Chapter One
Getting out of his sleek, black SUV, Ethan Stone threw the car keys to the handy valet waiting for arriving guests.
“Enjoy your night,” the man said politely, easily catching the keys.
“Thank you,” Ethan replied automatically even as he tugged on the bow tie of his tuxedo.
He hated wearing these fucking things. Ethan barely tolerated the suits he wore way too fucking often for his liking. Give him a goddamn pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Some boots with some construction dirt on it.
Glancing at the large banners advertising tonight’s event at Pier Sixty, Ethan’s mood nosedived even more. He certainly could barely tolerate the pretentious galas and five grand a plate fundraisers that were part and parcel of New York’s social scene.
For the most part, Ethan avoided this bullshit like the plague. He wrote enormous checks every six months to his two favorite charities and made sure the money wasn’t being flushed down the drain. He didn’t go to galas and charity dinners. Ethan didn’t need to see and be seen. But he did need a particular piece of land for his latest planned development.
Looking up at the banner again, he noticed it had a stylized outline of a dancer and Ethan almost growled as he pulled out his cell and dialed his executive assistant.
“Are you sure that asshole is going to be here?”
Ethan didn’t need to see Tom to know he was rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Ethan. He’ll be there. Colton’s appearance tonight was all over his socials.”
“His socials,” Ethan mocked. “Jesus Fucking Christ. That guy’s such an asshole.”
“He’s a billionaire who listens to no one and does whatever the hell he wants,” Tom said cheekily. “Remind you of anyone?”
“I listen.”
Wisely, Tom didn’t respond. “You got a plan?”
Ethan scoffed. “Yeah, my plan is to tell him I’ll write him a fucking check right now and to stop being a fucking pain in the ass. He doesn’t need that piece of land. I know he’s looking to unload it.”
“Yeah,” his assistant agreed. “He’s just being difficult. Maybe try a little bit of charm.”
Now, it was Ethan’s turn to roll his eyes. “He’s lucky I don’t want to add another twenty-five million to this project or I’d tell him to fucking kiss my ass.”
“You’re cranky that you had to put on a tux and go mingle with humans,” Tom noted sagely. “But it’s a good thing, you know. There’s more to life than work and your cat.”
“She’s not my cat,” Ethan said automatically. “She came with the condo.”
Ignoring the snicker that filtered through the phone line, Ethan started following the banners. “What the hell is this thing for anyway? Am I supposed to be writing a check?”
“You already did,” Tom said, competent as always. “It was ten thousand just to buy a ticket.”
“Jesus,” Ethan growled. “Tell me I’m not paying to save underfed ants or something equally ridiculous.”
It was truly ridiculous the way money flowed in this city. Not to mention that the grifting and scams were always stewed to a perfection in New York City.
Ethan waited a moment, knowing Tom was likely looking through his very organized notes. “No, it’s the New York Foundation for the Arts, Ethan. All the money is going to fund their grants and programs.”
He acknowledged the information with a grunt. Ethan gave his money to breast cancer research and animal shelters. The arts were another universe to him, but better than underfed ants, he supposed.
“There’s going to be silent and live auctions,” Tom informed him. “There’s some pretty cool stuff on there—”
“I’m not here to bid on bullshit,” Ethan growled, his bad mood not at all dissipating. “I’m here to get that damn property and get the hell out.”
“Go get a drink,” Tom suggested. “Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself with some booze in you. There’s supposed to be a modern dance performance that’ll blow your mind.”
“I don’t give a shit about modern dance—umphf.”
Ethan’s words ended on a small grunt when a blur rounded a corner and slammed straight into him. The woman rebounded off him like a rubber ball and landed on her ass.
“Shit,” Ethan cursed, looking at the woman sprawled at his feet.
Her delicate features looked dazed. Ethan was six four and built like a linebacker so she must be feeling like she hit a brick wall. Her big, duffel bag scattered in one direction and her phone in another.
Tom was droning in his ear, but Ethan simply hung up.
“Are you okay?” he said and for some reason, his voice sounded so soft, Ethan almost didn’t recognize it himself.
He crouched down to inspect her more closely and swallowed hard at the dazzling eyes that looked up at him. Large and almond-shaped with a color that called to mind melted caramel.
Stunning.
She was bundled up in a sweatshirt and scarf. The close-fitted, knitted cap on her head covered up her hair too, but Ethan could see one dark, long curl escaping. There was a light pink pom pom at the top of her hat that matched the light pink color of her lips.
Instead of answering, she closed her eyes, making him panic a little.
“Hey,” he repeated, watching her run gloved hands along her knees and even reaching forward to her ankles. “Answer me, little one. Are you hurt?”
“I’m checking,” she replied, eyes still closed as if taking inventory of her body. “Okay, I’m fine. Nothing sprained or twisted.”
