Moonstruck
Julie Kenner
Talk about intoxicating!For the perfect New Year's punch, blend the following:– one woman determined to find her inner vixen– a notorious–and notoriously hot!–playboy– a provocative New Year's Eve bash– an impulsive kiss that leads to a night of explosive passion!Claire Daniels is looking for love–even if she has to get it from her ex-boyfriend! But when she sees him on the last night of the year with another woman, she kisses the guy closest to her instead! Only, he doesn't want to stop at a kiss….It turns out that Ty Coleman is the biggest playboy in Dallas. And Claire's all for a decadent fresh start. After all, Ty's definitely well qualified to give her a sizzling good time.Then again, it's all fun and games until someone loses her heart….
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SILENT DESIRES
THE PERFECT SCORE
STARSTRUCK
NOBODY DOES IT BETTER
NIGHT MOVES
MAKING WAVES
UNDERCOVER LOVERS
Moonstruck
J. Kenner
www.spice-books.co.uk (http://www.spice-books.co.uk)
J. KENNER has always loved stories—reading them, watching them on television and on the silver screen, and making them up herself. She studied film before attending law school, but knew that her real vocation lay in writing the kind of books she loves to read. She lives in Texas with her husband, two daughters and several cats.
To old friends and new ones.
Happy New Year!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
1
CLAIRE DANIELS glanced around Decadent’s crowded dance floor, with its pulsating colored lights and equally pulsating bass beat, and wondered what the devil she was doing there.
Okay, so she didn’t actually wonder. Instead, she blamed her best friend, Alyssa, for dragging her there, dateless, on New Year’s Eve.
“Blow toy?” An Adonis of a guy in a tight black T-shirt with Decadent stamped across it in cracked, white ghetto-style letters held something out to her, a suggestive smile on his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Claire lifted a single eyebrow in the haughty gesture that she’d perfected at the age of eight, after spending too much time watching Star Trek reruns, and then camping out in her bathroom until she’d been able to convince her facial muscles to move in such a way.
“For midnight,” the guy said, his half-smile suggesting that he knew exactly how far into the gutter her thoughts had been. “A noisemaker.”
“Oh. Right. Sure. Thanks.” She snatched the gizmo, gave it an experimental toot and then smiled up at the Adonis. “Great. Thanks. This’ll be fun.” Her words were clipped and rushed, designed to get him to go away so that she could get back to her originally scheduled misery at being alone, in a bar, on New Year’s Eve. The date night to rival all date nights.
Honestly, she shouldn’t have come.
Adonis-boy melted into the crowd, and Claire scanned the room, looking for Alyssa so that she could tell her friend she’d had enough and she was going to go home. At least at home she could cuddle under a blanket and get all comfy in sweatpants. At least at home, she wouldn’t feel like an idiot come midnight when everyone else was locked in a passionate kiss, and she was standing around twiddling her thumbs.
Alyssa, however, was nowhere to be found. But, frankly, that wasn’t terribly troubling. Because what Claire’s gaze lighted upon could only be described as eye candy of the most decadent sort. Tall and lean, and decked out in Texas formal, his jeans just tight enough to give a woman a serious appreciation for the man underneath, and his starched white button-down still perfectly crisp despite the heat generated by the crush of bodies in the room.
Even from where she stood, she could tell that his eyes were blue, and at the moment, they were scoping out the club, as if he was a monarch surveying his kingdom. And, oh, yeah, he looked like royalty. From the way he held himself, to the rogueish, I’m-the-dude-in-charge stubble that graced his strong jawline, he was so perfect that if he were a picture Claire would swear that he’d been digitally enhanced. The man was the visual equivalent of a Ben & Jerry’s overdose, rich and wonderful and utterly bad for you.
Down, girl.
Then again, why?
The guy was hot. He was looking her way. And she was single and, at the moment, very, very available.
She took a step in his direction only to be stymied in her quest to go after what she wanted with gusto when a burly guy in a Decadent T-shirt approached Mr. Texas Royalty. They spoke for a few minutes, and then her gorgeous fantasy of a man followed the burly guy in the opposite direction, his expression stern.
Security, she assumed. Which meant that Texas Royalty was either working security, too, or he’d just been kicked out of the club.
Either way, it did her no good. If he was security, he was working. And if he was kicked out…Well, she was primed for a wild night with a hot man, but she was hoping to keep her crazy fling on the semi-responsible side. Hooking up with guys who got kicked out of dance clubs was not on her list of top ten smart things to do.
Too bad. Mr. Texas Royalty was seriously easy on the eyes. And right then, dammit, yes, she wanted a man. Wanted to get up close and personal. Wanted to work off some of the sexual frustration that had been building and building since she’d broken up with Joe. It had been months and months since she’d gotten naked with anyone other than her handheld shower-head, and she was really craving a man’s touch right now.
You could have had one, Claire.
She grabbed a Jell-O shot from a passing waitress, then snarfed it back, snorting. Oh, yeah. She could have had a man, all right. Joe. Her ex. The man who’d dumped her after almost a year of dating, and then—when she’d foolishly called and suggested they have a drink, just to see if there was any way back for the two of them—he’d suddenly decided that sex was a great little reconciliation tool.
And stupid her, she’d almost—almost—fallen into bed with him. Then her self-respect had kicked in, and she’d marched out, not even bothering to slam the door behind her, leaving Joe looking baffled, his pants down around his ankles.
Yeah, well, buddy. Next time think about that before you dump me.
On the morally superior side of the equation, she was feeling pretty good about herself. On the sexually primed and then denied side of the equation, she been as taut as a wire ever since and wondering if maybe she hadn’t punished herself as much as she’d punished him.
“You did the right thing.” That from Alyssa, materializing beside her holding a flute of champagne, which she passed to Claire, who took it gratefully, despite being able to still taste the Jell-O from the shot she’d just downed.
“Is it that obvious what I’m thinking?”
Her friend smiled. “Only because I know you so well.”
