Just One Night: Part 1
Author: Elle Casey
Date: 2014-02-27 22:16:53+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Romance; Contemporary; Romantic Comedy; Contemporary Women; Humorous; Sagas
Description: NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ELLE CASEY, brings readers PART 1 in the 6-part contemporary romance serial novel, JUST ONE NIGHT. Jennifer is sexually frustrated and disillusioned with love, a very dangerous combination. Convinced there's no such thing as Prince Charming, and against her best friend's better judgment, she places a personal ad seeking a one-night stand. No strings, no commitments, no second dates. Her goal? To restore her faith in men by setting up a single night of fantasy that can never be tainted by reality. William is a busy executive, newly arrived in the

Table of Contents

Title page

Copyright

Other Books by Elle Casey

Dedication

Note about serial romances

Part 1

CHAPTER Two - William

CHAPTER Three - Jennifer

CHAPTER Four - William

CHAPTER Five - Jennifer

CHAPTER Six - William

CHAPTER Seven - Jennifer

CHAPTER Eight - William

CHAPTER Nine - Jennifer

CHAPTER Ten - William

Part 2

About the Author

Other Books by Elle Casey

just one night

A Serial Romance

Part 1

ELLE CASEY

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© 2014 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without author permission. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the author authorized online outlet that serves your country.

Elle Casey thanks you deeply for your understanding and support.

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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

NEW ADULT ROMANCE
Shine Not Burn

By Degrees
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Rebel
Hellion
Trouble

YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Duality, Volume I (Melancholia)
Duality, Volume II (Euphoria)

YA URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae: Book 1, The Changelings - FREE!
War of the Fae: Book 2, Call to Arms
War of the Fae: Book 3, Darkness & Light
War of the Fae: Book 4, New World Order
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 1, After the Fall
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 2, Between the Realms
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 3, Portal Guardians
My Vampire Summer
My Vampire Fall*
Aces High (co-written with Jason Brant)

YA DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis: Book 1, Kahayatle
Apocalypsis: Book 2, Warpaint
Apocalypsis: Book 3, Exodus
Apocalypsis: Book 4, Haven

YA ACTION ADVENTURE
Wrecked
Reckless

DEDICATION

To the confident, sexy girl inside all of us.

A note about serial romances…

This book is what’s called a serial romance. Most readers are familiar with full-length novels, novellas, and short stories, but many are not so familiar with serialized fiction. With the advent of self-publishing has come many different innovations, but believe it or not, a serial novel is not one of them. Serials have been around since the seventeenth century! They became especially popular in Britain’s Victorian Era (nineteenth century), “due to a combination of the rise of literacy, technological advances in printing, and improved economics of distribution.”* The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens may be a serial you’re familiar with. The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers were also serials, as were Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina, and The Bonfire of the Vanities, among many others. Use of this format started to die down when periodicals fell out of favor and were then replaced by the Internet, but thanks to indie authors, it’s coming back! As a reader, I’ve found it a fun way to follow a story that’s always evolving while the anticipation builds between episodes or parts, and in the case of my serials it will be a story that evolves according to reader feedback. Please join the conversation about this book on my website at: http://www.ellecasey.com/just-one-night.

You can read more about serialized fiction on Wikipedia.

*[Law, Graham (2000). Serializing Fiction in the Victorian Press. New York & Hampshire, UK: Palgrave. p. 34. ISBN 0-312-23574-7. Retrieved October 23, 2011.]

Part 1

CHAPTER ONE

Jennifer

I HAVE THIS PLAN. IT’S not exactly your run-of-the-mill kind of situation, but to be honest, neither is my life. Sure, I could sit around and wait for things to happen to me, but I’ve been doing that for years and I’ve got nothing to show for it but disappointment.

It’s time to take the bull by the horns and make some big changes. I’m so sexually frustrated right now it’s not even funny. And yes, I’ll admit … this pent-up sexual energy may be adding fuel to the fire for this hare-brained idea that sprouted up in my mind last weekend, but I don’t care. I’m doing it anyway.

I ignore the call coming through from my best friend Mia. She’ll tell me it’s a terrible idea and talk me out of it, and I don’t want her to do that. I can make my own decisions … good ones, as a matter of fact. The lecture she gave me last week about considering some therapy made me really cranky. I don’t need a shrink; I need some seriously hot sex with a ridiculously hot guy. I’m totally taking the responsibility for my happiness into my own hands, and no one’s going to stop me.

My computer screen is glowing, lighting up my face in the dark bedroom, the tiny corner of which hosts my laptop sitting on a piece of plywood balanced on two piles of books. It’s the middle of the night and I’m hiding. From whom? No one. Myself, maybe.

I live alone in a tiny apartment, the new home sweet home I had to sign on the dotted line for with very little notice. Why did I do this when I was happily ensconced in a fifteen hundred square foot, fully-loaded condo in the trendy part of town? Well, when I found out my fiancé of way too many years was sleeping with a girl who looks like she should still be carrying textbooks in a backpack, I took that as a sign that I should move on. Cheating rat bastard that he is, Hank left me no choice but to start all over at age thirty-five. I wasted the best years of my life on that asshole. The man I used to love with all of my heart is now el numero uno on my shit list.

I’m still weighing the pros and cons of running him over with my car. I don’t need to totally flatten him to get satisfaction. Maybe just a tap would be okay. How much trouble could I get into over just a tap? I could make it look like an accident. Oh, hi, fancy meeting you here, Hank, in the middle of the road … with the grill of my car. Did that hurt? Muahahahahaaaaa… I’m pretty sure if a jury heard my story, they wouldn’t convict, especially if it had any women on it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and we’ve all been scorned at some point in our lives, haven’t we, ladies?

Ugh, I cannot think about him anymore. At least not right now. I’m on a mission to take back my life. No more pity parties allowed.

My phone beeps. Mia has left a voicemail. Against my better judgment, I play it out on the speakerphone.

“Jennifer, I know you’re there. Why didn’t you pick up? You better call me back, ho-bag. Are you doing that personal ad thingy you talked about after your third martini last weekend? Because if you are, just stop, okay?”

I don’t remember telling her my plan. Dammit. I can’t even keep secrets from myself.

Her message keeps playing, much to my chagrin. “You aren’t cut out for one-night stands, you never were. Remember Mike? Remember Jake? Remember that guy … the one with prematurely gray hair and the flat butt? Shit, I can’t remember his name. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You fell apart. You liked them right away and then your heart broke when they didn’t call a second time.”

Yeah, that’s helpful, Mia. Thanks for reminding me what a loser I am. I could stop the message from coming out over the speaker to fill my room, but I don’t. I wallow in the unpleasant memories she’s dredging up.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you, so don’t even go there. They weren’t the right kind of guy for you. Seriously. Call me. You’d better not be doing that ad. I’m going to come over there and mess you up.” The message ends there.

I laugh at my friend’s fake bravado. She’s always threatening bodily harm, but as far as I know she’s never even hurt a fly. She says all of God’s creatures have value, even the ones that start out as maggots.

Of course I’m going to ignore her every word. The old Jennifer would hesitate and worry, but the old Jennifer would also date a turd like Hank and that’s not going to happen anymore. My life is about to change … like, right now.

Okay, back to business. My brilliant plan is to restore my faith in men by setting up a single night of fantasy that can never be tainted by reality. I have the whole thing figured out; now I just need a willing partner.

My fingers hover over the keyboard and I wiggle them around to get them warmed up. Magic will be flowing from these babies in about five seconds. My approach has to be short and sweet, clear and up front. I’m not interested in frills. No flowers, no candy, no diamond rings, thank you very much. I just want one amazing night with an amazing guy who I can walk away from and never see again.

I click on the ‘New Listing’ button to start my ad. Chewing on my lip, I consider my options. How much do I really want to expose of myself? Do I want this mystery man to know I was recently dumped in a very embarrassing way? No, that would make me pitiful. That would bring in the vultures. Vultures do not make sexy dreams come true. I should know, seeing as how I lived with one for six years.

I start typing. ‘Single, attractive, successful woman …’ Stopping there, I chew my lip some more. Should I say I’m successful or should I be more circumspect about that part of my life? It’s not like I’m a millionaire or anything, but I do okay in the real estate business. Well enough that I can support myself, anyway, and every year my client list gets longer. I try not to be bitter over the fact that I had to change brokers. Wanting to kill one’s boss is never conducive to a good working environment. Hank took more than my self-esteem and my heart from me.

Typing once more, I force myself to have more confidence. This is easy. Why am I over-thinking it? Just make it happen, Jennifer, make it happen.

My fingers fly over the keyboard. ‘Single, attractive and successful businesswoman seeks very short-term, intimate and discrete affair. No strings, no commitments, no second dates.’ I sit back and read the ad over and over about ten times. Is it too cold? Too short? Not short enough? Misleading in any way? Ridiculous? Pitiful? Sassy-awesome? I vote for sassy-awesome.

Huffing out a breath of frustrated air, I put my hands back over the keys. It’s not like anyone who reads it will know who I am, right? I have a throw-away cell phone that I bought today just for this project, and I’ve used a post office box for my address to set up the online account. I’m untraceable. Anyone I meet will be checked out in advance by me anyway via telephone so I can conduct a psycho test on them. Plus, we’ll meet for the first time in a very public place, so it’s all good. Safety first, I always say.

My finger floats over the enter button. The angel on my shoulder is crying over the fact that I’ve given up on love. The devil is doing a tap dance telling me to go for it … life is too short to wait around for a Prince Charming who doesn’t even exist.

I tend to agree with that little devil more and more these days. I press the button with only a slight twinge of fear in my chest. Now all that’s left to me is the waiting game.

CHAPTER TWO

William

THE UNNECESSARY CHIT CHAT IS undeniably the very worst part of my workday. The snickering, the giggling, the twittering… And no, I’m not talking about the online tweeting kind of twittering. I’d much prefer that to the constant chinwagging I can hear filtering through my door, for the very reason that it’s quiet and it wouldn’t interrupt my workflow. Although truly, I don’t understand the fascination with expressing oneself in one hundred and forty characters or less. Who honestly believes there’s a single other person in the entire world who gives a monkey’s uncle that you just bought a carmel macchiato at the local Starbucks? Only someone irretrievably deluded, that’s who. What a load of rubbish.

Where the secretaries find the time to engage in this nonsense when we have so much to get done is beyond me. The work’s not going to complete itself, that’s for certain. The bone-idle really get me wound up, can you tell? I wasn’t born to privilege; my family worked its way to it from near to nothing.

“Rachel,” I say, pressing down on the intercom button, “could you come in here please?” If she has time to giggle, she must need more work to do, and I will more than happy to remedy that little oversight on my part.

“Yes, Mr. Stratford?” Rachel stands in my doorway, far enough away that I can’t hit her with my paperweight with assured accuracy. Believe me, I’ve considered attempting it anyway on more than one occasion. If her head had any more helium in it, she’d float right out of the building. It’s beyond frustrating. She’s the fifth personal assistant I’ve had this year and we’re only to June.

My lips stretch to mimic a tired sort of amusement. A very, very slight level of amusement. “While I’m pleased to know that you’ve settled into your new position enough to feel comfortable gossiping with your colleagues, I believe you have several other tasks which require your attention, and it would please me beyond measure to see you accomplishing said tasks.”

Her face morphs into something that looks very uncomfortable. Is her skin made of rubber? These American girls never cease to amaze me with their expressive natures. It’s fascinating, really. Like a visit to the zoo or a science museum.

“Sir, I wasn’t gossiping. I was working.”

Obviously, she believes me to be a dunderhead. “Is that so? And what, perchance, were you working on, might I ask?” Leaning back in my chair with my arm extended over the desk, I begin to wiggle my pen between my fingers, first slowly and then with more speed. My eyebrow goes up as I wait for her excuses to pour forth.

Expecting to see her squirm under the pressure, I admit to being a little disappointed when she doesn’t indulge me. She counts off on her fingers as she relates her activities of the last few hours, her eyeballs rolling up to the ceiling. “Well, let’s see … I collated all the reports from the weekly and monthly sales and made projections for the next quarter based on the information there. I entered all the new client information into the database. I synched your phone and your e-pad to your computer wirelessly. I scheduled eight meetings for next week and put them on your calendar. By the way, one of them is a charity ball thingy on Friday night, so I also scheduled the dry cleaner to come by and get your tux so they can have it ready for you in time.” She perks up and stops counting, her eyes coming back down from the ceiling to look at me. “Oh, and I found you a date.”

My pen drops from my hand and lands on the desk blotter with a muted clatter. “Pardon?” A large hunk of hair falls over my eye and I slowly smooth it back as I stare at her. Surely I’ve mis-heard.

She sighs heavily and enunciates slowly, as if speaking to someone who needs a little extra help. “I said I collated all the reports …”

I gesture in frustration. “Right, right, I caught that part. It’s the last bit that I’m confused on. Care to repeat the last item on your list?”

She dazzles me with a big smile. There appear to be too many teeth in her mouth, and they’re blindingly white. I glance at my sunglasses on the desk but decide against putting them on. All I need to do is give the secretarial pool more fodder for their chinwagging. If I so much as sneeze it becomes headline news in the office, so wearing aviators indoors is a no-go if I want to continue striving towards the goal of relative obscurity.

They don’t realize it, but I hear everything. Not only do I have my inside sources, but the employees are under the mistaken notion that I’m deaf, dumb, and blind as well. Discrete, they are not. Being the newly appointed CEO and the son of the founder obviously makes me an interesting topic for the unofficial company grapevine, so I try not to let it bother me. I hope after a couple more months they’ll realize there’s no story here and that their gossip time is better spent on other subjects. Like on my younger brother, for example. Of course, for them to gossip about him, he’d actually have to show up here once in a while…

“Oh, yes! That’s right! I forgot to tell you!” Rachel advances into my office with several short, choppy strides, holding out a piece of paper from a stack that’s in her arms. “I was talking to some of the girls, and they told me you never get out and that you’re always working, so I took the liberty of finding you someone. A date, actually. If you like her you could bring her to the ball. You really shouldn’t go solo to something like that, you know. You can network better with someone on your arm.” She extends the paper in my direction, still with that blinding smile going. “You can totally find a date online these days. You won’t even have to leave the office to start the process. Isn’t that awesome?”

