Pulling away from his lips, I kiss along his stubbled jawline and down his neck as I try to catch my breath. He’s panting as my lips continue to kiss any bit of skin I can find, as he starts to move his hips.
I suck in a sharp breath when his hard length rubs against my sensitive core. Pulling back to look at him, I forget momentarily why I was so angry. His dark eyes have more gold in them than I’ve seen before, highlighting his emotions and vulnerability.
“Summer?” he asks, his voice rough and deep.
“I’m yours.” The words aren’t fully out of my mouth before he switches our position. My back hits the wall and his hips press into me, ensuring I’ll stay. His fingers burn as they trail up my thighs, pushing my dress up as they go. When he gets to the thin straps of my panties, I hear a rip.
My eyes spring open in surprise but the intensity in his stops me from saying anything.
“Not sorry,” he whispers before sucking on the skin beneath my ear, making me moan in pleasure.
His hands are moving once again. One stops on my ass while the other continues to where I need it most. A moan vibrates against my neck when he finds me wet and ready for him.
“Oh god,” I groan when he slides a finger inside me. I’m already so close from just having his hands on me once again that I’m pulsating around him in mere seconds.
“Fuck, Summer. Need you now.”
I come back to myself enough to slide my hands down the taut skin of his abs and tug at his belt.
Once I’ve got it and his button popped open, he lifts me and allows his pants to fall to his ankles. He’s gloriously naked beneath, and wastes no time in lining himself up with me.
“This okay?” he asks before sliding fully inside.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I chant.
“Fucking heaven,” he grunts as he thrusts, simultaneously dropping me lower onto him.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t because of you. Fuck…” He buries his face in my neck as his thrusts get more and more erratic.
“I’m gonna…”
“Come,” he grunts, finishing off my sentence for me as I feel the first pulse of his release deep inside me.
Harrison stays exactly as he is for a few seconds. Only the sounds of our pants and the scent of our sex fill the room.
When he pulls back, the look in his eyes takes my breath away. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It didn’t go because of you, and I need you to know that if I had any other choice, I would have taken it. But I can’t be without you, Summer.”
I can’t contain my emotion, and his eyes widen in concern. His thumbs wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“But you didn’t come,” he says, stating the obvious, and I can’t help but sob. Standing here in front of him once again, all I can think is that I made a mistake. I should have got on that plane. I should have left to be with him. He pulls me against him and holds me tightly.
When I pull back and look into his eyes, I know what I need to say, but his lips descending towards mine once again push the thoughts from my head.
After righting his pants, he walks me backward into the suite, and I see the candles in all their glory. They cover every single surface.
“Harrison?” Tears fill my eyes as I look around.
“I came back to whisk you off your feet,” he whispers as his front presses against my back and his arms wrap around my waist. “I hope it’s worked, because I’m not leaving again without you by my side.”
This was an unexpected little project, but I loved the idea of the series too much to turn down the opportunity to be involved. I want to say a huge thank you to Frankie, whose idea this was for letting me be part of it, and to all the other cocktail authors. It’s been incredible working with you.
I really enjoyed writing Summer and Harrison’s story, but as always, I feel like they have more to give. I’m really rubbish at writing short stories; I always get too attached!
I want to say a massive thank you, as ever, to my betas, Deanna, Helen, Lindsay, Michelle and Tracy. Once again, you’ve been incredible with your advice and support. I couldn’t do this without you.
Evelyn, again, thank you for everything. For pushing me for more and making each of my stories better and better.
I’d like to thank everyone who’s helped share our new series, all the bloggers and our readers. None of this could be done without you, so THANK YOU.
As always, and last but never least, my husband and daughter. Thank you for supporting me and encouraging me every day.
Are you ready to meet the rest of the crew?
His Old Fashioned by Frankie Love
His Mimosa by Jamie Schlosser
His Irish Coffee by Jessica Lake
His Whiskey Sour by Kim Loraine
His Champagne by Dori Lavelle
His Manhattan by Tracy Lorraine
His Blushing Bride by Emilia Beaumont
His Perfect Martini by Angel Devlin
His Long Island Iced Tea by Roxy Sinclaire
His Hurricane by Alexis Adaire
His Sloe Screw by Alexandria Hunt
His Vegas Bomb by Derek Masters
His Redheaded Slut by Vivian Ward
His Gin and Juice by Alexx Andria
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About the Author
Tracy Lorraine is a M/F and M/M contemporary romance author. Tracy has just turned thirty and lives in a cute Cotswold village in England with her husband, baby girl and lovable but slightly crazy dog. Having always been a bookaholic with her head stuck in her Kindle Tracy decided to try her hand at a story idea she dreamt up and hasn’t looked back since.
