“I want it, Mac. I want you, and her,” she says, nodding towards a running Scout. “And this. And the dream. Not just any dream, but our dream.”
“Then let me take you inside. Because I have a lot to show you. I’ve been so busy in my delusional world since we last saw each other.”
Her hands latch on to my arm and she leans her head into my shoulder as we walk up towards the house.
“But we’ll have to order out for dinner. There’s no food here.”
“Nothing?” she asks. “You haven’t been living here?”
“Without you?” I scoff. “Never.”
“Well, I can’t wait to grocery-shop with you, Maclean Callister,” Ellie says with a sigh.
“I take that back,” I say. “I do have one edible thing in the house. But we won’t be using it for toast tonight.”
Ellie leans into my chest and her laugh comes out as a mist of air from her mouth. I lean down and kiss her lips. So warm. So familiar. So ready.
“Butter will never be the same. And neither will the kitchen table. Because I’m going to bend you over it the moment we get inside.”
Yeah.
This is perfect.
Every bit of this is perfect.
But only because Ellie is my Mrs. Perfect.
Epilogue
MAC
“Nice party, Perfect.”
Ellie and I got engaged last week and I wanted to share the good news with my best friends. I can’t wait for them to find happiness like I have. It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together. Even Mr. Mysterious is here tonight. Though where he is right now, I have no idea.
“Thanks, Corporate,” I tell Weston Conrad. “I do my best.”
“And you always do it perfectly.”
“What can I say?” I shrug and take a sip of my whiskey. “They didn’t call me Mr. Perfect for nothing.”
“But hey,” West says, turning more serious. “I’m worried, man.”
“About what?” I ask.
“Not what. Who,” West says.
“Who then?”
“Do you see Nolan over there?”
“Yeah.” Nolan Delaney, AKA Mr. Romantic, is being his usual player self to the girl he brought with him. I’m not sure she notices, but that’s probably because she’s only using him for his money. “So what? He’s looking and acting the same to me.”
“Exactly,” West says. “And look, Mr. Match came alone. Alone, dude. What the fuck is up with that?”
“Oliver? Shit, he never has a girl with him, I hear. His sister is always harping to Camille about it. How can a guy who owns the world’s largest dating site not have a girlfriend? It’s bad business, don’t you think?”
West grunts. “And look, quick! Before he disappears!” I look in the direction West is pointing to, but there’s no one there. “Fucker,” West says. “Asshole slipped out again.”
I can only assume he’s taking about Mr. Mysterious, AKA Paxton Vance. Who has been even more mysterious than usual these past few years. I know he’s here—several people have mentioned that he looks like he just got out of jail with that six-day beard stubble. But Pax has always been the angry type. And he’s never been to jail. Surely, I know that about him. I’d probably be the guy to get his only phone call if he needed a lawyer.
“This is all wrong,” West says. “It’s not good for them to keep living in the past, you know?”
“What do you suggest?” I take another sip of whiskey.
“A good talking-to, I think.”
I smile at my old friend. And then we laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh. Oliver wanders up and asks what’s so funny. West and I just keep laughing.
A good talking-to is fraternity-house slang for, Let’s fuck with them.
“I’m in, dude.”
We fist-bump. We even get unsuspecting Oliver to join in.
Let the games begin.
Get the full story about the infamous Mr. Romantic. Buy it on Amazon.
There are SEVEN other sexy alpha billionaires in this box set. Want to discover another heartthrob? Read on.
Night After Night
Lauren Blakely
Book #1 in the Seductive Nights series
Their world was sex, love, and lies.
He intoxicated her. Commanded. Consumed.
With a dirty mind and a mouth to match, Clay Nichols is everything Julia never knew she wanted and exactly what she cannot have. He walked into her life one night and unlocked pleasure in her that she never knew was possible. Possessing her body, captivating her every thought. Which makes him way too dangerous for Julia to risk her heart, given that she has a price tag on her head. She ran after one mind-blowing week with him, but now he’s back, and determined to make her his own.
No matter the cost.
She was a sexy drug to him. Fiery, unforgettable, and never enough, Julia is an enigma, and Clay isn’t willing to let her go without a fight. But she’s got dark secrets of her own that threaten to destroy any chance of happiness. She’s a wanted woman - the stakes are high, her every move is watched, and yet the lure between them can’t be denied.
Can two people burned by love trust again when desire and passion are met by danger at every turn?
Table of Contents
Night After Night
First Night
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Night After Night
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
First Night
Chapter One
Eight inches.
Julia longed for eight inches.
Or really, eight inches and a brain.
Was that so much for a woman to want?
Some days it seemed like it. Julia had yet to meet a man who could hold his own on all accounts, and judging from the parade of guys who seemed to think getting into a bartender’s pants was as easy as ordering a drink, she wasn’t sure her luck was going to change anytime soon.
