by Sarah Morgan
She would have liked to discover a few more of his secrets. Especially the physical ones. She would have liked to examine every inch of his muscular body close-up.
Lara would have stopped the elevator and had sex with him right there and then, but she wasn’t Lara. Unfortunately.
“How well do you know this building?” He glanced at his watch. “I need to find a discreet exit.”
“What’s wrong with the front entrance?”
“I’m hiding, too, remember?” The smile reached his eyes. “I don’t want people to see me leave.”
She wondered whom he was avoiding. Women, no doubt. Probably hoards of them. He was sexy enough to be fighting them off, and if he’d been a guest at the party, then no doubt he was also wealthy, or at least heading that way.
Matilda, who had a whole bunch of people she never wanted to meet again, Cynthia included, sympathized. “There is another exit. Down to the basement, left out of the elevators, walk behind the—”
“Show me.”
“Er—me?”
“You’re the one who knows where it is. Makes sense, don’t you think?”
“I guess so.” Being caught creeping out of the emergency exit with one of the guests would be the final straw, but she’d already been fired, so what else could they do?
The doors opened and they both stepped forward at the same time.
The faint smell of aftershave mingled with the scent of soap and sexy man. Drugged by that delicious combination Matilda paused, absorbing the moment with all her senses so she could write about it later. She wanted to press her face against his chest and breathe him in.
Lara would have ripped off his shirt and licked him all over. And not because she was hoping to lap up a few stray drops of champagne.
The man paused, his powerful frame preventing the elevator doors from closing. “After you—”
Old-fashioned chivalry was so underrated, Matilda thought. She slid past him, wondering if he were equally chivalrous in bed. Not that she was an expert, but she was willing to bet this man never let a woman walk away unsatisfied.
She glanced at him and her gaze grazed his.
Heat uncurled deep inside her, and every nerve and muscle tingled with awareness. Still he stared at her until her knees became as liquid as ice cream left too long in the hot sun.
Shaken, she turned and walked through the basement, following pipes until she saw the set of steps that led to street level.
She reached for the door, fumbling, and he reached past her and pushed it open with the flat of his hand.
His body brushed against hers, and Matilda closed her eyes briefly.
She felt hard, unyielding biceps and knew that beneath that jacket was a power-packed body, honed to the extremes of physical fitness.
It was barely a touch, and yet enough to render her immobile. She stood, hardly breathing. She might have stayed frozen to the spot forever if he hadn’t gently nudged her through the door.
“How did you discover this exit?”
It was the entrance used by staff, but she didn’t want to tell him that. “It’s part of my job to know all the exits.”
“So you work in security?”
Security. Matilda smiled to herself. That sounded glamorous. She could be FBI, or CIA or—something. She could be Black Ops. Well, maybe that was taking it a little far given that she hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a tray of drinks for months. Covert—no, she definitely wasn’t capable of anything remotely covert. She’d trip and land in the lap of the enemy. “I can’t tell you.”
His eyes gleamed. “Or you’d have to kill me?”
“Something like that.”
No way was she going to tell him the truth about her job. It might not kill him, but it would definitely kill the moment and she didn’t want to do that. Maintaining tension was her job. Her writing job. Unfortunately writing was now her only job, which was a shame, because it didn’t pay her anything.
“So you’re a woman of mystery.”
Matilda opened her mouth to correct him and then closed it again.
Why shouldn’t she be a woman of mystery for a moment or two? It wasn’t as if she was ever going to see him again.
“I can’t discuss my job.” It wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t discuss her job. Mainly because her job had only recently drowned in a puddle of very expensive champagne.
The street outside was alive with people. This close to Broadway there was no peace to be found. People merged together in a blur of color and sound; mostly tourists, because locals knew better than to frequent the area around Times Square. The numbers would increase as summer progressed, until walking became almost impossible in the square itself.
Matilda stepped over litter and dodged a couple locked in a tight embrace. She watched them curiously, the way she watched everyone, hyperaware of the man by her side.
“I don’t recognize this entrance. Which direction is Central Park?”
“Make a right at the end, and then go straight and keep walking.”
He paused and turned to look at her. “Come with me.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “That way I won’t get lost.” The way he was looking at her made her feel as if all her clothes might melt from her body and puddle on the floor.
“You don’t live in New York?”
“I do live in New York. I don’t often get to walk.”
“No? I walk all the time.” Mostly because she couldn’t afford public transport.
“Which makes you the perfect person to show me the way.”
She wondered if she’d misunderstood. “You want me to take you to Central Park?”
“Why not?”
There were a million reasons. For a start, he was a stranger. Matilda knew better than to go walking in Central Park with a stranger. Matilda would make the safe, sensible choice, say no and go home to her one-room apartment that rattled and shook every time a train passed. She’d sit on her own, drink her sad little Cup-a-Soup and contemplate how she was going to support herself now that she’d lost her job.
