I walk through the park, letting my mind drift. Sometimes my best ideas come to me while I'm thinking of nothing in particular. The best way to get to that state is with physical movement. These nighttime walks are perfect for it.

The park is especially nice this late. Most people are safely tucked away in their beds for the night, braving the park only during safe daylight hours.

The city is never truly deserted, even at night, but after the sun sets, people tend to cluster around the streets with nightlife. So I'm more than a little surprised to see the feminine figure hesitating along the path in front of me.

I do a quick scan around her to see if there is someone else with her. No, the small patch of park around us is empty.

Why is she out alone at night? In the park of all places? If someone were to attack her here, there isn't anyone nearby to help. I wonder about this as I draw nearer.

Then I see her face. All other thoughts come to a screeching halt. In that moment, I know I'll never forget my first glimpse of that arresting face. The golden glow from one of the streetlamps falls across her face, highlighting the even contours, the soft hollows and smooth lines.

She's beautiful.

Not in the way attractive people are called beautiful. She's beautiful in the way an artist would depict. Healthy, lightly golden skin, smooth and flushed a healthy pink. Her light brown eyes are framed by surprisingly dark lashes and delicately arched brows, considering the almost white-blonde color of her hair. Small, slightly upturned nose, full pale pink lips as natural as the hair.

I've seen a lot of blonde dye jobs and expensive holograms. It’s beyond rare to see a woman whose face is untouched by all of that—pure.

Her hair looks so soft and silky I have an urge to run my fingers through it. As I close the distance between us, I notice the delicate smattering of freckles across her nose. They make her approachable where that otherwise classically lovely face might intimidate.

I want her instantly.

I want her with an immediacy that would be difficult to ignore, if I had any intention of ignoring it.

I sense that with this woman, this girl really, I'm going to have to tread lightly.

"Hello," I say, stopping a few yards away from her.

She's already giving me a wary look, her eyes open wide. I have to be careful here. A young woman alone doesn't particularly want to meet a stranger at night. She definitely doesn't want to engage with him.

"Hi," she says quietly, her eyes guarded.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who thought a stroll in the park would be a good idea," I remark, sliding my hands into my pockets to appear as nonthreatening as possible. I can't do anything about my height or my build, so I do the best I can with body language. "It's so much nicer when it's quiet and empty like this, don't you think?"

She glances around, nodding slowly, noticing exactly how empty it is, apart from us. Perhaps pointing that out wasn't my best tactic.

"The quiet does help me think," she finally says, her eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away. Progress.

I try to hide my satisfaction. "I think so too," I say, not moving any closer. I feel as if I were trying to approach a timid wild creature, a doe. I must tread lightly, or she might make a break for it still. "Would you mind some company?"

She smiles a little. "I thought being alone here helped you think?" she asks, a little archly. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your flow of thought."

I grin, enjoying the slightly acidic response. Not a pushover. Good.

"I have to confess, you won't be interrupting anything tonight. Even the empty park hasn't been able to clear my mind completely. I haven't been able to focus at all. You would be a welcome distraction. Trust me."

She looks away, her eyes scanning the area around us. Again she sees that there is no one here except us.

I take the moment to appreciate the clean profile of her face. That delicate jaw, the long neck…

I want to kiss a trail along that soft, smooth skin, right to the hollow under her ear where I know her scent will pool. I can almost feel those delicious curves that even that slightly baggy sweatshirt cannot fully hide. She's gorgeous and oh so touchable.

Best of all, she has no idea who I am.

There is no reason to be on guard against a female who might simply want my assets. Well, the monetary ones. I would very much enjoy it if this woman wanted my physical assets.

She turns back to me and smiles, a wider one this time, revealing dimples.

A bolt of lust shoots right through me as I take in her open and friendly face. Who knew dimples would get to me so strongly? Or that a wholesome expression would draw me so irresistibly?

"All right. It's not like I have anything better to do right now. Lead the way."

I chuckle at that tiny put-down. She’s relaxed enough to joke with me. "Now that I've been properly put in my place..." I say as I step closer.

She turns around to fall into step beside me. "That isn't what I meant," she says, her tone amused. "I hope I didn't hurt your ego."

"Not to worry. My ego isn't so easily bruised."

"That's good," she muses. We walk for a bit in the quiet before she continues. I want her to lead the conversation, at least in the beginning. It will make her feel more in control, hopefully allow her to relax. "What's your name?” she says. “I feel like now that we're walking together we should probably know each other's names.”

I debate giving her a fake name. It feels freeing to be speaking to this pretty girl without worrying about what her motives might be. But outright lying doesn't sit well with me. Not when she's looking at me so expectantly with those eyes.

"Of course," I say smoothly. "It's Herne," I add, watching her face for any sign of recognition.

There isn't any. I feel relief flow through me. I don't want to worry about my reputation or social standing ruining this moment.

