The Beauty Series Bundle (2 page)

I
sit
in the dark corner and scan the room like a starved predator searching for prey. I haven’t chosen her yet, but the woman who will share my bed for the next few months is in this room right now.

I watch a lovely blond approach my table. “What can I bring you?” Hmm. A waitress—not at all my usual taste.

I have a type. Attractive. Mature. Refined. This barmaid meets the attractive requirement well enough, but she’s void of refinement or maturity as displayed by her choice of apparel—a white, barely there tank top and frazzled cutoff denim shorts. She doesn’t do it for me. Plus, my last two companions were blond. I want a different flavor this time, but no redheads. I want a brunette. A beautiful one.

I remind myself I’m not in Sydney where I have an endless variety of sophisticated women from which to choose. My choices are more limited in the small town of Wagga Wagga, but that doesn’t mean I have to settle for the first attractive woman I see.

“I’ll have a Shiraz.”

I’m prepared for a more prolonged relationship this time—three whole months instead of the usual three or four weeks. I’m looking forward to keeping this one around a little longer, and that’s all the more reason to be certain I make a wise choice.

I begin my search of the club with the first table toward the front of the room. A brunette beauty sits with a group of women. I watch her for a while, but decide she’s too friendly with the woman sitting next to her. Lesbians aren’t in my repertoire.

I spend the next hour scanning the club and come up empty-handed. I’m discouraged. No one stands out as the one and this club is by far my best bet for meeting single women in this town. Maybe I should consider coming back another time when it’s not open mic night. Tonight, the place is crawling with boozed college students.

Tonight’s search has been a failure, but at least the karaoke was entertaining.

I’m finishing off the last of my wine before I leave when an announcer from the club takes the stage and asks for the next singer to step forward. A small group of people across the room nominates one of its own. My view of the poor bastard is blocked by the crowd of intoxicated kids standing between us, but I’m certain this is going to be another delightful train wreck.

The club erupts into cheer and chants. “Do. It. Do. It. Do. It.” A young woman walks onto the stage and stands with her back to the crowd as she takes a guitar from its stand. She lifts its strap over her head and then tosses her long brown hair over one shoulder. When she’s finished settling the guitar into place, she circles around and sits on the stool in the middle of the stage.

She’s beautiful. And somehow overlooked during my search.

She’s wearing a short ivory dress and a denim jacket with brown cowgirl boots. She bares her thighs as she lifts her feet to rest on the bottom rail, but she’s careful to push her dress between her legs so she doesn’t provide a peep show to the crowd.

She strums the borrowed guitar a few times and then leans into the microphone. “Is everyone having a good time tonight?”

She’s American. I think. Her accent sounds different—not like what I’ve heard in the past.

The crowd erupts into a drunken cheer and I hear a man’s voice yell over the crowd, “It’s better now, sweet thing!”

She smiles and adjusts the mic. “I’m not from around here. It’s my first night in Australia.”

“Leave with me and I’ll make you feel right at home!” a man shouts from the back of the room.

She ignores the fat, ugly bastard yelling at her. “I don’t know what kind of music Australians like, but this has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember.” She strums a few more chords. “This is ‘Crash Into Me’ by the Dave Matthews Band.”

She sings it slower than the original, putting her own twist on it. Her voice is raspy and sexy, her eyes closed. She oozes eroticism. She tilts her head and opens her eyes when she begins to sing the chorus. I swear it feels like she’s looking right in my direction, singing to me.

The stage lights shine in her face and common sense tells me she can’t see me sitting in the dark corner at the back of the club, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping.

She finishes the chorus and shuts her eyes again. Her long legs bounce against the rail of the stool to keep rhythm and I fall victim to her siren’s song. She has bewitched me. And I want her. She’s the one.

She opens her eyes and looks in my direction again as she sings about hiking up a skirt a little more. Man, she can show me her world if she so desires.

The waitress returns to my table, but I don’t glance in her direction when she speaks. I can’t take my eyes from the beautiful brunette on stage for even a second. “Can I bring you another Shiraz?”

