Amber Nights - The Esquire Girls Series - Amber's Story (Books 1, 2, 3 & 4) - Box Set

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I pause for dramatic effect expecting my coworkers to hurl in revulsion.

  That doesn’t happen.

  Luke speaks first, a quizzical look on his face. “Um, that’s a problem?” He takes a gulp of his diet cola.

  “Of course that’s a problem!” I whine. “I want a guy who likes me for me. Not someone who’s with me because he’s still hot for his ex.”

  “Sweetie, that’s called having a type,” Nadia says with a cocked eyebrow. “Everybody’s got a type.”

  “Yeah, exactly. I like busty blondes with legs for days,” Luke says, throwing a wink at Ruthie. She throws a carrot stick at him in response.

  “I like the tall, dark and sexy type,” Hailey offers. “Like Matt Moretti.” I scowl at the mention of our boss’ gorgeous but entitled son.

  “Hailey, honey, I think you’re just attracted to douchebags,” Ruthie says in that distinctly-Brazilian accent of hers. We all laugh while Hailey sticks out her tongue at Ruthie. Hailey then takes a long swig of green juice and pulls her tongue across her teeth before glancing into her pocket-sized mirror to ensure there are no greens straggling between her pearly whites.

  “Jeez, you have the best teeth,” I muse.

  “Veneers,” she confides with a wink.

  Nadia brings the conversation back to me. “Amber, quite frankly, I think your ‘issue’ is a non-issue. So what if you remind him of his ex? He’s with you. Not her!” I cringe at the irony of Nadia’s statement. Chloe is dead so there’s really no chance of her reentering the picture at all.

  Luke chuckles. “Amber, in legal terms, your complaint would be considered frivolous and unfounded.”

  Hailey laughs, “Cased dismissed, sister!” She slams her empty water bottle down onto the concrete steps imitating a judge’s gavel.

  Ruthie sneers at Hailey’s corny joke. “Anyway,” she says in a feisty tone, “Tonight is my birthday party at that new club in Times Square – I can’t even remember the name – I’ll text you guys the details. Amber, honey, I guarantee you’ll find a hottie who will make you forget all about that loser and his bullshit,” she smiles at me before looking around at everyone else. “You bitches better be there!”

  Luke is salivating. “Will your sexy supermodel friends be there?”

  “Yes, they will,” Ruthie says with a chuckle, “and you better not embarrass yourself.” Then, she turns to me. “Will you be there, Ms. Heartbreak?”

  I smile sweetly at her. “I wouldn’t miss it!”

  Chapter 17

  “I’m a FUCKING lawyer, bbbiiiiitttttccccchhhh!!!!!!”

  I catch a glimpse of Luke’s jubilant expression as a strobe of green light flashes across his face. His pupils are fully dilated as he parties on a tabletop in the VIP section. The light blue shirt that he wore to work this morning has been ripped wide open, revealing his scrawny chest. A leggy, blonde model is clinging to him as if he’s the hottest guy in town.

  Nadia and Hailey are in barely-there glittery mini dresses, drenched in sweat from dancing so hard to the Calvin Harris track vibrating throughout the jam-packed club.

  Ruthie is sprawled on a leather couch making out with a dark-haired, broad-shouldered cutie who’s sculpted like Michealangelo’s David. And who can blame her? It’s her birthday.

  I take yet another shot of tequila, hoping this will be the one that shoots through me, unravels my tension and helps me have some fun.

  We’ve been at this club for an hour and try as I might, I haven’t been able to get into the zone. I’m just missing Spencer so bad.

  I feel yet another horny guy trying to rub his rock-hard body into mine. I turn around to push him away but when I look up into his face, I’m assaulted by piercing blue-green eyes and brown-gold hair falling around a chiseled, stubbled face. The resemblance of his features to Spencer’s is uncanny. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol getting to my head. Still, I could see myself falling into this guy for the night.

  Why not? He’s not Spencer – His chest is not as strong, his hands are not as big, his presence is not as imposing – but I can easily look into this man’s face and pretend that it is Spencer’s body grinding into mine.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and swing my hips to the music as he grinds his arousal into me with a sensuality that conveys his intention to fuck me senseless tonight. He touches me; his hands travelling down the naked flesh of my back. His hard pectoral muscles pressing into my breasts. His mouth trailing down my neck should feel good. But his touch feels anonymous.

  And I hate it.

  I pull myself away. “Excuse me.”

  I hear Hailey calling my name as I walk away from the dance floor. I don’t turn back. I feel my pace quickening as I approach the door. By the time I get outside, I’m running down the sidewalk, my cheeks streaked by a mix of tears and mascara. I hail a cab and crawl into the back. I grip my seatbelt tightly until I’m outside of his building. I hand several bills to the driver before rushing up to the building.

  The doorman holds the door open for me. “Ms. Roberts,” the security guard calls out to me as I hurry to the elevator. I barely acknowledge him until I hear him say. “Mr. Harrison is out at the moment.”

