@BettencourtBets: Place ur bet—which Bettencourt employee took home more than an auction prize last night? Hint-if this was Spain, we’d call him Quatro.

Tristan

Normally good scotch felt soothing, an amber balm capable of easing any situation. But as I took a sip from my glass, eyes anchored to Reina’s, I felt anything but soothed.

“How about the target? Would that be a factor?”

The last time I choked on my drink there hadn’t been a razor in my cabinet yet, but tonight it took every ounce of self-restraint I had to swallow the fiery liquid. “No doubt. Are you offering, Reina?”

She tilted her head to the side, exaggeratedly considering. “I haven’t decided yet. But when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

“And I look forward to it.”

She nodded. “So, most guys don’t show up at these things unless they’re with a date.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Let me guess, you’re one of the prizes being auctioned off tonight? You know, pay a fortune to spend the night with Mr. Wonderful.”

“Mr. Wonderful?” Good thing my ex wasn’t here, she’d quickly set Reina straight. “I’m flattered. How much cash would you spend for a night with me?”

“That would depend.”

“On what?”

“Just how wonderful are you?”

Leaning forward, I lowered my voice. “I’ll happily give you the opportunity to find out for yourself.” This time I enjoyed the flush that crept above her collarbone. I had to curl my hand into a fist to keep from tracing the pink path up her cheek.

She recovered well. “I guess this is a good time, then.”

“For what?”

“To warn you that I’m rather discriminating about the opportunities I choose to accept.”

The lights flashed, temporarily putting an end to our playful banter. My father had bought four tables, at a cost of $50,000 each, and was now firmly bunkered down, surrounded by several senior Bettencourt employees and their wives. Among the tables, two chairs stood empty, reserved for me and the date I’d chosen not to bring. I could have easily led Reina to them, but I didn’t.

She would have been welcomed. More than welcomed, actually. But I decided to save the women from having to watch as their significant others spent the entire evening undressing Reina with their eyes. Or maybe it was that the thought of a casually leering smile tossed in Reina’s direction made me want to put my hand through someone’s face.

There were several speeches I didn’t hear, including one by my stepmother, followed by a slide show I didn’t see featuring the children or animals, probably both, who would supposedly receive the money raised here tonight. And then a live auction that seemed to last forever. I bought something, a box at the Stanley Cup I think. But it could just as easily have been a behind-the-scenes tour of Versailles or a ride in the Goodyear blimp. I raised my paddle once or twice and would surely receive the details, along with an exorbitant credit card receipt, via messenger tomorrow.

A soggy salad was followed by an inedible steak, although each course was preceded by a fresh drink courtesy of my new favorite bartender, who eagerly pocketed the hundred I gave him every time. After pushing my plate away in disgust, I finally asked the question that had been bothering me all night. Every word that came out of Reina’s mouth led me to believe she was older than she looked, but in good conscience I couldn’t take her home until I knew for sure. “How old are you?”

She answered my question with a question. “How old do you think I am?”

“Oh, no.” I’d seen too many Dateline exposés to fall for that. “I don’t get my rocks off by robbing the cradle.” Never mind that my last name practically guaranteed that any sleazy liaisons I engaged in, unwittingly or not, would be irresistible fodder for Page Six of the New York Post. A scandal was just about the only thing I couldn’t afford.

“Twenty-five.”

That put eight years between us, just shy of cradle-robbing territory. I could work with that. “And you live here, in the City?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, I don’t know why I bothered asking.”

“What makes you say that?”

Reina looked around, laughing. “This isn’t exactly a bridge and tunnel crowd.”

“Only someone from the tri-state area would say that.”

“You got me, I’m from Long Island. And let me guess, you’re from Connecticut. Greenwich, right? Although you look like a boarding school brat, so you probably haven’t spent much time there since your Little League days.”

I watched as she took another sip, ice cubes sliding down the glass and making contact with her lips. I never knew it was possible to be jealous of ice, but I was. Oh man, I was. I cleared my throat. “Am I that obvious?”

She looked me up and down, unapologetically taking her time. “Kinda. Want me to guess your position?”

