Page 4

Four Years Ago

“You gotta hear this one. A man walks into a bar and…”

Sierra Lourde stared at the guy who was rattling off bad jokes and held back a groan. Really? She expected such behavior in her small beach town—tourists were notoriously chatty and tipsy on vacation—but this was New York City. At the Carlisle hotel. Wasn’t that fancy enough to guarantee loud, sloppy men wouldn’t try to pick her up when she just wanted to sit by herself and drink a glass of overpriced wine?

The overweight, almost bald man guffawed at the punchline, not caring she didn’t break a smile.

“Hysterical right? Let me buy you another drink.”

He made a motion to the bartender but she reacted quickly.

“No, thanks. I’d prefer to be alone right now, but appreciate the offer.”

He blinked red eyes in disbelief. Then grinned like he’d misheard her.

“A pretty woman like you? Nah, I’m a great listener. Try me.”

Sierra glanced around the mostly empty bar and tamped down a sigh. Once again, she’d have to take care of things herself. Why hadn’t she learned there was never someone coming to save her? The lesson kept slapping her upside the head enough times to get a concussion. Yet, here she was. Still hoping for a white knight to step in, get rid of the guy, and not expect a thing in return.

The men that Mom always spoke about, she thought with a touch of bitterness. The ones from those awful movies she played over and over, telling Sierra love was the only reason for living, and to go big or go home.

Oh, she’d gone big alright.

And then she’d gone home. For good.

“Look, I just want to—”

A deep, gravelly voice interrupted her from behind.

“Sorry, honey, I ran late. The kids are in bed but I think Sylvester came home with lice, which I may have caught—oh, hi. Keeping my wife company? Thanks so much.”

Her jaw unhinged but she snapped it shut, refusing to ruin the save. Sierra caught his scent before she actually saw the stranger; a mix of clove and whiskey that was so sensually male, she almost gave another sniff just to confirm. The joke guy almost stumbled back when he was offered to shake hands, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Must be afraid of catching lice.

Sierra smoothly picked up her role.

“Dammit. I was hoping to clear my thoughts but I guess that’s not happening.”

She gave a deep sigh.

“I think lice is even worse than bed bugs, don’t you, darling?”

“I agree. We should’ve never sent Sara to camp.”

Joke guy took another step back.

“Uh, I’ll leave you to, ugh, figure things out.”

In seconds, they were left blissfully alone. Sierra swiveled her head around to thank her savior, then turned mute.

He was…breathtaking.

Thick, russet hair with touches of gold tumbled over his brow. His features were classic Irish but held a carved symmetry that kept him from looking too pretty. A short, clipped beard hugged his lush lips, giving him an edge. But it was his eyes that held her motionless.

A deep-set emerald, gleaming with both mischief and ruthless intelligence. A swirl of gold and green that demanded a woman’s full attention, because she’d be helpless under his stare. Sierra didn’t have to study him to note the cut of his designer suit, or the lean muscled body beneath. She knew immediately he was way out of her league, but damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of stumbling over her words. God knows, he was probably used to it.

Thankfully, she found her voice.

“Sylvester and Sara, huh? Creative. Was there going to be a third?”

Those gorgeous lips quirked in a half-smile.

“Salvatore. He has chicken pox.”

She nodded.

“As parents, we’re screwed.”

He gave a husky laugh. His hair was damp from the rain. He brushed off the lingering raindrops and tugged at his Burberry raincoat.

“Hope that was okay. I made an executive decision you didn’t want company.”

“Your decision would have gained you a promotion. Appreciate it.”

Her heart beat madly in her chest but she remained calm as that piercing gaze studied her. She knew what came next. He’d offer a drink, sit down, and give her a bunch of charming pick-up lines. It was a rainy Monday night and other than the vanished joke guy and the bartender across the way, no one was here. Her one-time savior would try to close the deal and the good feeling he gave her would be gone under the eventual smarm of wanting to sleep with her.

God, she was so cynical.

God, she was so tired.

What had she expected? It wasn’t his fault. She’d come alone to a hotel bar, which pretty much screamed her intention to get drunk and have sex with a stranger.

Holy crap, what if he thought she was a hooker?

Sure, she wasn’t wearing provocative clothes—her loose black pants, cold-shouldered matching top, and high heeled red boots screamed city chic, but escorts were classy now. Except with this man, if she was an escort, she’d offer him a freebie.

