by Dark Angel
I look at him do it and I feel my heart tightening up as I watch his abs glisten from my ruined mojito, beads of it dripping down between his perfect squares of muscle. Now that I’m this close to him, I realize that he doesn’t have a six-pack - nope, he has an eight pack. Forget about him being a heartbreaker - with looks like this, he’s probably ruining more than just women’s hearts.
“You’re making it worse,” I laugh as I watch him try to swat the alcohol away from his abs. Stealing a cloth from the other side of the counter, I reach toward him and brush the fabric over his stomach, feeling the bumps and grooves of his abs. He lets me do it, and I clean him as slowly as I can. If you’re wondering, yeah - I’m probably enjoying this more than I should. But it’s all part of the way I’ll ensnare him, so don’t worry about it.
“Thank you,” he says as I throw the now soaked cloth back over the counter. “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here.”
“Caralyn. But you can call me Cara,” I reply, offering him my hand. He takes it in his, his fingertips brushing against the inside of my wrist. God, his hands are big.
“Liam,” he tells me with a smile, and I have to force myself to take my eyes off his. There’s a certain energy around him, and I can see how most women would feel drawn to him.
“Alright, Liam, it was nice to meet you,” I say, and then look down at my wrist watch. “But I gotta run. Have fun,” I lie with a smile and a nod, and then turn on my heels to leave.
Most men with a reputation such as Liam can’t stand being ignored like this, and I bet it won’t take him more than five seconds to chase after me.
“Hey, Cara!”
See? Easy and predictable. I turn on my heels to face him, acting surprised, and he closes the distance between the two of us. The three girls that were talking to him throw me malevolent stares, but I just pretend I can’t see them.
“I’d like to have your number,” he tells me, and I just look at him slightly surprised. And, no, this time I’m not faking my reaction. You see, most men ask for my number; a few cocky ones demand it. Liam did none of these things - instead, he just told me he’d like my number. He didn’t ask and he didn’t beg. He just told me what he wants and left the rest in my hands.
I like that.
“If you promise not to be a nuisance,” I tease him, watching as he grabs his cellphone from the pocket of his swimming trunks and hands it to me. I type my number into it and, instead of writing my name in the contact info, I simply write Pool Girl. Why? Well, whenever he decides to call or text me, he’ll try and find Cara in the contact list and won’t find it. He’ll probably think that I blew him off and didn’t give him my number, but he’ll inevitably find the Pool Girl contact a few minutes later. And when he does, relief will wash over him. That’s how you seduce a man - you make him go through the whole range of emotions, even in the most simple things. Seduction is an art where the smallest details matter.
“I might call late at night with some great marketing offers,” he jokes as I give him back his phone. I’m actually surprised that he isn’t acting like one these New York Bros, massive douchebags that can’t even string three words together. That’s what the tabloids led me to believe Liam was, but he actually seems to be a charming, down-to-earth guy.
“Bye, Liam,” I force myself say, completely ignoring his joke and axing the conversation. I want him to spend the whole day thinking about Cara, the woman that didn’t care about him one bit.
As I walk out of the pool area, heading toward the changing room, I make sure to sway my hips seductively; I can almost feel Liam’s gaze tracing the contour of my body right now, and I want to leave a lasting impression.
Phase One - success!
Liam
The spreadsheets and reports in front of me look like a bunch of gibberish. Everything blurs together, and I rub my tired eyes. I need a break from work. I’ve been at this for hours. But you wouldn’t know it based on how much I’ve gotten done.
Which is basically nothing.
I can’t get Cara out of my mind. Haven’t been able to since she spilled her drink all over me yesterday. Her surprised face, her lack of pretension, a combination of sweet and sexy that was so far from what I’m used to in a woman. I’m totally intrigued.
And she wasn’t throwing herself at me, either. That one is totally new. I can’t go anywhere without girls draping themselves all over me like they’re a fucking accessory, running their hands all over my body, trying to get a piece of me.
