by Anya Sharpe
This evening is going to be the death of me. The ride to the venue is sheer torture. I’m already fighting to keep a rock-hard dick at bay. My eyes won’t stop roaming over her body. The only thing keeping me out of trouble so far is shoving my hands in my pockets. With every breath, I inhale her fragrance—a subtle, taunting mixture of some sexy as hell perfume and pure Erynne.
I’m relieved to get out of the car and head into the venue. Drinks. We need drinks—asap. At least, I do if I’m going survive this night with the most gorgeous woman on the planet at my side.
I weave my fingers through hers and move to the bar. Her touch is electric, shooting through my hand, up my arm and short-circuiting my already low-wattage brain cells.
Fortunately, I remember some fucking manners.
“What can I get you to drink, Erynne? Wine or something else?”
“Wine is perfect.”
“Wait. They have champagne as well.”
“Now you’re talking, Ace.” Her cheerful demeanor sets me at ease, thankfully. We each take a glass of the bubbly and try a sip. The cold, fizzy liquid hits me, and I begin to relax in her presence—until she closes her eyes and moans as she tastes her drink.
“Mmm. Oh, this is so good.”
Fuck it all to hell
Lance was right. Bringing her with me was a bad idea, but not for the reasons he had. This is sheer torture.
“Darling!” A vision clothed in a veil of brilliant diaphanous blues and greens floats toward me.
“Mother, you’re stunning.” I kiss her cheek and pull her into a big embrace.
“And, you, my dear Evan, are handsome as always. I’m glad you came.” Francesca’s smile lights up the room. Turning, she extends a hand. “You must be the Erynne my son has said such delightful things about. A true pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled to be here, Mrs. Giamatti.”
Oops!
“Sorry, Mom.” I grin sheepishly. “Erynne, allow me to formally introduce Francesca Favelli. My parents divorced ages ago, and she kept her name.”
“My apologies.” Erynne, of course, is embarrassed by the inadvertent faux pas.
“Nonsense. Allow Evan to take the blame.” Then mother’s face glows again. “You’re wearing one of my bracelets. I’m so honored!”
Comprehension hits Erynne, which earns me a scowl. “Evan, dear.” She bats her lashes. Yep, I’m in trouble. “I don’t recall you mentioning your mother is Francesca Favelli. No wonder you specifically asked me to wear this bracelet.”
“Ow!” She actually kicks my ankle with the pointy toe of her shoe.
“Oh, I am so sorry. Did I poke you?” I nearly laugh out loud at how she put me in my place, and then some.
“Evan, you didn’t, did you?” Mother is giving me a “you’re naughty” look.
“Guilty.”
We all laugh at my expense, bringing down the tension a notch or two.
“Erynne, you are a treasure. I have to mingle now. Everything is on display, and there will be a short program to release Carlotta’s and Deana’s designs after dinner. Enjoy the party. We’re at table two, by the way.” Mom floats off into the crowd leaving us alone.
Once I replenish our drinks, I lead us off to introduce Erynne to Carlotta and Deana, and a few other friends. As we’re heading to our table, someone calls her name.
“Erynne?” We spin around to find Dickhead’s boss behind us. Super.
“Jamie? What a pleasant surprise.” Erynne is actually happy to see the guy. I’m not so sure about him. When they embrace, I get the urge to rip her out of his arms.
“Evan, you remember Jamie—er, Jamison Reed? He took me to lunch not long ago?”
“Of course.” We shake hands and make small talk. The guy keeps bouncing his gaze between us, which is rather unnerving, to be honest. Fortunately, he becomes distracted when a woman joins him.
“Erynne, I’d like you to meet Corrie Dreyfuss.”
More introductions are made. I swear the guy seems a little uncomfortable. The curiosity in his eyes tells me he’s wondering how we came to be here together. After all, she only recently filed for divorce from The Dick.
Around us, people are beginning to move to their designated dinner tables. Before we do, Erynne leans into Jamie and, even though she speaks quietly, I can hear what she says. “I’m glad to see you out with someone. Have a fun night.” Then she winks at him, and we part ways.
