Just One Night

By Dianne McCartney

Sam Preston can't believe his good fortune when he meets the mysterious Mariah who crashes his birthday party at his New York City hotel. Their attraction is immediate. He can't wait to discover more about her after their passionate night together.

He never gets the chance. She disappears before he wakes up, laying a false trail that leaves him frustrated.

Mariah Stone and Sam have a past of which he isn't aware. As children, they were friends until an unspeakable tragedy tore them apart. One night should have been enough to prove she had exaggerated their connection due to a childhood crush, but her plan backfired. Her mistake means now they will have to fight to understand how the past and present will influence their future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781509224555

Dianne McCartney

Dianne McCartney is an award-winning writer, speaker and contest judge from Canon City, Colorado. She lives with her husband, Mitch, among the deer, coyotes and other wildlife. Her novels are mainstream thriller/suspense and contemporary romance published by The Wild Rose Press. Her upcoming release, Breathing Fire, will be released May 31, 2023. She has sixty-eight writing awards from contests in Oklahoma and Texas and is a member of the OWFI, The Rose Rock Writers, The Tornado Alley Mystery Writers and The Oklahoma Romance Writers' Guild.

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He held her in his arms, testing for rejection. It didn’t come. Instead, she moved closer, as if she’d been waiting just for him. The music softened and the lights lowered as the orchestra slid into a waltz. Neither he nor his dance partner spoke. The scent of perfume crept to him; an alluring mix of plum and honey. Laying his cheek against silky hair, he murmured, Who are you, Mariah?

She didn’t reply.

They danced for half an hour, attracting attention and gossip. Finally, she stepped away and he spoke up. Would you like a drink?

Mariah looked around the room, as if she’d forgotten they weren’t alone. She pointed toward the doors to the terrace. I thought I might get some fresh air.

He held out his arm. Taking it, she followed him away from the crowd. Even on the terrace, they weren’t alone. Other couples gathered outside, talking or smoking cigarettes. He tugged Mariah toward a darkened corner.

Just One Night

by

Dianne McCartney

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Just One Night

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Dianne McCartney

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2019

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2454-8

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2455-5

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

Thanks to my husband, Mitch, and daughter, Colleen, my most amazing treasures and the best support team around.

Heartfelt gratitude to fellow authors Olyve Hallmark Abbott, Debbie Gillette, Dion Mayes Burnett, Lisa Willis, and Vickey Malone Kennedy for cheering me on when the real world intervenes.

A hug for my dear friend, Jane Combs, who always showed up with flowers and other treats when I won contests.

Thank you also to Ally Robertson, Roseann Armstrong, and the team at The Wild Rose Press for your patience and great communication skills.

Chapter One

Sam watched from across the room, intrigued. No man stood beside her and she’d been alone since joining his guests an hour earlier. The fact that he didn’t know this woman struck him as strange. It was, after all, a birthday party in his honor.

Tall and slender, with hair as black as his own in a twist against her neck, she wore an ebony dress; the perfect foil. Diamond earrings were the only accent. A handful of men who approached her had been coolly rebuffed. She hadn’t danced with anyone or eaten a thing. The one glass of champagne she held acted as a stage prop as she wandered around the room.

Unable to deny himself, Sam moved across the crowded ballroom in her direction. Nodding and smiling, he maneuvered past friends and acquaintances.

She stood admiring one of the huge Greek tapestries that decorated the walls. Glancing to the side at his approach, her frosty glance dismissed him.

They’re from Skiros. He gestured toward the needlework. Does your attention mean you admire them?

She turned to face him. It’s difficult not to like anything Stephanos Mikos conjures up. Your mother has excellent taste.

Interesting. How does she know my mother chose them? He moved a step toward her. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Sam Preston.

Mariah. Her expression solemn, she extended a slim hand, which he clasped.

You don’t have a last name? He waited for it to be supplied, curious about her reticence.

Rich hazel eyes glowed gold in the light from the chandelier. My last name is of no importance.

They stared at each other for a moment, then he gestured toward the center of the room. May I have the pleasure of this dance?

She nodded, moving ahead of him to the dance floor as the orchestra began to play. He ignored the curious eyes that followed their progress. When they began to dance, the indiscreet stared on.

