Pulse by Deborah Bladon Page A

they put in that martini? It's stolen all of my inhibitions away.
    He only nods in response. The way his black hair tumbles onto his forehead at the slightest movement of his head gives him a boyish charm that's completely misplaced. There's nothing about him that speaks of anything other than tall, gorgeous and very much a man through and through. He silently takes my hand and I follow him as he weaves his way through the throngs of people moving breathlessly to the pulsing beat of the music.
    "This is the club to go to when you want to get laid." Rebecca's words from hours earlier are haunting my body as I follow this stranger into an experience I know that I'm not going to soon forget.
    "This way." He drops my hand and gestures towards the lobby of Aeon. The hotel, situated in Times Square, is known for being a tourist hot spot. Even though I'm now a resident of the city, I still feel like a sightseer in disguise. I try not to react while I'm soaking in all the beautiful ambiance the lobby has to offer.  I turn back for one last fleeting look at the entrance to the attached club. This is my chance to abandon my plan and race back into the crowd.
    "Good evening, sir." The soft voice of a woman calls through my thoughts and I watch Nathan turn towards the desk in the lobby. The way the petite blond with the blue eyes stares at him suggests there's more to their exchange than first meets the eye. The contemptuous look she throws me cements my assumption. He's fucked her. I can see the envy in her face.
    The fact that he doesn't openly acknowledge her isn't lost on me. When I feel his hand on the small of my back I can't help but feel an inner rush. He's focused and determined. For this brief moment of his life, that's all for me. I'm the one he wants.
    As we round the corner to the bank of elevators, someone else calls his name. This time it's a man. I stand silently as Nathan pulls him out of my earshot. They have a very animated conversation. I stare at the man I'm about to share a bed with, or maybe a table or a floor. I can't believe I'm doing this. In a span of two weeks I've gone from being completely unfulfilled while in bed with my ex-boyfriend back in Connecticut, to being on the precipice of what I expect to be an incredible night of raw passion. That is, if he can tear himself away from this man long enough to fuck me.
    "Jessica." He turns, the smile spreading over his face. "Shall we?"
    "I thought you'd forgotten about me," I tease. At least I hope I'm teasing.
    "You?" He pulls my hand into his and deftly to his lips. "I have a feeling you're going to be unforgettable."
    My mind is telling me it's just words. He's an expert at this. He likely fucks a different woman every night and this is just part of his regular repertoire.
    "Like the desk clerk was unforgettable?" I mutter. I didn't say that loud enough for him to hear it, did I?
"The desk clerk?" His hand is on my back again as he guides me into the waiting elevator.
    I offer a sheepish smile as I raise a brow in response. "I saw the way she looked at you. She's been up to your suite."
    "Perhaps." He laughs. "She's not relevant. You are."
    "Are we your type?" I briefly glance at the mirror adorning the wall of the elevator.
    "What type might that be?" He leans down and frowns at me.
    "Blonde, blue eyes, curvy." The words come out much louder than I anticipate. What the hell is wrong with me? You don't ask a one-night stand this many questions.
    "I don't have a type," he says smoothly.
    "Everyone has a type." I take a deep breath. "We all do."
    "What's your type, Jessica?" The elevator dings its arrival on the eighteenth floor and the doors fly open. He doesn’t move.
    "Tonight, it's you."  I take a step towards him, pulling my finger down his silk tie as I walk out into the dimly lit corridor all the while hoping he's following me.
     

Chapter 2
     
     
    You can do this. You want to do this. You've wanted this for so long. I replay the words over and over