“Don’t scratch the sofa while I’m gone or I swear I will get your claws removed,” I threaten before leaving my bedroom.

  Charlie, as I like to call the gray long-haired fluff ball, meows and follows me toward the kitchen. He jumps up onto the counter, and I swat at him. Instead of running away, he merely snarls at me. Fucking cat.

  I run a hand through my dark-blond hair and groan. “I need a cat trainer.”

  He meows again, then scurries off toward the hallway.

  I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then snag my keys and wallet from the counter. It’s already after ten, and I need to leave, but I’m still not keen on the idea.

  Even if I’m in a managing role, though, I’m still the new guy and don’t want to piss off my boss so soon.

  With heavy footsteps, I make my way from the kitchen and into the garage of the house I’m renting from the publishing company. It has three bedrooms and two bathrooms and looks identical to every other house on the street, except they all have varying paint colors over their stucco siding. Boring and predictable. Nothing like my brick masonry home with views of Hyde Park.

  I slide onto the black leather seats inside my Lexus sports car—the only splurge purchase I made when I moved here—and put my foot on the brake before pressing the start button.

  The engine roars to life, and I turn the seat heaters on. It might not be freezing outside, but it’s still winter, and I rather like my arse toasters.

  Before backing out of the garage, I put the name of the club into my GPS and start the directions. I don’t think I’ll ever go anywhere in this damn city without using maps. Avoiding traffic is key and, somehow, the apps always know where the best routes are. That’s a technology I don’t care to understand.

  The club is just over twenty minutes away, so I turn on some music and focus on driving. When I arrive, the place is packed, but they at least have valet parking, so I use that to avoid spending the next hour finding a space on a holiday.

  “Good evening, sir,” the young valet says.

  “Evening,” I reply with a curt nod before getting out of my car.

  He hands me a ticket that I slide into my front pocket as I head toward the front entrance. There’s a line to get in, but according to Steve, employees who signed up for the celebration should have their names on the list already.

  A bald bouncer-looking guy in a tight black shirt nods toward the plethora of waiting people. “Back of the line is that way, man.”

  I point to the tablet at his side. “I’m on a list.”

  He sighs and taps on the screen. “Name?”

  “Colin Adamson with Alliteration Publishing.”

  While he scans whatever he’s looking at, I get hopeful he’s going to tell me I can’t get in, but then he taps something and steps aside. “Go on in. Your group should be in the back left corner of the main floor.”

  “Great,” I reply stiffly.

  I move around him and, when the door opens, loud thrumming music hits me. I’m a fan of all genres, but not when they’re being blasted in my ears.

  I give my shoulders a shake and proceed forward. Everything is dark with soft blue lights being the only thing that helps to make sure I don’t run into something—or someone—I shouldn’t.

  Tables are scattered around the outer edges of the club, and there are at least three bars that I can see as I descend the stairs.

  Drunk women and men alike bump into me as I continue forward, attempting to find the path of least resistance.

  When I finally make it out of the chaos, I see there are at least a couple dozen people talking or dancing in the back corner. Don’t the employees have a life outside of work? Why in the world do they want to hang out together when they are off the clock?

  Maybe I just haven’t been at the company long enough to see why. Sure, I was willing to move to a new country because of the pay and benefits, but maybe there is more I haven’t been looking for yet.

  “Colin! I’m glad you could make it,” Brian, one of my editors who works a few offices down from me, says.

  He’s wearing a light-pink collared shirt and white trousers with dark sunglasses covering his eyes, even though there’s hardly any light in this place.

  He hands me a drink, then runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “We didn’t think you’d show, mate.”

  I force a smile to my face. Brian is the only one in the office who has tried to use British phrases to connect with me. I haven’t decided what I think of it, but so far, he hasn’t seemed condescending, so I’ve merely smiled at his attempts. Little does he know, thanks to all the editing I’ve done for American authors, a lot of my British-isms have been beaten out of me.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss this,” I lie with a grin on my face. It’s not their fault I don’t understand why I was forced to show up.

  I lift the tall glass Brian handed me to my lips, take a large swig of the cold drink, then gag as half of it goes back into the glass. “Bloody hell, what is that?”

  Brian laughs and pats my back. “A Bourbon Tea Cocktail. It grows on you.”

  The back of my hand wipes over my lips. “That is not tea, and it’s a disgrace to proper tea everywhere to call it such.”

  He gives my shoulder a squeeze and guides me forward. “Come on. We’ll get you something else. I have a table over here with some of the other guys from our floor.”

  I follow him to a table and see several pitchers and bottles of alcohol in the middle of four other men, most of whom I recognize, thanks to my time spent in the other departments.

  Brian gestures to a seat for me before taking his own and begins introducing me, even to those I’ve already met.

  “In case anyone is too drunk to remember… Everyone, this is Colin. He’s the new chief editor on staff for our floor. Colin, this is Matt. He’s in design, along with James.”

  The two in question wave, and I return the gesture. “Nice to see you both again.”

