The V Card Read online

  Her cry of victory is one of the sweetest sounds I’ve heard tonight. “There you are! Stevie, baby, come here. Oh, poor pumpkin, you must be so scared.”

  When she stands, there’s a giant, fluffy Himalayan with wrinkled whiskers, a freckled nose, and soft blue eyes snuggled into her arms.

  “Stephen King, good to see you again.” I lean down to get a better look at him in the dim glow of the motion-activated lights illuminating the yard. “You’re a handsome old gent, I’ll give you that.”

  The cat meows, as if returning the compliment, and CJ giggles. “He is. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. And a sweet spirit.” She hugs him closer. “Come on, love, off to the vet for you. You can visit with Dr. Miller while we get the house cleaned up.”

  By the time we get Steve into his cat carrier, gather his food, pack CJ’s bags for a week out of her apartment, and deliver the cat to the 24-hour vet, it’s three thirty in the morning.

  A huge yawn escapes me as we stand outside the vet’s office.

  She joins me in the yawn parade. “If it’s okay, I think I’ll go crash at the hotel until morning. Then, since I don’t have a place to stay for the week, I can look for an apartment rental or something tomorrow when I’m not fried.”

  But there’s no need to return to the St. Regis. I have a better idea. “Come home with me. We could both use some sleep, and my bed is sinfully comfortable.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I scoff. “I’m not sending you to the St. Regis solo, and my place is closer. We aren’t done with our non-lesson of cuddling, my butterfly. Besides, we only have a few more nights of classes, and I want to make the most of my time with you. Although, of course, I want you to feel free to stay at my place even after the board meeting, until your apartment is fixed. I have more than enough space, and I’m happy to have you.”

  She stiffens briefly in my arms, and I fear I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “Right? Do you want to make the most of this?” I ask, tucking a finger under her chin and raising her face so she can meet my eyes.

  A flicker of sadness colors her expression—maybe she hates being away from her home base as much as I do—but then it’s gone, replaced by a certainty. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  An Uber ride later, we drag our exhausted bodies into my place and take care of our pre-bed business. I’m the first to collapse onto my king-size mattress. She slides on a T-shirt that says When I think about books I touch my shelf, and the sight of it on her—a naughty little bookworm—makes me laugh. “So very you,” I say, and she curtsies and gets into bed with me.

  As we snuggle under the covers, that “just right” feeling returns.

  When this evening started, I pictured it ending with a departure from the St. Regis before dawn, well before CJ wound up tangled up in my arms.

  But now that I have her here, it’s the perfect end to her stripping.

  Just for me.

  Only for me.

  It’s so good that I drift off to sleep with the sweet smell of CJ filling my head and dream the nicest dreams I can remember having in ages.

  But the next morning, as so often happens with sweet dreams, there’s a nightmare just around the corner. Waiting in my lobby. Dressed in a hot-pink raincoat and stiletto heels.

  Chapter Fourteen

  CJ

  Best. Sleepover. Ever.

  Spending the night with Graham was never on my sex ed agenda—I figured that belonged in a relationship class rather than a seduction course—but now I can’t imagine my lesson plan being complete without this extra session. Drifting off in his arms, waking up with his lips warm on my neck and his husky voice asking if I want coffee, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he shaved and I swept on a coat of mascara—it was all wonderful. Perfect. A lesson in intimacy and the “morning after” that I won’t soon forget.

  Because I’ll be repeating it tonight.

  And the next night, and the next, and the next.

  Then I’ll be moving into his guest room . . . I guess. Once the seven days of sex-cation are over, and if my apartment is still under construction . . .

  I knew from the start that we had an expiration date, but when Graham said that last night, about me staying past Monday since he has plenty of room, it hurt a little. I didn’t realize how upsetting it would be to imagine a future without his kiss, his touch, or the new closeness that’s growing between us. I’m seeing sides of Graham I never knew were there, and experiencing the pleasure of his company in ways that go beyond the physical.

  Though that’s quite nice, too. If “nice” means absolutely toe-curlingly incredible.

  I’m daydreaming about everything we did to each other last night—about the moment when I made him lose control in my hand, and how much I want to do that again—when we step out of the elevator into the lobby. Graham stops dead, cursing softly beneath his breath.

  I follow his mildly horrified gaze to a leggy woman posed near the front desk. Everything from her hot-pink raincoat, skin-tight pink skirt, scandalously low-cut gray blouse, and sky-high stilettos screams, “Look at me!” Add in the bouncy blond hair and expertly made-up blue eyes, and she’s probably one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen in real life.

  But there’s something . . . not right about her smile, something that reminds me of what it feels like to be the last kid picked for volleyball in gym class every single day.

  Anything with balls, I’m bad at. Which reminds me . . .

  Note to self: research how to correctly play with a man’s balls so you have something new to show Graham tonight.

  “Hey, G-man,” the woman purrs, eliminating any doubt that she’s exactly what she looks like—one of Graham’s women. I’ve only met a few of his former girlfriends, usually in passing at a reception or event, and they’ve all been stunning to the point where other women feel like trolls in comparison.