Claire sighed, then took a sip of her champagne. “It’s not fair, you know. We make a Christmas pact to go after what we want—” She lifted the flute, sloshing a little as she pointed to Alyssa. “And we both know that what we wanted was men. And you end up with the man of your dreams, and I ended up with Joe, his pants around his ankles and me rushing out the door.”
“Who says it had to be a Christmas pact? This is still the holiday season, right? You’ve still got time.” Her grin was pure mischief.
“Easy for you to say. You’re now firmly entrenched in coupledom.”
“Is that what you want?”
Claire shrugged. Wasn’t that the question of the hour? “Maybe not tonight,” she admitted. “Tonight, I’d be happy for third base in the backseat of a car.”
Alyssa laughed. “Been a while?”
“It’s my own fault. I didn’t have to walk out on Joe.”
“Yeah,” Alyssa said. “You did.”
“You’re right.” The truth was, Claire never should have called Joe in the first place. Yes, she’d told everyone she’d been devastated by the breakup, but she’d been more devastated by the fact that her plans for a family and a future had been so rudely shattered than by the departure of that particular man. Because it was the family—the roots—that she wanted. She’d bought a house. She chaired two Dallas charity organizations. And her career was solidly on track.
She’d spent the past two years working for Judge Doris Monroe of the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, and she’d recently accepted a position in the prestigious appellate law section of Thatcher and Dain. The job was bittersweet, actually, because she couldn’t imagine a better boss than Judge Monroe. The woman was not only a brilliant lawyer, she was a savvy woman, and Claire respected the hell out of her. Hard to believe that in July, she’d be leaving the judge and entering the private sector.
Her father, a Texas state senator, had wanted her to join the firm that he’d helped found before he’d entered politics back when she was a little girl, but Claire was determined to make her mark on her own. If she joined a firm where her name was already on the door, it would be after she’d argued cases in front of the Supreme Court, been profiled in the American Bar Journal and the Dallas Morning News, and could walk through the front door knowing that she deserved to be there for what she’d accomplished, not because of who her dad was.
All in all, Claire was settled in her world. She just wanted someone to share it with. Joe, however, wasn’t that guy, no matter how much she’d tried to pretend otherwise.
Still, hearth and home was nice, but right then—on New Year’s Eve—she’d be happy with a slow dance and a hot kiss. And she’d be even happier with more.
She sighed and swallowed the rest of the champagne in her flute. “Where’s Chris?” she asked Alyssa, referring to Alyssa’s best-friend-turned-boyfriend-turned-man-of-her-dreams.
“He bumped into a friend. I should probably go find him, though. Only fifteen minutes to midnight.”
Claire frowned. “I think I’ll just go.”
“Don’t you dare. Just have fun. Kiss the bartender. Dance. Drink champagne.”
“Oh, believe me,” Claire said. “I’m all over that champagne plan.” She didn’t usually drink much, but between boredom and nerves, she’d drunk at least three glasses—not counting the tasty Jell-O shots—and she was feeling it, too.
“I shouldn’t even be here,” Claire continued. “My mother begged me to drive down to Austin and go to the celebration at the Governor’s Mansion. I could be mingling with judges. Making contacts. Networking.” She sighed. “Seriously. I should just go home.”
“What about our pact? You need to step to it, girl. Go after what you want.”
“Maybe what I want is to get in bed with a glass of wine and watch When Harry Met Sally.”
Alyssa’s expression turned stern. “For one thing,” she said, with a nod to the champagne flute, “you do not need to be driving right now. For another, it’s New Year’s Eve!”
“Hello? Midnight on New Year’s without a date is no fun. Neither was Christmas,” she added, though she wasn’t bitter. Really she wasn’t. She was thrilled Alyssa and Chris had finally gotten together. Claire just wished their pre-Christmas take-control-of-your-love-life holiday pact had worked out as well for herself.
“I’d let you kiss Chris, but I’d just end up being jealous,” Alyssa said with a wink. “Can’t have that.”
Claire gave her friend a small shove in the direction of the bar. “Go. Find him. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll accost some poor, helpless man and make him be my sex slave for the evening,” she added, thinking of Mr. Texas Royalty, aka The One That Got Away.
“There you go. That’s the spirit.” She gave Claire a quick hug, then disappeared into the throng, leaving Claire feeling like a bit of an idiot standing there all alone with the clock about ready to start counting down.
“Damn,” Claire said, wondering if Alyssa would notice if she went out and sat in her car. She could pretend like she needed something, wait in the car while the clock tolled midnight, then come back in after the kissing was over. That, at least, would save her from the intense depression associated with chronic datelessness.
Armed with a plan, she stepped out of a nearby door and found herself not in front of the club but on a flagstone back patio. Moreover, the inside music was not pumped outside. Instead, there was a nice classical thing going on that gave the little oasis a “kick back and regroup” kind of feel that Claire appreciated.
As far as she could tell, though, there was no way to move from the patio to the parking lot, and she was about to turn and go back inside when she caught another glimpse of Mr. Sin-and-Sex. This time, though, he was chatting with a cluster of gorgeous women. Figures. She sighed, and was debating whether she should go over and count herself among the groupies, when the cluster of women broke apart and started moving off in various directions, their parting creating a straight line of sight between her and Texas—and he was staring right at her, the heat in his eyes positively unmistakeable.
Whoa.
She drew in a breath, then snagged another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. She turned away, not wanting Texas to see the big gulp she took for courage, realizing as she did that she was desperately out of practice on the flirting front. She’d dated Joe, yes, but she’d met him through a friend of a friend, no cold-meet in a crowded bar. And before that…well, she’d always been the girl who studied, not the girl who partied.
Now she was regretting that deficit in her education, because somehow she was going to have to find the know-how to walk right over there and talk to the man. Go after what she wanted, right? Wasn’t that what she and Alyssa had agreed?
