by Wendy Byrne
Most wanted to tear it down and start over. But as soon as he walked inside the vacant structure, visions of how he’d construct the units by utilizing the current framework popped into his head. With high ceilings, exposed brick and ductwork, the structure was a natural for loft-style dwellings. More importantly, he intended to move into one of the two penthouse lofts himself. Immediately after touring the property, he drew up drawings and put in his bid, confident it was a done deal.
Cyrus Whitaker, who had never seemed interested in the building—it had been empty for years—had outmaneuvered him at the last minute, meaning someone in City Planning had tipped him off. Again.
He’d heard rumors Whitaker had inspectors in his hip pocket and on speed-dial to jump when he said jump. And kept getting away with it without repercussions.
Luke had spent his childhood as the underdog—the kid from the wrong side of the tracks who could never hang with the big dogs. He’d be damned if he let this guy put him back in a spot he’d already clawed his way out of.
When the server delivered the drinks he’d ordered, he moved Grace’s phone to make room. The screen popped on, showing some kind of list she must have written. More curious than anything, he scanned the note. TSD criteria: SOAS—a perfect ten, good dancer, amazing kisser, chick flicks, manscaping. Weird how she’d asked him about some of those things when they’d met. Was it some kind of test she’d developed?
His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted Grace walking across the floor. Immediately, his dick perked up. Again.
Damn. She was beautiful. And he’d really enjoyed dancing with her. Her steps were smooth, practiced, and he loved how she naturally molded to his body.
“Hooked up with your friends, I see.” He pulled out her chair and pushed in her seat. “I ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate new beginnings.” Maybe this was a little over-the-top and cheesy, but she couldn’t keep drinking martinis and be of any help to him. He’d done his homework and knew she preferred the bubbly stuff.
“How did you…” She broke off and sucked in her bottom lip. “One more chocolate martini, and I would probably have done a striptease on the dance floor.”
He chuckled and pretended to signal the server. “I’ll change the order back, then. That would give people something to talk about.”
“Sometimes a gal needs to let loose.”
“Tough day at work? I don’t think you told me what you did for a living.” He wondered how much she’d divulge.
“You were too busy seducing me to ask.” He couldn’t help but notice her eyes sparkled when she spoke.
“A guy’s gotta have some game.”
She smirked. “So does a gal.”
“Touché.” He clinked glasses with her. “I’ll guess what you do for a living.” He drew a sip of the champagne—even though he hated the taste of it. “At first I thought you might be a model, but then figured you were a shade too short. Then I went on to suspect professional dancer, but eliminated that possibility pretty quickly.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I couldn’t see you being satisfied with something that short-lived in terms of a career. Although you enjoy the arts, you crave a little more substance to your line of work.” He brushed her fingertips with his to inch up the intimacy factor. “How am I doing so far?”
“Not bad. What’s your next theory?”
He tried not to focus on the smooth lines of her throat and the delicate bone structure of her shoulders that filtered down to the V-neck of her teal cashmere sweater that highlighted the blueness of her eyes. “I moved onto attorney, but I can’t see you in one of those stuffy offices doing corporate work for some schmucks in suits.”
“I find your analysis fascinating, but inaccurate.”
“Ah, see that’s where I veered off into uncharted territory and decided you were in the financial industry, maybe working as a hedge fund manager for the Wall Street crowd. I can see you delegating to a group of people—with a pair of reading glasses perched on that cute little nose of yours—talking about mergers and profits and losses. All while wearing one of those silky T-shirts and a tight fitting skirt. Then again, maybe that’s my fantasy.”
She barked a laugh. “You have an active imagination, even if you aren’t too far from the truth, except for the attire that is.” After she finished off her glass, she continued. “I’m a business consultant and advise people on mergers and acquisitions. I mostly work from my home office, so sweats and T-shirts are the norm, except when I meet with clients.” She patted his hand. “Instead of this guessing game, how about if you and I work off some of these calories and hit the dance floor?”
“Hell yeah.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “SOAS—Sex on a stick.”
She turned her head and glanced in his direction. He couldn’t help but notice her great smile. “How did you know?”
“I figured it out as soon as your friend said it, but wanted to play dumb for a while. I’ll take it as a compliment, but won’t let it go to my head. I get the feeling I can’t get away with much with you.”
“You’ve got that right.” She linked her arm in his.
Where he planned on taking this and how far he could go remained to be seen—he was making this up as he went along since he entered unchartered territory. Never had he gotten up close and personal with somebody he was bringing down.
It sure as hell didn’t make him waver from his commitment to get the goods on her father.
Chapter Three
Grace figured she needed to gain a little perspective after nearly two hours of what could only be described as Seduction 101. A little relief from Luke’s sexy dance moves would give her some time to regain her focus.
He rested his hand along her waist as they strolled out of the bar. “You hungry?” His lips brushed against her ear when he spoke, causing shivers to roll down her nape.
