by Alison Kent
He would’ve contacted her when he’d returned to the States three months later, but without a last name, he hadn’t known how to get in touch with her. Rafe had been out of the country and before Joe had had an opportunity to speak to him, new orders had been cut and he’d been shipped out to another classified location. After nine months of being sent on one mission after another, then arranging for his discharge and landing a job with the S.E.C., he’d figured too much time had passed and he had given up on ever seeing Natalie again. When he’d accepted Rafe’s invitation, he hadn’t even considered the off chance of running into her again. He couldn’t believe his luck that she was actually here, but that didn’t necessarily mean he knew the right words to say after so much time had passed.
Fate wasn’t a theory he subscribed to as a rule. Tonight he’d make an exception—provided she showed him the slightest hint she was still interested.
She came to a stop a few feet in front of him, sipping her champagne as she turned and casually scanned the crowd on the marble dance floor. If it hadn’t been for the surreptitious glances she kept shooting his way, he might have thought he’d imagined her reaction when their eyes had met a few moments ago.
The pain it cost him was worth every agonizing ache as he checked out her ass and those long legs that went on forever. The hem of her impossibly short gold dress flirted with her slender thighs. She glanced his way again, then started tapping her foot as if impatient. The hem of her dress swayed with the movement, drawing his attention to the shimmering gold dress barely covering her derrière.
He struggled for breath and stared hard, but couldn’t detect a single panty line beneath the formfitting dress. Forget breathing. The heavy pounding of his heart convinced him he was close to cardiac arrest.
She spun around suddenly and looked directly in his eyes. Behind the frilly mask, her eyes held an intriguing combination of curiosity with a dose of apprehension. Unsure what to say to her, he just stared like a tongue-tied recruit and enjoyed the sight of her incredible body, the slight tilt of her head and the sophisticated upswept style of her more strawberry than blond hair.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, then took off faster than a missile.
“Damn it,” he muttered to himself as she wove her way through the guests and disappeared before he came to his senses.
“You look as if you could use this,” Rafe said suddenly from beside him. Amusement filled his voice. “Problems?”
Joe took the glass Rafe offered and downed half the contents. “There won’t be if you can tell me the name of that redhead so I don’t lose her again.”
He and Rafe had been friends since their college days when raising hell and chasing women had been their favorite pastimes. Their hell-raising days had continued long after they’d been handed their Ivy League diplomas, but when it came to the opposite sex, Joe was an amateur compared to Rafe.
“Natalie Trent,” Rafe told him.
Joe frowned. “She’s not one of your…” A sharp stab of jealousy hit him hard.
“Women?” Rafe finished for him. He chuckled. “No. She’s all yours, my friend.”
“How do you know her?” He wasn’t proud of himself for asking, but he was having a hard time stemming the flow of suspicion despite Rafe’s reassurance that he and Natalie had never been involved.
“She’s in the fashion industry,” Rafe said absently, his attention shifting to the cool blonde Joe had seen earlier with Natalie. He nodded in the other woman’s direction. “My accountant, she knows her.”
Based on the intensity in Rafe’s eyes as he watched the blonde, his friend looked as if he wanted to discuss more than balance sheets with the lovely bean counter.
Once Rafe left him, Joe searched the ballroom for Natalie. Apparently she’d pulled a disappearing act all her own.
He wound his way around the dance floor. A matched set of statuesque brunettes stopped him and smiled with blatant, smoldering interest. The silver-clad bookend on the left held up three fingers while her identical counterpart pointed toward rooms upstairs.
Under normal circumstances, he might have accepted without a second thought. Except tonight there was only one woman capable of holding his interest—an incredibly sexy redhead by the name of Natalie Trent.
2
AN OVERLOAD OF ENDORPHINS spurred by unexpected sexual energy pumped through Natalie, making her heart race and her palms sweat. She’d wanted to find a temporary prince for the night to free her from a year of celibacy, not come face-to-face with the man responsible for her making that crippling resolution in the first place.
She moved blindly through the crowd, her intent to put as much distance between herself and the last man to shatter her fragile heart as possible. Needing time to regain her composure and figure out what to do next, she decided to ignore him. “Good luck,” she muttered. How could she ignore a man she hadn’t been able to forget? The idea of pretending he didn’t exist crossed her mind, but that plan had more holes than a pair of fishnet stockings. Based on her body’s reaction after one look in those cashmere-soft gray eyes filled with instant recognition, she had a better chance of surviving the discount boutiques during one of Arianne’s bargain-hunting excursions.
She passed a small clique of New York socialites adorned in noteworthy designer originals. Instead of whipping out her miniature tape recorder and taking notes for her article, she was lost in the images of those incredible moments spent in Joe’s arms last New Year’s Eve. Her fingers itched to sift through all that thick, wavy black hair, to trace the outline of his strong, square jaw, to kiss the tempting tilt of his mouth.
He’d smiled at her, bringing back every single memory of that one incredible night, including how intoxicating he’d tasted. With one long sweeping gaze over that rock-solid body packaged handsomely in Armani, her determination to protect her heart fizzled like champagne bubbles rising to the top of a glass. She might as well carve out her heart and hand it to him now to save him the trouble later.