And at the moment, there was no denying that if there was anyone she wanted by her side at midnight, it was Mr. Decadant.
When she turned back around she was invigorated, self-confident…and completely alone.
Or not entirely alone, as there were several dozen people out on the patio with her, but the man she was aiming for was gone.
Well, damn.
“Not a good time to lose your date.”
Claire whipped around, which set her head to spinning from the champagne, and found herself facing an absolutely gorgeous blond girl holding yet another tray, this one with both champagne and Jell-O shots. “I’m sorry? My date?”
“You have that ‘where the heck did he go now?’ look in your eye.”
“Oh!” Claire glanced around, positively mortified that she’d had anything remotely resembling a date-look on her face with regard to a perfect stranger—even if she had been thinking about some very datish activities. “No, see, I was just—”
“The countdown’s starting soon,” the waitress said. “Find him quick.”
And before Claire could explain to this woman who undoubtedly didn’t care that the hunka hunka burning decadence was not her date, the waitress pressed a flute into her hand and flitted off to foist celebratory beverages on the rest of the unsuspecting guests.
Claire sighed. And, since she had it, she took another drink. Then she looked around the patio some more. No luck.
Of course, that really didn’t mean anything. The patio was starting to get incredibly crowded, and when Claire tilted her head back like some of the other club-goers, she realized why: the full moon hung in the sky, showering the guests in moonlight.
And then she realized that the music from inside the club had stopped, as had the orchestral music that had been playing on the patio, all replaced instead by the warm voice of Fred, who introduced himself as Decadent’s manager. “From me and every one of us here at Decadent, we want to wish you all a happy New Year. Now, grab your date and a get ready to toast, because we are only thirty seconds away from midnight!”
There was a shuffle as a few people reached for a fresh glass, then the crowd started counting down from fifteen, with Fred leading the way over the loudspeaker. Because she thought it might get her in the mood, Claire joined in, lifting her glass and sloshing a bit of champagne with each passing second until they were finally to—
“Four!” She took a sip.
“Three!” She glanced over as the crowd parted.
“Two!” She saw Joe. Joe. And he was with a date. A date! Not that she cared who he went out with—and maybe she was reverting to junior high—but she did not want him to see her there alone when he had a woman on his arm.
“One!” And Joe saw her, too.
Well, hell.
She turned away—with any luck, maybe he hadn’t really seen her after all—and smacked right up against Mr. Texas Royalty.
Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was entrepreneurial spirit. Maybe it was a big “screw-you” to Joe. Or maybe it was the devil dancing on her shoulder. Claire didn’t know. All she knew was that she looked into his clear blue eyes, put her hands on his shoulders, lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him.
SHE KISSED HIM, she thought a second later, though how her brain was functioning, Claire really didn’t know. She had actually pushed herself—and her lips—off on a man.
And not just any man, but her hunka hunka burning Texas.
And not only had she kissed him, but he’d kissed her back.
Was kissing her back, because although her mind was spinning, the kiss was going on and on, and it was delicious. It was incredible. It was six ways to wow and back again.
And if Joe was watching, well, that was even better, because if Claire knew one thing for certain, Joe had never kissed like this. Firm, yet soft in all the right places. With just a hint of tongue and the taste of champagne and chocolate and strawberries.
With a little sigh, she opened her mouth, giving him better access, which he instantly took advantage of. His tongue swept inside her mouth, as if he wanted nothing more than to taste every inch of her, and her body seemed to dissolve on a sigh, rendering her utterly boneless and totally at his mercy.
Not a problem, though, because he was so aptly holding her up. One hand at the back of her head, his fingers thrust into the wild curls of the hair she’d let hang loose. The other at the small of her back, his fingers down, the tips grazing the curve of her rear, the sensation uncommonly erotic.
He increased the pressure with his hand, urging her closer until they were hip to hip and—oh, sweet heaven—she could feel the effect she was having on him pressing hard against her. Very hard against her, and though she knew that she ought to be embarrassed, or at least ease back so they could both get a little air, she did just the opposite, curving her body close to his and feeling the welcoming pressure as his hand slid down to settle firmly on her rear and ease her even closer, even tighter against him.
Yes, yes, oh, for the love of all that is holy, yes.
She shifted, imagining his hand moving lower. Imagining his fingers tracing their way down the curve of her rear then sliding between her legs, cupping her crotch. Touching her. Teasing her. Making her come.
And, oh, my God, she could feel herself getting wet just from the very thought of his touch. What on earth would it be like if his hands actually were on her that way? If she really did have the man in her bed?
Oh, sweet heaven, yes.
Call it chemistry, call it champagne, call it the Fates playing with the hearts of mortals, but right then she couldn’t think of anything except getting him in bed, getting him inside her. The room was spinning, and he was the only thing that was steady. The only thing that she wanted.
And then, damn the whole world, he was pulling away, gently, softly, just enough to break the kiss, and the heat she saw in his eyes just about did her in. Oh, yeah. He’d go there with her.
“Happy New Year to you, too,” he said, with a crooked grin.
“It’s shaping up to be a good one.”
“I saw you,” he said, in the kind of voice that only fantasy men have, smooth like a radio star, but without the salesman quality. A voice that could murmur all night to a woman in bed. A voice that could make her come without even a single touch.
“Did you?” She was melting. She was positively, undeniably melting.
“In the bar. I saw you. You saw me, too.”
“Yes,” she said, moving a step closer, closing the distance that had opened between them when he’d broken the kiss. Kiss me. Kiss me again.
“What were you thinking when you were watching me?” He reached out, then gently pressed his hand to her waist, urging her even closer as the electricity between them snapped and popped.
She swallowed, her eyes on those lips, remembering the touch of them. The feel of them. She knew exactly—erotically—what she was thinking at the moment. The past, though…well, the past was hazy. “I—I’m having a hard time getting my brain to function.”
“Are you? Because I know what I was thinking…”
“You do?” The question came out on a breath, soft and wispy and full of unabashed longing.
