He must have been barmy to think this was a good idea. Absolutely raving mad! What had he been thinking earlier? Oh, that’s right—he wasn't. James shifted in the sticky red booth and twisted toward a window of passing traffic. He’d moved from London to Bloomington only a month ago, but ending his night at Stella’s quickly became a ritual. He took a drag from his electronic cigarette. Water vapor and nicotine were no substitute for the real thing, but he had been trying to quit. He sipped a mug of black coffee. Waiting.

Tonight had been far more interesting than any this past month, certainly more eventful than planned. His mind drifted to the enterprising young woman he met at the bar earlier. James wanted to go home and collapse into his mattress but decided to wait a little longer. If the girl showed up, all the waiting would be worth his while. He’d worked out her situation quickly and made plans to meet up with her later. Here, at Stella’s.

James half hoped she meant what she said but wouldn’t be heartbroken if the chick decided not to turn up. He’d never paid for sex before. Why start now? Easy. She was gorgeous! Cliché as it was, he’d noticed her across the room, and everyone else just faded into background noise.

Through the dim light, his eyes had met hers over the rim of his lowball glass. The hot, young blonde worked her game. She had no interest in the bloke she chatted up but played along like a pro. The guy didn't notice. The john-to-be touched her arm, and the blonde broke their spellbinding eye contact. James watched her lean close to the other man and whisper.

Several minutes later, as nonchalant as she could possibly manage, she sashayed toward him. This type of thing wasn’t his cup of tea, and that’s what he told her. When they made the plans to meet up later, he honestly had no intention of showing. Not for lack of interest, he just didn't pick up women like this. Hell, she could’ve been undercover or something, trying to arrest horny men from the bar.

Her satiny blonde hair twirled out of her face as she flipped her head to the side, eyeing him. “You know Stella’s?”

“I know it,” he’d answered.

He blew out a plume of smoke. So, here he was, sitting in the diner waiting for this bombshell Cinderella to appear and turn his world upside down, for one very pricey night at least.

Mandy, the waitress, came round to his table to fill his coffee cup again. The dark liquid swirled, contrasting with the off-white mug. James realized she’d been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard a word.

“I’m sorry, love, what was that?”

“I just asked if you ever go home.” She smirked. The look on her slightly worn face told him that wasn’t actually what she’d said. Must have been good if she wouldn’t repeat it; too bad he hadn’t heard her comment.

“It would seem not.” He smiled at her. “Thanks for the warm-up, sweetheart.”

His eyes swept over hers. Mandy’s brown eyes dilated as he spoke. That happened a lot when he spoke to women; as soon as they heard the throaty British accent, they were putty in his hand—if he wanted.

“No problem, sugar. Lemme know if you need anything else, ‘kay?”

He nodded.

Mandy twisted and gave him a little shrug as she abandoned him for other tables. James turned back to the window and let his mind wander. Was she out there somewhere on her way to him? And how stupid was he to sit here and wait?

James had balked at his father when he insisted he come stay here with him for a while. His ailing father wanted to spend time with his children, so James couldn't refuse. He assumed the move would be rather uneventful. He definitely hadn’t counted on anything like this happening.

He watched a line of cars pass; none stopped. Not her.

James closed his eyes, and the most incredible, cornflower-blue eyes he’d ever seen filled his memory. He sighed. What a bloody idiot, sitting in a booth waiting for a woman he would actually have to pay to fuck.

He took a long drag of his cigarette. “C’est la vie.”

Ten minutes.

He’d wait ten more minutes, and if she didn't turn up, he’d leave.

* * * * *

Amy hemmed and hawed between going to Stella’s and staying home like a good girl. No matter her argument, she always came back to meeting him. She couldn't leave His Hotness waiting there, could she? What kind of girl blew off a rich, devastatingly handsome Adonis? Certainly not her! Amy thrilled thinking of him sitting in one of those red booths waiting for her.

How could she not go?

She’d seen him a few times on other random nights, but he’d never looked in her direction before tonight. Why? What was different about tonight? When she got ready to leave for the club tonight, she didn't take an especially long time to get ready or pay any more attention to her appearance than normal.

Who cared what a whore looked like?

The men at the club certainly didn't. Still, Adonis seemed like a classy guy, aristocratic and proper, and very British. She liked that. Before he opened his mouth, she’d thought he was hot, but the accent kicked it up to a whole other level. The man oozed sex. Amy could listen to him talk all night, and it wouldn’t even matter what he said. He could read the fucking phone book for all she cared; she’d be perfectly content to listen.

Amy scrutinized her appearance one last time in the mirror, applied a silky layer of lip-gloss to her full pout, and decided she was ready. Freshened up, makeup caught up, and a dress change. Was that too much? She’d changed into a slinky black dress, the one that made her feel sexy as hell. Amy moved through the room, stepped into super high, black patent leather Louboutins, and grabbed her purse and coat from the sofa where she’d dumped them.

With a nervous, deep breath, she left her small apartment.

Second thoughts sliced into her as she stepped out of her building, but Amy shook them off. Something was different about tonight. It felt as though her whole life was about to change, and it scared her to death but thrilled her at the same time.

She skipped across the street when the light changed and stopped about fifty feet from Stella’s front door. Was he even in there?

Should she expect the norm or would he be a weird one? Stepping closer and peering through the large bay windows lining the front of the diner, she saw him. He sat alone. Smoking. Nursing a steamy cup of coffee.

Even in the dark and far away, those eyes called to her. Amy had seen these lovely pools of dark chocolate across the club, one of the reasons she approached him, but upon closer inspection, she discovered they weren’t brown at all. Hazel. Forest green flecked with gold, and even more enticing that she’d first thought.

Most nights she let men solicit her. It made everything a whole lot easier that way. Unless you counted her ex-business partner, she didn't have a pimp. She didn’t worry about cops or getting picked up. She knew a lot of cops; some of them had even been clients.

With Adonis, everything changed. She’d moved in on him at the club. Wanted him. Even if this would only be a one-time thing, like all her exploits were, it would still be worth her while.

She held her head up, shaking off her nerves and assuming an air of confidence she really didn't feel. She continued up the path, Amy pulled the front door of the diner open and slipped inside.

* * * * *

James glanced up as a girl passed him—not her.

He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out his emergency rolling shag and papers. A gaggle of girls passed him. He shook his head at his foolishness. His ten-minute limit had come and gone, but he still sat there.

He set a leaf of cigarette paper on the table, pinched into the bag of shag, and spread the tobacco into the crease of the paper. He picked it up and proceeded to roll the cylinder. He ran his tongue along the glue strip, deciding if she didn’t come by the time he finished smoking this one, he’d leave.

James pinched off the tobacco hanging from the end of the roll and put his papers and bag of Drum back into his pocket. Flipping his lighter between his fingers, he stood up and prepared to step outside to smoke.

“Hey,” cooed a soft voice. “Sorry I’m late.”

His eyes crept across every single curve and dip of her body in the slinky, black dress she wore. She’d changed her clothes. His eyes continued over the luminous pale skin of her exposed cleavage. Platinum hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled back at him like sapphires.

“’Hello, sweetheart.” He gave her a slight grin. “I wondered if you’d show.”

“I said I would.”

“You’re also a woman. Women are notorious for changing their minds.” He winked. “I admit I’m glad you didn't. How foolish would I look if you hadn’t come?”

“Don't worry.” She lowered her voice. “You won’t look foolish. I always come.”