“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”
I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic
pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to
celebrate, no matter how small and
inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of
his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before
starting a new job is a bad idea.”
“Come on, Eva.” Cary sat on our new living
room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and
flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking
for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built,
dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man
who rarely looked anything less than absolutely
gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have
resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person
on earth to me.
“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted.
“Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy
hour and be in by eight.”
“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I
gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout
tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit
the gym.”
“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly
executed arched brow made me laugh. I fully
expected his million-dollar face to appear on
billboards and fashion magazines all over the
world one day. No matter his expression, he was
a knockout.
“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a
substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’ll be
worth celebrating.”
“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for
dinner.”
“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it
wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”
Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face,
he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most
restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw
up a meal in there.”
Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to
avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the
elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the
doorman when he let me out to the street with a
flourish.
The moment I stepped outside, the smells and
sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited
me to explore. I was not merely across the country
from my former home in San Diego, but
seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises
—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the
other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my
dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in
Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found
myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for
Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably
lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more
per month than most people made in a year.
The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good
evening, Miss Tramell. Will you need a cab this
evening?”
“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded
heels of my fitness shoes. “I’ll be walking.”
He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this
afternoon. Should be nice.”
“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather
before it gets wicked hot.”
“Very good advice, Miss Tramell.”
Stepping out from under the modern glass
entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the
age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the
relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I
reached the bustle and flow of traffic on
Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right
in, but for now I still felt like a fraudulent New
Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was
still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing
cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and
distracted, but it was hard. There was just so
much to see and experience.
The sensory input was astonishing—the smell
of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor
carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music
from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range
of faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous
architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus
Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was
unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.
There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or
fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis
with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I
was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that
navigated tiny one-way streets and the package
delivery drivers who braved the bumper-tobumper
traffic while facing rigid deadlines.
Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all,
their love for the city as comfortable and familiar
as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the
steam billowing from potholes and vents in the
sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t
blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath
their feet as the subway roared by below, while I
grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York
was a brand new love affair for me. I was starryeyed
and it showed.
So I had to really work at playing it cool as I
made my way over to the building where I would
be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d
gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on
my own merits and that meant an entry-level
position. Starting the next morning, I would be the
assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field &
Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising
agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier
Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took
the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I
could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and
reaped the benefits of that connection.
“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said.
“It’ll take him forever to pay off your student loans
on a cop’s salary.”
That had been a major fight, with my dad
unwilling to back down. “Hell if another man’s
gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Victor
Reyes had said when Stanton made the offer. I
respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too,
although he would never admit it. I understood
both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the
loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for
my father. My mother had refused to marry him,
but he’d never wavered from his determination to
be my dad in every way possible.
Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old
frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly
as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the
short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I
was pleased when I reached the Crossfire
Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman,
in less than thirty minutes.
I tipped my head back and followed the line of
the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of
sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a
sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the
clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that
the interior on the other side of the ornate copperframed
revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring,
with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and
brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.
I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket
of my pants and held it up for the two guards in
black business suits at the desk. They stopped
me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly
underdressed, but then they cleared me through.
After I completed an elevator ride up to the
twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for
the whole route from door to door. Score.
I was walking toward the bank of elevators
when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette
caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it,
spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the
marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched
people dodge the chaos and keep going as if
they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and
crouched to help the woman collect her money, as
did one of the guards.
“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick
harried smile.
I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”
I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the
entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black
oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited a
beat for the man to move out of my way and when
he didn’t, I arched my neck back to allow my line
of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit
more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the
tall, powerfully lean body inside it that made it
sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent
maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the man’s
face that I went down for the count.
Wow. Just…wow.
He sank into an elegant crouch directly in front
of me. Hit with all that exquisite masculinity at eyelevel,
I could only stare. Stunned.
Then something shifted in the air between us.
As he stared back, he altered…as if a shield
slid away from his eyes, revealing a scorching
force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The
intense magnetism he exuded grew in strength,
becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant
and unrelenting power.
Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward.
And sprawled flat on my ass.
My elbows throbbed from the violent contact
with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the
pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted
by the man in front of me. Inky black hair framed a
breathtaking face. His bone structure would make
a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched
mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely blue eyes
made him savagely gorgeous. Those eyes
narrowed slightly, his features otherwise schooled
into impassivity.
His dress shirt and suit were both black, but his
tie perfectly matched those brilliant irises. His
eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored
into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted
to accommodate faster breaths. He smelled
sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or
shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering,
as was he.
He held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cuff
links and a very expensive-looking watch.
With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in his.
My pulse leaped when his grip tightened. His
touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm
that raised the hairs on my nape. He didn’t move
for a moment, a frown line marring the space
between arrogantly slashed brows.
“Are you all right?”
His voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp
that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to
mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment
that he might be able to make me orgasm just by
talking long enough.
My lips were dry, so I licked them before
answering. “I’m fine.”
He stood with economical grace, pulling me up
with him. We maintained eye contact because I
was unable to look away. He was younger than I’d
assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my
guess, but his eyes were much worldlier. Hard
and sharply intelligent.
I felt drawn to him, as if a rope bound my waist
and he was slowly, inexorably pulling it.
Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released him.
He wasn’t just beautiful; he was…enthralling. He
was the kind of guy that made a woman want to
rip his shirt open and watch the buttons scatter
along with her inhibitions. I looked at him in his
civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and
thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.
He bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t
realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that
provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into
gear.
I was irritated with myself for feeling so
awkward while he was so completely selfpossessed.
And why? Because I was dazzled,
damn it.
He glanced up at me and the pose—him nearly
kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium
again. He held my gaze as he rose. “Are you sure
you’re all right? You should sit down for a minute.”
My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward
and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and
graceful man I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance.
I’m okay.”
Looking away, I caught sight of the woman
who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She
thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned
to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her
and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but
her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she
promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just
reached over and dumped the change into the
woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the man
again, finding him watching me even as the
brunette gushed thank-yous. To him. Not to me, of
course, the one who’d actually helped.
I talked over her. “May I have my badge,
please?”
He offered it back to me. Although I made an
effort to retrieve it without touching him, his fingers
brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness
into me all over again.
“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting him and
pushing out to the street through the revolving
door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a
breath of New York air redolent with a million
different things, some good and some toxic.
There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of
the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless
limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my gray
eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my
face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I
went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-tofuck
look and it had absolutely no business being
on my face now.
Christ. Get a grip.
Five minutes with Mr. Dark and Dangerous, and
I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could
still feel the pull of him, the inexplicable urge to go
back inside where he was. I could make the
argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to
the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it
later. How many times was I going to make an ass
of myself in one day?
“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath.
“Moving on.”
Horns blared as one cab darted in front of
another with only inches to spare and then
slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians
stepped into the intersection seconds before the
light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of
expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real
anger behind them. In seconds all the parties
would forget the exchange, which was just one
beat in the natural tempo of the city.
As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set
off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah,
New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You
rock.
I’d planned on warming up on a treadmill, then
capping off the hour with a few of the machines,
but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class
was about to start, I followed the mass of waiting
students into that instead. By the time it was over,
I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with
the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep
hard when I crashed later.
“You did really well.”
I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and
looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky
and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes
and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were
enviably thick and long, while his head was
shaved bald.
“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty
obvious it was my first time, huh?”
He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker
Smith.”
“Eva Tramell.”
“You have a natural grace, Eva. With a little
training you could be a literal knockout. In a city
like New York, knowing self-defense is
imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard
hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked
business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from
the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held
it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”
“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”
“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my
website and the number to the studio.”
I admired his approach. It was direct, like his
gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if
he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool
enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.
Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut
biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long
shorts. His Converse sneakers looked
comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up
from his collar. “My website has the hours. You
should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”
“I’ll definitely think about it.”
“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his
grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”
The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back
home and Adele was crooning soulfully through
the surround sound speakers about chasing
pavements. I looked across the open floor plan
into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the
music while stirring something on the range.
There was an open bottle of wine on the counter
and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with
red wine.
“Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha
cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”
He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it
across the breakfast bar to me, his movements
practiced and elegant. No one would know from
looking at him that he’d spent his childhood
bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and
foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile
detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta
with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s
ready. Have fun?”
“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of
the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about
the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna
go with me?”
“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s
hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost
me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in
case this guy’s a wack.”
I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting
colander. “A wack, huh?”
My dad had taught me to read guys pretty well,
which was how I’d known the god in the suit was
trouble. Regular people offered token smiles
when they helped someone, just to make a
momentary connection that smoothed the way.
Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.
“Baby girl,” Cary said, pulling bowls out of the
cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I
question any man who doesn’t have the balls to
ask you outright for a date.”
I wrinkled my nose at him.
He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny
tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy
tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and
peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What
is it?”
Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking
out of the bowl and decided not to comment on
the food. “I think I ran into the hottest man on the
planet today. Maybe the hottest man in the history
of the world.”
“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.”
Cary stayed on the other side of the counter,
preferring to stand and eat.
I watched him take a couple bites of his own
concoction before I felt brave enough to try it
myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up
sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire
and he gave me a hand up.”
“Tall or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye
color?”
I washed down my second bite with some wine.
“Tall. Dark. Lean and built. Blue eyes. Filthy rich,
judging by his clothes and accessories. And he
was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot
guys don’t make your hormones go crazy, while
some unattractive guys have massive sex appeal.
This guy had it all.”
