Trading Card: Max Dorset

Occupation: Lawyer…professional shark

Secret Passion: Good girls with a naughty side!

It’s archivist/movie-buff Natalie Gellar’s very first Hot Guys Trading Card event. And boy, did she luck out. She found a quiet—and smokin’ hot!—librarian looking for marriage. Unfortunately, there was a tiny mix-up at the printer…and aside from the sexy pic, Natalie’s perfect man is everything she doesn’t want!

Max Dorset is a damn good lawyer who has no time for anything that isn’t work. Marriage and relationships? No, thanks. But he offers Natalie a tantalizing temptation. Because even if he isn’t her Mr. Right…he might just be her perfect Mr. Tonight!

“I want to see you… All of you.”

Natalie closed her eyes as her dress fell to the floor with a soft whoosh of fabric.

“Oh, God. Look at you. I never expected—”

She opened her mouth to find Max staring, his lips parted in a very flattering way.

She moved one foot back to take off her heels.

“No, wait. Please. Leave those on.”

She’d wanted new experiences. This definitely met the criteria.

“I know where I’ve seen you before,” he said, his voice very low and rough. “On those pinup posters, with your ruby lips and your luscious curves.”

She froze right there. Just stopped. Her? A pinup? With her plain white bra and panties?

He was the wrong Max, and yet…

There was no longer any need to pretend to feel sexy. Because she was truly feeling sexy. It was intoxicating. Freeing.

No one had ever looked at her that way, with his three undone buttons and his desire-darkened eyes, and she was going to revel in it.

He wanted a show.

So she would give him one….

Dear Reader,

It was so much fun writing Choose Me, Have Me and Want Me, the first three books in the It’s Trading Men! miniseries. I got so many lovely letters and emails about the Hot Guys Trading Cards I had to write more!

In Seduce Me, Natalie Gellar, a film archivist in the East Village of New York, is looking for the right man. She wants to settle down, start a family. She’s got her heart set on a librarian-friendly guy, someone who shares her values and her love of home. She can’t believe her luck when she finds Max Zimm’s Trading Card. He’s not only a librarian, but he loves to cook and his passion is online gaming!

When Natalie finally sees Max’s picture, she nearly passes out. Her nerdy, marriage-minded pick is literally a Hot Guy! He’s tall, has gorgeous eyes and his smile could stop traffic. In person, he’s even hotter.

Too bad the guy on the Trading Card is actually Max Dorset. Attorney. Playboy. One Night Stand.

I love to hear from readers! Visit my website, joleigh.com, and follow me on Twitter (@Jo_Leigh) and at tumblr.com/blog/joleighwrites/.

Look for the next book in the It’s Trading Men! miniseries: Dare Me.

Happy Reading,

Jo Leigh

Seduce Me

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jo Leigh is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection being bossed around by a house full of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than forty-five novels for Mills & Boon. Visit her website at www.joleigh.com or contact her at joleigh@joleigh.com.

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To Birgit, who might love New York as much as I do,

and to Debbi Rawlins and Jill Shalvis, my intrepid

(and brilliant) plotting partners!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Extract

1

“OKAY, LADIES.” Shannon Fitzgerald, the founder of the newest dating trend in Manhattan, had her arms up high, holding an open box. “Are you ready?”

No one answered. In fact, Natalie Gellar was pretty sure no one was even breathing. All twenty-four women in the room were leaning forward, though. Fingers at the ready, hope and anticipation doubling heart rates.

“On your mark...”

Five long utility tables had been pushed together into a rectangle on what was anything but a normal Wednesday evening in the St. Marks Church community room.

“Get set...”

Natalie stood her ground, shoulder to shoulder with the women around her, determined to do whatever was necessary to get the right card, the perfect card. The Hot Guys Trading Card that would change her life.

“Go!”

Shannon tossed the latest batch of cards into the center of the tables and sprinted out of the way.

As if they were attacking the first Black Friday sale table at Barney’s, everyone went nuts.

Natalie grabbed whatever cards she could reach, skimming the writing, ignoring the pictures, tossing lawyers and accountants and musicians away like so much litter. Baseball fans, football fans, hockey fans. Ah, a reader, but crap, not the kinds of books she liked. Again and again, the cards were stirred. She heard squeals, disappointed moans, clapping and apologies as people wrestled for the same cards.

The word librarian made her heart skip a beat, and in the category of Marry, Date or One-Night Stand, his check mark next to Marry made her hands shake. Instead of listing a favorite restaurant, the card said he loved to cook and according to Tracy Jackson, the woman who’d submitted him, he was great at it. His passion was World of Warcraft, which wasn’t her thing but she could totally deal with that. And then, oh, God, the bottom line: looking for a kindred spirit, someone who could be the Lilypad to his Marshmallow!

The reference to the sappy couple on How I Met Your Mother was the best gift ever. Not just because Natalie liked the show but because anyone who thought of himself in film or television terms was exactly the kind of man she was looking for. This was better than she’d hoped for. By a mile.

Now, to turn the card over. To see what Max Zimm looked like.

Her heart pounding after everything she’d read, she tried to calm down. After all, first impressions were as good as meaningless. Most everyone she found beautiful had started out as objectively nothing to write home about, but as she’d gotten to know them, they’d transformed. So even if Max had a handlebar mustache or googly eyes, she didn’t care. At all. It was the inside that mattered, not the packaging.

After a deep breath, she turned the card over. And nearly fainted.

The nerdy librarian was a stunner.

“Who is that?”

Natalie tore her gaze from the picture of Max Zimm to look at her friend Denise. She’d introduced Natalie to the Trading Cards, bless her. “He’s very good-looking, right?”

“Very good-looking doesn’t quite cover it. Can I—”

“No.”

Denise sighed. “Okay. But why did you pick him?”

Natalie turned the card over, hoping that she hadn’t had some kind of neurological episode. “Librarian,” she said. “Wants to get married. And he wants a Lilypad to go with his Marshall.”

Her friend snatched the card out of Natalie’s hand. “No. He. Did. Not. This is someone’s idea of a joke. Oh, my God, who submitted him?” Denise continued to stare at Max Zimm’s picture as she shouted, “Is Tracy Jackson here?”

Natalie gaped. Denise was the very picture of a demure librarian in her cardigan and cat-eye glasses, even though there was nothing else stereotypical about her. And now Natalie could add “bellows like a longshoreman” to the list of her friend’s abilities.

No one responded, so Natalie turned her attention back where it belonged. “How could a librarian who looks like him live in Manhattan without us knowing about it?”

“I don’t know.” Denise shook her head. “Although we haven’t met every one.”

“But he’d be talked about. He’d go to conferences. We can’t be that many degrees of separation from any librarian in this state. It doesn’t make sense.”

Denise lifted an arched eyebrow. “It does if he works for a think tank.”

Natalie chewed on that for a moment. “Huh.”

“He’s probably some amazing genius who works for a top-secret government agency.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Natalie said. “He works for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is fictitious,” Denise said. “He’s not one of the Avengers.”

Plucking the card back from her drooling pal’s hand, Natalie shrugged. “Then a S.H.I.E.L.D.-like agency. It could happen.”

“Nat, he’s already got the ability to stun with his looks. What else do you want?”

“Okay, true. Maybe he’s new to the area. He could have been working anywhere. Europe, even.”

