by Julie Kenner
Yes, yes, oh, for the love of all that is holy, yes.
She shifted, imagining his hand moving lower. Imagining his fingers tracing their way down the curve of her rear then sliding between her legs, cupping her crotch. Touching her. Teasing her. Making her come.
And, oh, my God, she could feel herself getting wet just from the very thought of his touch. What on earth would it be like if his hands actually were on her that way? If she really did have the man in her bed?
Oh, sweet heaven, yes.
Call it chemistry, call it champagne, call it the Fates playing with the hearts of mortals, but right then she couldn’t think of anything except getting him in bed, getting him inside her. The room was spinning, and he was the only thing that was steady. The only thing that she wanted.
And then, damn the whole world, he was pulling away, gently, softly, just enough to break the kiss, and the heat she saw in his eyes just about did her in. Oh, yeah. He’d go there with her.
“Happy New Year to you, too,” he said, with a crooked grin.
“It’s shaping up to be a good one.”
“I saw you,” he said, in the kind of voice that only fantasy men have, smooth like a radio star, but without the salesman quality. A voice that could murmur all night to a woman in bed. A voice that could make her come without even a single touch.
“Did you?” She was melting. She was positively, undeniably melting.
“In the bar. I saw you. You saw me, too.”
“Yes,” she said, moving a step closer, closing the distance that had opened between them when he’d broken the kiss. Kiss me. Kiss me again.
“What were you thinking when you were watching me?” He reached out, then gently pressed his hand to her waist, urging her even closer as the electricity between them snapped and popped.
She swallowed, her eyes on those lips, remembering the touch of them. The feel of them. She knew exactly—erotically—what she was thinking at the moment. The past, though…well, the past was hazy. “I—I’m having a hard time getting my brain to function.”
“Are you? Because I know what I was thinking…”
“You do?” The question came out on a breath, soft and wispy and full of unabashed longing.
“This,” he said, and then he tilted his head over her. And as the silver moon shined down upon them, he pressed his lips to hers and gave her the kiss she’d been wishing for.
2
EXQUISITE.
Ty could barely think because of the spell cast by the woman in his arms, and Ty Coleman wasn’t the kind of man who got caught up in a spell. No, the man Entertainment Weekly had labeled the “Crown Prince of the Nightclub Scene”…the man who’d left his Dallas home at the age of nineteen to make his fortune in Los Angeles…the man responsible for the five most popular nightclubs in the L.A. area, and who had hosted two After Oscars parties with beautiful actresses on his arm…that man was not a man who often found himself blown away by a woman.
This woman, though…
Something about her had caught his eye.
And it wasn’t her looks, although there was nothing lacking in that department, with her soft brown curls and doe-shaped eyes that were both soft and inquisitive, it was something else entirely. A sparkle. A pop. Not to mention the arc of electricity that had shot between them whenever he’d looked her direction.
He’d been certain that she’d felt it, too, which was why he’d risked his life to navigate the crowd as midnight approached simply to get near to her.
He’d caught his first glimpse of her when she’d been talking with her friend, and the way she stood—self-confident and straight despite obviously feeling out of place—had piqued his interest. He should have simply noted her and forgotten her. Lord knew he met and saw hundreds of women every night. But she’d compelled him enough to not only have him noticing, but to have him actually saying a silent thank you for the circumstances that had dragged his reluctant ass back to this Texas hellhole.
He hadn’t wanted to come back. Why would he? It was one hell of a lot harder to hear his parents’ constant rumbling that he’d never amount to anything from fifteen hundred miles away. Here, with them only a few miles down the highway, the sound of their discouragement was almost deafening. As if they could only see the dyslexic boy he used to be—the cocky kid who made it a point to make friends since he couldn’t make good grades. Who got in fights with the boys and compromising positions with the girls. His school counselors had labeled him a troublemaker who wouldn’t apply himself, and his parents had agreed. At least as much as they ever agreed on anything. And even when Ty moved to California and applied the hell out of himself, they still only saw the useless cutup.
