The V Card Page 17

  I pace toward the window overlooking the city, motioning toward the sun-drenched skyline. “Beauty means different things to different people. Every woman out there is a unique and beautiful individual. But those women, the women who wear our lingerie, they have things in common, too. They value quality, originality, and integrity. They value themselves and believe they deserve the best.”

  My gaze drifts back across the room. “With our industry in a state of flux, it can be tempting to think about other options. Easier options, maybe.” I shrug, lifting my hands at my sides. “Sure, why not sell our lingerie company to a conglomerate peddling everything from socks and suits to snow-cone machines and mail-order tick medicine for your dog?”

  Muffled laughter assures me the room is still with me.

  “But Adored has never been about easy. It’s about a commitment to something fine in a world that’s drowning in fast, cheap, and disposable.” I meet Bill’s gaze, then Betsy’s, watching their expressions soften. “It’s about what women deserve, not what the world has told them to settle for. You want somebody leading this company who understands that, and who understands why Adored is special. A one-company kind of man.” My gaze glides briefly to CJ, enough for only her to understand as I say, “A one-woman kind of man.” She smiles, making my heart do that weightless, walk-on-the-moon thing it does with her these days.

  I finish with a line that is about so much more than business. “I want to be that man, and I hope you’ll keep having me.”

  A polite smattering of applause fills the room as I motion to CJ. “Now Caroline, Sean’s sister, would like to say a few words.”

  CJ stands, beautiful and poised as ever, and I’ve never been prouder to have her on my side. “Hello everyone. Believe me, I know it can be enticing to explore different options. I understand the temptation and have experienced it myself. But in the end, I realized that selling would have been a choice I made out of fear, out of a lack of belief in what I could accomplish.”

  Her tone gentles as she adds, “And fear is never a good reason to make a big change. If a sale was right, you would know it in your bones. It would be something you would be ready to fight for.” She pauses, giving a small shake of her head. “But that’s not the feeling I get here today. I sense that you all believe Adored’s future is valuable, and that it should be trusted to someone who understands that.”

  CJ arches a wry brow as she motions my way. “And, well . . . Graham knows panties.”

  The laughter from the board is louder this time, but I only have eyes for this woman, this dynamite creature bringing the meeting home with a bang.

  “He knows bras and bustiers and corsets.” Her smile fades as she adds, “But he knows something much more important, too. He knows how to listen to women. To his customers. To the people who appreciate and value Adored’s products. He listens, he learns, he adjusts, he leads—that’s the hallmark of a great businessman.” She glances back to me, her eyes shining. “It’s also the hallmark of a great man. Thank you.”

  CJ sits to even louder applause, and I know we’ve won them over.

  The vote to move forward with business as usual is unanimous. My company is still mine, and that makes me one happy man.

  But someone else makes me even happier.

  After the meeting, I steal her away, into my office, locking the door behind us.

  “You were incredible,” I murmur against her lips, kissing her hard and deep as I back her across the room.

  “So were you.” Her breath hitches as I lift her onto my desk and slide her skirt higher on her thighs. “You’re sexy when you’re commanding a room.”

  “You’re sexy on my desk.” I kiss a trail down her throat as I work open the buttons on her blouse. “As a matter of fact, I’ve had this recurring fantasy about you on my desk . . .”

  Then I show her, and it’s safe to say we’re voting a unanimous yes to office afternoon delight.

  Epilogue

  CJ

  Six weeks later . . .

  They say good things come to those who wait.

  I’m not sure that’s always true, but I’m never going to regret waiting for Graham, this man who always knows exactly how to make me smile.

  “A roller-disco, monster dress-up, twenty-sixth birthday party,” I read, surveying the invitation he’s submitted for my approval. I beam up at him, smiling from ear to ear. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to dress up like a scary clown and party all night long?”

  He groans in mock dismay. “No clown. Anything but a clown.”

  I slide into his lap on our couch—ours, because I moved in with him two weeks ago, and now his home is our home—and press a kiss to his Saturday-morning scruffy cheek. “Okay, no clown. But yes. I love it. And you. And I can’t wait to see you tricked out as a sexy Dracula.”

  He hums softly as he pulls me closer, murmuring in a terrible Transylvanian accent, “Yes, my darlink, I vill dress as Dracula and bite your beautiful body all night long.”

  He nips at my neck, and I dissolve into laughter that becomes a gasp and a soft moan as his kisses lose their teasing edge. We retreat to our bedroom, and he surprises me all over again with how quickly he can make me wild and ravenous, like I’m drowning in pleasure and beauty.

  And afterward, once we’ve let a yowling Stephen King in to curl at the foot of the bed and chew on an old pair of Graham’s socks—his favorite new chew toys—we snuggle and make more plans.

  Plans for the Fourth of July on his friend Luna’s rooftop terrace.

  Plans for an August vacation to Martha’s Vineyard, where we intend to eat our weight in lobster rolls.

