by Alice Ward
And here I’d been expecting a goofy little dude with buckeeth and acne. I’d never been so happy to have been proven wrong. But at the same time, I felt a little shiver of inadequacy. He was perfection, on a cracker.
So perfect, I’d opened my mouth and the first thing that came out? The wrong name. I’d actually called him Chris.
At that moment, I’d wanted to hide under the table. No wonder I was still single.
But as perfect as this guy was, I still wanted to kill Leah. A gala? Seriously?
She could’ve mentioned that to me when I was nearly ripping my hair out trying to pick out an outfit. Not that I had anything gala-worthy. It occurred to me that maybe she didn’t know, since she’d been okay with my jeans and halter idea. Somewhere along the lines of communication, that crucial detail hadn’t made it to me.
I wracked my brain, trying to think whether I had anything suitable for a gala. The best I had was the skimpy black dress that was still hanging, tags and all, in my closet, never to see the light of day. “Where?’
“Well, as glorious as you are, you can’t wear that,” he said, pushing up from the booth, coming to his full height. He was over six feet of tuxedoed deliciousness.
I hesitated. This was supposed to be a few drinks. That was all. That was the safe thing. Sure, he didn’t look like a serial killer, but going anywhere else with him, alone… wasn’t that dangerous? And I didn’t trust men. Him just having a penis was enough to put me on guard in a massive way.
But there was just something about Zach. Maybe it was the cute way he’d worked around spilling the name of the killer in my book. Maybe it was that though he dressed like James Bond, he definitely had that boy-next-door crooked smile and sense of humor that had made Chris Pratt famous. So when he clamped his hand over mine, doing a sweet, circle thing with his thumb, all those fears went out the window.
“Come on. I insist,” he said in this sexy, deep voice that vibrated through my body.
I might as well have been on a leash.
He ushered me into the cool night air, and a long, dark car came speeding to the curb almost even before he lifted a hand. I followed, admiring from behind his broad shoulders, and the way his solid form filled out that tux. He was easily six-two, and wore the penguin digs comfortably, like he lived in that kind of dress. I felt dazed, like I’d somehow ventured onto the set of a movie, because he could easily have been a leading man.
“Even if you take me back home to Queens, I’m not sure I have anything that would be appropriate,” I admitted as we slid into the back of a car waiting for us. Whoa. Was this a Bentley?
He moved close to me, unnecessarily so, until our thighs were touching. Unnecessary, but definitely welcome. My insides shuddered with… something. Excitement. Pure, unbridled excitement.
“We’re not going to your home.” He pulled out a cell phone and started tapping the screen with his thumb. “I have a friend who owes me a favor.”
A favor. What could that mean? From what I’d discussed with Leah, this was supposed to be an hour, two tops, and then back to Hobbes, alone. Now, as we sped off toward who knows where, I shivered. I was entirely too content with the idea of going to a gala with him. I’d probably have been even more so, if only I’d been dressed appropriately.
I watched him as he spoke into the phone to someone named Joel. He was relaxed, confident, and oh yes, way better than any actor. I felt myself growing slightly moist between the legs, my nipples perking to attention as he turned toward me.
“So. The Met is really your favorite museum?”
I forced myself not to squirm in my seat. “Yes. But I thought I was too underdressed for that.”
“Not for long.” He smirked, his eyes running down my body again. Ordinarily, I’d have been annoyed, him mentally undressing me like that, but now, goose bumps popped out like crazy on the bare skin of my arms. “Though you look incredible as you are, I think the crowd we’ll be among will prefer you dressed like one of them.”
“One of them?”
“Rich and pretentious.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m neither of those things,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. My outfit was Macy’s, and until now, I’d thought that pretty top-of-the-line. Was this guy… rich? Leah hadn’t mentioned he was rolling, and that was something Leah wouldn’t normally leave out. She’d only said that he was a “successful businessman,” and that seemed like the understatement to end all understatements. I ran my eyes over him. He definitely fit the “rich” bill, and I supposed time would tell if he was pretentious too.
