by Sabrina York
A flashback of running through a downpour with her father hit her hard. He’d thrown his coat over her, sheltering her and leaving himself open to the elements. They giggled all the way home, running late for a Mother’s Day dinner.
She closed her eyes to try and block out the past, but the darkness acted as a blank canvas for her memory to play out the scene until a rumble of thunder in the distance brought her back to the present.
She sniffled back her feelings and grasped a plastic body to steady herself. A teardrop trickled down her face, and she smeared it away. Time to buckle up and get over it Once a fond memory, it now served as a bitter pill. He’d tricked her, tricked everyone with his gallant gestures. He could never again be the genuine, kind man she remembered from her childhood. At least not to her, anyway.
“Fucking life.” She threw a knit over a male model’s shoulders and fluffed to give it a casual yet purposeful style. “What are they thinking, asking me to decorate the mannequins with this jumped up crap? Men don’t dress like Prince William. No man I know anyway.”
Her pocket buzzed.
Rachel flipped her phone open. “Hello?”
Nothing.
“Hell-o?”
Still nothing. She pulled it from her ear and glanced at the digital display.
“Email, not a call. I’m never going to get used to this stupid, high tech phone.” She pressed a few buttons. Some wrong. Some right. Eventually, she managed to open up the message.
A last minute check, to make sure your 1NightStand goes as you desire. May I suggest you wear a corset, my dear, to flatter your curves. He’ll be there before you, and I picked a room especially with a double door entrance so you can have a Scarlet O’Hara moment. Please don’t wear green. He hates the color. A bottle of Jameson would make a wonderful gift, should you wish to bring something along to break the ice. And best of all, Rachel, remember why you wanted this and enjoy the experience. Good luck, dear, I hope he’s all you need.
Bien a toi, Evangeline
She could barely think as she read the words over and over, wondering if she had indeed lost her mind by arranging to meet some guy a matchmaking agency picked out for her. And if she planned on going through with this, she needed a corset and a dress. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something fancy.
Hmmm, I get to enjoy an evening with some hot dude without worrying about if he’s thinking of cheating on me. I can indulge in him and all he can offer me for one whole night. And who knows, maybe this is a step closer to enjoying men again. I could use a strong shoulder from time to time.
“Damn my dad for screwing half of London. It fucked me up more than my mum.”
She gathered up the pile of cocktail wear spread at her feet—last season’s favorites—and dragged herself off to the staff discount area in the warehouse. One by one, she hung up the formal garments and then she saw it, one rack over; a beautiful brocade corset with flecks of metallic emerald in the thread and matching tiny sequins around the trim. The label said: Floor damaged: 75% off—stained, matching thong and garter missing. She gave it the once over. Gorgeous, and she couldn't see any stains. It would be stunning against her auburn hair, which she could wear loose so it spilled over her breasts. She imagined how sexy she’d feel wearing it like that and grinned.
But green? Should I? Shouldn’t I? He hates it? How can anyone hate a color? Maybe I should, screw him. Screw. Him. Hmm, I will screw him. Wonder what he looks like? Wonder if he hates red, too? God, hope he’s not a weirdo.
“Here, this will be spectacular on you. The slight see-through effect will show a smidgen of the goodies hiding beneath.” As if he’d appeared magically, the most desired personal shopper in Knightsbridge presented her with a Grecian goddess style, silk wrap dress. He spoke with a forcibly stiff-upper lip and wore a close-fitting, purple silk suit that glistened when light hit the delicate thread. “And these. You must get these, too. It’s going to be a warm evening tomorrow.” He shoved a pair of light-gold, strappy, Stuart Weitzman sandals with four inch heels in her hands.
“But….”
“Hush now. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“But you’re him. I mean, you’re the guy from the reality TV show...what’s it called? Dressed for Love?”
“Oh, goody, you watch! I didn’t know I had any viewers. But that guy? Darling, name’s Colin and don’t you forget it.” He fluttered his eyelashes and put on a fake I’m embarrassed expression.
