| |
––––––––
LILY FRANKLIN STRODE into the over-crowded bar in midtown Manhattan, graceful even in her stiletto heels, and scanned the crowd for her best friend. A mass of bodies, pounding music, and loud, alcohol-fueled conversations made it seem like all of New York City had descended on the popular Saturday night spot.
Women in dark, skinny jeans and trendy little tops darted between Wall Street types, drinks and clutches in hand. Men stood in clusters, glancing at their smart phones and flirting with pretty women. Groups of twenty- and thirty-somethings filled all the available space, and the dance floor tucked away in back was packed with couples moving to the music.
So much for a low-key evening.
She sighed, blowing a wisp of blonde bangs aside. After spending the afternoon at her sister’s ritzy baby shower, politely declining as all her mother’s friends had offered to set her up with their wealthy stockbroker sons, she wanted nothing more than to decompress for the evening. Her best friend Morgan had texted her earlier, and the two women had arranged to meet here. They could grab a few drinks, catch up, and maybe harmlessly flirt with a few men.
Then she’d return to her immaculate apartment and high society life, with every aspect of it, down to the very last minute of each and every day, already planned for her. Gym at five in the morning, breakfast at seven, committee meeting after committee meeting, not to mention luncheons, afternoon teas, hair appointments and manicures, fancy dinner parties thrown by her parents’ wealthy friends....
Her heart beat faster in a panic as she thought of the endless parade of charity events she’d need to attend this week, where she’d nod thoughtfully and make polite small talk with wealthy women who thought the world revolved around them.
Just like her own mother.
Was it possible to suffocate in a room full of people? Because she just might if she had to endure any more of her mother’s charitable endeavors. Not when it was more about the women showing off the latest designer fashions or expensive jewels and discussing the multiple European vacations their families took each year. Not when the entire charade was about anything other than actually helping other people.
Most of those events were all a façade, just like her own life. Pretty and shiny on the outside, but somewhat meaningless when you dug deeper.
Lily drew a deep breath and smoothed the pink satin dress she had on, wishing she’d taken a cab back to her place to change first. Or planned accordingly if she was going to duck out of her sister’s celebration early.
Although the beautiful dress was perfectly suited for the elegant shower thrown in her sister’s honor earlier in the afternoon, it wasn’t exactly what anyone would consider appropriate for drinks in a midtown bar on a Saturday night. Not when all the other women had on little black dresses and trendy jeans.
She’d been desperate to get away from the stuffy crowd at the shower though, and her sister had understood as Lily had slipped out the front door, unnoticed, as the festivities began to wind down. She’d barely felt like she fit in with her own family today, but who was she kidding? She hardly blended in with this crowd either, sticking out like a sore thumb in her pink cotton candy confection.
Morgan would probably tease her for showing up dressed like she’d come from high tea with the queen or something, but who was she kidding? That’s what best friends were for. The two of them had hit it off as roommates their freshman year at NYU and had been virtually inseparable ever since. Lily had majored in pre-law, and while she had hoped to attend law school, her parents had convinced her that serving on committees for their various charities around Manhattan would be more appropriate.
Appropriate for landing a husband, perhaps, Lily thought dryly.
Anyway, it’s not like she needed the salary a career as a Manhattan lawyer would provide—not with her ample trust fund. Wanting and needing her dream job, however, were two very different things. There were only so many charity committees she could serve on, fundraisers she could attend, and wealthy women she could politely smile at before she lost her ever-loving mind.
Her best friend Morgan was her opposite in every way: laid back where Lily was uptight, free-spirited and carefree where Lily was always cautious and conscious of appearances. Morgan had put herself through school, struggling every bit of the way, and was now doing what she’d always dreamed of, teaching underprivileged children.
How ironic was it that Lily wanted to swap lives with Morgan in a New York minute just to be able to do what she loved, too?
She walked toward the bar, putting those thoughts aside for the moment. Her calves were starting to kill her in her stiletto heels, but she’d be damned if she was seen wearing flats with a fancy dress. She needed to always look the part, and besides, why bother with flats when she had a car service to drive her around?
The sophisticated updo she was still sporting felt ridiculous as she edged through the crowd, but she was desperate for a drink. Anything to put the memories of the afternoon behind her as quickly as possible.
The young bartender barely blinked at her out-of-place attire, hastily pouring shots for a group of women as he nodded in Lily’s direction. “What can I get started for you?
“Gin and tonic.”
“Coming right up.”
She reached up to pull the pins out of her updo, and long blonde strands cascaded down past her shoulders, making her feel slightly less uptight and out of place in the bar’s trendy interior. Maybe if she was sitting down she’d at least blend in a little in the pink dress she was wearing—not that there was an empty barstool to be found.
