SWEAT

by Deborah Bladon

  I pull back and look up into the face of the man I've been destined to love since I was seventeen. "We're the luckiest, Smith. You and I are the luckiest."

  "Life can't get much better than this." He smiles and those damn dimples weaken my knees.

  "It will." I perch on my tiptoes to kiss his mouth. "Every day of this life we're building together will be better than the last. I can't wait to see what the future has in store for us."

  Preview of Troublemaker

  Crew

  There are certain luxuries afforded a man when he owns a club in Manhattan. He can drink the best scotch in the world and expense that shit. He can pick a different woman every night of the week and he can sit on his ass and watch one of his best friends get hit on by some schmuck in a suit that's two sizes too big or he can do something about it.

  I've had my fill of scotch tonight and the woman I was with last night is waiting for me back at her place. I can't leave my club, Veil East, yet. That's because, Adley York, one of my closest friends is about to go home with a professional baseball player with a reputation for hitting it out of the park.

  It shouldn't matter to me if another man is stellar in bed. I don't compare myself to anyone. I've never had a complaint in all the years I've been active on the Manhattan social scene. I have zero doubt that I've fucked more women than Trey Hale, but by the look of what's happening on the dance floor, he's about to take Adley home to screw her.

  That is not happening on my watch.

  I can't have her because there are women that you friend and women that you fuck. Adley falls squarely in the first category although my traitorous cock wants her in the second. It can't happen. If I take that petite blond to bed, I'll lose her and the hole that would leave in my life is something I don't have the fucking emotional maturity to deal with.

  "Adley," I call out her name over the booming beat that vibrates off the walls. Why the hell did I have a state of the art sound system installed in this place? "Hey, Ad."

  By the grace of God, she notices me pointing at her. She tosses me a wave and a wiggle of her ass before she grabs hold of the star pitcher's shoulders. I swear to fuck if she climbs up on that right now, I'll haul her off the floor over my shoulder.

  I motion for her to come to where I'm standing. Shaking her head, she flips me the bird.

  I slam my now empty tumbler on the bar and stalk toward her.

  "I need to talk to you." I stand next to her. "It's important, Adley."

  "It can wait, Crew." Her pretty face flushes. "I'm a little busy right now."

  She's a little drunk right now. I see it in her eyes and her hips. She's aching for some and if anyone is going to give it to her, it'll be me.

  No. I fucking can't. Those perfect tits and that curvy ass are off-limits.

  "I'm going to drop you off at your apartment." I take a quick look around. The club is running smoothly tonight. We're at full capacity. I don't need to be here to benefit from this. "Grab your stuff and let's go."

  "Why would l do that?" Her eyes rake my six-foot –three, two-hundred-pound frame. The fact that my black button down shirt, matching pants and shoes are all designer labels doesn't impress Adley. It never has. "You're not as fun as Trey is."

  Trey has nothing on me. I'm taller, richer, and a hell of a lot better looking than he is. I own a mirror. Black hair, green eyes and a smile that has never failed me to date are what I see every morning.

  "You've had too much to drink, Ad."

  "Maybe you haven't had enough." She pokes her finger into the center my chest. "You work out."

  Like a madman, every morning at five a.m. before the city wakes up. "We're leaving."

  "What if I want to go with him?"

  "Pick another night to make that happen." I direct that statement to Hale. "She's not going anywhere with you tonight."

  "Who are you? Her husband?"

  Adley laughs so hard she bends over revealing a perfect bird's eye view of the top of her round breasts. The decent thing to do is to look away, but I don't.

  "I'm her friend. I own the club." I push a hand at him. "Crew Benton."

  "You're Benton?" He steps closer and studies my face, his hand eagerly shaking mine. "Your reputation precedes you, man."

  I have no idea what the fuck that means, so I steer him to a place I'll know he'll go. "Your drinks are on the house for the rest of the night. Tell Penny at the bar, Crew's got the tab."

  "No shit?"

  "No shit," I repeat back. "It's a limited time offer so..."

  "Understood." He doesn't give Adley another look before he heads for the bar.

  "That was a cock-block, a totally intentional cock-block." She frowns. "You ruined my night. Now, what am I supposed to do?"

  I eye her up. Small black dress, hair so messed up that she looks like she just fucked in the back of a beat-up pickup truck and a mouth that was made for sin. "Come to my place, Adley. I want you to come home with me."

  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. "Where'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 more than 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 ton
ight 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

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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.