Special Delivery (Always Satisfied Book 5)

by Lauren Blakely

  “Ever wonder about those crazy Christmas houses in the neighborhood? You know the ones—where they start setting up in July, and every single room is decked out in a Christmas theme.”

  “Yes,” I say, my eyes bugging out. “There was one like that where we grew up. We used to drive by and gawk at it every year.”

  His dark eyes twinkle. “And they’re full of Christmas displays. Trains bringing toys to Santa’s workshop. Small towns covered in snow.”

  “Reindeer across the lawn and a sleigh on the roof.”

  “And there are three, four, five . . . I could never keep count of how many Christmas trees we had set up in every room.”

  I don’t say anything for a few seconds. Then the enormity of his statement registers. “Nooo. For real?” I’m so excited, I’m shaking. I’ve always wanted to know someone who lived in a crazy Christmas house. “You? You lived in one?”

  He nods, solemn, as if we’re in a confessional. “Every square inch of the lawn decorated in reindeers and giant snowmen. And sleighs . . . so many sleighs. There are candy canes everywhere. You can’t escape them. And the price of admission to see inside helps support the extravagant electricity bill. That was my house growing up.” He taps his broad, muscular chest. “My parents were, and still are, absolutely obsessed with Christmas.”

  I stifle a squeal. “You lucky duck. I would have loved a Christmas house.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, taking a swallow of the vodka tonic.

  “Didn’t you? I’m sure there were moments when it was too much, but mostly it sounds like a blast for kids.”

  His smile spreads, slow and easy. “I’ll admit it was kind of fun.”

  “See? I knew it. But how does something like that start? Where’s your mom from, the North Pole?”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “No, she was born in Thailand. Her dad is from Bangkok. Her mom is from Portugal. My dad’s family is all from Virginia, and my parents recently retired to Florida when Callie moved there, and Aubrey too.”

  “All right, so no members of your family are from the Arctic Circle.”

  “Nope. Not even close.”

  I scoot a little closer, enjoying getting to know him. Enjoying this whole night, in fact. Considering how well Vaughn and I clicked the first time we met, maybe it’s no surprise how much I like spending time with him. And I’ve loved this whole business meeting so far, even when I wasn’t quite sure how to respond over the whole “do I have your number” thing.

  I hadn’t known what to say because everything was happening faster than my defenses could handle. I still feel rushed along in a swift current, but I don’t want it to stop. I feel like we could talk all night and it might not be enough.

  “You didn’t grow up hating Christmas?” I ask.

  “Shocking, isn’t it? You’d figure I’d loathe everything red and green, and I’d hate ornaments and sparkling lights.”

  “You’re not that kind of guy.” I feel a little warm and buzzy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the vodka or from chatting with him.

  Actually, that’s a lie. I am sure.

  It’s from him.

  Everything I’m feeling tonight is about him, for him, because of him. I’m warm all over. Wait—make that hot. My skin tingles at the way he looks at me with hunger in his deep brown eyes.

  “I’m absolutely not a scrooge,” he adds.

  “You’re the opposite. And I think you’re also a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy.” My throat’s gone dry, so I take another drink.

  He takes one too. “And how do you feel about that, Quinn?”

  We’re not talking about parties. Or Christmas houses. Or how we approach the world. We’re talking about this crazy chemistry that’s crackling undeniably after two dates.

  I mean, two evenings together.

  Both of which feel like dates.

  Like wonderful, thrilling, delicious dates.

  “I like it,” I confess, then I zip my lips because I can’t say more. My heart is on lockdown, but I’m so tempted to unlock it for him.

  I promised myself. I don’t want to date, don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to fall.

  I can’t handle getting hurt.

  And the thing is, I could get hurt with him. Already I feel myself yielding—liking him, wanting him—more than I’m prepared for.

  Except he’s leaving New York, which puts a guaranteed expiration date on any hypothetical relationship. Could he truly hurt me in so narrow a window of time? It makes things safe, makes me impervious to heartache.

