The Seductive Nights Novellas Read online

  “I’m thrilled, Grant. Truly thrilled.”

  “As am I. However,” he said, and her heart dropped because words like however had a way of tanking deals, “we need to wait a month to dive in. I’m going to be in Vietnam for most of June visiting my factories, and then Hong Kong for business, and I want to personally oversee our partnership. Which I can do properly when I return.”

  Ah, well that wasn’t such a bad however. “I like that idea,” she said with a smile.

  “I want to give this my full attention.”

  “I would love that, too.”

  He reached for her hand, and gently pressed his lips to her skin. Holy hell. Her insides fluttered from his touch. “You are a brilliant woman, Casey. I love how you pursued this deal. Your ideas and plans have been fantastic. It’ll be a pleasure to work on the business of pleasure with you.”

  “That’s my favorite kind of business.” She held up her glass in a toast.

  “I’ll work on the papers and send them over to you, so everything will be signed before I leave.”

  “Excellent,” she said as he took a drink.

  Then she noticed his glass was empty, and she signaled the bartender for another round.

  When she turned her attention back to Grant, the flirty look was absent. Instead, he stared at her, an intense and somewhat chiding look in his inky blue eyes. “I like how you operate in business. But now I want to focus on other things, and as we do, you should let me order another round. I’d like to be the one to do the . . . ordering,” he said, taking time to enunciate that last word. The way he said it made it sound suggestive, a hint at something other than drinks.

  “Ordering?” she said carefully.

  “Yes. Ordering,” he said, his eyes blazing darkly at her, kicking off a fresh wave of heat inside her.

  He raised a hand, snapped his fingers, and called the waiter. “This beautiful woman will have another martini. Make hers dirty this time. And I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  Damn, he wasn’t joking when he said he liked to order. He liked to pick and choose too, and that was exactly what Scott had said she should let a man do. So Casey didn’t protest the second martini, even though she preferred them of the French variety.

  “As you wish, sir,” the waiter said and scurried off.

  Grant flashed a smile at Casey, a lopsided grin that was full of charm and something else . . . something strong and commanding. “You should know that I will be thinking about you when I’m in Asia.”

  She swallowed and blinked. He’d been flirty, but now he was downright direct. Perhaps her luck was changing. “You will?”

  “When I return, I hope we can not only do business, but also finally spend more time together. Would you like that?”

  “I would,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “Excellent. Let’s make it a date in July. You can come back here, and we will have dinner together.” He moved closer, reached for a lock of her hair, and twined it around his finger. “But, let me pursue you,” he whispered.

  Let me pursue you.

  The words rang in her head, along with his earlier ones. Like ordering, and why don’t you let me tell you how I see this working? Then the way he liked it so much when she’d said please.

  The message was loud and clear. Grant Abbot liked his women to be demure. He didn’t want an alpha female. He didn’t need a mirror to his dominant side.

  Casey had no clue whatsoever how to be that woman.

  She didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.

  CHAPTER THREE

  New Orleans, evening . . .

  All through dinner she hadn’t been able to get Grant Abbot off her mind. Not as she and Nate shared an appetizer of oysters. Not as she worked her way through a delicious niçoise salad while he ate the Chilean sea bass. And not even through a round of celebratory champagne he’d ordered for them during dinner at Poisson, a small French bistro in a white, two-story house with large picture windows that looked out onto the bustling and busy Bourbon Street. Inside, a torch singer crooned in the corner of the restaurant.

  Casey was half present, and half hanging out four hours ago.

  She hadn’t gone into the meeting with Grant expecting anything more than the chance to close a deal. Sure, in the back of her mind she’d hoped for more. Now she had a . . . well, a potential someone. A beau, maybe? A prospective love interest? At the very least, she had a date on her calendar a month from now.

  But her suitor spoke a language she barely understood, and it was one she was sure Nate could decipher. She was dying to tell him all about Grant. They’d shared plenty before, and he knew the ins and outs of her stalled romantic life. Still, she’d been looking for the right moment to spill the strange details.

