Forbidden Nights Page 2

  Being a woman had never held her back, but she knew she had to work that much harder. When Casey wanted something she went after it passionately, with everything she had. It was ironic that the strategy had worked well at her company, but her approach hadn’t gone as swimmingly in her rather dismal personal life. A string of bad luck in relationships trailed behind her. Yup, laugh it up. She was the Sex Toy Princess who didn’t get any action beyond the battery-operated kind.

  It wasn’t that she chose badly, or liked jerks. She didn’t. But there were two issues working against her. One, men didn’t ask her out that often, and when she did ask out a guy, he’d often admit her profession scared him. “Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to approach a woman who sells sex toys?” one guy had said. He hadn’t lasted long. The other issue was that she had a notorious habit of speaking her mind, and, it turned out, that didn’t always work for the guys she had dated.

  “You intimidate me,” Scott, her ex, had told her, when he’d said sayonara the same night she’d been planning to ask him to move in with her. “You’re fun as hell, but I can’t see myself getting serious with an alpha female.”

  Ouch.

  She’d bristled at the designation. “Alpha female?” she said with narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about? That’s a term for a dog.”

  “You’re great at business, Case. But your relationship skills are kind of lacking. You never let me decide anything. You want to be in control of everything. You want to make all the decisions, from dinner to movies to what position in bed.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining about any of those positions when we were in them,” she pointed out.

  “It’s not hard for a guy to get off,” he said in an admonishing tone, and the message was loud and cruelly clear—I’m not into you in the bedroom.

  Later, after the soreness at being left again had abated, and after she’d turned a few hairbrushes into projective missiles lobbed at the door, she was able to call a spade a spade. She did like control. She did enjoy picking and choosing, whether they went to an art gallery or a film, and she absolutely loved telling a man how she liked it—harder, faster, there, right there, don’t stop. What was so wrong with that? Hell, this was the field she worked in. She marketed sex toys, for goodness’ sake. Her days, and her late, late nights were spent finding new ways to communicate all the joys her toys could deliver. And yet, something about Scott’s condemnations had stung because they’d hit home. They’d touched down and felt true. She was an alpha woman. Strong and confident, driven and ambitious, and absolutely unafraid of saying what she wanted. It scared some men. It scared most men.

  Good thing she and Grant were communicating then about business. She could be as direct as she needed to be.

  “What do you think about such a partnership? We’re keeping the toy under wraps until we roll it out later this summer with our key retail partners, and I’d very much like to have Entice as one of those partners,” she said, then took a drink of her French martini as she waited for his response.

  He draped his arm across the back of the royal blue couch, tracing a line absently with his fingertip. The thought briefly flicked through her mind of him running that same finger against her shoulder, her neck, her leg . . .

  “I’ve often thought we’d make good partners,” he said, with a slight quirk of his lips, and a certain look in his eyes. A look that almost said there was an undercurrent of interest. Then he wiped his hand across his brow, as if it had gotten too hot in here. “And now you come to me with this sultry talk of a LolaRing,” he said, clearly enjoying the naughtiness of their professions. “What’s a gentleman to do?”

  God, the man was a flirt, and such a fine specimen. The head of his company, surely he wasn’t one of those guys who’d be bothered that she was strong-willed, that she was in love with work. Because she was in love with love, too. She was a believer in happiness, in possibilities, in two people who fall madly in love. The kind of love her brother had with Michelle. The kind of love she was determined, bad luck be damned, to find.

  She leaned her head back and laughed. “Then what do I need to do to get your bras and panties in bed with my hot new toy?”

  He laughed, a sexy rumbly sound. “Why don’t you let me tell you how I see this working?”

  “Please do.”

  His eyes seemed to light up when she said please.

  As they discussed all the possibilities of working together, she could taste the sugary-sweet flavor of a deal coming together. She wanted this one badly; she’d been chasing it for months.

  And then, there it was at last—he extended a hand. “Let’s make my lingerie customers even more satisfied,” he said, as he wrapped his fingers around hers. Excitement coursed through her and she wanted to pump her fist, to shout a victorious yes to the sky. Instead, she tamped it down. She knew how to behave like a grown-up.

  “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 ha
d 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.