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Chapter One: New York City, New York
Women cannot be seen wearing body hugging clothing.
“You’re breaking the law in that dress,” he said, instantly regretting it. It was a terrible line. Most certainly the worst he’d ever uttered, possibly in the history of the English language.
Every man in the crowded bar had probably tried his luck on the woman in the red dress. She sat alone at a corner table, straight backed and exuding confidence. Her crimson outfit hugged every curve. Combined with her raven hair and black rimmed glasses, it only served to highlight her flawless ivory skin.
The slightest crease invaded the corner of her wonderfully curved mouth. The gaze of her green gaze swept over him, assessing him from bootstraps to hair gel. He could only hope she hadn’t noticed the quality of his opening gambit.
“That’s a hideous pickup line,” she drawled.
So much for hope. He winced. “It was, wasn’t it?”
A large, sweaty man bumped into him, carrying four precariously balanced drinks. He stepped aside, waving the man through, before returning to the woman in red
Bowing, he added, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. You deserve a much better line than that. You deserve no line atall. I should have approached you genuinely, and I’m only just realising that, and now, I’m officially babbling. I’ll go and let you get on with your life. Have a nice night and, ah, life. Sorry about, you know, being a creep.”
Who is this guy?Stripped of his usual easy confidence, he had devolved into a babbling mess. Perhaps recent events had affected him far worse than he’d realised. Maybe it was the unfamiliar location. Maybe it was the vision in front of him. Her level of self-assuredness was intimidating, but he’d managed to converse with far less approachable women before. Tonight wasn’t his night. He was off his game. Maybe just this once, he’d be better to cut his losses and head back to the hotel.
Recent advice from his mates back home in Australia had been toget back on the horseas soon as possible. He’d reluctantly agreed with them to try, though his heart wasn’t in it. They’d accused him of being a serial monogamist—a fate usually reserved for nerds with small dicks, if they were to be believed. Despite his protests, maybe they were right. The dismal failure of his usually flawless technique demonstrated that perhaps he’d rushed back into the saddle too soon.
Before him, the woman in red waved an elegant hand. It lacked an overall direction, so he didn’t know whether it was dismissive or if she wanted him closer to give him a piece of her mind.
Instinct told him to leave, but he wanted to remain close to this goddess, if only for a moment longer. Her face could be considered angelic, but even from their limited interaction, he could see a hint of mischief in her eyes. They were incredibly expressive, providing a tantalising glimpse as to what lay below the alluring surface.
Her face and body were not to be easily forgotten, and remaining in her presence gave him the chance to commit everyfeature, every curvature to memory. He’d use the memory later when he inevitably retired to his hotel room alone.
Loud shouts emanated from the doorway as friends greeted each other. A rush of frigid air rushed in from the freezing New York night. Coats were shed and greetings exchanged.
The woman in red crinkled her nose. “A man whose vocabulary is bigger than his muscles. How unusual.” Her gaze darted to his bicep, and he flexed instinctively to ensure it was hard as a rock. “Did you get a physique like that from wrestling crocodiles and deadly snakes Down Under?”
She was good at picking up accents. “Not quite. I’m a professional lifesaver.”
“Lifesaver?”
“Oh, that’s right you guys call it something different. Uh, lifeguard. On the beach. Like onBaywatch.”
She nodded. “I could use one of those.”
Arching her back, she wriggled in her chair, a move that emphasised the full force of her sizable breasts. If she noticed his sharp intake of breath, she didn’t acknowledge it. Using her red high-heeled shoe, she slowly pushed out the chair in front of her. Her focus darted from the chair to him rocking on his heels and back again in a well-crafted, arching and challenging eyebrow.
He liked challenges. He’d once been accused of never backing down from one. This definitely wasn’t the time to start.
He was thankful for the offer to sit. He didn’t fancy standing in the middle of the bar on his own. Despite the three beers he’d already drunk, his mouth was as dry as his grandfather’s toolbox. The room was oppressively hot, but sitting before this woman, he felt oddly cool. For the first time since this horrific week began, he forgot the raised voices and slammed doors and remembered how to smile.
As he offered his thanks to the woman in red, she held up her hand. “Oh, don’t think you’re getting anywhere. I’m just bored.”
“I can’t see how. I assume you’ve had your hands full fending off this lot,” he said, motioning to the packed room of far more men than women, the mood jovial. Drinks cascaded over the front bar served by the lone barman.
“You’d think so, right? No, you and your sad little line were the first sniff of conversation I’ve had all night. Not a nibble, and I do love a chat. Well, I say that, but I’ve already formed a deep and profound relationship with the barman.”
He looked at the harried man furiously pouring cocktails. The barman’s hair was like something out of a boy-band film clip, and his well-moisturised cheekbones were baby-bottom smooth and fake-tanned.
When a similarly well-groomed man swanned in, the barman yelled, “Hey, girl!” and the two exchanged air kisses.
He snorted and turned to the woman in red. “I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together. Though you should probably warn your parents that grandkids will be off the cards.”
“Mitsy and I will beveryhappy together. Thank you, Mr. Cynical.” She couldn’t mask her smirk that time.
