by J. Sterling
“Los Angeles.” Actually, I lived in Malibu, but it seemed easier to just say LA to people who weren’t from there. “You?”
“New Jersey. But I came here for college and decided to stay.”
Someone at our table laughed, but neither Cal nor I looked up from our conversation.
“Do you like living here?” I asked.
“I love it.” He took a sip of his drink. “Have you seen much of the city yet?”
“A little. It’s really pretty. Completely different from California.”
He nodded. “Tell me about this conference. What are you learning, and do you think it will help your business?”
What am I learning? God, could this guy be any closer to my own business-minded heart?
“It’s actually pretty interesting. They brought in a bunch of speakers who are experts in their territories to share their marketing techniques, personal stories, and what they feel works and doesn’t work in terms of relationship building. There’s a lot of information on advertising and social media. It’s hard, though, because each market is completely different. What works for someone in Alabama most likely isn’t going to work for someone like me.”
“Why not?”
Cal’s genuine interest in my thoughts and opinions fanned the fire in me. I could talk about what I did all day, every day, if he’d let me.
“I work in Malibu mostly. I can sell anywhere in the general LA area, but I’m focused on that particular stretch of beach. It’s a lot bigger than people realize. I tend to have clients with a lot more money to burn, so the rules that might apply to, say, someone who only deals with young couples looking to buy their first homes, they don’t apply to me. I have to take all this information that I’m learning and figure out what parts of it might work with my clientele.”
“Are you self-employed?”
“I work for a broker. Haven’t decided yet if going out on my own is the smartest thing for me. I’m still building my client roster and making a solid name for myself.” I shrugged. “And to be honest, I’m not sure that in a state like California, it would make sense for me to be my own boss. The tax implications on small businesses are killer, and the very idea of hiring employees makes me nervous.”
He nodded. “Makes sense. California is brutal. You should move.” His lips curved up. “Probably to Boston. I’ve heard it’s great here.”
I laughed. “Yeah? I don’t know. I’m sort of attached to where I live.”
He glanced up at the ceiling and then back at me, his hazel eyes filled with mischief. “I want to argue, but I’m not sure I can. How the hell do you argue with Malibu?”
“You don’t. You can’t.” I grinned back at him. “What about you? Do you work for a big firm?”
“It’s not big by New York standards, but it’s not a five-person shop either. We’re considered a midsize company. But I want to make partner, so I pretty much spend all my time networking and trying to bring in new clients.”
I leaned back slightly. “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to bring me in as a client?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Give me all your money, Jules. Let me triple it for you.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” I reached for my purse before playfully shoving the entire thing at him. “Here. Take it.”
He laughed. “You’re smart.”
“So are you.”
“I don’t meet a lot of smart women. No offense,” he said as I pursed my lips, willing him to remove the foot he’d just placed in his beautiful mouth. “It’s just that women tend to see themselves one way, but they’re usually the opposite.”
I bristled, needing more of an explanation than that for why he was putting down my entire gender. “Explain.”
“Okay, but don’t get pissed. Hear me out.” He put his hands up in surrender. “One of the first things women always say is how independent they are, how motivated. But in my experience, they’re usually neither of those things. They’re either searching for a rich guy to provide for them so they don’t have to work, or they’re still living on Mommy and Daddy’s money. And neither of those things are signs of an independent or motivated woman, in my opinion. Unless you count trying to land a sugar daddy motivation,” he said with a grin.
I wanted to disagree with him, but the truth was that a lot of my clients were women who didn’t work at anything except spending their husband’s money. Granted, the men in those situations also tended to want nothing more than eye candy on their arm, so it worked both ways.
Cal spoke again, interrupting my thoughts. “Most people don’t know what they want to do with their life, and they aren’t working toward a goal. I rarely meet anyone who is as together as you are. It’s a compliment, Jules. Take it.” He smiled at me, and I focused on those damn lips again as my irritation faded.
Listening to him speak was almost like having a conversation with myself. Hadn’t I just thought virtually the same thing about the guys in LA, that they were all looks and no substance?
It had been a long time since I was around a guy whose thoughts seemed to mimic my own. It was almost more of a turn-on than the rest of him. I wanted to take him upstairs and make love to his mind. Was such a thing possible? I volunteer as tribute!
“Thank you.”
“My turn,” he said expectantly.
“Your turn what?”
“What do you like about me?” he asked before taking another sip of his drink.
I giggled. “Who says I like you at all?”
“Those green eyes do. They give you away,” he said as he stared into them.
“I might like you a little.” I pretended to glance over his shoulder for a second, anything to break the intense eye contact before meeting his gaze again. “But honestly, your motivation and passion for the things that you love—” I let out a little sigh, all but moaned out loud. “It’s so damn hot.”
He laughed. “You’re adorable.”
“Yeah? And you’re sexy.”
Cal’s hand brushed against mine under the table. He squeezed my thigh and left his hand there, caressing me through my jeans with his thumb. His move was a bit forward, and I found myself enjoying it way too much for my own good.
