Forbidden Nights Page 15

  Her skin sizzled. Her heart tried to fight its way out of her rib cage. Her fingers ached to touch him. The way he gazed at her made her feel as if all those words were meant for her. Maybe he was talking in general terms, or maybe he was talking about her. Her throat was dry, but she pushed past it. “Tonight? I have a request for tonight.”

  “Anything.” His voice was raw.

  “I want you to make me crazy. Drive me wild. I want to feel that abandon I’ve only felt with you. I want to be so wound up with desire that I practically beg for it,” she said, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He licked his lips, and blew out a long stream of air. “Would you do that for me?”

  “Don’t you know by now? I’d do anything for you.”

  “Then on that note, I need you to let me slip away from you to shower,” she said playfully, and he lifted his hands and she slid away. She grabbed her clothes for her meeting along with her makeup, then she rooted around in her bag for her toiletries, hunting for her Alba Botanica shampoo, but the search was fruitless. She cursed. “Crap. I did it again. I forgot my favorite shampoo.”

  She headed into the bathroom and reached for the hotel shampoo on the vanity. It was a good brand. She really couldn’t complain about Aveda, even though it wasn’t her favorite. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he gently removed the Aveda bottles, and turned her around. Her eyes widened and she grinned like a fool to see him brandishing two small bottles of Alba Botanica. They were in a Ziploc bag and he dangled them from his fingers high above her head.

  “Oh my God! Did I put them in your bag?”

  He shook his head, looking as pleased as a cat that had captured a mouse.

  “How do you have them then? Don’t tell me it was in my bag and I didn’t even notice.”

  He continued to shake his head. “Wrong again.”

  “Well?”

  “I brought it for you.”

  “You did?” she said, her jaw going slack.

  He nodded. “It’s your Achilles’ heel when you travel. You sometimes forget to bring your shampoo. And you’re kind of obsessed with your hair.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “So I brought some along just in case you forgot,” he said, handing her the bag.

  It was only shampoo. But it was so much more than shampoo. Her heart started a stampede again, galloping closer to him. To this man she was having some kind of strange, friendly, temporary affair with. A man who knew so much about her, and who seemed to embrace all her quirks, her habits, her needs, and in the last few weeks, her desires.

  Her lips parted, and she was about to say all these things, but the clock was ticking. She tipped her forehead to the shower. “Thank you,” she said, and then stripped to her birthday clothes, and stepped under the spray.

  When she finished her shower, he handed her a towel, and as she started to dry off she knocked playfully on the shower door.

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “Dewey.”

  “Dewey who?”

  “Do we really have to use a condom?”

  He blinked once, like she’d caught him off guard. “I’m clean. I was tested before you,” he said.

  “Me too. And I’m on the pill,” she said, trying to keep the conversation casual as she toweled off water droplets on her legs. But standing naked before him, having just showered, discussing the sex they planned to have, and sharing a room with him? It hardly seemed that what had started as casual could be classified that way anymore.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  London, afternoon . . .

  Sofia showed Casey the new display at the signature retail location in Hyde Park, gesturing proudly to the shelf of white boxes emblazoned with the silver J for Joy Delivered.

  “Look at all my babies,” Casey said, pretending to grab at the boxes.

  The tall and statuesque British woman flashed a bright smile. “And they’ve probably helped make a lot of babies too,” she said with a wink.

  “Good one.”

  “In any case, I wanted you to see our gorgeous new display. It’s increased our foot traffic too, and boosted word of mouth. We’re so excited to carry your products at the locations we’re opening soon. Can you just imagine how smashing it will be to have the LolaRing join all her friends here?” Sofia said, clasping her hand over her heart, as if she truly was enthralled about the addition of a new vibrator to the crew of high-end pleasure devices the fancy pharmacy sold.

  “I’m sure Lola will be delighted to keep such good company,” Casey said, continuing the banter now that they’d finished the business details. The I’s had been dotted and the T’s had been crossed upstairs in Sofia’s office, and the boutique was on board as another one of the exclusive launch partners for Joy Delivered’s newest toy.

  Sofia exuded class and sophistication from her understated black pumps, to her sleek navy dress, to her brown hair, twisted in a chignon. She was the head of the company named after her, and Casey wondered briefly if Sofia was a so-called alpha female too, and if she’d ever struggled in her social life because of it. Her gaze drifted briefly to Sofia’s left hand—no ring. But then, the presence or absence of rings proved nothing. Sofia could still be in a committed relationship. Perhaps someday, the two women would chat about love and the challenges of its pursuit as women in business. For now, the focus remained on the products they peddled.

  Sofia’s voice turned more earnest. “I’m truly delighted to add the LolaRing to the lineup. I know you’re choosy with your retail partners when rolling out new products, and I’m glad to be on the short list.”

  Casey bowed her head slightly. “I assure you, the honor is all mine. I couldn’t be more thrilled to continue our partnership. It also looks like,” she said, crossing her fingers, “we’ll have a hotel chain on board too. I’ll share names when it’s finalized.”

