“I want to worship you.”

With only one night, they have to make it count!

A one-night stand is out of the question... Until good girl Emma Allaire meets tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous Mr. X through an anonymous hookup app and her sexiest fantasies come to life. Who is this enigmatic man in her luxury hotel room bed? Mystery lover, man of her dreams or liar—will he save her heart or break it forever?

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

CARA LOCKWOOD is the USA TODAY bestselling author of more than seventeen books, including I Do (But I Don’t), which was made into a Lifetime Original movie. She’s written the Bard Academy series for young adults, and has had her work translated into several languages around the world. Born and raised in Dallas, Cara now lives near Chicago with her two wonderful daughters. Find out more about her at caralockwood.com, ‘friend’ her on Facebook, facebook.com/authorcaralockwood, or follow her on Twitter, @caralockwood.

If you liked No Strings, why not try

One Night Only by JC Harroway My Royal Sin by Riley Pine Playing Dirty by Lauren Hawkeye

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

No Strings

Cara Lockwood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07126-0

NO STRINGS

© 2018 Cara Lockwood

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For PJ, my love and inspiration.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Saturday

HE STOOD BEFORE HER, the curve of his bare chest an invitation as he stood in the moonlit hotel suite overlooking the glass high-rises of downtown Chicago. She ran her finger down the firm slope of his well-defined muscles, amazed at their taut perfection. He gently slid the bra strap down off her shoulder, the wisp of his touch setting her skin on fire, and all she could think was: I don’t even know his name. I’m going to let this man do whatever he wants to me, and I have no idea what to even call him.

She opened her mouth to ask, once more, but he covered her lips with his, and the question of the night evaporated in the heat of animal want. A moan escaped her, as he deftly undid the front clasp, setting her heavy breasts free. He dipped down, expertly flicking a tongue across one nipple, bringing it to attention. He then cupped the other in his strong hand, kneading it with intent.

His mouth is on me and I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t even know if he has a dog. Or hell, a wife. I met this man one hour ago. A simple text exchange from an app on my phone. And now I’m here, half naked...

“I—I’ve never done this before...a stranger, I mean,” she murmured. He nibbled her nipple, the flick of teeth on the soft skin making her shiver. “This is... I mean, this is crazy. I don’t usually do this.”

He straightened, meeting her gaze with his unnervingly perfect hazel eyes. A lazy grin spread across his handsome face, warming up his squared-off jaw. “Even good girls should be bad, once in a while.”

She was a good girl. She never did this kind of thing. She’d only ever had sex with two other men her whole life, and both of them after a minimum of three months of dating first, but something about him made her feel reckless. Wild.

“I just can’t believe...” She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten here this fast, how she’d met a man and within an hour, was letting him see her everything. To put his hands and his mouth on her body. “I just... I don’t know anything about you.”

“You having second thoughts?” He paused, hazel eyes fixing her in a locked stare.

“No,” she said. No, she wanted him. She did.

He pressed his hard, muscled chest against hers, dipping his face so close their noses nearly touched. “And all you need to know about me is this,” he promised. She felt heat rise in her very core. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. And, God, did she want him. She’d wanted this the moment they’d met in the hotel bar an hour ago. She’d decided then in that split second to let him do what he wanted. She was willing.

“You can tell me whatever you want me to do to you. I want you to tell me.” She sucked in a breath and her knees trembled slightly. She didn’t have to be a good girl. Not with him. She could be bad. Very, very bad. She could do whatever she wanted. She could let him do...whatever he wanted.

She could feel her want, soaking the thin fabric of the lace, the last thin barrier between her and this rash act she was about to commit, this terrible, inconceivably bad thing. Part of her wanted to say no, but her body was in control now. Her body wanted this, wanted it badly, and she became simply an animal in heat, overcome by desire and thousands of years of instinct. For this night, she would give in to her basest desires. There was no turning back now. She was going to give her everything to a man she didn’t know, to a perfect stranger. She was going to let him do things to her no man had before.

And she was going to like it.

CHAPTER ONE

The day before

EMMA ALLAIRE STARED at the newly downloaded Nost app on her phone and sighed. “You’re sure I need to do this?” she asked her best friend, Sarah, once more as they sat together at their favorite brunch place in Lincoln Square, the mild, not quite fall air of mid-September gliding across the open patio as people meandered past them on the busy city sidewalk. Nost, short for No Strings, was the latest hookup app that all of her friends were talking about, a place to meet men for casual sex. The app’s ominous black logo appeared on her phone and she double-tapped it.

“Em, just give it a shot, okay?” said her gorgeous redheaded friend with the perfect alabaster skin, the curves that didn’t quit and the string of musician boyfriends who paraded in and out of her life. “You never know until you try.”

“But this is what’s wrong with us,” Emma cried, holding up her phone, to show Nost’s loading page. It read, “No names. No strings. 100% fun.” She pushed up her black-framed, librarian glasses and scowled at her phone. “How is anyone going to find true love like this?” She showed Sarah a picture of a shirtless man making a kissing face at a mirror. The app implored her to “swipe right for a good time” or “nope, swipe left.”

“Honey, you know this isn’t about true love. It’s about getting off.” Sarah’s eyes gleamed.

Emma shrieked a laugh. “What are you even talking about?”

Sarah waved her fork in the air. “Wait, you do get off, don’t you?”

Emma felt her face flush red. “Um... Yes. I do.”

Just, you know, with only two guys. Ever. In her whole dating history, but Sarah didn’t need to know that right now.

Sarah pushed up her sunglasses on her nose and leaned back, lifting her face to the fall sunshine coating the small patio of the restaurant. “Good. I thought for a second you were one of those poor souls who’d never had an orgasm.”

Emma glanced around the restaurant, suddenly worried someone might overhear. Sarah just shook her head at her friend. “Orgasm!” she cried, louder, and a father of two glanced over at their table and frowned.

“Hush!” Emma commanded. Not that it would do any good. Sarah spoke her mind. Their server appeared then, placing delicious-looking plates of food in front of them. Sarah dug in, while Emma focused on the app.

“This is what is wrong with us. Anonymous one-nighters? I mean, you are seriously going to have sex with a man and all you know is his handle is...” Emma peered at her screen. “Hot4U?”

Sarah laughed a little. “Who cares about love when he’s got abs like that?” she said, pointing to the man’s six-pack.

“And enough tattoo ink on him to write War and Peace,” Emma pointed out. “He’s got two arm sleeve tattoos.”

“You just have to fuck him, not marry him,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes, as she forked a mouthful of spinach quiche into her mouth. “And bad boys are very good in bed. Live a little, Em. Seriously. You know you settle too fast for just about any guy who buys you a drink. Then you end up in a two-year relationship with them while they bore your friends to death.”

Emma knew she was talking about Devin, her last boyfriend with the less-than-sparkling personality. He’d been the only other guy she’d seriously dated other than her high school boyfriend.