He held her in his arms, testing for rejection. It didn’t come. Instead, she moved closer, as if she’d been waiting just for him. The music softened and the lights lowered as the orchestra slid into a waltz. Neither he nor his dance partner spoke. The scent of perfume crept to him; an alluring mix of plum and honey. Laying his cheek against silky hair, he murmured, Who are you, Mariah?

She didn’t reply.

They danced for half an hour, attracting attention and gossip. Finally, she stepped away and he spoke. Would you like a drink?

Mariah looked around the room, as if she’d forgotten they weren’t alone. She pointed toward the doors to the terrace. I thought I might get some fresh air.

He held out his arm. Taking it, she followed him away from the crowd. Even on the terrace, they weren’t alone. Other couples gathered outside, talking or smoking cigarettes. He tugged Mariah toward a darkened corner.

Without pause, he put his arms around her. Sensing surprise, but no resistance, he brushed her lips with his own. His gentle approach ceased when soft hands threaded through his hair and pulled him closer. When her mouth opened under his, he plundered, taking heat and sweetness, fanning the flames. He felt curves and muscle meet. It was as if she’d been custom ordered for him.

Suspicion reared its ugly head. He pulled away, searching her face for answers. Where did you come from?

Her expression was dark, unreadable. I don’t know what you mean.

I think you do. Did someone pay you to be my present?

Sam watched as his words sank in and disbelief flashed across that flawless face, quickly replaced by anger. You think I’m a prostitute? Her response came in a tone just above a whisper, but he heard the outrage as if it were a shout. He turned to make sure no one lingered close enough to hear their words.

The doors burst open, disgorging a raucous group of guests, his best friend, Evan, leading the pack. Sam! The party’s getting awfully dull without the birthday boy. The couples that followed surrounded Sam, poking fun at his old age and how they thought he had retired for the night.

Mariah was gone. In the rush, she had slipped away.

After glancing around the terrace to make sure of her exit, he led his group of friends back inside, ignoring their taunts as he peered through the masses. Dozens of black dresses, none of them worn by the right woman. For twenty minutes, he worked the crowd, investigating every nook and cranny of the massive space. Sam checked every probable hiding place, followed by a few less probable, but in the end, he had to face facts. He had blown an incredible attraction, because of his cynicism. His bed would feel colder than ever tonight.

****

Mariah braced herself against the cool, marble bathroom counter and looked at her reflection in the ornate mirror. Of all the scenarios she had prepared for, this one had never been considered. He thinks I’m a prostitute. She couldn’t laugh, not even at herself. She couldn’t cry, either. Sulking in the bathroom didn’t change the facts. Years of preparation, and she had still failed to carry out her plan.

Turning her head to the side, she admired the glossy black, fresh from the salon. So different from her natural color, yet it suited the woman of mystery she had chosen to become tonight. A lot of money had been invested, now destined to simply get washed right back down the drain. Stop whining, she told herself and straightened her posture. She ignored the other women who entered as she repaired her lipstick with painstaking care and checked in the mirror one last time. It proved essential that she looked unruffled as she made her exit, so as not to attract attention. At least her research had indicated the quickest way out of the hotel.

Taking a calming breath, she opened the door and stepped into the dimness of the hall. A hand closed around her shoulder and Sam’s voice followed, from behind. I should have realized this is where you’d escaped to.

She sidled away, biting the soft flesh on the inside of her lip to help maintain her composure. I’m on my way out, Mr. Preston. If you’ll excuse me.

No. He moved to block the exit. I won’t.

Mariah sent him a scathing look.

Sam took a small step back. I owe you an apology. A man in my position can’t survive without skepticism. He smiled, eyes glittering. I’m sorry. In this case, I shouldn’t have questioned my good fortune.

Apology accepted. She edged past him. But I really do have to leave.

I hope you’ll reconsider. His voice was low, rough. I’m due at the microphone to receive my birthday toast in a few minutes. Come with me.

They stared at each other. He reached up and brushed her cheek with one finger. The chemistry hung in the air between them and she found it impossible to walk away.

Nodding, she changed direction and took his arm, heading back to the music.

****

Sam felt as if every gaze focused on them. They wound their way to the stage where his mother waited. Looking like the very essence of New York society, Adele Preston wore a regal, mint green, beaded dress, her wavy, gray hair in an upsweep. She appeared ten years younger than her actual age of sixty-six. Gesturing toward them, she tapped her watch, but Mariah hung back. When Sam gave an impatient tug, she whispered in his ear, I prefer to wait here.