I mean, I’m not typically one to complain about that. Like, at all. I’ll be the first to admit that I thrive on that attention. Love having my pick of any woman I see. They’re always ready and willing. Begging, really.
But Cara…
She’s different. I can tell. She didn’t act like some cotton-brained bimbo just wanting to have a chance with my legendary cock. Though she did seem impressed with my abs. I smile as I remember the way her hands lingered as she wiped her girly drink from my skin, her fingers brushing against me and heating me up all over. I wonder if she saw the way her touch affected me, causing my dick to stand at attention.
Fuck, just thinking about it right now has me so damn hard. I drop my head back against my leather office chair and close my eyes. Now I’m really not going to get any work done.
But shit, there’s something about her that’s wormed its way into my head. She even had me responding differently to her at the club. Not wanting to play up my typical public persona. Wanting to be real with her. What’s that about? I can just tell she doesn’t have the same agenda as most of the girls I know.
I need to see her again. My cock twitches as I think about how she looked in that bikini. Yeah, I totally need to see her again. Me and my dick. Like, now.
Grabbing my phone, I quickly scroll through my contacts, looking for her name. I frown when I don’t see it. I scroll more slowly, but nope. Still not there. Maybe she spells her name with a K. I thumb through the contacts under K, but still nothing.
Blowing out a breath, I drag a hand through my hair. What the fuck? Did she not even put her number in my phone? Was I duped? Or worse, is she not interested in me at all? It seems impossible. I mean, I’m not used to girls playing hard to get for sure, but I’m definitely not accustomed to being more or less blown off.
Did I read her wrong? No, she wasn’t throwing herself at me, but there was no mistaking the response she had when her fingers grazed over my stomach. No mistaking it for either one of us.
Knitting my eyebrows together, I fold my arms, still scrolling through my contacts. My scowl deepens as I start to suspect I’ve just met the only girl in the city that seems immune to my charms.
And fuck, if that doesn’t make me want her all the more. Then I see it.
Poor Girl.
I smirk, shaking my head. This girl. She’s totally fucking with me. She’s a mess. In a completely perfect way. The need to see her is even stronger now.
My finger hovers over the number, and I feel a sudden flush go through my body, a tightness in my stomach. What the fuck is that? My throat goes dry and my palms are damp.
Setting the phone gingerly on my desk, I rub my hands on my pants. Is this what it feels like to be nervous about a girl? What the fuck is that about? I shouldn’t be nervous about calling a girl from the club. I can honestly say I’ve never experienced something like this before. Maybe that makes me an anomaly, but I’m Liam fucking Donovan. I’ve got a hundred girls waiting in the wings, and none of them would tell me no.
But right now, I don’t give a fuck about any of them. The only one I can think about is Cara. And I’m fucking worried that she’s going to tell me no.
Jesus.
Rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness happening in my head, I snatch my phone back up and tap the number before I can think about it any further. Because fuck that. I want to see this girl.
Okay, it’s ringing. I take a breath, trying to wrap my head around this new nervous feeling
.
Just when I think it’s about to go to voicemail, that sweet voice comes through my phone.
“Hello?”
“Cara.”
“That’s me.”
I smile. Cute. “It’s Liam.”
A pause. Then: “Well, hello, Liam.”
Did I say cute? I take it back. Fucking sexy as hell is what she is. That voice drips with flirtation and tease, and my dick grows even harder. I want her so badly.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Donovan?”
Get your sexy little ass in my bed. Stat.
“I wondered if I might interest you in an evening with me,” I say, my nerves ratcheting up again. I grit my teeth, hoping I sound cool and confident right now, not like a fucking adolescent pussy who’s never asked a girl out before.
“Hmm,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. Thank fuck. “When are you thinking this evening together might be?” She mimics my formal question, and I can’t help laughing.
