My Guilty Pleasure Page 2

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked her.

  She reached into her hip pocket and peeled off five twenties. “Interesting enough for you?” She tossed the bills onto the black circled mark on the green felt of the pool table.

  He picked up the cue her previous challenger had left behind and tested the weight in his hand. “Not exactly what I had in mind.” He circled the table to her side.

  She slipped a hank of honey-blond hair behind her ear. “I don’t know you well enough for that kind of wager.”

  He set the base of the cue on the floor between his feet. With his hands wrapped around the stick, he leaned slightly forward, breathing in her scent. Amid the acrid odors of spilled beer and stale smoke that permeated the air, he caught her subtle fragrance, a light floral mixture. Expensive, too. Funny, but he’d pegged her for something more spicy and exotic. “No, but I’d bet you’d like to,” he said.

  The blue of her eyes darkened, giving him all the answer he needed.

  “Arrogant, aren’t you?” She angled her cue against the table while she dropped the quarters into the slot and waited for the balls to tumble into the tray.

  He plucked the rack from the other side of the table and set it on the felt near the stack of twenties. “See? You’re getting to know me already.”

  She chuckled softly, then started loading the balls into the rack. “Time to put up or shut up.”

  He slipped his wallet from his hip pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill to match her bet. “Satisfied?”

  Her smile was positively wicked, red-lining his libido. She scooped up the cash and set it on the side of the pool table, then removed the wooden triangular rack before retrieving her pool stick. “Your break,” she said, as was customary.

  He lined up the shot and sent the cue ball soaring across the table. “So you come here often?” he asked above the loud crack. He kept his attention on the scattering balls and watched the four ball roll into the corner pocket.

  “Boy, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that line.” She stepped out of his way when he circled the table looking for his next shot.

  He took aim on the two ball and missed, distracted by the subtle scent of her perfume. “Better than ‘what’s your sign?’” But if he were guessing, he’d say a Taurus, or maybe a Scorpio. The tilt of her chin and the glint in her eye indicated a stubborn streak. Not that he was seriously in to astrology, but when he was growing up, his mother had never left the house without first consulting the obituaries and the astrology section of the Boston Globe.

  “I’ll give you that.” She took aim and easily sank the eleven ball. “And, no. I don’t come here all that much. You?”

  She didn’t strike him as the barfly type, but he couldn’t help wondering what someone like her was doing in a place like Rosalie’s. The place was a roadhouse in the truest sense of the word.

  “New in town,” he said as she set up her next shot. Another half truth. He was full of them tonight.

  “From where?” She sank the nine ball with a difficult bank shot.

  “Miami.” He inclined his head toward the table. “Nice one.”

  “Thanks.”

  She slowly walked toward him, holding his gaze with every step. Damn if he didn’t have trouble remembering how to breathe. She bent forward to line up her next shot. Her slender fingers wrapped around the cue and she slowly slid the stick back and forth. His imagination headed south.

  He cleared his throat.

  She took aim, then missed. “So you get a sudden hankering for a long cold winter?”

  He shrugged. “All that sunshine can wear on a guy after a while.” He hadn’t planned on returning to Boston, but when the offer from Samuel, Cyrus and Kane had come his way, he never once considered declining. Come Monday morning, he’d be the youngest partner on the letterhead of one of the city’s oldest and most prestigious firms, and heading up their litigation department. Not a bad gig for a guy like himself.

  She made a sound that almost seemed like laughter. “Boston won’t disappoint you then.”

  He leaned forward to line up his shot, then looked up at her. “So far it hasn’t.”

  That wicked smile of hers returned. He shot and scratched.

  She laughed again then effortlessly cleared the table, making one difficult play after the other until only two of his solid-colored balls and the eight ball remained. “In the side pocket.” She grazed the eight ball and sank it exactly where she’d called it.

  “Thanks.” She scooped up her winnings and tucked the wad of cash into her back pocket. “Hello, Manolo,” she said, her grin widening. “Worthington is having a sale.”

  “Play again?” he asked.

  “Thanks, but no.” Her grin wavered slightly. “I really should be getting home. Maybe next time.”

  She turned and walked away, heading toward the bar. He stared at the gentle sway of her hips in tight denim until his common sense took hold. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t let her get away just yet. He didn’t even know her name.

  He caught up with her by the time she reached the bar. “You think you should be driving?” She hadn’t had a drink in at least ninety minutes. Her eyes weren’t glassy and her stride had been steady when she’d walked away from him. Honestly, he didn’t think driving under the influence was an issue at this point, but it was the best excuse he could come up with under pressure.

  “Excuse me?”

  He gave her his best winning smile. “Why don’t you let me buy you breakfast?”

  “Thanks,” she said with a shake of her head, “but no. I’m fine.”

  Yes, she was. Which was exactly his point. “There’s an all-night diner across the road. Just breakfast.”

  She hesitated. He took that as a good sign in his favor.

  “Coffee?” he offered.

  “Maybe I could use some coffee.”

  He smiled. “Good idea.”

  “Hey, Mitch,” she called out to the bartender. “You want anything from the diner?”

