THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5

by Nelle L’Amour

  The waitress returned with our second round of chocolatinis. Libby sat down and proposed another toast. “To Blake Burns for giving us this opportunity.”

  “Yeah, to fucking Blake Burns,” I echoed, clinking my glass against hers and then immediately taking a gulpful.

  “Did I just hear my name?”

  I gagged. I almost spit out the mouthful of chocolate liquid but somehow forced it past the golf ball-sized lump in my throat. Setting my glass down on the table with my shaky hand, I swiveled my head. There he was, in one of his expensive dark suits, looming above me. That dazzling cocky smile was plastered on his face. My mouth dropped open, but words failed me.

  “Can I join you, lovely ladies?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Libby who was totally nonplussed by his unexpected presence. I was still speechless.

  “Scoot over, Ms. McCoy,” he ordered.

  I did as he asked and he gracefully slipped into the booth. I felt his hard, muscular thighs brush against mine. I took another large gulp of my yummy drink. In fact, I guzzled it. I finally found my voice.

  “I thought you had a date.” I didn’t tell him that I saw him with his latest blond hook-up at The Venetian.

  “I did. With my Vegas affiliate manager.”

  Was he was bullshitting me? The blonde he was with looked more like a porn star. Tall, leggy, and stacked.

  “She had to leave early because her kid got sick.”

  “Oh.” I still didn’t know whether to believe him.

  Diverting his attention to the stage, Blake began to sing along with the karaoke singer. Holy shit! He had an amazing voice. A raspier version of Robin Thicke’s. His body rhythmically brushed against mine, and every time the singer got to the “good girl” part, he turned to look at me with his smoldering blue eyes. A rush of heat spiraled inside me. And wetness pooled between my legs.

  After the singer finished his rendition of the song and stepped down from the stage, Blake asked, “So, do either of you sing?”

  A loopy Libby chimed in. “I have the worst singing voice in the universe. It can scare off aliens.”

  Blake let out a laugh. God, it was sexy. He turned to look at me. “And what about you, Ms. McCoy?”

  Before I could say a word, Libby chimed in again. “Jennifer has an amazing voice. You should hear her.”

  Inwardly, I was cringing. Libby and her big mouth.

  Blake kept his beautiful baby blues on me. They glinted with mischief. “I’d like to hear you sing, Jennifer.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Ms. McCoy, I’m your boss and I’m ordering you to sing.”

  Fuck. Boss’s orders. I chugged the rest of my drink. “Fine.” I spat the word at him. With a triumphant smirk, he stood up and let me out of the booth. I sauntered up to the stage, but let me tell you, I wasn’t walking in a straight line. I was smashed.

  On the stage, I grabbed the mike and made my song selection. Katy Perry’s “Roar.” It was my favorite songs, and I knew the lyrics by heart having sung it in my car a gazillion times. It must have been one of the most played songs on the radio. I’d even watched Katy’s jungle girl video on YouTube several times.

  At first, I felt nervous. My heart raced. Everyone’s eyes were on me, including Blake’s. But once the music started, my stage fright dissipated. I began belting out “Roar.” I really connected with the lyrics. And Blake Burns really connected with me. His eyes never strayed from me. It was if I was singing this song just for him. Katy Perry, move over. I was going to let him hear me roar my way. Fierce and hungry. I was his tiger.

  The song came to an end. The audience cheered me and applauded wildly. On cloud nine, I took a quick bow and when I stood up again, Blake Burns was giving me a standing ovation. Hooting Libby followed, and then before my eyes, everyone in the nightclub was doing the same. I felt as ecstatic as I did embarrassed. Thank God, I was totally smashed. I swept beads of sweat off my forehead. I had really worked myself up. Despite shout-outs for an encore, I staggered off the stage, hoping I wouldn’t trip and make a fool of myself. That’s what usually came with being Calamity Jen.

  Dizzy with excitement, I wove through the congratulatory crowd and made it back to our table in one piece. Blake was still standing at the edge of the table, allowing me to slip back into the booth. Except I stumbled. Fuck. It had to happen. But before I went crashing onto the table, two strong arms caught me. Blake’s.

