For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers) (2 page)

She threw down her fork. “See?”

“Actually, no,” he choked. “I can’t see a thing. My eyes are watering.” He swallowed and immediately regretted it. “Here’s a tip. If you want romance, lay off the garlic.”

She stared at him, openly wounded. “It’s supposed to complement the buttermilk.”

Buttermilk?

“Just great.” She frowned, fastening a death glare on him he wasn’t sure he deserved. “I can’t even mash potatoes. Of course I can’t find a guy. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, I’m beyond screwed. And that’s a direct quote from my grandma, by the way. Even my sister told me not to bother trying to catch her bouquet—that I should leave it for someone who stands a chance of landing a decent guy. Like it’s my fault my ex thought cheating was a good idea. Like I
want
to waste time on jerks.”

He didn’t touch the food, having decided the topic of relationships was far less dangerous. “Consider this near miss a win. Did you see that idiot? He wasn’t even willing to give you a chance to explain. That’s not your guy, and if this is a consistent thing, then clearly you haven’t tapped into the right market.”

One of her eyebrows rose. She sniffled. “The right
market
?”

He leaned back against the thickly padded dining chair, putting some much-needed distance between him and the plate. Marma-what’s-his-face released Sawyer’s pant leg and looked up, head quirked, not unlike Kelsie’s. Sawyer bit back a grin. “For starters,” he said, “your so-called date needs to have his balls revoked. I’ve yet to meet a woman I couldn’t seduce, and you can bet your ass I’m not threatened by another guy. He’s a joke.”

“Says who?”

“Me. I am an expert in satisfying a woman.”

Her expression went from dubious to scoffing in a New York minute. “Is that supposed to be a selling point?” she asked. “I’ve seen you around. You have a different woman every weekend. I don’t even want to know how many of them you’ve screwed in the elevator, but here’s a tip for
you
. Button up before you hit the lobby.”

He did his best to keep his jaw clamped shut, but he failed. The dig at his social life was one thing, but the other… Was she
rejecting
him? He couldn’t think of the last time he was turned down. By anyone. Which probably meant he needed to raise his standards, but sex was sex.

And this was almost certainly rejection.

She smirked. Score one for the dating disaster.

He ever so casually checked his zipper, just in case, and looked back to find her following his gaze. The unfamiliar heat of embarrassment toyed with him, but he shoved it away. Too bad the mutt wouldn’t bolt so easily. “You should be a little nicer to me, Kelsie. As you’ve so eloquently pointed out, I have experience.
Lots
of experience. Who better to show you the ropes?”

“Keep your ropes to yourself,” she shot back. “I’m not into BDSM.”

He couldn’t help the smile that stretched his lips. From the glimpse he’d enjoyed before she’d changed into the burlap, she definitely had potential. He liked her fire. And considering he couldn’t remember the last time a woman turned him down, she presented a challenge he was all too willing to take on. He stood, and finally the dog retreated, scampering under the table.

Kelsie’s eyebrows knit, and she frowned.

With a shrug, he said, “Hey, if you want to spend the rest of your life trying to save your rat dog from your cooking, that’s on you.” He snagged his shirt from the sink, taking a moment to wring out the excess water.

Her eyes flashed. “My cooking is
not
that bad.”

“Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m not sure I’ve had worse.” He didn’t fight the grin that threatened when her face twisted in indignation. “It’s a shame,” he said. “With a little bit of insider knowledge, a woman like you could have guys beating down the door, even if just to accompany you to your ex-boyfriend’s wedding.”

“Not my ex-boyfriend. My sister and my ex’s… Oh, forget it.” She dropped the arms she’d been flailing, momentarily crossing them before dropping them to the table in defeat.

He gave his shirt a final twist over the sink, then headed for the door. “Whatever. Have fun. Alone.”

“Wait!”

He paused with his hand on the knob. The dog bounced around, his shit lost. Probably over her sharp tone.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, sounding exponentially less than thrilled. “Clearly you have experience as a womanizing troll, so you must know what men look for.”

He turned. “I can make you dateable.” Countering her jab, he added, “I don’t know about irresistible, but tolerable for sure.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to be irresistible. I need a date. In two weeks.”

He forced back a victorious grin. “Give me seven dates—seven lessons in snagging a man, if you will—and I guarantee you won’t be alone when you face your ex.”

After a long moment during which he could see the gears turning, she sighed defeat. Almost. “Date
you
? Do I have a choice?”

“Yep.” He turned the knob.