Chapter Sixteen
Erynne
Super. Just freaking super. Of course, Jamie has to be here tonight. Will he keep this under his hat or spill the beans to Derrick? Can’t wait for that fireworks show.
“Excuse me for a few minutes, Evan? I need to run to the ladies’ room before they start.”
“Absolutely.” He stands and helps me with my chair.
“I’ll be quick.”
Nodding, he trails a hand down my shoulder and arm, letting loose a burst of electricity in its wake. I shiver. I shouldn’t be reacting to Evan this way. He’s a co-worker. I’m extracting myself from the tattered end of a marriage. Stuff whatever the heck that was far down and keep it there.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Jamie’s leaning against the wall, holding a glass of whiskey.
“Hey, Jamie. You waiting for me?”
“Yes. I wanted to speak privately with you. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. I want to be back before the presentation starts, though. What’s up?”
His eyes study me for a moment, which makes me nervous. “Kind of soon to be going on dates, don’t you think?” He’s direct, but not chastising me. I’d say he sounds more concerned.
“It’s not a date. Evan needed a plus-one to come with him to his mother’s show. Francesca Favelli. To be honest, I wanted to get out for a while. I spend a lot of time home alone these days, as you can imagine.” For some reason, it’s important Jamie understands I’m not out on the town every night.
“His mother is Francesca?” Jamie’s brow quirks in interest.
“Yeah. Do you know her?”
“We represent her. Francesca and I go way back. Been friends forever.”
“Well, isn’t that a little bit awkward?”
He changes the subject after a pause. Lawyers are stellar at redirecting. “How are you doing, Erynne? I had a long talk with Derrick. To say he’s devastated is putting it mildly.”
“I’m sure he is, because I certainly am.” Now, I’m feeling sucker punched and a bit annoyed the evening is being ruined by this conversation. Jamie may care about me, but I doubt he’s privy to the extent of Derrick’s betrayal.
“Jamie, I came here tonight to get my mind off Derrick.”
He continues to look at me—this time with sympathy. All right, how much does he know?
“Derrick told me about Morgan and the apartment. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This is upsetting to me as a friend to both of you. I sure as hell never saw any of this coming, and Derrick and I go back many years.”
I study his face for a few seconds. Hard to believe Derrick revealed so much. “Thanks, Jamie. I, uh, better get back. Evan’s waiting for me.” I give him a weak smile and pat him on the arm.
“Sure.” As I step away, he stops me. “Um, Erynne?”
“Yeah?”
“I won’t tell Derrick I ran into you. There’s no point.”
“Thanks, Jamie.” I steer myself back to our table.
“Hey, gorgeous. I was beginning to wonder if I should send out a search party.” Evan’s all smiles as he pulls out the chair for me. The lights lower and the music changes, indicating the presentation is about to begin.
“I bumped into Jamie at the bathroom,” I whisper.
He slides closer, casually placing an arm around the back of mine. The tips of his fingers brush my shoulder. Accident or on purpose?
“Oh? What did he want?”
The point of coming tonight was to forget about Derrick, now he’s interfering without being presen
t, which pisses me off. The goal was to set all that crap aside for one evening. I guess I don’t get a night off, after all.
“He said Derrick’s a mess. He told Jamie about Morgan.”
Evan is surprised. “Huh. Didn’t expect him to do that, did you?”
“No. The show is starting.” I train my eyes on the short runway as the first of Carlotta Maxwell’s and Deana Burm’s models strut into view, thankful for the diversion.
The fashions are stunning. They’ve accessorized the girls with Francesca’s jewelry, which are perfect accents to Maxwell and Burm’s designs. I make a mental note to acquire another piece by Francesca. Not because she’s Evan’s mother, but her work is striking, and very much to my taste.
The show lasts about thirty minutes, then a dance floor is opened up, and dessert is served. More champagne is poured. While somewhat intimate for these types of events, at about a hundred people, it’s a high-end affair. I recognize a few big names from the fashion industry. If you live in New York and work in advertising, you can’t help but become familiar with celebrity faces.
