"Look at this place. Not a man here I would give the time of day to,” Kylie Michaels complained, waving a dismissive hand at the crowd around the bar. Shaking her head, she sighed. “I can’t believe there are almost four million men in New York City, and these pieces of rubble are what we get to choose from tonight.”

Theresa Brighton snorted and motioned for the bartender to bring her another drink. “Why do you even try? I gave up a long time ago.” And with good reason. At 28, she’d already gone through one nasty divorce after a hell of a relationship. She had no intention of seeking out another.

Scoffing, Kylie shook her head. "One bad round doesn't count, especially if it's not your fault. Besides, you could do better." But her attention had already turned elsewhere, her eyes focused on the television to their right behind and above the bar. Reesa trained her gaze on it, and she sighed in exasperation.

Marcus Winters, the Soccer Savior for the Seattle Sounders, dominated the screen. Sure, he was gorgeous, but he was as fake and phony as they came, she figured. "Come on, Kylie," she chided as she wrinkled her nose at the interview airing. "You see that smile? How crooked it is? And how he tilts his head ever so slightly so he looks completely cocky and self-absorbed? It's all an act."

“How dare you say that to me?” Kylie asked in mock offense. Or maybe she really meant it. Reesa didn’t know anymore. She’d grown used to her friend’s celebrity crush on the famous center midfielder and striker. Yes, she’d even had to learn the jargon because of her best friend’s obsession. “That grin is as genuine as they come. See that dot in his cheek? You can’t fake dimples.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s as genuine as his perfectly golden tan,” Reesa laughed, blowing a kiss to the bartender as he handed her the drink. She really needed it, if they might end up talking sports all night. “Listen, Kylie, these guys are nothing like they seem on television. In real life, they’re human, and they don’t have good attitudes. I bet Marcus Winters is one of the most socially awkward people on this planet, and he would sit here at this bar, saying the same things about the women that we say about the men, just to avoid having to approach one of them on his friend’s insistence.”

“You’re a hater,” Kylie pouted.

Reesa just shrugged. “Oh, well. Speaking of which, you’re no longer allowed to avoid the stare of that handsome young man over there.” She pointed to a pretty blonde man who’d spent the last fifteen minutes ogling Kylie. “I know he’s no soccer superstar, but he’s a close second.” She gave her friend a shove and watched her weave her way to the other end of the bar. She didn’t turn away until she knew Kylie had joined in conversation and seemed okay.

Then, she found her vision focused back on the television, her lips pursed as she read the subtitles now scrolling across the screen. It’s all about the fans, and if showing up to get my ass dunked for the Children’s Cancer Research Foundation makes the fans happy, it just fills my heart twice as much.

What a crock of shit, Reesa thought. It was good publicity for him and the Sounders, that was all. And it was a way to entice more women, not that he needed any help with that. Most of the time, she figured, women threw their panties at him and begged to go to bed with him.

The reporter spoke now. Winters has also agreed to donate two million dollars personally to the cause, the largest single donation to the new foundation so far.

“Well, he can afford it,” Reesa mumbled to herself, staring down into her drink.

“You think I should give more?” Reesa stiffened and nearly choked as she looked up into a ridiculously handsome face and realized it matched the one on the screen. Not possible, she told herself, blinking. This had to be an imposter. But her eyes traced the lines of his full lips, took in his broad shoulders, and felt the ripple of attraction she often denied course through her, however brief, as Marcus Winters pinned her with his emerald gaze.

Recovering quickly, she shrugged, as if he was just some guy. “What does it matter? It’ll be a tax write-off anyway, right?”

He inclined his head, that easy crooked grin curling his lips as he leaned one shoulder on the bar beside her. “I suppose. But I don’t do my own taxes. I don’t trust my judgment, so I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “So, how much do you think I should donate? What do you think would be an appropriate hit to my pocketbook to make it a donation truly in the giving spirit?”

She scoffed, thinking of the contract he’d just signed for an unprecedented amount with the Sounders. He could definitely afford more. Straightening and quirking a brow at him, she asked, “How does twenty percent of your net worth sound?”

He stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing, a deep, throaty sound that made her toes tingle, which only served to piss her off. “I’m not sure it would be that much more. I don’t get a baseball player’s salary, you know. But if you’ll tell me your name, I swear I’ll add at least another half mil.”

"Are you trying to buy my name?" she threw at him. She couldn't figure out how he made her so angry and indignant. After all, he didn't act any different than most men, except he was a little cockier. Then again, as she let her eyes roam his hard body and shockingly gorgeous face, she figured he had a right to his self-confidence.