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists at my sides. He comes over to me, paper tissues in hand. I drag them across my burning eyes.

  I’m falling apart.

  I throw myself into the stunned security guard’s arms. I bury my face into his chest for long moments although I know I should back away. When I finally compose myself, the security guard looks down at me with compassionate eyes as I turn towards the front door.

  He calls out to me, “Ms. Roberts.” I spin around to look at him. “Try the lounge – the lounge on the Upper West Side.”

  I smile and nod at him before bustling out to the sidewalk.

  Chapter 18

  It doesn’t hit me how inappropriately I’m dressed until I stagger across the jazz bar’s threshold and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the stained glass mirror next to the staircase. The gaudy lamé fabric of my hot pink halter dress clashes obscenely with the understated décor of the lounge. My black fishnet stockings may have been cute at the Times Square nightclub where I started my night but here, in this classy jazz lounge, I look harshly out of place. To top it all off, my eye makeup is smeared along my cheeks and my dark hair is disheveled from running around New York City like a maniac trying to find Spencer.

  I should probably turn away. Leave before I embarrass him.

  But then I see him. Sitting alone in the shadowy booth we shared a week ago when he first brought me here, to his secret hideout in the city. There are dark bags under his tired eyes and his expression is solemn. A half-done bottle of scotch sits on his table next to an untouched platter of macaroni and cheese with greens, salad, shrimp and chicken strips. Watching the dejected look on his handsome face has me falling apart inside.

  I did this to him.

  I broke him.

  Again, I feel desperate to be near him. To drape my arms around him and make it all better.

  His eyes shoot up to mine as if by intuition as I push my way feverishly through the crowd towards his booth. He jumps to his feet at the sight of me.

  And he looks so handsome in a half-zipped slate grey cable-knit sweater, a simple white t-shirt underneath. His jeans are a darker shade of grey. His gold-streaked brown hair is tousled casually.

  He stares at me.

  His stare is so intimate; we’re in a room full of people, but it feels like there’s not another soul around for miles.

  My stomach knits into a tight knot at the sight of him.

  “Amber,” he says softly, intercepting me on the dance floor before I’ve even made it to his table. He wraps me in his arms, pressing my face to his chest.

  A shiver reverberates throughout my being upon contact with his solid body.

  He whispers my name again and again into my wild hair, his sultry voice muddled wi
th desire.

  The band on stage begins to play an Amy Winehouse tune. The stirring voice of a woman crooning about heartbreak carries through the room. Spencer mumbles the devastatingly sad lyrics against my damp cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m so sorry that I left you behind,” I sob into his chest as we sway to the melody filling the air.

  “I hurt you first. I’m sorry, Amber.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses each of my fingers in turn while rocking his body against mine rhythmically. I look up into his face and he gently wipes my mascara-stained cheeks. “You’re so beautiful. I’m dying slowly without you.”

  “I’m missing you too, Spencer.”

  He sucks on my bottom lip like it is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He pulls his fingers through my unkempt hair. His touch is so tender. In his arms, I finally feel like my wounded heart has been sealed. I breathe easy, inhaling the delicious scent of his skin.

  “What was she like?” I ask, pressing my face against his heart. “What was Chloe like?”

  His breathing alters violently. Then, he inhales slowly before exhaling gently. “She was kind. And patient. She believed in me when there was no reason to. When I had nothing. She had freckles across her nose and the blackest hair. She had an awful laugh.” He chuckles, “.…but it was beautiful to me…I loved to hear her laugh.”

  His voice trails off and I rub my palm down his chest. He presses his lips to my forehead.

  “Amber, I touch you and I forget about the pain. When you’re near me, I forget that I’ve been broken. You make me feel alive again…But then, the moment her name comes out of my lips, I start to burn up with guilt. Like I’m betraying her every time you make me smile. It’s not like I’ve been celibate since she died but never felt truly felt alive after Chloe’s death…until I met you.”

  I whimper at the tender confession. He’s so raw and open in this moment. I need to know everything before he shuts me out again. “How did she die?”

  I can almost hear his heart rip open in his chest as he processes my question. He inhales sharply before taking my hand and leading me back to his booth. “She was pregnant. Seven months pregnant. We were so excited. We hadn’t planned the baby. – She got pregnant as soon as we moved to New York from Philadelphia – But we were excited once we found out. I had reached the tipping point in my business. I had always done well. But I was really on the cusp of my big break. I could feel it. We could feel it. I had a deal to close. Down in Miami.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t want to leave her. My gut told me not to. But she said that she was fine. She was feeling great. She had gone to her yoga class the day before. I was only supposed to be gone for one day. But there was a hurricane warning. The airport shut down. The highways were flooded. I was stranded and she wasn’t answering her phone.” I reach out and grip his shaking hand and clench my other fist to my chest. “There was nobody I could depend on to check in on her. We had just moved from Philadelphia…I got home three days later…I found her…I found her on the floor, coiled around the toilet bowl…The blood was dried to her skin…She was gone…”

  Chapter 19

  My eyes ease open into the darkness at 4:00 in the morning.