“Dance with me, Erynne?” Evan offers me his hand. For some reason, my heart flits like a million butterflies taking off at the notion of being in Evan’s arms for a song or two. Knock it off.
“Sure. Maybe one. Then I ought to call it a night.” Hand-in-hand, he escorts me to the dance floor, his fingers threading through mine, gliding me around like a princess.
Evan brings me within inches of his chest, his hands wrapped around my waist. Jesus, his arms, and torso are rock hard. I rest a hand on his shoulder and the other above his heart. Damn it’s beating fast. Is that even a normal rate?
A dash of uneasiness hits me—I’m enjoying this far too much. Evan is strong and gentle at the same time, with a hint of possessiveness and confidence thrown into the mix. Oh, and he freakin’ smells wonderful. Why the hell does he have to use such an enticing…whatever the heck it is? Derrick’s scent was pleasant, but this is different. Spicy and woodsy and…
“You’re a terrific dancer, Erynne.” His low, sensual words yank me out of my daydream. He’s smiling down at me, with a meaningful gaze I can’t decode. Which is a good thing—I’m not sure I can handle the undertones. Something is happening between us and as much as I want to turn away, I’m trapped by his intensity.
“You as well.”
He twirls me around the floor, making me giggle. Derrick was a decent dancer, but Evan’s much better.
Dammit, stop comparing them. This is so, so stupid.
The song ends as I’m chastising myself, and we return to our table. Dessert is waiting for us, along with freshly filled flutes.
“Evan Giamatti. Long time no see, son.” A short, flashy gentleman, who appears to be in his sixties, clamps a beefy hand onto Evan’s shoulder. Salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back with a generous amount of product. His evening suit is immaculate and clearly expensive, if not custom-made. A large diamond men’s ring is stuffed onto one of his thick, manicured fingers, and bright white teeth are blinding. Clearly whoever this is, he’s a somebody. A really big somebody.
“Warren…it’s been a while.” Evan stands, grasping my hand and bringing me close to him. “Allow me to introduce my beautiful date this evening. Erynne Sommers, this is Warren Tripp. Warren, this is Erynne.”
Warren suffocates my hand with his, pumping it up and down while grinning like a loon. Look up “jovial” in the dictionary and Warren Tripp will be the definition.
“Well, well! Pleasure to meet you lovely lady. Evan, your taste is improving, son.” He winks at Evan. All of a sudden, it dawns on me.
Holy crap. This is… Warren Tripp is one of the biggest real estate moguls in the city, maybe even the country. How the hell does Evan know this guy?
“Had the pleasure of dining with your dad the other night. Victor never changes, does he?” I’m relieved when Warren releases my hand so he can press it into Evan’s shoulder again. He’s very touchy-feely-friendly for a ruthless businessman.
“Nah, not much. What are you two scheming this time?” Evan’s at complete ease with this man, who intimidates me simply because of who he is.
“Eh, the usual. We’re going to partner up on a new condo project here in Manhattan. Higher-end stuff.”
Evan chuckles, shaking his head. “You two. One year you’re partners, the next you’re at each other’s throats.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Warren lets loose a booming laugh. “Your pop is an excellent businessman, Evan. You could take a page from his book, son. He’d love for you work with him.”
Wait. What?
“So I hear.” Evan is suddenly uncomfortable.
“Well, I better go track down Wanda before she buys all of Francesca’s wares.”
“Great to see you again, Warren. Good luck with the project.”
“Ms. Sommers, until next time.” His massive hand takes mine again.
“Likewise, Mr. Tripp.”
“Oh no,” he says. “You’re a friend of Evan’s, I’m Warren. Plain, old Warren.”
With that, he gives us a brief wave and shuffles off to find his wife. I’m so stunned by the conversation with Warren Tripp something Evan said didn’t fully register until right now. His father’s name is Victor. Victor Giamatti.
Holy shit. His father is a billionaire real estate and corporate big wig.
I stare at Evan. He grins at me, almost a little embarrassed, because I put two and two together. “Uh, Evan…?”
