by KB Winters
I heard the cashier flagging me down as I neared the end of the row but an image on the front of one of the slick covers stopped me in my tracks. The magazine that had caught my eye was called The Ruby Rose. Based on the title, I would have assumed it was a gardening magazine. However, as I picked it up to inspect the woman on the front, I realized it was a photography magazine. I didn’t give two shits about photography—again with the never slowing down long enough to appreciate it—but the girl on the cover.
That was a very different story. I was very interested in her.
Penelope Laken or, as she’d given me permission to call her, Penny. I hadn’t thought about her much since our meeting at my parents’ gala, but seeing her face from the cover of the magazine brought all the memories back from our brief encounter at the bar. I smiled, remembering her smart-ass comebacks and the way she’d so efficiently told off the bartender who tried to get into her pants. Or, up her dress as I remember.
Colton’s advice about finding a woman I could stand to be around for more than a weekend popped back into my head. I smiled at the image of Penny before adding the magazine to my stack of books and striding over to the inpatient cashier.
If any woman had a shot at keeping me entertained long term—it was definitely her.
Chapter Eight
Penny
“You guys, you have to stop buying copies of the magazine,” I said, smiling at the two new copies on the kitchen island with the mail. “We’re not planning to wallpaper the penthouse with my face, are we? I’m not sure what the condo board would say about that…”
Jasmine laughed and came into the kitchen behind me. “I know. I got a little excited when I saw it at the airport today.”
“Oh that’s right,” I said, my eyes flying open. I dropped the magazine back to the counter and spun around to face her. “How was Boston?”
Jasmine’s smile said it all. Her culinary instructor turned boyfriend, Antonio, a hot import straight from Italy, had whisked her away for a long weekend in Boston. “Oh, girl, you’re in love!”
Jasmine rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling long enough to argue. Yep, she’s a goner.
“Who’s in love?” Lo joined us, her yoga mat rolled into a tight bundle and slung across her back in one of those carrier contraptions I didn’t know the name of. She looked effortlessly yoga chic with her hair piled into a perfect topknot, complete with shiny, black chopsticks, and a skin tight pair of yoga leggings and a muted green top.
Like, if Tinkerbell did yoga, she’d look like Lo. And who knows, with her killer curves, she probably did.
“Jazz is in love. I mean full-out, can’t-stop-smiling if her life depended on it kind of love.”
Lo clapped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I knew it! She refused to tell me about Boston until you got home.”
“Well, I’m home!” I said, jumping up to sit on the edge of the counter. I glanced down at the magazines on the counter and a warm rush flooded over me. The Ruby Rose had interviewed me just after New Year’s, but it had taken a few months before the issue hit the stands. I’d been agonizingly waiting for the May issues to go out for months and had more than my fair share of them stashed under my bed in large, plastic storage containers. You know, preservation for future generations.
My roomies had also been squirreling them away, collecting them like postcards wherever they went.
“Oh, you saw it!” Lo said, following my gaze. “Brooklyn flea market!”
“Nice!” I ran my finger over the glossy cover. I still couldn’t believe it was my face and my work that was selected of all the talented artists that graced the inside pages with me. “Thanks you guys, I really appreciate it.”
“Of course! It’s amazing and I know that any day now you’re going to get the publishing deal of a lifetime!” Jasmine replied. Lo nodded in agreement.
“Fingers crossed!” I nudged Jasmine. “Now spill! Dish! Brag away about your hot sex-filled weekend while Lo and I sat around eating Häagen-Dazs and watching romantic comedies.”
It wasn’t what we’d actually done, but it got Jasmine talking.
And as long as she was regaling us with her romantic weekend rundown, I didn’t have to think about the fact that the magazine had been out for two weeks and Grace hadn’t called once with an offer for my book.
* * * *
A few days later, I was sitting in the co-working space, fiddling around with some graphics another member had designed for my newly launched website, when my phone rang. I hurried to fish it from my purse and held my breath, silently hoping it was Grace on the other end. I frowned when I got it loose and flipped around, only to see an unknown number on the screen. It was a New York number though and my heart skipped a beat, wondering if someone had found my personal number, not realizing I had an agent—although, I was pretty sure that the article listed Grace’s contact info, not mine—and I took a deep breath.
“Hello, this is Penelope Laken,” I answered, channeling my inner stuffy librarian.
I’m sure she was in there somewhere.
“I’m pretty sure I remember you telling me to call you Penny,” a deep, thick voice replied playfully.
“Who is this?” I stiffened in my seat and glanced around, suddenly paranoid that I was about to fall victim to some kind of Punk’d style prank.
“Miles Warren.”
Oh shit.
The memory of his dark, almost black eyes, and his thick, dark hair, and that cocky, crooked smile washed over me and sent my heart rate and body temp into the stratosphere. What in the world was he doing calling me? I hadn’t given him my number that night and besides, even if I had, that was nearly five months ago. It was a little late for a follow-up schmoozing.
“Miles? Gotta say, you’re throwing me off track a little here.”
“You? Off track? I doubt it.” He chuckled and I flushed at the memory of dressing down the leery bartender right in front of him. “I know this is kind of random—”
“Kind of?”