And damn him all to hell for still caring.
But he did. Might not want to, but he still gave a damn, and that was why he’d always believed that there was nothing in the world that would make him return to Dallas.
Of course, he’d never imagined Roberto Murtaugh, either. But when this year’s Academy Award winner for best actress had introduced Ty to the Dubai-based billionaire at a Hollywood party, Ty had heard opportunity knocking loud and clear. He might not be able to read a balance sheet without the numbers twisting and turning and floating off the page, but he damn sure knew how to make those numbers grow. He’d sat Murtaugh down and outlined everything he’d accomplished during his years in Los Angeles. From starting out at nineteen as a hungry entrepreneur who worked in every club that would hire him, to the day they cut the ribbon at the grand opening of his fifth club.
Not surprisingly, Murtaugh had heard of Ty. Even in Los Angeles, when a guy as young as Ty starts raking in as much money as he was making—when he spins the success of his brick-and-mortar clubs into Internet social-networking sites—the media takes notice. At first he was dubbed the Boy Wonder, but by the time he’d been in the business a few years and had reached his twenty-eighth birthday, they’d taken to simply tagging him with a party-boy moniker. Tabloid fodder, with his frequent starlet dates and high-end lifestyle.
That was all right with Ty. The more the spotlight shined on him, the more popular his clubs became. And the truth was, he had absolutely no intention of changing the way he lived. His nightlife lifestyle had dragged him up from abject poverty, earned him more than his fifteen minutes on Good Morning America, started the press buzzing about him, and brought Hollywood royalty knocking on his door, asking for tickets and passes to special events and crowded nights.
If that meant he had to be labeled a party guy, then he could handle the title, even now at the age of thirty.
For that matter, he was willing to put up with whatever it took to keep growing his business. To be the guy his parents were so certain he could never be. Successful. Wealthy. Respected.
Apparently, ‘whatever it took’ included moving back to Dallas.
He’d hit it off with Murtaugh, but the billionaire’s bankroll hadn’t filled up by trust alone. And when Ty pitched Murtaugh his idea of expanding Ty’s celestially named nightclubs into Europe and Asia, the investor had been both interested and wary.
“I like you,” the older man had said. “But you have proven yourself only in one city. How do I know you have the spark to make this work?”
“I do,” Ty had said. “Tell me how to convince you, and I’ll do it.”
“I have two properties,” Murtaugh had said. And then he’d smiled and told Ty exactly what he wanted. Simple enough. Ty had eight months to whip one of Murtaugh’s nightclubs, Decadent, into shape. Work with the staff. Consult. Do whatever magic needed to be done. And at the same time, Ty was supposed to bring to life a currently boarded-up establishment that Murtaugh was considering selling. A butt-ugly property that hadn’t ever turned a profit. He and Murtaugh had agreed to a fifty-fifty split, and the property would launch as an offshoot of Heaven, Ty’s very first and most popular California nightclub.
Assuming both properties got off the ground and were in the black within Murtaugh’s rather i
nsane time frame, Murtaugh promised he’d bankroll Ty’s expansion.
It was, Ty thought, too good to be true.
And as soon as Murtaugh had told him the location of the properties, Ty saw the big old trick the universe was playing on him.
Accomplish his biggest dream—become the Wolfgang Puck or Gordan Ramsey of the club scene—but walk through hell first to do it.
Of course he’d said yes.
He’d been in Dallas for about six months now, and had two left on his sentence. And he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this damned town.
He forced the thoughts out of his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He was there now, in the club, and for at least a few minutes, the woman in his arms was making the fact that he was stuck there significantly more pleasant.
From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d planned to go over and talk to her. Take her back to the VIP section of the club. Buy her a drink. Ask her to dance.
Never once had he imagined that she’d throw herself into his arms and kiss him like she meant it. Like she wanted it.
