Sweet Life

by Nina Lane

  A dream he hadn’t even known was there.

  I love you.

  Such a common phrase, almost overused. And yet when it was said to you by the one who’d owned your heart for years, suddenly it was the first time in all of history that a man had ever spoken those words to a woman.

  I love you.

  He loved her. As a friend, a partner, an ally, and now a lover. Warren had the same burning need for her as she did for him, felt the same sharp crackle of heat, desire, lust. He loved her because he knew her as well as she knew him, because they’d built a foundation—a life. Because they’d weathered storms both alone and together. She was his comfort, the person he turned to in both the dark and the light, his best friend, just as he was for her.

  How could a romance between them possibly fail when everything about it was already such a success? They didn’t have to go through any ridiculous “getting to know you” phase or try to learn more about each other. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty, no wondering.

  There was only knowledge, acceptance, and love.

  As Julia lay alone in bed, drinking in the scents of coffee and bacon drifting from the kitchen, she almost didn’t recognize the emotion spiraling through her. She’d felt happy before, of course, plenty of times. When the boys or Hailey had a personal achievement, when Evan’s heart surgery was a success, when a Foundation event went well, when Tyler straightened up, when her business skyrocketed.

  But this? This wasn’t connected to anything tangible. Her heart didn’t even know what to do with itself, fluttering rapidly in her chest like a hummingbird that had just discovered the sweetest, richest honeysuckle in the world.

  This was a happiness that came from loving and being loved unconditionally. This was pure, like birdsong, a clear mountain stream, a new leaf.

  This was joy.

  She threw back the covers and grabbed her silk kimono, suddenly eager to see him even though they’d slept together all night. She hurried to splash water on her face and brush her teeth before going into the kitchen.

  Her heart did an Olympic-sized hopscotch at the sight of him presiding over the pans sizzling on the kitchen stove. He wore trousers and a wrinkled dress shirt, open down the front to reveal his gorgeous chest. His thick hair, messy from her grip last night, fell over his forehead, and his profile was set with concentration as he studied the bacon to assess whether or not he should flip it over.

  As if sensing her presence, he turned, his eyes warming.

  “Morning, beautiful.” He extended an arm.

  She got all melty inside. What if she could walk into her kitchen every morning and have this man greet her? She crossed the room to tuck herself against his side, absorbing the strong, solid feel of him.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Coffee’s ready. Breakfast will be done in five minutes.”

  Julia slipped away from him to pour herself a cup of coffee. She sipped the coffee and leaned against the counter, eyeing the high-end, professional double Belgian waffle iron plugged into the wall.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked casually.

  “Found it in the back of the cupboard.” He gave an innocent shrug. “Must have been there when you bought the house.”

  “Must have.”

  “I decided to try it out.”

  He lifted a bowl filled with batter and ladled a portion onto the waffle maker. The delicious sizzle and aroma of hot baking elicited a rumble from Julia’s belly. She attempted not to groan in anticipation of the golden brown nirvana about to emerge from the waffle iron.

  She sat at the kitchen table and unfolded the newspaper as Warren filled plates with bacon and eggs. The waffle iron beeped. He lifted the lid, revealing a perfect, steaming waffle. Julia’s mouth watered.

  “Don’t suppose you want any.” Warren lifted the waffle with a spatula. “Seeing as how you don’t eat waffles, of all things.”

  “I’ll give it a try.” Julia extended her plate. “I mean, I don’t want you to have gone to all this trouble for nothing.”

  “Very charitable of you.”

  She gave a little huff. He winked at her.

  He slipped half the waffle onto her plate and the second half onto his. Julia took the butter and syrup from the fridge and promptly slathered her waffle with both. She cut off a generous forkful and stuck it in her mouth. The fluffy, crispy, buttery-sweet flavor filled her senses.

  “Oh my God.” She groaned with pleasure. “This is incredible. What recipe did you use?”