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Also by Tracy Lorraine
Angel Series
Molly - part one (#1)
Molly - part two (#1)
Abbi (#1.5)
Beth (#1.6)
Emma (#2)
Connie (#2.5)
Lilly (#3)
Taylor (#3.5)
Chasing Series
Chasing Logan
Luck of the Irish Series
The Plan #1
The Lies #2
The Promise #3
Never Forget Series
Never Forget Him #1
Never Forget Us #2
Everywhere and Nowhere #3
Read Beth for FREE!
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Sneak Peek
The Plan (Luck of the Irish #1) by Tracy Lorraine
The Plan
Prologue
New Year’s Resolutions
1. Spend less time working
2. Visit Aunt Addy
3. Date nights
I pick up the piece of paper that flutters to the floor as I attempt to clear my desk for the night. Sitting back in my chair, I stare down at the words I wrote only a few weeks ago.
I glance at the time on my computer screen to see it’s almost 8pm on Valentine’s night, and here I am still in my office with mountains of work to do. I guess that explains how well number one on the list is going. Actually, it pretty much answers all three. I think in the last six weeks I’ve spent more time in the office than ever, so even thinking about planning a trip to see Aunt Addy hasn’t happened. And as for date nights, code for attempt to sort out my shitty marriage—I just didn’t want to write that down—that’s the reason I’m finishing up early for the night
. My assistant poked her head in just under an hour ago to say she was leaving and I placed a takeaway order so I could surprise my husband and make some kind of effort. It is Valentine’s day, after all.
I go down to the ground floor of the office block we work in to collect my delivery before heading straight up to the top floor to my husband’s office.
We’re both lawyers for his family’s company. I’m pretty sure it should excite me; after all, it’s what I spent years studying for. Here I am, a high-flying lawyer for a renowned company in the middle of the city, married to the boss, living in a gorgeous penthouse apartment only five minutes from here.
I fucking hate it. All of it.
It hasn’t always been this way. At the beginning, I thought I was living the high life: hefty pay checks, designer clothes, meals at any swanky restaurant I wanted, and a husband every woman in the office wanted a piece of. That all soon wore thin once I was promoted—not because I married the boss though, I’d like to add. I started working longer hours and all the benefits I enjoyed before were pushed aside to spend more hours in the office. It’s pretty shit. Then Edward’s dad retired, leaving him in charge, and our marriage took even more of a backseat.
“Good evening, Addison.”
“Evening,” I say when I see Greg, one of the security guards in reception. “Shouldn’t Mr. Boss Man be taking you out for some slap up meal?”
“You’d think, right?” I reply as I wave my takeaway bag at him.
“Enjoy,” he says with a wink as I head back towards the lift.
I sail straight to the top. The building must be practically empty seeing as it’s Valentine’s day so my journey isn’t interrupted by anyone wanting to join me.
There’s no one to be seen as I walk down the corridor past the giant offices. It looks like the rest of the management has some kind of work life balance.
The glass wall that allows everyone to see into Edward’s office has been darkened but I don’t think anything of it. I shove the handle down and fling the door wide open.
“Surprise,” I announce happily, but my mood changes when I see the reason for the blacked out windows.
My husband’s behind his desk like I expected, but rather than going through case notes he’s currently balls deep inside my PA, who’s bent over his desk.
He sees me, his eyes widen in shock, and he stops moving as he stares at me. It’s clear she has no idea I’ve just interrupted because, without opening her eyes, she moans, “Eddie, keep going…so close.”
Eddie? Who the fuck does she think she is? My husband hates the name Eddie.
I stand there staring at the scene in front of me for a few more seconds as something inside me explodes. I want to say it’s devastation, anger even, but I’m pretty sure it’s the tingling of freedom.
I drop the bag of takeout on the floor and, with one last look at my cheating prick of a husband, I make my way out of the Chapman-Webb offices with every intention to never walk through the front door again.
The Plan
Chapter 1
“My brother’s an arsehole.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, tapping the glass containing my dirty martini against my best friend’s.
Juliette and I met at university. We were both studying law and started off in the same halls. We clicked instantly. Looking back on it now, I think it may have been because we were both doing something that wasn’t our choice. I’d never voiced the fact that I didn’t want to be a lawyer, and neither had she, but I think we both knew.
“I feel totally responsible for all this. I pushed the two of you together.”
“Don’t,” I warn. “It’s not your fault he can’t keep his dick to himself, and it’s also not your fault that we haven’t really been working for a while,” I add, because I’m not sure I can really blame him for what he did, knowing what our marriage has been like.