My nostrils extend slowly out to either side as my color rises. This is how a British gentleman expresses his extreme distaste. My upbringing forbids me from saying the things that should be said to this pleb. I cannot tell her that she is as obtuse as she is annoying, that she’s completely out of line, and that she’s begging to be made redundant. Perhaps she understands British body language, though, because the wattage of her smiling-bulb dims to just a crumb.

“Are you mad?” The foolish grin is gone and the cringe has taken its place. I’m very pleased with the result. She’s catching on a lot quicker than her predecessors.

I give her a perfunctory smile. “Mad? No. I am in complete control of my faculties. Perhaps you mean angry?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“No. I’m not angry. For me to be upset with you, your actions would have to actually mean something to me, which I can assure you, they do not. But your suggestion that your function here includes searching out female companionship for me leads me to believe that perhaps you misunderstand your role.”

“Oh, no, I understand perfectly, Mr. Stratford. Your father was very clear when he hired me. He said I was to do all the tasks you asked me to do on time or before deadline if possible, make sure your calendar is kept updated at all times, and to help you assimilate into American culture.” She’s back to smiling again.

I search my desktop. Where has that paperweight, gone to?

“Going out with American women will help you assimilate much faster.” She shrugs once and tilts her head, obviously very proud of herself.

I stand, knowing that my height will put me at a distinct advantage over her. I’m pleased to see her grin disappearing again. “I assure you, Ms. Meechum, that should I determine at some point in the future that I am in need of a date as you say, I will neither need your assistance nor your opinion on the matter. Do I make myself clear?”

She starts to back up towards the door. “Yes, sir. Crystal clear. I get you loud and clear. Ten four, over and out.”

“Why all the numbers?” I ask, wondering if she’s cluing me in to some appointment I’ve yet to notice on my calendar.

“Nothing. No numbers. Disregard. Is there anything else you need? I’m about to leave.”

“Leave?” I look at my watch; it’s only seven p.m. “Where are you going?”

“Ummm, home?” She smiles. “Come on, William, it’s seven o’clock on a Friday night. You really don’t expect me to stay until ten every night, do you? I have a date tonight, and I have to get ready.” She points at her horribly frizzy red hair. “This kind of magic doesn’t happen overnight, you know.”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t,” I say under my breath, afraid of what might come out of my mouth next if I give it enough volume. This girl is destined for the rubbish heap that contains all my other former assistants. Certainly, she’s done well in her short time here, but egads … she’s picking out dates for me now? What on earth could the numbskull have been thinking?

She’s almost gone before I deliver my parting shot. “Ms. Meechum?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Mr. Stratford.”

“Ummm … what?”

“You used my given name when you were speaking to me earlier. I don’t believe that’s appropriate, do you?”

She turns a light shade of pink. “No, sir. I’m sorry about that. We’re just a little casual around here sometimes.”

“No, in point of fact, we’re not. Not in this office and not in this company.” My stern look comes out to drive the point home.

“No, of course not.” She has the grace to remain pink-cheeked. “Have a nice weekend, Mr. Stratford.”

“And you do the same, Ms. Meechum.”

See? I can be gracious when the situation calls for it. There’s a time and a place for casual relations, but that time is never when I’m working, and that place is never here. It’s my duty to keep the office running smoothly, and observing certain formalities can assist in that endeavor.

My father entrusted me with his multi-national real estate investment firm that he built from nothing, and I will not let him down. I’ve trained my entire life for this position, and no one will stop me from getting it exactly right, especially not some bird brain, barely-graduated American midwesterner who doesn’t know her place in the chain of command.

I’m once again alone in the office, staring at my heavy oak door. My assistant closed it behind her, and for the first time all day, there’s silence. Sighing heavily, I sit down at my desk and stare at my computer screen. The desktop is glowing out and reflecting off my tired eyes. I’ve been here for thirteen hours and I have much to do before I’m done.

Imagine … someone thinking I need help in the date department. An inelegant snort escapes me as I remember the overly enthusiastic approach I received on the lift just this morning from a totty who works on the next floor up. Her business suits and fine leather attaché case scream solicitor or lawyer. As is my usual course, I let her down easily; when she asked me to meet her for a drink after work, I explained that I’m otherwise engaged.

I’m always otherwise engaged. Engaged working, engaged traveling for work, engaged sleeping or eating. That’s what I do. That is the life I have chosen for myself and I couldn’t be happier. When I need female companionship I find it on my own and it’s always the uncomplicated sort.

An inter-company instant message pops up on my screen interrupting my thoughts. I lean in, my eyebrows creasing as I note the sender’s name. Apparently, Ms. Meechum has not yet left to create her hairstyling masterpiece. Perhaps she’s changed her mind about working late.

‘He seriously needs to get a life outside this place. He’s going to grow old and wrinkly all by himself without any friends or anything. I tried to tell him about the date but he threw me out of his office.’

My chin withdraws into my neck as my brain attempts to determine what I’m seeing. My eyes scan the small instant message window and note that it’s definitely my assistant sending it, but I cannot for the life of me understand why it’s coming to my computer.

Another window pops up to replace the first.

‘Oh my effing god! Mr. Stratford! I’m so sorry! Please don’t fire me! I didn’t mean to send that to you!’

My emotions are … unsettled … to say the least. I lean back in my chair and rock for a bit as I tap my pen rhythmically on the blotter. Am I angry with Ms. Meechum? Yes, of course I’m angry. Old and wrinkly… I’ve at lease twenty years before that eventuality. And I’m certainly not friendless. I’ve loads of friends and lovers. The little bint truly believes she’s a do-gooder? Honestly, her cock-up is more pitiful than anything. She’s completely gormless.

That’s what helps me decide how to react. I’m no longer angry. I’m embarrassed for her. She hasn’t a clue how a man like me gets satisfaction from his life.

I will say nothing at all. Let her stew in her humiliation. Nothing I say could possibly be more effective than what she’ll come up with on her own.

My first genuine smile of the day erupts across my face as I rest secure in the knowledge that I’ll be getting nothing but nose to the grindstone, dedicated effort from Ms. Meechum for at least the next two weeks. I’m actually quite pleased she’s useless in the technology department and doesn’t know how to properly use the messaging system I had installed last week.

I stand up and walk quietly over to my door, cracking it open so I can see her leave. She’s halfway across the room full of cubicles, the last person in the office aside from me. She appears to be running, and I cannot help but allow the chuckle to escape my throat. Oh, life can be so sweet sometimes. I can almost understand why my father left our family for the Americas when I was just a teen.

A stack of papers on the corner of her desk catches my eye. Knowing it’s the one that she had in her ams when she came to visit, I’m lured out of my office to look through it. If she lied about the work she allegedly completed, that’s a serious, job-losing offense. Apparently, I can be intimidating enough that it causes people to lie about things. At least that’s what my last assistant said.

Reading through the short paragraphs on about five different papers, I realize Ms. Meechum actually had the gall to print out personal ads from some online source. Apparently, my perfect date is comprised of someone who likes long walks on the beach, poetry, and true love.

“Bollocks,” I say out into the empty room. She’s definitely going to be fired on Monday. I’m tempted to send her a text now and just be done with it, but I won’t. Let her suffer for two days over her gaff and then come in to be fired. That will be a much more effective lesson for the whole office to learn than letting it happen now.

I toss the pile onto her desk and start to walk away, but one of the papers separates itself and floats down to the floor, landing at my feet. Grabbing it on my way into my office, I crumple it up in a ball and toss it at my rubbish bin. Unfortunately, all the years I spent playing cricket have not paid off. I miss by a good twenty centimeters.

As I sit, I lean over and grab the paper, throwing it up onto my desk. It remains there as I consult my calendar, send off five separate emails to various clients, and confirm my racquetball match for Sunday.

It’s eight o’clock when I sit back in my chair again and look around the office. I have such big plans for this place. By the end of the year it’ll be too small for our operation. My father was content to keep things what he calls ‘intimate’ and ‘friendly’ but I have other ideas. And since I’m the fresh blood he brought in to make things happen, I expect zero resistance to my suggestions. So far, he’s been a hands-off owner. He’s more interested in golf these days than real estate anyway, and that’s just dandy with me. Out with the old and in with the new. No disrespect meant, of course, but instant messaging was just the tip of the iceberg for what Stratford Investments will see in the next ten months.

That crumpled paper is the only thing marring the perfect harmony that is my office. I flick it with the end of my pen, but it doesn’t flip over towards the bin like I want it to.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” Leaning over, I push the paper open, smoothing it out over the surface of the desk. “And who exactly are you, that you warranted a blind date with William Stratford?” It’s possible the late hours I’ve been keeping are making me a little loony. It’s the only explanation I have for even opening this paper, let along talking to myself about it.

‘Single, attractive and successful businesswoman seeks very short-term, intimate and discrete affair. No strings, no commitments, no second dates.’

I frown. This is supposed to be my date?

A whirlwind of emotions slides across my consciousness. My first reaction is to be impressed. Ms. Meechum has been paying attention. Maybe I shouldn’t fire her.

I read the ad three more times.

My second reaction is annoyance. Does she honestly think I need to resort to online ads to find a date? My gaze flicks over and catches the charity ball appointment on my calendar. Maybe I should take the solicitor from the fifteenth floor.

I shake my head immediately. No. She’d expect something after that, a second date, a third date … and we work in the same building. That would be awkward. Too many complications.

Life is all about minimizing complications. I don’t have the time or the inclination to share my life with anyone, to have obligations outside of my work, to become entangled in some relationship with an emotional basketcase of a woman who’s desperately seeking her Prince Charming.

I read the ad again.

Of course, Ms. Meechum is right about one thing; networking is much more effective when done with an attractive woman at one’s side, and the ad does in fact say that she’s attractive.

But that could mean anything, couldn’t it? She could look like Medusa and I’d never know until it was too late. I’m quite sure networking with a woman ugly enough to turn a man to stone would hinder the effectiveness of my networking. It’s probably a terrible idea to pursue this person.

It says she’s a businesswoman too, but these days people think working at a coffee shop qualifies. How could I be sure she’s telling the truth? I couldn’t, that’s how. People lie all the time. People tell you who they want to be, not who they really are. And honestly, I’ve never met a woman who truly wanted a one-night stand. They all go into the arrangement with hope for the future, diamond rings on the mind and all that nonsense.

What strikes me about this ad, though, is that I don’t believe this person is looking for those things, mainly because she specifically says so. She had the forethought to attack the very arguments I’ve come up with for looking the other way. For some reason, I can almost believe this woman means what she says. It’s a revelation to me. A woman who doesn’t even want a second date.

Knowing my assistant has access to my emails, I pick up my phone. I have the perfect solution to my dilemma. First, I’ll phone this person and have a short conversation, chat her up a bit. If she sounds relatively normal, I’ll arrange to meet for a cuppa. Then, if she passes muster, I’ll suggest she accompany me to the charity event. Done and dusted. I am nothing if not decisive.

I smile as the call rings through. Things always have a way of working out exactly how I want them to. There’s no reason to suspect that this will be any different.

CHAPTER THREE

Jennifer

I’M SITTING AT MY TINY dinette in the kitchen when my personal ad phone rings. This will be the tenth call I’ve taken since I bought it yesterday. My ad has apparently struck a chord with the local male population. Too bad the last nine callers haven’t passed my psycho test. I don’t think I’m being too cautious, but at this point I’m starting to doubt myself. Is it possible that there aren’t any non-sociopaths out there searching for a casual one-night thing?

“Hello?” I grip the phone tightly, hoping beyond hope that this is the one.

“Hello,” he says. “Is this … the lady from the advertisement?”

My blood pressure goes up just the tiniest bit at the accent. He said advertizment. He’s British or Irish or something. Visions of Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, and Mr. Darcy buzz through my brain. This guy is already looking way better than the other candidates.

“Yes, this is me. I’m her.” Play it cool, Jennifer. Don’t get too excited. There’s still time for his psychosis to make an appearance.

“Excellent. Listen … I thought perhaps I could suggest a meeting … over coffee?”

“No, sorry.” Mood deflation activated. He already doesn’t get the whole point behind the ad. He’s looking for a girlfriend.

“Sorry?” he says.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask.

“In fact, you’re the one apologizing, not me.”

I think about it for a second and realize he’s correct. Kind of. “Yes, well, so did you.”

He pauses. “Oh, right. I meant to say … excuse me? What did you say? I thought you said no to the coffee.”

“I did.”

“Right. Indeed. So I haven’t made the cut, then. Quite stringent with the rules, aren’t you? What was it that put you off? Was it the accent?”

“Why? Is it fake?”

“Hardly. I was born and raised in Hammersmith.”

“Oh. Well, no, it wasn’t the accent. That’s a point in your favor, actually.”

“Brilliant. So what’s the problem, then?”

“There’s no problem. I just don’t want to meet for coffee. I thought the ad was pretty much self-explanatory.”

“Indeed, it was succinct and to the point. I must say it was intriguing enough to have me phoning, even though I didn’t mean to be reading the advert in the first place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that I read it quite by accident, really.”

“How does a guy from Hammerstown read a personal ad by accident?”

“It’s Hammersmith, part of the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, west of Charing Cross. And it so happens that the advert was printed out for me by my assistant. I meant to throw it in the bin, but it was being quite stubborn with me.”

“Who was being stubborn? Your assistant?”

“No, the advert.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. This is the most confusing phone call I’ve ever had. “That makes no sense.”

“You are entirely correct. So am I in or am I out?”

“Wow, right to the point, huh?”

“I’m merely following your lead. Shall we go for coffee? Ladies choice. You tell me where to go and I’ll simply show up to pay, sugar, cream, stir, and sip. And I shall bring my accent with me since it’s served me well so far.”

“No, no coffee.” I feel totally saucy right now. It’s like we’re dueling with words. “I said that already, right?”

