On-Air Passion

by Lindsay Evans

  “Nicole, where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying you for hours.” Uh-oh. Liz was clearly irritated. As a psychologist with a weekly radio show, Dr. Elizabeth Hines had heard it all, and usually nothing got through that calm exterior.

  “Brazil. I got here hours ago, and I’m off to meet a client.”

  “South America Brazil? I thought you were in Paris?”

  “Um, that was yesterday.”

  “This is why you don’t have a man.”

  Nicole jerked her neck back. “Oh, really, Dr. Love? When was the last time you got roses on Valentine’s Day? And if traveling is a direct correlation to being single, then what’s your excuse? You haven’t left the country—no wait, you haven’t left New York—since you got your PhD which was…let me think… Y2K.” Nicole smiled when Liz let out a loud breath.

  “I didn’t call you to throw shade around. Dani needs us.”

  Nicole sobered. “Why? What happened?”

  “Remember that Tinder date she had the other night?”

  “Yeah. The guy with the four cats?” Nicole rolled her eyes. She commended Dani for continuing to put herself out there on those dating apps, but she had to stop meeting up with every guy who threw her a wink.

  “He sent her a two-page email saying she’s everything he’s looking for in a woman, except for her weight, and wondered if she was interested in transforming herself. He sent her some basic workout tips and offered to pay for a trainer.”

  “Oh, my God,” Nicole sneered. “Who does this cat-hoarding awful man think he is? Dani is beautiful and voluptuous. What is wrong with people?”

  “I don’t know, but I am so over men.”

  “Ditto.” Nicole exhaled. “No one has ever offered to pay for my trainer.”

  There had been a few significant men in Nicole’s life, but none had stuck it out for the long haul. Her last relationship ended when her ex suggested that no man wanted a woman who worked as much as she did. Yet he hadn’t been spouting that nonsense when she had treated him to a couples spa weekend in Indonesia for his birthday. Jerk.

  Sure, she used to want the fairy tale—man, dog, kids—but the more she unsuccessfully dated and the older she got, the farther away that dream started to float. It was time for a new plan.

  “Liz, please tell me she isn’t devastated.”

  “No, just feeling hopeless. I called because I wanted us to take her out, get her mind off of it. What are you doing in Brazil?”

  “Getting ready to sell a burnt-down winery to the highest American bidder. The owner is only in his thirties, but we’re talking serious old money.”

  “Mmm. Is he single?”

  “He’s French, so it probably doesn’t matter. Regardless, I don’t date clients. From his dossier he sounds like a trust-fund baby who is no doubt bristling at the fact that I’m a woman.”

  “Wait till he sees you negotiate.”

  “Damn right.” Nicole watched her floor number light up. “Okay, I gotta go.”

  “Wait! What happened at the adoption agency?”

  Nicole groaned. “They denied me.”

  “I was afraid of that, Nicole.”

  “I know, Liz. You’ve made your position clear. Could you slip out of shrink mode for one second and be the supportive friend that I’ve known for eight years?”

  The elevator doors opened, and Nicole was relieved that it was empty. She held it for a brief second as Liz continued.

  “Look, you know I think you deserve to have a child, but your lifestyle is not attractive to adoption agencies or parents choosing adoptive parents.”

  “Well, that’s what they said.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “That a nanny was not a full-time parent.”

  Liz chuckled. “Did you give them the au pair speech?”

  “Don’t laugh. They were not impressed. But, honestly, what better way for a kid to learn a second language?”

  “Nicole, if you’ve really decided to go this route, maybe you should think about insemination.”

  “Oh, God, I cannot get pregnant.”

  “Why? You’re only thirty-five. Women are having babies in their fifties these days.”

  “I travel too much.”

  “See—you don’t know what you want.”

  “Yes, I do!” Afraid they’d get cut off if she stepped in, Nicole slapped her hand against the closing elevator door, pushing it open. “I want a kid and I’m done waiting around for Prince Charming, because he doesn’t exist!”

  Liz sucked her teeth. “I might agree with you on that last statement, but I think you’re being hasty.”

  “Well, I’m not. When this deal is done, I’ll get my promotion and I won’t be on the road as much. Plus, I’ll be able to afford a nanny and a rent-a-husband. We’ll discuss later. Kiss Dani for me, and tell her I’ll give her a call.”

  Nicole hung up and stepped into the elevator, pulling up the email she’d gotten from the Live to Love adoption agency a few days ago.

  Dear Miss Parks,

  We are thrilled that you are interested in adopting a child, and thank you for taking the steps to ensure your eligibility. The Greens want you to know that they so enjoyed meeting you and feel that you are a strong candidate as an adoptive parent. Unfortunately, the couple had some concerns about your work schedule, and although you can afford excellent childcare, they have decided to wait for a two-parent home.

  Please don’t get discouraged. Your child is out there.