  “Over here is Thad. He works in accounting. And last, we have Mikey. He’s also an editor. I think you’ve met him?” Brian grabs a pitcher of what I assume to be a light beer, based on its pale color, and pours two glasses.

  I nod. “I have, but nice to see and meet everyone again outside of work.”

  Matt laughs, wrinkles forming around his face. “Damn, man. You’re a lucky bastard moving here with that accent. I bet the women have been falling at your feet.”

  I take a drink of my offered beer and shake my head before answering. “I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t noticed.”

  Then, I internally groan, realizing I’ve just admitted to not sleeping with anyone since I moved here. For single men in a big city, those few months are like an eternity.

  Matt holds his drink across the table in cheers. “Well, here’s to hoping you get lucky tonight.”

  Everyone else shouts in agreement, and I take a much longer drink of my beer in hopes the conversation will stray from my sex life.

  Thankfully, my wish comes true, and I get to laugh alongside them while listening to the guys talk about past gatherings I’m not familiar with. They clearly have no problem throwing each other under the proverbial bus, and when Mikey starts talking about freezing all of Thad’s underwear back when they lived together, I find myself wishing I’d met them sooner.

  “You lads are insane, but I’m starting to see that’s not a bad thing,” I say with a chuckle.

  Matt tilts his drink toward me with a huge grin on his face. “Hell no, it’s not. Stick with us and we’ll show you a thing or two about living life to the fullest.”

  I’m not sure I’m ready for that drastic of a lifestyle change, but I nod anyway and reach to refill my beer.

  Brian pushes my hand away from the pitcher. “How are your dance moves?”

  I shrug. “Decent. Why?”

  He shakes his head and smiles. “Dude, we’re at a club with lots of women, most of who are likely single if they’re on the dance floor by themselves. That’s heaven for a single guy. Just stay away from any of the ones that work with us. Nobody needs that kind of drama in their life.”

  Dancing wasn’t on my agenda. Hell, I thought I would have left already, but since I’m enjoying my time so far, I decide why the hell not.

  What could go wrong by dancing?

  Chapter Three

  KILLING ME SLOWLY

  Piper

  Thanks to my inner Kenzie, I’ve let my inhibitions go and have nearly drunk myself under the table, but I still feel coherent enough to shake my ass on the dance floor. At least, that’s what I tell myself I’m doing.

  I very well could be making a fool of myself, but there isn’t a part of me that cares. Especially now that Shannon and her husband have left, thanks to her getting a migraine. I don’t see any of the people around that they introduced me to earlier.

  My resolutions have been at the forefront of my mind all night long and, even as I’m dancing, I remind myself that things have to be different for me here. I can’t go home before midnight and be the lame woman who starts the New Year alone in her condo. I just can’t be that pathetic or even that me.

  Watching my two best friends move forward with their lives, finding what and who makes them happy, has played a major role in reevaluating my own situation. I’ve fought accepting that I need to create a new life here in LA without them, but tonight, with my walls down, I finally realize that if I’m going to do what I’ve worked so hard for then I need to stop wallowing in the past.

  That also means I need to stop being so cautious about everything I do or overthinking things like my resolutions list. This is why I’m still throwing my arms around the dance floor and having the time of my life…all by myself.

  Sure, there have been people dancing with me, but it’s not the same as having a group of friends at my side. Tonight, though, and every day moving forward, that no longer matters.

  Not if I’m intent on making sure everything I’ve done to lead to this moment hasn’t been for nothing.

  My ass bumps into someone, and I don’t bother to apologize since it’s happened to me dozens of times already, but then a body hits roughly against my side causing me to lose my footing.

  With reflexes too slow to react in any way helpful, thanks to all the alcohol I’ve had, I mentally prepare myself for my face meeting the ground. This is not going to be good.

  Though, before that can happen, strong hands wrap around my waist, jerking me forward until my side is pressed firmly against a hard chest.

  “Easy there, darlin’. Are you okay?” a deep and very British voice says in my ear.

  Holy shit.

  I haven’t even laid eyes on this man, and he has my core tightening and skin tingling where he’s still touching me. A desperate need to throw myself at him overcomes me.

  I don’t want to turn around. His accent has a sexy lilt to it, and I’m afraid he won’t look as delicious as he sounds. Even more than that, I’m worried he will.

  “Can you hear me?” he asks, tugging on my hips until I’m forced to face him. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m not very good at all this.”

  My ovaries are having a dance party and screaming at me to ask this man to take me right here in the club, uncaring that there are hundreds of people around us.

  I can hardly breathe as I take in his dark-blond hair, light-blue—or maybe gray—eyes, clean-shaven face, and kissable lips.

  He waves a hand in front of my face. “Did you hit your head?”

  I blink finally and shake my head. “No, sorry. I’m fine.”

  He leans in closer, and the scent of his woodsy aftershave goes right through me. “What?”

  Damn this music.

  “I’m okay. Thank you for catching me,” I say right into his ear this time, doing my best not to inhale too deeply.

  He pulls back and smiles widely, then goes back to dancing, but instead of moving on, he stays close while I stand there like an idiot for a few too many seconds just staring at all the sexiness in front of me.

