One Exquisite Touch: Book One in The Extravagant Series

by Lauren Blakely

  “It’s trust in everything. Because I have to trust that man across the street with my body and, increasingly, by the minute, as I fall harder for him, with my heart,” I say, as awareness dawns on me.

  “Exactly. And you want to know, as you explore these brand-new desires, if he’s a man you can trust.”

  She’s hit the nail on the freaking head.

  I thought I trusted Derek. And he broke that trust in a terrible way. He broke it in a public way. He humiliated me.

  That’s a big reason why I worry so much about my reputation. My perception.

  Derek exposed me by revealing to the city that the man I had chosen was cheating.

  Can I trust anyone?

  And . . . can I trust myself?

  But I know the answer.

  I can trust if I choose to.

  Trust is a choice.

  Love is a choice.

  Sex is a choice.

  We get to choose whether we act on our desires, or whether we entertain them in our minds.

  Whether I act on them or not, I am them.

  I am this woman.

  I am all of these women all of the time. I am a woman of the city. I am the CEO of a hotel. I am my parents’ daughter. I am a sister. I am a friend. I am powerful. I am submissive. I am all of me all the time.

  Do I know myself enough to trust Cole with my desires and with my heart?

  I meet Eliza’s eyes. “Can I trust myself with Cole?” But I don’t let her answer. Because I know the answer. I say it aloud to give it the power it deserves, the weight he’s earned. “He’s demonstrated trust every time. From the first night with him. I feel safe. I feel adored. I feel wanted. I feel cherished.” I draw a deep breath. “And I also feel respected. Every time I’ve been with him, he shows me respect. In the way he touches me and the things he says. He always seems to know where I am every step of the way. And every step of the way, I feel respected. I feel respected with how he wants to honor my desires. How he’s obsessed with them. How he lets me in.”

  She grins.

  It’s not wicked. It’s more like she’s so damn delighted.

  Perhaps I am too.

  Delighted to be understood. To be seen. To be respected.

  That night in the limo was indeed a revelation, and it wasn’t because of the sex. It was the talking. It was the closeness. It was the way we both seemed to get under each other’s skin and into each other’s heads and inside each other’s hearts.

  Do I trust him with business?

  He hasn’t stolen from me any more than I’ve stolen from him. We are not backstabbers. We are not underhanded. We aren’t enemies.

  We are competitors through and through.

  Perhaps we always will be. This city is always going to be powered by business, and I am always going to be a businesswoman. That’s just how it goes. The issue isn’t whether I trust him.

  The issue is whether I trust myself.

  That’s what I tell Eliza. “Am I willing to trust myself again after my heart has been hurt? After I’ve been publicly humiliated, am I willing to put myself out there? Am I willing to be in a relationship that is going to be on display? That is going to be scrutinized? Am I willing to do all of that and say, this is the person?”

  Part of me wants to wait for Eliza to give an answer. But that’s not the purpose of this speech. The purpose of this speech is for me to give an answer, and my friend knows that. With a stoic expression, she waits for me.

  I stand, drawing a breath, feeling a new dose of power. Power in my sense of self. I stride across the living room then back to her. “I trust him. What I do behind closed doors isn’t the issue.”

  “You’re right, friend.” And she smiles, like a teacher when the student understands the lesson.

  The question is, can I be with him in public? Because that’s what I want. I want to be with Cole Donovan. And not just in a way where I could be caught—though I do love that. But in a way where I could be seen.

  “This is a chance I have to take.” I give her a hug. “Thank you for helping me see what I needed to see.”

  “You learn things when you’re ready to learn them. Go get your happiness, friend.”

  When I leave Eliza’s building, I take my phone out of my purse and send him a message.

  * * *

  Sage: Can you come over? I’d like to see you. I’ll text you the room number and elevator access code.

  * * *

  When I reach my suite at my hotel, he’s already there waiting for me.

  30

  Cole

  Two hours.

  I’ve waited for two hours. First downstairs, then up here as soon as she sent me the room number.

  That’s nothing.

  I’d wait all night for her.

  All day.

  The second I hear the elevator doors whoosh open, I lift my eyes from my pocket copy of Tender Is the Night.

  At last. She’s here.

  I put the book in the back pocket of my pants.

  This woman is all I need.

  And I hope she wants the same thing I do.

  But I won’t know till I ask.

  My heart hammers as I take in the sight of her.

  Her hair is wild, curling over her shoulders. Her blue eyes are no longer cool, like they were when she left my office. They’re open, vulnerable. Her lips curve into the slightest smile.

  A smile that’s like an admission.

  And it eases some of the worry in me.

  She walks to me. I walk to her. We reach each other.

  The air is charged. With hope. With possibility.

  I wait for her to go first. Because I sense that’s what she needs. To know I’m here for her, but that I’ll give her the space to speak.

  She parts her lips and licks them. Then she whispers, “I trust you.”

  That was not what I expected her to say.

  Not at all.

  There she goes again, surprising me. That’s her style. Her MO. And I absolutely love it.

  I surprise myself when I say, “Good. I want you to. That matters to me more than anything.”

