New York Minute Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  New York Minute

  Melinda Dozier

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Melinda Hildebrand.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-8934-8

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8934-8

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-8912-6

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8912-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123RF/goodluz

  To my mom.

  In memory of my teenage years when we sang “Phantom of the Opera” and dreamed of New York. I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I’d like to thank my editor, Julie Sturgeon. With her perceptive insight, I’ve honed my craft and grown as a writer. I also would like to thank my agent, Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency, who never gave up on me, though at times I wanted to give up on myself. Lastly, as a woman who has never visited New York (gasp!), I’ve had many conversations with those who have—without you, I would’ve never been able to create the unique setting in New York Minute. Special thanks to my father-in-law, Victor, a New Yorker at heart. I’d also like to thank the real-life Vero S. for her help with Spanish translations. Lastly, I want to thank my family for enduring my endless days and nights on the computer—you know I love you with all my heart.

  Chapter One

  The average wedding budget in Manhattan was $60,000. So Veronica didn’t hesitate to mark the “Will Attend” box on the RSVP card she received from her coworker—with that much dough, there would have to be excellent food, intriguing conversation, and a dance or two with an eligible bachelor.

  She wore a sexy-as-hell black Donna Karan gown, borrowed three-inch silver Jimmy Choos, and had Oscar-worthy coiffed hair. Something good had to come from that, didn’t it?

  Boy, was she wrong. Veronica was seated away from her coworkers, the smell of fish saturated the air, and she almost, but not quite, caught the bouquet. The one night she attempted something new and bold, nothing transpired as planned.

  She wouldn’t allow any hardship to unsettle her, though. After all, she never really went out of her way to dress up and come out of her cocoon. She usually had her head stuck in spreadsheets and her mind mulling over the next Once Upon a Time episode. Still, she’d been lonely for months, even after a few random, torturous dates her mom had set up. Tonight, she had hopes of spicing up her dull life and moving past the fiasco of men she had dated by finding someone stimulating—for one night.

  The possibilities stretched wide open.

  When she strode into the gorgeous ballroom, she repeated her silent mantra: “Each step is taking me where I want to be.” She stopped for a moment to admire the walls draped in deep purples and blacks, the bride’s chosen colors for the wedding, and there were at least ten ornamental chandeliers dangling from the tall ceiling. Elaborately arranged flowers dressed the table centers. Beautiful decorations, actually.

  But her eyes lingered on what mattered most.

  The men.

  She waved at a few coworkers who stood to the side with their spouses. Then she zigzagged to the other side of the room—there were at least 200 people—her eyes engaging those around her, but she didn’t have enough nerve to step up her game and start a conversation.

  To her left, a well-dressed man stood out with a nice suit, dark hair, and an intriguing beard. She’d never dated a man with a beard. Then the man put his arm around the Amazon woman next to him and whispered in her ear. Of course he was taken.

  She wasn’t even sure why she was on the lookout for a man. She never had luck with them; instead she was always reeling in the jerks who thought they could take advantage of the sweet, quiet girl. They’d squirm their way into her bed and let her down quickly—usually with lies and cheating. Yet despite her losing record, she stood to the side like a hawk searching for its prey.

  To her right, a small group of men, who all bore large bellies poking out of their too-tight suits, held beer bottles and scoured the place. A bit too eagerly, in fact, so she strode to the bar and ordered a glass of champagne. They weren’t her type, not that she should be picky.

  As she reached for her glass, a decent-looking man approached to order and smiled at her. Finally, a reasonable candidate. Then a buddy of his walked up and put his hand on her candidate’s shoulder. “There you are, handsome heartbreaker.”

  “Edward, please.” The nice-looking man glanced sideways toward Veronica. “My date has had a bit too much to drink already,” he told her.

  And, of course, the good-looking bachelor had a boyfriend. The good ones always did.

  She laughed politely and turned to survey the room again. She prayed to the heavenly bodies above that the night wouldn’t continue the way it started. So far, her high hopes were headed south and, to top it off, her feet were killing her.

  She glided to the far end of the ballroom, grabbed a piece of delectable wedding cake, and stood in the corner, eating…alone.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to scout for a companion for the night. It wasn’t her style. Usually she just went along with the men her mom set her up with—men from her dad’s office, a son from her mom’s social club. It wasn’t difficult to get a date, but it didn’t make her happy. Attending a wedding by her lonesome—now that was difficult. She should just eat her cake and leave, and abide with what life dealt her.

  After her second piece—because, if anything, the money spent on the wedding cake was worth the extra slice—Veronica dismissed herself from her corner and made her way to the bar for another cocktail. She would gain a small buzz from the evening at least.

