It had been a busy year, and the partnership their companies struck had been a smashing success. The new product had delivered a fantastic return on investment for Joy Delivered, and for all its launch partners, from Sofia’s to The Luxe and even to the loose-lipped Grant Abbot at Entice, who’d remained a solid business associate, especially because they’d connected recently about renewing their deal, and then got to chatting about Ethan. Grant had mentioned he’d talked to him once and had perhaps said more than he should about their partnership before it launched. Grant had a habit, it seemed, of opening his mouth too far, but Casey wasn’t going to kick him to the curbside for that. She simply reminded him of the importance of privacy.
As for Ethan Holmes, he’d tucked his tail between his legs and had gone home to live with his parents after Victoria Hotels let him go due to a nervous breakdown. She was glad he was getting help for his issues, and that was all she thought about the man who’d tried to drive a rift between Nate and her.
Nate threaded his fingers through hers. He must have sensed her nerves, but also her coiled desire to nab the prize. “It’s up next,” he whispered, and she squeezed his fingers.
“Ouch,” he said playfully as if she’d hurt him. She squeezed harder in response, and he planted a quick kiss on her cheek.
“And for the next item this evening we have the newest Miller Valentina,” the auctioneer said as his assistants escorted the painting to the front of the room. Casey nearly groaned with lust for the painting. She wanted that beauty badly. “I shall start the bidding at—”
Then he stopped, brought his finger to his lips, and gazed at the ceiling. “Wait. That’s not quite right.”
Casey furrowed her brow. Auctioneers were always poised. This guy sounded as if he’d been thrown off his game.
“No. That’s the wrong item. Take it back,” he shouted, shooing away the painting dramatically. His assistants obeyed. Casey’s jaw dropped and she turned to Nate. “What was that all about?”
He simply shrugged and held up his hands.
“Now bring out the correct item,” the man said, and a few seconds later, one of the assistants returned with a small maroon box.
Casey pointed and whispered. “Now that’s definitely not on the catalogue tonight.”
The auctioneer flipped open the box, and it was almost like being blinded. The stone was so bright.
“Our next item is a vintage halo ring, set in a handcrafted platinum band with an inlay of diamonds, and this gorgeous 2.5 carat stone. I start the bidding at—”
Nate raised his paddle. “—I’ll take it.”
The auctioneer pointed at him. “Sold! To the gentleman in the front row.”
Then it hit her. It had happened so quickly, and she hadn’t been expecting it at all, but her heart was beating out a wild rhythm in her chest as Nate clasped the box, dropped down to one knee, and took her hand in his. “Casey, I was crazy about you long before I even kissed you, and that’s because you have the kindest, most caring heart I have ever known. I still can’t believe you’re really mine, but somehow the dream isn’t ending, and every moment with you is more wonderful than the last. You make me laugh, you make me happy, you make me want to be better every day for you. You’ve been my best friend, my lover, and now I hope you will continue on this journey with me as my wife,” he said, holding open the box, as her lower lip quivered and her heart danced. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks, a wholly necessary side effect from this cocktail of bliss and pure happiness she was having right now. She held out her hand, and he slid the ring on her finger. She held it up, stunned by its beauty. Then she locked eyes with him—with this man she’d never expected to become her partner for life.
And he’d become the love of her life.
She sealed their promise with a kiss, then another because he was too hard to resist. But there would be time later for so much more. He returned to the seat next to her, and tipped his forehead to the podium where the auctioneer was beaming. He’d clearly been in on it. “And now, we have a painting from Miller Valentina,” the man said.
“You better bid on it,” Nate said in a sexy whisper. “You know how I like it when you go after the things you want.”
“I know you do. And I’m going to make sure I get it.”
“You will.”
The bidding began and a few minutes later she had a new painting, and a promise for a lifetime of love. She had everything she’d ever wanted and more.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading Nate and Casey’s sexy love story. I loved every second of writing about them, and I hope you enjoyed their journey to love and happily ever after! Next up in the series is SWEET SINFUL NIGHTS, the love story of Brent and Shannon, as he reunites with his first love. That book is slated to release in the summer. You might also enjoy reading CAUGHT UP IN US, the story of how Kat and Bryan fell in love. Click here to sign up for my newsletter to be alerted to new releases, preorder specials and exclusive giveaways. Stay tuned for 21 STOLEN KISSES releasing in March! That’s a new-adult standalone novel and it’s a forbidden romance. I’m so excited to share that story with you. It’s a book I’ve been working on for some time now and I’m thrilled to send it out to the world!
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Be Seduced Quiz!
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Check out my contemporary romance novels!