  Plans for a theater premier in September, and his birthday in October, and a visit to his parents’ place in West Palm Beach in November for Thanksgiving.

  Though every day feels like Thanksgiving lately.

  I have so much to be grateful for.

  For this man, this life, this joy, this love . . .

  Graham

  It rains every single day we’re in Florida for Thanksgiving, torrential downpours that keep CJ and I locked in the house with my parents, held captive to hours of embarrassing stories from my youth, endless poker tournaments for pennies, and way too many servings of pie.

  And it is unexpectedly . . . perfect.

  Mom and Dad love CJ—they especially get a kick out of her All the Fucks I Give T-shirt she wears for luck when we’re playing five-card stud—and CJ loves them. She fits in like she’s slipping into an empty place in our family none of us knew was there until she stepped up.

  For Christmas, my parents fly north to enjoy the holidays in the city, and I make sure to get them a hotel near all the Midtown action. We enjoy the tree in Rockefeller Center, the museums, and the Rockettes’ Christmas Spectacular, and CJ and I spend our nights alone, keeping each other warm while the snow falls outside.

  “Did you get everything you wanted?” I ask her as Christmas Day draws to a close and we head down the hall to bed.

  “I already had everything I wanted, but yes, your gifts were perfect, as always.” She presses up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek before adding in a naughty voice, “Although there is one thing I didn’t find under the tree . . .”

  I arch a brow, feigning ignorance, though the hand she runs over my ass leaves little doubt what my vixen has in mind. “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “You,” she murmurs, lifting her chin. “Naked and at my mercy.”

  I kiss her, smiling against her lips. “That can be arranged, Butterfly. Right this very second, in fact.”

  And it is.

  And I am—at her mercy.

  When it comes to CJ, my heart is wide open, defenseless, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Another Epilogue

  CJ

  Eleven months later…

  I tug on a pretty pink sweater, fasten on one of my typewriter necklaces, then give my hair one final fluff.

  Appraising my reflection in the mirror, I decide
I look pretty damn good for a woman heading to Sunday morning brunch with her roommate.

  Laughing at that word—as if it can even begin to encompass the depth of what we share in this home—I head to the living room, stopping to give Stephen King a scratch on the chin.

  A quick purr tells me he likes the attention.

  “Of course you like attention. You’re a man,” I say, then rub his ears. Good thing I enjoy spoiling the men in my life.

  I grab my purse, sling it onto my shoulder, and I’m scanning the room for my phone when it rings loudly from the coffee table. It’s Ted, the weekend doorman.

  “There’s a delivery for you.”

  “Send it up.”

  A few minutes later, I answer the door and thank Ted as I take a slim white box from him. When the door shuts, I tug off the ribbon.

  I furrow my brow as I find a number two pencil in it.

  What on earth?

  There’s a note. Bring the pencil to brunch, my butterfly.

  I shrug happily. That’s Graham. He is the king of gifts, and I have to say, I love this special skill of his. Stephen King’s new leather studded collar is proof that Graham can shop his butt off for anyone, or any creature.

  Tucking the pencil into my purse, I head uptown to Ruby’s Kitchen, where he said he’d meet me after an early morning workout. We’ve become regulars at Ruby’s. After that first brunch when I was too shocked by the audacity of my proposal to eat, we’ve made it a point to rarely miss the eggs and French toast there.

  Both are delish.

  When I arrive, I gaze across the bowed heads of the diners, but I don’t see the handsome cut of Graham’s jaw, or the fantastic mess of brown hair I love to run my hands through. But I know he’ll be here soon.

  I tell the hostess I’m here for a party of two, and she guides me to a table right away. I take a seat, smoothing my hand over the white tablecloth, remembering the time I asked him to teach me.

  That felt wild and crazy then. I would never have expected to be back here almost a year later, tending a wonderful love that grows stronger and deeper every day.

  But it does.

  It most certainly does.

  “Miss Murphy?”

  I look up at the young face of a waiter. “Yes. Good morning.”

  “I have something for you.” He hands me another white box, tied with a silver ribbon this time. It’s bigger than the one sent to the house, about the size to hold a shirt or sweater.

  Gently, I tug at the bow, letting it fall open. I reach inside to find . . .

  A black composition notebook?

  My brow pinches as I pick it up and read the front.

  A new lesson plan.

  I’m flipping it open when a voice I know well lands on my ears. “There’s something I want you to teach me.”

  Graham stands next to me, looking as handsome as ever in jeans and a navy blue button-down, rolled up at the cuffs.

  “And what would that be? How to order a double order of French toast? Because I can do that, since I’m starving.” I laugh, gesturing to the chair across from me, but he remains standing. “Don’t you want to sit down?”

  He shakes his head. “I want to kneel.”

  He drops to one knee, and I gasp. My eyes turn to saucers as he opens his palm. Another box. A small, blue velvet one. “Teach me how to cherish you, to love you, and to honor you every day of our lives for as long as we both shall live.”