“Yes, well, you can’t be serious now, can you?”

“Of course I can.” My pulse has picked up speed. Verbal sparring with a man who I’ve now decided looks exactly like Hugh Grant is definitely exciting, even if it isn’t going anywhere past this phone call. I wonder if he’s wearing a suit. A song filters through my conscience. Every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp-dressed man.

“You want to have one night of debauchery with a man you’ve never met even for a single coffee?”

Even though his question makes me feel more than a little stupid, I square my shoulders and answer confidently. “Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Brave girl.” His voice warms at that for some reason, which in turn makes me like him more.

“I know what I want and I’m not afraid to ask for it,” I say.

“Okay, so there will be no pre-debauchery coffee, then.”

“Nope.”

“Cuppa tea?”

“Nope.”

“How about … a photograph?”

Suddenly I’m wary. “What do you mean?”

“Could you send me a photograph?”

“Why would I do that?” I’m nervous enough to start sweating. Do I want to expose myself like that? My plan has major holes in it, apparently, since I hadn’t considered this eventuality.

“Well, you can’t expect me to just take your word for the fact that you’re attractive.” He sounds like he’s joking.

“Does it really matter that much?” I know the answer to this question already. I’m only asking to stall for time, because I’m not yet ready to let this guy go. His accent is slaying me, as is his sense of humor. Although I’m not quite sure he’s even trying to be funny.

“Not to be indelicate, but when you’re asking to cop off with a man, it’s usually a tad important that he find you somewhat appealing to look at.”

“Right, yeah, okay. I get it. But I’m sorry, that’s not part of the deal. You’ll just have to take my word for it. I’ve been called attractive by many men.” I want to bang my head on the table. I’ve never sounded so stupid in my entire life.

He pauses long enough that I start to wonder if the line has gone dead. But then he speaks again, and I find myself breathing out a sigh of relief that I haven’t yet lost him.

“I suppose a bit of mystery might be exciting.”

I grin like a fool. “That’s the spirit.”

“And if you were to select me, and I you, what exactly would you like to do on this one-time-only event? Straight to the bedroom or something more … shall we say … involved?”

My hands are trembling. I’m getting close to making a decision about this guy. I could actually be setting up a one-night-stand with a man I’ve never met or even seen, who sounds like Hugh Grant.

“By involved you mean …?”

“Well, involved, in the context of your rules, would be dinner, a movie, or a … charity ball perhaps?”

I laugh. Those Brits and their sense of humor. “Yes, okay, it should be more involved in the scheme of things. But not more involved in the way of commitment.”

“Brilliant. I believe this arrangement could suit me nicely. So what do you say? Fancy a roll in the hay with a somewhat newly arrived Brit?”

“I’m not sending a picture first,” I warn, not believing I’m actually considering doing this. Mia was right. This is totally insane.

“As you’ve said. If you change your mind, I’d be happy to send you my email address. Otherwise, I accept your proposal. Assuming of course that you’re making it to me.”

I hold the phone away from my head and take several deep breaths to calm myself. Thank goodness I’m too young to have a stroke. When I put the phone back on my ear, he’s talking again.

“Are you there? Bloody hell, the line’s down again.”

“No, I’m here. I was just … thinking about it.”

“Oh, right. Sorry to interrupt. Go on then with the thinking. Don’t mind me.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve made my decision.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense. I have five other adverts just like yours to call before the stroke of nine.”

My jaw drops open. “Seriously?”

His chuckle is low and soft. “No, it’s was a joke. I’ve been told I can be a bid maudlin when I’m nervous. Yours is the only ad I will call, probably ever. As I said, this is my assistant’s doing.”

My heart melts just a little. “You’re nervous?”

“Of course. I could be setting up a date with Medusa, now couldn’t I? And I’ve already committed myself. Now I have to wonder if John Thomas is going to cooperate with the whole scheme.”

My mood deflates instantly. “Who’s John Thomas? This is only a one-on-one thing, you know. I don’t do threesomes.”

He laughs again, only this time it’s loud and entirely infectious. I can’t help but smile along at a joke I am completely clueless about.

“No worries, dream girl. No worries a’tall.”

“Dream girl?” I don’t know whether to scoff or smile.

“Well yes, of course. A beautiful business woman seeking a one-night stand with no commitments after? You’re every businessman’s dream.”

“The ad said attractive, not beautiful.” I’m definitely grumpy now, and I don’t understand why. Maybe because I figured this persona I created was temporary. I’d hate to think I’ll have to be her for the rest of my life. This plan is supposed to rejuvenate my life, not put it into a box.

“I’ll be the judge. So are we on or are we off?”

I chew my lip. At the very least, I know this guy will make me laugh. That’s got to be worth something, right?

“We’re on.” I’m squeezing the phone hard enough that I’m surprised it hasn’t yet cracked.

“Brill. How about Friday, six thirty?”

“That’s … kind of early. I usually work late.”

“Well, I figured since this is a one-time affair we could do a few things first. Before we hit the bedroom.”

I grin, warming to the idea. “Okay. What should I wear?”

“Whatever your heart desires. I’ll pick you up at …?”

“At the Starbucks on Beacon Street.”

“I thought you said no coffee.”

“Exactly. But I didn’t say no coffee shop.”

“You are a minx, aren’t you?” he asks, almost like it’s an afterthought.

I’m sure I’ve heard that word in a Monty Python movie. It makes me giggle. “Hardly. See you Friday, six thirty.”

“Indeed. See you then. Cheerio, dream girl.”

“Cheereos, Englishman.”

I hang up the phone and squeal like a fourteen year old girl getting her first pony. This is going to be so much fun.

CHAPTER FOUR

William

THE WEEK LEADING UP TO this day passed in a blur. Ms. Meechum came back to work on Monday and arrived even before I did, and she hasn’t left a single night before eleven p.m. Apparently, mis-directed instant messages are powerful motivators.

“Sir, here are the reports you asked for. I’m going to begin the accounting for next week now to get ahead of things.” Ms. Meechum is looking at the silk rug in my office. She’s not met my eyes once yet since last Friday. I’m beginning to find it tedious.

“No, it’s time for you to go home.”

She looks up at me confused. “You’re firing me? But …”

“No, not firing you. It’s five-thirty on a Friday, and as you’ve already explained to me, that magic doesn’t happen overnight.” I gesture to her hair, trying to remain impassive even though it appears as if she’s stuck her finger into an electric socket. It’s almost terrifying.

She reaches up slowly and fingers some of her hair. “My hair?”

I stretch my lips into a polite simile of a grin. “Off you go.”

“But … but … what about you? And the work?”

“I have the charity ball to attend as you well know, since I believe you’ve committed my entire schedule to memory, and you have probably a hot date to attend to.”

She shakes her head. “Please don’t fire me. I promise, I won’t interfere in your love life ever again.”

A sliver of guilt niggles at me, enough so that it’s annoying to remain silent over the whole thing. “Yes, right … about that … I wanted to thank you, actually, for your assistance in the matter. I have found someone to accompany me to the charity ball as a result of your due diligence in that department, so I thank you for your efforts at keeping me from becoming …” I look over at my computer and read the infamous text message from last week. “…Old and wrinkly all by myself without any friends or anything.”

She drops her chin to her chest. “I wish I could shrivel up and die right here on your floor.”

“No, no. Please don’t. The carpet is silk. Go shrivel up and die somewhere else.” I wave her away and go back to my computer. I have several more emails to dispatch before I leave for my date.

“Sir?”

She’s not going to leave until I acknowledge her. I turn and look with an eyebrow up. “Yes?”

“Did you just … make a joke?”

I lower my head so I can see her over my dratted reading glasses. “No, I’m entirely serious. Please do not die on my carpet. It’s imported from China.”

She clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Stratford. Thank you so much!”

“For what?” I mumble as I read the latest email from a very important client.

“For not firing me. For being a good sport. For … everything.”

I ignore her, too busy responding to a mini crisis to worry about assuaging her nerves. She has the weekend to figure it all out and I’m too busy to coddle anyone.

Once I’m finished assuring my investor that all is going according to plan, I stand, take my jacket from the hanger behind the door, and leave my inner sanctum. Heads around the office turn to watch me leave as I stride down the path through the cubicles, and several people look at their wristwatches.

I smile to myself, deciding then and there that keeping the employees on their toes should include varying from my schedule from time to time. I don’t want to become too predictable, now do I? Success is a very powerful drug, I’m finding. Everything is going according to plan and I can’t stop smiling for the life of me. I’m positively chuffed.

The doors to the lift slide open to reveal the totty from the sixteenth floor. My mood deflates just a tich.

“Well, hello there, William. Headed off early today, are we?”

I do my best to smile without encouragement. “Charity event this evening. Have to go pick up my tuxedo.”

“It isn’t by any chance the Pink Ribbon Gala, is it?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” Dread fills my heart as I realize what her question means. So much for anonymity in a big city. I can imagine this woman accosting me at the chocolate fountain and never leaving my side. With her around, getting to the interesting part of my one-night stand will become entirely more difficult than I anticipated, and that just won’t do. I’ve been thinking about this night all week, and I find myself actually looking forward to it inordinately. I must be coming down with a touch of the fever. Thank goodness it’s only a one-off.

“Oh, wow!” she exclaims with way more enthusiasm than any charity ball deserves. “I’m going to the gala too! I’ll see you there, I guess.” She grins big and winks at me, looking me up and down.

Thank goodness I already have a date. Her expression tells me that working in the same building somehow gives her claim over my time and my person. Thankfully, the doors to the lift slide open on the ground floor before the conversation can go any further.

“See you later,” she says, pausing just outside the doors.

“Indeed,” I say, nodding once and then striding past, happy that I had the forethought to ask the doorman to bring my car round. We part ways when she heads towards the garage access door.

A quick shower and change has me in my tuxedo and out the door of my downtown flat by quarter past six. I pull up to the Starbucks on Beacon at exactly half past. My eyes scan the pavement in front of the store, searching for Medusa, as I’ve come to call her. My gaze skips right over the woman who approaches the vehicle until she leans down and looks in the window, giving me a lovely view of her ample bosom.

“Please tell me you come from Hammerwoods,” she says.

At first my voice doesn’t quite know how to function. The first thought that comes into my head is that she’s a damn liar. Attractive is the world’s largest understatement with regards to her person.

Luckily, I keep my wits about me. “It’s Hammersmith. And you would be Medusa, I presume?”

She opens the door and gets in. “What happened to Dream Girl?” she asks, grinning at me.

My heart stops beating for just a moment, long enough for my mouth to catch up to my brain. Then they all begin functioning together and it’s a mad rush of words that feel as though they’re fighting to get out.

“Well, I suppose it’s an apt description but it hardly seems fair to use it now.”

“Why?” She’s still smiling.

“On account of the fact that your head will swell, won’t it? And then I’ll have to work twice as hard to please you.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re lazy.”

My sudden onset of nerves disappears and a smile comes unbidden in their wake. “Never in my entire life has that moniker been assigned me.”

She looks me up and down, her smile slipping. “You’re wearing a tux.”

“Indeed I am.” I shift the car into first gear and pull back out into the city traffic.

“I’m underdressed.”

“Not for long,” I say mysteriously. I had thought about this part of my plan a lot this week, and now I’m terribly pleased to have put it into motion. This will make her a very happy girl and, consequently, me a happy man. I can already tell the sex is going to be outstanding. There’s just something about her …

“I thought we were doing a little extra on this date,” she says.

“We are.” I glance over at her to see that her smile has slipped even more. She seems nervous. It makes me more confident. I don’t know why I feel the need to impress her so much, but I do.

“Going right to bed isn’t really what I was talking about when I said doing more things, but if that’s the way you want to play it…” She sighs.

I reach over and pat her on the thigh, instantly admiring the softness that is revealed through the thin material of her business skirt. “Not to worry. I have everything taken care of.”

She says nothing as I withdraw my hand and put it back on the steering wheel. The interior of the vehicle fills with an awkward silence. Perhaps I moved too fast touching her so soon. Drat it to bits.

“What kind of car is this?” she finally says, saving me from self-flagellation.

“It’s an Aston Martin.” I shift smoothly into fourth gear as we move uptown.

“That’s James Bond’s car, isn’t it?”

I sigh, a little embarrassed over my father’s extravagance and wicked sense of humor. It wasn’t my first choice as a company car, but it came with the flat. “Yes, I am the quintessential Englishman, I’m afraid.”

“What’s your name?” she asks, sounding as if she’s going to laugh.

“Bond. James Bond.”

And then she does laugh. It’s a musical thing, and it makes me smile in response.

“It’s William, actually,” I say, embarrassed to have fallen into calling myself a fictional character. Could I be any more ridiculous? No, I’m afraid not.

“Do you have a last name?”

I look over at her for a moment as I try to judge her thoughts. “Are we doing last names?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I guess not. William is good. I’m Jennifer by the way, not Medusa.”

“No, most definitely not Medusa. Nice to meet you, Jennifer.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in hers and shakes it awkwardly, my wrist being bent backwards. “Nice to meet you William No-Last-Name.” She releases my hand and rests hers in her lap. “So where are we going, exactly?”

“You’ll see.” I love the fact that neither of us really knows what will happen next. I’ve never been so spontaneous in my entire life. Usually everything that happens with me, happens for a good, well-thought-out reason and with plenty of careful pre-planning; however, tonight I only have three plans: to get her dressed, get her tipsy, and then get her undressed. My strategy is simple but elegant in its design. Nothing could possibly go wrong and everything is guaranteed to go right, now that I know she lied in her advert. She is definitely not just attractive. She’s stunning, and the best part is, I can tell by the way she talks and carries herself that she doesn’t even realize it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jennifer

WHEN HE PULLS UP TO a boutique, I’m confused. Does he own it? Are we going to have sex in the back room? If he tells me we’re doing it in the display window, I’m going to knock his block off and take a taxi home. This is supposed to be fun, not freaky.

He comes around to my side of the car and opens my door.

“What is this place?” I ask, as I accept his hand and step out of the car, taking pains to keep my skirt from riding up too high.