My plans have changed. “Yes, please.”

The American girl finishes her song and the crowd is all cheers and whistles. She smiles as she pulls the guitar strap over her head and then leans forward to the mic. “Thank you.”

I watch her leave the stage and return to a table where she is sitting with a blond woman and two blokes. Damn! A boyfriend, perhaps?

My waitress returns with my wine and places it on the table in front of me. “Excuse me, do you know the girl who just performed?”

“No. She said it was her first night in Australia.”

I take my wallet from my interior jacket pocket and remove a hundred-dollar bill. I slide it in her direction across the table. “What about the people she’s sitting with?”

She sees the money on the table and picks it up to deposit in the pocket of her black apron before turning to see who my songstress is sitting with. “The blond guy is Ben Donavon and his friend is Zac Kingston. They’re regulars in here, two or three times a week.”

Why is this American here with those blokes? “She sounds American. Do you know why she would be with them?”

“Ben is a Yank. His family owns a vineyard in California and he’s here to study wine at the uni. I think she’d have to be someone he knows from home.”

I hold up a second hundred-dollar bill between my fingers. “See this? It’s yours if you can find out what she’s doing here and how long she’ll be in Wagga Wagga. And find out if she’s dating either one of the blokes.”

She smiles and I see she’s interested in playing my little game. “I’ll be back to collect that in a minute.”

I sit back and enjoy my Shiraz while the waitress does my detective work. A visiting American couldn’t be more perfect for my next companion. Once our relationship is over, she would be on an entirely different continent, which ensures we won’t have any accidental future run-ins.

My stay in Wagga Wagga is becoming more promising.

I finish my glass of Shiraz as my waitress returns. “Her name is …”

I cut her off before she can finish her sentence. “No, I don’t want to know her name.”

I can see this stumps her, but money is money. “Ben’s sister is her best friend and they’ve come to spend the summer with him. She met Ben and Zac for the first time today.”

Good. That means she isn’t dating either of them.

If the guys are students in the wine science program at the university, I’m guessing they will be at the vintage dinner at the school on Friday night. They’ll be anxious to showcase their wines. I wonder if she’ll be there as a guest.

I pull another bill from my wallet and hold it up for Blondie to see. “This is yours if you can find out what their plans are for the vintage dinner at the university on Friday night. I want to know if the brunette will be there.”

She smiles again. “I could play this game all night.”

Ten minutes later, she returns with another Shiraz and an update. “The guys will be presenting their wines at the dinner, and both girls will be guests.”

I slide the well-earned bill across the table. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Would you like me to keep the Shiraz coming?”

“Yes.”

I spend the next hour stealing glances at the beautiful American through the crowd of people between us as they shift. I’m disappointed when the foursome gets up to leave, but I see the perfect opportunity for a convenient face-to-face encounter when she moves toward the restrooms.

I migrate in that direction and wait for her to emerge for our chance meeting in the hallway. When the door to the ladies’ room opens, I walk toward her, but she’s looking down into her purse. She attempts to dodge right, so I move with her. “Pardon me.”

Her accent is so unusual. And endearing.

She steps to her left and I move with her like a mirror image. “So sorry, Miss.”

Look up at me.

“Wanna dance?” she laughs as she lifts her eyes from her purse.

“I’d love to.” Her smile spreads with my reply. We lock eyes and I try to identify the color of hers, but I can’t. It’s too dark in the narrow hallway.

I was right. She is the one.

She seems embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Asking someone to dance is an expression we use where I’m from. You know? Like when two people try to get around one another as we just did.”

“I’m familiar with the expression, but one can always hope.” I step around her toward the door to the men’s room. “I think I would have enjoyed a dance with you.”

H
ow do
you decide what to wear to a vintage dinner at an Australian university when you aren’t really sure what a vintage dinner is?

I stand at the sink brushing my teeth while Addison showers. Man, this sharing a bathroom with two other people is no joke, especially when one of them is as high maintenance as Addison.

I rinse and wipe my mouth. “You never told me what this thing is that we’re going to tonight.”

