Chapter One
Madison
So, this is where it’d happened?
I stood at the bar and took in the wide, comfy-looking couches, leather armchairs and the black and white flocked wallpaper of the up-market Baltimore Hotel. Truth be told, I’d expected something seedier. A red wall of shame perhaps, or a scrawled motif scratched into the bathroom door: Logan comes here.
After all, when you visited the place your fiancé cheated on you—‘“Shit, shit, shit. Madison, I swear Chloe doesn’t mean anything. Hell, we hardly even slept together!”—you imagined there would be something to explain why the man who was supposed to love you had indulged in sexual relations with somebody else.
I slid onto an empty barstool and smoothed down my favorite Mi-No-Ro skirt, not needing to cast my gaze far to know every male eye in the room had zoomed in on me. I knew how to draw a man’s attention, thanks to hours spent on the beauty pageant circuit. Tonight, I was glad of their appreciative stares. It ensured my pretty, outer façade stayed firmly in place and didn’t reflect the fact I’d fallen apart inside.
My eyes swept the room again and I drank in the admiring looks, until I lit on the man sitting in one of the darkened corners. He was splayed out, confidence hanging off him like a model displayed a fur coat—as if it were made just for him. Dark blond hair, worn slightly too long in front gave a tousled appearance. He’d probably rolled out of bed like that this morning, a perfect, sexy mess. I glanced down to his lips, expecting to see that same wicked smile I’d noticed when I’d walked into the room. Only he was frowning…because I was staring at him.
I jerked my eyes upward and my gaze collided with his. A shudder ran through me, a buzz of electricity sparking the air with a low-pitched hum I felt sure was my brain screaming retreat. Until sexy-table guy reached into his pocket and I realized it was his phone that had been making all the noise.
I swiveled around and pointed my flaming cheeks toward the bar. Awkward. Being here after Logan was affecting me more than I’d anticipated. Then again, since receiving the butt-dial call that had revealed his tryst with another woman, nothing fitted right anymore.
Because it wasn’t fair. I’d always done exactly what had been asked of me. I’d behaved well, presented myself without a flaw, stood by while my own ambitions were pushed aside. All of the bootlicking and being paraded around like a Barbie doll at pageants, for what? To have my promised Ken dive straight into another woman at the first opportunity?
My hands curled into white-knuckled fists as anger that had been bubbling on a slow simmer threatened to boil over. My mother had demanded my childhood and I’d given it freely.
And this was my fucking reward?
The unfamiliar curse sat like a stain against my tongue, but I forced myself to think the word again. Fuck. I was sick of being the nice girl. That wasn’t going to be me. Not tonight.
“What can I get you?”
My gaze skidded across the bar to meet with crinkled eyes and a fatherly smile.
“What would you like to drink?” the bartender asked again, frowning slightly when I failed to answer.
“Stolichnaya.” I requested my drink in perfectly accented Russian.
The bartender lifted a brow and I bit back a smile. Fifteen years of being pimped out on the pageant stage had led to something, even if it was only to boast flawless intonation in several different languages.
“Stoli?” The bartender’s forehead creased into a fan of wrinkles as he considered me. “No, no. I have better quality vodka. Something more suited to someone like yourself.”
Like he didn’t think I could handle it. Resolve dug hard claws into my chest and I sat forward, flattening my hands on top of the bar.
“I would like a double shot of Stolichnaya,” I repeated slowly, so there would be no misunderstanding. “Thank you.” The next words tumbled out on their own as manners got the better of me. The St. James’s might have started out as trailer trash, but I had gotten the gutter beaten out of me long ago.
The bartender returned with a straight-edged shot glass filled to the brim with clear liquid. It looked different from the bottle of pink alcopop one of my pageant competitors had shared at the Oklahoma show… I took a cautious sip and let the bite of alcohol nip against my tongue.
