Jennie

The gala was a typical fundraising event. The same attendees—the wealthy and the notable. The same divine wardrobe choices. The same conversations about politics and gossip and celebrity trainers and bottom lines. The same pricey yet still disappointing food. And, of course, the murmurs of "such a good cause" as Miami's wealthiest residents competed for the title of most generous.

Lisa was pulled away by a former client, a beautiful young woman who had once been accused of breaking up the marriage of a beloved celebrity couple. Lisa shook her fiancé's hand heartily and listened to the happy couple's Parisian wedding plans.

Blissfully unencumbered for a moment, I returned to the bar and took another flute of champagne. It was for show, not sipping. With age and responsibility came the wherewithal to not get spectacularly drunk in public.

I ducked into a corner behind a heavy velvet curtain to check my phone. My mother would have a conniption if she saw me with it in hand. It wasn't that she required my undivided attention. It was more that she abhorred the physical reminder of my attachment to work. How could I meet an eligible bachelor if I was too busy responding to my chief financial officer? What man would want me if I couldn't be bothered to put down my SEC filings and smile prettily while he told amusing anecdotes to an appreciative crowd?

I had the usual dozen texts. And one that actually excited me.

Esther: Got some results you might be interested in. Swing by the lab Sunday?

Me: How interesting will I find them? Sunday's good.

She responded immediately, and I could picture her in the lab, her Converse-clad feet propped up on a work table while data scrolled by on her computer monitors. She was probably eating cold Chinese takeout. And I'd have given anything to be there with her.

Esther: I'm rerunning a few things to verify, but I think I'm going to owe you $5.

I hugged my phone to my chest. Feeling that old, familiar excitement that used to sweep over me every time I crossed the threshold to my college lab. It was ironic that being successful in science could take me so far away from the lab. But I had skills that went beyond peering into microscopes and analyzing reams of data.

I gave in to the excitement and danced a little boogie.

"Oops. I try to hide from the party and walk in on another one," said a woman poured into a gown the color of the midnight sky hugging her voluptuous curves.

Embarrassed that I'd been caught, I offered her a polite smile. "Welcome to the VIP section. I'm Jennie Kim."

"Franchesca Baranski," she answered, shaking my hand enthusiastically. She pointed over her shoulder with a thumb toward a man whose beauty rivaled Lisa's. "That tall drink of water over there is my husband, Aiden Kilbourn. He's probably negotiating the price of a small country."

"He's very handsome," I said.

Franchesca lifted a shoulder, her thick dark curls spilling over it. "Yeah, he's okay," she said fondly. "Who belongs to you?"

I liked that she didn't ask who I belonged to. I spied Lisa across the room schmoozing with a diplomat and her artist husband. "That gorgeous over there who is quite possibly picking pockets."

She nodded approvingly. "Nice. She's so pretty it kinda hurts my eyes."

"She has that effect," I agreed. "Are you hiding from anyone in particular?"

"Eh, these things aren't my jam. I'm more of a pajama pants and bunny slippers Friday night kind of gal. But apparently just writing checks for causes is frowned upon. You have to be seen writing the check. Price of privilege and all that. So, here I am sneaking some PB and J because I know these bozos aren't serving up a twenty-grand-worthy veal parm. You want?"

She pulled half a sandwich out of her clutch. I liked her immensely.

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I'm holding out for a milkshake afterward."

She bit and chewed. "Good call. Love the hair by the way. Very badass babe."

I patted the back of my head. "Thanks. Courtesy of that very pretty one."

"She looks like that, and she does hair? Oh, honey, you grab her with both hands and hang on for dear life."

We laughed a little too sincerely, drawing curious glances.

"Looks like your guy is looking for you," Franchesca observed.

Lisa was indeed scanning the crowd. And when she spotted me, I felt a frisson of energy shimmer over me. She didn't look delighted. She looked… hungry. As hungry as I felt. Was there anything sexier than those long looks across a crowded room where everyone else just melted into the wallpaper?

"Yowsa," Franchesca mused behind me.

I wanted her. Even if it didn't make sense. Even if it was a bad decision. I wanted Lisa Manoban in my bed.

"Son of a bitch!"

Breaking Lisa's gaze, I turned back to Franchesca, who was dabbing at a glob of jelly on her cleavage.

I grinned. "Do you need a napkin?"

"Nah. Aide'll get it later," she said with a wicked wiggle of her eyebrow.

"I'd better get back out there," I said, feeling a pang of regret.

"Go get 'em, tiger," she said, taking another bite of peanut butter and jelly. "I'll hold down the fort here for any other escapees."

"It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, her mouth full.

I met Lisa in the center of the ballroom. The heavy wooden beams of the ceiling spoked outward above our heads. She ran her hands down my bare arms from bicep to wrist. An intimate, friendly gesture. I'd seen the girl naked, but physically we'd remained squarely in our own space except for that kiss. We'd shared secrets. She'd styled my hair and bought me a dress that fit me like skin, yet I didn't know her birthday or favorite baseball team or what she'd gone to college for.

It was an odd kind of intimacy.

"How's the schmoozing?" I asked.

"Not quite as delightful as your company," she told me, bringing my hand to her lips.

"So smooth," I commented. "Have you lightened anyone's pockets yet?"

The quirk of her lips quickened my pulse. "I've heeded your request and kept my hands to myself."

Things in my core were heating up. Switches thrown. Buttons pushed. I felt good old-fashioned desire rev to life. She was picking up on it. I could tell by the spark in those unfairly brown eyes.

"Say the word, love, and my hands will roam wherever you let them."

That pretty picture had a volcano erupting between my legs. What was it about this person that made me feel things?

"Lisa?"

She leaned forward until my breasts brushed the crisp elegance of her jacket. My nipples tightened instinctively.

"Yes, Jennie?"

"How do you feel about milkshakes?" I asked.

Those brown eyes cranked up the icy fire a degree or two. "Love them."

"Would you like one after…"

"After what?" Lisa asked. The question was practically a whisper. A quiet breath usually reserved for silky sheets and moonlight.

The hum of pleasure was a full-blown jet engine in my ears. It was simple biology. I had been bred to find a man in a tuxedo beddable. But tastefully so. With candles, a non-disclosure agreement, and a hotel suite. Not the kind of panty-ripping, half-clothed, dark alley fuck I was envisioning starring Lisa Manoban.

"What goes on in that head?" she asked, cupping my chin.

"Surprise!"

My brother's voice had never been more unwelcome in my life. That included the time he'd drunkenly fallen through the window into my bedroom when I'd been entertaining my prom date.