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“No thank you. My shoe is fine. Some idiot out there spilled a drink on me,” she said, her gaze wandering from my face to my body and back up again. “There’s no need for any alone time.”

  Ouch. I’d never had anyone make it so clear that they didn’t have any interest in me before I even propositioned them. Intrigued, I raked my gaze over the tight white dress hugging her hourglass figure and took a step closer. Those curves of hers made me itch to touch her.

  “Are you sure, because it might not involve what your friend thinks. What about a drink together? Just one?” I threw my hand in the air to get the bartender’s attention, hoping this lovely creature in front of me wouldn’t turn down something as innocent as a drink.

  Her expression remained tight, a perfect poker face that had me convinced she was about to turn me down. It would be a first for me and I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. I followed her gaze as it wandered to a nearby booth. Her friend was there, leaning over and whispering to another woman I recognized as a friend of Eve’s. When I looked at my target, she was biting her bottom lip. I wanted to find out what that mouth could do to me for just one night.

  “I’ll take a Sidecar,” she said, angling her body away from the bar so I could get closer. To the bar, of course, not her. If I had my say, though, that wall would come tumbling down within the hour.

  “That’s a classic. I like it. Not one of those drinks of the moment everyone else wants these days.” I couldn’t help but remark on her selection as she perched on a barstool. I settled back onto the one next to hers and turned so our knees touched. To her credit, the woman across from me didn’t flinch away, though something like anguish skated across her features.

  After I gave our order to the bartender, I tipped my head to one side and asked, “Shall we do names?” They weren’t exactly a necessity, but I figured if I was being nice, I might as well go all the way. It wouldn’t matter in the heat of the moment, because I was so good in bed, she would forget her own name, let alone remember mine.

  “It’s about time you asked. You spent five minutes ogling me while I was dealing with a wet shoe.” She stared back at me unflinchingly. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself, especially the way you’ve been looking at me.”

  I grimaced. Clearly, she read between the lines better than I expected. An hour might be a waste of my time, but something drew me to the challenge of working my way through her wall. No way in hell was I going to pump the brakes just yet. “My name is Dylan Lambert and I work in fashion, but let me assure you I’m not a model. A lot of people seem to make that mistake.”

  Something else flashed in her eyes and she thanked the bartender for the drink placed in front of her. “Why do you feel the need to word it like that?” she asked, her fingers closing around the stem of the glass.

  I shrugged. Nonchalance came to me as easy as breathing. Even now, the only thing driving me in this pursuit was the fact that, for once, a woman wasn’t throwing herself at me. Other than that, no pulse-pounding excitement, no need to find out how she liked her eggs. “Because some women find models intimidating.”

  She chuckled, the first show of emotion I found easy to assess. “I’m not one of those women. I work around models enough and my best friend dates a model.” Once again, her gaze strayed to one side and I glanced at the booth.

  “That wouldn’t be Paige Stone, would it?” I decided I might as well try to make a personal connection, the first step to disassembling her wall, brick by brick. If I couldn’t get it down before midnight, I’d give up and leave with the redhead. That’d be easy as pie.

  Instead of answering my question, she said, “So you aren’t a model, but you hang out with them and work in fashion.”

  “Yes, for the most draconian editor-in-chief of all.” I told her this in hopes of eliciting a smile. Any woman who knew fashion magazines also knew who I meant. My boss was infamous for her icy demeanor and cunning at work. Instead, however, the blonde’s eyes went wide for a moment and a blush crept up her cheeks. That was a telling expression I couldn’t ignore and I waved my index finger at her as it hit me. “Wait a minute... I know you.”

  “No you don’t.” Her face dropped, the wall back in place. But it was too late for her to backpedal.

  “I swear, I’ve seen your picture somewhere.” I snapped my fingers, the memory finally coming back to me. “You’re the beauty editor over at—”

  “You got me,” she interjected, “and after I tried so hard to hide it. I’m Sara Davis and you probably shouldn’t be flirting with the enemy.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe knowing we were from competing magazines explained why I was so drawn to her. No, that couldn’t be it. Maybe it was those doe-eyes of hers... Again, though, I didn’t think so. Sure, she looked lovely in the headshot that accompanied her section of the magazine, but anyone could have a pretty face. Her blonde curls swung around her shoulders and I kept smiling, the only way to hide both the confusion and lust coursing through me.

