Bared to you

Chapter 1

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”

I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary

Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and

inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure

drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, Eva.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-

dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking

for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-

eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely

gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been

the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two.

We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants

and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the

gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow

made me laugh. I fully expected his million-dollar face to appear on

billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his

expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it

through the day, that’ll be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents.

“Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve

got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw up a

meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation

about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the

doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Manhattan

embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the

country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away.

Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the

other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining

living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself

on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve

been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month

than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Tramell. Will

you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes.

“I’ll be walking.”

He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked

hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Tramell.”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that

somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed

the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow

of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now

I still felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I

was still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to

walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so

much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smell of vehicle exhaust mixed

with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music

from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of faces and styles and

accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ.

The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen

anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part

the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I

was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way

streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper

traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all, their love for the city as

comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the

steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic

delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their

feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an i***t and flexed

my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me. I was starry-eyed

and it showed.

So I had to really work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the

building where I would be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d

gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that

meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the

assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent

advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard

Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been

less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the

benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’ll take him forever to

pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwilling to back down. “Hell

if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Victor Reyes had

said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did,

too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides,

because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of

pride for my father. My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never

wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused

on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock

the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I

reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in

less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and followed the line of the building all the way

up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a

sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my

previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined

marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it

up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me

anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they

cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth

floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door.

Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully

groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a

deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away,

and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see

it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her

money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”

I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into

a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited a

beat for the man to move out of my way and when he didn’t, I arched my

neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit

more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tall, powerfully lean body

inside it that made it sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent

maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the man’s face that I went down for

the count.

Wow. Just…wow.

He sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with all that

exquisite masculinity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As he stared back, he altered…as if a shield slid away from his eyes,

revealing a scorching force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The

intense magnetism he exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible

impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my

ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I

scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by

the man in front of me. Inky black hair framed a breathtaking face. His

bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched

mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely blue eyes made him savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrowed slightly, his features otherwise schooled

into impassivity.

His dress shirt and suit were both black, but his tie perfectly matched

those brilliant irises. His eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored

into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster

breaths. He smelled sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or

shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was he.

He held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cuff links and a very expensive-

looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in his. My pulse leaped when

his grip tightened. His touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that

raised the hairs on my nape. He didn’t move for a moment, a frown line

marring the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach

flutter. It brought s*x to mind. Extraordinary s*x. I thought for a moment

that he might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering. “I’m fine.”

He stood with economical grace, pulling me up with him. We maintained

eye contact because I was unable to look away. He was younger than I’d

assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my guess, but his eyes were

much worldlier. Hard and sharply intelligent.

I felt drawn to him, as if a rope bound my waist and he was slowly,

inexorably pulling it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released him. He wasn’t just beautiful;

he was…enthralling. He was the kind of guy that made a woman want to

rip his shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I

looked at him in his civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and

thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing f*****g.

He bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped,

freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while he was so

completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.

He glanced up at me and the pose—him nearly kneeling before me—

skewed my equilibrium again. He held my gaze as he rose. “Are you sure

you’re all right? You should sit down for a minute.”

My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of

the most self-assured and graceful man I’d ever met. “I just lost my

balance. I’m okay.”

Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents

of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to

approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of

coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she

promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped

the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the man again,

finding him watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To him.

Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”

He offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without

touching him, his fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness

into me all over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting him and pushing out to the street

through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of

New York air redolent with a million different things, some good and some

toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw

my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my

gray eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the

bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-

to-f**k look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Mr. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an

edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of him, the inexplicable urge

to go back inside where he was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t

finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for

it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath. “Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to

spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the

intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of

expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In

seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat

in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a

smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You

rock.