One More Night Read online

  Keeping her busy on the ride over had been the best distraction—in and of itself—and because it preserved the sheer surprise that he’d wanted to elicit from his woman. The jet was one part of the weekend he’d mapped out for Julia in Vegas. Every detail was planned to a T; every gift arranged in advance. He wanted to shower her with luxuries, capping them all off tomorrow with the one he was most eager to give her—a three-carat emerald-cut diamond ring as he asked her to be Mrs. Clay Nichols forever and ever. The ring was safely in Sin City already; he’d had it shipped from Tiffany’s, and sourced from a diamond mine in Canada, one of many that operated by socially responsible guidelines in the diamond business. His brother, Brent, had the ring under lock and key at his place in Vegas. Clay had contemplated having the ring shipped to the home he and Julia shared in the West Village, but when she’d playfully confessed one evening last month while lounging on their balcony, drinking scotch and looking at the stars, that she’d been the kid who peeked at her Christmas presents early, he knew it was safest to keep the ring far away from her prying eyes.

  “McKenna almost ratted me out one year. She found me re-taping a Christmas package early one morning when I was ten, I think. My face turned bright red, but then I told her our cat was playing with an ornament, and had knocked a few presents around, so the tape must have come off.”

  He’d laughed at her cover-up. “And she believed that far-fetched, multi-layered fib?”

  Julia shook her head, a self-deprecating grin curving her lips. “Nope. So I tried another tactic. I gave her my most prized possession in exchange for her silence—my scrapbook of all these fabulous Jordan Catalano snapshots from My So-Called Life,” she’d said, and he’d smiled at the mention of the TV show she and her sister had been huge fans of when they were growing up. That was something else he and Julia had in common; not that show, but an affection for movies and TV as entertainment and as touch-points for special moments in life.

  “You are deviously clever, and I also want to thank you for the advance warning that I should never leave any Christmas gifts for you under the tree until Christmas morning when Santa arrives.”

  She’d pretended to pout. “No fair.”

  “So fair,” he’d countered, as his mind whirred through the best options for keeping a ring far, far away from those exploring eyes and fingers. When he’d told her at her bar the other night that he’d planned to take her to Vegas for the weekend, she’d blatantly stated that she hoped he might get down on one knee, so he certainly wasn’t trying to catch her off-guard with his proposal. They were open with each other about their desire to be married someday soon. But the details? The where, when, and how of it? That’s what he could have fun with, moving puzzle pieces around, keeping her on her toes and hopefully finding a way to surprise the woman he loved, adored and cherished.

  Starting with this jet. Mission accomplished on the first surprise.

  “All this for a Friday meeting in Vegas?” she asked, as she drank in the posh interior. Her meeting with Farrell Spirits, the global beverage giant that manufactured Julia’s very special, very secret drink, had proved to be fortuitous timing. He’d already booked the trip when a few days ago one of the marketing executives at Farrell had asked her to meet in Vegas, where the company’s U.S. marketing operations were headquartered. Farrell wanted to expand Julia’s role from a behind-the-scenes mixer of its wildly popular new drink into a sort of spokeswoman for the Purple Snow Globe she’d invented. Once that serendipitous meeting was set, he had the perfect alibi to make this weekend seem like it was simply a combo business-and-pleasure getaway, not a well-planned and orchestrated opportunity to pop the question.

  “You’ve got to be able to fly with the high rollers now that you’re becoming one,” he told her, sliding his palm over her ass, cupping her cheek through her skirt as they stood in the galley. “Think of it as your corporate jet for the day, courtesy of the Pinkertons.”

  The Pinkertons, a duo of British film-producing brothers, had offered him the use of the jet for the weekend; their way of saying thank you for all the points he had won them in the deal they’d just signed with a studio for their newest movie.