Like this guy. The one with his tongue practically falling out of his mouth as he ogled her while she mixed his third Purple Snow Globe.
“Here you go,” she said as she slid the sugar-rimmed martini glass to the young hipster, decked out in too tight-pants, a plaid shirt and a goatee that needed to have been shaved off.
He wiggled both eyebrows and wobbled in his chair. “And how about a phone number too?”
She flashed him her best “not a chance in hell, sucker” smile. “I’ve got a phone number for a taxi cab and I’d be mighty happy to provide that for you soon.”
Seriously? Did he think that line was going to work? She headed to the other end of the bar to tend to a pair of blondes in low-cut halter tops, hoping they’d be less likely to hit on her. It was San Francisco though, so you never knew. But then, she was used to it. Being propositioned simply came with the territory of tending bar, and Julia Bell let all the come-on lines she heard roll off her every night, like water off a duck’s back. Most of the time she barely even noticed them – they became the white noise, along with sounds of beers being poured, glasses being washed, music being played overhead at the bar she was part owner of.
Some days though, she’d like to be propositioned by a man with a brain, a witty mouth and who had the kind of body she’d want to be tied up with all night long.
Or to tie up. She was pretty sure that with the right man, she might
be into some equal opportunity bondage. But he’d need to be bringing eight inches. Anything less was a deal breaker. Though, truth be told, she had little room in her life now for either eight inches or for romance. Not after the pile of problems her ex had left behind for her. A heaping mass of problems, to be precise.
She popped into the back of the bar to restock swirly straws when her phone rang. She nearly bounced as McKenna’s name flashed across the screen. Julia was expecting big news from her sister tonight. After all, she’d helped McKenna’s boyfriend pick out the ring.
She crossed her fingers, but then she was damn sure McKenna would say nothing but a big fat yes.
“Tell me everything,” she said into the phone.
“It was amazing! He proposed to me and I said yes! I said yes about twenty times.”
“So how did he do it?”
McKenna detailed the story. Julia was grinning in the supply closet, bursting with happiness from head to toe. Her sister had been through the wringer in the romance department, but when Chris landed in her life everything changed for the better. Sunshine and roses.
McKenna shared more of the details and Julia oohed and ahhed all throughout the tale. “You better make me your maid-of-honor,” she said.
“As if I’d pick anyone else.”
“Good. Now that we have that settled. Are you going to get married on the beach like a proper California girl?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. But listen, enough about me. Chris’ sister is involved with the director, and the director’s buddy Clay is coming to San Fran tomorrow night for business. I told him to go to Cubic Z and say hello. I told him you were gorgeous too.”
She rolled her eyes. Her sister could never resist playing the matchmaker.
“Great. But no free drinks just cause he’s a friend of a friend or whatever.”
“Never. But Jules,” McKenna said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The guy? Clay? He’s smoking hot.”
Her ears pricked. “Yeah? How smoking?”
“Un-be-lievable.”
Clay Nichols’ redeye to San Francisco was slated to leave in two hours, but business was business, and this deal needed to be ironclad. If he had to push the flight back, he would. He loved nothing more than negotiating and closing a deal. Fine, there was one thing he loved more than deal making. A fiery woman, the kind who could dish it out as well as she could take it. But he hadn’t met anyone in the last year who excited his mind as much as his body. So for now, business was his focus. It was opening night of a new Broadway play that his friend and client, Davis Milo, had directed, and that the audience had loved. Man, that made Clay one proud entertainment lawyer since he’d sewn up the deal for Davis to direct the show, and the next one his buddy was eyeing too – a production in London.
The two men were lounging in the empty seats at the St. James Theater, chatting with the London producers.
Davis shook hands with the producers then clapped Clay on the back. “He can handle the rest. I need to go.”
His friend took off, and Clay wrapped up the final details of the contract, then left the empty theater and slid into a town car. As soon as the door was closed, he loosened his purple tie; it was his good luck tie, and he always wore it on nights like these. He unbuttoned a few buttons of his crisp white shirt, stretched his neck from side to side, and reached for his phone. He hadn’t been to San Francisco in a while, but he found himself googling a certain bar on the way to the airport. Who knew if he’d make it to Cubic Z, but the woman who’d been proposed to before the show had told him that her sister worked there, then added, “She’s gorgeous, and the best bartender in the world.”
He shrugged to himself as the car sped to LaGuardia. He wasn’t sure if he’d have the time to stop by a bar in San Francisco during this trip. But he found himself wondering about the gorgeous bartender, and whether she might be the fiery type.
That had been a bitch of a deal the next day. Too many attempts at nickeling-and-diming his client – a high-profile TV talk show host in the Bay Area. Pissed him off. Clay didn’t take that kind of shit and he’d made damn sure the network knew that they’d walk. That’s when the exec caved and finally started playing ball. That was the secret to negotiation. Always be the one willing to walk. In the end, Clay had landed nearly every point he’d wanted for his client. But he’d felt battered and bruised with their petty ways, so he tracked down the nearest boxing gym, worked off his frustration with a long, sweaty bout with a heavy bag, pounding and punishing until his muscles screamed, and even then a little more. After, he returned to his hotel for a hot shower.
