Chapter 1

Yvette’s glass was nearly empty.

Oops, not anymore.

Caleb, one of her best friends, splashed more wine into her glass before plunking down beside her on the loveseat in the corner.

She’d staked out the best spot. Cozy, comfortable, and prime people-watching position.

It was also tucked away in a corner and, while playing the part of a wallflower was not at all typical, tonight she found it suited her.

Caleb threw an arm around her as she tipped her head back for another swig. “Can you believe this place?” he said, looking around at their other best friend Kat’s new digs. “It’s so… grown-up.”

It was. The penthouse apartment was fully furnished—and not with Ikea stuff either. It had a swanky look about it, like an interior decorator had been involved. Kat had only been living here for a couple of weeks so it was only a matter of time before she started putting her stamp on things. But her stamp, while cozy, was still grown up. Classy, even.

Now if this was Yvette’s apartment, every piece of furniture would pop with color and those lovely, eggshell-colored walls would be either torn down or painted in a mural. She got so distracted by thinking about how she would redo the apartment that she nearly forgot about Caleb sitting beside her.

But Caleb, hunky soap opera actor that he was, did not take kindly to being ignored. Snatching her glass from her hand, he held it just out of her reach until she stomped her foot on his toe making him yelp like a little girl. He handed it back with an accusatory wince, but she was not repentant. Take a girl’s drink, you get what’s coming.

“Where is the woman of the hour, anyway? Have you seen her?” Caleb asked, looking around the crowded living room.

Ostensibly, this was a holiday party. Also, a bit of a housewarming party for Kat’s friends because she and Bryce had just moved in together. But really, as far as Yvette and Caleb were concerned, this was a celebration for Kat. She’d just started up her new headhunting business and only one month in it was already a success, as they’d known it would be. Kat would never settle for anything less.

“Last time I saw her she was in a liplock with the sexy lumberjack.” Sure, the truth had come out fairly quickly that the guy Kat had slept with on a work retreat was actually a big-time billionaire who bought the company she’d worked for. But, since Kat so rarely screwed up and they so often did, Yvette and Caleb had taken to referring to Bryce as the “sexy lumberjack” to drive her nuts.

It totally worked.

“My guess? They’re off in one of the eight hundred bedrooms in this palace doing it while their guests are forced to listen to Christmas carols.” Caleb took a swig of his beer, a scowl firmly fixed on his too-handsome face.

“Bitter much?” she asked.

He let out a short laugh, and she completely understood. They were happy for Kat, they absolutely were. But they were also sorry for themselves. It was safe to say that she and Caleb had cornered the market in dysfunctional relationships. Or, in her case, non-relationships.

Caleb, the hottest of the hot, was as in demand with women as one could get. Seriously. As a soap opera star and as an all around sexy stud, he could have his pick of women. But the guy had decided eons ago that he was waiting to find his perfect woman who, in Yvette’s opinion, at least, was the perfect woman—also known as a figment of man’s imagination—and therefore impossible to find. Because she didn’t exist.

But try telling Caleb that. He might be an actor but even that didn’t excuse him from his weirdly romantic fantasy.

For her part, well…Yvette was the most messed up of them all. Which was one of the reasons she’d chosen to hide out on a corner couch and drown her miseries.

Tonight, she needed it because tonight she’d been dumped.

Well…maybe dumped was putting too fine a point on it. She’d been blown off. Again. For a second time by the same guy.

She’d known it was coming. She always knew it was coming. That was what happened when you dated players, which Yvette did, almost exclusively. Actually, there was no “almost” about it. At some point she’d become a magnet for men who were incapable of committing.

No, that wasn’t quite right, because the attraction was two-sided. She was drawn to them just like they were drawn to her. What was that about? Why did she constantly do this to herself? She’d known James was just using her to get back at his ex. She’d known that he wasn’t serious when he’d said he’d wanted more with her, but she’d still gone and—

“But seriously though.” Caleb’s incredulous tone cut into her internal diatribe. He turned to face her. “But seriously though,” he repeated. Oh Lord, her friend was starting to get drunk if he was starting up conversations with “but seriously though.”