  Sofia gave an approving nod. “Excellent. I’m sure I’ll be wowed, since already it’s an impressive short list,” she said, lowering her voice as if they were discussing state secrets. “I hear Grant Abbot is on it. I only wish I had a reason to be in business with him.” Sofia pretended to fan herself. “My, he’s a handsome devil, isn’t he?”

  Casey laughed politely. “Yes. He is.”

  “I love Entice lingerie, of course, too. I had drinks with him at a conference once. He’s such a flirt, and I even told him as much,” Sofia said, as they walked away from the display.

  Flirt. Yeah, that kind of described Grant. Flirty, and charming, and incredibly savvy, he was also a good business partner. The man had been fantastic so far to work with, delivering contracts on time, lining up the right people, and planning the details for marketing. Soon, she’d be seeing him so they could put the finishing touches on the rollout at his boutiques, and perhaps too exploring the possibilities of other partnerships. Her shoulders tensed at the thought. She wasn’t quite sure how to behave with him. It had been a while, and so much had changed, hadn’t it? She furrowed her brow, momentarily trying to recall her last meeting with Grant. But it had grown fuzzier, and much more muted, and she was going to have to do something about that very soon.

  * * *

  Casey tapped her foot and peered down the street. The early evening crowds weaved past her—men in suits and ties, women in smart dresses and business slacks. The workday had ended and Londoners were moving onto their nights, walking briskly along the chic New Bond Street in the heart of the West End. She stood under the black awning of the famed auction house with its elegant white facade, searching for Nate in the crowd, seeking out his familiar frame, his broad shoulders, his golden brown hair, his amber eyes. He’d texted her that he was running late, then texted her again to let her know his car had dropped him off several blocks away. The roads were so clogged with traffic that he’d get there faster on foot. The auction started in ten minutes, and if he didn’t make it soon she’d have to go in solo. Which was fine by her because she didn’t want
to miss a chance to vie for the painting she’d been coveting.

  She flipped open the catalogue to look at the image again.

  Unfinished Love—a simple, but sumptuous image, the painting’s story was told in broad brushstrokes and bright colors, depicting a man in a white shirt and a woman in a black dress kissing under a red umbrella. The best part was the woman’s reaction. The leg pop. Ah, that got to Casey every time. The heel in the air, the one-legged kiss—the flamingo, she liked to call it. Such a symbol of the power of a certain kind of kiss, of the way it could undo a woman. To be kissed like that had always been her dream, and so this image was her quest, and she wanted it badly.

  Like a gambler ready to lay down bets, she was poised to bid. She’d already registered and picked up her paddle. The clock drew nearer to the start of the auction. Another glance at her phone, another scan down the street, but still no Nate.

  She reread the details, and the expected starting price for the painting: £3000. She could manage that. Extravagant, yes. But not wildly insane. Besides, art was her indulgence. Art like this made her happy; it made her heart sing. It was an uncomplicated love, one that fed her soul, and her hope for that kind of love someday. She sighed wistfully, wishing that that someday would come soon.

  Until then, there was art, and that kept her going.

  She thumbed through a few more pages to pass the time, then she gasped out loud. There was a new painting in the catalogue, and it called to her, with outstretched arms. Casey ran her index finger longingly over the photo. A late addition to the lot, the image was of that same man and woman, but this time without an umbrella, staring up at the sky, caught in the rain—big, buoyant raindrops that shone like stars.

  She read the description.

  Miller Valentina hadn’t told anyone he was working on this new painting and had simply delivered it, along with his other works, to Sotheby’s as part of this auction of modern art. Titled Big Love, Sans Umbrella, the catalogue entry contained a note from the artist: “This work took me by surprise. I hadn’t planned to paint it, but perhaps Unfinished Love truly was unfinished because I had the insistent feeling that the sky had broken open and that there was more of their story to tell. So I told it.”

  She didn’t entirely connect with the kind of metaphors and art-y language that painters told their tales in, but even so, something about this work touched her. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it—for the couple, the painter and the sky.

  She read the price. It was more than Unfinished Love, but not by too much. Did she want both? Would that be too greedy? She craved the pair, but she talked herself down. They were just paintings. She didn’t have to buy both. She’d do just fine with the one she’d come for. Even though they fit together, like a perfect match.

  But where the hell was her date?

  Then her spine straightened, and goosebumps rose on the back of her neck. She spun around, or maybe he spun her. It all happened so quickly, she couldn’t tell where one moment ended and another began, only that this—her waiting—had blended into her being kissed, one second sliding seamlessly into the start of something ever more wonderful.

  The kiss told her so much—that he was sorry for being late, that he’d missed her for the last several hours he’d been without her, and that this was the best part of his day.

  Hers too.

  This kiss was air, it was breath, and it was her heart on her sleeve. In the soft, slow sweep of his lips, in the hungry sighs they both made, in an instant, the kiss was everything.

  Her heel popped up.

  There it was. The final proof that no one had ever kissed her like he did, and no one probably ever would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  London, evening . . .

  Green.

  All he saw was emerald green hugging every luscious curve.