“Not all of my exes are that way.”

“You need to date around. Hell, sleep around. Not just commit to the very first guy who shows up. You know I’m right.” Sarah studied her friend.

Emma twirled a loose tendril of hair around her finger and sighed. She glanced down at her flowy, flowered peasant top and her modest jeans and tried to imagine herself meeting up with Mr. Tattoo and taking all her clothes off. She simply couldn’t.

“I need romance,” Emma declared. “There’s no romance in this. This is what men want. It’s not what women want.”

Sarah snorted. “How do you know if you’ve never tried it?”

“I know that this is just one more way men are manipulating us into thinking that what they want is somehow us being liberated,” said Emma, her women’s studies major coming out in blazing good form. “This is just Girls Gone Wild in sex app form.”

“Em, can you spare me the feminist rant until after I’ve finished my mimosa?” Sarah held up her champagne glass.

“No...this is what I do for a living.” She wrote freelance stories about women’s issues for a women’s online magazine, and she had a small but loyal following. “And because clearly you’re being manipulated by the patriarchy,” Emma declared and grinned. She knew what she sounded like: a militant femi-Nazi. But honestly, she felt like she was the only one who could see it—the fact that the wage gap was still a thing. And that the US was the only industrialized nation not to offer paid maternity leave, and...now there was Nost. Like Tinder, but in its most extreme form. The app men didn’t have to even try to get laid. She was all for the sexual revolution, but not when it meant that the advantage went entirely to men.

“This is just...this is just one more way men have tricked us into getting what they want. Sex and no commitment.”

“Fine, so delete it,” Sarah said, sighing, showing her exasperation, as she finished off the last of her meal. Emma, who had already devoured her blueberry waffle, wondered, not for the first time, how she and Sarah, so total opposites, ever got along. Their random pairing as college roommates had set off an unlikely friendship: Sarah, the impulsive redhead, who never flinched at a dare, and Emma, the bookworm, who one day hoped to run for elected office. If she were honest with herself, finding Mr. Right ranked somewhere between growing her blog readership base and putting money in her IRA. Dating just didn’t seem important at the moment—she was just twenty-eight. She had plenty of time. At least, that’s what she told herself. After her last disastrous relationship, where her boyfriend, Devin, chose a new job in Seattle over her, she just wasn’t too into the idea of putting herself out there again.

“Actually,” Sarah said, sipping her mimosa. “You don’t even need to delete it. Your profile will become invisible to the guys on your screen in forty-eight hours.”

“What? Why?”

Sarah put down her fork, and looked exasperated. She flipped her dark red hair off one shoulder.

“Because the whole point of it is not to have a relationship longer than that. Every two days, you get a whole new slew of potential guys and the old ones can’t find you. Every time, it’s new, and the best part is, there’s no awkward follow-up. You have sex and then—whoosh!—you disappear. It’s ghosting, but the app does it for you. Everybody knows the score. Nobody gets hurt.”

Emma put her head in her hands and groaned. “Are you kidding me?” She peeked at Sarah from her fingers. “The profiles become invisible?”

“That’s the point,” Sarah said. “Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Emphasis on the bamming part.”

“Sarah! What about rapists? Serial killers?” Emma couldn’t believe her friend was even seriously suggesting anonymous sex. Wasn’t that beyond sketchy?

“The good ones already have a background check. See that little v next to ‘Hot4U’? He uploaded a background check. No felonies. Nost verified him. So, you don’t have to.”

Emma blew bangs out of her eyes. “What about...STDs?”

“See that little c next to him?”

Emma nodded.

“That means he’s been tested in the last month. He’s clear.”

“I guess they’ve thought of everything. You know, except real human intimacy.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Don’t knock it till you try it.” Sarah pointed at Emma with her fork.

“Seriously, though, how can you do...this?”

“I’m busy. I work sixty hours a week because those commercial buildings aren’t going to sell themselves. And, yeah, it’s kind of hot.” She took a swig of her mimosa, finishing it, and glanced back at Emma. “And, a one-night stand? I mean, who hasn’t had one of those?”

Emma froze. She hadn’t, actually. She could never imagine herself getting naked in front of a stranger. She’d only ever had sex with her high school boyfriend, whom she’d dated three years before they’d even had sex, and then her post-college boyfriend, Devin, whom she dated three months before they’d done the deed. How could someone just... jump into bed with a man they’d only just met? By the time she’d had sex with someone she was already emotionally invested, even in love. She couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Sarah paused, glancing at her friend and read her expression. “Wait. You’ve...never?”

Emma felt on the spot, suddenly. Did that make her a prude? From the expression on Sarah’s face, the answer was yes. “No. Never.”

“Not even...college? I mean, everyone has one then.” Sarah leaned forward, her shock evident.

“Not me.” Emma took another sip of her mimosa.

“Well, then. You have to do this. You can’t turn thirty without having done this.” Sarah leaned forward. “Look, why don’t we make a deal? You try it for forty-eight hours. Go on one drink date at least. You don’t have to sleep with anybody. But can’t you write about it? If it turns out to be so bad, rant about it online for your magazine.”

“I don’t rant,” Emma corrected. “I discuss issues.”

“Honey, you rant, but that’s okay. It’s one reason why I love you. You’ve got opinions and you’re not afraid to share them.” Sarah leaned forward and patted Emma’s hand. “What have you got to lose? You either get laid or you get the subject of your next article. Win-win.”

Sarah had a point there. And it had been a long time since Devin moved to Seattle.

“So what do I do?” Emma asked, holding up her phone.

“First, you get a better picture than that,” Sarah declared, looking at Emma’s profile and wrinkling her nose in disapproval. She swiped Emma’s phone out of her hand and took her Elvis Costello glasses off in one quick swipe.

“I need those to see!”

“Not now you don’t.” Sarah clicked a few impromptu shots of Emma at the table.

“No! Don’t... I...” Emma laughed a little, as Sarah clicked a few more before stopping.

Sarah swiped through them. “Yes, that one.” She showed her friend the shot: Emma looking away, mid-laugh, blonde hair loose and cascading down one bare shoulder, her peasant top slipping ever so slightly downward revealing the curve of cleavage. “My shirt is practically falling off!” Emma protested.

“That’s the point. News flash: Guys like boobs.” Sarah rolled her eyes as she tapped on Emma’s phone.

Emma sighed. “Sarah...this is just playing into all the stereotypes...”

“Don’t go lecturing me on how you hate being a sex object. This is the picture you use. You look like you’re fun...and you don’t have a stick up your butt.”

“I don’t!” Emma cried, reaching for the phone. Sarah batted her hand away, typing up her profile. “And what are you doing?”

“Making sure you go through with this.” Sarah tapped her screen a few more times, concentrating hard.

“You think all problems can be solved by getting laid.”

“Can’t they, though?” Sarah grinned, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Emma giggled and tried to take back her phone. Sarah ducked deftly. Emma gave up and reached for her coffee mug. “Sarah, come on.”