Sierra waited, and wondered if she’d just give in. He was male perfection, and though she wasn’t comfortable with one-night stands, she’d come here to escape her tangled thoughts and insecurities.

This man would remove both.

He treated her to a full grin, bringing a roguish Irish charm her sister, Aspen, would have written about in her novels.

“You’re very welcome. Enjoy your drink.”

Then with a graceful tip of his chin, he headed to the opposite end of the bar and settled on the chair.

He ordered a drink and Sierra spun back around toward her own cocktail.

Well, dayum. That was embarrassing.

Caught between shame from the rejection and laughter at her ego, she chose humor. Aspen would never let her forget this moment. Her sister was always whining that Sierra could get any guy she wanted, so she’d crack up at this bold turn-down.

Lifting her glass, she sipped her Cabernet and allowed herself to grin.

“That seemed too amusing not to share.”

Her nerve endings shimmered with awareness. His voice stroked all the places inside her that hadn’t been stroked in way too long. She ignored her body and cocked her head.

“Just remembering all those witty jokes from my previous companion.”

A sexy snort echoed across the bar. He lifted his glass—looked like whiskey—and took a sip.

“If the first ones were as bad as the one I caught, I’m concerned about your sense of humor.”

“Be more concerned about Sylvester and Sara. You’re on duty tonight.”

A grin curved his lips.

“You’re funny.”

A sigh escaped her.

“Not really. My sister terms it “dry wit.”

A nice way to say I’m sarcastic.”

“Nothing wrong with sarcasm.”

Sierra shrugged, then went back to her wine. The hushed sounds of the bartender moving glasses and a low conversation from out in the hall added to the feeling of intimacy. Rich wood, glass bottles, soft music, and dim lights made it a good place to escape a cold, rainy night. Her phone lay on the gleaming mahogany, on silent, untouched. She didn’t want the outside world to invade her bubble.

The silence stretched to fill the room. Curiosity spiked. Was he grabbing a drink before going home to his wife? Was he meeting someone? Was he drowning his sorrows in liquor? Was he hoping for an easy pick up?

His phone was perched on the bar but he wasn’t scrolling, either. His fingers tapped the polished counter absently, seemingly deep in thought.

She jolted when he spoke up.

“I’m celebrating. Closed a deal and had a good day.”

“Congrats.”

Another graceful nod. More tapping of fingers. “Thanks.”

Sierra paused.

“I’m celebrating, too.”

“Yeah? For what?”

“Getting through a shit day. A few glasses of wine are my reward.”

He turned in his chair to study her. That lush lower lip quirked. Her fingers itched to touch his mouth so she made a fist instead.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

She blinked. “Thanks.”

“Feels kinda weird talking to you from way over here. Can I get you another wine? Or I can stop talking if you just want to chill by yourself.”

He sounded sincere, which threw her off.

“I’m not a hooker.”

A burst of laughter escaped him. The sound pleased her, and she mourned when he stopped.

“Good to know because I’m not looking for one.”

“You wouldn’t need one anyway.”

A delighted grin lit up his face.

“You’re flirting. I like it.”

Her eyes widened.

“Trust me, I never flirt. Just stating facts.”

He shook his head and those emerald eyes gleamed with amusement.

“A reluctant flirt, then.”

Sierra had no idea why his statement pleased her. Her looks were solid enough to attract men, but she’d been told she was way too direct and serious. When she moved to Corolla, she’d been hopeful to absorb some southern charm, but it had never happened. She was too impatient to get to the punch lines. One of her biggest weaknesses.

Flirting was for women who played. Lingered. Women who enjoyed waiting for the payoff. Women who had…fun.

Hell, when was the last time she had actual fun?

Sierra pushed the gloomy thought aside.

“Nope, not part of my makeup. But I’m sure you’re used to every person in your path flirting with you,”

she said with a tiny snort.

His brow climbed.

“Was that an insult cloaked as a compliment?”

“Maybe? Not that it’s your fault you were born beautiful. I’m sure in some ways it’s a terrible burden.”

Another rich laugh.

“For someone who doesn’t flirt, you have the potential to be an expert.”

“Now who’s the flirt?”