“Who is that?” Iris Corcoran, a friend who was brand-new to Hot Guys Trading Cards, shouldered her way between Denise and Natalie. “And does he have a twin brother?”

Natalie just smiled and gripped the card more tightly.

“I thought you didn’t care about looks,” Iris said.

“It’s not the front of the card that has me dazzled. It’s the back.”

Denise snorted.

“Fine, it’s the front, too, but I would have chosen him anyway, no matter what he looked like.”

“It sure doesn’t hurt that he could be on the cover of Gorgeous Guy Monthly,” Iris quipped.

“He may look like a movie star, but don’t let it go to your head. There are all kinds of guys here.” Denise held up the card she’d picked. The man was pleasant-looking, slightly balding, with a very nice smile. “He plays the clarinet for the American Symphony Orchestra.”

“He’s cute,” Iris said. “Frankly, I’m just thrilled that every single guy on a card has been personally submitted by someone in the group.”

“I know, right?” For Natalie, the trading cards were truly a godsend, especially for a woman like her, who wasn’t gorgeous, cared more about her work than her social life and tended to be a homebody. “Now that Oliver’s out of the picture—”

“Oh, my God,” Iris said, wincing. “I meant to call when I heard you guys broke up.”

Natalie waved the wince away. “I’m fine about it. Better than fine. I had a feeling he was going to propose and instead of being happy, I was dreading it. When it finally happened, he didn’t even bother with a ring. Said I should go pick one out myself. As long as it didn’t cost more than forty-two hundred dollars. Talk about a major wake-up call. I don’t know how I let it go on so long, really.” She smiled at the too-good-to-be-true card she’d picked. “Max may be stunning, but if he’s not the right man for me, I’ll put the card straight back in the pile.”

Iris squeezed Natalie’s forearm. “Great attitude. One I intend to adopt as soon as I’m eligible. Don’t get me wrong, I like that members have to submit men they know before they can select cards, but I can’t wait! I already know three guys who want to be Hot Guys.”

Denise leaned toward Natalie. “You decide to put that card back into the pot, I want to know about it first.”

Just as she was going to respond, a woman she’d seen but not met leaned into their small huddle. “Someone asked about Tracy Jackson?”

“You’re Tracy?” Denise asked.

“No, but she’s a friend.”

“She’s not a practical joker, is she?”

“Tracy?” the woman asked as if the question itself was nuts. “No. She’s... No. She’s really straightforward. She would have been here, but she’s at a meeting in Toronto. She submitted two of her friends, though. I haven’t met either one, but if Tracy likes them, they’re bound to be top-notch.”

Natalie relaxed. Not all the way. She would still call Tracy and get more information before she called Max. That would give her time to build up her courage.

“I’m Sandy, by the way. You’re Denise, right? You work at the Columbia University library?”

Introductions were made, which was a good thing. It pulled Natalie back down to earth. Almost. She still couldn’t get over Max’s looks, but looks only went so far. He still needed to live up to the back of the card, which was no mean feat.

* * *

HE SHOULD GET UP, get showered, dressed, call someone, do something. According to the TV weather woman, anyone who wasn’t outside frolicking under the clear blue sky was an idiot. It was day three of Max’s three-week vacation, so he could do whatever the hell he wanted. After three years of operating on adrenaline, frolicking wasn’t anywhere on his list. But he was hungry.

Max sighed as he gazed upon his best companion and constant source of succor: his 56-inch LED high-definition television. He couldn’t remember what baseball teams were currently playing. After slipping in and out of sleep ever since he’d crawled onto the couch following a full nine hours in his bed, that wasn’t a big surprise. Actually, he had no idea what the standings were, who was on the injury list, or if the Mets had any chance for glory. There’d been no fantasy baseball this year, or last year. Not for him, anyway. It was tragic. Some fan he was.

Again, he thought about going out. A simple proposition at face value, but, in fact, it would require him to make a series of decisions. What to wear, where to go, how to get there, whether to go alone? Try to hook up? He was exhausted just thinking about it. After such a long stretch of the hardest, most consuming work he’d ever faced, he didn’t want to make another decision for the rest of his life. With one very big exception: what to do about his future.

It wasn’t rhetorical. He really had to decide, and soon. Huh, he’d meant to call his dad again, get his advice this time instead of just saying a quick hey, but seeing as it was the middle of a workday, he figured he’d wait until that night to phone him.

The tort case had devoured his life, and that included not checking in regularly with his folks. They’d told him not to worry about it, but he missed them. And his brother. Mike was busy, too, with his newest art gallery. At least they texted from time to time.

Reaching behind him, Max adjusted his pillow and an unfortunate turn of his head made him realize he should have made the effort to shower several days ago. His sloth was all Manhattan’s fault. The only exercise he’d gotten since he’d come home to rest was walking to the door to get his deliveries. Takeout, groceries, fluff-and-fold laundry. A person could get anything in this city, any day, any time. He loved the hell out of it.

What he also loved was burgers. His stomach gurgled and he snatched his cell phone from the coffee table. When he caught the actual time, his stomach made another loud protest and he hit speed dial fourteen. After ordering an Alpine Burger and fries from Paul’s Da Burger Joint, his hand dropped to his side like a dead weight. It wasn’t possible to be this tired for so long. Maybe he was sick or something.

Or maybe he’d just worked hundred-hour weeks for three goddamned years with virtually no time off.

He grinned as he put his phone back on the table. It had been worth it. Every hour. Because right now the senior partners at Latham, Kirkland and Jones were deciding just how much money they were going to spend to make him happy. Happy enough to stay put. To ward off the headhunters, who’d already come calling. His firm had won an unwinnable case, due in large part to his ideas and hard work. The whole damn seafood industry was falling all over itself sending gift baskets and champagne to the office. Even better, they’d been congratulating him. Personally.

So, yeah. This break was not just going to rejuvenate him, it was going to make the firm sweat while Max considered every option available. Equity, naturally, but at what percentage? A new office? Use of the executive suite in London, absolutely, and the Malibu house in California.

Once he hauled himself off the couch, the shower appealed greatly. Stepping under the hot water relaxed his muscles and felt amazing. It even helped remind him that a real life was once again an option. At least until the next megacase.

Maybe later he’d venture out to his local watering hole. He liked Swift for its laid-back atmosphere, the good-looking women, excellent beer selection and...hell, the good-looking women were all that mattered.

By the time he finished shaving, his arms felt heavy and his desire for action had diminished. The bar would be there tomorrow night. And maybe by then he’d be his old self again.

* * *

WITH TEN MINUTES to go until she had to leave St. Marks, Bobbie, a hairdresser Natalie had met at last month’s meeting, pulled her aside to talk about the card Natalie had submitted. Randy was a friend of her tenant, Fred Mason. Both guys worked for the Museum of Modern Art and the three of them had bonded over their mutual love of cards and board games. Randy was a rock-solid, wonderful man. She’d actually entertained the idea of a romantic relationship with him, but he wasn’t for her. He didn’t care much for movies, which was a deal breaker.

After Natalie had offered a bunch of assurances about Randy, Bobbie whipped out her cell phone and called him. They had a date set up in under five minutes. Obviously thrilled, Bobbie looked at her card again, and then headed back to the other side of the room. Natalie didn’t rejoin her friends, however. Not yet. She pulled out her Android. Toronto was in the same time zone, and it was only 7:00 p.m. Tracy Jackson might have time to talk.

“Hello?”