  It surprises me because I didn’t expect this with her.

  All I wanted was pleasure, touch, contact.

  And I got so much more than I bargained for.

  She cups my cheeks, holding my face. “And I trust myself with you. So, come inside.”

  Relief flows through me. She’s here with me, and we can figure this out.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I say, but before she can let go, I lean in, brush my lips to hers, and taste her.

  I taste her sweetness and her power.

  Her confidence and her submission.

  Her desire and her faith.

  And it goes to my head.

  When I let go, my hand travels down her arm, and I take her hand in mine. It feels so right. And with her, I don’t feel that crush of ambition, that tightening drive to win it all, own it all, prove everything.

  With her, I feel like myself. I am good enough. I am the man she wants.

  We go inside. I’ve never been here before. I take a moment to drink it in—the plush feel of her hotel home.

  The rich colors—burgundy and sapphire.

  The framed photos of her parents, her sister, her friends. The shot she mentioned of her family reading at the beach. Another picture of her sitting on a park bench with her father, smiling, happy.

  Then I’ve seen enough, because all I want to see is her.

  “Talk to me,” I say, as she sets down her purse and her phone on a sleek marble table, then guides me to the soft gray couch. “Tell me why you left so quickly.”

  She sits next to me, kicks off her shoes, and tucks her feet under her. A woman in repose. She draws a deep inhale, then lets it out. “Because I didn’t know who I was,” she says, her voice stripped bare.

  I tilt my head, about to speak, to tell her who she is—strong, passionate, brilliant.

  But she stops me,
setting a hand on my chest. “And I needed to collect myself. My thoughts. My feelings. I needed to get away from my own emotions. And my desires. For you, and for you with Daniel,” she says, and I love that she understands there is no Daniel without me, that what she shares with the three of us is intrinsically tied to the two of us—to her and to me.

  To the pairing that has surprised me.

  To the connection I never expected.

  “And I had to be alone for a bit. To think. I went to the park near the house where I grew up.”

  “The one where your father used to read to you?”

  A soft smile curves her lips. “Yes. You remember.”

  “Of course I remember. It’s important to you. It was a memory you shared with me. It matters to me.”

  Her hand travels down my chest, but it’s not a sexual move. It’s more intimate. It’s about contact. About the need to touch. To feel this connection we’re experiencing.

  “I had to think about how to be this woman who wants these depraved, filthy things.”

  I arch a brow. “Are they depraved though?”

  She lets out the tiniest laugh. Scoots a little closer. “That’s what I had to get away from you to figure out. They’re depraved . . . and they’re not. They’re filthy . . . and they’re not.”

  “Sounds like you, sweetheart,” I say.

  Her fingers tap-dance along my shirt, her eyes twinkling now. “And sounds like you.”

  “Absolutely,” I agree.

  “And then I went to see my friend Eliza. I needed to talk it out. And I realized, too, that there are things I want. Things I haven’t told you about,” she says, swallowing, her eyes a little nervous now, but she keeps her chin raised, staying strong.

  “You don’t mean in bed, I trust?” I ask, reaching for her other hand, sliding my fingers through hers.

  “I don’t mean in bed,” she confirms. “I mean in life.”

  “Tell me,” I say, and I’m not shut down.

  I’m not in hibernation.

  I was that man. I was closed off. I kept my heart in a safe. But in a little over a week, she’s unlocked it, and I don’t want to shut that door again.

  “Tell me, and I’ll give them to you,” I say again.

  “How do you know you will if you don’t know what they are?” she asks, a little playful.

  And fuck it, I can’t resist.

  I let go of her hands, cup her cheeks, and lock my eyes with hers. “Because I am crazy for you, and I can’t stay away from you. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want this to stop. Whatever is happening, I want it to keep happening—and I mean you and me. You know that, right? This is about you and me. The way I feel is for the two of us.”

  Her eyes glint with happiness and hope. “Yes, this thing that’s happening is us. And it’s about trust and possibility. And I don’t want it to stop either. That’s what I wanted to say to you. But you went first.” She puts on an over-the-top pout.

  I sweep out an arm dramatically. “The floor is yours.”

  She rises up on her knees, inches closer to me, and parks her hands on my shoulders. “I want to be with you. In public. And I don’t mean risqué sex, though I do like that,” she says, a little raspy and a lot sexy. “But I mean, together. Like, I want you to hold my hand and take me to a party. I want your arm around me at an event. I want you to walk through my hotel, meet me in the bar, and kiss me in public. Then leave with me. So everyone knows we’re together. Everyone knows we’re competitors and lovers. That by day, we vie for business, and at night, no one can get between us,” she says, then gives me the naughtiest look as she nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Unless we let them into bed with us.”

  Pleasure zaps through my body, chased by love, by passion, by want. “You are filthy and beautiful, and I want to fuck you and make love to you, and let the whole damn city know you belong to me. That you’re mine. That this brilliant for brilliant woman is with me. And whatever we do behind closed doors belongs to us.”

  She gives a coquettish shrug. “As long as we don’t get caught.”

  “You want to get caught,” I say, roaming my hands up her arms, into her hair, tugging it back.