“It’s a vintage dinner.” Awesome. That tells me everything I need to know.

I grab my makeup bag and begin applying my foundation. The lighting in our bedroom is terrible and the bathroom isn’t much better, but who am I to complain when I’m staying here as a nonpaying guest. Besides, Addison complains enough for both of us. “Can you give me a little more to go on? Like, what’s going to be happening and what I need to wear?”

“It can’t be too formal if it’s hosted by a university, so I think a sundress should be fine. What about that black strapless with the wide white band around the waist? It’s a chameleon and will fit in if this shindig is on the dressier side. Didn’t you bring it?”

I remember hanging it in the closet when we unpacked. “I did.”

“Ben says the event begins outdoors with hors d’oeuvres where we’ll try the first round of new vintages. When we finish that, we’ll go inside for dinner and have more wine. There’ll probably be a band, so expect some dancing.”

Eating, drinking, and dancing. Slow dancing. It sounds fun and innocent enough, except I suspect Ben considers me more than a simple guest.

After I finish my hair and makeup, I slip into the black strapless. When Addison comes into our bedroom, she has me make a complete spin and gives me a whistle. “Looking good in the neighborhood.”

“Thanks.”

She’s wearing an ivory halter dress I don’t recognize. The ivory against her blond hair and olive skin is gorgeous. “I don’t think I’ve seen this before.”

“It’s new. I bought it before we left. Think Zac will like it?”

“I think Zac would like you in anything. Or nothing at all.”

She laughs but knows it’s true. He wants her bad. “I think he likes me.”

“Being reserved doesn’t suit you, Addie. Of course he likes you. I don’t know how you could question it. He’s been here constantly since we arrived.”

“I know, but he hasn’t said anything or made a move.”

“It’s only been three days. Not every guy tries to get you in the sack thirty seconds after you meet.”

“I know. I guess I’m second-guessing myself because he hasn’t tried.”

“Watch his reaction when we walk out. You’ll know where his head’s at.”

The eyes tell it all when Zac sees Addison. He is hot for her. Unfortunately, Ben’s reaction to me is very similar. What the hell am I thinking? It’s a huge mistake for me to attend this event as Ben’s guest wearing this dress, but it’s too late now.

Luck is with me the first half of the night as I’m able to avoid Ben. He’s busy presenting his vintages, but like always, my luck runs out. We finish dinner and he takes my hand to pull me from my chair. “Come dance with me.”

I smile and follow him onto the dance floor, mostly because I don’t have a reasonable excuse not to. One dance. I can do that.

I glance over at Addison dancing with Zac. She’s giddier than a pig in shit and I’m happy for her. Her relationship luck hasn’t been much better than mine. “She seems to be having a good time.”

“Zac doesn’t appear too unhappy, either. If I had to guess, I’d bet you and I have officially been dropped for the rest of the night.”

Shit! That means we’ll be alone when we get back to the apartment. “It’s all right. I still have jet lag. I’ll probably go straight to bed anyway.”

A young man walks up beside us. “Mr. Donavon, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re having trouble finding your merlot.”

Ben stops swaying, but doesn’t release me from his embrace. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“I’m Greg, one of the servers for tonight’s event.”

Ben looks puzzled. “All of my vintages were stored together.”

Greg appears apologetic as he shrugs. “We’ve searched everywhere and can’t find it with the others.”

He releases me. “I’m sure it’s been shuffled around in all the chaos. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“It’s fine. This is your special night. You need to do whatever it takes to make this successful.”

He strokes his hand down my arm. “I won’t be gone long.”

“It’s okay. No hurry.” Really. Don’t hurry.

I walk to the dinner table feeling a little guilty that I’m relieved by the interruption. I eye Addison and Zac on the dance floor and recognize her signature moves. When they circle around and his back is turned to me, she points to him and mouths, “I’m fucking him tonight.”

I’ve heard that before and I have no doubt she will. That’s Addison. She’s been on a different continent for all of three days and she’s already found her next hookup. I put my hand in the air to mimic that of a tigress claw and mouth a silent roar.

