A Chance in the Night. Kimberly Meter Van

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СКАЧАТЬ Martini where money was no object and anything could be bought.

      Including the woman at the end of the bar.

      Still, as much as he schooled his gaze away from her, she crept into his thoughts as if he had a giant magnet buried in his forehead tugging him in her direction.

      A busty redhead took a seat at the bar and he smiled on autopilot. “Let me guess…white wine spritzer,” he said, and her smile widened.

      “How’d you know?” she asked, her appraising look taking careful yet casual note of his person and liking what she saw. He knew if he played it right he could get her number easily but he wasn’t hunting for a good time tonight. Besides, there was too much of a distraction in his peripheral vision to truly focus on the delights of the woman in front of him.

      He grinned with a shrug. “Lucky guess.”

      “I almost ordered a vodka martini,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting into a flirtier smile.

      He cocked his head in thought. “Ah, but some thing tells me you’re not a martini drinker and the only reason you were considering it was because you heard that Martini had the best ones in town and you wanted to try it out,” he surmised to her delight, prompting him to continue. “And, if you had your preference, you’d ditch the spritzer altogether and order the champagne but you’re saving that for your date.” So he can pay for it.

      She laughed, leaning forward in a subtle, yet playful motion that gave him an unobstructed view of her double D’s as she said, “You’re good. Are you psychic or something?”

      He winked. “I’ll never tell.” But if he were psychic he’d know all the details about the woman at the end of the bar, whether he wanted to or not. And as much as he tried to ignore it, his curiosity was becoming an irritant. He returned to the woman in front of him and gestured to the door as a man entered and scanned the bar. “That your friend?”

      She glanced toward the entrance and barely hid her disappointment, which told him he’d been right again. He handed her the spritzer and she reluctantly slid from the bar stool. “See you around,” she said, and he just smiled. She left with a suggestive “Maybe sooner rather than later” and walked away slowly so as to give Christian ample time to check out her perfectly sculpted ass. Any other time he’d have enjoyed the view but his gaze returned to the woman he was trying to ignore.

      Tonight, there was something different about her. It was subtle to be sure but there was a dark edge to her that bordered on despair, or perhaps desperation. The fingers on her left hand trembled as she played with the base of her wineglass, the white wine she’d ordered earlier untouched. Every now and again, her gaze would drift over the crowd; she was clearly waiting for someone. He noted the barest sense of relief each time her sweep revealed nothing. Whoever she was waiting for wasn’t someone whose attention she wanted.

      Occupational hazard, he supposed.

      He ought to inquire if the wine wasn’t to her liking, seeing as she hadn’t tasted the pinot grigio since ordering it but he was reluctant to engage in conversation with her, even if only superficially. There were plenty of times he chatted with the regulars, flirted with the cougars and even hooked up a time or two with a hot patron looking for a good time with no strings attached, but he didn’t want to create any kind of familiarity with the woman at the end of the bar.

      But, she drew him just the same. Something in her life was putting the subtle wrinkle in her otherwise smooth brow and something was causing her to perch rigidly on her chair, looking brittle enough to crack with a touch. Oh, but she was doing a damn fine job of hiding whatever was eating at her. He had to give her that but he saw beyond her efforts and he wasn’t happy about it. Sometimes his keen sense about people was a burden he didn’t enjoy carrying.

      Like right now.

      His feet threatened to carry him in her direction but fate intervened and a portly man appeared at her side, eagerness and hunger in his eyes, and Christian faded to the far side of the bar. He had no wish to witness the beginning of the soulless transaction between the two. He knew that she would leave with the fat man because he had paid her to.

      Christian’s mouth tightened as a different memory intruded.

      Men—not quite so refined in their tastes or heavy in their pocketbook—bursting through the door of the motel where he played with his action figures. Old fat men or young strung-out men, their hands shoved up his mother’s blouse, squeezing her breasts and grunting with anticipation as they tumbled to the bed.

      “Christian baby, go get yourself a soda or something,” she instructed breathlessly, the hot, feverish glaze of her eyes burning into him as he bolted for the door. He knew the drill. His mom would need at least an hour to get the job done.

      He closed his eyes and shut the door behind him, wishing he could wipe away that image—and a hundred others before it—and jump into someone else’s life where moms didn’t earn the rent money on their backs, home wasn’t a sleazy motel on the bad side of town and hunger didn’t follow you like an unwelcome shadow because there was never enough to eat.

      Christian came back to the present with a jerk, annoyed that such a crappy memory had burst free from his mental lockbox. He never thought of those days anymore. His life before eleven years of age was shitty enough the first go round, he didn’t need to revisit it in memory. His gaze found the woman as she left the bar, grace personified on the man’s arm, and muttered a curse under his breath.

      He didn’t care what her problems were.

      And there was nothing that could make him care.

      SKYE D’LANE TRIED HARD not to stiffen and arch away from the touch of her date as his palm burned a hole into her lower back as they walked to the awaiting Town Car idling at the curb.

      Her thoughts returned to the bartender at Martini. He’d make a good escort, she thought wryly. Rich women would no doubt pay a good sum to get their manicured hands on his lean body. She was surprised Belleni hadn’t gotten a hold of him yet. Belleni had a way of drawing in the beautiful ones; it’s what made him so powerful. He offered the best to his clients and they paid him well for the privilege of booking a date with Belleni’s elite stable. She remembered when Belleni had approached her, his benign smile hiding a multitude of sins, and she’d fallen for the easy lies that he parceled out like fine morsels to a starving person.

      She’d been broken inside and he’d capitalized on it. Before she knew it, she’d been snared by a net of her own making.

      Dreams were a dangerous thing in New York, Manhattan specifically. The glitz could blind you. She should know. She resisted the urge to massage the phantom ache in her knee that always bloomed when she thought of her own hopes and dreams. The injury had healed but her career as a professional dancer had not.

      She resigned herself to an evening that by the end, she knew she’d want to forget.

      She tried to find that place inside of herself that enabled her to forget what she was about to do and pretend to be the gracious, accommodating escort to whomever had paid the exorbitant price Belleni required for her services, but tonight it eluded her. Her fingers shook as she clasped her beaded clutch, swallowing as she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second, reaching desperately for that inner strength but her conversation with Belleni only an hour earlier kept coming back to her, shattering her calm.

      He was never going to let her go. Not while she remained his Number One girl. Belleni’s СКАЧАТЬ