  “Maybe I do,” she purrs, showing off her gorgeous neck.

  I slide my lips along the column of her throat, savoring her taste, her scent.

  “Maybe you will,” I say, then I haul her onto my lap, hike up her skirt, and adjust her legs so they wrap around my waist. “Now that we’ve inked that deal, how about we fuck again? Just you and me.”

  Her blue eyes shine with wild desire. “And can we go bare? I’m on protection, and I’m clean.”

  “I’m clean too.”

  “Good. Now take off all your clothes, because I can’t wait to ride you. And I want you to tell me all the things you’ll do to me now that we’re together.”

  Her confidence is so fucking sexy. “Get naked, and I will.”

  She’s in nothing in seconds flat, lowering herself onto me. As she fucks me, I whisper in her ear, detailing all the filthy, beautiful, depraved things I intend to do with my woman.

  She pants out yes after yes after yes.

  Well, it is lady’s choice, after all.

  31

  Sage

  I stretch out on the king-size bed, luxuriating in post-sex bliss.

  Correction: in my second postcoital bliss of the day.

  I am such a Leo. I couldn’t be anything else but a Leo, indulging in all this sex, and loving it. Loving, too, that this is more than sex. That Cole and I are on the same page. And I hope the same page includes something I want desperately right now.

  I run a hand down his strong arm and make my request. “Would you stay the night?”

  His dark eyes flicker with mischief. “Depends.”

  “On what?” I ask, indignant.

  He strokes his chin. “Does this sleepover include, say, room service?”

  A laugh bursts from my chest. “Of course. After all, this hotel has the best chocolate cake on the Strip. Everyone knows when you want a decadent dessert, you come to The Extravagant. In fact, the best room service belongs to my hotel.”

  His eyes widen. “Is that so? That’s not what I’ve heard. The sushi and sake at The Invitation was already written up in ‘Seven Best Room Service Indulgences.’”

  “Where? Reddit?”

  He rolls me to my back, pinning my arms above my head. “Travel and Leisure, O ye of little faith.”

  I lift my chin, all mock-haughty. “Then why don’t you see if your people can bring some across the street? To the best hotel in the city.”

  That earns me a nibble on my earlobe, and a whispered “Dream on.” A bite on my neck, followed by a husky “You wish.” And a soft, lingering kiss on the hollow of my throat, chased with a “Second best.”

  I thrash. “Best. The best. This hotel is the best.”

  With a laugh, he pins me tighter, and then drops his lips to mine, brushing a hot, fierce kiss there that makes me moan and arch my back.

  When he pulls away, he lets go of my arms, then slides next to me. “Let’s order burgers, truffle fries, and cake at this fantastic hotel that I plan to be a guest at for many nights,” he suggests.

  My stomach rumbles. “Someone knows my menu.”

  He shoots me a sharp stare. “Of course I know the menu.”

  “That’s one of the many things that makes you so sexy. Your eye for business.”

  He eyes me up and down. “I have an eye for sin too.”

  “I know, Cole. Trust me, I know.”

  “I do trust you,” he says, and that makes my heart glow.

  A little later, I’m in a soft gray tank top and sleep shorts, and he’s in his boxer-briefs as we devour burgers and fries on the couch.

  He brandishes a truffle fry. “These aren’t too bad.”

  I snag it from him and take a bite. “These are so good they’re orgasmic.”

  “Like you,” he says, laughing.

 
I whack him with another fry.

  He raises his hands in surrender. “Woman, that’s a good thing.”

  “I know, but you still deserved a fry swat for your impudence.”

  “Maybe you could add that to the marketing? ‘Good for swatting new lovers with’? That might help increase your bookings.” He gives a casual shrug. “Just a thought.”

  With a glare, I jerk my arm out, point to the door, and say, “Feel free to see yourself out.”

  Cole laughs, drops a kiss onto my cheek, then whispers, “You won’t kick me out. I’m not done with you.”

  I arch a brow. “Prove it.”

  And prove it he does, setting me on my bed, kissing me everywhere, licking and tasting and brushing those soft, confident lips all over my body until he settles between my legs and spends his sweet time edging me closer to the brink of orgasm, and closer still till I’m a panting, writhing, begging mess, and he takes me over the cliff once more.

  After, he pulls me into his arms, kisses my forehead, and whispers, “I love making you come. I don’t think there’s a thing I enjoy more in the world.”

  I like the sound of that. But it also wedges under my skin, makes me consider something I hadn’t thought to consider till now.

  I prop my head in my hand.

  “Hey,” I say, in a tone that suggests I’m about to broach something.

  He picks up on the shift immediately. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?’

  “I want to ask you something. About Georgia. Is that okay?”

  He nods, his eyes darkening, his lips straightening. “Yes.”

  “You said you and Daniel and Georgia were out as friends the night she died.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But also that the three of you had been together before. That you started out that way,” I say, and my mind is assembling the pieces, trying to understand. “Did you close it down? The idea of more threesomes, once you became serious with Georgia? Or did she?”

  “We both did, Georgia and I,” he says, his eyes staying locked on mine.

  For several painful seconds, I wait.