Their gazes met and locked across the room and damned if that tingle blazed into a heat that warmed and melted her blood. A few seconds ticked by as they regarded each other. Sierra wasn’t ignorant enough to think it was special. She was sure this man had a willing companion every night, but God, it felt good for her body to finally come alive. She’d been dead for too long.

He spoke with care and precision she immediately respected.

“I’d love to sit closer and chat, but if you want your space, I promise to leave you alone.”

Sierra studied his face. He was a stranger, but she believed him. And on this rainy, quiet night, she ached for some real conversation without any expectations.

“Why not?”

As she took a seat next to him, her nostrils filled with the scents of whiskey, clove, and fresh rain. He smiled and motioned for the bartender to bring her another glass of wine. “Hi. I’m—”

She lifted her hand and cut him off.

“No names. If that’s okay?”

It was so much easier to let go when there were no attachments. Her pain was something she’d been carefully hiding from practice—not wanting to drag her family or friends or co-workers into the mess. Here, with him, she’d be free not to care.

He glanced down at her hand. The empty patch where her wedding ring had been was a lighter skin color. “Married?”

His tone was neutral but his body stiffened.

“Not any longer.”

The tension eased. Sierra wondered if he had morals about sleeping with married women, or just wanted to know. His reaction said it was a line not to be crossed, but she knew nothing about him. “Okay.”

The word seethed with meaning. Her shoulders relaxed. The bartender brought her another glass and she switched out.

“Tell me about your good news,”

she said, taking a sip. The dry, oaky liquid slid down her throat with ease.

A tiny frown creased his brow.

“Won’t that make you feel bad? We can talk about your day.”

She shook her head.

“I’m tired of me. I want to hear about your big deal.”

“Okay.”

With one graceful motion, he shed his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Her mouth watered at all those lean muscles moving underneath the crisp white shirt.

“I’m in property development. I’ve been trying to buy this building for a while, but it was a long shot. Finally managed to snag it at a basement level price.”

“How much?

“Ten million.”

She whistled.

“Nice. What are you going to do with it now that you own it?”

“Tear it apart and turn the place into a storage unit.”

She blinked.

“Storage? What is it now?”

“There were a few tenants, but mainly it’s used as an artist’s studio and retreat.”

Sierra considered his answer.

“That sounds much better than storage. The world needs more creativity.”

“Actually, it needs more space for New Yorker’s storage. Have you seen the tight space in the apartments here?”

She fought back a smile.

“So, you gobble up struggling properties that can be used for something better?”

“Mostly.”

“You’re the villain in the story.”

His gaze narrowed with interest.

“More like the Robin Hood of property. I buy them before they can fall into bankruptcy and give them a chance to make some money.”

Sierra gave a snort.

“You don’t give your riches to the poor. Besides, I’ve seen Pretty Woman. You manipulate for a great deal, then dismantle someone’s beloved business for money.”

He gave a bark of laughter. Those green-gold eyes sparkled with mischief.

“If you’re not a hooker, I’m not the bad guy. No artists have been harmed during this deal. No nice old ladies have been thrown out of their houses by the big bad wolf.”

“You don’t strike me as a wolf.”

“I’m glad.”

“You’re more like a hyena.”

Shock flickered across his face.

“Did you just call me a....hyena?”

“Yeah, wolves have no sense of humor. Take themselves way too seriously with all that alpha junk. You give off an aura of both cunning and humor. Bet you love a good joke.”

“A man walks into a bar--”

She laughed and he joined in. It was nice to talk with a man who was good at banter. When was the last time she got to be silly? She had no motivation to impress or seduce him. The simple act of being in his company was a high, and Sierra could say anything she wanted. Her dry sense of humor was an oddity only her sister truly appreciated. And her ex, of course.

Until he didn’t.

He ordered another whiskey. Then glanced over and their gazes met. Heat flared between them. She’d heard of physical connections that came out of nowhere but had never experienced it. Aspen had told her she experienced it with her professor immediately, citing with dreamy eyes how powerless she felt around him.

Odd. This felt different. More like a surge of feminine power washing through her. As if they were meeting halfway toward something bigger.

Sierra pushed the ridiculous thought away and seriously considered her options. Did she want to sleep with this gorgeous man who’d just closed a multi-million-dollar deal? He was probably dripping in money and power. Probably dated perfect women who did anything he wanted. She’d simply be another number to add to his list.

But tonight wasn’t about him.

