Chapter 1

“Jesus Christ!” A wiry man with perfect, tawny hair guffawed. Tumbler in hand, Steve Taylor gaped across the table in a crowded café. After another full-throated laugh escaped him, he rocked back in his chair, tilting a drink to his lips. “Caleb, you’re such a fucking asshole!”

Grin on his face, Caleb van Dienst scanned the midtown eatery’s sunlit polished gray steel interior. Dull, borderline stupid, the faces of the patrons drawn to the laughter were of no interest to him. Instead, he looked through its windows at the busy city street. As a slender silhouette moved closer, he shifted his gaze.

Right as she passed them, a cute blonde server with nice legs and a perfect ass flicked vivid emerald eyes at Steve. Focused on his drink, the other man didn’t notice. Of course, he wouldn’t.

However, when she glanced at Caleb, he winked. As he inspected her sleek figure in a short black skirt and chest-hugging blouse, his grin widened. Despite crimson flaring along sharp cheekbones and the cutest jiggle of perky little titties, she turned away.

“Bah, probably a lez,” Caleb muttered.

“Yeah, sure,” said the third man at the table. Burly and redheaded, Terry Woods snorted. In his large, freckled hand was an almost empty martini glass. His third. “So, what happened? ‘She was the one.’ Thought you loved her.”

“What can I say?” Caleb raked fingers through thick, dark hair. “I’m God’s—”

“—gift to women,” Terry finished, his green eyes glinting. “Yeah, yeah, we know.”

A chuckle escaped Caleb. Blessed with great genes, he was “tall, dark and handsome.” Not his words, but those of the many women he’d dated, fucked, or both dated and fucked. However, in addition to the gifts courtesy of his parents, he put in the hard work. Many long hours in the gym, sweating his ass off. Miles of running roads and trails. Plus, swimming.

So, yeah, he was ‘hot.’ Again, not his word, but that of others. Not that he minded the compliments. They fueled him in the dark times.

It also helped to be born rich. A trust fund baby, Caleb, was lucky. Although again, he worked harder than others, earning more ... okay, to feed his appetite. Fast cars, faster women. Nice things, nicer women.

Like his dad, he had a penchant for the new, the shiny, or simply the different. Another chuckle left him as he peered at the pair of laughing friends. They couldn’t afford new, shiny, or different. Which meant an undercurrent of jealousy slunk within their voices.

Because, yeah, Caleb owned a brand-new Bugatti Chiron. The Super Sport. Why the fuck not? He lived in a swanky, well-furnished—not by him—downtown penthouse apartment. It sported an impressive balcony and an even more impressive hot/fuck tub.

Then there was a nice chalet in Colorado. Both another expansive fuck tub and a massive heart-shaped bed. Perfect for parties, orgies, whatever. Oh, and the quaint loft in Paris. No fuck tub, but the views got little clits all warm and buzzing. The latter two he’d inherited from his dad, but the apartment—he’d earned that.

Their rivalry extended to his exploits with the fairer sex. Out before the starting gun, Terry married within seconds of graduating high school. Then there was Steve. Well, he hunted, but never caught. Not a finisher. A damned good wingman, taking one for the team more times than Caleb could count. But he had no guts. And no guts meant no glory. Or pussy. Witness the hot blonde waitress. Typical Steve, focused on the wrong things at the wrong time.

“So, what happened?” Terry asked, while doing that annoying ‘twirl his wedding ring’ thing.

Whether he did it to taunt him or not, it got under Caleb’s skin. However, he forced a grin. After all, it was Terry’s only opportunity to flex. He’d begun doing it more often. A nervous tremor flickered deep within Caleb. Had he found out?

“No, really. That Beth was the ‘sure thing.’ Your words.” With a wobbly lift of his hand, Terry finished the rest of a martini and grinned.

After a long sigh, Caleb sipped. The others leaned closer, awaiting his answer. One glance into Terry’s glassy eyes and the flicker vanished. Nah, he didn’t know. If he had, Terry wouldn’t be able to hold his gaze. The grin on Caleb’s face broadened as he lowered his tumbler.

