Momentary Lapse

Any man can get down and dirty. A real man cleans up his own mess.

One Moment
, Book 2

Madison St James's life is a glittering fairy tale until her Prince Charming turns out to be Prince Cheating. With the help of a sexy stranger, Madison becomes someone she's not for just one night. Confident, uninhibited, and up for no-holds-barred sex.

It's hot. It's sensual. And so real that Madison doesn't see how she can ever return to her superficial life. But with no money of her own, no job and no experience, Madison is trapped. Just like her manipulative mother planned.

Cole Langford has one of the most powerful names in Maryland, but none of the money and prestige that go with it. But he knows first-hand what it's like to get kicked to the curb by power-wielding megalomaniacs.

Lately Cole's libido's been on holiday. Even his old hobby of seducing rich social climbers and leaving them begging has lost its appeal. But Madison is like decadent candy, and Cole isn't satisfied with one tiny taste.

Even if going back for seconds has disaster written all over it.

Warning: Contains an appetizing one-night stand in a hotel, saucy sexcapades in a deserted stairwell and proof that sometimes you have to strip down and get naked in front of the mirror to truly see yourself.

Momentary Lapse

Toni J. Strawn

Dedication

For Mum. For introducing me to romance early and staying positive about my writing, even though I make you read it a hundred times.

Chapter One

So, this is where it'd happened?

Madison St James stood at the bar and took in the wide, comfy-looking couches, leather armchairs and the black and white flocked wallpaper of the up-market Baltimore Hotel. Truth be told, she'd expected something seedier. A red wall of shame perhaps, or a scrawled motif scratched into the bathroom door:
Logan comes here.

After all, when you visited the place your fiancé cheated on you—‘
“Shit, shit, shit. Madison, I swear Chloe doesn't mean anything. Hell, we hardly even slept together!”—
you imagined there would be something to explain why the man who was supposed to love you had indulged in sexual relations with somebody else.

Madison slid daintily onto an empty barstool and smoothed down her favorite Mi-No-Ro skirt. She didn't need to cast her gaze far to know every male eye in the room was focused on her. The tailored suit fit her to perfection. She knew how to draw a man's attention, thanks to hours spent on the beauty pageant circuit. Madison was honest enough to admit she liked the appreciative stares. It ensured her pretty, outer façade stayed firmly in place and didn't reflect the fact she was falling apart inside.

Her eyes swept the room again and as she drank in the admiring looks, she felt the world tilt back to its normal axis. Until she lit on the man sitting in one of the darkened corners. He was splayed out, confidence hanging off him like a model displayed a fur coat—as if it were made just for him. Dark blond hair, worn slightly too long in front gave a tousled appearance. He'd probably rolled out of bed like that this morning—a perfect, sexy mess. Madison glanced down to his lips, expecting to see that same wicked smile she'd noticed when she'd walked into the room. Only he was frowning…because she was staring at him.

Madison's startled gaze jerked up, her eyes colliding with his. A shudder ran through her, a buzz of electricity sparking the air between them with a low-pitched hum she felt sure was her brain screaming retreat. Until sexy-table guy reached into his pocket and Madison realized it was his phone that had been making all the noise.

She swiveled on her seat and pointed her flaming cheeks toward the bar. Awkward. She let out a muffled breath. Being here after Logan was having more of an affect than she'd anticipated. Then again, since receiving the butt-dial call that had revealed his tryst with another woman, nothing fitted right anymore.

It just wasn't fair. Madison had always done exactly what had been asked of her. She'd behaved well, presented herself without a flaw, stood by while her own ambitions were pushed aside. All of the bootlicking and being paraded around like a Barbie doll at pageants, for what? To have her promised
Ken
dive straight into another woman at the first opportunity?

When was her turn? Madison's hands curled into white-knuckled fists as anger that had been bubbling on a slow simmer threatened to boil over. Her mother had demanded Madison's childhood and she'd given it. Freely. She'd thought it was worth it, seeing how happy it made her mother after years of hardship and depression. Madison had ensured they'd never have to live like that again.

And this was her
fucking
reward?

The unfamiliar curse sat like a stain on Madison's tongue, but she forced herself to think the word again. She was sick of being the nice girl. That wasn't going to be her. Not tonight.

“What can I get you?”

Madison started, her gaze skidding across the bar to meet with crinkled eyes and a fatherly smile.

