Read Chapter One of HUSH Now!December 4, 2017
“I’m not a coward. I am not a coward.” A soft, smooth feminine voice catches me off guard.
I turn toward it and grab a quick glimpse of what looks like the world’s most perfect ass in a pair of black lace panties. They vanish the second the woman in question stands upright again, the red umbrella in her hand mangled from the brutal wind.
“You don’t strike me as a coward, sweetheart.” I raise my near-empty glass of bourbon in a mock toast because any person brave enough to venture out in December in a New York City blizzard, dressed like it’s the middle of July, deserves a medal. This one earns bonus points for having an ass that can halt a snowstorm in its path.
That may or may not be a fact, but the timing is sure as hell spot-on.
The deluge of snow that has blanketed the city for the past five hours has stopped abruptly. That wasn’t the case up until a minute ago when I was standing, alone, outside this hotel contemplating what my next move will be.
Big picture stuff, not which-of-my-casual-hookups-should-I-call-tonight stuff.
“Thanks, stranger.” She smooths her hands over the short skirt of her frilly navy blue dress as she takes in the length of my six foot plus frame. “I’m not your sweetheart, though.”
Wheat blonde hair, sea blue eyes, glossy full pink lips, and an attitude.
Forget the big picture. My next move needs to involve this woman.
My eyes don’t leave her angelic face even though I want to trail my gaze and my mouth over every inch of her body. “Fair enough. Introduce yourself, and while you’re at it, I’d love to meet your imaginary friend too.”
I can’t resist the urge to look when her nipples pebble into hard points beneath the airy fabric of her dress. As much as I want that reaction to be from the rich baritone of my voice, I suspect it’s from the burst of wind that just picked up her skirt. There’s a brief flash of sheer lace covering smooth skin before she yanks the hem of the skirt back in place.
My evening just got a whole hell-of-a-lot better.
“My imaginary friend?” She tucks a piece of her windswept hair behind her ear. My fist clenches in envy. I want those waves balled in my hand so tightly that the only noise she makes is one that tells me she wants my cock deeper.
I crack a smile. “You were hell bent on convincing someone that you’re not a coward. Since we’re the only two out here and there’s no phone in your hand, I take it that your imaginary friend is the asshole who thinks you’re a coward. I’ll argue your case if you point me in his direction, or is it her direction?”
“Are you a lawyer?”
I’ll be anything she wants me to be. I’m a surgeon, vascular to be precise, and I have to be. Tonight, I don’t want to be Dr. Evan Scott. I’d rather be the star of her future fantasies; that one awe-inspiring lay all women look back on for the rest of their life when they get themselves off.
“Not guilty.” I hold my hand up in mock surrender. “Your name, beautiful. What is it?”
Her thickly lashed eyes widen as the heavy metal awning above us creaks under the weight of the wet snow. “It’s Jane. Jane Smith.”
She’s the third Jane Smith I’ve met this month.
I’m not offended that the name offered is as fake as the smile plastered on the face of the doorman who is watching our every move from the warm comfort of the lobby. Experience has taught me that women in this town hide behind a false persona for just three reasons.
One is that their wedding ring is tucked in a pocket or a purse and they don’t want the night to seep into their two kids, bake sales, walking the dog in the park, day-to-day life.
For the record, I avoid those women at all costs. They’re easy to spot, even if they think they’re fooling everyone, including themselves.
The second reason women morph into Jane Smith, Jane Doe or just plain Jane is they’re prepping to hand over a fake number.
Eye contact is everything, and if a woman I’m after can’t make it with me, I tap out. There are too many women on this island who are interested in what I’m offering. I’m not into wasting my time on someone whose type isn’t tall with dark brown hair, blue eyes, muscular pecs, that cut V that women dream of, and a thick nine-inch cock.
Yeah, I measured. Every man does. He’s a fucking liar if he doesn’t admit it.
The third reason is why my new blonde friend tossed out the name Jane Smith to me just now. She’s looking for the same thing I am. One night of no-personal-details, uninhibited, I-dare-you-to-walk-straight-after-that fucking.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jane.” I extend a hand because in public I’m always the perfect gentleman.