“But seriously though,” he said again, his deep blue eyes piercing and devastatingly sexy even when he was tipsy. God, his fans would go nuts if they saw him like this, all smoldering and sexy…and hammered.

He waved his hand around in a circle, beer sloshing over the edge of his bottle. “Isn’t this place just so grown-up?”

She choked on a laugh at his drunken outrage. For some reason the grown-upness of Kat’s new home seemed to really irritate him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she felt compelled to point out the obvious.

“Sweetie, we’re all pushing thirty. I think it’s safe to say that we are grown-up.”

He met her gaze and for a moment he looked struck by her wisdom. But then the corners of his lips started to tug up and he bent forward with a loud laugh that had half the room looking in their direction.

She couldn’t hold it in any longer either and she giggled beside him. It had taken all her willpower to stay serious as she’d said it.

They were pushing thirty—that hadn’t been a joke. The joke was that they were grown-ups.

Kat? Yeah, sure. But then, she’d always been a grown-up. She was the mom of the group, and always had been, ever since their college days when she’d be the responsible one making sure they all remembered their wallets and keys before leaving the bar.

She sighed with a wave of nostalgia as she looked around for their friend who was, as Caleb rightly pointed out, most likely snogging her sexy new boyfriend. She could use her responsible friend’s help on a night like tonight. Not only had she been ceremoniously dumped but her financial situation was in crisis mode…again.

Kat would help—or at the very least, she could help point her in the right direction of someone who could. Aside from Kat, who was something of a sales genius and up until a few months ago, a rising star in the corporate world, the rest of Yvette’s friends were all the artsy type.

Which made sense, because she was an artist.

But she didn’t have one friend who had the math skills she needed if she stood any chance of getting this grant. And this grant would be everything.

“Uh oh,” Caleb said beside her. “How much have you had to drink? You’re getting that look.”

She frowned at her friend. “I’m only drinking wine.” But that didn’t answer the question and they both knew it. She wasn’t exactly a lightweight but she was damned close. At five-foot nothing and on the petite side, she definitely wasn’t a heavy-weight, despite her love of drinks.

“I am not getting that look,” she said, trying to sound haughty but probably failing. Because she probably did have that look.

Yvette could be honest about the fact that she had a tendency to cry easily when she was drunk and down. And right now? Yeah, this definitely qualified. Setting the glass down, she pouted at her friend. “Okay, fine. I’ll slow down.”

He lifted one brow and she relented with a sigh. “Fine, big brother, I’ll stop. Happy?”

Snagging her glass, he helped himself to the contents, apparently having finished his beer. “Extremely.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re a dweeb.”

Neither of these were said with anything close to anger. It was more of a ritual than anything. If Yvette were to really analyze their tendency to call each other names and pick on one another, she’d say it was their way of firmly keeping their friendship just that…a friendship. Nothing more and nothing less.

It had been something less when they’d first met in college. They’d had drunken sex in his dorm room. While it had been fun, it had so clearly not been a love match. He was too nice, and she was too…not nice. Well, she was nice, but she wasn’t mythically nice like his imaginary dream girl. And he was too earnest about relationships, too sincere. She’d come to college fresh off a heartbreak, wanting nothing to do with serious or intense, especially in the bedroom.

She’d come to college to break free of heartache and intensity…and she’d succeeded. Now ten years had passed since her high school graduation and she could safely say she was nothing at all like that angsty, too-serious teen who’d lost her virginity and her heart in one foul swoop.

Nope, now she was just a nearly-starving artist who’d been dumped two weeks before Christmas.

She was totally winning.

Yvette tried to reach for her wine glass but Caleb kept it out of reach and she gave up without much effort. He probably had a point. More drinks wouldn’t make her feel any better and the last thing she wanted was to embarrass Kat by bursting into tears at her holiday-housewarming-new business celebration party.

She looked around the crowd, twirling one of her purple locks around her ring-clad finger. Aside from Caleb, she didn’t know anyone there. Well, no one within her sight, at least. And anything beyond her current view meant leaving her cozy spot on the couch, which was just not happening.

