Seductive Nights Trilogy

by Lauren Blakely

  “Stop! Please stop,” she shouted, and she wasn’t sure if she was talking to Clay or Max, or just praying to the universe for an end to this fistfight. But when she looked around, the street was empty, and she knew this was going to be between the two of them.

  Clay lunged forward quickly, brushing off the double-blow like it was nothing, but Max went after him again, raising his fist and swinging hard. Clay dodged that blow, then Max threw another, landing one on Clay’s shoulder that barely seemed to bother him. Especially since he grabbed Max’s hand, twisted it around his back and yanked hard.

  “Don’t ever touch her again,” he seethed, jerking the arm higher. Then he let go and reacquainted his fist once more with Max’s jaw, sending the big man stumbling backward and landing flat on his ass on the sidewalk. Max was helpless, huffing in a heavy pile, staring up with wide-open eyes at the man who’d landed the final blow. With fists clenched at his sides and anger radiating off him in hot waves, Clay bent over him. “Now I’m giving you five seconds to get up and run the hell away.”

  Max nodded once, scurried to his feet, and took off down the street. When Clay turned to Julia, he was breathing hard and blood streaked from his temple down his cheek.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He flinched as she dabbed at the cut with a wet washcloth.

  “It’s okay,” she said softly.

  “I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head where he’d hit the building.

  Kneeling between his legs, she gently cleaned the blood as he sat in her bathroom. “Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  She shot him a doubtful look. “Not even a little?”

  “Not even a little,” he said, but the expression on his face told her otherwise when she wiped off the last drop of blood. She reached for the Neosporin, applied some to the cut, and then opened a Band-Aid, pressing it gently along his temple.

  “There,” she said. “You look totally rugged now.”

  He managed a small laugh as she rose, dusting his other cheek with a kiss. Handing him two Advil and a glass of water, she said, “For your head.”

  He swallowed the pills and gave her the cup. She set it down on the sink. “Now let’s get you out of your clothes and you can rest.”

  “I’m not resting,” he said, rolling his eyes at her.

  “You need your rest.”

  “It’s only a cut. I’ve been cut worse at my gym,” he said, and she knew he was trying hard to be the big, tough man. She was having none of that. He’d gone to the mats for her, and she was going to take care of him until he was no longer bloodied and bruised, and even then some.

  “I don’t care,” she said, parking her hands on her hips and giving him a sharp stare. Then she bent forward and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “You’re not taking off my shirt to go make me lie down in bed,” he said roughly, trying to swat her hand away. She grabbed at his hands and stilled his moves.

  “Oh yes I am,” she said sternly. “Watch me.”

  She worked her way down his shirt, unbuttoning the fabric, spreading it open and gently taking it off, trailing her fingertips along his chest as she did. He moaned low and husky as she touched him. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Mister.”

  “It wasn’t a funny idea. More like a dirty one,” he said with a sly grin.

  She reached for his hand. “Come on. Bed. Now.”

  “Bed for other things,” he said, but he let her lead him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then he stepped out of them. After laying the clothes neatly on a chair, she turned around to find him already in her bed, briefs on the floor.

  “You’re fast.”

  “Zero to undressed in no time,” he said in a tired voice.

  “We’ll add that to your skill set.”

  “Come here,” he whispered, resting on his side under the sheets. “Let me unzip your dress.”

  She moved to him, perching on the edge of the bed. He reached his hands up the back of her dress, those same hands that had defended her and protected her, and gently lowered the zipper on her dress, his knuckles softly grazing her spine as the dress fell to her waist. She shifted her body, so she could watch him. He smiled faintly as he unhooked her strapless bra. She stood and turned to face him, sensing he needed to show he could take care of her, even when he was the one hurting. She placed his hands on her hips, guiding them to slide the dress down her legs. Off came the shoes, then she curled up next to him in bed.

  “Thank you,” she said, gently tracing his other cheek with her finger. “For doing that.”

  “Julia,” he said, pulling her in close. “I can’t believe that’s what you’ve been dealing with.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. That’s my life.”

  “This needs to stop. You’re not safe,” he said, concern thick in his voice.

  “He’s not even usually the one assigned to me. My regular has the flu or something,” she said, flashing back to Skunk’s pale face and peaked look earlier that day.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” he said firmly as the shadows from the moonlight streamed across the bed, casting the room in a blue midnight light. “So this is what I didn’t get to say in the car. I play every week. With actors, clients, colleagues and some of my friends. It’s not a rigged game. It’s a real game with real stakes and real money. Come to New York this weekend, and join us. Play for real. Play in a game that’s not a set-up where you’re not hustling. And take us down. Win on your own terms,” he said, and the idea took hold instantly, planting roots inside her. She craved that feeling—win on your own terms.

  His offer was so alluring, like a faint scent of something delicious trailing through the air. But then, did she still know how to win on her own terms?

  She scoffed out of self-preservation. “What if I lose?”

  He scooped her hair off her neck, nuzzling her. “Where is my badass woman?”

  “Huh?”

  “What if you lose? I thought you were a poker shark? Don’t lose. Come to New York. Play your ass off. You’re a card player. You don’t come to lose. You play to win. So play, and win fair and square,” he said, and there was something immensely appealing about his offer.