His smile grew larger, and the dimple Kylie found so devastating appeared in his right cheek. “I guess so. I doubt you’re going to give it to me for free.” His chuckle came easy and warmed her blood.

Hating her body for its betrayal, she sighed and told him, “I’m Reesa.”

He stood to his full height, and at an even six feet, he towered eight inches above her. Holding out his hand in greeting, he said, “Pleasure to meet you, Reesa. I’m Marc.”

Marc. Just like that, like some regular Joe or Tom off the street. This was crazy, and she let herself live in the surrealism for a moment, taking his offered hand and shaking it. His soft skin against hers sparked something that shot through her fingers, up her arm, and spreading through her veins like wildfire. It spurred her heart to beat erratically, and she clenched her jaw in refusal of the reaction. “Nice to meet you, Marc,” she gritted.

“You really don’t like me, do you?” he asked, confusion marring his brow. Apparently, he rarely ran into a woman who didn’t want to jump his bones. Not that Reesa’s physical reaction differed, but she stood firm in her morals.

“It’s not about like or dislike, Marc.” Referring to him by the nickname felt strange; celebrities, including sports stars, always came into conversation by their full names. He had always been Marcus Winters. Still, if he wanted to pretend he wouldn’t be accosted by every woman in the bar as soon as someone recognized him, she could play along for a while.

But before she could explain what she meant, she felt a hand gripping her upper arm and digging in with the force of a vice grip. She turned to find Kylie beside her, face chalk white and drained of blood as she gazed in absolute shock at the man in front of her. Kylie gulped visibly and stuttered, "You're…I'm…how are you even here?" The last words came out as a squeak, and Marc turned up the charm, obviously loving that a fan ogled him with such idol worship.

"I live in New York, and it's offseason," he said lightly. "I'm Marc. And you are?"

Kylie looked like she might pass out, so with a roll of her eyes, Reesa spoke for her. “This is Kylie, my best friend. She fancies herself your biggest fan.”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed them across Kylie’s knuckles, and she moaned audibly. Why that struck Reesa wrong, she didn’t know, but she felt relief when he broke contact and his eyes landed on her again. “So, what can I do to convince you I’m not just some heathen looking for a tax break?”

Brushing the comment aside, she motioned to the bartender for another drink, realizing she’d finished the last at some point. “Even if I believed you on that point, you’re a womanizer and a player. And I’m not talking about your games on the field.”

He flinched, looking wounded, and she wondered at that. He rubbed the back of his neck as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Look, you can’t believe everything you read or see or hear.” She didn’t respond, just glared at him, and she liked how it made him squirm a little. “Believe it or not, I don’t approach a lot of women, but I think you’re beautiful. And even though you’ve wounded my pride and pierced a hole in my ego, I’ve actually enjoyed talking to you so far. You’re real and honest, and I like that. I’m not asking for a commitment or anything, but I’d really like you to give me a chance to show you I’m not such a bad guy.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, considering his plea. Something inside her wanted to believe him, but she hesitated. She’d been fooled too easily before. Out of nowhere, the smile returned to his face, a teasing glint in his deep green eyes. “What do you think, Kylie? Should your friend here give me a chance?”

And that was that. Kylie would never forgive her if she didn’t go out with Marcus Winters and bring back detailed stories so she could live vicariously through Reesa’s experience. Holding up her hands in surrender, Reesa nodded. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance. But don’t think I’m going to give you googly eyes and fall into bed with you.”

He placed his hand over his heart with a serious expression. “I swear I’ll be a complete gentleman.”

Reesa would have laughed, but a part of her suffered from disappointment – the part of her controlled by her libido and hormones. The rest of her typically paid more attention to the organ in her skull, which told her she should be relieved. She fought to give control to her common sense, holding onto her success by a thin thread.

With a nod, she motioned for her tab, and she gaped at Marc when he handed over his credit card to pay, telling the bartender to keep Kylie on his bill until she decided to leave. As the bartender walked away, she shook her head, incredulous. “If you think you can buy my affection, you’re wrong.”

“Definitely not. But I swore to be a gentleman, and a gentleman picks up the tab.” He winked at her, and Reesa thought Kylie would swoon. As it so happened, her own heart fluttered and skipped a beat. Obviously, she’d gone too long without any physical attention. That had to explain it. “So, would you care to join me for a walk and some coffee?”