  “Lucy.” Graham’s voice is clipped, brimming with irritation. I glance up at him, my eyes wide.

  So this is the woman Graham said turned stalker on him after their breakup a few months ago.

  Ouch.

  I glance back at her, trying to hide my knowledge of her past misdeeds—who buys an ex-lover a plane ticket to Barbados or takes up running solely for the opportunity of bumping into him on his morning jog, for goodness’ sake? Running is abhorrent. But I school my expression, keeping my face neutral, since I don’t want her to feel embarrassed. I’d be deeply embarrassed if I knew an ex of mine had been talking about me with his new lover.

  “Hey, I know this is kind of out of the blue.” Lucy’s eyes flit from Graham to me and back again with a nervous laugh. “And I’m sorry to, um, interrupt your morning. I just, I think I left my scarf at your place. You know, the black silk I always wear with this outfit?”

  She motions down at her décolletage—which is impressive, borderline inappropriate if she’s on her way to the office, and could definitely benefit from a scarf tied at the neck to help conceal some of the extra boobage going on—but Graham’s eyes remain fixed firmly on her face.

  “I don’t have anything of yours in my apartment, Lucy,” he grinds out through a tight jaw. “It’s all gone, and I would appreciate it if you would honor the boundaries we talked about.”

  Her brows pinch. “I know you said I shouldn’t come over,” Lucy says, her voice creeping half an octave higher. “But I was just a couple blocks away and I thought—”

  “Think again next time,” Graham says. “You should know by now I don’t say things I don’t mean. So I would appreciate it if you would take me at my word. Like when I texted you the other day, and asked you to stop contacting me. I meant it.”

  Hurt flashes across Lucy’s features, her emotional pain so obvious, I can’t help but flinch in empathy. God, this poor woman. She’s a wreck. Like a very beautiful, well-put-together addict hunting for a fix she’s never going to be able to lay her hands on again, no matter how finely she dresses or how hard she tries.

  The t
hought sweeps through my head followed by an eerily clear mental image of me standing where Lucy is now, clutching my suitcase and thanking Graham for a great seven days, when all I really want to do is cling to his leg and beg him to let me stay a little longer.

  Maybe a lot longer.

  My stomach churns at the thought. This is precisely what I promised myself I’d avoid. This is what I’ve been determined to keep at bay.

  Lucy apologizes softly, her eyes shining with tears, and as she hurries toward the door, I realize how easy it would be to get hooked on Graham. Hooked just as hard. I already crave his touch, ache for his laughter, yearn to be wrapped up in his arms at the end of the night and wake there in the morning.

  “Sorry about that,” Graham murmurs, lifting a hand to the man behind the lobby desk as we move toward the revolving doors. “She doesn’t seem to be getting the message that it’s over.”

  I force a sympathetic smile. “Well, hopefully she will now. You were pretty firm.”

  He grunts. “I have to be firm. I was pretty damn clear the other day, too. We moved past the let-her-down-easy phase a long time ago.”

  “I get it,” I say, though of course I don’t. I’ve never had that kind of relationship before, the kind that leaves you so desperate you’ll keep rolling over and showing your vulnerable underbelly, no matter how many times you’re kicked to the curb. I cringe at the thought, and the stark realization that I don’t want to experience that kind of devastation. I don’t want to become Lucy. “See you tonight?”

  “Tonight.” Graham leans down to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll be home by six thirty. I’m going to skip the run today.”

  “Same here. I’m too beat for biking. I’ll probably be back around six thirty as well. Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “Letting you stay.” He chuckles as we emerge into the cool spring morning and he starts toward the town car parked at the corner. “You say that as if it’s some sacrifice on my part. You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pauses, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder as his brow furrows. “Do you need a ride? We can swing by your office first. It’s no trouble at all.”

  I wave a hand and continue backing toward Chelsea, buttoning my jacket. “No, it’s fine. I want to walk. It’s not far, and I do my best brainstorming while walking.”

  “Are you sure?” He narrows his eyes with a smile, looking so handsome, so tempting, that I almost reverse direction and hurry into the car beside him.

  But in the end, I shake my head and wave. “I’m sure. Have a great day.”

  I need to walk, to think about the work ahead and what to tackle on my agenda. The cool air usually helps clear my head. But by the time I reach the door to the space Love Cycle shares with several other up-and-coming designers, I’ve barely been able to think about sample shots or inventory. All I can think about is Graham, and how deep into the water I’ve waded with him already, so deep I can barely keep my head above the surface.

  It would be dangerous to tread any deeper. My gut is issuing a red alert, and my heart is hammering out a careful, careful, be careful rhythm that makes it impossible to focus on my to-do list.

  I know what I need to do. As soon as I reach my desk, I lock myself in my office and search for a hotel room for the next week.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Graham

  My phone bleats with a code red text.

  That’s Luna speak for a massive shopping emergency.

  Even though I have a shit ton of work on my desk, I won’t ignore my friend. I call her while tapping out the last line of an email to our design team, approving the quick garter fix they worked up this morning. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m stuck.” It comes out in a long, needy whine, and I strain to make out the sounds behind her, the clicking of shoes, a few can I help yous, the ding of an intercom.

