He Loves Me Not (The Hawthornes of New York 1)

He has no real interest in my life, only my wallet.

I told him that if he arranged to have Miss Marks’s drink in front of her within a minute of her arrival, he’d be rewarded appropriately.

Since he’s hastily pouring vodka into a glass, I’d say he’s earned the hundred I’ll tip him before I leave.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” she greets me as she approaches. “It’s good to see you.”

The light blue wrap dress she has on showcases her lush curves. Her hair is rolling in waves over her shoulders. She takes a long, slow look at me.

Attraction is often muted in my world.

Women come into my office with the intent to work out the details of how they want their estate distributed after their death. It’s hardly a breeding ground for desire.

But this place screams of anonymous meet-ups that lead to raw fucking.

Miss Marks has been calculated with her interest so far, but today something is different.

Her smile is broader and her stance more relaxed.

Maybe some lucky bastard was in her bed last night, or perhaps that look on her face is because she wants to take me home with her today.

“Miss Marks,” I say her name. “Join me.”

I motion toward the empty barstool next to me.

She plants her round ass down on it, squirming until she finds just the right position. A cross of her toned legs gives me an excellent view of a sliver of her inner thigh.

My teeth want a piece of that.

“It’s Bianca,” she finally offers her first name. “Please call me Bianca.”

Something has indeed changed.

Rolly moves to deposit the glass a little to the left of her. She thanks him with a smile and a quiet word about how gracious he is to remember her favorite drink.

I stare at her profile as I take my seat.

Beauty is subjective, but there are women you meet who steal the air from the room because they are so striking.

Bianca Marks sits atop that category.

The guy sitting at the end of the bar agrees. His hand is grazing the outside of his jeans over what I assume is a pencil-thin dick, judging by the size of the rest of him.

He doesn’t stand a chance with her. That doesn’t stop him from keeping his eyes trained to the front of her dress.

I inch closer to her. “Tell me what’s changed, Bianca.”

Her perfectly arched brows dart up. “What do you mean?”

I drop my gaze to her hands. There still isn’t a ring sitting on that finger. I checked as soon as she sat down next to me two weeks ago.

I wanted her then, but she was toying with me. Her amusement covered the need that was flowing from her.

She’s not smiling now.

“Something is different since I last saw you.” I take a sip of bourbon. “Is it the job?”

She runs the tip of her fingernail along the rim of the glass in front of her until she reaches one lime wedge. She picks it up before her tongue darts over the sour flesh of the fruit. That’s followed by a nip of her teeth on it.

Her expression never changes as she sucks on it briefly.

My cock has been hard since she walked in. Now, it’s aching with want.

“It’s not the job,” she confesses as she drops the lime onto a paper napkin sitting atop the bar.

I steal a glance at the loser who is still running his hand over his jeans as he watches her.

“It’s a man then.”

The fact that I don’t form it as a question gets her full attention. “Why would you assume that?”

“Your phone has been buzzing non-stop since you sat down.” I motion to where her purse is slung over the barstool next to her. “You strike me as the type of woman who takes her work seriously, so your avoidance of whoever is trying to reach you indicates it’s an asshole.”

“An ex-boyfriend,” she clarifies. “He’s the asshole who is texting me.”

I didn’t anticipate wandering down this road, but I’m game. “Why is he an ex-boyfriend?”

Her hand darts to my forearm. “I caught him in bed with his assistant last week.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“An idiot who thinks there’s a chance I still want him.” Her hand slips from my jacket. “Why would I take back a man like that?”

“You wouldn’t,” I say even though I have no frame of reference for my assumption.

“Have you ever cheated on a woman?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “If a woman I’ve been sleeping with isn’t someone I want to continue sleeping with, I’ll make that clear to her before I move on to someone I want to…”

“Sleep with,” she finishes for me.

“Exactly.”

She wiggles her ass on the stool. “Are you…”

“Sleeping with anyone now?” I take the question in the direction that I want to answer. “No, but I want to.”

“You do?”

“With you,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on her face.