  “And do we have a winner here in this hotel?” I ask, concentrating on the job I’m contracted to do with his firm. I gesture around the bar though the party will be in the room we checked out already.

  He takes a breath, then nods. “Yeah, it’s a winner. Let’s have the party here.”

  As we finish our drinks, we chat about the party, the menu, and the Skee-Ball he wants to have at the soiree.

  When we’re done, we leave the bar and head toward the lobby, turning a corner. As we walk down the hall, my feet feel leaden, and my mood turns darker.

  I don’t want this time with him to end.

  I stop decisively. “You know, we should talk more about the menu.”

  His eyes light up with possibility. “Absolutely. Do you want to meet again tomorrow? We can plan the hot chocolate bar and the appetizers, and we should figure out what the heck goes in a candy cane cocktail.”

  Somewhere inside me a warning bell sounds.

  You’re not supposed to be dating. You’re not supposed to date him. You’re taking a dating break.

  But the way he looks at me, the way I feel for him, makes me shove those mantras I prepared out of the way.

  Besides, we’d only be temporary. This is a chance my once-broken heart can afford to take. “True. Those are all vital details.” I break into a wild grin because I feel crazy saying yes. But it’s a good crazy.

  “Then tomorrow we’ll get to the bottom of it.” His smile matches mine as his gaze drifts to the ceiling.

  Curiosity takes mine there too.

  A sprig of mistletoe hangs above the entryway at the end of the hall.

  Oh hell, is that ever an invitation.

  His eyes return to mine. “Should there be mistletoe at the party?”

  “Shouldn’t there always be mistletoe?” I say by way of an answer.

  “The thing about mistletoe,” he says, stepping closer, and my heart flutters, “is it’s not a surprise. It gives you a heads-up: kisses may happen here.”

  “Are you giving me a heads-up?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Do you want one?”

  “I don’t need one,” I whisper. “I think I know what happens next.”

  “The only thing I want to happen.” He dips his head, lowering his mouth, and dusts the softest, most tempting kiss against my lips.

  I feel like I’m floating.

  Like I’m flying.

  For a few delicious seconds, he dives in, kissing with intent, leaving me with the promise of how his touch might be—thorough and attentive enough to make my toes curl.

  He breaks the kiss, slides his hand around my head, and pulls me in close, inhaling deeply of my hair. “You’re incredible. And that should come as no surprise.”

  We make our way out, and as he puts me in a car, he tucks my hair behind my ear and says in that sexy, raspy voice, “I don’t want to keep you in suspense, so I’m just going to tell you now—I’m counting down the hours till tomorrow.”

  “Me too.”

  “And then he kissed me.”

  I take a sip of my coffee as I finish describing last night to my sister.

  Amy sprawls dramatically in her chair at Dr. Insomnia’s, swooning and fanning herself. “This is the best story ever. It’s so good I don’t even need a vanilla latte today.”

  “Seriously? You always need a vanilla latte.”

  She sits bolt upright. “I know, but a kiss under the mis
tletoe from a guy like him? Even better than a vanilla latte.”

  “Imagine if it happened to you,” I say, since I’m feeling a little sass, fueled by Vaughn’s fantastic kiss. “That would be better than cake and a latte.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You are evil for taunting me with your romantic escapades and then mocking me for my single-tude. But you were always the mean one.”

  “I’m awful, I know. But it was so wonderful.” I sigh, unable to help myself. “It was the best first kiss in the history of kisses.”

  “I forgive you.” My sister echoes my happy sigh, but then she frowns. “But what happens next? I thought you were abstaining from love and romance and dating thanks to Clarke’s exhibition of epic douchery. Something about how you wanted to lock that organ up in a steel cage.”

