The Arrangement: The Seduction (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3 page)

I take in his strong profile, noting that even when he’s scowling, which is most of the time, he’s handsome, in a gruff, take-no-prisoners kind of way.

“You’re hot, Princess.”

I blink, surprised at his sudden admission. Embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

“I don’t like that dark parking lot. I kept an eye out until I knew you were safely in your car.”

Oh. My. Stalkerish or sweet? Maybe a little of both. I’m intrigued by him. I force my attention back to his hands and gently wipe the antibiotic cream onto his knuckles. Taking care of his injuries is the least I can do to repay him for saving me.

I lean down and blow on his hand again. His big body trembles, and I suppress a grin. I like knowing I can affect him too.

Finished with my lame attempt at first aid, I crumple the gauze in my hand.

“Just leave it. I’ll throw it out later.”

I manage a nod and get ready to leave. “I can wave from the doorway.” I gesture to the walk-up building where my friend lives. I’d texted her earlier to let her know I’d be coming. Too late, I realize I left my bag for the morning in my car. Nothing I can do about it now.

“Nope. Inside safe. That’s what I said, remember?” Before I can blink, he’s out the door and walks around to my side of the truck.

I push the door open, slide out, and allow him to walk me up the steps. He props an arm against the glass pane beside the doorway and stares at me with serious eyes.

“Thanks for the ride. And for the save.” I glance down because I sound like an idiot, but what do you say to the guy who— I don’t want to remember what he did to the jerk who accosted me. I’d rather just consider him my hero without thinking about the gory details. Or his intense reaction to my being attacked. Or the fact that he’d been watching out for me.

He tucks a finger beneath my chin and forces my gaze to his. “You okay?” he asks, his voice like sandpaper, gravelly as it scrapes over me, bringing a distinct sexual awareness with it.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“I’m glad. Now, think I can get your name?” he asks, those sexy lips tilting upward.

I grin. I can’t believe I demanded his and never gave mine in return. “Chloe,” I say as I ring the buzzer to Robin’s apartment.

He nods. “Pretty name.”

My skin prickles with awareness. He leans in close, his lips inches from mine. “Get inside safe, Chloe.” His breath tickles my lips, teasing me with his delicious scent. I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. Against all common sense or reason, I want him to.

The buzzer sounds to let me in before he gets the chance. He straightens and pulls open the door before I lose the opportunity to get inside. “Sleep tight, Princess.”

I shiver and step into the hallway. He walks away, and I watch until he’s at his car. Even his swagger is a turn-on. One thing I know, sleep is the last thing I’ll be able to do.

Chapter Two

I wake up on my friend’s couch the next morning. Robin has already left for work. It’s Saturday, and I don’t have classes, but I do have to study. And get my tires fixed. I have two choices. I can call AAA or BMW Roadside Assistance, but then my parents will find out since I’ll need a credit card and they’ll see the bill.

Or I can ask Sean to help me.

I choose Sean. He won’t tell my parents, and he’ll lend me the money for the tires and repair. I call. He’s curt and sounds busy, but he doesn’t rush me off the phone. I quickly explain my situation, omitting the part about being attacked in the lot.

“I’m sorry to bother you but—”

“Just text me the address where you left the car. I’ll have it handled, and the car will be returned to you good as new.”

“Thanks, Sean. You’re a good guy,” I tell him because he needs to hear it.

“You know better than that.” His answer is predictable. And wrong.

He has more important things to deal with than an old friend with car problems, yet he agrees to help. And he refuses to discuss money and my paying him back. That’s my definition of a good guy. At the very least, he’s good to me. I hope Avery is worthy of him. He needs someone who cares in his life.

“You need a ride home? A car in the meantime?” he asks.

“Nope. I made other arrangements,” I fib because I don’t want to put him out any more than I already have. “Thanks again.” I hang up before he can ask me specific questions about how I plan on getting to and from work, dorm, and classes. This is my chance to learn how to handle the bus and the subway.

From here, it’s a fifteen-block walk to the dorm, and I exit the brownstone. Robin left me shorts and a tank top and a pair of sneakers to wear, which I appreciate. I don’t have too many close friends. Growing up, I was isolated, thanks to my parents’ inability to see the good in anyone except people they chose for their money or connections.

I met Robin when I started at the university, and we clicked immediately. She doesn’t understand my
rich people problems
, as she calls them, but she gets family dysfunction, and as a result, she gets me.

I step outside and the fresh air surrounds me. After a not-so-decent night’s sleep on the sofa, I can almost believe the surreal parts of last night never happened. Until I lay eyes on Zach Anders.

He leans against the brownstone railing. The morning sun hits his hair, making the blond strands even more noticeable and his green eyes even more striking. His arms are folded over his broad chest. He’s wearing a light blue tee shirt that molds to his toned body, and I am sure if I take his right hand in mine, his knuckles will be bruised and raw.

I shake my head, accepting that everything I remember about last night really occurred. No dream, no nightmare, or combination thereof.

“Hey, Princess,” he says. “Can I give you a lift?” His gaze travels over me in blatant appraisal.

I feel his stare on my bare legs and thighs, on my tingling breasts beneath my top. Even the hair on my arms prickles and lifts in awareness.

I swallow hard. “I was planning to walk.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Now you don’t have to.” He points to his truck. In the light of day, I see it’s black and definitely fits his macho image.

“Why are you here?” I ask, remaining two steps above him, safe from his magnetic pull. For now.

“Because I left you stranded here and figured you’d need a ride.”

I blow out a breath and start down the steps, walking past him. “I’m good, but thanks.”

