The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (48 page)

“The only
pussy
on your mind is the one you’ll be chasing after you’ve had a few drinks,” I laugh at his expense.

Winking with his devilish smile, Ben slides out of the taxi at the curb, “Daddy’s home, ladies, let’s get this party started!”

Pulling a bill from my wallet, I pay the driver, offering a quick thank you before sliding across the bench seat towards the open door. It’s typical Ben behavior to simply assume I’ll pay.
What a dickhead he can be sometimes,
I chuckle to myself, lazily pushing myself from the car, closing the door behind me.

“Take your time . . . ” he spews dramatically from the sidewalk.

Releasing a sigh, I turn towards his impatient stance at the club’s front entrance. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I mutter dryly, forcing myself to find the energy that I don’t seem to have.

Sliding his arm around my shoulder, he flashes his innocent smile, “You’ll enjoy yourself, shithead, I promise.” He opens the front door, pulling me along with him. “You need to unwind buddy. Relax a little. It’s a fortnight before you leave for LA again, so don’t be such a wanker.”

Laughing, I push his arm off my shoulder, “Damn, you’re such a pain in my arse.”

“And that’s why you love me, ol’ buddy,” he spews back through a smile from ear to ear, turning to lead the way into the crowded club.

Heading in the direction of the bar, I’m waylaid by numerous women, each vying for my attention. They thrust their chests towards me, offering their come-hither smiles, or some fake attempt at conversation. I’m usually humbled by the attention, and truly appreciative of the fans, but tonight I’m not in the mood for a phony ploy at getting to know me. It’s fairly clear by their body language and flirty smiles that they simply want to spend a night with an actor, and that’s not something that appeals to me in the least. Ben and I differ that way.

Just once I’d love to meet a woman who wants to know the
real
me, apart from the fame. Someone who doesn’t care about the notoriety and is simply interested in me as a person. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to come across her. Most people don’t realize their motives are plastered all over their faces. Over the past few years, I’ve become an expert in detection at the mere point of eye contact. But that’s the nature of the beast.
I chose to be an actor, therefore it comes with the territory.

I summon a gallant smile for each playful temptress, their pulls on my arms, one after the other, halting my process through the crowd. It takes several minutes before I slide myself onto the stool next to Ben.

“Your
cranberry
juice, pussy-wanker,” he slurs the word, gesturing towards the drink the bartender is placing before me, clearly ribbing me at my adamancy that I won’t be drinking tonight.

“Thanks bud,” I reply, clinking our glasses together. “And thanks for hauling my ass out tonight. It’s good to see you.”

“ALL I HEARD was, ‘blah, blah, blah,’ then I kissed her goodnight,” Ben smiles as though it’s a proud memory to share.

“You know you’re an asshole, right?”

“Get off your high horse, Prick-Charming. You enjoy the ladies just as much as I do. Don’t you have a fuck-mate phone-a-friend at your beck and call?” he jabs my ribs with his elbow.

“Fuck off, it’s not like that,” I jovially push his arm away.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“She’s not at my
beck and call,
” I twist the phrase, attempting to rinse away his filthy suggestion. “We happen to have a mutual
respect
for each other, which includes our understanding that neither of us wants anything more from the other.” I know I’m wasting my breath. My ongoing casual affair with Helena is something Ben would never understand, and I’m not about to disrespect her by entertaining his lame attempt to squeeze details out of me.

“R-ight,” he drawls sarcastically. “Whatever you say . . . {cough} . . . Bullshit . . . {cough},” he takes a swig of his drink.

“You’d have more luck with women if you learned to respect them, buddy.” Why do I bother attempting to discuss respect with him?
The man doesn’t even need to know a woman’s name before he takes her to bed. I, on the other hand, prefer to actually
like
the woman I’m having sex with.

“What? I respect women,” he splays his hands in a sarcastic display of offense. “Particularly when they’re naked.”