That was Matilda’s life, but she was tired of being Matilda. Right now, being Matilda sucked.
There was a long, pulsing silence while she hovered between reality and fiction.
A champagne-soaked curl wafted in front of her eyes and he lifted a hand and gently pushed it back.
His touch was electric. Sensation shot through her, so sharp she almost gasped.
“I think that sounds like a great idea.” The words fell out of her mouth, and his mouth curved into a sexy smile that sent ripples of heat through her body.
“In that case we should at least perform basic introductions. I’m—” He hesitated briefly and then held out his hand. “Alex.”
Alex, she thought. It was a good strong name. Maybe she should change her hero’s name to Alex. At the moment he was Charles, but she was beginning to think that didn’t fit her character.
She imagined Lara murmuring “Alex” as she kissed her way down his ripped, muscular frame.
“Alex—”
“That’s right. And now it’s your turn.”
Distracted, Matilda stared at him. Her turn? Her turn to do what?
He raised an eyebrow in silent question and she realized he was waiting for her to tell him her name, not do unspeakable things to his body.
Silence throbbed around them. She felt the strength of his hand on hers and her heart thudded against her ribs like the drum in an orchestra.
I’m Matilda.
Matilda.
Matilda.
“Lara,” she said huskily. “My name is Lara. Lara Striker.” Kick-ass heroine and all-around bad girl. “Pleased to meet you.”
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS SO unusual not to be recognized, especially when leaving one of his own events, that for a moment Chase wondered if she was playing an elaborate game, but experience had taught him to spot a fake and one glance at her face told him that she really didn’t recognize him.
&nb
sp; She’d been at his party and yet she didn’t know who he was? He was intrigued, then disgusted with himself.
Was that what this life had done to him? Was he really so full of his own self-importance that he thought everyone should know who he was? He shook his head, weary, disillusioned and at the same time relieved that she didn’t recognize him.
There would be no conversation about investments, no pushing him for his predictions about the property market and building costs. Just a genuine interaction between two people with no hidden agenda.
It was such a refreshing situation he hardly knew what to do with it.
“So, Lara, why did you leave the party? Were you bored? Was the food terrible? Or was it simply that you’d been showered by champagne?” He saw her hesitate. “You can be honest. I left, too, remember?”
Her gaze slid from his. “It didn’t really work out for me.”
“Why not? You were hoping to meet someone?”
“I was hoping to meet Chase Adams, but he wasn’t there.
Which is odd. What sort of man doesn’t show up to his own party?”
Chase stilled.
The news that she had, after all, hoped to meet him resurrected all the barriers he’d briefly lowered. His first impression had been that she was nothing like the other people at the party.
Turned out he was wrong.
“Why did you want to meet Chase?” His tone was several degrees cooler, and she glanced at him.
“Are you surprised?”
“Not at all. Plenty of people want to meet Chase Adams. That was the sole objective for most of the people there tonight.”
“You disapprove?”
“You don’t seem like his type.” He saw color streak across her cheeks.
“You do disapprove. But before you freeze me to death with that look, which, by the way, is pretty intimidating, you should know that my only interest in Chase was as a means to approach his brother.”
“His brother?” He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d stripped naked and danced in Times Square. “Why would you be interested in his brother?”
She kept her eyes straight ahead. “To tell you that, I’d have to tell you my deep, innermost secret and I’ve only known you for five minutes.”
“It has been at least ten minutes. Tell me your deep, innermost secret.”
“Do you always get your own way?”
“Always.”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“I promise not to laugh.”
“All right, but you also have to promise not to tell a soul.”
“I promise.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m a writer.” The words tumbled out. “I mean, I’m not published exactly, yet, but I want to be and Chase’s brother owns an independent publishing house and one of his imprints is exactly right for my current story.”
Chase stopped walking. “You’ve written a book?”
“I’ve written several books, but this one is my best yet.”
She’d written a book. She’d wanted to meet him so that she could access his brother. Chase had been prepared to hear any number of reasons, but that one hadn’t been on the list.
He didn’t even realize he was laughing until he saw her glaring at him.
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing at you. Just the situation.”
“There is nothing funny about pursuing a dream.”
“No.” All desire to laugh faded. Once, he’d pursued a dream, but it had been eclipsed by reality and he’d let it die. “So why don’t you just email it to them?”
“They don’t look at unagented submissions, but I know without a doubt that my story is right for them. I desperately want them to read it.”
“Why not publish it digitally?”
“Because they have the ability to put it on the shelves across the US, and that’s what I want. I want everyone to see it. That’s my dream.”
He’d known her for less than an hour but she’d trusted him with her dream. How many other people of his acquaintance would have shared something so personal with him?
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Chase isn’t close to his brother.”