“Tracy, this is Natalie Geller from Trading Cards.”

“Oh, hi. How’s it going?”

Natalie cupped her free ear to block out the laughter and chatter in the room. “Great. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You’re not, but I’m waiting for a car that’s going to be here any minute. Did you pick one of my guys?”

“Max Zimm.”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. Exactly as advertised, I’m not kidding. Really. You’ll love him. Oops, my ride’s here. Sorry.”

“No problem. Go.”

“Can you call again on Saturday? I’ll be done with all this by then.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Natalie turned off the phone and looked at Max’s face. His dark hair was a little on the messy side, but in that windblown, artfully tousled way that made her want to run her fingers through it. His lips hinted at a warm smile, and she had to admit, thick eyebrows completely worked on him.

What made her swallow hard, though, were his eyes. They were a fascinating mix of green close to the pupil and blue on the outer edges. Sectoral heterochromia. She’d never met a person with that genetic anomaly, but she’d grown up with a cat that had one brown eye and one green. She found it hard to look at the other parts of his face when those eyes were so unusually captivating. What must he look like in person?

Instead of reading his answers one more time, she kept on staring at his eyes, wondering what color he’d listed on his driver’s license. He’d be like a chameleon, depending on what he was wearing.

At the thought of actually phoning him, anxiety shot through all her high hopes. Calling a man for a date was difficult enough, but picturing Max Zimm on the other end of the line made her want to hyperventilate. The men in her life had never been known for their eyes, or any other body part. Oliver was only memorable for not being memorable at all. He really should have been a spy or a thief, because he was so ordinary no one would think twice about him. He’d have gotten away with murder. But the only crime she knew he was capable of was leaving his thumb on the scale when he weighed corned beef for his customers.

Despite her nerves, Natalie would call Max. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. She would call because of her nerves. So there.

2

ALTHOUGH HE HADN’T made it out the day before, by afternoon he hadn’t been able to stand the confinement for one more minute. Max hurried out of his corner bodega, a man on a mission. He would drop off the groceries at his place and then catch a cab to the Upper East Side. He wanted Thai and he wanted it in a restaurant, and he wanted to get there by cab.

Four days of doing squat also turned out to be just enough time to drive home the fact that he hadn’t had sex in months. A new and very uncomfortable record.

A survey of his contacts had showed him how tragically out of the loop he was. He’d started with Bev, his most reliable friend with benefits. She’d informed him that she was engaged and pointed out that if he’d ever once called her back or checked her Facebook or in any way remembered she was alive, he’d have known that.

The phone calls had gone downhill from there.

It disappointed him in a way that was new. He’d lost friends before. No one got to thirty and didn’t, but he’d never let relationships die without meaning to. Some of these people he’d known since college. It was naive of him to think he could pick up right where he’d left off.

A cab pulled over and Max got in and gave the driver the address. After they merged into traffic, his cell phone rang, raising his hopes that one of his ex-friends had forgiven him. Then he saw the unfamiliar name on his caller ID. “Hello?”

“Max?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Natalie. From the trading-card group.”

Jesus. How had he forgotten the trading-card thing? His cousin Paula had pitched him the idea over a month ago, and he hadn’t wasted a second signing on the dotted line. Thank God. “Right. Okay, hi, Natalie.”

“You do know what I’m talking about, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” She sounded nervous. “Because I picked your card.”

“I’m flattered you chose me.”

“Well, who wouldn’t?”

Max laughed. “Lots of people.”

“I can’t imagine...” She cleared her throat. “I don’t have much time because I’m in between appointments, but I thought I’d call you now because...well, because if I waited any longer I’d probably chicken out.”

“You’re doing great so far.” Interesting that she’d told the truth. Equally interesting was the smile that had been on his face from the moment she introduced herself. Although that could be a result of having spent over an hour hearing that he was a persona non grata.

“A woman my age shouldn’t have this much trouble asking for a date, though I’m new at this trading-card thing,” she said, “but, anyway, I was thinking about dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“No. Tomorrow night. If you want. Because tonight I have a class thing.”

“Ah. Okay, tomorrow night would be great.”

“Oh,” she said, as if she’d expected him to object. “Where would you like to go?”

“Tell you what. You choose and I’ll meet you there. Wherever you’d like, anywhere in the city.”

“Seriously?” Her voice rose half an octave.

“Yes.”

“What if I said Masa?”

He laughed. “That might be a problem.” Max let that hang for a second before adding, “Getting a reservation there on a Friday night is difficult.”

She chuckled, low and slightly breathy. “You’re quick,” she said. “I like it.”

“I’m definitely intrigued. I’m also tempted to ask you some questions, but I think I’d rather wait until dinner. Keep the mystery going a little longer.”

“Oh, good. No pressure at all.”

“I hope not. It seems like an excellent way to meet. My expectation is to have a nice meal with pleasant conversation. If anything more happens, that’s a bonus.”

“I can work with that,” she said. “How about seven o’clock at Lviv? That’s in the Bowery, if that’s all right?”

He’d heard of it, but never been. He lived near several eastern European restaurants, although they weren’t very high on his list. “Sounds great. You’ll have to find me, because I have no idea what you look like.”

“And that doesn’t make you nervous?”

“Nope. Excited.”

“You’re very brave.”

“Only sometimes. Tell me, what really made you pick my card?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and then it all came out in a rush. “I liked what you had to say. What you’re looking for. But I really have to go now, so I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I look forward to it.”

“Aside from being scared out of my wits, me, too,” she said. Then she was gone.

Who was this woman? He could tell she was shy, which was appealingly uncommon for the girls he dated. He’d never actually been on a blind date, which this essentially was. Not once. He’d only lied a little bit when he told her his expectations. Especially given her last, rushed explanation for choosing him, he fully expected to end the evening back at her place. Hell, even if they didn’t particularly click, it was only for one night. Whoever had thought up the trading-card idea deserved a Nobel Prize. Prevetted men with all their cards on the table, pun most definitely intended. Natalie would be the first of many, he assumed, a veritable feast of women who also wanted no-strings-attached one-night stands.

He settled back in the taxi, feeling a hell of a lot better than when he’d left his loft.

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

Fred gave Natalie a long, slow assessment from the ground up. “You can do better.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at herself in her full-length mirror. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just prefer your red dress.”

“Why?” She knew it sounded as if she didn’t trust him. He was never anything less than completely honest with her, even when a white lie wouldn’t have hurt anyone.

“It makes your boobs look bigger.”

Turning all the way to face him, she gave him her WTF stare. “This date isn’t about my boobs. We’re getting to know each other. That’s all.”

“It’s always about boobs. Look, if you want better advice, I suggest you find someone who cares more about fashion. I have work to do. Aside from the boob issue, you look gorgeous. Like always. But if you want to make him swoon, go with the red dress and your black heels. And don’t forget to put on the lip gloss, not just the lipstick.” He shook his head. “We’ve been living in the same house too long. Why do I even know what lip gloss does for you? Where’s Denise? I thought she was going to bring wine and you two were going to giggle and speculate until it was time for your date.”

“She’s at her cousin’s bridal shower. In California. On vacation. And we don’t giggle.”

“I was being polite. Your friend sounds like an asthmatic horse when she laughs.”

“She does not.”

He sighed. “She doesn’t in the same way that it’s not about boobs.” He stopped at Natalie’s bedroom door. “Now have fun. If nothing else, at least you don’t have to go to Oliver’s mother’s Shabbat dinner.”

