One Night Only: An After Dark Standalone in The Extravagant Series Read online

  Even though we’re not done.

  We’re not done at all.

  But there’s something else I want to do right now.

  Something outside of this suite.

  The four of us step into the elevator, and the first thing I do is turn to Jackson. “Please join us for a drink.”

  “He’ll never come along,” Stone cuts in.

  Jackson arches a brow. “That’s what you think?”

  The question is for Stone, but I take the reins, because I made the invitation. “I love getting to know new people, Jackson. And I want to hear what you thought about Stone’s concert.”

  That makes the stoic man break into a half-smile. “I’m in.”

  “Color me shocked,” Stone remarks, as we exit the elevator.

  Walking through my casino is an absolute thrill. My floor manager, Jen, waves from her spot by the blackjack tables. I walk over, flanked by my men.

  Jen gestures to the man of the night. Well, one of them. “I heard your show was amazing, Stone. Everyone on the floor is talking about the concert. So glad you were here at The Extravagant.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” Stone says, ever the gracious superstar.

  I set a hand on his arm. “Wasn’t it a terrific performance? He has tremendous stamina,” I say without cracking a grin, even though inside I’m smiling wickedly.

  Callum coughs to cover up a laugh, and that delights me.

  I squeeze his strong arm, and he casts his gaze on me, murmuring, “Beautiful.”

  It’s his pet name for me, and I love it.

  We continue past the tables, on our way to Speakeasy. I’m decked out in my concert attire again—sequined top and leather pants. Callum is wearing his suit, minus the tie, of course. And Stone’s in his rocker uniform, as he calls it—tight jeans, a stylish T-shirt, and his Chucks.

  I head in first, feeling like I’m queen of The Extravagant, like I own the place, because I am and I do.

  And because tonight, I feel complete in a whole new way.

  I can be this woman in public, and I can be this woman in private.

  And being here, reveling in the afterglow of both the public concert and the private performance, I’m sure that’s what tonight was all about.

  It was putting the parts of me back together.

  Giving me the freedom to be who I crave.

  Jackson asks Henry for a private room before I can, and I file that data point away—the man knows what his client needs, knows to keep Stone away from easy sightings.

  I’m glad for that too.

  And glad for this interlude before we return to my suite.

  Well, men do need time to recharge. It’s only thoughtful that I’m giving that to them.

  When Henry asks what we want, I don’t have to contemplate. Callum chooses for me, picking Tender Is the Night this time.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, and I’m sure the tequila concoction will be fabulous and the opposite of tender, but ironic drink names are awesome.

  When the drinks arrive—iced tea and club soda for the bodyguards at the table, cocktails for us others—I lift my glass in a toast.

  “To nights like these,” I say, grinning, then I add, “And to knowing what you want.”

  Callum taps his glass to mine, our eyes locking, his voice a firm but loving caress as he says, “I know what I want.”

  And those words feel like the start of something between us.

  I can only hope.

  For now, though, I want to savor this moment of knowing.

  Of understanding myself.

  Of accepting and embracing all that I want.

  Later, I’ll figure out what can become of this man and me.

  I turn to Jackson. “So, what did you think of Stone’s show? Everyone here is loving it. I loved it; the crowds are buzzing. What did you think? Did you catch it all?”

  The big man with the trim dark blond hair gives a devil-may-care shrug. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  Stone’s jaw drops. “‘Nothing I haven’t heard before?’ That’s all I get?”

  Jackson stares hard at him. “That’s all you get.”

  Stone shakes his head, pouting, looking forlorn. “Man, has anyone ever told you you’re a hard-ass?”

  Callum laughs. “As a good bodyguard should be.”

  Jackson lifts his glass in Callum’s direction. “Exactly, brother. Exactly what we need to be.”

  I toss out another question. “What do you like to listen to?”

  “You’re really asking?” Jackson’s eyebrows rise, like he’s surprised someone would inquire.

  “Yes, of course I’m really asking. I’d love to know.”

  He scratches his jaw. “I like music you can dance to at a club. Something with a steady beat. Daft Punk, LCD Soundsystem. I like art-pop. Alt-pop. Ezra Furman can do no wrong. And, of course, Nirvana.”

  Stone’s eyes bug out. “Dude. Dude. Dude.”

  “What? What? What?” Jackson replies in pitch-perfect imitation.

  Stone clasps a hand to his chest, mortally offended. “You did not include me. You didn’t include my music.”

  “Huh. Turns out I didn’t,” Jackson says, thoroughly deadpan, then takes another swig of his drink.

  Stone leans closer. “Now I’m learning this? After working together for four months, I’m learning you don’t like my music?”

  “You never asked.”

  And Stone doesn’t have a reply to that. He simply slumps down in his chair, almost like he’s lost in thought.

  I toss a glance at Callum as if to say, Check out these two.

  He simply smiles back at me, like What can you do?

  And this whole silent exchange feels like another step for Callum and me. One more thing connecting us—we can do what we do in the bedroom, and we can have playful moments like these too. We can have silent, private conversations that only two people who really know each other, really trust each other, can do.

