Mr One-Night Stand

Hell, she wanted to stride straight over—the urge was almost making her do just that—but sense prevailed. Tony wanted to see her. Hopefully he could explain away his crazy behaviour, and put her mind at rest over the future.

Giving a small sigh, she headed for the bar. A drink—that was what she needed. Anything to take the edge off.

Slipping onto a bar stool, she crossed her legs and replaced her clutch with the leather-clad drinks menu.

‘Good evening, Miss Hayes, what can I get you?’

She looked up to find Darren, the head bartender, approaching with a smile, his hands busy drying off a glass. She returned his smile easily and scanned the list, honing in on a vodka martini and figuring that had to be strong enough.

He cocked an eyebrow when she made her request. ‘Shaken, not stirred, madame?’

His Scottish-accented Bond impression had her laughing, and the sound was alien to her ears. It had to be weeks—months, even—since she’d had a proper giggle. Maybe she was the one in need of a good shake, never mind the drink.

‘However you recommend it.’

‘You sure?’ He raised both brows. ‘It’s pretty strong.’

He knew her too well. She didn’t do spirits. A spritzer was her usual drink of choice. But a spritzer just wasn’t going to cut it. Not tonight. It wasn’t just Tony, it was her increasing concern over her mother too. She was getting worse and there was nothing Jennifer could do to stop it.

Her heart fluttered painfully and she pushed the thought aside. Not now.

‘Sounds perfect,’ she said, flipping open her clutch and retrieving her mobile to check if Tony had at least messaged. But she’d not even lit the screen before her eyes sidled away, drawn to the brooding silhouette not twelve feet away.

He was tall—she could tell that even with his body folded into the deep bucket seat. The ankle of one leg casually rested atop the knee of the other. The designer cut of his dark suit and tan leather shoes spoke of money, although whether he had any was an entirely different matter. She’d learned that quickly enough in the city. People only had to dress to impress and it attracted wealth like bees to honey.

But there was something in the broad set of his shoulders, accentuated as they were by his tailored jacket, and the confident air in his relaxed poise that had her certain he wasn’t all about the front.

And what a front...

Her eyes drifted upwards. The crisp white shirt sat smoothly over his torso, no hint of spread. Then they drifted higher, to the last fastened button of his open collar and the hint of dark hair curling there.

Her pulse skipped, her mouth watered and her eyes snapped back to her phone. Not now!

Seriously, what was wrong with her? Was she that desperate to get laid? That fed up with her trusty vibrator that her body was putting up a fight? Truth was, there was no time in her life for that complication. Mr Dildo didn’t talk back, didn’t require care and affection. He didn’t require time that she didn’t have.

Between her office and dashing back and forth between London and Yorkshire each weekend to be with her family she was all out of that.

But one night, though. Think of the possibilities...

Heat simmered low in her belly as she activated her phone screen. No notifications. She fired off a brief Where are you? message and placed the device back on the bar, her heightened awareness picking up on movement from the man’s direction. She watched him crook his finger to the blonde waitress hovering nearby and an inexplicable pull ripped through her.

Christ, he was reeling her in too.

She nibbled the inside of her lip, drinking in his rakishly long dark hair, the chiselled set to his jaw that softened delectably with his easy grin. And then there were his eyes—so compelling. She couldn’t make out the colour, but there was something about them, something deliciously sinful...

Her tummy contracted with a barrage of heat, and in that second she knew she wanted to leave with him. That she wanted one night of crazy. No names, no real talk, just wild, no-holds-barred sex.

Could she do it? Hell, would he?

It wasn’t in her nature, it wasn’t like her, but being ‘like her’ was hard fucking work and she needed this...needed him.

Mentally, she undressed him, button by button, stroke by stroke, her thighs clenching tight in their folded position.

‘One vodka martini.’

‘Huh?’ Her eyes snapped to the bar, to Darren placing a mat and glass before her.

‘Your drink.’ He smiled teasingly. ‘Distracted, much?’