He pocketed his phone and checked his watch, a heavy-looking thing that must have cost more than my rent for the year. Sure, why check your phone for the time when you can flaunt a shiny thing with all those exposed gears?
Okay. Time told. Pretentious too. “We have time.”
“For?”
He gave me a sexy little wink. “Valentino.”
He couldn’t be serious. If I even walked past Valentino, my bank account suffered. No one shopped there unless they were nominated for an Oscar, or a trophy wife, or something. “I can’t afford that.”
“But I can.”
He was… going to buy me an outfit? From Valentino, no less? Okay. I tried not to gape. If I ended up dead in a ditch, I’d do it looking good. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I insist,” he said like he was just buying me a Starbucks coffee. He looked over the passenger headrest. “Traffic’s not bad. We should be there in a minute. They’re normally by appointment, but Joel made an exception for us, seeing how it’s an emergency.”
Emergency? Emergencies were children being swept up in monsoons. The rising problem of obesity in this country. An epidemic of poverty in third world countries. I’d never thought of my wardrobe as an emergency. This was definitely more of a first world problem. “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I own my own business. Well, it’s my family’s business, but I just assumed leadership after my father’s retirement.”
“What kind of business?” It must have been a major one, like Apple. Or Microsoft. Or Amazon. He was way too sexy to be a Bezos or a Gates.
“Vaughn Industries,” he said. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. He must have seen me struggling with it, because he added, “We make a variety of fast-moving consumer packaged goods that are available at an attractive price point for the average person. They’re sold in stores in every state and several countries.”
That didn’t help. Fast moving consumer packaged goods? Was that like… toilet paper?
When next he spoke, I expected him to ask the next logical question in this conversation, which was, of course, what I did for a living. But he didn’t. Maybe Leah had already told him? Maybe he didn’t care?
Instead, he went in a different direction. “Have you lived in the city long?”
I shook my head. “I’m a Jersey girl. Grew up over the river in Fort Lee. Only moved here after graduation. What about you?”
He grinned. “Born and bred on the Upper East Side.”
Definitely wealthy, which only made me more suspicious. Leah was definitely appreciative of money. She’d said her brother thought they weren’t compatible, but from what I could see, this guy was her everything… cute, rich, exceedingly charming. Sparks were going off all over me, I was surprised I didn’t burst into flames.
I pulled my phone from my purse and saw two messages. One from my mother: Got you a new VitaFab. Have you heard of them? Everyone’s trying them. They will help brighten your dull complexion.
I bit back a ragged moan. Like I really needed a reminder about my dull skin right now. My mom was a doctor at Sloane Kettering and not the warmest person on Earth. She never said that she missed me or loved me. Her way of saying she cared was just buying me health shit.
The other message was from Leah. That bastard.
For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about. A whirlwind of things had happened in the
half hour since I sent that text telling her that Mr. Chris Pratt hadn’t showed up. I quickly thumbed in: Thanks for telling me about the gala.
A moment later, ?? Gala?? appeared on my screen.
Before I had a chance to respond, we arrived in front of the towering glass windows of Valentino on Madison Avenue. I stepped out onto the curb and just stared at it. I never thought I’d go inside. The place looked dark and closed off, but when Zachary joined me on the sidewalk, a light clicked on, and the doors opened. A small man with a goatee and casual linen suit appeared.
“Hey, Joel,” Zachary said to the man. “Thanks for your help. You’ve got something for this one?”
I swiveled my head and realized he was pointing at me. This one. Ordinarily, I’d have been annoyed, but he was giving me this warm little grin that made me suddenly hot and bothered.
Joel scanned me, mentally sizing me up. He tapped his chin and spoke in a deep Jamaican accent. “I have more than a few somethings. This one will not be a challenge for my skills, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Well, you are the most talented stylist in Manhattan,” he said as Joel held the door open and let us pass through.
