Beautiful Stranger (4 page)

Don’t freak out, Sara. Don’t freak out.

It was perfect. Everything about this had been perfect, but it had to end right here.
Do it all differently. No names, no strings. No regrets.

Straightening my dress, I stretched on my toes to kiss his lips once. “That was unbelievable.”

He nodded, humming a little into the kiss. “It was. Shall we—?”

“I’m going to go downstairs.” I began to back away and gave him a small wave.

He stared at me, confused. “You’re—”

“Good. I’m good. You’re good?”

He nodded, dazed.

“So . . . thanks.” Adrenaline still buzzing in my veins, I turned before he could respond, and left him standing with his pants unbuttoned, his lips twisted in a surprised grin.

Minutes later I found Chloe and Julia, both of them ready to head home. Arm in arm we left the club, and only after we were in the limo, and I was silently reliving every second of what had just happened with that strange, powerful man, did I remember: I’d left my underwear on the floor at his feet, and the video of me dancing on his phone.

Saturday my life was perfect: blazing career, orderly flat, several women available for play whenever and wherever. Sunday and Monday: a fucking mess. I was unable to concentrate, obsessively watching that damn video, and had a stranger’s knickers burning a hole in my bedroom bureau.

Shifting in my chair, I ran my thumb over the screen, turning my phone on for the thousandth time today. The lunch meeting had veered off-topic again, and I’d tried my best to look like I gave even the slightest fuck what anyone was going on about, but as soon as the topic of American football came back up, I was done.

All I could think about was her anyway.

I glanced down, making sure the volume was muted and hesitating for only a moment before pressing play.

The screen was dark, the image was blurry, but I didn’t need to make out every detail to know what came next. Even without the sound I could remember the throbbing music, the way her hips moved to the beat while her skirt slipped further and further up her thighs. American women didn’t
appreciate the value of perfectly pale, unfreckled skin, but my stranger had the most exquisite skin I’d ever seen. Fuck, I would’ve licked her from ankle to hip and back again if she’d given me the chance. I knew now that she was dancing just for me, that she knew I was watching.

And she fucking loved it.

Christ. That tiny slip of a dress. Her messy chin-length caramel hair and those enormous, innocent brown eyes. Those eyes made me want to do very, very bad things to her while she watched.

Her perfect arse and tits didn’t hurt, either.

“You’re a terrible lunch date, Stella.” Will reached over and pulled a chip from my plate.

“Mmm?” I murmured, eyes still down, careful not to react in any way. “You’re discussing American football. I’m over here killed by boredom. I am sitting here, quite literally dead.”

If there’s one thing I’d learned in this business, it’s that you never, ever show your cards, even when you’re holding the worst hand imaginable. Or a video of a girl dancing just before you fucked her against a wall.

“Whatever you’re looking at on that phone is obviously a hundred times better than how the Jets are gonna look this year. And you’re not sharing.”

If only he knew.

“Taking a peek at the market,” I said with a small shake of my head. I almost whimpered as I closed the video, slipping my phone into the inside pocket of my suit jacket. “Boring stuff.”

Will drained the last of his drink and laughed. “I hate that you’re such a good liar.” If we hadn’t been best mates since opening one of the most successful venture capital firms in the city three years ago, I might have actually believed him. “I think you’re looking at porn on your phone.”

I ignored him.

“Hey, Max,” James Marshall, our head tech advisor, piped in. “Whatever happened with that woman you were talking to at the bar?”

Normally when my best mates asked about a random woman I’d met, I’d shrug and say, “Quick shag,” or even simply, “Limo.” But for some reason, this time I shook my head and said, “Nothing.”

Another round of drinks arrived at our table and I thanked the server absently even though I hadn’t yet touched my first one. My gaze moved restlessly around the room. It was the typical lunchtime crowd: business meetings and ladies who lunch.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

James groaned, closing the file he’d been looking over as he slipped it into his briefcase. He lifted his glass to his forehead, wincing. “Is anyone else still paying for the weekend, though? I’m too old for that shit anymore.”

I lifted my scotch to my lips and immediately regretted it. How could a drink I’d had practically every day since puberty suddenly remind me of a woman I’d seen exactly once?

I looked up at the sound of a throat clearing.

“Hey,” Will said. I followed his gaze to where a man was crossing the dining room. “Isn’t that Bennett Ryan?”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, as the tall shape of my old friend moved across the restaurant.

“Do you know him?” James asked.

“Yeah, we went to uni together; he was my flat mate for three years. Called a couple of months ago, wanted to borrow my place in Marseilles to propose to his girlfriend. We talked about Ryan Media’s expansion to the New York office.” We watched as Bennett stopped at a table on the far side of the room, smiling like an idiot before bending to kiss a stunning brunette.

“I’m guessing France did the trick.” Will laughed.

But it wasn’t the future Mrs. Bennett Ryan who had my attention. It was the beautiful woman who stood beside her, reaching for her purse. Caramel-honey hair, the same red lips I’d been kissing at the club, the same wide brown eyes.

It was all I could do to stay in my chair and not go straight to her. She smiled at Bennett, and then he said something that made both women laugh as the three of them left the restaurant and I could do nothing but stare on.

I supposed it was time to pay my old friend a visit.

