Chapter 1
Paige McMillan
Two Years Ago
Nashville, Tennessee
Paige's best friend, Emily, jabbed her with an elbow and quietly whispered, “Pst. Paige. There's a really cute guy in a suit across the bar. And he's totally checking you out.”
Paige didn't look. She didn't care how cute the guy might be; her wounds were too fresh, too raw.
“If I'd known you were going to point out every hot guy that walks by, I think I would've stayed home instead,” the Vanderbilt University junior muttered.
Emily groaned. “You've been cooped up in your apartment for a month, Paige. I know you're hurting, but that's why it's good to remember that there's plenty of other fish in the sea.” She made a subtle gesture across the bar. “He's seriously hot, Paige.”
“If he's so hot, why don't you talk to him?”
“Because I have a boyfriend. And he's not looking at me, he's looking at you.”
Paige frowned. “So? Sleeping with some random guy really won't help me feel any better. It'll only make things worse.”
“How would you know?” Emily asked with a defiant shrug of her shoulder. “You've never even had a one-night stand.”
The idea made Paige snicker. “Some things you don't have to try. You just know.”
“I'm not asking you to marry the damned guy and have his babies,” Emily griped. “I'm just asking you to look at him.”
A tinge of guilt settled in Paige's belly. Emily was only trying to help, yet Paige was being needlessly stubborn. She let out a small breath of surrender. “Fine. I'll look.”
Slowly, and with an air of disinterest, Paige turned her head. Across the bar, she saw there wasn't just one guy in a suit—there was an entire raucous group of them. But instantly, she knew exactly which one Emily had meant. He had clean-cut hair and a day's worth of blond stubble that perfected his wholesome, All-American-Man look. And, most tellingly, he didn't shy away from her gaze. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for her with a glint in his eye and a smile on his lips. He gave a slight nod of his head, as if to say, I'm your man.
Careful not to send any unwanted signals, Paige broke eye contact with the guy in the suit before he could get any ideas.
“So? What do you think?” Emily asked.
“I see what you mean. He's handsome.” She was almost surprised to hear herself admit it.
Emily beamed. “Told you. Man, all that trouble just to get you to look at a hot guy …”
“But you have to understand, Em, it's just so soon. I still can't get over what Adam did—”
Emily was quick to cut her off. “We're not talking about that idiot tonight, remember?”
“My point is, objectively speaking, yes, the guy in the suit over there is super hot. But I'm really not in the frame of mind to meet anyone right now.”
Emily gestured in the guy's direction. “Him and his friends—they're all in suits. Think they came from a wedding? God, I'd happily marry any one of them … they're all so hunky and big.”
Paige peeked over again. Emily was right; the guy and all his friends were tall and statuesque and healthy looking. Enormous men, really.
“Maybe,” she said. “Who knows?”
The All-American said something to his friends. They laughed, shoved him, and clapped him on the back. He downed the rest of his glass and pushed his way past his friends.
Startled, Paige quickly looked away and shielded her face. “Oh God, is he coming over here?”
Emily's eyes grew wider as he neared. “Yes. Yes, he absolutely is.”
Paige didn't dare look to confirm it for herself. She couldn't believe this was happening. She didn't want this—and if this guy had any idea what a hot mess she was right now, he'd probably go running for the hills. Poor guy had no idea what he was getting himself into.
Sure enough, she felt his presence at her side a second later. He nudged her elbow with his rather large hand. His voice was deep, smooth, confident. “Hi, I'm Lance.”
Can't believe I have to do this right now, she thought to herself as she met the stranger's pine green eyes with a look of skepticism. This is the last thing I want right now.
“Hi, Lance,” she mumbled.
“What's your name?” he asked. He'd looked tall from across the bar, but up close, he was even taller. And handsomer. He had to stand at least 6'0 tall. He was blessed with broad shoulders and a wide, sturdy frame.
“Paige,” she muttered.
His smile was bright and his presence warm—all of which slightly annoyed Paige. Couldn't he feel the cold waves of brokenness emanating off of her? She almost felt sorry for him for even trying to talk to her … until she heard what came out of his mouth next, anyway.
“Paige,” Lance repeated. “That's funny. Pages have numbers, but I don't have yours.”
