Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,45

she has a lot of friends. But I’m just saying, if you need some, ah . . . assistance, you should come to the guy who actually has one-night stands.”

“I tried that with Scott,” she grumbled. “It was not successful.”

“Something tells me Scott was not the right man to help you hook up with somebody else,” Clarke said.

“Why’s that?”

“Just a hunch. But regardless, I . . . how do I put this . . . know a guy. I’ve got a friend. Brett. He’s a good guy, Claire. I wouldn’t mention him otherwise. Polite. Funny. Takes his grandma shopping once a month.”

“But won’t call me the next morning?”

“Better yet, he’s the type of guy who’s very up front about not intending to call you the next morning. He doesn’t mess with people, and he’s not indiscriminate. He actually likes women. As in genuinely respects them and enjoys their company. Especially the smart, pretty ones.”

Claire batted her eyelashes, even as she wondered why Clarke’s compliment didn’t affect her the way Scott’s had.

“So?” Clarke said with a grin. “I could introduce you to Brett. If you want. Or not. Aaand . . . it’s official. I feel like a pimp.”

“You’re not,” Claire reassured him, even as she intended to turn down his sweet, if slightly bizarre, offer. Hooking up with someone random was one thing. Being set up for a hookup was another. And was this really what she wanted? She missed sex, yes, but she wasn’t so hard up that she couldn’t wait to meet someone on her own. She wasn’t so controlled by her basic instincts that she couldn’t wait to meet a nice guy.

Then she remembered. She didn’t want to meet a nice guy.

And she hadn’t slept with someone since Brayden.

That, more than anything, gave her the courage she needed. The courage to be bold. To put her vanilla life behind her and just live a little.

Claire turned to Clarke. “You know what? Yeah. Sure. Why not. Introduce me.”

A month ago, Scott wouldn’t have recognized himself at this moment. Former Scott would not believe that he’d turned down a supermodel, one he knew from previous experience never wore underwear, and who’d also made it perfectly clear that she was flying out to Monaco tomorrow and wouldn’t be back for several months.

In other words, he’d walked away from a woman offering one night, and one night only, of hot sex and was heading toward the home of a woman who was infinitely more complicated.

Yes, he’d told Oliver he wouldn’t make a move on Claire. Yes, he’d told himself the same thing at least a dozen times. Recently, a dozen times a day.

And that had been before Scott had learned what she’d feel like in his arms. He still didn’t know what compelled him to ask Claire to dance. On the rare occasions he dragged himself to one of those damn fancy parties, he made a practice of shaking a few hands, accepting thanks from whatever charity he’d written a check to, and getting out of there as soon as possible so he could swap the tux for jeans, the champagne for a beer.

He didn’t dance. And he certainly didn’t dance with a woman who wasn’t his date. Scott ran a hand over his face, wondering why he’d agreed to accompany Ivet in the first place. He liked the beautiful woman well enough, liked even more that she didn’t make any demands on his time aside from the occasional night they spent together. Saying yes had seemed harmless.

And yet, seeing Claire’s face when she’d learned that he’d come with Ivet didn’t feel harmless. And when Ivet had plastered her body against his while waiting for the elevator in her hotel, it had been Claire’s body he’d been thinking about. Claire’s curves, Claire’s softness.

Ivet was good company, but he’d never craved being around her. Not like he did with Claire, who somehow both calmed and excited him. He didn’t even know what he wanted from her, he only knew that he wanted to be near her. He couldn’t escape the feeling that they had unfinished business, that tonight, for the first time, she’d been aware of him the way he was of her . . .

He turned off Lex onto Seventy-Third, a little surprised that the neighborhood he’d belittled just a few weeks ago was starting to grow on him. Hands in his pockets, feeling light in a way he couldn’t remember feeling since back before he’d known his fiancée was cheating