. She’d seen him out of the corner of her eye, and had decided to see just how long he was going to stare at her without saying anything.
When it went on for two more minutes, she turned on her stool and looked him straight in the eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d been prepared to dislike him on sight, but good Lord, the man was stunning! And here she sat in her jungle togs!
The bartender came back and set a drink in front of the guy. He murmured his thanks, but he didn’t break eye contact with her. “May I buy you a drink?” he asked her, and he smiled. It was a smile that melted her core. It made crinkles appear at the corners of his cinnamon-colored eyes and made his already luscious lips ten times sexier. It was lust at first sight.
She found herself accepting his offer even though one drink was usually her limit.
The bartender was just waiting for his cue, obviously, because as soon as she uttered, “That’s so kind of you,” to Gorgeous Guy, he asked, “Whiskey, neat again?”
She gave a curt nod. “Yes, thank you,” and he turned away to get her drink.
“Are you enjoying your stay h
ere?” Gorgeous Guy asked conversationally.
From his expensive attire to the Rolex on his wrist, she was pretty certain he could afford to stay here, but how was she going to state the obvious?
“Um, actually, I had dinner near here, saw the hotel, which I’d always wanted a look inside of, and came in for a tour. All I can afford here is the drink I just had.” And if that put him off, so be it. He was probably out of her league, anyway.
He laughed shortly. “To be honest, I’m just here for a drink, too. I live near here and pass this hotel on my way to work every day.”
So he lived in this very highly priced part of the city. When she’d worked at the Central Park Zoo, in her early days as a zoologist, she’d had to take several subway lines to Midtown Manhattan from her Brooklyn neighborhood. Now, she was positive he was out of her league.
“How about you?” he asked as the bartender set her drink in front of her.
“I’m just passing through,” Petra said. She smiled at him. “I’ve been out of the country for a while and I’m only in town for a meeting with the company I work for. Then I’m heading south to visit family.”
“Born and raised in the South?” he asked.
“My dad was a general in the army. I was born in Germany, but raised in Raleigh, North Carolina.”
“Mother German?” he asked.
She laughed shortly and gestured to her hair. “Oh, you mean this? No, my mother is half Cherokee and half African American. I guess I got the hair gene from my Native American grandmother. I don’t know. Maybe some of my African ancestors had lots of hair.”
“Well, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His tone was intimate, and the sound of his baritone voice sent shivers down her spine. No one had told her she was beautiful since Gareth, and chances were, he hadn’t meant it.
“Thank you,” she said shyly. She didn’t know why she was flushing from embarrassment. This wasn’t the first time a man had tried to pick her up. It was the first time she was seriously thinking of letting herself be picked up, though.
He might be the one to help her prove her theory.
He smiled and glanced at her drink, still sitting untouched in front of her. “You’re not going to drink that?”
“The thing is,” she told him, “I’m not much of a drinker and I’ve already had one. I only accepted it because I wanted to stay and talk with you.”
“Then, please, don’t drink it,” he said. “I want you to be able to hold up your end of the conversation.”
She laughed at that. “So do I,” she said as she boldly appraised his features. He had a cleft chin in his square-jawed face, and his skin was the color of a fine dark chocolate, which contrasted sharply with those cinnamon-colored eyes of his. His hair was dark brown, natural and cut close to his well-shaped head. He had beautifully formed ears that neither stuck out nor were too large. Everything about him screamed masculinity. Big hands, large feet, a broad chest and muscles straining against the sleeve of his suit every time he brought his glass to his mouth. His height was just right. He was nearly six feet tall, she guessed. She didn’t like it when a guy was a whole foot taller than she was. Sure, some guys liked to think it was perfect if they could pick their women up and handle them as if they weighed next to nothing, but she didn’t like being manhandled, no matter how adorable a guy thought she was in all her petite glory.
He caught her looking him over and smiled knowingly. She didn’t mind getting caught. After making sure he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, she’d decided he was the one to test her theory on. But he had to make the first move. She wasn’t going to be the aggressor here.
His eyes drifted down to her feet. “I’m curious,” he said. “Why the hiking boots?”
“Like I said, I’ve been out of the country for a while. And where I’ve been, the boots were a wise footwear choice. I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet.”
“Then you do like women’s clothes?” He said this with a twinkle in his eyes. Otherwise, she might have been offended.
“Would you still be sitting here if you thought I wasn’t all woman?”
He chuckled. “You’ve got me there. I think any woman who can look sexy in that outfit is all woman.”
“What about you? Do you dress like that every day?”
