All I Want Is You (2 page)

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Authors: Kayla Perrin

BOOK: All I Want Is You
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And he was. At about six foot two, he had golden brown skin, a bald head, and full lips framed by a neatly trimmed goatee. Unlike the men in this bar who were dressed in suits at the end of the workday, this guy was wearing a pair of denim jeans and a black dress shirt that was open at the collar.
As he made his way through the crowd, unquestionably heading in Mikki's direction, Debbie whispered, “If you don't do him, I will.”
Chapter 2
Mikki couldn't remember the last time a man this hot had approached her, and the realization that he had her locked in his gaze was making her heart pound. She wished she was wearing something sexier, or heck, that she'd put on a bold color of lipstick before she'd left the office. But she hadn't agreed to head to this bar in order to meet guys. In fact, that had been the furthest thing from her mind. She had come with her friends to drown her sorrows in alcohol.
The man wove his way through the throng of people, holding Mikki's eyes as he did. Normally, she would look away. But tonight, she did something out of character.
She stared right back.
The sexy stranger smiled widely as he reached her, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. “Hello.”
“Hi, there,” Mikki replied, a shuddery breath oozing out of her. She did a quick sweep of his body. Even though his shirt wasn't form-fitting, his strong arms and pecs were still evident beneath it.
On the hot meter, this guy was a ten out of ten.
Why was he interested in
her
? With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her white shirt buttoned almost to the top, and her gray pleated skirt hanging below her knees, she could be the poster child for Plain Jane.
But as soon as the thought came to her, Mikki silently chastised herself for it.
No,
she told herself.
You're not going to do that. You're not going to act as though you're not an attractive, desirable woman. Just because Alex dumped you doesn't mean you don't have it going on. You don't have to be all dolled up for a guy to notice your beauty.
“What can I get you to drink?” the man asked.
Mikki glanced at the bar. Her draft beer was there. “I've got a beer, but thank you.” She sipped it. “I haven't seen you here before.” A lame line, perhaps, but it was true.
“No, you wouldn't have.”
Mikki extended her hand. “I'm Mikki.”
“Hi, Mikki.” The man took her hand in his, holding it a beat too long as he shook it. “I'm Barry.”
“Please tell me you're not a lawyer, Barry,” she said, but she doubted it. A model, perhaps. But a lawyer? She'd never seen a lawyer quite as fine as him before.
“Actually, I'm in advertising,” Barry said.
“I'll bet you are,” Mikki replied, her tongue feeling loose.
“What does that mean?”
He had the cutest smile, and she loved the way his eyes lit up as he looked at her. “It means,” she said in a husky voice, “that I'm sure you've graced the pages of many magazines. A guy as cute as you . . .”
His chuckle was endearing and floated over her like a warm breeze. “Not a model. Definitely not.”
Mikki drank more of her beer, feeling like a new woman. She was
flirting.
Two days after she had been dumped by the supposed love of her life. And it felt good.
“So, how come I haven't seen you here before?” Mikki asked.
“Probably because I'm from Chicago.”
“Aah, that would explain it.”
“I'm in town on business.”
Even better. If Mikki took Debbie's advice and went to bed with him, she wouldn't have to worry about a possible relationship. He could be a true palate cleanser.
But she'd need a bit more liquid courage if she was going to leave the bar with him. She lifted her mug of beer and polished off half of its contents.
“You really like your beer,” Barry said.
Mikki laughed. To her own ears, she sounded drunk. But she didn't care. She was having fun. “I guess I do. But I was thinking of having a shooter. Irish cream. Want to do one with me?”
Barry held her gaze for a long moment, and Mikki had the sudden thought that there was something familiar about him. Something about his eyes that made her wonder if she had met him before. But if she had, she wouldn't have forgotten. She would know.
Barry flagged down the bartender, and this time the woman behind the bar hurried over. She smiled coyly as she asked Barry what he wanted.
