Never Kiss a Stranger (5 page)

* * *

“I got here first,” I said in a singsong voice as Coco arrived at our table that night. It was pure luck, though. I had a showing that ran later than expected, but I’d hailed a cab and slipped him an extra twenty to drive like a maniac so I’d get there first.

“Miracles do happen,” Coco teased, setting her jet-black Hermes bag on the empty chair between us. Dark waves like spun silk rested over her the shoulders of her tweed Chanel jacket and spilled down her back, and I quietly envied the fact that rain, snow, or shine, she always looked like a million bucks. Of course it was just part of her job as a weekend morning anchor for the highest-rated news network in the country. She always had to be on.

The restaurant was packed. Coco always picked the hottest places.

“Miss Bissett, I’m sorry to bother you,” a middle-aged woman said as she approached our table. “Can I get a picture with you?”

Coco happily obliged and stood up as the woman handed me her phone. I was always the picture taker, but I was used to it. I was damn proud of my big sister. We’d both risen from nothing. Who knew two girls from a trailer park in Darlington, Kentucky could move to Manhattan and make something of themselves?

The woman scampered away, staring at the screen of her phone, happy as a clam, and Coco took a seat again.

“You’re so nice, Co,” I said, shaking my head.

Less than ten years ago, Coco Bissett was an unknown aspiring broadcast journalist named Dakota Andrews. She’d married well in her early twenties to a prominent Manhattan man named Harrison Bissett, who happened to be about ten years older than she was. Harrison also happened to be a producer for a news show on MBC, which meant he had a whole host of highly coveted connections. It wasn’t long before she kicked her Kentucky accent to the curb and worked one on one with a hosting coach. Shortly after that, she was doing screen tests and fill-ins and the offers began to pour in.

When she landed the weekend morning show, Harrison insisted Coco Bissett sounded more commercial and like a name that would give her more credibility than Dakota Andrews. It was weird thinking of her as anyone other than Coco Bissett anymore, and it was almost as if Dakota Andrews never existed in the first place.

We’d come a long way from crawling around on dirty floors to clicking our Manolos across the marble of some of the most expensive apartment homes in the whole world.

“It’s all part of the job, Addison,” she said anytime I questioned anything.

We each had our own forms of validation. Mine came in the form of signed contracts and six-figure commission checks. Hers came in the form of being loved and adored by complete strangers.

“Did you hear the big news?” Coco asked as she sipped her Perrier. Her big blue eyes, which matched mine right down to the icy gray flints in our irises, twinkled against the flicker of the candlelight.

“No?”

“Mom’s getting married.”

“Again? What is this, number six?”

“Five. I think. If we’re not counting Dale.”

“Oh, God, let’s not count Dale.” I shuddered to think of the hairy man who compulsively lied to our mother and swindled her out of what remained in her pitiful 401k. Coco and I would be taking care of Mom someday, we knew it, but at least we’d always planned for that. The worst part was Dale insisted they be common law married because he was all tied up in a long, ongoing divorce to a woman in Iowa. We found out that woman never existed, and it was all just a scam. He was one of
those
. “What’s his name?”

“Does it even matter?” Coco rolled her eyes and then plastered her best made-for-TV smile as soon as our server approached us. She controlled her emotions with a switch. “Yes, hi, I’d like a glass of pinot noir, please. Thank you.”

“Gin and tonic for me, thanks,” I said. “So, when is Mom planning on telling me?”

“I don’t know. Soon,” Coco said. “She just told me today. She and her new husband-to-be are coming to the city. I guess he has a son who lives here. She wants us all to do dinner.”

“One big, happy family.”

“Exactly.” Coco took a sip of her freshly-delivered wine. “That woman is persistent. She’s fifty-eight years old and won’t give up on the notion that we need to have this perfect nuclear family.”

“That ship has sailed.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Coco said, and a hint of the Kentucky accent we’d both buried years ago came out to play. When we first moved to New York, we’d practiced for months at hiding it, and Coco had learned a few techniques in college when she studied broadcast journalism. No one could tell we were from Kentucky anymore, though occasionally when one of us got mad, the accent came out in full force.

Coco’s phone began to vibrate, and she raised a finger and mumbled an apology as she answered the call. It was probably Harrison. Her ex-husband. I never understood their relationship, and Coco would never elaborate too much about why they had been divorced for two years but still lived together.

“You just want me to move so you can sell me an apartment,” she’d tease, trying to change the subject.

Coco wandered off from the table to take her call, and from the looks of her flailing hand motions, she and Harrison were going at it again. My sister was fiercely independent, but she loved just as hard as she lived her life, and her tender heart was her Achilles heel.

Which was also why we were never allowed to talk about her high school boyfriend who was now a famous country music singer. Never mind the fact that his face was plastered over every billboard in Times Square every time one of his albums came out. She seemed to live her life like he never existed, and I’d feel her wrath if I dared mention his name or his music around her.

I took a sip of my cocktail as I waited and rearranged my silverware, scanning the room for a familiar face. I’d sold and leased thousands of apartments and condos and brownstones over the last few years, and I always seemed to run into people I knew anytime I was out. It had become something of a game for me.

As I glanced around, I filled my mouth with another sip of my drink, practically choking as soon as I saw him.

Wilder
.

At this restaurant.

Sitting across from a woman with blonde hair like mine.

And he saw me.

I coughed as the sip slid down the wrong pipe, bringing a linen napkin to my lips as I tried to get it under control. I wedged myself out and away from the table and headed toward the bathroom, not wanting to make a spectacle of myself.

