Page 1 of My Real Love Affair

CHAPTER 1

AUSTIN

Sunlight stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse suite like fucking daggers. Grimacing, I rolled over in bed to put the light behind me. It did nothing to ease the relentless pounding in my head, which sounded just like the bass thumping through the speakers at the nightclub last night. At least the room wasn’t spinning. That was a good sign.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. A flash of tanned skin and silky dark hair as someone tried to sneak out of my bed. Long legs. Painted toenails. Floral perfume. And thatass. Damn. Talk about good signs.

Part of me wondered if inviting her back into bed would ease the headache. Orgasms fixed basically everything, right? But hell if I could remember her name. Sarah? Sandra? Something with an S, maybe?

Sexy Shannon?

Fuck.

The whole night was a blur of tequila shots, grinding on the dance floor, and stumbling back here with my hands all over her perfect curves, my lips on hers… and other places. Lucky girl.

I studied the way her shoulder blades rolled inward as she stretched her arms over her head. Her spine arched deliciously, and the two dimples in her lower back teased me.

Sasha? Sunshine? Serendipity?

I rubbed at my eyes. Maybe if my head wasn’t throbbing so loudly, I would remember who this vixen was.

She looked around as I watched her, assessing the mess we’d made last night in our haste to undress. Her red dress was pooled near the door, and I was pretty sure those were her panties dangling from the abstract sculpture in the corner. A half-empty bottle of champagne sat on the nightstand next to what looked like the remnants of room service from sometime around three a.m.

She rose off the bed and tried to be quiet, God bless her, tiptoeing around in her birthday suit as she gathered her things. I had to admit, watching her move was pretty damn enjoyable. The way her ass looked as she bent to pick up her shoes, the gorgeous boobs that swayed just enough to tell me they were the real deal.

Definitely not the worst way to start a morning.

“Leaving so soon?” I rasped, my voice rough from too much whiskey and not enough sleep.

She jumped and spun around, clutching her dress to her chest. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Right. The classic exit strategy. I’d perfected it myself over the years—slip out before things got awkward, before anyone started talking about breakfast or exchanging numbers. Smart girl.

I rolled out of bed, straightening to my full height and embracing the aches of the evening. Tight hips. Sore thighs. Swollen biceps. We’d earned our keep last night. I caught her gaze sweep up and down my body as she shimmied into her dress. The silk fabric fell over her hips and grazed her thighs.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.

Her lips parted as I grabbed the robe from the floor and shrugged it on, not bothering to tie it closed. I could feel her eyes on my back as I made for the door.

She cleared her throat.“So, Bancroft,” she said, a smile coloring her voice. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Uh-oh.

I thought we were on the same page. No strings. No phone numbers. No double-dipping. Boundaries were crucial to keeping this ship sailing the open seas.

I turned to her when I reached the door, my hand resting on the handle. “It was a real pleasure, sweetheart. Maybe we’ll see each other in the club again.”

She pulled part of her bottom lip between her teeth. “Oh.”

I offered her my most dashing smile. “I mean it though. A real pleasure. I won’t forget you.”

She brightened at that. A compliment always seemed to do the trick for the girls who couldn’t make up their minds. One minute, she wanted to sneak out, and the next, she wanted to leave the door open for us to hook up again. Maybe I should have pretended to be asleep to avoid the waffling.

When I opened the door, Susan?—nah, too old—gasped. Frowning, I peered around the open door and looked out into the hall.

Shit.

A dark-haired man in a suit stood there like some kind of expensive statue, all sharp angles and disapproval in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His dark hair was slicked back without a strand out of place, and his gray eyes were colder than a fucking iceberg.