“All right, fine, completely and one hundred percent random. Is that better?”
I smiled. “Much more accurate.”
He laughed before starting again, “Listen, I’m gonna be in town soon and wanted to see if you wanted to get a drink and continue our conversation from the party.”
“I gotta admit, I’m not sure where we would pick up. I’m a little fuzzy on the details of that chat.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure we could figure something out.”
I bit my lower lip, turning over the offer. What was he playing at? “I thought you said you never come to New York?” I teased.
“I don’t.”
“But you just said—”
“All right, this is a special trip.”
“To see me?” Thump, thump, thump. All efforts to “play it cool” were clinging to a window sill, ready to fly right on out.
“I saw you on the magazine cover,” he confessed, his sexy drawl still working its way over my skin with a slow tingle.
“That’s technically not an answer,” I retorted, sitting back in my chair.
Miles chuckled and I stopped breathing. Damn, he’s sexy.
“Come on, just say yes already so I can book my flight.”
I laughed. “Cocky much?”
“You can say no, if you want to, but I can guarantee you’ll regret it. You don’t want me to be the one that got away,” he drawled, a slight southern twang creeping into his playful tone.
“The one? Or the one night stand?” Technically I was cool either way.
Miles laughed. “Guess you’ll have to show up and find out, Penny.”
I bit down on my lip, aching with the way he said my name.
“All right, I’ll play your game. You’ve piqued my curiosity. When are you coming to town?”
“This weekend work for you?”
I pretended to check my calendar—ya know, as if I had one—and then leaned forward again, bracing my e
lbows on my desk. “Saturday works for me.”
“Smart girl. That way we can do brunch on Sunday.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stamp out the sweep of heat that flickered over my skin at the suggestion. “Let’s take this one meal at a time, pal. Saturday night dinner at Paso Doble. Seven o’clock. I’ll meet you at the bar.”
Miles chuckled again and I wished I could see his expression. “Mmm. Refreshing, a woman who knows what she wants. I like that.”
“I’m offended on the behalf of the rest of my gender,” I said dryly.
He just laughed all the more and I couldn’t stop smiling. I looked like Jasmine talking about her weekend in Boston. “See you Saturday, Penny.”
“Goodbye, Miles.”
I tapped off the call and sucked in a long, slow breath.
I’m so screwed.
* * * *
“And you’re sure he’s not a serial killer?”
I shot Lo a dirty look in the full length mirror.
“Seriously, Lo? He’s in the Army and a member of an extremely wealthy family. I’m pretty sure if he was some kind of psychotic serial killer, someone would’ve caught on to it by now.” I turned my attention back to my thirteenth outfit change, scanned the navy blue cocktail dress, and promptly deciding against it, reached for the zipper. Besides, the thirteenth outfit? Probably begging for trouble. “Oh, and also, thanks for the vote of confidence that if a guy is still thinking about me five months later, he’s only interested in turning me into a corpse.”
Jasmine stifled a laugh from her perch at the end of the bed. Lo tried to grab for my arm as I flailed to unzip myself from the skin tight dress. Oh, to be a contortionist.
“That’s not what I was saying and you know it!” she insisted. “Hold still, for Pete’s sake and let me help you out before you pull something.”
I went still and let her unzip me. A pulled muscle would definitely put a damper on all of the thoughts I’ve had for where the night might lead.
“I mean…it seems a little strange that you met at his parents’ party, talked for five to ten minutes, and then don’t see or hear from each other for five months and then all of a sudden he calls you up out of the blue and offers to fly to New York to take you out to dinner. Jazz, you think it’s weird too, right?”
Jasmine mimed as though she were zipping her lips closed.
“What is this junior high?” I flung at her. “Come on, tell us what you think. You’re never one to hold back your opinion.”
Jasmine sighed dramatically as though I’d just asked her to recite the Gettysburg Address from memory. “I do think it’s a little strange, but we don’t know all of the facts yet. He’s in the Army, right? So for all we know he’s been off on some super-secret military mission all this time. Maybe he just got back and couldn’t wait one more minute to call up our dear Penny and whisk her away for a romantic date.”
I wrinkled my nose at her. “Who the hell are you? And where is my friend Jasmine?”
Lo started to giggle. “That was pretty puppies and kittens for you, Jasmine.”
I nodded my agreement and stripped off the dress, leaving me in my black corset style bra that lifted the girls and tucked away the tummy and a pair of lacy black panties that matched.
I consulted Lo with a leery glance. “I think Antonio’s been slipping happy pills into her cocktails.”
Jasmine chucked a throw pillow from the bed, hitting me in the back side as I bent over to rummage through my dresser.
“Okay, setting aside any Nicholas Sparks type fantasies, let’s just say for sake of argument that he’s not a serial killer and he’s also not some hopeless romantic who’s been holed up in a shack in the middle of the desert thinking about my milky skin and heaving bosoms.”
Lo and Jasmine both broke down into a fit of giggles and I rolled my eyes. “Hopeless. The lot of you.”
