Drawn to You

  Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Drawn to You

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Author message

  Connect

  Books

  SERENA GREY

  www.serenagrey.com

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  DRAWN TO YOU

  Copyright © 2014 by Serena Grey.

  All rights reserved.

  Raven§Press

  To readers.

  Find Love.

  Live Joyfully.

  Be Happy.

  He thinks she’s a hooker.

  She thinks she’s in love with someone else.

  After one memorable night, Rachel Foster cannot stop thinking about sexy billionaire hotelier Landon Court, and the way his touch set her body on fire. But as far as she knows, she’s never going to see him again, and that’s okay, because she’d rather not risk falling for him anyway.

  For Landon, one night is not enough. He wants Rachel, and he’s not prepared to back down. He always gets what he wants, and she will not be an exception.

  Unable to resist her attraction to Landon, Rachel decides to give him what he wants, but on her own terms.

  One week. Just sex. No commitment.

  What happens when love is not allowed, but everything else is?

  “You should totally hook up with Chadwick tonight.”

  “What!” I exclaim. “No way!” I look up, meeting my cousin’s gray eyes in the mirror. She’s standing behind me, fixing up my mass of blond-streaked, deep copper hair in preparation for Chadwick Black’s birthday party, which she’s practically forcing me to attend. Right now she’s looking at me with her own particular expression of exasperation.

  “Seriously, Rachel,” she says, inserting another pin into my hair to hold up the style she’s creating, “you need to have some fun. And from what you’ve told me, Chadwick is cute, sexy, and eager to give you just what you need.”

  “Me and every other girl in New York,” I scoff. “Come on Laurie, It’s not that bad. I have fun. I have you, Brett, all those beautiful books on my ereader, and an amazing job,” I pause, “which is not so amazing, but whatever.”

  Laurie laughs and pushes back her back-length curly black hair. She’d just returned from work when I told her about Chadwick’s party, which I wasn’t sure at the time, that I wanted to attend. Immediately, she’d dropped everything and started to help me get ready, insisting that I had to go. She must be tired, after a long day at the law firm where she works, but she still looks stunning. I like to think we look alike, at least features wise, our fathers are identical twins after all, but in coloring we take after our mothers. My skin is pale and a little rosy on a good day, while Laurie has an absurdly beautiful light caramel tone.

  “I’m sure you know how pathetic it is when me, my boyfriend, books, and work are your only claim to a fun-filled life,” Laurie says, still smiling. “P.S when I said fun, I didn’t mean the PG version.” She meets my eyes in the mirror and lowers her voice to a theatrical whisper. “I meant sex.”

  I chuckle. “I’m not going to have sex with Chadwick. It’s enough that you’re practically forcing me to go to his party.”

  “Yeah,” she says unrepentantly, “Brett is spending the night, and I don’t want to worry about being loud.” She smiles mischievously. “Anyway, we both know that if I don’t force you, you’ll just sit in your room pining for you-know-who.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t pine, and you can say his name.”

  “I know I can, I just wish you would forget it.” She sticks another pin in my hair. “Forever.”

  “His name is Jack Weyland,” I say stubbornly.

  She rolls her eyes. “And he’s an asshole.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Is too.”

  We both laugh, reminded of when we were children. We practically grew up together, and have been inseparable our whole lives.

  Her laughter ends in a small chuckle. “I don’t know about you, but when a guy asks you out, leads you on, spends two months making you fall in love with him, and when you finally tell him how you feel, he tells you that he loves you too, but..” she stops, “what were the exact words again?”

  I don’t answer. I don’t want to remember. Sometimes, it’s still too painful to think about.

  Laurie is right. I spend too much time thinking about Jack Weyland. The most renowned features writer at Gilt Traveler, a world-famous adventure traveler, and the man I’ve been in love with, silently and unrequitedly for the last two years.

  Immediately after college, I’d gotten a job at Gilt Traveler, one of the many publications owned by Gilt Magazines. I fell for Jack on my first day in the building post-interview, when he walked past me in the lobby. I’d been starting as an assistant to Mark Willis, the senior features editor, and was on my way to the elevators when a tall, dark-haired, confidently handsome guy, had sauntered towards me, making me stare. He’d winked at me, and I’d almost tripped in my three inch heels.

  I didn’t know who he was at the time, but I found out soon enough. By some divine providence, he also worked at Gilt Traveler. He was a gifted writer, handsome, charming, and nothing like the guys I’d known in college. He asked me to dinner, making me the envy of all the girls at Gilt, because he had never dated anyone from the office.

  It was magical. Or so I’d thought. By the end of the week, I was sleeping with him. Before long, I knew I was falling in love with him. Stupidly, I told him how I felt, and he responded by telling me that I was sweet, and he loved me too, but that he could never commit to any one woman, and would only hurt me in the long run if he tried.

  “I mean it when I say I love you,” he’d said earnestly, with a passionate expression that had always made me feel as if I was the most special person in the world to him. “It would mean a lot to me if we could be friends after this.”