Where was Morgan anyway?
“I love your dress,” the woman to her right commented. “The cut is fantastic.”
Lily’s gaze flicked toward the woman, who was dressed in trendy dark jeans, a skimpy halter top, and an expensive black leather jacket. “I just came from my sister’s baby shower,” Lily commented dryly.
“I hear ya. I’d need a strong drink after that, too.”
Lily smiled as the woman walked away, her laughter trailing behind her. A strong drink or five should do the trick.
She glanced around again, wondering if she’d somehow missed her best friend, taking in the clusters of Manhattanites. As her gaze swept back, suddenly she felt a set of male eyes on her. Eyes belonging to someone tall, dark, and mysterious, she noted, as he watched her from across the crowded bar. He wasn’t exactly her usual type, with a day’s worth of dark stubble across his chiseled face and shortly cropped dark hair. His broad shoulders were encased by a dark blazer, but he had jeans on, giving his whole ensemble kind of a rough-and-tumble look. Her heartbeat quickened as she met his eyes, and heat coiled through her, snaking its way from her belly down to her core.
No, he was sooo not her type, but she felt his piercing blue eyes burning into her with interest as she turned away and the bartender set her drink down. Heat flushed across her face, and she tried to ignore the absurd reaction she was having to this man she didn’t even know. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, and she still felt his gaze boring into her but refused to look up once more and meet his searing look. Refused to feel anything at all.
Her ex and practically every other man she’d ever dated had worked on Wall Street. They wore expensive suits that cost more than some men made in a month, not jeans with a blazer casually tossed on as an afterthought. They certainly wouldn’t show up on a Saturday night looking like they’d just rolled out of bed and grabbed the first thing within arm’s reach. They absolutely wouldn’t stare at a woman as if they were mentally undressing her.
She’d always been properly wined and dined by men in the past. Men she’d met within her own social circle—sons of her mother’s friends and the like. She’d politely decline any offers thrown her way if she happened to meet a man elsewhere, happy to let her ice princess façade keep them away.
She sipped her gin and tonic and reached for her clutch, suddenly wishing she’d had something to eat at her sister’s shower. Alcohol and an empty stomach didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand. Then again, maybe a buzz would drown out all memories of her mother chiding her about what a catastrophe her life was. Compared to her sister’s at least.
She took another sip of her drink, willing the alcohol to do the trick. At least until Morgan arrived to distract her. They’d laugh about the absurdity of it all.
At that moment, she felt him right behind her, heat radiating off his large frame even though he stood at least a foot away. Her body tingled with awareness, and she fumbled as she opened the clasp of her clutch, flushing slightly, glad he couldn’t see her face. This guy was all chiseled, handsome deliciousness, looking nothing but cool and confident as he’d watched her from afar, and she was all done up like the ice queen of the homecoming parade or something.
Not that her elite, private school ever had such a thing.
Ridiculous.
“It’s on me,” he said, leaning over as she retrieved her wallet, so that his deep voice rumbled right in her ear.
Shivers raced down her spine, and she jerked up, meeting his penetrating gaze. His clean, masculine scent filled the air, and he stood to his full height, an impressive six-feet-two-inches, at least, as a slow smile tugged at his lips. She was five-foot-six, a couple of inches taller in her heels, but he still towered above her.
“Oh, you don’t need—”
“I insist. You’re the most gorgeous woman in this place. I can’t let you pay for your own drink.”
He reached out and brushed a strand of her blonde hair off her face, and she stilled, mesmerized by his touch. Shocked that a man she didn’t even know would touch her in such a familiar way. Her stomach did a funny little flip, and for the briefest of moments, she imagined those big hands dragging all over her skin.
“Besides,” he said, his voice gravel. “I don’t want another man going after what’s mine.”
Her heart pounded in her chest at the utter possessiveness in his voice and she swore that she felt her core clench and nipples tighten. She willed herself to calm down, not wanting to let him know the effect he was having on her. So what if the man was sex-on-a-stick? He was offering to buy her a drink, not throw her over his shoulder and haul her off to the nearest bed. Not that she did that sort of thing anyway, especially with a man she’d known all of thirty seconds. Not that she wanted him to strip her down, caress her bare skin, and sink deep inside her core, filling her in a way she could only fantasize about.
Still, her sister was blissfully married with a baby on the way. She could at least imagine what a night with Mr. All Wrong would be like, couldn’t she? Confidence oozed from his pores, and a man like him looked like he’d been with his fair share of women. Like he knew exactly what she wanted.
Why did that attract her to him even more?
He laid a twenty down on the bar and gestured to the bartender for another beer. “Are you here alone?” he asked, stepping closer to her with a spark of interest in his blue eyes. Over-confident and cocky—just what she needed.