My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and
Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I
remembered his breathtaking face with crystal
clarity. It should be illegal for a man to be that
mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying
mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying
of my brain cells.
Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned
in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye.
“So what happened after he helped you up?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I left.”
“What? You didn’t flirt with him?”
I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad.
Or else I was just starving. “He wasn’t the kind of
guy you flirt with, Cary.”
“There is no such thing as a guy you can’t flirt
with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little
harmless flirtation now and then.”
“There was nothing harmless about this guy,” I
said dryly.
“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad
boys can be fun, if you don’t get too close.”
Of course he would know; men and women of
all ages fell at his feet. Still, he somehow
managed to pick the wrong partner every time.
He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who
threatened to kill themselves over him, and lovers
with significant others they didn’t tell him about…
Name it, he’d been through it.
“I can’t see this guy ever being fun,” I said. “He
was way too intense. Still, I bet he’d be awesome
in the sack with all that intensity.”
“Now you’re talking. Forget the real guy. Just
use his face in your fantasies and make him
perfect there.”
Preferring to get the guy out of my head
altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any
go-sees tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of
his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement,
self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.
I shoved everything else out of my mind and
focused on him and his growing success. The
demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the
day, and he was building a reputation with
photographers and accounts for being both
professional and prompt. I was thrilled for him and
so proud. He’d come a long way and been
through so much.
It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two
large gift boxes propped against the side of the
sectional sofa.
“What are those?”
“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living
room, “are the ultimate.”
I knew immediately they were from Stanton and
my mom. Money was something my mother
needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton,
husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for
her but all her many others as well. I often wished
that could be the end of it, but my mom had a
difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the
same way she did. “What now?”
He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy
enough for him to do because he was taller by five
inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom.
He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves
spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he
doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”
Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”
“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s
fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress
for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying
gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more
tolerant if you have me around to listen to you
bitch.”
“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”
“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a
bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary
caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on.
Take a look.”
I pushed through the revolving door of the
Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine
the next morning. Wanting to make the best
impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple
sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid
on in replacement of my walking shoes on the
elevator ride up. My blond hair was twisted up in
an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight,
courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could
create styles that were glamorous masterpieces. I
wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me
as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton
and my mother.
I had begun to think I’d put too much care into
my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I
remembered being sprawled across the floor in
my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look
anything like that graceless girl. The two security
guards didn’t seem to put two and two together
when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the
turnstiles.
Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the
vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me
was a wall of bulletproof glass that framed the
double-door entrance to the reception area. The
receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the
badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button
that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.
“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped
inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse.
She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and
very pretty. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut
into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and
razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown
and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.
“Eva, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where
you’re going, right?”
“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to
the left of the reception desk all the way to the
end, where I made another left turn and ended up
in a formerly open space now partitioned into
cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.
I dropped my purse and the bag holding my
walking flats into the bottom drawer of my
utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my
computer. I’d brought a couple of things to
personalize my space and I pulled them out. One
was a framed collage of three photos—me and
Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton
on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on
duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police
cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement
of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that
morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the
small grouping of photos, and sat back to take in
the effect.
“Good morning, Eva.”
I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good
morning, Mr. Garrity.”
“Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my
office.”
I followed him across the strip of hallway, once
again thinking that my new boss was very easy to
look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee,
and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw
and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and
fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise
that inspired trust and respect.
He gestured at one of the two seats in front of
his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat
to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the
backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked
accomplished and powerful. He was, in fact, just a
junior account manager and his office was a
closet compared to the ones occupied by the
directors and executives, but no one could fault
the view.
He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get
settled into your new apartment?”
I was surprised he remembered, but I
appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second
interview and liked him right away.
“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray
boxes here and there.”
“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city,
but very different from New York. Do you miss the
palm trees?”
“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking
some getting used to.”
“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s
your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll
have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to
delegating, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.”
I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be
delegated to.”
“Having you around is a big step up for me,
Eva. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you
drink coffee?”
“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”
“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile
widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee
for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure
out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers
they just put in the break rooms.”
I grinned. “No problem.”
“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for
you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on
and we’ll go from there?”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched
bases with two clients and had a long meeting
with the creative team working on concept ideas
for a trade school. It was a fascinating process
seeing firsthand how the various departments
picked up the baton from each other to carry a
campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve
stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of
the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to
five.
“Mark Garrity’s office. Eva Tramell speaking.”
“Get your ass home so we can go out for the
drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”
Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “All
right, all right. I’m coming.”
Shutting down my computer, I cleared out.
When I reached the bank of elevators, I pulled out
my cell to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A
ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my
floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly
returning my attention to hitting the send button.
When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I
glanced up to watch where I was going and blue
eyes met mine. My breath caught.
The sex god was the lone occupant.
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