Sugar - Lydia Michaels Page 0,3

but not a game ender. I needed to find out if she was new to town or merely new to the building. This guy might not be the man from the night before. That model Aston Martin retailed for around the two hundred thousand mark and the Mercedes that took her out last night retailed for over eighty grand. Either she only dated luxury car salesmen, or she only dated men who were loaded.

My mind reorganized and categorized every detail about her as if this could somehow make the facts accumulate. I needed more. She had me so distracted, I’d settle for a negative detail, something to drop her from goddess level and put her within my human reach.

She couldn’t be more than twenty-two. But not a lot of single women in their early twenties could afford to live here alone. This one just appeared. Boxes arrived. Furniture followed. Then she showed up carrying a designer purse and a leather messenger bag, leaving me and Winston, the doorman, gawking after her. It wasn’t the last time she left me gaping like a semi-aroused idiot either. Tonight she’d done it again.

Salad made, I headed to the den and grabbed my iPad. Kicking off my shoes and anchoring my feet on the coffee table, I cued up a search. I’d snagged her name off the mailboxes a few days ago. Avery Johansson. Christ, even her name screamed sexy.

The search pulled up the usual Twitter and Facebook accounts, but none of the profiles fit. I expanded my search to the other social media outlets, but they also proved to be dead ends.

“Who are you, Avery Johansson?”

Tossing my iPad aside, I shifted the weight of my slightly swollen cock in my pants. Whoever she was, I intended to have her. Sure, I had plenty of other options. My contacts held ample names of available, hot women. But this particular woman scored beyond a ten. She easily captured the total package.

Toned legs that went up to her throat, an ass I could make a meal out of, big, sexy, don’t you want to fill my mouth eyes, and lips that could keep a dick warm for winters at a time. She was perfect.

Not used to women requiring this much strategy, I got a small thrill from the idea of a hunt. First, I needed more than a hallway pass by to get to know her. I wanted a chance to touch her, look into her eyes without the threat of a door closing between us. I needed to lure her into my domain. Picturing her in my space caused my insides to hum with hopeful satisfaction. If I could get her there, I might keep her until morning.

By the time I finished eating and had the dishes washed, I’d come up with a plan. I’d host a party. Nothing fancy and I could pass it off as a work thing, providing the perfect opening for personal details.

Avery appeared to enjoy successful men. I’d accomplished a comfortable level of success for my age, enough not to feel threatened by her success or the success of the men she passed the time with. Going by her clothing and living situation, she’d accomplished quite a bit at an early age.

Unsure what would get her naked faster, I decided to balance the party between upscale chic and trendy and prepster casual. I needed a wingman, someone with a little insight into women.

My thumb dragged over the screen of my phone, opening my favorites. There, beneath my parents and sister sat the number of my go-to gal. She answered halfway through the first ring.

“If this is about the papers you forgot on your desk, I already had them overnighted,” Lucy answered.

Shit. I totally forgot about that. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

She laughed, a cross between charming appreciation and the subtle hint she was overdue for a raise. I’d give it to her. As an invaluable personal assistant, Lucy always moved five steps ahead and anticipated my every move.

“I have a project I need you to get started on—something fun.”

“My pen is poised. Whatcha’ got?”

“I want to have a staff party here at the condo. Something nice, but not too formal. Give them something to talk about on Monday.”

As I tossed out ideas, she bounced them back with better ones, and within ten minutes, the details were worked out. Of course, I didn’t tell Lucy my motives. One, I didn’t want her to think less of me, and