“Our first step in the journey towards hedonistic pleasure.”

I laugh. “Wow. Did you rehearse that?”

“For a full five days. Come along, so we can go have a chit chat with Claudia.”

I step up onto the sidewalk and follow him to the front door. From where I’m standing I can see fancy dresses inside the store. “Who’s Claudia?”

“Claudia is a designer who makes bespoke items and ready-to-wear fashion. She specializes in formal wear.” He opens the door and gestures for me to go in first.

I step into the quiet place, breathing in the smell of new material and roses. “Wow,” I say, gazing around at all the dresses and pant suits. I know without even looking at the tags that this place is way out of my price range.

“She’s quite talented. She hails from London and is an old friend of the family.”

“William!” a tiny wrinkled woman exclaims, coming from the back end of the store. She swishes when she walks. “Darling! It’s been too long. How have you been?” She’s at least two feet shorter than he is but that doesn’t stop her from reaching up and patting both of his cheeks.

“I’ve been well, thank you, Claud. How’ve you been? One foot still out of the grave, I see.”

She pats him harder on one cheek before letting him go. “Oh, you’re a scalawag, just like your father.” She sighs and looks him up and down, happiness creasing her already well-lined features. “I’m still alive, that’s true, but my aches and pains grow stronger with every passing year.”

He grins and I fall a little in lust with the way his eye teeth twist over the teeth next to them. The imperfection is entirely too sexy. I have to look away to keep from breaking out in a sweat. My gaze drops to his hands. They’re large but graceful, with long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. Diamond cufflinks wink at me from his nearest wrist. Swallowing suddenly takes effort.

“And this must be your Cinderella,” she says, turning to look at me. Her paper-thin-skinned, heavily-veined hands are soon pressing into my cheeks as watery blue eyes take my measure. “So beautiful. And a size ten if I’m not mistaken?”

“Uhhh, yes. Does that matter?” I’m so confused right now. Am I shopping?

She releases her hands and chuckles. “In my business it does, dear. Come with me, Cinderella. We’ll get you dressed for the ball.” She walks away, disappearing into the back area of the store. I lose her behind some racks of dresses.

I look at William, confusion marring my features. “I don’t get it.”

He gestures out at the room. “Make your selection. It will be my gift to you for our special evening.”

My jaw drops almost to the floor. I close it just in time to keep drool from falling out. “You can’t be serious.” I’m starting to feel just a little bit hookerish.

“Indeed, I am.” He nods once, and I’m certain I’ve seen the exact same gesture from Hugh Grant in a movie once.

“But I can’t accept that from you.”

“Whyever not?” He lifts his eyebrows and waits for my response.

I can’t very well tell him it makes me feel like a prostitute, so I do the next best thing. “Because. I’m a modern woman. I pay my own way for things.”

“Modern women receive gifts all the time and it doesn’t affect their stature in society. And the place I’m taking you to requires formalwear. I don’t believe it’s fair to you to ask you to pay for something you might not wear again soon, and since you will be doing me an immense favor by attending this function with me, I feel it’s only right that I foot the bill.” His eyes soften and his voice goes down in pitch, ensuring we will not be overheard. “Please … do me the honor of accepting my gift. It comes with no strings attached, I assure you. Our deal shall remain as it was. One night only and then we shall say goodbye forever.”

I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch this man. I’m afraid if I do, one of two things will happen: either he’ll disappear in a puff of hallucinated smoke or he’ll be real and I won’t stop touching him until we’re both naked in that damn display window. I’m so ready to get freaky right now. It’s not my fault, though. It’s the accent. I can’t be held responsible.

“Okay, fine. As long as it’s no strings.”

He nods his head and then backs away as Claudia comes up behind me.

“Come along,” says Claudia in a tone that brooks no argument. “I believe I have some things selected that you might find appropriate.”

I follow behind the old woman in a state of half-consciousness. This is a dream. It has to be. This doesn’t happen to normal people. Wasn’t this guy just calling me Medusa? He hadn’t even seen a picture of me first and he already planned this? He’s either completely crazy or the most generous, fun, exciting person I’ve ever met. Please, God, let it be door number two.

She’s speaking again, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Because this is a breast cancer research benefit, I thought we should go along with the theme and add some pink, but I didn’t want to overdo it because then you’ll just fade into the crowd and we can’t have that for Stratford Investments, now can we?”

William is too far away to hear us talking. I’m suddenly bitten with the desire to interrogate this woman who obviously knows my date way better than I do. I chew my lip as I consider the dress she’s holding up. I’m not really looking at it so much as I’m trying to decide whether giving her the third degree is ethical when the agreement I have with William is to walk away at the end of the night.

“What do you think, dear? Yay or nay?”

I reach out and touch the dress. It’s so soft. My hand runs down the side of it and stops when it hits a tag. I turn it around so I can read the number written on it in looping script and almost have a heart attack. “Oh my god! This dress costs two thousand dollars!” I can feel the blood draining from my head.

“Don’t pay attention to the tags. The Stratfords get a special client discount, and in any case …” she leans in and whispers in my ear, “…they can afford it.” She shakes the dress to grab my attention. “This one, or shall we try another?”

I can’t speak.

“Okay, how about this one?” She holds up another, but I’m too terrified to look at the price tag. This all seemed like innocent fun when I put up the ad and even when I was talking to him by phone. Now I’m wondering what exactly I’m going to have to do to work off a two thousand dollar dress. He’ll definitely expect anal. I hope he’s not planning on making a snuff film. I’ll be really pissed if I have to knee this guy in the balls later and run out of a hotel room naked and screaming.

“Okay, not that one. How about … this one?” Claudia’s beaming from ear to ear as if she’s just uncovered a secret treasure.

And to be fair, she has. I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. My fingers go up on their own and touch the diamond-like sparkles that cover the top of the strapless gown. The bodice goes from silver at the top to deep pink at the waist, and the broad skirt is in black tulle with tiny sparkles sprinkled here and there randomly.

“These are all genuine Swarovski crystals in both the bodice and the skirt. I’ve left off any under the inner-arm area so you don’t need to worry about your skin being irritated.”

I can’t keep my hands off it. “Are you sure it’s not too … princessy?” The black skirt poofs out much more than any dress I’ve worn, at least since prom, anyway.

“For a charity ball? No. Believe me, you’ll fit right in. This is the main event of the year where people get to play at being one of the royal family. In fact, perhaps this isn’t quite enough.” She reaches over to pull the rack closer, her plan to hang the black and pink dress back up.

I grab the sparkly creation and hold the bodice close to my chest. “No. This one is perfect.”

She smiles. “I had a feeling.” She gestures to the corner of the room. “Fitting room is right over there. Give it go, why don’t you?”

I walk over, careful not to trip on all the material. A couple minutes later I’m on a round platform staring at myself in the mirror. It fits me like a glove, turning me from attractive, successful businesswoman into Cinderella at the ball. Something is very wrong with this picture, but I can’t stop staring. This is nothing like I imagined this night would be.

“Simply stunning,” says a male voice behind me.

I whip around and nearly fall from the small stage.

William holds out his arms, and I use them to steady myself. Dragging the material around with a free hand, I’m able to face him with more dignity.

“I can’t accept this gift.” I’m so nervous I’m afraid I sound like a complete fool, but I can’t just say nothing.

He frowns. “You don’t like it? I think it suits you to a T.” His eyes roam from my feet to my neck and then settle on my face.

“No, I love it, that’s not what I mean.” I try to find a way to say it and not be rude. “It’s just too extravagant. I mean …” I lower my voice to a whisper, “…you’re never going to see me again after tonight.”

He grins. “Exactly. So let’s live it up, together. Let’s do things we never normally do and just enjoy it without regret.” He shrugs. “We can go back to our normal, boring lives tomorrow, right?”

One side of my mouth quirks up in a smile. “Who said my life is boring?”

“The gentleman trying to talk a protesting woman into letting him purchase a ball gown for her.”

He has a point. A wild and reckless fun-loving chick would take this dress and run. I can be that person for one night, right? “Fine. I’ll let you buy me the dress, if you let me pay for half of it.”

He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “No deal.”

I pull out the sides of the dress and then let them fall in frustration. “But I can’t accept this!”

“Surely you can. I’ve already paid for it.”

My mouth drops open again. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or offended.

He continues. “If you insist on spending some of your own money, you can buy yourself some shoes. I’m not sure the ones you brought with you will suit.”

I follow his gaze to my bone-colored heels. He’s absolutely right about that.

“I have some shoes for you right here, deary,” Claudia says. “Nothing fancy, mind you, but that’s as it should be. The toes are the only thing anyone will see, and we don’t want to outshine the real beauty which is the dress and you, of course.” She puts a box down near my feet and pulls a black pump from inside.

Sliding my foot in, I find it fits like a glove, which makes perfect sense since tonight I am Cinderella. I’m just a little surprised the shoes aren’t made of glass at this point. “Okay, fine. I insist on paying for the shoes.”

“Right. Off we go, then,” says William. “I’ll meet you up front.”

He walks back to the front of the store with Claudia, leaving me to stare at myself in the mirror. The crystals catch the light and set off a mass of sparkling all around me. The shoes make me tall enough to lift the skirt off the ground. It’s like this thing was made specifically for me. I have to shake my head to get it out of the clouds. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

But doing this, I most definitely am. I wish I could text Mia and tell her what’s happening, but she has no idea I even put up the ad. She thinks I’m working late. I’m totally on my own this time, and I try not to fall into panic mode over that little fact.

Balling my clothes up and shoving them into my bag, I move to the front of the store still wearing the dress. On the counter is a small clutch that matches my gown. “This goes with,” Claudia says, pointing to it. “It’s included in the price.”

I pick up the heavily beaded creation and frown. I’ve seen work like this priced in the many hundreds of dollars. I look at both Claudia and William, trying to gauge their expressions, but they’re as bland as vanilla right now. I think it’s a British thing … or a conspiracy maybe. I’m being forced to accept gifts that are way too extravagant for a girl like me.

“How much do I owe you for the shoes?” I ask, taking out my wallet. I’ll feel much better about this whole situation if she tells me they’re five hundred dollars.

“Twenty dollars even.” Claudia says with a completely straight face.

I hold out my foot, reveling in the soft leather that hugs my foot. “No way these are twenty bucks. Come on, Claudia, don’t pull my leg.”

“I wouldn’t dream of pulling your leg, deary. I receive my footwear items at cost and pass on the savings to my clients. Twenty dollars, and I can take cash or credit card.”

I pull a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and frown as I hand it over. “I think you’re fibbing.”

She puts the money in a drawer and pats me on the hand when she’s done. “Enjoy your ball. Have some champagne for me.”

William places the palm of his hand on my lower back, and my pulse immediately begins to race at its warmth and the suggestive nature of it. “Shall we go?” he asks.

“Absolutely.” I gather my overstuffed purse, the clutch, and my old shoes into my arms. A moment later, William has taken all but the clutch from me.

“Thank you, Claudia. And thank you, William.” I look up at him, struck once again by how handsome he is. He’s still much taller than me, even with these heels on. “I’m absolutely in love with the dress and the shoes and the purse.”

“You are very welcome,” he says with a tip of his head. “Shall we go?”

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything witty in response. I’m a little light headed over the amount of money that was just dropped on my behalf inside this lovely little boutique. He hasn’t even kissed me yet.

“Come again!” Claudia says from the doorway as we walk out to the car.

William opens the door for me and waits for me and my mountain of material to get around him. I stop before getting inside, facing him. We’re only inches apart.

“You know this was way too much.”

He reaches out and touches my chin briefly, speaking softly in response. “There’s no such thing as way too much on a night like this one.” And then he drops his hand and steps back, his expression going stern. “In you go.”

I could argue his last statement, but I don’t even try. The atmosphere is charged with electricity enough as it is, and we still have several hours to go before this date is over. I’m already regretting its end and we haven’t even really started yet.

CHAPTER SIX

William

YES, IT WAS RECKLESS, RIDICULOUS, and completely daft of me, bringing Jennifer to see Claudia. The whim to ring my old family friend took over my rational thinking brain just hours before the one-night-only date and wouldn’t let me go until I capitulated. Claudia was a real sport when I told her that I may or may not be stopping by depending on how first impressions went, but that I would be eternally grateful if she would wait around until seven to find out.

As soon as I saw Jennifer standing there on the sidewalk, her curvy figure emphasized by her tight-fitting skirt, her wavy brown hair casually draped over her shoulder, and her bag clutched under her arm in a display of subtle nerves, I knew we had a chance at being compatible and that a ball gown was entirely appropriate. My misgivings simmered down to a mere trickle of their earlier proportions.

It’s not that she was terribly underdressed; her pencil skirt and frilly, cream-colored blouse would have fit into the crowd without too much trouble. But for some reason when I saw her standing there, it made me want to impress her, to show her that a night with me would be one she wouldn’t soon forget. Call it ego if you must, but the measure of happiness I’ve acquired from treating her to some mingle mangle was worth every penny. And I couldn’t expect her to spring for the gown when she wasn’t expecting to go to a ball, now could I?

“So where are we going, exactly?” she asks.

“To a charity gala. A breast cancer benefit being held at a hotel downtown.” I glance over at her enigmatic expression. “We don’t have to stay long if you don’t wish to, but I recommend staying at least until the dessert. It’s meant to be trifle, something I have a hard time resisting, personally.”

“Trifle? I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”

“It’s a combination of sweet pudding, squidgy sponge cake, and all manner of other delicious, sinful things.” My mouth is watering as I picture not only the dessert but this dishy woman next to me eating some of it. The shape and fullness of her lips wrapped around the business end of a teaspoon are conjuring some very ungentlemanly images in my brain at the moment. I keep my eyes on the road, battling the urge to stare at her. Last thing I need is for her to come to the conclusion that I’m some sort of pathetic psycho.