In a nod to Kat’s fancy-dress policy, she’d worn heels—she hated heels—but she’d worn these because they were silver and sparkly and went excessively well with her hot pink, sequined cocktail dress, which was both ironically eighties and sexy as hell with its high hemline and plunging V-neck.

She loved this dress and she loved the heels, even though they made her toes feel like they’d been shoved into a mousetrap. She just hated the fact that the heels, dress, and her pretty curls were being wasted on Caleb in the corner.

James was supposed to be here with her but when she’d texted to see when he was going to meet her, he’d responded that it was over.

A breakup text. Classy. She sure knew how to pick ‘em.

“Are you going to sit here and mope all night or are you going to mingle?” Caleb asked.

She pursed her lips and stared at the crowd of smiling guests with their boring black dresses and suits. The occasional red skirt or green tie mixed in with the bunch was the only thing that kept this festive holiday party from looking like a particularly jovial funeral.

“I’ll stay here.”

“You’ll be bored,” Caleb warned.

She shrugged. Better bored by herself than bored while mingling. She eyed the wine glass he was taking away from her. Also, better bored than crying.

Settling back into the cushions, she resigned herself to boredom.

She lasted one hour. One hour in which she sobered up and grew so sleepy it was a chore to keep her eyes open.

The cute and ironic dress was now starting to itch and pinch in the worst places and she’d long ago ditched the heels. She eyed them now where they were strewn by her feet looking like fallen victims of a glitter war.

Oh, sexy kitten heels, your lifespan was short but glorious.

Her phone was hidden in her clutch purse somewhere—she hadn’t wanted the temptation nearby. Even sober she still had an urge to start texting James with nasty comebacks or maybe send him a picture of herself in this sexy dress and let him see what he was missing.

But sadly, getting dumped by players was old hat. It had sort of become her specialty, and she knew that texting him in any way, shape, or form would not help matters. If he said it was over, it was over. Texting, even in anger, would just make her look pathetic.

Which she probably was.

But she still had enough pride that she didn’t want him to know that.

How long did she have to sit here looking pretty before it was okay to leave? She supposed no one would notice if she left. But then what? She’d go home and sit on her own couch? Somehow that seemed even less fun than sitting here, as well as significantly more pathetic. She couldn’t go home before midnight on Friday night without feeling like a sad loser. Maybe it was later than she thought…

She snagged the arm of a guy standing near her who was wearing a watch.

Who wore watches these days? She twisted his arm slightly to read the numbers, not bothering to glance up at his face. He was one of the many boring-ass men in the room who looked like they were in mourning.

She’d never understood why suits were considered sexy. The nameless, faceless man’s watch read nine o’clock. She groaned. Oh good Lord, this night would never end.

She had to do something to distract herself. There had to be some way to relieve this boredom and distract herself from her current woes. She looked around the gathering, viewing the party as if she was watching television.

Damn it, if she was going to be all dressed up and at a party, at the very least she should get some action. James might not be here to revel in her sexy glory, but surely there was someone here who could make this night interesting. She took in the sea of dour black suits in front of her.

Well, someone who’d temporarily take her mind off James, at least.

The guy whose arm she was still absently holding tugged his wrist free from her grip. “Excuse me.” The man with the watch spoke and she realized belatedly that the deep voice was speaking to her.

Glancing up, she found herself staring into warm brown eyes. The brown eyes were set in a handsome face with sharp features and just the hint of a smile. No, she couldn’t even call it a hint. He looked serious. Severe, almost. But there was something in his eyes that made her think he was smiling. There was a warmth there that belied the severity of his expression.

Interesting.

She tilted her head back a bit so she had a better view of the man who wore a watch and loomed over her, not in an intimidating way but in a I’m-standing-and-you’re-sitting way.

She blinked up at him as she belatedly realized that he’d spoken. What had he said? Oh yeah. Excuse me.

Her head cocked to the side. “Yes?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and she watched in some fascination as his eyes narrowed as if in recognition. His gaze scanned her face and moved over her dress and legs, all the way down to her barefooted feet which were pulled up on the couch beside her.