“Fine.” Sarah glanced at her friend, the dare unmistakable in her gaze. “It’s not live until you hit that button.”

Emma glanced at the screen and nearly choked, almost sloshing her coffee. “You called me ‘Kitten’?” Inwardly, Emma groaned.

“The sex part is implied,” Sarah said, signaling the waiter to refill her mimosa. Emma had a feeling she’d need another one, too. “Just hit the ‘get laid’ button, and you’re good to go.” Sarah grinned.

“A ‘get laid’ button? Seriously?” Emma hesitated. Was she really going to do it? This was so unlike her and yet... It’s just research. How bad could it be?

“You don’t like it, you can delete the app whenever you want,” Sarah said. She studied her friend. “You’re not scared are you?”

“Are you seriously peer pressuring me into this?”

“Whatever works.” Sarah shrugged.

“Fine.” Emma tapped the button, sending her profile live out into the universe, telling random strangers in the Chicagoland area she was willing and available. She wasn’t sure quite how she felt about that.

“That’s my girl,” Sarah said, patting her hand. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Now what?” Emma glanced at her phone, as if it would suddenly hold all the answers.

“Now you wait.” Sarah took a big swig of her mimosa. “Don’t worry. You probably won’t even hear from anybody for hours—until tonight.”

Emma glanced at her empty plate when her phone dinged. The Nost app lit up her screen with an incoming message.

“Did I say hours?” Sarah put down her champagne glass. “With your hot self, looks like you just had to wait a minute.”

Emma’s phone dinged once more. And then, a third time.

What have I gotten myself into?

Sarah grabbed her phone. She began scrolling through options. “Nope. No. Oh, God...no.” Sarah held up the phone and showed Emma a picture of a man trying to shove a foot-long hot dog in his mouth in one go. Emma wrinkled her nose. Who would want to have sex with...that?

“I feel like I’ve just wandered into an ugly bar, and I’m going to spend the next twenty-four hours being harassed.”

“Maybe.” Sarah flicked through a few more pictures. “Oh my. Here’s the man for you.” She showed Emma another one, this one of a man in a full Spider-Man suit, his face covered.

Emma barked a laugh. “No, it’s not. Look at his... You know.” She pointed to the picture’s groin where his very little bit was fully outlined for nearly all to see.

“Ew!” Sarah cried and dissolved into giggles. “No baby carrots for you!”

Sarah flicked through a few more. “Oh, this guy is nice. Mr. X? Sounds...intriguing.”

“Mr. X? Uh, no.” Emma shook her head.

Sarah kept flipping. Then, she stopped on one. “Ooh...he’s cute.” Sarah showed the screen to Emma and showed a blond, blue-eyed thirty-something in a suit.

“I guess so.” Emma shrugged.

“Guess so? He’s one hundred percent Christian Grey. And even his name is cute... Happy Fun Time! I am setting this up.”

“Sarah!” Emma tried to grab her phone. “Don’t!”

“You’re on for tomorrow night, at the bar in the Ritz-Carlton downtown.”

Emma blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t.”

CHAPTER TWO

EMMA HAD SPENT twenty-four hours trying to figure out a way to cancel this date. But as Sarah had pointed out countless times, it was only a drink. If she didn’t like Mr. Happy Fun Time, she could simply walk out of the bar and never talk to him again. Yet, the idea of meeting a man just for sex, well, she just didn’t know if she’d be able to go through with it, even if she wanted to.

I’m just going to meet him. Have a drink. Then, tell him politely that maybe we could have more dates before we...uh...do it... IF we ever do it and that’s a big if.

Emma would need about six dates before she’d even consider taking her clothes off. Maybe twelve. Emma realized with a start that she’d never even had sex with a man she wasn’t almost or totally in love with already. When her friends were hooking up in college, she was tied to her high school boyfriend long-distance. Then after college, she began her relationship with Devin. That was before he took a job in Seattle and told her they ought to see other people six months ago.

Emma had thought they’d been headed for marriage, but turns out, she was just headed for...dating apps.

She stood before her closet studying the contents and wondering what on earth she was supposed to wear on this date that was almost, surely going nowhere.

“Hmmm,” she muttered, as she pulled out a flowered sundress which screamed summer and wouldn’t work for the cool September night she was expecting. Besides, it showed too much leg. Don’t want to give the wrong impression, she thought. Oh, wait, I already have, because this is NOST.

No strings.

She sighed and pulled out a black turtleneck sweater. Maybe she ought to show up wearing this and baggy sweatpants and see whether or not she’d send the shallow Mr. Happy Fun Time running. She grinned to herself, but then decided against it. She put the sweater back in her closet and tried to dig around for something middle of the road. Emma lamented the fact that she was wasting so much mental energy on what she was going to wear on a date that she didn’t even want to have in the first place. She ought to be outlining more chapters in that book she planned to write.

She glared at the closet, wishing it was her computer screen.

“I should cancel this date,” she told her closet. “I should text him and cancel.”

She whipped out her phone and pulled up the Nost app. Then Mr. Happy Fun Time’s picture came up: blond, sophisticated suit, like a successful and rich businessman. Well, what could it hurt? Just because his picture looked like something she’d find on a corporate About Us page didn’t mean that he was all that stuffy. Maybe he had a sense of humor. Maybe he’d be quick-witted. Maybe he’d just buy me drinks, she thought, as she remembered her less than stellar bank account balance that month. The freelance gigs had been a little less than hot and heavy these last few weeks, and she’d had to lean on credit cards more than she’d like.

I don’t need men to buy me anything, she reminded herself. Just because her budget was tight didn’t mean that she wasn’t a fully functional independent woman. One more reason to cancel. She was already buying into the patriarchy—the idea that this guy in the suit should buy her a drink.

Of course, Sarah would say that casual sex proved her independence from men. Emma shook her head. Feminism was complicated. She glanced once more at her closet, grabbed a pair of jeans and one of her favorite off-the-shoulder sweaters and paired it with a pair of ankle boots, no heel. Emma stood five-seven, so she already knew she was better off assuming Mr. Happy Fun Time was shorter than her. Emma didn’t care, but she knew men did. It had been her experience that men lied about their height. He said he was five-eleven, but that could mean anything.

She pulled on her outfit, dusted on some light makeup and then checked out her reflection in the mirror. Even she could tell she looked tense, even when she plastered on a fake smile and tossed her blond hair over one shoulder.

This is just research, she told herself. She’d take mental notes and then have a hell of a story to pitch to her editor tomorrow.

She nodded at herself in the mirror, meeting her clear blue-eyed gaze. “One drink,” she told herself. “An hour tops.”