“Wait!” She turned a dozen shades of red as she fell against her chair. “Okay, fine. You’re on. And you’re not getting lucky on date number seven, so don’t even think about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know your kind. You’ll sleep with anything convenient, whether she’s your type or not. And I know I have too many brain cells to qualify.”

He laughed, even though her words hit a little too close to home. “Sweetheart, I don’t beg. If I have to ask, then I’m not interested.”

“Then I don’t have to tell you no kissing, either.”

He zeroed in on her soft, pink mouth. The glasses were so distracting, he’d barely noticed it before, and that was a shame. A mouth like that should definitely be noticed. “Wouldn’t dream of it. We’ll start in the morning.”

“Wait. What are we doing in the morning?”

He looked pointedly at her bug-eyed, oversized rat. “Dog park.”

Her brow furrowed. “The dog park? You think you can teach me to find a man at a
dog
park?”

“Babe, I can find you a date
anywhere
.” He opened the door, grinning hard when he found her attention pegged to his ass, and harder when she jerked her gaze up, turning a brighter shade of red when he caught her.

“I’ll be here at seven,” he said.

“In the
morning
?”

He shrugged. “Weeds out the guys who got shit-faced tonight.”

Behind those horrible glasses, she rolled her eyes, probably because admitting he had a point would be too painful. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”

She didn’t look like she meant it, but what did he care? He wasn’t looking to get involved with her or her drama. He only needed one thing out of that obstinate, train wreck of a woman.

And that was to hear her say he was right.

Chapter Two

On a what-was-I-thinking scale of one to ten, Kelsie’s arrangement with Sawyer pegged somewhere near a hundred. Getting involved with him in any capacity was a disaster waiting to happen. She couldn’t imagine his intentions being anything more altruistic than getting his ego—as well as another body part—stroked. Fortunately, that promised not to be an issue. As she’d told him, she’d seen his type of woman—boobs hanging out, dress up to there, and a high-pitched giggle not likely to be the only fake part of the package—tumbling out of the elevator with him more times than she cared to remember, and Kelsie definitely didn’t qualify. To solidify that point, he hadn’t looked at her with an ounce of interest, but that was fine. Not being targeted by him was more of a bragging point than a downside. Frankly, she didn’t want to devote another moment of her life—let alone seven dates—to that womanizer, but the utterly pathetic alternative was to dig her current rut a little deeper, which would accomplish even less.

She rolled over in her bed, squinting blindly at the morning light. She wasn’t ready for this. How could she be? Sawyer was so far out of her league… Well, wait. That wasn’t true. He just wasn’t her type. Not that she had a type. She couldn’t get a
date
, let alone establish a type. She had just seen enough of men like Sawyer to know that when they had the pick of the room—and they always did—they didn’t choose women like her. She was more of an unintentional wallflower, relegated to that position by default because she wasn’t flirtatious or enough of a cleavage flasher to grab a man’s attention. And she couldn’t exactly blame the men. She certainly noticed the guys who put themselves out there.

She’d definitely noticed Sawyer, and not just because he literally had a different woman every weekend. He was hot. Beyond hot, with brilliant green eyes and striking blond hair tousled with lowlights that were too perfect to be anything but natural. The upper half of his body was so stupidly ripped that in its glistening, spray-drenched state, she’d had to wonder whether it was real or she’d somehow dreamed the whole encounter. Everything that had happened from the moment the sink faucet broke off in her hand had been surreal, from looking up to find him in her apartment to the traitorous thrill that shot through her when she’d slipped and landed in his arms.

Because whether or not she was his type, he absolutely was not hers.

She needed stability. At twenty-nine, she needed a man who cared about something greater than his next conquest, and she had a feeling a second date was as close to a commitment as Sawyer had ever made. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when it hit her that she’d promised him seven. Granted, they were non-romantic dates.

She was torn between feeling like Cinderella and fearing she’d just set herself up to become another of his playthings, but what did it matter as long as he followed through? For the next two weeks, all she wanted out of life was to not have to go to that stupid wedding alone. At one time, for her and her sister to date a pair of brothers had been fun. Then her ex had left her for another woman—someone more exciting, he’d said—and her inability to find a date for the wedding had poured a ridiculous amount of salt in the wound.

But now she had hope. Probably stupid to put that much faith in a serial dating stranger, but it was something to which she could cling. More than she’d started with.

With a sigh, she rolled over, flipping covers as she went. A yip from beneath the blankets indicated she’d dumped them all on Marmaduke, so she reversed the process until the Chihuahua squirmed free, tail wagging and tongue visible. “Want to go to the park?”

