He stood as well, extending his hand. “And you should prepare yourself to be surprised, Ms. Brittney. Like the spaniel.”
His tone conveyed gentle teasing as well as a subtle warning. The part of her that clung desperately to her good-girl core screamed out a warning to flee through the nightclub door. But the tiny sliver of her that yearned to be less like the spaniel urged her to shake his hand.
The tiny sliver won out. After all, it had good manners on its side.
She slid her hand into his, ready to give it a brief shake. But his palm was warm, his touch strong yet gentle. Once again she met his gaze and had the curious sensation of pitching forward. As if she were falling into the vast rift between the two parts of her personality.
In that instant, she knew that Connor Stone, despite his charming veneer, was a very dangerous man.
She should have run when she still had the chance.
Holding Brittney’s hand, Connor felt the full force of her allure like a punch to the solar plexus. Damn. She was not just beautiful. She was knock-him-over, sexy-as-hell beautiful.
And for an instant, he wondered if she even knew it.
That look of hers was half come-hither, half pure innocence. It stirred images of tousled sheets and lazy afternoons in bed. He knew in that instant that he didn’t just want to sleep with her, he wanted to pursue her. To lavish her body with sensual pleasure. To seduce her very spirit. There was something magical about her. She was the kind of woman men went to war for and wrote sonnets about.
Then he blinked and forced the moment to pass. She was just a woman. More beautiful than most, even in a city like New York, which had more than its fair share of beautiful women. But there was nothing magical, nothing sonnet-worthy. Where had that come from?
Feeling slightly off-kilter, he released her hand. He glanced at the dance floor, wanting to ask her to dance, but when he looked back, she was gone, retreating through the door. She’d ditched him. She’d warned him, of course, but still, it was something that rarely happened to him.
This was not how he’d imagine tonight’s seduction going.
He wasn’t a long-term relationship kind of guy. He drifted in and out of affairs, all with women whose expectations were as low as his. He liked an eager bedmate as much as the next guy, but work was what was important to him. Which meant he should probably be glad that Brittney Hannon had disappeared from his life as quickly as she’d appeared in it. He had neither the time nor energy for sex with a complicated woman.
Walking away now without giving her a second thought was definitely the smart move.
“Told you she’d shoot you down.”
“Don’t worry,” he surprised himself by saying. “I’ll find her again.”
“Boy, you’re not giving up, are you?”
“She’s the daughter of a senator,” Connor mused aloud. “And you said something about her going to the Hamptons for polo. How hard can she be to track down?”
“Dude, this isn’t going to end with a restraining order and me being interviewed by Nancy Grace, is it?” Tim raised his hands in a gesture of innocence as Connor glared at him. “Just checking. If you’re going to stalk her, I want to know in advance.”
“I’ve never had to stalk a woman in my life.” He’d meant it as a joke, but the determination in his voice surprised him.
Tim gave him an odd look. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
And that was precisely the problem. If he never slept with her, Brittney would slowly become more than just a woman he’d met in a bar one night. She’d attain mythical status in his life. The woman who got away. The woman he might have written sonnets for, if he’d had the chance.
And damn it, he was not a sonnet-writing kind of guy.
No, the only solution was to find her, arrange to run into her and seduce her. Once he slept with her, he’d lose interest.
The last good girl in America was going down.
Two
What is he doing here?
Brittney could only see his profile, but she recognized Connor instantly. The VIP tent at the Clearwater Media Cup tournament was absolutely the last place she’d expected to see him. Not that she’d actually expected to see him again. Yes, two nights ago, he’d tried to pick her up in a bar. He’d even hinted that he’d surprise her with his tenacity. But surely this was just some weird fluke.
Still, it was him. That slash of ragged bangs hanging almost in his eyes was unmistakable, as were his height and commanding presence. And if he turned just ninety degrees, they’d be staring right at each other.
Coming face-to-face with Connor Stone was the last thing she wanted right now, when she was struggling to make small talk with Cynthia Rotham, one of her father’s most severe critics. Pretending to fuss with her hair, Brittney shifted so her back was to him.
“Who is it?” Cynthia asked bluntly.
“What?” Brittney asked stupidly. When all else failed, feign ignorance. Not that she really believed the tactic would work. Congresswoman Rotham had made a career of feeding off of others’ mistakes. The woman’s vulture-like skills of observation made Brittney nervous. Brittney just knew the older woman was waiting for her to inadvertently say something stupid or offensive. Of course, the only thing worse than putting her foot in her mouth would be to say something personal that Rotham could one day use against her.
Cynthia leveled a steely gaze at her. “You spotted someone from across the tent and went white as a ghost. And now you’re trying to avoid looking at him.” Cynthia peered beyond Brittney’s shoulder as if trying to get Connor in her sights.
“It’s no one. Just someone I ran into the other night.”
“Point him out. Maybe I know him.”
Ha! Like she’d point Connor out to Cynthia, world-class gossip and judgmental old biddy. “I doubt that.”