  Sara turned from me and lifted her hand. I followed her gaze and saw a stony-faced Paige, Eve’s arm draped over her shoulders. Paige knew the truth about me and then some. She knew my game when it came to women and if Sara was truly her friend, then this was bad news. If I even managed to add Sara to the long list of women I’d had sex with, Paige would rip me a new one.

  Eve said something in Paige’s ear. When Paige turned, Eve kissed her, all tongue and groping hands. I admired Eve for taking on Paige, considering the stories I’d heard about the lawyer. She was a shark. Maybe even more of one than my boss. However, if I played my own cards right, I could ask Paige and Eve to smooth my way with Sara. It didn’t need to happen tonight, but I wasn’t going to let go of the idea, either. This was turning into a new adventure, a dare that was too good to turn down.

  I wanted the curvy woman next to me more than anything and I still couldn’t understand why. The confusion was a part of the excitement as I dragged my gaze back to my shiny, new toy.

  Sara cleared her throat, a reminder that the silence had stretched between us in the most awkward way possible. “Well, this has been fun, but since you’re the competition, I’d better go back to my friends. Thank you for the drink and have fun tonight.”

  She stood to go and I reached for her wrist without a second thought. My fingers couldn’t quite close around it, but I liked that about her. Everything about Sara was substantial, a far cry from the twig-like models I spent most of my time with day after day. She lacked the bland, fragile perfection of the women who stood wall to wall in the club. Instead, Sara was something novel and I had to be the one who experienced her.

  Even though she wasn’t tiny, I still towered over her when I stood to keep up with her. She couldn’t have been more than five foot six, which meant I was at least five inches taller than her without heels. Another difference between her and the models, one I liked. Having to look down at a woman, instead of eye to eye, sent a thrill singing through my veins. She seemed so vulnerable next to me.

  Her face had turned away from mine, though, and I studied her profile as she looked at the dancing bodies. Who was she searching for in this dark nightclub — a friend or lover? I hated the endless questions and sensation of helplessness. Both were completely new to me. Most women didn’t do this to me. They fluttered their eyelashes, cooed, and giggled for me. None of them had plush, glossy lips that shined in the dim lights, inviting me to find out how she could use them. On every square inch of my body.

  “Can I get your number?” I asked, even though it seemed the words were lost in the overly loud music. Another first, for me. I never asked for phone numbers. They weren’t necessary when all I did was fuck a woman and then forget her. Maybe a few made the cut for another round, but not many.

  Relieved she still wasn’t looking directly at me, I swallowed and hoped I didn’t sound desperate. What was happening to me? When her head finally swiveled back in my direction, I forced myself to appear relaxed, shoulders down and head cocked t
o one side.

  “I don’t give out my number to anyone, especially the enemy. Let’s not pretend this is going anywhere.” Sara motioned between us with a swift flick of her hand. “I’m pretty sure I know what you’re after and, frankly, I’m not giving it up. Not to anyone and especially not to someone who works you-know-where or hangs out with models. I’m sure once you’re done with me, you’ll just go back to them and laugh about how you got it on with the fat girl. Not going to happen.”

  I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Something about her blend of standoffishness and innocence made me want so much more.

  “That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Sara, but I’ll let you think that. For now,” I told her. And then I did the only thing I could in the moment — I let go of her wrist and watched her walk away from me.

  Once again, confusion clouded her features, and the scrunch of her brow made me want to give her the kind of kiss that would leave her weak in my arms. After a moment, though, she shook herself and turned to walk away.

  She smiled over her shoulder as she went back to her booth, her perfect ass swaying under that white dress in a way none of the bone-thin girls here could ever emulate.