  As Jackson and Stone launch into a debate on the best alt-rock bands of the last ten years—news flash: they disagree—Callum moves closer to me, slides an arm around my shoulders, and whispers in my ear.

  20

  Callum

  That certainty I felt earlier tonight sharpens.

  Like a sketch colored in at last, the lines drawn more clearly now. And I can see everything my friends and family have been trying to tell me for weeks.

  My father’s advice echoes in my ears. Not the words of wisdom I heard for years. Not the ones about doing your job at 100 percent.

  But the advice he gave me the other week. The advice that drove me to set up tonight.

  Maybe you’re looking at the risk the wrong way.

  That’s what led me to this moment. Because I thought the risk was letting her live out her fantasies with someone else. Letting her experience them in a way that wasn’t safe.

  So, I did it.

  I set it up.

  I made it happen, thinking the risk was all about her safety.

  But the real risk would be letting her get away. Watching her slip through my fingers.

  So I take another step toward this new certainty, moving my lips across her neck, dusting a tender kiss there, then reaching her ear. “Can I stay the night with you?”

  It’s a simple question.

  But it’s also so much more.

  Slowly she turns her gaze to me, her blue eyes soft and full of warmth. “Off the clock?”

  I close my eyes momentarily, letting the enormity of this choice wash over me. Letting it sink into every cell in my body. When I open them, I nod. “Yes, off the clock.”

  She raises her hands, slides them up my chest, and cups my cheeks. “I want you to stay every night.”

  And I melt into her, dropping my lips to hers and kissing her like there’s no one else around for miles.

  Soon, though, a throat clears.

  I break the kiss.

  Stone stares at us with wide eyes. �
��Get a room. There is a whole giant hotel here. Get a freaking room, you two.”

  Jackson laughs as well. “For once, I agree with him.”

  Ivy knits her brow, looking from Stone to me, and back to Stone. “But . . .”

  Maybe she doesn’t want to say more in front of Jackson, but I can’t imagine he doesn’t know what Stone has been up to.

  Stone stretches his arms above his head, his whole body sliding into repose as he yawns. “I’m all good, kids. Concerts wear me the hell out. I’m ready to hit the hay. Looks like you two have unfinished business.”

  And we do.

  But that unfinished business is not in the bedroom.

  When we reach Ivy’s suite, I nod crisply at the guy in the suit working the overnight shift.

  The guard nods back.

  That’s all. No words.

  None are needed. I’m off-duty. I’m not entering her suite as her bodyguard.

  Yet, in some ways, I always will be.

  That’s what I want her to know. That’s what I need to tell her.

  I lock the door, then pick her up in my arms, carrying her to the bedroom as she laughs, swinging playful fists at my chest.

  “Why are you carrying me?”

  “Because I can,” I smirk.

  “Fine. Be that way,” she says with a pretend pout.

  When we reach her bedroom, I bring her to the mattress gently lowering her to the covers. I slide off her shoes. “Do you care that we’re here in the bedroom? Where the three of us were before?”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “No. All I care about is that I’m with you.”

  “Good.” I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the bed, moving on top of her, pushing up on my arms. I meet her eyes and take a deep, fueling breath.

  Getting here was hard. Deciding was rough. But saying the words, speaking from the heart?

  It’s easy, so easy. “Ivy, the other time we were together, I said I didn’t think I could do my job of protecting you if I was with you the way I wanted to be.”

  “I remember.”

  “And that was true. At first. But then I realized something over these last few weeks when I went home alone every night.”

  “What did you realize?” she asks, her eyes full of trust, full of love.

  “I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be without you.”

  “I don’t want you to leave me at the end of the night either.”

  With one hand, I stroke her jaw, her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin. “I won’t demean keeping you safe by calling it a job. Keeping you safe is my calling. It’s my mission. But not as your bodyguard.”

  She trembles under me, swallowing roughly, waiting.

  “It’s my mission as the man who is madly in love with you,” I say, my pulse hammering, but in a joyful way, in a way that feels like the release of a burden I’ve wrongly carried.

  “Oh, Callum, I’m so in love with you,” she says as her hands slide around my neck and play with my hair.

  And my heart pounds mercilessly, thundering against my chest. I’m so grateful I’ve said those words at last. I want to smother her in kisses and make love to her all night long. But I’m not done. There’s more to say. “I thought I couldn’t do both. But now I know I will always do both. I have to do both. I love you so damn much, and it is a privilege to love you like this, and a privilege to keep you safe. Will you let me do both?”

  The smile on her face makes my heart sing. “I’ve been in love with you for a long, long time,” she says. “You’re the only one I want. And I love it when you look out for me, and when you love me, and,” she says, a wicked glint in her eyes, “when you let me live out my fantasies.”

  I grin back at her. “Then we’ll keep working through your list, my love. But right now, I want you and me only.”

  “Same. I want the same.” She nibbles on her lips. “There’s something special I want right now though.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m clean, and I’m on protection.”

  “Same here.”

  “Then I want you bare.”

  Soon, we’re dressed in nothing, clothes pooled in a pile on the carpet, my beautiful woman beneath me.