She let out a gusty sigh of relief when she spied Isabel near the edge of the dance floor, thankfully, albeit unusually, alone. Heading in Isabel’s direction, Natalie exchanged her empty glass for a fresh flute from the tray of a passing waiter along the way.
“He’s here,” she blurted when she reached Isabel.
Her friend blinked at her. “He?” she asked, sounding somewhat impatient.
Natalie guzzled the expensive French champagne as if she and Isabel were throwing down shooters with Arianne during happy hour at their favorite haunt. “Joe.” She signaled for the closest waiter and made a grab for two more flutes. Tipping her head back, she swallowed the contents of one before the waiter moved away, then handed him the empty.
“I think he knows it’s me, but I ditched him.” She knew he knew it was her, which only made her more nervous. The deep breath she sucked down with the same zeal as the champagne did little to still her thundering heart. “Oh, God, I don’t know how to handle this, Iz,” she said miserably, feeling only slightly woozy from all the bubbly she’d consumed in the last five minutes. “Having my heart trampled again by this guy is not how I want to start the New Year.”
“Then don’t.” Isabel tossed out the words as if it were that simple. For Isabel maybe, but as much as Natalie would’ve liked, she didn’t possess her friend’s practical approach to sex—get lucky, have a good time and move on with no morning-after regrets. “He can’t hurt you if you don’t let him.”
The first strains of a waltz rose above the din of conversation. Isabel watched the couples sweeping past. Natalie craned her neck to look for Joe.
Every nerve in her body had come instantly alive and insistently demanding the moment she’d first seen him when she and her friends had arrived at the Monticello mansion. Arianne had pointed out a well-known Hollywood couple arguing, and when Natalie had turned to look, her gaze had landed right on Joe. The past twelve, lonely months had faded away and she’d been transported to the previous New Year�
��s Eve.
Although she had made a habit of believing almost every frog possessed prince potential in the past, she’d never been struck by love at first sight before. But she’d learned all too quickly that her silly dreams of happily-ever-after were nothing more than figments of an overly romantic imagination when he’d disappeared without a trace.
She remembered she had just finished a brief, impromptu interview with a young, up-and-coming menswear designer that night when she’d turned and literally run into the man of her dreams. Her champagne had spilled down the front of his tux and when she’d looked up to apologize, she’d been stunned into silence by the blatant desire smoldering in his gaze. Need had kicked in hard and overruled her common sense. When he’d taken the empty glass from her hand and led her onto the imported marble dance floor, she hadn’t dreamed of protesting.
They’d danced for hours without hardly speaking a word, although they’d communicated plenty in the way they’d moved and held each other’s gaze. As the countdown to midnight had begun, he held her close and kissed her deeply.
She shook her head and let out a quiet sigh, remembering how easily she’d been swept away like the ridiculous heroines in the fairy tales she’d clung to for so long. She and Joe had only met, yet an inexplicable bond had wholly consumed her. She’d been so certain he’d felt the same unique connection and that Joe was the one, she’d have wagered her entire shoe collection.
Like a fool, she had gone with him to the alcove upstairs for some privacy and had waited for him to return when he’d been called away suddenly. Over an hour had passed before she’d finally faced the truth—Joe had been the one all right, the one to slip right out the door. His rejection still stung, she realized as she tapped her fingernail against the half-empty crystal flute.
She wasn’t a vengeful person by nature, but she couldn’t help wondering how would he feel if someone treated him as carelessly as he’d treated her. Better yet, wouldn’t it be fun to turn the tables on him and give him a taste of his own disappearing act?
She faced Isabel, unable to keep the smile from her lips. “You know…” she mused, as the reckless, completely impulsive plan took shape in her mind. “How do you think he’d feel if I didn’t remember him?”
Isabel nodded, her gaze filling with renewed appreciation and respect Natalie found way too encouraging for a woman about to even the score. “Good idea,” Isabel said with a hint of pride. “Wound him where it hurts the most—his ego.”
Natalie laughed, feeling legitimately lighthearted for the first time in weeks. Fifty-two of them to be exact. “Men and their egos—such a fragile thing.”
“Just be careful,” Isabel warned as Natalie turned to put her plan into action. “Don’t hand him your own heart in the process.”
Natalie straightened, adding a good half inch to her already skyscraper height thanks to her gold heels. “Not a chance,” she said with determination. “There’s only going to be one heart breaking tonight, and it isn’t going to be mine.”
She’d had an entire year of practice in keeping her heart safe. One more night ought to be a snap.
JOE DISENTANGLED HIMSELF from the persistent brunette bookends intent on a ménage à trois. There was only one woman who interested him, and he intended to have her in his arms by the stroke of midnight. He checked his watch. A little over an hour until the countdown to the New Year. Time was slipping away fast and he still hadn’t found Natalie.
