If the Sun Never Sets

by Ana Huang

  “Fair enough.” Landon twirled his glass on the counter. “Speaking of present shit, how’re things with Farrah?”

  Blake cracked a half-hearted smile. “Shitty.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Blake hadn’t planned on detailing his humiliating night to his friend, but the whiskey loosened his tongue, and before he knew it, he’d spilled everything.

  Landon listened while a kaleidoscope of surprise and disbelief played across his face. He didn’t say anything after Blake finished, but maybe that was because a certain bartender butted in before he could.

  “You turned down sex with her?” Justin’s voice sliced between them. “What is wrong with you?”

  Blake turned to see his friend-slash-royal-pain-in-the-ass staring at him with his mouth agape as he wiped the same spot on the counter over and over, apparently too stunned by Blake’s bad decisions to notice the water ring two inches to his left.

  “How are you back already?” Blake demanded. “The place is packed now.”

  “My shift ended ten minutes ago. I’m staying for shits and giggles.”

  Blake grimaced. “Please don’t say ‘shits and giggles’ ever again. You’re a grown-ass man.”

  “This grown-ass man will say whatever he wants.” Justin tossed his towel aside and winked at his replacement, a curvy redhead with a pierced lip and no-bullshit attitude. Two minutes later, he was up in Blake’s face again from the other side of the bar.

  “We need a new go-to bar until Legends opens,” Blake told Landon, who smirked in response. “Preferably somewhere with bartenders who keep their nose out of other people’s business.”

  “Having my nose in other people’s business is my business.” Justin yawned. “Anyway, since I’m off duty, I’m speaking to you as a friend. You’re an idiot. You should’ve had sex with her.”

  “I don’t want a friend with benefits. Actually, not even a friend with benefits. She said, ‘one night.’” Nausea churned anew in Blake’s stomach. He hadn’t bothered answering Farrah’s ultimatum. He couldn’t. Instead, he’d put on that ridiculously small shirt the B&B owner’s son lent him, walked downstairs, and drowned his sorrows with wine. Not his first choice, but that was what they had, and at that point, he would’ve drunk rubbing alcohol to forget what happened in their room. He didn’t return to said room until well past midnight, when Farrah was already sound asleep.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s your golden ticket, man.” Justin groaned at the confused look on Blake’s face. He turned to Landon. “You get it, right? Back me up here because our man is thicker than a concrete wall. I can’t believe he’s a successful businessman.”

  To his credit, Landon tried to stifle his laugh. Too bad he failed.

  “I think what Justin is trying to say is, Farrah didn’t say she wants nothing to do with you. She said she only wants to have sex with you. There’s a difference.”

  Blake frowned. “I don’t follow.”

  Twin blankets of exasperation fell over Landon’s and Justin’s faces.

  “Why do you think friends with benefits relationships never work? Because someone always ends up catching up feelings. Personally, that’s why I never do them.” Justin smiled at a gorgeous passing blonde, who smiled back. “One-night stands for me only. But I digress. You can tell Farrah you’re down for just sex, then work on turning it into more. You can’t do that if you shut down your only hope of seeing her on a regular basis.”

  “What he said.” Landon jerked his thumb at Justin.

  “Turn it into more after one night?” Skepticism coated Blake’s words.

  “Yep. If you can’t do it, that’s a problem I can’t help you with,” Justin said, oozing sympathy. “Sucking in bed—figuratively, not literally—is a common affliction amongst ninety-five percent of the male population. Excluding yours truly, of course. I gave you the strategy; I can’t give you the tools, too. You’re either born with it or—fuck!” He cursed when Blake’s fist slammed into his arm.

  “Screw you,” Blake said. “I’m ten times better at fucking than you are.”

  “You wish, Ryan. I’ve sampled every zip code in Manhattan and most in Brooklyn, and I’ve had no complaints.”

  “Classy,” Landon said, tone dry. “But unless you both want to whip out your dicks for a measuring contest in the middle of a bar, I suggest we keep the conversation on track. Blake, J’s right. It’s easier to turn something into something than nothing into something.” He frowned. “That made sense, right?”

  It did, in its own twisted, screwed-up way.

  Blake’s friends were hardly Dear Abby material, but they made good points. Besides, their earlier advice of playing hard to get—as juvenile as it had been—worked. Sort of. At least it broke down enough of Farrah’s walls for her to admit wanting him.

  Hazy memories from the past curled around Blake. The heat, the passion, the breathy screams as Farrah fell apart in his arms. Hell, their make-out session in Syracuse almost set the room on fire, and they’d only hit second base.

  For all the years, confusion, and secrets between them, Blake and Farrah’s chemistry could still blow the doors off a nuclear lab.

  Turn one night into multiple nights.

  Blake could do that.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Farrah’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she strode toward the elevator bank in Blake’s building. The contractors finished the floors and tiling last week, and she’d hired a company to move the items from the storage unit into the apartment so she could start her favorite part of the design process: arranging the furniture and decor and bringing her vision to life.

  The elevator dinged on the twenty-seventh floor. Earlier that day, she’d overseen the assembly and arranging of the large furniture items—the sofa, the bed, the dining table—before she ducked out for a quick dinner, but she wanted to double-check everything before she wrapped up today so she could jump right into work tomorrow.

