opened between them when he’d broken the kiss. Kiss me. Kiss me again.
“What were you thinking when you were watching me?” He reached out, then gently pressed his hand to her waist, urging her even closer as the electricity between them snapped and popped.
She swallowed, her eyes on those lips, remembering the touch of them. The feel of them. She knew exactly—erotically—what she was thinking at the moment. The past, though…well, the past was hazy. “I—I’m having a hard time getting my brain to function.”
“Are you? Because I know what I was thinking…”
“You do?” The question came out on a breath, soft and wispy and full of unabashed longing.
“This,” he said, and then he tilted his head over her. And as the silver moon shined down upon them, he pressed his lips to hers and gave her the kiss she’d been wishing for.
2
EXQUISITE.
Ty could barely think because of the spell cast by the woman in his arms, and Ty Coleman wasn’t the kind of man who got caught up in a spell. No, the man Entertainment Weekly had labeled the “Crown Prince of the Nightclub Scene”…the man who’d left his Dallas home at the age of nineteen to make his fortune in Los Angeles…the man responsible for the five most popular nightclubs in the L.A. area, and who had hosted two After Oscars parties with beautiful actresses on his arm…that man was not a man who often found himself blown away by a woman.
This woman, though…
Something about her had caught his eye.
And it wasn’t her looks, although there was nothing lacking in that department, with her soft brown curls and doe-shaped eyes that were both soft and inquisitive, it was something else entirely. A sparkle. A pop. Not to mention the arc of electricity that had shot between them whenever he’d looked her direction.
He’d been certain that she’d felt it, too, which was why he’d risked his life to navigate the crowd as midnight approached simply to get near to her.
He’d caught his first glimpse of her when she’d been talking with her friend, and the way she stood—self-confident and straight despite obviously feeling out of place—had piqued his interest. He should have simply noted her and forgotten her. Lord knew he met and saw hundreds of women every night. But she’d compelled him enough to not only have him noticing, but to have him actually saying a silent thank you for the circumstances that had dragged his reluctant ass back to this Texas hellhole.
He hadn’t wanted to come back. Why would he? It was one hell of a lot harder to hear his parents’ constant rumbling that he’d never amount to anything from fifteen hundred miles away. Here, with them only a few miles down the highway, the sound of their discouragement was almost deafening. As if they could only see the dyslexic boy he used to be—the cocky kid who made it a point to make friends since he couldn’t make good grades. Who got in fights with the boys and compromising positions with the girls. His school counselors had labeled him a troublemaker who wouldn’t apply himself, and his parents had agreed. At least as much as they ever agreed on anything. And even when Ty moved to California and applied the hell out of himself, they still only saw the useless cutup.
And damn him all to hell for still caring.
But he did. Might not want to, but he still gave a damn, and that was why he’d always believed that there was nothing in the world that would make him return to Dallas.
Of course, he’d never imagined Roberto Murtaugh, either. But when this year’s Academy Award winner for best actress had introduced Ty to the Dubai-based billionaire at a Hollywood party, Ty had heard opportunity knocking loud and clear. He might not be able to read a balance sheet without the numbers twisting and turning and floating off the page, but he damn sure knew how to make those numbers grow. He’d sat Murtaugh down and outlined everything he’d accomplished during his years in Los Angeles. From starting out at nineteen as a hungry entrepreneur who worked in every club that would hire him, to the day they cut the ribbon at the grand opening of his fifth club.
Not surprisingly, Murtaugh had heard of Ty. Even in Los Angeles, when a guy as young as Ty starts raking in as much money as he was making—when he spins the success of his brick-and-mortar clubs into Internet social-networking sites—the media takes notice. At first he was dubbed the Boy Wonder, but by the time he’d been in the business a few years and had reached his twenty-eighth birthday, they’d taken to simply tagging him with a party-boy moniker. Tabloid fodder, with his frequent starlet dates and high-end lifestyle.
That was all right with Ty. The more the spotlight shined on him, the more popular his clubs became. And the truth was, he had absolutely no intention of changing the way he lived. His nightlife lifestyle had dragged him up from abject poverty, earned him more than his fifteen minutes on Good Morning America, started the press buzzing about him, and brought Hollywood royalty knocking on his door, asking for tickets and passes to special events and crowded nights.
If that meant he had to be labeled a party guy, then he could handle the title, even now at the age of thirty.
For that matter, he was willing to put up with whatever it took to keep growing his business. To be the guy his parents were so certain he could never be. Successful. Wealthy. Respected.
Apparently, ‘whatever it took’ included moving back to Dallas.
He’d hit it off with Murtaugh, but the billionaire’s bankroll hadn’t filled up by trust alone. And when Ty pitched Murtaugh his idea of expanding Ty’s celestially named nightclubs into Europe and Asia, the investor had been both interested and wary.
“I like you,” the older man had said. “But you have proven yourself only in one city. How do I know you have the spark to make this work?”
“I do,” Ty had said. “Tell me how to convince you, and I’ll do it.”
“I have two properties,” Murtaugh had said. And then he’d smiled and told Ty exactly what he wanted. Simple enough. Ty had eight months to whip one of Murtaugh’s nightclubs, Decadent, into shape. Work with the staff. Consult. Do whatever magic needed to be done. And at the same time, Ty was supposed to bring to life a currently boarded-up establishment that Murtaugh was considering selling. A butt-ugly property that hadn’t ever turned a profit. He and Murtaugh had agreed to a fifty-fifty split, and the property would launch as an offshoot of Heaven, Ty’s very first and most popular California nightclub.
Assuming both properties got off the ground and were in the black within Murtaugh’s rather insane time frame, Murtaugh promised he’d bankroll Ty’s expansion.
It was, Ty thought, too good to be true.
And as soon as Murtaugh had told him the location of the properties, Ty saw the big old trick the universe was playing on him.
Accomplish his biggest dream—become the Wolfgang Puck or Gordan Ramsey of the club scene—but walk through hell first to do it.
Of course he’d said yes.
He’d been in Dallas for about six months now, and had two left on his sentence. And he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this damned town.
He forced the thoughts out of his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He was there now, in the club, and for at least a few minutes, the woman in his arms was making
