Page 4 of Not Part of the Plan
When she hung up thirty seconds later, Emma was satisfied that Lynlee was scrambling to keep the promises she’d just made, and a man who might as well have had Bad Boy tattooed on his forehead was in her space staring at her.
He was tall enough to make her tilt her head back to take in the full picture. Artfully distressed jeans were worn low on narrow hips. Under his battered leather jacket, a slim fitting button down in slate gray hinted at a very taut stomach beneath. His boots, scuffed leather, probably cost more than the Tamara Mellon pumps she had tucked in her office for the evening.
His hair was thick and dark and carelessly tousled as if he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed. A day’s worth of scruff on his perfectly chiseled jaw played up the bad boy look. His dark eyes held darker promises, and there was just the faintest hint of a smile playing on his firm mouth. Aviator sunglasses were tucked into the opening of his shirt.
He had to have an accent, Emma decided. Gorgeous, badass men that looked like that had accents and made poor life choices.
“Can I help you?” she asked, trending on the cool side of polite. She didn’t fall for bad boys anymore. She kept them at a safe distance where she could admire the way their jeans fit without becoming collateral damage.
“I’m looking for you,” he said in a voice made to tempt women into dark corners.
Damn. No accent.
“Oh, really?” Emma kept her tone light. She knew the rules.Don’t give a playboy anything to play with.
“If you’re Emma, I am.”
She crossed her arms, drumming her purple manicure on her upper arms. “What can I do for you, Mr.…?”
“Vulkov,” he offered. “Nikolai.”
“Wolf?” Emma translated the Russian with an arched eyebrow. “How appropriate.”
He grinned at her then, and the full wattage was dazzling. Emma felt her pulse kick up in reflexive appreciation for the fine male specimen before her.
“I like you, Emma.” The way he said her name, like it was something that tempted him, irked her.
“I’m sure you like a lot of women, Mr. Wolf,” she countered. “Now, if you’ll get to your point, we can both get on with our days.”
“Please, call me Niko,” he corrected her, seeming to be in no hurry to get to the point.
Her brushoff appeared to have no effect on his attentiveness or his amusement. Emma was used to dumping a little cold water on men’s egos now and then when necessary. However, this particular man appeared to be immune to it.
“Your sister asked me to deliver this to you, and Carter is requesting a dinner reservation for the ‘whole family.’”
“Are you family?” she asked, the curiosity getting the better of her. He certainly had the tall, dark, and gorgeous thing going that the rest of the Pierce men did.
“Friend of,” he said.
She wondered just whose friend he was and made a mental note to quiz Gia when she had a moment. Not that she was interested, just curious. Emma pursed her lips and opened the reservations again even though she already had them memorized. “I guess you can have the loft at 6:30,” she decided.
He winced. “6:30 dinner on a Friday night?”
Emma felt her lips quirk. “City boy?”
“New York, born and raised. You?”
“L.A. most recently,” she said, plugging in the reservation. “Blue Moon takes some time getting used to.” She’d been here nearly a year and was still getting used to the town’s quirks.
“I’ve visited before.” And the way he said it made her think that Mr. Vulkov had seen enough of Blue Moon to be a little apprehensive about his stay.
“How long are you staying?” she asked, mostly out of politeness.
“As long as it takes.” He shoved his hand through his hair, somehow making the new mess even sexier.
His answer was cryptic, and she left it at that. She didn’t have the time or the inclination to play “getting to know you” with a bad boy stranger who looked like he was accustomed to women’s attention.
“Excuse me, Emma?” A petite pixie of a woman with close-cropped dark hair, a tiny nose stud, and a John Pierce Brews t-shirt bustled up with the cordless phone.
