Dirty Damsels (DotComGirls Series Book 1) Read online

  Before I could make sure it was evenly placed on both sides, the bathroom door opened.

  In his tailored suit, he’d been impressive and striking. With a white, bulky towel wrapped around his waist, and the humidity in the bathroom sluicing off his damp torso, he was downright magnificent. Those wide and solid shoulders tapered down into bulging biceps then into forearms corded with strong sinew and veins.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’m almost done. I’m sorry.” I blushed again and cursed my fair skin. But really, how could I not blush and stutter when faced with this unbelievable specimen of gorgeousness standing five feet away from me, all wet, hard muscled, and nearly naked?

  He moved like a panther across the rug, soundlessly stalking, as if playing with his prey, until he came to the opposite side of the bed.

  He took one corner of the sheet in his hand and yanked it. “Do you have enough on your side?”

  Speech was impossible because I knew I’d start blabbering again, so I nodded and tucked the sheet under the mattress.

  “Hospital corners.” He nodded and mimicked my motions. “I love a tight sheet.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at the way his biceps swelled when he lifted the mattress, as if it weighed nothing, and shot the sheet under it. Nor could I forgo glancing at the thick mat of black hair crisscrossing from one side of his pecs to the other and down, disappearing below the towel. And I’d have to have been struck blind and stupid not to notice and admire the trim, tight waist and abdomen the towel was securely wrapped around.

  At least I prayed it was securely wrapped.

  I grabbed the comforter, shook it out, and he helped me place it over the bed.

  “Toss me one of those,” he commanded when I grabbed a pillow and began tugging on the case.

  He caught both in midair.

  The bed made, I turned to tell him about the platter of food but stopped before the words could leave my throat. He’d moved without a sound again, coming to stand so close to me, I could smell the citrus scent of the soap he’d used wafting off his body.

  He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. I swear my body temperature went up ten degrees. I figured by now I resembled one of those cartoons where the character’s head turns beet red and explodes upward.

  “Thanks, Cinderella.” A devilish grin tripped across his tired face. “But I need to crash now, so…”

  I got the hint.

  After one last visual sweep of the room, I nodded.

  “Do you want me to close the blinds?” I asked, turning back just in time to see him drop the towel and slide—gloriously naked—into the freshly made bed.

  Holy Mother of God. The man had an ass made for grabbing. Two perfect, round, and tight cheeks dipped from that narrow waist, leading downward to two thick and powerful thighs. Since his back was to me, he didn’t know my jaw hung open to my knees, while he burrowed under the comforter.

  “Mmm…sure. Thanks.”

  Even half asleep, his voice made my heart skip a few beats and my girlie parts go zing.

  I shut both sets of blinds and pulled the curtains closed.

  At the door, I turned one last time. The subtle sound of his breathing was audible as he slipped into sleep in the now darkened room.

  I gathered the garbage and made one last pass around the kitchen and living room then jotted a quick note about the snack in the refrigerator and placed it on the counter.

  With my supplies in hand, I left and from the elevator called for an Uber, all the while my heart racing.

  Chapter Two

  After I changed back into my work clothes at home, I met with two potential new clients. Hours later, with them both hiring me on the spot, I ran home for the third time to change for the evening ahead.

  The next day, one of my best damsels was marrying one of Nell’s helpful hunks. We were throwing her a bachelorette party tonight at Diablo, the trendiest new club in the city. I knew the owner—a faithful client—and I’d booked a private room for our party. The evening promised to be a wild, fun sendoff, and I’d been looking forward to it for the past week.

  Until a certain black-haired, jade-eyed hottie invaded my thoughts.

  I played the scene in the apartment over and over again, attempting to figure out just what about the guy was so intriguing that I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I hadn’t seen a ring on his finger, but that didn’t mean anything. The last guy I’d dated neglected to wear his wedding band, and the only reason I found out he was, in fact, married was because his wife followed him one night and found us at a supper club. She threw his drink in his face when she confronted us then stormed out of the restaurant. Not to be outdone, I threw my own cocktail at him and followed the wife. The last time I’d seen the jerk, he was covered in alternating pink- and blue-colored alcohol, a look of absolute fury on his face.