  As if being single wasn’t stigma enough, now young parents were rejecting her. She had a stable job and a killer résumé. What more could she do to make herself a desirable single parent? The agency had suggested that Nicole look into family homes located close to good schools—apparently parents liked that. The three-bedroom Brooklyn house she had been eyeing was still on the market, but she needed some more time to get the down payment together.

  But that was before Brazil landed in her lap. She guessed that she could have that deal closed in a few weeks. Then that home and her mini-me, with their live-in French au pair, would be a reality.

  Her fairy tale could come true.

  The bell dinged, and Nicole strutted out of the elevator.

  “Good evening Miss Parks, we are so glad you’ll be joining us for dinner.”

  “Thank you, Anton,” she said, recognizing the tall, slim general manager who’d facilitated her hotel checkin hours earlier. Next to him, a hostess smiled. “So am I.”

  “Monsieur Dechamps hasn’t arrived yet, but we’ll be happy to seat you, or would you join us at the bar for a complimentary glass of wine while you wait?”

  “Say no more, Anton. The bar it is.”

  “Please follow me.”

  She heard the dull roar of a packed house and smelled sweet cigars before she even stepped inside the restaurant. The dining room was elegant, with dark wood accents, bistro tables and an oversized bar. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed patrons to enjoy the busy streets and the boisterous Brazilian nightlife.

  Anton helped Nicole onto an empty bar stool near others waiting for their tables, then signaled for the bartender. He half bowed. “I hope your suite is satisfactory?”

  “It’s very comfortable. And the champagne basket is lovely. Thank you.”

  “Our pleasure.” He gestured toward the barkeep. “Rafe will take care of you. I’ll be back to seat you when Monsieur Dechamps arrives.”

  After perusing the wine list she chose a glass of Beaujolais. The dark ruby liquid poured like silk, and after giving it a good swish in her glass to let the oxygen in, she took a deep inhale, then put it to her lips. It tasted like heaven. Rose, wood, mint and truffle—bursts of flavor danced on her tongue and she mentally logged each one, a habit she’d learned at a summer work–study during college in Bordeaux.

  Although she was eager to meet her client, she could feel the tension of her day leaving her body, and she took the opportunity to text her boss—she’d call him tomorrow—and sen
t several work emails from her phone. She was mid-email when a high-pitched giggling came from the other side of the room.

  A young blonde woman in a low-cut minidress walked through a side entrance, but she stopped and turned with an annoyed stance, clearly waiting for someone. Nicole hoped it wasn’t more giggling girls.

  Just as she was about to turn away, in strolled a tall, dark-haired, starkly handsome man. His square jaw was covered in a trim beard, but it was his eyes that held the most allure. Heavy lidded and thickly lashed, their blue color seemed to resemble translucent cobalt glass. She bet eyes like that glittered when he smiled, but right now he looked bored. And slightly sloshed.

  Nicole didn’t usually go for the bearded, mountain-man type, but this one, even in a disheveled white button-down shirt, was fine.

  And taken. The young woman grabbed his hand and practically pulled him toward the bar.

  Turning back to her phone, Nicole noted that Elliot Dechamps was ten minutes late, but she didn’t stress. Not all cultures took punctuality as seriously as Americans, and sometimes it was nice to let go of those expectations.

  She was in a country she’d never explored before, drinking a beautiful red wine. It didn’t get much better—

  An elbow jostled Nicole’s forearm. The couple from across the room was right next to her, sipping champagne and speaking loudly in swift Portuguese. The tipsy woman was having trouble getting onto the stool in her spandex dress. After a few tries, with the help of her boyfriend’s outstretched arm, she finally made it.

  In celebration, the young woman laughed and shot her elbows out again, knocking over her champagne…and Nicole’s wine.

  Instantly Nicole’s Beaujolais became a pool of dark liquid and broken glass. Heads turned and the bartender sprang into action, gathering white cloths and swiping at the mess, which had begun to travel over the lip of the bar onto Nicole’s leg. She jumped from her barstool and stepped away, almost bumping into the blonde, who was no doubt hurrying toward the ladies’ room.

  Nicole patted down her dress. Thank God she was wearing black, but some wine had gotten on her bare leg.

  Suddenly a towel was being dabbed lightly at her thigh.

  New York reflexes always on, she grabbed the wrist then tried to hide her shock as she eyed its owner. He was strong, she thought when she felt his arm stiffen and pull back. Dark brows slashed the blue of his eyes when he looked up.

  He was even hotter up close.

  Copyright © 2018 by Tamara Lynch

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  Off Limits

  by Clare Connelly

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE MIGHT AS well be naked. The dress is skintight, bright red and low-cut. Tiny straps slip over her shoulders. The dress is short, too. Not indecently short but, Jesus, her legs are long and smooth, and while she’s wearing that dress I find it impossible to look away.

  She’s hotter than any woman here—and that’s saying something, given that this launch event has brought together most of London’s elite. There are models, actresses, singers, athletes, and lots of those women who’ve married for money and now make it their life’s work to live up to their husbands’ expectations.

  And then there’s Gemma.