“She makes a great brisket.”

He nodded. “That she does. But not good enough for you to stay with that schlub.”

“Get out,” she said, although she completely agreed with him. “I’m going to change into my red dress.”

Fred, with his skinny black jeans, two-tone shoes and argyle sweater, walked down the hall. She didn’t know anyone more fashion conscious than him. Damn hipster. If she didn’t love him like a brother, he’d be impossible to put up with. The sound of the fridge door slamming told her the rat had stolen one of her expensive pale ales. He’d pay for that.

She pulled out her red dress even though she wanted badly to believe tonight’s date wasn’t about breasts. Yes, she wanted Max to think she was attractive and for the two of them to connect, but she didn’t do casual hookups and she didn’t like it when men assumed it was a done deal after a woman had spoken more than five words to them.

Pausing at her purse, she took out Max’s trading card again. A man who played online role-playing games like World of Warcraft had to understand the value of patience.

* * *

THE BOWERY WAS close enough to Max’s loft in NoHo to walk there easily. The clear, crisp May night invigorated him. As did the prospect of dinner and what might follow.

Not knowing Natalie’s last name had removed the temptation of looking her up on Google. He liked that. There were far too few real surprises left in life. It was the age of spoilers—everything from movies to novels to credit scores were searchable. He liked to receive first impressions in person whenever possible. With a clean slate. Just hearing her voice had been enough to conjure images that were bound to be way off.

Lviv was down a flight of stairs. On the patio was a small grouping of outdoor tables, all occupied. It wasn’t a jeans-and-T-shirts crowd, even though the weather was great, but not suits, either. Inside at the small bar, there was a big age range and a relaxed atmosphere. He assumed she’d chosen a place that was both familiar and comfortable, because she sure hadn’t chosen it for a high-ticket meal.

He’d timed his entrance perfectly, but when a couple of minutes ticked by and no one approached, he turned back to the patio.

As he moved aside for a departing couple, he realized a lot of the people behind him at the bar weren’t speaking English. It sounded Russian, but was probably, in this part of town, Ukrainian, which he understood was close.

The voices receded as his gaze caught on a great pair of legs coming down the stairs. The heels were black and high, almost stilettos, and one step later he got a glimpse of a red dress swinging against shapely knees. He waited in anticipation as the rest of her came into his line of sight.

She was curvier than a lot of women he knew, and he liked that. He didn’t mind a thin body in his arms, although he preferred a softer experience. The red dress was tight around the middle, and the neckline showed off what appeared to be a hell of a nice rack. Dark hair bounced on her shoulders, soft curls that moved with her, and he only got a side view, but so far, he really hoped it was Natalie.

Dammit, now he’d done it. She’d probably walk into another man’s arms and Natalie herself would disappoint him. Aw, hell. What was he thinking? There were a lot of beautiful women in the world, in this city, on this block. All different kinds. For all he knew, she could already be here, scoping him out.

Turning back to the bar, he didn’t notice anyone craning to see the door. Behind him, a soft throat clearing made him smile.

It was the woman in red, and head-on she was...attractive. Not as stunning as some, but he wouldn’t mind looking at her during dinner or across a mattress. “Natalie, I hope?”

She nodded. Held out her hand.

He shook it, glad for the few seconds’ grace to adjust to the real woman. “Nice to meet you in person. I can’t wait to learn more about you.”

“I do have the advantage,” she said, gripping her purse once she had her hand back.

“Not for long.”

“Uh-oh. I guess fair is fair.” She led the way to the hostess, who smiled brightly at Natalie and gave her a hug.

“I have a table ready. The best one,” the hostess said, her accent strong. The woman pulled out a couple of menus, but before they moved, Natalie introduced them. The hostess was Mrs. Hanna Evanko—she owned the restaurant, along with her husband.

They were seated in a quiet corner where they wouldn’t be bothered much. A simple round table with white linens. He held Natalie’s chair, which earned him an approving nod from Mrs. Evanko before she slipped away.

He’d been given one of their large menus, but he put it aside for the moment. “Would you like wine with dinner?”

“I would,” she said.

“Anything you recommend?”

“It’s not a big selection, but everything is decent. My preference is red, although I’m flexible.”

His brows rose, but only for a second. Certainly the double entendre was unintentional.

Natalie blushed like a nice rosé, confirming his supposition.

A younger woman wearing the simple black-and-white attire of the staff came to the table with a couple of candles. She looked as if she might be related to the owners. After she lit the candles, she looked at Max and said, “More romantic,” in that same accent.

He caught the end of a sigh coming from Natalie. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They think being single is a disease. But they mean well.”

“I have an aunt Ellen who’s like that, although she’s pretty much given up on me.”

Natalie’s eyes widened, but just for a second. Then she was looking at the menu. “Have you had much eastern European food?”

“No. I don’t know why. What I have had, I’ve liked.”

“If you have any questions, ask away.”

“Am I the first trading-card guy you’ve gone out with?”

Startled, Natalie opened her mouth, but didn’t speak right away. “Yes,” she said, finally, but he got the feeling she wanted to say more.

He leaned forward, as if to tell her a secret, but he was actually checking out the dilation of her pupils, the way her breath caught on an inhale. “I’ll make sure this evening lives up to your expectations.” Then he sat back, picked up the menu he’d set aside and said, “Studenetz?”

Natalie blinked twice as she moved her gaze. She touched her lower lip with her index finger and looked at him again with a smile that might have been wicked if it hadn’t vanished so quickly. “Fish in aspic.”

“Ah. Sounds like that might be an acquired taste.”

“You’re right,” she said, her voice reserved, almost formal. But that blush of hers hadn’t disappeared yet. “I usually recommend the verenyky. Dumplings seem to be popular in every culture.”

“I’ll try those first.”

She nodded. “Good. You can also try my borscht if you’re daring.”

“Oh, I’m daring, all right.” This time he really was talking about food, but watching her swallow gave him a clue where her mind had gone. Then the tip of her tongue swiped that same spot on her lower lip and he wanted to sample that instead.

“I see,” she said. “Brave and daring. That’s quite a combination, and we’ve just gotten started.”

He shifted his gaze to his water glass, but a second later he was drawn back to her lips. He liked their shape. It was easy to imagine how they’d fit against his mouth. “Your turn,” he said, just before he cleared his throat.

“To do what?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

She glanced at him, then away. “The first thing you should know is that this isn’t easy for me.”

“What do you mean?”

After taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again and didn’t waver. “The trading-card thing is an enormous stretch. I’m not what you’d call a social butterfly.”

“What would you call yourself?” he asked, wishing the waitress had brought wine instead of a candle.

“I’m something of an introvert.”

“Really?”

“It’s not that I’m too shy to socialize or go places, but big crowds can be intimidating and sometimes I need time to recharge on my own. The reason we’re at this restaurant is because I felt it would be easier to be around familiar people.”

“That makes perfect sense. Including the part where this is a stretch for you...”

“You have no idea,” she said, with a laugh. “So if it’s all right with you, I’ll start with the easiest question for me to answer. I’m passionate about film.”

Max put his white napkin on his lap and watched her do the same. “Film? I would have guessed books, but film is more intriguing.”

“I do love books, but film caught my attention when I was young and never let go. Old ones. Black-and-white movies from the twenties, thirties and forties. Fritz Lang, Preston Sturges, Frank Capra, Michael Curtiz. I work at Omnibus. It’s an art-film house and conservation center.”