* * *

Emma sat at the upscale bar in the Ritz-Carlton bathed in the fading sunlight of early evening beaming down through the canopy of windows encasing the tastefully decorated lounge. She felt self-conscious as she nursed the Hendrick’s and tonic she’d ordered from the bartender and kept checking her phone. Where was Mr. Happy Fun Time? He was seven minutes late was what he was. Emma glanced once more around the bar and saw three women chatting happily around a coffee table in the lounge, two men in business suits that were about ten years too old to be Mr. Happy Fun Time and both brunettes, and a tourist sitting in the corner in a leather armchair, wearing a St. Louis Cardinals jersey and looking more than a tad underdressed in the swanky bar with the white leather couches and the enclosed-window view of the impressive buildings in Chicago’s Loop. She gazed out the window, across the way at the copper-colored windows of the Time Life office building across the street, and wondered how long she ought to stay before abandoning this futile exercise altogether.

Until I finish this drink, she promised herself, as she rattled the ice cubes around the cocktail glass and took another deep sip of the clear liquid. No date and no story. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. Not because she wanted casual sex, but because she had started to like the idea of writing a story about her first Nost date. Skewering it relentlessly. She’d already thought of about 500 words she’d like to cram in it about women’s self-esteem and respecting yourself and a whole lecture she planned to give about the dangers of embracing casual sex. Feeling someone watching her, she glanced up and saw Cardinals Jersey staring. He had a matching baseball hat, too. Bold move wearing rival team paraphernalia in Chicago. She glanced away and focused on her phone. No messages, no Sorry, I’m running late, or anything. Figures. Not like one-night stand seekers cared about manners. Emma studied her drink. Three more sips, probably, and she’d leave.

A new man came to sit in the lounge and she glanced up, hopeful it was Mr. Happy Fun Time, but realized instantly he wasn’t. He was much, much taller than five-eleven, probably at least six-two, and looked like a former wide receiver with broad shoulders, big hands and thick, muscled arms. He seemed to almost change the atmosphere of the lounge somehow, as everyone took notice of the dark-haired stranger who strode confidently to the bar. He slid into an empty stool at the end of her row and signaled the bartender. That was a man, she thought, his muscles evident even through the thick fabric of his shirt. He was a smidgen older than her. Early thirties, maybe? He had a smooth olive complexion but piercing, hazel eyes, not quite green, almost golden.

Wow, but the man had a body. Trim waist, thick legs. He had to be a professional athlete, she thought. Did she know him? Blackhawks? Cubs? Something. Had to be. A body like that was made to be put to work. That was a body that could make a million-dollar contract, no doubt. Model? Maybe he was a model. Or an action star. Someone from the cast of Chicago Fire? Seemed like he had to be famous.

He glanced up for a second, and sent her the smallest quirk of a smile, and that was when she realized she was staring at him like an idiot. She grabbed her phone and glanced down, wondering if he realized she’d been mentally undressing him. Emma felt a blush creep up the back of her neck. I must have sex on the brain, she thought. Look! Nost is already working.

He was handsome, she admitted to herself as she tried not to openly stare. He had jet-black hair and wore a button-down shirt tucked into dark washed jeans. His arms looked muscled even through the fabric of his shirt, and his stomach was flat and hard, not a hint of unfit abs anywhere. He wore a watch on his wrist that even from a distance looked expensive, but no wedding ring, Emma noticed. The bartender served him a top-shelf rye on the rocks. The man took a sip as he pulled out his phone.

This is why we have to use apps all the time, Emma lamented. We don’t see who’s right in front of us.

It reminded Emma of the time her mother asked her why she didn’t just go out with her friends to meet someone. This was why, she inwardly groaned. All the best prospects kept their noses in their phones. Her own phone dinged with an incoming alert, and she grabbed it from the bar. Maybe it was Mr. Happy Fun Time.

She glanced at her phone and saw a message from Nost all right, but it hadn’t come from Happy Fun Time. It had come from “Mr. X,” the same profile that had popped up earlier yesterday. Emma saw a timer already going on the profile signaling how much time she had to reply. Emma also noticed he had both a v and c next to his name: verified and clear, she remembered. Good. That was good.

Just wanted to say hi, since you’re in my neighborhood.

Neighborhood? Huh?

How did you know that? She typed quickly, glancing around, almost as if she’d find someone staring at her.

The maps feature? He offered.

Emma literally smacked her own forehead. Of course. The “who’s closest to me on Nost right now” map. Or, as she liked to think about it, the I have to get laid right now and anybody will do, ANYBODY in a one square mile area feature. She glanced at the map and saw the markers and realized about a dozen Nost users were in the vicinity, hell, the very building she was in. But I’m in a hotel, so duh. She tried to figure out where Mr. X might be, but couldn’t quite make it out. There were so many little triangles, they all overlapped in one big blob.

What does Mr. X stand for? she asked.

X factor. Of course. Besides—Tall Dark and Handsome was already taken.

She had to grin. Confidence was sexy. She took a look at his picture. Wow. Mr. X only just scratched the surface. Jet-black hair...amazing hazel eyes...smooth complexion with just the hint of stubble on his strong chin. He looked vaguely familiar. Why did he look so familiar?

A new message popped up from Mr. X.

Want to grab a drink? You’re right here. As in...literally...right here.

She felt the heavy weight of a stranger’s gaze on her. She glanced up and saw Mr. Must Be Famous raising his glass in her direction. Mr. X...was him. A shock of surprise and delight ran through her. The gorgeous man next to her was on...Nost. Well, maybe Sarah had been right. Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

He was even better looking than his profile picture, and his profile picture was darn near perfect. Mr. X flashed a bright white smile and Emma felt her stomach tighten. Would she join him for a drink? She was sorely tempted. Maybe she should. What did she have to lose?

Emma grabbed her drink and caught movement from the corner of her eye. She hoped it was Mr. X, but instead, she turned to see the tourist in the Cardinals getup standing right in front of her, blocking her path. He sent her a goofy, bent-toothed smile and she grabbed her phone.

“Hey.” The tourist plopped down on the stool next to hers. He had some nerve, especially since he was decked out head to toe in her least favorite team of all time. Her family had been die-hard Cubs fans for as long as she could remember. She was sure if she lived in St. Louis, she’d have a closet full of Cardinals jerseys, but even she wouldn’t be rude enough to wear one deep in enemy territory. Plus, he had to be...fiftyish? Her dad’s age? Older? He certainly carried a lot of extra weight, too. And were those white sneakers he was wearing? And white socks. She felt a creep of revulsion down the small of her back. Ugh. Just...ugh.

“Uh...oh. Hi.” Emma glanced up briefly and then tried to look for Mr. X, over his shoulder. Mr. X frowned, clearly annoyed by the interruption, but he calmly took a sip of his drink. Mentally, Emma sent him a what’s up with this dude? vibe.

Emma didn’t want to be rude, but...she really didn’t want to talk to the tourist. She knew that probably made her one of the snobby city folk her relatives were always complaining about, but sheesh. He was wearing a Cardinals baseball hat deep in Cubs territory. Plus, who wore a baseball cap to the Ritz-Carlton?