“Tomorrow,” I say, more at ease now. I really want to say tonight, but that seems a bit overeager. And she might already have plans. Though the idea of her possibly having a date with another man makes me want to beat my chest like a fucking caveman and demand she see no one but me. But I keep that insanity in check. “Eight o’clock.”
She waits for a moment before responding, and I feel a rush of nerves all over again.
And again: What. The. Fuck.
“I think I can manage that. Where should I meet you?”
I smile. Yeah right. Like I’ll have her meet me somewhere like a fucking plebeian. Liam Donovan does things in style. “Tell me your address. I’ll send my limo driver for you.”
Cara
Smack!
I smack my lips together, looking at the mirror as I finish putting on my lipstick. Rehearsing my smile, I straighten the front of my dress and take a spin, my high-heels clicking against my bedroom floor.
I got my hair done, spent half-an-hour getting the make-up done just right, and I’m wearing a Versace dress that cost more than what was reasonable for me to spend. Why am I putting all this effort? It’s simple: I can’t go half-assed into this. If I’m going to seduce Liam, I have to bring my A-game; afterall, he’s the kind of guy that’s used to the presence of actresses, Victoria Secret models, and what have you.
“Where are you…?” I whisper to myself as I hear my phone vibrate somewhere in the room. I look at the bed and start pushing the pillows to the side. I finally manage to find it wrapped in the sheets, and I feel my heart skipping a beat as I see the text message icon blinking in the screen.
I’m downstairs, the message Liam just sent me reads. He told me he’d pick me up at 8 pm and, lo and behold, it’s 8 pm sharp. Punctuality - I like that.
You know what? I wasn’t supposed to like that many things about Liam, but he’s been surprising me ever since we met. Instead of a raging asshole, I found a guy that could be articulate and charming. And that’s what makes him dangerous. Raging assholes can be heartbreakers too, of course, but the ones that can really mess up a girl are the ones that just seem too perfect to be true.
Grabbing my purse and throwing the phone inside, I take one last look at the mirror and then leave the apartment, anxiety slowly creeping in as I wait for the elevator. I can’t believe that I’m actually looking forward to this date. I usually just see these outings as a job, a necessary evil so to speak, but this time… I don’t know, I’m intrigued by Liam.
Don’t worry, though - I’m experienced enough to avoid any kind of pitfalls. I’ve chewed up and spat out guys just like him before. Sure, he’s in a level of his own, but that doesn’t mean I’ll switch off the rational side of my brain.
Finally stepping inside the elevator, I take deep breathes as it makes its way down to the ground floor; when the doors finally slide open, I have a confident smile plastered on my face.
It’s show time - let’s do this.
“And there she is,” Liam tells me the moment I step one foot outside my apartment building. He’s leaning back against the hood of an black executive limo, a tailored suit making his figure even more irresistible. Right now, he wouldn’t look out of place in the Oscars; in fact, he’d own the whole thing and steal all the attention for himself.
“So, you can pull off a suit,” I tell him, trying to act like I’m not impressed at all. It sounds easier than it is because, really, I’m impressed. Looking that good should be illegal.
“And you can pull off a dress,” he responds, chuckling softly. “Although, I have to say, you looked even better in a bikini.”
“Watch it,” I tell him with a laugh, feeling warm blood rushing to my cheeks. Am I blushing? No, it can’t be. I’m used to guys giving me compliments like that, and Liam’s wasn’t as bold of a compliment as some I’ve received in the past. And still, the way he said it, his deep voice carrying his words so confidently... Oh, Liam’s a very dangerous man.
“Shall we?” He asks me, offering me his arm. I lace my arm through his and let him lead the way toward the back of the limo. Opening the door for me, he then walks around the car and enters from the other side.
“Who knew? Liam Donovan can be chivalrous,” I tease him, looking into his eyes as I hear the limo’s engine start to purr. One second later and the driver pulls the car into the road, merging with New York’s evening traffic.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Cara,” he shoots back fast and, even though he’s merely teasing me, I can tell that he’s also being serious. Apparently, Liam doesn’t really enjoy being seen as the King of the New York Bros. I can’t say I’m surprised - after all, how many people like to be seen as major douchebags? Sure, there’s a special breed of men and women that enjoy the fame that being an asshole carries, but it seems that Liam doesn’t really belong to that special class of human beings.