“I’ve been there.”

She smiled, and it was as if he’d said the magic words that allowed her to relax completely. It was a good look on her. “Oh, nice. What did you see?”

“Um, it’s been awhile. The last three years I haven’t gotten out much. Napoleon. The Abel Gance silent film. I’ve been to a couple of short-film festivals, too, and a Buster Keaton retrospective.”

“I was there. For all of those. I help run the programs.”

“You’re a fund-raiser?” He wanted more of this Natalie. She’d been smart to start out with something she cared about so deeply. The light in her eyes and the excitement in her voice were compelling. He could imagine her letting go, getting swept away in his arms. She wouldn’t be quick about it, though, or easy. But she’d be worth the effort.

“That’s only a part of what I do. I’m the librarian but also an archivist. I even teach film restoration and conduct tours of the facility. I’m a jill-of-all-trades, which means my schedule is insane, but I’m very happy. It’s expensive to restore films, to keep the vaults at the right temperatures, buy the equipment. You should become a member.”

He laughed at that. Couldn’t help it. It made sense that she helped with fund-raising. No one would be able to resist her.

“Sorry.” Her cheeks blossomed with a flush that had a slightly different hue. Softer, somehow. “I crossed a line there. You don’t have to buy anything.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can tell you’re great at what you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

She fluttered her lashes, but it was more a sign of being flustered, he thought, than a flirtatious gesture. “Okay, now it’s my turn, because I’ve been dying to know. How have we not met before? I thought I knew every librarian in New York.”

“Excuse me?”

“My friend thought you might work at a think tank. Or maybe that you’d just transferred here.”

Max wasn’t sure what was going on. “I work at a law firm.”

“Oh. Okay. I imagine big firms have large libraries.”

“Natalie, I’m not a librarian. I’m a lawyer.”

“Wait. What? You’re...not—” She put her purse on the table and pulled out his card. He only got a glimpse, but that was definitely his picture. “—Max Zimm?”

He slowly shook his head, feeling as confused as she looked. “Max Dorset.”

“Oh,” she said, and sank back in her chair. “But...” She studied the card and when she looked at him again she was clearly mortified. She’d tensed like a watch spring and averted her gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I mean, obviously that’s my picture, but not my name.”

“I—I don’t even know what to say. Except I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, some of the confusion beginning to lift. “Clearly someone at the printing company messed up. What else does the back of the card say?”

Her lips parted with a distressed gasp. “This whole trading-card thing. I never should’ve—” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Look, it’s still early.” She calmly put her napkin on the table and stood. “I hope you can salvage the rest of the evening. I really do. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Before he could even make sense of what was going on, Natalie was halfway across the room.

3

SHE SHOULD HAVE known he was too good to be true. Stupid, stupid. So much for her brave new life. If she had any brains at all, she’d go running back to Oliver. He might be dull as dishwater but he was steady and she’d never have to worry about competition for him.

Hanna called out to her, but Natalie kept going, darting around acquaintances she didn’t want to see, damning her high heels. She should take them off, run away as quickly as possible.

“Natalie, wait.”

God, it was Max. Max Dorset. An attorney so out of her reach it made her blush to her toes. Why hadn’t she said his last name when she’d called him? That would have saved them both this humiliation.

She’d made it through the patio to the base of the stairs when his hand on her arm stopped her.

“Wait, please,” he said. “Please.”

She couldn’t simply shake him off. None of this was his fault. But facing him felt like torture. “I should be getting home,” she said. “I can’t say how very sorry I am for the mix-up.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Still, I can’t imagine that you were looking for someone like me when you filled out your trading card.”

“How do you know?”

She met his gaze finally and instead of seeing mockery in his green-blue eyes, she recognized honest confusion. “You don’t play World of Warcraft, for one.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But I have played a hell of a lot of Legend of Zelda and Mortal Kombat.”

“Recently?”

“No.”

His gentle smile made it possible for her to take a deep breath without bursting into flames. “Something tells me you also aren’t looking to get married.”

“Not at the moment, no. But I was looking for a nice time with a fascinating woman, and I got that. What I don’t understand is why it needs to end so quickly.”

Natalie couldn’t speak for a second. She hadn’t been prepared for this, and she wasn’t sure if his being great about the mistake wasn’t the best reason of all for her to walk away and not look back. “We both know I’m not your kind of woman, but thank you for being so nice about it.”

“I’m not sure I have a type,” he said, and despite his smile, she didn’t believe that. “If I wasn’t enjoying myself, I would have made an excuse to take off like a shot. Now, why don’t we go back inside? I’d still like to hear the rest of your answers. And find out what you found so appealing about this Max Zimm.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw a white shirt, a white chef’s hat and a very large, angry man walking with purpose. Behind him, half the staff followed.

“Oh, crap. I probably should have mentioned that Hanna is my aunt.” She spoke quickly, intending to head off the disaster. “In fact, everyone who works here is related to me in some way.”

“Why, ‘oh, crap’?” he asked, turning to look. His body stiffened and for a second she thought he was going to bolt.

“Uncle Victor,” she said, stepping out in front of Max. “Stop, please.” Holding out her hands slowed the oncoming horde. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Max has been a complete gentleman. We’ve just had a misunderstanding.”

The army stopped advancing, although Uncle Victor didn’t look very mollified. “What kind misunderstanding?”

“There was a mix-up. I thought he was someone else and I was embarrassed. So if you could all go back inside, that would be good.”

Five pairs of eyes, not including Natalie’s, stared at Max as if they wanted him to swear a blood oath that every word she’d said was true. To his credit, his smile almost seemed real.

“Go on,” she said, herding them back. “Someone’s probably stealing all the spoons. I’ll report in later.”

“You come back in,” Hanna said. “Victor will cook something special, okay?”

“No, thank you, Titka. I don’t want to go back now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Vī pevnі?” Hanna asked.

Natalie widened her smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Her aunt leaned closer, and in a whisper that could have been heard in Times Square, said, “He’s very handsome.”

“I know he is, but someone’s waiting to pay for their meal,” Natalie said, then watched until the whole lot of them were inside.

Max cleared his throat. “I suggest we get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”

“Excellent idea.”

Halfway up the stairs, he touched her arm again. It was sweet. He was being sweet. It made her nervous and a little more excited than was wise.

Once on the street, he tugged her near the store behind them. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m hungry enough to eat my shoe. Let’s try this again. Start fresh. Eat. Have a drink. Talk?”

She should say no. It was utterly unlike her to even consider doing otherwise.

“Come on. We’ve already been through maximum discomfort, right?”

She didn’t argue, although she could think of half a dozen ways things could get worse. However, Max being such a mensch had her renewing her vow to never, ever go back to Oliver. Which meant getting back on the horse. No more running away like a child. “All right. But only under two conditions.”

His eyes narrowed and, damn, suspicion looked good on him. “What would those be?”

“You pick the restaurant. And when we talk, we don’t mention the cards at all.”

“Deal,” he said, his grin crooked and fine. “I know just the place.” Taking her hand in his, he walked her to the curb and hailed a taxi. He held the door for her, then gave the cabbie an address in the West Village.

* * *

THE LAST PIECE of pizza margherita was tempting, but Max let it go. He didn’t want to be too full, not for the night he had planned. Coming to Trattoria Spaghetto had been just the thing. It was an old-school restaurant—good food and decent house wine that had been served quickly.