A slash of heat shot through her at the feel of his gaze on her body, and then at the way his eyes darkened with unmistakable desire.

Sure, he wasn’t her type, but at this party her options were severely limited.

Besides, she wasn’t looking for much, just a distraction. And this guy? He would do nicely. Patting the sofa beside her, she gave him her best come-hither smile. “Care to join me?”

* * *

Darren Pensky was in love.

Well, to be fair, he’d had a crush on this woman before he’d even met her, so he supposed it made some kind of weird sense that he’d fall head over heels at the mere sight of her.

Care to join me?

He was helpless to resist even as the logical part of his brain screamed, “Insanity!” Clearly this woman was some kind of witch because this overwhelming pull she had on him could not be natural.

He broke out in a sweat as he sank into the sofa beside her. She was even more beautiful in person than he’d imagined, and he’d spent quite a bit of time imagining what she’d look like after he’d gone to see her art exhibit three months ago. He wasn’t an art connoisseur, though he loved going to galleries and museums. There was just something peaceful about them. They were such a far cry from his work, which centered around crunching numbers—a skill he excelled at and enjoyed, but which didn’t exactly make his soul sing.

Not that his soul was in the habit of singing.

It wasn’t.

That was probably why he’d been knocked off his feet when he’d stumbled upon Yvette Clark and her paintings. His boss and the owner of this apartment, Bryce Dalton, had bought one of her paintings when he’d gone to her gallery opening with his girlfriend, Kat, who, he’d discovered, was Yvette’s best friend.

To say he’d been blown away would have been the understatement of the century. The painting was a wooded scene but it held so many layers. There was something ethereal yet elemental about it. The creatures hidden in the wooded scene revealed themselves by hints and glimpses, never outright. He was no expert, but the brushstrokes evoked thoughts of windy days at the seashore—the kind of exhilaration one felt out in the wild, not cooped up in an office.

Yet the painting had been sitting in Bryce’s office, waiting for him to send it off to his lodge in Montana where it would better fit the environment. And it was in Bryce’s office that Darren’s solid, steady, some might say boring, world was tipped on its head. When it righted itself, Darren was not the same.

He was changed by that painting. Moved by it in a way that all the art galleries and museums he’d visited before had only hinted at. The next day he’d gone to the gallery and viewed the exhibit in its entirety and he’d only fallen deeper under the artist’s spell. He realized then what art was truly about, and how influential it could be. More than anything he realized how powerful the artist could be. That artist in particular, he’d realized, held sway over him in a way that belied logic.

And that was before he’d met her. Hell, that was even before he’d done an online search and found her picture next to a brief bio on her website.

In the black-and-white picture, her hair had been pulled up and her face turned slightly to the side.

He’d thought she was lovely, as beautiful as he’d dreamed the artist of that painting would be. She looked like she’d climbed out of the painting itself and was gracing the world with a glimpse of her elven magic.

That picture was nothing compared to the real woman. He stared at her now, his brain a horrifying blank as his senses tried to take her in. But it was impossible to take her in in all her glory.

She was magnificent. Unlike the picture, she was all color—her ivory skin made the perfect canvas—an exquisite backdrop for those lush red lips, those startlingly blue eyes. Her purple hair somehow fit her perfectly, giving an edge of the exotic to her pert pixie features and pointed chin.

But it wouldn’t matter what color her hair was because her beauty went above and beyond the mere physical. She glowed. Was that possible? Could a human glow?

If so, she did. If it they couldn’t, she did…in his eyes, at least. Her skin was luminous, but it was her eyes that held him mesmerized.

They were blue. A bright blue and an artist could probably give their hue a more accurate label, but to him they were blue.

Blue and expressive. He had the feeling that if he looked hard enough he could see straight into her soul, that was the extent of their complexity.

He watched in fascination as her lips curved up into a grin. “Are you mute or something?”

He stared. He blinked. He wondered in horror how long he’d been sitting there staring at her like some weirdo. “Sorry,” he said quickly with a shake of his head to snap himself out of whatever bizarre world he’d just entered into. “I just, uh…”

Her dark brown, perfectly arched eyebrows shot up in amused question when he trailed off.