“Someone has a sweet tooth,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

I can’t avoid looking over at her as my heart beats stronger. So much for getting control over myself. “You have no idea.” I glance down at her décolletage, my eyes drawn there without any provocation on her part. Her skin is like cream, her breasts mounded over the top of her bodice begging to be touched. Squeezing the steering wheel helps me keep my hands to myself instead of reaching for her as I’m tempted to do. Normally I’m not this randy until there’s some actual touching or other foreplay. All this woman has to do is sit in my general vicinity and I’m off to the races. Have I suddenly become fifteen again?

Her eyes go wide before her cheeks turn pink. “Wow.”

I reach up and slide a finger under my collar, pulling it out a bit. “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” Twisting the air con dials does me little good.

Jennifer begins to hum, and then she sings in a soft voice. “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes … I am … getting so hot … I’m gonna …” Her voice peters out and she’s staring out her side window so I can no longer see her face. “Oh my god,” she whispers.

“I like that tune,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“I cannot believe I just sang it out loud. I must be losing my mind.”

I frown. “Hopefully not before the date is over. I’d hate to spend the evening with a load of nutters in the loony bin and not in the hotel room I’ve booked.”

She’s looking at me again and smiling, if not a bit awkwardly. “No, I’m fine. Just … still trying to get over the dress thing, I guess.”

“Too much?” I ask, cringing as I wait for her answer.

“Normally, I’d say yes. But tonight is special, so I’m going to say … no. It’s not too much. It’s just the right amount.” She pats me on the leg, heedless to what it does to me. Suddenly my trousers are a bit too restrictive.

“Brilliant.” I’m smiling gamely right along with her as I stare out at the road ahead of us while trying to control my raging hormones. Shifting in my seat a bit does my comfort level little good, so I focus on images of ugly old women with beards and warts. Within moments, my libido is back under control and I can rest easy once again.

To avoid any more awkward moments, I decide to bring up some shop talk; nothing could be less sexy to my mind. Not knowing her background gives me little to go on, so I assume she knows nothing about my world. “I know we’re to remain somewhat anonymous tonight, but perhaps you’d like to know a little bit about my business so that when you’re approached by someone who might know me, you won’t be taken completely by surprise.”

“Okay,” she says, “that sounds like a good idea.”

“Where shall I start?”

“How about … tell me what you do for a living.”

“I work for a real estate investment company. It’s privately held, founded by my father over thirty years ago, in fact. My mother died of breast cancer ten years ago, so we contribute quite a bit to the research dedicated to its eradication.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” Jennifer sounds sad, and that makes me admire her even more than I already did. Rarely do people appear to mean their condolences when they don’t actually know the deceased, but I believe she does.

“Thank you. She was a wonderful person, and the world is less without her.” The memory of her sobers me a bit. I still miss her happy carefree ways. It was only around her that I ever felt truly comfortable. She never did embrace the posh life like my father did. She was, to the end, very down to earth.

“Has your father remarried?”

“No. He’s playing the field, as they say.” I spare a slight smile for the man. He’s certainly not wasted any time carrying on with his life, but to be fair to him, I must admit that he and my mother often lived separately. Her passing impacted his heart but not his day-to-day existence.

“Good for him,” Jennifer says. “Or maybe not. Does it bother you?”

I shrug. “Not in the least. He’s his own man. I run the company that he started, and he golfs. The arrangement suits us well enough. He’s mostly retired, and he’s earned it, so I don’t begrudge him his sports and other amusements.”

“Any siblings?”

“Yes, two. I have a sister and brother, both younger than I.”

“Do they live here or in England?”

“England, you say? Wherever did that idea come from?” I’m having her on, enjoying her confused expression probably much more than I should.

“Your accent maybe?”

“What accent? I don’t have an accent. Don’t be absurd.”

She giggles and five years fall right off her face, just like that. It makes me wish I knew her when I was in short trousers. We would have been great buddies, I think. That was before I saw girls as women and life was ever so much simpler.

“So where do these siblings live?” she asks. “Hammerstone? Hammerblock? Hammerwhatever?”

“Ah, you were paying attention.” I smile briefly and continue. “Edward lives here in the city and Beatrice lives in London. I must warn you, though … if you ever see my brother, head the opposite direction. He’s trouble with a capital T.”

“I think you’re the trouble-maker in your family.”

“On the contrary … I am the responsible one. My brother is a ne’er do well and my sister a reckless, irresponsible, bohemian artist who spends half her life running around barefooted. I, on the other hand, have spent my entire life toeing the company line. You can ask anyone. Ask my employees, they’ll tell you.”

“Is that so? What exactly would your employees say about you if I asked?”

“They’d say that I’m a slave-driving monster who should be put down for the greater good.”

She laughs again. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“No, you can believe me, I swear it. It’s true. I am a slave-driver. Very demanding. Really, I’m a terrible person. You should probably end this date right now while you’re still able.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Was it a warning? You’re not going to drug me and chop me up in little pieces are you?”

I look at her, pretending to be horrified as I go along with her absurdity. “Stone the crows, what have I done to place you in fear of that eventuality?” I glance at her skirts. “Was it the gown? It was the gown, wasn’t it?” Facing front, I bang the steering wheel with the heel of my hand, playing the role of outraged psychopath to the hilt. “I knew it. My plan has completely fallen to shite. And here I thought I’d be getting a new trophy for my special sound-proof room on the lower ground floor.”

Thank goodness she’s laughing again. I have no idea who this daft person is living in my head right now. I’ve lost myself and become another man. Have I been possessed by a rapscallion demon? Has the idea of a one night stand with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen somehow rendered me incapable of normal conversation or speech? This does not bode well for a charity event where I will be expected to hobnob with current and potential investors. I run my hand through my hair, trying to assume a more staid character.

The car is too silent. I look over to catch her staring at me. “What? You’re not really worried are you?” Placing my hand over my heart, I make her a pledge. “I promise, on my honor, I will be a perfect gentleman until we get to the hotel room, after which point I will endeavor to become the lover you always dreamed of. But there will be no removal of any body parts whatsoever.” I hold up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

She looks as though she’s trying not to smile. “Where you ever a scout?”

“In point of fact, no. But don’t let that cause you any concern. If you need a fire built, I’m your man.”

She laughs again and then quickly sobers. “Who are you and where did you come from?” She’s staring at me like I’m an alien life form.

“William is the name, and as mentioned in our earlier conversation, I hail from London. Hammersmith, to be more precise. Part of the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, west of Charing Cross.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I assure you, I don’t.” I look over at her pensive expression. “But I shall write it off as my poor communication skills and ask you to accept my sincerest apologies.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, believe me,” she says. And then she exclaims. “Oh, my… Look at all those flowers. And lights!”

I follow her gaze to the front entrance of our vehicle’s destination, the valet area of the Grand Hotel. “Yes, it’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” A mass of pink flowers in every rosy hue can be seen surrounding the arch leading into the hotel. I slow to a stop and engage the hand-brake.

“Are you ready, Cinderella?” I ask, turning to face her. Her once glowing face now looks less so. “What’s the matter?” Taking her hand in mine, I find it’s cool to the touch and fine-boned, almost delicate. It makes my own look like the great paw of a doltish animal.

“I’m just worried that the fantasy is going to disintegrate, maybe.” Her smile is almost sad.

I lean in, no longer able to resist the pull of her deep red, pouty lips. After giving her the briefest of kisses, I whisper near her ear. “The fantasy has only just begun, pet. Better get a hold on your knickers.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jennifer

WHEN HE KISSED ME, I thought I was going to have both a heart attack and a stroke at the same time. It was just a simple touching of his lips to mine, not a tongue in sight, but did that stop me from having a massive internal breakdown? No. Lucky for me, I’m able to play it completely cool on the outside while my insides are turning into molten lava.

Getting out of the car, he’s completely oblivious to my sexual distress. He’s way cooler than I am as he holds the edge of the door, ready to shut it between us.

“Hold onto my knickers? What does that even mean?” I’m playing the whole thing off, acting like I’m not waiting with baited breath, wondering what will happen next.

I cannot figure William out, and it’s driving me crazy. He claims to be this conservative businessman who everyone wants to kill because he’s such a pain in the butt, but he’s also cracking jokes left and right and making me laugh way more than I’m used to, especially around a stranger. Especially around a stranger who I plan to sleep with in just a few hours.

My palms get sweaty just thinking about that part of our evening. He’s way more than I bargained for on just about every level. What are the chances he’ll be more than I dreamed of in the sex department too?

Ugh. I can’t even think about that right now, or I’ll never make it out of the car. Focus, Jennifer. Look at the beautiful flowers. Think about the trifle or whatever it was called. Instead of listening to myself, I watch him walk around the car with long, confident strides. Jesus Almighty, he has broad shoulders. I’ve never seen a man look better in a tux ever. Like ever, ever, not even in Hollywood.

He comes around to my side of the car, giving the parking attendant his keys before he opens my door. His hand is there, waiting for me to take it, and he leans down, answering the question I forgot I even asked. “It means you should plan to have some fun. I hope you enjoy dancing.”

Accepting his hand and using it to leverage myself out of the low-slung car, I smile. “I do like to dance, but I don’t remember ever dancing in a dress like this. I’m not sure I can.”

“All you have to do is hang on, and I’ll do the rest.” He leads me through the door held open by a man in uniform and into the lobby of the hotel. People stare at us and smile as we walk by. I feel like a real, live princess.

The venue has gone all-out for the ball. I’ve never seen so many pink flowers in one place, not even at a wedding, and I’ve been to some doozies in my lifetime. I’m the last one of my friends to still be single.

“Stratford!” A booming voice hits us before we’re even ten steps into the lobby. A man large enough to fit the voice approaches and holds out his hand. I think I see a Superbowl ring on it.

“Mr. Thompson, good to see you,” William says, his face a mask of civility. The joking soon-to-be lover is gone in an instant, replaced by someone I could easily see being a slave-driver in the office. The transformation is nothing short of astounding. I cannot stop staring at him. For some reason, he becomes twice as sexy to me like this. Is that wrong? I don’t know, but I’m going with it. I cannot wait to see him naked now.

“I told you, William,” the big man says, smiling good-naturedly,“call me Jimmy.”

William bows his head briefly. “As you wish.” He pauses and then turns slightly towards me while looking at his client. “Jimmy, this is Jennifer. Jennifer, Jimmy.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, taking my hand and giving me a big grin. My fingers are swallowed up by what looks like a giant bear paw.

“Yes, nice to meet you too.” Thank goodness he’s not one of those men who feel the need to arm wrestle when they meet someone new.

Jimmy releases my hand and rubs his palms together, all his attention back on William. “So … how’s the Grandston project going?”

“We’re on track for a closing in September. Do you know whether you’re going to keep your unit or sell yet?”

“I don’t know. I gotta wait for the wife to weigh in.” He looks over his shoulder and then leans in towards William, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell her I said so, but she’s the boss.”

He jumps straight up in the air and then hunches over in fear when a loud, angry voice comes from behind him. “Don’t tell her you said what? Who’s the her? Is it me or someone else I should know about?”

“Oh, heeeeyyy, baby!” Jimmy goes from deer in the headlights to fawning husband in an instant. “I didn’t see you there. My oh, my oh, my, don’t you look beautiful tonight. Mmm-mmm-mmmmmm…”

The small woman’s hand goes up to block her husband’s approach. “Save it, Jimmy.” Her deep frown turns into a glowing smile as she notices who Jimmy’s talking to. “William,” she purrs, moving closer and holding out her hand in a graceful gesture. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.” She has dimples that sink deep into her cheeks and the prettiest teeth I’ve ever seen. I stare, wondering if they’re veneers.

Jimmy moves closer to his wife and wraps his big arm around her tiny waist. “I told you, baby. All the movers and shakers are here tonight. Aren’t you glad we came?”

“Nice to see you again, Glory,” William says, leaning down to give her a kiss on each cheek. He’s nearly bent in half to reach her.

“Who’s this, William?” Glory is looking at me with unabashed curiosity. “Is she your date?”

“Indeed.” William angles himself to put me on better display. “Glory Thompson, allow me to present my companion for the evening … Jennifer.” He shifts his gaze to me. “Jennifer, Glory and Jimmy are some very dear clients of mine.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking Glory’s hand.

Glory winks at my date. “I like her, William.”

He responds with a straight face. “I will inform her of the import of that statement the very moment you are out of earshot.”

Glory laughs and slaps him on the arm. “Boy, you always crack me up.” She looks at me. “These British guys … always being silly while acting like they’re being completely serious. You have any of the champagne yet?”

I shake my head no.

“Come on, then. Let’s go get us some.” She hooks her arm through mine before I have a chance to disagree. I watch William getting smaller and smaller over my shoulder as she leads me away. He’s smiling with strictly-contained amusement.

“So, how did you meet our William?” Glory asks, guiding me towards a bar manned with servers in white jackets and black ties.

“We met … online, actually.” I’m turning pink over the idea that my ad might be revealed to these people. I should just get a red magic marker and draw a giant letter A over my chest and get the judging over with.

“Reeeally?” Glory raises an eyebrow as she takes me in. “That is just fascinating. Who would have thought …” She stops and shakes her head. “No, I suppose it’s what everyone’s doing now.” She snorts. “Jimmy and I met in junior high school. No online dating for me.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” I say, reaching out for a glass of champagne on a tray. “Dating sucks.” As does living with a man for eight years and then getting dumped. Been there, done that. I lift the champagne to my nose and take a whiff. It’s yeasty and winey, not entirely unpleasant or unfamiliar since I’ve had some before at weddings.

“Can’t be too bad. You’re here, right? And you’re with William Stratford, the city’s most eligible bachelor.” She winks just before touching her glass to mine and then taking a long sip.

My heart lurches. Is he really that in demand? I glance over at him and know without hesitation that yes, he probably is. He definitely has the look just about every woman goes for, plus he’s wealthy. And of course, he has that accent…

“He’s a fun date, right?” Glory’s nudging me and very possibly fishing for information.

I nod, unwilling to give her more than that. She’s right about William, though. Charity balls and princess dresses are waaaay better than sitting at home mourning the years I wasted on the wrong guy.