  That happened over nine months ago, and I’d been on a dating sabbatical ever since. In truth, most of my previous relationships hadn’t fared any better.

  The man this afternoon was the first one I’d met in a while who got my lustometer dial moving into the alive and kicking zone. Too bad I wouldn’t see him again. If we’d met under different circumstances, I knew I’d have abandoned my self-imposed sexual exile and gone after him, big time.

  Back in my condo, I grabbed the brightly wrapped present I’d bought for Carrie Ann, reapplied my makeup, going heavy on the eyeliner and shadow, and before leaving, took a quick look at my emails and this month’s spreadsheet reports.

  Multitasking was my middle name.

  A little before seven, I hopped into a cab and headed crosstown.

  Diablo was packed. Seriously-against-fire-code-regulations-packed. The front doorman checked off my name while he checked out my legs, giving me an appraising sweep from my many seasons past Manolos, up to my hair, which I’d left to curl naturally after my quick shower.

  “Most of your party’s already in,” he said in a gravelly voice bespeaking of too many cigarettes and years in bars. “Looks like it’s a girls’ night.”

  “Bachelorette party,” I told him over my shoulder.

  “Please, Jesus, tell me it’s not you.” He placed a hand over his heart and grinned. “I’ll need to join a monastery if you’re off the market.”

  “You’re safe,” I shot back with a grin of my own.

  The noise in the front of the bar roared at sonic boom level. I could feel the beat of the music reverberating in my chest as I made my way towards the back VIP rooms.

  It took a few minutes to navigate the length of the bar. It was three deep from the rail, jammed with Wall Street wolf cubs in three-piece suits, ties unwound, and Tribeca fashionistas coiffed and made-up to the max, looking to score, hook-up, and have a good time. Thank goodness I’d had the foresight to book the room. There was no way I wanted to commune with this populace tonight. I wanted Carrie Ann’s last night of singlehood to be all about her.

  Nell spotted me just as I managed to avoid being grab-assed by a drunken, pasty-looking twenty-something, surrounded by a gaggle of his closest and drunkest friends.

  “Hey, beautiful,” the washed-out drunk slurred at me, his eyes focused on my breasts as he tried to reach around and squeeze my butt. “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

  Pink’s song “UandURHandTonight” jumped into my head as I shimmied past him, my gift lifted as a shield. “Did it hurt when the doctor slapped your face when you were born instead of your ass?”

  While confusion clouded his eyes, Nell pulled me through the door of the VIP lounge and slammed it in the guy’s sulking face.

  The noise level dropped to a dull roar once the door closed.

  “It’s crazy out there.” She pulled me into a hug. “But now you’re here, and we can have us a bachelorette party! Hey, everyone. Look who finally showed.”

  I spied the lucky bride-to-be at the private bar surrounded by a half dozen of my Dirty Damsels girls. Nell had made Carrie Ann a brid
al tiara, bedazzled to the max with pink and white rhinestones swimming down the veil. The bride was clad in a skintight, low-slung, white t-shirt with I’m the bride, wanna kiss me? inscribed across her ample, perfect breasts. To underscore her soon-to-be-wed status, the rest of her outfit was all white as well. Drainpipe boyfriend jeans ended where four-inch white stilettos began. The only color on her body came from the cherry red lip gloss adorning her plump and perfect mouth.

  From the drowsy-lidded way she gazed at me across the room, I knew the pomegranate Cosmo in her hand wasn’t her first.

  Possibly not even her second.

  “There she is. The bestest boss in all of boss-dom,” she cried as she toddled over to me. Taylor Swift’s Wanderlust engulfed me as Carrie Ann threw her arms around me—managing to hold on to the Cosmo without spilling a drop—and planted those cherry red lips on my cheek in a messy, sticky kiss. “I love you, Boss Lady,” she declared, molding her body to mine in a full-frontal hug. If I’d been a guy, I would have been hard in a heartbeat from this gorgeous girl plastering her luscious wares against me. “You’re the best for giving me such a fabulicious bachelorette bash.”

