More Than You Know by Jennifer Gracen Page B

the staff knowing he’d be there. Once or twice a month, he was away from New York, traveling to one of his properties for a few days to check things out.
    But he hadn’t planned any trips for the next few weeks. He told himself, and his assistant, Elise Cannon, that he needed to be in New York for now. By the end of the second week of business, he knew damn well he was lying to himself. He’d handpicked the best people he could find to fill every position. The hotel was doing phenomenally well. He could’ve gone to check in on one of his other hotels. In fact, he should have. But he was hanging around because of Julia Shay.
    He couldn’t explain the power she had over him. He was drawn to her, by an almost tangible pull. So on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, he’d pop into the lounge and take in one of her sets. Listening to her sing was such a pleasure. A drink at the end of the day to unwind, listening to her and Kelvin do their thing, and sitting back to just savor the view of the beautiful redhead . . . he was enjoying it. And he’d been right about her—the lounge filled up when she performed. Some fantastic online reviews had spread the word quickly; it was Julia Shay that was packing the house each night, no doubt about it.
    Afterward, he’d linger to talk with her a little. She’d finally allowed him close enough to have some general conversation. Sometimes he flirted with her, partly because he couldn’t help himself and partly to see how she’d react. Sometimes she shot him down, and he’d take the hit. But sometimes she’d flirt back. Like him, she was a natural flirt, loved to tease and play. And when she did flirt back, or ensnare him with one of her provocative stares? He was a fucking puddle. He played it cool, but he knew he was putty in her hands.
    That boggled his mind. He was the one whose stares turned women into puddles, not the other way around. But Julia would slide him a frisky look, or lick her lips, and his blood would start to heat in his veins and fry his damn mind.
    This had been going on for three weeks now. The sexual tension between them was ridiculous . . . and he kept coming back for more. Frustration over his limitations gnawed at him. If he was smart, he’d stop going to the lounge to see her, cease his flirtations, keep his distance. He was her boss. End of story.
    But he didn’t want to stop. He wanted her —in his bed, against the wall, over the damn piano, wherever he could have her. And he’d never been very good at denying himself something he really wanted.
    It was a hot mid-July Thursday, with brutal humidity and ninety-degree heat, the kind of steamy day that made the Manhattan streets bake and sizzle. Dane put in his time at the office, then went for his daily workout at the gym within his office building. He returned home, showered and dressed, checked some e-mails, then prepared to get to the Hotel Alexandra in time for a late dinner.
    He should’ve been on a beach somewhere, not going from his Tribeca apartment back up to the Hotel Alexandra. He should’ve been heading out east, enjoying a leisurely weekend at the Harrison family compound in the Hamptons. Tess had called that morning to tell him she’d be there for the weekend and invited him to join her. But he’d turned his sister down, saying he’d come out on Sunday and stay for two or three days at the beginning of next week. Julia was performing tonight, and he wanted to see her. He was a glutton for punishment.
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œOh, thank God,” Julia sighed the minute she entered the Alexandra Bar & Lounge. There were patrons inside, but she didn’t think any of them would recognize her in her current disheveled state. Wearing big dark sunglasses and no makeup except for tinted lip balm, her thick mane pulled up in a high ponytail, she had almost sweated through her pistachio-colored T-shirt. She dropped her heavy