The dog, in his excitement, bounced himself right off the bed.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Kelsie mumbled. If only she could be so enthusiastic. She had the worst feeling she was in over her head, and the tiny part of her that was more intrigued than wary had her worried. There was no way that man wasn’t trouble, but worse than that, she wasn’t sure she wanted him analyzing her. Having her flaws catalogued by such hotness would be about as comfortable as standing in front of a firing squad.

Oh. Joy.

Resigned to her fate, she felt for her glasses, then crawled out of bed, and tugged on a pair of loose, flared jeans; a boxy, lightweight sweater; and a scarf to combat the cooler fall temps. After a blistering summer, New York had settled into one of her favorite seasons, with brisk mornings and sun-drenched afternoons. Her sister’s wedding on a yacht in the harbor would be stunning. It was Kelsie’s dream wedding. Only it wasn’t
her
wedding. Her sister had borrowed Kelsie’s perfect wedding day, and Kelsie would have to face it alone.

No, no you won’t.
Because Sawyer had promised to help her, and she’d hold him to that.

Moments later, a knock sounded at the door. Marmaduke went nuts, which did nothing for Kelsie’s nerves. After a quick peek, she held back the dog and opened the door for Sawyer, who was holding two paper cups. He handed her one.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said cheerfully. “I brought you a… I don’t know what the hell it is, to be honest. White chocolate something that doesn’t sound much like coffee.”

She took a deep breath over the cup and stared up at him in surprise. “White chocolate mocha? How did you know?”

He grinned, although it was more of a self-satisfied smirk. “I asked the guy in the coffee shop downstairs if he remembered you. Old librarian glasses, wears tapestry.”

She cringed inwardly at his description of her and hoped the reaction didn’t extend to her facial expression. As if there was anything wrong with being a librarian. Or wearing vintage-style glasses. She stopped short of telling him they were a new pair and clearly not so awful if her ophthalmologist stocked them. She knew instinctively that letting Sawyer think he’d gotten under her skin would be a mistake.

Apparently oblivious to her inner turmoil, he continued, “I think you might have your date right there. I’m pretty sure he has you memorized for a reason.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s sixteen,” she said. A funny wiggle shot through her chest and annoyed her. Sawyer’s nice gesture didn’t change the fact that he was a player.

“He’s tall,” Sawyer said of the barista. As if that helped the whole underage thing.

“He’s jailbait.”

“Good point.” God, that sexy, flirty grin. Did he take
anything
seriously?

Of
course
he didn’t.

This was some big joke to him. “If you’re trying to get out of our…arrangement—”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” His gaze tracked to Marmaduke, who eyeballed him right back, growling low under his breath. “The dog park it is.”

She hesitated, torn between her appreciation for his help and a need for boundaries. “I’m really not your sweetheart,” she said. “In fact, if not for your plumbing skills and your promise to save me from having to go solo to my sister’s wedding—”

“What? You wouldn’t be using me to get what you want?” He grinned.

She glared. “Fine. I have a goal, and I need your help. But at least you’re in on it, which is more than you can say for all those women you pick up.”

He snorted. “You actually think I’m out there mowing down virgins? Sorry to disappoint you, but there are a lot of very good,
very
bad girls out there who would do anything to be invited into my bedroom. And believe me, they do. Anything, that is.”

She gawked at him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that his eyes were nearly the same shade as her walls, only an insanely bright, vivid version thereof. Great. He’d hijacked her favorite color. When this was over, she’d have to paint. And somehow divert her brain from that ultra-sexy image of him, stripped down and soaking wet and…

“What are you thinking about?” The light in his eyes suggested he knew.

She glared. “You are a
pig
.”

“If you want me to leave…”

“No,” she admitted. “Unfortunately, that’s what makes you useful to me.”

While he laughed, she set her coffee on the table beside her front door, freeing her hands to fit the dog’s harness and attach the leash. When she stood, she found Sawyer’s eyes on her. Or, oddly enough, on her breasts. Stupid sweater. It was bulky, but large enough that, if not for the scarf, he probably would have been able to stare down her shirt the entire time. “While I appreciate your attention to my canine better half”—she stifled a laugh when Sawyer’s gaze shot up—“I have to wonder why you chose a dog park, of all places.”

“Pure logic,” he said without missing a beat. She doubted he was impressed by his reflexive glance at her chest. After her near peep show, he’d have a hard time finding them again under the bulk. “You have a mutual interest with pretty much any guy there with a mutt in tow. Low pressure and built-in conversation starter.”