  “Are you okay, tiger?” he asked, holding me in his arms. His warm breath heated my cheeks. My blood whipped through my arteries and veins like a rollercoaster.

  I nodded. I was a wet bundle of nerves. “I need another drink.”

  He held my gaze fierce in his. “You’re quite the singer, Jennifer. Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

  His seductive voice sent me over the edge. “Blake, I need a cock—”

  “Tail?” He finished the sentence for me. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure if I could. His intense eyes and intoxicating scent were rendering me senseless. And weak in the knees. Breaking away from him, I slid into the booth. He followed me in, sitting closer to me than before. The heat of his body diffused through me. Under the table, my toes curled.

  Our cocktail waitress came by again. She instantly shimmied up to Blake. “Hi, gorgeous, what can I get you?”

  Gorgeous? It was as if she only had eyes for him. I felt invisible.

  Blake winked at her. I inwardly cringed. Why should his every little move with other women drive me to despair? Get me some alcohol!

  “I’ll have whatever these beautiful young women are having,” Blake responded before turning to us. “Can I buy you each another round?”

  “Pass,” said Libby. “I’ll just have some water.” That was a first.

  “I’ll have another chocolatini. In fact, make it a double.” I could actually see daggers shooting out of my eyes, but the flirtatious, oblivious waitress deflected each and every one of them.

  Libby looked concerned. “Are you sure, Jen? You’ve had a lot to drink.”

  “I’m positive,” I shot back.

  The waitress took off.

  “So, Mr. Burns, what is it with you and cocktail waitresses?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with the word ‘cock.’”

  “Ms. McCoy, I think that word affects you more than it does me.”

  I was tingling like crazy all over. Beneath the table, I crossed my legs to quell the unbearable sensation.

  “Cock is a funny word,” said Libby, joining our conversation. “I read once that it comes from the French word spelled c-o-q which means ‘male bird.’”

  “That’s cockamamie,” I retorted.

  Libby burst into laughter. “Cock-a-mamie. That’s a good one.” She paused, that clever mind of hers clearly at work. “I have an idea. Let’s play a game and come up with words that begin with ‘cock.’ The first person who can’t think of one loses and has to buy another round of drinks.”

  Oh, no! Libby and her games. My murky mind flashed back to the last time I played a game with her. Truth or Dare. A wildfire zipped through my already heated body. That man! That kiss!

  Blake’s dreamy voice interrupted my flashback. “Okay. What about cocky?”

  That word sure summed up his personality. Of course. He thought with his cock. That fucking giant cock! The memory of seeing it exposed at his parents’ Shabbat dinner flashed into my head. A shudder ran through me. And then a flutter crept between my legs.

  Blake continued. “Oh, by the way, ladies, I should let you know that I never lose at games.”

  Fiercely competitive Libby smirked at him. “Neither do I.”

  “And, for your information, Mr. Cocky, I was an English major and excel at word games. No one can beat me at Scrabble, except my father who was an English professor.”

  Blake shot me a wry smile. “You should play with me sometime.”

  Was that an
other sexual innuendo? Or was I just reading into things? I mentally slapped myself. Stop it, Jen. What the heck is wrong with you?

  Our drinks arrived. Blake proposed a toast. “To winning.” Clinking my mega-size martini glass against his, I shot him a smirk of my own. I took a heaping gulp of the martini cocktail. Suddenly, my head began to spin. A din buzzed in my ears. And nausea rose to my chest.

  “Whose turn is it?” asked Libby. The words spun around in my head. Libby’s eyes focused on me. “Jen, I think it’s yours. Are you okay?”

  “Jennifer?” It was Blake. I whipped around and looked at him. There was no longer one Blake Burns but two. I was seeing double. Twice the gorgeousness!

  “Jen, what’s your word?” asked Libby, her voice impatient.

  I gazed at Blake times two. I could barely get my mouth to move but managed one word. “Cockatoo.”

