A Man After Midnight (2 page)

Caroline came to an abrupt halt and pulled away from Wren, turning to him in the fully lit lobby.  She studied him, not feeling abashed at all as he studied her right back.  Now that she had light to see properly, she determined that he must have Mediterranean ancestry.  He possessed the olive skin tone of the region, his forehead sloping straight down into the bridge of his nose giving him an almost aristocratic appearance. He had unusual grey eyes with bits of dark flecks swirling through them.  His black hair was cut short and combed back as if he couldn’t be bothered with styling it. 

“Are you feeling better?”  he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured.  “The shaking has stopped.  It’s quickly becoming one of those moments that seems so surreal it makes me wonder if it happened at all.”

“I actually know that man,” Wren admitted with a grimace.  “I’m here on a business conference, and he’s one of the directors of sales.”

“Troublemaker Cosmetics?”

He raised an eyebrow.  “You work for the company?”

“No,” Caroline answered.  “My friend, Aldrin Crenshaw, does.  She invited me along so I could play tourist.  I wish there was some way to let the higher-ups know what a slime ball one of their employees is.”

“Believe me,” Wren replied. “They’ll know.”

She saw the color of his eyes flatten to a slate grey.  He had the presence of being in authority, the bearing of someone who told others what to do and expected his orders to be followed. 

“I believe you,” she murmured. 

The moment stretched between them.  Logic reminded her that she’d just had a horrible experience.  A man had tried to hurt her, and if Wren Calder hadn’t intervened, who knows what more Gil might have done. It wasn’t the time or place to feel the White Knight Syndrome, yet the jumpy restlessness from earlier had blossomed into a throb that had settled between her thighs.  Her brain told her one thing, but her body was telling her something else.

“I suppose I should say goodnight,” he said.

Caroline bit her lip.  There was absolutely no reason for him to stay, or for her to invite him to linger. After all, she’d been minutes away from being harmed, possibly raped––so to feel an attraction to this man seemed really messed up.

“But I really don’t want to walk away and never see you again,” he continued, as if reading her mind. 

Relief filled her, and then she immediately wondered why this caused such a profound feeling to rush through her.

“I was actually thinking the same thing,” she replied, trying to be nonchalant.

“Listen, there’s a bar up on the mezzanine level,” he said.  “Quiet. Public.  Why don’t we have a drink?”

Again, caution stirred inside her brain. But when he held out his hand, she slipped hers into his grasp.  He led her to the elevator and soon they were upstairs.  The lounge was small. Intimate. Here, middle-aged men came to enjoy a fine cognac after dinner––not to try to find a bed partner for the night.  She relaxed and settled into a leather chair next to Wren.  A waitress appeared, and Wren raised an eyebrow at Caroline.

“Oh, um … white wine, please,” Caroline said to the server.  “Chardonnay, if you have it.”

“Scotch on the rocks,” Wren said.

In a moment, they were all alone and secluded.  Well, secluded as much as a hotel bar would allow.

“What is it about you, Ms. Grace?” he mused. 

“About me?” she asked. 

“That makes me want to find out everything about you.” 

The server was back and sat both drinks down in front of them.  Wren signed the receipt then once more, they were alone.  He picked up his drink and took a sip.

“I noticed you immediately in the other bar,” he said.  “You looked … sad.”

“Must have been a play of shadows.” She shrugged one shoulder and took a drink of her wine.  It tasted too dry in her mouth so she sat it down.

He continued to study her face, so she gathered up whatever courage she had and stared right back at him.  A grin crooked the corner of his mouth.

“There’s a fantastic dance hall not too far from this hotel,” he said.  “Would you trust me enough to go with me?”

“There’s a dance club right down there.” She gave a nod over her shoulder.

“But that type of dancing won’t allow me to hold you,” he told her, his voice dropping a bit.  “And I very much want to hold you in my arms, Caroline.”

His words, plus the honest seductive quality to his tone, turned her on.  “Just dance?”