“I’m a businessman. I dress accordingly. But do I love it? No. I like the effect it has on people. When you dress like this they know you’re serious about what you do. However, it’s a pleasure to get out of this getup every evening when I get home and slip into some sweats and a T-shirt. Why am I telling you all this?” He looked chagrined.
“Because that’s what you do with anonymous people,” Petra said softly. “People you meet in bars or on the train. You’d be surprised by some of the things people have told me without even knowing my name.”
“Speaking of which—” he began.
She cut him off. “Please don’t tell me your name. Nine times out of ten, you and I may never see each other again. I’m out of here sometime tomorrow or the next day, and I doubt you’re in Raleigh much, are you?”
“I’ve never been to Raleigh,” he admitted.
“Then let’s go with the first letter of our names, shall we?” she suggested. She offered him her hand. He took it. “I’m P.”
After she’d said that, she frowned. “On second thought I’d prefer using the first three letters of my name. Call me Pet.”
“I’m C,” he said. He looked deeply into her eyes after releasing her hand. “You’re doing something to me, Pet. I don’t know exactly what it is about you, but I would really like to get to know you better.”
“Maybe it’s because you want to see if my hair is real,” she joked. “Or if I have a good body underneath these layers of man-like clothing?”
“That could be it,” he said, grinning. “Or maybe I see in you a kindred spirit, and I would be remiss if I didn’t throw caution to the wind and get to know you better while I have the chance.”
“A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said emphatically. “And if you’re willing, I’d say let’s get out of here and go someplace more private. Someplace where I can, perhaps, see your ankles. A hundred years ago, I hear, men were quite turned on by women’s ankles. I think your look would have been very suitable back then.”
She gazed at him for several moments before saying, “All right.”
She got up and gestured to the bartender, preparing to pay for her drink. But C told her, “I’ve got it,” and gave the bartender a bill that covered the drink and also included a generous tip, judging by the delighted expression on the bartender’s face.
C offered her his arm in a gentlemanly fashion. She took it and they walked out of the bar together.
Petra smiled nervously up at him as they walked through the hotel. “Where are we going?”
“My apartment is only a few blocks away,” he said.
She thought it was better to go to his place than to her hotel room. But honestly, having never gone to someone’s apartment with them after a drink in a bar before, she didn’t know what the proper etiquette was, or if you could call it proper at all.
“Do you do this often?” she asked.
“I’ve never done it before,” he told her, and the expression on his face looked completely innocent.
“You’re a man and you’ve never picked up a woman in a bar before? How old are you?” She sounded skeptical.
“You’re a woman and you’ve never been picked up in a bar before?” he asked with a smug smile.
She laughed. “No, and I’m beginning to think this time is a mistake!”
“I’ll be thirty-one next month,” he said.
“I’m two years older than you,” she said accusingly, as if he’d had something to do with their age difference.
“I
t worked for Denzel and Pauletta Washington,” he joked. Which made her laugh.
She peered up at him. He was a good conversationalist and quick witted. Even if her experiment failed tonight, at the very least, she would be entertained.
Chapter 3
As Chance unlocked the door of his apartment, he wondered what kinds of fool his brother and sister would call him when they found out he’d brought a stranger home with him. And they would definitely find out because they were his confidants, as he was theirs.
This was so unlike him. Yeah, he might enjoy risky sports like mountain climbing and motocross, but when it came to women, he was careful. Extremely careful after two relationships—count ’em, two—that had ended when the women had revealed themselves as gold diggers.
He allowed Pet to precede him into the foyer, and then he closed the door and locked it. He shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it in the closet. He watched as Pet looked around her, a huge grin on her face. “You have a lovely place, C,” she said as she let him take her jacket and hang it next to his coat in the closet. She set her shoulder bag on the foyer table.
The apartment had been professionally decorated to his specifications. He wasn’t emotionally invested in it. It was simply a place to lay his head, to entertain in when the mood hit him.
He did like the sheer size of the apartment, though. And the tall, wide windows that let in a lot of light. The views were spectacular. It was on the twentieth floor, and he had a bird’s-eye view of the city.
Now, though, he just wanted to look at Pet. She stood there with her hands on her shapely hips, admiring the place, but with a total lack of covetousness in her eyes. He’d become accustomed to that avaricious manner of calculating how much everything cost. She seemed to like what she saw, but wasn’t ultimately interested in acquiring it for herself.
She glanced down at the highly polished hardwood floor. “This must be a beast to keep up,” she said. “You should pay your housekeeper double to do these.” She spun around. “This is a big place. You’re not married, are you?”
Love in New York ; Cherish My Heart Page 17
