Chapter Twenty-one

“What exactly are you searching for?” Cris asked as he trailed Becca at the Golden Pagoda jewelry counter.

“I’m looking for a cool ring. Something that’s interesting and draws attention,” Becca said, continuing to inspect the tray of rings.

“Like this?” Cris asked, handing Becca a gold band.

“Whoa—this is beautiful. It’s like a piece of sculpture,” Becca said, immediately falling in love with the piece. Cast in gold was a nude, three-dimensional woman stretched luxuriously across the band, smelling a bouquet of flowers.

“It’s perfect,” she cooed, slipping it on the middle finger of her right hand. There was something magic about this ring that suddenly made Joey’s whole trademark icon explanation make sense. The artsy band of gold immediately made her feel connected to her sensual self, and just viewing it on her hand reminded Becca of the woman she wanted to be. “It’s also a hundred and fifty dollars,” Becca said, sneaking a peek at the price tag.

“Marked down from three hundred,” Cris pointed out. “Get it. You’ll never see anything like it again.”

Cris was right. It was unique and sexy—just as she aspired to be. Becca really couldn’t afford it, but it was too perfect and made her feel too good to leave behind.

“I wish you were coming with me tonight,” she said as they waited for the clerk to approve her credit.

“I know, but it’s Phil’s birthday, and he’s got his heart set on celebrating at Rumba’s. I still think you should go with Heather or Angelique. Why go by yourself?”

Because I don’t need the competition, she wanted to inform her friend, but didn’t. “I’ll be fine.”

Becca, dressed in her supersexy blue dress and sporting her new jewelry, purposely arrived at the opening of Uptown fashionably late. She’d learned from the comings and goings of all her celebrity idols that no socialite worth her one hundred pounds would ever come to an opening on time. Outside the door, trapped behind a velvet rope and a burley bouncer, was a crowd of folks clamoring to be admitted.

“If you don’t have an invitation, you’re not getting in,” the bouncer’s voice boomed over the throng. At that, several people gave up in defeat and walked away, thinning the crowd enough for Becca to make her way to the front with minimal effort. Pulling out her best imitation Paris Hilton smirk and Naomi Campbell vamp, Becca strutted up to the bouncer and gave him a bold wink.

The door man gave Becca an I’d like to tap that ass once-over, licked his lips, and unclipped the rope, allowing her access. Becca could hear the disappointed smacks and lust-hungry moans of those left on the sidewalk. Funny, before the WMS workshop, she would have been standing among them. But now, after her experience with the sweet power of whip appeal, there was no stopping her.

Walking through the crowded club, Becca enjoyed but ignored the looks and suggestive comments as she made her way to the bar, which was jammed with women of every color and size.

Must be ladies’ night, she decided before her mouth gaped open when her eyes got a look at the reason these chicks were all jockeying for position.

Nico Jones—obviously Chicago’s sexiest bartender—was Eve’s restitution to all the women she’d kept out of Eden for trying to sauté Adam’s apple. He was handsome and charming, and, unlike the first man on earth, he thrived on temptation—as witnessed by the constant flow of propositions he was receiving.

It wasn’t his tight muscular frame, built up to medium height and dipped-in-chocolate brown skin, or his flowing shoulder-length locks that were most appealing. It was Nico’s charismatic display of boyish (I need your doting mother-love) charm and manly (as long as you’re a MILF) sex appeal that was such a damn turn-on. That and his eyes, which tilted downward and could read sad and needy when his sparkling white smile was not on display. That body, that charm, those eyes—you just wanted to draw him to your breast and perform the most unspeakable acts while he was there.

Becca stood shrouded in the shadows, studying the bevy of sizzling chicks surrounding this magnificent specimen. They were a rainbow of races and colors and with various body types, all trying to command Nico’s attention.

Becca suddenly felt all the air rush out of the room when the object of her obsession turned, flashed his heavenly grin in her direction, and began walking toward her. Becca felt the contents of her stomach drop and with it all her earlier confidence.

Oh my God, he is beautiful. Don’t blow it. Remember lessons learned. Be cool. Sexy, crazy, cool. In the few seconds it took for him to reach her, the combination of thoughts, instructions, and advice flooded through Becca’s mind, overwhelming her speech center. They were finally face-to-face, and all she could manage was a nervous smile.