This time I did choke. “Excuse me?” Over the course of the evening, Reina and I had slid our chairs close together so as not to shout over whoever was holding the microphone. At this range I could easily pick out the glints of gold in her green eyes, and right now they sparkled with mischief. I felt myself hardening inside my pants, which I’d just discovered were cut slightly too close for comfort while being teased by a she-devil.

“I meant from your hockey team,” she chided coyly.

“Oh.” I swallowed. “Sure. Take a guess.”

“Definitely offense. But not center.” She leaned into me, her breath warming my neck. “Something tells me you rarely approach things head-on. That you like to watch and strategize, hunting down weakness in your opponent’s defenses. And when the opportunity arises, you seize the moment and take control.” Reina sat back in her chair, a cat - that - ate - the - canary smile spread across her face. “Right wing.”

Fuck. There was only so much a man could take. I reached out to wrap my hand around the upper frame of her chair, my wrist resting lightly on her shoulder, and leaned toward her. Another two inches and I could lick the gloss off her pouty, pink lips. Close enough for Reina to push me away. Or better, close the distance between us. She did neither, instead meeting my stare head on. But was it an invitation or a challenge? “I’m going to be a good guy here, Reina, and give you one warning.”

I paused, looking for the slightest hint of fear or hesitation in her flawless face. There was none. To hell with it. “If you’re going to play games with me, I’ll happily share my strategy with you. Not only will I discover every single nerve and crevice in your vulnerable, and very naked body, I will devour and exploit every one of your weaknesses. I won’t merely control you, Reina. I will own you.”

I released my hold on her chair and forced myself to back away. But I didn’t get far before Reina hooked a polished fingertip beneath my bow tie and pulled me back, even closer than before. Her lips parted and I watched as a glistening pink tongue swept slowly across them. When she spoke her voice was low and throaty, exactly how I imagined it would sound if I made her beg for release.

“Prove it.”

Reina

The words shot out of my mouth before I thought them through. Was I crazy? Not only had I lied about my age, adding two years so that Tristan wouldn’t pat me on my head and send me on my merry way, but I’d issued an ultimatum no man could back down from. Sure as hell not the man sitting in front of me.

When I first noticed Tristan, the attraction was undeniable. I mean, the guy was gorgeous. The way he walked through the crowd, with a surefooted athletic grace, he was clearly accustomed to being at the top of the food chain, even in a room full of Wall Street heavy hitters. But nothing about Tristan screamed predatory alpha male until the last few minutes of our conversation. Every time I crossed my legs, I could feel the desire building inside of me, drenching the wisp of lace Cosabella passed off as underwear. If I had teased a guy my age like I’d just done with Tristan, they might’ve taken the ball and run with it, but they never would’ve had the confidence to take it, bat it around, and then toss it back in my lap. I’d broken up with my last boyfriend well over a year ago, and I wasn’t a nice - to - meet - you, let’s-go-back-to-your-place kind of girl. But tonight? If Tristan was doing the taking, I sure as hell could be. I wanted to spend the night with him, badly. The only thing missing was my invitation.

There would’ve been silence between us, if not for the thunder of applause that greeted the winner of the last auction prize, a private dinner with the most recent Oscar-winning producer and the star-studded cast of his new blockbuster movie. As a surprise, the lead actress herself, a Hollywood bombshell by anyone’s standards, came out to spur on the bidding and congratulate the ultimate winner. Tristan’s gaze never wavered from my face, studying me skeptically as if he knew I was in over my head. And he would be right, although I’d eat my own stilettos before admitting it.

Not long after coming face-to-face with my biological father, I realized that if I could only be good at one thing, it should be lying. A good liar has to be good at everything. I would spend hours in the mirror, training my expression to remain neutral, so I knew I could lie better than most poker players. But was Tristan buying it?

He was obviously trying to read me, and that wasn’t a good idea. Not for me. There were too many things I needed to hide. The thread of desire that had been unspooling inside of my stomach since the moment I’d laid eyes on Tristan began to retract. What was I doing? I’d come with a date, but a minute ago I practically begged a complete stranger to take me home. I was far from a prude, believe me. But one-night stands were not my thing. They were too unpredictable.