“Are you...Kitten?”

Emma froze. Her Nost name. “How did you...” She glanced once more at the man, who had a day’s worth of stubble on his double chin. He looked like no picture she’d seen on the app. And she’d flipped through plenty.

“I’m Happy Fun Time.”

Emma could feel all the blood drain out of her face. This guy, this older...much heavier-set guy, with the white tube socks, looked literally nothing like his picture because she realized he’d used a photo of someone else.

He grinned, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. And, she got the whiff of stale cigarette smoke. Ugh. If the Cardinals jersey wasn’t enough of a deal breaker, this would be. For sure.

“You look just like your picture,” he said, beaming, looking pleased.

That’s because I’m actually in my picture, she wanted to say but didn’t.

“So, I got us a nice hotel room...”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “Here?” she squeaked, glancing at his worn sneakers. How could he afford a room at the Ritz-Carlton?

“Oh, God, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t afford here. There’s a Motel 6, just off the expressway a little ways out of town. If we get in my car now...”

Emma suddenly had visions of duct tape and chloroform. She tried to get Mr. X’s attention, but now he had his eyes on his phone. Argh. She wondered if he was scouting the room for other Nost possibilities.

“Look...you’ve gotten the wrong idea,” she said, trying to be nice but firm. There was no way she was going anywhere with this guy. No way. He needed to leave. She needed to go to Mr. X. That was a Nost date she wouldn’t mind.

But Mr. Happy Fun Time stood, and reached out to grasp her elbow. She tugged her arm away, just out of his reach. No way was he touching her.

“What’s the problem, baby?” He moved closer to her and the acrid scent of burnt tobacco got stronger.

She actually leaned back away from him, fighting the urge to flat-out flee.

“Look, you seem nice, but I don’t think there’s a connection. I think...” You are totally disgusting and you put up a bogus picture and there’s no way I’m going to spend five minutes with you, much less an evening.

Happy Fun Time frowned. “You said you wanted to meet.” He acted as if that entitled him to see her naked.

“Yes, but...”

“So, what’s your problem? You a tease?” His voice had an edge to it now, and suddenly she realized that he was much bigger and heavier than her. If he wanted, he could sling her over his shoulder and carry her out of here. Emma felt a tingle of dread in the pit of her stomach, that little instinct that told her Careful. Something’s off here.

Emma glanced at the bartender, but he was at the other end getting drinks. The other patrons were busy with their own conversations. All except Mr. X, who studied her. Thank God. He was tuned into the situation once more. Would he do something? She met his gaze. He quirked an eyebrow, and she only thought one word: help.

At least someone might notice if this guy dragged her out by her hair.

Emma tried to flash Happy Fun Time a conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, though she wasn’t the least bit sorry. “But, I just don’t think there’s a spark between us. It’s just...uh, not going to work.”

His frown deepened, and he stood there, seething, looming over her.

“Bitch.” The word came out hard and cold and so low she almost wasn’t sure if she heard it.

“I’m sorry?” Emma blinked fast. She wasn’t used to open hostility.

“You heard me.” The look in his eyes was flat, cold, devoid of all emotion. Now she knew something was really off. Danger, her instincts screamed. This man was dangerous. Still, she wasn’t going to back down. And, had he called her a bitch? For what, for saying no?

Now anger flared in her chest. She slid off her bar stool and faced him.

“You need to go. Now.” She might be half his size, but she wasn’t about to let this guy push her around. No means no, and right now, she was saying hell, no.

He blinked at her, rage building in his cold blue eyes. Was he going to do something? Her heart thudded in her chest. What would she do if he did?

The whole bar seemed to go quiet, even though nobody else moved a finger to do anything. Emma felt suddenly that this man intended to hurt her, and he didn’t care who was watching.

“I asked you to go,” Emma told the man, voice lower this time, but still firm. Be calm. Be firm. Don’t let him know he’s scaring the hell out of you.

That’s when the furious man before her grabbed her arm, hard. “I don’t think so.” He squeezed and she let out an unintended cry. Panic gripped her as she felt the darkness in him; her instincts were right. This man wanted to hurt her. She tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Let the lady go.” Mr. X stood behind the man, his voice low but clear.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MAN WHIRLED, off guard. Her savior was about five full inches taller and far more in shape. The two men might weigh the same, but Happy Fun Time’s weight came in fat, while Mr. X was pure working muscle. He could wipe the floor with him, and both men knew it. The now angry Happy Fun Time frowned, but backed up a step, releasing Emma’s arm.

“We were just talking,” he said, defensive.

“Didn’t look like a very nice talk to me.” Mr. X was all business, eyes serious, shoulders tense. Emma wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that angry gaze. She glanced from one man to the other, her heart still thudding hard in her chest, her mind going a million miles a minute.

“You’re not worth the trouble,” her assailant said, and glared at her, eyes full of menace as he turned and walked quickly out of the lounge and past the lobby. Emma watched him go, feeling a sudden whoosh of relief as she exhaled the tension she’d been holding. That was so close.

“Wow...uh, thank you,” she managed to say, grateful now for the backup. Her savior studied her with hazel eyes flecked with gold.

“You okay?” He reached out and touched her elbow, ever so softly. Emma rubbed her arms self-consciously. “I’m sorry I didn’t come over sooner... I thought...well, I thought maybe you’d planned the date.”

She sighed, still feeling her hands tremble with adrenaline and fear. “I had, but that’s the last time I ever make a date with someone from Nost.”

Her rescuer cocked an eyebrow. “He’s on Nost? What’s his name?”

“Happy Fun Time.”

Mr. X frowned. “Not so happy or fun.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Ugh. Why did I even try this? I knew it was a mistake.” She sank her head in her hands.

“We’re not all bad on Nost...Miss Kitten.” Mr. X grinned. “Come on, let me make up for that asshole. At least let me buy you a drink.”

Emma felt shaken, and a drink was desperately what she needed. A drink, and a bit of time to stare at those golden eyes a bit longer. “Sure,” she said, though her body felt wired—nerves, fear, all the fight or flight chemicals buzzing through her veins. Her heart still thumped in her ears and she felt shaky, but she gestured to the empty bar stool. Having his big body next to hers felt good right about now.

He slid onto the bar stool next to hers and she felt his presence, broad, next to her. The two buttons undone at his neck revealed smooth, bare skin. She was so thankful for him at that moment, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze.

“What can I get you?” he asked her, and she felt the gravelly baritone in her stomach.

She felt the heat in her face intensify as her thoughts instantly went to naughty places. What can’t he get me?

“Hendrick’s and tonic,” she managed to answer, suddenly feeling shy. What was wrong with her? She’d never felt this kind of instant attraction, the strong pull of basic, animal magnetism before. Sure, she’d found guys handsome, but this one...she could feel his strength, his pull. Every slight shift he made with his body she felt in hers, keenly aware of even the tiniest of movements. Mr. X signaled the bartender, his tanned and muscled forearm raised. He had solid hands. Strong hands. Big ones. Emma imagined what they’d feel like on her body and felt a current of electricity run down her spine. The entire effect just made her feel more rattled, more unsettled, yet in the best way possible.

