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  The chicks stop laughing as I approach. One of them looks away. They were definitely talking about me. The redhead who wanted me pushes her chest out.

  “Good evening, ladies,” I say with a slow grin.

  The other women are all staring at me, but I don’t even see them. I zero in on the blonde. Her eyes are trained on me. They are bright, bright green. The brightest I’ve seen. Bedroom eyes.

  “Enjoying the party?” I drawl, not taking my eyes off her. She’s really something. The dress she’s wearing comes down to her knees, and any man knows that’s even sexier than a woman who puts everything out on display.

  She flicks the tip of her pink tongue over her lips in a nervous gesture, and my eyes drop down to her mouth. Oh, Fuck! That mouth. An image of my cock in it flashes into my head. I can already see her long, sun-kissed legs open and waiting. Hell, I can’t remember the last time a woman had such an effect on me. I stare at her in bemused fascination.

  “It’s … nice. Are you enjoying it?” Her voice flows over my heated skin like warm honey. Hell, I could listen to her read a dictionary … in my bed.

  I lean in. “I wasn’t … until just now.”

  The other two girls titter, probably surprised by my direct technique, but the redhead is not giving up. “You’re the man of the hour, aren’t you? Seems a shame you weren’t enjoying a party held in your honor,” she purrs.

  I drag my eyes away from the blonde to the redhead. She crosses her legs. There’s a lot of her on show. She looks me up and down, one eyebrow arched. That look pretty much always guarantees a good night, but it leaves me cold. No, it’s the blonde with the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expression, the modest skirt, and the two little dimples in her cheeks that I’m hot for.

  I turn my focus back to my quarry. “You girls seem to know a lot about me. I feel at a disadvantage,” I murmur.

  “Unlike you, we’re not famous. And we don’t make it a point to get our pictures in all the juiciest gossip rags, either,” the redhead says.

  A slow smile spreads over my face as I stare at the blonde. She stares back, as helpless to look away as I am. “Yeah, well, I don’t make it a point. It just turns out that way. I guess they think I’m photogenic.”

  My blonde bites her plump bottom lip to stop herself from smiling. “I guess they must do.”

  For a few seconds, it might as well have been just the two of us at the table—hell, in the entire suite. One of the other girls clears her throat a little too loudly before she gets up and pulls the redhead to her feet. “Right, we’ll be on the dancefloor if you need us,’ she says.

  “Okay,” Blondie says not breaking eye contact with me.

  I barely look at them as I slide into a chair next to her. She smells as good as she looks.

  “I could keep playing word games with you, but it’s all a waste of time.” I hold out my hand. “My name is Tyson. But you already knew that, right?”

  She nods, placing her hand in mine. It’s small, delicate, the skin silky soft. “Izzy.”

  “Izzy?” Fitting name for that odd mix of innocence and unconscious sex appeal.

  She nods, and as I watch, her cheeks start filling with color. I don’t think it’s the cocktails doing that, just like my whiskey isn’t making my cock throb. Who’d have thought? All from holding a girl’s hand. Yup, she’s blushing because I’m still holding on to her hand, long after any ordinary handshake should have come to an end. I want to touch more than just her hand. I want to slide my hand up her skirt and hear her scream when I suck her clit into my mouth.

  She withdraws first, sliding her smooth skin over mine, and taking possession of her glass once again. “So, you train horses?”

  “I breed them,” I correct quietly.

  “Oh.” The corners of her mouth curve down. She is not pretty. There’s nothing pretty about her. She is a river of sexy. “What’s the difference?”

  “It’s pretty simple. I maintain my horses, make sure they get the right care and exercise, eat as they should, and when the time comes, I pay for the stud with the best qualities and … well, you know …” I finish with a wink.

  She flushes again, stronger this time. “You play a little romantic music, dim the lights, and let nature take its course?”