  As Julia stepped into the lush inside of the jet, he watched her take it all in. Her green eyes were wide and bright, practically inhaling the surroundings as she stopped in her tracks. Her jaw dropped and she gawked. That made his heart pound against his chest. He loved her unfettered reactions. She didn’t hold back. She didn’t pretend. She let her emotions show through, and she was clearly in awe right now, which was exactly how he’d wanted her to feel. Pride suffused him as he catalogued her response. She wasn’t a woman who needed a private jet; she’d happily fly commercial, but she sure as hell was a woman who appreciated gifts, and did he ever love giving things to her.

  She launched herself into his arms and rained kisses on his cheek, jaw, and neck. “I am so glad you are making them boatloads of money, because this jet rocks. You are getting ten thousand blow jobs for this one, mister,” she said.

  “That’s a lot. You better get started.”

  “You’re ready again so soon?”

  He pretended to look at his watch. “Soon? If memory serves the last one was twenty minutes ago. That seems like a lifetime in between to me.”

  She let go of him and strolled further inside, running her hand along the soft, leather seats. In a warm shade of beige, they were spacious, complete with footrests and full reclining ability. The Cessna Citation X had nine seats, and he’d never been so grateful for an empty flight than he was today. At the back of the plane, a metallic bar boasted sleek bottles of vodka, scotch and other liquors, sturdy tumblers, and a bowl of fresh, ripe strawberries, courtesy of his clients.

  The Pinkertons liked him.

  A lot.

  “This climbs to 51,000 feet, and the weather forecast indicates smooth sailing across the skies,” a friendly voice informed them. They turned around to find the pilot had joined them. Dressed in a dark suit and a pilot’s cap, the silvery-haired veteran of the skies quickly introduced himself.

  “Greg Barton. I spent twenty years in the air force before moving to the private sector,” he said as he shook hands with Julia, then Clay. “I promise you’ll enjoy this flight so much, you may never want to get off the plane.” He returned to the cockpit to begin his preparations.

  Julia picked up on his comment, and ran her fingers down the buttons on Clay’s shirt. “I suspect this will indeed be my favorite flight ever, though I kinda doubt it’ll be because of the smooth sailing.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I just want to nap rather than join the mile-high club.”

  “We’ll just have to see about that,” she said, then walked across the plush carpeting to the bar, reached for a strawberry and popped a particularly red and juicy-looking one into her mouth, her lush lips closing around it. He couldn’t wait for the plane to take off.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Friday, 10:03 a.m., flying above Ohio

  Somewhere around one thousand feet in the air, Julia fell asleep. It was pretty much instant. She settled into her cushy seat, leaned into the comfy headrest, intending to close her eyes only briefly, and then crashed. She’d been working hard at her bar, and working late, so he figured she needed the extra shut-eye, not to mention a weekend off her feet. Her hours at Speakeasy, the bar she was part-owner of in Manhattan, had been long and late into the night, and as a bartender she was always standing. He hoped she’d be able to relax some this weekend after her meeting, and maybe spend time at the spa or pool at the new Allegro Hotel where they’d be staying on the Strip.

  With her quietly snoozing, he took his laptop from his bag, and flipped it open. He had a few contracts he could get a jump-start on as well as some emails to power through. The plane had Wi-Fi, so he logged into his email. He’d planned to take the weekend off, but he wasn’t much of a napper so he could use this time to get ahead on next week’s workload. His clients kept him busy, and he li
ked it that way.

  He fired off answers to several notes, one from his counterpart at a studio, another from Flynn at his firm, and one more from Liam, an actor he represented who owned Speakeasy. After a successful Broadway run in The Usual Suspects, Liam had landed the plum leading role in a new heist flick set to start shooting soon. That movie was one of the reasons Clay had booked a penthouse suite for the weekend at the Allegro, the backdrop for a few key scenes in the upcoming movie.

  As he typed, a silent alarm popped up on the top of his browser. When he saw it was from an Etsy seller, a quick burst of hope rushed through him. He’d been hunting for something perfect for Julia, a one-of-a-kind item to include in the parade of gifts this weekend. A Purple Snow Globe necklace: it would be the finishing touch, if the seller could pull it off. He’d found a similar item—a shiny emerald-green martini glass pendant, but he’d needed it in purple, and had asked the seller for a custom order. The seller was talented, but not terribly speedy, so he wasn’t sure if it would be done in time. She couldn’t find the right clasp—she only had a long, T-bar clasp. He’d told her fine. Whatever, he’d take a different clasp. He simply wanted the pendant on the chain. He rubbed his palms together and clicked on the note. Ah, there it was. Ready. He replied with a confirmation, adding that he’d like to pay for a same-day delivery service to the Allegro Hotel.

