It was his warm breath on the back of her neck that woke her. Stephanie, too terrified to move, lay motionless, listening to the syncopated rhythm of his breathing.
Oh, shit, she thought, panicked. I can’t get caught—not here, not now.
Slowly, so not to disturb the slumbering body next to her, Stephanie turned to look at the clock. It was 6:47 A.M. Thank God Jack was still asleep. How had she let this happen? If he saw her now, everything would be over before it even began.
Jack stirred, releasing Stephanie from her paralysis. Gently, she lifted the sheet from her naked body and cautiously eased out of his bed. She pulled her jeans over her narrow hips and her shirt over her small breasts. She paused before retrieving her panties. Granted, black lace undies hanging daintily from the TV antenna were an interesting forget-me-not, but these were her Victoria’s Secret seduction panties. A brief note would suffice, Stephanie decided, and shoved them into her purse.
Shoes in hand, she padded out of his bedroom and downstairs to the studio area. On the back of his unopened electric bill she jotted, “Thanks. You were great. Stephanie.” Wait. I’m a writer. I can do better than this. Before she could think of something coyer and more suggestive, the shrill sound of Jack’s alarm sent her flying across the room and through the front door.
She’d almost blown it. Seducing him into bed had been her game plan, not waking up with him in the morning. Another fifteen minutes and all the illusions she’d worked so hard to create these past three weeks would have been shattered.
Morning was definitely not Stephanie’s best time of day. She was convinced that each night little gangs of trolls came out and beat her up, transforming her from a relatively attractive twenty-three-year-old woman into an unsightly beast.
Her short brick-red hair, which crowned her head in thick Miss Clairol—enhanced curls when she climbed into bed, was matted and sticking up every which way when she climbed out. Her jade-green eyes were puffy and brown now that her tinted contact lenses were tucked away in their case. Her glowing skin, devoid of all makeup, looked splotchy and uneven. Worst of all was her breath. During last night’s pillow talk her mouth smelled minty fresh, but overnight it had turned into a toxic-waste dump, emitting fumes that could easily drop a herd of elephants, let alone a mere mortal.
Oh, no, not the kind of sight you wanted the man you were trying to draw into your lair to see before your relationship was solid—rock solid. Stephanie had big plans for Jack Hollis. She wasn’t about to spoil them now.
Stephanie suppressed the urge to burst into song as she slipped quietly through the front door of the Fort Greene brownstone and upstairs to her rented room. The last thing she wanted to do was to alert her landlady, Beatrice Braidburn, that she was just getting home. It wasn’t as if there were actual house rules that precluded her from staying out all night. It was just that Beatrice, self-appointed captain of the morality police, always managed to make her feel guilty as hell.
Congratulations, Steph, she told herself. Finally something in your life is going right. Delicious, sexy Jack was the perfect remedy for what ailed her. There was something about him that made her forget how disappointing her life had been lately.
Among other things, having Jack around helped ease her frustration and anger over the constant stream of rejection letters that flooded her mailbox. It irked her no end that she was unable to make a living at the one thing she loved to do. Her bank account was once again running on empty, and now she was forced to job-hunt—using up time she could better spend writing.
Stephanie pushed all thoughts of her sputtering literary career into the “pending” file at the very back of her head. She didn’t want anything to bring her down. Last night had made her too happy. Jack Hollis was the one—the man who was going to turn her life around.
From the moment she spotted him sitting on a barstool at the Mad Hatter, Stephanie had become the hunter and Jack her unwitting prey. She had sat at the very end of the bar, shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit room waiting for a blind date that never showed. At the time she was livid, but in hindsight, if she ever met the imbecile who stood her up she’d have to thank him for delivering her to this cleverly disguised promised land.
Writing had made Stephanie an expert observer, and what she saw pleased her immensely. Even in the dim lights she could tell he was attractive. The constant flow of women flocking to his side was also a dead giveaway. After a few moments of close scrutiny Stephanie noticed that none of the women managed to keep his attention for more than a couple of minutes. This could mean one of two things: He was either heartbroken or homosexual. The thought of his being gay was just too depressing, and Stephanie had immediately pushed it from her mind. Hey, for anybody else, fine. But not this man. Not Mr. Right. That would be too cruel. He must be heartbroken, she’d decided. Yes, some bitch has broken his heart and he needs me—the Krazy Glue of love.
While her eyes watched the pencil-thin blonde with gigantic boobs giggle in his face, her mouth called to the bartender, “What is he drinking?”
“Sidecar.”
“That’s a new one.”
“Not really. We don’t get too many requests for it. Shall I send one over?”
“No, I think I’ll handle this myself.” Stephanie took a minute to freshen up her makeup before making her move. She slipped off the barstool just as the buxom blonde vacated the coveted chair. Stephanie rounded the bar and breathlessly slid onto the seat next to the object of her desire.
“Matt? I’m Stephanie. Sorry I’m so late.” She hoped she sounded genuine. From the description she’d been given of her date, getting these two mixed up would be like mistaking Danny DeVito for Johnny Depp.
“Sorry, wrong number.”
“How embarrassing. I was sure you were somebody I’m supposed to meet,” she explained, perfectly pitching her voice between irony and sincerity.
“No problem.”
“What can I get you?” the bartender interrupted.
“My usual—a sidecar,” Stephanie requested with a conspiratorial smile.
“You got it.”
“This guy, Matt, he’s a real loser,” Jack announced. “Any woman who drinks a classic should never be kept waiting.”
“Six-fifty’s the damage,” the bartender announced, setting down her glass.
“This one’s on me.”
“Thank you …”
“Jack Hollis.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack Hollis,” Stephanie said, enjoying the taste of his name in her mouth.
“To sidecars,” Jack said, raising his glass in a toast.
“And the sidekicks that fill them.” Stephanie lifted the amber-colored drink to her mouth and took a sip. THIS TASTES LIKE SHIT, screamed every taste bud on her tongue. Smiling weakly, Stephanie drained the contents of her glass—partly for courage, but mainly because she didn’t want to sip on that vile concoction all night. She closed her eyes as the alcohol blazed its way down her throat. When she opened them, Jack was smiling at her.
“Whoa, slow down. These things are pretty potent. You know, most people have never even heard of a sidecar, let alone tasted one. How is it that you’re so enlightened?”
“It’s my father’s favorite drink,” Stephanie lied, smiling broadly.
Two hours later, Stephanie and a very drunk Jack were in a cab headed for Greenwich Village. Immediately after arriving at his studio, Jack excused himself and stumbled up the narrow stairs to the loft, which doubled as his bedroom. “Have a sheet. I’ll be right down,” he told her, slurring his words. Stephanie sat on one of the two oversized leather chairs that dominated the studio area. Busy checking out her surroundings, it was several minutes before Stephanie realized that all movement upstairs had ceased.
“Jack, are you okay?” She climbed halfway up the ladder and peeked into the loft. Jack, having parked one sidecar too many, was passed out, leaving Stephanie alone to explore his abode.
In less than twenty minutes, having peered into every closet and cupboard in the place, Stephanie learned everything she needed to know about this thirty-one-year-old graphic artist she’d decided to make her own. He was self-employed, a sports enthusiast—namely golf, windsurfing, and the New York Rangers—loved Chinese food and the James Bond films starring Sean Connery. He appeared to be single, and if he was involved with another woman, he wouldn’t be for long. Whatever it took, Stephanie would transform herself into his perfect woman, his soul mate. She wanted Jack Hollis, and come hell or high water, she was going to have him.