“What would you like to drink?” the bartender asked again, frowning slightly when she failed to answer.

As if she was as stupid as the stereotypical dumb blonde.

Madison drew a breath in through her nostrils.
“Stolichnaya.”
She requested her drink in perfectly accented Russian.

The bartender lifted a brow and she bit back a smile. Fifteen years of being pimped out on the pageant stage had led to something, even if it was only to boast flawless intonation in several different languages. Madison could be anyone she wanted…as long as it wasn't herself.

“Stoli?” The bartender's forehead creased into a fan of soft wrinkles as he considered her. “No, no. I have better quality vodka. Something more suited to someone like yourself.”

Like he didn't think she could handle it.
Resolve dug hard claws into her chest and Madison sat forward, her hands flattening on top of the bar.

“I would like a double shot of
Stolichnaya
,” she repeated slowly, so there would be no misunderstanding. “Thank you.” The next words tumbled out on their own as manners got the better of her. The St. Jameses might have started out as trailer trash, but Madison had gotten the gutter beaten out of her long ago.

The bartender nodded. He returned with a straight-edged shot glass filled to the brim with clear liquid. It looked different from the bottle of pink alcopop one of her pageant competitors had shared at the Oklahoma show… Madison took a cautious sip and let the bite of alcohol nip against her tongue.

From the corner of her eye, she noted sexy-table man looking at her. Disapproving? Or did he think she was too much of a wuss to go through with it? With a flick of her wrist, she tossed back the contents of her glass, sending a bevy of gold bracelets tinkling down her arm.

Errrhk!
So
not
like Bollinger. Madison stiffened under the assault as liquor, tasting more like nail polish remover, scorched a path down her esophagus. Her eyes filled with tears. She squeezed them shut, her mouth going numb after the initial gut-clenching explosion of heat.

Madison forced herself to swallow, managing to hold back a choking cough as she wheezed in another lungful of air. Held it. A lady never spluttered in public. Or snorted vodka out her nose.

The attack on her senses subsided and Madison released her breath.
Hah!
She stopped short of slamming the empty shot glass on the bar in triumph, forcing herself to place it carefully on the drink napkin. Still, she couldn't help the swell of satisfaction warming her insides.

She'd come.

She'd seen.

She'd conquered.

And it proved exactly
nothing
.

Nothing had changed. Her life hadn't magically transformed like some modern Disney princess. She was still angry…at a loss to understand what had happened to her mother's plans for Madison's picture perfect life. The one Logan had scribbled all over in ugly, purple crayon.

Sooooo
. What now?

Madison flicked at the corner of her napkin as the momentary boost of backbone faded. Leaving behind an aching hollowness.

She could go back to her room, she supposed.

Or stay for another drink.

The idea was tempting, to comatose herself with alcohol and embrace the numbness. For once, her mother wasn't around to stop her. Okay, she did have the lunch date tomorrow, and meeting with Patricia St. James wasn't fun at the best of times. With a hangover, it would be doubly hideous. Then again, divulging to her mother about her broken engagement was bound to be excruciating. How much worse could it get?

Short answer. It couldn't.

Decision made, she caught the bartender's attention. “Could I please have a—”

“I'll take another beer and two shots. Make it Grey Goose.”

Madison's mouth pinched shut as someone rode rough-shod over her order. And she knew exactly who it was. His rudeness was accompanied by a buzz of warmth that inched along her arm like a slow, scorching burn. Sexy-table guy. Madison ignored the prickle of awareness and turned her glare on him. Nothing excused bad manners—she sucked in a breath—not even piercing eyes of the palest blue.

She drew back, forgetting for a moment her precarious perch on the barstool.
Oh. Shiiiiit.
One of her six-inch heels skittered off the foothold, the other digging in so hard her toes popped out of the shoe. There was nothing to stop her falling and Madison could only hope she still looked pretty with her brains oozing all over the tiles.

Except her shoulder blades hit something hard and unyielding. Hands clasped her biceps.

“Easy.” His breath whispered at her cheek and heat shivered across her neck as his thumbs brushed her arms.

For a single insane moment, Madison was tempted to lean back and rest against the solid warmth of his chest. Then she realized what she was doing—
who she was—
and she jerked forward out of his grasp.

His hands dropped. Madison wobbled a little to regain her balance, then twisted to meet his stare. Her lips parted as she drew in air. Up close, the effect of him was devastating. A strong, square jaw, with hair the color of tussock framing impossibly blue eyes.