  Blake smiled that dazzling smile and I slurped more of my drink.

  “You have a big cock too.” I hiccupped.

  “Blake, she’s drunk,” I heard Libby say.

  “I’m not drunk. I’m good.”

  Libby again. “Come on, Jen. I need to get you to your room. Can you stand up?”

  “Sure.” Grinning, I’m rose to my feet, and I felt the world tumbling down. My legs were jelly and my body was swaying. My hands gripped the edge of the table to steady myself. My grin fell off my face like a scab.

  “Shit, Blake. She can’t walk. Can you help me get her to her room?”

  “C’mon, tiger. Let’s get you out of here.”

  A heartbeat later, I was in his arms. I gazed up at him, still seeing double.

  “Did I win the game?”

  “Yeah, tiger, you’re the winner.”

  I held his shimmering eyes—all four of them—in mine, and then everything faded to black.

  Chapter 9

  Jennifer

  I slowly peeled my eyes open, one at a time. Disoriented, it took me several long moments to realize I was in my hotel room. I felt like shit. My tongue was pasted to my parched palette, a God-awful taste filled my mouth, and my head was pounding. Fuck. How many chocolatinis had I downed last night? I’d stopped counting after the first. I must have consumed them like a bag of M&M’s.

  A ray of sunshine slithered through the blackout curtains. It must be morning. A loud knock at my door sounded in my ear. Go away! The knocking persisted, growing louder. Okay, enough. Tossing off my comforter, I staggered out of bed to see who it was. To my surprise, I was clad in my flannel SpongeBob PJs. I had no recollection of putting them on. In fact, I had little recollection of any of last night’s events.

  The knocking morphed into relentless banging. My fuzzy brain did some wishful thinking… maybe it was room service with a large pot of coffee—something I could really use. But I didn’t recall placing an order.

  With a shaky hand—God, I was hungover—I unlocked the door to my room and swung it open. Standing before me was Libby, dressed in a casual slacks outfit and carrying her large canvas messenger bag.

  “Hi,” she chirped.

  How could she be so bright-eyed and chipper? She drank those chocolatinis too and, in fact, was the one who turned me on to that lethal concoction. Maybe she drank fewer than I did though she did have a much higher alcohol tolerance.

  I struggled to liberate my tongue from the roof of my dry-as-a-desert mouth as she skirted past me and let herself into my room.

  “I thought we could share a cab and go to today’s focus groups together,” she said, plopping down on my bed.

  Reality threw a wrench at me. A wave of nausea rolled in my chest. I had another day here in Vegas to observe more focus groups and to meet with more authors. In my sorry state, I was up for neither. I just wanted to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

  My tongue back in action, I headed back into my room, still in stagger-mode. “Can you wait ten minutes? I need to take a shower and get dressed.”

  “Sure. I’ll check my emails.” Sitting cross-legged on my bed, she pulled out her cell phone from her bag and began scrolling.

  “Thanks.” I stumbled over to my dresser and plucked out some fresh underwear—a pair of white cotton briefs and matching camisole—and then ambled over to the closet where I settled on an outfit similar to yesterday’s—dark slacks and a pale pink silk blouse. I hadn’t brought a big assortment of clothes along. Just basics.

  “Libby, how did I get back to my room?” I asked as I laid the slacks and blouse across the unmade bed.

  Libby looked up from her emails. “Blake carried you up here.”

  I gulped. “He did?”

  She twirled one of her long sienna curls. “You were pretty funny last night.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  A hazy montage of last night’s events spun around in my head. Blake sitting with us. Me singing “Roar.” All those chocolatinis.

  “You mean the karaoke stuff?”

  Libby laughed. “Hardly. You were awesome. Blew the competition away.”

  “Then, what?” My stomach churned. Maybe I didn’t want to know.

  Libby smiled wryly at me. “You got plastered and got off on the word ‘cock.’”

  “I did?” In front of my boss? I chewed down on my lip.

  “And then you told Blake Burns that he has a big cock.”

