checking every corner, every shiny glass
surface, trying to keep his mind busy and off that curly-haired sexpot in the
buttoned-up blouse. He wondered if he'd made her nervous because he was the
boss, or because she recognized him from last night.
Of all the women to pick out at a sex auction,
he had to choose someone from his staff, he mused, shaking his head. One of the
best things about joining The Club was the anonymity. It was supposed to be a
fantasy and completely separate from real life. So now what? First, he'd have
to find out if she recognized him. If she did, he'd have to make sure she kept
it to herself. Hopefully she wasn't the sort to run to the tabloids. From what
Mrs. Bracknell had told him, she didn't appear to be the type of woman who
would want her name in the gossip rags. But one could never be sure.
Jack was a very private man and tried to keep
his face out of the papers, despite Alana Shepherd's attempts to get them
snapped about town together. As he'd said to Mrs. Bracknell, since his wife's
passing he'd left the business of romance to his younger brother. At
thirty-nine Jack had no plans to marry again. Living through the five shocking
months of Laura's sickness—watching her fade away from him—was something he
never wanted to go through again. Why set oneself up for more pain and
heartache?
He knew there were a lot of women looking to
land themselves a billionaire. Although his first impressions of Ms. Marianne
Miller, aka "Claudia the Brat" did not lead him to think she would be
the same, he couldn't be sure yet. Even as he tried to keep his thoughts turned
away from her, Jack realized it was a losing battle. When he saw Marianne
leaving the store at noon, he suddenly found his feet taking him through the
doors after her.
Why was he stalking her through a crowded square
and across a street in Manhattan traffic? She was a woman young enough—well,
almost, if he'd been a particularly precocious teen—to be his daughter. They
had both signed confidentiality agreements at The Club so mentioning it to her
would be a chancy business and in all likelihood she was there for the anonymity,
just as he was. She was his employee, on his payroll. There were countless
reasons why he shouldn't be following her around in the middle of his busy day.
This was something Charlie would do. Jack was the sensible one. Right?
He pinned his gaze to the figure ahead and
watched her throw coins for a violinist on the corner. In the crowd of people
surging back and forth she looked quite small and alone, walking with her head
down, an ugly woolen hat pulled down over her ears, and the collar of her coat
standing up against the brisk chill. Someone nudged her arm as they hurried by
in the other direction, causing her to step in a puddle and hunch her shoulders
even further. She was young to be in the city alone, he thought. People with
book-smarts weren't always the best at looking after themselves.
Jack's heartbeat seemed to be all over the place
today. One moment he was angry with himself and then all his thoughts were
taken up with being concerned about her. He lengthened his stride to cut down
on the number of people between them.
Why had she gone to a sex club? Why would a
good-looking, bright, vibrant young woman join a club for anonymous sex? Jack
had his reasons, but what could hers possibly be? He shook his head, suddenly
angry again. Her parents and her brothers couldn't know what she was getting up
to in the city. Someone ought to be looking out for her, before she made some
awful mistake.
As she walked into the corner coffee shop he
followed, soothing his nerves by deciding he could buy a coffee while he was
there and it wouldn't look odd—wouldn't look as if he'd just stalked her down
the block. This little place had the finest coffee, fluffiest donuts and most
delicious toasted bagels in Manhattan. He used to think it was his little
secret, but Ms. Miller knew about it and she liked breakfast at any
surface, trying to keep his mind busy and off that curly-haired sexpot in the
buttoned-up blouse. He wondered if he'd made her nervous because he was the
boss, or because she recognized him from last night.
Of all the women to pick out at a sex auction,
he had to choose someone from his staff, he mused, shaking his head. One of the
best things about joining The Club was the anonymity. It was supposed to be a
fantasy and completely separate from real life. So now what? First, he'd have
to find out if she recognized him. If she did, he'd have to make sure she kept
it to herself. Hopefully she wasn't the sort to run to the tabloids. From what
Mrs. Bracknell had told him, she didn't appear to be the type of woman who
would want her name in the gossip rags. But one could never be sure.
Jack was a very private man and tried to keep
his face out of the papers, despite Alana Shepherd's attempts to get them
snapped about town together. As he'd said to Mrs. Bracknell, since his wife's
passing he'd left the business of romance to his younger brother. At
thirty-nine Jack had no plans to marry again. Living through the five shocking
months of Laura's sickness—watching her fade away from him—was something he
never wanted to go through again. Why set oneself up for more pain and
heartache?
He knew there were a lot of women looking to
land themselves a billionaire. Although his first impressions of Ms. Marianne
Miller, aka "Claudia the Brat" did not lead him to think she would be
the same, he couldn't be sure yet. Even as he tried to keep his thoughts turned
away from her, Jack realized it was a losing battle. When he saw Marianne
leaving the store at noon, he suddenly found his feet taking him through the
doors after her.
Why was he stalking her through a crowded square
and across a street in Manhattan traffic? She was a woman young enough—well,
almost, if he'd been a particularly precocious teen—to be his daughter. They
had both signed confidentiality agreements at The Club so mentioning it to her
would be a chancy business and in all likelihood she was there for the anonymity,
just as he was. She was his employee, on his payroll. There were countless
reasons why he shouldn't be following her around in the middle of his busy day.
This was something Charlie would do. Jack was the sensible one. Right?
He pinned his gaze to the figure ahead and
watched her throw coins for a violinist on the corner. In the crowd of people
surging back and forth she looked quite small and alone, walking with her head
down, an ugly woolen hat pulled down over her ears, and the collar of her coat
standing up against the brisk chill. Someone nudged her arm as they hurried by
in the other direction, causing her to step in a puddle and hunch her shoulders
even further. She was young to be in the city alone, he thought. People with
book-smarts weren't always the best at looking after themselves.
Jack's heartbeat seemed to be all over the place
today. One moment he was angry with himself and then all his thoughts were
taken up with being concerned about her. He lengthened his stride to cut down
on the number of people between them.
Why had she gone to a sex club? Why would a
good-looking, bright, vibrant young woman join a club for anonymous sex? Jack
had his reasons, but what could hers possibly be? He shook his head, suddenly
angry again. Her parents and her brothers couldn't know what she was getting up
to in the city. Someone ought to be looking out for her, before she made some
awful mistake.
As she walked into the corner coffee shop he
followed, soothing his nerves by deciding he could buy a coffee while he was
there and it wouldn't look odd—wouldn't look as if he'd just stalked her down
the block. This little place had the finest coffee, fluffiest donuts and most
delicious toasted bagels in Manhattan. He used to think it was his little
secret, but Ms. Miller knew about it and she liked breakfast at any
Similar Books
