Worth, p.16
WORTH, page 16
Chapter 1
Evan
"I'm not a coward. I am not a coward." A soft, smooth feminine voice catches me off guard.
I turn toward it and grab a quick glimpse of what looks like the world's most perfect ass in a pair of black lace panties. They vanish the second the woman in question stands upright again, the red umbrella in her hand mangled from the brutal wind.
"You don't strike me as a coward, sweetheart." I raise my near-empty glass of bourbon in a mock toast because any person brave enough to venture out in December in a New York City blizzard dressed like it's the middle of July deserves a medal. This one earns bonus points for having an ass that can halt a snowstorm in its path.
That may or may not be a fact, but the timing is sure as hell spot-on.
The deluge of snow that has blanketed the city for the past five hours has stopped abruptly. That wasn't the case up until a minute ago when I was standing, alone, outside this hotel contemplating what my next move will be.
Big picture stuff, not which-of-my-casual-hookups-should-I-call-tonight stuff.
"Thanks, stranger." She smooths her hands over the short skirt of her frilly navy blue dress as she takes in the length of my six foot plus frame. "I'm not your sweetheart, though."
Wheat blonde hair, hazel eyes, glossy full pink lips, and an attitude.
Forget the big picture. My next move needs to involve this woman.
My eyes don't leave her angelic face even though I want to trail my gaze and my mouth over every inch of her body. "Fair enough. Introduce yourself, and while you're at it, I'd love to meet your imaginary friend too."
I can't resist the urge to look when her nipples furl into hard points beneath the airy fabric of her dress. As much as I want that reaction to be from the rich baritone of my voice, I suspect it's from the burst of wind that just picked up her skirt. There's a brief flash of sheer lace covering smooth skin before she yanks the hem of the skirt back in place.
My evening just got a whole hell-of-a-lot better.
"My imaginary friend?" She tucks a piece of her windswept hair behind her ear. My fist clenches in envy. I want those waves balled in my hand so tightly that the only noise she makes is one that tells me she wants my cock deeper.
I crack a smile. "You were hell bent on convincing someone that you're not a coward. Since we're the only two out here and there's no phone in your hand, I take it that your imaginary friend is the asshole who thinks you're a coward. I'll argue your case if you point me in his direction, or is it her direction?"
"Are you a lawyer?"
I'll be anything she wants me to be. I'm a surgeon, vascular to be precise, and I have to be. Tonight, I don't want to be Dr. Evan Scott. I'd rather be the star of her future fantasies; that one awe-inspiring lay all women look back on for the rest of their life when they get themselves off.
"Not guilty." I hold my hand up in mock surrender. "Your name, beautiful. What is it?"
Her thickly lashed eyes widen as the heavy metal awning above us creaks under the weight of the wet snow. "It's Jane. Jane Smith."
She's the third Jane Smith I've met this month.
I'm not offended that the name offered is as fake as the smile plastered on the face of the doorman who is watching our every move from the warm comfort of the lobby. Experience has taught me that women in this town hide behind a false persona for just three reasons.
One is that their wedding ring is tucked in a pocket or a purse and they don't want the night to seep into their two kids, bake sales, walking the dog in the park, day-to-day life.
For the record, I avoid those women at all costs. They're easy to spot, even if they think they're fooling everyone, including themselves.
The second reason women morph into Jane Smith, Jane Doe or just plain Jane is they're prepping to hand over a fake number.
Eye contact is everything, and if a woman I'm after can't make it with me, I tap out. There are too many women on this island who are interested in what I'm offering. I'm not into wasting my time on someone whose type isn't tall with dark brown hair, blue eyes, muscular pecs, that cut V that women dream of, and a thick nine-inch cock.
Yeah, I measured. Every man does. He's a fucking liar if he doesn't admit it.
The third reason is why my new blonde friend tossed out the name Jane Smith to me just now. She's looking for the same thing I am. One night of no-personal-details, uninhibited, I-dare-you-to-walk-straight-after-that fucking.
"It's nice to meet you, Jane." I extend a hand because in public I'm always the perfect gentleman.
She takes a step forward, dragging her sorry looking umbrella behind her. Her hand lands in mine for a soft shake. It's just enough pressure to stir my cock. "What's your name, stranger?"
I could easily be the Jack to her Jane, but I want to hear my name from those lips tonight. "Evan."
The look on her face is all surprise and awe like I've already got two fingers inside her and I'm honed in on that spot that will etch my name into her memory forever. "Is that your real name?"
I crane my neck to look at the lobby. The last thing I need right now is for anyone I work with to breeze past us and call me Dr. Scott. I have to get this woman into a hotel room and out of that dress now.
"According to my driver's license, it is." I circle the pad of my thumb on her palm before I let her hand go. "I'm going inside to refill my drink and then I'm heading upstairs. Can I get you anything, Jane?"