The New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling Seductive Nights series including
Night After Night, After This Night,
and One More Night
And the newest installment, the standalone
romance Nights With Him, also a New York Times and
USA Today Bestseller! (Michelle and Jack’s romance)
Caught Up In Us, a New York Times and
USA Today Bestseller! (Kat and Bryan’s romance!)
Pretending He’s Mine, a Barnes & Noble and
iBooks Bestseller! (Reeve & Sutton’s romance)
Trophy Husband, a New York Times and
USA Today Bestseller! (Chris & McKenna’s romance)
Playing With Her Heart, a
USA Today bestseller! (Davis and Jill’s romance)
Far Too Tempting, an Amazon
romance bestseller! (Matthew and Jane’s romance)
Stars in Their Eyes, an iBooks bestseller!
(William and Jess’ romance)
My USA Today bestselling
No Regrets series that includes
The Thrill of It
(Meet Harley and Trey)
and its sequel
Every Second With You
My New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling Fighting Fire series that includes
Burn For Me,
(Smith and Jamie’s romance!)
and Melt for Him
(Megan and Becker’s romance!)
COMING SOON!
Stay tuned for 21 STOLEN KISSES, a standalone new adult romance! It releases in March and here’s the first chapter.
21 STOLEN KISSES
By Daisy Whitney and Lauren Blakely
&nbs
p; Chapter One
Kennedy
The champagne bubbles tickle my nose.
I don’t taste the drink I’m holding. I don’t even bring my lips to the glass. Not because I’m too young to drink, but because I don’t drink. I’d rather be in control, and so instead, I raise the crystal flute in a toast.
I am always toasting because everything is grand in the land I live in.
Everything is sparkly.
Everything is fabulous.
Even when it’s not.
But my mom’s TV show was just renewed for another season, and everyone who matters is here at our home off Central Park West, drinking and nibbling and laughing and chatting. Like my mom, who holds court in the living room, perched grandly on her cranberry-red couch. Her raven-black hair is glossy and gorgeous, and her green eyes glitter with happiness as the head of the network toasts her.
“To Jewel! A gem among showrunners,” he says, looking every bit the shiny, gleaming suit that he is. He’s polished so brightly, and he always knows exactly what to say at these moments. I’m pretty sure he once tried to spend the night with her. I’m pretty sure she rebuffed his advances.
Every once in a blue moon, it happens – her rejection of a suitor.
“To LGO! The best network there is!” she says, holding her glass up high. She doesn’t even try to feign embarrassment at being the center of attention. She’s not embarrassed. She adores her role in the spotlight. She might as well have been bred for it, like a prized poodle. She’s smiling as she always is because she has everything she wants. Her new man, Warren, is by side, fawning at her.
My mom’s petite friend Bailey, also a publicist for her show, clinks glasses with me then downs half her champagne.
I drink none, and instead run my finger absently along the rim, wanting one thing, wishing I could want nothing. But I can’t.
I want him.
I’m wearing my best jeans, a pair of black heels, and a silvery-gray top. I like to look good. I like to look good for him—that guy on the other side of the room, leaning casually against the wall, not drinking either. Watching the scene unfold. Part of it, but separate.
I wonder what he thinks when he looks at me now. If he still feels the same pull. The same damn longing.
His eyes meet mine. His are dark blue, the color of the dawn before day takes over. They give me my answer when he doesn’t look away, and my heart tries to spring free of my chest, and bound over to him. Being in the same space — even with him so many feet away — is hard. So hard. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“And what about you?”
Bailey’s voice jars me. Reminds me that we’ve been having a conversation while I’ve been drifting back to him. “Hmm?” I ask furrowing my brow. “What about me?”
“Boys? Guys? Are you dating? Anyone special?”
My cheeks burn red. Heat spreads over my face. I’m not seeing anyone. “No,” I say, even though inside I’m saying it’s complicated, it’s complicated, it’s complicated. That’s what I told my cousin Anaka in Los Angeles when she emailed me earlier this week asking me if there were any hot guys on the scene.
We chat more, making small talk, the skill I’ve been schooled in since I could utter my first words. Then Bailey snaps her fingers, her face lighting up in recognition. “I almost forgot! I have a script for a friend I want to get in front of Hayes,” she says then makes a beeline for the man who makes things happen.
I watch for a moment, cataloguing the expression on his face as she makes her pitch, the shift in those dark blue eyes to his business look. He nods, and I can just make out him say Sure, send it over, and it reminds me once more of everything between us.
I have to excuse myself from this party and my mother and her friends and all these people. When I reach my room, I text him. Because I can’t resist.
One word. It’s all I can manage. It’s all I can’t manage without.
Hi.
* * *
After midnight, they are all gone. Every last one of them. The brownstone is eerie and still, as it should be after hours. I pad quietly to the kitchen, find an apple in a basket on the counter, rinse it off and take a bite, rewinding a few hours to the party, to that moment when we locked eyes. To the charge I swear raced through the air, connecting us. Tethering us, like we’ve been for so long.
