CHAPTER ONE

 

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"YOU SMELL LIKE a summer garden. All sweet and sultry and made for love."

Calder rolled her eyes. For weeks, Milo Prendergast had tried everything he could think of to get her into bed. Groan-inducing lines he probably culled from an old movie wasn't the key. She knew by now he wouldn't get what he wanted. But he kept trying. And because she was in a dating rut, she let him.

"Today is April 9^th."

"So?"

"The season is spring. Not summer."

Milo was a smart man. He graduated near the top of his class at Harvard law school. Calder's sarcasm wasn't lost on him. Especially when she used a big dose to practically hit him over the head.

"I'm aware of the season. You were supposed to take my words metaphorically, not literally." Milo's arm tightened around her waist. "In spite of what you might have heard, romance isn't dead, Calder."

Right. If Milo had an ounce of romance on his mind, Calder's opinion of him might have thawed—a fraction. If was the operative word. As they danced around their tiny segment of the crowded floor, she wondered if he realized how ridiculous he sounded.

Through her eyelashes, Calder glanced at Milo's handsome profile. Years of careful breeding had gone into his genetic makeup. The result? A classically sculpted profile that screamed upper class. Unfortunately, his ancestors had been so focused on how they looked, something was lost from generation to generation.

Milo and the entire Prendergast family lacked a very important trait. Anything that resembled a sense of humor.

"Haven't I proved how much I want you?"

Calder shivered with revulsion when Milo's wet breath washed over her ear. Naturally, he chose to interpret her reaction as passion.

"Why don't we get out of here? Get a hotel room and enjoy the rest of the evening in private. Or we could go back to my place."

Like Calder, Milo still lived in the Upper East Side mansion where he grew up. She stayed to be near her sisters. His reasons were more financial than familial. Either way, the idea of sex with his mother just down the hall wasn't the most effective aphrodisiac.

What Milo didn't know but was about to discover, he could have offered Calder the top of a cleared-out Empire State Building, and she still would have turned him down.

Most of the men she knew—Milo included—believed sex and romance equaled the same thing. A few candlelit dinners. An off-hand compliment or two. And boom. He expected her to fall at his feet.

Calder was tired of the game. She wanted more. What, she wasn't sure. But she knew she wouldn't find the answer getting sweaty with Milo Prendergast

"No."

"No to the hotel room? Or my place? I suppose I can borrow Bridge Manfred's apartment for the night. He's out of town a lot." As Milo lowered his voice, he waggled his brows. "Drugs."

Her interest piqued, Calder briefly delayed her need to dump Milo for good.

"Drugs? As in, he takes them? Or he deals them?"

"Both." Milo shot her a toothy smile. "How do you think a man with his lack of education and connections can afford the penthouse in that fancy new mid-town apartment complex?"

Honestly, Calder never thought about Bridge Manfred. Or what he lacked. On the few occasions they'd met, he gave her the willies. An edge of danger was one thing. Handsome in a lanky, stringy haired sort of way, unsavoriness practically oozed from the man's pores.

"He's your friend?" Calder couldn't form a picture of Milo and Bridge hanging out.

"Hardly," Milo scoffed. "In exchange for a few goodies, Bridge gets invited to parties. We call him our recreational advisor."

Milo seemed to find the moniker hilarious. Calder found the entire situation sad. Sad that people she'd grown up with needed illegal substances to have fun. Even sadder, Bridge Manfred was like an unpopular little boy who could only get friends if he let them play with his bigger and better toys. Or drugs, as the case may be.

"Hey. Your mom's here. And looking hot."

The change of subject was abrupt. But Calder couldn't say Milo's declaration was unexpected.

"Mom is a social animal. If there are people, she will come."

"Hmm. Tight black leather skirt. Low-cut blouse. She knows how to get a man's attention."

Billie was a perpetual flirt. And she considered any male to be fair game. A fact Calder and her sisters learned at an early age. Their mother never willfully attempted to seduce her daughters' potential boyfriends. She simply couldn't help herself. Like breathing in and out.

"Wow. Billie hooked herself a big fish."

Without turning to look, Calder had to smile. A new man? What else was new?

"I've been angling to meet Ingo Hunter for over a year. Maybe your mom will introduce me."

Calder's mouth went dry.

"Did you say Ingo Hunter?" She prayed she'd heard wrong. She craned her neck around. Well, crap. No such luck.

"Why don't we invite them to our table for a drink?"

Not in this lifetime. Or any other. Ingo Hunter was a sleazy creep in a five-thousand-dollar suit. Money and a veneer of charm couldn't hide the slime. Of all the men in New York, why did Billie have to date him?

As soon as Calder asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Because after almost fifty years of man eating, wealthy, socially acceptable men were harder and harder to come by.

"Calder? Shall we invite them over?"

"No."

"Okay." For once, Milo was smart enough not to push. "What did you decide? A hotel room? My place? Bridge's?"

"None of the above. I'm done. Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever."

Calder left Milo on the dance floor, the song still playing. She weaved her way through the crowd toward the exit, stopping just long enough to grab her jacket. The trouble with hotspot nightclubs, she decided when she finally inhaled a breath of fresh air—or as fresh as the city provided—too many bodies. Not enough square footage.

"What are you talking about, Calder?" Milo grabbed her arm before she could hail a passing cab. "You're done? Done with what?"

Annoyed when someone else grabbed her ride, Calder tried to tug her arm free. Milo held firm, the grasp of his lily-white hand surprisingly strong.

"I left you alone on a dance floor. Left the building. How much clearer do I need to make myself? We don't suit, Milo. In any way."

"But—"

"I don't like you."

"What the hell does like have to do with anything?" Milo's smile became predatory. "I want to fuck you, not be your friend."