Brittney didn’t mean to look. Really, she didn’t. But just then, he laughed that throaty laugh of his. The sound of it drifted over the chatter of the crowd as if meant just for her ears. Her gaze sought him just as he raised his hand to rake his bangs off his forehead.
Beside her, Cynthia gave a sound of barely repressed glee. “Oh, my.”
Brittney feigned nonchalance. “What?”
“The man who has you so disconcerted is Connor Stone. He’s a hedge-fund manager.” She paused, then added, grudgingly, “One of the good ones. Very reputable. Very wealthy. But I’m afraid, my dear—” Cynthia put a hand on Brittney’s arm “—that he has a terrible reputation as a ladies’ man.”
Brittney found herself gritting her teeth so firmly she had to pry her jaws apart to speak. Returning Cynthia’s false smile, she said, “You don’t need to worry about me. I barely know him.”
Cynthia arched a disdainful brow. “Is that so? Because I’ve never seen him here before. You don’t suppose you made enough of an impression that he followed you here, do you?”
Yes, she wanted to say, the other night he flirted with me so outrageously, I wanted to rip my clothes off right there in the bar.
That would shut Rotham up. For a full ten seconds, maybe.
“Absolutely not,” Brittney assured Cynthia.
“Good. Because he has a reputation for not giving up until he gets what he wants. You better hope he doesn’t want you.”
Cynthia looked ready to salivate at the prospect. Vulture that she was, she’d no doubt love to see Brittney’s heart devoured by a world-class playboy.
Brittney wanted to tell Rotham to mind her own damn business, but that was not the way for Brittney to keep her nose clean this summer.
So instead, Brittney pretended to be thankful for the advice. “I’m sure he hasn’t given me a second thought,” she said with what she hoped sounded like blithe confidence.
“You’d better hope so, because he’s a bit out of your league.”
Brittney ignored the insult. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a seat and watch the match. After all, though most people come here t
o socialize, I actually enjoy the sport.”
Cynthia eyed her with anticipation. “Just be sure that’s all you’re enjoying.”
Connor spotted Brittney just as she was leaving the VIP tent for the bleachers. The sight of her straight blond hair sent a shot of adrenaline directly to his blood. Only a few days had passed since they’d met, but he’d already spent a significant amount of time and energy researching her.
Logically he couldn’t possibly expect to get as much out of the relationship as he was putting into it. In simple terms, there would not be a solid return on his investment. But it wasn’t about that.
It wasn’t even about the stupid bet. Though he’d used that excuse with Tim, who’d gotten him the exclusive invitation to the VIP tent. Tim was so damn convinced Connor was going to strike out that he’d actually offered to help Connor run into her again. Thanks to Tim’s persistence, Connor couldn’t back off even if he wanted to.
Sometimes it wasn’t about the catch, it was about the chase, as his grandfather used say that. His grandfather had been a recreational fisherman—up at dawn, he’d spend hours at the lake. It was a sport Connor had never understood. All that time and energy wasted on a fish you didn’t even eat. But then Connor realized his grandfather never talked about the fish he caught. But he told countless stories about the ones that got away.
If Connor let Brittney go now, he’d be admitting failure to Tim. But he’d also always wonder if he’d backed off because he thought she wasn’t worth the effort—or because he was afraid she was.
He excused himself from a conversation he was having with a client. The man, the heir to a chain of drugstores, looked surprised.
“Where are you going?”
“Isn’t the match about to start?” Connor asked evasively.
The client chuckled as he jostled the ice in his bourbon. “Don’t tell me you actually came here to watch the matches.”
Connor just smiled. “Actually, I came here to do a little fishing.”
He didn’t stay to see it, but he could picture the man’s expression. He left the bustle of the tent and searched the crowd outside for the sight of her already-familiar blond hair. He found her immediately, even though she’d donned a wide-brimmed straw hat draped with a pale green scarf. Amid the bright and often gaudy fashion of the flashier dressers, Brittney looked elegant and delicate.
She’d jockeyed for a seat high in the bleachers and had her binoculars already out even though the ponies hadn’t yet taken the field. There were several seats open around her, since most people were still in the tents.
“Mind if I sit here?” He didn’t wait for a reply before taking the seat.
Her gaze jerked away from the field, her expression registering surprise as she whipped off her sunglasses to stare up at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut and shoved her glasses back on.
“Not at all.” She returned her attention to the field, even though the match hadn’t started yet. “It’s open seating. You can sit where you want.”
Her tone was as cool as if she were talking to a total stranger. Which, of course, she was. The sexual tension between them was off the charts, but they still didn’t know each other.
He shifted on the hard bench. Despite the fact that some of the wealthiest people in the country attended these events, the facilities were an odd mix of extravagant elegance and rugged utilitarianism. A reminder that the season was supposed to be about the sport, not just the drinks and the fashion.
“You dashed out of the tent before I had a chance to say hello.”
“I like to get a good seat,” she said without turning her attention from the field where the grooms were warming up the ponies for the first chukker.
“You left quickly the other night, too. You’re good at making quick exits.”
Finally she looked at him. “If you’re implying I’m afraid of you, you’d be wrong.”