  I have to laugh. “Eh, maybe not exactly like that, but you get the general idea. We have an exceptional stable of champion horses—including a few former champions who are now out to stud. Maggie’s father was a champion.”

  “Maggie?”

  It’s my turn to flush a little. Nobody knows of my little nickname but me. “Magnificent Obsession. It’s just easier to call her Maggie. Rolls off the tongue.”

  “I can tell you care about her,” she observes with a soft smile.

  “You can now?”

  She nods firmly, convinced, sincere … breathtakingly beautiful. “Sure. Your eyes lit up when you mentioned her.”

  I can’t help but shift uncomfortably when she reveals me like that. It’s rare for me to even have a conversation about anything deeper than what a woman wants to drink or whether she needs me to call her a taxi in the morning. The way she looks at me, though. The way her own eyes light up.

  “Yes, I guess I do care about her,” I admit with a shrug. “She’s a special horse. I was there when her mother foaled and I’ve been raising her since the first day. She’s damned fast, too. I only hope Brad knows what he’s doing and gets the right people working with her.”

  Izzy’s hand covers mine. Jesus! Goosebumps. “You’re very sweet.”

  My eyes widen. Sweet? Not exactly something I’m used to hearing from a woman. “Yeah, well, I have my moments. What about you? What do you do?”

  “Oh, nothing as exciting as you,” she says, waving the hand that’s no longer touching me. “I’m no big deal. Someone’s unappreciated assistant.”

  “What do you want to be one day?”

  She frowns again. Deeper this time. “Why do I have to want to be anything else?”

  Ouch. “I didn’t say you had to. But normally, a person doesn’t want to stick with a job they feel so …”

  “So blah about?”

  I chuckle. “Yes. So blah about. You should do something that excites you, something that makes you want to get out of bed every morning. Does your job do that for you?” I lean in a little closer and get another whiff of her perfume, and something else. Shampoo? Soap? Her natural smell? It’s enough to make me want to bury my nose in the crook of her neck and never come up for air.

  “Obviously not,” she giggles.

  “What are you enthusiastic about?” I ask, looking her straight in the eye.

  A secret smile plays over her lips. “I don’t know, truth be told. I don’t know if I have anything that I’m all that enthusiastic about.”

  “You’re probably too young.” I grin. I know she has a dream. She just doesn’t want to share it with me. I’ll work it out of her. I want all her secrets.

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  I wave a dismissive hand. “A mere child.”

  “Oh, what are you? Five minutes older?” She laughs.

  I decide to take a chance. “My point is, you have plenty of time to find out what excites you.” My hand finds her knee and rests there gently.

  One corner of her luscious mouth quirks up in a knowing smile. “Oh, I already know that. No problems there.” She doesn’t move my hand away.

  “Really now? You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

  “It’s not the sort of thing I like to discuss in public.” She glances around the room. “I mean, so many strangers. So much bad dancing.”

  I chuckle and let my eyes stray around the room. She’s not wrong about that. Everybody’s a little worse for drink by now. A bunch of moose in high heels got loose could be a good way to describe what is happening in the center of the room. Brad’s probably in the center of it all, living it up. “Maybe we should get out of here so you can tell me more,” I suggest.

 
; She bites down on that juicy bottom lip. Something I plan on doing myself later tonight. “Are you hungry?”

  She shrugs. “I suppose I could eat.”

  “Good. My hotel has a fantastic room service menu.”

  She bursts out laughing, and that’s the sexiest thing of all.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re direct as hell.”

  I blink. Is she really that oldest of clichés—a good girl? Do they even exist anymore? Not in my experience. “Too forward, huh?”

  “No, I just expected you to be a lot smoother.”

  I grin. “Baby, I can be smoother. Some parts of me are so smooth you’ll have to touch to believe.”

  “I can’t believe you said that,” she blurts out, her cheeks flaring up with heat.

  I take pity on her. “Want to see Paris by night?”

  That goes down well, her eyes sparkle. “Really?”

  I shrug. “Sure. You ready to go?”

