Max glared at his laptop.
He couldn’t go on like this, not with Venus herself sitting so close to him. A decision had to be made.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Max decided that work, revenge… it could all wait. He could afford one last diversion. He closed his laptop and turned his full attention to the gorgeous specimen sitting farther down the length of the bar. The brunette didn’t disappoint; she looked up at once, perhaps compelled by the forthrightness of his stare. A light pink dusted those impeccably high cheekbones of hers, and he hadn’t even said a word.
This was going to be too easy.
“You’re an American,” he said.
Brandy’s first instinct was toward self-consciousness. Obviously, this lone man sitting at the bar across from her was gorgeous. In fact, she had been surprised to find him alone. His sandy blond hair was swept faultlessly back from his angular face, and his eyes were such a vivid, gorgeous blue, their steady gaze stole the air from her lungs—and any memory of how to breathe along with it.
He had the face of a romance hero, one of the dashing men she wrote about in her books—something she had never expected to encounter in real life. She wondered idly if he was a movie star… one of those rarified beings who was, here and now, staring at her raptly and obviously awaiting her next move. It was a dance, she realized. The question was: did she want him to continue to take the lead?
“How did you guess?” She was all too aware in that moment of how unspectacular her accent was compared to his own. Then again, if she was a foreigner on this side of the pond, might she sound just a little exotic to an Englishman? Maybe a little Hollywood chic?
Or maybe that was too much to hope for.
“I never guess.” He signaled the bartender.
Brandy realized belatedly that he was ordering another drink for her. Cocky. She raised an eyebrow, not quite approving, not quite disapproving. “Not ever?”
“I never make a move that isn’t calculated,” the man replied.
Brandy calculated her own move, then, and moved a few stools closer. “Oh no? Sounds boring.”
“Am I boring you?” The Englishman raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “No. Surprising me, yes. I didn’t expect to meet anyone while I stopped over.”
“What are you in town for?”
His questions were so direct, they left her feeling a bit breathless. “I’m here on business,” she managed after a moment. She toyed with her drink, letting her fingertips rove the cool glass, mopping up the beads of water weeping down its sides.
“What sort of business?” The man’s eyes were transfixed on her fingers. In the ensuing silence, he raised his gaze to her face. His eyes were so blue, they burned. Brandy drew her lip between her teeth, desperate for a spark of physical contact, and his eyes followed. She had him hypnotized, she thought. Or had he already mesmerized her?
“Family business.” She didn’t mean to be evasive, but it was a long story, and one she didn’t wish to delve into at this moment. As excited as she was about what the future held for her here in England, at the moment, this man excited her more. He was gazing at her with unabashed hunger, and now that they had actually spoken, she sensed that his interest had been even further piqued. Maybe her curt responses added to a veneer of mystery, or maybe he hadn’t expected her to be a match for his questions.
But all he said in reply was, “I’m here on family business, too.”
“What are the odds?” Hard as it was to turn away from him, she did. She had drained her drink to little more than melted ice by this point, but she pretended to sip the remainder.
“I’d say they’re about the same as the odds of me getting your name,” he replied.
Brandy offered her best mysterious smile. She was really getting into it now. For the first time in her life, she was actively allowing herself to get picked up at a bar, and she was enjoying it more than she had ever expected.
The man caught the close-lipped intention behind her smile and chuckled. “You can give me a fake name, if you like.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Keeping things transactional. I like it.”
“Transactional? No.” Brandy shook her head. “That’s not the word I would use. And I’m a woman who likes words.” That’s an understatement. No way in hell was she going to bring up the fact that she was an author. Even though she was drawing on every romance heroine she had ever written to excite the conversation between them, she couldn’t imagine the questions that would follow if she revealed who she truly was.
Or why she was really here in England.
“What word would you use, then?” the man asked her with an amused quirk of his lips.
Words failed Brandy in the face of that crooked half-smile. “I… I admit I’m a bit at a loss for words.” She flushed and looked down. A woman could stare into those eyes only so long before she started to ache. “My apologies, but I’m a little rusty when it comes to flirting with strangers.”
“I’m not flirting with you,” he informed her.
Brandy’s heart fluttered a little. “No?” What are we doing, then? Making idle conversation?
“No.” The bartender returned, then. The man accepted his drink and passed the other to her. “I’m seducing you.”
Brandy nearly choked on the dainty sip she had been taking. Powerful alcohol burned down her throat like wildfire and made her eyes instantly tear up. She did her best to stifle a cough and set the drink down. She could feel the man’s steady gaze; out of the corner of her eye, she saw an amused smile slowly wind its way up one side of his face.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“What makes you think you’ll succeed?” she wondered aloud. She tried to convince herself she sounded breathless due to the potency of the drink and nothing more.
“I told you. I never guess,” the man replied.
“That’s too bad.” She leaned in, letting her gaze linger a moment too long on his lips. “Guessing games can be fun. If I asked you to guess what color underwear I’m wearing, for instance. What sort of calculation would you be able to make then?”
She usually didn’t do this sort of thing. In fact, she never had before. But this man’s eyes pierced her, shook her to her core, made her actually believe for a moment in time that she could be someone more than Brandy Jackson. Someone braver. What she was doing now was brave, wasn’t it? Traveling to another country, staying in a hotel her budget definitely didn’t allow for, coming downstairs to the bar well Under the pretense of getting to his feet, the man at the bar stood and shifted between her legs. Brandy’s heart beat its wings wildly as he leaned in and whispered, “I believe that’s a trick question. As I don’t believe you’re wearing any.”
He was right, of course.
He made her pay for her deception many times over back in his hotel room that night. Brandy found herself pinned beneath her golden stranger, limbs quaking, breath shaking, gasping and moaning, bucking and lunging, a willing prisoner to all that he would do to her. Their lips met in a ceaseless clash, their tongues tangling, their hands roaming over every exposed, surging inch. He shagged her senseless, again and again, making her cry out in wordless, pleasured anguish when she realized she didn’t even know his name.