“When was the last time you two…” she trails off, choosing to use hand gestures instead of words.
“No idea.”
“NO IDE—”
“Mummy, can I have some juice?” Sophia shouts, interrupting Juliette’s shock.
Unlike me, since graduating with a first, Juliette’s never worked a day in law. Actually, she’s never worked a day full stop, but that’s beside the point. She met Hugo during our second year and, not long after graduation, discovered she was pregnant. She’s been a stay at home mum since. They now have three terrors who run her ragged most days and are polite little angels when their dad appears after long hours crunching numbers. It’s pretty amusing to watch.
“Sorry, what were we saying…Oh yeah. You can’t remember the last time?”
“No. I told you things weren’t great.”
“I know, but there’s not great and then really not great.”
I just shrug at her. What does it matter now, anyway? The damage is done and I get to start over.
“Do you really have to leave?”
“I do.”
Juliette’s face drops. I’m gutted to leave her. We’ve practically lived in each other’s pockets since university. Shit, we’ve been sisters for the past three years, but I can’t stay for her. It’s time I did something for myself for once.
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’m going to miss you, too. But I’ll be back to visit, and you can come out to me. The kids will love it with the beach and the countryside. You might actually wear them out for once,” I say with a laugh.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Only on the phone briefly to tell him I was leaving. He begged for me to stay, told me he was sorry, that we could work it out, but it’s too late. He needs to face up to the fact that his cheating was the final nail in a practically sealed coffin already. We were never going to work, and him begging is just embarrassing, really.”
Juliette gives me a sad face but doesn’t say anything. I think she knows what I’m saying is true. She must have been able to see that we weren’t working together.
I’ve just finished my drink when my phone rings, alerting me the taxi’s outside.
“Time to go,” I announce, getting up from Juliette’s sofa.
“You really have to?” she asks again.
“Yes. I’ll ring you when I’m there to let you know I’m safe.”
“Okay,” she says as she pulls me into a tight hug. “KIDS, come and say goodbye to Aunt Addy,” she hollers in my ear.
Once my luggage is in the boot of the taxi, I settle myself in the back seat and wave at Juliette and the kids as the driver pulls away. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes at the thought of leaving them and focus on where I’m going.
I’m going home.
I’m going back to Ireland.
I was twelve when Mum moved us after falling in love with Michael. I didn’t appreciate how much I loved Ireland until I was dropped in the middle of the crazy city that was London. Michael had everything Mum was looking for: money and the promise of a good life. I’ve no idea who my dad is. Mum got pregnant after a night out and nine months later, there I was. I never went without as a kid, but things weren’t easy and Mum was always on the lookout for a shortcut. She decided at some point the best way out was to find a man—a man who had a good job and a load of money. I’ve no idea where she met Michael; we’ve never had the kind of relationship where we talk about that kind of stuff. We get on fine but we’re very different. She always wants more, no matter how good her life is, whereas I don’t crave all the drama and fuss she does. Although I haven’t had it for a long time, I think a simple life is exactly what I need.
I want to spend time in a place I can call home. I want to read a book, watch a film, have an afternoon nap just because I can. I want to walk on the beach in the rain and sit in a cafe and enjoy a coffee with a pastry without feeling guilty about my carb intake. Mostly though, I want to have time to bake. I want to make cakes, biscuits, quiches, anything…and I want to have people eat them and enjoy them.
>
I get settled on to the plane and pull out the new diary I bought in the airport. I destroyed the last one in the wood burner that was in the flat. In the five years we’d lived there, we’d never once started a fire. It was one of the things I felt I should at least do once before leaving, so I used my diary full of my work notes to start it. It was a freeing feeling, sitting there watching my old life go up in flames.
I’d done as I said when I left work that day. I never returned. I emailed in my notice the second I got home, followed by another to get the divorce in motion.
I open the diary and flick through the pages until I find the end of February. Pulling the pen from the elastic on the side, I pop the top and get ready to write.
The Plan…
1. Find somewhere to live
2. Look for business opportunities
3. Focus on me
It’s the 29th February. The perfect day to find myself a little bit of Irish luck.
I press the doorbell down and look around the familiar street. Aunt Addy lives in what I remember as her parents’ house. They both died last year and she decided to move into their small two bed bungalow, which was just a few streets down from where I’d grown up.
From the moment I landed, I felt like I was home. Then, the second I got a whiff of Irish air, I knew I’d made the right decision coming here. Gone was the grimy London smell, and in its place was a freshness I can’t even begin to describe. To me it’s the smell of the future; the smell of endless possibilities and a new life.
His Manhattan: A British Billionaire Romance (The Cocktail Girls) Page 7