That response was a little strange to Ethan, but then those glorious eyes opened again and his brain was a near blank. He’d never seen eyes that color. There was also a tiny beauty mark at the top of her right cheek. His fingers suddenly itched to smooth over her skin.
She looked like she was made of satin and cream. Soft, delicate, sweet. Ethan had never been more aware that his hands would likely feel like rough sand paper on that skin.
He didn’t do delicate and sweet. But the combination of her delicate features and that errant curl had him almost mesmerized.
“Now I know what it feels like when you hit a wall,” she said, bringing him out of his trance.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he said with an edge of curtness, feeling guilty even though he’d been minding his own damn business. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You were looking at your phone, weren’t you?”
She gave a little wince, but then admitted, “Guilty as charged.”
Ethan eyed her fresh, make-up free face. She didn’t look like a teenager or anything, but Christ, he was thirty-six. Anything under twenty-five was likely to give him a stomach ache.
“How old are you?” he asked bluntly.
She blinked at the abrupt question and then laughed, a delightful, husky sound that went straight to his dick.
“That’s a dangerous question to ask a woman.” She looked around, clearly looking for her stuff. “But I wasn’t looking at my phone because I’m obsessed with my social media. I’m not fifteen.”
“Are you on social media?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
He wasn’t. Stone Construction and Development had social media accounts but Ethan didn’t have any personal ones.
“I’m not.”
She peered at him like he had just confessed to being an alien. “Really?”
He shrugged and extended a hand to help her to her feet. She accepted and when Ethan tugged her up, he knew she was tiny. Not necessarily short, but dainty. He’d brought her to her feet with zero effort. Her bulky sweater and scarf swallowed her up so he couldn’t detect much beyond that stunning, mischievous face. But she was light as a feather. He could probably pick her up, carry her around all day and not break a sweat. She was like a little winter sprite, causing unexpected havoc with his night.
“You must be a unicorn,” she teased, spotting her phone and sweeping it up with a sound of relief. “Oh, dear lord, I’m so late.”
Ethan looked around and grabbed her duffel bag. “Late to what?”
“Thank you,” she said, but didn’t answer him.
When she grabbed the strap of her bag, he didn’t let go.
“Late to what?”
She raised one slim eyebrow. “Do you always expect your questions to get answered?”
“Yes.” Ethan tugged a little on the bag and it brought her close enough to him that her flowery scent assaulted his senses. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
With a little shrug, she looked up, pointing to the banner above their head. “Probably the same place you are.” She looked at him and his tux meaningfully.
“You’re working this thing?”
“Something like that,” she said, that adorable smile still toying across her lips. “Now, c’mon, we are both going to be late.” Another little tug on the strap. “You’re going to miss all the best auction pieces.”
“I don’t give a fuck about art,” he answered honestly, reluctant to release his hold on the bag.
“You don’t?” His little sprite’s eyes went wide. “Why are you here then?”
“To convince some asshole to sell me something.” Another honest and unvarnished response.
For some inexplicable reason, he didn’t want to stop talking to her. Ethan certainly didn’t want to share her attention with a room full of people. Was he really supposed to let her go and spend all night watching her serve champagne and canapés when all he wanted was her attention focused solely on him? Fuck that noise.
“That’s a really sad reason,” she said suddenly, caramel eyes going a little shadowed in what Ethan was sure was disappointment. “I’m guessing you don’t even dance, do you?”
The answer was a resounding no, but even Ethan knew that saying it aloud was going to make her even more disappointed. Fuck, what was she doing to him?
“Tell me your name,” he demanded instead.
She shook her head sadly, the movement somehow inexplicably graceful. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Maybe she was right. This winter sprite was clearly miles away from his world of construction sites and cold, hard bottom lines. She probably went to museums on the weekend and art festivals. She probably liked exploring hidden ice cream shops and sweet lovemaking. Ethan didn’t eat ice cream and he wasn’t sweet at anything.
Yeah, she was definitely right. It was probably a really bad idea. The problem was, Ethan didn’t give a fuck.
“Your evasiveness is a fucking problem.” Helplessly, he fingered that errant curl and satisfaction unfurled in his gut when her lips parted a little. “Why won’t you answer me?”
“Maybe I’m trying to be mysterious,” she said with another teasing smile.
“I don’t need a mystery.” He was dead serious. “I need your name and age.”
“Maybe you should try asking politely for the things you want,” she suggested sweetly, fingers pointedly prying his from the strap of her bag. “I really have to go.”
Ethan let her remove his fingers because he didn’t want to get her in trouble. She was running late already and some asshole was probably going to yell at her.
“I don’t ask for the things I want,” he growled, watching her take one step back from him. It didn’t matter. He knew where to find her. “Politely or otherwise.”
Something told Ethan he should probably throttle back the brutal honesty that could make most people want to punch him in the face. But he didn’t want to pretend with her. Maybe, he even wanted to give her fair warning.
“I take the things I want.”