From the corner of my eye, I noted sexy-table man looking in my direction. Disapproving? Or did he think I was too much of a wuss to go through with it? With a flick of my wrist, I tossed back the contents of my glass, sending a bevy of gold bracelets tinkling down my arm.
Errrhk! So not like Bollinger. I stiffened under the assault as liquor, tasting more like nail polish remover, scorched a path down my esophagus. My eyes filled with tears. I squeezed them shut, my mouth going numb after the initial gut-clenching explosion of heat.
I forced myself to swallow, managing to hold back a choking cough as I wheezed in another lungful of air. Held it. A lady never spluttered in public. Or snorted vodka out their nose.
The attack on my senses subsided and I released my breath. Hah! I stopped short of slamming the empty shot glass on the bar in triumph, instead placing it carefully on the drink napkin. Still, I couldn’t help the swell of satisfaction warming my insides.
I’d come.
I’d seen.
I’d conquered.
And it proved exactly nothing.
Nothing had changed. My life hadn’t magically transformed like some modern Disney princess. I was still angry…at a loss to understand what had happened to my mother’s plans for my picture perfect life.
Sooooo. What now?
I flicked at the corner of my napkin as the momentary boost of backbone faded, leaving behind an aching hollowness.
I could go back to my room, I supposed.
Or stay for another drink.
The idea was tempting, to comatose myself with alcohol and embrace the numbness. For once, my mother wasn’t around to stop me, although I did have our lunch date tomorrow, and meeting with Patricia St. James wasn’t fun at the best of times. With a hangover, it would be doubly hideous. Then again, divulging to Mother about my broken engagement was bound to be excruciating. How much worse could it get?
Short answer. It couldn’t.
I caught the bartender’s attention. “Could I please have a—”
“I’ll take another beer and two shots. Make it Grey Goose.”
I pinched my mouth shut as someone rode rough-shod over my order. And I knew exactly who it was. His rudeness was accompanied by a buzz of warmth that inched along my arm like a slow, scorching burn. Sexy-table guy. I ignored the prickle of awareness and turned my glare on him. Nothing excused bad manners—I sucked in a breath—not even piercing eyes of the palest blue.
I drew back, forgetting for a moment my precarious perch on the barstool. Oh. Shiiiiit. One of my six-inch heels skittered off the foothold, the other digging in so hard my toes popped out of the shoe. There was nothing to stop me falling and I could only hope I still looked pretty with my brains oozing all over the tiles.
Except my shoulder blades hit something hard and unyielding. Hands clasped my arms.
“Easy.” His breath whispered in my air.
Heat shivered across my neck and for a single insane moment, I was tempted to lean back and rest against the solid warmth of his chest. Then I realized what I was doing—who I was—and I jerked forward out of his grasp.
His hands dropped. I wobbled a little to regain my balance, then twisted to meet his stare, lips parting as I drew in air. Up close, the effect of him was devastating. A strong, square jaw, with hair the color of tussock framing impossibly blue eyes.
His brows drew together and he regarded me as if I were just this side of crazy.
“Uh, I’m fine.” I steadied myself against the bar. “Thank you.” I belatedly remembered my manners, although for the life of me, I didn’t know why I was thanking the person who’d sent me backwards off the barstool in the first place.
And he didn’t appear the least bit sorry. He eased onto the neighboring seat, lifting his shoulders into a careless shrug.
“It looks like you could use this.” He nudged one of the shots of Grey Goose toward me. Sun-worn and slightly roughened, his hands looked like he was no stranger to hard work. The thought struck me as strangely evocative and it took a moment to disengage my stare from his long, tanned fingers.
Only to find his eyes still on me, his expression unguarded. Unsmiling.
“Drink up.” He nodded towards the shot of vodka.
Every scrap of sense told me I should decline. Except, what else was I going to do? Go back to my room, wondering if it was the same one Logan had been caught in? Make a list of things that might’ve driven him away?
My lips were too thin, brow too arched, the tiny mole at the corner of my eye…
I wrapped my fingers around the glass. “Thank you.”
