When the Ink Is Dry (When in Manhattan #1)
Prologue
Paris - About a Year Ago
The drinks start flowing the moment I slide into the limo idling outside of my hotel—a champagne glass passed to me before my door even closes.
The warm evening air immediately transforms into icy and air-conditioned, the leather of the car’s seats chilling the back of my thighs.
“You look edible, Ms. Lancaster.” My date, Javier, admires as I settle in next to him.
My short silver dress rides up, and his eyes drop greedily, taking me in. From across the limo, his friend Felipe—who I’ve yet to meet—allows his eyes to rove over my body before smiling and giving me a slow nod.
When I met Javier while grabbing a cappuccino two days ago, my curiosity instantly piqued.
Not only was he gorgeous, but he was sweet, too.
Our conversation trickled naturally from one topic to the next, and before we knew it, almost two hours had passed.
When he asked me out, my answer came easily.
And when he asked if it would be okay if his friend Felipe joined us as a third wheel, I was hesitant but eventually agreed, excited to spend an evening not in work mode.
I’ve been on pins and needles for the last forty-eight hours in anticipation.
My heart dips from Javier’s comment, and I look back at him, smiling. “Back atcha. So where are we going?”
Boldly, he places his fingertips against my thigh, playing with the hemline of my dress. My heart stutters at his touch. “We thought we could get the party started here, then go to Pouvior. It is the city's most exclusive dance club. Would that be to your liking?”
“Mhm,” I agree, maintaining our eye contact while taking a drink of my champagne. “Very much so.”
“Maravilloso,” he groans before leaning into me, pressing his pillowy lips against my neck, not wasting any more time with pleasantries.
It catches me off guard considering his friend is across the seat, watching us intently, but I’m quickly lost in the moment as feather-soft kisses trail across my skin.
I may have just met Javier, but my body responds to his touch like a firework on the Fourth of July.
Tipping my head back, I finish the rest of my champagne before locking eyes with Felipe, extending the champagne glass in my hand. His eyes flare as he acknowledges my silent question. Grabbing the bottle, he crawls his way over to us, taking the open seat next to me to refill my glass.
I toss it back, downing it in three quick gulps, then set the glass down.
Turning my head toward Javier, I let him capture my lips in a feverish kiss.
“Damn.” I moan against Javier’s mouth as the limousine comes to a stop a few minutes later. He pulls away and smiles down at me, his devious grin laced with filthy promises.
“We’re here,” Javier breathes, his hand gripping my thigh. “You are going to love this club.”
Being closest to the point of exit, Felipe crawls out first, then turns to hold out his hand, which I gladly take and pull myself out, tugging down my hemline with my free hand as I do.
The air is warm, and the music from the club filters out onto the street each time the bouncer opens the door.
It ignites a completely different part of my body.
My soul.
A smile widens across my face as Javier’s warm arms slither around my waist, and his lips dust my neck again. “Ready to get lost in the music, beautiful?”
“Born ready,” I tease, although I’m dying to get inside.
Tightening the base of my slicked-back ponytail, I flick my blonde locks over my shoulder as I look at the handsome men behind me.
A rush of confidence explodes through my system, excitement taking the place of any nerves I was feeling, and I pull from Javier’s embrace to lead him and Felipe through the open doors.
The splintering throb in my head intensifies as I pry my eyes open, the morning sun excruciatingly bright and painful.
My mouth is dry, and my entire body feels like I’ve been hit by a dump truck.
There’s an arm draped over my naked stomach, and as I follow its length, I find Javier asleep next to me—also completely nude.
No surprises there.
The sweet soreness between my legs confirms what we were up to all night. The question is, what the hell happened before that?
Yawning, I rub my eyes, then run my hands higher, feeling the rat's nest that my hair has been reduced to. As carefully as I can, I pick up Javier’s arm as he snores peacefully and gently place it back on the mattress before I swing my legs over the side and start moving through the hotel room.
A bouquet of white flowers rests on the round table in front of the picturesque window, along with toppled-over bottles of champagne, spilled flutes, and expensive chocolates. As I continue to look around to seek out my clothes, my fingertips brush my temples.
Javier’s loud snore penetrates the quiet room as he adjusts himself in the bed, never fully waking as he does. He’s gorgeous, and I wonder if he used his dick as well as he looks like he would.
By far, he’s the most attractive man I’ve hooked up with in all of my years traveling to Paris, although that very well could be because he’s not from here.
He and Felipe are spending the week in the city for some sort of business trip.
I didn’t ask, not really caring about the details.
I was more interested in where they came from, Madrid, and their relationship status, single, rather than what guided them to me.
What happened to Felipe, anyway?
I try as hard as I can to remember what happened last night, but the last thing I recall is us running out of the club at one a.m., my bare feet slapping across the stones as the three of us laughed wildly.
Javier secured a VIP lounge for us, handed the attendant his black card, and the drinks just kept flowing.
I’m not sure I’ve ever drank that much.
Looking around the room, my eyes fall to my dress that's on the floor in front of the couch, which just so happens to be conveniently next to a half-full water bottle. Scooping it up, I take a moment to gulp it down greedily. It’s still cool and makes my head pound, but I don’t let the pain slow me.
My thirst wanes once I reach the bottom, and I make a mental note to find more water before I figure out where I’m going next.
I fly home tonight, but I still have a full day in Paris with no plans. At this rate, I have half a mind to go into the lobby and book a room just to sleep off my hangover.
It dawns on me that the polite thing to do would be to stay here until Javier wakes up, maybe see if he wants to grab a bite to eat or take a walk through the Louvre, but I shake the thought away immediately.
I made it abundantly clear prior to our date that this would be a no-strings-attached fling in Paris.
To which we both agreed.
Pulling my dress overhead, I sit on the loveseat to clasp the buckle of my strappy stilettos around my ankles and do my best to stay balanced as I stand, grabbing my clutch from the side table.
Walking on the balls of my feet so my heels don’t click against the floor, I tiptoe my way across the marble and to the door.
With my fingers on the handle, I turn and give my surroundings—and the gorgeous man in the bed—one more glance before I flee from the hotel room that will hold all my secrets from last night, since I can’t remember them.
This may not be Vegas, but I have a feeling what happens in Paris stays here, too.
At least it will this time.