A minute later, she put two shooters onto the counter. Barry lifted them both and passed one to Mikki.
“To new beginnings and second chances,” he said, and clinked his shooter glass against hers.
“Cheers.” Mikki tipped her head back and drank the Irish cream in one swallow. It warmed a path down her throat.
As her head came up, her mind registered what Barry had said. “Hold on. Did you say ‘second chances'?”
His eyes twinkled, as if he knew some secret that she did not. “Yep.”
A beat passed. He couldn't be referring to her breakup with Alexander, could he?
“What did you mean by that?” Mikki asked. She wrapped a hand around her mug and brought it to her mouth. Not the most tasty of beverages after Irish cream, but, hey, she was well on her way to feeling no pain.
“You don't remember me, do you?”
Mikki had just sipped her beer, and now she nearly choked on it. That wasn't what she expected this man to say. “Excuse me?”
“You don't remember me.”
Now she narrowed her eyes. Had he approached her thinking she was someone else? “If you're going to tell me we slept together after a night in a bar, then you've got the wrong woman.”
Barry chuckled. “You're Mikki Harper, right?”
Now Mikki's mouth fell open. This man knew her name. How? She whirled around, noticing that her friends were gone.
And then it hit her. Either Debbie or Isabel had put this guy up to approaching her. One or both of them had told him her name. She was betting Debbie was behind it, in an attempt to get her into bed with some random guy as a way to mend her broken heart.
“I get it,” Mikki said. “My friend Debbie. Right?”
“Pardon?”
“My friend put you up to this,” Mikki said, nodding as she spoke. “Told you to come over and talk to me. Heck, she probably paid you.”
“High school,” Barry said.
“High school?” Mikki repeated, not understanding.
“Mrs. Miller's English class. Eleventh grade. Surely you can't forget that.”
Mikki's eyes narrowed again, and again she thought that something about his face looked familiar. Familiar, and yet . . . different.
“Barry Sanders,” he said, a question in his voice.
Barry, Barry, you're a fairy.
The old chant from high school sounded in Mikki's mind.
“Not Barry the Fairy?” she asked, too tipsy to consider censoring her words.
Barry's eyes crinkled. “I don't like to go by that name anymore. I didn't mind ‘Boring Barry' so much, but the fairy one . . . hated it.”
“Oh my God!” Mikki exclaimed. “
Barry
? It's really you?”
“Yep.”
“You look so . . . different.”
“Thank God.”
“I can't believe it!” The last time Mikki had seen him, he had looked . . . well . . . nothing like this. Then, he'd had a full mouth of braces—which explained the perfect teeth now. He had probably been just as tall, having been one of the few guys in high school to experience an early growth spurt, but he'd been a good forty pounds lighter. Maybe more. Poor Barry the Fairy had been tall and lanky, all arms and legs. And surrounded by jocks who'd worked out tirelessly to hone their teenage bodies, he had been teased something fierce at their South Florida high school.
But the way he looked now, no one would dare tease him.
Talk about a metamorphosis.
Mikki couldn't help telling him so. “Barry, I can hardly believe it's you. I mean, seriously. You look amazing.”
“So do you. But then, you always did.”
Mikki touched her ponytail, self-conscious. “You're being too kind, but thank you. I'm looking a little frumpy today.”
“‘You' and ‘frumpy'—two words that don't go together. You always looked great, even when you were balking at conventional fashion.”
Mikki grinned. She remembered how she had made the conscious decision to defy all the fashion trends that the girls in high school had followed. “Ah, high school. Dark days I'd rather forget.”
“You? You had it easy compared to me.”
“Perhaps.”
“What was the worst name anyone ever called you? Bitchy Mikki?”
Mikki groaned. “And that nickname was totally unfair. I wasn't bitchy. Just shy and misunderstood.”
“Still, a far better moniker than Barry the Fairy.”
“I'm not so sure about that.”
When Barry's eyes widened with incredulity, they both shared a chuckle. As her laughter died, Mikki said, “So you're in New York for business?”
