Chapter 2
Chapter Two
gunner
I am one dastardly son of a bitch.
What else do you call a guy who lets a woman think he’s someone else?
I’ve been deceiving Marlowe for the past ten minutes, and there’s absolutely no excuse for that.
But in my defense, I didn’t ask for any of this. I was sitting here minding my own business when one of the hottest babes I’ve ever seen walks right up to me, introduces herself and parks her sweet ass at my table.
What was I supposed to do? Tell her she’s got the wrong guy? Tell her to get lost?
Out of the fucking question.
Her last words hang between us, both a challenge and an invitation. I guess that’s for me to know . . . and you to find out.
Holy hell.
“So, Dawson,” she says casually, “how do you like working in finance?”
I don’t know how much she already knows about her blind date. I’m afraid to say the wrong thing and blow my cover. The less I reveal about myself, the better.
“It’s cool,” I answer with a smooth shrug. “Nothing exciting.”
She nods, running a manicured finger around the rim of her glass. Glossy dark hair frames a perfectly oval face with bright hazel eyes, a slim upturned nose and plump pink lips that have me thinking the filthiest thoughts.
Those lips are moving again, forming another question. “How long have you worked at Deloitte?”
“Long enough,” I say with a wink.
Her thick-lashed eyes twinkle at me.
“What?” I murmur.
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you’re not what I was expecting.”
I give her a lazy smile. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
Her throaty laugh sends heat curling through my veins.
“Okay, okay,” she relents. “Maybe I was expecting someone a little . . .”
“Boring? Pasty? Pencil-necked?”
She laughs again, her eyes sparkling. “Fishing for compliments?”
“Maybe.” Fuck, she’s beautiful. “Do I exceed your expectations, Marlowe?”
“I think that’s a safe assumption.” The way she stares at my mouth makes my dick hard. Harder , I amend. Damn thing’s been practically saluting her ever since we locked eyes across the bar.
I watch as she picks up her glass and takes a sip of whiskey. I’ve never been more turned on by the sight of a woman swallowing.
“So what about you?” I ask, forcibly steering my mind back on track. “Do you enjoy your work?”
“Very much. I mean, it’s not something I’d want to do forever,” she admits. “But for my first job out of college, I really can’t complain.”
“What do you do?” Shit! Should I already know that?
Her smile puts me at ease. “I’m a data specialist. Basically, I maintain a database of festivals happening around the world.”
“Ah. Interesting.” I stare at her long dark hair and wonder what it would feel like trailing down my bare chest or spilling against my thighs. I imagine sliding my fingers through the luscious strands, cupping her face between my hands and staring into those beautiful hazel eyes while I fuck her against a wall.
As I reach for my glass, I spot my twin brother across the bar. We’re supposed to be meeting for drinks to unwind after a long week. The Jaded Zombie isn’t my usual scene, but it was Maverick’s turn to pick the spot and this is what he chose. Since I had an appointment nearby, I was able to arrive early and grab us a table in the back, where we’d be less likely to be recognized.
Maverick sees me and heads in my direction.
I jerk my head no .
He stops short and frowns, then cocks an eyebrow at my lovely companion.
“Are you okay?”
I meet Marlowe’s questioning gaze and flash a smile. “I’m fine.”
She glances over her shoulder just as my brother turns and makes his way to the bar to order a drink. Though we’re fraternal twins, we share enough of a resemblance to be easily identified as brothers.
Trying to distract Marlowe, I blurt out, “So where’d you go to college?”
She turns back to me, her hair sliding over her shoulder like silk. “I graduated from Pitt.”
“University of Pittsburgh,” I translate, nodding. “What was your major?”
“Music.” She sips her drink. “I start my master’s program in the fall.”
Beauty and brains? Be still my heart. “What’re you studying?”
“Information Studies, with a focus on academic librarianship.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You want to become a librarian?”
“A music librarian,” she specifies. “I’m interested in working for an academic library or an orchestral ensemble.”
I tilt my head to one side, smiling at her. “Music undergrad. Music librarian. I’m sensing a theme here.”
“That I love music?”
“That would be it.”
She laughs. “You got me. I do love music.” Her expression softens. “My father was a band teacher and composer. He always had a melody in his head, a song at his fingertips. He taught me everything I know about music.”