  Laurie is still waiting for me to respond. I close my eyes, trying to block out the sad memory. “He said that he can’t commit to just one woman.”

  “That,” Laurie says. “When a guy does that, he’s an asshole, and you don’t stay friends with him for any reason. You wouldn’t even be going to Chadwick’s party tonight if Jack was in town to say ‘Hey Rachel, why don’t we go and hang out at this-or-that café. I’ll be so charming and funny, while I take pleasure in the fact that in just two months with me, I made you incapable of falling for anyone else.’”

  We’ve had this fight a couple of times, the one where she tells me how unhealthy my friendship with Jack is for me, and I try to defend Jack and the fact that two years after he broke my heart, I’m still in love with him.

  When I don’t reply, Laurie, uncharacteristically, lets the matter rest. She sticks one final pin in my hair and steps back, looking at her handiwork. Most of my hair is held up in an up-do that’s intentionally messy, but stylish, with a few strands framing my face. It’s lovely.

  I meet Laurie’s eyes in the mirror and smile my appreciation. “Thanks.”

  She smiles back. “No biggie. Now go to that party and have fun.” She winks. “In case you change your mind
and decide to rock Chadwick’s world. I left a present in your purse.”

  Eyeing her suspiciously, I go to my bed and pick the black clutch, opening it and rolling my eyes at the ‘present’.

  “I definitely won’t need these,” I say with a laugh.

  Laurie shrugs. “The night’s not over yet. Allow me some hope.”

  LESS than an hour later, I’m in front of the Oyster room, an exclusive restaurant and bar on the second floor of the Swanson Court Hotel. From the exterior, it’s impossible to guess that there’s a party going on inside.

  Pausing on the corridor outside the doors, I catch my reflection in the glass and thank my stars for Laurie. She also helped pick out my clothes, a dark-green dress the same color as my eyes, with a suggestive décolletage, and a hemline that ends just above my knees, paired with black heels that add four inches to my modest five foot five.

  Satisfied that nothing is out of place, I push open the doors and step into a quiet ante-room occupied by a smiling hostess, who directs me to another set of doors that open directly into the restaurant. Inside, the party is in full swing, seemingly containing all the stylish, artsy, or creative young people in New York City. That’s not surprising. Chadwick Black, the celebrant, is an award-winning photographer who sometimes does work for Gilt Traveler.

  From the entrance, I glimpse a few people from the office, and then Chadwick across the room, whispering something to an impossibly slender blonde, who’s giggling at whatever he’s saying. Typical Chadwick. He loves to flirt, and he’s been trying, very good-naturedly, to get into my pants for ages. I take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, my eyes still on Chadwick. He’s good-looking, very good-looking, with long brown hair, caramel eyes, and a charming smile that gives him the appearance of being the harmless, friendly-yet-incredibly-hot guy next door. I know better, his love for women is generous, nondiscriminatory, and definitely not monogamous.

  He looks up from the blonde’s ear and notices me. Grinning, he excuses himself and comes over. “Rachel honey,” he exclaims above the loud pop music, then kisses me on both cheeks before leaning back to look at me. “You look stunning.”

  “So do you,” I reply, dodging a second round of kisses, “Great party.”

  “I know, right?” He takes my hand, and there’s a flash as someone takes a picture. I don’t have as much social clout as some of the other girls at Gilt, so I’m not worried that my picture will appear in any of the fashion or gossip columns.

  Chadwick is still talking. “I have great friends who realize that there’s nothing more important than celebrating the fact that twenty-eight years ago, I came into this world for the benefit of women everywhere,” he proclaims.

  I chuckle. “You’re so full of it.”

  “Yeah,” he replies with a charming grin. “But you love me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why won’t you let me show you just how crazy I am about you?”

  I swat him on the arm. “Because I love myself too much.”

  He sighs exaggeratedly. “Come on then. Let’s introduce you to some of my friends.” Pulling me across the room, he leads me to a group of people talking and laughing over drinks and finger foods.

  “Guys, this is Rachel,” Chadwick announces, “into whose panties I’m trying to get.” He winks at me, unrepentant, as his friends hoot.

  Someone pulls at his sleeve and whispers something in his ear. “I’ll be right back,” he tells me before leaving to take care of whatever he’s needed for.

  One of the friends, a guy with messy brown hair and an unshaven face, tells me his name in a crisp British accent. He also introduces the rest of the group. There’s a painter, a curvy brunette who works at a tabloid, a food critic, and the typical blend of writers, artists, and other creative types. “We mostly went to college with Chad,” British guy says. “How do you know him?”

  “He does some work for us…, the magazine where I work.”

  “Which magazine?” The question comes from the painter, a petite woman with a pixie cut.

  “Gilt Traveler,” I reply.

  “That’s a good one.” The tabloid writer, I think her name was Annabel, seems impressed. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a features associate,” I tell them. It’s the official title for my real job, which is to write the tiny little articles the real features writers can’t be bothered with.”

  “Sounds like a nice gig,” someone says.