“I still don’t know what kind of law you practice,” she said. “All we’ve talked about is movies.” She dotted her lips with her napkin and sipped her Chianti.

She’d been right to ban the mention of the cards. Not that he didn’t want to know things about her, aside from what she looked like out of that dress. The conversation had been easy once they’d settled in, and Natalie really was interesting. She could write a book about old films and restoration, a topic he’d never considered worth his time, but he’d read it cover to cover. Now that it was his turn to talk about work, he didn’t want to. Surprising, since he’d been basking in the praise from his victorious precedent-setting case.

“I’ve liked discussing movies,” he said. “It’s a lot more interesting than tort law.”

“I don’t know much about that. I mean, I know that tort is civil law, like personal injury or class-action suits, but I have no idea what you actually do.”

“Infrequently, I’m in court, which can be interesting and tense, although compared to trials in films, real court is long and plodding. It’s a great remedy for insomnia.”

“More frequently?”

“It’s a lot like having homework every day of your life. Looking up precedents, and not just recent ones. One time I actually used something from the ancient Greeks to help hone a point.”

“Huh,” she said. “That’s what librarians do.”

“Yeah, but they don’t get to bill for the hours.”

“And more’s the pity.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, turning her head to look at the neighboring table.

He took the opportunity to look down at the soft roundness of her breasts, the contrast between the scarlet of the dress and her pale skin. For the last forty minutes, he’d hardly looked away from her eyes. They were brown, not a particularly memorable shade, but with their passion and subtle drama they’d held him captive.

Jesus, the longer he was with her, the more he wanted her. Although he couldn’t help wondering if this level of attraction would have been there if he hadn’t been living like a monk for such a long time.

“I’m full,” she said, facing him again. “And glad we did this.”

“You’re not throwing in the towel yet, are you? It’s still early.”

“Maybe for you. But I’m very dull. By ten most nights I’m already in my PJs watching TV.”

“There’s nothing good on, trust me. But it is a great night out. What do you say we go for a walk?”

“In these heels?”

“Oh, right.”

“You look so disappointed,” she said, her delight clear in her voice.

“I am. I was looking forward to talking some more.”

“I suppose we could go for a few blocks. I’ll cry uncle when it’s too much.”

“You could just take them off.”

“Barefoot in Manhattan? I’m not sure if I’m caught up on my tetanus shots.”

He leaned across the small table and put his hand on hers. Her eyes widened as she stared, then a faint blush tinted her cheeks. “We don’t have to walk far to get to my place. I’ve got some Courvoisier, which goes great with a to-go order of the Italian cheesecake.”

Natalie’s blush deepened. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really do things like that,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

“What, eat cheesecake?”

Pressing her lips together for a moment, her gaze swept over his face, everywhere except his eyes. “Cognac and cheesecake at your place? Perhaps to see your etchings?”

He didn’t respond immediately, knowing she’d eventually meet his eyes. When he got the look he wanted, he lowered his voice. “I don’t think guys use etchings anymore, but if I did, would that be so bad?”

Natalie cleared her throat, turned her wineglass forty-five degrees and gave him a hesitant smile. “It would be flattering. Also a waste of time.”

She sounded very sure and serious, and he wasn’t the kind to hear yes when a woman said no. But everything about her body language read that she wasn’t quite as certain as she’d like him to believe. Still, he nodded. “I know we decided not to talk about the cards, but I’m curious. You clearly do want to settle down. Get married. You seem young. Or maybe it’s just that the women in my field tend to be in their thirties before they start to think about marriage and kids. The career track in large firms is brutal.”

“I’m not that young,” she said. “Twenty-seven seems a good age, especially because I want children someday.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

She tapped the edge of her glass with her index finger. “I’m also terrible at dating.”

“I beg to differ.”

She dismissed his comment with a wave. “You don’t count. You did when I thought we shared the same goals, but once that was cleared up...”

“I think I feel insulted.”

“Why? You’re allowed to not want what I want. And anyway, I tried to bow out, give you a chance to go find someone more your speed, but you blew it.”

“I think I chose wisely. You make me want to see old movies with you. No wonder they have you giving tours at Omnibus. Your passion is very engaging.”

She studied him with a tentative frown, as if she was trying to decide whether to believe him. “Thank you,” she said finally.

“Now, how about that dessert? Coffee?”

Natalie shook her head, causing her dark hair to tumble over that obstinate shoulder. “As great as the cheesecake sounds, I’m going to say no.”

He shook his head. “That’s a shame. I’ve got a terrible sweet tooth. Which means I have to spend far too long at the gym, because I’m not that great at denying myself.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common. Not the gym part.” She shuddered. “I walk, of course, and I go to yoga twice a week. But big machines and weights? Not for me.”

“Whatever you’re doing works,” he said, and even though it was probably a nonstarter, he didn’t hold back on his smile.

“You must be a very good lawyer,” she said.

“You think?”

“You’re very smooth.”

“Huh. I could take that one of two ways.”

Natalie flashed that wicked smile he’d seen earlier. “I’ll amend that to convincing.”

“Better.” He smiled back. “That’s because I’m telling the truth.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a small bow.

He couldn’t help it. He reached out for her hand again, not sure if she’d put it within reach consciously or not. “Is it at all possible that there’s room in your plan for something a little less permanent until Mr. Right comes along?”

When her teeth scraped against her full bottom lip, he felt his cock stir. It wasn’t the first time that had happened since they’d met, but it was the most insistent. But he doubted words would work when actions said so much more. He leaned in farther, not hiding his desire at all as he gently teased the tender skin of her inner wrist.

* * *

NATALIE WAS EQUAL parts suspicious and tempted. The way he looked at her with such hunger was like something from a movie. However, that, along with his very gentle touch, meant it was also possible that she was being played. In fact, that was likely the case. The question was, did she mind?

There was a reason she didn’t do one-night stands. His name was Cory and she’d met him in college. She’d been won over by his love of literature and the way he’d looked at her. They’d clicked on a level that had been entirely new. The night had been magic. They’d made plans. He never called her again. When she’d run into him at a book signing, he’d said hey in a way that made it clear he couldn’t remember her name.

After that, she had a boyfriend for the last two years of undergraduate studies; another, Tim, for almost all of grad school; and Oliver. Max was another creature altogether. He was gorgeous, sexy, smart. A sophisticated man who belonged to Manhattan in a way she never would. She was a child of her neighborhood. He was skyscrapers and after-hours clubs. She’d only crossed paths with the likes of him at work.

Was she up for something that risky? Although, was there a risk at all, if she walked in with no expectations? Frankly, it would have been easier to throw caution to the wind if she’d worn matching underwear.

His thumb on her wrist was right over her pulse. No way he could miss how her heart was beating allegrissimo. But then, the way he looked at her made her feel entirely exposed, as if he could read every thought.

She wished he would say something. Blink. Because if he didn’t, she was going to say yes. The hell with her blue polka-dot panties and her plain white bra.

He didn’t say a word, but his gaze was a blatant promise of things she’d only read about.

“How far did you say your place was?”

4

NATALIE’S FIRST IMPRESSION of Max’s loft was that she didn’t belong in it. Nothing was overstuffed or secondhand. Of the few things he had, a lot were shiny and black and his television was bigger than her stove. Her second impression was that the only way she’d get through the next part of the evening was if she considered this a visit to another country. She’d always been a brave traveler, never afraid to try the local cuisine or explore the dodgy side of the tracks.