His brows drew together and he regarded her as if she were just this side of crazy.

“Uh, I'm fine.” Madison steadied herself against the bar. “Thank you.” She belatedly remembered her manners, although for the life of her, she didn't know why she was thanking the person who'd just sent her backwards off the barstool in the first place.

And he didn't appear the least bit sorry. He eased onto the neighboring seat, lifting his shoulders into a careless shrug.

“It looks like you could use this.” He nudged a shot of Grey Goose toward her. Sun-worn and slightly roughened, his hands looked like he was no stranger to hard work. The thought struck Madison as strangely evocative and it took a moment to disengage her stare from his long, tanned fingers.

Only to find his eyes still on her, his expression unguarded. Unsmiling.

“Drink up.” He nodded towards the shot of vodka.

Every scrap of sense told Madison she should decline—except, what else was she going to do? Go back to her room, wondering if it was the same one Logan had been caught in? Make a list of things that might've driven him away?

Her lips were too thin, brow too arched, the tiny mole at the corner of her eye…

No. Not tonight.

Madison wrapped her fingers around the glass. “Thank you.”

She didn't wait for him to toast her. She knocked the liquor back in one long swallow. It burned the back of her throat and Madison squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the kick of alcohol to scrape at her throat. The coughing to start.
Nothing.
Surprisingly, the Grey Goose went down smoothly and she released an alcoholic stream of fumes as the numbness in her chest retreated.

“Better?”

Madison slanted a quick glance sideways. However superior the vodka, one shot wasn't going to fix anything in her life right now.

And he seemed to get that. He leaned in on one elbow.

“Why Stoli?” Perceptive blue eyes, filled with questions, locked on hers.

Madison fought against the urge to lick her lips. One shoulder lifted. “I wanted to feel…something.” Her answer, raw with honesty, stuck in her throat. Warmth crept into her cheeks as he blinked in surprise, then understanding sparked heat into his stare.

One brow raised. “You like the rough stuff?” His lip curled suggestively.

Madison's jaw dropped at his crass innuendo. She wasn't stupid. She knew what he meant.

“No!” The protest tumbled out in her haste to correct him. But a tingle of excitement brushed her insides as she imagined those coarse hands stroking the smooth skin of her breasts. Her nipples tightened and Madison folded her arms. Tight.

If he thought one drink signaled open season…

“I'll get you another shot,” she offered stiffly.

“No need.” The smug smile stayed on his face and he leaned back, a fluid movement that accentuated the collection of tightly bound muscles under his shirt.

She clutched at the edge of the bar and it took a moment for Madison to extricate her stare.
Damn it.
This wasn't what she needed right now. For him to think she was interested, or had trolled for his attention. Okay, she couldn't deny he looked good. More than good—an intriguing paradox of raw power and tasteful sophistication. But that didn't mean Madison was going to act on it.

It simply wasn't done. Not by her.

Even if the sparks of interest fluttering in her belly didn't flare to life often.
How about never
. No. Tonight was about gaining perspective. And preparing to face her mother tomorrow about her break-up with Logan.

“I'm getting another drink, so it only seems fair to replace yours.” Madison ignored his refusal and signaled for the bartender.

His mouth twitched in amusement. “Do you think another drink is wise? You've already fallen off your stool once.”

Madison laughed in surprise, an inelegant snort that sounded nothing like her. “Oh, it's definitely wise,” she said.

The barest flicker sparked in his eyes. A second, more thorough appraisal was followed by a shimmer of heat. “Then I guess I better introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “Cole. Cole Langford.”

“A Langford?”

Madison's belly lurched into a slow dive and she ignored Cole's outstretched hand. The Langford name was prominent in Maryland society. Very prominent. Which meant her mother probably knew his parents. Or Cole himself. Madison swallowed, running through the list of names she'd had to learn when her mother moved them to Maryland—a state Patricia St. James had specifically chosen for its long line of blue-blood families.

Langford…Edward, Joseph or Thomas?
Of course, everyone knew Thomas, a man many touted would be the future Senator.

No
Cole Langford
immediately sprang to mind.

“Are you related to Thomas?” Madison skimmed his features once more, searching for similarities to the renowned Langford bachelor. Nothing obvious stood out.

Still, there was no mistaking Cole's grimace at the mention of
that
well-known name.