  She returned to her corner of the room, tasting her fruity drink, and pulled the top of her dress up a little higher. She looked pretty damn good, but a lot of good that was doing for her tonight. She sighed and glanced at the dance floor. The bride and groom moved in each other’s arms. For a second, her heart swelled with the want and the desire to have that—a true love, fulfillment … hell, she’d take just a sliver of fun.

  She turned her head and that sliver of sexiness came into view. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a tingle settled in her belly, and the air charged around her. Time stood still. Not twenty feet away, a tall man in a black suit and skinny tie, with ruffled, copper-highlighted dark hair and bright eyes stood in conversation
with two other men.

  Except, he wasn’t talking.

  He watched her.

  To hell with the old people table. To hell with the horrible salmon that made her gag. To hell with being pushed to the side by a leggy bridesmaid to catch the enormous bouquet. Veronica would take this man over a bouquet any day. For one night, her life would be wild and fun, worth the five-digit number the bride and groom spent for their once-in-a-lifetime event. She’d tag on her own memory of a lifetime to their hefty sum.

  She’d have this man and stimulate her life in unfathomable ways.

  Time to focus on the Cosmo article about flirting she read two days before. She sipped her citrus martini, and as she brought the glass down, she licked her lips and glanced at her target. He actually flinched, the hunger in his eyes darkening. Barely enough for anyone to notice, but she did. She ran her hand up and down her neck, closing her eyes for a minute. When she opened them to look his way again, he had already started to walk in her direction. No, he didn’t walk; he actually strutted like a man on a mission.

  She was his mission. Shit. Shit. Shit. Play it cool, Veronica. You’re a strong, sensual woman. You can do this.

  She sipped her yellow drink again to calm herself, and if she was lucky, he wouldn’t notice her shaking. Calm. Sensual. Like a boss.

  He positioned himself in front of her, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a tumbler of brown liquid, and rocked on the heels of his dark Dolce & Gabbana brogues.

  “Hello.” His voice reverberated down to her core.

  She gulped her martini to gain more liquid courage, but rather than bravery, the unthinkable happened. She swallowed the cherry that swam in her drink and the tickle in her throat drove her into a coughing frenzy.

  She tried to smile through it, to let him know all was fine and she could still be the sexy seductress. As his large, firm hand patted her back, she fanned the air and grabbed his tumbler, downing the thick liquid.

  After a last cough, she cleared her throat one more time. “Whoa. What was that?”

  “Whiskey. Neat.” He grinned, his gorgeous caramel eyes lit with an inner glow. “You okay?”

  A warmth spread over her cheeks. Holy freaking embarrassment. “It was strong.”

  “I could’ve warned you, I guess, but you were busy.” He grinned and squeezed her shoulder with his large hand.

  Was that an accent? Damn, could he be more perfect? Immediately, she glanced at his hand which revealed several tattoos peeking out of his jacket hem, from his wrist all the way down to his fingers. No ring. Thank God.

  “Can we forget that happened? I’m not usually like that.” She waved her hand in the air and winced inwardly.

  God, she wanted to erase that doomed first impression. She was confident, dammit. She didn’t want this dreamy man to know she could be less than sophisticated. Her act was more difficult than she imagined.

  “It’s a shame. I kind of liked the unusual first encounter. Not that I want you to choke, but I was ready to save you.” He braced his tattooed hand against the wall behind her, moving closer. His manly smell was soapy, with a hint of wood.

  Save her he might. “Who are you?”

  He squinted his glowing eyes and turned his head to the side. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just studied her and then rolled on the heels of his feet. “Who are you?”

  His “r” rolled off his tongue with a Spanish accent of some kind.

  “When someone answers a question with a question, it’s one of two things. Either the person doesn’t have anything interesting to say or he’s hiding something. Are you hiding something?”

  He lowered his voice and ran a hand up her arm. “I think we all are. Why are you hiding in the corner?”

  Damned if the man’s touch sent shivers all the way to her toes. “So someone like you would find me.”

  “Like me? How am I?”

  “A man with questions … and a devious grin.”

  As suspected, his smile grew and his gaze sought hers. “Well, I came over to tell you how stunning you look, but being a woman of such deep insight, you might take that the wrong way, no?”

  “I’ll take it any way you want.” Yep. The alcohol had definitely gotten to her.

  He tipped his head down, and she felt the breath from his words as he whispered in her ear. “Damn, do women like you really exist?”