  I kiss her tenderly and passionately, letting her know she is my lover and she is my love.

  But when she starts moaning and writhing, I know the sweet moments are coming to an end.

  And I’m ready to give her what she likes. To put her on her hands and knees.

  But she surprises me when she slides her hand between us, reaching for me, gripping my erection. She draws me to her sweet, hot center.

  I arch a brow. This doesn’t seem like her. Wanting it like this.

  “Callum,” she says, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “I want to look at you. I want you to look at me.”

  “That’s what you want?”

  She smiles, a little coy. “I think you like looking at me. You always have your eyes on me.”

  “You know I can’t get enough of you, beautiful.” I nudge her legs wider, notch the head of my cock against her, and sink inside.

  We groan in tandem. We move together.

  She’s like water, like fire. And we are tangled up in each other—arms, hands, legs.

  Braced on my elbows, I thrust in her, long, slow, luxurious strokes. I’m meeting her gaze. Savoring her beauty, her openness, the way she gives herself to me.

  “You feel like mine,” I murmur.

  “Because I am.” Her arms slide around my neck as I swivel my hips, reveling in the feel of her like this.

  But I can also tell she needs a little more. A little extra. That’s who she is, and I want her to have everything she craves.

  “Put those legs up on my shoulders,” I tell her and she obeys instantly, hooking her ankles around my neck.

  Like that, I pick up the pace, pumping faster, deeper, eliciting more moans and groans from her.

  And I know as good as this is right now, as fantastic as it feels, she needs us a certain way.

  It’s time to take her.

  And have her.

  And mark her.

  I slow down, move her ankles off my shoulders, and pull out. I grab her hips, and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

  “Down on your elbows, beautiful. Ass in the air. I’m going to fuck you hard and make it hurt.”

  She bends her back, lowers herself, and shoots me a naughty and grateful look. “You know what I want.”

  “I do. And I promised I’d give it to you. I promised I’d give you everything,” I say, as I rub the crown of my cock against her slippery heat. “And I will.”

  Her ass sways, an invitation. A gorgeous invitation to sink into her, to bury myself in her, and take us both to our next release.

  I RSVP, filling her to the hilt.

  Then, taking everything she has to give, I fuck my woman to the edge of pleasure, making it hurt as I smack her ass, as I tug her hair, as I band a hand around her throat.

  Not too tight, but not too loose either.

  Just right.

  Just right to set her free.

  To let her feel everything.

  And as my Ivy moans and groans, shouts and cries, I am as certain as I could ever be that breaking my golden rule is the best choice I’ve ever made.

  Since it gives me permission too.

  To be free. Free to love this woman with everything I have.

  After she comes hard, shouting my name, I follow her there, my climax spilling all over her back, just how she likes it. She sinks under me, collapsing, panting, but laughing too.

  I flop next to her, spent. “What’s so funny?”

  She props her head in her hand, smiling. “I’m laughing because I can. Because I love laughing with you. And I love talking to you. And I love making love to you.”

  I draw her in for a gentle kiss. “Then you can have it all.” I run my hand along her side, over the curves of her body. “But let’s clean you up.”

  Th
is time when I run a bath, she doesn’t have to ask me to join her. I do it on my own, sinking into the water with her, bringing her into my arms and kissing her hair, her neck, her shoulders.

  And savoring every moment to be free at last to love her the way I want.

  With everything I have.

  21

  Stone

  I still can’t believe it—this blasphemy I’m hearing.

  I set my empty glass on the table, staring hard at Jackson. “You can’t possibly count Imagine Dragons as alt.”

  “I can, and I do,” Jackson says.

  I shake my head. “That’s wrong. That’s sacrilege. That’s like what my sixteen-year-old sister listens to.”

  He rolls his hazel eyes, laughing. “You don’t have a sixteen-year-old sister.”

  “That’s my point,” I say, sputtering.

  He narrows his brow. “Your point is you just made up a sister you don’t have?”

  I smack a palm on the table. “Yes, because that’s who listens to Imagine Dragons. Therefore, they’re not alt-rock, even if they started on college radio stations.”

  Jackson crosses his arms over his beefy chest. “Ah, I get it now. You don’t like music that teen girls listen to. If a teen girl listens to it, it doesn’t count as quality.”

  “No, that’s not what I said,” I fire back.

  “It kind of is, and that’s kind of judgy. I actually have a sixteen-year-old sister, and she is quite the music aficionado. She likes Imagine Dragons and Nirvana, The Beatles and Alanis Morissette, and show tunes and Greyson Chance. Also, Beethoven. She has wide and varied tastes. Also, incidentally, Imagine Dragons’ ‘Radioactive’ was first released on alt radio before major labels picked it up.”

  I huff, dragging a hand through my hair. This guy. He is killing me. “Whatever. You are suddenly, like, the music oracle. And the teen oracle. Also, why are you just now mentioning you have a younger sister?”

  He picks up his club soda, drains the glass, and sets it down. “You never asked.” He sighs heavily, then runs a hand through his dark blond hair. “Come to think of it, you’ve never really talked about anything besides yourself.”