Four Years Ago
“You gotta hear this one. A man walks into a bar and…”
Sierra Lourde stared at the guy who was rattling off bad jokes and held back a groan. Really? She expected such behavior in her small beach town—tourists were notoriously chatty and tipsy on vacation—but this was New York City. At the Carlisle hotel. Wasn’t that fancy enough to guarantee loud, sloppy men wouldn’t try to pick her up when she just wanted to sit by herself and drink a glass of overpriced wine?
The overweight, almost bald man guffawed at the punchline, not caring she didn’t break a smile. “Hysterical right? Let me buy you another drink.” He made a motion to the bartender but she reacted quickly.
“No, thanks. I’d prefer to be alone right now, but appreciate the offer.”
He blinked red eyes in disbelief. Then grinned like he’d misheard her. “A pretty woman like you? Nah, I’m a great listener. Try me.”
Sierra glanced around the mostly empty bar and tamped down a sigh. Once again, she’d have to take care of things herself. Why hadn’t she learned there was never someone coming to save her? The lesson kept slapping her upside the head enough times to get a concussion. Yet, here she was. Still hoping for a white knight to step in, get rid of the guy, and not expect a thing in return.
The men that Mom always spoke about, she thought with a touch of bitterness. The ones from those awful movies she played over and over, telling Sierra love was the only reason for living, and to go big or go home.
Oh, she’d gone big alright.
And then she’d gone home. For good.
“Look, I just want to—”
A deep, gravelly voice interrupted her from behind. “Sorry, honey, I ran late. The kids are in bed but I think Sylvester came home with lice, which I may have caught—oh, hi. Keeping my wife company? Thanks so much.”
Her jaw unhinged but she snapped it shut, refusing to ruin the save. Sierra caught his scent before she actually saw the stranger; a mix of clove and whiskey that was so sensually male, she almost gave another sniff just to confirm. The joke guy almost stumbled back when he was offered to shake hands, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.
Must be afraid of catching lice.
Sierra smoothly picked up her role. “Dammit. I was hoping to clear my thoughts but I guess that’s not happening.” She gave a deep sigh. “I think lice is even worse than bed bugs, don’t you, darling?”
“I agree. We should’ve never sent Sara to camp.”
Joke guy took another step back. “Uh, I’ll leave you to, ugh, figure things out.”
In seconds, they were left blissfully alone. Sierra swiveled her head around to thank her savior, then turned mute.
He was…breathtaking.
Thick, russet hair with touches of gold tumbled over his brow. His features were classic Irish but held a carved symmetry that kept him from looking too pretty. A short, clipped beard hugged his lush lips, giving him an edge. But it was his eyes that held her motionless.
A deep-set emerald, gleaming with both mischief and ruthless intelligence. A swirl of gold and green that demanded a woman’s full attention, because she’d be helpless under his stare. Sierra didn’t have to study him to note the cut of his designer suit, or the lean muscled body beneath. She knew immediately he was way out of her league, but damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of stumbling over her words. God knows, he was probably used to it.
Thankfully, she found her voice. “Sylvester and Sara, huh? Creative. Was there going to be a third?”
Those gorgeous lips quirked in a half-smile. “Salvatore. He has chicken pox.”
She nodded. “As parents, we’re screwed.”
He gave a husky laugh. His hair was damp from the rain. He brushed off the lingering raindrops and tugged at his Burberry raincoat. “Hope that was okay. I made an executive decision you didn’t want company.”
“Your decision would have gained you a promotion. Appreciate it.”
Her heart beat madly in her chest but she remained calm as that piercing gaze studied her. She knew what came next. He’d offer a drink, sit down, and give her a bunch of charming pick-up lines. It was a rainy Monday night and other than the vanished joke guy and the bartender across the way, no one was here. Her one-time savior would try to close the deal and the good feeling he gave her would be gone under the eventual smarm of wanting to sleep with her.
God, she was so cynical.
God, she was so tired.
What had she expected? It wasn’t his fault. She’d come alone to a hotel bar, which pretty much screamed her intention to get drunk and have sex with a stranger.
