Chapter One I've never been one to swoon over a man. I'd felt attraction to gorgeous guys and had pretty good sex in my twenty-eight years on this planet. But swooning? Nope. In many ways, I was like the character I'd donned for the eight-year-old's birthday party that day. My strawberry-blond hair wasn't the right hue, so I wore a wig of tumbling, riotous bright red curls that were vivid against the teal velvet fabric of my medieval-style gown. I had a bow (fake weapon) looped over my shoulder and a brown belt slung across my hips, with a quiver holding plastic arrows attached to it. It wasn't too hard to guess that I was Merida from Disney Pixar's Brave. This was a new character for me. I'd dressed up as many a Disney princess for parties, but it was the first time someone had paid me to play Merida. This character meant practicing a Scottish accent, and I didn't think mine was too shabby. Och, ah was quite proud o' it, so ah was. The birthday party was hosted in the fanciest Upper West Side apartment I'd ever set foot inside, and I was feeling pretty connected to wee Merida because we were both independent women who had no intention of settling down with a man as a way of finding fulfillment in our lives. Merida would never swoon. I was pretty damn annoyed that while I was in that moment, really feeling the character, making the kids laugh with my boisterous boasting and brogue, my gaze lifted for a second from the birthday girl and I saw him. The sight of the stranger struck me in a way I didn't understand. But it was like all the air fled my lungs. It felt like that time I got mugged when I was nineteen and I tried to fight the guy instead of letting him take what little money I had. He'd punched me so hard in the gut, I couldn't breathe. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. It was discombobulating. "Merida!" The birthday girl, Charmaine, tugged on my dress. "You were telling us about the Loch Ness monster!" I blinked, dazed. Thankfully, I was a great multitasker, because I launched back into my story of being sent to kill the Loch Ness monster to protect my people only to discover that he was a hilarious big softy that I needed to protect from my people, and all the while I kept throwing glances at him. Who was he? What was he doing at a children's birthday party? Whoever he was, he was a wondrous mix of male beauty and primal masculinity who just the sight of-once I got over the horrible breathless moment-made me tingle delightfully between my thighs. Tall, very broad-shouldered, and from the thick forearms revealed by the pushed-up sleeves of his sweater, it was more than obvious he worked out. You could see the man's biceps shaping the fabric. I'd never been into working-out types. However, he was a very fine specimen, with his tapered swimmer's waist and long, long, long legs. What was also puzzling about my physical response to the stranger was the fact he hadn't smiled once the entire time I surreptitiously eyed him up. I was into happy, funny guys. Not brooding, surly types. Usually, they were a hard pass. A frown marred his strong brow, and his full lips flattened into a grim line. That face. Boy, was that a face that could launch a thousand ships. All chiseled angles. I couldn't discern his eye color from across the room, but it didn't matter. He was just . . . sexier than a night in with hot chocolate and Netflix's The Witcher. Yeah, I said it. While, like Merida, I might not want to play arm candy to some man intent on being "my king," I wouldn't mind banging a headboard with a burly warrior in a kilt. I imagined the stranger in a kilt and what I would do to him if we were alone. Oh my. That imagery was a keeper. By the look of things, I wasn't the only person in the room affected by the gorgeous stranger. Three women currently surrounded him and he appeared rudely bored by them, while others eyed him from across the room. "Are you hot, Merida?" Charmaine asked innocently. "Your cheeks are all red." Wow, I was having sexual fantasies about a stranger at a children's birthday party dressed as a Disney character. There was nothing right about that sentence. Forcing myself to ignore this shockingly strong physical reaction to a man I didn't know, I focused on the kids. A little while later, when Philippa Whitman, the mom who'd hired me, appeared to lead the kids away for snacks, she told me I could take a break. I beamed gratefully and ignored the amused stares of the attending adults before I slipped out onto the balcony. It wasn't every day I got to visit swanky New York apartments with balconies overlooking Central Park. While I held little stock in material things, I could appreciate a superb view. "This balcony is occupied," a gruff and pissed-off masculine voice sounded from my left. Glancing that way, I was delighted to discover Mr. Sexual Fantasy leaning on the railing of the narrow balcony. He glowered at me so ferociously, I wondered for a second if he'd mistaken me for someone else. Though it was pretty difficult to mistake me for anything other than a children's entertainer. Intrigued by my outrageous and unusual attraction to him, I drifted toward him despite his less-than-welcoming comment. My bow got caught on the balcony door as it shut and I snort-laughed as I freed myself. The stranger didn't even so much as break a smile. I badly wanted to see him turn up the corners of his mouth, so I closed the distance between us. "I just needed some air. This is some view, huh?" I gestured with a grin over the city and the park. Before his eyes narrowed on me, I noted they were a lovely denim-blue color. "So that's what you sound like when you're not butchering a Scottish accent." My smile wavered, not sure if he was being mean or just bantering. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and responded in my awesome brogue, "Ah'll have ye ken that ah am the daughter of a Scottish king, dinnae ye ken." "That sentence made little sense in English or fake Scottish." The stranger searched my face and then dragged his gaze down my body. He was studying me like I was a bug he'd never seen before. Inwardly, I bristled, but outwardly, my smile stayed in place. I'd adopted a "kill 'em with kindness" approach to mean people since I was a teenager. Some people couldn't help but melt under my niceness, and others got even more pissed at me. I found both reactions satisfying. "So, this is a job?" He didn't attempt to hide his disdain. "You actually do this for a living?" Yes, you arrogant snob. I grinned. "Yeah. Isn't it great?" He stared at me like I was babbling nonsense. "You think dressing up as Disney characters to entertain children is great? As a career?" I shrugged. "I'm a costume character actor, so I dress up like lots of characters in pop culture to make other people smile on their special days. And, yeah, I think making people happy is a worthy endeavor. Don't