by Rie Warren
Why HER?
Mistaken Identities Series
Book 2
Rie Warren
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Why Her?
Copyright © 2018 by Rie Warren
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations.
Warren, Rie.
Why Her? / Rie Warren – 1st ed
1.Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. Alpha Male—Fiction. 3. May December Romance—Fiction. 4. Erotica—Fiction. I. Title
ASIN:
B07DXQQ8V5
www.riewarren.com
Cover Design
Rie Warren
Editing
By Gilly Wright http://www.gillywright.com
Table of Contents
Why HER?
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Also by Rie Warren
Keep reading for the first chapter of
Chapter One
Connect with Rie
Acknowledgments
About Rie
CHAPTER ONE
Stevie
“YOU’RE LOOKIN’ F.I.N.E. FINE tonight, Stevie.” Carmen handed me another high-octane shot, scanning me from head to toe as more and more people jostled beside us at the bar.
I tossed back the burning alcohol then pushed my elbow into the stomach of the guy behind me who’d none-too-subtly nudged against my ass.
Carmen followed up by hissing, “Go away, mouth breather. She’s not interested in boys anymore.”
Overhearing our smackdown of the unwelcome groper, the female bartender passed us two more shots. “On the house.”
The bar itself was crowded, while only a few of the tables farther back were occupied. Just a normal Happy Hour Meat Market, which Carmen and I endured for the half-price drinks.
Having lost our latest creeper, Carmen made herself comfy on a stool and looked me up and down again. “So, how did you celebrate dumping pretty-boy-the-psycho? New highlights?”
“Nope.”
“Is that a new pair of jeans?” She took in the tastefully tattered, faded denim.
“I’ve had these for ages.”
“Oh, did you get another tat? Something along the lines of Eat Me Ethan?”
“He’s not worth the space on my skin.” I ordered two beers to go with two more shots.
“Okay, so you didn’t buy new jeans or get a new tat.” After pursing her glossy red lips, Carmen’s eyes popped wide. “Aha! Another new pair of fuck-hot heels.”
Shimmying my shoulders a little, I sashayed in a circle, showing off the stilettos that looked like alligator skin with precious little ankle straps. They weren’t Louboutin’s, but they were definitely sex parading as shoes.
“Sweet,” Carmen complimented. “You know, it’s too bad you couldn’t get alimony from that crazy cabron. You’d be flush for life.”
“I wouldn’t take a single red cent he offered.” Just the thought of Ethan made my flesh crawl.
“Amen to that.” Carmen downed her shot and jumped off her stool. “Let’s dance!”
Carmen, my BFF, was a bundle of energy with zero filter, and like many of my exes, a revolving door of jobs. But even if she switched careers on a bimonthly basis, at least she had passion. Maybe too much passion. The girl needed a leash, or perhaps a tracker.
I sauntered after her to the one corner of the trendy bar reserved for the courageous—or drunken—few who wanted to cut a rug. I counted myself equal parts ballsy and tipsy as I did the bump and grind back-to-back with my girl.
I couldn’t claim to be too heartbroken after dumping Ethan Rutledge of the elite downtown Rutledges, a new take in my long line of why did I pick him? mistakes.
One of the reasons I’d been taken in by Ethan was because I’d thought he was the exact opposite of all my previous boyfriends. He was the son of one of my dad’s clients—moneyed, well bred, and at first, a total gentleman. I’d fallen for his slick charm and smooth moves, a little awestruck by the cool cars, the fine dining, and best of all, entry into Charleston’s finest homes. All those pretty floorplans to drool over—not something to thumb my nose at in my line of work.
I’d thought Ethan was finally totally different from all the other wastes of space I’d dated. He was different all right . . . he turned out to be downright scary. The nice, attentive guy who’d initially schmoozed his way into my life turned out to be the definition of irrationally possessive. He’d get jealous over the littlest things, like when I didn’t immediately answer his million and one text messages a day. Or when I wanted to go out without him. Or if I called one of my guy friends. But the clincher was when he began criticizing my disgusting truck, my dinky apartment, my trashy clothes, or my inferior manners.
He hadn’t gotten physical, and I was pretty decent at taking care of myself, but I just had this feeling he was one step away from going full nut job on me.
Getting rid of Ethan hadn’t been easy despite the fact he clearly didn’t respect me. Or maybe it was because he saw me as lesser than him. He didn’t like being told no, didn’t like being broken up with by someone he considered of lower social status than himself. His obsession over possessions rolled over to his obsession over possessing me, and he couldn’t stomach being told there was something—someone—he couldn’t have.
My overprotective older brother had threatened the kind of kneecapping retaliation that had made my high school love life nearly nonexistent. Only this time I was grateful. Gabriel didn’t give a single shit about how the high-and-mighty Rutledge family might retaliate against him, and Ethan had finally turned tail. Gabriel changed my locks, burned the few belongings Ethan had left at my place, and slept on my sofa for the first week and a half.