  She quirked her lips in consideration. “It does sound like fun,” she admitted.

  “And if you lose—which you won’t—let me pay him off,” he said, his eyes locked on her the whole time. The look in them was intense, and true—he wanted this. He wanted to help her. She had always known he had this side, but now she was seeing it in action, and the gesture was slinking its way around her heart, loosening yet another layer of her stubborn woman-against-the-world attitude.

  “Clay,” she chided softly, lightly running her fingers along his strong chest. “I don’t want you paying my debt.”

  “All the more reason for you to play hard.”

  She stared sharply at him, determination in her eyes. “I always play hard.”

  “I know you do.”

  “If I do this, you can’t make it a rigged game. Don’t make it fake.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “I want to win for real. Because I’m good.”

  “You’re going to kick unholy ass. And if for any reason the game ends, and you’re not in the black, I will take care of the debt. Deal?”

  “I really don’t want you paying it off,” she said, grabbing his wrists for emphasis. “Promise me it’s a real game, and we go to the end of the night. We play until everyone else folds.”

  “I promise you.”

  “I don’t want to have to take your money. I want to prove that I can do this.”

  “And you will. I offer it as insurance. That’s all. And that’s why you’ll win. Because you want to do this on your terms. Because the thought of anyone paying your way makes you dig your heels in like a batter at the plate swinging for the fences. Come to the plate. And hit it out of the park,” he said, as if he were making a motivational speech.r />
  A damn powerful one.

  She wanted to say no, to insist on doing it her way. But he’d taken a hit for her. And he was offering her a way to fall in love with poker again and to win on her terms. He was offering to be there with her, for her, not to own her, but to help her. With every move he made, she was falling harder and harder, and she was sure there’d be no turning back from this man. She’d been so closed-off from the start about letting someone into her world. Now, he was all the way in, and the only thing she was afraid of was him not being part of her world.

  So she did the thing she’d never have imagined doing a mere month ago. Hell, a week ago. “Then we have a deal.”

  “Good,” he said with a happy, woozy smile as he lay flat on his back, pulling her on top of him, angling up his hips. He was growing hard against her. “Now I’m tired and I’m wounded and I could use a little — ”

  She cut him off. “There’s only one true cure for a wounded man,” she said, and went under the sheets. She stroked him to a full erection, then dropped her mouth onto him.

  He groaned as she wrapped her lips tightly around his cock. He pushed back the sheets so he could watch her. She looked up at him, wanting him to see the desire in her eyes. His went dark and hazy as he stared at her mouth moving lovingly along his shaft. She tucked her knees up under her, getting into the perfect position for giving him the blow job he deserved.

  She let him fall from her lips for a moment, but kept her hand wrapped around him. “Enjoy this. Enjoy everything I’m going to do to you, my gorgeous, sexy, wounded man who rescued me,” she whispered, pushing her other palm on his flat abs, feeling his washboard belly as she returned her mouth to him. She took him in deep, the way he liked, and used her hands too, touching his stomach, squeezing a small, dark nipple, causing him to jerk his hips up hard into her mouth.

  She moved her hands lower, down his body, stroking his muscular thighs, settling deeper into the space between his legs. He parted them, giving her room to get cozy, and she thrilled inside at how he gave his body to her, trusting her with his pleasure just as she had with him. She drew him into her warm mouth as far as he could go. She sucked hard and passionately, wanting him to feel flooded with sensations that blotted out any of the lingering pain from the fight. Cupping his balls in one hand, she slipped another hand under his ass, squeezing a cheek hard in her palm.

  He groaned loudly in response, and the sound sent heat flowing through her body.

  “I’ll take another hit to my head for this,” he murmured, his voice both weary and thoroughly needy. He reached for her head, threading his hands tightly in her hair.

  She let go momentarily. “Pull my hair if you need to,” she said.

  He gripped hard as she returned to him, tugging her hair over to the side, yanking her head so he could stare hungrily at her face as she licked and sucked the full length of his fantastic cock.

  “So fucking gorgeous,” he said, outlining her lips with a finger, tracing the edge of her mouth as she held him tight and deep, swirling her tongue along his shaft the way he loved.

  She was sure he groaned louder than he ever had as she worked him over with her hands and her mouth, touching him in all the ways that drove him crazy. His body was a playground for her fingers, and she ran them along his thighs, over his ass, and in that spot just under his balls that drove a man wild. He gave himself over to her, rocking his hips into her mouth as she traveled to his favorite places. A pinch there, a touch here, a squeeze of those sexy cheeks: she was showing him that she knew how to control all his pleasure too. Then, as she gripped his firm ass in her hands, she fucked his cock with her mouth until she felt the shudders roll through his body.

  He grappled at her hair, his breathing turning wildly erratic as he gripped her head, thrusting and calling out her name as the taste of his release slid down her throat.

  Minutes later, she nestled herself in next to him. With his arm wrapped around her, she kissed his neck, his stubbled jaw, his tender cheek. “You like it when I let you control me, and I like it when you lose control for me,” she whispered.