  “I dunno, just looked one up on the internet.” He took a bite of the waffle. “I’m a pancake man myself, but this is pretty good.”

  “Pretty good? It’s a slice of heaven.”

  “Just like you.”

  Though she attempted to roll her eyes, he looked so pleased with himself over the compliment that she got all soft inside. Yes, the man could melt her like butter on this exquisite waffle.

  Never before had she indulged in such a hearty morning-after breakfast with a man. She usually either sent them on their way the night before, or she made a quick egg-white omelet and hustled them out the door. Certainly she’d never spent well over an hour lingering with a man over waffles and coffee, skimming the newspaper and glancing up every now and then to find him watching her.

  Of course, Warren wasn’t any man. He was the only man who knew her, looked out for her, loved her.

  He rinsed their plates and put them in the dishwasher, wiping his hands on a towel before picking up the Before Fifty list she’d left on the counter.

  “Looks like you’re making progress.” He indicated the blue checkmarks she’d placed beside several of the items.

  “I’m just doing a few of them in my spare time.” She sipped her coffee and shrugged with nonchalance. “It’s not like I’m taking it seriously or anything.”

  Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Of course not. Why a red balloon?”

  Julia took the list from him.

  #19: Set a red balloon free.

  “Oh.” Bittersweet sorrow twisted her heart. “Did Rebecca ever tell you about The Red Balloon? It’s a French short film, maybe half an hour, about a little boy in Paris who finds a red balloon that starts following him. Like a friend. Then these mean kids come along and destroy the balloon with a slingshot, and of course the boy is devastated. So were Rebecca and I, frankly. I’m pretty sure we both cried.

  “But then hundreds of multicolored balloons rise up from all over the city and float over to the boy as he’s sitting there with his broken red balloon. He grabs the strings of the other balloons, and they fly him on a magical journey across the sky.”

  “She never mentioned it to me.” Warren sounded mildly surprised, as if he’d assumed Rebecca had shared all her memories with him.

  “We loved the movie. We talked about wanting to send a red balloon over the ocean on its own worldwide journey.”

  He touched her hair, his eyes softening. “You never did?”

  “No.” She shrugged, setting the list aside. “I guess we grew out of the idea. But obviously I remembered it when I was nineteen.”

  “It would be an easy one to cross off your list,” Warren said. “We could do it right now.”

  She looked up at him, her gaze roaming over the lines of his face—his wide mouth that did such beautiful things to her, his thick-lashed eyes and cut-glass cheekbones, the straight bridge of his nose.

  The words pushed up from her heart, the center of her soul.

  I love you.

  Her throat closed over them.

  The words still belonged to her sister. Every time Julia thought them, she heard Rebecca’s voice. What if Warren did, too?

  “Thank you, but I should get to work.” She squeezed his arm. “One day.”

  She rose to her feet, setting her mug in the sink before heading to the bedroom.

  One day she would tell him. One day before it was too late.

  Chapter

  THIRTEEN

  If Ju
lia had been the type of woman to employ teenage-girl terms, she would have been squeeing over her hot AF bae. Even though she and Warren were keeping it low-key, she was totally pumped.

  Legit.

  She walked into the front door of her studio and deposited two trays loaded with tall skinny lattes on the reception counter. Marco looked up from the computer and blinked.

  “Are we throwing these at someone today?” he asked politely.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever that means.” Julia waved her hand at the coffee. “Distribute those to the others.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “Let’s not overdo it.” Julia strode toward her office. “I want the Deck the Halls programs on my desk by ten, the Zuzu photo spread finalized by ten-thirty, and the schedule for the lookbook shoot completed by eleven.”

  “I knew Christmas miracles couldn’t last,” Marco muttered.

  Julia closed the door behind her, shedding her suede coat before she sat at her desk. She opened her Montblanc agenda, pleased to see a number of checkmarks beside her list of action items. She was getting it done. Like she always did.

