VERSUS (Second Chances 2)

Her eyes widen. “I’m not married.”

I’m grateful. The need to be inside of her is consuming me.

I have the will to walk away if there’s a man waiting somewhere for her, but she’s telling the truth.

The year

s I’ve spent inside courtrooms have trained me to read people. Sharing my bed with countless women in the past has afforded me the benefit of recognizing guilt in the eyes of someone who has a vested interested in another man.

I’ve sent women home that have been out prowling the bars of New York City looking for a quick thrill while their husbands are tucking their children into bed.

Revenge sex isn’t an interest of mine. I won’t be the man that gets you over the inferior son-of-a-bitch that fucked his way into someone else.

If a man cheats on his woman, I want no part of her plan to get even.

I like my sex raw, satisfying, and drama free. I need it to be safe in every possible way.

A good fuck is complicated if hearts are involved.

A barrier of bitterness and regret surrounds mine.

I see no reason to change.

The beauty in my arms stills as the music winds down.

“Promise that you won’t try and keep me,” she whispers as she looks up at me.

That’s a promise I’ll gladly keep. “You have my word. One night is all I want.”

Chapter 2

Dylan

“Maybe I should be the one kidnapping you for a ransom,” she says from behind me.

I chuckle at that. I watched the way her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse of the bank of windows that greets everyone who enters my apartment.

It was a selling point at the time I bought the place.

I had money to burn and no one but myself to impress.

Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a doorman seemed excessive, but investing in real estate is rarely a fool’s pursuit.

I’ve increased my equity since I took possession. The doorman’s face has become one of the few constants in my life, and the views of my corner of Manhattan haven’t changed enough for me to notice.

I live on Fifth Avenue.

My office is a block over on Madison.

I reap the benefits of other people’s misery.

Guilt doesn’t factor into that.

If you wake one morning to realize that you don’t want to be legally bound to the person next to you in bed, I’m the man you call.

“I assure you no one would pay a ransom for me.” I toss my keys on the antique wooden table that houses my home bar.

That consists of a half dozen glass tumblers, an ice bucket that is filled nightly by my assistant, and a bottle of Macallan 15.