Second Time Around Read online

  In the anteroom, a man in a dark suit scanned Will’s credit card and handed him a small silver ingot stamped with a cloud and an S. “Just touch the server’s tablet with this and it will take care of payment.”

  Will slipped the ingot into his breast pocket and followed the willowy blonde through the foyer and into the hum of conversation filling the main room. It was furnished in a tasteful, understated style with silver-gray upholstery and various hues of blue infusing the carpeting and walls. Projected on the ceiling was a sky with clouds of various configurations moving across it as though on a windy day. While he watched, the sky began to glow with the colors of sunset, throwing a warm light over the well-dressed patrons sipping their cocktails.

  “Would you prefer a table or a booth?” the hostess asked.

  “A seat at the bar.”

  “Of course.”

  She swayed between the marble-topped tables and capacious chairs, leading him to a side room where the clouds continued to wash across the ceiling. One wall of the space was occupied by a long bar of intricately grained wood. Blue marble topped it while the same stone material was inset into panels behind the shelves, which held bottles of expensive liquor.

  Will scanned the decor for only a moment before his gaze snagged on the woman wielding a silver cocktail shaker like a master.

  Kyra. She was wearing a fitted black sleeveless top that showed a tantalizing amount of cleavage, as well as graceful but well-toned arms. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in ripples that caught glints of the pinks and golds of the artificial sunset. Her generous mouth was curved into a smile that hinted at some private amusement. That smile had always tempted him to kiss her as though he could somehow taste the laughter on her lips.

  Awareness surged through him with an unexpected heat . . . and he remembered that night. The frat party, where he’d gone to drown the still-smarting injury Babette had inflicted on his fragile male ego. It had been a couple of days after he’d caught her screwing another guy in her bedroom. Kyra had witnessed his humiliation, offering awkward sympathy as he tried to pretend that he didn’t care. Her kindness had made him feel like an even bigger idiot.

  His frat brothers had attempted to console him by revealing that the slime bucket was just one of several others whom Babette screwed while she was supposedly his girlfriend. Their flawed logic had been that she couldn’t be faithful to anyone, so it wasn’t only him.

  Earlier that day, he’d had a final confrontation with Babette, who didn’t understand what his problem was. His response had been simple: “I don’t share.” And he’d walked away.

  But he was still pissed off, so he’d headed for the party and downed several shots. He’d already switched to beer when he saw Kyra walk in with a couple of other sophomore women.

  Even through the haze of alcohol, he knew he should look out for her. She wasn’t accustomed to rowdy parties like this one. When two of his frat brothers eyed Kyra up and down, he decided to intervene.

  Someone had gotten her a beer by the time he had wedged his way through the crush of sweaty bodies. She sipped it as though she didn’t really like it, while she laughed and flirted with the two guys. He’d hesitated for a moment, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t appreciate his interference. But then a third brother had come up behind her, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her back against him. Will was sure the asshole had a hard-on that he was grinding into Kyra.

  Will lost it, slamming his fellow frat brother in the shoulder to knock him away from Kyra before hurling the contents of his half-drunk beer in the cretin’s face.

  He’d grabbed Kyra’s hand and towed her out the front door before the asshole could retaliate. He would deal with the guy later. Right then he’d just wanted to get Kyra out of there.

  “Will? What brings you to Stratus?” The surprise and pleasure in Kyra’s voice jerked him back from his stagger down memory lane.

  He slid onto the high bar chair. “You.”

  Kyra nearly dropped the cocktail shaker. “Seriously?”

  Will smiled, his teeth flashing in the fake sunset. “You didn’t call, so I had no choice but to track you down with the only piece of information I had.”