“This,” he said, and then he tilted his head over her. And as the silver moon shined down upon them, he pressed his lips to hers and gave her the kiss she’d been wishing for.
2
EXQUISITE.
Ty could barely think because of the spell cast by the woman in his arms, and Ty Coleman wasn’t the kind of man who got caught up in a spell. No, the man Entertainment Weekly had labeled the “Crown Prince of the Nightclub Scene”…the man who’d left his Dallas home at the age of nineteen to make his fortune in Los Angeles…the man responsible for the five most popular nightclubs in the L.A. area, and who had hosted two After Oscars parties with beautiful actresses on his arm…that man was not a man who often found himself blown away by a woman.
This woman, though…
Something about her had caught his eye.
And it wasn’t her looks, although there was nothing lacking in that department, with her soft brown curls and doe-shaped eyes that were both soft and inquisitive, it was something else entirely. A sparkle. A pop. Not to mention the arc of electricity that had shot between them whenever he’d looked her direction.
He’d been certain that she’d felt it, too, which was why he’d risked his life to navigate the crowd as midnight approached simply to get near to her.
He’d caught his first glimpse of her when she’d been talking with her friend, and the way she stood—self-confident and straight despite obviously feeling out of place—had piqued his interest. He should have simply noted her and forgotten her. Lord knew he met and saw hundreds of women every night. But she’d compelled him enough to not only have him noticing, but to have him actually saying a silent thank you for the circumstances that had dragged his reluctant ass back to this Texas hellhole.
He hadn’t wanted to come back. Why would he? It was one hell of a lot harder to hear his parents’ constant rumbling that he’d never amount to anything from fifteen hundred miles away. Here, with them only a few miles down the highway, the sound of their discouragement was almost deafening. As if they could only see the dyslexic boy he used to be—the cocky kid who made it a point to make friends since he couldn’t make good grades. Who got in fights with the boys and compromising positions with the girls. His school counselors had labeled him a troublemaker who wouldn’t apply himself, and his parents had agreed. At least as much as they ever agreed on anything. And even when Ty moved to California and applied the hell out of himself, they still only saw the useless cutup.
And damn him all to hell for still caring.
But he did. Might not want to, but he still gave a damn, and that was why he’d always believed that there was nothing in the world that would make him return to Dallas.
Of course, he’d never imagined Roberto Murtaugh, either. But when this year’s Academy Award winner for best actress had introduced Ty to the Dubai-based billionaire at a Hollywood party, Ty had heard opportunity knocking loud and clear. He might not be able to read a balance sheet without the numbers twisting and turning and floating off the page, but he damn sure knew how to make those numbers grow. He’d sat Murtaugh down and outlined everything he’d accomplished during his years in Los Angeles. From starting out at nineteen as a hungry entrepreneur who worked in every club that would hire him, to the day they cut the ribbon at the grand opening of his fifth club.
Not surprisingly, Murtaugh had heard of Ty. Even in Los Angeles, when a guy as young as Ty starts raking in as much money as he was making—when he spins the success of his brick-and-mortar clubs into Internet social-networking sites—the media takes notice. At first he was dubbed the Boy Wonder, but by the time he’d been in the business a few years and had reached his twenty-eighth birthday, they’d taken to simply tagging him with a party-boy moniker. Tabloid fodder, with his frequent starlet dates and high-end lifestyle.
That was all right with Ty. The more the spotlight shined on him, the more popular his clubs became. And the truth was, he had absolutely no intention of changing the way he lived. His nightlife lifestyle had dragged him up from abject poverty, earned him more than his fifteen minutes on Good Morning America, started the press buzzing about him, and brought Hollywood royalty knocking on his door, asking for tickets and passes to special events and crowded nights.
If that meant he had to be labeled a party guy, then he could handle the title, even now at the age of thirty.
For that matter, he was willing to put up with whatever it took to keep growing his business. To be the guy his parents were so certain he could never be. Successful. Wealthy. Respected.
Apparently, ‘whatever it took’ included moving back to Dallas.
He’d hit it off with Murtaugh, but the billionaire’s bankroll hadn’t filled up by trust alone. And when Ty pitched Murtaugh his idea of expanding Ty’s celestially named nightclubs into Europe and Asia, the investor had been both interested and wary.
“I like you,” the older man had said. “But you have proven yourself only in one city. How do I know you have the spark to make this work?”
“I do,” Ty had said. “Tell me how to convince you, and I’ll do it.”
“I have two properties,” Murtaugh had said. And then he’d smiled and told Ty exactly what he wanted. Simple enough. Ty had eight months to whip one of Murtaugh’s nightclubs, Decadent, into shape. Work with the staff. Consult. Do whatever magic needed to be done. And at the same time, Ty was supposed to bring to life a currently boarded-up establishment that Murtaugh was considering selling. A butt-ugly property that hadn’t ever turned a profit. He and Murtaugh had agreed to a fifty-fifty split, and the property would launch as an offshoot of Heaven, Ty’s very first and most popular California nightclub.
Assuming both properties got off the ground and were in the black within Murtaugh’s rather insane time frame, Murtaugh promised he’d bankroll Ty’s expansion.
It was, Ty thought, too good to be true.
And as soon as Murtaugh had told him the location of the properties, Ty saw the big old trick the universe was playing on him.
Accomplish his biggest dream—become the Wolfgang Puck or Gordan Ramsey of the club scene—but walk through hell first to do it.
Of course he’d said yes.
He’d been in Dallas for about six months now, and had two left on his sentence. And he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this damned town.
He forced the thoughts out of his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He was there now, in the club, and for at least a few minutes, the woman in his arms was making the fact that he was stuck there significantly more pleasant.
From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d planned to go over and talk to her. Take her back to the VIP section of the club. Buy her a drink. Ask her to dance.
Never once had he imagined that she’d throw herself into his arms and kiss him like she meant it. Like she wanted it.
