Measure of a Man Page 5

  Tyrone bobbed his head and continued to shout. “I hear you.” He turned to the bartender. “I’ll have a vodka and tonic.”

  “You got it.” The sexy bartender winked and disappeared.

  Tyrone glanced back at Lincoln. “You’re not the only one who can rake in the ladies.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He lifted his new drink and turned again to survey the crowd. A flash of silver splayed over a perfectly curved hip caught his eye and caused his heart to skip a beat. He did a double take, but the vision disappeared.

  Lincoln lowered his drink on the bar and clutched his cane as he stood up for a better view of the crowd. “Where did she go?”

  “Where did who go?”

  “That woman,” he said, and then held his breath while he carefully scanned the club.

  “I see a lot of women. Do you want to be a little more specific?”

  “I don’t know. She was just…” He caught the flash of silver again. “Watch my drink. I’ll be back.” He squeezed through the tight crowd again with his chin held high and his gaze locked on those luscious round hips.

  When he was finally within inches of her, a tall broad-shouldered brother blocked him and asked his silver-clad goddess to the dance floor. To his disappointment, she accepted and allowed the man to place his large hand against the small of her back and guide her along.

  He followed them without thinking. In some ways, he swore that he was having an out-of-body experience and his body was simply subjected to some strange magnetic force. It wasn’t until he reached the dance floor that he was able to take in the full package of the woman who had captivated him—and he was in no way disappointed.

  Long, curvy pecan-tanned legs were attached to those voluptuous hips, not to mention sexy six-pack abs and a mind-blowing cleavage that had his mouth salivating. By the time his gaze made it to her heart-shaped face, full lips and sparkling doe eyes, his heart was racing as if he’d just completed the New York Marathon.

  She was positively breathtaking—and one hell of a dancer. She was partnered with some lucky quarterback-looking dude and was dancing circles around him.

  With each gyration of the hip, or delectable bounce of her apple bottom, Lincoln felt the room’s temperature jump a whopping ten degrees. He moved toward them, desperately wanting to cut in on her partner’s action.

  However, he was again sidetracked when a woman in red just started dancing with him. They were standing right next to his silver temptress, so he played along and started dancing with the woman in red.

  Then it happened. The silver beauty glanced up and met Lincoln’s gaze. She smiled, but continued to gyrate against the quarterback.

  It was then that he felt the brush of his partner’s tush against “Linc Jr.” He played it off and continued dancing, despite his cane. What was exotic about the whole thing was that they were dirty-dancing with different partners, and yet their eyes never left each other’s.

  By the end of the first song, Lincoln was sweating up a storm. Yet, he still didn’t cut in on the quarterback. Instead, he watched another brother take her partner’s place. In return Lincoln grabbed another woman, all the while maintaining eye contact with the silver goddess.

  Lincoln couldn’t remember having so much fun and even wondered if what they were doing was considered foreplay. Lord knows it sure felt like it.

  He lost track of how many songs had played and he was just thinking that it was time he made his move when his current partner leaned over and draped one arm around his neck and directed his chin downward so that their eyes would meet.

  “You sure are a good dancer, papí,” the Spanish beauty complimented. “Are you new in town? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled his gaze away to glance beside him and was stunned to find that his silver lady was gone. Lincoln immediately stopped dancing. “Where did she go?”

  “C’mon, papí. Don’t you want to show me a good time?” She slid her other arm around his neck and plastered her body against him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, pulling at one of her arms. “I have to find someone.” He broke away and once again found himself enmeshed in a crowd of dancing people. To his amazement, it was as if his silver lady had just disappeared into thin air.

  It was difficult, but he made a loop around the dance floor and came up empty. His mind raced through the possibilities and he made a quick jaunt around crowded tables and then found himself back at the bar.

  “Maybe the ladies’ room,” he mumbled. The pain in his ankle that he’d mostly ignored on the dance floor throbbed mercilessly, but he continued toward the alcove where the restrooms were located.

  “Yo, dude. Where are you headed?” Tyrone’s voice boomed at him.

  Until that moment, Lincoln hadn’t fully comprehended what he was doing. He turned to face his buddy and found him with a scantily clad woman.

  “I, uh…”

  “Please tell me you weren’t about to do what I think you were.”

  “Are you looking for someone?” the lady at Tyrone’s side inquired.

  Lincoln perked up. “As a matter of fact I was.” He straightened. “Would you mind ducking in there and seeing if a…um, a woman dressed in a two-piece short silver number—”

  “You mean the woman you were staring at on the dance floor?”

  Lincoln glanced at Tyrone.

  His buddy just shrugged. “We’re not the only ones who noticed.”

  “Yes, that’s the girl.”

