NYC Confidential Series Book 3
Scandal-wracked playboy, Charlie Marchetti, arrives in New York two days before his brother's wedding, determined to prove he's a reformed man, reliable, responsible and—yeah, all those good 'R' adjectives. No trouble, no drama and no mistakes. Ah, the best laid plans...
First, the airline lost his luggage. Second, all five of his ex-wives are coming to the wedding, probably just to remind Charlie he's an ass who takes nothing seriously and will die alone and unloved. Oh, and third, he has no date for the wedding.
Then he meets Persey Chancellor at lost luggage. Within minutes she's summed him up as a "bastard" and a "pervert". Damn it, but he's intrigued. With gum in her hair and tattoos up her arm, this uninhibited, potty-mouthed stranger could be his shocking trump card—an ultimate prank on the ex-wives.
Can the man dubbed "Charming Charlie" by the paparazzi, convince Persey to spend two days posing as his unlikely girlfriend? Hey, he'll do whatever it takes. But the last laugh might just be on him.
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"Actually, this is a first."
"Nah! Lying bastard."
"Truth." He put a hand to his heart. "Never came to the family store after hours with a date."
Persey the Tattooed, Potty-Mouth Goddess spun around from the rack of bras she was perusing. "A date?" She snorted loudly at that idea. "I haven't agreed to be your date yet."
"True. But I can be very persuasive."
She shot him a dark, heated look. "I bet."
"So why not just say yes and come to my brother's wedding with me?"
"You said you'd pay me."
He followed her around the racks, strangely reluctant to let her get too far away from him. "I'm buying you a full wardrobe. Doesn't that count?"
"I said I'd pay you back, as soon as I get some cash."
And when would that be, he wondered.
"I must be the weirdest person you ever asked out, Marchetti."
"Absolutely." Why pretend? He was still trying to figure all this out himself.
She went back to the bras and shot him a sideways look. "So what size tits do you think I have? You estimated everything else and you weren't far off."
With her straightforward comments the woman had a habit of making him feel like a shy twelve-year old boy again. Since she wasn't wearing anything under that wrap-around dress he could see her taut nipples pushing against the fabric as she arched her back and put her hands on her waist. He'd been trying to miss them. Now she made it impossible.
Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "34 B." Perfectly shaped, ripe pears nestled under the material, nipples primed. Damn. It was a long time since he'd tongued a nipple and then buried his face between a firm pair of breasts. The hot surge of want was unstoppable. His cock was alert, as it had been since she walked out of the bedroom in that dress. Since she was more curvy than he'd expected it was slightly too small for her and clung in all the best places. Or worst, depending on your point of view.
She rolled her eyes. "Spot on. Not."
"See! I'm really not the ladies' man they say I am. I can't even judge a bra size from a distance."
"Maybe you're not a boob man?"
"Oh, I like boobs."
Laughter rolled out of her. "Funny. I thought you might be gay when I first saw you."
"So that's why you came with me."
"Yep." She wriggled her ass, doing a funny little dance before him. "Or a male model. You look like you should be in black and white, leaning back in a speedboat with spray behind you and wind ruffling your cherubic locks." Glancing over her shoulder she giggled huskily, still enjoying her dance and humming now too.
Deliberately or not, the woman was teasing him, taunting with her body as she raised her arms overhead, stretching, arching her spine further. Just the way he'd imagined her in the shower earlier.
"Please stop doing that," he said finally, his voice low and tight.
Oh, she knew why all right. He glared.
Persey came closer, approaching from the other side of the circular clothes rack. "You can feel my boobs if you want and guess again."
"Do you always go around telling strangers to feel you up?"
A darkness, mournful and opaque as a widow's veil suddenly dropped over her green eyes. "Actually I'm used to being groped and they don't wait to be asked." It was a brief moment of gravity and then the sultry twinkle returned. "So you're special. I want you to feel my boobs, Marchetti. I invite you." She was close now, her face turned up to him. "It's payment for helping me out today. And I kind of like you."
"Kind of like me?" he sputtered.
"You were nice to me. I'm returning the favor."
"I appreciate that." This had to be a joke, he thought suddenly. Was this some scheme to get a really juicy photo of him? He eyed her warily. "Who are you?"
"Persephone Chancellor, of course."
"Are you a reporter? They planted you, didn't they?"
"Oh, Christ, yes. You got me, mister. I'm a honey trap."
"Show me your passport." He wanted to see her profession.
"It's back at the hotel. Now do you want to feel my boobs or not? I don't make a habit of this."
"You do realize there are security cameras all over this store."
"So what? It's your store. And these are my boobs." She grabbed his wrists and brought his hands to her breasts. "Don't be so bloody shy."
That was a new one. He'd never been accused of "shy" before.
Immediately he felt the hard peaks pushing at his palms. Her full breasts were warm and more than a handful. He couldn't resist spreading his long fingers, cupping and lightly squeezing the mouth-watering flesh.
She moaned softly and teetered on her heels. "That feels good, Marchetti. Don't stop."
Charlie repeated the squeeze. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, brushing them gently, then swirling his forefingers around them, tickling her areolas through the soft fabric. His cock stretched and filled in response to the signal sent by those hardened, tempting nipples. He knew he'd soon need to adjust his pants it if this kept up, so he took his hands off her.
"36 C," he said.
"I'm too distracted."
Abruptly she reached out and placed her hand over the bulge of his cock. "Yeah, so I see. You need to do something about this."
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