  Her phone rang with a call from Holiday Festival committee member Minnie. For the first time since she’d taken on the task of coordinating Deck the Halls, Julia answered the call without a sinking feeling of dread.

  “Hello, Minnie,” she said brightly. “This is Julie.”

  “Hello, Julie. I wanted to confirm everything for this weekend. Santa’s Sleigh and the Sugar Rush Kid Zone will be open Friday starting at four for the first night of the festival, then all day Saturday. Deck the Halls will start at six, expected to run for three hours, concluding with the fireworks display over the ocean.”

  “Perfect.”

  “It’s all set?” Minnie almost sounded surprised.

  “Yes, it is. Happy Holidays.” Julia ended the call with a smile. Damn, she felt good. All loose and warm, like a marshmallow swimming in hot cocoa.

  “Package for you.” Marco strode into Julia’s office with a box wrapped in brown paper.

  Julia opened the box to reveal a 1000-piece puzzle of a London Christmas scene with lighted windows, snowy sidewalks, and a double-decker bus turning the corner.

  As if she had time to complete a 1000-piece puzzle.

  “Gift for my nephew,” she said in answer to Marco’s raised brows. “I’m leaving early this afternoon. I need to finish organizing the Christmas Day festivities at Warren’s. Anything I need to know about Deck the Halls?”

  “Sounds like everyone is ready to go,” Marco said. “I have the Jingle Belles scheduled to come in at two on Saturday afternoon to get ready for the show. Speaking of which, have you decided what you’re going to wear on performance night?”

  Good heavens. She’d been so busy thinking of everyone else’s costumes she hadn’t considered her own. How odd.

  “Maybe the green Versace. Take out a few options for me. I’ll try them on later.”

  She spent the morning refining the designs for her “older woman” clothing line, thinking she really had to come up with a better way to describe it. After lunch—Marco brought her a gourmet plate of grilled salmon, wild rice, and an asparagus salad—Julia headed to Ocean Avenue to finish up a few things for the family gathering on Christmas Day.

  She turned to the “Xmas Day” page in her Montblanc agenda, where most of the action items were checked off. The Stones didn’t exchange extravagant presents during the holidays, given that none of them actually needed anything, but Julia liked giving her nephews and niece personal gifts they would like—a botany book for Hailey, a travel backpack for Adam, a fountain pen for Luke, a wood-carving set for Evan.

  For the past few years, she’d bought Warren a model kit, but he’d been getting away from modeling lately. Maybe she needed to get him new hiking boots, given his increased outdoor activities.

  She paused to look in the window of a baby and children’s boutique. Soft booties and blankets, fuzzy stuffed animals, tiny onesies and jumpers. A shadow of regret passed through her. Was there ever a time in life when what if wasn’t a question? What if she’d had a baby? What if Sam hadn’t left her? What if Rebecca hadn’t died?

  She opened the door of the boutique. A little bell announced her arrival, and a saleswoman approached.

  “Can I help you find something today?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Yes,” Julia said. “A… friend of mine is expecting a new granddaughter any day now. I’d like to get her a gift for the baby, but I don’t know what she already has.”

  “Oh, no problem. We have so many options, and honestly, it never hurts for a baby to have more than one of something.”

  Julia spent the next hour perusing all the store’s offerings. By the time she left, she had a bag full of organic cotton baby girl clothes, an organic fleece stuffed elephant, a baby rattle made of polished cherry wood, and an untreated Indian-wood play gym with little hand-knit animal toys.

  She returned to her car, a bit surprised to realize it was the first time she’d ever bought baby clothes herself. Whenever someone she knew had been pregnant, she’d always sent an assistant to purchase a gift, or she’d ordered something online.

  Maybe she should add that to her Before Fifty list. Buy baby clothes.

  She checked her phone, where a text from Warren was waiting.

  WARREN: Tonight, put on the black La Perla chemise.

  JULIA: How do you know I have an LP chemise?

