Let Me Love You (3)

“Oh no, is she playing matchmaker again?” Natalia polished off the rest of her martini. “It’s bad enough she’s begging me to get back with Anthony. I was hoping she’d leave you alone, since you’re not as old as I am.”

“Okay, you’re only twenty-seven, not ancient. And ugh, you didn’t tell me she’s pushing you to date him again.” I wasn’t a fan of my sister’s pro–hockey player ex. They’d dated for a second in college, but I’d always wondered if Anthony’s hot Navy SEAL brother would’ve been a better match. Of course, he was older than her and always overseas.

“Yeah, you know her. She wants to see me married with kids ASAP. And who is she bugging you to date?”

“Oh, you know, just every banker between Charlotte and New York. She’s worried I’ll never find a career I love, so she thinks I need a man to support me.” I snatched my black clutch from the table and tucked it under my arm. “We have to learn to say no to her, don’t we?”

Natalia sighed. “One of these days, we will.”

But I was the pessimist, and I doubted we’d stand up to her anytime soon, given the powerful influence she had over us. “I’m going to head to the women’s room; then we can go.”

“I’ll tell the boys we’re ready.” She tossed a look Alessandro’s way. “And try and peel those women off that man.”

“Good luck with that,” I teased, then headed toward the hallway, hoping to find the restroom. But the moment I rounded the corner, I slammed into someone. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I said at the feel of something wet sloshing onto me.

My clutch tumbled to the floor, and we both crouched at the same time to get it, nearly knocking heads.

“I’m the one who spilled my drink all over you,” he said, reaching my clutch first. “I should be apologizing.” That deep drawl was far more Southern than my home in North Carolina.

We both slowly stood, and I accepted my clutch from him while staring into his incredible blue eyes. “It’s my fault. I was walking too fast,” I shared, finally checking the stain on my sleeveless gold tank top, and based on the smell, I was wearing whiskey.

“Why don’t you come to my office? I can give you some club soda, and we’ll see if we can remove the stain.”

“Your office?” Walk off with a stranger? Nope. That was on my Don’t Ever Do list.

“I own the club,” he noted, as if sensing my hesitation.

“Oh, um. I can ask one of the bartenders for a napkin and club soda. It’s no worries. Thank you, though.” I turned to the side, prepared to flee, but then I remembered I wanted a hot New York moment, and if the Costas were off-limits and this man did own the club, well, maybe I could trust him? But he’d have to prove himself first.

When I faced him again, I took a quick inventory of his looks. No Jeffrey Dahmer vibes. Muscular. Midthirties, but the beard could’ve been aging him. Trusting, and yet, lost-looking eyes. Dark denim jeans and a white button-down shirt. I checked his finger next. No ring.

“What’s your name?”

“Hudson.” He smiled, as if that were supposed to mean something.

Ohhh. The name of the bar was Hudson’s. “So you do own the club?” I relaxed at the thought. But he could have made that up. Yup. I’d never make it alone in New York.

He lightly laughed. “I have the code to enter the office to prove it.”

“Right. That’ll seal the deal, I suppose.” I shook my head, a bit embarrassed. “I mean, not like you’re going to seal, um . . .” What am I saying? He stared back at me with an amused expression. “Show me the way, please. If you still want to.”

“Oh, I do.” He winked, and I wished like hell that sexy wink created butterflies in my stomach the same way one slight look from Enzo managed to. Come on, give me something. Anything. This man is hot, hot, hot.

No bad-guy vibes, sure. But also, no wet panties. Damn.

Hudson unlocked the office, proving he wasn’t some rando. Then he propped the door open with an anchor-like stopper, which made me feel even better.

At the sight of all the framed photos on one wall, mostly of men and women in uniform, as well as of naval warships, I let go of the last bit of anxiety about being alone with a stranger. “Navy?” I asked as he went to a small bar cart by his desk.

He tossed a look over his shoulder and nodded.

I smiled; then my gaze landed on the bookshelf filled with colorful spines. “And you’re a reader, too?”

“That I am.” He swapped his glass for club soda.

“The perfect man,” I teased.

“Far from perfect, I’m afraid,” he returned in a low, rumbly voice.

As he dabbed some of the club soda on a napkin, I decided to shoot my sister a quick text to buy myself some time before Natalia came looking for me.

“I take it you’re a reader?” He offered the napkin, and I set my phone and clutch on his desk to accept it.

“A real-life Belle searching for a Beast with a library to share,” I said, feeling slightly silly until my words produced a devastatingly handsome smile from him.

And yet, no pitter-patter in my chest.

“Better yet, the Beast after he’s a man again.” With literary talk from a muscular, handsome man, how was my pulse not jumping?