There’s no hope for him,
I laugh it off, shaking my head as I turn to scan the bar. My eyes catch the side profile of a stunning brunette sidetracking her way through the crowd—long, wavy brown locks cascading down her back, swooshing along with each step.
Wow, she’s beautiful.
Her angelic face and regal demeanor are a striking contrast to the bright floral tattoos donning her upper back, peeking through beneath her thick mane.

“Oh, yeah . . . I’d bite my arm off for that one,” Ben chimes in, noticing the woman that’s ensnared my gaze.

“I don’t doubt that,” I turn to him, laughing, the vision of beauty having disappeared into the loo. “What about the woman you were just talking about?”

“Blah, blah, blah, what woman?” he winks.

“You’re such a prize, I shove him in jest, “Player.”

“Hardy-har-har, fuck nuts,” he smiles.

My thoughts return to the charming brunette, and I unconsciously turn in my stool to face the crowd in hopes of watching her pass once more. Not that I’d ever approach her, regardless of my instant interest. She’d assume I was trying to pick her up—as do most men who approach a beautiful woman in a club. That’s not my style. I’m not looking for a one-night stand. I want someone to love. A wife. A partner.

“Fuck man, she’s something else,” I hear Ben whistle.

Following his gaze, my eyes land on the beautiful brunette rounding the corner of the bar.
That she is,
I think to myself, watching her every step.
And she’s walking this way.
I take measure of her slender frame as she maneuvers closer, seamlessly skirting around the throng of patrons. About five foot six, or seven, gorgeous long wavy hair, blue eyes—I think, it’s fairly dark in here
.
And that dress . . . an elegant, yet sexy as hell, black dress swirling along her toned legs—legs making their way right in front of me. She walks with an air of grace and confidence, a perpetual teasing smile donning her lips as though she’s having the time of her life.

Shit,
I tense, noticing her get knocked sideways. The sashay of the crowd causes a slight stir and before I know it, she’s falling, landing directly in my lap. Wrapping my hands instinctively around her waist, I secure her in place, offering support in her unexpected tumble. Several thoughts flow through my mind . . .
What are the chances . . .
and,
bugger, she’s getting an up close and personal introduction to my dick
—which came to attention the moment I laid eyes on her. “Whoa, sweetheart,” I manage through my tempting thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. I’m
sooooo
sorry,” she replies in a soft voice, slightly laced with embarrassment, her American accent evident. Her dainty fingers slide onto my thighs and a slight stir runs through me as she moves to push herself up.

I wage the war inside my head, considering holding her in place. She feels good in my hands, my lap. Pushing the thought aside, I move to stand, assisting in her rise, slight disappointment coursing through me at the loss of her body so close to mine.

As she turns to face me, my hands inadvertently fall from her waist. At this close range, I’m momentarily stunned by how beautiful she truly is. I can’t say I’ve ever seen the like, and I’ve seen a lot of beautiful woman. Yet it’s as though she doesn’t realize the extent of her blessed looks. She seems natural.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I rest my hands on her shoulders to ensure that the impact didn’t stun her too badly—or, perhaps, in my need to touch her again.

She remains unmoving, staring up at me. Not that I mind. I’m ensnared by her eyes. Blue-grey, I realize. Practically slate in color. I see a flash of recognition cross her face as she takes me in, yet she still doesn’t speak.
Interesting.

“Are you okay? I just saw you get pushed. Where did that bastard go?” I register the woman that’s approached us, but my gaze is locked on the beautiful angel standing before me. “Holy
shit.
Aby, introduce me to your savior so I can properly thank him,” the woman’s tone slightly flirty.

I can’t tear my eyes away from . . . Aby.
Beautiful Aby.

“Ummm . . . I haven’t quite met him myself,” Aby mutters, staring searchingly into my eyes.

She’s adorable.
No fan-crazed freak out, no ‘Oh My God . . . you’re Alexander Tate!.’ Not even a typically instant fake flirtation. Just complete normalcy. In this moment I feel like a regular man meeting a regular woman. Simple, no complications, no pretenses. Just two people lucky enough to connect on some level.

