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“Hey, Lila, I didn’t want to interrupt you and Hank,” she says as her friend stops next to her, her face flushed. There’s a tall, lanky man with an obnoxious look on his face, whom I assume is Hank. “I didn’t get the drinks yet because I?—”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the friend says, looking back at Hank and shrugging. “You ready to get Zara and me a drink?” Her voice rises dramatically, and I wonder if she’s noticed that her friend and I were chatting and flirting up a storm.
“Lila, I was chatting with someone,” Zara says as she nods to me with a wry smile, her pink lips glistening. I want to kiss her. I want to grab her, pull her away from her friend, and go somewhere we can’t be disturbed. She can go back to her friend afterward, but for now, I want her to be mine.
“Oh.” Lila looks over at me, and then her blue eyes widen. For a worried moment, I think she recognizes me. I’ve not been listed as the most eligible bachelor in the city in any publications, but those in the scene know that I am one of the wealthiest heirs in the country. There are women who would do anything to “catch” Jackson Pruitt and the billions of dollars I’m set to inherit. The prestige that comes from a Pruitt is almost unheard of, save for a few other families in the US. We are “old money,” with my ancestors on both sides having come over on the Mayflower and my father’s side having been involved in building the railroads. My great-grandfather and grandfather were a senator and governor, respectively, and my mother claims distant ancestry to the Greek royal family. The Pruitts lived a famed life, aside from me. And I know there are many women who want to be a part of that.
My heart thuds as I wait for Lila to ask me if I am Jackson Pruitt. “He’s cute.” She giggles as she bites down on her lip. “I’m Lila, Zara’s best friend.” She holds her hand forward. “What’s your name?” she asks the question with a light in her eyes that I feel is genuine. Maybe she truly doesn’t know who I am. Good!
“Nice to meet you, Lila, I’m Ja?—”
“He goes by Zeus,” Zara interrupts me. I look down at her in surprise, and she blushes. Interesting. Hmm, she doesn’t want to know my name. Her body language tells me that she’s into me. Every part of her body is leaning toward me, and the looks she keeps darting at me do nothing to hide the fact that she finds me attractive. So then, why doesn’t she want to know my name? The answer strikes me so hard that it makes me laugh out loud. She doesn’t want to know my name because she doesn’t want this to be more than one night.
“Apparently.” I nod, then grab Zara’s neck and pull her toward me. I press my lips against her and feel her little gasp as her friend stares at her. I kiss her softly at first, and she kisses me back, her fingers finding my shoulders so she can hold on for dear life. After a few seconds, I pull back reluctantly, and she stands there frozen in place, her eyes dazed.
“Wow,” her friend says, looking over at her. “You know this man?”
“Apparently,” Zara says as she looks at me with an impish grin. I grin back at her and tuck a loose curl behind her ear again. I reach for her hand and look at her friend, whose mouth is now slightly open.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us…” My voice is gruff as I look at Zara, and she gives me a slight nod. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” I smile warmly at Lila, brush past Hank, and lead Zara to the front of the bar. I’m not sure where we’re going, but I don’t want any more interruptions from her friends or mine. I have no idea who this woman is, but I know that by the end of the night, I will know her intimately.
5
Zara
Dear Sandra,
Do you remember when we were in high school, driving in my dad’s Mazda, listening to Justin Timberlake on the radio, and talking about how amazing our lives would be when we were older. Remember all the men we thought we’d be fighting off.
I can still remember the wind blowing through my hair as we daydreamed about being Miranda and Carrie from Sex in the City. Well, I’m not currently living my best life. But tonight might just be the night of my life.
Miss you,
Zara
I have no idea where Zeus is taking me, and after that kiss, I don’t care where we’re going. The music has changed to a David Guetta track, and I feel like the bass is matching the beat of my heart. My lips still tingle in desire for this hunk of a man with the laughing green eyes and muscular arms. There’s a hint of tobacco in the air, and it’s oddly intoxicating. As I look around at the throngs of people dancing in time to the music, enjoying themselves, I realize that, for once, I’m on the inside looking out and not on the outside looking in.
“Where are we going?” I ask Zeus as he leads me out of the bar. I peek over my shoulder to let Lila know I’m okay and try not to laugh at her expression. Lila’s shocked eyes are on me, and all I can do is smile. Maybe Elise is not the only Hathaway sister who can make rash decisions when in the company of a hot man. Though Zeus is far better looking than Brian.
“Not sure yet.” He stops as we exit the bustling club and pulls me to the side, away from the long line of people and bouncers. “Any ideas?” His voice is deep and I’m stunned as I see just how gorgeous he is outside of the darkened club. His green eyes are even more vibrant than I realized, and his dark hair looks as silky as hair in a TV commercial for shampoo.
His eyes survey my face and body more keenly in the light. For a moment, I’m nervous he will look disappointed and tell me he just remembered he had plans, but his smile widens, and he smirks. “Back to your place?” His lips twist up, and I notice how square his jaw is. He really is a Greek god.
“No,” I say quickly. Not only do I not want Lila or Elise to see him back at the apartment in the morning, but I also don’t want him in my messy space, judging me as he takes in all the kids’ toys everywhere and the stacks of clothes—mountains and mountains of clothes. And I’m pretty sure the sink is stacked with dirty dishes as well.
“You’re not married, are you?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he pulls me closer. There’s humor in his voice, like he knows that’s not even an option.
“No. Are you?”
“Ha, you’re a joker.” He mock shudders, his entire body shifting back and forth, and I can’t help but notice how broad his shoulders are.
“I'll take that as a no, then.”
“Definitely take that as a no,” he says, bringing his lips to my neck and kissing me. I feel him press against my stomach, and I can barely breathe. His lips kiss up the side of my neck to my ear, and then he gently bites on my earlobe before blowing in my ear and whispering, “I don’t really care where we go, by the way, just so long as it’s somewhere I can pleasure you in all the ways I know how.”
I gasp as he touches the side of my face, running his thumb against my lower lip. “Unless you want to run away again, Cinderella.”
“Trust me, I’m hardly Cinderella.” I laugh, and then, because I want to, I reach up and grab his head and pull him down for another kiss—a deeper kiss this time. He doesn’t disappoint. He kisses me back passionately, and I taste his vodka and whiskey-soaked tongue in my mouth. I melt against him as we kiss, and I can hardly believe that I am doing this.