I backed away, reaching for the clutch I’d placed on the table between our drinks, both glasses nearly empty now. It was small, holding only my phone, license, credit card, and a tube of lip gloss. “Maybe it’s time for me to exit the field.”

Unblinking, Tristan closed the gap between our legs so that his knees held mine captive. Most of my dresses were mid-thigh, given that my legs were one of my best features, and tonight’s cocktail dress was no exception. Tristan looked down, and I watched as one hand wrapped behind my knee, the other resting lightly on the back of his chair. A shiver of desire tapped a staccato beat up my spine as his thumb stroked the top of my thigh. Tristan’s skin was tanned, and much darker than mine. His palms were wide, fingers long with clipped nails that were neat without appearing manicured. That was good. I liked to think of men doing things with their hands, like playing sweaty games of pickup basketball, lifting weights at the gym, or even yard work. Anything was better than imagining them in a manicurist’s chair.

His hand moved further north, slow and steady. My breath hitched. There were only a couple of inches between the hem of my dress and what I knew would be sure bliss. I bit my lower lip, wondering how far he would go in the crowded ballroom. Another inch, and I closed my eyes. Everything in that room—people talking, laughing, glasses clinking, the stacking of plates—it all faded as if Tristan had pressed the mute button. All I could hear was the swoosh of blood through my veins, and the quickening of my own breath. Beneath the lace of my bra, my nipples hardened, pushing against the fabric of my dress. Tristan could probably see them. I was fully covered, and yet I’d never felt so exposed.

If this was how Tristan made me feel just by touching my leg, what would it be like if he made love to me? My eyes flew open, and I winced slightly. No. This was wrong, all wrong. Making love was for people who were actually in love with each other. And one thing I didn’t do, the one thing I’d never done—was make love.

“I have to go.”

Tristan

There was no way I could stand up right now. Beneath my trousers I was rock hard, the head of my shaft doing its damnedest to poke through the zipper and having painfully little success. But letting Reina walk away from me . . . Just, no.

Her skin was as smooth as fresh ice, but warm against my palm. I imagined what it would be like to slide between her thighs, trace the rapidly beating pulse at her neck with my tongue, hear her sweet sigh of surrender when I made her mine.

Reina’s lips parted as her eyes closed, her entire face softening. I knew this was how she would look lying beneath me. But then her lids flew open and for a moment, the split–second before Reina gained control of her expression, she looked . . . scared.

Then she said she had had to go. My hand tightened on her knee as I thought disgusting thoughts—that time I drank curdled milk on a dare, getting hit against the boards so hard during a playoff game that I dislocated my shoulder and begged the coach to jam it back in its socket so I could finish the game, any minute I’d ever spent in the dentist’s chair. My erection didn’t disappear, but at least I could stand. “Yeah, with me.” And then I led her through the ballroom and to the bank of elevators, positioning her in front of me as we faced the mirrors.

My breath fanned the hair by her ear and I watched goose bumps march across her pale skin. Jesus Christ. If she’d been anyone else, I would have headed straight for the reception desk and checked into a room for the night, but I needed this girl in my bed. Now.

On our descent to the lobby I gave a light tug on the zipper at the back of her dress as I whispered into her ear. “I can’t fucking wait until this is just a puddle on my floor.” Reina trembled against me, and I felt a jolt of satisfaction as if I’d reached the summit of Everest.

I’d taken a cab tonight, but I spotted my father’s driver before a vacant taxi. He jumped to open the door. “Home, sir?”

I nodded, afraid my voice would crack like a twelve-year-old boy playing spin the bottle for the first time.

“You have a driver?” Reina’s voice sounded breathless and husky, her inky black eyelashes spread out like fans on the crest of her cheekbones.

“Only occasionally.” And then I tilted her face upward and did what I’d been dying to do since the moment I saw her smile. She tasted sweet, like citrus and honey, and her lips were as soft as I knew they would be. I was lost.

Reina

Tristan’s hand at my waist was as hot as a poker, burning me during the long walk out of the ballroom. I kept my eyes straight ahead, not wanting to risk meeting the angry stare of the man who’d actually brought me to tonight’s fundraiser. Not that it would have mattered. I don’t think an armed robber could have forced us to separate.