A hand darted to cover her mouth, and Paige stifled a mortified laugh. She glanced at Emily to make sure she'd just heard it, too—possibly the worst pickup line of all time.
“Wow, Lance,” Paige said at last. “That was bad. Truly bad.”
He set his rather large hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Yeah, but it made you laugh, didn't it?”
Her back arched at his touch, whether she wanted it to or not. “If you're planning on using any more bad pickup lines on me, you better get them out of your system now.”
“Hm. Okay.” Apparently, Lance saw this as a challenge, because his eyes looked skyward for inspiration. “If your name is Paige, then I'm going to need a bookmark … that way I never lose you.”
Paige couldn't help it; she let out a loud laugh. She wondered if it was the first time she'd laughed in a month—it sure felt like it, anyway.
“Lance … that's awful.”
She had to give it to him, though: his confident grin was endearing. He wasn't afraid of rejection in the slightest. The guy was just having fun. His attitude was infectious.
“As long as you're still smiling, I don't care,” he said. “You're perfect when you smile, you know that? But I bet you get that a lot.”
“'When' I smile?” she repeated, unsure if she'd been complimented or insulted.
“From across the bar, it didn't look like you were having such a great time.” Lance gave a cocky shrug. “So I came over to brighten your day.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “Gee … thanks.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Before Paige could say thanks but no thanks, Emily piped up on her behalf. “Yes, you absolutely can buy her a drink!”
“… This is my friend, Emily, by the way,” Paige said while she shot side-eyed daggers at Emily.
Emily and Lance shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
“I love your suit, by the way,” Emily said. She grabbed his sleeve. “God, it's so soft! What's this made out of?”
Lance flashed his piano-key-teeth. “Thanks. It's cashmere.”
“Cashmere! Wow!” Relishing the role of matchmaker, Emily elbowed Paige's side. “Feel his jacket, Paige.”
Hesitantly, Paige touched her hand to his arm. But the fine cashmere was so sleek and soft and smooth, she couldn't help but run her fingers up and down his arm. The hard, chiseled muscles that lurked underneath only complemented the luxurious fabric.
“That is soft,” Paige said quietly.
Having worked her magic, Emily slid off her stool and excused herself. Paige gave her one last look before she pranced off.
Nice try, Emily, but it's still not gonna happen.
With Emily gone, Lance stood closer to Paige. He commanded the bartender's attention. As he reached for his wallet, his round, meaty shoulder gently brushed against hers.
“Just so you know, I'm not going to sleep with you,” Paige said abruptly.
“Brutal honesty. I love it.” Lance laughed and passed Paige her drink. “So where are you from?”
“Lived in Tennessee my whole life,” Paige answered in her slight, sing-song southern drawl.
Lance smiled. “I like your accent.”
“Thanks. And you don't have one. So where are you from?”
“I grew up in upstate New York, but I've lived all over. Right now I live in Boston.”
“And what brings you to Nashville?”
“Business,” he said with a wink.
Paige knew that wink was an invite to ask what he did for a living. But based on the quality of his suit, it was obvious that this guy made a killing at whatever it was he did. She figured he didn't need to have his ego stroked any more—so she didn't take the bait.
“Neat,” Paige said simply, sipping at her drink.
“Yeah, I'm pretty much a modern-day superhero,” Lance added, shifting his body weight.
It's killing this guy that I won't ask him what he does, isn't it? she thought to herself.
“Wow, a superhero, that's really great,” she teased. “So do you wear underwear on top of your outfit?”
He laughed sarcastically and leaned closer to her ear. “No. That'd be weird. Actually, since you asked, I'm not wearing underwear.”
“I didn't ask,” Paige rambled, at a loss for words, “and besides, I don't believe you.”
But her eyes stole an instinctive glimpse at his crotch. The thick bulge that ran down his thigh told her that he was telling the truth … and that he was hung, too. Because of course a guy that handsome and well-to-do would have a big dick. Regardless, the sight of him put a tense knot in her throat. She quickly forced herself to look away, but the damage had been done—Lance had caught her looking.
“Don't believe me, then.” With a devilish spark in his eye, he shrugged and sipped his whiskey. “You can find out later if I'm telling the truth or not.”
“Lance!”