“Courvoisier?” he asked, putting the box of cheesecake on the glossy counter that divided the kitchen from the minimally furnished living room.

“Please.” Noting the bare-but-for-an-elaborate-coffeemaker countertop, she doubted he did much cooking. The well-stocked wet bar looked as if it got a lot more use.

He brought down two snifters from the top shelf and poured them each a generous finger of the cognac.

“My parents liked Rémy Martin,” she said. “My father was a cellist for the New York Philharmonic and he received a bottle every Christmas from the concertmaster. That was the only time they used their snifters. When I was a girl, I used to sneak Coke in them. I imagined myself being terribly sophisticated as I swirled my soda, then sipped elegantly even though the carbonation never stood a chance against the heat from my palms.”

He gave her a glass and a smile. “Who were you terribly sophisticated with?”

“Movie stars, mostly. From black-and-white films, of course. Cary Grant was my favorite.”

“Okay, there’s no way I can compete with Cary Grant.” Max watched her swirl her drink as he did the same. “My folks didn’t do a lot of drinking, but when they did, it was beer. They had a few bottles of hard liquor for guests, but that’s it.”

She looked over his collection of liquor. “You ended up with excellent taste.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I took a class. Okay. More than one. The year between NYU and law school, I learned about wine. That was interesting, and I liked the tasting part, so I took another class that included hard liquor.”

“Very practical,” she said. “I imagine the knowledge has been especially useful in your line of work.”

“If you count sounding like a pretentious ass useful.”

She grinned. “I doubt you made a single mistake.”

Stepping closer to her, he lifted his glass. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” She clinked her glass against his and lifted the snifter to her lips, figuring it was safe enough to take a sip now that some of the alcohol had evaporated. Not only was she wrong, but her sip went down the wrong way and sent her into a fit of coughing that doubled her over.

Thankfully, Max didn’t pat her on the back. He just disappeared for a bit, and then took her cognac, replacing it with a glass of water.

Finally, after a ridiculously long and painful time, the spasms stopped and she was able to breathe again. Naturally, she’d teared up and could only imagine the mascara damage. “Bathroom?” she croaked as she grabbed her purse from the counter.

“Come on.” He touched her arm again, in that same spot behind her elbow. “I’ll show you.”

She closed the bathroom door and leaned her head against it, afraid to look in the mirror. What the hell had she been thinking? Coming to his place had been a disaster waiting to happen, and they hadn’t even gotten to the naked part yet.

For a minute there, it had felt right. More like her teenage dreams than her adult reality. But she’d maxed out her courage simply by meeting him at the restaurant, let alone coming here. To imagine doing more was absurd.

It might be the chance of a lifetime, but if she died of stress in the middle of sex that would probably be a net loss.

Pushing off from the door she braved the mirror. The bathroom was very cool and modern, like the rest of the loft. Tiny, of course, with just a toilet and sink. He must have an en suite by the bedroom.

Well, she wouldn’t be finding out anytime soon. A tissue and some careful dabbing got rid of the mascara tracks. She added a fortifying coat of her Chanel Velvet Rouge but didn’t see the point of adding lip gloss. Then she practiced her exit line in the mirror, the way she always practiced giving speeches. Nothing clichéd because he’d been so nice, and she’d come willingly. Besides, she could afford to admit the truth. They’d never see each other again.

They’d never see each other again.

Her red-rimmed eyes widened as she thought about that. Even after the coughing debacle, she knew he wasn’t going to kick her out the door. He liked her. They’d connected in their odd way, and she was glad she’d met him. The one thing that might cause her regret, shockingly, would be quitting now.

Clearly, Max Dorset had some smooth moves, which undoubtedly came from plenty of experience. He was an amazing man, and she imagined he could walk into any bar or club in town and find himself with a wealth of opportunities.

One thing Natalie knew for sure was that the best way to learn anything was to find a teacher who was deeply passionate about the subject. Not that she knew for a fact that Max was a sex aficionado, but it was more than an educated guess. What might she learn from him?

The woman in the mirror blushed, but so what? They’d never see each other again. It would mean getting naked, which would really give her something to blush about. If she let him see the travesty of her underwear. If not, that meant turning out the lights, which would be comforting in one way, but dammit, when would she ever be in bed with someone that handsome again? If she was going to do this thing, she wanted to see what was going on.

So, she’d make a joke about her panties. God, they were full briefs. Polka-dot full briefs. There were no jokes funny enough.

With a sigh, she turned to leave, but stopped before her hand hit the doorknob. She could take them off now. Put them in her purse. He’d think she hadn’t worn any, which was not a terrible option.

Lifting her dress was simple enough, but actually removing her underwear was daunting. She really intended to do this thing. To have sex with a man she barely knew with no expectations of anything else. Not a follow-up phone call, no second date. And no expectations meant she wouldn’t be crushed by disappointment when neither of those things happened.

The polka dots hit the floor. Color rose to her cheeks. Again. But so did a grin. No use walking into this unless she was prepared to have a great time. Which she most certainly was.

“Take that, Oliver, you big idiot,” she said, straightening her back and running her hands down her body, surprised at how naughty it felt to be bare down below. “All this could have been yours. Ha.”

With that, and at the last second remembering to fold up her panties and stuff them in her purse, she opened the bathroom door.

Max stood a few feet in front of her in his white poplin shirt, the sleeves rolled, baring strongly corded forearms. When her gaze moved back to his face, his tentative grin broadened. Before she took her third step, he was inches away. She had to look up to meet his eyes. His finger brushed her cheek, light as a feather.

“Eyelash,” he said, even though she knew it was a lie.

Her lips parted, but whatever she’d been going to say slipped away when he leaned in for a cognac-flavored kiss. It was mesmerizing. Surprisingly intimate.

A second passed, then another. They moved together at the same time. Slow, in stages. Lips against lips, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam in between hers until she let him in. She made a sound that wasn’t quite a whimper, and it must have been the sign he’d been waiting for.

He brought their bodies together as the kiss deepened. All she could think was that this wasn’t her life. No man had ever felt this way before, had ever been as smooth or sure. And, thank God, she’d never see him again. Coming this far had been brave. Going further was a crazy risk.

But this was the new Natalie, and she wanted—needed—to know how much she would dare.

* * *

MAX RAN HIS hands down Natalie’s back, stopping just under her waistline. He’d take his time with her. That she was in his arms was his great luck, but he could tell she wasn’t entirely certain she should be. Now that he’d felt her against him, how she curved in the middle, he wasn’t about to lose her to his own impatience. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to move back up again, to feel her twitch under her sexy red dress. Not when her nipples were so hard.

He was getting hard himself, and shifted his hips so his nascent erection wouldn’t spook her.

She huffed against his lips, and then shocked the hell out of him with a firm hand on his right butt cheek, which got his attention.

“You don’t have to tiptoe,” she whispered, her mouth barely an inch away from his own. “I’m not a virgin or a delicate flower.”

It was a good speech, and he would have bought it completely if she hadn’t been trembling. “I can see that,” he said, holding himself very still. “But I don’t want you to regret this.”