“Yep. I'm overseeing a big campaign for a sporting goods company.”
Mikki sipped more beer. “Well, I meant what I said. You could easily be the model for any campaign.”
And then she stared at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if the beer had caused her to imagine things. Because surely this couldn't be Barry the Fairy in front of her.
“What?” he asked.
“I'm sorry. I know I keep looking at you. It's just . . .”
“A big change, I know. But, hey, high school was thirteen years ago.”
Very true. A lot could change in thirteen years.
Clearly.
“So, what about you?” Barry asked. “Are you living in New York? Or just visiting the Big Apple?”
“I'm living here. Five years now. I'm working for a law firm.”
“A lawyer?”
“No. Not a lawyer. I'm a legal secretary.”
“Nice.”
At the mention of her job, Mikki couldn't help thinking about Alexander, and she did
not
want to think about her schmuck of an ex. She lifted her mug and finished off her beer.
Her head swam a little as she put the empty mug onto the bar. But as she looked at the fine specimen of a man in front of her, she grinned like a fool. She was feeling a lot happier. Because she was here with Barry, who was definitely no longer a fairy.
“So, Barry, are you single?” She hoped he hadn't simply come over to her to say “hi” to an old friend. Not now that her body was tingling in reaction to his masculine hotness.
“As a matter of fact—”
Barry didn't even finish his statement before Mikki moved forward and placed her hand on his chest. “Good. Then dance with me.”
Taking his hand in hers, Mikki led the way to the dance floor. An upbeat Usher song was playing, and she began to shake her hips, moving in front of Barry seductively.
She couldn't stop feeling amazed at just how gorgeous he was. How could he be the same Barry who'd once been her friend in high school?
Mikki didn't question it. She simply went with the flow, as Isabel had said she should. And the flow right now was causing her to snake her arms around Barry's waist and get close to him.
He grinned down at her, and Mikki felt a bolt of heat.
No, he was more than a ten out often. At least a twelve.
He smelled incredible. And the way his hard body felt against hers . . .
Mikki's body was thrumming. Lust was undeniably coursing through her veins.
She wanted to kiss him. She
needed
to kiss him.
Moving her hands to his broad shoulders, she eased up onto her toes. And when she pressed her lips against his, Alexander was the last thing on her mind.
Chapter 3
Mikki's eyelids fluttered open, but when bright sunlight nearly blinded her, she promptly squeezed them shut. That was the first sign that something was odd, because she always closed her blinds at night. She must have been too drunk to do so when she got home from the bar.
Rolling over onto her side, she stretched her arm out. And that's when she got the second inkling that something was wrong. Because her arm brushed against something warm and smooth.
Warm and smooth . . . Mikki's eyes flew open as alarm spread through her body. She saw the form in her bed, the golden-brown skin of a man's back. She saw the white sheets strewn around his waist and the strong calf that had slipped from beneath the bedspread.
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong, indeed.
Because this
wasn't
her bedroom. She currently had beige sheets on her bed, not white.
Not to mention the room at large. She looked around in horror, not recognizing it at all.
Where
was
she?
Oh God. Had she been kidnapped? Kidnapped and forced to satisfy some strange man? As wild as the idea was, what else could explain the fact that she was in some other person's bed?
Her head pounded and her stomach roiled, and in a flash, the previous night came back to her. At the bar with her friends. Drinking too many beers. Meeting up with Barry the Fairy.
Now Mikki bolted upright. Barry the Fairy. Oh God, she'd slept with him.
Her eyes scanned the room more intently now. The small space. The delicately wallpapered walls. The television in the large cabinet console.
She was in a hotel room.
His
hotel room.
He had mentioned something about the Waldorf Astoria, hadn't he?
Oh shit! What have I done?
Mikki didn't realize that she was holding the sheets up to her chest, and now she dared to look down at herself. Though she couldn't feel a stitch of clothing on her body, she pulled the blanket back to be sure.