“Are you Yvette Clark?” he blurted out. Of course it was her. He’d known it as soon as he’d entered the room and spotted her sitting in the corner with a ridiculously attractive man who he’d been sure was her boyfriend.

He’d known it before Kat had come over to say hello and pointed her out along with some other of her friends that she wanted to introduce him to.

He wasn’t sure why but Kat had seemed to take a liking to him these past few months. Maybe because he’d been helping her with the tax logistics involved in setting up her new company.

Or maybe she felt sorry for him.

He wouldn’t be surprised. People tended to feel sorry for him, if they noticed him at all. It wasn’t that he was particularly pitiful—at least, he hoped he wasn’t—he just wasn’t outgoing and didn’t have the kind of personality that leant itself to making friends.

This was fine by him. Nine times out of ten, he preferred his own company to that of the people around him. But Kat either felt sorry for him because “he lived to work,” as Bryce put it, or she liked him despite his quiet demeanor, which was possible. After all, he and Bryce got along quite well and she and Bryce seemed to have a fair amount in common. Since Bryce and Kat were both workaholics as well, he felt almost certain that her efforts to make him feel included at this party fell under “like” and not “pity.”

Yvette’s reaction to his question was what he would have expected if he’d thought before speaking. Her expression was a mix of amused, perplexed, with a hint of wariness thrown in on the off chance that he was a stalker or something.

He respected that wariness. He’d probably be alarmed if some stranger came up to him knowing his name and staring like a creep. Clearing his throat, he tried to appease her concern. “Kat pointed you out earlier,” he said. That much was true.

Some of her concern eased.

“I was hoping to meet you because—”

“I think you should kiss me.”

I’m a fan of your work. His words were left unspoken as he gaped at this stranger—the woman he might possibly love, even though it defied reason. “Excuse me?”

Her smile was a burst of sunshine. “Sorry, that was a bit of a shocker, huh?” She shifted on the sofa so she was facing him. He tried his damnedest not to notice how that made her dress hitch up even higher on her thigh so her creamy white skin was exposed.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” she said. “I think you’re cute and I’m having a terrible night and I’m pretty sure that getting kissed by a good-looking guy will definitely help.”

Was she serious?

He took in her even stare. She was serious.

Wasn’t she?

He had no idea how to respond. Nothing in his staid, solid, and boring world had ever prepared him for a moment like this. He’d dated, of course he dated, but no woman had asked him to kiss her before asking his name. Hell, no woman had ever asked him to kiss her. All kisses had taken place after dinner, and sometimes a movie, when he walked his date to the door.

But Yvette wasn’t his date. She didn’t even know him. But she was asking and he—

Oh holy shit, why was he sitting here debating what to do?

He had a feeling he surprised them both when captured her cheeks between his palms and lowered his lips to hers, pouring every ounce of the crazy, irrational feelings he’d been harboring into that kiss.

There were no words for the intense spark that surged between them. Her lips parted beneath his with a small gasp, and he took advantage, his mouth slanting over hers as reason and logic stepped aside for a hunger that took full possession of his body and his brain.

He needed her. That was all he could think as his tongue thrust into her mouth, tangling with hers as he tasted and explored, greedily and with zero thought to where they were.

When her arms twined around his neck, holding him close as she met his kiss with the same urgency, he nearly drowned in pleasure. Heady and intoxicating, her scent filled his nostrils, her skin warmed beneath his hands, her body twisted and writhed to get closer and close the distance between them.

She pulled back and took in a gulping, gasp of air, her eyes wide as they met his.

For a heartbeat, he panicked. The crazy, mind-numbing haze of lust parted just long enough for him to experience a surge of horror. What had he done? He barely knew this woman and he was all over her. She must think he was some kind of animal. But before he could open his mouth to apologize, her lovely, lush, and swollen lips curved up in a shit-eating grin that made his heart stop and then start up again faster than ever.

“That,” she said slowly, her hands wandering possessively over his neck and arms. “Was amazing.”