  Perhaps over dessert, because the waiter appeared with a chocolate lava cake that looked so delicious her mouth watered.

  “Your Molten Pleasure,” he said, using the official name of the dessert while grandly setting it on the white linen tablecloth, before returning to the kitchen.

  “My chef said this is the best lava cake in town, and that’s saying something, because the one we have at the hotel is pretty damn fantastic,” Nate said.

  “You’re getting me all excited now,” Casey said as she picked up her fork, ready to dive in. She pointed to the cake as he finished off the remainder of his champagne. “You’re going to have some, right?”

  He laughed and nodded, his amber eyes even warmer than usual when he smiled. He had one of the best smiles she’d ever seen. Plus, he had great teeth—straight and white, the best kind to have. “Yes. I’m going to have some. I just wanted to finish my drink first.”

  She dipped her fork into the soft cake and brought it to her lips. But before she bit down, she flashed back to Grant’s words, and the way he’d ordered her drink. Taking control. Wanting to decide. Could she truly do that? Could she hand over the reins like he wanted? As Nate dug into the cake, she sniffed an opportunity. An odd one, but an opportunity nonetheless.

  She set down her fork.

  He eyed it curiously. “I thought you were excited to eat it?”

  She swallowed, then spoke softly. “I have a request,” she squeaked out.

  “You want me to ask her to play the Pina Colada song?” he said, gesturing to the sultry singer in the slinky cream-colored dress, gripping a microphone tight as she sang about love gone wrong.

  Casey laughed and shook her head. Just woman up and ask him to do it. She called on her best demure voice. “Would you feed me a bite of the cake?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Feed you?”

  She nodded quickly, before red flared in her cheeks. “You know, because we’re celebrating,” she said, even though she really wanted to say I’m trying a different tactic.

  “When in New Orleans,” he mused as he shrugged and dug into the cake, then offered it to her, his arm stretched across the table. The sleeves on his white cotton shirt were rolled up; his strong forearms on display. Nate was an exercise fanatic. He’d played soccer when he was in college, and he put a premium on fitness now, too. She’d still be friends with him even if he weren’t so easy on the eyes, but it sure as hell didn’t hurt being fed chocolate by someone so . . . gorgeous.

  She parted her lips. She was poised. Waiting.

  Tense beyond belief.

  Everything about this felt off to her. But she told herself to just let go as he fed her the cake—delicious, sinful, chocolaty cake that melted on her tongue. She rolled her eyes in pleasure. “Mmm,” she said in a low moan as she finished.

  Something dark flared in his eyes ever so briefly. “You like being fed that much, Case?” he joked, shifting back to his playful side.

  “No, I actually hate being fed. This cake is just fantastic.”

  “So why’d you want me to do that?” he asked as he took a forkful for himself.

  She took another bite, savoring the chocolate once more before setting down her utensil. The songstress
warbled a tune about longing, while outside the window a group of women in short dresses teetered on high heels as they held hurricane glasses. Returning her focus from the action on the street to Nate, she decided to do what she did naturally—be straightforward.

  “Okay, confession time,” she said in a conspiratorial voice, wiggling her fingers for him to come closer. He scooted his chair near to her. They were inches apart, and she was vaguely aware of how he smelled. Clean, and freshly showered, and he looked handsome in his dark jeans and white shirt. He wore suits well all day long, but at night he could rock the good-looking casual vibe like no one she’d ever known. He had the tousled hair, the warm honey eyes, and the slightest bit of scruff on his jawline to pull it off.

  “Confess,” he said, like he was luring it out of her.

  She held up her hands. “I don’t get it. I don’t get the whole ‘let it go’ thing.”

  He shook his head as if her words didn’t compute. “What whole ‘let it go’ thing?”

  “The whole let go of control.”

  “Is this about cake?”

  She shook her head.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think it was about cake. What’s it about?”