He chuckled.  “I’m not making any promises.  But I can assure you, I won’t be forcing anything on you that you don’t say yes to.”

Caroline took a deep breath.  Did she dare?  Going with a stranger to a dance hall was something she’d never done before, and had she been asked not too long ago if she ever would go out with a man she didn’t know, she would’ve said
hell no
.  But perhaps that’s why she’d come to New York City.  To chip away the armor that she’d built for herself.

“All right,” she said.

Chapter Two

As Wren settled into the seat next to her, he gave the taxi driver an address.  Just as the door closed with a click, doubts started playing through her mind. She just met the man, for heaven’s sake! Was he married?  Was he an ax-murderer?  Did he have any STDs? 

Trying to be discreet, Caroline held her phone down at her side, the one not next to Wren, and sent a quick text to Aldy to let her know whom she was with and where they were going.  As she hit the send button, Caroline became aware of his body pressed against hers.  Her stomach lurched with anticipation and the thrill of excitement, even from just barely touching him. A mental picture of the both of them in bed together, his body thrusting into hers, sent her hormones into overdrive.

Perhaps Aldy had been right all along.  Perhaps she did need a good fuck.  Caroline took a deep breath to steady her pulse when he turned toward her with a wicked little smile.

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”  he asked in a husky voice.

She curled her fingers into her palms, letting her nails bite into the skin, in an effort to bring her lustful thoughts under control.

“Are you married?  Are you an ax-murderer?  Do you have any STDs?”  She repeated the questions that streamed through her brain, ticking them off on her fingers.

“No, no, and no.”  He lifted his left eyebrow.  “You?”

“Not anymore, no, and no.”

He took hold of her left hand, his thumb rubbing the indented skin on the back of her ring finger.  She knew he couldn’t see it, but a tiny scar lingered from when her engagement ring had cut her once.  Long, long ago. 

“Not anymore, huh?  How long?”

“Four years, but we’d been drifting apart for some time before the actual break-up.”  She pulled her hand away and gave him a dismissive smile.  “But you don’t want to hear about that.  Why don’t you tell me where we’re going?”

Wren stared at her in a measuring sort of way.  As if he were trying to figure her out.  Perhaps he was.  They
were
strangers, after all.

“Why did you come with me, Caroline?” he asked.  “What makes me different than that asshole in the alley?”

“I … well, I…” She wasn’t able to pull her thoughts together in any decent, coherent way.  What could she say?  She was insanely attracted to him, and not the man in the alley?  That sounded superficial as hell. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured.  “It was just a rhetorical question.  So, the place we’re going is called Big Band Dance Hall.  Seventeen men and women on a tiered stage, playing all the classics of Artie Shaw, Duke Ellington and Count Basie.”

Shock poured through her, and she thought she had to resemble a fish with her mouth opening and closing in surprise.  “Really? Wow.  My favorite piece of music is
Moonlight Serenade
.”

“I had a feeling you’d like the music.”

She eyed him up and down.  “You don’t look like the type of man who enjoys that era in time.”

“Oh?  What type of man do I look like?”

She raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms over her chest.  “I’m not a fashionista, but I’m assuming that suit is something like Armani or Gucci.  So I would have to say classical, perhaps Bach or Beethoven.”

“I do like Bach and Beethoven,” he admitted.  “But my grandmother brought me up, and she was a regular taxi dancer who taught me all she knew.”

“Taxi dancer?  Really? She sounds like a fun lady.”

“She was,” he said softly.

“Oh,” Caroline said, laying her hand on his arm.  “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.  Me too.”

Just then the taxi came to a halt, and Caroline glanced out of the window. The outside of the building reflected the style of the 1930s, with art-deco lamps rising from the side of the brick building, an awning covering the opening, and a suited doorman.  Wren helped her from the taxi and then placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.  The doorman held the door open as they entered. 

