Moonstruck

Of course, he’d never imagined Roberto Murtaugh, either. But when this year’s Academy Award winner for best actress had introduced Ty to the Dubai-based billionaire at a Hollywood party, Ty had heard opportunity knocking loud and clear. He might not be able to read a balance sheet without the numbers twisting and turning and floating off the page, but he damn sure knew how to make those numbers grow. He’d sat Murtaugh down and outlined everything he’d accomplished during his years in Los Angeles. From starting out at nineteen as a hungry entrepreneur who worked in every club that would hire him, to the day they cut the ribbon at the grand opening of his fifth club.

Not surprisingly, Murtaugh had heard of Ty. Even in Los Angeles, when a guy as young as Ty starts raking in as much money as he was making—when he spins the success of his brick-and-mortar clubs into Internet social-networking sites—the media takes notice. At first he was dubbed the Boy Wonder, but by the time he’d been in the business a few years and had reached his twenty-eighth birthday, they’d taken to simply tagging him with a party-boy moniker. Tabloid fodder, with his frequent starlet dates and high-end lifestyle.

That was all right with Ty. The more the spotlight shined on him, the more popular his clubs became. And the truth was, he had absolutely no intention of changing the way he lived. His nightlife lifestyle had dragged him up from abject poverty, earned him more than his fifteen minutes on Good Morning America, started the press buzzing about him, and brought Hollywood royalty knocking on his door, asking for tickets and passes to special events and crowded nights.

If that meant he had to be labeled a party guy, then he could handle the title, even now at the age of thirty.

For that matter, he was willing to put up with whatever it took to keep growing his business. To be the guy his parents were so certain he could never be. Successful. Wealthy. Respected.

Apparently, ‘whatever it took’ included moving back to Dallas.

He’d hit it off with Murtaugh, but the billionaire’s bankroll hadn’t filled up by trust alone. And when Ty pitched Murtaugh his idea of expanding Ty’s celestially named nightclubs into Europe and Asia, the investor had been both interested and wary.

“I like you,” the older man had said. “But you have proven yourself only in one city. How do I know you have the spark to make this work?”

“I do,” Ty had said. “Tell me how to convince you, and I’ll do it.”

“I have two properties,” Murtaugh had said. And then he’d smiled and told Ty exactly what he wanted. Simple enough. Ty had eight months to whip one of Murtaugh’s nightclubs, Decadent, into shape. Work with the staff. Consult. Do whatever magic needed to be done. And at the same time, Ty was supposed to bring to life a currently boarded-up establishment that Murtaugh was considering selling. A butt-ugly property that hadn’t ever turned a profit. He and Murtaugh had agreed to a fifty-fifty split, and the property would launch as an offshoot of Heaven, Ty’s very first and most popular California nightclub.

Assuming both properties got off the ground and were in the black within Murtaugh’s rather insane time frame, Murtaugh promised he’d bankroll Ty’s expansion.

It was, Ty thought, too good to be true.

And as soon as Murtaugh had told him the location of the properties, Ty saw the big old trick the universe was playing on him.

Accomplish his biggest dream—become the Wolfgang Puck or Gordan Ramsey of the club scene—but walk through hell first to do it.

Of course he’d said yes.

He’d been in Dallas for about six months now, and had two left on his sentence. And he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this damned town.

He forced the thoughts out of his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He was there now, in the club, and for at least a few minutes, the woman in his arms was making the fact that he was stuck there significantly more pleasant.

From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d planned to go over and talk to her. Take her back to the VIP section of the club. Buy her a drink. Ask her to dance.

Never once had he imagined that she’d throw herself into his arms and kiss him like she meant it. Like she wanted it.

She moaned a little, her soft body pressing close to his. He could taste the champagne on her lips, and he’d watched her down at least a couple of flutes full as she’d scoured the place, searching for someone. A someone not him, though he had to admit that the idiot’s loss was most definitely his gain.

He felt hot, needy and he wanted to touch her. Not simply the way he was touching her now, but all of her. He wanted to feel her skin beneath his fingers, slide his palms over her bare breasts. Close his mouth over her nipples and feel them harden as his tongue licked and stroked.

He wanted, and if there was one thing Ty usually made sure of, it was that he got what he wanted.