  Smart girl, Sebastian thought.

  “No, I’m good,” the bartender answered, then looked him over and gave him a hard stare, leaving Sebastian with the distinct impression he’d suffer a severe pounding should anything happen to the blonde under his watch.

  * * *

  “Two eggs over easy. Bacon, crisp. Rye toast,” Joey told the waitress.

  “Pancakes and eggs for me,” her breakfast companion ordered. “With a side of sausage links.” He handed the waitress the menus.

  Joey admired his long slender fingers and took a sip of hot coffee. “So, you have a name?”

  He stirred cream and sugar into his own mug. “Sebastian.”

  “First or last?”

  “First. You?”

  “Joey,” she said. Just Joey.

  He set his spoon on the saucer. “I gotta ask. What’s a nice girl like you doing hanging out at a roadhouse like Rosalie’s?”

  She hid a smile behind her mug. “What makes you think I’m a nice girl?”

  “You made sure the bartender knew you were leaving with me,” he said, then took a sip of his coffee.

  “Caution does not necessarily equate to being a nice girl.”

  “You trying to convince me you’re a bad girl?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.” Maybe she’d take him home and screw his brains out. That ought to convince him.

  The possibility intrigued her more than it should. Not that a tumble in the sack with him would be a hardship. Far from it. There wasn’t much about the man she didn’t find appealing. Even his arrogance was sexy.

  He chuckled. “I think maybe not.”

  She tried not to feel insulted. “You don’t know me.”

  “I’d like to,” he said, then took another sip of his coffee. “Get to know you, I mean.”

  And she’d like to get to know him. But then what?

  The waitress returned with their meal, saving her from having to conjure up an answer
. Still, she couldn’t help wondering how long she’d hold his interest. Until he discovered where she came from and became so intimidated by the Winfield name, and all that it implied, that he’d ditch her cold? He wouldn’t be the first guy scared off by her family’s wealth and reputation. The Winfield name was as old and prestigious as Massachusetts itself. Rumor had it they had roots as far back as the Mayflower. Thanks to her ancestors, and a ridiculous fortune made in the shipping business, she had more money in her trust fund than her grandchildren’s children would ever be able to spend.

  Or maybe until he realized she wasn’t the clingy type and was perfectly content living alone? Or maybe until he learned that aside from her family, her career ranked at the top of her list of priorities?

  “Are you allergic to cats?” she asked suddenly.

  He slathered butter on his pancakes. “No. Do you like dogs?”

  “Very much,” she said. Brooke was allergic, but Katie had recently acquired a cocker spaniel, which she’d taken to spoiling whenever she visited her sister.

  “I know you like hard rock,” he said, pouring a generous amount of syrup over his pancakes.

  She salted and peppered her eggs, then mixed them with her hash browns. “My tastes vary,” she admitted. She liked everything from hard rock to hip-hop to the stuff from the sixties and seventies her mother used to play so often, in addition to classical and opera. In fact, she was supposed to accompany her grandmother to a chamber music performance Sunday afternoon. “Let me guess, you’re a country boy at heart.”

  He shook his head and his grin turned sheepish. “Motown. None of those CD remakes or compilations, either. Vinyl or nothing at all.”

  She’d like to see him in nothing at all. “Temptations or Four Tops?” she asked, reining in those baser thoughts that could lead her straight to a broken heart.

  “Temptations. Especially the earlier stuff before they cut David Ruffin loose.” He cut into a sausage link, then dragged it through the syrup pooling on his plate. “And before you ask, Smokey Robinson is a songwriting genius.”

  “If we’re talking old school, I prefer Lennon and McCartney. Or Elton John and Bernie Taupin. But a man who knows his Motown…?” She plucked a strip of bacon from her plate. “Impressive. So what brings you to Boston, Sebastian? Escaping an ex-wife? Girlfriend, maybe?”

  His crooked smile had her pulse thumping pleasantly. Among other, more intimate places.

  “Is that your way of wanting to know if I’m single?”

  She took a bite of her bacon, smiled and nodded.

  “Single. Never been married. You?”

  “Same,” she said. Although, she’d been close once. Dangerously so. Two and a half years ago she’d been twenty-four hours away from walking down the aisle at the perfect society wedding when she’d discovered her fiancé hadn’t stopped dating. The jerk.

  “And you’re in Boston because…?”

  “Work,” he said, cutting into his pancakes.

  “Work? What kind of work?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

  He smiled. “Don’t start,” he said, his tone laced with humor. “There probably isn’t a lawyer joke I haven’t heard.”

  “It’s not that,” she said, then burst out laughing again. So much for her wanting to be just Joey tonight. Well, she thought, at least he’d understand the demands of her job. Not that it really made any difference. Beyond tonight, anyway.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” she admitted. “A litigator, actually.”

  His smile slowly faded. “Yeah?”

  Uh-oh. So much for all those intriguing possibilities. She wondered how long it’d take him to get to the door.

  “What firm?”

  Her own smile waned and she frowned. Wait a minute. Didn’t he say he was from Miami? Wasn’t the new head of…

  Oh no. It couldn’t be the same…it just couldn’t be him.