  “You deserve it, sweetie,” I said, patting her back.

  And in truth, she did. I’d recruited her when she’d been a college sophomore. Her older sister had been one of my dorm mates, and when I’d started the business, she’d recommended Carrie Ann to me. A diligent worker who’d been raised with five brothers and three sisters, she never complained that any job was too dirty or disgusting. In her house, she’d told me at her interview, she’d seen every kind of gross-out mess there was to see. Now an aspiring actress, and between acting jobs at present, she’d funded the cost of her wedding with the money she earned cleaning for me.

  “Is Casey at his bachelor bash?” I asked her, siding up to the bar. When the bartender handed me a glass of champagne, I almost purred as it went down, cold and bubbly.

  “They’re all in Atlantic City,” she told me. Although it sounded more like one word strung together when she said it, the sentence slurring from between her bright lips.

  Casey worked for Nell, which was how the two lovebirds had met. He’d been going out to a job, when Carrie Ann had been coming in to the office Nell and I shared.

  To hear Nell tell the story of their meeting, angels sang, and the sunshine blinded the office as it shone through the windows. Unicorns probably pranced around as well. Did unicorns prance? Who knew? But it was love at first sight and all the gooey sentiment that went along with it.

  I knew it wasn’t anything celestial-induced that had brought them together. It was plain good old-fashioned lust at first sight, which grew into real, sustaining love. Both of them were striking specimens. Carrie Ann’s down home, blonde girl next door good looks against Casey’s muscle bound and bad to the bone biker physique were perfect foils. The fact that they both came from stable and big, loving families and were taught the importance of hard work and good values placed the cherry on top of their wedding cake.

  They met, went on their first date the next night, and got engaged within a month. Six months from meeting to marriage.

  “I hope they’re having a good time and not getting into trouble,” Carrie Ann told me, taking a huge gulp of her drink, tipping her head way back to get it all down. “I don’t want anything to happen to make tomorrow turn out bad, like in those Brad-I’m-a-hottie-Cooper Hangover movies.”

  “Never happen,” I told her, with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Casey’s one of the good guys. He’ll be at the church on time tomorrow and sober. Hung over slightly. Probably. But sober.”

  I crossed my fingers under the bar rail as I said it.

  For the next three hours, we gave Carrie Ann a party befitting a princess. The club’s catered food was excellent, and I’d arranged for the hostess to keep it coming since the booze was flowing like spring water. Nell and I’d rented a suite of rooms at the hotel next to Diablo for the night, splitting the expense because we didn’t want anyone driving home after what we knew would be an alcohol-infused party. Carrie Ann, a few of her bridesmaids, Nell, and I were all sharing three rooms once the party ended.

  During the sit-down dinner, Carrie Ann begged to open her presents. I’d given her a real wedding gift at the official shower at her parents’ home a few weeks before. I’d thought it prudent, though, to keep tonight’s gift from her mother’s eyes.

  “Holy crap!” Carrie Ann screamed when she opened the box. The black La Perla baby doll set I’d bought caused quite a stir. Whisper thin and shockingly see-through, the camisole top ended just at the top of the thighs, the thong pantie—see through, as well—low riding and silky smooth.

  “I can’t wait to see Casey’s face when I wear this,” Carrie Ann said. She held the lingerie up for all to see.

  “I don’t think it’s gonna be on you long enough for him to get a really good look at it,” Selena, one of the bridesmaids, told her. This statement caused a loud chorus of good-natured sexual banter among the girls, ending with Carrie Ann blushing and giggling and drinking even more.

  Ten-thirty rolled around, and the girls wanted to shake off some of the food and booze, so we exited the VIP room and made our way out to the dance floor.

  The club was more crowded than it had been hours earlier.

