I crack a smile. "You were hell bent on convincing someone that you're not a coward. Since we're the only two out here and there's no phone in your hand, I take it that your imaginary friend is the asshole who thinks you're a coward. I'll argue your case if you point me in his direction, or is it her direction?"
"Are you a lawyer?"
I'll be anything she wants me to be. I'm a surgeon, vascular to be precise, and I have to be. Tonight, I don't want to be Dr. Evan Scott. I'd rather be the star of her future fantasies; that one awe-inspiring lay all women look back on for the rest of their life when they get themselves off.
"Not guilty." I hold my hand up in mock surrender. "Your name, beautiful. What is it?"
Her thickly lashed eyes widen as the heavy metal awning above us creaks under the weight of the wet snow. "It's Jane. Jane Smith."
She's the third Jane Smith I've met this month.
I'm not offended that the name offered is as fake as the smile plastered on the face of the doorman who is watching our every move from the warm comfort of the lobby. Experience has taught me that women in this town hide behind a false persona for just three reasons.
One is that their wedding ring is tucked in a pocket or a purse and they don't want the night to seep into their two kids, bake sales, walking the dog in the park, day-to-day life.
For the record, I avoid those women at all costs. They're easy to spot, even if they think they're fooling everyone, including themselves.
The second reason women morph into Jane Smith, Jane Doe or just plain Jane is they're prepping to hand over a fake number.
Eye contact is everything, and if a woman I'm after can't make it with me, I tap out. There are too many women on this island who are interested in what I'm offering. I'm not into wasting my time on someone whose type isn't tall with dark brown hair, blue eyes, muscular pecs, that cut V that women dream of, and a thick nine-inch cock.
Yeah, I measured. Every man does. He's a fucking liar if he doesn't admit it.
The third reason is why my new blonde friend tossed out the name Jane Smith to me just now. She's looking for the same thing I am. One night of no-personal-details, uninhibited, I-dare-you-to-walk-straight-after-that fucking.
"It's nice to meet you, Jane." I extend a hand because in public I'm always the perfect gentleman.
She takes a step forward, dragging her sorry looking umbrella behind her. Her hand lands in mine for a soft shake. It's just enough pressure to stir my cock. "What's your name, stranger?"
I could easily be the Jack to her Jane, but I want to hear my name from those lips tonight. "Evan."
The look on her face is all surprise and awe like I've already got two fingers inside her and I'm honed in on that spot that will etch my name into her memory forever. "Is that your real name?"
I crane my neck to look at the lobby. The last thing I need right now is for anyone I work with to breeze past us and call me Dr. Scott. I have to get this woman into a hotel room and out of that dress now.
"According to my driver's license, it is." I circle the pad of my thumb on her palm before I let her hand go. "I'm going inside to refill my drink and then I'm heading upstairs. Can I get you anything, Jane?"
She reaches up to touch her neck. It's a subtle sign that she wants my hand, or maybe my mouth, there. "Are you inviting me up to your room?"
Technically, I'm inviting her to a room I haven't rented yet. I was out here catching a breath of frigid nor'easter air. I did my time inside when I took the podium, ran through an off-the-cuff speech about the boatload of accolades my boss acquired in his career and then handed him a silver wristwatch courtesy of his wife. He threw the goddamn shindig on his own dime and then expected me to kiss ass in public to hold onto a job I'm not sure I want.
"If you are, I'm game," Jane tosses that jewel out before I have a chance to offer a formal invitation to get naked with me. "I didn't notice you at the ceremony. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?"
It's the obvious conclusion to jump to. I'm dressed in a tuxedo. There's a wedding reception in the ballroom tonight. She has no clue that I was just in the hotel's five-star restaurant with a group that consists of primarily sixty-something-year-old surgeons all desperate to one-up each other with elaborate descriptions of their summer homes.
At thirty-four I'm the baby of the bunch, hence the reason I'm standing in the bitter cold with a drink in my hand contemplating why I went to medical school in the first place.
Jane marches on, nerves twitching at the edge of her words. "I'm a friend of Leanna. I'm actually one of her bridesmaids. I had to get the hell out of there when Henry started talking about how committed he is to her. It's bullshit. You know that, don't you? He totally screwed her over this past summer when he was in Vegas. She forgave him and now they're married. Can you believe that?"
"Henry is a selfish son-of-a-bitch."
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. "What's your room number?"
The snow starts again, large flakes of unwanted inconvenience. I need a condom. My gaze darts up and down the street. Other than a restaurant a block over, every other storefront and business are locked up tight.
Late Sunday night will do that to Manhattan. A snowstorm doesn't help.
"You have protection, right?" Pretty Jane reads my mind like a sensual sorceress. "I didn't bring any condoms with me."
Normally, I'd have at least a few tucked in my pocket, but I got dressed at the hospital. An emergency surgery this afternoon cut into my prep time for this hellish evening, so I had my rental tux delivered. I changed in the locker room and forgot one of the essentials. The breath mints made it into my pants pocket next to my wallet, but the condoms didn’t.
Fucking great.
I'm not sending this woman on a mission to get me a rubber. That comes with the risk of her bailing on me because she doesn't see the effort as worth the reward.
It's worth it, in spades, or in her case, orgasms.