Panic wrenched in the depths of her stomach, and she gulped. “Am I on TV?”
“Love, do you see any cameras?”
Thank God for that. “How do you know this is for tonight?” she asked, preoccupied with trying to hold on to the sandals, material from the very expensive dress she most definitely could not afford spilling over her arms.
“I know all, sweetie. Come, let’s get you paid up. Then I’m taking you to Ritchie. He can work wonders with your gorgeous, thick hair.”
“But....”
“I think the lady does protest too much.” He placed a finger to her lips and shushed her. “Let’s say I’m a gift to help spruce you up a few notches for tonight’s date.”
“But how did you know?” Thoughts zoomed through her mind. Mum wouldn't have strings to pull this one off, and she's the only one who knows about my adventures in the matchmaking world. Unless....Madame Evangeline? She's the only other one who knows. “Of course. She did this, but how did she...?”
“Who? The cat’s mother? Dear, please. Use manners.” He flicked his left hand. “We haven’t got all day, dear, come on.”
“I can’t afford this lot, I really can’t.”
“I think I can manage a 50% discount.” He produced a red glitter injected gel-pen and waved it about like a magic wand. Next, he pulled out a Barnsley’s staff discount ticket pad and began scribbling. She wanted to ask if she had to be home by midnight, but something told her he wouldn’t see the funny side to that comment.
Chapter Three
Shaun shifted his weight against the glass barrier that separated him from a ten floor drop off the Castillo Hotel in Knightsbridge. Perhaps the barman in him made him resort to leaning against a wall whenever nerves struck. Unsure with what to do with himself, he fumbled with his hair and straightened his pants. A flower pot, something pink and leafy growing out of it, caught his attention. He returned the favor by giving it a kick. But he booted it harder than anticipated and soil and greenery spilled over his foot.
“Perfect!” He straightened out the pot and scuffed the discarded soil into a corner where he hoped no one would notice. At least not for tonight and not Rachel.
He checked his watch for the umpteenth time. She should be there any minute.
What must I look like? All this fretting and pulling at me hair? She’ll think the cat dragged me in from the bins.
Shaun spun and checked himself in the pristinely clean glass door that led into the penthouse suite. Ugh. His hair sat all skewed to the right, so he ran his fingers through his thick, deep brown locks and attempted to sort his style out. Instead, his actions forced the front to revolt and flop over his face in true Hugh Grant style.
“For fuck’s sake.” He tapped his fingers on the tempered glass and frowned at his reflection. Not too shabby, he figured, besides the hair. Plain black slacks and a pin-stripe cotton shirt. His mum had always said darker colors flattered him because he worked out, and his shoulders and arms had attracted most of the bulk. Of course that could also have something to do with the fact he rode a motorbike to work every morning. London traffic was bloody awful and he’d quickly learned to maneuver in and out like a pro. Moving a bike like that was bound to build up certain muscles.
It had been overcast and drizzly all day. True to typical Brit weather, not knowing if it was coming or going, the mid-August evening air had warmed up. He undid a couple of shirt buttons and made himself comfortable on a sun chair to enjoy the scenery. He could see Knightsbridge below and th
e London Eye in the distance.
Impatience grabbed at him and edged him to fidget and count the seconds drag by. He stood and paced the tiny space the balcony offered, sipping on an iced whiskey from the mini bar and watching people scurry by below. Each time he saw a woman alone, he wondered if it was her. But they all passed by.
“She’s not coming. Stood up by a sure thing. Stood up by a paid sure thing. That could only happen to me.”
“Rachel.” He smiled. “R-rachel.” He liked the way her name sounded, and the way the R resonated in his mouth and rolled off his tongue.
He checked the time again. Ten minutes late, but it felt more like an hour.