Begrudgingly, I remove my hands from her shoulders, “No thanks required. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m Alex, and you’re Aby?”

Okay, maybe she is a little star-struck—
although that’s a presumptuous thought
. Maybe she’s just quiet.
She’s staring at me intently, her dainty perfectly manicured fingers brushing her full, slightly parted lips.

“Alex, good man,” a friend’s voice forces my gaze to greet him.

“How are you, Thomas?”
Poor timing, mate.
What are the odds of running into him right now?
Shit, I hope it’s not a work outing.
Helena is the last person I want to run into at this moment.

“Good, good. Enjoying a night out with the ladies. I see you’ve come to Aby’s aid.”

Oh, he’s here with Aby.
Are they dating?
Noting Thomas place his arm around Aby’s friend, I smile, realizing that he must be here with the redhead. “I guess I have,” I return my gaze to the beauty before me.

“I’m Stacey Stevenson,” the lively redhead pulls my gaze once more.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I smile, quickly turning back to Aby, the silent pull of her eyes making me wish we were alone.

“Your fall has clearly shaken you up,” Stacey continues. “Perhaps Alex should fetch you a drink.”

Brilliant idea. Thank you Miss Stevenson.

“No, no. I’m fine. Really. Thank you for saving my fall,” Aby finally speaks.

“It would be my pleasure to get you a drink.”
An absolute pleasure,
I smile at the idea
.

“Excellent. Thomas, how ‘bout you and I go have a ciggy on the terrace. Aby seems to be in good hands. See you in a bit,” Stacey drags Thomas off through the crowd.

“Shall we?” I ask, excited to have her all to myself.

“Shall we . . . ?” she questions, brushing those tantalizing lips once more.

“Shall we go get you a drink?” I clarify, taken by her charming shyness.

“Oh . . . right. Okay,” she smiles, and I’m momentarily stunned by how exquisite she is.

As she turns towards the bar, I place my hand at the small of her back.
Any excuse to touch her again.
I’m
thankful to see that Ben is occupied—likely having found himself his evening’s conquest.
Typical Ben.
The likeness of my current predicament stirs a slight foul taste in my mouth.
But I’m not Ben.
My intentions are to merely get to know this woman, not take her home. “What are you drinking?”

“Heineken.”

She’s a beer drinker. I like that.
Flashing her a smile, I turn to place our order.

“Thank you,” she replies as I hand her the bottle.

She has the cutest little button nose.
“You’re very welcome.
And her eyes . . . beautiful.
Why don’t we take a seat? I have a table just up the stairs.”

She follows my gesture towards the private area Ben and I usually occupy, but says nothing. I’ll take that as a yes
. . . She didn’t say no,
I smile, placing my hand at her back. “After you.”

Making our way up the steps, I fight the urge to brush her hair aside, goaded to get a closer look at the flowers on her back. Despite my internal struggle to fight the temptation to check her out, I can’t resist glancing at her shapely body, her perfectly shaped curves shielded beneath the black silk. My fingers itch to feel her plump ass in my hands.
Jesus, man. Stop it,
I castigate myself, reaching the top of the stairs.

“Your friend at the bar, I think he’s looking for you.”

Forcing my gaze away from her body, I notice her looking over the railing towards Ben. “He’ll survive without me,” I motion for her to take a seat. He’s ditched me enough times over the years to chase a woman, he can return the favor this one time.

Slightly mesmerized, I watch her slide across the leather bench, before taking a seat on the other side. I would have sat right next to her, but I don’t want to give her the wrong impression. This seating arrangement works though, her smooth legs brushing my knees, the thought of what’s hidden underneath her dress flashing through my mind.
Lace? A thong?

God she’s stunning.
I feel guilty for undressing her with my eyes. This is the type of woman you marry, not the type of woman you ogle devilishly, but I can’t help myself.