“The bitch cheated on me.” Before he could add anything, both “buddies” erupted into louder laughter.

At Terry’s echoing guffaws, curious looks again shot to them from the surrounding tables. Meanwhile, struggling to breathe, Steve slapped a hand on the table and set his shaky glass down.

“Now that’s rich, man.” Terry managed, before laughing once more. “She cheated on you?”

Such amusement. Yet, they had a point. Of course, she’d cheated. Why wouldn’t she? Caleb had. Because, well, he almost always ended up leaving women for newer, shinier, and different ones. After a shrug, he joined in the laughter, even as an annoying ache twinged in his core.

A magical smile would slip onto his face as he walked through the apartment, all Beth’s scents swarming his nostrils. Delicate perfume, expensive soap, and the fruitiest shampoo. The curve of her slim waist fit his hands. The shiver of her tongue prodding his chin just before she came. She’d murmur into his ear while sleeping snuggled tight to him. Oh, and she made the most amazing breakfasts.

He’d been so sure. She was the one. Until—she wasn’t. Well, he knew how to fix that; his eyes swept the nearby tables.

And stopped.

A seated woman was watching him. Although sound became muffled and the room blurred, his pulse stayed even.

New. Shiny as fuck. Check. And check. Also, smoking hot. In a daring scoop-necked, thin, pastel blue blouse and a short black leather skirt, the sapphire-eyed angel possessed the toned legs of a dancer.

Like Terry, she was twirling a wedding band. Except hers was diamond-studded, glittering while rolling between blood-red nails. But Caleb didn’t care. Not at all. She could twirl whatever the fuck she wanted. He wanted to twirl her entire screaming, pulsating body.

After catching her eyes, he widened his grin. Although her cheeks reddened, she held his gaze.

Oh, hell yeah. Without an ounce of subtlety, he inspected her lithe frame. Hmm, a nice slice of well-sculpted, tight rebound pussy would help him get over Beth. As she remained motionless under his scan, the blonde’s blue eyes sparkled.

“Mmm, oh, my. Not shy at all,” Caleb murmured.

Well, he needed different. Beth had been a challenge. A lot of wasted energy. Plus, time. Oh, and money. The bitch liked both fine clothes and the finest coke, and...

That annoying twinge deep in his core pulled a sharp inhale from him. Yeah, he’d been dumb enough to love her. Except that was the past, but the future, though ... Trousers straining, he shifted in his seat.

This different, shiny, new woman was fucking drop-dead gorgeous. Sure, there was a lucky-as-fuck husband somewhere—somewhere else. Long lashes flickered and her eyes, still locked on his, gleamed.

When she ran the tip of her tongue over glossy red lips, he gulped. With a jolt, he returned to her blouse. Taut over an ample chest, it was the same color as his Bugatti. The Super Sport. God, with a tight chassis like hers ... Yeah, she could fuck forever.

“So whatcha gonna do now, ‘Mighty Cock?’”

Steve’s amused voice snapped his reverie, and Caleb turned to him with a smile. Instead of speaking, he lifted the drink.

“Really, man?” Steve’s eyebrows raised as he scanned the blonde, inspecting her ring. “Already? Wow, another one lined up. You fucking man whore.”

As Steve laughed, Caleb chuckled over the rim. Although Terry joined in, his fingers swiveled the gold circlet on his finger faster. After catching the man’s hooded expression, Caleb nodded, despite his chest tightening and blood cooling. Terry must’ve found out. Perhaps traced his wife’s desperate phone calls?

“Ever thought about therapy?” Terry said. At first, Caleb started a derisive snort, but fell silent at the man’s stark visage. “Nah, I’m serious. You go through women like water. It’s gonna be the death of you.”

Even as his chest loosened—wedding ring-spinning Terry remained ignorant—Caleb pursed his lips. With a sigh escaping him, his muscles relaxed, and he managed another broad smile.

“Why should I?” Caleb replied, again lifting his glass. “Cry to some hot, brainy chick about ... dunno, what? How sad I am? My mother dying when I was a kid? That a lengthy line of coke was smeared across her face as they wheeled her nude body from some guy’s apartment?”