  Farrah fished the spare key Blake had given her to use for the duration of the project out of her purse and let herself in. The apartment smelled of new furniture and lemon-scented wood polish.

  Blake had decamped to a nearby hotel while he waited for the project to finish, so Farrah hadn’t seen him at all during her comings and goings.

  She brushed away the niggle of disappointment in her stomach and focused on the task at hand.

  She was so engrossed in examining the furniture she didn’t hear Blake’s bedroom door open.

  “It’s looking good.”

  Farrah screamed and spun around while picking up the nearest item that could double as a weapon—a white ceramic vase with navy blue coral design, to be exact. Her heart slammed against her sternum as panic crashed over her in waves.

  Three years of living in New York and she had yet to be mugged or accosted in any way—unless you count the aggressive elbowing of irate New Yorkers on the subway during rush hour—but Farrah wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

  “Whoa. Don’t shoot.” The person held up their hands, and the fog of adrenaline cleared enough for Farrah to notice the familiar head of blond hair and knife-sharp cheekbones.

  She lowered the vase, waiting for her pulse to return to normal before she hissed, “Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

  Farrah caught a shadow of Blake’s dimples before they disappeared. “It’s my apartment.”

  “I thought you were staying in a hotel.”

  “I am. I came to pick up more clothes.” Blake gestured at the black duffel bag sitting at his feet. “Turns out, I’m not a great packer.”

  “Blake Ryan admitting he’s not great at something? That’s a first.”

  “I have more than enough redeeming qualities to make up for such a minor fault.”

  Her mouth tilted up into a smile.

  Then she remembered what happened between them the last time they saw each other, and the smile disappeared.

  Blake
watched her with guarded eyes. “The apartment does look good. I wish Mode de Vie had panned out so the world could see it.”

  Farrah swallowed the lump of disappointment in her throat. Blake called and broke the news a few days ago. Their first conversation since Syracuse, and a short one at that. As much as she’d freaked out about what might happen after being mentioned in a platform as large and influential as Mode de Vie, she hated seeing the opportunity slip between her fingers, especially since she had yet to receive a single callback for an interview.

  Hundreds of job applications and not one follow-up, not even from the small design firms. Farrah even checked to make sure her emails were sending correctly. It didn’t make sense. New York was a tough job market, but she had a stellar resume. She should’ve at least received a phone screen.

  The earnings from Blake’s project would tide her over for a while, but if she didn’t find stable employment soon, she’d be saying goodbye to the Big Apple and hello to L.A. smog in less than a year.

  “Thanks.” Farrah shoved her rising panic into her Deal-With-It-Later drawer. “It’s not done yet. Give it another week. I just came by to double-check everything before I leave for the night.”

  “You don’t have to rush now that the magazine scrapped the shoot.”

  “I’m not. Timeline worked out that way.”

  Silence descended. Farrah rubbed her thumb over her pendant, seeking comfort in its cool familiarity. Sammy’s words echoed in her mind.

  The next time you see him, ask him about the night you lost your necklace.

  She could. The curiosity burned her from the inside out, and it wasn’t like things could get any more awkward between her and Blake. At the same time, she was terrified of the answer. Whatever it was, it was bound to tilt her world off its axis, and she’d had enough changes in her life these past few months, thank you.

  Like they said, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.

  “We should talk about what happened in Syracuse.” Blake stepped closer.

  Run, her sensible self warned, but something glued her feet in place.

  Running wouldn’t do her any good, anyway. Blake was a black hole, a raw force so powerful he could suck her in whether she was four feet or four worlds away.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Farrah focused on Blake’s jaw instead of his intense eyes. It was strong and square, covered by a light layer of stubble that made him look even more like a Calvin Klein model than usual.

  It should be illegal for guys to keep their good looks after they break a girl’s heart.

  If the universe were just, it would dish out one major physical flaw per heartbreak for the offender, like a giant, oozing wart on the forehead or something. The flaw would serve as both a punishment and a warning.

  Sadly, the universe was not just, which explained how Farrah ended up in her current predicament.

  “I disagree,” Blake said smoothly.

  “Too bad.”

  His lips quirked up in a smile and sent the butterflies in her stomach in a tizzy.

  Butterflies, Farrah decided, are the Benedict Arnolds of the animal kingdom.

  “I have a proposition for you. Well—” He paused. “More like a response to your proposition.”

  “I didn’t proposition you.”

  “You kissed the hell out of me and begged for more. I’m pretty sure that’s a proposition.”

  Farrah’s cheeks flamed hotter than a bag of Hot Cheetos. “I’m done with this conversation,” she declared with as much dignity as she could muster, given how damp her panties got at the mental image Blake’s words elicited.

  She turned to leave but didn’t make it two steps before Blake was behind her, his scent filling her nostrils and his breath brushing her ear. “Is the offer still on the table?” His voice threaded itself around her like a long, sensuous ribbon.

  Goosebumps peppered her skin, and Farrah clenched her thighs to ease the hot throb of arousal.