She moaned a little, her soft body pressing close to his. He could taste the champagne on her lips, and he’d watched her down at least a couple of flutes full as she’d scoured the place, searching for someone. A someone not him, though he had to admit that the idiot’s loss was most definitely his gain.
He felt hot, needy and he wanted to touch her. Not simply the way he was touching her now, but all of her. He wanted to feel her skin beneath his fingers, slide his palms over her bare breasts. Close his mouth over her nipples and feel them harden as his tongue licked and stroked.
He wanted, and if there was one thing Ty usually made sure of, it was that he got what he wanted.
At the moment, frankly, he wanted his private office. Unfortunately, he’d never set up an office at Decadent since his role here was that of consultant. Instead, he’d rented a small office in the Wardman Towers downtown, and downtown was much too far away for his current purposes.
But, damn, he wished it weren’t. Because no matter who’d been on her mind when she’d first stepped into Decadent, right now, the woman in his arms was all about him. Or she was until—
“Claire?”
The male voice came from his left, and the woman in Ty’s arms, aka Claire, pulled gently away, her eyes wide, her expression wary.
“Oh. Joe. What a surprise seeing you here.”
Of course it wasn’t a surprise, as Ty could easily see.
“I saw you across the room. Thought I should come over and say hi.”
“Right.” Claire’s smile was of the overly polite variety. “That’s great.” Her hands fluttered, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. “Happy New Year.”
“You, too.” He turned to Ty, his hand held out in greeting. “Ty Coleman, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joe Powell,” he said, holding out his hand. “Power Publicity.”
Ty shook the man’s hand, flipping through the Rolodex of names he kept in his mind. He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t rely on jotted notes, and he’d trained himself to remember names and faces. This name, he recognized. Joe Powell had the reputation of being one of the most up-and-coming PR men in Texas, and he was on Ty’s mental list of people he wanted his assistant to call to schedule a meeting. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to have to bother Lucy with that now—unless he missed his guess, Joe Powell hadn’t come over to see Claire, but to introduce himself to Ty.
“Listen,” Joe said, “I’m not the type who plays coy, and the truth is, I came here tonight hoping to meet you.”
Bingo, Ty thought, then noted Claire’s confused expression. Joe might know who he was, but Claire was clueless. The realization surprised and pleased him, because he couldn’t even remember the last time that a woman had been attracted solely to him, and not to the trappings that made up Ty Coleman.
Joe grinned at Claire. “I suppose I could have asked you to introduce us,” he said. “I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Coleman…”
“Yes, well.” Her brow creased, as if she was debating what to say next.
Ty had no idea what made him do it, but he took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “Our relationship’s been a little whirlwind.”
Claire opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything, and Ty could practically see the debate raging across her face. Should she mention the fact that they had no relationship, or just go with the flow?
Ty was beginning to think she was about to set the record straight, when a lanky redhead with nail-point heels and a smile as big as Texas stepped forward and took Joe’s hand. “I know all about whirlwind,” Joe said. “This is Bonita,” he said, as Claire’s eyes went wide.
The girl’s smile grew brighter. “I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”
CLAIRE’S HEAD WAS SPINNING, and she was certain it wasn’t just from the champagne. For one thing, why did Joe know who Mr. Texas Royalty was? Ty Coleman. She stifled a small frown, because the name really did sound familiar, but with her fuzzy head, she couldn’t latch on to why.
And what the devil was Joe doing with a girlfriend? Was this the same Joe who had, only a few days before Christmas, made a huge pass at her?
Then again, it had been Bonita who’d used the G-word, not Joe, so maybe the girl was posturing?
Claire considered that, then firmly shoved the thought out of her mind. Honestly, what did it matter if Bonita was his girlfriend or his fiancée or even his mail-order bride? Right then, she simply wanted both of them to leave. She didn’t know why Ty was of any interest to Joe, but she did know that he was of serious interest to her. And she wanted him all to herself again.