The sadness in her eyes reaches deep inside me, touching a part of me I thought long dead and buried.
“He sounds like a very special man,” I say quietly.
“He was.” Her throat moves in a tight swallow. “He died when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nods, acknowledging my sympathy.
I take a sip of whiskey, watching her over the rim of my glass. “So what exactly does a music librarian do?”
“It would depend on where I worked,” she explains. “If I worked at a library, for example, I’d be responsible for cataloging music collections, answering reference questions, selecting materials for acquisition—that sort of thing. As an ensemble librarian, I could do cool stuff like maintaining orchestra scores for the musicians and marking individual parts to keep track of who plays which part for concerts.”
“Sounds cool,” I agree, loving the way her face lights up as she talks.
“I used to organize my dad’s massive record collection,” she says. “He appreciated my meticulous system, and I enjoyed making it easy for him to find artists he wanted to listen to.”
I smile softly. “Sounds like you were born to be a music librarian.”
She laughs. “Something like that.”
Entranced, I gaze into her sparkling eyes. I could listen to her talk all day. When was the last time I felt that way about a woman?
“Where are you going to grad school?” I ask her.
“University of Texas.”
“My alma mater. Awesome.” The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve screwed up.
“Really?” Marlowe tilts her head to the side and regards me quizzically. “I could have sworn Barbara told me you went to Texas A&M.”
Shit , shit, shit!
“Are you sure that’s what she said?” I counter, trying to plant a seed of doubt in her mind. “People who aren’t from Texas, such as yourself, often get the two schools mixed up.”
She laughs sheepishly. “I’ve definitely done that a few times.”
I smile, relaxing a little because I’m off the hook. Close call. “Make no mistake, UT is in a class by itself.”
“I know,” she says with a twinkling smile. “It’s one of the top universities in the country. I can’t wait to start classes next month. Since you’re an alumnus, maybe you could recommend —” She’s interrupted by a loud musical ringtone coming from the purse hanging over the back of her chair.
Throwing me an apologetic smile, she grabs her handbag and rummages around for her phone. I wonder if her real date is calling to say he’s running late. I wonder if I’m about to be busted. I fucking hope not.
I find myself holding my breath as she checks her phone screen. The thought of relinquishing her to some finance prick bothers me more than it should.
She’s not yours to relinquish , my conscience reminds me. What you’re doing is crazy and totally out of character. You have to know it won’t end well.
Marlowe lifts her head to look at me. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”
“Sure.” My voice is deceptively smooth. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to, um, return this call.” She rises from her chair and flashes me a quick smile. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her walk away, the dark curtain of her hair swaying with her stride. She has a great ass, high and round and spankable. And her legs are nice and long—long enough to wrap around my back while I thrust deep inside her.
As she passes the bar, my brother looks her up and down appreciatively, setting my teeth on edge. He leans all the way to the side to watch her strut down the hall to the restrooms. When she’s out of sight, he swivels around on his stool and mouths to me, Who’s the hottie?
None of your business , I mouth back.
He laughs and shakes his head.
Part of me feels guilty for keeping up the charade with Marlowe. I know it’s completely wrong, but I can’t seem to help myself. She’s the most captivating woman I’ve ever met and I want to get to know her better—even if that means lying to her a little longer.
I bring my glass to my mouth, watching as a curvy blonde sidles up to Maverick. When she leans close and purrs something in his ear, he promptly forgets about me.
As I drain my whiskey, laughter erupts from a table to my left. I absently glance over to see a group of women sharing a toast, clinking their glasses loudly. They’re in their early twenties and dressed in skimpy tops, short skirts and high heels.
Three of them catch my eye and smile invitingly. When I tip my head, they giggle and start whispering to the others, who turn to stare at me, batting their eyelashes and tossing their hair like some mating call.
On any other night, I would have ordered them a round of drinks and indulged in some harmless flirting. But there’s only one woman I’m interested in tonight, and she’s not sitting at that table.
Tracing the rim of my glass with my thumb, I casually glance in the direction of the bathrooms. It feels like Marlowe has been gone forever, though in reality it’s only been a few minutes. She’s probably on the phone with the real Dawson, telling him about the creepy psycho impersonating him. At this very moment she could be sneaking out the back entrance, getting as far away from me as possible.