At the moment, frankly, he wanted his private office. Unfortunately, he’d never set up an office at Decadent since his role here was that of consultant. Instead, he’d rented a small office in the Wardman Towers downtown, and downtown was much too far away for his current purposes.

But, damn, he wished it weren’t. Because no matter who’d been on her mind when she’d first stepped into Decadent, right now, the woman in his arms was all about him. Or she was until—

“Claire?”

The male voice came from his left, and the woman in Ty’s arms, aka Claire, pulled gently away, her eyes wide, her expression wary.

“Oh. Joe. What a surprise seeing you here.”

Of course it wasn’t a surprise, as Ty could easily see.

“I saw you across the room. Thought I should come over and say hi.”

“Right.” Claire’s smile was of the overly polite variety. “That’s great.” Her hands fluttered, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. “Happy New Year.”

“You, too.” He turned to Ty, his hand held out in greeting. “Ty Coleman, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joe Powell,” he said, holding out his hand. “Power Publicity.”

Ty shook the man’s hand, flipping through the Rolodex of names he kept in his mind. He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t rely on jotted notes, and he’d trained himself to remember names and faces. This name, he recognized. Joe Powell had the reputation of being one of the most up-and-coming PR men in Texas, and he was on Ty’s mental list of people he wanted his assistant to call to schedule a meeting. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to have to bother Lucy with that now—unless he missed his guess, Joe Powell hadn’t come over to see Claire, but to introduce himself to Ty.

“Listen,” Joe said, “I’m not the type who plays coy, and the truth is, I came here tonight hoping to meet you.”

Bingo, Ty thought, then noted Claire’s confused expression. Joe might know who he was, but Claire was clueless. The realization surprised and pleased him, because he couldn’t even remember the last time that a woman had been attracted solely to him, and not to the trappings that made up Ty Coleman.

Joe grinned at Claire. “I suppose I could have asked you to introduce us,” he said. “I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Coleman…”

“Yes, well.” Her brow creased, as if she was debating what to say next.

Ty had no idea what made him do it, but he took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “Our relationship’s been a little whirlwind.”

Claire opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything, and Ty could practically see the debate raging across her face. Should she mention the fact that they had no relationship, or just go with the flow?

Ty was beginning to think she was about to set the record straight, when a lanky redhead with nail-point heels and a smile as big as Texas stepped forward and took Joe’s hand. “I know all about whirlwind,” Joe said. “This is Bonita,” he said, as Claire’s eyes went wide.

The girl’s smile grew brighter. “I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”

CLAIRE’S HEAD WAS SPINNING, and she was certain it wasn’t just from the champagne. For one thing, why did Joe know who Mr. Texas Royalty was? Ty Coleman. She stifled a small frown, because the name really did sound familiar, but with her fuzzy head, she couldn’t latch on to why.

And what the devil was Joe doing with a girlfriend? Was this the same Joe who had, only a few days before Christmas, made a huge pass at her?

Then again, it had been Bonita who’d used the G-word, not Joe, so maybe the girl was posturing?

Claire considered that, then firmly shoved the thought out of her mind. Honestly, what did it matter if Bonita was his girlfriend or his fiancée or even his mail-order bride? Right then, she simply wanted both of them to leave. She didn’t know why Ty was of any interest to Joe, but she did know that he was of serious interest to her. And she wanted him all to herself again.

Apparently, there was power in positive thinking, because Joe took a step backward, as if he was about to leave. Claire did a little mental happy dance, then stumbled when Bonita caught his arm. “You should invite them, sugar.”

“Honey, I’m sure now’s not the time,” he said, although Claire knew him well enough to know that Joe never missed an opportunity to schmooze a potential client, and for a moment, she wondered if he and Bonita had scripted the invitation—whatever it was for.

“I’ll have my office call and arrange a meeting with Mr. Coleman next week,” Joe went on. “Would that be okay?” he asked Ty. “I’d love to talk to you about publicity for the grand opening of Heaven. I know you’ve been using someone else for this place, but I really think that Power Publicity has the contacts and the know-how to help Heaven make a huge splash. And now that you’re a month away from opening, it’s time for us to take a hard look at your PR plan. My goal for you would be to have Heaven, Dallas, open even bigger, stronger and flashier than any of your California clubs.”