  “I’m pretty sure you could just Google my address.” She tried to sound cool after her very uncool first reaction to his appearance. God, he looked good in that charcoal suit. The pale gray shirt and dark tie made his eyes blaze even brighter green, and his shoulders looked even wider than she remembered.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” He reached up to loosen his tie and yank it out of his collar. Her internal temperature rose at least ten degrees when he unfastened the first two buttons of his shirt to expose the strong column of his neck. When he rolled his head in a stretching motion, she noticed the dusting of dark blond scruff over the cleft in his chin.

  “I thought if I avoided the law profession, I wouldn’t have to wear a tie,” he said with a wry grimace.

  “You should have gone to Silicon Valley. Those guys wear jeans and T-shirts. Designer, of course.” It had taken her a while to learn the subtle differences, but now she could spot a high-fashion T-shirt from twenty paces. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Your specialty.”

  “I don’t limit myself to one specialty. Is your favorite hard stuff still whiskey?”

  “You remember that?”

  She remembered more than she wanted to admit about Will Chase. “I’ll make you my own personal version of a Vieux Carré.”

  “That’s a new one to me.”

  She pulled down the bottles of Benedictine, rye, cognac, sweet vermouth, two kinds of bitters, and her secret ingredient, limoncello. Taking extra care to get the proportions exactly right, she poured and stirred before garnishing it with a lemon twist and setting the glass in front of him on a cloud-shaped linen cocktail napkin. “It’s potent,” she warned as he reached for the glass.

  A tingle danced over her skin when he wrapped his long fingers around the old-fashioned glass. During their heated late-night discussions, she’d been hypnotized by his gestures, so smooth and assured, wishing he would apply that physical eloquence to her body. Now all the youthful softness had been honed away from his hands and face, and his presence had been sharpened to a pitch of sheer power by time and success.

  As he raised the glass, she sucked in a breath and watched those sculpted lips touch the fine crystal in a near kiss. Desire sparked as she relived the way his mouth had felt on hers that night. Their first kiss had seared through her, making her body vibrate with arousal. When he’d brought his hand up to cup her breast through the thin gauze shirt she’d worn, she’d nearly come just from feeling his palm against her tight nipple.

  “It’s complex, like a great wine.” His voice twined with her memory to stoke the heat flaring in her belly. He took another sip, his eyes crinkling at the corners so she could tell he was smiling as he drank. “Will I be able to get this at any other bar?”

  “Not quite the same,” she said, her voice gravelly with longing. “I give it my own special twist.”

  “That will keep me coming back.”

  “You’ve caught on to my evil plan.” But he was the one giving her wicked longings.

  He reached into his breast pocket and slid a Stratus pay ingot onto the bar. She waved it away, although she wanted to feel the warmth of his body that the metal would hold. “I told you the first drink’s on me.”

  He nudged the ingot toward her. “I didn’t come to take advantage of an old friendship. I came to renew it.”

  Excitement fluttered through her. But he was talking friendship, nothing more.

  Two patrons farther down the bar looked up to catch her attention, and she inwardly cursed their timing. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” she said.

  She didn’t want to leave the sensual cocoon Will’s presence wrapped her in, but she summoned up her sexy bartender persona and sashayed down the bar to make a martini and a Manhattan for two of her regulars. Her h
ips moved with an extra sway because Will was watching her. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze on the curves of her behind.

  Just as she started back in Will’s direction, Derek, the club’s manager, beckoned her through the door that led to the various storerooms. As always, he was dressed entirely in a pale gray that matched his eyes, which made his nearly black hair stand out like a hovering shadow.

  “You and Mr. Chase seem to be getting along well,” Derek said.

  “He’s an old friend from college,” she said. “He’s also the CEO of Ceres.”

  “That I’m already aware of,” Derek said, with a slight smile. “Now that I understand the connection, I’m going to assign you to be his personal bartender tonight. I’ll tell Bastian and Cleo.”

