Gretchen spotted her best friend sitting at a high bar table and waved, watching as Sharla’s face lit up when she spied her. It had been far too long since they’d seen each other. Gretchen momentarily forgot she was wearing a slinky sequined dress and stilettos and promptly stumbled into an old man. After he had gotten a good look down the front of her dress, she made it to the table Sharla had claimed.
“Look at you, honey! All dressed up!” Sharla said as she reached the table, laughing. “Wow. All for me? Are we headed out on the town?”
Gretchen made a face and did a penguin-waddle turn. “You like it? Is it okay?”
“This is so not for me, is it?” Sharla sighed, “You have a date.
You are blowing me off for a date. I knew it! Who did you bring with you?”
She could never keep anything from Sharla. They lived an ocean apart, but their bond was as strong as ever. Facebook and Skype helped with that, of course. They’d met in college and had worked their first few gigs in Toronto together until Sharla had moved home to Niagara to help at her parent’s vineyard and Gretchen had struck out on her own. Gretchen missed Sharla’s influence on her to loosen up, relax, and spend less time working. It had been a year since they’d been in the same city at the same time, with Sharla concentrating on her fancy new job in the UK.
“I do,” Gretchen replied impishly. “I met him on the plane coming in. He’s meeting me here.”
“And you won’t be spending long here. I imagine you’ll be riding the elevator right back up to your room wearing those fuck-me shoes.”
“Sharla!” Gretchen admonished, laughing. “Seriously though.
I don’t know what has come over me. I’m not normally this bold, am I? I saw him at the gate and bought him a coffee, and it went from there. We just clicked!”
Sharla tried to pump her for more details as drinks arrived, but Gretchen remained mum—she wanted to see what her friend thought of Josh without knowing anything about him, to see if her instincts were right—and Sharla wouldn’t hesitate to let Gretchen know her opinion.
“If I don’t like him, I’m tossing my drink at him and taking you out on the town myself. We are not wasting that dress tonight. Deal?”
“Deal,” Gretchen said, smirking, because how could anyone not find Joshua Malvern anything but perfect? Well, maybe not everyone. Sharla had long perfected her eye roll when Gretchen would casually slip him into conversation, relaying his latest play or how nice he’d looked in pictures from some fundraiser. She teased Gretchen that she’d likely faint if she ever actually met him face to face.
Which she hadn’t, funnily enough.
She stopped herself before she let her nerves take hold. Tonight she was different. Tonight she was bold, flirty, and about to have a one-night stand with the big-time baseball player that she’d met on a plane. Her life was straight out of a romance novel.
“What are you up to these days? Did you find that bottle of 1945 Romanée-Conti that the earl missed out on at Sotheby’s?”
Gretchen asked to change the subject and keep her train of thought from derailing.
“No, dammit, it’s still in the wind. Some collector in Morocco is being selfish. That’s old news. The past two weeks I’ve been on His Lordship’s yacht, touring some Mediterranean wineries,”
Sharla replied, picking up her drink. “His Lordship is spending a lot of time there too.”
Gretchen bit her lip and looked at her friend in mock seriousness. Sharla had lucked into a job as the wine advisor and buyer for the Earl of Rathwell, or Kevin, as he preferred to be called. His was a rather new title in the peerage, as he was only the second earl, having inherited the earldom from his father. The first earl’s sister had married into the royal family and earned her brother the title as recompense for their parents having predeceased the good fortune.
Sharla had been seduced six months ago by the fact that he was willing to pay her a ridiculous salary plus expenses to simply help him build his wine investment portfolio, critique wineries for said investments, buy wines for his homes and estates, and basically be his personal taster. He wanted to build one of the best cellars in the world. The earl loved wine and was considered one of the smartest investors in the industry. Sharla had jumped at it, given she was going broke where she was, slinging wine in her parent’s vineyard tasting room.
Gretchen was mildly envious. Sharla got to jet-set and spent a lot of time at fancy European vineyards and tastings, negotiating huge orders. Kevin was also very much single, and highly recognized as one of the UK’s most eligible bachelors. It was quite a plum post.
“Oh, he is, is he?” Gretchen took a sip of her drink. “Anything you can’t tell me, but will anyway, because if you don’t, I’ll never speak to you again?”
Sharla masked an unreadable reaction, then laughed and hit the table with her hand. “I expected that reaction from you, Miss Nosy! No. He drives me nuts! All nitpicky and work, work, work. I’m just winding you up.”
Gretchen wasn’t sure she bought it but let it go. Suddenly Sharla stopped, mid-sip, her eyes widening at something behind Gretchen.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Do not look, but your favorite baseball player just walked into the bar. For real. Not shitting you.”