It was, Claire thought, a total V-8 moment. “You’re Ty Coleman,” she blurted, which she wouldn’t have done without the champagne. “Of course!”

“You didn’t—” Joe began.

“Private joke,” Ty said. “When we first met, she didn’t realize who I was.”

“Awww,” Bonita said, apparently charmed.

“Give my office a call,” Ty said to Joe. “Tell my assistant I said to set up thirty minutes. If I like what I hear, we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds great,” Joe said, looking like a man who’d just won the lottery. “Looking forward to it.”

“Why don’t you invite them to the party?” Bonita said.

Joe’s gaze darted to Claire. “Oh, I don’t know—”

“Why on earth not? I know Daddy would love to meet Mr. Coleman, and you two would have the chance to get to know each other without all that business stuff. Besides,” she said, with a bright smile toward Claire, “it’ll be nice having someone else around who’s not in PR. You’re not, are you?”

“Appellate law,” Claire said. “Who’s your father?” she asked, though she had a feeling she already knew.

“Jake Powers. He owns the company Joe works for.” She gave Joe’s arm a squeeze. “He’s just invited Joe to be a partner.”

“That’s great,” Claire said, even while a mean little side of her wondered if that was why Joe had dumped her—so he could date Bonita and get closer to Daddy. Or maybe Claire had just grown up in a political family, and saw those kind of machinations everywhere she looked.

“You’ll come, right?”

“When is it?” Ty asked.

“Tomorrow. It’s our annual New Year’s Day client-appreciation bash at the Starr Resort. It’s very casual. Come and go.”

The idea of a party—with Joe—was really not on Claire’s top-ten list of things to do on the first day of a new year. “I really don’t think—”

“It’s going to be fabulous,” Bonita said. “Several of your breed, too. We’ve just signed with Daniels and Taylor to do some television spots,” she added, referring to the law firm that Claire’s father had helped found. “And I know at least five representatives from the local Bar Association are coming, along with dozens and dozens of attorneys. You never know who you might meet.”

Claire lifted a brow. “And you don’t work there?”

“Me? Lord, no. But I keep an eye out for the men in my life.” Her smile widened. “Now come on, you two. It’s not as if you have to stay all day.”

Claire hesitated, balancing the possibility of networking against the reality of being at a party with Joe. In the end, networking won out. How could it not? An appellate lawyer’s clients were other lawyers. And it was never too early to start honing those connections.

Beside her, Ty slid his arm around her waist, the contact making Claire tremble with the anticipation of getting them alone again. More than that, of getting the man himself for a whole day tomorrow. But as that thought entered her head, Claire knew she was being ridiculous. For one thing, a hot kiss on New Year’s Eve didn’t necessarily translate into a wild night—or a well-mannered daytime date. And that was probably especially true with a man like Ty Coleman. Claire didn’t regularly pay attention to celebrity-type gossip, but she’d seen enough to know that Ty was the kind of guy who had a different girl on his arm in every picture that was snapped.

Maybe he wanted a night with her—and, yes, she sure as hell hoped he did—but the odds that he wanted it to continue into anything beyond that were absolutely beyond slim.

It was an utterly depressing thought, all the more so when she realized that she really couldn’t go to the party without him. Because it wasn’t her that Joe was interested in. Not personally, and not with regard to his PR campaign. Which meant that she’d feel like a total idiot going to this party if Ty didn’t go with her. And considering she’d just met the guy, really, what were the chances of that?

“The truth is, I’d love to,” Claire said, deciding to take the easy, polite way out. “But I’m afraid I have plans tomorrow.”

“We had plans,” Ty said, in a voice that had her conjuring all sorts of fantasies. He slid his arm around her waist, and she about melted on the spot. “But don’t you remember?” he added, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. “We ended up canceling. Our schedule is wide-open tomorrow.”

She looked at him with surprise and optimism, and caught the quick wink that he sent her, along with a mischievous quirk of his mouth. Then he turned back to face Joe and Bonita, his smile bright. “Thanks so much for the invitation. We’d love to come.”

3

“NOT THAT I’M UNHAPPY with the outcome, but what if I’d really had plans?” They were sitting at the bar, and Ty had his hand on her knee, his fingers just barely under the hem of her skirt. Ostensibly casual, but the effect was anything but, and Claire was having a hard time concentrating, much less breathing.