  He’s wearing gray slacks and a black collared shirt that buttons up the front and has been left untucked, blocking the view Drunk Piper really wants to see.

  Shit. I should probably go get some water before I do something I wouldn’t normally, like ask a complete stranger to take me home.

  Kenzie and Ella would be proud as hell of me if I did, but I just can’t. Even if I want to start living more carefree, a one-night stand is too big of a stretch for me. At least right now.

  I turn to head toward the bar, but the same man lightly catches my wrist. His mouth moves, but I don’t hear the words he says.

  He must see the confusion on my face, because he leans in closer. “It’s almost midnight.”

  My breath hitches. Is he insinuating what I think he is?

  “And?” I counter with a smile growing on my face.

  He chuckles next to my ear and his breath seeps into my skin, branding me like a hot iron. “And you should stay here. With me.”

  His accent is killing me slowly. I can’t tell him no. The desire to taste his lips on mine is too strong, even though I don’t even know his name.

  I finally nod, and he grabs my hand, pulling me closer. His hands hold my hips, and I watch as he attempts to find a rhythm to the music. Attempts being the operative word.

  No wonder this sexy man is still on his own. He can’t dance to save his life. Though, his moves are so bad that they’re almost endearing.

  I try to match his awkwardness and laugh my ass off when I decide I’m worse than he is at this whole thing.

  My hands gather my long brunette strands, and I lift them off my neck before turning around. My ass presses against him, giddily feeling something long and hard within his pants as the sexy stranger slows our movements until we finally match paces.

  His arm moves, and he pushes the rest of my hair to one shoulder, then presses his lips to my neck.

  Shivers race down my back, and everything inside me tightens in anticipation of what might happen next.

  The song ends, but he doesn’t let go of me and I don’t dare make a move to leave. A DJ taps the microphone and starts speaking.

  “How are we doing tonight, LA?” he shouts. Cheers echo through the room. “Are we ready for the final countdown to midnight?”

  I don’t hear any other sound in the room except for the handsome man’s voice from behind me. “Absolutely.”

  People start chanting around us. I assume they’re counting down, but I can’t be sure as I turn around and meet the stranger’s heady gaze.

  One of his hands raises and cups my cheek. “I’m going to kiss you unless you have any objections.”

  “Hell, no, I don’t.”

  He laughs, and I realize the words were said out loud instead of the thought I intended them to be.

  Screw it. This is the new Piper. The one who is living her life to the fullest and who is going to do whatever it takes to make sure moving here becomes one of the best choices I’ve ever made.

  My fingers grip his shirt, and I jerk him closer. Shouts sound off all around us, but I don’t tear my gaze away from his as I lean closer.

  Our lips connect in the next second, and a burst of pleasure shivers its way down my spine while I arch closer to him. His tongue presses forward, and I open for him without hesitation while his hands hold me tightly to his chest.

  A faint taste of beer hits my tongue as he devours my mouth with possibly the best kiss I’ve ever had. I moan against his lips, my toes curl inside my black heels, and I hope I’m giving back as good as I’m getting in my inebriated state.

  One of his hands moves over my ass, gripping the bottom of my dress so tightly that I’m pretty sure my cheeks are showing, but I can’t find the will to give a damn as my core tightens and screams for me to go home with the delicious slice of man.

  Except I know me. Even if I don’t always like my reserved nature, I can’t let my hormones make this decision. Thankfully, I don’t have to.

  Mr. British pulls back, holds me by the hips, and grins, showing off dimples I hadn’t noticed before. “Care to keep dancing?”

  I nod. “That sounds perfect to me.”

  Everything about this moment feels right, at least for the night, and for the first time since I parked my car in front of my condo, I finally feel like moving here might not be as daunting as I’d been telling myself.

  Chapter Four

  ELUDE ME

  Colin

  Waking up the next morning is painful. Not because I’m hungover, but because I’m not as young as I used to be. My body is reminding me that thirty-seven isn’t anywhere near twenty-one in terms of staying out later than normal and dancing for hours on end.

  As I get out of bed, I’m eternally grateful to have today off to recover from the night before. Though, I don’t stay in bed. I head toward the shower in hopes I can wash away some of the aches and pains rising inside me.

  While I wait for the water to warm up, I recount the previous evening and grin.

  That woman.

  I don’t know who she is, and I stupidly didn’t get her name or number before she disappeared around one o’clock. It disappointed me more than I expected it to when I realized she didn’t say goodbye. So much so that I have a feeling I’ll be back at the same club next week just to see if I might find her again.

  And when I do? I won’t let much time go by before asking for her information. At least, that will be the plan if I manage to see her again and she doesn’t run away.

  She was the only one who hadn’t been afraid of my terrible dancing. And when I kissed her? My dick had never stood at attention quicker. But I haven’t lost hope yet.

  By the time I get the beautiful brunette out of my thoughts, I’m done washing up and head for the kitchen before bothering to dress.

  Even more than needing to be clean, I require coffee and medication to kick the lingering headache I can feel growing in the back of my head.

 

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