Chapter Six

A shower hadn’t erased Brad’s funk. His system still felt out of whack, his head still fogged. He set his third mug of coffee down on his hotel room desk, braced his hands on the polished wood, and stared out the window. For the first time in his professional life, he didn’t care that he was already five minutes late. He couldn’t find the motivation to shrug into his suit coat.

He considered phoning his legal assistant and asking her to research all the attorneys in Vail, Colorado, find their graduation photographs, and fax them all to his hotel. But that came dangerously close to stalking.

Problem was, so did showing up on the brunette’s doorstep uninvited. God help him though, he wanted to see her again, despite her insistence they’d have only one night. He didn’t know what to do with that. He couldn’t recall a time when he hadn’t obtained what he wanted.

The room’s heater kicked on, and in his peripheral vision the silk flower on the desk swayed. His gaze slid to the fake blue rosebud, an idea taking root. If he put things in her hands, she might follow through. Probably not—she’d been adamant not to disclose her name. But it sure as hell beat doing nothing at all.

He jerked open the desk drawer, fished out the complimentary notepad, and picked up a pen. Taking care with his usual sloppy handwriting, he scrawled out a brief note: I have a red tie that would make an excellent blindfold. Call me. He added his hotel room number and folded the note neatly in half.

Snatching up his keys, he hurried out the door. Cassandra Blaire would just have to wait a little bit longer. He’d buy her lunch or something as an apology. Besides, they’d set aside the entire day, and they wouldn’t meet with her client until one. All they needed to do this morning was go over the required elements of the custody arrangement so they could review those portions during that meeting. Well…that and Brad needed to discuss his client’s recent objection to the little girl spending holidays with her mother until she reached the age of ten. Cassandra’s client, Jennifer, would take a lot of convincing. But Brad learned long ago he had greater success face-to-face. He’d convince Cassandra and Jennifer to see things Miles’ way, one way or another.

Tucked behind the wheel of his car, Brad punched his GPS’s search function to locate a flower shop. To his relief, the result that popped on his screen told him the nearest one was five blocks further than where he’d turned onto the sultry brunette’s street. He followed directions, managed to avoid three red lights, and dashed inside the store.

A woman with pink stripes in her blond hair greeted him with a cheery smile. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I need a long-stemmed red rose.” Withdrawing the note from his lapel pocket, he pressed it onto the high counter. “And I need this tied around the stem.”

Within moments, she returned with a thornless rosebud that was so deep in color it looked as if the petals were rimmed with black. At the base of the stem, tucked just above the last crisp leaf, she’d wrapped a matching ribbon and threaded it through a punched hole in the corner of his note.

Brad tossed his credit card on the counter, tapped his toe while he waited for it to process, then scrawled his name. He nearly broke into a jog as he hurried back to his car. He tapped the address he remembered into the GPS, just to insure his memory didn’t fail. The short miles that passed as he navigated to the luxurious house on the hill were intolerable. But when he pulled into her driveway and stared at the front door, he glanced at the rose in the neighboring seat, hesitating.

She wanted anonymity. Yet the idea of being a nameless face in the dark no longer held appeal. If she followed through, he wanted to hear his name slide off her lips. Wanted to look into her eyes and know, without question, he was the one bringing her pleasure. Not the memory of a husband she’d lost.

But if he broke her rules, would she run?

Fuck it. He’d never know without taking the risk. And he hadn’t made it this far in life by playing it safe.

He tugged his pen from his coat pocket and scrawled his name beneath his phone number. Feeling far more comfortable about pursuing another night with the fascinating woman, he jogged up her porch steps and laid the rose in front of her door.




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