Page 3 of Only for Tonight

She nods.

“You a stripper, then?” I ask.

Ryleigh makes an annoyed sound in her throat. “It’s a topless bar. I’m not a stripper.”

I knew as much, but part of me didn’t want to admit I’ve been a customer at the place. It’s not exactly a classy establishment. “But you serve drinks in your underwear.”

“As I said, men are gross. Sadly, they also pay my bills.”

I chuckle, again surprised by her. Most people—men and women—get flustered around me. Something about my size combined with my face tends to make people trip over themselves. This woman couldn’t care less. She’s looking at me the way she’d look at any random guy on the street.

It’s refreshing as hell.

“I’m not denying it. And not that you asked for it, but in my point of view, men are visual creatures. And women are beautiful. We enjoy seeing them any chance we can get.”

She merely rolls her eyes, clearly not buying my bullshit. “Listen, as nice as it is to freeze my lady balls off and stand out here talking to you, I need to find a way to get home.”

Lady balls. I bite back a grin.

“Where’s your ride? I can wait with you.” The words stumble out of my mouth before I can think about it.

“My car’s in the shop, and apparently my friend bailed on giving me a ride.”

I nod, processing everything. Something tells me she needs that three hundred bucks the guy was offering her. I take a deep breath, weighing my options. It’s either go home alone to my penthouse and lie awake wondering if she’s okay… or drive her home myself and convince her to just take the money I have in my wallet. It’s not like I need it.

As tired as I was walking out of my dinner meeting with Slate, now I’m way too keyed up for sleep. The restlessness I felt earlier, that itch under my skin—it’s shifted into something more focused.

“Is that what you needed the money for? Your car?”

Her inquisitive blue gaze meets mine, and for a second, I think she’s going to deny that she needs the money. She’ll probably try to save face by telling me I read the situation wrong, and she was never actually entertaining that scumbag’s offer.

Instead, she surprises me for the third time in five minutes.

“No. Well, yes. But not tonight. My immediate concern is getting home and taking care of my roommate’s baby.”

“Baby?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow.

She nods, tucking a long strand of silky brown hair behind her ear. “My ex-roommate, actually. She, um, dropped off her baby a few days ago and left. I have no idea when she’s coming back. I need to pick up diapers, more clothes, and baby formula. All of that stuff costs money.” Ryleigh straightens, her posture stiffening, as if she’s revealed too much. “You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

And there it is—the walls going back up. She’s embarrassed, and my gut twists because I can tell this isn’t a woman who asks for help. Ever. She’s the type who white-knuckles her way through every crisis alone, who’d rather eat ramen for a week than admit she’s struggling.

I recognize it because I’m the same way.

“Where’s the baby now?” It’s late, after all. But no matter how late it is, I’m not letting her walk away just yet.

“My neighbor is babysitting her so I could work.”

Something inside me believes Ryleigh’s telling the truth. Even though the last thing I want to do tonight is deal with a sad woman who has what sounds like more drama than an episode of Law & Order, with an even more unusual twist of playing nanny for someone’s baby, I find myself gesturing toward my car. My black Mercedes is parked right across the street.

“I’ll take you.”

She narrows her eyes. “I don’t even know who you are. Why would I trust you?”

I don’t point out that she was just considering getting into the car of a complete stranger. Or that she was considering doing unsavory activities with said stranger. I could tell her it’s because I grew up with three sisters and I have a big heart. I could tell her that I have nieces and nephews and that I’m good with babies. I could even hand her my business card and tell her she could ruin me with one call to the media about how I tried to pick her up outside a nightclub. But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I find myself wanting her to trust me on instinct alone.

I finally settle on, “Because I’m offering to help you. No strings.”

“No strings, as in I don’t have to show you my boobs?”