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Raven was getting her wish.
I was coming to visit.
But only so that I could park Wanda in her driveway while I took off.
I would just tell her I was taking a vacation. I didn’t need her worrying about international jobs. She had enough on her plate.
Besides, this would be cake.
I mean, how hard could it possibly be to make Fenway Arlington fall in love with me?
TWO
Fenway
Paris was getting old.
After about three weeks, I’d been to every party worth going to, visited every old friend I’d ever made, dined several beautiful, but wholly uninteresting women.
It was about time to move on.
To go where, I wasn’t sure.
Somewhere hot and sunny.
I hadn’t taken my yacht anywhere since dropping Miller off in Greece.
I was sure it missed me.
“You’re not paying attention,” one of the girls at the table told me, pouting.
She was right. I wasn’t. Because I was done here. And once I was done, my mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the next natural high to chase. The next city to get lost in. The foods. The parties. The old friends. The new ones I would meet.
Maybe the international incident I might create.
My old friends back over at Quinton Baird & Associates hadn’t heard from me in a while. We were overdue for a reunion too.
If I could find a woman to create a scandal with, that is.
The women at my table were all the same. Beautiful, eager, accommodating.
Unchallenging.
People who met me generally thought I liked everything light and fun and easy.
Which was true in many ways.
But not when it came to the kind of women who caught my attention for more than a night.
No.
Those women always had something extra.
Even if that ‘extra’ was simply that I couldn’t have them.
Because they were married to Russian mob bosses.
That was a fun one.
Cost me an almost painful amount to fix that one. But it had been worth it in the end.
Besides, women forced into unhappy marriages with assholes who treated them like dirt deserved a little fun too.
The woman across from me—with the pouting lips, not used to being ignored when she was accustomed to always being the most beautiful woman in the room—wasn’t a challenge. If I crooked a finger, she would follow along. Just your average, every day fortune-chaser, one who was willing to secure it on her back or knees.
And while I admired someone who knew what they wanted and pursued it ceaselessly, it was too easy. And easy was boring.
But, I decided as my eyes started to scan the bar, easy might be all I could find my last night in this particular city.
I was about to drop some money on the table, and invite all of them back to my suite for a hot tub party and too much champagne.
Then there she was.
There was something about the air in a room when the kind of woman I was after stepped into it.
It got thicker and slower, buttery smooth and demanding attention.
My gaze followed the vibe, finding the source of it.
From the looks of things, I wasn’t the only one who noticed the charge in the air. Because every man in the vicinity’s eyes were on her.
This ravishing creature in a backless black dress that dipped to the smallest part of her lower back, with her icepick heels, long, wavy blonde hair, perfectly symmetrical, delicate face with her intelligent, cold, blue-green eyes.
She walked through the crowd like a queen making her way to a throne, chin parallel to the floor, shoulders back, gait sure, hips swinging just the right amount.
Fucking perfect.
Perfect.
“Ladies,” I said as the woman in question moved to sit at the bar, ordering a drink from the dumbstruck bartender. “Have another couple rounds and a ride home on me,” I told them, reaching into my wallet, tossing a wad of cash on the table.
I imagined there was a mix of delight at the amount dropped there to be split, as well as the disappointment at knowing it was all they were going to get from me.
But I couldn’t be bothered watching all of that play out.
Not when the woman had her elbow on the bar, her slender arm lifted to hold her face in her hand.
Bored.
Well, I could certainly help her out there, couldn’t I?
Moving away from the VIP section, I made my way down the stairs as the first brave man approached. Young and cocky, he moved in aggressively, leaning into her space, getting an ice-cold sideways glance. Even from a distance, I could see her only response to him before turning her attention to the back bar.
“No.”
Strike one.
It wasn’t long before the next man moved in. Older. Somewhere around middle age, handsome enough even if he was losing a battle with sweets judging by a bit of a hangover waistline. But that suit he had on was designer. The watch on his wrist cost a cool ten grand.