I take a sip of my drink, and the champagne bubbles tickle my nose. Attempting to stop the sensation from taking over, I wiggle my face around, but it’s useless. I put my finger under my nose and squeeze my eyes shut a second before I lose control. “Ahhh … choo!”

“Aww, you have the cutest sneeze!” Glory links her arm through mine once again and smiles like a loon as she looks out over the crowd that’s getting thicker by the second. “Come on. Let’s go find our dates before they disappear.”

“Disappear?” I blink my lids a few times, trying to clear the tears that appeared with my sneeze before they fall down my cheeks and make me look like I’m crying.

She rolls her eyes. “You know how they are. They get to talking about this business deal and that business deal, and an hour later I’m dancing by myself while they’re all standing in the corner with frowns on their faces. I told Jimmy that ain’t gonna happen this time. I refuse to dance alone ever again.”

I nod, afraid I might say something that will reveal I know nothing about William and that I’ll never see him or his friends again after tonight. My dances tonight will be with William, but any that happen after will be with someone else entirely. Before, that thought would have been exciting and wild. Right now it makes me feel a little hollow inside.

I instantly want to slap myself. Jennifer, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t go off-track now! Focus! I steel myself against those silly emotions as soon as they start to trickle in. This is a one-time deal only. That’s what’s making it so much fun and so charged with sexual energy. If William and I thought this was the first date of many, there’d be pressure of a different sort, the kind that makes people act like someone else, makes them feel like they have to say and do certain things to impress the other person. Knowing this night isn’t going to be repeated is making it easier for me to be free of all that, and for him too. This whole Cinderella at the ball thing is not his usual way of operating, I’m sure of it. He’d go broke, otherwise.

I nod silently, knowing I’m steering myself in the right direction. This night is going to be awesome. This one night.

I don’t realize William is near until I feel his hands sliding around my waist from behind. Glory’s arm slips free and she steps away.

My heart skips a beat as I turn my head and find William’s face right next to mine. “I want to show you something,” he whispers in my ear. The smell of his expensive cologne is intoxicating. Screw champagne. Who needs that stuff when I can have this?

Jimmy takes Glory by the hand and twirls her in a circle. “Come on, wife, let’s go show these people how to move.”

“That’s my man,” she says, her eyes glowing with happiness. Apparently he’s been forgiven for whatever he might have done, just by asking her onto the dance floor. As I watch them grin and snuggle, I can see how they’ve managed to stay together since junior high school. They have true love in their lives, and for some reason it makes me both happy and a little bit sad at the same time.

I turn slightly in William’s arms, glad that he’s left his hands on me. The warmth begins to generate between us, and I have to fight the urge to reach my arms up and put them around his neck. Thoughts of Glory and Jimmy fade away to nothing.

“Where are we going?” I ask. My voice is way too breathy.

“Come see,” he says, sliding his hand down my arm to take me by the hand.

The thickness of his fingers between my much smaller ones gives me a jolt. I can’t stop thinking about his other body parts, wondering if they’re proportional. Eek! Down, girl! All in good time… Just the idea is sending thrills all through me. Goosebumps break out on my arms and I try to rub them down with my free hand.

We walk across the lobby and past some elevators. Soon we’re in a small alcove that hosts a bank of payphones. For a moment I think he wants to make a call, but then he switches off the light and turns to face me.

As he moves forward with determination, I step back, taken by surprise and more than a little shocked at the expression on his face. He’s all business and a little bit caveman. The man who made me laugh is completely absent.

“What are we doing?” I whisper. It seems an appropriate question, like we’re hiding from someone back here in this dark corner of the building. Plus I’m a little teeny tiny bit apprehensive. My heart has picked up its pace considerably at this complete change in his demeanor.

His right hand slides up my ribs to rest just under my breast, and he leans down, his mouth suddenly on mine. My back runs into the wall and my body jerks to a halt at the precise moment that his tongue comes out and touches my lips.

I gasp in surprise at his sudden advance, but I’m not complaining; I’m feeling way too good for any of that nonsense. My hands rest for a moment on the wall behind me, palms against the cool surface as I get my balance, and William continues to kiss me. My chest is heaving with the effort it takes to breathe through my strong arousal.

I’ve been told I’m a good kisser, but I know I’ve got nothing on the skills this man possesses. He might be all polite and proper and British on the surface, but oh my … underneath all that starch he’s someone else entirely. I absolutely know he’s going to be good in bed, just from this one kiss. He’s way too confident and coordinated not to be amazing at all of it.

It’s like we’ve done this a thousand times before, the way we fit together and somehow already know the rhythm we share. The shocks of pure adrenaline and sexual energy that are surging through my body aren’t just there because this is our first kiss. There’s something about this man that’s making me catch fire. I can’t even think straight. Luckily, my hands are moving of their own accord and they seem to know what they’re doing.

My palms rest lightly on his chest, my fingers playing with the ribbed edges of his tuxedo shirt. As our tongues come into play, my hands roam upwards. I touch the back of his hair and slip my fingers through the thick strands, grabbing some and using them to pull him down, deepening our kiss.

His hot breath washes over my lips and his tongue slides in and out of my mouth. He changes the angle of his approach so the kiss can go even farther. When his large hand settles over my breast and squeezes, I moan with the sparks of desire that explode between my legs.

Pressing into him elicits a responding groan from deep in his throat. He’s as hard as a rock. His entire length easily sinks into the thin material of my dress. I begin to rub myself on him, unable to resist the temptation when he’s so close and I’m so hot with desire.

He reaches his hand around me and grabs my rear end. Pulling me towards him, he adjusts his hips at the same time and settles his length in exactly the right spot against me. My hips are suddenly on auto-pilot, pulsing and grinding as the heat builds inside me. My panties are completely wet through.

Voices seep through my half-unconscious state.

Voices? Ack! People are coming! What the hell am I doing? Cinderella doesn’t bump and grind in the phone room!

I push him away, breaking our contact, and lean back on the wall. Its cool surface helps bring me back down to Earth. Smoothing my dress, I work at catching my breath and trying to look normal. With trembling hands, I reach up to put my hair back in place. I hadn’t even realized William’s hands were tossing it around until a big clump of it falls down into my face. I imagine myself looking like a half-drunk maniac.

He’s standing above me, his lips partly open in surprise. A moment later, his tongue comes out to lick his bottom lip. After he huffs out a burst of air, he bites his bottom lip and shakes his head slowly from side to side and gives me a somewhat bitter smile.

My heart does a double flip over the smoldering heat I see there.

When he reaches up to smooth his hair over, I instantly wish he hadn’t. I love the look of him out of control. I want to see it again, and soon. This charity ball was a stupid idea. We should have gone right to the bedroom.

I sigh heavily, trying to rid myself of the hot and heavy emotions that are still coursing through me. The voices have moved away from the phone area, but the mood has passed.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” I finally ask, my breath almost under control. I clear my throat to sound more confident, gesturing out to the side. “Vintage phones?”

Half his mouth moves up in a grin as his hair falls over his eyes again. He smoothes it back once more. “Maybe.” He’s staring at me without blinking.

I can’t help but smile at him, even in the face of his obvious arousal and intensity. He makes me want to sing the theme song from The Sound of Music for some reason. “You’re trouble, you know that?” I cock my head to the side as I recall the description he gave of his brother. “Are you sure your name isn’t Edward Stratford?”

His sexy mood disappears in a flash. His shoulders go back and his chin lifts just a tiny bit as he turns his head away from me to look out into the hall. I’m left standing in front of a man I’ve never met … cold and very, very businesslike.

“I’m absolutely positive.” He steps back and holds out a hand, looking at me again but this time without the heat. “Would you care to dance? I find I have a little excess energy that begs release.”

My heart plummets into my toes and my smile falls away. I want to tell him that we can work off that excess energy checking out the vintage phones some more, but I don’t. This change in attitude feels too much like rejection. I screwed up and I regret it, but it’s too late.

Instead of trying to fix it with words, I follow quietly along next to him, being careful not to touch him. Back we go towards the ballroom, where I will pretend not to be affected by the hottest, wettest kisses I’ve ever had in my entire life, shared with the most sexy enigmatic and confusing man I’ve ever met.

CHAPTER EIGHT

William

WHAT A COCK-UP. WHAT was I thinking, bringing her in a dark corner to molest her person? It’s bloody madness is what it is. I glance in her direction but cannot read her expression. Her breasts swell over the top of her gown, making me instantly rigid again.

I steel my jaw and look away. That’s the root of the problem right there. Those breasts. Those cloying, lovely mounds of jubbly bubbly flesh that beg to be fondled and kissed and licked. I cannot be blamed for simply being a man of good taste, now can I? It wouldn’t be fair.

“This is a really nice hotel,” Jennifer says as we stand at the entrance to the ballroom. Every time she inhales, her breasts swell up over the top of her bodice, and then when she exhales they retreat. It’s a terrible tease, causing me to break out in sweat as I barely control the urge to release the lovelies from their bonds.

I can picture them bouncing and swaying as the bodice is unzipped and lowered, and my hands coming up to support their pendulous weight. I would gently push them together and squeeze them and suck them and place my jolly roger between them…

Good gravy. I’ve become my brother.

I attempt to air myself out by pulling at my collar. Blinking a few times, I work to get my thoughts back on track. My eyes scan the room, seeking out a jowly, bearded matron to help calm my ardor. Unfortunately, there isn’t a hag in sight. I remain wound tight as a fiddle.

“Yes, it’s brilliant,” I finally say. Apparently, stimulating conversation is no longer an option available to me. A waiter comes by to save me from my complete lack of social graces. “Would you care for some champagne?” I hail my savior posthaste and usher him over with gestures more befitting a traffic officer.

“Yes, thank you,” she says with a smile. I want to believe she’s oblivious to my distraction.

I take two flutes from the tray and hand the first to Jennifer. The second I hold out in between us as the waiter disappears into the crowd. “A toast,” I say, hoping that she won’t toss the sticky beverage in my face for being such a cad.

She holds up her glass and lifts her eyes to meet mine, and that’s all it takes to light the fire within me once more. My cock pushes against my trousers, eager to be freed from its confines. Luckily, my jacket saves me from certain discovery.

“What are we toasting to?” she asks.

“Forgiveness,” I say, lowering my head once in a silent nod of apology.

She leans her flute toward mine and touches them together lightly. The ching rings out around us. “And who is forgiving whom?” A saucy smile has begun to appear on her lips, giving me both hope and more blood flow to my nether regions.

“You would be forgiving me. At least, that is my fondest hope.”

She takes a sip of her drink without ever breaking eye contact. “And what would I be forgiving you for, exactly?”

I take a sip of my champagne, preparing my answer. But before I can get the words past my lips, I’m stopped by the expression on her face. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she just caught a whiff of a truly horrid odor.

“Are you all right?” I ask, lowering my glass and leaning over a bit. “I say … your eyes have gone suddenly bloodshot.”

She shakes her head and puts the edge of her finger up under her nose. Tears begin to come from her eyes and trail down her cheeks.

I feel like the world’s biggest cad, no better than a bloody plonker. “Listen, Jennifer, I’m well and truly sorry for taking advantage of you back there by the telephones. Please accept my humblest apologies. It’ll never happen again, I promise. I’ll be a perfect gentleman for the rest of the evening.”

She backs away, shaking her head, the tears still coming.

My heart sinks. It’s over before it’s begun. And even though I’m out over two thousand quid and a week’s worth of planning, none of that matters when compared to the fun I’ll be missing. I was absolutely certain that a night with Jennifer would be second to none, the bees knees, the dog’s bollocks, and ever so much more.

She lowers her head, her finger still propping up her nostrils, and lifts her glass very high.

I stare in fascination as she appears to be doing some sort of formal salute or perhaps even a bow.

And then, in an instant, the reason for her strange dance becomes evident.

“Ahhh … ahhhh … AHHHH CHOOO!”

The three couples nearest my date jump from the floor in fright. Two champagne glasses fall to the ground with a crash, and one of the women who lost her drink screams. The man to Jennifer’s left is now wearing the contents of his date’s cocktail on his face.

“Oh my god,” she says, looking around in horror, her hair falling down over her face, “I’m so sorry!”

I rush to her aid, rescuing the champagne flute from her impressive grip. “Right. Come with me, darling, let’s get you cleaned up.”

She looks up at me, her red-rimmed, watery eyes surrounded by a desperate expression. “Cleaned up?”

I pat her shoulder in a sad effort at calming her. “You look beautiful, not to worry.”

I steer clear of the ladies room, knowing a mirror would probably be a bad idea right now. When we reach a quiet corner of the ballroom, I remove my handkerchief and pat delicately under her eyes, smiling in the most calming manner I know. “There we are. Right as rain.”

She takes the silk square from me and rubs it under one eye and the other, leaving smears of black on the cloth. “Oh … my god … I cannot believe I just did that. Did you see that man with the daiquiri all over his face?”

“Is that what that was? It was probably very cooling. It’s quite warm in here, don’t you think?”

“No! It was probably very cold and wet and sticky, not cooling! How humiliating.” She glances towards the exit door. “We should go. I should go.”

I reach up and move a lock of hair from her forehead over to the side where I believe it belongs. “If you want to leave, we can do that. But I hope you’re not thinking of ending our date so soon.”

She snorts as she wipes under her nose with the square of silk. “I can’t believe you still want to have a date with me.” She sniffs loudly.

I frown. “Are you having me on? Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

She looks up at me, her eyes still watery. It gives the impression of extreme sadness, forcing me to battle my desire to wrap my arms around her. I’ve never felt this protective of a woman ever, not even my wayward sister who has needed more than her fair share of protection over the years.

“I could give you a list of reasons,” she says.

“I would wager your list has flaws.”

“I just sneezed so loud I ruined two gowns and a tuxedo. With one sneeze. I am an agent of destruction.”

“I only counted one tuxedo involved in the mishap, and it’s black. It won’t show a thing.”

She’s battling a smile. “I ruined my makeup and my hair. Your date looks like a homeless woman.”