  His lips are kissing each square-inch of the bare skin on my back.

  I fell asleep last night clutching his heaving body to mine as he allowed himself to fully feel the pain of his past. I pray that he has purged the agony from his body once and for all, but I know that expelling the guilt and the blame from his spirit will take the rest of his life. Still, now that everything is out in the open, maybe we can start building something real…Maybe.

  Now, his lips are on my flesh at 4:00 in the morning. I struggle to hold my eyes open against the fatigue trying to overwhelm me. I moan faintly, still not fully roused out of my sleep.

  He needs me.

  Now.

  I can feel it in his touch.

  I roll over onto my back, opening my body up for him to take.

  This is my gift to him.

  He nudges my legs open and he positions his firm body in my precious valley. I run my hands lazily down his strong arms.

  I catch a fleeting glimpse of his face as the moonlight filters into the room. I cringe at the thought that I almost lost him. I almost let my stubborn pride and my fear stand in the way of the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had.

  His tongue glides along my jawline before he seals his mouth over mine. I respond by lacing my tongue around his. I groan softly against his lips.

  His gentle roaming hands between my thighs coax me out of my lull. His fingers stroke at my wet spot sending heat through me in every direction.

  He slips his hand under my back and pushes my body towards him as he cranes his neck to one of my pebbled nipples. The sensation of his tongue on my excited bud pulls a sweet moan from deep inside of me. I reach out and caress his long, beautiful cock and he growls with pleasure.

  I pull his face to mine, needing to taste his lips again. He releases my body back onto the bed and turns away from my kiss for just long enough to take a condom from his bedside drawer. I run my lips across his forearm, unable to bear being without his skin for even a moment.

  Once cloaked, he slips his throbbing cock into my slick, eager slit. The sound that escapes my lips is like that of a wild animal. His savagely handsome face contorts in pleasure. His heavy strokes thrust into my smoldering core over and over again. I purr, delighted.

  No words are exchanged in our primal interaction. No words are necessary. No words can describe what our bodies are doing for each other.

  We are healing one another. We are making each other whole again.

  We are writing poetry with our bodies.

  We are making love.

  Where does he end? Where do I begin? None of that matters because it feels like we’re one.

  He soars over the edge as my body teases him to explode. My toes curl tightly, his orgasm echoing softly throughout my body.

  Jagged breaths calm to deep, steady inhalations. Racing heartbeats slow to steady pulses.

  I love you’s are whispered into the darkness.

  Chapter 20

  I roll over in his crisp earth-tone linens and fall into his cool skin. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the sun shining into the master bedroom of Spencer’s penthouse. A lazy sigh escapes his beautiful mouth as he stirs awake. He presses his face into my skin. The air is hot with the smell of sex – our sex.

  A lazy Sunday morning in the arms of my lover. I moan at the thought of it.

  Spencer’s lips touch my shoulder blade as his eyes struggle open.

  “Hi…” I say feeling conscious of my morning breath.

  “Hi.” A grin spreads across his charming face.

  He looks better – better than he did when I found him holed up at the back of the jazz bar last night. Not that he looked anything less than devastatingly handsome last night. It’s just that he looked sad, so sad despite his overwhelming beauty.

  And now, he looks better.

  “Did you sleep good?” he asks.

  “Well, I was awakened from a peaceful sleep in the middle of the night by my horny boyfriend…but aside from that, I can’t complain.” I’m only teasing him.

  “Boyfriend?” He’s laughing at the label I’ve placed on him. For a second I wonder if I’ve misunderstood what happened between us last night. Didn’t we make it…official?

  “I’m your girlfriend, no?” My voice is small and unsure.

  “Girlfriend?” He sounds amused by the title. “Amber, I don’t do girlfriends. I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was fifteen. When I choose a woman, I claim her completely. Girlfriend is simply not a title that will do.”

  “Claim a woman? Spencer, I’m not one of your condo development projects. You can’t just put up the Spencer Harrison flag and ‘claim’ me.” I’m slightly offended.

  He’s nibbling on my ear as we lay tangled in his sheets. “I’m just saying that ‘girlfriend’ doe
sn’t quite sum up what I feel for you…I love you.” He cups my cheek with his palm. I smile into his skin.

  I know it feels premature but it also feels right…it feels real. And I love him, too. I say it out loud to make sure he knows.

  “Tell me about your ex-boyfriends.”

  I chuckle. “None of them are worth talking about.”

  “Come on,” he prods. “I showed you mine. You’ve gotta show me yours.” He tickles my ribs playfully.

  I squirm, “Okay! Okay! No tickles.” He rubs my skin to soothe the tingles away. “Where do I start? Uh – there was Kenny Richards when I was in grade 11. He was my first kiss –“