This must be just adrenaline, she told herself. A dangerous experience, coupled with a handsome guy. That’s all. It was just hormones and chemicals in her blood, making her aware of this man’s every move.

The bartender brought the drink but she barely noticed. She was glancing at his flat stomach and the curve of his chest muscles beneath his shirt. What would the weight of him feel like on top of her?

“Are you okay?” he asked once more. He reached out and grabbed her hands. She glanced up at him, shaken from her thoughts. “You’re trembling,” he said, voice low with concern, his eyes never leaving hers.

He squeezed both hands tightly. “That jerk is gone. He won’t bother you again.” Mr. X made it sound like a promise. “You’re safe now.”

Emma glanced down at his strong hands covering hers. Why did she feel anything but safe at that moment?

“Thank you,” she said, her heart filling with gratitude. He raised his glass.

“To a better evening,” he said and grinned.

“To a better evening,” she echoed, and they clinked glasses.

* * *

Xavier Pena sipped at his drink and gazed at the beautiful blonde sitting next to him. Gorgeous, blue eyes, streaks of spun gold in her blond hair, her skin still tanned from the summer sun. From her thin frame and taut muscles, he would guess she worked out. Ran maybe? She had the body of a triathlete, someone who took her fitness seriously. Just like he did. All the men at the bar—single or attached—noticed this woman, tall, lithe, strong. He’d noticed her the second he’d walked into the bar, and when he’d pulled up Nost, was gleefully happy she’d had a profile.

Part of him was surprised to find her there at all. A woman as drop-dead gorgeous as this one shouldn’t need an app to find a date. Or anonymous sex. Any man in this bar would be happy to oblige her, and yet...that was the beauty of Nost. Xavier remembered the hard grilling the investors had given him over the concept, especially because they thought women wouldn’t want to participate.

“But women have the most to gain from this app,” he’d told them. “It gives them a background check and allows them to shop for the best mate, without having to weed through suitors at a bar. Women are going to find out that this is exactly what they’ve been looking for.”

It turned out, Xavier had been right. While men slightly edged out women on Nost, it wasn’t by much.

Xavier sipped at his whiskey and watched the beautiful woman next to him. She’d begun to relax a little. He studied the curve of her bare shoulder, revealed by her off-the-shoulder navy blue sweater. He’d been more than glad to scare off Mr. St. Louis, a man who had no business being in the same room with this woman, much less talking to her. He shouldn’t be anywhere near Nost, either, a fact he filed away for later. He’d created the app as a fun and safe place for women. That was why he’d written in all the background checks. Without the safety net, the app would be a playground for predators, which would be unacceptable. He made a mental note to bring up the user at the next board meeting. They might need to tweak some of their safety checks.

Now he focused on the woman before him. She was more than a pretty face. He suspected there was a lot going on behind those intelligent blue eyes.

He wondered if she felt the little current of whatever this was floating between them. The strong physical connection. The I feel like we’ve met before feeling. Xavier had only felt this once or twice before, once with his now ex-fiancée, Sasha.

The minute he thought about her he pushed memories of her away. They were too painful. They were the whole reason he and a group of his fraternity brothers had created Nost in the first place. The little app had exploded over the last few weeks, taking them from a bunch of largely unknown software engineers to being propositioned by Google and Facebook for potentially millions. Xavier had nearly the whole world at his feet, but all he wanted was a little companionship. Temporary companionship, he reminded himself. He thought of Sasha, her dark eyes and cocoa skin, the way she tilted her head back when she laughed, how much she reminded him of his own mother. His mother who died when he was a kid. Sasha used to have him wrapped around her little finger. That was...until he found out she betrayed him.

He didn’t need more pain. Not now. Probably not ever.

Concentrate on the now. The future is too painful. That’s why you live in the moment, he reminded himself.

“So...was that really your first date from Nost?” he asked her, which was his way of prying without prying. He got why anonymous sex wasn’t for everybody. Newbies were a wild card. But he wasn’t about putting pressure on anyone. You were in or out, as far as he was concerned.

He watched the color bleed into her cheeks. “Yep. Happy Fun Time was it. Just signed up yesterday...and not sure it’s for me. My friend Sarah actually insisted I try it. But...I don’t know. I’m a little skeptical. What’s in it for women?”

“Oh, everything, actually,” Xavier said, raising his glass to his lips. “You’d be surprised.”

She quirked an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, as she set her own glass back on the bar, and played with the small black straw, pushing the slice of lime around her cup. “Casual sex was invented by men.”

“I don’t know about that. Women want just as many partners as men do, you know. It’s just that society tells them they should be good girls. But that’s all just a construct, really, something men want.”

“You’re saying men want women to have fewer partners,” she challenged.

“Of course. Men want it both ways: they want to have sex with as many women as possible, but keep most women at home, under wraps. A fully realized sexual woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she needs terrifies most men.”

A small blush crept up her pale cheek, which Xavier found a little bit adorable.

Definite newbie. Xavier had more than a handful of women who claimed they’d never consider Nost, who suddenly wound up in his bed. And it wasn’t just his imposing physique. He knew that anonymous sex could be freeing. If you let the concept in.

“I write for Helena, the women’s online magazine?” He knew it and nodded. “I kind of thought this would all just be fodder for my next article.”

“Ah, so you’re going to tell your readers how terrible and sexist the whole thing is,” he teased.

“N-no,” she countered. “I mean, I was going to research it and...”

“But you’d made up your mind before you even tried it,” he said, reading her like the open book she was.

“Maybe.” She stirred her drink once more, focusing on the ice cubes there. “And Happy Fun Time didn’t help.”

“Don’t let him be the poster child for your experience,” Xavier said. “Believe me, he’s the exception not the rule.”

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked him, blue eyes intent on an answer. She was a seeker, a collector of facts, someone who wouldn’t rest until she got all the information.

“Work in tech,” he said, and shrugged. He glanced at the melting ice cubes in his glass.

“Where?”

“Here and there.” He grinned. It was the truth. He’d worked at other companies before founding Nost. He’d had a lot of practice not revealing details about himself. He’d made that mistake in the past, letting on where he’d worked, and a woman found him through a Google search with only his first name and Nost. She stalked him, showing up at work, at his apartment, asking for a relationship he wasn’t willing to give. He’d been up front with her, but after two nights with him...she’d fallen for him. It had been a whole mess, actually. Now he’d learned to be more careful. He knew exactly what to reveal—and what to keep secret. He had his rules.

“Tell me more about this article,” he said, deftly changing the subject as he deflected interest away from him. “Am I changing your mind about Nost?”