She shook her head. “Do you mind if we walk for a bit?” Inviting him to her place would give him the wrong idea…but maybe she wanted to break away from her conservative shell and take a walk on the wild side for once.
“Not at all. It’s a beautiful night.” He grasped her hand.
As usual, Manhattan was abuzz with activity, even at this late hour. Sounds of music filtered through the air intermingling with the vendors selling everything from roasted chestnuts to I Love New York T-shirts.
“When I was younger, my favorite thing to do with my mom was going to the markets in Chelsea and Hell’s Kitchen on the weekends looking for antiques, especially in the fall and at Christmas time. Every time the vendors break out the roasted chestnuts,” she pointed to one on the corner, “I think of that.”
“I’ve never had them.” He tugged her toward the vendor and purchased a bag. “How does this work?”
She held out her hand. “All you have to do is pull back the shell and enjoy.”
“Is it just me or do chestnuts have a weird sexual look about them?” He waggled his eyebrows.
She shook her head and laughed as she dug out the chestnut between the shells. “Men. Always thinking about sex.” She popped it into his mouth before retrieving one for herself.
“Hmmm. These are pretty damn good.” He looped his arm around her shoulder and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Thanks for deflowering me of that nasty roasted-chestnut virginity issue.”
She snorted. “I’m here for you and won’t say a word. The last thing you want is to be scandalized on Page Six.”
“Fate worse than death from what I hear.”
“Both my parents have been victims of that gossip mill. How about you?” Yep, she was fishing because he seemed to parcel out information about himself in small little dribs and drabs.
“I didn’t grow up around here.”
“Where did you live? New Jersey? Connecticut?”
He shook his head. “Everywhere. I counted one time and came up with ten different schools.” While he grinned as if it hadn’t fazed him, he’d lost a bit of
that mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Always being the new kid had to suck.” She scooted in closer to him.
“Adolescent boys are big on having to prove themselves. Got into more than my fair share of scuffles along the way.”
“Except for college and grad school, the only place I’ve ever lived is Manhattan. While it has lost a little of the magic over the years, and holidays bring about more stress than anticipation, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Most holidays I call it a day and order Chinese.”
“Me, too.” They’d been walking for a while and were nearly in front of her townhome, but she didn’t want the night to end. “Do you want to come up for coffee to go with those chestnuts?”
His gaze shifted from the front steps to the top of her century old home. “You live here?”
“I know a hip woman like me should be in Chelsea or Tribeca, but…” She shrugged. “It’s a long story.” She walked up the steps, with him following closely behind.
“Sounds interesting.”
Once inside, he closed the door behind them and placed his hands on either side of her head. “I like you, Grace Wilson I think you should do yourself a favor and get to know me better.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh really? And what exactly does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Agree to go on a date with me.”
“I’m not sure about that. I barely know you.”
“Isn’t that what dating is about—getting to know someone? You do see the irony in asking me into your home, but reluctant to go on a date, right?”
“Sometimes I’m a mix of contradictions.” When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he bent his head to kiss her. While he’d kissed her before on the street, this was so much more—a no-holds-barred takeover of her mouth—and quite possibly her senses.
“If this is your idea of getting to know me, I like it.” He nuzzled her neck.
She pulled back so she could see his reaction when she said, “Take off your shirt.”
His eyebrows rose as a slow but lethal smile spread across his face. A smoldering gaze roamed her body, leaving her breathless.
Part of her wondered what she’d been thinking being so brazen; the other part wanted to give herself a big high five for taking the initiative. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t have indulged in the chocolate martinis followed by several glasses of champagne if this was the result. Never in her life had she ever done anything so daring, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. While she might rationalize it had to do with her new series of tests, curiosity drove her to wonder. Would he? Wouldn’t he?
Even as he began to unbutton, he eyed her with a mischievous look that spoke volumes about the potential for trouble. Still, she couldn’t make herself back off from the challenge she’d laid down for all prospective new lovers—she was in control.
“Is this some kind of game? ’Cause if it is, I think you should play as well.” His gaze raked her over in a sweep so potent if felt like he was actually touching her.
Hell, she’d had guys engage in naked foreplay with her and not move the needle on her hormone barometer. All this guy had to do was look at her and her body stood at attention—everything went on red alert.
She needed to refocus and take advantage of the situation presented to her.
“Not a game, just intrigued.”
“Does it count if I’m interested in what’s underneath your sweater, too?” He reached to lift the hem of her cashmere, but she shooed him away, even though part of her wanted to go all-in on this game of poker.
But even with her new mindset, it was impossible to stop her inner good girl from rearing her head. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact she wanted to prolong the suspense of the unknown.
His shoulders rippled as he drew his shirt off like he was a headliner in Magic Mike. Her heartbeat drummed while her breath quickened. Suddenly, she couldn’t keep her focus off of him if her life depended on it, even while knowing this whole thing might be a train wreck.
