Evie

I had the entire evening planned out to perfection, and my strategy was indestructible. I’d spent the past two hours showering, shaving, and blow-drying. My hair fell in soft waves down my back, and my makeup was subtle but skillfully applied.

I wanted to look flawless tonight. And not because I was vain, but because I’d worked so hard to get here. Losing the extra twenty pounds I’d always carried and growing my self-confidence in the process, I was finally ready for this moment.

This was my last hurrah before I finally let go of my crush on Smith and forced myself to grow up and move on with my life. I knew Maggie was right—of course this was a little crazy. But, damn it, this was what I wanted, and for once I was going to throw caution to the wind and just go for it.

Brushing one last coat of black mascara onto my lashes, I smiled at my reflection in the mirror.

One stupid, fumbling attempt at losing my virginity last year was the only experience under my belt. And I hadn’t even gotten off.

I just wanted to have one orgasm that wasn’t supplied by me. Was that too much to ask?

I’d been almost calculating in my planning of tonight, working out all the details in my mind. I knew Smith well enough to know that at dinner he’d drink two whiskeys, neat, and then switch to soda water with lime. I knew he’d thoroughly read the menu and ask about the specials, but he’d ultimately order the steak, medium, and a potato with sour cream but no butter.

After dinner when we all parted ways, my brother would step off the elevator to go to his room on the ninth floor while Smith and I rode up together to mine. Then I’d ask him if he would mind walking me to my room. It would seem an innocent enough request, and a normal thing to do for a woman traveling alone, right? Then when we’re standing at the door, I’d invite him in. Being the polite gentleman he was, he’d accept, and then we’d have another cocktail and talk, and things would progress naturally from there.

I smiled at my reflection again. It was go time.

Only when I got downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner—nothing was like what I’d planned. Yes, my brother and Smith were here already, but rather than being seated at a table in the dining room, they were at the bar with glasses of wine in front of them.

Wine? Since when had Smith ever drank wine?

And even more concerning than the wine were the two busty blow-up Barbies practically in their laps.

Swallowing a sudden wave of nerves at the first sight of Smith I’d had in over a year, I took a deep breath.

His broad shoulders tugged at the material of his suit jacket, his long, powerful legs were stretched out before him, and his chiseled jaw was in need of a good shave. His hair was a bit longer then I remembered on top. Something to grab onto. I smiled.

When I got closer, I could see the woman standing beside Smith had her hand curled around his bicep. She was sipping a drink, flirting . . . encroaching on my territory.

What the hell? This wasn’t a scenario I’d planned for.

Pulling a deep breath in my lungs, I stopped between my brother and Smith.

“Gentlemen,” I purred, my gaze finding Smith’s and then dropping away in a way I hoped was sexy. Then again, I’d spent far too much time reading the sex tips in Cosmo magazine but no time actually practicing them, so it was entirely possible I looked like a cross-eyed, sex-starved weirdo.

“Evie,” Smith’s deep voice boomed, his smile blossoming into something full and genuine.

His hazel eyes locked on mine, and I felt a shiver race down my spine.

“Hi, Smith,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Hey, sis. You finally made it.” Cullen rose to his feet and gave me a brotherly one-armed hug. “This is Francesca and Giada. They’re here for the fashion show.”

Of course they were models. It was the universe’s cruel joke at my expense. Standing next to the two of them, I suddenly felt that twenty pounds I’d worked so hard to lose should have been forty.

“Join us. Would you like a cocktail?” Smith asked. “Or a glass of wine?” When I squinted at him, he shrugged. “When in Rome.” Then he raised his glass to his perfectly plump, full lips and took a long swallow, the thick column of his throat working.

Signaling the bartender, I ordered the strongest thing I could think of. “A martini, please.”

He nodded and scurried off to grab the bottles that would give me the liquid courage I needed.

Smith chuckled low under his breath beside me. “Are you sure you don’t want a Sex on the Beach?”

I looked at the pink cocktail in front of his date and shook my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Apparently Francesca and Giada didn’t speak much English, but that didn’t stop them from communicating in sultry glances and suggestive body language with the guys.

Smith laughed at something Francesca said and patted her hand like he had no idea what she was talking about, but he was amused nonetheless.

If I had one ounce of the self-confidence and charm these women had, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. A knot formed in the pit formed in my stomach.

Why the hell was Smith so enamored with her anyway? She had entirely too much makeup on, and he acted like her ordering a Sex on the Beach was the most interesting thing in the world. I could order a froufrou drink too, but that didn’t make me special or interesting.

As I stared straight ahead at the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar, anger bubbled up inside me. A wave of fresh laughter broke out when the women were trying to inquire, I thought, if Donald Trump was actually the president.

After sucking down half my martini, I set it down with a shaking hand. “You know what?” I said, turning toward my brother and Smith. “I thought we were going to have dinner, but if you guys want to play grab-ass instead, I’m out of here.”