As Tristan and I waited for the elevator, desire and alcohol swirling in my veins, I studied our image in the mirror. Tristan’s tanned skin set off eyes as deep and blue as a Colorado sky. I was blonde and pale, only half a head shorter than him, although my petite bone structure was dwarfed by his breadth. We could have been mistaken for Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, less the trailing paparazzi, of course.

In the car, his kiss took me by surprise. Not the kiss itself, but the flood of lust that washed over me. His tongue slid over mine, long fingers threading into my hair and curving around my scalp. My hands tucked beneath his jacket, spreading out against the crisp cotton of his shirt. In that moment, nothing else mattered but Tristan’s kiss, Tristan’s touch. Tristan.

I didn’t realize we had stopped until all of a sudden the door opened, and Tristan pulled away. “We’re here,” he whispered.

It was only once I stepped out of the car, his hand still holding mine, that I realized I didn’t know where here was. Did he live alone? Was he single? Divorced? A thought occurred to me and I stopped short of walking through the front door of his building. Just because his tie was the slightest bit askew didn’t mean he was unattached. Married men often kept pied-à-terre apartments in the City, maybe they hired cars for the night too.

“Are you married?” I asked. I didn’t have a lot of rules, but avoiding entanglements with married men was definitely at the top of my list. I would not follow in my mother’s footsteps. I’d seen where they led and I wouldn’t wish her fate, or mine, on my worst enemy.

Someday I wanted the fairy tale, but not the one where Prince Charming swept me away from all of my problems. I wanted a real life, with a satisfying career and a real man who respected me enough to know I didn’t need rescuing. Eventually kids and dogs and a white picket fence to surround an authentic, chaotic life based on love, not lies.

I’d never get there if I allowed myself to get distracted, or be lured by foolish choices and worthless promises. No married men. No unsafe sex. No falling in love until I was as sure I could possibly be that I wouldn’t be disappointed. I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

“Me?” Tristan looked incredulous, not guilty. “No, of course not.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No. Was the guy from tonight your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Good. That’s settled. Is there anything else we should discuss? You know—allergies, whether you like long walks on the beach, or prefer tea over coffee?”

“No. Yes. No. How about you?”

“No. Yes. Neither.”

I thought I could just let Tristan pull me inside, let myself believe that he wanted me more than I wanted him, that he’d overpowered me somehow. But instead he sighed, a lock of dark hair falling forward over his eye. He pushed it aside. “I don’t do this, you know.”

“This?”

“One-night stands. I don’t pick up girls while they’re on a date with another guy, ply them with drinks, and take them home.”

“Me neither.”

“So where does that leave us?”

As he stared at me, both of us in evening dress on a New York City sidewalk, I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He took a step back, loosening his grip on my hand but not dropping it entirely, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Does that mean you’re looking for a husband?”

I laughed, and it felt good. A break in the tension between us. “No, definitely not.”

Tristan blinked. “So you don’t do one-night stands. And you’re not looking for a boyfriend, or a husband. What do you want, Reina?”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. How could one sentence strike with the force of a lightning bolt? “How about you make me an offer?”

A glimmer returned to his gaze, the same one I’d seen in the ballroom. He stepped back toward me, one hand curling around my neck as the other came to rest against my jaw. His thumb swept across my lips, smearing my gloss. I didn’t care.

“I’ve already told you what I want to do to your dress. And when you’re naked, wearing nothing but those fuck-me shoes of yours, I’m going to lean you up against my wall and kiss you, everywhere, until you’re screaming my name. And then I’m going to take you to my bed, and fuck you all night long.”

My eyes widened. I was far from innocent, but no man had ever been so explicit about what he wanted to do with me. I lost my virginity at sixteen, slept with another guy off and on during my senior year of high school, and dated two guys throughout my four years of college. But not one of them ever made me feel the way I did right now. Like I would rather die than not spend tonight with the man whose clean-cut looks and dirty mouth hit me like an electric cattle prod.

I inclined my head toward the front door of his lobby. “I accept.”