  “You want us to leave now?” she asks incredulously.

  “Why not?”

  “But the party’s for you!”

  “Yeah, well, between you and me and the designer walls, I think it’s more a party for the man throwing it than it is for me. But as I say …” I hold a finger to my lips.

  She smiles. “But I don’t know you at all. You could be a secret serial killer.”

  I look into her eyes and words I have never said to anyone pour out of my mouth. “You know me, Izzy. You’ve always known me.”

  She stares into my eyes, her smile dying away. “You’re right. I do know you.” She says something else, but I don’t quite catch it. It sounds like: I’ve been waiting for you all my life. But obviously, that can’t be what she said.

  I hold out my hand and she places hers into it. I watch her stand in a single graceful movement. She’s only average height, coming up to my shoulder in a pair of heels, but her body makes my mouth water. Her black dress leaves a lot to the imagination, but it can’t hide her delicious curves.

  “Where will we go?”

  “Do you like dancing?”

  She nods, a smile playing about her lips.

  “Do you like drinking Jameson?”

  The smile becomes a grin. “I’m not adverse to trying it.”

  I pull her close to my body. “Want to go to a sixties club called Le Coq?”

  She nods. “I should tell my friends first, though.”

  I turn my head. “No need. Just wave to them. I think they get the picture.”

  She blushes deep red as she waves goodbye to the three girls gawking at us.

  Chapter Four

  Izzy

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8VbeXzdWWM

  Nightcall

  I’ve left a party on the arm of a stranger. Not just any stranger, either, but one the gossip magazines claim is an infamous cad, the type to love ‘em and leave ‘em.

  I don’t do things like this!

  I’ve never left a party with a strange man, no matter how sexy he was, or how blue his eyes were, or how thick and rich his hair was. Just because I want to tangle my fingers in Tyson’s black mane and never let go, or that his smile makes my toes curl, I shouldn’t be leaving with him.

  But I am.

  I used to shake my head condescendingly when I read about girls who got suckered in by a sexy smile, or a great pair of eyes.

  Now I get it.

  It’s not just the smile or the eyes, though they count too. It’s the way someone makes you feel when they look at you. When we were at that party, surrounded by a hundred other people, he made me feel as if I was the only woman in the room, no, make that in the world. Nobody else existed. Not even Kylie, and she’s the one men normally trip over me to get closer to. Not that I do badly on my own, but when I’m with her I might as well switch off the lights and go to bed: I’m invisible.

  Except with him.

  He is so tall I have to throw my head back to look at him. Not conventionally good-looking, but dark and hawkish. Almost dangerous and irresistibly seductive. And the hunger in his eyes! That is a damn beautiful thing. My heart is beating wildly in my ribcage, as we go down the thickly carpeted corridor and step into the lift. The doors swish close. In the electric atmosphere we don’t talk. I watch our reflections in the highly polished doors.

  Tyson is leaning against the back wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. I can’t stop looking at the black shirt he’s wearing, the way the top buttons are undone, showing off a delectable triangle of chiseled golden chest. I lift my eyes to his and our gazes meet. The naked lust in his eyes makes me tingle from head to toe.

  “Are you a friend of Brad’s?” he asks.

  “Oh, no, Kylie got us all into the party. She’s the one with the red hair,” I explain. I wish my pulse would stop fluttering so frantically.

  “Ah, I see. I should have introduced myself to everyone before moving in on you. I suppose you’ll get an earful tomorrow.”

  “That’s a very unlikely scenario. They’ll want an earful from me—didn’t you notice them all staring at us with their mouths and eyes open wide as we left?”

  He grins. “No, it’s something that can’t be unseen.”

  I laugh even though I am still shocked by my own bold behavior.

  “Are you girls on holiday?”

  “No, we’re here for my friend’s wedding. It’s tomorrow and we’re all bridesmaids.”

  “Ah.”