  In my best stay-calm voice I say, “Tell me where you are. Are you stuck in the linen department at Bloomingdales again? Are you rocking in a corner yet, or are you still upright and semi-functional?”

  She chokes out several miserable-sounding sobs. “Yes. Bloomingdales. Upright. But just barely. Shopping is so awful. How do you people manage this?”

  “By ‘people’ do you mean men?”

  “Everyone. Men, women, children. This is the worst. I can’t do it, Graham. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

  “When you put it like that . . .” I glance at the clock. Fortunately, Bloomingdale’s is close. “Tell me what department you’re in. Try to describe it. I’ll be there in ten minutes to perform a search-and-rescue.”

  “There are things for the home. Like cake dishes, and ice cream scoops, and blenders. Does that mean I’m in hell? Because they aren’t selling ice cream and cake, so it sounds like hell.”

  “Stay there. I’ll find you in housewares.”

  I hang up, and head to the elevator. Luna’s being dramatic, of course. She knows how to navigate her way out of Bloomingdale’s. But she detests shopping with the force of a thousand suns, and since I happen to be a master at picking the right item for the right person, I see it as my personal duty to lend a helping hand.

  I find her holding a stainless steel elephant napkin holder in one hand and a miniature purple hammer in the other, staring back and forth at each, those cat-eye glasses low on her nose. A huge purse is slung on her shoulder.

  When I reach her, I pat her on the back. “Breathe.”

  She takes a deep breath, and I remove each item from her hands, setting them down at their displays. “Luna, no one wants an elephant napkin ring for a gift, and I assure you, as cute and kitschy as this hammer is, no one actually needs it.”

  She blinks up at me. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Tell me who you’re shopping for. And why you didn’t call me first. We’ve been over this. You’re not supposed to go into the big department stores by yourself,” I tease, talking to her like a child.

  She squares her shoulders. “I wanted to get something nice for Valerie because she’s had a rough week at work, and the other night she mentioned something about how nice the table looked when it was set all fancy at a restaurant. So, naturally, I thought she wanted napkin rings.”

  I shake my head in sympathy and pet her hair. “Sweetheart, I assure you, no one ever wants napkin rings. If Valerie had a hard week at work, there’s only one thing you can give her.”

  “Graham, I did that last night.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Twice.”

  “Shut your filthy mind off and go get your wife a gift certificate for a spa day.”

  Her eyes sparkle, and she snaps her fingers. “You are the king of gift giving.”

  I blow on my fingers, the sign for too-hot-to-handle.

  “That’s exactly what I need to do.” Her smile is infectious.

  “And look, there’s a great spa around the corner. Stellar Spa. Some of the ladies at the office rave about it. You go there and get a day of pampering for your woman.”

  She grabs my cheeks and plants a kiss on my forehead. “I love you.” She’s about to turn around when she says, “Hey, how are things going with your lesson plans?”

  I don’t bother to hide the smile that tugs at my lips. “They’re going great.”

  “And she’s a good student?”

  I let that word roll around in my brain for a moment. Student. CJ hardly feels like a student. She feels like so much more. But “more” is precisely what I need to be on guard against. More can distract me from my mission—to laser in on growing Adored.

  “The classes are mutually enjoyable.”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “I’d badger you for more details if I wasn’t in a rush. Oh, by the way.” She dips her hand into her cavernous bag and hands me a small, white bakery box. “A whoopie pie for you.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Luna, did you know you were going to call me from Bloomingdale’s before you walked through the revolving door?”

  She shrugs sheepishly. “I mi
ght have preplanned a baked bribe.”

  “I’ll always accept your baked goods, bribe or not.” I make a shooing gesture. “Now get your ass to Stellar Spa.”

  With an afternoon snack in hand, I leave the store. Once outside, my phone buzzes with a note from CJ that stops me in my tracks.

  For a full five seconds.

  Then I charge into the nearest coffee shop, one next door to a florist, set the whoopie pie down, and get to work on this new crisis.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CJ

  My heart wages war with my brain, but no way am I letting that tra la la organ win this battle.

  Booking a hotel is the sensible action to take. Informing Graham is the adult thing to do. I will be both sensible and adult. With the web page for the Warwick Hotel open on my laptop, ready and waiting for me to finish reserving a room, I tap out a note.

  CJ: Thank you again for the offer to stay at your place. I’m so grateful, but I’ve decided I should stay at a hotel. I don’t want to cramp your style, and sleeping over night after night was never part of our bargain.

  Graham: Part of the bargain? That’s not what this is about. I don’t want you to stay with me as part of a bargain. I want you to stay with me because I like having you with me. And for the record, you aren’t cramping my anything. Is this because of Lucy?

  “No,” I mutter to myself. “Not in the way you think, anyway.”

  There’s no way Graham can know how Lucy has made me realize how vulnerable my heart is. Not to mention my sanity. Graham literally makes women crazy with wanting him, and I don’t need crazy in my life. I like peace, harmony, and routine, thank you very much. I get more than enough crazy dealing with twenty employees and an out-of-state production and warehouse situation.