  Of course Derek had already figured out that Will was the CEO of Ceres. Derek made it his business to know that kind of thing. He also made it his business to keep CEOs of international corporations happy, so he would pull a bartender off all other customers to take care of the important patron. Despite the fact that Derek supplemented that bartender’s pay to compensate for lost tips, Kyra usually avoided those assignments. She was always trying to maximize her nightly take because every dollar earned meant another dollar of debt paid off.

  However, she would give up the extra pay without a qualm in order to be able to focus on Will. She gave Derek a nod and a wide smile.

  “Good news!” she said, as she returned to Will. “I’m all yours for the evening . . . as long as you keep drinking.”

  “As I recall, the last time I saw you at college, I had been drinking for far too long,” he said with a grimace.

  She hoped he didn’t remember too much more about that night at Brunell. “Want to move to a booth?” she asked. Her blood was singing at the thrill of having him seek her out.

  “Sounds good, but I can’t stay long. I have a late conference call.”

  The fizz in her veins went flat at the limit on their time together.

  He gestured at the display of bottles. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Patrons often wanted to treat her to something expensive, but the bartenders were discouraged from drinking on the job. “I’m good with club soda.” She pulled herself a tall glass of the fizzing liquid and dropped in a slice of lime before setting it, a bowl of Stratus’s famous gourmet nut mixture, and Will’s drink on a silver tray. “I’ll be right back.” She winked at Will and headed down the long expanse of bar toward the exit at the end.

  Cleo stopped her, leaning in to murmur, “How’d you get Derek to let you go private with that one? He’s too good-looking to be rich.”

  “CEO of Ceres,” Kyra murmured back. “Old college friend.”

  Cleo whistled. “Rah, rah for the old alma mater. I’d like to have a study session with him.”

  Kyra chuckled and unlatched the wooden gate to let herself out. Will stood with the tray balanced on one hand, his gaze focused on her. She did her bartender strut as she walked toward him, knowing a glimpse of bare stomach showed between her hip-hugging black trousers and her vest. When his aristocratic nostrils flared in response, a thrill of power ran through her.

  “Allow me,” she said, taking the tray from him. “I have to show my boss I’m still working.” She led him to a booth tucked into a secluded corner.

  Placing the tray on the table, she slipped onto the silver leather banquette that wrapped around all three sides. The expanse of the cushions and the privacy of the location sometimes tempted couples to get a little hot and heavy in the booth.

  She didn’t anticipate anything like that from Will, but disappointment still pinged at her when he settled himself opposite her, the table between them. He could have sat just a little closer.

  He took another sip of his drink, making her ache to feel his mouth on hers as his lips touched the rim. He set the glass down. “You’re a talented bartender—you have to be to work here—but that’s not what I expected you to be doing.”

  A pang of regret and shame lanced through her. It wasn’t what she had expected either. Despite living like a nun and hustling for tips with all she had, the total of her debts never seemed to lessen.

  In fact, it felt like a boulder, grinding her into the grimy sidewalks of New York.

  But she wasn’t going to allow any more shadows to darken her second encounter with Will. “I have a new project,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “Dog food.”

  That elicited a less-than-elegant snort of laughter from him.

  She grinned. “I just got asked to develop limited-ingredient dog food for a huge pit-bull mix with a sensitive stomach.”

  “You’ve piqued my interest.” He tilted his glass toward her. “How did this request come about?”

  “The Carver After-School Care Center has a program called K-9 Angelz. The center’s director, Emily Wade, came up with the idea of having the kids ‘adopt’ a rescue dog and be responsible for caring for it after school. She wanted the kids to feel needed and to teach them responsibility. But she also wanted them to experience the kind of unconditional love a dog offers you.” Kyra gave him a sober look. “It’s amazing to see how the kids light up when they’re around the dogs. Even the toughest of boys turns into a marshmallow when a dog jumps on his lap or licks his hand.”

  He nodded.

  “There’s one thirteen-year-old kid—Diego—who’s kind of the junior supervisor of the program. He wants to be a veterinarian. Today he came to me because the pittie mix is having stomach problems.”