  A new note landed in his inbox from Gino Rizzo, an executive at Comedy Nation, who put the p in prick when it came to negotiations. Clay had been brokering a deal for a producer client of a new late-night show, and Gino had railroaded every point. He read the note, his chest tightening and his fists clenching with every word. Damn bastard was threatening to walk if Clay didn’t take care of the final clause today.

  He shoved a hand roughly through his hair, and slammed his laptop shut. If he left it open, he’d send a nasty email. Instead, he rose and paced up and down the short aisle of the jet. He ran through options as he wore a tread on the plane’s carpeting. The silent ride and the smooth hum of the engines cleared his head, becoming the soundtrack he needed to figure out what to do next. His client, a one-time sports announcer, needed this deal. Desperately. He’d struggled mightily to get this far in his career, and Clay couldn’t leave him hanging. The guy had a wife and four kids, one of whom had needed multiple surgeries to correct a birth defect. The gig with Comedy Nation was the first nibble his client had had in a year, and he needed that deal.

  Fuck.

  That meant one thing.

  The key to negotiating power was being the one willing to leave everything on the table. In this case, Clay wasn’t the one willing to walk away. He hated not being in that position. But if his client wouldn’t walk away, he couldn’t, so he’d have to walk—or fly, rather—to the other party.

  Parking himself back in the seat, he opened his laptop, and banged out a reply.

  Fifteen minutes later, Julia stirred. He turned off his computer once more, stood up to root around for his bag under the seat and locate one of her wrapped gifts, then returned to the seat next to her as her eyes fluttered open. “Hey handsome,” she murmured.

  “Hey gorgeous.”

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Working.”

  “Always working,” she said, shaking her head

  “I could say the same for you,” he said, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, the gift box tucked by the side of his leg. He swallowed, wishing he didn’t have to say the next thing. “Hey, I hate to do this, but Rizzo at Comedy Nation is playing hardball, and I have to get things ironed out.”

  “He’s such an ass,” she said, her voice coated in irritation. “I wish you could punch that guy.”

  He laughed, loving her put-up-your-dukes nature. “Trust me, I would like to land one on him.”

  “So you need to go to L.A. instead of Vegas?”

  He nodded, the corner of his lips curving into a frown. “For a couple of hours. I don’t think I’m going to be able to join you at the Farrell meeting. But if you absolutely want me there, I’ll find another time to see Rizzo.”

  “No. I know Grant needs this deal,” she said insistently, referring to Clay’s client. The fact that she knew the names of his clients and that she cared about his business had always touched him. What he did for a living mattered deeply to him; he liked that the details mattered to her too. “It’s absolutely fine. I am a big girl and can handle my meeting.”

  “I know you can. I just wanted to make sure.”

  “And then after my meeting, I plan to have a date with a lounge chair and a Pina Colada poolside at the Allegro until you return. I can just kick back and work on my non-tan,” she said, gesturing to her creamy, fair skin that she always covered in sunscreen. Then she placed her hands together in a prayer, as if making an oath. “But in the meantime, I promise not to agree to anything or to sign a thing without my lawyer looking at it,” she said, giving him a sexy little wink.

  An appreciative moan escaped his throat. “Mmm. I have taught you well the perks of being with a contract man.”

  “Want to play lawyer and naughty client?” she said suggestively, running her hand along his thigh. “Oh, Mr. Lawyer, I’m thinking of signing on the dotted line when you’re not around.”

  “I’ll put you over my lap and spank you.”

  “That’ll only make me want to go wild with blue ink,” she said, playing the part well. She quickly changed her tune as she placed a palm on his chest and raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not sneaking off to Los Angeles to get me a ring?”