  Nell and I found an impossibly small table, claimed it, then joined the girls to dance. I’d kept my drinking down, nursing two Cosmos for the better part of the evening. Coupled with the delicious food, I was only happy-buzzed, not full out dance crazy drunk. The music boomed at a roar, the company was fun, and the party was a great success. Everything I’d wanted for Carrie Ann.

  Nell and I boogied our asses off with my girls for a half hour before my feet finally screamed in protest.

  We left the dance floor together and crammed into our tiny table, leaving the bride-to-be and her consorts to continue to drunk-dance away.

  A waitress miraculously appeared and took our club soda order.

  “I’d say this was a great sendoff,” Nell said above the din, a broad smile on her face. “We did good.”

  “We did.” To underscore the point, we high-fived over the table.

  Our drinks arrived, and we both downed them.

  “Don’t look,” Nell said, close to my ear, “but this insanely hot guy has been staring at you since we sat down.”

  “How can you order me not to look when you say something like that?”

  “By the bar,” she said. “Dark hair, designer suit, striking eyes. The best mouth I’ve seen on a guy in ages.”

  A little bell rang somewhere in the back of my head at her description, and in the next second, my eyes locked onto him.

  Shocked was too tame a description for how I felt when I discovered who it was. He looked as yummy and as magnificent as when he’d stood in the penthouse. With his elbow resting casually on the bar, another besuited guy with a drink in his hand stood next to him.

  “Do you know who he is?” Nell asked. “Because you’re gonna in about five seconds. He’s heading this way.”

  He’d said something to the guy at his side then maneuvered along the perimeter of the dance floor, squeezing past club patrons and waiters, his gaze locked on mine.

  I was hypnotized by those eyes. It was as if he were psychically holding me in place while he made his way over. I had no will of my own to look away.

  Anticipation propelled me up from the chair just as he stopped in front of the table.

  “Cinderella? It is you,” he said, his sexy smile slowly growing across his mouth. “You look different with your hair down. Beautiful, still,” he added.

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say. The fact that he stood in front of me, no, next to me now, moving in so he could be heard over the blast of the music, turned me mute. All brain synapses vaulted from my mind. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Did you have a good nap?”

  Jesus, Ella, are you kidding?

  His heart-
stopping smile broadened. He leaned in, grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and said, “Good enough.”

  When he got closer, my nerves went into hyperdrive as the amazing smell of him floated across the minute space separating our bodies. An utterly delicious, tangy orange mixed with musk that almost had me slanting my head into his neck just so I could nuzzle and fill myself with the scent that surrounded him.

  “Come with me. It’s too loud right here,” he said into my ear. “I can’t hear myself think.”

  In the next second, I was tugged along with him, oblivious to everything but the feel of his hand as it slipped into mine. His skin was warm, the grip like iron as he hauled me away from the dance area.

  When he stopped in the hallway between the bar and kitchen, he turned and said, “Better.”

  For want of something to say, I simply nodded.

  I usually wasn’t such a Silent Sadie. The bar was filled to capacity with everyone drinking and yelling to be heard over the music, so the noise level was jacked way up. But we could have been the only two people in the place. My entire system focused in on him and him alone. I glanced down and noticed he still held my hand. He noticed it too, smiled, and kept right on holding it.

  “I can’t believe my good luck at finding you. I feel like I need to apologize for zoning out on you this afternoon,” he said.

  “It’s okay. You were tired.” I was amazed I got that much out of my mouth in one shot.

  “Tired doesn’t begin to describe it. When I woke up, I found your note and the snack you left in the fridge. It was extremely thoughtful, especially since I all but kicked you out. Thank you.”

  His thumb rubbed along my knuckles, back and forth, slowly, as if he were messaging them; a slight bead of pressure, a push inward, then kneading again across my skin.

  Every nerve ending in my body zeroed in on the movement. A distinct drop of desire cascaded through my system and stopped just above my thighs. Unconsciously, I pressed them closer together, an unwise move because the stab of pleasure that knifed upwards made me a little wobbly in my heels. Buddy noticed it and shot out his other hand to grab me.