I’d forced him out of my mind that day so I could get a little work done, and I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do about him. There was no denying how liberating it was to give up control of my body to a man who knew exactly what to do with it. But there was also no denying how freeing it was to have total possession of my own heart.

When I emerged from the bathroom, he was standing there. Arms crossed. Smirk across his face. Waiting for me.

“Small world,” he said, looking me up and down. He stepped into my space, owning it. “You here on a date?”

“No,” I said. “My sister. She’s around here somewhere. You?”

“Here with my aunt. Definitely not a date,” he said. “I’m a kinky man, lovely, but I’m not that kinky.”

“Okay, well, enjoy your dinner,” I said, trying to play coy and hoping he couldn’t see the effect he was having on me. Being in his presence made it hard to breathe, and I could barely think straight when we locked eyes.

“Wait,” he said. His hand took my wrist and guided me back to him. “Is this how you dress when you’re having dinner with your sister?”

He glanced down at my blouse. A few of the buttons had come undone throughout the day due to stretched button holes. I’d been meaning to take it to a tailor, but I’d been too busy lately. His hands gripped the side of my hips as he ran them down the smooth fabric of my hip-hugging pencil skirt.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked him.

His determined hands slid up to the curve above my hips, and he stepped closer to me until his body had nearly pinned me against the wall. He leaned down, his lips against my ear, and said, “Because this sexy little body of yours belongs to me, and you’re showing it off for the rest of the world.”

His voice vibrated low and tickled my eardrum, sending my heart into instant arrhythmia.

“I don’t like to share,” he said. “That’s another thing you should know about me.”

My words caught in my throat as my thoughts scrambled in every direction. I couldn’t possibly have casual sex with a man who made my body betray my mind the way Wilder did. He could be very bad for business. He could wreak all kinds of havoc with my priorities. My life’s work. And I couldn’t afford to cheat on my work with a plaything like him.

“I still haven’t given you my answer,” I said. “Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Look,” he said. “We both know how this is going to go. I won’t take no for an answer, and you’re going to give into me sooner or later once you realize I’m exactly what you need. Let’s drop this little act of yours and stop wasting each other’s time.”

He leaned in and placed a single, tantalizing kiss on my lips as if to intentionally tease me.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Why not you?” he huffed, as if it were obvious. “We’re perfect for each other. Can’t you see that? We’re not looking for love or a relationship. You’re looking for a man to take complete control of you behind closed doors, to make you forget about this crazy, busy, ridiculously over-controlled life you’re living, and I’m looking for a beautiful woman who likes to hand over the reins in bed. You have what I need. I have what you need. It’s that simple, lovely. Don’t make it complicated.”

“Addison, you okay?” It was Coco. I peered from around Wilder’s broad shoulder to find her standing there with her hand on her hip, watching this wildly attractive man in a three-piece suit press me up against a wall.

My cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “I’m fine.” I pushed myself away from Wilder and shooed Coco away as I straightened my blouse.

“That your sister?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, rolling my eyes and waiting for him to suddenly act even more interested in me. That was how it usually went the second a guy found out who my sister was. “The infamous Coco Bissett. Let me guess, you want a picture with her or something?”

He scrunched his eyes, as if he didn’t know who she was. “Name sounds familiar. Don’t know her, though. As I was saying…”

The whole world knew Coco Bissett. She was touted as the next Susannah Jethro, only she was a younger, more exotic, sexpot version. She had hourglass curves and legs up to her neck. She gave most Victoria’s Secret models a run for their money with her long, dark waves that spilled down her voluptuous breasts and her big, baby doll eyes. Men wanted her and women wanted to be her. With an infectious laugh that put even the most nervous guest or interviewee at ease, she was easily America’s next sweetheart. And that was exactly why the network was in secret talks to replace Susannah Jethro with her next year.

“You really don’t know who she is?” I asked, keeping my jaw from dropping. “You don’t watch the news?”

“I don’t have time to watch the news. I read it,” he said. “Anyway, let’s get back on track here.” He stepped into my space once again. “You and me. Every Friday night. Until further notice. And remember, I don’t share. I should be the only one owning that exquisite pussy of yours.”

“Sounds an awful lot like you want to be my boyfriend,” I teased.

Wilder made a disgusted face, then his lips morphed into the smile of a man who knew he was about to get exactly what he wanted. “I’m not your boyfriend. You’re not my girlfriend. And I promise never to fall in love with you.”

“Likewise,” I said. “I promise never to fall in love with you.”

“So we have a deal?”

I shot him my best professional smile. “I’ll let you know.”

If several years in real estate had taught me anything, it was the art of negotiation. If the seller makes the buyer think the deal is on the verge of crumbling, it places all the power into the hands of the seller, making the buyer want it even more.

If I was going to give him my body to own, to possess, I needed him to really appreciate it. I needed him to realize property like me didn’t come on the market very often, if ever.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he said.

“That’s tomorrow.”

“I know.”

I strutted back to the table where Coco seemed irritated.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Ran into a friend.”

“Since when do your friends look like Calvin Klein models?” Coco asked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you hadn’t mentioned you had a friend who looked like that.” She fanned herself. “Holy shit, he’s hot.”

“I may or may not have hooked up with him last night,” I said coyly, pursing my lips and stifling the proud grin that wanted to plaster my face.

“Wait, what? How did you meet?” The questions continued, but I drowned them out with thoughts of him and his penetrating gaze. “Addison, you have to tell me everything. This is so unlike you. I thought you’d sworn off anything with a penis since that asshole, Kyle.”