He finished another drink and readied himself to hit up the mini bar, again. The clicking and fumbling sounds of someone trying to get a card key to work and a woman swearing several times made him glance toward the door. Rachel, he presumed, and chuckled. Before he could even debate heading over to help, the doors swung open like they’d been forced apart by a crowd of vampire hunting, log lunging, flaming torch throwing villagers. Or his regulars at Bell’s ready for happy hour
And there she stood. Holy mother of....
Would ya look at that.
He noticed her sexy curves first, then her milky white skin barely hidden by semi-transparent material. Hells bells, she had a corset on beneath her dress. A green corset! He didn’t linger on that little detail for long because her fiery red hair and bright blue eyes grabbed his attention and held it there for what felt like the longest time.
Marilyn Monroe hour-glass figure, huge breasts, and cute ass. And her waist scoops in perfectly. I'd love to wrap me arms around her. This woman is smoking hot!
Her smile made him want to reach for support of his bar. But with nothing nearby he could lean on, he shoved his hands in his pockets and prayed she didn’t notice his body language that must have spelled out “awkward.” He smiled back, possibly. He couldn’t be sure. He had sent the mental message for his lips to quirk up but felt nothing move. Nothing except for his cock, which had awakened from a seemingly long sleep. She fluttered her eyelashes and her grin widened. Did she like what she saw? His heartbeat stalled for a second while he wondered what his next move should be to impress this beautiful creature.
Lucky bastard, she’s a stunner.
She edged toward him, leaving the doors to swing shut behind her. Her eyes were still set on his, her stare wide. Her mouth formed an O and she glanced down at her feet. Before Shaun could register what had happened, she’d gone down like a ton of bricks with legs in the air and hair in her face.
So damned adorable, like a five year old who just fell off her bike in front of her mates. I could squeeze her to death.
He rushed to help her, but when he saw the disgruntled expression on her face, he couldn’t help but chuckle. This woman, far from helpless and no balance, had plenty of fire. She intrigued him.
He figured he should offer anyway. “Need some help?”
“What a gent you are. But there’s no need. I’m not an invalid.” She stumbled to standing, straightened her dress, and flicked back her free flowing curls.
This girl had growl and quite possibly a bite, too. Had he taken more than he could chew or had there been a mix-up? Romantic, that’s what he’d requested. Someone who wanted to be wined and dined. But he couldn’t complain. She seemed like a challenge he could do with.
Change the subject, fool, quick. “Ya should come out and see the view, it's nothing short of spectacular.” He offered his arm to distract from what must have been an embarrassing moment.
She hooked her arm in his. “So, how do you want to play this?” Her words were full of aggression but her touch, as gentle as Snow White, intrigued him. Who was this firecracker?
Chapter Four
I can’t believe I did that. What a great first impression. Not! And only I could top it off by going all defensive on his ass. Poor guy looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. At least he was a gentleman about it, though. Had any of my exes seen me go down like a ton of bricks, all Nia Vilvados style, they’d have pissed themselves laughing and grabbed their cameras. I’m the character who gets caught up in headphone wire when she sees a hot guy in that movie...Fat Greek Wedding, Big Fat Greek…whatever. I know what I mean.
Rachel shuddered. She’d fallen flat on her face because the hunkiness of her one-night stand had taken her by surprise. She hadn’t expected it. Not in the least. Average, that’s what his profile had said. It’s why she picked him. She figured he wouldn’t be up himself. Most attractive men who know they’re hot behave like monkeys in heat because of it. She wanted a man who would be thanking his lucky stars to have her in his arms, and one who would be romantic and polite. And when he rushed to help her, he‘d surprised her again.
Drop dead gorgeous and caring? This could be dangerous.
“Ya feeling better now?” Thick Irish accent, smooth like Baileys, coated each word her one-night stand spoke.
“Uh-huh.” She glanced up at his welcoming expression and caught her stare in his. “So, you’re Irish?” You’re Irish?
He quirked his mouth into a grin as if she amused him. She reminded herself that she wanted this and backed up. She sat on the nearest thing to her, a dining chair from the breakfast for two set, and chewed at her freshly manicured nails. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this nervous. Her stomach flip-flopped around the butterflies dancing in her gut.