She glanced up at him. “Not sure yet,” she said. “I’m Emma, by the way.”

“X,” he replied, and she laughed a little. He never gave his name anymore. Not after the other woman found him.

“No, really.”

“Seriously—that’s what my friends call me.” Because Xavier is too much of a mouthful for most. “But, also, no names, it just makes it simpler. On Nost.”

“So I should just call you Mr. X?” Emma giggled at the idea. “What are you, a comic book villain?”

Xavier leaned in closer and got a whiff of her perfume...white flowers? Something light and floral. “That depends. Do you like bad boys?”

Now Emma just threw her head back and laughed. The sound was all light and air—music to Xavier’s ears. The only thing he loved more than making a woman laugh was making her come.

“No. Not usually. I’m the strictly nice guy type.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Xavier sloshed his whiskey around the ice cubes in his glass, still studying her perfect cheekbones, and the lovely tilt of her chin. He wanted to kiss the tiny dimple that lay there.

She self-consciously played with a strand of her hair, and glanced at him sideways. Her eyes sparkled just a little. She was flirting with him. He was one hundred percent sure.

“Not that great,” she admitted. “All the nice guys I’ve dated ended up being...not so nice.” She frowned, her full, pink lips falling into a pout that could drive most men wild. “My last boyfriend decided a promotion was more important than me. He took the job across the country without even talking to me about it first.”

“Maybe you should just start with a bad boy and then you know what you’re getting.” Xavier flashed a grin and Emma laughed.

“Maybe,” she conceded. “Why are you on Nost?”

Her eyes probed him for an answer. This was the journalist at work, he realized. He liked the fire in her, the curious intelligence in her blue gaze. She wasn’t like the other women he’d met recently. This one thrived on information. Keeping it from her would be a challenge, but one he’d happily accept.

“I love women,” he said. “Sex for me isn’t about me, it’s about them. I can’t be satisfied...unless they are. There’s nothing more beautiful...or more humbling than giving a woman pleasure.” To him, this was absolute truth. Nothing satisfied him more than seeing a woman, head back, mouth open, lost in ecstasy. Knowing that he brought her there.

Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat and rattled her drink. “But don’t you want...more? Don’t you want love and...a real relationship and all of it?”

“I used to want that. I had that,” he said, feeling a wave of sadness that was stronger than he expected. “I was engaged last year. But...” He thought of Sasha, of finding the passionate text messages she’d sent to another man, of the photos she’d sent wearing the lingerie he’d bought her. Those images would be seared into his brain forever. “I found out she’d been sleeping with someone else. Actually, a lot of someones.” He took a long sip of his whiskey, the alcohol leaving a distant burning sensation down his throat. “I’d never been so blindsided. So...heartbroken.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just not ready for any of that, anything more serious. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

“She did a number on you,” Emma said, her blue eyes sad, empathy radiating from them.

He nodded and shrugged.

“What was her name?”

“Sasha,” he said, almost at the level of a whisper. “I thought she was the one.” He remembered her dark eyes, her throaty, sexy laugh. The fact that she’d been so free in bed, willing to try anything, game for whatever he asked. Turned out, he wasn’t the only one she was free with.

“But she wasn’t.”

“No,” he said, biting off the word, eager to stop talking about Sasha. “But what about you? Why don’t you like the idea of Nost?”

Xavier moved closer, and their knees touched. Emma didn’t move away. He took that as a good sign.

She swooped her long, shaggy blond bangs from her forehead. “It seems like it’s just what men want. Not what women want. Women want commitment, they want relationships...”

“Yes, with the right man, but what about the freedom to indulge in a fantasy, to play with someone who’s not the right man, but then walk away the next day? There’s something more liberating in that for women than men.” Now Xavier felt like he was right back in front of the venture capitalists, telling them why Nost was worth their time, and more importantly, their money. “Look, women choose. They always choose. We men? We’re powerless over that. We wait for you to decide. The power’s all yours.”

Emma rested her chin on her elbow and cocked her head to one side. “You think?” She shifted a little, so that their knees and legs touched. They were side-by-side now, elbows almost touching on the bar.

“Sure. You decide who’s fit enough, strong enough, alpha-male enough. Every decision women make about men is based on that immense responsibility—those thousands of years of you being the ones bearing the reproductive cost and the future of the species. That’s a lot of responsibility. But how are you supposed to know who’s right for you, who’s the perfect man, if you don’t play around? What if the man you always thought was perfect for you wasn’t, because you’d never allowed yourself to date outside that very confining box?”

She sent him a lopsided smile. “You’re saying I need to sleep around with bad boys to find a good one.”

He was aware of the feel of her thigh against his, the heat coming from her. “You need to know what it is you want. How are you supposed to know that without experimenting a little?”

“But, it’s all so impersonal... How are you supposed to find something real when it’s all just fake?”

“Oh, it’s far from fake,” he said with a strong shake of his head. “People can often have their most authentic connections when they’re with strangers. You don’t have to worry about what the other person might think, or if you’ll hurt their feelings or how you might be judged. You can be your real self because you aren’t worried about the future. You’re just living in the now.”

“Is that right?” Emma still seemed a little skeptical.

“Sure,” he said, taking another sip of his drink, which was now three-quarters gone. “For instance, you can tell me anything you want. You can be a hundred percent honest. We probably won’t see each other again after this night.”

“Okay...” Emma hesitated.

“So, in that spirit, say you do sleep with me tonight.” Xavier leaned in closer.

Emma barked a laugh and ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Aren’t you a little overconfident?”

“Maybe,” he said, even though at this point, he thought she’d have to feel the pull between them, the magnetism that drew them together. “But, just indulge me in a little theoretical. Say we do fall into bed tonight. Say we go upstairs into this room.” He pulled out a hotel key card and laid it flat on the bar. Emma glanced at it, intrigued. Tread carefully, he told himself. “Which, by the way, is completely and totally up to you. But if we did...what’s the first thing you want me to do to you?”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE KEY CARD ON the bar and his question sent a thrill through Emma. What did she want him to do to her? Short answer: Everything.

She felt her throat go dry. She had a hard time concentrating when Mr. X leaned in so close to her. His strong chin, the unwavering golden-eyed gaze. The thick jet-black hair that she badly wanted to put her hands in. She glanced at the Ritz-Carlton key card on the bar. That was it. The key to a room upstairs where...where...she could indulge in...him. That squared-off, strong chin, the barely-there stubble, those full, sensual lips. All she could think about was how he’d taste if she kissed him, how those lips would feel on hers. The attraction felt palpable, as if it was a physical law of nature that couldn’t be denied, like gravity. Emma realized the absurdity of this situation: that just minutes ago she’d dismissed Happy Fun Time in an instant, but X was different. Calm, collected, confident. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of pull, this kind of attraction. It had been instantaneous the minute he’d walked into the bar. She’d been aware of him every second, every little move he made.