Right.
“No, I’m looking for someone,” she said without elaborating. Her breasts rose with her slight intake of breath, and his eyes slid up to meet hers once more.
“I’m someone.”
That slow smile tugged at his lips again—his very full lips, Lily couldn’t help but notice. What would it be like to kiss a man like him? He didn’t look like he had a polite bone in his body. Would he be aggressive and demanding, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth as he teased and tormented her? Or gentle and thorough, making sure she liked the caress of his lips against hers? Kissing her deeply as his hands slid all over her body.
Practically every nerve ending in her body alighted as she appraised him: tall, with a broad chest and even broader shoulders. No doubt there were walls of muscle beneath his clothing—pounds of strength just waiting to be unleashed. He certainly wasn’t a stockbroker or finance guy. He was in way too good of shape to sit at a desk all day. Maybe he was a fireman? Professional athlete? Some sort of resurrected Greek God?
“I’m meeting a friend,” she finally replied when she realized she’d been staring too long. The grin on his face showed that he’d noticed.
“Brock Rollins,” he said, holding out a muscular hand.
Well, it would be impolite not to at least shake his hand, right? Then she’d excuse herself and go look for Morgan again.
“Lily Franklin,” she replied. She held out her own hand and felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her as his large hand engulfed hers, the tendons bulging from beneath his skin. His hand was warm. Slightly rough. But he didn’t squeeze too tightly. Just enough to let her know he was in charge.
To make her want more.
Yeah, she definitely had to get out of there, she thought, as he held her hand a beat too long. She liked the contact way too much for her own good, and a guy like him could only lead to trouble. He certainly wasn’t the type of man her mother was pushing for her to marry. And he wasn’t the type of guy she dated anyway.
Gently extricating her hand from his confident grip, she immediately regretted the loss. But she downed the rest of her drink, feeling entirely unladylike, and set the empty glass on the bar. “Thanks for the drink, but I really should go look for my friend,” she said, turning to go.
He stepped closer, a big hand closing around her hip. She gasped and froze in place as his broad chest pressed up against her back. His heat and masculine scent surrounded her as he once again dipped his head low, so that his lips brushed against her hair, teasing the shell of her ear. She couldn’t move if she wanted to—not with his big body so close, completely surrounding her. Her heart pounded, and the buzz of alcohol coursing through her veins was making it difficult to think straight. Or maybe it was just his nearness. His warmth. The surge of electricity sparking between them.
“Lily,” he said, his voice gravel.
She could swear her nipples tightened and panties dampened at the sound of his low voice and authoritative tone. She took a halting breath.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to let me deflower you?”
She was jolted back to reality.
“Are you crazy?” she retorted, whirling around to glare at him as her pulse pounded and heat rushed to her face. “I just met you. And that is the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard.”
“Your name is Lily,” he pointed out. “And you’re actually the first woman I’ve used that line on.”
“How refreshing.”
“Let me buy you another drink instead,” he offered, a hint of amusement sparking in his blue eyes.
“And why would I do that?” she countered, putting her hands on her hips as she glared up at him. Holy hell was he tall. She had to tilt her head back just to meet his gaze. And was it really the best idea to be telling off a six-foot-two fireman/cop/possible sex god?
“To let me make it up to you,” he said with a smirk.
“What’s so funny?” she asked indignantly.
“You liked it when I said that. If you didn’t, you’d be running the other way, not still standing here talking to me.”
Anger surged through her, mixing with the insane, unexplainable attraction she also felt for this man she’d barely just met. “It’s called an argument. I’m arguing with you. You probably get that a lot from women with your horrible lines.”
“Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance with guys like you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What? Thirty-year-old men? Cops? Just one dance.”
Her mind reeling, she brushed past him and back toward the bar. “I need another drink,” she muttered. Maybe an entire bottle. To smack him over the head with. Did he seriously just ask her to have sex with him? Not even five minutes after they’d met?! Good Lord, maybe the stockbrokers her mother wanted to set her up with weren’t so bad after all. A touch boring and arrogant, perhaps, but she wouldn’t have to deal with their boorish behavior. Was that guy raised in a zoo or something?
Not bothering to see if he’d followed her, she pulled her cell phone from her clutch and texted Morgan while she waited for the bartender.
Where are you?! I’ve been here 15 min. and have already been propositioned.
Morgan’s reply was immediate:
What?! Details please. We’re stuck in traffic.
Lily groaned as she typed a response back:
A sinfully hot man wants to ‘deflower’ me.
She could practically hear Morgan’s laughter at her response:
Honey, you have to be a virgin for that.
She rolled her eyes and glanced up as the bartender approached. “Shot of tequila,” she said.
