The One For Me

By: Sydney Landon



When she’d jerked around to face him a few moments ago, he’d felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his body. He wasn’t a man prone to romantic foolishness, but there had been songs written to describe women like her. Wide eyes close to violet in color. Plump pink lips that made a man’s cock sit up and take notice, and a flawless peaches-and-cream complexion that some paid millions for but never achieved.

He had still been gaping at her as she’d assured him that she was fine before she further shocked him by vomiting and promptly passing out. She had been seconds away from her beautiful face meeting the unforgiving concrete when he’d caught her. As he stood with her light weight in his arms, a black Bentley sedan pulled to the curb. His driver, Denny—who was also his cousin on his mother’s side of the family—got out of the car gawking as if in disbelief of what he was seeing. As far as the employer/employee relationship, theirs was very informal. They’d grown up together, and although Mark’s family had money from the DeSanto side, Denny’s did not. So years ago Denny had proposed that he become Mark’s driver and assistant when Mark had taken over the family business, and it had worked well for both of them. Mark compensated Denny more than probably anyone employed in a similar position, but he trusted him implicitly.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you did to that girl, but if I’m going to become some kind of accessory, then I guess I need to know.” Denny sighed in resignation.

Walking toward his driver in shoes that sloshed with every step, Mark shook his head helplessly. “I have no idea. She was weaving as she walked, and then she got sick and fainted.”

Denny wrinkled up his nose as the smell finally reached him. “Shouldn’t we do something with her? I mean, do you think she’s drunk?”

“How in the hell am I supposed to know?” he snapped. “I didn’t smell any alcohol, and it’s barely midday. Also, she just left Danvers, so it seems unlikely.”

“Then we need to get a doctor. She obviously has something wrong with her,” Denny pointed out.

Rolling his eyes, Mark said, “You think? Open the car door so I can get her inside.” Denny jogged ahead and had the door ajar when Mark reached him. “Here, you’re going to have to hold her for a minute. Then you can give her back to me when I’m inside.”

Denny held his hands up, trying to back away. “She’s got puke on her. Can’t you just get in with her? There’s no need to ruin both of our clothes.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Denny, I’ll get you a new suit. Just take her for one second.” Mark couldn’t believe how hard it was for two men to juggle such a tiny woman. Finally, as Denny gently handed her off to him and shut the door, Mark slumped against the leather seat with her curled against him. Since he had no idea of her name, he rubbed his hand along her leg as he said, “Angel, open those eyes and look at me so I’ll know you’re okay.”

He continued to say variations of the same thing as Denny started driving. He had almost given up when she finally shifted in his arms.

Suddenly, the violet eyes that had captivated him earlier were staring at him with an expression that was hard to decipher. He was too stunned to react when she lifted her hand and stroked it down the side of his face. “Oh, Mark, it’s you—can we please have sex this time before I wake up?” No sooner had she finished the question than her head dropped back to his chest. If not for the soft snore that emitted from her mouth, he would have been checking her for a pulse.

He was chuckling at her words when it hit him. She’d called him by name. His angel wasn’t deliriously asking for sex from a stranger. He had no idea who she was, but for the first time in so very long, he was interested in knowing more. This beauty seemed different from most of the women he’d met and with whom he had enjoyed a few hours of pleasure. As soon as she was conscious and coherent, he intended to find out who she was.

She’d already accomplished something that no one had in years.





Chapter Two


Crystal rolled over in bed, wincing at the wave of pain that one movement seemed to have caused. The glow of the clock on the bedside table showed that it was four in the morning, which would explain why the room was still pitch-black. Her limbs were heavy with fatigue as she curled around a pillow—and then she froze. She sniffed again just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it—but no, her bedding smelled like a man. Considering she hadn’t slept with anyone since her divorce, this was a very strange occurrence. Jerking upright, she fumbled on the bedside table for her lamp—but it wasn’t within easy reach as it should be. She stretched farther until, with a shriek, she was falling out of the bed.

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