  “I am off of dating,” I say. Yes, my heart seems to frolic and sing around Vaughn, or even at the thought of Vaughn, but I’ve got this under control. With a solid plan A, I don’t need a plan B. “But he’s moving to Miami after the new year to open the offices there for Premiere, so we have built-in barriers. It can’t turn into something more, so my heart can stay in its cage.” I shrug, a little coquettishly. “A date here, a night there. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  She arches a knowing brow and stares pointedly at me. “I don’t think you want me to answer that. Why don’t you just tell me about the kiss again?”

  I grin and happily tell the story one more time.

  9

  Vaughn

  Like a game show host, my sister opens the fridge with a flourish. “See? It’s perfect,” she says via FaceTime. “There’s nothing in it, and that’s exactly how it’ll look when you live here.”

  “O ye of little faith. I learned how to cook. I even have a recipe book.”

  “Yeah, full of menus from your favorite take-out spots.”

  “Please. Who needs menus? It’s all on the apps now.” I try to catch Danny’s attention as he’s running in circles in the kitchen of the condo I’m thinking of buying in Miami. My realtor just listed my apartment in Manhattan the other day, and I’ve already had offers.

  “Danny, my man. Tell your mom she’s disparaging your favorite person.”

  My nephew meets my gaze on the screen. “Vaughn barks!”

  Callie cackles. “He just compared you to a dog.”

  I shrug because it’s all good. “Dogs are cool. Danny, I accept your compliment.”

  “Vaughn flies!” He calls me by my name, since it’s easier to say than “Uncle.”

  I point at the little dude with the apple cheeks. “See? You are a genius,” I tell the rug rat before he scampers away from the phone. “He knows I’m coming to see him in a few weeks.”

  “And we can’t wait,” Callie says with a smile before she turns serious. “What do you think? Do you like this place? Aubrey and I both checked it out for you.”

  “It’s pretty sweet,” I say. “I could see myself in it. Plus, it’s on the beach, and I love going for morning runs. Or evening runs. Or anytime runs.”

  “Being near the water is great. It’s fantastic here.”

  I scratch my jaw, considering the place. “Let me think on it tonight. Wait. I won’t think about it tonight. Because I have a date.”

  Her blue eyes spark. “Ooh, do tell.”

  I give her the briefest description of Quinn. “She’s fantastic and warm, funny and beautiful. And I had a great time with her.”

  She hums. “Be careful, Vaughn.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you fall easily and you’re leaving town soon. You only have the holiday season.”

  A montage flicks before my eyes. Quinn and me, out and about in the city, strolling down Fifth Avenue as snow falls, skating in Rockefeller Center, setting up her tree. Then me distracting her from decorating with kisses that lead to the bedroom. Not a bad way to spend the next several weeks, come to think of it. “That means it’ll all be fine. It won’t hurt, since I know I have to leave.”

  Callie stares at me like my answer doesn’t compute. “That’s illogical. How does the duration prevent the pitfall?”

  “Because there is an expiration date. No surprises, no promises, and no broken heart. It’s brilliant. And so is the deal on that condo. I’ll take it.”

  She blinks. “You decided already?”

  “Yes. I can see myself in it. Can you tell the realtor I’ll make an offer?” There’s no point in delaying the purchase.

  “Sure. And have fun tonight,” she says with a smile. “As long as you’re being careful.”

  “I will,” I assure her.

  But caution is not what I feel when I see Quinn.

  What I feel when I meet Quinn outside of Lulu’s Chocolates in the West Village is longing, desire, and anticipation.

  Quinn’s black boots click-clack on the sidewalk as she walks toward me, her red hair peeking out from under a green knit cap that’s sexier than a knit cap should ever be.

  But then, everything about her is sexy.

  Everything about her makes my pulse race.

  And everything about her makes me want to kiss her.

  So that’s what I do when she reaches me. I slide a hand around her waist and say “Hi,” then dip my mouth to hers.

  I surprise the hell out of her, and I love it, because when I break the kiss, her eyes are still shut and her lips are still parted.

  It’s the perfect look on the most tempting woman.

  And I can’t get her out of my head.