She reaches up to touch her neck. It's a subtle sign that she wants my hand, or maybe my mouth, there. "Are you inviting me up to your room?"
Technically, I'm inviting her to a room I haven't rented yet. I was out here catching a breath of frigid nor'easter air. I did my time inside when I took the podium, ran through an off-the-cuff speech about the boatload of accolades my boss acquired in his career and then handed him a silver wristwatch courtesy of his wife. He threw the goddamn shindig on his own dime and then expected me to kiss ass in public to hold onto a job I'm not sure I want.
"If you are, I'm game," Jane tosses that jewel out before I have a chance to offer a formal invitation to get naked with me. "I didn't notice you at the ceremony. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?"
It's the obvious conclusion to jump to. I'm dressed in a tuxedo. There's a wedding reception in the ballroom tonight. She has no clue that I was just in the hotel's five-star restaurant with a group that consists of primarily sixty-something-year-old surgeons all desperate to one-up each other with elaborate descriptions of their summer homes.
At thirty-four I'm the baby of the bunch, hence the reason I'm standing in the bitter cold with a drink in my hand contemplating why I went to medical school in the first place.
Jane marches on, nerves twitching at the edge of her words. "I'm a friend of Leanna. I'm actually one of her bridesmaids. I had to get the hell out of there when Henry started talking about how committed he is to her. It's bullshit. You know that, don't you? He totally screwed her over this past summer when he was in Vegas. She forgave him and now they're married. Can you believe that?"
"Henry is a selfish son-of-a-bitch."
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. "What's your room number?"
The snow starts again, large flakes of unwanted inconvenience. I need a condom. My gaze darts up and down the street. Other than a restaurant a block over, every other storefront and business are locked up tight.
Late Sunday night will do that to Manhattan. A snowstorm doesn't help.
"You have protection, right?" Pretty Jane reads my mind like a sensual sorceress. "I didn't bring any condoms with me."
Normally, I'd have at least a few tucked in my pocket, but I got dressed at the hospital. An emergency surgery this afternoon cut into my prep time for this hellish evening, so I had my rental tux delivered. I changed in the locker room and forgot one of the essentials. The breath mints made it into my pants pocket next to my wallet, but the condoms didn’t.
Fucking great.
I'm not sending this woman on a mission to get me a rubber. That comes with the risk of her bailing on me because she doesn't see the effort as worth the reward.
It's worth it, in spades, or in her case, orgasms.
"I've got that covered, or should I say, it will be covered," I quip with a tip of my glass before I down the last swallow. I'll go floor-by-floor and door-to-door in this hotel to find a condom if need be. "Do you need to say goodbye to Leanna before you bail?"
She blows an adorable puff of air out from between her lips. "I do. I left my purse in there. What about you?"
"I didn't have a purse that matched my outfit tonight," I joke. "I'll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes. We can head up to the room together."
"Make it fifteen," she counters, a challenge woven into her tone. "I'll take a London Fog."
"Consider it done," I whisper as she breezes past me, the maimed umbrella dragging behind her. The doorman jumps into action and props open the heavy glass door. Jane steps into the vestibule just as the ugly winter wind gives not only me but the doorman, the early holiday gift of an eyeful of her luscious ass.
Something tells me this night is going to be one for the record books.
Coming soon
Preview of BARE
From the Just This Once Series
The first and last one-night stand I had ended with zero orgasms for me and my wallet gone.
I fell asleep after the man who called himself Kent rolled off of me and out of my life.
The only thing he left behind was a business card on the floor next to the bed.
Griffin Kent. Attorney at Law.
Since I don't know a soul in New York, I head straight to the jerk's office on Madison Avenue to get back my wallet and reclaim my pride.
I'm not prepared for what happens when I arrive at the prestigious law firm of Kent & Colt.
I doubt that the real Griffin Kent would leave a woman unsatisfied in any way. He's tall, dark haired and dangerously handsome. He's also the complete opposite of the imposter I spent the night with.
The arrogant attorney orders his assistant to help me, but he's the one who enrolls in the art class I came to Manhattan to teach.
He may be my student, but something tells me that Griffin is going to be schooling me in the art of seduction.
Author's Note: This sexy standalone novel contains a dirty talking attorney, nude male models and a HEA the hero will do anything to fight for. BARE is part of the Just This Once Series. Each book features a different couple and since the books are not connected, they can be read in any order.
Chapter 1
Piper
"Griffin Kent is the worst lover I've ever had." With tears welling in the corners of my eyes, I stare at the woman sitting behind the sleek wooden reception desk. "I can't believe I slept with him. I called the police. They're going to be here any minute."
She looks past me to the frosted glass doors at the entrance of the law offices of Kent & Colt. "If it's a crime to be a dud in bed, my ex-husband would be serving twenty to life right now."
I scrub my hand over my face, mascara staining my palm. "I didn't call them because of that."