  Blake didn’t touch her, but she could feel him all around her. His touch on her skin, his taste on her lips, his muscles rippling beneath her hands as he thrust himself into her. Fantasies so vivid they blurred the line between dream and reality.

  She fought back a moan. “Yes.”

  They both knew she knew what offer he was talking about. It would’ve been disingenuous to pretend otherwise.

  The word barely left her mouth before Blake spun her around and his lips crashed against hers. Farrah reacted instinctively. She locked her arms around his neck and pressed herself flush against him. Her soft curves slid into the hard, lean lines of Blake’s body as easily as pieces in a puzzle. It was as if they were made for each other.

  A part of Farrah wondered if she was making the right choice. Another, much larger part didn’t care, because she couldn’t stand it anymore. The knot of frustration inside her, waiting to burst; the tension that threaded her to him, ensuring he was on her mind even if he wasn’t in her presence; the promise of the things he could do to her. Her body responded to Blake in a way it never had for anyone else, and Farrah was sick of denying herself the pleasure of being back in his arms.

  It’s just sex.

  Blake grasped the backs of her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist, never taking his mouth off hers as he navigated them toward the bedroom. Farrah would’ve been impressed by his deft multitasking, except her mind had gone hazy and she couldn’t focus on anything except the throbbing in her core and the scrape of her hard nipples against her bra.

  God, it really had been too long since she’d had sex. Farrah could hardly remember the times when she couldn’t orgasm with a guy, not even Blake, because she was this close to combusting, and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off.

  “Wait,” she gasped right before Blake lowered her on the bed. “No sheets.”

  The contractors assembled the bed this morning, but Farrah hadn’t had time to dress it up yet.

  “Fuck the sheets.” Blake nipped at her neck, swirling his tongue over her needy flesh. This time, a moan did escape her mouth. “We’ll deal with it later.”

  Farrah was tempted, but… “This is a $10,000 Hastens mattress.”

  “$10,000?” His shock rippled down his spine. “That’s obscene.”

  “You signed off on it.” She’d presented him with a detailed list of her suggested furnishings for the apartment, with their prices, before she ordered anything.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way.” Blake’s fingers skimmed the edge of her panties, which were already drenched with arousal. “But I don’t want to talk about furniture right now.”

  Farrah muffled her laugh against his skin. “Bathroom,” she ordered. She may be so turned on she couldn’t breathe right, but she wasn’t so crazy she’d ruin a brand-new Hastens.

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  Blake picked her up again and carried her into the bathroom, his fingers tugging impatiently at the zipper of her dress as he did so. He waited until the black silk pooled on the floor before he set her on the counter and shed himself of his shirt and jeans.

  Farrah sucked in a sharp inhale. God, he was beautiful. No matter how many times she saw him, she couldn’t get over it. Broad shoulders tapering down to a flat stomach and narrow waist, lean hips, long powerful legs, and sleek muscles encased in golden skin, not to mention the thick bulge behind his black Calvin Klein briefs. Michelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted a more perfect piece of art.

  A lazy smile crossed Blake’s face as he drank in her unabashed appreciation. “Like what you see?” he drawled. Confidence seeped from every pore, mixing with raw sensuality and potent masculinity to create an irresistible cocktail that Farrah lapped up like a kitten with cream.

  “Very much.” She ran her hand over his chest, reveling in his warm strength. She could feel the erratic rhythm of his heart beneath her fingertips. “But I’d like it better if you took those briefs off.”

  There’d been a time when sayi
ng such a thing out loud would’ve mortified her, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and she wanted Blake.

  Blake chuckled. “Soon. But first, I want to feast.”

  He unclasped her bra and tossed it to the side without so much as a glance. He palmed her breast and rubbed his thumb over her nipple, sending a jolt of heat through her belly. He lowered his head to her other nipple, sucking and licking and blowing cool air on the warm, sensitive skin.

  Farrah arched into him, wrapping her legs around his waist once more and drawing him closer until his erection rested against her most sensitive flesh. She braced herself on the counter and ground against Blake with abandon, desperate for the one thing only he could give her, while he devoured her breasts. Her body was a live wire, dancing with a thousand nerve endings on the verge of exploding.

  Blake kissed his way down her stomach and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. Her legs quivered in anticipation, but there was one thing Farrah needed to clarify before she lost her senses altogether.

  “Blake.” His name came out as a breathy whisper.

  He looked up at her, his eyes glittering with lust.

  “This is just sex.” Farrah needed him to understand that. This was their one night. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Another emotion swirled behind those sapphire blues, but when she blinked, it was gone.

  “I know.”

  Then Blake yanked her panties down her legs, dipped his head, and proceeded to make her lose her goddamned mind.

  Chapter Twenty

  Blake couldn’t hide his self-satisfied grin as Farrah bucked against his face, her moans growing so loud they rattled the new bathroom windows.

  He slid his tongue between her folds and savored her sweet, musky taste. It was an aphrodisiac, made just for him, and he couldn’t get enough. A sweet swirl, a drag of his teeth, a flick of his tongue. Each action resulted in a noise that sent flames of lust racing through his veins and straight to his dick.