She breathed out and he inhaled. “I’ve got you for one night, and then we’ll never see each other again,” she said. “I doubt I’ll have another opportunity like it. Please don’t think I’m exploiting you for your sexuality.” Her brow furrowed, then relaxed. “Scratch that. I do want to exploit you for your sexuality. If you have no objections.”

“Can’t think of one. Please, be my guest. Anything you’d like.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

She pulled back to look at him. Her cheeks were pink, her pupils had taken over her beautiful brown eyes and her lips looked swollen and well kissed. Perfect. “‘Within reason’ covers a lot of territory.”

He grinned. “No lasting scars. At least, not where they’d show.”

Her laugh was as sexy as her chutzpah. “I have no intention of hurting you. But you should know I haven’t had a great deal of experience. With men.”

“I understand. I’ll do my best to expand your horizons.”

“I don’t need acrobatics or accessories. Just, well, I hope like crazy that the men I’ve been with were...unskilled. Because there hasn’t been one single bell or whistle.”

Now he leaned back. “You’ve never had an orgasm?”

Her eye roll was impressive. “Of course I’ve had an orgasm.” Then she hid those same wicked eyes with her lowering lashes. “I’ve never been given one, though.”

“Ah. Okay,” he said, the word stretching as he thought of everything that could go wrong. “I’ll do my best.”

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything.”

He had to laugh. “Tell you what. Let’s both just have a good time.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s what I want.” She nodded. “Although you’re probably limp as a noodle by now.”

“You don’t have an internal censor at all, do you?”

She removed her grip from his ass. “Too much, right? When I’m nervous I either clam up completely or say everything that comes to mind. But I can tone it down. I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“No,” he said, putting her hand back where it’d been. “I don’t mind, I swear. In fact, I like it. Keep on saying what you want. If I do something that doesn’t sit right, tell me.”

“Deal,” she said. “But how do we get back to before?”

He pulled her close, proving that the talk had done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm. “All you have to do is be yourself and I’ll be fine.”

Natalie met his gaze for several long seconds before she kissed him. Holy crap, did she ever.

* * *

LETTING GO OF every kiss she’d had in the past wasn’t difficult. It was a relief. Secretly, Natalie had always suspected she could be one of the great kissers of all time, but she’d never been with anyone who truly inspired her.

Max made her bold. Committing herself to...this...was as intoxicating as champagne, as the moment when Fred Astaire sees Audrey Hepburn running down the steps at the Louvre like Winged Victory herself. With Max, she could be as silly or foolish or dramatic as she liked, and not obsess over her embarrassment for the rest of her life. Because she wasn’t going to be embarrassed. Nor was she going to see him again. It all worked out.

Although she still did have to take off the rest of her clothes. The hell with it. Tonight, she had the body of a goddess and the courage of Katniss Everdeen.

His hands ran down her back as he mapped out the territory. Did he realize she had gone commando? It seemed so, from his surprised grunt and the press of his erection against her tummy. Things were in motion. And wouldn’t that just shock every person who’d ever met her.

She decided to do some exploring of her own, even as they kissed as if it was going out of style. To her delight, he knew just how much to open his mouth, how to not try to swallow her face. That he tasted like expensive cognac was a liqueur-soaked cherry on top.

But the real treat was having free rein over his unbelievably fine body. She didn’t give one solitary damn that her thoughts were as shallow as a wading pool. His muscles rippled. Rippled. How many times had she read that, imagined that? Despite the thrilling sensation of Max lightly sucking on her lower lip, she giggled.

In another one of his smooth moves, he let her lip go and asked, “What’s so amusing?” then picked up directly where he’d left off.

“Amazing,” she said, although the word was so hopelessly garbled, she didn’t even try to go on. Talking was not her priority at the moment. In fact, touching him through his clothes seemed a waste. Like nibbling on crackers when a whole banquet was on offer.

Without too much effort, she was able to sneak her hands between their chests. Undoing his buttons was a little more difficult than she’d imagined. Mostly because she was so greedy, wanting every sensation at once.

But Max let her know he was on the same page by finding her zipper with no trouble at all. He lowered it expertly, then put his hands on her bare back, just below her bra strap.

It shouldn’t have felt so different. Oliver had touched her there plenty of times. But she’d never once shivered from top to toe, wiggled her shoulders and her hips, or whimpered.

He groaned in response and she remembered about the buttons, continuing down the line. When he undid her stupid white bra with a single, elegant flick, she might have lost it for a minute. Hands flat on his shirt, she found her forehead resting on his shoulder.

He kept rubbing down the naked part of her back. “You okay?”

“Umm.”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded enough for him to feel it. “You’re very good at this,” she said, just before taking a deep breath and looking at him once more.

He only smiled and slid his hands underneath her bra to cup both her breasts. “You feel good.” Dipping his head, he kissed behind her ear. “But I really want to see you,” he murmured against her skin.

“Oh.” Her eyes had drifted closed and she couldn’t seem to lift her lids. “Okay.”

In seconds he’d led her to his room, to his very large bed. The spread was burgundy, the wood of the frame dark, maybe cherry or teak. It was a guy’s room, with heavy pieces and neutral tones, but the framed oil painting above the bed was an abstract with vivid reds and yellows and turquoise. Very surprising.

He cleared his throat and she quickly forgot about the decor. It was showtime. The bedside lamp was turned on, and she had to decide if she was going to say something about that, or let it be.

Turning it off really would make her feel more comfortable.

Katniss wouldn’t turn off the lights.

Natalie wouldn’t, either.

He must have seen her determination, or maybe he just didn’t want to wait anymore. Before she’d even registered the move, her sleeves were sliding down her arms, along with her bra straps. Looking down, she was startled to find her breasts naked, her nipples hard and very there as her dress pooled at her waist, caught by her belt.

Max moaned as he cupped her breasts. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. “I want to look at you. All of you.” He tackled her belt, which wasn’t much of a challenge, and she closed her eyes as her dress fell to the floor with a soft whoosh of fabric.

“Oh, Christ. Look at you. I never expected—”

She opened her eyes to find him staring, his lips parted in a very flattering way.

He stepped back until he was no longer touching her, then one more step so he could sit on the edge of his bed, as if looking at her made him lose his sense of balance.

She moved one foot back to take off her heels, and jumped at his, “No, wait. Please. Leave those on.”

He didn’t look as though he was kidding. Especially when he pressed his palm against his very obvious hard-on.

She’d wanted new experiences. This definitely met the criteria. She curled her right shoulder and knee, although it didn’t hide very much. Not that hiding was exactly what she wanted to do, but being stared at like that was kind of intimidating.

“Oh, I know where I’ve seen you before,” he said, his voice very low and rough. “On those World War II pinup posters, with your ruby lips and your luscious curves.”

She froze right there. Just stopped. Her? A pinup? She loved those women, those images, had one framed in her office. It was probably the dress that had done it. Or her hair. It was what she’d always wanted people to see, but they never did. Never had.

He was the wrong Max, and yet...

There was no longer any need to pretend to feel sexy. Because she was. Truly. Like Betty Grable or Marilyn Monroe. It was intoxicating. Freeing.

No one had ever looked at her that way, with his three undone buttons and his desire-darkened eyes, and she was going to revel in it.

He wanted a show, and she gave him one. Slow and naughty, with a soundtrack in her head and a sharp need to press her thighs together.

This night had been fantastic. Even if he didn’t give her an orgasm it was already the best ever. She owed a great big thank-you to whoever had messed up the trading card, because tonight, she was her own dream come true.

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