Reesa quirked a brow at him. It surprised her that he didn't intend to ply her with alcohol until her brain no longer took charge. "I suppose I could do that." She turned to Kylie in question. "Are you alright here without me?"

Kylie nodded vigorously, barely able to take her eyes from Marc. “I actually came over here to tell you I wanted to go out with Brad.” She gestured vaguely toward the guy she’d been talking to, though her eyes strayed to Marc, and she licked her lips nervously. “So, don’t worry about me. You go have fun.” Her excitement filled the air, and Reesa had to smile.

“I appreciate your blessing, Kylie. Have a wonderful night.” Marc gave her a winning smile and swept his arm in a grand gesture toward the door as he returned his attention to Reesa. “Shall we?”

Reesa braced herself and followed him out the door, glancing back to find Kylie grinning from ear to ear and holding her hand to her ear in the universal sign for call me. With one last nod, she left the club, the cool breeze hitting her in the face and clearing her head. What on earth was she doing? Leaving with a stranger – a stranger who happened to be famous – to go who knew where.

“What a beautiful evening,” Marc mused, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking at a casual pace. He turned in the direction of Times Square, which at least meant a large crowd. She didn’t have to worry about being alone with him. Of course, she had pepper spray if he tried anything stupid, and she knew self-defense. She’d taken several courses since her divorce.

She laughed softly. “Do you know how weird it feels to walk down the street next to a guy people worship for his athletic ability, making small talk about the weather?”

“Would you rather have deep conversation? I can do that,” he told her, humor in his tone. “I’m 31 years old, born in New Jersey. I have a younger sister who lives in Florida with her husband. I wanted to play baseball, but I can’t swing a bat and connect with a ball to save my life. My mother’s Italian and makes the best lasagna in the world.”

Now, her laughter came out heavy and brash. “Marcus Winters History 101.”

“Well, I did want you to get to know me before you judged me. I guess I thought divulging the gritty details of my life might get that going a little faster.” He turned a corner, and down the block, the bright lights of the square came into view, the giant screen just out of their field of vision. The noise level increased as they neared the area, thousands of people milling around, shopping, and generally enjoying the area.

“Fair enough,” she said, trying to wrap her head around the situation. “It’s just a bit much, considering the circumstances. I don’t know how you manage to make so many women comfortable in your presence.”

“There haven’t been all that many women,” he told her, sounding sheepish. She scowled at him in disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest as a gust of wind picked up and sent a shiver down her spine. “I let them hang around if they want. I like pretty women, but I don’t do a lot of dating. It takes too much time, unless I’m really invested in a woman, which I haven’t been for a long time.”

As he talked, he steered her into a high-end women's clothing store. "Where are we going?"

“You’re cold. I want to remedy that situation so we can spend more time together. Pick out a sweater. It’s my treat, since I dragged you out of the warmth of the club.”

Stubbornly, Reesa stopped moving, facing him with her hands on her hips and fight in her eyes. “Now, just a minute. I’m a working woman, and I can pay for my own things. I’m not one of the little groupies you can just pacify with a few bucks or an autograph on my breast!”

Marc sucked in his cheeks, obviously trying not to smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on your breast to sign it. But I promised to be a gentleman.”

The way his eyes danced broke her resolve, and she melted into a reluctant laugh, a blush creeping into her cheeks at the admission. “Either you’re a really smooth talker or you’re brutally honest. Either way, I should probably keep my guard up.”

He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could smell his cologne. He’s kept it subtle, rather than the overwhelming cloy of spraying too much musk. It enticed her, and she held her breath as he held her gaze. “I’m sorry if I offended your feminist sensibilities.”

She frowned. “I’m not a feminist. I’ve just been independent for a very long time.”

“Well, allow me to pamper you a little then. You can go back to your independence when we part ways tonight. Let me get you something nice to keep you warm. Please.” His expression softened, his eyes alight, and she couldn’t say no.

Relenting, she shrugged, looked around, and grabbed a cream colored shawl sweater. It was thin but plenty to warm her for the evening, and it would go with everything. When he looked at her in question, she told him, “I’m not much of a shopper. I tend to get more than enough satisfaction with that from work.”

As they made their way to the checkout counter, he asked, “What do you do?”

“I’m an interior designer and a party planner.” She hadn’t meant to talk about herself. She would think before she spoke next time, choosing what details to share more carefully.

“That’s interesting. I bet you meet a lot of people that way.”

“I network.” She let him slip the shawl over her arms, and she wrapped it around her, reveling in the extra layer as they exited the building. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So, if I wanted to redecorate my place, how would I go about hiring you to take care of it for me?”

