Enticed (Dark Passions) (2 page)

    
With him still blocking my path, I could feel his eyes searching for mine
again, willing me to look up at him. I took a deep breath, stood up to my full
height of 5 foot 8 inches, and tilted up my head to look him squarely in the
eye. He was easily 6 foot 2 and towered over me. “What’s the rush?” he asked in
a casual but husky tone that once again made my insides flutter with dangerous pleasure.

    
“Yeah, what’s the rush?” Jen piped up, giving me a hard, critical look. “We
just got here.” She gave Mystery Man a winning smile and said, “There’s a seat
free right here beside Melanie. Please do join us.”

    
“Melanie,” he said, giving me a sinfully sexy smile and holding out his hand.
“I’m Bradley.” I offered up a tentative half-smile and reluctantly stretched
out my hand. The moment his firm fingers curled around mine, encasing my hand
in his strong, warm grasp, I felt a slow, sultry thrill rush up my spine.  

    
Suddenly, Silvia was on her feet, stumbling, draping an arm around Bradley’s
waist. “Well, well, what do we have here,” she purred up at him, fluttering her
lashes, and bringing her wet lips close to his throat. “Please do join us,” she
added, sliding a hand up the white linen shirt draping his muscular chest.
“There’s a seat here right next to me,” she said, patting an adjacent stool
with her free hand. I felt my mouth drop open, and jealousy twist my gut into a
knot. What was wrong with me? I was ready to run away as fast as I could from
this man, but now watching Silvia come on to him made me want to go knock her
to the ground.

    
Bradley shot Sylvia a wicked grin, lifted her up and placed her back on her
stool. “Thanks for the offer, hon. But Melanie and I have some catching up to
do.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I felt a little triumphant
thrill bubble through me. He was picking
me
over confident, drop-dead
gorgeous Silvia.

    
Sylvia turned around and grasped him by the lapel of his leather motorcycle
jacket. “Well, when you two are done, you know where to find me,” she said and
planted a kiss on his cheek. This time, I watched on in amusement as Bradley
wiped the thick lipstick mark off his cheek. But when he turned back toward me,
my nerves once again got the better of me. He took three purposeful strides to
bridge the distance between us and gently stroked my cheek with his powerful
hand. He bent down, and with his lips grazing my ear whispered, “Come on.
There’s a free table right there in the corner.”

***

    
The corner was quaint, with East-Asian lanterns emitting a golden glow, the
palms leaves rustling under the blast from the air vent, and the chatter of the
huge bar crowd far enough away that we could actually hear each other speak. A
waiter came by and looked at us expectantly. Bradley gave him an easy smile,
and in that husky voice that made my stomach quiver he said, “Another whiskey
for me, and an Old Cuban for the lady.”  

    
I gave him a hard look, and felt my whole body tense. When he met my steely
gaze, I said “What, I don’t get a choice?”

    
He studied me for a moment with those piercing eyes, then leaned over and said
softly, “Of course you do. If you want me to call back the waiter, I will. It’s
just that I’ve been watching you all night, and it’s been Old Cubans since I
first cast my eyes on that delectable face and body of yours.”

    
I felt my cheeks, my whole body start to burn with both pleasure and
embarrassment. I felt so exposed, but also thrilled at having captivated this
stunning man’s attention. He leaned forward until his face was inches from
mine. With his full, sensuous lips so close, it was hard to think straight. My
breathing became rapid and shallow as he pinned me with those penetrating green
eyes.

    
When he spoke his tone was both hard and earnest. “I figured I’d been watching
you long enough, attentively enough to know what you want. Was I mistaken?”

    
He was still scrutinizing me closely, and there was a challenge in his
expression. “No,” I said softly, with a sheepish smile. I tucked a stray piece
of my brown hair behind my ear, squirmed a bit in my seat, and crossed my legs.
His eyes slowly followed the exposed curve of my thigh down to my red stiletto.
With his eyes still fixed on my foot, his lips spread into a slow smile.

    
“What is it?” I asked, cursing myself inwardly for the tremble in my voice.
Then, with more bravado, I added, “Let me guess. You have a foot fetish. Well,
sorry to say, but I’m really not into guys sucking my toes.”

    
His eyes smiling, he looked at me and shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Cute
as your toes are, that’s not my thing,” he added with a wicked grin. “It’s
just,” he began, his grin turning sly, “well, your shoes. Fire engine red with
gold heels. Kinda doesn’t go with the tight ponytail and conservative dress now
does it?”

    
I quickly bit the corner of my lip in an attempt to hide my smile, but lost the
battle and let out a little laugh. This guy didn’t miss a beat. “I like
extravagant accessories,” I said nonchalantly, leaning forward and cupping my
hands around my raised knee.

    
He cocked his head to the side, and gave me another sly smile, exposing his
large white teeth. I had a flash of those teeth nibbling along my ear, biting
playfully at my shoulders, pulling gently at my nipples, and felt a bolt of euphoria
slam through me. I tightened my grip around my knee to steady myself.

    
“I think it’s more than that,” he said, his voice taking on a reflective tone.
“The conservative bit seems to me like a put on. Like you’re accommodating
someone else’s expectations of you.”

    
I could feel the color draining from my face. He took a slow sip of his
whiskey, eyeing me carefully over the rim of his glass. “The red stilettos,” he
said, trying to suppress the desire in his eyes, “those say something about
your real character.”