  The woman looked to Tyrone. “Well, she just left a few minutes ago, didn’t she?”

  “I believe so.”

  Lincoln groaned with disbelief as his heart plunged to the pit of his stomach. “Damn.”

  Chapter 7

  In the middle of 2i’s dance floor, Peyton spotted her prey and he couldn’t have been a finer specimen of a man. Her gaze skimmed over dark, rich chocolaty skin and a body that rivaled a Greek god’s. However, it was the stranger’s eyes and dimpled cheeks that nearly melted her lacy Cosabella thong.

  She pushed him into a chair and began an impromptu lap dance. From beneath his intense gaze, she felt like a member of the Pussycat dancers and her performance was an erotic foray for his eyes only. In the back of her mind, she realized that didn’t make much sense, seeing as how they were in the middle of a crowded dance club. And yet, it made perfect sense.

  The crowd surrounded them and joined the act. Their cheers encouraged her, but her attention never left Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome. She straddled him in a provocative lap dance that escalated her body’s temperature and quickened her heartbeat. Moving against him, she felt his hard body beneath his black linen suit and she could tell by her bottom’s constant grind against his crotch that he was working with quite an impressive package.

  This was more than just dancing, it was a mating call.

  Peyton roamed her hands along his chest and, on a naughty impulse, she ripped open his shirt and exposed his bare, tight muscled chest....

  * * *

  A loud ringing jarred Peyton from her deep slumber. She jerked up in bed and glanced guiltily around. For a moment, she didn’t recognize her surroundings.

  The phone rang again.

  “Are you going to answer that?” Joey groaned from the other bed.

  Peyton frowned and then picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Garner. This is your six-thirty wake-up call.”

&n
bsp; “Thanks,” she mumbled and hung up. She sat there for a while as bits and pieces of her dream flashed inside her head. A smile fluttered across her lips as an image of a pair of intense black eyes twinkled back at her. Who was that guy and how come they don’t make them like that in California?

  Peyton swung her legs over the edge of the bed and then glanced over at her snoozing sister. “Great. She gets to sleep and I have to go to work.”

  Climbing out of bed, Peyton first went to her sister’s suitcase to see if she could find something decent to wear to her eight o’clock meeting. She was worried for a moment when she pulled out one hoochie-mama outfit after another. At long last, she found one pair of slacks and a reasonable blouse.

  She took a record-breaking shower and then hurried to apply her makeup.

  “I still can’t get over you and that dude on the floor last night,” Joey said, yawning from the bathroom’s doorway. “I’ve never seen you like that.”

  Peyton frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? Hell, I thought everyone at the club should be paying you for that performance.”

  “I was just dancing.” Peyton concentrated on tweezing her eyebrows.

  “My ass.” Joey laughed. “Why didn’t you just jump the guy and get it over with?”

  “Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Uh-huh.” She settled her hands on her hips. “If you want my opinion, I think you got a little freak in you.”

  Try as she might, Peyton couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I have to hand it to you, though. Brother man was fine.”

  Peyton met Joey’s gaze in the mirror. “He was, wasn’t he?”

  “Did you ever get the digits?”

  Peyton went back to her eyebrows. “No, I didn’t.”

  Joey’s eyes widened. “You have to be kidding me. Why not? It was obvious the guy was into you.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard the edict, ‘what happens at the club stays at the club’?”

  Joey rolled her eyes.

  “C’mon. That’s why people give out fake names and numbers when they go to those places. You just go for a good time. Club romances are doomed from the start. Everyone goes there puttin’ on a front. It takes entirely too much work to try and plough through the layers of horse manure to find out who you’re really dating.”

  Joey stared at her through the mirror. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re high maintenance?”

  Peyton rummaged through her makeup bag. “Whatever.”

  “No. You are. You have a whole list of complaints for nearly every type of man or every meeting situation. It’s like you can’t find the good in anything.”

  “That’s not true. Well…not anymore. I know what kind of man I want.”

  “Oh, yeah, Mr. Handyman. How could I forget?” Joey rolled her eyes and moved farther into the bathroom so that she stood just inches behind her sister. “New York is crawling with construction workers. Why don’t you just hang out around those sites to see what you can bag?”

  “You don’t get it,” Peyton huffed and grabbed a brush. “I don’t want a beer-guzzling, ass-scratching and ‘baby, where’s the remote control?’ type of man. I want a nice combination of—”

  “High maintenance.”

  “Am not!” Peyton turned away from the mirror and stormed back into their room. “I’m borrowing an outfit. Maybe later this afternoon we can hit a few stores so I’ll have something to wear.”

  “Cool.” Joey jumped back into her bed. “I’m going to get a few more hours of shut-eye while you’re gone.”