"I've got that covered, or should I say, it will be covered," I quip with a tip of my glass before I down the last swallow. I'll go floor-by-floor and door-to-door in this hotel to find a condom if need be. "Do you need to say goodbye to Leanna before you bail?"
She blows an adorable puff of air out from between her lips. "I do. I left my purse in there. What about you?"
"I didn't have a purse that matched my outfit tonight," I joke. "I'll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes. We can head up to the room together."
"Make it fifteen," she counters, a challenge woven into her tone. "I'll take a London Fog."
"Consider it done," I whisper as she breezes past me, the maimed umbrella dragging behind her. The doorman jumps into action and props open the heavy glass door. Jane steps into the vestibule just as the ugly winter wind gives not only me but the doorman, the early holiday gift of an eyeful of her luscious ass.
Something tells me this night is going to be one for the record books.
Coming soon
Preview of WORTH
A Two-Part Novel Duet
I notice him immediately. It's impossible not to. Julian Bishop is the man of the hour, after all. This celebration, complete with expensive champagne and stiff-backed wait staff, has drawn the crème de la crème of Manhattan's social elite. It's the place to be tonight, and with a lot of crafty manipulation and a fair bit of luck, I'm standing in the midst of it, wearing a killer little black dress and diamond earrings I borrowed from a broker who has sold more than her fair share of apartments with Park Avenue addresses.
"I got you another glass of champagne, Maya."
I turn toward my date for the evening, taking the tall crystal flute from his hand. I enjoy a small sip while I look at his hands. They're adequate, not too large, and not too small. Those hands, along with the brief kiss he gave me when he picked me up tonight promise a night of passion that would be forgettable at best. He's nothing to write home about or to write about at all, for that matter.
"Thanks, Charlie," I purr. "Wh
ere's your drink?"
He nudges the sexy-as-all-hell, black-rimmed glasses up his nose with his index finger. He has a nerd with a side of male model look. That's what made me stop at his desk two weeks ago to ask if I could borrow his stapler.
I don't staple. If I did, I'm sure I'd find one in my desk, hidden underneath the three dresses and two pairs of shoes I have tucked in the drawer. I never know when a change of wardrobe is called for. A girl has to be ready for anything when she's trying to claw her way up the hierarchy of the Manhattan real estate market.
"I had one. That's my limit." He squints as he looks at the bar. "Is she here yet? I heard someone say she's going to make an entrance."
I heard someone say she's a dirty, dirty slut.
That someone was me. I said it to myself. She's far from dirty or slutty. She's a lawyer, Harvard educated, with looks to rival her brains. Jealousy is a filthy accessory and I don't wear it well at all.
"I don't think she's arrived." I turn back to where Julian's standing. He looks identical to the way he did when I first laid eyes on him. That was a year ago. I was helping a friend and he was offering her a job. Our paths crossed, the energy flowed and then he left. I never saw the man again.
I would have settled for one tumble in the sheets of his bed. A brief encounter would have satisfied my craving but it wasn't meant to be. He continued on his happily-ever-path and I swam the dating waters of Manhattan occasionally snagging a Charlie in my net.
"I'm going to mingle," I say it like I mean it. "I'll meet you back here in thirty."
Charlie looks down at his watch. It's not impressive. That's not Charlie's style.
"Thirty minutes, Maya." He touches the lenses of his glasses with two of his fingers before he points them right at me. "I'm going to have my eye on you."
Good for you, Cowboy.
I take my champagne, my spirit of adventure and my too tight black heels and I walk across the room. I took my time getting dressed tonight just for that one split second that we all live for. It's that moment when the man you imagine running naked through a field of daisies with or fucking in a back alley, turns and looks at you.
I've been planning this for two months.
Plotting every word I'll say when his eyes meet mine. I'm counting on him remembering me because I've been told I'm not easy to forget.
"Maya Baker." The voice behind me is unmistakably his. Warm with a hint of control, deep with a promise of pleasure.
I start to pivot at the sound of it. It's a beacon, a pull that is too strong to resist.
"Don't turn around." A hand, steady and determined, rests on my hip. The fingertips assert enough pressure to control my movement. "I don't recall seeing your name on the guest list."
Something's caught Julian's cock's attention. I can feel it pressing against me in the middle of this crowded room while we wait for his business partner, rumored lover and person I'd most like to lock in a closet for eternity to arrive. "I was a last minute addition."
"A welcome addition," he adds. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
I feel the undercurrent of desire. It was there last year when we met. It's stronger now.
"I am now." I push my fingers into his on my hip.
His chest lifts and falls. "I'm needed on the stage. You won't run away before we have a chance to talk, will you?"
I turn my head to look up at him. Black hair, ocean blue eyes and a face that would make any woman lock her office door to imagine a moment alone with him.
I've done it. Many women in Manhattan have.
"You're as handsome as ever, Julian."
He rounds me, his hand still holding mine. "You're more enchanting than the day we met, Maya. I've followed your career. I have a position I think you'd be interested in."
Coming soon
THANK YOU
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deborah Bladon has never read a romance hero she didn't like. Her love for romance novels began when she was old enough to board the bus, library card in hand to check out the newest Harlequin paperbacks. She's a Canadian by heart, and by passport, but you can often spot her in New York City sipping a latte and looking for inspiration for her next story. Manhattan is definitely her second home.
She cherishes her family and believes that each day is a gift for writing, for reading, and for loving.
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