I just want to be a man with a woman. Simple.

"Herne," she repeats, my name murmured in her low voice sending another bolt of lust through me. She might be more dangerous than I thought if just my name on her lips affects me so strongly. "I'm Elle," she offers with a quick smile. "Do you live near here?"

Elle. A pretty name. It suits her.

"Not that far," I say vaguely. "I also have some business interests near here. It might sound stupid, but seeing the physical manifestation of my hard work sometimes helps me put things in perspective when I'm on the verge of worrying too much about something."

"It doesn't sound stupid at all," she says, glancing up at me for a moment. "I can understand wanting to see the product of your hard work."

"Oh?" I prod. Knowing more about her will help me understand how best to get her out of those tight pants and into bed with me. Which is a goal I want to achieve more and more as I spend more time with her. However, I also find myself genuinely interested in her responses. I'm so used to people always playing the game and knowing the score that her simplicity is refreshing. I want to know what she's thinking, who she really is. "What do you do? What is the product of your hard work? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

She sighs. "It's actually what brought me out here tonight," she confesses.

Good. She's opening up. It won't be long before she falls at my feet like females always do. It might sound arrogant, but the truth is that I am well practiced at the art of seduction. I'm confident that in the end, I'll get exactly what I want. This time, with Elle, I find myself enjoying the chase more than I can remember enjoying it before.

I genuinely like her. Interesting.

"How do you mean?" I ask.

"Don't laugh," she warns, her eyes meeting mine as we turn to follow the path.

"I would never," I say solemnly, pressing my open palm over my heart. "I am a sensitive man. Someone whose shoulder has seen more than a few tears," I add, deliberately over the top.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Right," she scoffs. "I'm sure there have been plenty of women happy to use your shoulder."

"It's a gift," I agree, nodding.

She grins, but it quickly fades. "It doesn't matter if you know, I guess." She watches me carefully. "I want to be a fashion designer."

I nod thoughtfully at that revelation. I need to be careful in my response. It's obviously difficult for her to say the words out loud.

"There's nothing funny about that," I say honestly. "I like clothes. And the fashion industry is quite lucrative if you know how to crack into it. Though, just like anything, it requires hard work and perseverance to be successful."

Her shoulders relax a little at my pragmatic response. She nods. "Yes. That's exactly why I've been putting so much time and energy into doing well in school. It's work, but it's work that I love. I would happily spend all of my time doing it." She looks over at me. "Do you know what I mean?"

I do. Sometimes, when I close a particularly difficult deal that required a lot of negotiation, I feel a high like nothing else could give me. So, yes, I understand. I am fortunate that most of the work I do is work that I love.

To her I say, "Yes. I know exactly what you mean. If you like what you do, it doesn't feel quite like work, though it might be difficult and taxing."

"Exactly," she says. "So I've worked hard, harder than anybody in my class. Nights, weekends, any time I can carve out for myself. Hard enough that I have a conditional acceptance to Parsons. It's my dream school. I'm so close to what I want I can almost taste it."

I can hear the hunger in her voice, the desire to achieve what she wants. Ambition. I understand ambition.

It's a quality I greatly admire.

"Congratulations," I offer. I've only just met her, but I find myself rooting for her. Anyone with this much passion for something should get what they want in the world. Of course, I also know the world doesn't always work like that.

"Thank you," she murmurs. But then she shakes her head and bites her lip. "But it's not a done deal yet. I still need a sponsor to confirm the acceptance. I want to go to Parsons, I want to show the whole world my work, show them my vision. But all of that hinges on getting into Parsons first."

"I'm sure you can find a sponsor if you have a portfolio impressive enough to receive even a conditional acceptance from Parsons," I offer. That is a very difficult school to get into. I'm impressed.

She shakes her head again.

"It's not that easy," she says, her voice low with frustration. "It isn't like people like me have that much access to the people I need to sponsor me. I thought…I thought maybe I would get the chance to reach the right people at the cotillion coming up. It would be the perfect opportunity to showcase my talent to the rich, the elite, anyone who might sponsor me."

I frown. She must be speaking of the one I'm throwing. There is no other cotillion I can think of.

"What happened? Are you not going anymore?" I ask. I find myself wanting her to be there even though I just met her.

She presses her mouth into a thin line. "It's complicated," she finally says after a long pause. "Suffice it to say, the cotillion isn't an option for me anymore."

"Hmm." I take in her dejected air as she watches the ground while we walk.

I want to take her in my arms, tell her everything will be okay. Offer comfort. I understand having plans and then having those plans fail. I can certainly sympathize. But it is a little odd to feel this combination of lust and the desire to comfort her.

Have I gotten so jaded that a real emotion directed towards a woman has caught me by surprise?

If that's the case, perhaps I should spend a little bit more time around those who don't run in my circles.

Especially if they are anything like Elle.