“I’m not working for you, Marc.” Something about extending this little foray into spending time with a celebrity – one known for being a womanizer, despite his objections – made her uncomfortable. Reesa would put an end to it tonight, after she fulfilled her promise to get to know him and gathered enough details to satisfy her best friend’s fantasies.

He sighed heavily, and his eyes clouded. “What do you have against me, Reesa? You barely even know me. Just because you see my face on an interview or watch a game doesn’t mean you know anything about who I really am.” His frustration rang clear, and for a moment, Reesa regretted her attitude.

“You’re right, I don’t know you.” They rounded the corner, and the jumbo screen flashed blues and reds over their faces. How could she explain to him why he didn’t appeal to her when she couldn’t tell him the details of her past? And she certainly wouldn’t admit to her overarching attraction to him. “Listen, don’t take it personally. I don’t like a lot of men.”

He snorted. “And you’re not a feminist?”

“No!”

“Or a lesbian?”

“Definitely not,” she shook her head. She had plenty of friends who were, but she’d never had interest in women.

“So, tell me something about yourself. Something meaningful.” He sounded intrigued, even eager.

But Reesa didn’t know what she could possibly share with him. “If you’re expecting me to say that I like candlelight dinners and long walks on the beach, I’m going to disappoint you.”

“I have no expectations, and I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would disappoint me.” She kept walking, but he took her arm and brought her to a halt. She glanced at his fingers, wrapped around her upper arm, and then at him, raising a brow. “Come on, Reesa. Give me something. I’m trying really hard here, and I just want to know a little about you. I’m not asking for your deepest, darkest secrets.”

She considered him for a long time, searching his face, and she found nothing but curiosity. And maybe a little hesitancy. Good. No man should be that much in control of his self-assurance. Drawing deeply from the air scented with street vendors, sulfur, and everything that was New York, she searched for something that would satisfy him without divulging too much. She needed to keep her distance. After all, tonight was a one-time occurrence, and she didn't want him to believe they stood a chance at anything more.

As her tension eased, he let go, and they started walking again, allowing her to focus on something other than his questioning eyes and handsome features. She watched people walk past and began, “I was born in Brooklyn, and my mother was a seamstress. She hand sewed and sold some of the most beautiful dresses you’ve ever seen. I love fashion, but I never had the same eye for it. Plus, I hate sewing. So, I decided to design spaces instead.” She paused, some of the memories flooding back to her as she thought of school much less pleasant than others.

Swallowing past it, she forced herself to continue. “To pay for school, I started working for one of those party rental places, with the bounce houses and fog machines. Their ideas bored me, and I decided to try my hand at planning real parties. It took off by word of mouth, and I loved it so much I never gave it up, even when I started getting jobs decorating.”

"So, you're an artist, with a mind for business and a good sense of people in general," he concluded with a wink. "It sounds like you're very accomplished, and I admire that. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I retire from soccer. I don't have any real-world skills."

“If you invest your money, you can do anything you want because you can go to school or even just live off the investments and become a philanthropist. You know, give lots of time and money to charity,” she teased.

Marc laughed, and when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away. Suddenly, his touch comforted her, and walking with him in one of the busiest areas of Manhattan felt companionable. At least, as long as she didn’t look at him. That stirred something much deeper than a casual companionship, and even if she had wanted to take things to a physical level, she didn’t want her thighs getting sticky from her arousal while they strolled aimlessly for the next hour or so.

“How about some coffee?” he asked, breaking the silence that loomed between them.

Reesa bit her lip to hide her grin. “Does every New Yorker have to be a coffee addict?”

“Everyone in Seattle is,” Marc countered, just as taunting. “Besides, you can have coffee, tea, soda, a shake, whatever you want. You name it, it’s yours.”

That was quite an offer. Damn, she had to stop thinking in that vein! It wasn’t an innuendo. He was just talking about getting something to drink in a quaint little coffee shop, a public place where he could pretend to be a gentleman while she pretended to care.

Maybe she should have gone a different route. Who would have really cared if she acted like some wanton one-night-stand? The answer came immediately – she would care. It wasn't Reesa's style, and she had no intention of changing who she was just because some devastatingly hot guy stepped into her life. Or because she would be the envy of everyone around.

Realizing she’d stayed quiet longer than she meant to, she cleared her throat and told him, “Actually, I happen to be a coffee fiend, so that works for me.”