“I don’t read the tabloids,” I lie. Right now, there’s a giant pile of tabloid newspapers on my desk, and Liam’s gracing the cover of each and every one of them. I got to throw all that in the garbage once I’m back - it’s just mindless bullshit, and there was absolutely nothing in there that could help me solve the walking mystery that Liam is. “But you’re a known name. I’ve heard about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” he smiles, his eyes still locked on me.
“Depends on what you think is a ‘good thing’, Liam.”
“Ah, well, it’s always a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” He laughs, the sound of his voice making a shiver shoot up my spine. I turn my gaze away from him and, remaining silent, I look out the window of the limo, watching the city streets passes us by.
“Where are we going anyway? You’re not going to take me to a back alley and harvest my organs, are you?” I ask him, teasing him again. He told me he’d take me out on a date, but he kept a shroud of secrecy about what kind of date he had in mind. It’s a surprise, he told me over the phone, and now here I am - alone with him in his limo, no idea about where we’re going.
Locking his eyes on mine, he offers me an enigmatic smile.
“We’re going back to my place.”
Uh-oh.
Cara
Okay, it’s official: I’m impressed.
I was a bit hesitant when he told me he was taking me to his place, but this beats whatever a five-star restaurant could offer us.
We’re standing in the rooftop garden of his penthouse, a gentle warm breeze whipping at my hair. There’s a cozy table set in the middle of the huge garden, a red tablecloth draped over it; the table’s already set, and everything from the plates to the silverware adds a certain classiness to the whole thing.
“Here we are,” he tells me, leading me toward the table and pulling one chair back for me. Thanking him with a nod, I sit at the table and wait for him to do the same. “Red or white?” He asks me, pointing at the selection of bottles resting on a side table.
“Red,” I reply, trying to sound confident and failing miserably.
Look, I’m not exactly someone that’s easily stunned by riches, but Liam seems to be the kind of wealthy guy that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t help but be impressed. I mean, a rooftop garden in Tribeca, the most expensive neighborhood in Manhattan? And, really, his apartment is so luxurious that I’d be impressed even without this garden. Seriously, how much money does Liam even have?
I thought that he was just a boy in a grown man’s body, someone living it up on his parent’s dime, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. He’s so poised and commanding of his surroundings that there’s no doubt in my mind - wherever his money is coming from, he isn’t living at someone else’s expense. No, this is a man in charge of his own life.
“Oh, here he comes,” Liam suddenly says, looking over my shoulder and smiling. I turn around on my chair and see a man walking into the garden from a door that I presume leads to the kitchen - he’s wearing dress pants, a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and a chef’s apron. And the weird thing is… I think I recognize him from somewhere.
“Ah, Liam, my good boy!” The man cries out in a thick French accent, gripping Liam’s right hand and shaking it heartily. Then he turns to me and, bowing exaggeratedly, takes one of my hands and kisses its back. “Enchanté!” He says merrily, a giant smile on his face. I look back at him, slightly surprised, and I notice the sleeve tattoos covering his forearms, an intricate black pattern that seems to continue under his shirt.
“Léo Moreau, I’ll take it you’ve already heard of him,” Liam tells me, and my brain suddenly lights up. Holy shit - Léo Moreau? The celebrity chef from “The Cook from Hell”? How the hell did Liam manage to convince a top notch chef like Léo to cook for him in his kitchen?! “I see you recognize him,” he laughs, seeing the stunned expression on my face. Yeah, this time there was no hiding my true emotions.
“It’s… It’s an honor!” I tell Léo, and he just bows down again, one hand over his chest. I’m stunned - on TV he’s such a hardass but, in real life, he seems to be a genuinely nice guy.