That touch wasn’t accidental and I wanted more of it—more of him. I wanted his hands all over me. Hell, I’d already imagined those full lips pressed against mine the second I’d first laid eyes on him.
“I’m so tired, you guys,” my new friend Kristy from Connecticut said. “I don’t want to, but I think I have to go to bed.” She pushed up from her seat and stretched her arms above her head.
“Oh, thank God,” Sue from Arizona said before standing. “I didn’t want to be the first to leave, but I think I might fall asleep at this table if I don’t head upstairs.”
I told them both good night and watched as they headed toward the elevators. When I glanced at Robin, I was surprised to see her sipping a cocktail that I hadn’t even noticed her order. Clearly, I’d been distracted.
“I’m not going anywhere, so don’t look at me like that,” she said with a smile, and I found myself only marginally thankful.
The entire hotel lobby could empty out for all I cared; I wasn’t leaving Cal’s side. No matter how tired I might have been from the day’s seminars and team-building activities, I refused to be the one who walked away from whatever was simmering between the two of us. If we came apart instead of falling together, it would be his doing, not mine.
“Don’t go yet.”
I turned toward Cal’s whisper as relief filled me, willing him to want the same thing I did. With our faces mere inches apart, I fought the pull I felt as my attention kept drifting between his hazel eyes and those damn lips.
“Didn’t plan on it,” I said softly.
Our bodies leaned closer, inexplicably drawn together, and I almost laughed at how we must have looked to everyone else. Like a couple. Definitely not like two people who had just met.
As his hand squeezed m
y thigh again and he smiled, my brain turned to mush. All I could think about was Cal and how much more I wanted of him.
So much more.
Breaking Rules
Cal
I was currently sitting at a table with my hand on Jules’s thigh, breaking my number-one rule: No women.
Work was too damn important to me, and women were a distraction. Even the best ones seemed to turn into something else once we started dating, taking on personality traits that hadn’t been there when we first met. They were good at hiding the parts of them they didn’t want you to see until just the right time. And while I understood that most women needed things from a relationship that were seemingly normal, like my time and attention, I couldn’t give it to them.
That was what led me to formulate my life plan in the first place—too many clingy, needy women, and my realization that I wasn’t ready for any of that yet. My plan was solid and ladies didn’t factor into it; at least, not for another three or so years. Yes, I even had a timeline.
Women had their own timelines. They wanted to be married by a certain age, have two point five kids and a house by another. The only problem was my timeline and theirs tended to be off by several years. I needed two more years to make partner within my firm, another six months or so to get settled into the role, and then—and only then—could women possibly come back into the equation, depending on what else I was involved in by that point.
To fill what little spare time I had after spending long hours at the office, I took on some volunteer projects. At first it was to impress my bosses and show them that I was well rounded, dependable, and thought outside the box when it came to positive publicity for the firm. But I soon realized that I really enjoyed the mentoring and coaching, and it had become less about impressing anyone else and more about making a difference where I could. I found a deep sense of satisfaction in my volunteer work that my job couldn’t fill.
Coldly categorizing my life into a series of boxes I wanted to check off wasn’t a romantic notion, but my career had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with reality. I wanted to be firmly rooted in it before allowing myself to be distracted by a relationship.
But right now, with my hand touching Jules’s thigh, my brain wasn’t the least bit involved, and I wasn’t sure what was real at this point. She was real. Her long blond hair and fierce green eyes, those were real.
I wasn’t lying when I’d told Jules that most women didn’t have it together. It wasn’t meant to be a slap at her gender; it was the truth from my experience. But Jules was motivated and determined the same way I was, and damn it if I didn’t find everything about that sexy as hell. Not to mention the fact that when Jules spoke, she reminded me of myself; she had ambition in spades and the gusto to make her dreams a reality. I could relate to her on every level, and I couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened.
Jules was funny too, always smiling when she spoke, her eyes closing with genuine amusement each time she laughed at something someone said.
And beautiful—God, she was so beautiful. She looked like she’d walked straight from the sands of some warm beach, wearing a sleeveless shirt and strappy sandals in the chilly Boston air. Jules was a vision, and I had a hard time keeping my hands off of her. Granted, I wasn’t trying very hard, but I found myself not wanting to. What I did want was to get her alone and familiarize myself with every square inch of her body.
That was something I hadn’t done in a very long time. My right hand and I had become the best of friends, and I’d convinced myself it was easier that way. My hand didn’t talk back, didn’t demand that I take it to dinner or buy it expensive gifts. I’d put sex on the back burner for my career, and before this moment, I’d been fine with that decision. It had always made the most sense.
But now, staring at Jules’s honey-colored hair, something nagged at me, telling me that if I let her go, I’d regret it. And I hated regrets even more than I hated nagging.
What was it about this woman that had me so twisted up already? It made no sense at all. The logical parts of me wanted to fight this nonsense and not give in to it, but my body betrayed me at every turn. My hands had a will of their own, acting without permission as they touched her at every opportunity.