“My date looks better without makeup, and I like the freshly … well, let’s just say I like tousled hair better than a style that’s just so.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

I lift a brow just as I would with Ms. Meechum. I am not too proud to use intimidation to get what I want, and I still plan to have my way with this gloriously sexy lady. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you a gentleman, not a liar.”

I hold out my arm and turn to be at her side. “Very well, then. I can live with that.”

“Where are we going?” she asks, reaching up and tucking my silk square into my front pocket. She sniffs once more and I’m happy to find that her voice is not nearly as nasally as it was a few moments before. She’s on the mend.

“To dance. I have to show you my slick moves. Trust me, they’ll help you forget everything that’s just happened.”

“I hope not everything,” she says as we begin to walk.

I hesitate and stare down at her. “Ah, right.” I come to a complete stop. “I was in the process of begging your pardon for my earlier indiscretions. Shall I continue?”

“Not if you don’t want to be slapped.”

I pause to consider that. “That might actually be enjoyable.”

She laughs, and the sound is like beautiful bells to my ears. “You did nothing that needs to be apologized for.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Let’s go have some fun.”

I lift her hand and place it into the crook of my arm as we continue our walk to the dance floor, smothering the smile that wishes to come forth and make me look the mad fool. “Very well, then.” At this rate I’ll surely wake with facial cramps on the morrow. I haven’t smiled as much in years.

The music changes to a waltz as we reach the floor, and Jennifer stops walking.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, now slightly ahead of her.

“I can’t dance to this,” she says, glancing at the floor worriedly as the crowd clears out and just one older couple remains.

I turn to face her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to dance.”

“No.” She releases my arm and puts a hand on a hip. “I’ll have you know that when there’s current music on, I’m a very good dancer.” Her chin goes up a speck.

“I believe you’re afraid.” I shake my head in mock-sadness. “A pity to waste such a beautiful gown over something as silly as waltzophobia.”

She giggles. “I don’t have a phobia of waltzing.”

I step out onto the dance floor and extend my hand. “Prove it. Share this dance with me, Cinderella.”

“I can’t!” she says in a loud whisper, glancing around to see who’s watching.

I look past her. “Oh dear. Don’t look now, but you have competition approaching, twelve o’clock. Better change your mind quickly or all will be lost.”

She twists around to see the solicitor lady from my building coming in our direction with purpose. The woman reminds me of a cobra, ready to strike with her aquiline features and the black and brown color of her clingy, sequined gown. I don’t really plan to dance with her, but Jennifer doesn’t know that. Apparently, there are no depths to which I will not sink when this woman is in my presence and yet remaining just out of reach.

“William!” the woman says as she approaches.

Jennifer jumps into action, taking my hand and stepping into my arms as if she always planned to.

I turn my date to the side and gather her in closely, placing one hand on her lower back and taking her other hand at my chest.

“Hello,” I say, not sure I ever knew her name.

The woman looks at Jennifer with barely concealed annoyance. “Hello. I’m Ingrid. William and I work near one another in the same building.”

“Oh. Hi.” Jennifer smiles and then glances up at me.

I suppose I’m expected to speak now. “Good to see you, Ingrid. Enjoy your evening.” I nod once and then take a strategic step backwards, moving Jennifer out and away from her as quickly as possible.

Jennifer melds onto me like cling film. “Sorry in advance,” she says.

“What are you going to be sorry for?” I ask, swirling her around the four corners of the dance floor. She’s so busy worrying about her apology, she doesn’t notice that we’re in perfect synch and have admirers staring from nearby tables.

“For all the times I’m going to step on your toes.”

“Nonsense,” I say, staring out over her head, “you’re a natural. My toes have never felt more secure than in your care.”

She laughs. “Is that woman someone you’ve gone out with before?”

I look down at her. “Whatever gave you that impression? I tried so hard to express my disinterest.” I sigh with exaggerated pain and look back out over her head. “I’m quite disappointed that it didn’t work. My technique must really need improvement since apparently Ingrid doesn’t read my signals well either. She’s been hounding me in the lift for months.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re just playing hard to get.”

We move between other couples in perfect rhythm with the music. All those ridiculous dance lessons my mother forced on me as a child are finally paying off. I wish she were still alive so I could thank her.

“I am hard to get,” I say. “It’s not an act.”

“That’s why you answered my ad,” Jennifer says, her expression and tone going sober.

“Exactly,” I say. “It was very no-nonsense. It suited me very well.”

She nods and then looks out at the other couples. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” she says.

“You are quite good, just as I expected you to be. You’re very light on your feet.”

She smiles up at me, but the sparkle is gone from her eyes.

“Are you all right?” I ask. “Not getting seasick are you?”

“No. Why would I get seasick?”

“All the turning. The champagne caused such a strange reaction, at this juncture I am prepared for anything where you’re concerned.”

“Just like a scout, right?”

I hold up two fingers. “At your service.”

We continue the dance in silence, and at some point, Jennifer rests her cheek near my shoulder. I pull her in closer and bend over so I can inhale the intoxicating scent coming off her skin. It’s musky and sweet and something entirely feminine that doesn’t come from a bottle. I twirl her around, reveling in the fairytale-like atmosphere, the warmth, and the feeling of her ample, soft breasts pressing into my chest. I should give Ms. Meechum a bonus on Monday. A small one.

My hand drifts lower and I rest the edge of my smallest finger in the cleft of Jennifer’s backside. Am I imagining her arching her lower back just a fraction, inviting me to do more? A vision of taking her from behind bursts into my mind, and my attempts at fighting it off do not work a bit. I’ve gone hard as stone again, and I worry that it will frighten her off.

I try to pull away, but she holds me tighter. And then she pushes her hips into me. My pulse begins to hammer away in my veins. She releases the softest of moans that vibrates in my chest. Stone the crows, she knows she’s got me aflame and she likes it. She’s encouraging it.

A groan escapes me as my cock throbs with the need to be buried deep inside her. Thankfully the sound is muffled by her neck and hair. The softness of her dress offering little resistance to my gentle thrusts only makes my situation worse. It’s a terrible tease. I’m ready to throw her down on the floor and take her straight away, right here, with the entire world watching.

And then she speaks directly to my passion, saying the only words I long to hear.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispers.

CHAPTER NINE

Jennifer

I NEVER THOUGHT THE WALTZ could be so sexy, but I’m ready to explode with desire. The way William’s hard body was pressing into me and his rhythm … oh my god. He’s so smooth, there’s no way he can suck in bed. I was ready to have sex with him right out there on the floor.

For a brief moment, though, I was getting sad, thinking this evening was turning into total crap. I was being stupid and becoming attached to him, which meant the whole thing was going to end badly. But then he reminded me why he answered my ad, and with that, got me back on track. My offer was no-nonsense and gave the assurances of no promises and no strings. It was perfect for a guy like him and for a girl like me. One date, one encounter, one night only. There will be no strings and no second meetings.

This reclaimed knowledge completely takes my mind off my silly heart and allows me to focus on the sexy feelings that are getting more intense by the minute. I’m totally back online and with the program, ready to have some serious fun. It’s time to get naked, baby.

William leads me from the dance floor and out into the lobby. Several people stop him on the way, but he gives only the briefest of hellos and goodbyes before we’re on our way again.

I expect him to turn right and go out to the valet area, but instead he goes left and over to the bank of elevators.

“Are we going to look at phones again?” I ask suggestively. I wouldn’t say no to a little more of that.

He pulls his wallet out and stops at an elevator, pushing the call button. The doors open as William produces a keycard. “No phones this time,” he says, slipping the card into the bank of floor selections on the elevator wall.

“Wow, you need a key just to use the elevator?” The doors slide shut and we begin our ascent.

“Only for the penthouse.”

I’m suddenly nervous again. “The penthouse?”

He stares at me, no expression on his face. “One night. No regrets.”

I nod, swallowing with difficulty. “Yes. Right. No regrets. But you didn’t have to do so much. I would have been happy with a lot less.”

He comes towards me, forcing me to have to look up to still see his face. “Why do less when we can do more?”

I wish I had a witty comeback for that. The double meaning I’m assigning to his words makes me wonder if I should be regretting my decision to come up with this plan in the first place. I cannot afford to let my heart get broken again.

There’s a muted ding and the doors open up to reveal a round foyer with floors and columns of marble and dark-brown painted walls. It smells brand new and rich. William steps away and holds the door open. “After you,” he says, gesturing with his free hand for me to go first.

I step into the entrance, my eyes scanning the space. “Wow, this is really nice. It looks like a small palace.”

“Would you care for a drink?” he asks, putting his hand on the small of my back and guiding me into the main sitting room. There’s a bar in the far corner of the opulent space.

“No, thanks. I’m afraid I’ll start sneezing again.”

He turns to me without warning and pulls me tight against him.

I fall sideways just a little, surprised at his sudden move. I gain my feet and brush some stray hairs off my cheek as I arrange my skirt around me.

“My apologies,” he says, pausing a moment and clenching his jaw a couple times. “I’m having a very difficult time controlling my desire for you.”

I love that he’s losing his cool. I get the impression that it’s a rare event for him. My arms slide up his chest to reach his neck, and my fingers weave into his thick, brown hair that rests at the top of his collar. “Don’t apologize for wanting me. That’s a compliment.”

He takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out, his gaze sinking to my breasts. “I have been wanting you, wanting to get you naked, since I saw you outside the coffee shop.”

“Wow.” I smile, too flattered to say anything else and not sound goofy. “That was forever ago.”

“May I take off your gown?”

I giggle. “You may do anything you want, so long as you don’t hurt me.” I can’t picture him doing anything but bringing me pleasure, gentleman that he is.

His hands slide up from my waist to the top of my dress at the back. He lowers the zipper inch by inch, the cool air on my skin causing me to shiver. Or maybe it’s the fact that things are getting real and it’s causing me to tremble with anticipation. All the ideas I had about how this night would roll out are actually happening, and so far, they’re way better than I imagined.

“Are you cold?” he asks me softly.

“No,” I whisper, staring into his eyes.

“Then why are you shivering?”

“I’m nervous.” I push into him more.

He lowers his head and presses his mouth to mine. When his tongue comes out to gently lick my lower lip, I capture it and suck it in. He angles his head and our tongues tangle together as our breathing comes stronger.

My dress falls down to my waist, freeing my breasts from their confines.

He pulls back to see me better and moves his hands so he can hold my breasts up from the bottom and sides. Pushing the mounds of flesh up and together, his expression takes on something akin to near reverence.

“I knew they would be lovely.” He lowers his head and licks one nipple and then the other. They harden even more than they already had. I’ve never actually watched a man worshipping my body like this before, and I find that it’s twice as sexy as just feeling it.

“You like breasts, I take it,” I say, slightly amused at how intense he is.

He looks up. “I like these breasts.” And then he goes back to licking and sucking. The tugging at my nipples makes me shiver in a whole other way, and the wetness between my legs makes it hard to think about anything else but how much I want him down there. The desire to be fully naked is almost overpowering.

I run my hand down his arm and then to his hip. His buckle is easy enough to undo and then his pants are down around his ankles as I fondle his cock. Its velvety soft exterior directly contradicts the hard steel I feel beneath.

“I love it when you touch me like that,” he moans in my ear. His hips rock forward with the motion of the stroking I’m doing. His fingers close around both of my nipples and pinch together firmly.

I moan loudly, not realizing how pleasurable that could be when done the right way, by the right man.

“You like that?” he asks, with the hint of the devil in his voice. He does it again.

I have no time to control my volume before the passion takes over. “Oh, yes!” I practically shout.

He takes a moment to remove his shoes so he can rid himself of his pants and then suddenly he grabs me, lifting me and my giant dress into his arms.

“Whoop!” I grab him around the neck to keep myself from falling. He’s really tall and it’s a long way to the floor from up here. “Where are we going?” I ask, breathless, trying to see around the cloud of tulle that’s half-covering my face.

“To the bedroom,” he says.

“But I’m not ready for the bedroom,” I say, in a desperate attempt to slow him down. I don’t know why I said it; it just came out. Everything is moving so fast. My heart is racing and my blood pressure is out of control. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t…

“Oh, all right, then. I see how it is.” He slowly lowers me to the floor. “You want to play, first, eh?” His expression is almost sinister. I believe I know now what a mouse feels like when the cat is playing with it.

The funny, silly William is gone. He stayed downstairs in the ballroom. He’s probably still waltzing around the dance floor like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I believe now, after looking into this man’s eyes, that I went upstairs with a demon. A very sexy, very horny demon. And I am not complaining one bit as he slowly pushes my dress down to my ankles and then lifts me out of it.

I’m staring up into his eyes, licking my lips. My breasts are pressed against him and I’m wearing only underwear. “You have too many items of clothing on,” I say, pouting just a little.

“Not for what I’m about to do,” he says, grabbing me by the waist and spinning me around.

“What the …?”

“Put your hands on the bar,” he says. His tone is bordering on dangerous.

I’m standing in front of the wet bar that has a small raised counter and a sink on the other side. Looking over my shoulder, I see a gorgeous man standing there in a tuxedo shirt, his tie slightly askew. Boxer shorts and black socks do nothing to take away from his allure, and his hair hanging carelessly in front of his eyes completes the package. I’m ready to do just about anything he wants, so long as it means I get to feel him inside me before the night is done.

I put first one hand and then the other on the edge of the counter. I’m still in my heels and they angle my ass up high. My breasts sway with the movement as I bend over.

He walks up behind me and presses his cock against my backside. His hands come up and take my breasts, kneading them and massaging them as he gently pushes against me from behind. It’s making me crazy that I can feel his hard length but he’s not going inside me. It’s the ultimate tease. His fingers spread apart and take my nipples between them, pinching a little in rhythm with everything else.

“Mmmmm …” I can’t speak, I can only feel. I’m getting wetter. Hotter.

“You like that?” he asks, pressing harder.

I nod, incapable of doing more. My panties are soaked through and I’m begging him in my mind to take them off me and fulfill my need.

“You have the most beautiful breasts, the most beautiful backside, the most beautiful everything…” His hands slide down. One stops at my hip and the other continues, going around my hip to my stomach and then down into the top of my panties. His finger is sliding into my slit, finding my warm center, gently gliding over and circling my tender, swollen nub.