  “I did?” Oh God! How could I say that? I’d never be able to live this down. Bile rose to the back of my throat as clueless Libby continued.

  “Rumor has it his cock could star in a porn flick.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Blake’s expanse of magnificence filled every crevice of my mind. The truth: I hadn’t stopped thinking about his outrageous cock since the time I’d accidentally seen it at his parents’ house. I gulped down another wave of nausea. In a state of quasi-shock and despair, I stumbled to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection startled me. My eyes were bloodshot, and my skin was the color of okra. I looked as ghastly as I felt. The first thing I did was brush my teeth, to get the foul taste out of my mouth, and then I popped a couple Advil and downed them with a glass of water. Shedding my pajamas, I turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature of the water to as hot as I could take it. Maybe a hot steamy shower would wash away my emotional turmoil and give me clarity. I stepped into the stall and let the hot water pound over me. I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, God. Blake Burns was back. This time standing in the shower with me, his cock—yes, his humongous cock—pointing my way. I snapped open my eyes and hastily turned off the water. If only I could rip yesterday out from the calendar. Make it disappear. Make him disappear.

  As I towel dried myself and slipped on my undies, one reassuring thought crossed my mind. Chances were I wouldn’t see Blake today. He’d made it loud and clear yesterday that he’d had enough of the focus groups and book signings. Oh, please, no Blake today.

  I gathered my wet hair into a ponytail and had the misfortune of seeing my reflection once more. I still looked like shit. Today—with or without Blake—was not going to be a good day.

  Back in my room, I quickly donned the rest of my clothes. I gathered my purse and my briefcase with my notebook and laptop inside. Before heading out with Libby, I reached into my purse. Seconds later, my dark prescription sunglasses were sitting on my nose.

  As we descended the high-speed elevator, Libby chit-chatted about the upcoming focus groups. Yesterday’s respondents were “heavy” readers of erotic romance novels, reading at least three books a week; today’s panelists were “moderate” readers, reading, on the average, three e-roms per month. Her cell phone rang. Retrieving it from her bag, she let me know it was from the research facility. Everything for today’s groups was in place. While Libby spoke to the facility’s director, I dug into my purse and rifled for my own cell phone. Poor Bradley must have tried to reach me while I was passed out. He must be worried
sick about me.

  I scoured my handbag, but my phone was nowhere to be found. Shit. Maybe it fell out of my bag last night. This day wasn’t getting better. When the elevator reached the main floor and the doors pinged opened, I told Libby that I was missing my phone and had to go back up to my room.

  “Oh, I put it on your night table,” she said. “Just in case you needed it. Hurry. I’ll meet you outside the hotel.”

  Libby stepped out of the elevator, and I immediately palmed the twelfth floor button, the floor on which we were staying. Fortunately, the elevator ascended quickly and made no stops. When I reached my destination, I slogged out of the elevator to my room. I should have sprinted, but I was still in no condition to move at more than a snail’s pace. Every nauseating step was a painful reminder of last night’s embarrassing debacle. I vowed I was never going to get drunk again. Or, at least, never touch another chocolatini.

  I found my phone quickly and took a moment to check my messages and texts. To my surprise, there weren’t any text or phone messages from Bradley. Not one. My heart twitched. Maybe something happened to him. I immediately speed-dialed his number. His phone went right to his voicemail. Instead of leaving him a message, I texted him.

  Call or text me as soon as you get this message. I love you.

  xJ

  My mind wandered. Why hadn’t he called or texted me? I told myself he must be okay. Surely, his parents or even his hygienist, Candace, would have gotten in touch with me if something terrible had happened to him. They all had my cell phone number. Maybe he’d lost his phone or taken a spontaneous overnight trip to some place where his phone didn’t work. Unable to dispel my unsettling feeling, I tossed my phone into my shoulder bag and headed back to the elevator bank.

  The elevators, this time, took their sweet time. This day just fucking sucked. Besides being still hungover, I was growing increasingly sick with worry. Bradley. The outcome of today’s focus groups. Facing Blake.