When Nick awoke the next morning, his resolve had only strengthened. This was his mess and he was going to clean it up. When he’d first discovered that meant having sex with an attractive woman, then he was willing to take one for the team. After meeting Rita, the prospect wasn’t quite so alluring, but he had to suck it up and get the job done.

Even if he wasn’t keen on the prize, the thrill of the hunt should help get him in the mood. It had been a while since his first play for a woman hadn’t at least peaked her interest. He could always use an opportunity to expand his repertoire of seduction techniques. Practice on Rita and use them later for a woman he really wanted.

Rita probably wasn’t as bad as she seemed. She’d obviously had a rough day. Once he got to know her, he’d find that special inner quality that would get his motor running.

Or so he prayed.

 

He went to work that morning, but only to check in with Janine and tell her he’d be doing research outside the office all morning. She could contact him by cell. Then he took his laptop and set up temporary office in the Starbucks across from Rita’s office.

He nursed a cappuccino for three hours. No one complained. One young barista even came over, topped up his drink and slipped him a muffin. He was an attractive, wedding-band-free guy in a suit working in their front window. In a business district filled with single women, that wasn’t loitering—it was advertising.

It was lunch time when Rita finally appeared. He watched as she went into the same bistro where she’d had a drink the night before. Then he slid off the stool, watching out the window for her as he repacked his gear. He made it out the door just in time. Rita had bought take-out and was already heading back to her building.

He cut across the busy street, loped up behind her and caught the door as she was opening it.

"I can get my own—" she snapped before glancing over her shoulder and seeing him. "Oh, it’s you. Which part of ‘get lost’ didn’t you understand yesterday?"

She tried to make that her parting shot, yanking on the door to disappear inside, but he held it fast. Now, for the first time, she gave him a once over. Quickly the first time, then another, slower look. So far so good . . .

"No, I’m not stalking you," he said. "I work down the block, at Donovan and Myers, and I’m afraid I made a bad impression last night, so when I saw you—"

She pulled on the door again, that flicker of interest fading fast. When he didn’t let her open it, she said, icily, "I would like to get into my office."

"And I would like to apologize." Nick gave another easy smile, but with a note that wasn’t so polite. "I’m sorry you missed your cab last night. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you too much."

His tone was laced with sarcasm. More than he intended and he braced himself for her to snap at him. Instead she released the door.

Was it his imagination or did interest spark behind those glasses? He moved closer. Too close, looming over her. He didn’t just imagine her breath coming a little faster.

Alpha male, he reminded himself. Channel the alpha male. He paused, waiting for that inner core of aggression to surge. Nothing happened. Okay, then. Fake it.

"I’m going to take you to lunch," he said.

"I bought it already," she lifted her bag, swinging it, lips curving in a smile that she probably considered coy.

"Not any more." He snatched the bag, baring his teeth in a grin.

Now it was her turn to pause. He could see her resolve faltering. "I’m seeing someone . . ."

"Are you?" He looked around. "I don’t see him here. Are you warning me?" Another flash of teeth. "Or asking if you can invite him?"

Now that one should have earned him a slap. But her lips parted and she leaned toward him—

"Rita?"

Nick glanced over to see a middle-aged woman, brows knitted with concern. He eased back, his smile morphing into one of his natural ones. The woman’s forehead smoothed, but her gaze was still wary as she approached.

"Did you get your lunch, Rita?" she asked.

Rita’s scowl returned, words clipped. "Yes, I did."

Nick passed her the bag. He knew he should say something, but was momentarily stumped. Too friendly, and he’d lose Rita’s attention. Too sharp, and he’d arouse the older woman’s suspicions.

He settled for meeting Rita’s gaze, calling on that inner wolf to seep through while his tone remained light. "As I was saying, while that lunch does look good, I’m sure I can come up with something better."

A glint of teeth. Rita sucked in her breath.

"Rita?" the other woman said. "We really should be getting inside. Our meeting starts—"

"I know when our meeting starts."

The older woman’s gaze chilled. "Did I mention Darren called you this morning? He left a message with Brianna."

Darren. The boyfriend. Damn.

Rita looked up at him. "I have to go."

Another teeth-flashing smile. "I understand. Why don’t you give me your card—"

"I shouldn’t." She tried again, firmer. "I really shouldn’t."

The older woman shot him a glare almost as cold as one of Rita’s, then bustled her inside.

