Brad Navarro.
A man who never failed to rub me the wrong way. A man I was forever tied to because my best friend, Jade, had married his brother, Max. There were three of them, actually… identical triplets who were drop-dead gorgeous.
Personality-wise, they couldn’t be more different. Max was a sweetheart who owned a successful gym in Manhattan, with a second location in Miami. He had an ex-girlfriend living there, along with her husband and a daughter that she’d had with Max, so he split his time between the two locations. That meant Jade, who adored her stepdaughter, Mia, traveled back and forth with Max and their infant son, Michael, often.
Nate was brother number two, a successful divorce lawyer who had an attitude the size of his bank account. The man insisted on calling me Jersey because of an accent he claimed I had. What he had was a massive stick up his ass… along with being arrogant, conceited, and anti-love. Because of all those qualities, I detested him while being insanely attracted to him at the same time.
Then there was Brad, who owned one of the hottest sports bars in the city. There was only one way to describe Brad… man-whore. Shit, it wasn’t as though being an erotic author had placed a halo over my head, but Brad Navarro made promiscuousness an art form.
From the moment we’d met, it had been obvious that my profession piqued his interests. At first, I flirted back, and that encouragement fueled him. I had no intention of becoming just a number in the long list of his conquests. The deal breaker was when he’d gone as far as calling me a porn pusher. Jerk. Nothing, nothing irked me more than that label. Yes, my novels had sex in them, and a lot of it, but they were also well-written stories. Regardless, the more I avoided him, the more he shamelessly chased me.
While the other women continued to ogle him, Brad stared back, nodding at whatever the man beside him had said. For some reason, he seemed subdued tonight. The Brad Navarro I had gotten to know would’ve been working this room like a snowplow during a blizzard.
I watched him sip the contents of what appeared to be bourbon or whiskey. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed muscular forearms and a chunky silver watch each time the glass met his lips. His gaze caught mine and held. He then said something to the gentleman before stalking right toward me.
Awesome.
“Amy Delton. I’d recognize those lips anywhere.”
“Brad Navarro,” I responded with boredom. “I’d recognize that huge head of yours anywhere.” When he looked down at his crotch and smirked, I rolled my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“One of my clients invited me.” He leaned closer, hovering his mouth near my ear. “But I’m not Brad, Jersey.” I wasn’t sure if it was his warm breath, the fresh woodsy scent of his intoxicating cologne, or the fact it was Nate and not Brad that had my skin prickle with goose bumps. The first time he called me Jersey, even though it caused something deep down inside me to clench deliciously, I’d told him off. Big mistake, because fighting with Nate Navarro only spurred him on.
And while Brad constantly hit on me, not once had Nate made a play. It irked me, along with the fact that he could both irritate me and turn me on. Jade was the only person on earth who knew how I often fantasized over this particular brother-in-law. Obviously, she thought that was gross, being he shared the same face and build as her husband. Sure, I’d give her that. It was very strange, but their different personalities made it easy to justify the attraction.
In my fantasy with Nate, it was always the same—me naked on my kitchen island while he went down on me. Regardless, that visual would have to remain in my head, because getting involved with him would be a stupid thing to do. Besides being Jade’s brother-in-law, the man was trouble with a capital T… but damn the sex would be great.
While I engaged in a “should I or shouldn’t I” battle with myself, he continued to eye-fuck me. “Are you here for book research or because you’re horny?”
His condescending tone predictably pissed me off before setting my lower half on fire.
“Based on the expression on your face, I’d say horny,” he continued.
Once again, his lips quirked up just a tad. But it was more than a cocky smirk. It was a display of confidence, a dare to be sexual, a promise of something life altering to come. It was powerful enough to persuade, and that was what made him dangerous.
“Why are you here?” I snapped. “Doesn’t this go against your mission to profit off every broken marriage in New York City?”
As the smirk deepened from my snippiness, he shrugged. “Normally… but the client who invited me is a good friend. He may not have had much luck in love after three divorces—still, the sucker can’t seem to give up on it. But back to you… why are you really here?”
“For the cause… and business.” It was my turn to give him a cocky smirk. “We all do what we have to do.”
“This is true.” When a waitress sauntered by, Nate eyed my now-empty champagne flute, gently removed it from my grip, and replaced it with a fresh one.
“Thank you.” I raised my glass and added, “I can use all the liquid courage I can get… and champagne is my vice.”
“Bourbon is mine,” he countered while lifting his own enabler. “I take it you’re on the bidding block then?”
“Off the record… that would be a yes.”
His gorgeous green eyes caressed my body as though he could literally picture me naked. And the effect would’ve been no different if it had been his hands doing the roaming. When he lifted his gaze to drill into mine, it was hard to know what ran through his mind. “I have a proposition for you,” he finally said.
A proposition from Nate Navarro could be a dangerous thing. Pretending indifference, I nosed toward the group of giddy women who hadn’t stopped staring at him. “I’m sure there are plenty of females here who would love to jump on your proposition.”
“That’s stating the obvious.”
I didn’t know what was sexier, the smirk once again quirking up those damn lips of his or the fact he didn’t spare them a glance while keeping his eyes tethered to mine.
“But I’m referring to a business proposition,” he continued. “One that could benefit us both.”
“My business is a complete contradiction to yours,” I quipped.
“Not necessarily. I’ll bid on you, get a great tax write-off in the process, maybe gain some new clients—”
“Are you forgetting that with the bid comes a video-documented date that we’d have to go on? I fail to see how that would gain you new clients.”
“Let me finish.” He blinked a few times, clearly amused. “You get spared from having to endure any other loser in this room from ogling you and instead get my charming self for a night.” He thumbed toward the little guy who’d tried to pick me up earlier. “But I guess the advantages to him would be a good motorboating when you were in need.”
Ignoring his implication, I asked, “What’s truly in it for you? Wouldn’t wining and dining a romance author for the entire dating population to witness kill your reputation as a relationship murderer, Mr. Navarro?”
“Or boost it,” he easily countered. “I recently opened my own firm.” A devious expression flashed over his handsome face as he lifted his bourbon, while I focused on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed on the swallow. “I intended to bid on one of these lovely ladies anyway, and then I saw you. We’d go on our date, you can push romance while pimping your books, and I can provide my own arguments on why love often collapses so epically once vows are exchanged.”