She takes a step forward, dragging her sorry looking umbrella behind her. Her hand lands in mine for a soft shake. It’s just enough pressure to stir my cock. “What’s your name, stranger?”
I could easily be the Jack to her Jane, but I want to hear my name from those lips tonight. “Evan.”
The look on her face is all surprise and awe like I’ve already got two fingers inside her and I’m honed in on that spot that will etch my name into her memory forever. “Is that your real name?”
I crane my neck to look at the lobby. The last thing I need right now is for anyone I work with to breeze past us and call me Dr. Scott. I have to get this woman into a hotel room and out of that dress now.
“According to my driver’s license, it is.” I circle the pad of my thumb on her palm before I let her hand go. “I’m going inside to refill my drink and then I’m heading upstairs. Can I get you anything, Jane?”
She reaches up to touch her neck. It’s a subtle sign that she wants my hand, or maybe my mouth, there. “Are you inviting me up to your room?”
Technically, I’m inviting her to a room I haven’t rented yet. I was out here catching a breath of frigid nor’easter air. I did my time inside when I took the podium, ran through an off-the-cuff speech about the boatload of accolades my boss acquired in his career and then handed him a silver wristwatch courtesy of his wife. He threw the goddamn shindig on his own dime and then expected me to kiss ass in public to hold onto a job I’m not sure I want.
“If you are, I’m game,” Jane tosses that jewel out before I have a chance to offer a formal invitation to get naked with me. “I didn’t notice you at the ceremony. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”
It’s the obvious conclusion to jump to. I’m dressed in a tuxedo. There’s a wedding reception in the ballroom tonight. She has no clue that I was just in the hotel’s five-star restaurant with a group that consists of primarily sixty-something-year-old surgeons all desperate to one-up each other with elaborate descriptions of their summer homes.
At thirty-four I’m the baby of the bunch, hence the reason I’m standing in the bitter cold with a drink in my hand contemplating why I went to medical school in the first place.
Jane marches on, nerves twitching at the edge of her words. “I’m a friend of Leanna. I’m actually one of her bridesmaids. I had to get the hell out of there when Henry started talking about how committed he is to her. It’s bullshit. You know that, don’t you? He totally screwed her over this past summer when he was in Vegas. She forgave him and now they’re married. Can you believe that?”
“Henry is a selfish son-of-a-bitch.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “What’s your room number?”
The snow starts again, large flakes of unwanted inconvenience. I need a condom. My gaze darts up and down the street. Other than a restaurant a block over, every other storefront and business are locked up tight.
Late Sunday night will do that to Manhattan. A snowstorm doesn’t help.
“You have protection, right?” Pretty Jane reads my mind like a sensual sorceress. “I didn’t bring any condoms with me.”
Normally, I’d have at least a few tucked in my pocket, but I got dressed at the hospital. An emergency surgery this afternoon cut into my prep time for this hellish evening, so I had my rental tux delivered. I changed in the locker room and forgot one of the essentials. The breath mints made it into my pants pocket next to my wallet, but the condoms didn’t.
I’m not sending this woman on a mission to get me a rubber. That comes with the risk of her bailing on me because she doesn’t see the effort as worth the reward.
It’s worth it, in spades, or in her case, orgasms.
“I’ve got that covered, or should I say, it will be covered,” I quip with a tip of my glass before I down the last swallow. I’ll go floor-by-floor and door-to-door in this hotel to find a condom if need be. “Do you need to say goodbye to Leanna before you bail?”
She blows an adorable puff of air out from between her lips. “I do. I left my purse in there. What about you?”
“I didn’t have a purse that matched my outfit tonight,” I joke. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes. We can head up to the room together.”
“Make it fifteen,” she counters, a challenge woven into her tone. “I’ll take a London Fog.”
“Consider it done,” I whisper as she breezes past me, the maimed umbrella dragging behind her.
The doorman jumps into action and props open the heavy glass door. Jane steps into the vestibule just as the ugly winter wind gives not only me but the doorman, the early holiday gift of an eyeful of her luscious ass.
Something tells me this night is going to be one for the record books.
© Deborah Bladon, 2017
Subject to edit.