Milo had dropped all pretense of charm. Which was fine with Calder. The ugly truth was always better than prettied-up lies.

"I don't want your hands on me. Ever again. Let go." Calder glanced at her arm. And his white-knuckle grip. "Now."

"Why?"

Before Calder could respond with a swift kick to his nuts, his hand fell away. A bouncer from the club held Milo by the front of his tailored shirt. Tall, a black t-shirt hugging his well-muscled torso, and with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

The man didn't raise his voice, but the tone—deep and commanding—sent a shiver down Calder's spine.

"When a lady tells you to let her go, you better do as she asks. Understood?"

"Do you know who I am, you Neanderthal?" Milo struggled to get free—to no avail. "I can have your job before you blink."

One side of the man's lips quirked upward.

"You want my job?" he chuckled without humor. "Be my guest. But I warn you, what I do is more often a headache than a pleasure."

"Listen, Jackass—"

The man tightened his hold, turning Milo's insult in to a high-pitched squeak.

"The name's Adam."

"Jesus Christ. Why the hell would I give a fuck what your name is." Despite his precarious situation, Milo's chest puffed out with self-importance. "I could buy and sell you in a heartbeat. Asshole."

"Last time I checked, slavery had been abolished. Though guys like you seem to think the rules don't apply if your bank accounts are fat enough. You think money makes you invincible. Above the law." An expression of disgust on his face, the man pushed Milo away. "Leave. Before I ram your peroxide-whitened teeth down your throat."

Shoulders back, Milo straightened his jacket as he gathered what pride he had left—which wasn't much in Calder's estimation. He raised his chin and held out his hand.

"Calder?"

Stunned by the man's gall, Calder's brain searched for a scathing put-down.

"I don't think so."

Hardly the burn she would have liked. She wished she had her sister's ability to turn a phrase. If Bryce was here, she'd have something pithy, to the point, and memorable to send Milo on his way.

Oh, well. Since Calder doubted anybody planned to record their exchange for posterity, I don't think so would have to do.

"You heard the lady. Evening's over. Be on your way."

"Calder." Milo took a step toward her only to find his way blocked by a much bigger, much fitter body. Frustrated, he ground out his words through clenched teeth. "If I leave without you, we're finished. Understand? When you come crawling back, I won't do anything but step over your pathetic body."

"For the love of…" Calder sighed. She had to start dating a better class of men. "I broke up with you, Milo. And for the record, I don't crawl. Ever."

"Bitch."

"Why you…"

Calder would have decked him. Honestly. With blood in her eyes, fist clenched, she would have slipped off her four-inch heels and run him down. Probably for the better, her rescuer grabbed her arm before she could take chase as Milo wisely skittered away like the cockroach he'd turned out to be.

"Not worth the effort." The man dropped her arm, apparently convinced Calder had figured out the same thing for herself.

Adam, Calder recalled. He said his name was Adam. Even in heels, Calder had to raise her gaze to look the man in the eyes. She swallowed. He was kind of pretty for a tough guy. His features fit together in a pattern designed to make a woman's pulse spike by a couple dozen beats.

Silly, since he was a stranger. Yet, Calder wondered if he felt the same attraction.

In her experience, men found her appealing to look at. Dark hair liberally laced with natural auburn highlights. Deep, chocolate-colored eyes. A tall, slim body that since she hit puberty never crossed over into skinny. Tonight, she wore a silky teal-blue dress designed to show off what she considered her best features. Long, toned legs.

Yes, men tended to give her a second glance. But the man in front of her didn't seem the least bit impressed.

"Do you want to call somebody to pick you up? Or should I hail you a cab?"

Mildly disappointed to discover her case of instant attraction didn't flow both ways, Calder slid her arm into the sleeve of her beaded evening jacket. To her surprise, Adam reached out to help.

"Thank you. For everything." Calder smiled. If she expected a response, she was sorely disappointed. His lids narrowed slightly over his intensely blue eyes, but his expression remained neutral. Not even a twitch of his lips.

"Phone call or cab?"

"Cab. But I'm perfectly capable of getting my own."

Without a word, Adam raised a hand. As if by magic, a cab stopped at the curb out of nowhere. Handy trick, Calder thought. And under the circumstances, slightly annoying. He opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

Calder was perplexed. The last thing she expected was for every man she met to drool over her. Heaven knew she'd experienced a case or two of unrequited attraction. Her ego had survived quite nicely. So why did this man's lack of interest rankle when others were so easily forgotten?

Once in the cab, Calder turned, ready to thank Adam again.

"About Milo? I want to—"

"You should rethink your taste in men." Adam, one hand on the roof of the car, the other on the door, leaned in until their eyes were level.

Calder's back stiffened, more with surprise than anger.

"You don't know me well enough to judge my taste. Good or bad."

"Is Milo a typical sample size?"

"Well…" Unfortunately, Milo was all too typical of the men Calder dated.

"Case closed."

As her back went from stiff to rigid, surprise morphed into anger. Of all the nerve, Calder fumed. Giving her unsolicited advice. Self-important jerk. Though she had to admit—if only to herself—he was right. She needed to rethink her taste in men. Starting with him. Arms crossed, she swiveled her gaze to the back of the cabbie's head.

"Good night. Adam," she said in her best screw you tone.

"Good night. Calder."

He shut the door but not before the unmistakable sound of his deep chuckle filled the cab. Stone faced through most of their encounter, he chose to leave her with a mocking laugh? What the hell? Who did this man think he was?

Sexy only masked so many sins. And in Calder's book, Adam's appeal had all but disappeared in a puff of arrogance.

"Where you headed, lady?"

Calder rattled off her address. And proceeded to fume from Tribeca all the way uptown.