He found himself returning her smile with a dopey grin of his own. He wasn’t much of a smiler—more than one friend and colleague had made jokes about how stern he always looked. But right now he couldn’t have stopped that smile if he’d tried, even though the tug and pull at his cheek muscles felt weird and unfamiliar, like a new pair of shoes that hadn’t been worn in yet.

She leaned forward until her smiling lips were so close to his he could feel her warm breath like a caress. “Do it again,” she whispered.

Yes, ma’am. He would have done anything she asked at that particular moment, except that before he could dive back in for another passionate, exploratory kiss, they were both jostled as one of the partygoers backed into the couch they were sitting on and turned with a giggling laugh to apologize.

That interruption was enough to bring him back to reality. He was at a holiday party. His boss’s holiday party, to be precise. Well, Kat was the one who’d sent the evite, but it was at their place, which they now shared.

He’d spent the past six years working for Dalton Industries, and while he didn’t expect that one night of making a fool at himself off-hours would get him fired, he also didn’t want to live with that kind of humiliation hanging over him every day at the office.

He could only imagine how much joy Bryce would get out of teasing him about a public makeout session. It would keep his boss with his rather juvenile sense of humor entertained for years to come.

He cleared his throat, gently pulling back even though moving away from this woman—this precious, dream-come-true woman—was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

But, he reminded himself as he took in the flicker of confusion on her face, this was the woman he wanted to be with. Maybe even marry one day. But wow, he was seriously losing his grip on reality if he was thinking about marriage at this stage in the game.

No. Love at first sight was a hard enough concept to grasp, he’d better stick with figuring out how best to ask this woman out on a date and take it from there. He should take things slowly, make sure she knew just how invested he was in this. Make sure she knew he respected her and wanted something serious.

But his heart was tripping over itself with excitement. He’d found her, the woman of his dreams. The woman who made the world light up in Technicolor, the woman whose artwork transformed the way he saw the world. The woman who was currently turning him on more than he’d ever known was possible simply by sitting close to him.

Her arms had dropped to her sides when he’d pulled away and now she sat there watching him with a look of…oh shit, was that hurt he saw in her eyes? Had she thought he’d been rejecting her?

He reached for her hand when she started to pull away even further. “Do you think…” He stopped to clear his throat, which had her raising one brow in expectation. “Do you think we should take this somewhere else?”

Her eyes instantly lit with laughter and something so seductive, it made him painfully hard. Lust. He saw lust in her eyes clear as day, and it echoed his own desire perfectly. Of course it did, they were a perfect match.

“We could go grab some coffee and talk, if you’d like,” he started. But she didn’t seem to be listening. She’d tightened her grip on his hand and had come to stand, tugging him up alongside her as she slipped into her discarded shoes.

She shot him a beaming smile over her shoulder as she used his hand to hold herself steady as she fastened her shoes. “Great idea,” she said. “Let me just grab my jacket and we can go.”

He followed her through the crowd to a back bedroom where she quickly snatched up a bright yellow winter coat from out of a stack of black, grey, and brown jackets. Slinging it over her shoulder, she shoved him toward the bedroom door and then down the hallway toward the front door. “Okay, let’s go,” she said.

“Shouldn’t we say goodbye to Bryce and Kat?” he asked.

She made a face that said she thought he was cute, but nuts. “And answer their questions about where we’re heading? I think not.”

He shrugged. Fair enough. At this point, this was just between them. They deserved some time to get to know one another before having to define this relationship. He followed her into the elevator where she surprised him by leaping into his arms and pressing her lips to his for another searing, mindblowing kiss that jumpstarted his body and left him panting and aching by the time the doors opened again with a ding on the ground floor.

He let her lead him by the hand again out into the cold night air, which managed to shake him out of his lecherous stupor long enough to ask, “Where would you like to go? There’s a bar down this way, or a coffee shop that’s open all night, or—”

But she’d already hailed a tax and was climbing in. He hurried in after her and shut the door. When he turned around, he saw her facing him expectantly from her side of the backseat. “What’s your address?”

He blinked at her before automatically reciting his address for the driver. And then, they were off.

To his place, apparently.

Continue reading to find out what happens when a player gets played!