Gretchen put her hand to her chest and pressed her lips together to freshen her lipstick. Here we go.
“Really? Where?” she asked innocently while Sharla flailed for her arm.
“Oh my God. Don’t freak out, okay? He’s headed our way!
He’s—he’s looking right at us. He’s—”
Gretchen decided to turn at that moment and there he was.
Josh was gorgeous in a dark-blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his hair slightly messy, his eyes not wavering one bit from hers.
He bridged the distance to her in three steps as she stood, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles. She felt a bit unsteady as she caught the scent of fresh soap and man.
“You look—” he started, then stopped, eyes not leaving her face. “Wow.”
Sharla’s noises of shock echoed behind her, and Gretchen turned back to her friend. “Sharla, please meet Josh. Josh, this is Sharla, my best friend. We went to school together.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s your date tonight?” she asked incredulously as she shook Josh’s hand. “That must’ve been some coffee!”
. . .
The dress was purple. Or at least it sparkled purple in the dim lighting. What was more distinct was how it hugged Gretchen’s hips and stopped midthigh. And it was lowcut in the back with this lattice-thing holding it together, dipping almost to the dimples above her rear. She was wearing heels that added at least three inches, and he traced the curve of her calf with his eyes, his hand twitching to do the same.
Josh’s breath caught in his throat. He—a thirty-two-year-old professional baseball player who had stepped to the plate with two outs in the ninth, had pushed through whatever life threw at him, and had mastered controlling his emotions—needed a moment to compose himself before he could speak. She had turned, seen him, and he’d simply forgotten where he was. The front was low-cut too. Christ almighty.
“Drink?” a waitress asked as he sat down with them. He politely declined and refocused on Gretchen and her friend. Gretchen’s hands flew about as she talked to her, the bond between them evident. He put a hand on her thigh under the table, and her smaller one slid overtop, sending shots of energy up his arm.
“Okay . . . now you’re playing ball here? Why?” Sharla asked as she pulled the strawberry off the glowing toothpick in her drink.
“I am. Temporarily. Until they figure out whether I go back or move on. We have option years that get used when this happens,” he replied.
“Explain to me what this option year thing is. A club has, like, passes on how many times you can go back and forth?”
“Sort of,” he said. “It gets complicated with waivers and veterans’ rules and stuff, but basically, my option years are likely going to be used up with this move. I consented to go because I knew if I said no, they’d cut me from the roster immediately and I need to be able to sign somewhere else. Better negotiating power that way. I’ll likely be more informed on Monday.”
“I see. Men and their love of obfuscation. Kev—err, His Lordship makes all his paperwork complicated like that. Drives me crazy!” Sharla laughed.
“You work for a lord? Sounds old-fashioned. Doing what?”
“I buy His Lordship’s wine,” Sharla explained.
“I have to meet with the new DuBoeuf rep in the morning. Do you want to tag along or meet for lunch after that, before the first round?” Gretchen asked Sharla.
“Of course. I get the hint. It’s the third wheel’s time to go.”
Sharla drained the rest of her drink as elegantly as possible. She was a ballbuster, this one.
“No, no—” Gretchen argued, but Josh stopped her by pulling her to her feet.
Sharla and Gretchen hugged. Sharla said something low in Gretchen’s ear, and then looked at her friend like she had three heads. “Josh, you are approved. I don’t think I’ll need to rescue my girl here, will I?” she threatened, hands on her hips.
“Rescue? I might be the one who needs rescuing,” Josh joked.
They walked away to Sharla’s laughter, and out the door of the club, Josh’s arm around Gretchen’s waist, feeling the fabric shift as she moved. She had delivered on the sexy Vegas dress, that was for sure. He wondered where the zipper was to get it off, mentally undressing her.
The minute they were out in the main area of the casino, he pulled her behind a massive tree and kissed her, holding her face still because it was that or be indecent by planting his hands on her perfectly shaped ass. She moaned softly and he was immediately aroused, the idea of skipping dinner going through his head as she arched into him. He ran one hand down her back, rumpling the sequins on her dress, the heat of her radiating through the fabric.
She was all soft and warm and female and he wanted her. Now.
Badly.
“Where are we having dinner?” she murmured when he finally broke from her, stealing back some rational thought. Dinner.
Food. A good idea.
“You’ve likely gone before, but I got us a table at Aureole,” he replied, hopeful she would approve. “I’ve never been and I thought it might be fun to learn a bit about wine from you.”
She looked at him, and he couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking. She wasn’t upset; she actually looked impressed.
“I think that’s a perfect choice,” she said simply. “Lead the way.”