While they struggled to catch their breath, I picked out an emerald green shift dress and stepped into it. I hadn’t worn it in a while, but the color worked with my fair hair and light eyes. If I accessorized carefully and did something dramatic with my makeup it wouldn’t be a total train wreck. Thanks to living in New York and constantly having to attend parties, I had a closet full to the brim with options. However, in some weird clothing abundant karma, this only made it much more difficult to find something to wear. All of the dresses that I tried on so far hadn’t felt right.
I smoothed my hands down the front of the emerald green dress to assess how it lay against my skin. Since returning home from holiday hell with my mother, I’d been caught in yo-yo diet hell, alternating between starving and gorging myself. The results left me feeling less than comfortable in most of my clothing. Especially skintight cocktail dresses.
I’d been gifted with my father’s broad shoulders and thick waist while also holding onto my grandmother’s wide hips. The results left me with a body type that was troublesome, at best, to style appropriately. I worked out five to six times a week but depending on whether I was in a binge or starve phase, I could quite easily pack on an extra ten to fifteen pounds which, naturally, all went to the wrong places.
I spun in the mirror to check the butt view, and tried to remember what clothes I’d worn during my Christmas trip. My wardrobe was divided into two sections. After a brief rundown, I decided that at Christmastime I’d mostly worn skinny jeans, sleek dresses, and had even been able to forgo Spanks under one of the more revealing dresses that I’d worn to the McGregor’s holiday party. That one had taken place three days before the Warrens’ party.
My heart raced with trepidation at the thought that Miles had seen me at the lowest weight I’d been in the past year. For a month prior to my trip, I’d hardly eaten anything because I knew any extra pounds would be cataloged and picked to death by my mother. My stomach turned at the realization and suddenly all I could see staring back at me in the full-length mirror were my round, puffy cheeks, the swell of my lower stomach, and the pull at the sides of my dress where my hips flared out. I didn’t dare to look at my thighs.
Without a word, I reached behind my back and frantically tugged at the zipper.
Lo and Jasmine collected themselves and both objected loudly to my attempt at removing the emerald green dress. “Wait! What are you doing?” Jasmine yelped, leaping off the bed and flying in my direction. “This one’s perfect.”
I shook my head. “No. I look like one of those elephants at the circus with a giant green carpet over my back.”
They both eyed me suspiciously in the reflection of the mirror. “Girl, you’re crazy.” Lo said, zipping up the three inches I’d managed to expose. “You look beautiful.”
“And besides that, you don’t have time to go for outfit change number fifteen,” Jasmine added, glancing at the clock on the bedside table.
I swallowed down the feeling of disgust that had bubbled in my stomach and forced myself to smile. “Who’s going to do my makeup?”
At least then I could have my back to the mirror.
Chapter Nine
Penny
Paso Doble is as sensual and sultry as the dance it’s named after. The interior of the large restaurant was dark, lush, and dripping with seduction. Hypnotic, pulsing beats filled the space with a heart racing atmosphere that transported you to some fantastical ballroom in old world Spain the moment you walk in the large, dark wood doors. And the people that go to the restaurant, especially on a Saturday night, are just as sumptuous. As soon as I walked through the door, held open by a devastatingly handsome man in a dark suit, I regretted my decision to have Miles meet me here. What was I thinking? On the phone, listening to him speak in that sexy drawl, I was in control, confident, and feeling hot. Now, it was like someone else had made the plans on my behalf and all I could do was cringe.
My confidence train had gone off the rails somewhere between making the plans and getting dressed and all I could do was watch it blow up in a ball of flames.
I glanced around the
lobby and immediately spotted four women who were Amazons compared to me. Tall, thin, and with tits that could double as air bags or flotation devices in a crisis. I fingered the strands of my long waves and realized that my so-called Victoria’s Secret waves were more like a junior high imitation. The pack of gorgeous, leggy models had obviously taken a master class in sexy hair and made it look damn good. Hell, if I swung the other way, I would’ve wanted to take one of them home.
I didn’t stand a chance. Not at all.
My feet started to move of their own accord, taking me backward, with short, clipped steps towards the front door I’d just walked through. I should leave now. It would take five minutes—maybe less—for Miles to realize there were far more attractive women in this particular section of the dating pool and ditch me. The humiliating scenario played out in my mind and I spun to leave.
Only to come face to face with the man of the hour.
Miles Warren.
And damn it, he looked good.
His eyes landed on me a moment after I spotted him, and they took a nice cruise over my body, before coming back to rest on mine. He pulled one of those dark smiles and I couldn’t think straight anymore. Or breathe properly. He was even sexier than I’d remembered—which was rarely the case—in a pair of dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular thighs and accentuated his narrow hips and the V-shape of his torso, as it flared from the waist all the way up to perfect, hold-on-for-dear-sweet-life shoulders that were encased in a dark blue button up shirt.
With the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his powerful, tanned forearms.
How dare he.
That was hardly playing fair.
“Penny,” he said, lingering over the word, wrapping it into an even deeper smile. He stepped towards me and I kept my eyes locked with his, praying that his gaze wouldn’t wander over my shoulder to the pack of off-duty Angels. “I gotta say, you have amazing taste.”
“You like this place?” I asked, looking around.
He grinned, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other. “I meant the dress. You look gorgeous.”