Yeah, I’d capped my years’ long loser streak by dating the biggest loser of all. Except just about everyone thought the sun shined out of Ethan’s ass, including my father.
Tonight I was ready to live it up again, starting with drinking and dancing, heavy on both.
Carmen and I worked the dance floor, beating off every new batch of boyfriend wannabes.
During one break, while we leaned against the end of the bar quenching our parched throats with more beer, Carmen shouted above the din, “Check out the hot silver fox!”
And she pointed none too discreetly.
I glanced over to the table set nearly in the shadows. The man she singled out wore a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up over sturdy forearms. He had a very sharp jawline and the barest streaks of silver at his temples.
“He hardly qualifies as a silver fox. And he’s probably married to that pretty very pregnant chick sitting right next to him.” I turned away from the table of four that consisted of three men and the one woman, whose belly formed a massive mound within he
r tasteful dress.
“Nah. I’ll bet you twenty she’s breeding with the sexy blond stud. Also, Silver Fox? No wedding band.” Laughter sprinkled Carmen’s observation, and she pushed a shoulder against me. “I think he’s looking at you.”
I snorted. “I really seriously doubt it. Remember? I’m the dickbag magnet. And he doesn’t look like a dickbag.”
“You’re right. And he’s old enough he’s not living on Daddy’s dime. Hella step up from psycho privileged boy.”
“How would you know? Silver Fox could be a serial killer.”
“But you just said—”
“I say a lot of things. And I have really bad judgment, proven fact.”
“If Silver Fox is a serial killer, he’s mucho suave about it.” She clucked her tongue and gave me a cheeky smile. “In tailored clothes wearing a Breitling watch.”
“Label whore,” I accused.
“Shoe puta.” She came right back at me.
“Hey, if you had to wear Wolverine boots all day long, you’d have a shoe fetish too.”
“He’s for real looking over here!” she squealed, jostling into me so that beer fizzed from my bottle onto my fingers.
I swiped up a couple napkins, determined not to check out Silver Fox again. “Because you keep pointing. He probably thinks you’re a stalker.”
“Whatever. He’s not staring at me, mamacita.”
Crumpling the used napkins, I took a few furtive sips of beer and a few surreptitious glances toward the shadowy table.
Silver Fox had angled his chair a little in our direction, and as I watched, he raised a tumbler of amber-colored alcohol to a set of very sculpted lips. After a drink, he held the glass loosely, and his gaze roamed across the room to land on me.
I turned away, my cheeks heating more than they had on the dance floor.
“He’s hot, si?”
No comment.
“I challenge you to ask him to dance,” Carmen persisted with a shimmy-shake of her hips.
“No way, Carmen, not tonight. I’m not looking for a new man.”
“What about a one-night stand with a sexy sexy older man though?”
“Nope.”
“Afraid?” she asked.
“He’s not gonna say yes.”
“But if he does . . . unf.”
I had to agree with the unf. The older man appeared to be a prime specimen of yumminess. Well put together. Beyond good looking. Sexy and mature.
Maybe I needed to completely change my target demographics. Broaden my horizons. Stop going out with assholes who spent more time surfing Hulu from my sofa than putting in a hard day’s work or twenty-somethings who threw around Mommy and Daddy’s big bucks.
I’d never been out with an older man.
Not that this would constitute going out.
Just one dance.
And I could also shove it in Carmen’s face.
Well, I’d never been shy. And I bet the man smelled really good too.
I set my beer on the bar and started off with Carmen catcalling behind me. She had subtle in the bag.
Not.
Weaving my way through the Happy Hour crowd, I smiled at Not-So-Silver-Fox.
He sat up straighter in his chair, eyes widening before narrowing.
Actually, this could be all kinds of fun.
The pregnant woman sitting next to him watched my approach with a growing grin. She and Carmen were probably soul sisters or something. Or maybe she liked watching her friend squirm, because the man sort of scooted-screeched his chair back as if he was about to get attacked by a succubus.
Maybe it was my killer heels, click-clacking as I got closer?
When I reached his side, the three other occupants at the table fell quiet.
“Hi.” I held out my hand.
Silver Fox frowned, looked down at my hand, and then back up at me. “Hello.”
I quirked my head to the side, and my hair fanned over a bare shoulder. “Are you gonna leave me hanging here?”
His hand shot out, palm surprisingly warm as it met mine. Just as quickly, he pulled away.
“Do you dance?” I asked.
He licked his lips, and his gaze sneaked down to my new killer heels before tracking back up to the peacock tat on my arm.
“I’m just here for the whiskey.” He pulled his glass toward him.
“That’s a shame,” I purred.
He gulped.
His group continued their silent gawking.