“That’s good. I certainly don’t want to engender fear. If you were afraid of me, I’d feel obliged to leave you alone.”
She pressed her lips together in a frown, as if wishing she could back out of the conversation. He wondered if she would fake nonchalance. Finally, she seemed to decide honesty was the best policy. “I have been warned about you, you know.”
“So, you were curious enough to find out who I was.”
For a long moment she sat there saying nothing, the pink creeping into her cheeks the only indication she’d even heard him. “Not at all. An acquaintance pointed you out just a few minutes ago. She said you were a notorious playboy. It’s not like I was asking about you.”
“You’re lying.”
She looked at him now. Through the darkened lenses of her sunglasses, he could almost see her eyes. But not well enough to judge if she were telling the truth—or merely wished she were. “Her opinions of you were unsolicited.”
He smiled. “There’s no shame in doing your research. I looked you up.”
“How did you know—”
“Who you were? Turns out you’re fairly recognizable. Brittney Hannon, Last Good Girl in America.”
Her mouth snapped shut. He could nearly hear her teeth grinding down.
“I take it you didn’t like that profile.”
“If we had a week, I couldn’t tell you all the things wrong with that glib assessment of my personality. How would you like to be summed up in a single catchy phrase for all of America?”
“A single phrase like ‘notorious playboy’? At least they gave you six words. You only gave me two.”
“Those were her words, not mine,” she protested.
Still, he got the reaction he was hoping for: a wry smile and a voice filled with chagrin. “I’m sure you’re more than just a workaholic playboy.”
“I got workaholic, too?”
“It doesn’t change anything.” There was a glimmer of what might have been regret in her gaze. “You and I, we don’t match.”
He nearly chuckled at her straightforward honesty. It was hard not to admire that. “I think we’d match quite nicely.”
He drew out the words, giving her imagination time to kick in—just as his had. She’d crossed her legs away from him when he’d first sat down, which had made her dress inch up, revealing a tempting stretch of thigh. Now, she shifted in her seat, obviously aware he was looking at her. The lovely pink of her cheeks deepened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course.”
“But it proves my point perfectly. You’re all sexual innuendo and I’m…not. With me, what you see is what you get.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”
“You’re right. That doesn’t. But there are plenty of other things that do. If you’d really done your research, you’d know that.”
“Oh, I did my research.”
“Did you actually read the profile?”
“That’s where I started.”
She uncrossed her legs, shifting toward him in her seat. “Then you know—”
“No one’s that good. Besides, I was there the other night.” That tempting stretch of thigh was even closer. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, bringing his hands mere inches from her skin. No one observing them would notice—they’d just look like two people having an intense conversation. “You can’t deny you’re attracted to me.”
“I’m not trying to,” she said.
Her gaze was as direct as her words. With her, there were no attempts at deception.
He brushed his knuckle across the skin of her outer leg, just above her knee. A tiny, subtle gesture. He expected her to move away from his touch. When she didn’t, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him. She hadn’t taken the bait, but she wasn’t swimming in the other direction either.
“I tempt you.” He let his knuckle circle over her skin in a slow, lazy motion. “For all your talk about abstinence, you nearly let a stranger pick you up in a bar the other night.”
He was surprised that she met
his gaze head on. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. Her breath was coming in slow draws that were too even to be anything other than forced. He was getting to her. But she wasn’t letting herself be intimidated by his overt pursuit. Damn, but he liked her.
After a moment, her gaze hardened. “You really want to debate abstinence with the last good girl in America?”
He nearly chuckled. “I can think of things I’d rather do with you. But I’ll settle for talking.”
“Talking is all you’re going to get.”
“I’ll take my chances, because whatever you claim to believe about chastity, you wish you could give in.”
“But I won’t. That’s the point.” She jolted to her feet, shoving her binoculars into her oversized bag. “Come on, then.”
He stood. “Where are we going?”
“Away from here.” She scanned their surroundings. “This is the opening match of the Clearwater Tournament. There are more celebrities here than on Broadway, which means it’s the most photographed, talked about, gossiped about event of the season. I’m not going to sit here in plain sight of five hundred cameras and microphones and debate my morals with you.”
“So we’re going somewhere more private? You have a hell of a way of turning a man down.”
Brittney led Connor down the bleacher steps, through the throng of people to the very edge of the field, where the crowd tapered off to a mere trickle. Gradually, the rows and rows of horse trailers gave way to open pasture divided by split-rail fences. Nestled against the tree line sat the massive barn dating back to Seven Oaks’s midcentury days as a dairy farm. The odd groom wandered past, but they were far enough from the crowds that they were essentially alone.
They walked toward the old dairy barn, with its gambrel roof and icon silo towering behind it. Whenever they were within earshot of others, she narrated their progress with the history of Seven Oaks Farms and of the Clearwater Media Tournament. On the few occasions when someone stopped to greet her, she made a point of introducing Connor and explaining his recent interest in the sport. Anyone who overheard their conversation would probably pity Connor. But he showed no signs of boredom.
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