“Yeah, my dad is that Victor Giamatti. I’d appreciate if you didn’t let word get around.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well, my dad fell in love with my mom, and they got married. One day the stork came and…”
I smack him on the chest. Jesus, that was like hitting a rock. “Wise-ass. You know what I meant. Why are you slaving away at Ridley & Peters, when you could…”?
His expression turns serious, and he latches onto my arm, gently but firmly, steering us toward a small balcony.
We stop at a small stone bench, and he motions for me to sit, joining him. We’re fairly close as it’s a tight squeeze for two people. Evan’s muscular thigh presses against mine, which is more than a little unsettling. Once again, his delicious scent teases me.
“The short version is I don’t want to go into business with my father. I love my parents, and we have a great relationship, but I want my own success. Without riding the coattails of Victor Giamatti.”
“But…” I’m still confused.
“I’m biding my time in the advertising world while building a separate name for myself.” He studies my reaction. “Even though I’d prefer to keep this quiet, for some insane reason, it seems right to fill you in. I trust you, Erynne. Lance Jonas and I are building a tech business together pairing my experience with his. We’ve been operating under the radar while I make connections. We’re going to launch something pretty damned big within a year.”
I stare at him, because I didn’t expect this explanation.
Which is a bad idea.
I notice how tempting his lips are.
The faint dimple which forms when he smiles is sexy.
And, for the record, I’d kinda like to run the palm of my hand down his facial scruff.
Stop it!
Oh, hell. Those Caribbean blue eyes are latched onto mine like a tractor beam.
This can’t be good. At all.
I swallow. Hard.
I stand quickly and nearly fall, because the hem of my dress catches on my shoe.
Like a drunken rag doll, I lurch forward. Evan leaps to his feet and catches me. I collapse against his broad, rigid and very warm chest. Even better, his arms instinctively wrap around me as I catch my balance.
Except, he doesn’t let go. His eyes continue to bore into me, hot and scary. I open my mouth to say something…anything…but nothing comes out.
His lips are on mine before I can catch a breath. They’re soft and soothing and all sorts of sens
ual, gradually growing hungrier, seeking much more. His tongue entangles with mine, stroking, creating an explosion of heat that races through my core, tingling my skin down to my toes. Jesus, the man tastes marvelous. I grip his biceps like a vice, so hard my knuckles actually ache. Which brings me to my senses—sort of.
I push against him, forcing us to part, our breaths heavy and uneven. Evan’s piercing eyes take on a stormy color, his jaw firmly set, desire plastered all over his handsome face. What does he see in mine?
“Please, take me home.” It’s barely a whisper.
The edges of his mouth creep up into a smile, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking. “Alone. My apartment.”
His smile wanes at the clarification. “Erynne…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“No. Stop. Please,” I’m sputtering. I don’t want to talk about this. Ever. I want to forget the kiss happened. Even though I really don’t. Emotions are bouncing around inside like they’re trapped in a pinball machine. Being here with Evan is wrong.
“Can we please leave?” There’s a lump in my throat I cannot swallow.
“Sure.” He rests his palm on my back and escorts me out of the venue.
Once in the town car, I break the silence. “We didn’t say goodnight to your mother. I’m sorry I rushed us out.” I’m scared and nervous. I fear I’ve done something horribly immoral. Maybe so, but if I’m honest with myself, I loved it.
Evan gently squeezes my hand, emitting a heavy sigh.
“I’ll call her in the morning and make our excuses.”
I try to pull from his grasp, but he tightens the grip, keeping my attention.
“Erynne, I never intended to kiss you tonight. In the moment, it felt so right. I’m sorry I took advantage of you.”
Again, words escape me. My brain knows I should put him at ease. We work together, after all. So, I say something dumb. “Let’s forget what happened, shall we?” Then, I yank my hand away and stare out the window for the rest of the ride home, trying to ignore the drumming of my heart.
****
I’m standing in front of door two again. A man is inside. I don’t know who he is, yet something about him haunts me in a good way.