“Ya, that a problem?” God I love his Irish brogue.
“Oh, fuck. Listen, Shaun, I’m sorry about the way I came down on you. I mean, not came down on you. Hell, I...I’m sorry for losing it.” He raised an eyebrow. “For biting your head off when you tried to help.”
“Hey, I get it. I’m not what ya expected.” Shaun, hands firmly rooted in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders. “Ya definitely not what I expected, either, but here we are. We can call it a day if you prefer, or we can enjoy the rest of the evening. What do ya say? I can leave if ya like. The hotel room’s been paid for, so ya can spend the night and make the most of it. I’ll leave ya be, so I will. But I’d rather stay here...with ya.”
Her stare locked on Shaun, and she watched him grab his bag from the foot of the bed and stride toward the exit. His muscular frame, dark features, and great sense of style had her knees knocking together. She couldn’t remember the last time she actually wanted a man. But it wasn’t like she’d chase after him. The day she did that would be the day she forgave her daddy, or rolled over dead. The latter was more likely to happen first.
“Yes. Leave if that’s what you want.” She couldn’t catch her breath and gasped before dashing to the balcony for air.
Why didn’t I ask him to stay? A whole night, no repercussions, with a red-hot gorgeous man who is the spitting image of Colin Farrell. Hmmm, he’s got stubble. What would that feel like brushing up against me?
Images of this hot, Irish man going down on her flashed before her; using his tongue to massage her clit, burying his fingers deep inside her, and his unshaven face scraping at her most sensitive parts. Her sex swelled from thinking about it. She had to experience that first hand, but first she had to stop him from leaving. She spun to face him, her heart hammering hard. “Shaun?”
Would she go so far as to beg? She didn’t know, and didn’t want to think about it. Thankfully she didn’t have to because he dropped his bag and flashed a smile her way before storming right up to her. He took her in his arms—his strong, thick arms—and planted the most incredible kiss on her lips. A kind of kiss that made her nearly melt on the spot. She shivered all over, legs like jelly, and not a flinch of regret. She knew she was in trouble, to feel so alive at a man’s touch, and struggled to find the bitter woman who’d find reason to reject such pleasure.
He pulled back and pecked her on her cheek with a tenderness she’d never experienced.
“Will you stay?”
“Of course, I’d like that. And thank ya.” He stepped back and cupped
her face in his hands.
“For what?”
“For being honest. Helps build trust. Ya know, I’m nervous about tonight, too.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
“I’m out of practice, but I'm not nervous.” Why are you so defensive, Rachel? Give the guy a break, already. He’s just a one-nighter. Some dude who’s going to break down those walls so you can work toward picket fences and daisies. She edged out of his hold, afraid her blushing cheeks and snappy remarks would tip him off as to how out of practice she really was.
She sucked in the smoggy, London air. “Let go and enjoy yourself, girl.”
“Come again?” He had followed her out. She pivoted to face him, and he wasted no time in pinning her against the glass wall of the balcony.
“My, you do like to dominate.” She wanted to fight his Irish charm and masculinity, but she couldn’t resist the way he took what he wanted.
He whispered, “Not really, but ya bring it out in me. Ya seem like ya need someone to take control. At least for tonight.”
“How very perceptive of you. Now, why would an Irish hottie, erm, I mean a handsome man like you, need to use a matchmaking service?” Rachel, fancy asking a question like that? In avoidance, she craned her neck to cob a view of Knightsbridge and the people scurrying about below. He wasn’t having any of it, so it seemed, and guided her to face him directly. Instead of giving her usual sass, she set her sight on the floor and a pile of soil in the corner next to a plant pot distracted her.
What had happened for such a high class hotel to have left that in such a mess?
“I spend far too much time working, and ya self? I can’t imagine why someone as sexy as ya would be single.” He planted a soft kiss on her neck, his touch sending tiny sparks of excitement down to the pit of her stomach and to the depths of her soul.