fought for any more than John does.
With both of them set on their own paths yet helplessly drawn to one another, they must discover whether love is enough. Or is their relationship doomed to never be about more than sex?
Mills & Boon DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.
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For Patience
TO ANYONE ON the outside looking in, John Brooke had one hell of a night planned.
He’d been seated at a low table in Grapes of Wrath—the new nightspot that was essentially a wine bar with dancing—for over an hour. At the table with him were Theo Lawrence, his friend and the man whose company he’d been working for over the last six months, as well as Theo’s live-in girlfriend, Jo. They were having one final hurrah before John left. He had a week until his next job, the next place he would temporarily call home.
He’d sampled several of the fantastic vintages that the bar offered and was feeling loose and warm, and the attractive blonde waitress had made it clear that she’d be off at midnight if he was interested.
He’d flirted with her in return, thinking that some hot, sweaty sex would be the perfect way to cap off a great day, but for some reason, he wasn’t quite as interested as he should have been. He couldn’t even remember her name, which embarrassed him more than a little.
“Thanks.” Automatically, he flashed her a smile when she brought him his newest drink order, but when she lingered, bending over to give him an eyeful of her cleavage, he found himself winking at her on autopilot. His body appreciated the view, but that was where his interest ended, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.
It had been happening more and more often lately, this hint of dissatisfaction over things that were the norm in his life. John was an independent contractor, his specialty was mentoring start-up companies through successful launches. He’d lived a nomadic lifestyle for over a decade and had always felt a thrill when it was time to move on. Tonight, though, the expected buzz of excitement was hovering just out of reach.
“To John!” Across the table, Theo toasted him with his glass, which contained only sparkling water—Theo was several months sober, all thanks to the spitfire of a woman sitting next to him, who raised her glass, as well. “We’re sad to see you go, man.”
“Thanks, Theo.” John nodded, then sipped his wine—a nice, full-bodied red. Christ, was he ever going to have a headache tomorrow. He’d indulged more than he usually did to compensate for these weird feelings that he couldn’t seem to banish.
For the first time in memory, he had friends. He cared about someone other than himself.
What was happening to him? He didn’t let people in. The second they tried, he was gone, and for good reason. He traveled, he enjoyed the money from the career he’d built off his sweat and blood, and he rarely spent more than a few nights with the same woman. But since meeting Theo and Jo, seeing the way they’d overcome their demons to find a connection that made them both shine... Well. He’d fought against it, but John couldn’t deny that somehow, someway he was now aware that he maybe wanted something more.
“I have a break coming.” The waitress was back. The club’s uniform was a skintight blue dress that showed off the woman’s lean figure, and John knew that in five minutes, he could have the skirt lifted and the woman’s long, tanned legs wrapped around his waist. His cock didn’t hate the idea.
That was it, then. He’d indulge in a quickie, and maybe it would break him out of this mood.
His decision must have shown on his face, because the woman smiled, catlike, and bent to whisper in his ear, “The staff bathroom is at the end of the hall. I’ll be waiting.”
His smile frozen on his face, he watched her sashay away. Theo’s low whistle broke him out of his trance.
“Guess you’re leaving, then?” Theo grinned at him before pulling the woman next to him in close to nuzzle her hair. Jo rolled her eyes in John’s direction, pursing her lips with disapproval.
“You can do better,” she informed him, tipping her head back to catch the last drops of whiskey in her glass. “Her boobs don’t even move. I mean, you can’t deny that they look good, but make sure she doesn’t hit you in the head with one of those things. She’ll knock you out cold.”
“Duly noted,” John replied dryly, finishing the dregs from his glass. Standing, he checked his pockets to make sure that he had a condom, which he did—of course he did. He was the master of details, noticing things that other people were utterly unaware of...such as the fact that he probably should have felt a little more enthused at the moment. He was heading off to have sex with an attractive woman, but as he left Jo and Theo behind to pursue said woman, he found himself thinking that he’d rather go home.
Stopping halfway across the dance floor, he debated it for a moment, which was yet another thing that was utterly unlike him. He prided himself on being decisive, on being a man who took action, who always had a plan, and this unsureness left him feeling unmoored.
Make up your mind, John!
He started walking toward the door, away from the waitress waiting for him with her skirt around her waist. That was when he saw her, a split-second glimpse of her from behind before she was swallowed up by the crowd.
He turned toward her, as though he were a satellite set to orientate in her direction. He was a tall man, over six feet, but she was nearly ten inches shorter than him, and try as he might, he couldn’t catch another glimpse from where he was.
It didn’t matter. Even without a second look, he knew that the petite woman packed some serious curves into her small frame. Curves his hands itched to touch. He knew that her hair fell in chocolate-brown ribbons to her waist, making him imagine how it would look spread out over the white sheets on his hotel room bed.
He knew that her skin, smooth and pale, was laced with colorful ink, like all of her sisters. And he knew that every time they were in the same room, the sparks between them threatened to erupt into full flame.
Meg Marchande.
Without consciously thinking about it, he started moving, closing the space between them, irritated at the people in his way keeping him from her. When he was still a few feet away, the crowd parted slightly, and he found her again.
He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She’d chosen to display her curvy body in a thin white T-shirt dress that was low in the neck and high on the thigh. She’d paired it with a pair of black heeled boots that extended up over her knees, the look effortless, though he knew that, as a woman who appreciated fashion, she would have chosen her outfit carefully, conscious of the image that she wanted to project.
He could only assume that she’d wanted her clothing to scream sex, and, oh, had it ever worked.
He tried, really
