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As he got in line, his long wool coat slung over his arm in case the winter air turned any chillier, he knew he stood out in other ways as well.
While many around him exuded money, he exuded that as well as confidence and innate sexuality. Professionally, his career had jettisoned itself to dizzying heights, and the powerful who’d once looked down at him now quaked when they heard his name. With nothing more than his pen, he could make or break a career or a reputation with a well-worded article.
And when he was done with work and wanted to play? He was the man who both women and men alike found their mouths watering for with one glance in his direction. And while Julian was good-looking, it wasn’t just his looks that caused this reaction. It was the way he could look directly into someone’s eyes and grin. Tease them with a hint of what was possible. He had the innate ability to draw someone to him, to make them believe they were the sole focus of his attention.
For better or for worse, he’d been able to do this since he was a young boy. And he’d long ago learned to capitalize on it. It was an art, really. Knowing how long to hold one’s gaze. When to reach out for a brief or lingering touch. When to smile versus not.
And most of all, he had a talent for spotting the hungry. Those whose partners or lives left them unsatisfied and fantasizing about fucking him, being taken by him, being satisfied repeatedly by him. He could tell when he caused the creaming of panties, and he always instinctively knew what to do about it.
But tonight, he wasn’t looking to fuck anyone.
Not unless his three-months-long quest proved successful and his princess ran to him, not away from him.
When he reached the entrance, he held up his press badge, and the doorman waved him inside. It was a temperate Friday night for January, and tonight’s event was not only going to honor the most charitable among the financial world, but it was also a charitable event in and of itself, with tickets going for two thousand a pop. While a relatively small affair for Manhattan standards, the grand ballroom at the end of the row of gold chandeliers was still ornately decorated with white and gold floral displays, finely set tables, and a stage with a silk banner congratulating the night’s honorees. The decor was classy yet subdued in white, cream, and black.
Unlike Julian.
He’d worn the deep red designer tuxedo for a specific reason—he wanted to silently demand her attention. He wanted her to be unable to look away. He wanted to stand out—with one key difference. Unlike at the Masquerade Party, he was no longer wearing the colored contacts that had transformed his blue eyes into a vivid jade. The contacts had been part of his disguise and gave him an advantage tonight— would they throw his princess off the scent, or would she somehow recognize him despite the lack of props?
He straightened his jacket and patted the pocket, reassuring himself that what he’d brought with him was still there. It had taken some work to set up everything for this evening, but he’d pulled a few strings.
All that had to happen next was for the pieces to fall into place.
A young cocktail waitress with a silver tray of precariously balanced champagne glasses slowly wove through the crowd toward the tables. She noticed him and smiled, then went out of her way to sidle up to him. He gave her a wink as he took a flute of champagne. The waitress’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly just as the tray wobbled. He reached out, steadied it for her, and she blushed deeply before moving off to disappear into the crowd, red cheeks and suddenly peaked nipples betraying her arousal.
On any other night, he might have pursued her. Followed her to the bottom floor. Found a linen closet and fucked her on hot towels straight out of the hotel’s industrial dryer. She’d have given him her number, but he’d have never called. A good fuck was a good fuck, but despite the cocktail waitress being attractive, there was something missing in her eyes.
Something he’d only seen once before when a woman in a flowing black satin dress with angel white hair and golden eyes had captured his attention and his libido. And somehow, months later, she’d trapped him in a cage she hadn’t even known she’d built.
He’d vowed to find her, but by the next morning, he’d told himself the only thing he was interested in was her story. Solving the mystery she represented. Days later, he’d told himself he should give up even that. If he tracked her down, she’d get the wrong idea about what he wanted. Love wasn’t in the cards for him, nor was any kind of relationship, and he doubted the blonde would want a quick fuck, a simplewham bam thank you, ma’am, don’t bother giving me your number I’ll never callkind of a night. Not after what had already gone down between them.
He should have forgotten about her. Let the thought of her go.
He was sex for hire
She’d paid to fuck him.
That should have been the end of things.
And yet . . .
Since that night, he’d dated. He’d fucked. He’d told himself he’d moved on. But he knew it was a lie. He’d been unable to forget her taste. Her scent. The soft sound she made as she sucked in a breath. Her strength that pushed through the cracks of the negative self-esteem her asshole of a fiancé had built around her. The sweet taste of her pussy when he hadn’t even kissed her mouth. All unforgettable.
The woman in black silk had more than intrigued him—she’d left him with a deep desire he needed quenched and imperative questions he needed answered.
So he’d spent the last three months hunting for his elusive blonde. And in that time, he couldn’t help but hope that she’d since dumped her horrible excuse for a fiancé and found someone better, even if that did fill him with a weird sense of jealousy.
He’d started with what he knew about her: 1) she was a natural platinum blonde; 2) she and Rex likely lived in Manhattan; and 3) the shit stain on humanity sold stocks. Julian put together a search pattern that combined “Rex” + “Finance” + “Stock market” + “Manhattan.”
For almost three months, he’d come up empty. Until two nights ago, two weeks after New Year’s Day, when he received an alert on a news article featuring a certain Rex Lingstoni out of Manhattan. He’d been wrong about one thing, though. The man didn’t work in the stock market; he was a criminal lawyer. The article talked about a Manhattan court case where Lingstoni was representing a well-known and rich financier being prosecuted for criminal malfeasance. Nothing in the article indicated Lingstoni’s relationship status or any other personal information. But working as a reporter had its perks in terms of search databases and easily accessible public records, and soon Julian knew everything there was to know about the man.
Rex Lingstoni came from old family money, hid his porn among his tax files from three years before, and had his assistant give him talking points from the news each day so he could sound informed without being informed. More importantly, until three months before, he’d been engaged to one Skylar McKenzie.
A quick Google search pulled up a photo of Skylar McKenzie, and Julian’s breath left his body.
The same platinum blond hair, the same gorgeous golden eyes. Despite the elaborate black-feathered, silk, and lace mask she’d worn that fateful night, he could tell it was his princess.
After discovering her identity, he’d dug around and learned more about her— Skylar McKenzie had graduated top of her class and then gone on to earn an MBA from Wharton. She was the youngest woman to reach the position of Portfolio Manager with Embrette Investments, a major international financial investment firm. She worked out of the Manhattan office and was known not only for her financial savvy but also her willingness to mentor young women eager to make their own splash in the financial world, primarily through the charityEmpowered in Finance.