“Max Stella.” Large metal doors separating an inner office from Ryan Media’s outer reception area opened, and The Man Himself walked out to meet me. “How the hell are you?”

I stepped away from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Fifth Avenue and shook Bennett’s hand. “Brilliant,” I said, glancing around.

The space itself was at least two stories high in the atrium, and the polished marble flooring gleamed in the full sun. A small seating area was set off to the side, with leather couches and an enormous glass-bubble chandelier hanging from at least twenty feet up. Behind the broad reception desk, a smooth waterfall was built into the wall, the water cascading over slate-blue stone. A small cluster of employees hurried from the elevators to various offices, throwing Bennett nervous glances.

“Looks like you’re settling right in.”

He motioned for me to follow him inside. “We’re slowly getting things rolling. New York is, after all, still New York.”

He led me into his office, a corner suite with seamless windows and a breathtaking view of the park.

“And the fiancée?” I asked, nodding to a framed photograph on his desk. “I’m guessing she liked the Mediterranean. Why else would she agree to marry an arrogant twat like you?”

Bennett laughed. “Chloe is perfect. Thanks for letting me take her there.”

I shrugged. “Just an empty house most of the time. I’m glad it did the trick.”

Gesturing for me to sit, Bennett sat himself in a large wingback chair, his back to a wall of windows. “It’s been a while. How are things?”

“Fantastic.”

“So I hear.” He scratched his jaw, studying me. “I’d love for you to come over sometime now that we’re moved in. I’ve told Chloe all about you.”

“I hope that’s a slight exaggeration.” Of anyone in New York, Bennett Ryan probably had the most dirt from my wildest days.

“Well,” he conceded, “I’ve told her just enough to want to meet you.”

“I’d love to catch up, any time.” I glanced at the buildings out the window behind him, hesitating. Bennett wasn’t easy to read in these kinds of situations; it was one of the things that made him so good at what he did. “But I’ll admit that I’m here to ask a favor.”

He leaned forward, smiling. “I figured.”

I’d comfortably worked with some of the most intimidating people in the world, but Bennett Ryan never failed to make me take the time to choose my words carefully. Particularly when asking about something this . . . delicate.

“I’ve been a bit preoccupied with a woman I met the other night. I let her go before getting her number, and have been kicking myself ever since. As luck would have it, I spotted her having lunch with you and your lovely Chloe yesterday afternoon.”

He considered me for a moment. “You’re talking about Sara?”

“Sara,” I said, perhaps a bit too triumphantly.

“Oh no,” he said, immediately shaking his head. “Not a chance, Max.”

“What?” But with Bennett I couldn’t maintain an innocent expression for long. The man knew me only from my university days. Maybe not my best representation of good behavior.

“Chloe will have my balls if she finds out I let you anywhere near Sara. No way.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m wounded, mate. What if my intentions are honorable?”

Bennett laughed and stood to walk over to the window. “Sara’s . . .” He hesitated. “She’s just come out of a bad breakup. And you’re . . .” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not her type.”

“Come on, Ben. I’m not a nineteen-year-old wanker anymore.”

He threw me an amused smirk. “Okay, but you’re talking to the man who saw you successfully hook up with three women in a single evening, without any of them knowing about the others.”

I grinned. “You’ve got it all wrong. They were all very well acquainted by the end of the night.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Just give me her number. We’ll consider it a thank-you for the loan of my gorgeous villa.”

“You are such an asshole.”

“I believe I’ve heard that before,” I said, standing. “Sara and I, we had . . . an interesting conversation.”

“A conversation.
Sara
had a
conversation
with you. I’m skeptical.”

“A rather enjoyable one, yes. She’s intriguing, that little one. Unfortunately, we were interrupted before I could get her name.”

“I see.”

“What luck I had, running into you lot and all.” I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

“Lucky, yes . . .” Smiling, Bennett took his seat again, looking up at me. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to find your luck somewhere else. I’m quite fond of my testicles; I’d like to keep them. I’m not going to smooth the way for you here.”

“You always were a prick.”

“So I’ve heard. Lunch Thursday?”

“You bet.”

I left Bennett’s office intent on having a look around the company’s new quarters. They’d taken over three floors of the building and I’d heard they’d already had quite a bit of work done. The spacious atrium was breathtaking, but the office areas were just as lush, with wide hallways, travertine floors, and plenty of natural light coming through windows, glass block walls, and skylights. Each office seemed to have a small sitting area—nothing to match Bennett’s, but perfect for sit-downs that didn’t call for the formality of a conference room.

That said, the conference room was breathtaking: a wall of windows looking out on midtown Manhattan, a wide polished walnut table that seated at least thirty, and state-of-the-art technology for presentations.

“Not bad, Ben,” I murmured, walking back into the hallway and staring up at a large Timothy Hogan photography installment. “Good taste in art for a total wanker.”

“What are you
doing
here?”

I looked up to find a very surprised Sara frozen halfway down the hall. I couldn’t help breaking into a grin; this really was my lucky day.

Or . . . not, if her expression was any indication.

“Sara!”
I sang. “What a lovely surprise. I was just at a meeting. I’m Max, by the way. Pleasure to finally put a name to the”—I dropped my eyes and studied her chest, and then the rest of her, through her snug black dress—“face.”