  “Yeah, it is,” I agree with a shrug.

  “I can’t wait for the moment when a bikini-clad model pops out of a cake,” British guy declares, finishing his drink and immediately picking another from a passing tray.

  “Is that going to happen?” I ask, interested. I’ve never seen anything like that outside of the movies.

  “Not likely. It’s not a frat party.” He sounds wistful.

  Chadwick returns. “So have you guys convinced Rachel that I’m worth at least a night of her time.”

  “Are you?” One of the women says, tossing her hair. “Not from what I remember.”

  The rest of the group bursts into laughter and I join them. Chadwick tries to look annoyed but fails.

  “Chadwick, darling!” The soft voice comes from across the room, and we all look in that direction. The speaker is a vaguely familiar woman, tall and slender, with a wild mass of dark-blonde hair, and mile-long legs shown off in a tight jumpsuit.

  “Here comes Claudia,” I hear someone say.

  But I’m not listening. My heart is hammering, my eyes locked on the man standing beside the new arrival.

  Jack Weyland.

  What is he doing here? I think, panicked and elated at the same time. He’s supposed to be in England, skydiving with Reese Fletcher, the sixty-year-old electronics billionaire daredevil. We’d spoken on the phone only a few days ago, and he didn’t mention anything about returning to New York.

  Yet here he was, with the most beautiful woman at the party, no less.

  He hasn’t seen me yet, so I have time to look at him. He’s standing back, watching his date as she throws herself into Chadwick’s arms, his expression, that irresistible combination of boredom and mystery that only some guys can pull off. His dark hair is short at the sides and back, longer in front, with an appealing forelock falling onto his forehead. His body, perfect in a stylish shirt and dark pants, is fit and athletic. My heart catches in my throat, filling with the familiar, bittersweet ache I feel whenever I see him.

  “Who’s her companion?” Annabel asks.

  “That’s Jack Weyland,” British guy supplies, “Now there’s a guy who suffers from wanderlust. He’s been all over the world. There was a three episode special of his experience at the Spanish bullfights early this year. Never gave a damn before, but now I want to go to Spain.” He stops his narrative to look at me. “He writes for Gilt too, so you should know him.”

  “Yes,” I say quietly, still looking at Jack. Sometimes, like now, I still question why I’d agreed to stay friends. At the time, I’d thought that was what it meant to be sophisticated, to be able to act as if I didn’t care, even when my heart was shattered. I’d paid a high price for that sophistication in the last two years. Smiling on the outside, but dying inside while he went from assignment to assignment, writing magnificent articles, appearing on TV, and having affairs with women from all over the world.

  He still hasn’t seen me. His eyes are on his date, and I don’t blame him. By now, I’ve placed her face. She’s a famous British model, and she’s beautiful. Exactly his type.

  “Chadwick photographed Claudia for some rodeo campaign back when they were both beginners,” British guy is saying. “Made her famous as the ‘risk-taking’ model to watch back then. I think she’s the only woman he never tries to sleep with. No offense to you of course.”

  “None taken,” I reply distractedly. I’ve already forgotten about Chadwick. I look from Jack to Claudia. She’s only the latest in a long line of women he’s dated over the year
s. Though with each one, it becomes more and more unlikely that one day he’ll realize that maybe, just maybe, his feelings for me are more than those of just friendship.

  “If Chadwick was trying to sleep with her, then he’s in for a huge disappointment,” Annabel says. “I heard she got engaged to some writer. Maybe this hunk she came in with.”

  I take a sharp breath, my ears burning at the word ‘engaged.’ At that moment, Jack sees me. There’s a brief flash of surprise in his eyes. Then he smiles, and my whole body fills with longing.

  “Yup, he’s the one.” One of the women holds up her phone, which has a popular gossip site open on the browser. I force myself not to look at the headline or the pictures.

  Claudia is busy introducing Jack and Chadwick, and as I watch, Chadwick starts to lead them both towards us.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I say to no one in particular. Finding a nearby table to place my champagne flute, I turn my back on all of them and find an exit. Outside the restaurant, I lean on the railing, breathing in cool, filtered air as I try to regain my composure. I let my eyes travel from the crystal chandelier hanging from about a floor above, down to the magnificent entrance lobby on the ground floor. It’s a beautiful hotel, with old classic architecture and evidence of careful, unstinting maintenance. Too bad that my first visit has been spoiled by having to watch the man I love with yet another woman.

  I take a deep breath and start for the elevator, knowing that I don’t want to go back inside and see Jack with his beautiful date again. I’ll have to apologize to Chadwick later, but I doubt he’ll mind too much. There’re probably one or two women already waiting to go home with him.

  “Rachel.”

  Jack’s voice stops me in my tracks. I turn around, trying to control the intense longing that fills me as my eyes land on him. “Hi Jack.” I force a smile. “Didn’t know you were back.”

  He shrugs. “It was kind of sudden.” His gray eyes, travel over my dress, then come back to settle on my face. “You look incredible.”