It was official; I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. She was like a siren, drawing me in so she could have her way with me. And I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to let her.
He Changed Everything
Jules
Cal’s hand warmed my leg, spreading heat wherever it landed. It was all I could focus on, that sizzling touch of his. His fingers splayed out across my leg, inching closer to my most private area.
As much as Cal turned me on, I refused to go that far in public, groping beneath a table like we were in middle school. So I placed my hand on top of his and gave it a light squeeze, stopping any further movement. I’d intended to pull my hand away, but he laced his fingers with mine and held them there.
“What are you drinking?” I looked into his glass, wondering if he was drinking straight liquor.
“Bourbon.”
“Seriously? I thought so, but are you sure you’re even old enough to drink?” I asked with a laugh.
“Twenty-nine, babe. So just barely.”
He grinned at me then, a mischievous smile baring lots of perfect teeth, and my heart leaped at the sight. Or maybe it was the term of endearment. It was silly to get excited over something so small, but I’d been so focused on my career the last few years that I’d forgotten what my heart was even for, or how a simple nickname from the right guy’s mouth could cause it to hammer against my chest. Now, it seemed to be trying to remind me of its role with every single beat.
Prior to walking into this lobby tonight, I would have bet money against my heart ten times out of ten when it came to love. I was convinced that it didn’t care about anything other than work and my success. It especially didn’t care about the opposite sex. My heart didn’t need a man, didn’t want a man; it was perfectly fulfilled, beating only for my job.
I would have lost that bet the minute I met Cal Donovan.
My heart was clearly meant to want. It was meant to feel. It was meant to do more than just keep me alive. Oh, how I had forgotten.
“How about you?” he asked, and I struggled to remember what the hell we were talking about.
I glanced down and lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I’m only nineteen, so no. Not old enough to drink. At least, not legally.”
He froze for a second before he jerked his hand from my thigh as if it were scalding hot.
I burst out laughing, amused at the look of surprise on his face, which was slightly paler than it had been a moment ago. “I’m just kidding.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” He took a few deep breaths, clearly exaggerating his response and playing along.
“I’m twenty-seven,” I said truthfully, hoping his hand would return. And it did.
“Just a young’un.”
“Tell me about it, old man.”
He grabbed at his heart like my words wounded him before asking, “Do you drink bourbon?”
“I have before. But I didn’t enjoy it,” I admitted, fully expecting him to make fun of me about it. Everyone else always had.
“That’s because you didn’t drink it right,” he said, poking my shoulder with his finger.
“There’s a right way to drink that wretched alcohol?” I cocked my head to the side, not believing him.
A slight smile appeared as he leaned closer, bringing his lips a breath away from mine. “Of course there is. Let me teach you how.”
Lost in his eyes, I sucked in a quick breath. “Okay.”
I watched as he brought the glass to his mouth and pressed it against his bottom lip. Damn, I wanted to be that glass.
He inhaled but didn’t drink a drop.
“Do that three times,” he said. “Just breathe it in. You’ll start to feel it in your mouth, in your thro
at.”
As he repeated the movement twice more, my focus remained firmly trained on those damn lips. They had me under a spell. Seriously, that was one lucky glass.
His smirk reappeared when he caught me staring. I was probably drooling and had no clue.
“And now you sip it.”
He tilted the glass further back as the smallest amount of the amber liquid poured into his mouth and he swallowed. I was surprised he had no visible reaction at all, as if it didn’t burn like hell as it coursed down his throat. I wasn’t sure about most people, but just the smell of bourbon evoked a physical reaction from me.
“Your turn.” He set his glass on the table and pushed it in front of me.
I smiled as I reached for it, bringing it to my lips as he watched me with the same intensity as when I’d watched him. But it was unnerving, the way he stared. His hazel eyes were almost too intense, filled with too much of something I couldn’t entirely read, and it made me uncomfortable.
“You can’t watch me,” I said as my face heated.
“Okay, but do what I told you.” Playing along, he closed his eyes.
“No peeking,” I warned before bringing the glass to my mouth and breathing it in. The scent of the bourbon mixed with the air and traveled down my throat and into my belly. After a moment, I repeated the process twice more like he’d suggested, enjoying sensing the alcohol like this instead of drinking it.
“Can I watch yet?” he asked, squinting his eyes tighter, and I laughed.
“Yes.”
Cal’s eyes opened and met mine instantly, capturing me. It was as if no one else existed around us. I heard nothing else, saw no one else. My new friend Robin wasn’t there at the table in this hotel lobby, and neither were his coworkers. Cal and I were the only two people in the entire hotel, as far as I was concerned.
Glancing at my mouth, he licked his lips. I willed my body not to react, but it heated anyway.
He reached out again and squeezed the top of my leg before resting his hand there as if that was where it belonged. On my body. Touching me. And I couldn’t remember what I had been doing before that moment. One touch from him caused my thoughts to scatter.