  “You do that.” Peyton finished getting dressed and grabbed her purse. But as she left the room, she mumbled under her breath, “I’m not high maintenance.”

  * * *

  Lincoln woke up with a hard-on.

  All night he had dreamed of his silver goddess and cursed himself for the lost opportunity. Why had he waited so long to approach her? It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t like him.

  You have to get up or you’re going to be late. Lincoln moaned and wanted nothing more than to return to his dream where a hot apple-bottom woman ruled his world. However, the moment he closed his eyes the phone rang next to his head.

  Groaning, he shot out an arm and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Carver. This is your seven-thirty wake-up call.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He clunked the receiver back onto the phone and sat up. He gave himself exactly two minutes to shake all thoughts of curvy limbs and luscious lips out of his head. It was time to focus on business.

  Hobbling into the bathroom, he quickly jumped into the shower—a cold one—and thought back to what a wild ride the past three months had been. Thanks to the metal rod in his ankle, his firefighting career had come to a screeching halt—sort of. He was approached by the city to take a desk job as a fire inspector, which he might accept if there was no future in his being an iron sculptor.

  He couldn’t help but laugh at himself. He picked one hell of a time in his life to pursue being an artist. He had to face it, he was no spring chicken. Forty loomed around the corner.

  He finished his frolic in the shower and performed a quick shave and brushed his teeth. Everything took him a record-breaking fifteen minutes to complete and then he was out the door with his portfolio.

  In no time Lincoln was rushing past Rockefeller Center and over to the New York Palace Hotel. It wasn’t until he breezed into the breathtaking lobby that he experienced a wave of nervous anxiety. What if he wasn’t any good? What if this agent hated his work?

  He stepped into the elevator along with a multitude of ritzy, stylish men and women that quickly made him feel like a fish out of water in his casual khakis and crisp, clean white shirt. With great difficulty, he pushed all doubt out of his mind and concentrated on all the positive feedback he’d received from his work in Atlanta.

  “Raw,” “innovative” and even “genius” had been the words of praise he’d received. It took a lot for him to show people what had long been considered a hobby—people being his best friend, Tyrone, and the three stooges. Then again, they weren’t exactly the types who appreciated art. Art, of course, being outside of pinup posters of Tracy Bingham.

  The elevator stopped on the thirty-ninth floor. He stepped off and entered the Executive Lounge. It was a rare event for him to be nervous, but he gave himself a mental pep talk and was ready to take the plunge.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a bright and bubbly blonde asked, staring up at him.

  “Yes, I have a business appointment with a P. J. Garner.”

  “Yes, sir. She’s waiting for you. Please follow me.”

  Lincoln fell in line behind the hostess and found himself still fighting his anxiety.

  The hostess pushed open a door to a private meeting room. “Ms. Garner, your appointment has arrived,” she said, and then stepped back to allow Lincoln access.

  Lincoln crossed the threshold, lifted his gaze and froze when he met the eyes of his silver goddess. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Chapter 8

  Peyton couldn’t speak.

  How could she? Surely, there were no words suitable for an awkward moment like this. Out of desperation, she closed her eyes and prayed the handsome image would change by the time she reopened them.

  It didn’t.

  “Lincoln Carver?” she asked, in an uncharacteristic squeaky voice.

  He
nodded and his smile widened. “P. J. Garner?”

  “I don’t believe this.” Her entire body felt hot with embarrassment as she cleared her throat and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you—finally.” His large hand swallowed hers, and despite the feel of calluses they were amazingly gentle.

  “Likewise.”

  What a voice, she marveled. It sort of reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t remember who. When he smiled, her gaze immediately lowered to his deep dimpled cheeks. Now, this is a man.

  Peyton pulled her hand away and gestured to a vacant chair. “If you’re ready, we can get started.”

  He lifted a single brow and then headed over to the chair. “You know I was disappointed when you disappeared last night.”

  While his back was to her, she exhaled and turned to close the door. “I was just… I wasn’t quite myself.” She returned to her own chair, forcing a plastic smile. It was definitely going to be a challenge to get this meeting onto the right track, especially since she felt that her creditability had been shot.

  “Okay,” Peyton said. “Let’s just forget about last night and focus on the matter at hand.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  His rich voice melted like hot chocolate over her while his gaze performed a slow drag over her face. Her heart muscles tightened and made it difficult to breathe.

  “Would you like some coffee?” She stood again. “I just had some delivered a few minutes ago.”

  “Sure. I could go for a cup. I didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Peyton mumbled as she turned toward the coffeemaker.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she lied, and then rolled her eyes. This man was the hottest thing walking and, God help her, she couldn’t stop thinking about her erotic dream.

  “How would you like your coffee?”