She smacked his chest with the back of her hand—but his chest was so rock-hard, she might as well have smacked a brick wall. It didn't faze him at all.
“I think I liked you better when I thought you were a cheesy guy with bad pickup lines,” she said while she pressed her smarting hand between her thighs. “Because now you're just being aggressive and weird.”
He gave a shrug, and the accusation rolled off him like water from a duck's back. “You're really beautiful, Paige. You know that?”
She lowered her head. “You're just flattering me …”
“No. Seriously. You are.” Gently, he touched his massive hand to Paige's chin and raised her gaze to his. It was all-too-easy to get lost in his big green eyes—and even easier to forget that only a few minutes ago she could feel nothing but an ailing heart. But all she could see now, staring back at her, was the desire burning in this handsome stranger's eyes. He wanted her, and he wanted her badly, and the very idea of his lust made her grow weak in the knees. She knew she had to look away, but she couldn't, and then Lance steadied her jaw and moved in for a kiss.
She was surprised. She shouldn't have been—it was obvious this guy would try something exactly like that—but she was. Too stunned to move away, Paige didn't try to stop him. Their lips touched, and Lance kissed her deeper.
It was nice, wasn't it? Kissing a total stranger—rather, kissing a new set of lips. His lips moved with hers in a new way; his kisses didn't feel empty or scripted or fake. They were lips that hadn't betrayed her. Lips that wouldn't ever get the chance to betray her … because this guy meant nothing to her.
He was just a total stranger. A hot guy from Boston. Some young, entitled, rich guy with an ego. A guy who didn't mean anything, who couldn't ever mean anything, because she'd never see him again. He was a guy who could make her forget about her idiot ex-boyfriend and her backstabbing roommate … at least for a little while.
Maybe Emily's right? Maybe this is what I need.
Paige was surprised by how eagerly she kissed him back and how much of herself she gave to him. They kissed deeper, hotter, right there in the middle of the bar, knowing people were watching—and soon she felt his bulge pressing against her thigh as he lengthened in his trousers.
In the drunken darkness of the bar, she reached an eager hand between his legs and touched him. Now she knew it for sure; he'd told the truth earlier. Only a thin layer of baby-soft cashmere stood between her hand and his rock-hard manhood.
Cashmere and cock.
That was a dangerous combo.
She tightened her fingers around his throbbing desire while they kissed, hungrier, needier, conveniently forgetting for just a moment that she was practically stroking a stranger in public.
Paige cracked an eyelid and peeked over Lance's shoulder. Sure enough, every last one of his buddies stared, slack-jawed and open-mouthed, a hint of blush on their chiseled manly faces.
She pulled away from Lance and hid behind his massive torso.
“Your friends are watching,” she said.
“So's yours,” he said, gesturing over her shoulder.
She turned around and saw Emily. Caught, Emily panicked and pretended to look elsewhere.
“You wanna go somewhere else? Another bar?” Lance asked. “Or … we could skip all that and go back to my hotel.”
Paige couldn't believe that she'd even consider doing something like that, with a guy she didn't know, a guy she wasn't sure she'd even like if she knew him properly. But …
“Where are you staying?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Across the street.”
“The Heritage?” she asked with a tipsy giggle. “You're staying at the Heritage?”
It was the most expensive hotel in downtown Nashville.
“Well, yeah. Where else do you think I'd stay?”
“I have no idea …!”
I know nothing about you! she thought to herself.
He pulled her closer, until she was snug against his body, and Paige felt his pulsing cock against her leg. God, he was even bigger and harder now.
“So what do you say?” he asked, his breath hot and seductive on the lobe of her ear.
She stammered, “I—I swear I never do this.”
But his cock, so warm and hard against her body, beckoned for her touch. She ran her hand down his bulge again, wanting to feel exactly how long he was. At the end of his many inches, she found something foreign and unexpected—a small, hard ring.
“Wait, what is this?” she asked, tugging and pulling at the object.
Lance's eyes fluttered with barely contained pleasure.
“That would be my piercing,” he said with a gasp.
“You … you have a piercing?”
He nodded.
For some reason, that was the last push a good girl like her needed to go for the bad boy like him.
She downed the rest of her drink and hopped off her stool.
“Let's go.”