And I wouldn’t blame her. Not one damn bit. I don’t deserve to spend another nanosecond in her presence.
But when she suddenly emerges from the back, I’m more relieved than a shipwreck survivor spotting a rescue boat.
I watch her come toward me, trying like hell to read her expression. She doesn’t look pissed, which is a promising sign.
Just as I rise to my feet, she suddenly stops and pulls her phone out of her purse. She frowns at the screen.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
She looks across the bar and meets my eyes. My mouth runs dry, and I realize I’m not breathing.
She holds up a finger as if to say I’ll be right back . Then she brings the phone to her ear and turns to head back down the hall at the same moment I hear a voice exclaim, “No fucking way. That can’t be Pantheon’s CEO.”
A pang of dread punches me in the gut before I turn to see a dudebro in a backward baseball cap ambling toward me.
I smother a groan. Great. Just what I need.
He reaches my table, grinning like a maniac. “Holy shit, I thought that was you!” He extends his hand. “Topher. I’m a huge fan, Mr. Ransom.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand, hoping to get rid of him before Marlowe returns. If she returns.
He grins. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you sitting here. What’re you doing slumming in this dump? You’re, like, a trillionaire.”
“Not quite.” I force a smile edged with impatience. “Listen, Christopher?—”
“Topher. Just Topher.” He wrinkles his nose. “I hate Christopher. What a douchey name.”
“That’s my grandfather’s name.”
His face goes red. “Oh, crap. I-I didn’t mean to?—”
“Just kidding. Look, I’m kind of in the middle of something important here?—”
“Oh, my bad. Didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just heading out to meet some friends at another bar when I saw you. Had to come over and shake your hand.”
“No problem,” I say, keeping an eye out for Marlowe.
Topher grabs a cocktail napkin from the table. “Can I get your autograph?”
“Sure.” I pat my breast pocket. “Damn. Got a pen?”
“Ah, shit. I don’t.” He looks around. “Maybe someone?—”
I don’t have time for this. “How about a selfie? That’s better than an autograph scrawled on a bar napkin, right?”
“Yeah, definitely.” He whips out his phone, grinning as he says, “My boys wouldn’t believe I met you unless they saw proof.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Exactly.”
Barely a second after we snap the selfie, I spot Marlowe coming down the hall. A jolt of panic shoots through me.
“I’d love to come work at Pantheon when I graduate college next year,” Topher says with a hopeful grin. “Do you think?—”
“Call my office on Monday. Tell my assistant we met and you’re interested in an internship. We’ll set up an interview.”
His eyes widen comically. “Holy shit. For real?”
“For real.” Now scram before you blow my cover!
“Thank you so much,” he enthuses, pumping my hand. “It was so awesome to meet you!”
“Likewise.”
Topher walks away happy as a clam, passing Marlowe on her way back to the table.
She glances over her shoulder at him before giving me a half curious, half teasing smile. “Fan of yours?”
“Son of an old family friend.” It’s scary how easily the lie rolls off my tongue. Scary and appalling.
Marlowe seems to buy it, which makes me feel even guiltier.
I motion to the phone in her hand. “All good? No emergencies calling you away?”
She smiles. “None whatsoever.”
A wave of relief washes over me. I’m such a fucking reprobate.
She glances around the noisy bar, her teeth sinking into her plush lower lip. I can’t help wondering how those lips would feel beneath mine, how they would stretch around my cock as she takes me to the back of her throat.
I swallow thickly, lust and guilt waging an epic battle. I should come clean with her. It’s the right thing to do, even if it results in her storming out on me and vanishing from my life, a decidedly unnerving prospect that makes my chest ache.
“Marlowe—”
She meets my gaze boldly. “Would you like to go someplace quieter?”
“Hell, yes,” I growl, my desire for her overriding any guilt I feel.
When she smiles at me, my heart pounds and my cock swells with anticipation. I quickly pull out my wallet, peel off a few hundreds and drop them on the table, then place a hand on Marlowe’s back to steer her toward the exit.
I need to get her out of here before her real date shows up.
Because if anyone’s taking her home tonight, it’s going to be me.