I’m giggling at her doing the same gesture behind his back when a man’s voice startles me. “Enjoying the wine this evening?”

I look up at the person speaking and I’m not prepared for whom I see. A feather could knock me over. It’s him, the beautiful man from the club.

I didn’t get to study him for long the other night, but he’s even better looking than I remember. He’s tall with broad shoulders, the kind I’d like to run my hands across and glide down his strong arms. His dark hair is unruly in contrast to his businesslike attire, and I wonder if he purposely fixed it that way or if a woman has just finished running her fingers through it. If it is the latter, then damn, what a lucky woman.

He’s dressed in another suit, this one dark platinum with a pinstriped shirt beneath. His coordinating blue and platinum tie makes his azure eyes even more intense.

Did he say something? Wait—he asked if I was enjoying the wine? At least that’s what I think he said. “I am. Very much.”

He shifts his attention to the glass in front of me. “What are you having?”

Oh, shit. I don’t know what kind of wine it is. There are only two kinds in my book: good or bad. I give it a once-over and decide there’s no reason to pretend I know. “Honestly? I don’t have a damn clue. It’s red and it’s good. That’s all I know.”

He smiles as he takes the glass from my hand. He lifts it for inspection before tucking it under his nose. “It’s Cabernet Sauvignon.” He tilts it upward and takes a small sip. “Not bad.”

Oh, double swoon. His lips are where mine were. Lucky glass. “I’ll have to take your word for it because I know nothing about wine.”

His brow wrinkles as he looks at me. Damn. His eyes are mesmerizing, the kind you can get lost in with very little effort. “If you don’t know wine, then how did you come to be at a vintage dinner?”

“I’m the guest of one of the students showcasing his vintages.”

He gestures to my glass of wine he’s still holding. “Is this one your friend’s?”

Is it Ben’s? They’d started running together several glasses ago. “I think so.”

“It’s good. As for most of the others I’ve tried tonight, I can’t say the same.”

“I’ll tell Ben you said so. Or perhaps you’d like to. He stepped away, but he should be back any minute.” I silently pray he won’t return and ruin my conversation with this man I haven’t stopped thinking about since our prior meeting.

He has a crooked grin. “If I recall correctly, I think you owe me a dance.”

“Yes, I believe I do.” He reaches for my hand and leads me to the dance floor where the band is playing a fairly decent version of Van Morrison’s “Someone Like You.” We begin to step with the tempo.

“You’re American?”

“Every day and twice on Sunday.”

He laughs. “What brings a funny Yank like you to Wagga Wagga?”

I glance over his shoulder and see Addison noticing us, so I give her a smile. “My best friend invited me to spend the summer.”

“Your accent sounds different from the other Americans I’ve met.”

I had taken a lot of flack from Addison over the years about my strong twang. “That’s because I’m from the South,” I explain.

“I like it,” he says. “So, how were you were able to put your life on hold for three months?”

“I needed to step away from my career for a little while so I could clear my head about some decisions I need to make.”

He peers over my shoulder and an irritated countenance appears on his face. “I have somewhere to be in a few minutes, so I have to cut our dance short, but would you join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

How could I tell this man no? “Yes, I would like that.”

“I have a meeting tomorrow evening and I expect it to run late. May I send my driver to pick you up around seven?”

He has a driver? “Umm, okay.”

He takes his phone from his pocket. “Where are you staying?”

It takes a moment for me to recall the unfamiliar address, but he puts it into his phone as I call it off. “452 Stanton Street.”

“My driver’s name is Daniel and you can expect him to be prompt.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready.” As he walks away, I remember we never introduced ourselves. “Wait. I didn’t get your name.”

He smiles as he walks backwards away from me. “It will be more interesting if you don’t know. See you tomorrow night.”

More interesting? What the hell is that supposed to mean? He tells me his driver’s name, but not his? That’s weird. I should know his name if I’ve agreed to meet him for dinner.