 

Nick circled the block, walking fast, trying to clear his head. He told himself he’d been close and he’d just need to bump into her again, but he knew that was bullshit. If he’d been that close, she’d have found a way to slip him her number. He’d waited outside the building for fifteen minutes and she hadn’t shown.

Close? No. He’d just stepped onto the playing field, and the moment an obstacle arose, he’d been stumped, unable to move past it.

He wasn’t an alpha male. He just wasn’t. He could fake it, be more assertive than usual, but that wasn’t enough. He’d seen the way she’d looked when he’d held that door shut, when he’d moved into her personal space, cornering her. That wasn’t alpha. That was "call the cops and prepare the restraining order." And she’d gobbled it up.

If he had to travel further down that road to finish this thing . . . He shuddered. Travel any further in that direction and there was no way he could finish it. He wasn’t—

His cell phone rang. One glance at caller ID and he let out a curse.

"Hey," he said as he answered. "Sorry I wasn’t there for your call this morning. I’ve been racing around, trying to finish this campaign . . ."

"Is everything okay?" his father asked.

"Oh, sure. It’s chugging along. Ran into some trouble with one of the writers, trying to sound like he’s twenty—"

"I don’t mean the campaign. You were supposed to have lunch with the Cheungs and show them around New York this afternoon. Bill just called—"

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry. Is it too late?" He checked his watch. "I’d made reservations at . . ." He racked his brain. "The Plaza. For one. That’s right." Another watch check. "I can still make it. Just tell them . . . No, wait. I’ll call and tell them—ask them—to meet me there. I’ll get someone to pick them up—"

"Nick?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Sure. I’m just—I’m sorry. Totally slipped my mind. I’ll fix this, then I’ll call you back after lunch."

He signed off and took a deep breath. God, he couldn’t believe he’d done that. He didn’t even want to imagine what Antonio was thinking right now. Shaking his head, seeing Nick backsliding, all the hopes he’d built up in the last couple of years, seeing his son finally growing up and playing a role Trying not to feel a pang of disappointment. Telling himself it was a one-time slip . . . and knowing it almost certainly wasn’t. Nick reverting to being Nick. As immature and unreliable as ever.

That settled it. No more messing around. Go to lunch and do his duty, then come back and do his other duty. Seduce Rita, whatever it took.

 

An hour later, Rita stepped into the hall and found Nick standing there. Her eyes widened.

"How’d you—?"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the stairwell. She didn’t even put up a token resistance. He tugged her into the corner, her back to the wall, standing so close her breasts brushed his chest.

"How’d I get in here?" He flashed his wolf grin. "Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I thought maybe no didn’t really mean no."

"It did," she said. "I really have to go."

It took almost ten seconds for her to follow-up that statement with action and even then, she only slowly sidestepped. When his arm shot out to stop her, she squeaked, her gaze flying up to his, her eyes widening, all traces of the ball-buster from the night before gone.

"I really have to go," she said, her liquid gaze on his, lips parted, breathing fast. All but fluttering her damned lashes and threatening to swoon.

She put her hand on his chest and gave the smallest push. He didn’t budge. That didn’t seem to be the response she wanted, though, her lips pursing in a small moue of disappointment.

She pushed harder. Confused, he started following his instinct and stepping back. Her lips pursed more, eyes narrowing in a flash of anger. Her hand shot up.

Again, instinct kicked in and he caught it. She let out a small mew, and he started to drop her hand, apology flying to his lips, when she looked up, face lifting to his, eyes once again dark with desire.

"Please don’t hurt me."

He dropped her hand so fast she blinked. He stepped back, fighting the urge to shudder.

Okay, that was it. Duty or not, there were some things he couldn’t do.

"You’re right," he said. "You do have to go."

"What?"

He smoothed his shirt. "I made a mistake. Now go on back to your boyfriend."

He braced himself for the lash of her fury. But she just froze, as if in shock. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and the smell of her excitement surged.

"I’m sorry," she said. "I was mean to you earlier. I was naughty. You have every right to be angry and want to punish—"

"Leave," he said, stepping back. "I want to leave."

She bit her lip, eyes dark with lust. "That’s not very nice. Get me all worked up and then just walk away. That’s just . . ." She met his gaze. "Nasty."

He turned and headed for the stairwell, fighting the urge to break into a run.

"You know where to find me," she called after him.

He took the steps two at a time.