Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 17

I slick on one last coat of waterproof mascara—to combat the humidity—and toss it back into my makeup bag. Jack didn't give me much information about our date, but he said other people would be there, so I've slithered into a strapless little black dress that's never let me down, pairing it with peacock feather earrings, cobalt heels, and a matching clutch. I give my hair another squirt of shine serum, but the humidity is winning the battle against my straightener.

Really, I shouldn't be going to this much trouble. It's just Jack. We were supposed to be a one-night thing, but he asked me out while I was still floating in a haze of postorgasmic pleasure, and I said yes.

Besides, it's one date. One.

I bite my lip. If this goes well... A knock sounds from the door.

No point getting ahead of myself.

When I pull the door open, Jack's face makes my ego flutter its eyelashes. His gaze does a slow crawl up my body, and by the time it reaches my eyes, his are hungry. "You look amazing."

I lock the door behind us. "Thanks." He's in dark jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. That shouldn't do things to my belly, but it does.

I check him out in the elevator mirror.

His hair is brushed back but still damp from a recent shower. I want to run my fingers through it, but I keep my hands to myself. "Where are we going tonight?"

"Some fancy cocktail thing."

"Don't sell it too hard." I quirk an eyebrow.

He grins and guides me out the front door of the building with a hand at my lower back. "Sorry. It's schmoozing with some old rich guys."

"And you thought I'd be into that? Where's Bambi?" I frown at the sleek black Mercedes he's leading me to. It's crouched at the curb like a panther.

"At home. I decided I should upgrade. Look the part a little." He opens my door, and I slide onto the expensive leather seat.

We drive over in silence, my mind boggling the whole way to SoHo. How the hell much money does Jack have? It doesn't matter, but you think you know someone, and then this comes out of left field.

When we pull up to the brick Puck Building, with its huge, white columns and golden statue above the arch, I glare at him. "This is where we're going?"

He nods.

Suddenly I feel grubby. "You could have told me. I'd have bought a new dress, worn something different."

Jack cups my jaw and leans in. "I fucking love what you've got on, and so will everyone else. They're all going to be jealous that you're here with me." He growls the last word and crushes his lips to mine, causing heat to flare in my body and radiate out, melting away any feelings but sexy ones.

At least until we get inside.

Now I know how Eliza Doolittle felt.

I'm so busy feeling self-conscious about my appearance and gawking at the penthouse itself that I miss the names of the hosts, smiling and nodding my way through the introductions like a mannequin.

"I'm going to steal Jack for a moment." The older gentleman smiles at me and I nod, though he's already taking Jack away, leading him over to a group of men smoking cigars in the corner.

I sip from a glass of perfectly chilled champagne, unable to remember how it got in my hand, and wander over to the spectacular view of Soho from the floor-to- ceiling windows in the great room.