  Tears don’t even have the courtesy to wait. They roll down my cheeks as he takes out a gorgeous emerald-cut diamond.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” I say, as he slides it onto my finger and I wrap my arms around him. “But you don’t need lessons in anything. You’re already perfect for me. In every single way.”

  Graham

  Sometimes I compare my life to the movies. I turn to my favorite heroes for guidance on what they might do in a given situation.

  When I think of my favorite films, there’s no question which one I’m starring in right now.

  Every chick flick ever made.

  And I couldn’t be happier to picture the closing credits rolling over me as I take my seat across from the woman who’s going to be my wife, and prepare to enjoy the best French toast in all of Manhattan and decades of wedded bliss.

  THE END

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  Coming next from Lili Valente—THE BABY MAKER, a sexy, swoony, baby-making rom com! And you won’t want to miss MOST LIKELY TO SCORE from Lauren Blakely in January, a fun & sexy sports romance about a forbidden love. A sneak peek of each book follows.

  First, THE BABY MAKER, followed by MOST LIKELY TO SCORE…

  We hope you enjoy this excerpt of

  THE BABY MAKER by Lili Valente

  Some men are troublemakers or dealmakers. The men in my family? We’re baby makers.

  For six generations, the women of wine country have had a saying: don’t bang a Hunter man unless you want a bun in your oven.

  Yeah, well. I’ve got a saying too: no thanks. The last thing I need is baby makes three. My business is expanding and the only thing I’m interested in getting knocked up is my bottom line.

  But then one night Emma Haverford makes me an offer I can’t refuse—she backs away from the land I have my eye on in exchange for a favor…

  A big, fat, baby making favor…

  When I hear women have gotten pregnant shaking hands with Hunter men, I know I need Dylan Hunter’s…ahem, special skills…way more than I need to expand my vineyard.

  I’m ready to give my heart to a child and I’m tired of waiting for my late-to-the-party Prince Charming to make my dreams come true. So I promise Dylan—three months of hot, heavy, baby-making s-e-x and then I’m out of his hair forever.

  But what if when it comes time to say good-bye, all I want to do is keep bottling up more memories with this big-hearted man?

  Excerpt…

  Dylan…

  No. The answer has to be no.

  I’m crazy to have even said I would think about it. There is no answer but no. Yes isn’t an option. Maybe isn’t an option. I should have drawn a line in the sand last night and made sure Emma understood I never meant to step over it.

  Never.

  No matter how sweet her mouth tastes or what an insanely hot kisser she is or how good it felt to have her curvy body pressed tight to mine.

  God, she was hot…

  Five alarm hot…

  So much more responsive than I’d imagined she would be.

  And yes, I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss her, imagined Emma’s smart mouth melting beneath mine. And yes, the real Emma is even more irresistible than the fantasy.

  But that’s exactly why I should say no. She’s the kind of woman it would be so easy to get hooked on, and neither one of us is looking for a steady date.

  Even assuming Emma and I end up hating each other by the time our banging-for-a-baby experiment is through, there’s no way I would be able to live next door to my own child and pretend he’s just the neighbor’s boy.

  I don’t want a kid at this point, but if my son were growing up next door, I would want to be a part of his life. I’d want to be there when he needed me, especially when he got old enough to wonder why his father wasn’t in the picture. I’d want to make sure he knew it wasn’t because of any flaw in his design; it’s just grown-up bullshit, pure and simple.

  “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” I grumble as I toss plates onto the long wooden table in t
he front dining room.

  “In good spirits this morning, I see.” Tristan slams the front door behind him and tosses his jean jacket on the bench in the hall. “Val up yet?”

  “No idea.” I open an arm to pull my little half-brother in for a quick hug. “He didn’t come home last night.”

  Tristan snorts and shakes his head. “One day back in town and he already found a woman willing to put up with his ass?”

  “At least for the night,” I say, earning a grin from Tris. It’s crazy how much he looks like Val when he smiles—same mile wide grin and dancing brown eyes—but they couldn’t be more different.

  Tris is the family do-gooder, the kid who was always saving wounded animals and looking out for the under dog growing up. Val is our rebel, blazing his own path without giving a good God damn what anyone else has to say about it.

  And then there’s me, somewhere in the middle, torn between my heart and my head, my personal goals and my family obligations.

  My dick and the sound knowledge that getting a stranger pregnant is a stupid idea under any circumstances, no matter how sad and beautiful a woman looks crying in the moonlight…

  THE BABY MAKER is out Feb 5th!

  Pre-order here.

  Sneak Peek from Lauren Blakely

  We hope you enjoy this preview of

  MOST LIKELY TO SCORE, by Lauren Blakely. Preorder everywhere!

  Jillian

  He squeezes my hand, and I tense, then give in to the momentary sensation of his big hand covering mine, reassuring me once more.

  “And I’m all in with this, too.” He lets go of my hand, and I wish he’d touch me again, even though I can’t let my mind go there.