you?" He glowered harder at my bubbliness. "Are you acting right now? No one is this happy." "Then you must surround yourself with a lot of miserable people." He turned more fully toward me and the breeze caught his scent. Something citrusy with a hint of spicy earthiness. He smelled delicious. And very expensive. Who was he to Philippa Whitman? He wasn't her husband. She'd already told me her husband couldn't make their daughter's birthday party because he was on a business trip. "How old are you?" His question took me aback. "Why?" "Because you look old enough to know better than to goad a man who is clearly in a foul mood and certainly old enough to have moved on to more appropriate career paths by now. Disney princessing is for college students and failing college graduates." Oh wow. I felt my attraction to him wilt rapidly. Refusing to let him see that his words bothered me, I tutted. "Oh, come on, surely you're old enough to know that we're responsible for our own dark moods and that expecting people, least of all a stranger, to rearrange their mood to accommodate yours is the height of arrogance and self-indulgence. It's the expectation of a toddler." His lips might have pressed tightly together, but his eyes flared with surprise. Before he could speak, I continued, "And many college students find it difficult to secure a job once they graduate, so I really don't think it's nice to speak of them in that tone." I grinned at him. "But since you're in a bad mood, I won't hold it against you. As for me, I'm genuinely happy in life. I don't know if many people can say the same, so I feel pretty awesome about the fact that I'm standing here rocking a Merida costume and a Scottish accent. I mean, of the two of us, which of us is in a good mood?" "A good mood?" He pushed off the balcony railing and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "This isn't a good mood. This is passive aggressiveness. No one is in this good a mood after someone disparages their 'career.'" He air-quoted the word "career" and I couldn't help it. My smile died. Something flickered in his countenance as he studied me, but, thankfully, before I lost my grip on my usually easily accessed "kill 'em with kindness" attitude, a door opened behind us. Philippa Whitman appeared. She took in the sight of me with the stranger and her expression grew puzzled. "Star, there you are. The children will be ready for you in five minutes. Why don't you go back inside and grab a quick bite to eat before then?" It wasn't a suggestion. Giving her a congenial nod, I turned from the stranger as Philippa stepped away from the door to let me pass. The balcony door, however, didn't shut all the way over and I heard the stranger say, "Pippa, leave me alone and let me hide out here, please." He might have used the word "please," but his tone was demanding. It was not a request. And he called her Pippa. Was he her brother? "Rafe, this is your niece's birthday party. You can't stand out here and brood." So yeah, he was her brother. They looked nothing alike. "Exactly. This is my niece's birthday party. Not an opportunity for you and my mother to foist every eligible woman in Manhattan on me, but, frankly, it feels like more effort is being put into that than Charmaine's party. A Disney princess, Pip? Really?" "Your niece is eight years old and loves that movie, and Star came highly recommended." "Star? That can't be her real name." I scowled at the almost-closed balcony door. It was so! "You seem awfully interested in my child's entertainer . . . and it's bad enough your brother can't even attend his own daughter's birthday party. I really don't need her uncle acting like he'd rather be anywhere but here." Ah. He was her brother-in-law. Rafe Whitman. Damn. That name suited him to a T. There was a moment of silence, and then, "I'm sorry." My eyes widened at his quiet apology. "I had a terrible night in surgery last night and I'm just not in the mood for you to play matchmaker. Or to listen to that awful Scottish accent." Moi? I pointed to myself. He needed to back off my awesome brogue. "I think she's rather good," Philippa replied. Thank you! "But I'm sorry you had an awful night in surgery." Was he a doctor, then? That made sense. Arrogance in abundance. Though my easily forgiving side suddenly felt bad for him. He'd had a worse night than most people ever could at their job and then he'd come here only for his family to play matchmaker all afternoon. No wonder he was in a terrible mood. No one enjoyed being cornered. Not that that entirely excused his behavior, but I reminded myself that every single one of us had off days and acted out. How was it a surgeon could make it to his niece's birthday party but her father couldn't? "I'll try not to foist any more women on you today." "Will you speak to my mother too?" "Yes, I will. But, Rafe, you're going to have to settle down at some point. Your mother and I are just worried you'll end up alone." "What does it matter if I'm happy? Happy and alone works for me." I could totally understand that. Society needed to back off with all the trying to make people fit into their neat little boxes. That was the cause of so much unhappiness if you asked me. "That would be fine if I thought for a minute you were actually happy. But the permanent scowl you wear suggests otherwise. Now, please try to be a little nicer to everyone in there." "Including the woman who is too old to be dressed as a Disney princess?" "Hush, Rafe. Don't be unkind." I hurried away from the balcony door so they wouldn't realize I'd been eavesdropping. I hadn't meant to. Normally, I could not care less about anyone's private business. It was private for a reason, right? Truthfully, I did not understand my fascination with Rafe Whitman and, considering his disdain for me (whether it was real or driven by his awful mood), I was determined to erase that fascination from my brain and all my lady parts. It was easy enough to do because after five minutes of being in the room, women surrounded Rafe again. This time, he really did appear like a cornered animal, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. I felt a little bad for him despite his shitty attitude earlier. But when I looked over a few minutes later, he was gone, having, I assumed, made his escape. It was only after most of the guests had left and Philippa had paid me in cash and was walking me to the door that I saw Rafe had reappeared. I glanced casually toward the living room and was shocked to see him sitting on the floor with Charmaine, grinning as she showed him what presents she'd received. He said something that made her laugh so hard she fell into him. Her uncle wrapped his arm around her to pull her into his side as he, shocker of all shockers, laughed with her. Excerpted from The Love Plot by Samantha Young All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