“You look almost young enough to be my daughter,” Silver Fox added, one brow lifted.
I threw my head back with a sultry laugh, then the pregnant woman stood up.
She was even prettier up close, and I had a feeling she’d put many a man in his place in her time.
She dug a fingernail into Silver Fox’s shoulder, making him grunt. “Please. She’s about”—she squinted—“twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight.”
“Oh, you’re good.” I nodded toward her, ignoring the awkward tension as Silver Fox stiffened in his seat.
Sexy blond guy half stood. “Sorry. My wife’s very forward. I’d say it’s the pregnancy hormones, but it’s not.”
“I get that.” I chuckled, thoroughly amused.
Not-Silver-Fox was not amused, glaring at his friends.
Blond Guy continued, “I’m Jason, and this is—”
“Still not dancing,” Silver Fox grumbled.
Just the tiniest bit stung, I smoothed my features into a pleasant smile. “Wow. I mean I’ve been turned down before, but—”
“I highly doubt that,” Silver Fox interrupted, looking at me with such a searing gaze I felt it all the way to my lower belly where heat clustered and tingled.
I didn’t know if he meant his comment as a compliment or not, and amid his companions’ stunned silence, I turned away from the table.
Until he rose and touched my elbow.
“Forgive me.” He spun me back toward him, and I almost fell into his embrace. “What I should’ve said was yes, I’d love to dance with you.”
For some reason my heart skipped a beat, and when he folded my hand inside his larger one, part of me melted inside. This close I noticed he had luscious brown eyes, and I bet when he smiled he was even more attractive.
He’d be even more irresistible.
I didn’t dare look at Carmen, because no doubt she’d be performing a clappy-happy dance as Silver Not Fox guided me to the dance floor.
And miraculously the pop tunes were replaced by a ballad. The kind of simmering slow song that swept bodies together.
“I’m never going to hear the end of this from Gwen,” he muttered in a low deep voice, gathering me to him while the song lit a spell in the air.
“What?” Glancing up, I saw the underside of his jaw, the sharp line where he shaved his throat clean, and I smelled him—heat and maleness and power.
“Never mind.” Pulling back slightly, he smiled.
And I’d been right. That smile transformed his whole face. Made him swoon-worthy and me a puddle.
He effortlessly navigated us in the tight space, turning me this way and that, always unhurried, just a nudge on my hip in one direction or a squeeze of my hand in the other. His head bent, and the short soft whiskers on his chin rasped against my hair and then against my temple.
“You’re very good at this,” I murmured, lips near his neck.
Goose bumps sprung up on his flesh, much to my delight, and his hands tightened.
I felt his strength from the breadth of his shoulders to the solid muscles of his chest to the muscles of his thighs . . . and as we swayed closer and closer, a thickness at his groin touching my belly.
He was no boy, that was for damn sure.
We swung around again, and I closed my eyes, shut out the bar, curled my hands behind his neck. His hair was a shade too long, and its softness tucked around my fingertips.
A groan rumbled from his chest.
And I smiled against his shoulder.
> Closer and closer. Bodies brushing, heat mingling . . . His hands, which were large and felt capable of many, many things, roamed lower and lower, stopping just maddeningly short of cupping my ass.
I angled my face up to his, realizing just how tall he was. Without the new stilettoes I’d barely reach his shoulders. And my breath hitched when he dipped his head.
Just before our lips touched, he pulled back. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No. Um. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you.” I trembled from the almost kiss that had been more tantalizing, more exciting than any recent ones I could remember.
“You didn’t.” Relinquishing his hold on me, he raked a hand through his hair. “I’m flattered. You have no idea, but—”
I pressed my palm against his chest to stop him.
“You don’t need to explain. I should head home anyway. Way too much to drink on a school night.” I joked, but he didn’t smile back, and I didn’t remove my hand.
Beneath my palm, I could feel the strong thump of his heartbeat. He circled my wrist, thumb resting against my crazily thrumming pulse point.
Standing still amid all the dancers. Staring still while the world went on around us.
Sudden crazy lust did strange things inside me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an orgasm at the hands—or cock—of a man instead of one I brought on by myself. Ethan had been way more interested in getting his rocks off than making sure I was sexually satisfied. But somehow I knew this man would be capable of such an explosion.
I watched him swallow.
He watched me lick my lips.
I thought he might try to kiss me again, but he said, “Look, I—”
“Thanks for the dance.” Wrenching my hand free, I spun around.
Hurrying through the crowd, I located Carmen and tugged her after me.
“Where’s the fire?”
“I think I just left it on the dancefloor.”
She snickered. “Did you get his name?”
“Nope.”
“Grrrr. His number?”
“No.”
“You did almost set the bar on fire with the eye-fucking goin’ on between the two of you, and you failed to close the deal?”