  WARREN: Saw it in your drawer this morning.

  JULIA: You went through my lingerie drawer?

  WARREN: To pick out what you’re going to wear tonight.

  JULIA: What if I don’t want to wear it?

  WARREN: You sure you want to play that game again?

  A little tingle of anticipation went through her.

  JULIA: Maybe.

  She set the phone aside and started the car. Or maybe she’d make up a game of her own. With her own rules.

  Knowing he was alone at home, she drove to his house. He was in his office, looking incredibly sexy and rumpled in his white dress shirt, his tie loose and the shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.

  Julia closed and locked the door behind her with a sharp click. He glanced up, eyeing her over the tops of his reading glasses.

  “Remember when you told me you like taking control?” she asked.

  “Uh huh.” His gaze skimmed over her YSL suede dress and stocking-clad legs. “You like it too, if I recall.”

  “What would you do if I gave you an order?”

  Interest sparked in his brown eyes. “Try it, and you’ll find out.”

  “Move away from the desk.”

  He pushed his chair back, leaving a space between him and the desk.

  “Take out your cock.”

  He stared at her for a second before a curse broke from his lips. He shifted to unfasten his belt and lower his zipper. Julia’s breath increased as she watched him. He had such a fucking beautiful cock—long and thick with that big, smooth tip that she wanted to lick like a lollipop. He held the shaft in his palm, his body tensing with restraint.

  Julia pushed away from the door and approached, her blood starting to heat. Even in the short distance from the door to his desk, he grew noticeably harder, his shaft thickening and expanding in his loose grip. Arousal curled through her.

  She edged herself between him and the desk, her gaze still on his growing erection. He tightened his fingers around his shaft, a heavy breath escaping him.

  “Let go of it,” Julia ordered.

  He released his cock, which stuck out of the fly of his trousers like an invitation. Julia pushed his chair back a bit more and sank to her knees in front of him. Before he could move, she placed her hands on his thighs and leaned forward to take the tip of his cock in her mouth.

  He groaned, fisting his hand in her hair. “Fuck, Jules…”

  She gripped his thighs, only touching his cock with her mouth. Th
e taste of him flooded through her. She lowered her head slowly, taking him in inch by inch, as his fist tightened in her hair and his muscles tightened with urgency.

  “Lick it,” he said.

  She pulled back, her breathing fast and her skin hot. “You’re not giving the orders.”

  He groaned and rested his head on the back of the chair. Julia smiled to herself and sucked his cock into her mouth again. She took her time, tracing the pulsing veins on his shaft, swirling her tongue over the damp head, wiggling her fingers down to cup his heavy testicles.

  She squirmed and pressed her thighs together to ease the ache in her clit. She pulled back and took a breath, her lust spiking higher at the sight of his wet shaft, the tip now darkened to the deep color of a plum. She rose to her feet, steadying herself on his thighs.

  “Take off your… shit.” He bit the order back, his glazed eyes on her breasts.

  Julia grasped the hem of her dress and wiggled it up past her hips.

  “Christ, you’re killing me.” Warren’s gaze snapped to her garter belt and stockings—and complete lack of panties. “You’ve been walking around like that all day?”

  “Mmm. Felt the air tickling my pussy every time I took a step.”

  “Naughty girl.” He straightened, reaching to slide his hand up her thigh.

  Much as she craved his touch, Julia slapped his hand away. “God, you are such a control-freak. You have to do what I say.”

  “Then tell me to touch you.”

  “You can touch me after you make me come with your cock.”

  Warren gave a hoarse laugh and leaned back in the chair, working his trousers and boxers down. “I would be more than happy to follow that order.”

  Julia straddled his thighs, bracing her hands on the back of the chair as she positioned herself. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She lowered herself onto him, his cock easily sliding through her slick folds and into her. Lower and lower she slid, her body tensing as she took him in until her ass rested on his thighs and the length of his shaft throbbed inside her.