She suddenly became aware of Brock right behind her, peering over her shoulder, and cringed as she realized he was staring at her phone with interest.
“Sinfully hot, huh?” he chuckled. He cleared his throat, the deep rumbling doing funny things to her insides, which were suddenly turning to mush. “In that case, you definitely owe me one dance. Hell, you owe yourself one dance with me.”
“And why is that?” she huffed.
Lily blew out a breath as the bartender poured her tequila and slid the shot glass over, the liquid glistening in the dim light. Brock edged closer.
“Because we’re both attracted to one another,” he said in a low voice. “You think I’m sinfully hot, and I think you’re sinfully fuckable.”
Heat flushed across her face. But she didn’t deny it—couldn’t. Not when heat filled her belly and coiled lower, making her folds slicken with arousal. Not when they were in the middle of a crowded bar, but his words were rough. Intimate. Meant only for her ears. And she was attracted to him in a way she couldn’t even fathom. Wanted things she couldn’t even explain.
“I want to see that blush when you come, Princess. My name on your lips—my mouth on your pussy,” he murmured, his lips at her ear.
She gasped.
“I bet you taste so fucking sweet. I’ll have you screaming all night long.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. Holy hell, was she just going to stand here and let this man talk to her like this? Admit that he was getting her turned on? Getting involved with Brock in any way would be nothing but a big, fat mistake.
She was already feeling vulnerable tonight. Forced to listen to her mother rant all afternoon about how Lily needed to settle down. Unable to leave the baby shower as she watched her sister prance around with her cute little baby bump. The last thing she needed was a night with Mr. Wrong. Even a single dance with him would be a mistake.
A delicious, make her forget about everything, mistake.
“How do I know you’re really a cop? That’s probably just another line.”
He opened his blazer, flashing his badge, and grinned. “I’ll cuff you if you want.”
“Seriously. Say one thing that’s not just some cheesy pick-up line.”
“I’m a NYPD detective. I live in Brooklyn. I’ve got one brother, who’s a Navy SEAL—I’m much better looking though.” He winked as she rolled her eyes. “I go after what I want—especially when I see a woman I want. I’m here to meet a buddy of mine, but he’s late. I saw you standing there from across the crowded bar—not a line, I promise,” he joked, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I literally did see you standing there.”
“And what?”
“And I wanted to make you mine.” His blue eyes blazed as he challenged her to disagree. He stepped infinitesimally closer, causing her stomach to do a funny little flip-flop. He was domineering and arrogant. Brash. Forward. And as her heart pounded like a freight train in her chest, she couldn’t make herself leave.
“I’ve told you about me,” he said. “What do you do? When you’re not waltzing around bars in pink dresses giving men hard-ons.”
Lily bristled, resisting the urge to slap him.
“You’re beautiful. A woman like you knows that men want you. That I want you.”
“Charity work. That’s what I do,” she said, miffed. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”
“Ummm-hmmm. You could make me your next charity case.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“You gonna stare at that all night?” Brock asked, nodding at her drink.
She glanced at her shot of tequila, sitting all but forgotten on the bar. Shakily, she lifted the shot glass, feeling Brock’s heated gaze on her, then downed it instantly. The warm liquid burned down her throat but warmed her insides and gave her the boost of confidence she needed.
“I didn’t take you for a shots girl,” he said, his voice gruff. “Not in this prim and proper dress you have on,” he said, reaching out to lightly caress her waist, practically electrifying her with his touch. There was something oddly intimate and erotic about looking at his large, masculine hand against the delicate fabric. At feeling his heat even through the material. Part of her wanted him to pull her into those big, bulky arms. Another part wanted to run the hell away. Rush out the front door and forget she’d ever met a man like him.
A man she didn’t know who made her feel things she didn’t want to admit.
Her heart pounded as he slid his hand higher, slowly, teasingly, his thumb coming to rest just below one breast. It was so close to being indecent that she almost wished he inched higher so she could slap him. So he’d give her an excuse to leave. To not crave sexy, intimate things with a stranger.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“But I want to. And you look like the type of woman who normally brunches with her girlfriends and sips champagne at cocktail parties, not the type that downs shots in a Manhattan bar.”
“Liquid courage,” she finally replied, tossing some money down on the counter.
Brock raised his eyebrows, looking far too sexy for his own good. His blue eyes blazed as he watched her, and Lily wondered if he always got what he wanted. If she was just the flavor of the night. Or if she even cared.
Because oh how delicious he looked all scruffy and rumpled. All confident and bossy, insisting she needed to dance with him. Promising that she’d enjoy it. And oh how she wanted to do something to break free from her prim and proper life. Even if just for a moment. Even if only for one night.
The warmth of the alcohol burned through her veins, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go dance.”