Plucking my clutch from the bar, I rose to my feet. Forget this. I knew what I wanted, but I wasn’t going to be anyone’s pushover.

Smith stood too. “Hey, don’t go.”

His hand came to rest on my lower back, and since my dress was backless, his warm fingers landed on my bare skin. My eyes sank closed, and I felt my knees tremble.

When I opened my eyes, Smith’s hazel ones were locked on mine, looking apologetic.

“Evie’s right. Come on. Let’s go to dinner. We don’t want to lose our reservation,” he added, pulling his gaze from mine and casting a glance at my brother.

My mouth lifted in a smile. I was relieved and a little surprised that he actually noticed I was mad, given that Francesca had been pressing her large fake boobs against his arm while she grinned at him.

As Smith tossed a couple of bills onto the bar, Cullen reluctantly rose to his feet. “Yes, I guess it’s that time.”

Just as the hostess approached to lead us to our table, I saw Francesca scribble down her number on a cocktail napkin and shove it in Smith’s pocket.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I followed the hostess to our table, my hips swishing seductively. I could have sworn I felt Smith’s gaze on my ass. Maybe that number in his pocket meant nothing. Maybe I could still try to salvage tonight.

At our table, we were looking at our menus when Cullen cleared his throat. “I would like to make a special announcement concerning the company.”

Smith raised his glass. “No business talk tonight, brother. We’re in Paris for what could be a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Let’s just enjoy this good food, good wine, and good company.”

I smiled at him and took the last swallow of my martini. I assumed that Cullen’s big announcement was that Smith was going to become a financial backer in the company. It was something Cullen had mentioned before, taking on an investor. And since I knew Smith was a numbers guy, it was no small mystery that he’d be a silent partner—funding our next round of purchase orders, if it came to that.

Cullen nodded approvingly. “Fine. There will be plenty of time for work talk later.”

“Then cheers,” Smith said, his glass still raised. “To old friends.”

We clinked glasses, which were now mostly empty.

“Shall we order another bottle?” Smith drained the last drop of his wine and met my gaze.

“I’m game if you are.”

Though unspoken, I couldn’t help the deep wave of satisfaction I felt at the desire building between us.

Cullen signaled the waitress and ordered a bottle of merlot while Smith continued studying me from across the table. The wine was delivered with three fresh glasses and a loaf of warm bread, and since my stomach was tied up with nerves, I would have been fine with just this for dinner. Merlot and a good crusty bread? That was my idea of heaven. No way I could survive on one of those no-carb diets.

When the waitress returned, Smith asked about the specials and listened attentively, then ordered the steak. I smiled. My night was back on track.

Throughout the meal, I couldn’t help but notice the weight of Smith’s stare on me, the flash of heat I felt when his gaze roamed along my skin. Even little things about him—like the way his lips closed around his fork—enthralled me, and it was maddening.

Finally, dinner was done, the last of the plates cleared away, and I was ready to pull a page from my playbook and enact Plan: Fuck Smith’s Brain Out.

As my brother and Smith fought over the check, I excused myself to the restroom, needing to quickly relieve myself and check my appearance. After all, there’d be nothing worse than trying to get your freak on only to realize you had a piece of spinach between your teeth. Considering I hadn’t even eaten spinach, it would be especially troubling.

Rinsing my hands at the sink, I gazed up at my reflection in the mirror.

Am I sure about this?

I remembered that Maggie had told me most men preferred a woman shaved bare. But that was just too bad. I wasn’t going to change who I was for a man. I was neatly trimmed, and that would have to be good enough.

I ran through all the details in my mind. I had already tucked a condom inside the zippered pocket in my purse. Applying one last swipe of nude lip gloss, I gave myself a satisfied nod.

Not about to let my self-confidence waver now, I held my head high and strutted from the restroom. Back inside the restaurant, I spotted Cullen alone at our table as I approached.

“Where’s Smith?” I asked, stopping beside my brother.

Cullen stifled a yawn. “He said he was tired. I think the time difference is messing with him.”

He up and left? Just went to bed? He clearly didn’t read the fuck-me signals I was shooting him with my eyes all night.

Men.

I rolled my shoulders, needing to relieve the pressure I felt building.

Panicking internally, I plastered on a neutral expression and let my brother escort me to the elevator and up to my room, all the while my mind worked overtime. What am I going to do now?

Once in my room, I punched out a text to Maggie, pacing the floor as I waited for her reply.

Several minutes passed until I realized that it was four in the morning back home and a response wasn’t coming. Not anytime soon, at least.

This was it, now or never. And I wasn’t about to squander this opportunity.

I knew what I needed to do.

It was time to be bold.

Drawing a deep breath into my lungs, I headed toward the elevator again. But this time, my destination was the hotel lobby, where I prayed I could convince the hotel staff that I was the wife of Smith Hamilton and had lost my room key.