It was damn near scalding temperature as the water beat down hard on him, and he leaned into the stream, washing off the day.
When he stepped out from the water and toweled off, he was nowhere near ready to crawl into bed and call it a night. Negotiations like that warranted a drink, and as soon as the thought of a drink touched down in his head, he remembered the name of the bar, and the name of the supposedly gorgeous bartender.
Julia.
Hmmm…
He had energy to burn, and the bar wasn’t far from his hotel here in the SoMa district. He pulled on jeans and a button-down shirt, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and headed out into the San Francisco night. He only wished he’d thought to bring along a pair of handcuffs, his favorite accessory. They looked mighty fine with black lingerie, thigh-high stockings, and heels on the right woman.
But that was putting the cart before the horse, wasn’t it?
Chapter Two
Not Again.
Honestly, how many times was the sloppy hipster going to make a play for her? He was staring at her chest tonight. Part of her couldn’t fault him. She’d been blessed in the breasts department and filled out a C-cup quite nicely, thank you very much. But still. Tact was way sexier than ogling.
“What if I ordered drinks for everyone in the bar? How about that? Would you finally give me your number then?”
“No. Because my eyes are up here,” she said, and pointed to her face.
He snapped his gaze up, caught red-handed. But he was relentless. “See? I can be trained. I’m a good boy.”
“I’m happy to serve you. But the number is under wraps and always will be,” she told him.
The dude was practically spilled across the bar, his chest draped on the sleek metal. “How about another Appletini then?”
“No problem,” she said with a private smirk. Julia loved mixing drinks – she had a bit of mad scientist in her that thrilled at discovering new combinations of flavors. But while the bartender in her enjoyed concocting a cocktail, the woman in her wished that once, just once, a guy would be a guy and order a goddamn beer. Maybe it made her shallow, but she didn’t care. She would never date a man who drank the sissy drinks she often served. She liked her men to be men. No manscapers need apply.
As she mixed the hipster’s drink – some vodka, some apple juice, a splash of apple brandy – a new customer sat down.
“What can I get for you?” she said before she even turned around.
“I’ll take whatever’s on tap.”
She froze in her spot simply because the voice was rough and gravelly, and sent a charge through her with its masculine sexiness. But, the man behind that deep and husky voice was probably a dweeb, right? That’d be her luck. She plunked the Appletini down in front of her least favorite sloppy drinker, then turned to the man who wanted the beer, and holy heavenly fiesta of the eyes.
He was tall. He was broad. He had the perfect amount of stubble on his jawline, and those eyes were to-die for – deep brown and piercing. Then there was his hair – thick, brown, and ideal for sliding fingers through. She didn’t want to take her eyes off him, but she knew better than to stare. She quickly straightened her spine, picked her gawking jaw up from the floor, and gave him a cool nod. “We have an India Pale Ale tonight. Will that do?”
“That’ll do just fine,” he said, his muscu
lar forearms resting on the sleek bar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and Julia couldn’t help but notice how strong his arms were. She bet he worked out. A real man kind of workout. Something hard and heavy that made him sweat and grunt to mold that kind of physique. She poured the beer into the glass, and set it down in front of him. He reached for his wallet, peeled off some bills, and handed them to her.
“I take it you’re Julia?”
Uh oh. How did he know her name. Was he an undercover cop? Had she accidentally served someone under twenty-one? She was diligent and methodical in her ID checking and had never let an underage in. Or wait. Her spine stiffened. Was he onto her? Did he know what she did every Tuesday night at a dimly-lit apartment above a greasy restaurant in China Town that smelled of fried pork? That would be over soon though. It had to be. She’d done her time, and was ready to cash in. Soon, she kept telling herself.
“Yeah,” she answered carefully, all her senses on alert. She wasn’t really doing anything wrong those nights, was she? No, she was just taking care of business as she knew how.
“I hear you’re the best bartender in San Francisco.”
The tightness in her shoulders relaxed. At least he wasn’t a boy in blue come to bust her. But forget his smoldering looks. He was like the rest of them, going for cheap lines, hitting on the woman behind the bar. “Yeah, where’d you hear that? Facebook?”
He smiled briefly and shook his head. Damn, he had a fabulous smile. Straight, white teeth and a knowing grin. But she knew better than to fall for a hot stranger simply because he was handsome. She’d done that before, and it had kicked her in the ass. That’s why she was a No-Strings-Attached kind of woman these days. Not that she’d had any attachments of any sort lately – she had too much trouble to untangle herself from before she could even think about getting tangled up in love, let alone the sheets.
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