The relentless wind blows me through the front doors of Oak Country Club and Resort in New Jersey. It’s just one bridge ride west of mid-town Manhattan, but it’s nothing like the big city. I shake the snow from my collar and look around. A decked-out Christmas tree is in the foyer’s corner. Red and gold bows seem to cover every square inch of space. A cheesy rendition of Jingle Bells floats from the speakers to complete the holiday-infused scene. The place is warm, though, which counts for a whole lot right now.

I roll my carry-on inside and a porter loads it on his luggage cart with my other suitcase. I continue on to the reception desk to check in.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Marshall,” the receptionist says, reading my reservation from her computer screen before I announce myself.

Her eyebrows raise slightly, as she must somehow recognize my face. She clears her throat and then plasters on a commercial smile before sliding over my room keys. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

“Thanks,” I smile back. “I will. Which way is the bar?”

She points me in the right direction and I set off. A five-hour flight from San Francisco plus an almost two-hour ride from JFK, thanks to the heavy snowfall, means I’m seven hours past ready for a drink.

The bar is small and classy, connected to the larger restaurant. Polished wood embellished every wall, and dark red velvet décor covers the place. I settle down at the mostly empty bar and check my watch. Three hours till my meeting with the contact from Tapped. Lots of time.

Today, I’m second-guessing my decision to fly all the way into JFK. It’s smarter to take this meeting by phone as I’m due in Miami tomorrow, but a few days ago, my gut told me a face-to-face would be more effective. Still, I’m here now, so I’ll make it work. After this meeting, I’ll be heading to my buddy, Jared, for his annual Christmas blowup. Knowing that in less than twenty-four hours I’ll be sunning it up with a hoard of sexy, underdressed women by my side makes this quick stop bearable. Jared’s bashes never disappoint.

It will help to kick some ass while I’m here. That involves snagging this account with Tapped, the news outlet which caters to the millennial crowd. The second I heard their board of directors wanted to branch out and start a social networking site, I had to hook them. My new social media back-end architecture is one of the most innovative software configurations I’ve designed in years. This meeting with Gerome Forer, their Chief Technology Officer, should be quick. If he’s smart, he’ll jump on a deal before I walk away and off this technology to the highest bidder.

I order a brandy, and once it’s in my hand, I settle into one of the high-back chairs at the bar.

“Double gin and tonic,” says a smooth, confident female voice to my right.

My gaze moves in the direction of the sound. Two spots away, a woman in her twenties takes a seat and steals all my attention. Sandy blonde hair sweeps the shoulders of a tan button-up. Black dress pants hug the firm, shapely curves of her hips and thighs. She raises a hand and tucks some hair behind her ear, revealing plump lips, long lashes, and big, expressive eyes.

Just my type.

I tell the beast in my pants not to get too excited. Good thing my dick has a mind of its own. It springs to life at the greeting, already sniffing out the air to figure out if it has a chance.

She looks over. Probably because I’m staring, already imagining a few ways to occupy the next few hours before my meeting. She smiles slightly as our eyes meet.

“Hello.”

I raise my glass. “Happy holidays.”

The bartender deposits her drink in front of her. She lifts it from the napkin and mimics my gesture.

“Same to you.”

I take a drink while my eyes continue to feast on her from head to toe. “Getting away from the city for a while?”

“You could say that.” She laughs and crosses her legs. The move is inherently sexual, whether or not she means it to be. Her eyes flit around the bar to the other three people around, not counting the bartender. A middle-aged couple sits at a table, deep in conversation. A well-dressed guy who’s had way too much to drink is at the other end of the bar. His head is on the bar, and one wrong move in any direction can result in him passed out on the floor. “I’m here for the ambiance.”

“I guess we’re lucky I showed up.” I reach my hand out. “Nick.”

“Lily Henderson.” She shakes my hand, and I hang on for longer than I normally would.

She doesn’t pull away. I take it as a good sign, and as our palms disconnect, I slide over a seat to get closer. Her eyes move down my torso, checking me out. Lily tries to move her gaze before I catch her, but it’s too late.

My dick pulses against my zipper from the attention. It already knows there’s enough chemistry to make a bold move.

I rest an elbow on the bar. “I’ll go out on a limb and guess you’re not in the middle of a quiet family getaway.”

She smiles suggestively. “Nope. I’m here on business. You?”

“Same. It sounds like you and I should inject a bit of Christmas cheer into all this work.”

Lily takes a long drink of her cocktail. Her gulp is audible as she looks me over. This time it’s an unrestrained checkout. “Should we?”

I gesture over to the drunk in a suit. “It beats that alternative.”

She chokes down a giggle. “Probably.”

“Definitely.”

Her hazel eyes sparkle as she appears to consider it.

I take a final swig of my drink and put enough cash beside the glass to cover our drinks and then some. Getting to my feet, I offer her my palm.

“Let’s go.”