  Her blond hair is pulled into a ballerina bun, her face is serious and her body is like pale silk that I want to wrap around me.

  She’s said something funny, going by the way the guy with her leans forward and laughs. Is he her date? A frown pulls at my brow. I stare harder. Did she bring a date? Isn’t she technically here as my plus-one?

  Seeing her with another guy does something dangerous to my equilibrium. A possessive impulse threads through me, knotting at my chest.

  I pull a couple of champagne flutes from a passing waiter and cut through the room. I’m aware of people trying to get my attention but I have no time for them. Gemma is in my sights.

  ‘Jack…’

  Her lips purse as I approach; her eyes flick to me in that way she has. How is it possible for one person to imbue a simple gesture with a measure of cold disdain even when there’s the hint of a smile somewhere in that symmetrical face of hers?

  I hand her a glass of champagne and she takes it, her fingers briefly wrapping over mine. Immediately my mind puts them elsewhere on my body.

  ‘You remember Wolf DuChamp?’ she says. ‘He manages our accounts in New York.’

  I remember his stupid name, but not the man himself. Nothing memorable about blond, pretty-boy looks and that air of Ivy League he seems to wear like a coat.

  ‘Sure.’ I extend my hand, knowing I have to meet the convention even when my body is singularly focussed on Gemma.

  ‘Good to see you again, sir.’

  Gemma’s lips quiver. I hate being called ‘sir’ and she knows it. Out of nowhere I have an image of her saying it to me, bent at the knees, her eyes moving up my body to meet mine as her lips clamp down on my length. Okay, maybe in some circumstances I could make an exception…

  What the hell am I thinking? These fantasies are one thing, but screwing Gemma cannot happen.

  Cannot happen. Might as well get that tattoo added to my collection.

  ‘I was just explaining the software overhaul we’re looking at to Gem.’

  Is he trying to piss me off? First of all by removing the very nice image I was enjoying by talking about software. And then by referring to Gemma as ‘Gem’—as though they’re best buddies who paint their nails together.

  ‘I’ll summarise it for you later,’ she says, sensing my impatience though I suspect not the reason for it.

  ‘It’ll make a huge difference to our operations,’ Wolf pushes.

  ‘Gem’ angles her body a bit, turning away from me, giving me a chance to escape.

  ‘I’ll look into the feasibility. The problem is going to be short-term. We’ll need to make sure the systems are protected during the transfer of data. You handle some of our most sensitive work—a data breach would be unacceptable.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that, too,’ Wolf carries on—and I am dismissed, it would appear.

  Across the room a platinum blonde with a sensational rack and legs that go on forever is trying to catch my eye.

  I want Gemma, but I can’t have her. And I’m not one to wallow in self-pity. There’s plenty of fish in the sea.

  I have two rules when it comes to the women I fuck.

  No commitment.

  No redheads.

  Commitment was for Lucy.

  And Lucy was a redhead.

  I freeze. A vision of Lucy is in front of me, a scowl of disapproval on her face. I messed around a fair bit before w
e met, but nothing like this. I’ve taken it to a whole new level and I don’t care. Except for that scowl. Even in death I don’t want to upset Lucy.

  What did you expect, Luce? You left me a pretty big void to fill.

  Don’t blame me, I hear her snap back. Your life. Your choice.

  Yeah, right.

  My eyes wander of their own accord back to Gemma. She’s got her head bent now, and Wolf’s fingers are typing something into his cell phone. She nods and smiles, then presses a hand to his forearm. My stomach rolls on a surge of emotion I don’t much care for.

  I stalk towards the blonde as though she is the only woman in the room.

  ‘I’m Jack Grant.’

  Her lips are painted a bright red. She purrs. ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘Then you have the advantage.’

  Her lips part. ‘From what I hear, telling you my name wouldn’t serve much purpose. You won’t remember it tomorrow, right?’

  I laugh, appreciating her honesty. ‘No…’ I lean forward so that my lips are only a whisper from her ear. My breath flutters her hair and I see a fine trail of goose bumps run across her skin. ‘But you’ll remember me for the rest of your life.’

  Her laugh is husky. She’s everything I would usually find sexy, but in that moment she’s just passably acceptable. If I’m honest, I’m bored. It’s a phone-it-in flirt. A What the heck? situation.

  ‘We’ll see…’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I can share yours,’ she murmurs, her eyes dropping to my champagne flute.

  I didn’t even realise I was still holding it. I extend it to her on autopilot, watching as her lips shape over the glass and she tilts it back. The liquid is honey-gold. She passes the glass to me and I take a sip.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she says, with a throaty laugh in the rushed words.

  I nod, reaching down and putting a hand in the small of her back. Gemma and Lucy are both in my head now—a fascinating occurrence. A new occurrence. Are they ganging up on me? Would they even like each other?

  Lucy was so soft and sweet. She looked at me like I was her saviour and I suppose I was. I ripped her out of her old life, away from a boyfriend who used her as a punching bag, and I made all her dreams come true.