It was about her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

His voice lowered to a rumbly, sexy growl.

“You can ask me anything.”

“Is it easy for you? Getting anything you want?

Shadows gathered in his eyes, along with a flash of pain before it was quickly covered up. “No.”

He didn’t expand and she didn’t need him to. Understanding pulsed within her.

“I’m sorry.”

He jerked back.

“For what?”

A small, sad smile curved her lips.

“For what happened before you became fabulous.”

Surprise skittered across those masculine features. Powerful energy emanated in waves around him, drawing her in, but underneath she recognized the primal pain of a life with bumps and bruises. He hadn’t gotten here easy. Sierra respected that type of journey. It was probably what made him so lethal to females.

God knows, they all loved a fixer-upper. Especially the sexy, rich kind.

“Why aren’t you married anymore?” he asked.

Sierra was used to the trademarked responses she’d cultivated after her safe life blew up. A small southern town wasn’t the best place to go through drama, and everyone loved a juicy break-up. She’d immediately gone into survivor mode, shoving down the pain and anger so she was able to present a calm, capable front. Sierra refused to play the role of the victim, and ruthlessly handled the fallout. Funny thing happened, though. After playing the role for a while, she’d begun to believe it. The breaks and broken parts only surfaced occasionally.

Tonight had been one of them, leading her here.

Sierra wondered what it would feel like to just tell the stark truth. All the sad, messy details she smoothed over, like one of Aspen’s polished final manuscripts. After another fortified sip of wine, she spoke.

“My husband was cheating on me.”

He winced, but didn’t offer condolences or platitudes. So, she kept going.

“I caught him in our bedroom having sex with someone else. Afterward, he told me he was sorry but he didn’t love me like he was supposed to.”

“How long were you married?”

“Four years. We met in college.”

He shook his head in disgust.

“It’s too cliché for someone like you. Please don’t tell me it was his secretary who’s ten years younger.”

A smile ghosted her lips.

“It was his boss. Same age. His name is John.”

His brows snapped together.

“Not cliché after all.”

The smile widened. She didn’t mind humor with her pain.

“At least he spared me a boring story. “

“Yes.”

He seemed to be in deep thought as he studied her. She refused to squirm in the chair, suddenly sensing he spotted things beneath the surface she easily hid.

“But being rejected by someone you loved, someone you trusted, isn’t very funny.”

Her lungs collapsed. The heaviness in her chest tightened. What if she told him the truth? The horrible, unvarnished truth of her marriage? She’d never see him again. It was like one of those movies her mother used to love: two strangers meeting one stormy night to share secrets, then part forever. Maybe she was meant to find him in order to unburden.

She opened her mouth. The words tangled in her throat.

He slid his hand over the polished wood, fingers barely brushing hers. Her body jolted at the contact, the heat and slow slide of his skin.

“Tell me.”

The demand wrapped her in a sensual cocoon. Sierra fought a shudder.

“I think it was my fault. I think he was right. I never loved him the way I should and it forced him to find someone else.”

The relief from her confession allowed the rush of air to finally enter her fully.

“I don’t care that it was a man. I think love can come with anyone and shouldn’t be restricted to gender. But there was this moment before I married him that I had terrible doubts if he was the one meant for me.”

“Isn’t that being human?”

he asked gently, not breaking physical contact.

“Yes, but I lied because it was easier. I needed stability after my parents died. I needed to feel safe so I could take care of my sister. I knew I didn’t love him the way I was supposed to but I married him anyway. It was my fault.”

The relief of admitting her dark secret rushed through her. She’d kept the truth even from Aspen, who was wrapped up in her own angsty relationship and didn’t need any extra stress. Sierra waited for the judgment, ready to accept the hit because she deserved it.

Instead, ferocity lit his gaze, which locked on hers. Waves of masculine energy beat from his aura, reminding her of a storm gathering on the ocean.

“Fuck that.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Fuck. That. Did you try hard in your marriage? Did you cheat? Did you disrespect or ridicule or make him feel less than he was?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then it wasn’t your fault. He made the choice. He could have spoken with you. Asked for counseling. Fought to figure out if the marriage could be saved. Instead, he took the easy way and betrayed you. There’s no instruction manual on the right way to love. You did the best you could at the time.”

He shook his head.

