With a shrug, she popped it in her mouth. Her body locked, and she quickly held her napkin up and spat. “Oh, God, what is that? It’s disgusting.”
“Sea urchin.”
Her nose wrinkled. She walked over to a table and dumped the napkin on a discarded plate. “Well, I know one place where you can spend some of your money. On tastier food.”
Delighted with her, he just stared. When was the last time a woman had spat food out in front of him and didn’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness?
She leaned back against the railing. “So why throw a fancy party at your fancy penthouse if you don’t want to spend time with all these people?”
Shit, it was a good question. “I don’t know, it’s expected? I guess I like some of them in small doses.”
“Do you have any good friends? Ones you laugh with, who have your back, who annoy you for good reasons?”
“I’m pretty damn lucky to have a couple. Liam and Mav.”
“Never heard of them.” She kept a straight face, but her lips twitched.
Zane grinned. “They give me shit, don’t let me get away with much, and yes, they have my back.” He paused. “You have friends like that?”
She lifted a slim shoulder and he tried not to get distracted by her pale skin. “One or two. One who’s a pain in my ass, mostly, but I love her. She doesn’t let me get away with anything, and she nags like a pro. But other than that, I’m too busy working to have time to make friends.”
“As a cleaner.”
She made a humming noise.
“What about family?” he asked. “They have your back?”
She stiffened. “Not so much.”
Zane could practically see the “steer clear” signals on this topic, and didn’t want to upset her. “Sorry, I—”
“Mostly my family make my life harder, not easier,” she said quietly.
His chest tightened. “Your parents?”
“I never knew my mom. She left when I was little. And my father…let’s just say he’s never going to win father of the year.”
Zane felt a tug of kinship. “Mine either. He abandoned me and my mom when I was seven.”
His mystery blonde’s face softened. “I’m sorry. It isn’t easy being alone.”
“I wasn’t. My mom is great.”
“You’re lucky.”
He wondered if she had ever been lucky. With no mother, and a less-than-stellar father, who’d cared for her, provided for her, taught her all the things kids needed to learn?
Then she turned away, and Zane’s body locked. Her dress barely had any back. Just a few crisscrosses of thin straps. His gaze traced over delicate shoulder blades, smooth skin. Yet there was nothing delicate about this woman. She had a strength to her.
Something made him think his mystery woman was a survivor. She’d face whatever life tossed at her with an eye-roll and a curse.
His gaze dropped lower. She was lean, but had a gorgeous ass.
He pressed closer, touching a hand to her shoulder.
She tensed, but didn’t push him away.
He ran his fingers down her skin and she shivered. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as his fingers traced her spine.
“Tell me your name. Please.”
“Tiffany.”
He snorted. “It is not.”
“Barbie.”
He didn’t dignify that with an answer.
“Brittany.”
He spun her and their gazes locked.
“Tell me.” He ran his fingers along her jaw.
Her ridiculously long eyelashes fluttered. “Monroe.” She jerked. “Shit, no, it isn’t. It’s Monique.”
His gut hardened. Finally. “Monroe.” It suited her. “Why are you here?”
She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.”
“There’s a guy.”
Zane’s body reacted at the thought of another man. “A lover?”
“What? No, he’s—” She clamped her mouth shut.
“Complicated?” Zane slid a hand around the back of her neck. No cloying perfume for Monroe. She smelled like fresh soap, with a faint tang of citrus.
She leaned into him. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t.” His mouth was a whisper from hers. He saw desire in her eyes. “I want you to stay.”
“I’m no good for you, Zane Roth, trust me.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
He pressed his mouth to hers.
No Good Choices
Monroe
Oh, God.
I’d been fighting the pull of him since he’d found me—his gorgeous scent, the feel of his body, the pure, masculine power radiating off him.
But those firm lips on mine sent every thought scattering out of my head.
I slid my hands up to cup his handsome face. Our mouths locked together and his tongue boldly stroked mine—deep and possessive.
My back hit the railing, and every bit of air left my lungs. I pressed closer, and his hands closed on my butt.
“This ass.” It was a growl against my lips. “This perfect, curvy ass.”
I moaned and bit his bottom lip. Then our mouths clashed again, melding hotly, a deep and drugging exploration.
My body vibrated with need.
His mouth slid down my neck, nipping, and making me shudder against his hard body. “Yes.”
“You like that?” He kissed me again. His mouth was bolder this time, his tongue stroking mine urgently.
I leaned into him, hunger blooming—hot and desperate—inside me. Here, right here in this man’s arms, I felt things I’d never felt before.
Zane gripped my jaw, tilting my head, his kiss deepening and taking on a possessive edge that made my pulse skitter.
Suddenly, laughter broke out nearby, followed by the clink of glassware.
I jerked back, panting.
“Stay,” he said. “I’ll tell everyone to leave.”
His voice was a growl, and I heard the hungry edge. Pure temptation.
This was a man who could get anything and anyone he wanted. If he knew who I truly was, he wouldn’t want me.
“I can’t.”
Frustration twisted his features. “Why did you come here?”
I found it hard to fight through the fog of need. I dragged in a breath, and his gaze dropped to my chest. Desire was stark on his face.
I made myself think of Maguire. Guilt flooded me. He was a prisoner, and here I was kissing a billionaire.
I pushed Zane back a step.
“Monroe?”
More guilt tipped over me. I was lying to him. I was planning to steal from him.
Turning my head, I fought the helpless anger. I hated having no good choices.
A finger nudged my chin and his hazel eyes met mine—intelligent, penetrating.
I grabbed his wrist. “I…I have to go.”
His fingers tightened on my chin, then he nodded. “Give me your number? Please.”
I nodded. It was the quickest way to get out of here. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and I steeled myself, then lied again.
I wrote a bogus number on his wrist.
When I pulled away, he grabbed my arm. Quickly, he wrote his number on my forearm. “Monroe—”