Apparently, there was power in positive thinking, because Joe took a step backward, as if he was about to leave. Claire did a little mental happy dance, then stumbled when Bonita caught his arm. “You should invite them, sugar.”
“Honey, I’m sure now’s not the time,” he said, although Claire knew him well enough to know that Joe never missed an opportunity to schmooze a potential client, and for a moment, she wondered if he and Bonita had scripted the invitation—whatever it was for.
“I’ll have my office call and arrange a meeting with Mr. Coleman next week,” Joe went on. “Would that be okay?” he asked Ty. “I’d love to talk to you about publicity for the grand opening of Heaven. I know you’ve been using someone else for this place, but I really think that Power Publicity has the contacts and the know-how to help Heaven make a huge splash. And now that you’re a month away from opening, it’s time for us to take a hard look at your PR plan. My goal for you would be to have Heaven, Dallas, open even bigger, stronger and flashier than any of your California clubs.”
It was, Claire thought, a total V-8 moment. “You’re Ty Coleman,” she blurted, which she wouldn’t have done without the champagne. “Of course!”
“You didn’t—” Joe began.
“Private joke,” Ty said. “When we first met, she didn’t realize who I was.”
“Awww,” Bonita said, apparently charmed.
“Give my office a call,” Ty said to Joe. “Tell my assistant I said to set up thirty minutes. If I like what I hear, we’ll go from there.”
“Sounds great,” Joe said, looking like a man who’d just won the lottery. “Looking forward to it.”
“Why don’t you invite them to the party?” Bonita said.
Joe’s gaze darted to Claire. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“Why on earth not? I know Daddy would love to meet Mr. Coleman, and you two would have the chance to get to know each other without all that business stuff. Besides,” she said, with a bright smile toward Claire, “it’ll be nice having someone else around who’s not in PR. You’re not, are you?”
“Appellate law,” Claire said. “Who’s your father?” she asked, though she had a feeling she already knew.
“Jake Powers. He owns the company Joe works for.” She gave Joe’s arm a squeeze. “He’s just invited J
oe to be a partner.”
“That’s great,” Claire said, even while a mean little side of her wondered if that was why Joe had dumped her—so he could date Bonita and get closer to Daddy. Or maybe Claire had just grown up in a political family, and saw those kind of machinations everywhere she looked.
“You’ll come, right?”
“When is it?” Ty asked.
“Tomorrow. It’s our annual New Year’s Day client-appreciation bash at the Starr Resort. It’s very casual. Come and go.”
The idea of a party—with Joe—was really not on Claire’s top-ten list of things to do on the first day of a new year. “I really don’t think—”
“It’s going to be fabulous,” Bonita said. “Several of your breed, too. We’ve just signed with Daniels and Taylor to do some television spots,” she added, referring to the law firm that Claire’s father had helped found. “And I know at least five representatives from the local Bar Association are coming, along with dozens and dozens of attorneys. You never know who you might meet.”
Claire lifted a brow. “And you don’t work there?”
“Me? Lord, no. But I keep an eye out for the men in my life.” Her smile widened. “Now come on, you two. It’s not as if you have to stay all day.”
Claire hesitated, balancing the possibility of networking against the reality of being at a party with Joe. In the end, networking won out. How could it not? An appellate lawyer’s clients were other lawyers. And it was never too early to start honing those connections.
Beside her, Ty slid his arm around her waist, the contact making Claire tremble with the anticipation of getting them alone again. More than that, of getting the man himself for a whole day tomorrow. But as that thought entered her head, Claire knew she was being ridiculous. For one thing, a hot kiss on New Year’s Eve didn’t necessarily translate into a wild night—or a well-mannered daytime date. And that was probably especially true with a man like Ty Coleman. Claire didn’t regularly pay attention to celebrity-type gossip, but she’d seen enough to know that Ty was the kind of guy who had a different girl on his arm in every picture that was snapped.