And the more she learned about him, the more intrigued she became. He had loved deeply before. She saw it in the hurt on his face. He was a complicated man, and as much as she hated to admit it, she loved complicated.

He studied her, waiting for her answer, and she felt the weight of his golden gaze. For the first time since signing up for this ridiculous app, she almost felt tempted. What would it be like to follow this man up to a room and...?

“If we went upstairs right now...” He leaned closer, so their elbows were now touching on the bar. “What’s the first thing you’d want? This would be a night for you. So...?”

She stared at his full lips.

“A k-kiss?” she offered.

He let out a low chuckle, and she felt the reverberations in her toes. She loved how he laughed—almost like a sensual growl. “You’re still behaving like you can’t be one hundred percent honest with me. You can. You don’t have to tell me the answers you think I want to hear.” He studied her. “What did you want your last boyfriend to do...that he’d never do?”

Emma thought about her predictable, staid boyfriend, Devin. He’d never been interested in how she felt about sex. It was always quick, the same position, with him coming in about two minutes, just when she was starting to get warmed up. Emma blamed herself: she never complained about it, and they’d just got stuck in this terrible kind of rhythm. But she didn’t know how to talk about it without hurting his feelings, so she didn’t.

Now Mr. X was waiting for her answer. And why not be honest? After all, he was right: they probably would never meet again. Even if they didn’t have sex tonight, what did she have to lose?

“He never let me...come first.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt a little bit lighter. Admitting that—the first time she’d admitted it to anyone—felt like a burden had been lifted. Like she’d finally let go of a dirty secret.

Mr. X stared at her. “He always came first?” He looked shocked, even bewildered as his dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

She nodded and took another drink of her gin and tonic, the second cocktail heading to her head with rapid speed. She felt pleasantly light-headed, but didn’t know if that was the Hendrick’s or Mr. X’s eyes on her.

Her experience limited, Emma thought maybe that was how it went with most men: they’d do what they wanted first, and then if they had the energy left over, they’d handle the woman’s needs.

“That’s unacceptable.” The finality of his tone sent another little thrill through her. “I’d make sure you came at least three times.”

“Three times?” She nearly spit out her drink. “That’s a lot.”

“Not nearly enough.” He grinned, and his bright white smile in his tanned face seemed blinding. “But we’d have all night.”

“All night?” Devin subscribed to the one and done philosophy. She doubted sex had ever lasted for her longer than about twenty minutes, and that was a marathon.

“And, of course, all positions. We have to find the one that’s right for you.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his full mouth.

Emma felt the blush inch its way up her neck. She wasn’t even sure she knew all the positions. The thought was a bit naughty...and a bit thrilling. She was beginning to see the allure of anonymous sex. She wouldn’t have to worry about what she looked like from certain vantage points, a concern that nearly always plagued her, or whether or not she ought to suck in her stomach. X was a stranger, and would remain a stranger, so why worry about... any of the normal things she worried about?

She ran her finger around the lip of her glass. “I’m beginning to see why women would want to fall into bed with you right when they meet you.”

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Well, I can tell you this. If you do, you won’t be disappointed.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear and the delicious naughtiness of the whole situation delighted her. She liked flirting—scratch that—loved flirting with this man. She even found herself seriously considering his proposition.

“Somehow, I believe you.”

“You should.” His confident gaze never left her. He slowly reached out and took her hand. He held it palm up, running a strong finger down her life line. “I like to start slowly. Explore you. Like so.” His delicate, featherlike touch sent electric sparks darting upward. Goose bumps ran up her arm. “Every woman is different, and I’d spend a lot of time finding out how unique you are.”

“Just how many women have you...” She figured probably hundreds. With eyes like that and a body that seemed ready for an underwear ad. She thought he probably got laid anytime he wanted it. Women lining up on Nost to have a drink date.

He cocked his head to one side, looking coy. “I’ve had my share.”

Now he was so close to her that when she looked up, she almost felt like she could fall into his gaze, a pool of hazel with flecks of gold. So close to him, she inhaled his spicy sweet scent, like cinnamon with a hint of some woodsy aftershave. He looked good. Smelled good. I wonder if he tastes good, too.

The thought jolted her.

“I’m not usually so impulsive.”

“Why not?” He wasn’t being flippant, she could tell. He really wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I guess I worry about what people will think.” There, she’d said it. It was her dirty little secret: she cared about other people’s opinions. She spent a great deal of time writing in her articles about how women need to believe in themselves and be independent, and yet, she feared the weight of judgment herself.

And was she falling into the trap of believing that women who sleep around, who have casual sex, were somehow less than the ones who were more particular? That little feminist thread would have her head spinning for days.

“No one has to know,” Mr. X said simply, as if this answered everything.

“But what if I want to write about it?” she asked. And part of her did. This little drink date was bringing up all kinds of feelings in her: Was she wrong to assume casual sex just benefited men? Should she try to find out? Why did her gut tell her to lean forward right now and kiss this man she’d just met?

“Then, do. I promise to give you something worth writing about.” He was so confident, so sure. And part of her knew he was telling the truth. She couldn’t imagine sex with this man being anything other than amazing. She could almost feel the electricity zapping between them. He was so close now that if she leaned forward, even slightly, their lips would touch. She held eye contact, unable to break it, caught in a kind of trance. He inched forward and she felt in that instant, he was going to kiss her. Suddenly, she got cold feet. Was he going to kiss her right here at the bar? Was she ready for where that kiss might lead?

She pulled away, ever so slightly. He paused, studying her face. Then, he let her hand go and leaned back. He smiled at her, gently.

“I think I want...I don’t know...a real connection,” she admitted. This was true. She wanted the whole package: amazing sex and love, but what she wanted above all else was a true connection. Something that meant something. Could she get that in one night?

He nodded. “You’re not ready,” he declared as a statement of fact.

“I’m...” Was he right? She felt all sorts of hormones rushing through her body, nerves tingling along her arms and up the back of her legs. She wanted love, but would she take sex right now in this moment?

“It’s okay.” He squeezed her hand. “Nost isn’t for everybody.”

That almost sounded like a goodbye. Was he abandoning the chase?

“I make it a rule never to pressure women,” he said and shrugged, as he finished the last bit of his drink in his glass and signaled the bartender for his tab. “This is something you want or you don’t.”

But...wait. I haven’t decided. Not yet. Maybe I do want this. The inner admission shocked her.

He signed the check and tucked his credit card back into his expensive leather wallet. “Emma, you’re an amazing and beautiful woman and it’s been my pleasure sharing this time with you.” He took her hand and kissed it, lingering a little over it, his lips soft and gentle.

She still felt shock. Was he leaving? Was this it? But she didn’t want the night to end. She didn’t want him to walk out of her life and never come back. This connection between them, it had to be real, didn’t it? He had to feel it, too?

“Can I...call you?”

He slowly shook his head. “I think we want different things.”

Did they? All she knew in that moment was that she didn’t want him to leave.