“So what’s your pleasure?” His rich baritone voice melted over her.

Becca tried to sneak a deep breath before answering. Sucking in renewed confidence as well as oxygen, she replied, “Silk panties,” then watched in silent glee as her answer caused a noticeable twitch of Nico’s full, luscious lips.

“Nice,” he replied, a wink in his voice, before walking away to mix her drink.

Becca took the time to breathe and regroup. Another new discovery: Self-assurance was easy to manufacture when the man in question wasn’t relevant. But when he mattered, confidence was more of a hide-and-seek proposition.

She watched as he mixed her cocktail and then became distracted by the throng of partyers looking to get their buzz on. Becca checked her watch. It was twelve-thirty. Hopefully the crowd would soon begin to thin and she’d have an opportunity to talk with Nico.

“Sorry for the wait. It’s crazy tonight,” Nico shouted over the pulsating music and noisy hubbub of voices as he delivered her drink.

“It’s okay. I’m Becca,” she said loudly, leaning over the bar and giving him an unobstructed view of her cleavage.

“Nico Jones,” he said, nodding and smiling. “Don’t go away. I’ll be back.”

Nico returned to his bartending duties, leaving Becca plenty of time to watch, fantasize, and nurse her drink. Every now and again, she’d catch his eye, smile, and manage to hold his attention until it was needed elsewhere. They played this game of peekaboo for about twenty minutes until Becca noticed some other woman holding Nico’s attention for longer than she found comfortable. She had to do something.

Becca watched and waited until Nico looked back in her direction. As she waved him over, she had no idea what she was going to say or do, but getting him away from the redhead and back to her side of the bar was paramount. Once he was there, she’d figure something out.

“What is your pleasure?” he asked. At that moment, Becca was glad he could not read her mind.

“A glass of water, please,” Becca requested while running her finger around the rim of her cocktail glass, just as she’d seen Julie do.

“Nice ring. Is that a panther?” he asked, taking her hand.

“No—here, take a closer look,” she suggested as her next move revealed itself. Becca gently extricated her hand from his grasp, put her finger between her lips, and, looking squarely in his eyes, pulled the ring off in her mouth. Reaching for his hand, Becca plucked the band from her tongue and placed it in Nico’s palm.

“Nice,” Nico repeated. Becca wasn’t sure if he was referring to her jewelry or her antic. “And very sexy,” he stated, placing the ring back on her finger while lightly caressing her palm. His touch released an icy hot shower of desire throughout her body, causing her to inhale sharply.

“Thanks,” she said, unable to think of a clever reply.

“So, um—”

“Becca.”

“Right. I’m almost done here. Why don’t you wait for me,” he said.

It took every bit of willpower Becca had not to jump over to the other side of the bar and scream, “YES!”—especially after noticing the jealous eyes and ruffled feathers around her. So many times she’d been the owner of those envious eyes—to be the one being envied felt golden. Tonight Becca had the chance to be the hot girl who left with the hot guy. But the avalanche of voices that suddenly overwhelmed her head dampened her delight.

There’s a difference between flirting and teasing, Joey’s voice rang out in her head.

You’ve got a new look and an entirely different sales pitch, Pia’s added.

Even Mike from Suede made an appearance, his pushy, up-against-the-wall come-on rushing to her memory’s forefront. He had refused to take no for an answer, sure that “No” meant “Try harder.” Would Nico be the same way?

Maybe she was a little out of her league, and certainly she was not as experienced as her actions would imply. Becca needed to slow this train down a bit, but the line behind her waiting to board was long and full of eager riders. Would there be a second chance if she declined?

Nico returned, his eyes full of promise and expectations. “So, are we going to hook up?”

“Hmm—Nico, I wish we could. But I actually came with somebody.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, tucking his bottom lip behind his upper teeth, a nearly impossible-to-resist gesture.

“Yeah, but here’s my number,” she said, writing her cell phone number down on a cocktail napkin. “Call me and we’ll hook up soon,” Becca said, sliding the paper toward him.

Nico took the napkin, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

“You’ll call me, right?” Becca asked, hoping she didn’t sound desperate.

“Sure.” Nico Jones winked and walked away, leaving Becca high on a cloud of silk panties and great expectations.