“Did you have plans?”

“Well, I was supposed to go to the hospital and donate a kidney, but I guess I won’t be doing that anymore.”

He leaned closer, then pressed his hand flat against her lower belly. “Anyone would be lucky to get your kidney.” His words were teasing, but she didn’t smile. How could she when she could barely think. Her whole body was tense. His touch, his smell, even the soft sound of his breath was absolutely driving her crazy, and it was taking every ounce of effort not to close her hand over his on her belly and move it up to her breast, then slide his hand on her thigh up, up to where she really wanted to feel it.

Oh, dear Lord, she wanted to feel it. Him. His hands all over her. And right then, the biggest question on her mind was why, why, why were they still sitting in that bar?

He lifted his hand from her stomach, and she managed to breathe again. He signaled for the bartender to bring them another round, then he took her hand in his. “I thought I was doing you a favor. Did I assume wrong?”

She licked her lips. “I was that obvious?”

“I’ve learned to watch people. I spend a lot of time negotiating. People don’t usually say what they’re thinking.”

“What was I thinking?” She wondered if he could tell that she’d been fantasizing about a day with him and, yes, she wondered if he wanted that, too.

“You were thinking the party sounded like an opportunity.”

“It is.” She sounded defensive, and she tried to tone it back. “I mean, I’ve been working for a judge for a while now. Great experience, great credentials, but I need to make my own contacts. I’m moving into private practice this summer.”

“No need to justify yourself to me. I’m a man who survived and thrived chasing opportunities.”

She tried to remember what she’d heard about him. She’d seen his name before when she turned on various celebrity gossip shows, and those types of programs seemed to be all over the television lately. And every once in a while she saw a reference on a blog. She didn’t tend to follow that kind of stuff, so the fact that she’d even once bounced up against his name suggested that he really was tabloid fodder, and if Joe was chasing after him, then Ty’s clubs must be some of the hottest around.

“Well, I appreciate it. It was you they really want to come, not me.” She frowned. “Frankly, I’m surprised Joe didn’t make more of an effort to keep me from coming.” She frowned, wondering if she should say something to Bonita when she saw her the next day, then decided it depended on whether Joe had already started dating Bonita when he’d made his pass at her. She’d have to find out.

“You’re looking pensive,” he said, picking up the scotch that the bartender had set in front of him and taking a sip. “Want to share?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “I really don’t, and yet here I am running my mouth off with you.”

He dragged the tip of his finger along the edge of his glass, making it wet with condensation. Then he drew his fingertip slowly over her lips. “I happen to like your mouth,” he said in a tone that really should only be used in bed while naked.

She closed her eyes, soaking up the sound of his voice, then drew his finger in, tasting him, a hint of scotch, a dash of musk and one-hundred percent male.

She heard a little moan and realized it was coming from her.

She opened her eyes and saw that he was smiling at her, the heat in his eyes unmistakeable. To her surprise, she didn’t feel embarrassed. Instead, she felt sexy. Strong. “I think you’re making me a little crazy.”

“Maybe it’s the champagne,” he said.

She shook her head. “The champagne may account for some of the courage, but it’s the man who’s making me—”

“Yes?”

Wet. “Itchy.”

“Maybe I can help you scratch the itch.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “I really wish you would.”

His smile was practically edible, and as he leaned in, she knew she wanted to taste it. Wanted to consume it, and when his lips brushed hers, she slid hungrily into the kiss, lips only at first, then leaning closer, her arm hooking around his neck as she lost herself in the wonder that was this man. This heat.

The rough sound of a clearing throat caught their attention, and Ty pulled away, breaking the kiss slowly and then, Claire was glad to see, looking at their interloper with an expression that suggested the interruption better be worth it.

The culprit was a girl, probably in her early twenties, wearing a tight Decadent T-shirt, and from the way she was grinning, she felt not the slightest bit of remorse for interrupting. As if Claire was just another girl, and this was just another night with clubster Ty Coleman.

Well, that’s probably true. Is that a problem?

He leaned in and kissed her hard enough to make her melt, then met and held her eyes, his hot enough to melt steel.