  The lift opens out to the lobby. He holds my elbow. It’s not a firm grip, but the sort of thing that clearly lets people know I’m with him. It’s sexy in a possessive, caveman way. I like it. The night porter nods at us as we pass him by. Outside, the night is hot and dark. The way it has never felt to me before. I take a deep breath to clear my head. I feel almost giddy with the thrill of his presence.

  “Where are we headed?” I ask as he hails a taxi.

  He looks at his watch. “We’re going to a club, but we’re also just in time to see the Eiffel Tower.”

  I smile. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t seen what it does every hour on the hour from ten to midnight, have you?”

  I shake my head. My expression is curious, but he doesn’t explain.

  He puts me into the taxi and goes over to the other side.

  He tells the driver the name of the street, but I don’t catch it. “Take the route that passes the Eiffel Tower,” he instructs.

  The driver who has a shock of curly dark hair nods. “Oui.”

  Sitting so close without all the other aromas of the bar, I smell him. He smells like a man should. Woodsy with the faint smell of leather and spice. I look up at him. Even in the dark his eyes are too bright. Too blue. Like slicked topaz jewels. My mouth parts.

  “I want a taste,” he says, his voice guttural.

  Without waiting for a reply, his hands tighten around my upper-arms and his face descends. He stops half-an-inch away from me and inhales deeply as if he is breathing in my essence. Gently he licks my lips. Desire sears my insides, making my thighs clench.

  “Peach?”

  “Peach schnapps cocktail,” I gasp unsteadily.

  Then, his lips capture my mouth, and he takes.

  And takes.

  And takes.

  As if he has been starving for me. The hunger makes my head spin. My body arches towards him, my hands desperately clawing his shirt, pulling him closer.

  The taxi driver coughs loudly.

  I pull away, flushed, embarrassed, and amazed by my behavior. Unable to tear my eyes away from his heavy-lidded ones I stare disbelievingly into them.

  “The lights, Izzy,” Tyson whispers, huskily.

  I turn my head then, and for a second, my dazed brain computes what I see as an effect of the kiss, a hallucination. Because the tower seems to be sparkling, the lights twinkling, and flashing really fast. I blink a few times in astonishment before I realize that it must be the special effect that Tyson wanted to show me. The ro
ad turns off and we start driving parallel to it. I turn back to watch it. When I swivel my head back to Tyson, he is watching me.

  “Thank you for showing me. It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

  “My pleasure,” he says, and the way he looks at me makes my throat close over.

  He doesn’t touch me again, but sitting next to him, my whole body tingles with excitement as we drive through the streets of Paris. He seems happy enough just to be going somewhere with me, which warms me up inside.

  I turn my head and stare at the scenery, but once our eyes meet, I forget to breathe. How is it possible that I feel like I know him when we only just met? When I look at him and he looks at me, I can almost hear his thoughts. I bet we could have a whole conversation without saying a word.

  When the taxi stops, he hands the driver some money. Grabbing my hand, he yanks me out of the seat with him. I land on my feet and, filled with awe at the adventure my life has become, look up into his face.

  The wind catches his hair, plays with it, and throws it across his forehead. He pushes it away as it starts to rain. A fine mist that soaks my upturned face.

  “Come on,” he says. Holding me close, he takes me through a set of wooden doors.

  Le Coq is heaving. He clears a path for me through the solid wall of people. I notice them looking at him, parting to make way for him. He is so big and commanding. We go past a zinc bar and reach another door with a doorman.

  He nods at Tyson and beckons us through. We go down some stone steps, and open another door.

  It is like going back in time.

  Chapter Five

  Izzy

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqL_pinZVp8

  Tutti Frutti

  “Oh,” I exclaim, “it’s like we are in a dance hall in sixties America.” Waitresses dressed in sixties mini-dresses and beehive wigs pass by balancing trays of drinks. There is a little stage where a rock and roll band is performing, people are dancing to their lively music, and the atmosphere is amazing.