I found myself in a place that was nothing like where I normally shopped. In my world, shopping was going through rack after rack, stuffed with all sizes and styles, then shoving into a closet-sized fitting room that smelled like BO, with lighting that made you look like the undead.
In strong contrast, this entire place gleamed, with black and white floors, mirrored walls, and tables scattered about in some random pattern that must have been artfully planned. Purses lined the wall, looking more like artwork than anything functional. Shoes. Sunglasses. Scarves. There were a few bald mannequins in the window, dressed in the most exquisite gowns I’d ever seen, but not a single rack anywhere. The entire inventory of the store looked like twelve pieces, tops.
I desperately wanted to seek out a price tag, but I knew it’d probably give me a coronary.
Joel strode to the back of the long, narrow room, his pale brown loafers click-clacking on the floor. He whirled dramatically and hooked a finger in my direction. “What is your name, lovely flower?”
Lovely flower? “Um. You can just call me Jule, most people do.”
“Ah, indeed, you’re a precious jewel,” he said, winking as I traversed the room, looking wide-eyed at Zachary.
I rolled my eyes. As if I hadn’t heard that one before.
Zach just shrugged and picked up a pair of sunglasses, then set them down without much interest. When I reached Joel, I looked to the side and saw a large mirrored room with a dais, not unlike a fitting room at a bridal shop.
I hesitated. “Where are the dresses?”
He shook his head and nudged me toward a door. “My job is to find the dresses for you. Your job is to put them on. Understand?”
I nodded, opened the door, and stepped inside.
He gave me an appraising head to toe examination. “Size two.”
It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded. “Yes.”
“And size seven shoes.”
I grinned. “You’re a genius.”
He grinned back, his gleaming white teeth a strong contrast against his dark skin. “Only the best for one so beautiful.”
He probably said that to every single one of his clients, but it didn’t stop me from practically beaming under the compliment.
Zachary cleared his throat, and I whirled in time to see him slide into a seat in the outside room. He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Joel, this isn’t a fashion show. We have someplace to be. Bring out your best guns first.”
He waved a hand at Zachary. “You shush! You disturb my Friday night, give me this precious jewel, and you don’t let me have any fun!”
He disappeared. Zachary leaned back, arms over the back of the wide seat, fingers linked behind his head, legs crossed in front of him. He looked like he owned the damn bench the way he probably owned this city.
His emerald eyes were on me, appraising me in a hot and heavy way that rivaled what good sexual intercourse must feel like as he called, “Shoes. Jewelry. The whole works.” He checked his watch. “We should be there by now.”
I pursed my lips. Well, maybe you could’ve been a little clearer to Leah about the gala directive.
A moment later, Joel returned with a red dress on his arm.
I stared at it, clenching my teeth. Red. I never wore red. Especially not stoplight red. I had pale skin and thought it brought out the pink tones in it far too much.
“Don’t you have anything in a muted cream?” I asked him hopefully. Cream was timeless. Understated. Hide-in-the-corner.
“Not for my beautiful jewel,” he said. “Your face. Your curves. Your skin coloring. It says red. It says notice me. Like a glorious ruby. And that is final.”
Those body parts may have said red, but every cell in my brain was chanting “cream.” I glanced at the dress as he placed it on the hook in front of me, aware of Zachary’s eyes on me. God, that look was a panty-dropper for sure.
“If you insist,” I said, closing the door.
I pulled off my clothes, urging myself not to drop my panties, as I stared at the dress hanging on the wall. It was slinky, with thin straps the only thing holding the entire thing together. I took off my bra and lifted the dress off the hanger, searching through layers of gauzy fabric for a price tag. I found one and nearly gagged.
It was twenty-one thousand dollars.
Yes, it was heavy, obviously good quality. But twenty-one thousand dollars? I could’ve probably bought my own car for that. This was something I’d wear for a few hours. I hoped they had a generous return policy.