She blinked. “I have no idea how I never thought of that.”

That cocky grin returned. “See? You’ve learned something already.”

Yeah, sure she had. Like that he looked almost as good in that long-sleeve button-up shirt as he did without a shirt at all. The material settled in all the right places, leaving him tantalizingly out of view without making a mystery of what lay below the fabric. The flashback of him standing soaked and shirtless hadn’t left her side all night, but now it amped up to levels of harassment.

He cleared his throat.

She hitched her eyes upward, hoping the heat that flooded her face wasn’t evident. Judging by the sexy tilt of his lips, she guessed no such luck. Flaming hotter now, she grabbed her keys and phone and tucked them in her pockets before picking up the coffee and gesturing ahead, suggesting he should vacate her doorway.

And if she was smart, her life. Because surely he had something better to do on Friday night than rescue her. From what little she knew of his type, that he’d been available to do the rescuing at all struck her as odd.

“What were you doing alone last night?” she asked as they headed down the hall.

On cue, a bombshell brunette stepped into the hall and gave Sawyer the kind of long, slow look that could only mean one thing. And he, the jerk, actually turned his head to stare as they passed by.

Kelsie elbowed him.

He lazily returned his attention to her. “You assume I was. Alone, that is.”

What an unbelievable ass. “I
assume
you didn’t leave someone downstairs tied to your bed while you ran up to have dinner with me.”

“In fairness, a ceiling headed for a cave-in isn’t exactly something one deals with later. And for the record, I don’t know if I’d call that dinner,” he said as he pressed the button for the elevator. “More of a near-death experience.”

She glared. Sort of. In truth, she’d only attempted to cook because after a couple of weeks of online communication, she’d thought Brian could be a keeper and wanted to impress him. So much for that.

As they stepped into the elevator, he asked, “What were you doing inviting a guy you’d never met to your apartment, anyway?”

“He’s a friend of a friend,” she muttered. Which was technically true, and more than Sawyer needed to know.

Marmaduke balked at the door, so she reached with her foot and gently lifted him under his belly to move him across the threshold before depositing him on the floor between her and Sawyer.

“Some vetting you have there,” he said, poking the button for the lobby.

“Excuse me? You’re one to talk about vetting with all those strays you bring home.”

He stared at her, utterly wounded. Or faking it, anyway. “Those are all lovely, talented young women.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I want to know what they’re talented at.”

He just smiled and shook his head.

“So,” she said, “why were you alone on a Friday night?” And
why
did she insist on pursuing that topic? It wasn’t as if she cared. To the contrary, she didn’t care in the least to hear what—or who—he’d done after he’d left her apartment.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Turns out I’ve already slept with every woman in New York City.” Brilliant green eyes focused on her, he added, “Except one.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not your type.” And she wasn’t, so that funny little flutter in her stomach could just shut up. If nothing else, this experiment had taught her that she really needed to get out more. There was no way this arrogant jerk should have her all twisted inside.

They exited the elevator into the lobby and headed onto the sidewalk. The air was cool enough for the sun to feel good, so she tipped back her face and briefly basked in it, only to catch Sawyer staring at her. “What?” she asked.

“You’re pretty when you smile.”

“Thank you.” She paused, then shot him another look. He’d caught her off guard with his seemingly honest compliment, but he was a player, no doubt playing his game as a reflex. “You do realize this is about you giving me tips on attracting a man, and not about you trying to attract me?”

“I’m not trying, sweetheart. But now that you mention it”—he snagged her elbow and gently pulled her out of the flow of sidewalk traffic, Marmaduke trotting behind—“part of attracting a guy is having confidence.” As he spoke, he maneuvered her against the wall, propping his coffee-holding arm beside her and leaning treacherously close until she could feel the heat of his skin.

“Lesson number one,” he said. “There’s not a man alive who won’t fall over himself to get to a woman with confidence, but you’ve got to believe in yourself. The sexier you feel, the more attractive you’ll be. I bet if you…
unburied
yourself from those mounds of clothes you wear, you wouldn’t need me at all.”

Stunned, she twisted her head to look at him. Big mistake. Green eyes studied her with a ferocity that made no sense, considering the lazy sprawl of the grin that overtook his lips.

“I’m not taking off my clothes,” she managed. Barely. “But nice try. And next time, do us both a favor and spare the theatrics.” Despite her irritation with him, her heart stuttered in her chest, the busy New York street a mere backdrop to the sudden intimacy of his whispered oath. His clean scent enveloped her, lingering with that of the coffee to dull everything that wasn’t pegged on him.