Nope, she thought. No problem at all.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sliding off the stool, his hand sliding along her thigh as he moved, and sending a shiver down her spine and shooting a promise between her legs. “I need to go run over a few closing details with Fred. Wait for me?”

She nodded, feeling a little dizzy, a lot girlie, and remarkably like she had the night that Tommy Blake—her teenage crush—had kissed her under the bleachers for the very first time.

Lost in her thoughts, she pulled a cherry out of one of the bar dishes and started to suck on it, her gaze sweeping casually over the room. She saw Joe and Bonita heading for the door, and quickly turned away, not wanting to meet their eyes. When she did, she found Alyssa, hidden with Chris in a throng that was moving for the far door. Alyssa whispered something to Chris, who shot Claire a friendly wave as Alyssa headed in her direction.

“I was going to fire off a text message,” Alyssa said, “but since you’re alone now…” She trailed off, then bit her lower lip. “Are you alone now?”

“Only temporarily,” Claire said, feeling slightly giddy.

“He’s gorgeous,” Alyssa said, taking Ty’s seat. “See? What did I tell you about sticking around? What’s he like? What’s his name?”

“He’s great,” Claire said. “So far, anyway. And his name’s Ty.” She paused a bit, to see if Alyssa would react. “Ty Coleman.”

“Great name,” her friend said, and Claire wasn’t sure if she should be impressed with herself for having more pop culture knowledge than Alyssa, or ashamed.

“Does he work here?” She nodded to something over Claire’s shoulder, and when she turned, she saw Ty talking with the tall man who’d counted down to the New Year. He looked over while he was speaking, caught her eye and smiled.

“Bang and pop,” Alyssa said.

“What?”

“The way you two are looking at each other. It’s not just lust. It’s a connection.”

Claire laughed, brushing aside her friend’s words. “You only want me to be a couple now that you are. I just met the man.”

Alyssa shrugged. “Believe what you want,” she said in a voice that suggested she knew what she was talking about and Claire was hopelessly ignorant. “But you definitely owe me for convincing you to stay. I was coming over to tell you that you better not be planning on driving tonight, but since it looks like you’ve got an escort home, I’m not going to worry about it. But,” she added, as she leaned in to give Claire a hug, “don’t you dare drive.”

“I’ll consider it a stellar excuse to go home with the man. If he wants me to,” she added, the possibility that he wouldn’t disturbing her more than it probably should.

“Trust me,” Alyssa said, with a decidedly mischievous grin, “I’m certain he does.” She wiggled her fingers and backed away before Claire could get another word out, and it was only when she felt the soft press of Ty’s hand on her shoulder that she realized why Alyssa had departed so abruptly.

“Sorry about that. Technically, I’m on the clock.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I—”

“No, no,” he said, taking her hand before she could do something stupid like hop off the stool and—what? Because she wasn’t leaving. Not without this man. Not if she could help it. “One of the benefits of being the man in charge—I get to play by my own rules. But one of my rules is to work when work needs to be done.”

“And what work needed to be done at twelve-thirty on New Year’s Day?”

“More than you might think,” he said, sliding back on the bar stool and leaning back, looking for all the world as if he owned the place. Actually, maybe he did own the place. “For one thing, people drink more tonight.”

“So they do,” she said, lifting her glass. She rarely drank champagne—primarily because it went to her head and made her sleep like the dead—but she’d been indulging wildly this evening. And now she was enjoying the effects—and the courage—that came with the nice little buzz she had going on.

“Exactly,” he said, with a chuckle. “So we have to make sure that we’ve made arrangements with local taxi services, shuttles, whatever it takes. I’ve even been known to put people up at a hotel if I was afraid they’d get into their car. It’s an expense, but it’s worth it, and it’s paid off in goodwill, particularly among the college crowd.

“And, then, of course, there’s the problem of the till,” he continued. “Not that an increased cash drawer is a problem, but I don’t want the manager going alone to make the night deposit. Then you have the logistical issues of how to coordinate with your neighbors tomorrow morning, because inevitably someone has knocked over a corporate sign or left cigarette butts on the sidewalk. We’re located in a mixed-use area, so the club is next to restaurants and retail, and they’ll both be open tomorrow morning and wanting their grounds to be pristine. And then you have to deal with—”