I shudder, remembering kisses. Remembering his touch. His soft voice whispering in my ear. The music we listened to together. The stories he told me.
It’s a dream-like state, being back in time.
Then I hear footsteps and snap open my eyes.
My reverie is broken cruelly when I realize I’m about to learn something I’d rather not know—the answer to whether my mom's latest boyfriend wears boxers or briefs.
Because Warren wears white boxer briefs.
He walks through the hallway, across the living room, and past the dining room table before he notices the daughter of the house leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Honestly?” I say as I crunch into the fruit.
Even in the dark I can see his face turn red as he stops short at the kitchen. “I’m so sorry, Kennedy.”
But he’s not moving. Perhaps his bare feet are stuck to the floor of the entryway.
“I had no idea you were going to be in the kitchen,” Warren says, stumbling on his words.
“That much is self-evident. Now, do you need me to pour you a glass of milk, or do you think maybe you can get through the rest of the night without one?”
He’s flustered and fluttery and his belly is saggy and it’s just the sort of stuff that would make a lesser girl scream or cringe or cry. But this is par for the course. I had to get over the silly idea that I might actually be able to walk around my house without running into a mate of my mother’s a long, long time ago. They are always underfoot; ingesting coffee at the table in the morning, draped across the couch in the evening, foraging in the fridge after hours. If I didn’t have my own bathroom, I might never stay at my mom’s place on her half of my 50-50 nights.
Not that I have much say in the matter. I have no agency. I have no choices. I’m too young.
Warren somehow finds the strength to retreat to the cave of dark and sordid late-night festivities. My mom’s bedroom, though it’s more like an opium den.
I finish off my apple in the silence, return to my upstairs bedroom and fiddle around on Instagram, checking out a new collection of found hearts in nature – wild red fireworks forming a heart, a drawn heart on a sandy beach, a heart-shaped stone. I save them and send them to a special folder on my phone as I settle into bed. The pictures help me forget the kitchen run-in. They help me forget everything. I check my text messages one more time. I’m still waiting to hear back from him.
I’ve heard nothing.
Maybe it’s all in my mind.
Noah
The elevator dings on the sixth floor, and the doors slide open. I’m still clutching my phone, and I could justify the way I stare at the screen with a million reasons. Responding to clients. Writing back to producers. Dealing with my boss. All that is true. But all that is also a lie, because one little text has me right back where I know I shouldn’t be.
But I gave in long ago.
With my free hand, I unlock my apartment, then drop the keys on the table by the door. I turn on the light, rub my hand over my eyes, and sigh heavily. I’ve already gone through all the reasons to ignore her. I’ve already tried to fight this for far too long. I’m not winning any awards for resistance. I never did. I threw in the towel many moons ago.
Besides, one text won’t kill me.
One. One. One.
The word echoes through my skull like a temptress. Only one text. Only one kiss. Only one date.
It’s always one thing that leads to another. I know this. Even so, I reply. There’s nothing magical about my words. The only thing magical is her. And the hold she still has on me.
Then I add a picture because I know wh
at she likes. I know what makes her happy. If I can’t have her, at least I can make her smile.
Found this one today for you, I write, as I attach an image I uncovered online of snow fallen on twigs in the shape of a heart.
Kennedy
I slide into bed, under the covers. I place the phone on my pillow, just inches from me. I touch the necklace I wear every day, feeling the impression of the three different sparkly charms that hang from it.
I close my eyes, but sleep is so far away it might as well be in Indonesia.
Then my phone buzzes. I hold my breath for a second, making a wish. I open my eyes and I slide my phone open.
Hi to you.
Three words. They’re enough to get me through another night of wanting him back, but knowing I can’t have him.
Then I see a picture, and I could die of happiness.
21 STOLEN KISSES
releases in March. Details here.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you so much for everyone who helped shape this story including Violet Duke, Kim Bias, Tanya Farrell, Jen McCoy, Gale and Kelly Simmon. Thank you to Sarah Hansen for the gorgeous cover, to Helen Williams for fabulous graphics, to Kelley for the daily grind and keeping track of so very much, and to Jesse for making the books. Thank you to KP for all her wisdom, to Lauren McKellar for her word tune-up, and to Kara for her eagle eye. Thank you to the talented bloggers, passionate readers, and outspoken advocates of books and sexy. Thank you to Laurelin and CD for being my girls. Thank you to Little Dog, Big Dog, Husband, Kids and Family of Awesomeness!
CONTACT
I love hearing from readers! You can find me on Twitter at LaurenBlakely3, or Facebook at LaurenBlakelyBooks, or online at LaurenBlakely.com. You can also email me at [email protected].
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