  10

  Vaughn

  The salted caramel hot chocolate is sinful. The dark-as-night kind is decadent. And the spiked cocoa is insanely good. The splash of tequila, courtesy of a flask Quinn brandishes, is just the right touch.

  “Here’s my verdict for the party,” I tell her as we survey the hot chocolates Lulu served us. “Let’s have it all. Every single flavor.”

  Quinn nudges me with her shoulder. “You have quite an appetite.”

  “I’m just saying, this is all way better than eggnog.”

  Quinn lifts a finger. “Ah, but you haven’t had Lulu’s eggnog hot chocolate.”

  “Is that a thing?”

  Quinn waves to the curly-haired blonde with the vibrant green dress who’s working behind the counter. “Oh, Lulu! We have a doubter. Can you bring us one of your fabulous eggnog hot cocoas to try?”

  “Coming right up. Followed by one eggnog hot cocoa convert.”

  Quinn rubs her hands together. “I. Can’t. Wait.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You planned all along to sneak the eggnog in, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. I’m a planner,” she says with a wink as Lulu swings by, setting down a ceramic cup with panache.

  “I dare you not to fall in love,” Lulu declares.

  I glance between them suspiciously. “Ladies, why do I feel like you know something I don’t?”

  Quinn points excitedly to the cup. “Try it. Lulu is a goddess of all things chocolate, and she can convert even the most skeptical. Like you.”

  I bring the concoction to my lips, and it’s . . . rich and creamy and chocolaty and tastes like nutmeg and Christmas mornings and promises. I don’t even try to hide my satisfied grin. “It tastes like the best present ever feels.”

  Quinn shimmies her arms in victory. “Knew it, called it. Pay up.”

  “And split it with me,” Lulu says as she returns behind the counter.

  I offer the cup to Quinn. “Let’s see how it tastes on your lips.”

  “Yes. Let’s do that.” Her eyes glitter as she takes a sip. When she sets down the cup, she lifts her chin—an offering. I groan quietly as I slide my hand through her soft locks and brush my lips over hers. She murmurs as I kiss her, melting into our embrace.

  I taste the chocolate, the nutmeg, and the sweetness of her.

  My mind crackles, humming with electricity even when I break the kiss at last. “Tastes even better.”

  She’s inches away
, her eyes locked with mine. “But you should try again just to be sure.”

  “That is a brilliant idea.” I bring her close for one more kiss. As my lips slide over hers, I’m sure this is the best time I’ve had with a woman in ages. I’m certain, too, that I like this woman even more than I did last night.

  I suppose that means I’m falling further.

  I need to make the most of the time we have before the cutoff date and our clean, harmless ending.

  “Quinn,” I say, pulling apart from her as I brush the back of my fingers along her cheek. “Since I know you like a heads-up, I’m going to ask you to come home with me tonight. And once you’re there, I want to make sure you stay on the naughty list for a very long time.”

  She grabs her purse, her hat, and her coat. “Check, please.”

  The trek to my home is like foreplay.

  We leave holding hands.

  In the cab, I kiss her neck, savoring the vanilla-honey scent of her hair, the fresh smell of her skin. I flick my tongue over the shell of her ear.

  “If you do that again, I might jump you here in the back seat, and that would be rude,” she murmurs.

  “I’d hate for us to be rude,” I whisper, but then I nibble on her earlobe for good measure.

  “You were warned,” she says as she slides a hand up my thigh.

  “Well, I’m not sure I want to heed your warnings if that’s where they go.”

  She laughs, and I do too, and then we behave till we reach my building.

  All bets are off in the elevator though.

  As soon as the doors close, I clasp her face and kiss her hard.

  Like I’ve wanted to all along—hard and passionate, with everything I have. She lifts her chin, loops her arms around my neck, and asks for more, not with words, but with the way she arches against me, with how she plays with the ends of my hair.

  We reach my floor, and the walk to the end of the hall is interminable, so I lift her, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her, picking up the pace.

  She pounds playfully against my back with her fists. “Hey, I’m not that slow.”