  He laughed once more. She’d been trying to get it out of him since the night he told her he’d wanted to take her to Vegas for the weekend. Even with her business meeting, she was hunting for clues of a proposal. Only his brother knew he planned to ask her to marry him this weekend. “I’m not going to Los Angeles to get a ring, but even if I were I would never tell you,” he said.

  “You do realize that gives absolutely nothing away?”

  He nodded, tapping her forehead lightly, then running his finger down to her nose. “I know,” he said, then nibbled on the end of her nose.

  “Well, enough about rings. What’s in that box there you’re hiding by your leg?”

  “You saw it?”

  “My gift-spotting skills know no bounds.”

  He handed her the turquoise-wrapped box with a white bow on it. She eyed the bow. “In case you want to tie me up on the plane, looks like we already have something to use.”

  His dick twitched against the denim of his jeans. She was always on the same wavelength as he was. “I may need to tie up your hands as a reminder to bring your poker face to the meeting today.”

  She gave him a sharp-eyed stare. “Do not ever doubt my poker face. It is masterful,” she said, as she tugged one end of the ribbon, letting the white satiny bow fall across the shiny wrapping paper. Ripping off the paper, she popped open the top of the box, and there it was. That glow in her eyes. The absolute joy in receiving gifts. She was a delight to give presents to because she never faked her appreciation. Reaching inside the box, she wrapped her fingers around the necklace then gently lifted the long strand of pearls. “Oh my God, they’re stunning. They’re so fucking gorgeous.”

  She draped the pearls over her hand, the long strands like waterfalls of smooth, rounded beads. She gazed at them like they were precious, a fitting response, since they were. “They’re real,” she said, with wonder in her voice as she looked up at him.

  He nodded. “I would never give you something fake.”

  “I’ve never had pearls before. I’ve never thought of myself as a pearl person.”

  “Then let me show you how I want you to wear them, so you can see how absolutely fucking sexy a pearl person can be,” he said, standing up and making his way to his suitcase. He opened one of the zipper compartments where he’d tucked a dress for her, and brought it over. “Another gift. Put this on.”

  “Now?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Mod
el it for me.”

  “As you wish,” she said, standing up and glancing once at the cockpit. “What about the pilot?”

  “I told him we’d be making full use of the plane and he said he’d have his eyes on the sky the whole time.”

  “Then keep your eyes on me,” she said, looping the strand around her neck, then stripping off her skirt, letting it pool at her feet, her gaze locked on him the whole time. He watched her, growing harder with each layer she removed—now her shirt, then her lacy bra. He reclined the spacious leather seat, taking in the show, savoring every second of her undressing. She stood before him in only her underwear, a small bit of sheer white covering her pussy, the evidence of her arousal already starting to show as he caught a quick glimpse between her legs.

  “There’s no need for the panties. Get rid of them now, Julia,” he told her in a rough voice.

  She nodded, and stepped out of the panties.

  Taking the silky dress from his hands, she tugged it on, and he shuddered, jealous of the fabric that now hugged her naked curves. She turned around, but kept looking at him, watching as he caught sight of the backless dress for the first time.

  He drew a sharp breath, letting it fill his chest as the view of her bare skin fueled his desire. “Come here. I need to adjust those pearls,” he said, and she kneeled in front of him. In one quick move, he shifted the strand from her front, dangling between her breasts, to her back, so the pearls were a choker on her neck. “Now sit on my lap, so I can admire you,” he said, and she rose, then positioned her sweet little ass on his thighs. He smoothed his hands over the soft skin of her back, his cock stiffening as she hitched in a breath at his touch. Unable to resist her breasts, he looped his hands around to cup them through the fabric, kneading and stroking until her nipples quickly turned to hard diamond points. She gasped, and arched her back, pressing her breasts further into his hands as if she needed the pressure, craved the touch. He played with her breasts until she was nearly panting, then returned his hands to her gorgeous back, and the trail of pearls that led down her spine. “I can’t decide if I want you to wear these while I fuck you or if I want to play with them while I’m fucking you,” he mused, as he fingered the pearls.