She resisted the urge to fan herself, while a flush rose from her neck and she closed her eyes to gather some sorely needed self-control.
Concentrate on the imperfections. But she spotted nothing to mar the flawlessness. A light sprinkling of hair added definition to his chest. His rock-solid biceps and forearms proved time well spent in the gym.
Her gaze trailed past his rib cage to an amazing six-pack highlighted by the low-slung fit of his jeans. Despite the magnificence of maleness before her, she couldn’t help but be drawn to a scar on his chest near his heart. Instinctively, she traced the path with her fingertip, feeling the ridges of skin that formed bumps. It didn’t have the preciseness of a surgical scar, but more jagged like from a knife. “How did that happen?”
“A long, boring story not worth repeating.” His eyes fluttered closed, and he avoided eye contact.
She should be concentrating on superficial issues, but thoughts of what had happened to him flitted through her brain anyway. She forced herself to focus on her objective—it was all about her. And what felt good to her.
The urge to draw him into a kiss was nearly overpowering. A war raged inside her head as the consultant in her fast-forwarded through the risks and complications of taking the next step. She always hated the side of her brain that relied on logic and weighed every decision she made. Sometimes she wanted to shut it off and enjoy the moment.
Instead of following logic, she did what the devil on her shoulder prodded her to do and twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. He responded with masterful expertise as a whisper of his tongue slid against her lips followed by a slow but steady takeover of her mouth.
Fireworks lit up inside her. Every inch of her skin felt the call of what he offered at a level and intensity that remained indecipherable.
She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she wrapped her legs around his waist while he kissed her until she thought she might pass out from pure pleasure. Part of her wanted to give in to the lure of what his aroused body was proposing, the other part—the logical side—cautioned against getting enveloped in a hormone-driven flight of fancy. While bracing her thighs with his forearms, he walked forward until her back hit the wall.
Even while she wanted to come up for air and gain much needed perspective, at the same time she didn’t want to separate her lips from his. She still didn’t quite know what to make of Luke—it was almost as if he knew what she wanted through some kind of telepathic communication.
Her leather skirt had ridden high enough to reveal the wisp of a thong she wore underneath.
His fingers trailed along her torso then readjusted her position so that his thigh slid between her open legs. The nature of the denim was an equal mix of soft and hard, simultaneously providing amazing stimulation to parts of her anatomy in sore need of attention.
Nothing could have prepared her for the quickness of her pulse, the unbearable need driving through her. This wasn’t the sensible Grace who reasoned out every decision with precision.
But still, it felt so damn good she didn’t want to quit.
…
What the holy fuck was wrong with him? No matter how much he wanted to nail Cyrus, he needed to do it as ethically as possible—no way he’d sink to the man’s level. Maybe Grace was rich, maybe she felt entitled, still he needed to keep this light. Get what he needed then get out.
He had two words for his brain—manscaped. The idea of having hot wax anywhere near his junk should be enough to get his little brain to settle down and fly right.
Didn’t work.
Luke couldn’t separate his tongue from inside her mouth or his hands from her ass. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in a very long time.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that she was untouchable—the forbidden fruit analogy. Getting intimately involved with this woman could torpedo everything he’d planned.
It took willpower he didn’t know he had to push away from h
er. “This probably isn’t such a great idea. We’ve imbibed way too much champagne and aphrodisiac-laden roasted chestnuts to be clear headed about this.”
Her lips were swollen. He’d inadvertently given her a hickey on her nape. Her nipples were standing at attention beneath her sweater, and he could still feel the imprint on his hands of her nicely rounded butt cheeks.
Getting under control while his body pounded full steam ahead, primed for action, required a kind of restraint he couldn’t quite master. All he wanted was for her to press those amazing breasts against his chest. The tenuousness of his self-control wouldn’t require much to break.
Visualizing hot wax being spread over sensitive organs only to be ripped off didn’t make a dent. He drew in a deep breath and willed his dick to stand down. But it wasn’t having any of that bullshit. It wanted her. Right here. Right now. Against the wall. On the couch. In the bed. His dick had no preference except to be inside her as quickly as possible.
She stared at him as if a war was going on inside her as well. Finally, thankfully, she withdrew her hands from his shoulders. He took a step back.
“One too many chocolate martinis must have gone to my head.” She gave him an endearing smile.
Damn it. Being a slimy, low-down, partner-in-crime with her father should preclude her from being able to look so fuckin’ innocent.
“And I got a little carried away.” Or a lot. Getting up close and personal with her wouldn’t help him get the job done.
She wiggled her butt to get her skirt to shimmy into place. Not that he noticed. But his dick sure did.
After her skirt returned to position, she paced back and forth in the opulent living room in her eighteenth-century townhome. “Normally, I don’t take random men home with me like that. But I…”
“I was impossible to resist. I get that all the time,” he teased. “But I’ve got to confess I left a little bit of a mark.” When he touched the sensitive skin of her neck, he felt her tremble.