  After our short conversation, I only knew a few things about Sara, but all of them left me with one thought: she’d won this match and left me wanting more. It wasn’t fair. I was supposed to be the one who left women wanting, eager to see if they could hook up with me just one more time. Instead, I was the one hoping for a first time.

  Pulse-pounding excitement wasn’t so hard to come by, after all.

  Chapter Three

  Sara

  I tried not to spend Sunday sulking around my apartment, but I couldn’t help it. Jennifer had been right about me all along. I needed to get laid, to work my way past the bullshit of a break-up that’d happened, yeesh, so long ago that it was time to let it go. By the time I got to work on Monday morning, I wasn’t sure I would be able to concentrate on something as simple as testing a new batch of lip glosses. Not with the reminder that my libido was still a very real and active thing.

  One thought continued to repeat in my mind as I looked at my workload. That gorgeous woman at the club — Dylan. I’d had her and she’d basically offered herself. If only I’d taken her up on the obvious invitation, this wouldn’t be an issue.

  I tried to remind myself that even though she was hot, she wasn’t my type at all. First of all, I didn’t do one-night-stands, which was all she’d ever be good for. Dylan represented everything I’d learned through painful trial and error to avoid. Don’t fall for the unattainable woman. Breaking hearts was probably one of her perfected skill sets.

  Of course, I could have taken her home that night and beaten her at her own game. Had sex and kicked her out of my bed without so much as a goodbye. That wasn’t something I’d ever considered before, but it was doable. Hormones seemed to be running the show since I’d met Dylan. Horny was just the tip of the iceberg whenever I thought about her.

  It didn’t help that the array of lip glosses in front of me included a sparkly gold one. Gold, of all colors, damn it! But it’s what I imagined Dylan’s eyes look like in full light, hazel with just a hint of amber, instead of shadowed in the darkness of a nightclub.

  Oh jeez, why was I thinking about her eyes? With the realization that I was a hot mess, I sat at my desk and put my head in my hands. This was my punishment for going more than a year without sex, even casual sex. One conversation with a hot woman was all it took to turn me into a panting dog. I should have gone for it, damn it.

  After a few deep breaths and deciding I wasn’t going to spend another day obsessing, I picked up my cell phone and called the one person who could help. Paige picked up almost immediately. “Sara, my innocent little doe,” she breathed out in a huge rush of air.

  After scurrying from my desk to the office door to close it, and back again, I let out my own rush of words. “I need that date you were talking about. Who were you thinking of setting me up with?” Please be Dylan, please be Dylan. My silent pleas were freaking pathetic and I chastised myself inwardly. Dylan wasn’t the kind of woman who dated. It wouldn’t be her.

  “Happy Monday to you too, Sara. Hard up are you?” I heard the smile in her voice.

  “Hard up doesn’t even begin to cover the bases. I want a phone number, e-mail address – whatever you have. Now.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re finally ready to ditch the memory of Sasha, but if you’re thinking of Dylan, I suggest you stop. She’s bad news. A worse modelizer than me. It’s so easy for her, since she works with them. But those are the only women she goes for. If she has her eye on you, it’s because she has a game in mind.”

  My heart sank and a pit formed in my stomach. I could tell from the start that Dylan wasn’t relationship material. Heck, I’d been telling myself that all weekend, while simultaneously wishing I’d left the club with her, anyway. Hearing someone else say it didn’t make me feel any better.

  “I thought you might like to go out with Amanda. She’s a model, like all the women I hang out with, but a real sweetie. Tame in the dating department. Smart, too. She went to an Ivy League college before she came to New York.”

  Tame was the last thing I wanted, nor did I want to explore the reasons why a woman got an expensive education only to waste all that time and effort by going into a modeling career. What I had in mind was passionate, try-everything, naked-limbs-tangling-with-need sex.

  Despite that, I drew in a breath and asked, “What’s her email address?” Amanda might not be what I wanted, but it was a start. Paige gave me the information and I scribbled it down with half effort, still unimpressed with the idea of dating someone she’d already labelled as “tame.” What did that make me in Paige’s eyes? Though her warning about Dylan playing some sort of game with me had certainly put my libido on ice. I’d been the butt of enough jokes in high school to know I didn’t want to get involved in some juvenile crap.