    
I squirmed again in my seat, and found my eyes glued to the Exit sign. Suddenly
anger surged through me. No, I decided, I was not going to run like a little
girl, or let this guy rattle me. I uncrossed my legs, leaned forward and pinned
him with a steady stare. “What are you, a shrink working undercover as a Hell’s
Angels biker? Stalking Manhattan bars for screwed up women to psychoanalyze?”

    
He let out a little chuckle, his green eyes gleaming with pleasure. Annoyed by
his reaction, I took a good hard look at him and decided two could play this
game. Letting my eyes run all over his heavenly body, I searched for clues to
his identity. The motorcycle jacket was old and battered, but the linen shirt
underneath was expensive. Hugo Boss. His jeans were faded, and on his feet were
black motorcycle boots with huge silver buckles. Fluevogs. On his wrist was a
thick, gold Rolex watch. I tilted my head and gave him a quizzical look. “I
don’t get it,” I finally said. “Either you’re a bad boy with a trust fund, or a
male supermodel who swears by mixing high and low fashion.”

    
Bradley looked at me with amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I’m offended,” he
said, with an exaggerated frown. “Male supermodel,” he said, a subtle smile
playing on his lips, “all brawn, no brains.” Then, giving me a devastatingly
sexy look, he added, “I am, however, flattered, that you’re impressed with my
looks, Melanie.”

    
I scowled at him and crossed my arms. “Seriously, what’s your deal?” I asked.

    
He leaned back a bit and shrugged. “I invest in real estate and art,” he said.

    
I let out a small laugh. “I bet the biker look goes off  really well with your
clients,” I said, grinning. excitement.

    
He looked at me thoughtfully while slowly circling the rim of his tumbler with
his index finger. Watching him, I felt my pulse start to race again and my
nipples tighten. “Actually, those are some of my clients over there,” he said,
pointing to the table I’d seen him at earlier. There were four men, all dressed
in expensive three-piece suits.

    
“They don’t mind your casual attire?” I asked, brushing another stray lock of
hair off my cheek.

    
“This is my off-hours outfit,” he said matter-of-factly and shrugged, his
finger still caressing the curve of his glass.

    
I tore my eyes away from his strong, dexterous fingers, smoothed down the lap
of my dress, and straightened myself in my seat so that I was almost eye-level
with him. In the most business-like tone I could muster, I said “I just moved
to the city and my walls are a little bare. I could use a stunning photograph
or two of the city to liven the place up.”

    
He nodded, and took another sip of his whiskey. “What do you have in mind?”

    
I could feel myself getting wistful as I said, “A stunning photograph of the
New York skyline at night.”

    
I saw interest flare in his eyes as he asked, “Why the skyline?”

    
I shrugged and said, “While I’m thrilled with my new apartment, it’s on the
sixth floor of a low rise. I don’t exactly have a panoramic view of the city.”

    
I looked at him expectantly as his eyes caressed the curves of my lips. He
finally met my gaze, his eyes suddenly dark and intense, and said, “I think I
have just the thing for you.”

    
There was something so potent, so forceful, so searing about his gaze that I
felt my insides begin to tremble with desire. With our eyes locked, it was just
too much, and I wanted to tear my gaze away from him, but I couldn’t. His eyes
were demanding a connection with mine and refused to let me turn away.

    
“Give me your number,” he commanded, “And I’ll take you to see one of my
galleries.”

    
I felt myself hesitate, and he saw it in my eyes. He reached his hand over to
cover mine. His grip was strong and warm. “I want to see you again, Melanie.
And for that to happen, I need your number.”

    
Remembering my resolution to swear off men, I shook my head and pulled my hand
away. “Give me your card or something. I’ll call you.”

    
With his eyes blazing, Bradley leaned forward and said firmly, “No you won’t.
You’re going to chicken out, and by the time you change your mind I’ll be old
and gray.” He pulled out his Smartphone, tapped it a couple of times, and then
looked at me expectantly. “Your number,” he commanded again.

    
I took a deep breath. Then I gave him my number.

    
Satisfied, he put his phone away, then reached into his pocket for his wallet.
He pulled out a card and handed it to me. I looked down at it and audibly
gasped. Bradley Gibson.
The
Bradley Gibson. Owner of several chain
hotels. And art collector extraordinaire. How did I not put two and two
together? Art was just his hobby, but he was well-known for discovering
up-and-coming talent, buying their works at low prices, and selling high when
they became famous.

    
“Now you know where to find me too,” he said. “I’ll call you soon to set up a
time for visiting the gallery.” Then he stood up, and with a scorching
expression in his eyes that made my core melt, he tilted up my chin, held my
gaze for a moment, and then softly pressed his sensual lips to the corner of my
trembling mouth. I could feel the prick of his stubble on my cheek, his warm
breath on my lips, and it made my heart rate quicken, my head spin, and my body
throb with yearning for him.  

    
As I watched him walk back over to his table, his jeans just fitted enough for
me to make out the shape of his awe-inspiringly tight ass, I let out a little
moan of sweet torture. No question. I was a gonner.

***

    
“You’ve got the wrong office. Corporate is on the twelfth floor, not the
tenth,” Sarah said first thing Monday morning while leaning against the door to
my office and taking in my outfit with an amused expression.

    
I was wearing an ash colored Dior blazer over a vintage pencil skirt, and a pair
of black suede Jimmy Choo pumps. With one hand on my hip, I raised an eyebrow
at Sarah, and looked her up and down in mock distain. She had on a chunky gold
necklace, purple suede come-fuck-me heels, and a mauve sheath dress with a gold
belt around the waist and a leopard print along the hem. “Let me guess. You
were out ‘couging’ last night and didn’t have time to go home and change.”