  A rush of anticipation overcame her. In one second this reception and her life merged into something more exhilarating and there was only one thing to do. Sexy Veronica turned her hesitation into action. “I’m as real as you are.”

  He gestured toward the dance floor as a slow song played and grabbed her hand, his thumb pressing into her palm. “Let’s dance.” Then he tugged enough to pull her to his sturdy chest.

  He had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen. “Right here?”

  His head fell back, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the top of her head. Laughter fell out of his mouth, displaying a dimple next to his lips. “No, over there.” He nodded in the direction of the other dancers. “Unless you think you’ll trample my feet.”

  She swallowed and squared her shoulders. “I’m a better dancer than a whiskey drinker.”

  “Good to know.” He commandeered the empty glasses and placed them on a table nearby.

  One of his earlier companions stopped him in passing, pulling on his arm. “Diego, don’t forget your early flight tomorrow.”

  Diego shrugged and his mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “No problem, hermano.” Then he settled his hand around Veronica’s waist and led her to the center of the dance floor.

  He pulled her tighter to him, his muscles bulging through his tight dress shirt.

  God, the man was a dream.

  Sexy, Vero. Play it cool. “Your name’s Diego?”

  His hand rubbed up her back and his forehead touched hers. “Yeah. And you are …?”

  She cleared her throat. “Vero.”

  “Nice to meet you, Vero.” Just the way he rolled the “r” compelled her girly parts to pulsate.

  Their dance was an intimate introduction. Their touches, caresses, and looks conveyed everything she wanted to say. He rubbed the dent in her lower back, caressed her cheek with his own, and breathed into her ear. A whisper of wanting … no, need washed over her. To hell with not knowing him. She knew enough. He was sexy, tempting, relaxed, and amiable. She’d be a fool not to take this to another level.

  “This is a great song,” he whispered into her ear, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand tall again.

  “Mmmm. I love the rhythm … the cadence and how the beats fit together.”

  Diego held her out to look into her eyes. “You write music?”

  She chuckled. “No, but my mom forced me into piano lessons when I was a little girl. Does that count?”

  He held her in his arms again and ran his hand down her back. “You’re an enigma. There’s something about you. I want to know more.”

  She gulped, an awkward habit, and forced herself to take a yoga breath. Even if she wasn’t normally like this, she wanted to be. He made her want to be.

  She’d never had passion—here was her one-way ticket to a memorable night worth every lonely sip of her champagne glass. She wanted one night with this man, whom she would normally never cross paths with. She lowered her hand to the top of his ass in one moment of unconventional thinking.

  He raised an eyebrow, asking in a husky voice, “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing if you’re as real as you say you are.”

  He lifted her chin with his finger and looked into her eyes. “What do you want to do, Vero?”

  “You.” The alcohol had traveled to her head; her bluntness didn’t surprise her. She’d wanted him since the moment she spotted him across the room. This was what she came for.

  A few women on the side of the dance floor watched them—or him. It was unnerving, as if her performance was on display. His smiling gaze left her fo
r a moment and eyed the audience. Then he stopped moving and studied her, his head cocked to the side. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Do you have a room upstairs?”

  He smirked and seized her hand in a possessive grip. “A question with a question. Definitely hiding something.” Without hesitation, he led her to the exit.

  Outside, he stopped and placed his hand on her cheek. “Let me just get a room.”

  In the midst of all the sexiness and mystery, every nook and delicious curve of his amazing body emitted trustworthiness. Even with this crazy endeavor, she knew she was safe … and more alive than she’d ever been.

  • • •

  Diego settled himself in the elevator next to the woman who’d held his attention all night. He stuck his hands in his pockets, because if he touched her soft, silky shoulders again, he’d take her right there in the glass box.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. The moment he caught sight of her, he knew she was different. She gave the impression of sophistication on the outside—completely put together from head to delicious toe. But there was an air about her—an edginess he found endearing.

  At first, he thought she could be crashing the wedding to get up and personal with famous people. Then he saw her chatting it up with the bride, so that theory was blown out the window. Thank God. He didn’t want her to be like the other women who found their ways into his path.

  Then after talking with her—Dios mío, his luck! He ended up with the one woman who seemingly had no idea who he was. Unless she really was hiding something, but it was highly unlikely.

  Vero stared out the elevator at the floor below, then she looked at him from the corner of her eyes. “Funny how I was about to leave the party. I didn’t see you before.”

  “I spotted you at the chapel. You aren’t supposed to outshine the bride. You know that, right?”

  She straightened, pulling her clutch under her arm. “You saw me?”

  He cupped her chin tenderly in his hand. “The minute you sat down in the fourth row.”