"Great! I thought we might hit Greggory's, if that's okay with you." She nodded, seeing relief on his face. "Truthfully, I just flew in earlier today, and I've got really bad jet lag. I could use the caffeine."

He meant it, too, ordering a cappuccino with a triple shot of espresso. “Sounds good. I’ll have the same,” she told the barista.

Marc raised an eyebrow at her. “You do drink a lot of coffee, don’t you?”

“Watch this,” she told him and produced two full reward cards, getting both of their drinks for free. With a triumphant smile, she said, “Now, I feel better about the sweater.” Taking her cup while Marc grabbed his, she followed him, surprised when he chose a small table right at the window. “You don’t mind people seeing you and coming to get autographs?”

He shrugged. “There aren’t that many people who recognize me. And the point of sitting here is to be seen with you because you catch every man’s eye who walks by you.”

She could feel the heat in her throat and cheeks, a deep flush, as she turned away from him. Reesa focused on her coffee, not sure she believed him but not really wanting to find out if she did draw that sort of attention, either. "You shouldn't be embarrassed of a compliment." He spoke softly and reached across the table, taking her hand again. She told herself she let him because her fingers ached with cold when, truthfully, his touch heated every part of her in a way that had nothing to do with external temperatures.

Rather than respond, she took a deep breath and changed the subject to something she knew would get him talking. “So, tell me about the team. I don’t really follow soccer all that much, but I know the Sounders have a very loyal fan base.”

She'd chosen well. Marc grinned broadly and launched into a lively explanation of his teammates, the sport, the coaches, traveling, and everything soccer. Reesa found herself engaged in the conversation, too enthused by his contagious energy to sit back and just listen. She was almost reluctant to finish her coffee, not quite ready to call it a night and knowing she needed to head home from here. Friday nights didn't necessarily have to end early, but she didn't want to find herself out late with someone like Marcus Winters. She tended to grow more impressionable as it grew later.

When she couldn’t stretch it any further, she drained her cup and noticed that, despite all the talking, Marc had finished his long ago. His eyes twinkled as he watched her frown at the empty paper cup. “Did you want another one?”

Reesa seriously considered it, but she shook her head. “No, if I have another, I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

“There’s always decaf,” he said in a sing-song voice.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a bad influence. Thanks, but I really should get home. I have an early meeting with a client tomorrow.”

He nodded, looking reluctant. “I’ll get a cab then and take you home.” He gathered the trash and walked her to the door, a hand at the small of her back guiding her. A shockwave of pleasure coursed up and down her spine, making her lightheaded and tightening things low in her belly. For the hundredth time tonight, she cursed her traitorous body for reacting to him.

Marc had no trouble flagging down a taxi. "174^th and Grand Concourse,” she told the cabbie as she scooted across the seat so he could climb in.

“You live in the Bronx?” he asked.

She nodded. “I like the neighborhood. I came from humble beginnings, and Brooklyn’s gotten a little rich for my blood. Where do you live?”

“Central Harlem,” he told her.

It surprised her. “I pictured you as a Midtown or Washington Square sort of guy.”

He chuckled. “I’m not spoiled. I’m reasonable. And like you said, I like the neighborhood. When I’m in New York, I want to feel at home. I have too much traveling to do to want to live anywhere I don’t feel at home.”

They grew quiet, and Reesa stared out the window, deep in thought, letting Marc absently toy with her fingers on the seat between them. She had trouble trying to determine just how she’d gotten here, in a cab with one of the country’s most eligible bachelors, headed toward her apartment. This didn’t add up to her usual MO, and she couldn’t reconcile her behavior with the way she felt about men like Marcus Winters.

Then again, he didn’t seem so bad after all, but he was on his best behavior, she was certain. In fact, that was probably the only assurance she had about anything that had happened since he first walked up to her in the bar. Nothing else made much sense, and for a moment, she let herself live in the euphoria of it all, the joy of being a woman sought after by a rich, handsome, famous man. She’d come back to her senses when she got home.

They reached her apartment all too soon, and Reesa didn’t miss the large tip Marc gave the driver. She pointed to the brick façade across the street. “That’s me.”

“I’ll walk you up,” he said before she could say her goodbyes. For some reason, her stomach clenched, and she wanted to tell him she could go by herself. But when had she last allowed someone to walk her up to her place? It was a kind gesture, and she knew she’d just feel lonely and anxious until she made it into her place if she walked away now. it was stupid to drag this out, but she wasn’t ready to let the illusion go just yet.