  Clinging enticingly to her body, a lure for him, and him alone. Like she’d clothed herself in the secret of their affair—the dress that drew him back to New York, and into the first night he’d made love to her. It was a private message in a language only he could understand.

  “You wore it,” he said, and something dangerously close to hope dared to surface inside him.

  She nodded. “I told you I’d wear it for you. I keep my promises. Let’s go,” she said, pointing inside Sotheby’s. She walked quickly, guiding him up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the sales rooms that was abuzz with activity. The hum of hushed voices filled the air, and the auctioneer presided over the podium at the front of the room.

  She pointed to a row in the middle and he slid in next to her. As she sat down and adjusted her skirt, he dipped his head to her neck, and whispered, “All day long, Casey. All day long.”

  She turned to him. “All day long what?”

  The auctioneer spoke. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to tonight’s sale of modern art.”

  “All day long I thought of driving you wild,” Nate said, finishing the thought.

  She shivered against him, pressing her shoulder closer to him. My God, touching her was such a high. She was like a cat, arching her back to be pet. Every move of her body in response to even the slightest touch drove him mad with lust. He dropped his hand on her knee, tracing lazy lines across her bare flesh as the first item went up for bids. It was a lithograph by a Belgian artist, and nothing she was keen on. She showed him her paddle, and said in a hushed tone, “Would you like to use this on me later?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess you’ll have to see,” she said, that taunting look in her eyes. It threw him off for a second; he wasn’t sure if she’d returned to their games of seduction. Was she playing a part again, that of the tease, the temptress? He had no interest in those roles anymore. He’d need to rid her of all interest in them too. One more night of driving her wild might do the trick.

  “Sold for four thousand pounds,” the man said, and his assistants promptly brought a new work to the stage. “And now we have a sculpture from Franz Dubliner.”

  Casey shot him a concerned look at the word sculpture.

  He leaned in. “I’m fine. Don’t even think about it,” he said. To keep proving his point, he brushed his finger along the inside of her knee, heading in the direction he craved. The woman next to Casey had her gaze locked on the item on display at the front of the room, but he honestly didn’t care if anyone noticed that his hands were all over the woman in the emerald-green dress.

  Casey’s eyes fluttered closed as his finger drifted north. He continued his travels, a grin working its way across his face at her reactions. The subtle hitch in her breath. The sweet, sexy sigh she tried to hide. The press of her thigh against his as she moved her leg closer, seeking any kind of contact as art buyers surrounding them bid on a sculpture.

  “I can spend all night doing this,” he whispered.

  “And the opening bid is five thousand pounds,” the loud voice boomed through the room.

  The woman next to Casey raised her paddle, as Nate fingered the hem of her skirt. “Do you know what I thought when I first saw the picture of you in this dress? The one you texted me when I was in D.C.”

  “What did you think?” she asked as their neighbor continued to raise the stakes.

  “That you looked edible in it.” He traced the outside of her dress, skimming her thigh where she was pressed to his leg. “That the dress was like a goddamn temptation. When I saw you in it, my only thought was how much I wanted to push it up to your waist and slide my tongue over all the tight places in your body.”

  Her hand shot out and grasped his, her fingers digging into the bones of his hand. A bolt of lust rocketed through him from her reaction.

  “What would you do if I were against the wall right now?” she whispered, and he loved that she craved more dirty words. He had a whole arsenal of them to feed to her, to send heat between her legs, to turn her damp and hot and needy for him.

  “If you were
up against the wall, I’d fully expect you to hike up your skirt for me. Jut out your hips. Run your fingers along the outside of your panties and give me that naughty, wild look that tells me how much you love touching yourself. Then you’d need to dip your fingers between your legs. And once you do that, you’d better let me suck all that sweetness off them.”

  She drew a quick breath, clamping her lips shut. He suspected she was trying to hold in a moan. Excellent.

  “You’re good and wet already, aren’t you Casey?”

  She nodded, breathing hard.

  “So wet I could get down on my knees, spread those legs wide open and worship your perfect body with my mouth?”

  A small pant emanated from her lips—those lips that had sent him straight into oblivion earlier today. “Yes,” she murmured.

  “So wet that you’d be calling my name in less than sixty seconds, right?”

  “Yes.” Her chest rose and fell with each breath. “I want that so much.”

  He licked a quick path along the shell of her ear. “You fucking love everything I do to you.”

  “Everything, Nate” she said, her voice all hot and wanton. She turned to him, firing up every synapse in his nervous system with the look in her sapphire eyes—they were hazy with desire, and she gazed at him like a woman in heat. Lust rolled through his body, chased by pride. He loved turning her on. He loved being the one who could get her in this state. She was so patently aroused.

  “And now, we have a new painting from a rising star in the European art world. Miller Valentina. I start the bidding at three thousand pounds. Do we have three thousand pounds?”

  She swiveled around, snapped to attention and thrust the paddle in the air. Damn, she was even hotter with her focus on the prize.

  “We have three thousand in the room,” the man at the podium intoned, pointing at Casey, as he scanned the crowd, then quickly nodded to the other side of the crowd. “3,250 in the room,” he said from his post.