“Come home,” Jeff said. “We’ll go to the diner for chocolate chip pancakes and spiked milkshakes.”
She leaned against the wall of windows at her side. “I’m already here. Maybe there are rush tickets left or something. I’ve been waiting to see this opera –”
“Ever since Dr. Van Aller played an excerpt in theory last semester. I know, doll,” Jeff said gently. “I hope you get a seat, but if you don’t, text me, yeah? I’ll rally the troops and meet you at the train station.”
“Thanks, Jeff.”
She hung up, returning her phone to her bag.
“Excuse me.”
Mel looked up at the words, a deep rumble of a voice coming from the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She scanned the hard planes of his body, the muscled form highlighted by his perfectly tailored suit, his polished shoes, the edge of a tattoo peeking out of his sleeve as it curled around his wrist. But it was his face that made her forget to breathe. Grey blue eyes framed by long dark lashes, faint crinkles at the corners from an abundance of laughter. His dark hair, longer on top than on the sides, mussed as though he’d been running his hands through it. And his chiseled jaw dusted with stubble. She wanted to run her palm over his cheek, to feel the sandpapery scratch of him against the softest parts of her. His full, plush lips turned up at the edges when she met his eyes.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” he continued.
Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.Of coursethis Adonis of a man had heard her getting stood up. And where was that accent from? She couldn’t quite place it.
“It seems you are in need of a ticket. And as it so happens,” he said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and producing two tickets, “I have an extra.”
∞∞∞
Dr. Liam Jacobs knew three things for sure.
One: Moving to New York was the right decision, no matter what Emma, his fiancé – well, ex-fiancé now – had said as she flung her ring in his face. No matter how miserably lonely the small house on Long Island was. If he was honest with himself, the apartment he and Emma had shared in Boston was equally lonely.
Hehadto accept the tenure-track position at one of the most prestigious undergraduate music programs in the country. Opportunities like that didn’t just fall into people’s laps. So when his best friend’s uncle proposed that he take over as the head of Burnett University’s opera program – that he transform it into one of the top programs in the Northeast – he knew he had to accept. He’d also known it would cost him Emma. And he hadn’t hesitated.
Two: He was damn glad he hadn’t offered his extra ticket to tonight’s performance ofDie Tote Stadtto the history adjunct Noah was so eager to set him up with. Amy - or was it Amelia or Amber? (he couldn’t remember) - was nice enough, but her eyes had practically glazed over when he’d mentioned the opera. Was it so wrong to want to enjoy the company of the women he took to bed? To hope they shared something in common aside from the urge to chase away their demons with a few hours of mindless pleasure?
Liam had only been single for a few scattered weeks at a time since college. Maybe in the thirteen years since then –Christ, he felt old– he’d forgotten how to date. Sure, he’d fucked plenty of women since Emma left him six months ago. The woman at his new gym who took the treadmill in front of him, the word “juicy” emblazoned across her tight, high ass in those pink yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination. The barista at the coffee shop next to campus with the pixie haircut and the tongue ring. The woman in line behind him at the grocery store who bought only mangoes and condoms, her long red fingernails clicking against the Trojan box as they waited in line.
Ever since Liam could remember, beautiful women slipped their phone numbers into his pocket or “accidentally” brushed their hands over his ass. It was nothing new, but for the first time in over a decade, he allowed himself every sweaty, meaningless moment these women offered. Brazen, unabashed women with thick Long Island accents and perfect manicures. But none of them even came close to holding his interest for more than an hour or two.
Three: heneededto meet the woman in the purple dress. He had spotted her almost instantly, and no matter how he tried to keep himself from staring at the young woman across the lobby, he couldn’t help it.
She leaned against the wall of windows, turning the pages of a small paperback book. Friday night – opening night of a new production at the Met – and this vision in a plunging neckline was reading a book.She was so engrossed in whatever she was reading that she didn’t even notice the lingering glances of the men who passed her. But Liam did. His fists clenched every time one of those lecherous old men let their eyes roam to the delicious curve of her ass, the swath of milky flesh visible between her breasts.
In fact, she was so absorbed in her book that she hardly looked up at all until that phone call had allowed him to overhear that she was stuck without a ticket. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he found himself with an extra ticket burning a hole in his pocket on the very same night she was, from the sound of it, unceremoniously stood up.
Hearing the distress in her voice, he’d made his way across the lobby. Slowly, meandering, afraid she’d startle if he came at her too directly. She was clearly young – probably in her early twenties. Young enough that he should feel badly for all the filthy images running through his head, but he couldn’t make himself care. Not when her hair fell over one shoulder like a chestnut curtain stitched through with strands of gold and copper and auburn, the ends of her hair tickling her chest, stroking her skin where he longed to stroke her. It was enough for his cock to swell behind his zipper as he imagined wrapping that hair around his fist, that waterfall of silken tresses splashing over his thighs as she took him between her pouty lips...
“Excuse me,” he said.
She looked up, her mouth rounding into a perfect O as her eyes swept over him. Her blue eyes were wide, watching him from over the perfect slope of her nose, a single freckle dotting the bridge. The corner of her full bottom lip pulled between her teeth and Liam’s chest grew tight. The invitation in those eyes – did he imagine it? - the question in that lip, the very real need to dig his fingers into the softness of her thighs, to mark her as his own with his teeth, to press himself against her until she understood just what she was doing to him with that wide-eyed gaze and herfucking book.
He swallowed hard, his eyes caressing the dip of her waist, the ample curve of her hips. “I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said. “It seems you are in need of a ticket. And as it so happens, I have an extra.”
She glanced around, as if she expected he was speaking to someone else. “That’s very kind,” she said. “But I couldn’t –”
“You could. What have you got to lose?”
He flashed a smile – the one that had been dropping panties at his feet for years. She narrowed her eyes at him, skepticism slashed across her face.Oh, this is going to be fun.
“You’re sure?” she said slowly.
“Absolutely,” he said, gesturing for her to lead the way just as the house lights began flashing.
“I’m Liam.”