He took her hand, letting her guide him across the street and into the building, where she debated whether to take the stairs to the third floor or wait for the elevator. The door slid open, her upstairs neighbor smiling at her and tipping his ball cap as he got off, and she shrugged, figuring she might as well take the elevator.

The close quarters had her heart pounding as Marc’s scent filled the air, his nearness making the small space hot. Or maybe it was just her. Somehow, she gravitated toward him, and he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Her lips parted, her breath coming in short, shallow spurts, and she tilted her head back to find him lowering his, lips poised an inch from hers.

An intense yearning filled her, and Reesa pushed up on her toes, bridging the gap. His lips were soft, and she could smell the coffee on his breath. She moaned and pulled away, but Marc chased her, kissing her again. This time, there was urgency in the contact, and Reesa’s back hit the wall, pinned by Marc’s hard body. She squealed but not in protest, her chest heaving against his as her heart tried to escape her ribs and her lungs begged for air.

But she didn’t fight, the sensation overwhelming and delicious as his tongue licked a line over her bottom lip. She opened to him, sighing as their tongues touched, savoring the taste of cinnamon and spice and bitter coffee. Of their own volition, her fingers found their way up to thrust into his hair, fisting in the silken locks, while his slid down to cup her butt, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. He pulled her hips forward, grinding an obvious erection into her pelvis with a grunt. God, she wanted him!

The elevator door slid open, and the spell broke. Reesa gasped and ducked from under his embrace into the hallway, trying to catch her breath and knowing her face must be bright red. She felt like she was on fire, and yet, all the color seemed to have drained from Marc’s face as he followed her out.

They stood there, staring at each other for a long time before Reesa cast her glance to the side, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze any longer. Her embarrassment overwhelmed her arousal, and she bit her lip, instantly regretting it as the taste of Marc's lips hit her once again. He finally spoke into the silence, his voice gruff and ragged. "I hope you aren't angry with me."

She gave an airy laugh, her heart still racing and her head swimming. What had just happened? “How can I be mad at you? I kissed you first.” Taking a chance, she looked up from under her lashes and saw his green eyes still darkened with desire. “Listen, it was a heat of the moment thing, okay? I apologize. And I also digress. You’ve been a perfect gentleman all night, as promised, and you’ve proven you aren’t some caveman with no moral ground.”

A wry smile crossed his lips. “I guess I can take that as a compliment, under the circumstances.” He held out his hand. “Can I walk you to your door now?”

She didn’t want to reach out to him. Her hands trembled, and she couldn’t let him see that. Gathering her strength and resolve, she forced her fingers to still and wrapped them around his, walking the short distance to her apartment. Digging out her keys, she turned to him with a hesitant smile. “Thank you for a nice evening and the lovely sweater.”

“And thank you for the pleasure of your company.” Reesa could feel Marc’s disappointment, see it in his eyes, but she gave him credit for not pushing anything. She thought he would turn away, but instead, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would you be willing to give me your phone number? I’d like to see you again.”

This was a bad idea. Then again, it didn’t really matter, did it? Marcus Winters could have any woman he wanted, and he spent so much time away from New York he’d never call her. She’d just be another name and number in his phone. Shrugging, she gave him the number.

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, and Reesa fought the temptation to tilt her head back and get one more kiss out of him. Drawing back his crooked smile curled his lips and placed that single dimple in his cheek. “Maybe next time, we can go to my place. I live on the eighth floor. It’ll give us a little more elevator time for the heat of the moment before you run from me.”

Righteous indignation removed the last vestiges of arousal that lingered in her blood, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, Marc, I had a nice time with you, but don’t get the wrong idea, okay? I wish you the best and good luck with the game.”

Both eyebrows hit his hairline. “You don’t expect to hear from me again, do you?”

Reesa shrugged carelessly. “It wouldn’t be the first time a guy took a number and never used it. Besides, you’re a busy man.”

His smile faded, and his jaw muscle twitched. She’d wounded his pride with that statement, and for some reason, she felt a little guilty for it, even if Marc deserved to have his ego a little deflated. “We’ll see about that,” he said in a somber tone. “I’m not every other guy, and you’ll learn that, eventually.” He ducked his head, pressing a firm kiss to her lips that left her shocked and appalled, and then he headed down the stairs without another word. Reesa reached up, pressing her fingers to her lips where they stung and ached for more, and then she stomped her foot like an upset child before unlocking her door and slamming it shut behind her. Thank goodness this was a one-time thing. She didn’t need temptation and drama in her life today. She’d had enough of that for all eternity.