He walks with me, matching his long stride to mine. “Where are you off to?”

“I’m going back to my dorm.”

He clears his throat. “How old are you, anyway? Say you’re legal or I might have to throw myself in front of a taxi.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “Twenty-two.”

He grins. “Perfect. Want to get breakfast?”

He’s in a good mood this morning, no signs of last night’s trauma lingering for him. I, on the other hand, had flashbacks all night.

“Why?” I ask, stopping on the sidewalk.

His eyes crinkle in amusement. “Because I’m hungry.”

“No, why are you here wanting to spend time with me?”

“Is it so hard to believe I’m interested in you?” he asks.

When those words come from his perfect mouth, I realize there’s no way to answer without insulting myself. I do it anyway. “Yes, it is.”

He frowns. A seriously angry expression on that handsome face. “Who gave you the idea you don’t make one hell of an impression?” he asks, clasping my hand in his.

I don’t have any intention of answering that. “Who gave you the idea you’re so irresistible I’m going to say yes?” I pointedly stare at our intertwined fingers. His large, tanned hand holds my smaller, paler one. I can’t tear my gaze away from the contrast or how protected he makes me feel.

It’s weird and inexplicable. I worry I can’t trust my instincts anymore, but I really like him, and I don’t want to say no.

“Come on. It’s just a meal. I haven’t eaten yet this morning. How about you?”

My traitorous stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly.

He laughs and I blush.

“Guess that answers that. Come on. I want pancakes.”

I sputter and find myself walking along with him. Of course my hand is still in his warmer one, and I like the sensation. Uh oh. What happened to swearing off guys? And this is no guy. He’s a man.
All
man.

But he doesn’t know about the sex tape or he’d be leering at me the way the rest of them do. And he seems genuinely interested in me. And sweet, if you don’t count last night’s incident. And even that was nice in a protective kind of way.

“So how much more of school do you have left?” he asks.

“Just this last semester.”

“What’s your major?”

“Business,” I say. “But that’s not my life plan.”

“No? What is?” He sounds genuinely interested.

I smile. “I have a minor in culinary arts.” This I slipped past my parents. To be a sous chef, I need courses in nutrition, food safety and sanitation, and supervisory management. Add in the business classes there and I’m golden. “I want to be a chef.” Saying the words out loud makes my goals that much more real to me.

“Really? Sounds great,” he says.

He seems interested, so I continue. “When I graduate, I need to find full-time work for an accredited supervising chef, and that’s no easy task. There’s one in the tri-state area, at The Westchester Country Club. It’s insanely exclusive, and they’re not currently looking.”

He chokes, and I pause, waiting for him to catch his breath. “Are you okay?”

He takes a long sip of water and nods. “I’m fine. Go on.”

“Well, even if they were looking for an apprentice for their chef, I can’t see why they’d hire me over someone who’s already had experience in big kitchens.

“You never know.” He glances at me, warmth in his gaze. I want to think I see approval too, and my body heats up in the best kind of way. “Things turn up when you least expect it.”

I shrug. “I hope so. Either way, I’ll keep working my way up. I plan to get certified.”

He nods in understanding. “So you’re majoring in business because…”

I glance away. Admitting the truth minimizes my desires and shows I’m still too young. I raise my chin a notch. “My parents wouldn’t pay for culinary school, which would have sped up the process and enabled me to find the right jobs more easily. I figure if I want to own my own restaurant one day, I need the background.”

He nods. “Solid plan. I like to cook too.”

I’m surprised. And pleased we have something in common.

“We’re here,” he says before I can reply.

He stops in front of a typical city diner, holds open the door, and I step inside. The place is small, booths along one side, each with seating for two total, tables for four along the middle, and more single booths. Behind the counter, delicious-looking pastries tempt me.

He chooses one of the booths in the back, and we settle in. He sits across from me, but the booth is small, and our knees touch beneath the table. I shiver unexpectedly.

Before we can begin talking again, a waitress approaches. “Coffee?” she asks in a cigarette-roughened voice.

“Yes, please.” I wake up craving caffeine.

“Me too.”

She pours into the waiting cups and disappears.

“So why a chef?” He takes a sip of his coffee. I notice he drinks it black.

I add milk and one sugar to mine. “Well … if I wanted to eat, I needed to learn to cook. My parents were always out at the country club or at business dinners. Mom didn’t worry much about me. There was always cereal in the cabinets but…” I shake my head. Whenever I speak of my childhood, I have to do it over a painful lump in my throat.

He stares at me through hooded eyes. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. Poor little rich girl. I push on. “Anyway, I watched cooking shows. And I learned.” I draw a deep breath. “I’m good at it, and I love cooking. Especially delicious breakfast foods. You?” I don’t want to talk about me. I’d rather learn about him.

“I want to eat, so I learned to cook. Like you, I enjoy it.”

I grin. “That’s cool,” I say. “So what do you do for a living?”

“I dabble.”

I sip my coffee, unsatisfied with his answer. “What does that mean exactly?”

“I’m in business … and I have my PI license, and I’m good at digging up information.” A shrug. “People hire me for this and that.”

“And you make a living that way?” I cringe. I was raised better than to blurt out what’s on my mind.

Instead of being annoyed, he bursts out laughing. “Yes, Princess, I do. You’d be amazed the things people will pay to find out.”

“Huh.” I lift my coffee and take another nice long sip of caffeine. Then another.

Closing my eyes, I lean back and enjoy the burnt brew because I know, no matter how lousy the taste, the lovely caffeine will soon begin to flow through my veins. I moan softly at the thought.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” I ask as my eyelids snap open.