“You know Chase Adams personally?” Her eyes were wide and hopeful. “Tell me about him. I’ve heard the rumors, of course, that he’s a ruthless moneymaking machine with no heart or soul, but I can’t believe he isn’t even close to his brother. That’s sad.”
Chase thought about his brother and something stirred inside him. “It is sad.”
“You’re not disagreeing that he’s a ruthless moneymaking machine? You don’t like him?”
How was he supposed to answer that? “There are times when I dislike him. Times when I think he has lost his way.”
“And yet you went to his party and drank his champagne.” The disapproval in her tone made him smile.
“You think all the people there were drinking his champagne because they liked him? You think that’s why they showed up?”
“No, I suppose not. I’m not an expert, but it seemed to be mostly fake smiles and schmoozing.”
It was a perfect description. “And yet you were there. Schmoozing.”
“I wouldn’t exactly describe what I was doing as schmoozing.” Color bloomed in her cheeks, as if he’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “And I left.”
“Without tasting the champagne?”
She gave a gurgle of laughter. “Without tasting the champagne. You?”
“Same.”
“So neither of us has reason to feel guilty. We didn’t cost Chase Adams a single cent. So why were you there?”
“Business.”
“But you escaped early, which suggests you didn’t really want to be there, either.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “How long have you known him?”
“Chase?” This was the first time in his life he’d had a conversation about himself. “Forever. We grew up together.” It was easier to keep the lie as close to the truth as possible.
“You knew him before he made his millions? What was he like?”
Chase thought back to the person he’d been then. “He was like everybody else. A boy with hopes and dreams.”
“Has he changed a lot?”
Chase stared down at her, thinking about his life. “Yes. He has changed. There are days when I don’t know him at all.” Why the hell had he allowed himself to be drawn into this conversation? He was about to end it when he felt the gentle touch of her hand on his arm.
“Talking about it makes you sad. You miss the old Chase. It’s hard to lose someone you love from your life, I know.” A shadow crossed her face, and then she smiled. “So where do you think Chase was tonight? I have a few theories, but I’d like to hear yours.”
He wanted to know whom she’d lost. He wanted to know the reason for the shadow in her eyes. “Tell me your theories.”
She glanced around to check no one was within earshot and leaned a little closer.
He felt the warmth of her breath and the whisper of her hair against his cheek.
“I think he was behind a door somewhere, having wild, hot, breathless, mind-blowing sex with a gorgeous woman he met five minutes earlier. And he didn’t even know her name.” Her eyelashes lowered, partially shielding the wicked gleam in her eyes. Heat rushed through his body. Disorientated, he tried to center himself. A moment ago she’d been as fresh and wholesome as a girl from the country, and suddenly she was talking dirty in a voice that was smoky soft seduction, and as for those eyes—
Who the hell was she? He wished he’d paid more attention to the guest list.
Stunned by the force of his own response, Chase eased away from her. “Why would you think that?”
“I’m told he’s insanely good-looking, he has a reputation with women and he was absent. There were some beautiful women there. He’s a man who appreciates beautiful women. It’s the only explanation in my opinion.” Her creamy cheeks d
impled into a smile. “What do you think?”
Chase thought that if there was a suitable door around he might well be tempted to take her behind it and act out the scenario she’d just described. Either way, her suggestion of his evening sounded a great deal more interesting than the evening he’d actually had.
“Chase is a planner. A strategist. He doesn’t act on impulse.”
“Not in his work, I’m sure. Even I can see that you’re not going to make a gazillion dollars by acting on impulse, but in relationships?” She pondered, her head tilted to one side. “A man like that would have the confidence to take risks.”
“Unless all the women around him are exactly like him. Planners, strategists, with their eye on the money.”
“You think women sleep with him just for his money? Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “But a man like that would be smart enough to spot the fake from something real, so there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Unless he’d never met real.” Chase dropped his eyes to her mouth. “Then he’d have a problem.”
She smiled up at him. “In that case I feel sorry for him. Suddenly I’m not so envious of his lifestyle.”
“Are you envious?”
She shrugged. “It would be nice not to have to worry about where the rent is coming from. It would be nice to be free to make choices. But at least I’m never going to wonder if someone is with me for my money.”
They’d reached the main street and paused, confronted by the flow of pedestrians and traffic. Realizing how easy it would be for him to be spotted, Chase shrugged out of his jacket.
Her smile was amused. “Was that supposed to make you less conspicuous? Because you still look like someone worth mugging.”
“I’m with you and you work in security.” He knew she didn’t work in security, and it intrigued him that she wouldn’t tell him what she did. Most of the people he met couldn’t wait to tell him their job title. His circle never widened. Everyone he met knew who he was.
Except her.
“What was your reason for leaving the party?” She pulled the pin out of her hair and it tumbled, dark and luxurious, past her narrow shoulders as wild and curly as if she’d been caught in a storm. He wanted to sink his hands into it, feel its softness as he held her still for his kiss.