The foyer held a bar where various people stood mingling and talking, the bartender dressed simply in a black button down shirt and a small bowtie, hat and suspenders.  Deep red carpet lined the floor and contrasted nicely with the dark wooden tones of the walls.  The lighting was subdued, adding to the intimacy of the hall. 

Several people waved to Wren and he greeted back with their names, confirming his familiarity. 

“Come here often?”  Caroline asked, voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

He nodded, releasing her arm to place a hand on the lumbar curve of her back.  He guided her toward the closed double doors that led to the dance hall.  “I’ve only brought one other date here, and we left ten minutes after we arrived.  I’ve never brought anyone else.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true.  Not many women are into the old classics like Big Band.  Usually I take my dates to one of the uptown clubs, or one of the numerous bars.  Someplace not as formal or as fun, in my opinion.”

Two additional doormen opened the entrance allowing Caroline to see the awe-inspiring dance hall, as if she’d stepped back in time to the heyday of the Glenn Miller Orchestra.  The stage was laid out at the furthermost point, three tiers of chairs and empty music stands with instruments waiting for their owners to return.  A nice sized dance floor separated the orchestra pit from the small tables where couples sat enjoying drinks and appetizers.  The dim lighting allowed for a spotlight to focus on the musicians, while the tables held candles to provide the intimacy the era invoked.

Wren guided her through the throng of small tables to one down front and held out the chair for her as she sat.  Immediately, a waiter dressed in a white formal suit appeared to take their drink order. 

“Dry martini for me,” Wren said.  He raised an eyebrow to Caroline.

“So what would be a popular drink from the ‘40s?” she asked.

A half-smile quirked his lips and he turned to the server.  “Give the lady a Gloria Swanson.”

The man bowed and left in hurried strides to fill their drink order.  Caroline cocked her head inquiringly.

“So, what’s in this drink?”

He moved a piece of her hair off her cheek.  “Champagne.  Cognac.  Lemon peel.  Gloria liked to start the day with it.”

“I bet she did.”

Caroline looked around, loving the atmosphere of the starched white tablecloths, the shimmering chandelier overhead, and the heavy scent of lilies wafting from the flowers resting in wall sconces throughout the dance hall.

As the waiter returned with their drinks, the musicians returned under a smattering of applause from the audience.  The conductor came out with a bow.  It took a few minutes for the performers to settle and listen to their instruments to make sure they were still tuned.  With a tap of his baton, the spotlight came on and the conductor brought the musicians to attention. Upon a swipe of his hand, the strains of
Stardust
started.

The acoustics of the dance hall blended perfectly with the décor.  The music washed over Caroline as she watched couples come together to move gracefully with the haunting melody. 

“I feel as if I’m in a time warp.”  Her chin rested in the palm of her hand as she listened to the band.  She swayed slightly, back and forth, to the slow tempo.

“I’m glad you like it.  How about the drink?”

Caroline sipped her drink.  “Well, I don’t know about starting the day with one, but it’s perfect for tonight.  Thank you.”

After the song ended, a petite woman dressed in bright red with a lily in her dark hair came out to stand by the conductor.  The orchestra began the strains of
I’ll Be Seeing You
.

“Come on,” Wren said, grabbing her free hand.  “This is my favorite.”

Under the slow rhythm of the music, his arms held her tightly to press their bodies against one another.  His cheek rested on the top of her head.  The twinkling light of the chandelier bathed them, suspending them deeper into the magical moment.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt the rippling muscles under the smooth silk.  He moved with the grace of someone who danced often, and Caroline couldn’t help but wonder who had taught him to dance so well.  A past lover?  She tried to banish the thought because Wren Calder was to be nothing more than a one-night stand.  She had no business feeling anything more toward him.

“This is amazing,” she said, partly in an attempt to push her mind past her thoughts.

He pulled back only far enough to gaze down into her eyes.  “The minute I saw you, I knew you’d love it here.  I can picture you dressed in crepe-de-chines or chiffon.  With your hair piled up and your lips painted red.”

