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years?” the stranger mused. He didn’t even try to hide his grin. “That’s quite a dry spell.”
    “More of a break than a dry spell,” Sandra replied primly, staring daggers at Doctor Baker. “Guys are annoying.”
    “Indeed we are, my dear, and that’s why we need women to keep us in check.” Doctor Baker agreed, chuckling. “This fellow is asking you on a date and you’re refusing him? I won’t stand for it.”
    “An hour,” the man clarified. “That’s all I need.”
    Sandra glared at the man. She glared at the doctor. Then, for good measure, she glared at the man again. “Why did you come here?” she asked him.
    “I was looking for you.”
    Sandra was taken aback by his honesty. Somehow, she got the feeling that it was all just a game to him. Yet, she’d never known anyone confident enough to be so forward with her. She considered her options. Maybe she could overlook the way he’d blundered on the street.
    Besides, between Doctor Baker and the stranger, she was trapped. They seemed to have some type of secret agreement between them to bedevil her. So, he wanted an hour, did he?
    “Fine,” she said. “I get off at five.”
    A victorious grin split the man’s face. A grin so triumphant, so satisfied, that butterflies returned to Sandra’s stomach. And my, is he ever pretty in a rugged, don’t-give-a-damn sort of way when he smiles.
    Doctor Baker clapped his hands together and positively beamed. “It’s settled then.” He winked at Sandra before retreating down the hall, calling over his back, “I’ll make sure we’re done by five!”
    She scribbled her cell number on the back of a business card, and handed it to the man. “Here. You can call me then and see if I’m still up for it.”
    He took the card, turned around, and started for the door—without even saying goodbye!
    “Wait,” Sandra called out. “I don’t even know your name yet!”
    “It’s Brandon.”
    “Oh. I’m—”
    “Sandra. I know. The doc told me.”
    And with that, he was gone.

Chapter Three

    The kid’s got spunk , Brandon thought as he strode out the office. Man, and those dirty blonde roots drove him absolutely fucking insane. But they weren’t the only reason he was interested in Sandra.
    From the moment he spotted Sandra standing at the coffee shop counter that morning, he had a feeling he’d seen her somewhere before. Something tickled the back of his mind, but it was too faint for him to reach out and reel in.
    He was determined to find out what it was.
    Brandon always got what he wanted. Always . That type of assurance wasn’t arrogance; it was simply how he’d planned his life. And the last thirteen years had gone completely according to plan.
    He was thirty-three, single, and living large off money made from the celebrity drug and party scene he’d helped shape over the last thirteen years. He knew well the coarse underbelly of the beast. After all, he supplied the lifeline that kept it running. It was how he’d made his fortune.
    Girls like Sandra weren’t his usual type. He preferred looser women—the ones who came with no strings attached. Girls who danced in nightclubs in ways that left little to the imagination; girls who drew every eye but wouldn’t so much as glance at most men.
    Brandon, however, was unlike most men. He’d learned to appreciate the best. He knew exactly what he wanted. He went for the women other men couldn’t have: the trophies, the tens.
    And got them.
    But he made sure to keep them around for only one night.
    Brandon knew his power over women well. Good Italian genetics, he figured, mixed with an upbringing in the States, gave him the base. His height didn’t hurt, and the confidence he projected was something he’d built up purposefully over his latter teen years. A smattering of wit and self-deprecating humor also helped. Coupled with his influence and money, he was unstoppable.
    He frequently found himself the object of desire of highflying beauties. At