Money Man (King Maker 1)

“Miss Bailey,” the guy behind the podium said.

“Yes, how’d you know?”

Brought up a small-town girl, I was used to everyone knowing me. But this was New York.

“The gentleman said that when the most beautiful redhead walked in the door, her name would be Bailey and to bring her right up.”

Flattered into speechlessness, I followed him up to the third floor and stopped dead in my tracks when we stepped into a private dining room with only one table, and one man who filled the room like no other.

Seeing him for the third time, still I was taken aback by just how beautiful he was. He stood near the table, and since I wasn’t wearing four-inch heels, I got a real sense for just how tall he was.

Unable to hold his smoldering stare, I turned my head and got a sweeping view of the room. It was classically appointed with golden crown molding and expensive drapes that framed a fantastic view of Central Park. The lighting came from a large overhead crystal chandelier and wall sconces. The place could be a dining room in Lizzy’s parents’ house and felt just as intimate.

“You’re wearing pants,” he said, looking annoyed.

Startled, I turned to see that the host was gone and we were alone with the door closed. I looked down to see that I did, in fact, have pants on. I knew this, but he had a way of making me senseless and confused.

“Yes,” I said, not sure what the problem was. If he only knew what a small victory it was to wear pants and loosen the hold a little more the community I’d grown up in had over me.

“Next time wear a skirt,” he demanded, and I was jarred back to reality.

“Excuse me,” I said, mustering all the incredulity I could in the face of such a gorgeous man. Surely, I’d misheard him. One, he said next time as if it were a foregone conclusion that there would be one. Two, he’d told me what to wear, like I was a possession he could control. It was too close to how I’d grown up. I fought against the urge to find the floor with my eyes and give in. “I’m not sure what your problem is, but I’ll wear whatever I damn well want.”

The curse slipped from my tongue, easier than I thought possible.

Undeterred, he stalked over to me, causing me to expel my breath. My body involuntarily shivered when his hand took mine.

“You could—wear what you wanted—or you could trust me and do as I ask.”

I lifted my chin high, considering how much taller he was.

“Who said I would see you again after tonight?”

He brought my hand to his lips and a jolt of desire coursed from my arm, up to my shoulder, and down to my center to explode at my core.

He stepped back, giving me room to breathe. “Your choice, lass.” He said the last with the knowledge that it turned me on. “You should know hiding yourself under this fabric means I can’t touch you like I know you want me to.”

My jaw dropped, not used to this type of forwardness. Yet, if I was honest with myself, he’d spoken the truth. I had come there to sleep with him, not anything more or less. His self-assuredness only added to my fantasy of how the night would go.

The waiter walked in with a bottle of wine before we could exchange any more words. Poor guy looked more flustered than me. Sexual tension was thick in the air and the waiter appeared unsure of whether he was about to get a tongue lashing for interrupting what surely looked like an intimate moment.

Kalen guided me to the table. Like a gentleman, he pulled out my chair and decorum dictated that I sit. Kalen took his seat across from me, never taking his eyes off me as the waiter approached.

True to his words from yesterday, he gave me his full and undivided attention. Though I didn’t want to admit it, it made me feel special. Suddenly, the idea of wearing a skirt was very appealing as sexual liberation took hold inside of me.

“Your wine, sir,” the waiter said, managing only to sound slightly nervous. Kalen leaned back and allowed the guy to pour the wine into the waiting goblet. Kalen picked it up, eyeing it in the light before putting the glass to his beautiful lips.

Every movement he made sent a sexual thrill through me.

He nodded to the waiter before turning his attention back to me. The guy finished pouring Kalen’s glass, and then moved to mine before leaving us alone again.

When I looked around for the menu, thinking the waiter had obviously made a mistake, Kalen said, “I took the liberty of ordering when you were late.”

Feeling chastised, even though his tone had remained calm and pleasant the entire time, I said, “I was five minutes late. Well within the limits of polite society. Plus, it wasn’t my fault. There was an accident and traffic.”