"Can I get you a glass of water?" The kind-looking woman is on her feet now. "You look about ready to pass out. Why don't you sit down? We can discuss this."
Discuss what? I went to a hotel with a man last night, we had really bad sex and when I woke up an hour ago, he was gone along with my wallet and my smartphone.
"I don't want to talk about it." I look beyond her to the massive, exquisitely designed space that obviously houses a number of offices. "Where's the asshole? I need to see him now."
Her lips curl into an unexpected smile. "He's not here. He never gets in until at least nine fifteen."
My gaze drops to my wrist but the silver watch I always wear isn't there. "He took everything from me."
The middle-aged woman rounds the reception desk until she's next to me, her arm slung over my shoulder. "You listen to me. I don't know what happened between you and Mr. Kent, but there's not a man on the face of this earth who can take everything from a woman."
Great.
I'm in the middle of a crisis and this woman is on her soapbox preaching about the merit of my inner strength.
Griffin Kent took that from me too.
"I don't know what to do," I mutter to myself.
The self-appointed cheerleader next to me adds her two cents even though I didn't ask for it. "You're going to calm down and let me help you. What's your name, dear?"
I feel like I should covet every ounce of personal information after what just happened to me. I was open and trusting when I met the attractive man in the bar last night. I told him my name when he asked. He reciprocated by telling me his. Kent.
An hour later we were in a hotel room and I was proud of myself for checking a one-night stand off my bucket list. I need to wipe that list clean now and focus on one thing and one thing only.
Find some common sense and use it.
"Where are the police? I used the phone at the front desk to call them before I left the hotel. They should be here by now." I stare down at my dress. It's silver shimmer, low cut and much too short to see the light of day. I'd never wear this in broad daylight and yet, here I am.
Thank the heavens above that my parents are in Denver, completely oblivious to what their only child is doing on her third day in New York City. The move here was supposed to change my life, not drive the entire thing into a ditch at high speed.
"I think we can straighten this out without involving the NYPD."
"How?" I face the woman. She reminds me of my first art teacher in high school. That shouldn't offer me any comfort, but it does. "He needs to be arrested and thrown in jail after what he did to me."
"Were you hurt?" Her eyes scan my face, locking on my green eyes.
I know exactly what I look like. I didn't have time to shower when I crawled out of the hotel room bed, but I did catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. My makeup was beyond repair. My shoulder length brown hair was such a mess that I used a bright pink hair elastic to tie it up into a tight ponytail.
At least, Griffin Kent left behind my clutch with the hair elastic, a tube of lipstick and my apartment keys inside of it.
Either the bastard has a heart, or he overlooked my keys as he was stealing my wallet.
"He didn't hurt me." I fiddle with the business card in my hand. "He took my wallet and my phone when I fell asleep. My watch too. He took it all."
"I find it very hard to believe that Mr. Kent is responsible for this."
Of course she'd say that. She's the first face anyone sees when they come through the doors of this law office. It's on Madison Avenue. I doubt like hell that her monthly paycheck has less than five zeroes at the end of it. I'd say that's well above the going rate for what blind faith costs in this city.
I shove the business card at her. "I have the proof right here."
She reaches to take the now tattered card from me, but I hold tight to the corner of it. It's evidence. He left this behind. I found it on the carpeted floor of the hotel room next to one of my heeled sandals that I'd kicked off before I got into bed with the thieving bastard.
Griffin Kent. Attorney at Law. It's right there in black raised lettering on the card.
If that's not proof, I don't know what is.
"Did he give that to you?"
"He dropped it," I explain. "It must have fallen out of his pocket."
Her tongue skims over her front teeth. "What does Mr. Kent look like?"
I survey the office. There's no movement anywhere. I can hear muffled voices in the distance, but I haven't seen another soul since I walked through the doors to the reception area.
Since the hotel I was at is on Columbus and Eighty-first, I walked here though Central Park. I spent the bulk of that time rehearsing what I was going to say to Kent once I saw him. I never expected to be subjected to a pre-confrontation interview by his receptionist.
"You know what he looks like," I bite back with a sigh. "I know that he spent the night with me and then robbed me blind."
"Humor me, dear." She gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Describe Mr. Kent to me."
If it's going to take that to chase away the look of doubt that's plastered all over her expression, I'll give her what she wants. "He's the same height as me, blonde hair, full beard, really nice brown eyes."
"What the hell is going on here?" The low rumble of a deeply seductive voice asks from behind me.
"Mr. Kent." The woman next to me turns quickly. "This young woman is here looking for … well, sir, I think I'll let her explain why she's here."
Mr. Kent? The voice I just heard isn't the same one that invited me up to that hotel room last night. I turn around.
Dark brown hair, blue eyes, a smooth chiseled jaw and a face so handsome that women must stop and stare when he passes them by. I know I would. I can't tear my gaze from him now.
"I'm Griffin Kent," he says smoothly as he nears me. "And you are?"
Coming Soon
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