She moaned a little, her soft body pressing close to his. He could taste the champagne on her lips, and he’d watched her down at least a couple of flutes full as she’d scoured the place, searching for someone. A someone not him, though he had to admit that the idiot’s loss was most definitely his gain.
He felt hot, needy and he wanted to touch her. Not simply the way he was touching her now, but all of her. He wanted to feel her skin beneath his fingers, slide his palms over her bare breasts. Close his mouth over her nipples and feel them harden as his tongue licked and stroked.
He wanted, and if there was one thing Ty usually made sure of, it was that he got what he wanted.
At the moment, frankly, he wanted his private office. Unfortunately, he’d never set up an office at Decadent since his role here was that of consultant. Instead, he’d rented a small office in the Wardman Towers downtown, and downtown was much too far away for his current purposes.
But, damn, he wished it weren’t. Because no matter who’d been on her mind when she’d first stepped into Decadent, right now, the woman in his arms was all about him. Or she was until—
“Claire?”
The male voice came from his left, and the woman in Ty’s arms, aka Claire, pulled gently away, her eyes wide, her expression wary.
“Oh. Joe. What a surprise seeing you here.”
Of course it wasn’t a surprise, as Ty could easily see.
“I saw you across the room. Thought I should come over and say hi.”
“Right.” Claire’s smile was of the overly polite variety. “That’s great.” Her hands fluttered, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. “Happy New Year.”
“You, too.” He turned to Ty, his hand held out in greeting. “Ty Coleman, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joe Powell,” he said, holding out his hand. “Power Publicity.”
Ty shook the man’s hand, flipping through the Rolodex of names he kept in his mind. He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t rely on jotted notes, and he’d trained himself to remember names and faces. This name, he recognized. Joe Powell had the reputation of being one of the most up-and-coming PR men in Texas, and he was on Ty’s mental list of people he wanted his assistant to call to schedule a meeting. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to have to bother Lucy with that now—unless he missed his guess, Joe Powell hadn’t come over to see Claire, but to introduce himself to Ty.
“Listen,” Joe said, “I’m not the type who plays coy, and the truth is, I came here tonight hoping to meet you.”
Bingo, Ty thought, then noted Claire’s confused expression. Joe might know who he was, but Claire was clueless. The realization surprised and pleased him, because he couldn’t even remember the last time that a woman had been attracted solely to him, and not to the trappings that made up Ty Coleman.
Joe grinned at Claire. “I suppose I could have asked you to introduce us,” he said. “I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Coleman…”
“Yes, well.” Her brow creased, as if she was debating what to say next.
Ty had no idea what made him do it, but he took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “Our relationship’s been a little whirlwind.”
Claire opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything, and Ty could practically see the debate raging across her face. Should she mention the fact that they had no relationship, or just go with the flow?
Ty was beginning to think she was about to set the record straight, when a lanky redhead with nail-point heels and a smile as big as Texas stepped forward and took Joe’s hand. “I know all about whirlwind,” Joe said. “This is Bonita,” he said, as Claire’s eyes went wide.
The girl’s smile grew brighter. “I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”
CLAIRE’S HEAD WAS SPINNING, and she was certain it wasn’t just from the champagne. For one thing, why did Joe know who Mr. Texas Royalty was? Ty Coleman. She stifled a small frown, because the name really did sound familiar, but with her fuzzy head, she couldn’t latch on to why.
And what the devil was Joe doing with a girlfriend? Was this the same Joe who had, only a few days before Christmas, made a huge pass at her?
Then again, it had been Bonita who’d used the G-word, not Joe, so maybe the girl was posturing?
Claire considered that, then firmly shoved the thought out of her mind. Honestly, what did it matter if Bonita was his girlfriend or his fiancée or even his mail-order bride? Right then, she simply wanted both of them to leave. She didn’t know why Ty was of any interest to Joe, but she did know that he was of serious interest to her. And she wanted him all to herself again.
Apparently, there was power in positive thinking, because Joe took a step backward, as if he was about to leave. Claire did a little mental happy dance, then stumbled when Bonita caught his arm. “You should invite them, sugar.”
“Honey, I’m sure now’s not the time,” he said, although Claire knew him well enough to know that Joe never missed an opportunity to schmooze a potential client, and for a moment, she wondered if he and Bonita had scripted the invitation—whatever it was for.
“I’ll have my office call and arrange a meeting with Mr. Coleman next week,” Joe went on. “Would that be okay?” he asked Ty. “I’d love to talk to you about publicity for the grand opening of Heaven. I know you’ve been using someone else for this place, but I really think that Power Publicity has the contacts and the know-how to help Heaven make a huge splash. And now that you’re a month away from opening, it’s time for us to take a hard look at your PR plan. My goal for you would be to have Heaven, Dallas, open even bigger, stronger and flashier than any of your California clubs.”
It was, Claire thought, a total V-8 moment. “You’re Ty Coleman,” she blurted, which she wouldn’t have done without the champagne. “Of course!”
“You didn’t—” Joe began.
“Private joke,” Ty said. “When we first met, she didn’t realize who I was.”
“Awww,” Bonita said, apparently charmed.
“Give my office a call,” Ty said to Joe. “Tell my assistant I said to set up thirty minutes. If I like what I hear, we’ll go from there.”
“Sounds great,” Joe said, looking like a man who’d just won the lottery. “Looking forward to it.”
“Why don’t you invite them to the party?” Bonita said.
Joe’s gaze darted to Claire. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“Why on earth not? I know Daddy would love to meet Mr. Coleman, and you two would have the chance to get to know each other without all that business stuff. Besides,” she said, with a bright smile toward Claire, “it’ll be nice having someone else around who’s not in PR. You’re not, are you?”
“Appellate law,” Claire said. “Who’s your father?” she asked, though she had a feeling she already knew.
“Jake Powers. He owns the company Joe works for.” She gave Joe’s arm a squeeze. “He’s just invited Joe to be a partner.”