  “I should tell you,” Paige added, “that Dylan called me this morning to ask about you. I didn’t tell her anything, because I don’t trust her, but I’m sure she’ll find out. She’s pretty persistent and the fashion industry is a small world.”

  I bit back a moan of disappointment that Paige didn’t at least give Dylan something to work with. Why not let the woman chase me? I could always be the one to tell her to back off. “I guess so. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Look, I just don’t want to have to say ‘I told you so’ about her, that’s all. You’ve been through enough hurt with Sasha. Dylan isn’t the type of women you’re looking for. I know you and I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Trust me. E-mail Amanda. See you later, Sara.” That was her way of saying goodbye and I simply whispered a goodbye in response.

  The notepad with Amanda’s e-mail address taunted me. Looking at it made me feel a little bit like a traitor, because I hoped Dylan would find me before I reached out to Amanda. Regardless of any games. In a way, I didn’t care about Paige telling me she wasn’t good for me. All I had in mind was hot sex. Maybe that was all Dylan wanted, too. I wished people didn’t see me as some naive girl in need of protecting. I was thirty, a woman who’d experienced heartbreak, and I knew what kind of woman Dylan was.

  I also knew the so-called “nice girl” wasn’t always as nice as she seemed. Experience had taught me that they were just as likely as anyone to screw you over without remorse. My friends needed to remember I had love once and it burned me. A relationship was the last thing on my mind. Rebound sex was all I wanted. For now.

  A shiver short down my spine and my core clenched. All of this wishful thinking was getting me nowhere, except even more worked up. It was nearly ten in the morning and I hadn’t so much as picked up one of the dozen lip glosses waiting for my review. I flicked at the pale green leaves of my barely-living desk plant and poured some water from my water bottle onto the soil.

  “I miss the sun, too,” I told it. The plant had no respon
se, of course, but I decided to take it home that night. We had a nice balcony where it could live and get all the sunshine and carbon dioxide it wanted.

  My phone buzzed and my assistant’s voice chirped through the intercom, “You have someone here to see you, Miss Davis.” She sounded way too happy for a Monday morning, but that was a twenty-two-year-old for you.

  “I... I do?” It wasn’t often that I got unannounced visitors. Most of the people I saw during my work week were scheduled appointments, both in and out of the office. Though I tried to meet with representatives from beauty-based companies face to face as often as I could, my junior editor often handled that kind of legwork. Sometimes, I even let my assistant get in on the action, since I remembered being in her shoes, eager to prove myself.

  “She has some products for you and you’re going to want this delivery.”

  What an odd thing to say. I offered a pleasant, professional, “Would you please send her back?” as I combed my fingers through my curls and plastered a smile on my face. It seemed wrong to have lost myself so thoroughly in my need for sex, especially in the middle of a workday. Anyone could pop in and the thought that they might guess where my mind had been was embarrassing.

  Thank goodness I loved my job. It made it that much easier to ignore my physical needs and focus on the task at hand. I picked up one of the new glosses and slicked it on, while eyeing my reflection in the small, round mirror I kept in my desk. Even though I’d picked up the gold, which slicked on clear and shiny with just a hint of sparkling warmth, it was easy to shove my lascivious thoughts aside and focus on...

  The door opened and closed, leaving me alone in my office with the first person I’d woken up thinking of and the last person I’d expected to see.

  “Sara Davis, fashion sure is a small world, isn’t it?” Dylan repeated Paige’s sentiment almost word for word and I swallowed.

  My stomach did a flip-flop and my heartbeat sped up until I could barely breathe. Just looking at Dylan sent jolts all the way down to my sex. Ideas, all of them deliciously lewd, flitted through my mind. Some of them involved my desk and wide-open blinds, not caring if someone peered in from another building and happened to see us. I wanted her and, worse than that, I could see that she knew it. That was the danger of being fair, blonde, and overweight. I blushed far too easily.