  She took a deep breath, grateful she’d had a glass of champagne tonight to take the edge off her own inhibitions. Her drinks from this afternoon had worn off as she’d returned to the hotel, finished some other work, taken a shower and then slipped into a flouncy dark pink skirt and a silvery silk tank for their dinner. She’d refueled though, and the little dose of liquid courage was what she needed to forge ahead.

  “We’re friends, right?”

  “Obviously.”

  “And you know about Scott.”

  He nodded resolutely. “The douchebag,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Is Scott Nixon really a douche?”

  “He let you go. I’m going to assume that makes him a douche.”

  She couldn’t help it. A smile took over her features at his sweet words. Instinctively, she reached out her hand, and rested it on his arm. A friendly gesture. But it was odd that he hitched in his breath as she touched him. His muscles tensed under her hand. “You know what I mean. You know what he said to me when we broke up.”

  “That you were too headstrong,” he said, a touch of anger in his tone. For some reason, that anger felt protective, and she kind of liked it.

  “He also made it clear he wasn’t that into the sex. That I was nothing special,” she said, looking down.

  “Again, the guy is a complete and utter ass,” he said, acid in his tone.

  “Be that as it may, you know I’ve kind of had bad luck with men for that reason. The whole too headstrong thing.”

  “I disagree about the reasons. But go on.”

  “And I know all about you and your women.”

  He threw his head back and laughed.

  “I don’t mean Joanna,” she said quickly, and he looked away at the mention of his ex-wife. She’d never met Joanna, but she’d have to be an idiot not to know how deeply the woman had hurt Nate. He didn’t talk about her often, but Jack had shared some of the details from their marriage and then their divorce four years ago. Joanna’s betrayal was the reason Nate played the field like a professional ballplayer. The man practically had a three-dates-and-out rule. He had a more meaningful relationship with his regular dry-cleaner than he’d had with a woman since Joanna. “I mean the fact that you are . . .” she paused, considering her words, “the opposite of me. You’re very lucky with the ladies.”

  He blushed, a sliver of a smile appearing on his face.

  “My point is we know each other,” she said. “We trust each other. We have no agenda.” She took a deep fueling breath, then ripped off the Band-Aid. “And that’s why I need you to give it to me straight. Am I too controlling? Do I need to learn to let go? Am I just too alpha?”

  * * *

  It was a good thing he had finished the last of his champagne, because he would have spat out his drink at the absurdity of her question. “What are you talking about?”

  She dropped her head and pushed her hands through her hair. He missed her hand on his arm. He wished she’d wrap those slender fingers around him once more. When she lifted her face, she seemed both sad and frustrated.

  “Here’s the thing. Grant Abbot indicated that he’s interested in me, and well, I’ve kind of been into him for a while,” she began, and his gut tightened when she said that. Sure, she told him now and then about an occasional date she had in New York, and he’d even met the infamous Scott, who he wanted to punch for making Casey feel like shit about herself, but hearing her say she was into some other guy when he was so damn close to her that he couldn’t get the sweet citrusy-scent of her shampoo out of his mind, pissed him off. Especially because that smell was driving him wild.

  “You’re interested in him?” he asked, as if he were tasting dirt. Jealousy pulsed through his veins. He had no right to be jealous. He was all wrong for Casey. She wanted love, and tenderness. She wanted commitment and the possibility of forever.

  Those were notions that had no appeal to him. He’d been there, done that and had the ugly scars to prove it. A few years after earning his MBA and landing his first job in management at a startup, he’d met the woman of his dreams—a gorgeous artist, dark and beguiling, with haunting eyes and a wild spirit. He and Joanna fell fast and hard into love, the all-consuming, raw and passionate kind that becomes your oxygen. They relied on each other. They desperately needed each other, in every way. He would have done anything for her, and so he did. She was a struggling young sculptor aiming to return to graduate school, and since he had moved up quickly in his career, leaving the startup for a job in the hotel business, he paid for her MFA.