“That’s great,” Claire said, even while a mean little side of her wondered if that was why Joe had dumped her—so he could date Bonita and get closer to Daddy. Or maybe Claire had just grown up in a political family, and saw those kind of machinations everywhere she looked.
“You’ll come, right?”
“When is it?” Ty asked.
“Tomorrow. It’s our annual New Year’s Day client-appreciation bash at the Starr Resort. It’s very casual. Come and go.”
The idea of a party—with Joe—was really not on Claire’s top-ten list of things to do on the first day of a new year. “I really don’t think—”
“It’s going to be fabulous,” Bonita said. “Several of your breed, too. We’ve just signed with Daniels and Taylor to do some television spots,” she added, referring to the law firm that Claire’s father had helped found. “And I know at least five representatives from the local Bar Association are coming, along with dozens and dozens of attorneys. You never know who you might meet.”
Claire lifted a brow. “And you don’t work there?”
“Me? Lord, no. But I keep an eye out for the men in my life.” Her smile widened. “Now come on, you two. It’s not as if you have to stay all day.”
Claire hesitated, balancing the possibility of networking against the reality of being at a party with Joe. In the end, networking won out. How could it not? An appellate lawyer’s clients were other lawyers. And it was never too early to start honing those connections.
Beside her, Ty slid his arm around her waist, the contact making Claire tremble with the anticipation of getting them alone again. More than that, of getting the man himself for a whole day tomorrow. But as that thought entered her head, Claire knew she was being ridiculous. For one thing, a hot kiss on New Year’s Eve didn’t necessarily translate into a wild night—or a well-mannered daytime date. And that was probably especially true with a man like Ty Coleman. Claire didn’t regularly pay attention to celebrity-type gossip, but she’d seen enough to know that Ty was the kind of guy who had a different girl on his arm in every picture that was snapped.
Maybe he wanted a night with her—and, yes, she sure as hell hoped he did—but the odds that he wanted it to continue into anything beyond that were absolutely beyond slim.
It was an utterly depressing thought, all the more so when she realized that she really couldn’t go to the party without him. Because it wasn’t her that Joe was interested in. Not personally, and not with regard to his PR campaign. Which meant that she’d feel like a total idiot going to this party if Ty didn’t go with her. And considering she’d just met the guy, really, what were the chances of that?
“The truth is, I’d love to,” Claire said, deciding to take the easy, polite way out. “But I’m afraid I have plans tomorrow.”
“We had plans,” Ty said, in a voice that had her conjuring all sorts of fantasies. He slid his arm around her waist, and she about melted on the spot. “But don’t you remember?” he added, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. “We ended up canceling. Our schedule is wide-open tomorrow.”
She looked at him with surprise and optimism, and caught the quick wink that he sent her, along with a mischievous quirk of his mouth. Then he turned back to face Joe and Bonita, his smile bright. “Thanks so much for the invitation. We’d love to come.”
3
“NOT THAT I’M UNHAPPY with the outcome, but what if I’d really had plans?” They were sitting at the bar, and Ty had his hand on her knee, his fingers just barely under the hem of her skirt. Ostensibly casual, but the effect was anything but, and Claire was having a hard time concentrating, much less breathing.
“Did you have plans?”
“Well, I was supposed to go to the hospital and donate a kidney, but I guess I won’t be doing that anymore.”
He leaned closer, then pressed his hand flat against her lower belly. “Anyone would be lucky to get your kidney.” His words were teasing, but she didn’t smile. How could she when she could barely think. Her whole body was tense. His touch, his smell, even the soft sound of his breath was absolutely driving her crazy, and it was taking every ounce of effort not to close her hand over his on her belly and move it up to her breast, then slide his hand on her thigh up, up to where she really wanted to feel it.
Oh, dear Lord, she wanted to feel it. Him. His hands all over her. And right then, the biggest question on her mind was why, why, why were they still sitting in that bar?
He lifted his hand from her stomach, and she managed to breathe again. He signaled for the bartender to bring them another round, then he took her hand in his. “I thought I was doing you a favor. Did I assume wrong?”
She licked her lips. “I was that obvious?”
“I’ve learned to watch people. I spend a lot of time negotiating. People don’t usually say what they’re thinking.”
“What was I thinking?” She wondered if he could tell that she’d been fantasizing about a day with him and, yes, she wondered if he wanted that, too.
“You were thinking the party sounded like an opportunity.”
“It is.” She sounded defensive, and she tried to tone it back. “I mean, I’ve been working for a judge for a while now. Great experience, great credentials, but I need to make my own contacts. I’m moving into private practice this summer.”
“No need to justify yourself to me. I’m a man who survived and thrived chasing opportunities.”
She tried to remember what she’d heard about him. She’d seen his name before when she turned on various celebrity gossip shows, and those types of programs seemed to be all over the television lately. And every once in a while she saw a reference on a blog. She didn’t tend to follow that kind of stuff, so the fact that she’d even once bounced up against his name suggested that he really was tabloid fodder, and if Joe was chasing after him, then Ty’s clubs must be some of the hottest around.
“Well, I appreciate it. It was you they really want to come, not me.” She frowned. “Frankly, I’m surprised Joe didn’t make more of an effort to keep me from coming.” She frowned, wondering if she should say something to Bonita when she saw her the next day, then decided it depended on whether Joe had already started dating Bonita when he’d made his pass at her. She’d have to find out.
“You’re looking pensive,” he said, picking up the scotch that the bartender had set in front of him and taking a sip. “Want to share?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “I really don’t, and yet here I am running my mouth off with you.”
He dragged the tip of his finger along the edge of his glass, making it wet with condensation. Then he drew his fingertip slowly over her lips. “I happen to like your mouth,” he said in a tone that really should only be used in bed while naked.
She closed her eyes, soaking up the sound of his voice, then drew his finger in, tasting him, a hint of scotch, a dash of musk and one-hundred percent male.
She heard a little moan and realized it was coming from her.