I’m about to chase him when I feel a warm hand on my arm. “Hey, what are you doing standing out here on the dance floor by yourself?” Ben asks.

“I wasn’t alone. I was dancing with someone, but he had to leave.” I search for Nameless, but he is already gone. Like a phantom.

Ben gives me a bewildered look, as if I made up the whole thing. “Okay. Would you like to finish the dance?”

“Sure.”

As I dance with Ben, I can’t stop thinking about the phantom or the way he disappeared without giving me his name. Shit! I bet the good-looking bastard is married and that’s why he wouldn’t tell me who he is.

That isn’t going to work for me. If there is one thing I don’t do, it’s married men.

I need to talk to Addison, but she is in the middle of her presex show with Zac. That means she’s sending me home alone with Ben. I’m not in the mood to deal with that. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’m going to catch a cab back to the apartment.”

“I’ll drive you.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I can’t ask you to do that. This is your big night. Stay and show off what you’ve accomplished.”

“I don’t mind. Really.”

Yeah, I know. He’s such a nice guy, but I’m not interested. “I know, but I’d feel worse if you didn’t stay to promote what you’ve worked so hard for.”

He concedes and I catch a cab back to the apartment. I make a point to be in bed when he comes home. I pretend to be asleep when he taps on the bedroom door because I’m not sure what he wants.

Well, that’s not true. I know what he wants, but I’ve chosen the coward’s way. I should be brutal and tell him to back off, but I don’t. I dodge him, only prolonging the inevitable.

I
jerk
awake with the shift of the bed beside me. What the hell? The adrenaline surging through my veins makes my heart take off like a helicopter. It’s throbbing erratically in my neck, my chest, my head. Even my hands.

“Addison?” I pray I hear her voice answer me.

“Yeah.” She whispers like she’s afraid she’ll wake someone. Too late.

I’m relieved to hear her voice instead of Ben’s, but I’m madder than hell. I look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 3:18 in the morning. “You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing climbing into bed at this time of the morning? I thought you were at Zac’s place.”

“I was.”

Yeah, and now you’re not. “Why did you come back? Did something happen?”

“No, but you know me. I don’t want to be that girl, the one who wears out her welcome.”

Right. Because Dude doesn’t owe you anything after he gets in your pants. “Let me get straight on this. You don’t want to be the girl to wear out your welcome, but you’ll be the girl who lets him wear out your vagina?”

She slaps my arm in the dark. “That’s just crude, Laurie.” She giggles. “But oh so true. He did wear it out like a champ.”

Ugh! I was joking. She’s not.

“It’s a game, Laurelyn. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. He’ll want me more if he has to lie in bed thinking about me from across the hall. He’ll wish he’d asked me to stay, but there’s another reason I came home. I don’t want Ben to know I locked loins with Zac.”

Good grief. That’s what we’re calling it these days. “Why would Ben care?”

“You’re an only child so you don’t get it. Brothers don’t care how old you are. They’re weird about their friends screwing their sisters.”

What about a sister freaking out over her brother trying to lock loins with her best friend? Shouldn’t she be trying to dissuade Ben or something?

“So, I saw you dancing with a good-looking suit last night. What’s going on with that?”

Good-looking suit. I can roll with that. “That was him, the man I ran into at the club on our way out the other night. The same one I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for three days.”

“Oh, wow. What a coincidence.” She doesn’t have to tell me. I thought I’d never see him again.

“I know. He asked me to dinner tonight.” I let out a high-pitched squeal that shouldn’t come from a twenty-two-year-old woman. “He’s sending his driver to pick me up because he has an afternoon meeting. Is that weird?”

“I guess not, unless he’s calling the man behind the wheel of a taxi his driver. He must be rich. What does he do?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t get that far.”

“What’s his name?”

I opt to not tell her he said it would be more exciting if I didn’t know. “Umm, we didn’t get that far, either.”

“Well, that’s fucked up. You’re going out with a guy and don’t know who he is? Who am I going to report to the police if you go missing because he’s another good-looking serial killer? You know, Ted Bundy was terribly charming too.”