  This was more than a coincidence, it was insane. And unfair! The first time in months she’d actually been attracted to a man and he was off-limits? So totally not fair!

  “Samuel, Cyrus and Kane,” she said.

  He pushed his plate aside as if he’d just lost his appetite. She could relate. Hers had already evaporated.

  Over the table, he thrust his hand toward her, which she automatically took. “Sebastian Stanhope,” he said, and gave her hand a brisk, impersonal shake. “Samuel, Cyrus and Kane’s new—”

  “Head of litigation,” she finished, and dropped his hand. “And my new boss.”

  Chapter 3

  “Did you say boss?” Joey reached for her leather jacket and jammed her hand into the pocket for the small wad of bills. “That I did.” She peeled off a twenty and dropped it on the table. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Stanhope. See you Monday.”

  She scooted from the booth, her movements jerky as she shrugged into her jacket. A mixture of disappointment and deep frustration, which she couldn’t entirely discount as sexual in nature, collided inside her.

  “Joey, wait.”

  “Some other time,” she said, knowing it was a lie. Then she hightailed it out the front door.

  A blast of cold January air bit at her exposed skin and whipped her hair into her face. A bone-deep chill instantly settled over her. Shivering, she shoved her hair from her face before tugging up the collar of her jacket, looking for warmth. With her hands tucked inside her pockets, she hunkered down and hurried to her car, which was sitting across the street at Rosalie’s.

  The lot was deserted with the exception of her sporty red BMW parked under the hazy glow of a security light. A silver SUV with a Florida license plate sat a few yards away. Stanhope’s.

  Still shivering, she pulled out her keys and pressed the button for the keyless entry to unlock her car. Just her rotten luck. Finally, she meets a guy who doesn’t have jerkwad written all over him, one who would actually understand the concept of billable hours and the demands of being a career-hungry associate attorney in a large firm, and he was as off-limits as they came. No way could she allow anything interesting to happen now—not with the revelation of Sebastian Stanhope being her new boss.

  “Shit,” she muttered and yanked open the door. She climbed into the driver’s seat and fired the engine before tugging the door closed with a hard slam. And things had been going so well, too, she thought. Well enough that she’d been seriously considering that a brief affair might not be such a bad idea after all.

  She cranked up the heater and sat trembling in the cold, cursing and giving the engine time to warm. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair. Maybe she should’ve gone to Chassy tonight and hung out with her half sister, after all. But no, tonight she’d wanted to be just Joey and what had it gotten her? A whole lot of nothing except an ache between her legs she so wanted Sebastian to ease.

  His shadow, cast from the light above, appeared seconds before she heard his gentle rap against the driver’s side window. For the space of a heartbeat she considered telling him to get lost. Instead she hefted a weighty sigh and motioned for him to join her inside the slowly growing warmth of her car.

  He opened the door and slid that long, gorgeous body into the passenger seat beside her. The luscious scent of him did crazy things to her senses…like obliterate every last one of them.

  “Was it something I said?”

  “Yeah,” she answered and looked over at him. Her stomach took a tumble at the crooked smile curving that very kissable mouth. There should be a law in the books somewhere declaring it illegal for a man to be so incredibly sexy when he was seriously off-limits. “Samuel, Cyrus and Kane.”

  “Look, I didn’t know.” Regret tinged his deep, velvety voice. “I am sorry.”

  So was she. More than he realized. And a hell of a lot more than she’d expected, for that matter. “It’s just one of those weird coincidences,” she said with a shrug. “No need to apologize.”

  Most of the
time, she was a realist. And the reality of the situation was that she was wildly attracted to Sebastian Stanhope, even though he practically came with a “do not touch” brand burned into what she’d been fantasizing were hard, lean abs.

  She muttered another curse.

  “Would it help if I said I wish things had turned out differently?” he asked.

  The sincerity in his eyes irritated her. God, why couldn’t he have been a jerk? Then she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass that her sexual fantasies had come to a screeching halt. Of course, that was her problem, wasn’t it? Because she couldn’t stop imagining him hot and hard and naked.

  “Not really,” she countered dryly.

  A full smile curved his lips now. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Don’t tease me, Stanhope. I’m a frustrated woman. That makes me dangerous and highly irrational.”

  He had the audacity to chuckle. “I like you, Joey.”

  Yeah, well, the feeling was definitely mutual. “Guess that’ll make for a good working relationship, now, won’t it?”

  She slumped down in her seat. What was she saying? Working with him would be nothing short of torture. Long hours. Late nights. That incredible scent of his lingering in her office long after he’d gone, driving her to distraction. Those intoxicating eyes.

  Oh, God. She was toast. A walking hormonal disaster. A ticking sexual time bomb. It wouldn’t take much for him to light her fuse, either. And he was just arrogant enough to realize it, too.

  She looked over at him. “Too bad Rosalie’s is closed. I could use a drink.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  At least he agreed with her. That was something, right? Not that they could do anything about it. Dammit.

  He tugged his key ring from his pocket and aimed the big black key at the Jeep Commander. He pressed the button and electronically started the vehicle.