He couldn’t afford to ruin things again, so he reluctantly released her hand. Stepping to his mother’s side, he kissed her on the cheek. With a smile, she looked pointedly in Mariah’s direction. You seem to be enjoying yourself.

Sam frowned. There was no way to explain this woman to his mother, so he let the comment pass. He watched Adele step to the microphone and thank the guests for their attendance. In his youth, this annual party had been embarrassing, but at the ripe old age of thirty-five, he’d grown used to it. His mother had once confided that she garnered more donations for charity at this party than all of her other functions combined. He’d been a little shocked and then impressed at her initiative, so he put up with the mass of people and the toast as a favor to her.

As the crowd raised their glasses and the band struck up ‘Happy Birthday,’ Mariah lifted a glass in a toast, eyebrows raised, mimicking the other guests. Sam turned back to say a few words of thanks to his guests, then stepped away from the microphone.

To his relief, she still waited, off to one side of the stage. He nodded to an opening in the curtain and they exited, walking down a few steps to a long hall. There was no one around. The party stayed behind them, but the mellowed sound of instruments followed, as did the dull drone of voices. Sam paused and looked down at his companion. Thank you for staying. You’re very generous giving me a second chance.

A strangled laugh escaped her lips. I’m hoping it will be my pleasure.

He understood the implication. There was something more going on here, but he would have all night to discover what hid behind that flawless face. Lifting her unadorned left hand, he asked, Is there anyone I should know about? When she paused, he felt a lurch of anger. To his knowledge, he had never touched another man’s wife.

Hazel eyes met his. No. There’s no one.

Sam didn’t stop to question why a woman like this would be alone. When they kissed this time, demand and scorching heat flamed to life. Mariah softened and he backed her to the wall, letting his body make contact, chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh. He felt, as much as heard, her soft exhale of surrender. When his mouth sampled the satin of her throat, he stepped away. Come to bed, Mariah. I want more than you can give me here. He waited, his breath hitching at the idea of being refused. The gentleman in him wouldn’t allow him to press.

She looked up, her expression unexpectedly vulnerable. Where?

Leading the way around a corner to a private elevator, he paused. I live upstairs, in the penthouse. He pulled the key out of his pocket, inserted it and the doors opened. Draped and mirrored, the cocoon-like lift made the short ride seem endless. Mariah looked relieved when the doors opened again.

He watched her reflection as she moved toward the broad expanse of windows and came to a standstill in the middle of his living room. After locking the elevator for the night, he followed, sliding his arms around her waist. Turning in the circle of his embrace, she touched him. First his face and his neck, then her touch roamed further. Motionless, he reveled in the sensations her taunting hands elicited. She pushed the tuxedo jacket off his shoulders. Like magic, the cummerbund followed. Nails grated down his back until he felt their presence through the cloth of his pants.

Gritting his teeth against the pleasure, he reached for the delicate zipper of Mariah’s dress.

She pushed his hand away. You, first. The intensity on her face mesmerized him. Nimble fingers tackled the buttons on his shirt, then combed through the revealed chest hair. Bending, she tasted his skin. Sweat broke out on his forehead. When her hands met the button on his pants, she sank to her knees in front of him. Stopping to rub her cheek against the hard bulge, she inched the zipper down, her knuckles brushing him.

It took his breath away. Damn it, Mariah. Reaching down, he scooped her into his arms. In five long strides, he reached his bedroom, five more brought him to the edge of the bed. Placing her with painstaking care on top of the sheets, he began stripping off his clothes, never losing eye contact. Finished, he stood in the spare light from the window, then, leaning down, began to undress her. Easing off high heels, his hands slid up under the black dress. It took a minute to deal with the garters he found there.

She stroked his arm, then lifted her body, so he could slide off the dress. The sight of her lying there, lush breasts exposed, hair tumbled on the pillow, swept everything else from his mind.

Taking one slender foot in his hand, he traced her instep with his tongue, traveling upward. Teasing, he made a circuitous route from knee to the swell of hip and on to her flat stomach. She squirmed under the onslaught, murmuring an unintelligible response.

Dropping kisses onto the silky skin, he slipped his fingers