“Oh, God,” I say, opening my legs and pushing into his hardness.

“That’s it,” he says, picking up the rhythm of his gentle thrusts from behind. His finger slides into me and out of me, making me tremble. My whole body is ready to drop to the floor, it’s so weak with need.

His finger slips fully out of my panties and I nearly cry with the emptiness he leaves behind. He grabs me by both hips and pushes strong and hard into me, grunting out with an almost angry sound. “Dammit, woman, you’re making me lose my mind!”

Without any warning, he yanks me backwards off the bar and spins me around. I almost fall with the suddenness of it. Luckily he catches me and I cling to his shoulders, breathing like a freight train.

I’m out of breath and I haven’t done anything but enjoy the feeling of him touching me. I’m seriously in trouble right now.

His mouth comes crashing down onto mine and the kiss that follows sets me on fire. His hands are everywhere while his tongue swirls around. I nip at his lips, his tongue, anything that I can reach, out of control. He growls and grabs me by the back of my hair, pulling my head back so he can force his tongue inside deeper. I take everything he has to give and still want more.

He smacks my ass and growls as he rubs the stinging spot he left behind. “Be a good girl, yeah?” His accent has gotten very strong, and it drives me wild.

I moan with the ecstasy of being coerced into doing what he wants. Everything is so out of my control and yet I’m not afraid. I just want more. Who is this person I’ve become? Who is this man I’m with who makes me feel so reckless?

“God, what happened to you?” I say without even thinking.

“What do you mean?” he says, kissing me on the neck, licking me, and then sucking me hard enough to leave a mark.

“You were so polite and calm downstairs. Now you’re a … a …”

“A what?” he asks. I get the impression that he’s poised to attack. He’s toying with me. It should probably make me fear him, but all it does is make me want him even more … this stranger who makes no sense at all, who becomes another person behind closed doors.

“A beast,” I finally say.

He bites my neck.

“Ow!” I yelp, jumping away and smacking at him.

“You want to see a beast?” His eyes are practically glowing with either passion or danger, I don’t know which. He takes one step towards me, closing the distance between us.

“No. Yes…” He grabs me by the arm. “Maybe?” I nearly whimper the word.

And then I squeal when he suddenly sweeps me up and throws me over his shoulder. My shoes go flying across the room.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?!” I can’t see anything. My hair is hanging down all over the place and his shirt has fluffed up in the back, going into my face to blind me.

“Taking you to bed. No more playing around. It’s time to fuck.” He smacks me on the ass once more.

I start beating him on the butt half-heartedly with my fists. I don’t really want to hurt him or make him stop; it’s just a token resistance to keep things exciting. Him, Tarzan. Me, Jane.

He keeps on going, through a doorway and across another room. Then I’m launched from his shoulder into midair, which elicits another screech from me. I land on my back with a large poof! in the middle of a huge bed covered in a very thick down comforter.

My hair is all over my face, and I scramble to move it out of the way so I can glare at the caveman standing over me.

“How dare you!” I say, trying to keep my mad face going.

“How dare I?” He slowly pulls his tie off and then unbuttons his shirt. The cufflinks come off and get carelessly tossed onto the nightstand as I huff and puff, trying to control my respiration. “I haven’t even begun to dare with you,” he says.

First one well-muscled shoulder emerges from his shirt and then the other. The undershirt comes off next to reveal a man who spends at least a few hours in the gym every week. He hid that part of himself well under all those layers of clothing. And I thought I’d already seen the best of him. Uh … yeah. Not so much. God, he’s gorgeous!

Once the socks are pulled from his feet, he has only boxers on. I ogle the giant tent his hard-on is making beneath the cotton cloth.

“You’re staring,” he says, an eyebrow raised. His chest muscles flex.

I’m suddenly afraid. Not a lot, but a little. What did I get myself into? This is nothing like I ever imagined. It’s way better, and it’s so much … more.

“Keep that thing away from me,” I say, getting up on one elbow. I glance behind me, judging the distance to the other side of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, like he’s laughing at something funny.

I glance back at him and then move as fast as I can, my plan to scramble to the opposite side of the bed so I can have some space between us. But I don’t get very far.

My foot is suddenly in a powerful grip, and I’m being yanked back. I flip over onto my stomach and grab at the bed covers, scrambling to get away.

“Mmmm, don’t mind if I do,” he says.

I look over my shoulder, panting with the exertion of my attempted escape and the excitement of it all, as he uses his free hand to lower his boxers. His big dick sways back and forth with the movement of his body.

“Don’t you dare,” I say as a warning.

“Oh, believe me. I dare.”

He gets onto the bed on his knees and takes my thighs in his grip, one hand on each leg, making sure I don’t try to get away again. His hands slide around to the front of my legs and hook underneath them.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, no longer so sure I’m interested in escaping whatever plan he has for me.

“I should think that would be obvious at this point,” he says, winking at me before dragging me back closer to him.

That wink. Oh, that wink! It’s like a tiny bit of the old William has come to join the party. Just that one playful move and the easy way he tells me he’s about to fuck me senseless is what does it for me. I’ve never met anyone who can be so thoroughly good while also being so completely bad at the same time. I’m ready to open up to him like I’ve never done for any man before. This was such a great idea. I only wish I’d thought of it sooner.

I turn my head back sideways and lie my cheek down on the bed, sliding my arms up above me as I close my eyes. Why fight it anymore? It’s crazy to walk away from what this man is offering. I deserve this. Besides … it’s exactly what I asked for, right? One night of no-holds-barred passion. And then we walk away.

“Mmmm …” I say as a lazy smile takes over my face. “I’m ready.”

CHAPTER TEN

William

THE SUPREME EFFORT I CONJURE to help me manage the situation is about to come falling down around my ears like a house of cards. I have the arse-end of the most beautiful, most sexy woman I have ever met, poised just inches away from my throbbing cock, and now she’s closed her eyes and essentially given me an engraved invitation into her pussy.

Obviously, because I am absolutely dedicated to the idea of making this one night the best night of our lives, I waste no time in obliging her. After donning a condom, I move forward on my knees and take my rigid cock in hand, moving the bell-end to her folds. They’re glistening wet and ready for anything. She moans over the simple action of me moving along the edges of her center, and I try not to explode over her reaction.

I want to bury my sword to the hilt and slam into her, using every ounce of my considerable sexual energy in one go … but I don’t. This will be our one and only night together, so I’m going to do it up right. And while I’m at it, I might just tease her a bit as well. Perhaps I’m a monster for it, but I love the idea of her begging.

I push just the tip inside her, pulse a small bit in and out, and then pull it out again, flexing forward once I’m outside her to massage her nub.

“Oh, William…”

“Yes, that’s right,” I say, going in for another dip. My body is trembling with the effort of holding back. She is so hot inside, and every cell in my entire body wants that heat very, very badly.

“Oh, yeeessss …” she hisses.

When I pull out this time, she follows me, her arse going up in the air. She doesn’t want me to leave, and doing so takes serious willpower on my part.

I reach out with both hands and put them on her arse cheeks, squeezing and reveling in their softness. “Now, now, just relax…” I say, not sure whether I’m addressing her or myself.

I dip my cock inside her just a bit farther this time, reveling in the slick ride her body and arousal provides. She is so wet and so tight. The knowledge that she wants me as much as I want her makes me even harder. I am granite.

I pulse in and out several times, yet never giving her all of it. She gets just a taste, just a hint of what’s to come. The wetness intensifies as does the temperature.

“Fuck me, William,” she says, panting, her hands grasping at the covers, twisting them as she squirms. She moans something I cannot understand, but I don’t need to hear the words to know what she needs, what she wants.

“Patience, lovely girl,” I say, trying to sound cool and confident. But I’ve made a hash of it with my grunting. I’m an animal on the inside and now I sound like one too.

When her arse comes up again and pushes against me, I lose all semblance of control. She’s pushed one too many of my buttons tonight. All of my plans for drawing this out and making it last all night go directly out the window. I can see her large breasts pushing out to the sides next to her ribs, and her lovely face contorts in pleasure. The arch of her lower back becomes deeper, more curved, as she tries to open more for me and draw me in.

“Oh, sod it,” I growl, my hips driving my cock forward, full in, buried to the finish. The bell-end bumps up against something inside her, and I can’t help but to keep pushing and pushing, slow and steady at first and then faster. I want to crawl inside her hot, wet pussy and live there forever. My balls are sending pulses of hot blood out from my core, and I moan with admiration for the beauty of her body, inside and out.

I grind into her, pulling up on both of her hips, elevating them fully off the bed as I push harder and harder, trying to somehow get deeper into the well whose bottom I’ve already reached.

I pull partially out by drawing back and pushing her hips away, and then I go back again for more, yanking on her by flexing my biceps and pushing forward with my own hips to meet her body halfway. My balls swing forward and slap against her pussy, over and over. I can’t stop moving. I can’t stop the sensations. I can’t stop any of it and I don’t want to anymore.

“Oh, god! Oh, god, William! I’m going to come! I’m going to come!”

“Already?” I say mostly to myself. And then I feel the walls of her pussy pulsing around me, convulsing, pulling me in, massaging my rod and doing something to me that I wasn’t ready for or even expecting.

Every muscle in my body is contracted and focused on fucking this woman. I am an animal, a monster with the basest of desires. Every nerve ending in my cock is suddenly aflame. What has she done to me?

A mighty roar bursts forth from my lungs, and I cannot remain cool and unaffected any more than I could fly out the window. My body takes over and I ride her high and hard. She collapses her hips to the bed and I fall down upon her, my hands on either side of her. I continue slamming into her deliciously wet pussy without any care for her wellbeing, only focused on getting my seed to spill forth. I’m nearly there. Nearly there! I’m there! “Arrraaahhh!!”

Embarrassingly, it takes me all of fifteen seconds to blow my spunk. I collapse on top of her as she goes from screaming along with me, to moaning, to crying. My John Thomas takes her tears as a bad sign and begins immediately to shrivel and retreat.

I pull out and roll over onto my back, staring at the ceiling as I try to catch my breath. I remove the condom and drop it on to the floor next to the bed for later collection.

“Darling, are you sad?” I ask a moment later, turning my head to look at her. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I’m a cad.”

“No, no, no… I’m not crying.”

I sit up partially and lean over her. Reaching out, I use my forefinger to select a drop of moisture from the side of her nose. “This is what we call a tear in England.” I hold it over by her eye so she can see it. “Generally speaking, tears accompany crying and sadness.”

She rolls over onto her side to face me, propping her head up with her hand and elbow. “I had a spiritual moment, so I just lost it a little.” She sniffs and wipes her face off. “See? I’m fine.”

I pull her into my arms and go back to staring at the ceiling. “A spiritual moment, you say.”

“Yes.” She sniffs again.

“By the grace of my cock?”

She laughs. “Maybe. Or maybe it was all that bossing around stuff you were doing, I don’t know.”

“I knew it. Next time, I’ll bring a whip. That’ll show you who’s boss.”

She stiffens in my arms, and I realize my error.

“Of course there won’t be a next time,” I say, probably too quickly. The very idea makes me angry, but not at her. I’m disappointed in myself. Too late I realize I’ve played a game I cannot possibly win. “Lucky for us. Because then things would get complicated and dreadfully boring and then where would we be?”

“Exactly,” she says.

The awkward silence stretches between us. I want to say something to ease us through it, but nothing comes to mind. Making a joke seems crass. Trying to be serious would be inappropriate. I’d make love to her again, but I’ve nothing but a wee willy looking up at me from between my legs, asking me what he’s supposed to do now … now that he’s seen heaven’s gate but can never enter the kingdom as anything but a temporary visitor. A very temporary one.

“I have to go,” Jennifer says, suddenly sitting up.

I watch her leave the bed. “Go? Go where?” I know the answer to my question already. I just want the dagger fully seated in my heart, and I want her to be the one to drive it home.

“Yes, go. Go back to my place.” She walks into the ensuite, and after running the water and flushing the loo, she emerges for only a moment before she’s gone again.

“You’re leaving so soon?” I yell into the other room.

Her voice comes to me muffled. “It’s pretty late, actually. And I have to work tomorrow.”

Yesterday, I would have admired that about her, the desire to work weekends and be dedicated above all other things to the job. Right now it makes me … angry? Sad? Confused? Disappointed? Pick your adjective. None of them are sitting well with me at the moment.

“What do you do for a living?” I shout again, hoping to prolong our goodbye in any way I can. I want to know her better. I don’t want her to disappear from my life just yet. I am a glutton for punishment.

Her head is in the doorway and I see that she’s already back in her gown. “Does it matter?” she asks. She stares at me with a very sad expression. I believe she pities me, which makes me go cold all the way to my bones.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” I lie back in the sheets like I haven’t a care in the world.

“Bye, William. And thanks for everything.”

“Yes, well, cheerio. Happy week-end.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

And then she’s gone.

Part 2

Each part of this serial romance will be published approximately two weeks apart. Stay up to date and get a notice to your inbox when I have a new release by joining my newsletter list, located here:

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elle Casey is a prolific American writer who lives in Southern France with her husband, three kids, and several furry friends. She writes in several genre and publishes an average of one full-length novel per month.

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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

NEW ADULT ROMANCE
Shine Not Burn

By Degrees
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Rebel
Hellion
Trouble

YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Duality, Volume I (Melancholia)
Duality, Volume II (Euphoria)

YA URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae: Book 1, The Changelings - FREE!
War of the Fae: Book 2, Call to Arms
War of the Fae: Book 3, Darkness & Light
War of the Fae: Book 4, New World Order
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 1, After the Fall
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 2, Between the Realms
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 3, Portal Guardians
My Vampire Summer
My Vampire Fall*
Aces High (co-written with Jason Brant)

YA DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis: Book 1, Kahayatle
Apocalypsis: Book 2, Warpaint
Apocalypsis: Book 3, Exodus
Apocalypsis: Book 4, Haven

YA ACTION ADVENTURE
Wrecked
Reckless