  “Do you have any ideas about how to solve them?” Will’s gaze was intent.

  “Fresh, limited ingredients, according to Diego. That way you can isolate what’s causing the problem. I’m thinking chicken to start with, because it’s relatively bland. And it’s cheap.” She gave him a resigned smile. “I considered venison or bison because those would be meats the dog’s ancestors would have eaten so he should be adapted to them. But they’re beyond our budget.”

  “Rice,” Will said. “Maybe brown rice. I think that would be a good fiber. No gluten, in case that’s the problem.”

  “And pumpkin. I’ve read that’s good for dogs prone to digestive issues.” She was getting fired up now that she had someone to discuss her thoughts with. “I have to work out proportions, and then I have to see if the dog will actually eat it.”

  “I grew up with golden retrievers and they ate pretty much anything,” Will said. “Including my mother’s favorite pair of Ferragamos.”

  Kyra laughed. Of course, his family had owned golden retrievers, the quintessential WASP dog. With pedigrees almost as illustrious as their human masters. “Luckily, there aren’t many designer shoes lying around the Carver Center.”

  In fact, shoes of any kind were too valuable a commodity to be treated carelessly at the center.

  “I imagine not.” He glanced as his watch, took a substantial swallow of his drink, and pinned his gaze on her. “Speaking of my family, I came here with an ulterior motive.”

  “Oh?” What on earth could Will want from her?

  “My mother throws an annual spring garden party—she calls it her Spring Fling—in Connecticut, on the family farm. She invites the whole extended family, all her friends, and my father’s business associates. I wondered if you might be willing to come with me. Next Sunday. Short notice, I know.”

  His gaze didn’t waver from her face, which made it hard to respond, since she had to concentrate on not letting her mouth fall open in astonishment.

  “I, um, well, that sounds like fun.” Total lie. It sounded terrifying. But she had Sunday off from work, so she had no commitments to stop her.

  “Fun?” He shook his head. “It’s stuffy and tense and boring. My family all snap at each other when no one else is listening. That’s why I’m asking you to come as a buffer.”

  “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” She would be like a fish that didn’t even know which way the ocean was. But t
he chance to see Will in his childhood environment was irresistible. In college, he’d dropped casual comments about racing his sailboat on Long Island Sound, or his sister getting thrown from her horse in a cross-country event, or his mother winning the club’s tennis championship. It sounded like The Great Gatsby come to life. She had to experience it just once. “I’d be happy to go with you.”

  The expression that crossed his face was hard to read, except for relief. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day,” he said.

  “What’s the dress code?”

  “Casual. It’s outdoors. There are tents in case it rains. Although even the weather rarely dares to displease my mother.”

  “‘Casual’ covers a lot of territory for women,” she said. “Not jeans, I assume.”

  He thought for a minute. “Dresses, sort of colorful. Flat shoes because of the grass. Straw hats, if it’s sunny.”

  “What are you wearing?” That might help.

  “My uniform. Khakis and a button-down shirt. Loafers.”

  “No tie?”

  “Hell, no!” he said. “Shirtsleeves rolled up, too.”

  She got the picture, and she had nothing appropriate to wear. She sighed inwardly. This was going to cost her more money than she could afford. However, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to journey into the exotic country of upper-crust Connecticut. Not to mention, spending time with her college crush, who was even more crushworthy now.

  “Okay, a rolled-up shirtsleeves kind of dress.” She took a gulp of her club soda as she debated where to find a dress that looked expensive but was bargain priced.

  “I’ll pick you up at noon. We’ll make a fashionably late entrance. Which means we won’t have to endure the party as long.”

  “This sounds more and more delightful all the time.”

  Will finally smiled, albeit with an edge. “It won’t be as bad for you. They’re not your family.”

  “I hear you.” But at least he still had his mother and father. As complicated as her parents had made her life, she sometimes felt terribly alone without them.