  “Mmmm,” he murmured. “We are a good combo.”

  “The best,” she said as she closed her eyes, feeling like they were partners in everything at last.

  * * *

  Another pair of Advil did wonders to mute the throbbing in his skull, but the dull ache was a useful reminder of what he was up against as he pushed open the door to Mr. Pong’s shortly after noon the next day. The smell of fried pork and noodles filled his nostrils. Waiters bustled around delivering plates of pepper steak and lo mein to the lunch crowd.

  It was your standard order Chinese restaurant with thick menus and illustrated pictures of the twelve signs of the Chinese New Year— such as horses, snakes and rats, along with an illustrated dragon image presiding over them all.

  Fitting, he reasoned, as a hurried waiter rushed over to him.

  “One for lunch?”

  “No. I’m joining someone. You can tell Mr. Stravinski that I’m here.”

  The waiter looked confused. “Sorry. Who should I tell him is here?”

  “Tell him the guy he’s expecting to see.”

  “Okay,” the waiter said, narrowing his eyebrows briefly at the request before turning on his heels to find the man in charge.

  Moments later, a tall man in a sharp suit strode over to him. He had thick, dark hair and muddy-brown eyes and some of the worst teeth Clay had ever seen. He wasn’t thin, he wasn’t fat; he was simply the sturdy type.

  He extended a hand to shake.

  “Clay Nichols,” he said.

  “Charlie Stravinksi. I had a feeling I’d be seeing you. Come,” he said, gesturing grandly to the restaurant as if he were quite proud of the joint he’d taken over on a debt that went belly-up. “There is a table for us near the kitchen.”

  “Fantastic,” Clay said coolly, as if this were just another lunchtime business meeting.

  After they sat, a waiter handed Clay a menu. “Thank you.”

  Charlie tapped the menu. “Everything here is delicious. But may I personally recommend the kung pao chicken,” he said, bringing his fingertips to his mouth and kissing them as a chef does.

  “Consider it done,” Clay said, pushing the menu to the side. He had every intention of not only talking to Charlie, but breaking bread with the man. If there was one thing he’d learned in his years as a lawyer, it was that the more you knew about the opposing side, the better off you were. And the less fear you showed, the more likely you’d win the points you wanted. Besides, he had a hunch Charlie was the type of man who would act supremely gentlemanly to a worthy adversary.

  Clay planned to be just that.

  “So, you messed up the nose of my new guy,” Charlie began, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

  “It got in the way of my fist.”

  Charlie scratched his neck, as if he were a dog itching fleas. “He shouldn’t have been there. He’s too hot-headed to be on the street.”

  “Yeah?”

  Charlie shook his head, and blew out a long stream of air. A man frustrated, he placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Stevie was supposed to give her the message, but he came down with the flu, he claimed,” Charlie said with a scoff.

  “I’m guessing that’s the last time he’ll duck out of work for a sick day,” Clay said dryly.

  Charlie laughed, throwing back his head and letting loose several deep chuckles. Then he took a deep breath, and the laughing silenced. “What are you here for?”

  “Seems we have something in common, don’t we?” Clay said, establishing first their mutual interests.

  “Red.”

  “That’s what you call Julia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s the thing, Charlie,” Clay began, keeping his voice completely even and controlled as he knew how to do. “Can I call you Charlie? Or do you prefer Mr. Stravinski?”

  “Charlie is fine.” />
  “So here’s the thing,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair, mirroring Charlie’s moves. “You’re going to need to go through me now.”

  Charlie arched an eyebrow. “I am?”

  “You are.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “I’m her lawyer and I’m handling you. And that’s how it’s going to work. You want your money, I presume?”

  “I would like it,” Charlie said. “I am fond of money.”

  “I had a feeling you were, so I brought some extra to settle some matters,” Clay said, then dipped into his pocket for his wallet. Taking his time he opened it up, wet a finger, and counted some crisp bills. He laid $500 on the table. “This is for your guy. It’s a way of saying I’m not sorry his nose ran into my fist, but I do aim to take responsibility for my actions.”

  Charlie eyed the money approvingly. “Go on.”

  He peeled off another five $100 bills, adding them to the stack. “This is for you to leave her alone this week.”

  A laugh fell from Charlie’s lips. “It’s going to cost more than that.”

  Clay added $500 to the pile, then raised an eyebrow in question. Charlie nodded. “That’ll do.”

  “And this,” he continued, adding five more to the pile, “Is a promise that we will have the $10,000 remaining on the debt to you by next weekend.”

  “Or?”

  “There’s no or,” Clay said firmly, never wavering as his eyes remained locked on the man across from him. “It will be paid. And you will be done with her. Is that clear?”

  “Why should it be clear?”

  “Because that’s how deals are done, Charlie. When the final $10,000 is paid, she’s free and clear and I never want you to talk to her, be in touch with her, or send your men after her again,” he said, his eyes locked on the man he despised, never wavering.

  “Are you going to ask me to sign something? A legal contract, perhaps?” Charlie said in a mocking tone.

  He shook his head. “They don’t make contracts for this kind of deal. That’s why I paid you the extra just now in good faith. Those are the terms of our contract. Good faith.”