I didn’t wait for him to toast me, just knocked the liquor back in one long swallow. It burned the back of my throat and I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the kick of alcohol to scrape at my throat and the coughing to start. Nothing. Surprisingly, the Grey Goose went down smoothly and I released an alcoholic stream of fumes as the numbness in my chest retreated.
“Better?”
I slanted a quick glance sideways. However superior the vodka, one shot wasn’t going to fix anything in my life right now.
And he seemed to get that. He leaned in on one elbow.
“Why Stoli?” Perceptive blue eyes, filled with questions, locked on me.
I fought against the urge to lick my lips. One shoulder lifted. “I wanted to feel…something.” My answer, raw with honesty, stuck in my throat. Warmth crept into my cheeks as he blinked in surprise, then understanding sparked heat into his stare.
“You like the rough stuff?” His mouth curled suggestively.
My jaw dropped at his crass innuendo. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he meant.
“No!” The protest tumbled out in my haste to correct him. But a tingle of excitement brushed my insides as I imagined those coarse hands stroking the smooth skin of my breasts. I folded my arms.
If he thought one drink signaled open season…
“I’ll replace your drink,” I offered stiffly.
“No need.” The smug smile stayed on his face and he leaned back, a fluid movement that accentuated the collection of tightly bound muscles under his shirt.
I clutched at the edge of the bar and it took a moment to extricate my stare. Damn it. This wasn’t what I needed right now. For him to think I was interested, or had trolled for his attention. Okay, I couldn’t deny he looked good. More than good—an intriguing paradox of raw power and tasteful sophistication. But that didn’t mean I’d to act on it.
It simply wasn’t done. Not by me.
“I’m getting another drink, so it only seems fair to replace yours.” I ignored his refusal and signaled for the bartender.
“Do you think another drink is wise? You’ve already fallen off your stool once.” His mouth twitched in amusement.
I laughed in surprise, an inelegant snort that sounded nothing like me. “Oh, it’s definitely wise,” I said.
The barest flicker sparked in his eyes. A second, more thorough appraisal was followed by a shimmer of heat. “Then I guess I better introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “Cole. Cole Langford.”
“A Langford?”
My belly lurched into a slow dive and I ignored Cole’s outstretched hand. The Langford name was prominent in Maryland society. Very prominent. Which meant my mother probably knew his parents. Or Cole himself. I swallowed, running through the list of names I’d had to learn when we moved to Maryland—a state my mother had specifically chosen for its long line of blue-blood families.
Langford…Edward, Joseph or Thomas? Of course, everyone knew Thomas, a man many touted would be the future Senator.
No Cole Langford immediately sprang to mind.
“Are you related to Thomas?” I skimmed his features once more, searching for similarities to the renowned Langford bachelor. There was no mistaking Cole’s grimace at the mention of that well-known name.
“Does it make a difference?” He smiled, though his eyes remained cold.
I pressed my lips tight. “I really don’t care who you are, Cole Langford. I’ll buy you a drink to replace the one I had, but that’s as far as it goes.” I held his gaze a moment longer, holding back the urge to tack on an apology.
I expected a barbed taunt in return. Or another mocking smile. What I didn’t expect was for Cole to throw back his head and laugh. Loudly.
“Oh, you’re good. Very good.” His eyes danced with amusement.
Awareness trickled across my skin, followed by a shiver of unease. Something told me it was time to leave. Now. But as I readied myself to do just that, Cole snatched up my wallet from the bar. My eyes popped open as he flicked to my license.
“Madison St. James.” He read my name aloud before offering the wallet back. I grabbed at it, fingers biting into the soft, taupe leather as he leaned closer. “Well, Madison St. James. You may be good but you don’t fool me. Now, instead of writing you off as some rich, trumped-up airhead…you have piqued my interest. So, I will have that drink.” He pinned me to my seat with a determined stare. “With you. And I’ll damn well enjoy it.”