She cringed as her worst fear was confirmed. She was naked.
Completely.
Looking around the room again, she now saw her clothes. Her shirt was by the hotel door. Her skirt was about a foot away from the shirt, closer to the bed. Then came her bra, followed by her frumpy granny panties, which were on the floor next to the bed.
Nooooo.
One more glance at Barry made it all too real. His clothes were also thrown about the room, which meant he was also naked. But if he was wearing briefs, she would feel a world of relief.
Gingerly lifting the sheet covering his behind, Mikki gasped when she saw his naked butt.
Oh, good God in heaven. What exactly had happened between them last night?
Dumb question. Mikki knew what had happened.
Well, what
must
have happened. Because the last thing she could remember was being in the bar, on the dance floor with Barry.
Everything after that was a blank.
Mortified, Mikki slipped out from under the covers and off the bed. She picked up her panties, then her bra and the rest of her clothing. Creeping across the floor so she didn't make any noise, she made her way into the bathroom.
No more alcohol for her. Clearly, being under the influence messed with her brains. Because she was
not
this person. She wasn't a woman who slept with a guy the first night she'd met him.
Granted, she'd known Barry for two years in high school, but still. She hadn't seen him in thirteen years.
This was unacceptable.
And she couldn't even remember it!
Maybe she'd been drunk and Barry had taken her to his hotel room. Maybe he'd undressed her and put her in his bed so she could get some rest. Maybe there was a perfectly good reason why he had taken off every stitch of her clothing that had nothing to do with doing the dirty.
Yeah, right. And maybe Isabel had decided to join a convent.
Her nipples were throbbing, sensitive. It was clear Barry had played with them—a lot.
Groaning, Mikki glanced at herself in the mirror. Damn, she
looked
guilty. “You slept with him,” she said accusingly to her reflection. “My God, you're a slut.”
She had to get out of here. She couldn't face Barry in the light of day. If
she
thought she was a slut, what would
he
think of her? Sure, he had been party to whatever had happened in his bed, but still. Men were forgiven for behaving promiscuously. Congratulated, even. Women were not.
Mikki quickly got dressed. Then she opened the bathroom door and peered in the direction of the bed. Barry was still on his stomach, his one leg still jutting from beneath the sheet. She was certain he hadn't moved, which meant he was still asleep.
Hopefully soundly.
Mikki found her pumps and slipped into them. Her leather jacket was also on the floor beside the door, and she shrugged into it.
She was about to open the door and make a hasty exit when she remembered her purse. A quick scan of the area and she couldn't see it. There was no way she'd left it at the bar . . . had she?
Silently cursing, Mikki moved through the room, fearing every second that Barry would wake up. Not seeing her purse anywhere, something came to her.
It was likely under a piece of Barry's clothing.
His shirt was thrown into a heap on the armchair, and Mikki lifted it with one finger.
Bingo.
The purse was there.
She slipped the leather strap over her shoulder, then went back to the door. One more glance at Barry, who thankfully still appeared to be asleep, and Mikki knew it was time to make her move. She opened the hotel door as quietly as possible, then crept out of the room.
In the quiet of the hallway, the door closing sounded like a bomb going off. Her heart beginning to pound, she rushed down the corridor. She came upon the bank of elevators but didn't stop. If Barry had heard the door closing, he might be getting his clothes on to come after her.
Instead, Mikki raced to the far end of the hallway, toward the stairwell. When she saw the exit door, she finally looked to her right to figure out what floor she was on.
Fifteen!
No matter. She went into the stairway nonetheless and began her descent. Two flights down, she stopped, took off her pumps, then continued going.
“I'm a slut. I'm a slut.” Mikki repeated that mantra over and over again, shamefully.
How could she have slept with Barry?
She'd been drinking, yes. And she remembered how good he had looked, even before she'd known he was Barry from her past. And she remembered pressing her body against his on the dance floor . . .
But what had happened next? Why couldn't she remember?
