Bonus Chapter Excerpt

Chance’s Version

One Hot Chance
Chapter One

I’ve never believed in fate, so I can’t blame the universe for the trouble I find myself knee-deep in tonight. Why did I ever agree to work for my ex-wife? Even temporarily? After meeting with her this evening to discuss my new role in her firm, Raisa Volkov & Associates, I don’t feel excited about my new job or even interested in it. No, I feel like the blokes I see in the hotel restaurant who look like they’ve just had their balls strangled by my ex-wife. Her law firm is in the building across the street. And this is the closest place where those men can get drunk.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I stop halfway across the lobby to consider those blokes who are downing hard liquor like it’s the first liquid they’ve had in months. Maybe I should join them.

Yes, wouldn’t I feel so much better tossing back glass after glass of vodka in a bar filled with lonely, pathetic men whose testicles have shrunk to the size of peanuts.

I scan the restaurant, growing more depressed by the second—until I spot a woman sitting on a stool at the bar. She looks as miserable as I feel. Her hair glistens in the subdued lighting, and the way her skirt molds to her body shows off her beautiful figure.

She glances around the restaurant, and her expression becomes even more miserable.

That look. I must wear the same one. Seeing that woman, so alone and dispirited, makes me want to march over there and cheer her up.

How will I do that, exactly?

She drops her head onto the bar, facedown, and waves her hand when the bartender says something to her.

The impulse to go over there becomes too powerful to ignore. I force myself to walk at a normal pace instead of rushing like I want to do. When I reach the woman, she still has her face on the bar.

“Are you all right there?” I ask. She doesn’t move or make a sound, so I lay a hand on her arm. Her creamy skin is soft as silk. “I said are you all right?”

“Mm-hm.” She peels her face off the bar, blinking rapidly like she’s struggling to make sense of what she sees.

The beauty of her face and of those caramel-colored eyes steals my breath and my ability to speak. All I manage to do is smile.

She smiles back. “I’m fine, but thanks for asking. I love polite British men.”

I lift one brow and can’t help smirking. Didn’t she just say she loves me? Well, men like me. British men. “How do you know I’m polite? I’ve barely spoken five words to you.”

“Seven, actually. Unless you count the ones you said twice, which would mean eleven words. Not including what you said a second ago.”

A charming blush colors her cheeks. She shifts her gaze this way and that, then bites down on her bottom lip. She seems embarrassed by what she said, which only makes me want to drag her into my arms and kiss her. What on earth am I doing with this woman? I should be upstairs getting pissed in my suite, not flirting with an American woman who makes my cock get hard when she smiles. I should walk away.

But I lean against the bar because I’ve clearly lost my mind. “It’s comforting to know you’re intelligent enough to count to at least eleven.”

“I can count to twelve in German.”

“Can you?” I want to hear more of her lovely voice, and I don’t give a toss if she babbles nonsense to me. “Let me hear it.”

She slants toward me. “Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn, elf, zwölf.”

“Say zwölf again. I love the way you pronounce it.” I lean in so close I can see the darker rims around her golden-brown irises, and I brush hair away from her face. My fingers graze her skin. “Say it again, please.”

The sexy angel grins. “See, you are polite.”

“For the moment.” I trail my fingertips down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “Say zwölf again, and I’ll kiss you.”

I need to kiss her. Those lips tempt me, and suddenly, I want to do much more than kiss her.

“What if I don’t want to kiss you?” she asks, though her tone is sultry.

I drag one finger across her mouth, slowly, sensuously. “You do.”

She licks my finger. “Zwölf.”