A safe distance away from the determined twins, Joe circled the perimeter of the ballroom until he located Natalie. She spoke briefly to the wives of a senator and the mayor of New York, then moved on to a small group where she chatted animatedly for a good ten minutes before she disappeared into the ladies’ room. When she emerged he hung back and watched her flit from group to group of people, but he had the distinct impression she was intentionally ignoring him, courtesy of the furtive glances she kept tossing in his direction.
She stopped to talk with a women’s handbag designer, who just happened to be the sister of a sitcom comedian Rafe had introduced him to earlier. Natalie glanced over her shoulder at him as he started to approach, then quickly handed something to the designer. She beelined it toward Rafe, a high-wattage smile on her face as she approached their host. The sound of her laughter at whatever Rafe had said to her had Joe frowning, until his friend glanced his way and motioned for him to join them.
Rafe gave him a knowing grin. “Natalie Trent,” he said by way of a formal introduction when Joe reached them. “Joe Sebastian. I believe you two know each other.”
“No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said coolly. She extended her hand as if he were a total stranger despite the recognition in her eyes.
What the hell kind of game was she playing? he wondered. Taking her hand in his, he lifted her fingers to his lips, then turned her hand at the last minute to place a kiss on the silky underside of her wrist. Genuine interest flared in her gaze along with a flash of panic. “The pleasure will no doubt be mutual.”
Her sharp intake of breath told him loud and clear she’d understood his meaning. He smiled.
She cleared her throat and gently tugged her hand free. “Thank you again, Rafe,” she said turning to look up at his friend.
Rafe nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted.”
“Very charming, isn’t he?” Natalie said, watching Rafe walk away. The hint of a smile curved her mouth when Rafe led his accountant onto the dance floor.
“It’s all those old-world values and the benefit of a formal upbringing,” Joe said, accustomed to hearing women comment on Rafe’s perfect mannerisms and charm.
Unlike Rafe, who’d traveled extensively and received only the best education money could buy, Joe’s background consisted of surviving the tough streets of the Irish neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen and developing a killer pitching arm to compensate for his little-better-than-average grades. Several top schools had offered him full sports scholarships, but even though he’d had no intentions of becoming a professional baseball player, he’d taken his mom’s advice and went with the first Ivy League school to offer him a free ride. While the college dorm had been a major upgrade from the cramped apartment over the bakery where his mom had worked until the day she retired and relocated to Florida, Rafe had ignored his privileged background and the two of them had ended up dorm-mates their freshman year. They’d been as close as brothers ever since.
“And what kind of upbringing did you have?” She tapped her finger on the rim of her glass. “Joe, was it?” she added as if an afterthought.
Go ahead and play your game, sweetheart. Just don’t expect to win. “Modest in comparison,” he told her. “You?”
She shrugged a slim shoulder. The movement caused her gold dress to shimmer, drawing his attention to the curve of her breasts beneath the metallic fabric. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” The sharp edge to her voice said otherwise, hiking his curiosity about the woman he hadn’t been able to forget. “So,” she said before taking a sip of champagne. “You in town long?”
Guilt pierced him at her subtle jab. “I live in the city now. Or I will just as soon as my apartment is ready.” Until Rafe’s mother had insisted he move into the mansion a month ago, he’d been living in a moderately priced hotel since his return to New York while searching for a place of his own.
“Apartment?” she questioned. “As in a permanent residence?” At his nod, she added, “How odd.”
“How so?” He bit back a smile and braced himself for the next jab.
She shrugged again. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person to stay in one place for very long.” The comment might have come off as careless if it hadn’t been for the brief glimpse of hurt in her eyes. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I made a promise to someone, and I make it a habit to always keep my word.”
He caught her hand before she had a chance to escape him again. He deserved h
er coolness. Hell, he even expected all those slicing passive-aggressive barbs. Coming right out and apologizing to her would probably be what a smart guy would do in the same situation, but when it came to Natalie, he easily admitted to being a first-class fool. Besides, he liked her sharp edges and couldn’t help being curious as to exactly how far she planned to take this I-don’t-know-you routine.
“Dance with me.”
She glanced almost frantically over her shoulder. Looking for someone to rescue her? “I can’t.” Panic bordered her voice.
With her hand still clasped in his, he narrowed the distance between them. “Sure you can,” he said quietly. He lifted his free hand and fingered the pair of gold plumes on the side of her mask. “What’s one dance at midnight between old friends?”
3
THEY WEREN’T OLD FRIENDS. They weren’t even old lovers, although there was little doubt in Natalie’s mind they most certainly would be before dawn. And under no circumstances would she give Joe the opportunity to hurt her again.
She looked up at him, his gray-silver eyes beneath the mask filled with hopeful patience as he waited expectantly for her answer. She let out a breath. “Considering we’ve only just met,” she said, feeling about as truthful as a used-car salesman, “I wouldn’t exactly call us old friends.”
The lips she had a sudden urge to taste tipped upward with the barest hint of a smile. “One dance.” His velvety voice did a number on her determination to keep up the charade. “Because it’s New Year’s Eve,” he coaxed, his smile deepening a fraction.