I lifted it over my body, hoping hard that I didn’t pull the gauzy fabric or do anything to ruin it. When I slipped it on, I stared at myself in the mirror. It emphasized my waist and had a daring, plunging neckline that showed off more cleavage than I was used to. But damn, that Joel knew what he was doing. I never thought a dress could make me look this good.
I stepped into the delicate, strappy silver heels and opened the door. I hovered there, wondering how I was supposed to walk in the thing.
“Come out, come out,” Joel coaxed, ushering me forward.
I bopped out, taking mini-steps since the dress was a bit constricting around the knees. I had to get used to it. Runway model, I was not. He guided me to the podium in the middle of the room, and I was soon standing in front of a wall of mirrors.
“That’s it,” Zachary said immediately, his eyes never leaving mine. “Put it on my charge.”
“No. No. It’s too expensive,” I protested weakly and touched the tag. “Did you—”
“No.” His voice held total authority. He was staring at my body in an intense, powerful way that said, I must have what’s in front of me, and I knew nothing would make him change his mind. It might have made me uncomfortable if I wasn’t already taken by him.
Wait. Was I taken by him?
Yeah, I’d say. I’d already been taken from Tribeca to the Upper East Side. And I knew we weren’t close to being done yet.
No, I wanted to be taken in a whole other way, starting with his mouth on mine. Since the minute I met him, I’d thought about it.
I wanted to put my whole mouth on his in a way that was more than a kiss, with my whole body, arms and hands and tongue. Definitely tongue, which was surprising since most of my experience with French kisses had been moderately gross.
The more I thought about it, the more astonished I was that I’d succumbed to this. I was usually wary of guys. It took me a long time to feel comfortable. In fact, I’d never had a man have such an effect on me. I didn’t know what it was about Mr. Zachary Vaughn. I wasn’t comfortable, but I felt deliciously on edge. Maybe it was that he liked to read. Or the way his hand felt on mine, warm and gently guiding me. Or how those liquid emerald eyes burned my skin as they roamed over my body like it was the only one he wanted in this world.
No one had ever looked at me
that way.
Whatever it was, I knew it like I knew my own name: I was definitely under his command.
Enough to go from drinks to a gala, to… whatever else.
He came up behind me and put his hands on my bare shoulders. When he lifted my blonde hair off the nape of my neck, I trembled. His breath was warm and inviting, his smell manly and intoxicating as he whispered in my ear, “No jewelry. You’re already the most exquisite jewel, Jule.”
And I melted, right there.
The urge to kiss him? It became an obsession.
CHAPTER SIX
Zachary
It was a nice spring night in mid-May, warm but not hot, so we walked to the Met by way of Central Park, taking a nice long, circuitous route. There was just a tiny chill in the air, and I hadn’t bought her a wrap, which turned out to be a lucky thing because I used it as my excuse to keep my Jewel as close to me as possible, feeling the soft curves of her hip and breast against my body.
She eagerly conformed to my side, pressing herself against me as I walked, and it thrilled me unlike anything else. I couldn’t deny the attraction I’d felt for her at Terra, but now, seeing her in that dress, it had damn near skyrocketed. She was phenomenally sexy, her round, heavy breasts pressed together in the center of a plunging V, nipples poking through the sheer red fabric. I could wrap my hands in a belt around her small waist, but I settled with keeping my hand on the small of her back, where the dress plunged so dangerously low you could nearly see the crack of her ass. Her shoulder blades were bare save for a few thin straps, her body begging to be touched and explored. The dress was fucking sinful. Sinful, and almost too much for me to stand. My cock was stiff in my trousers, begging for her attention.
I couldn’t wait to get this gala over with.
“You wear that dress well,” I whispered to her as we walked past the Alice in Wonderland statue.
“Anyone would,” she remarked. “For a dress this expensive, I’d expect magical powers. It should be able to make a troll look like a princess.”