“My mother loved Big Band,” she said.  “I grew up listening to it.  I always thought it was a romantic era, despite the economic troubles the world faced.”

“Yes,” he agreed.  “It was amazing to think about the glamour and glitz alongside pictures of men and women standing in lines for food. 
The Grapes of Wrath
versus
Twentieth Century
.”  Wren narrowed his eyes.  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea.”

Caroline blinked.  “What?”

“Troublemaker Cosmetics,” he elaborated.  “This is our annual meeting spanning from fiscal information to finding the next idea, coming up with planned cosmetic lines to carry into an emerging market. The themes of mythic urban crossed with gothic dark colors and rhinestone glitter have been the prevalent trend driving the industry.”

“But
every
non-haute couture line out there has that,” Caroline replied.  “I may not be an expert in the cosmetic industry, but I do shop at Sephora.”

He nodded.  “Troublemaker has always gone with the tide of fashion, keeping an eye and ear on the industry’s leaders in Milan and Paris.  And we’ve always done okay. But I’ve been trying to come up with something that will separate us from the other cosmetic companies.”

Caroline smiled and felt the groove of her dimples.  “I think it’s time romance made a comeback.”

“That’s a great tag line,” he admitted with a smile.

The singer came to the last line in the song, her hypnotic voice rising.  The couples stopped dancing to applaud.  She thanked the crowd before nodding to the conductor, who immediately started in on another song.  Wren took her back in his arms to resume dancing.  This song mostly featured a piano accompaniment to the song
Baby
. 

“Do you play any instruments?”  Caroline asked.

“Some piano,” he answered.  “You?”

“My father thought music lessons were a waste of money.  I regret the only thing I know how to play is a stereo.”

He laughed and their eyes clashed, held, and all amusement faded.  The moments stretched, even past the current song and into the next.  As their bodies moved together, his arms tightened around her.  Hip to hip, thigh to thigh.  His body heat enveloped her, the rich scent of his cologne wrapping around her in a sensual blanket. Her heart pounded with anticipation when his eyes fell to her lips.  She wet them with the tip of her tongue. His body went rigid and they stopped dancing. 

“Come with me,” he said in a deep, guttural tone, taking her hand and leading her from the dance floor. 

The darkness helped hide the redness staining her cheeks as Wren led her from the dance hall room toward the area marked with restrooms.  Behind the band platform was a set of stairs. Still holding tightly to her hand, Wren led her up them to a long hallway.  The women’s bathroom was to the right and the men’s toward the left.  However, Wren bypassed both to head toward the exit sign at the end of the hall.  He turned a corner and pulled her into a secluded enclave.

Wren cupped her face, his breath fanning over her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed just as his mouth touched hers, with only the barest hint of pressure.  It was the most erotic chaste kiss she’d ever experienced.  A simple meshing of lips that held nothing more than a warm bond, and just when the longing for more became too much, he swept his tongue over the closed seam of her mouth. She let out a gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss.  When their tongues twined together, she tasted a hint of gin lingering from the martini.  Caroline wrapped her arms around his neck in an effort to get closer. 

Wren ran his hands down her arms, over her hips, and finally to her rear.  He gripped each ass cheek firmly as he pulled her into the crook of his thighs to rub her up and down his hard cock. Need rolled through her at his domination.  God, how could she crave him so much, this stranger who had miraculously appeared when she needed him most? Never had she felt such instant lust for someone, not even her husband, and the raw compulsion for sex was something new and foreign. 

He broke the kiss and eased back.  They stared into one another’s eyes, even though the only light came from the exit sign over their heads. 

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you in that bar,” he said.

“Why didn’t you approach me?” Caroline responded.

“I detest bars and more specifically, all the cheesy pick-up lines I hear floating around.  But with you I was willing to make an exception … and then Gil appeared.  I wanted to see if you were the type of woman who’d want him.”