She paused in the stairwell, a memory coming back to her. There had been a kiss. Yes, she remembered his mouth coming down onto hers as they'd danced. Or had she initiated the kiss?
Make that plural. They'd kissed more than once, and damn, it had felt good. Scorching hot. Barry's skillful kisses had made her giddy and light-headed.
Granted, it could have been the beer that had made her light-headed. The beer that had made her do something so completely out of character.
Suddenly, Alex's paranoid warning about men—even the bartenders—putting drugs into a woman's drink didn't seem so paranoid. Was that what had happened? Had something been added to the beer that had made her lose control?
And just how out of control had she been? Her body was throbbing in a variety of places, and her inner thighs felt strained, making it clear that whatever they'd done in Barry's bed had been . . . a workout.
But no matter how much she racked her brain for a memory of what had happened in the hotel room, she couldn't conjure it.
“If you're going to be a slut,” Mikki said, panting slightly as she reached the main floor, “you at least want to remember the experience.”
She took a moment to catch her breath before slipping back into her shoes. She tightened her jacket around her, then opened the door leading to the lobby.
As she began to stride with her head held high, she once again felt the strain on her inner thighs. It had been a long time since her body had felt muscle tension after making love. Just how wild had she and Barry gotten?
Well, she would never find out. Because Barry lived in Chicago. That was one thing she remembered that he'd said the previous night. The chances of them running into each other again were slim to none.
Whatever she'd needed to do, she'd gotten it out of her system. Debbie had told her that having sex with someone else would help her get over Alex. But the sad reality was, sex with Barry hadn't made her forget that Alex had broken her heart.
Perhaps because she couldn't remember the experience. But she certainly wasn't about to look Barry up and ask him for a play-by-play of what they'd done.
And she definitely hoped that Barry didn't try to find her. Though if he did, good luck. New York was a big city, with a gazillion law firms. She hadn't given him any specific details as to where she worked.
Had she?
She certainly hoped not. And if Barry reached out to her on Facebook, she would deny his friendship request.
Because no matter how much she might have enjoyed her night with him, Barry wasn't her type. Not a man who had once been known as Barry the Fairy.
Mikki strode across the beautiful lobby, not making eye contact with anyone for fear that they would see in her eyes the truth of what she'd done last night.
Sex with a stranger. He may as well be, given that they hadn't seen each other in thirteen years.
As Mikki exited the hotel, she felt a little bad for leaving Barry without so much as a note or a good-bye. It wasn't that she didn't like him. Indeed, they'd been friends in high school. From what Mikki remembered, she'd been one of his very few friends. Where Barry was concerned, people hadn't looked past the exterior. And the fact that he'd come to their high school two months into their junior year made him easy prey for those who'd already formed their clique of comrades.
But Mikki had liked Barry. Unlike most of the insensitive jocks at her school, he was easy to talk to, something they'd done often. And while most of the other kids had seen Barry as a geek, Mikki hadn't. A little awkward perhaps, but a nice guy at heart.
She wondered what had ever happened to Tiffany, the object of Barry's desire back then.
No,
she told herself.
Don't wonder about Barry; don't wonder about Tiffany. Just get to Brooklyn and make sure you have everything packed.
Because she had to head to Florida on a flight this afternoon. Her younger sister by a year and a half, Chantal, was getting married.
Chantal, the one who had always been popular throughout high school. The one who had been a cheerleader and valedictorian. The one for whom love came easy.
Chantal was about to get married, while the man Mikki had thought would propose to her had dumped her instead.
It was embarrassing to head to Florida without Alex, having to answer all the questions Mikki knew would come. Especially after telling Chantal that she thought he would propose over the holidays. And worse than the questions would be the pity. The pats on the back and the assurances that, hey, one day she'd find her Mr. Right.
Mikki was sick of it. She was sick of being single with no hope of marriage on the horizon.
And sadly, not even a night of hot sex could make her forget that fact.

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