She opened her eyes and saw that he was smiling at her, the heat in his eyes unmistakeable. To her surprise, she didn’t feel embarrassed. Instead, she felt sexy. Strong. “I think you’re making me a little crazy.”
“Maybe it’s the champagne,” he said.
She shook her head. “The champagne may account for some of the courage, but it’s the man who’s making me—”
“Yes?”
Wet. “Itchy.”
“Maybe I can help you scratch the itch.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “I really wish you would.”
His smile was practically edible, and as he leaned in, she knew she wanted to taste it. Wanted to consume it, and when his lips brushed hers, she slid hungrily into the kiss, lips only at first, then leaning closer, her arm hooking around his neck as she lost herself in the wonder that was this man. This heat.
The rough sound of a clearing throat caught their attention, and Ty pulled away, breaking the kiss slowly and then, Claire was glad to see, looking at their interloper with an expression that suggested the interruption better be worth it.
The culprit was a girl, probably in her early twenties, wearing a tight Decadent T-shirt, and from the way she was grinning, she felt not the slightest bit of remorse for interrupting. As if Claire was just another girl, and this was just another night with clubster Ty Coleman.
Well, that’s probably true. Is that a problem?
He leaned in and kissed her hard enough to make her melt, then met and held her eyes, his hot enough to melt steel.
Nope, she thought. No problem at all.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sliding off the stool, his hand sliding along her thigh as he moved, and sending a shiver down her spine and shooting a promise between her legs. “I need to go run over a few closing details with Fred. Wait for me?”
She nodded, feeling a little dizzy, a lot girlie, and remarkably like she had the night that Tommy Blake—her teenage crush—had kissed her under the bleachers for the very first time.
Lost in her thoughts, she pulled a cherry out of one of the bar dishes and started to suck on it, her gaze sweeping casually over the room. She saw Joe and Bonita heading for the door, and quickly turned away, not wanting to meet their eyes. When she did, she found Alyssa, hidden with Chris in a throng that was moving for the far door. Alyssa whispered something to Chris, who shot Claire a friendly wave as Alyssa headed in her direction.
“I was going to fire off a text message,” Alyssa said, “but since you’re alone now…” She trailed off, then bit her lower lip. “Are you alone now?”
“Only temporarily,” Claire said, feeling slightly giddy.
“He’s gorgeous,” Alyssa said, taking Ty’s seat. “See? What did I tell you about sticking around? What’s he like? What’s his name?”
“He’s great,” Claire said. “So far, anyway. And his name’s Ty.” She paused a bit, to see if Alyssa would react. “Ty Coleman.”
“Great name,” her friend said, and Claire wasn’t sure if she should be impressed with herself for having more pop culture knowledge than Alyssa, or ashamed.
“Does he work here?” She nodded to something over Claire’s shoulder, and when she turned, she saw Ty talking with the tall man who’d counted down to the New Year. He looked over while he was speaking, caught her eye and smiled.
“Bang and pop,” Alyssa said.
“What?”
“The way you two are looking at each other. It’s not just lust. It’s a connection.”
Claire laughed, brushing aside her friend’s words. “You only want me to be a couple now that you are. I just met the man.”
Alyssa shrugged. “Believe what you want,” she said in a voice that suggested she knew what she was talking about and Claire was hopelessly ignorant. “But you definitely owe me for convincing you to stay. I was coming over to tell you that you better not be planning on driving tonight, but since it looks like you’ve got an escort home, I’m not going to worry about it. But,” she added, as she leaned in to give Claire a hug, “don’t you dare drive.”
“I’ll consider it a stellar excuse to go home with the man. If he wants me to,” she added, the possibility that he wouldn’t disturbing her more than it probably should.
“Trust me,” Alyssa said, with a decidedly mischievous grin, “I’m certain he does.” She wiggled her fingers and backed away before Claire could get another word out, and it was only when she felt the soft press of Ty’s hand on her shoulder that she realized why Alyssa had departed so abruptly.
“Sorry about that. Technically, I’m on the clock.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I—”
“No, no,” he said, taking her hand before she could do something stupid like hop off the stool and—what? Because she wasn’t leaving. Not without this man. Not if she could help it. “One of the benefits of being the man in charge—I get to play by my own rules. But one of my rules is to work when work needs to be done.”
“And what work needed to be done at twelve-thirty on New Year’s Day?”
“More than you might think,” he said, sliding back on the bar stool and leaning back, looking for all the world as if he owned the place. Actually, maybe he did own the place. “For one thing, people drink more tonight.”
“So they do,” she said, lifting her glass. She rarely drank champagne—primarily because it went to her head and made her sleep like the dead—but she’d been indulging wildly this evening. And now she was enjoying the effects—and the courage—that came with the nice little buzz she had going on.
“Exactly,” he said, with a chuckle. “So we have to make sure that we’ve made arrangements with local taxi services, shuttles, whatever it takes. I’ve even been known to put people up at a hotel if I was afraid they’d get into their car. It’s an expense, but it’s worth it, and it’s paid off in goodwill, particularly among the college crowd.
“And, then, of course, there’s the problem of the till,” he continued. “Not that an increased cash drawer is a problem, but I don’t want the manager going alone to make the night deposit. Then you have the logistical issues of how to coordinate with your neighbors tomorrow morning, because inevitably someone has knocked over a corporate sign or left cigarette butts on the sidewalk. We’re located in a mixed-use area, so the club is next to restaurants and retail, and they’ll both be open tomorrow morning and wanting their grounds to be pristine. And then you have to deal with—”
He cut himself off with a quick shake of his head. “I’m getting a bit carried away.”
“A little. Maybe. But it’s interesting. I had no idea so much went into closing a club for the night. To be honest, my experience with the nightclub environment was more or less limited to a night at the symphony with my parents. At least until college, but even then I tended to—”
“Study more than you went out?” he said.
“That obvious?”
“I’m just familiar with the breed.”