  And boy, did he ever pay when he learned she’d been having an affair with her sculpting professor, some supposed world-renowned artist named Claude who Nate only thought of as a world-renowned prick.

  Never again, he’d vowed. Never again would he put his heart on the line like that. It was far easier and a hell of a lot more fun to play the field, to bounce back and forth with women, never settling, never giving anyone his heart again. Call him a playboy. He was fine with that. There wasn’t a more fitting title for his relationship approach. Casey knew it, Jack knew it, his own sister, Kat, happily married and with twin daughters, knew it too, and Nate didn’t try to hide it from anyone.

  The one thing he hid well was his desire for Casey, but that was proving exceptionally challenging as she went on about this simmering mutual attraction she’d felt for the lingerie guy. “And I’ve been into him for so long, so when he said he wanted to get together . . .” she said, continuing her recap.

  He closed his eyes briefly as she talked, wishing this conversation didn’t bother him so much. There was no earthly reason why jealousy should be raging like white waters in his blood. He hadn’t put himself on the line for her. He hadn’t told her he wanted to crush her lips to his, to taste her kiss, to capture her moans and sighs in his mouth, because he could give no more than that. He had to keep his desires in check and focus on the friendship.

  “So what’s the problem then, Case?” he asked, doing his best to be dispassionate as he looked her in the eyes. “You like him, he likes you, you’ll make beautiful blue-eyed babies who grow up to run an empire of lingerie and sex toys. Sounds perfect.” He flashed her a smile so she knew he meant it. At least, he tried to mean it.

  “Here’s the problem,” she began, stopping to take a drink of iced water. “I want what I want. You know, in bed. I like to be on top. I like to say what I want; I like to be direct,” she said, and his head was swimming with images now. He’d take her on top. He’d have no problem whatsoever with her riding him, wild and free, her blond hair loose and tumbling across her shoulders, her perfect breasts bouncing.

  He spread the napkin further across his lap.

  “But Scott didn’t like that enough. And I don’t think that’s what a man like Grant wa
nts either. And maybe that’s my problem. Maybe that’s why I’ve had such bad luck with men.”

  “Because you like to be on top?” He furrowed his brow. “You’re not even dating him yet. Why are you worried about what position he likes?”

  She shot him a look that said you can’t be serious. “C’mon. We’re not in high school. If I date him, chances are we’ll get to the bedroom soon enough.”

  The jealousy ran wild now, stampeding through his body. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Casey. Don’t you get it? If some guy doesn’t like who you are, you don’t need him.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then lowered her voice more. “But maybe it’s time to change. I want more from this life, Nate. I want to have a chance with Grant, and maybe I’d like letting go. Maybe I should try giving up control. I mean, do you like your women submissive? Are you a dominant?”

  He laughed at the fact that they were discussing this. He was fantasizing about her naked body and she wanted to know if he was dominant.

  She laughed too. “See? You know I’m direct. I speak my mind. I just asked if you were a Dom!”

  “Are you? Are you Mistress Casey? Is that the deep, dark secret of what you do after hours? Admit it, you’re a card-carrying member of that BDSM club you and Jack supported a couple years ago,” he said, egging her on.

  “No. I swear. I mean, hey, leather is great. And I would have no objection to wielding a crop and giving orders now and then, but no. I am not a Domme, and I’m not a member of a BDSM club, and I’m not a mistress. I’m just a woman who sells sex toys and loves to be in control. And evidently, that’s my problem. I’m not wild and free enough in bed or something,” she said, slapping her palm on the table in emphasis. Her champagne glass rattled slightly, and he grabbed it before it spilled. She took it from him and downed the rest of it. “What about you?”

  “You want to know if I’m dominant in bed? If I like whips and chains?” he asked, and this was a much more pleasurable direction than discussing her desires for other men. Especially when she used words like wild and free.

  She nodded, an eager look in her eyes. “I do want to know. Do you like to be in control? Do you need a woman to call you Sir or Master?”