“I can’t imagine dealing with losing your parents and being there for your sister. Isn’t love supposed to be trust and security? Why does it have to be only one thing?”

Astonishment held her still. She stared at him as his words sparked something deep underneath; a buried vault of guilt, shame, and rage that had been shoved into the dark. Instead of going away, it had been slowly blistering, making Sierra unable to see a path forward for herself.

At that moment, she wanted to lean into his strength and have him hold her. She fought hard against the neediness, not wanting to make a bigger fool of herself. As if he knew her secret thoughts, his gaze held her steady, a balm to the rawness of her confession. Heat flushed her skin.

Who was this man who seemed to sense exactly what she needed?

And why did he make her feel safe amidst such vulnerability?

“Don’t pull back now,”

he murmured.

A ragged laugh escaped her lips.

“What are we doing?”

“Getting real. Refreshing, isn’t it?”

She tilted her chin up.

“I’m not here to play games. I didn’t come here for a hookup.”

Mischief danced over his carved features.

“Neither did I. But I didn’t expect you.”

Still unsteady from her admission, she sipped her wine and regarded him under half lowered lids.

“What about you? You seem to know a lot about love. Are you in love now?”

Sierra cursed herself for dreading the answer. It wasn’t as if they’d see each other again. He’d be a story to tell when she returned from New York. Someone to whisper and giggle about and play the what-if game. But it didn’t matter. The primitive feminine portion of her soul craved there to be no one else for him.

Just for tonight.

“I’ve never been in love,”

he said.

“Lust, yes. Friendship, yes. People say you’ll know when you find it.”

His shoulders moved in a half shrug.

“Do I want to find it? Maybe. Maybe not. Right now, I’m too focused on my work. I don’t think I’d be good for a relationship.”

“Even after a ten-million-dollar deal?”

“Yes.”

She sifted through his words.

“What if it’s never enough?”

Ghosts shadowed his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. For now, though, each deal I make is one step closer to getting to the goal.”

“Which is?”

A smile flashed across his face. His front tooth was slightly crooked. She caught a faint scar by his upper lip. She wondered how he got it.

“Owning a property empire,”

he said. Resolution ground within his tone. Sierra sensed this man would do anything to get there, making him a bit dangerous. But it was the motivation underneath that intrigued her.

“What will that give you that love won’t?”

she asked.

Sierra watched as he jerked back, in the hot seat like she’d been. His gaze narrowed as if he was trying to figure out if he should try to answer, or laugh it off. She deliberately leaned in to crowd his space, forcing him not to break the suddenly seething connection.

“Don’t pull back now,”

she said softly.

He shifted in his seat. Seconds ticked by but she waited him out, allowing him to find the words or courage or both.

He lifted his glass and drained it dry. Studied the bottom of the expensive crystal as if it held answers. Then swung his gaze back to hers.

“Safety.”

Emotion poured through her at his answer. Yes, he had demons. Sierra couldn’t blame him. Money and power certainly kept one safe. They were on opposite sides of their goals. She was hiding behind her marriage for safety. She’d used love to get there.

He was hiding behind his career. Sierra would bet he used ruthlessness, focus, and workaholic tendencies to get there.

Together, they completed the most perfect circle.

The bartender glided over, refilled their drinks, and disappeared.

Sierra lifted her full glass. He did the same. They clinked them together.

“To safety,”

she said, pressing her lips to the rim.

It was then she caught the hunger in his eyes. Desire glittered darkly primitive, teasing out a delicious shiver as her body softened, ready to play. Somehow, this game had turned on them both, and Sierra wasn’t sure where it would lead.

Or end.

He reached over and ran a finger over the back of her hand. She clutched at her glass, afraid to move as ripples of awareness rushed over her, through her, prickling beneath her skin. The breath got trapped in her lungs. One casual, simple touch and her entire body primed for his taking. The air charged like an exposed live electrical wire.

“If you were mine, I don’t think I could have let you go.”

Sierra ignored the jump of her heart and kept her voice steady.

“Yes, you could. Because you’re not done building your empire.”

Regret flashed. Slowly, he nodded.

“You’re right.”

“And I need to figure out who I am separate from being a wife.”

“I didn’t expect you tonight. I didn’t expect…this.”

Her usual caution and reserve had no place here, in this moment.

“Me either. But I’m glad.”

His lopsided grin was sexy as hell. “Good.”