“I take it you weren’t a studier?”
“I made a college career out of not studying,” he said, “and I mastered it so well that I got my degree in abject unstudiousness at nineteen and set out into the world to make my fortune.”
“And how did you end up in our little corner of the world?”
“Full circle, it looks like. At least temporarily.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“I was born here. Went to SMU. Learned how to dance the two-step.” He bent down and tugged up his jeans, then tapped his boots. “Can’t you tell,” he added, adding an affectation of a Texas twang to his voice as he spoke.
“Now that you mention it. But okay, why are you back?”
“Long story,” he said. “Bottom line is I’m back for two more months, and although I was dreading the fact that I had sixty full days ahead of me, now I’m thinking that my incarceration is looking much more tolerable. Not time served, but I’ve gotten a few perks.”
“Conjugal visits?” she quipped, the words out before she even realized what she was saying. “Oh…I…”
“Don’t you dare,” he said, that ribbon of heat she’d felt earlier flowing back into his voice. “Don’t you dare take that back.” He took a cherry out and passed it to her, dangling it so that it grazed her lower lip. She opened her mouth to take it, and he pulled it just out of reach. She laughed, then leaned forward, her hand going out to steady her, and finding purchase on his stool, right between his legs.
She caught the cherry and drew it in, closing her eyes as she suckled it. He shifted, and she felt the warmth of his inner thighs at her fingertips, then opened her eyes to see that her hand was right there—right next to the bulge in his jeans. So close that all she had to do was shift her fingertips to touch him, or move her hand to cup him. She imagined what would happen if he touched her that way—if his hand dipped down and cupped her, finding her wet, sliding a finger inside, closing his mouth over hers as he made her come.
Oh, dear.
It was in her head now. This need to touch him. To stroke him. To make him as absolutely crazy as his mere proximity was making her, and without thinking, she shifted her hand only slightly, then stroked him through his jeans. She felt him twitch under her touch, saw the way his body stiffened, and heard the slow, rough intake of his breath. She leaned in closer, feeling sexy and powerful, then lifted her head to face him. “Kiss me,” she demanded, then lost herself in the sweet pleasure of an obedient man who did exactly, positively, totally, what she asked.
As his mouth drew her in, making her head spin and her body tingle, his hand stroked her back, bare from the halter-style dress she wore. His touch was intimate, possessive, and Claire’s mind was fuzzy with lust. In most fairy tales, the girl turned back into herself at the stroke of midnight. Claire’s personal fairy godmother, however, apparently approached her job from an inverted perspective. Because on the stroke of midnight, Claire had transformed from being Dateless Claire, to being Claire-with-the-gorgeous-guy.
And not just any gorgeous guy, but a guy who seriously knew how to kiss. And how to make her laugh. True, the champagne was probably adding to the fizzy, floaty mood, but the real reason was Ty. The way he talked. The way he laughed.
And, oh, yes, the way he kissed. Like right now. Like he couldn’t get enough. Like he wanted to wrap her up and take her home and trail kisses down to the kinds of places that didn’t get kissed on bar stools.
Just the thought made her squirm, trying to find a position where the heat building between her thighs didn’t make her crazy. That, however, was impossible. Might as well admit it—she was tipsy, turned on and totally hot for the guy. And if she didn’t get him into a bed soon—if she didn’t touch him all over the way her fingers were itching to touch him, and if she didn’t feel him deep inside her making her absolutely wild—she had a feeling she would go crazy.
She was already half crazy as it was, and they’d done nothing but kiss.
He started to pull away, and she whimpered a protest, catching his lower lip with her teeth and softly tugging. The grin that spread to his eyes was slow and full of male pride and Claire, in full shameless hussy mode, didn’t care at all, because right then she was enjoying him too much, and if he wanted to feel self-satisfied about the fact that he had totally turned her on…well, she could live with that.
“Can you leave?” she murmured, praying the answer was yes. “Or do you have work to do?”
“To hell with work,” he said, sliding off the bar stool and coming to stand in front of her. An absurd wave of gratefulness swept through her, although she didn’t believe him for one second. She’d heard the passion in his voice. If there was work to be done, he wouldn’t abandon it. But thank God there wasn’t and he was free to go.
She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him even closer to her, certain if they didn’t leave soon she would spontaneously combust from the heat building inside her. “Then let’s get out of here.”
She slid off the bar—and the room started spinning. He hooked his arm around her waist, and she looked up at him with a combination of gratefulness and sheepishness. “Sorry. Champagne does this thing to me.”
“Good thing you’re with a man who makes it a point to get all the customers home safe.” He brushed a featherlight kiss across her ear, making her shiver. “I promise, I’ll see to it personally.”
She drew in a breath, thinking about Ty in her house. In her bed. “My house is a mess,” she said softly. “It’s the maid’s year off.”
“Maybe I should just kiss you good-night at the door, then.”
She heard the tease in his voice and rose to the challenge. Reaching up, she hooked her arm around his neck, then pulled his head down to hers. With her other hand, she cupped his rear, easing him toward her until their bodies meshed and she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her, straining beneath the tight denim of his jeans. A wave of feminine power surged through her, and she lifted herself up on her toes, letting her body press up hard against his, and positioning her lips so that they just brushed his ear.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “I want you in my bed, Ty. And the sooner, the better.”
4
“I WANT YOU IN MY BED.”
Damn, but Ty knew the feeling. Right then, he could barely think, what with the havoc the woman was wreaking upon him. He could feel the effect of her through every inch of his body. The pulse that beat so hard at his throat. The tingle of skin where she brushed against him. And the painful length of his cock that strained for a release that really couldn’t wait for a bed.
He had no idea where she lived, but he hoped like hell it was close. Very close.
He thought about the room he was renting from one of his former fraternity brothers, but then remembered the two other guys who’d arrived over the last few days and were crashed in the house, as well. It was only three blocks away, but it was also the consummate bachelor pad, and definitely no place to take Claire.
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