One Night Only: An After Dark Standalone in The Extravagant Series Page 2

  “They were absolutely wowed.” His tone is reassuring, certain.

  “I hope so. I’d like them to love it like Sage and I do,” I say.

  “You’re carrying on the Carmichael legacy beautifully,” he says.

  My hands are shaking. I desperately want the legacy of this place to live up to the Carmichael Hotels namesake.

  Callum’s eyes swing to my twitching hands. He arches a brow curiously. “What do you need, Ivy? I can tell you’re still tense. Do you want me to ask Violet to send you a masseuse?” he asks, mentioning my personal assistant.

  “She’s off for the night. I’m good. I swear I’m good.” I draw a deep, calming breath, wishing that were true. The truth is, online yoga isn’t cutting it. Meditation doesn’t work for me. This revamp has stretched my nerves razor-thin. I want this hotel to become a gorgeous jewel in the crown of this city, a diamond in a city of glitter.

  But I’m not there yet. I have so much to prove—to the board, to this city, and to myself most of all.

  That I’m worthy. That I can finish what my parents started.

  Callum’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t quite call bullshit on my lie. Instead, he says, “I have an idea. Show me the new bar. We only walked past that one. We didn’t go in.”

  I smile. “Ah, because I didn’t want to tempt them. The drinks are delish, and they might have wanted Long-Distance Lovers and Purple Snow Globes,” I say, naming some of the signature cocktails. “I’ll grab one and take it to my room.”

  “Good plan. But first, show me instead,” he says in that deep, rumbly voice that slides down my spine, leaving tingles in its wake. “We have a few more minutes. Give me my own private tour of the bar.” He says it deliciously, like all he’s ever wanted is an escort through Speakeasy.

  “I thought you’d seen everything already,” I tease as we walk past the cashiers exchanging money for chips, and he looks left and right, behind us too, then at me.

  “I like seeing it through your eyes,” he says, and his gaze stops at my mouth.

  Lingers, even.

  I try not to lick my lips, or nibble on them. But it’s hard with the way he’s lingering more than usual. Since Callum took over my detail, the spark’s been undeniable for me. I’d like to think it’s there for him too, but I haven’t built a business on assuming, so I won’t build a personal life on that either.

  His eyes are on me because that’s literally his job. That’s why I hired him. Because the last security firm I used messed up.

  Callum doesn’t leave me vulnerable to stalkers.

  Callum doesn’t let the wrong people close to me.

  Callum makes me feel safe in the ways I need.

  And when you spend so much time with someone, they get to know things. Like how much I’ve been holding my breath while waiting for this revamp to come together.

  “Then I’ll show you Speakeasy,” I say, agreeing. In my fantasies, I agree to anything he asks. I have for months. “Speakeasy used to be a sports bar. Did you know Frank Sinatra gambled in it? Nowadays you might see a Jonas brother doing the same.”

  With a playful lift of his brow, Callum eyes the tables. “Isn’t that Nick over there?”

  “Aww, you know the Jonas Brothers. How adorable.”

  He growls at me, narrowing his eyes. “I follow music.”

  I elbow him. “Boy bands.”

  “I know all sorts of music, Ms. Carmichael. In fact, I think that’s Lady Gaga rolling snake eyes a few tables away.”

  “You’re saying that because you know I love Gaga.”

  “You do? News to me,” he teases as we walk past Rapture, a new nightclub with pulsing low beats and beautiful twenty-somethings swaying and grinding to the beat of techno music.

  “Haha. It’s only my dream to nab her for a one-night show. Or someone equally captivating.”

  “I had no idea.”

  I want to swat him. He’s so sarcastic. But he’s six four and built like a wall. A wall of muscle and man, guts and instinct.

  I can’t exactly nudge him.

  We reach Speakeasy, and I stop outside, the realization hitting me. I don’t want to simply show him around this establishment. I want to sit down. I want to relax and soak in the jazzy, sexy ambience. And I want to be in here with this man. After a year of renovation and tension, I want to just unwind with someone who understands me—and Callum understands me. Maybe it doesn’t hurt that simply looking at him sends every atom in my body spiraling either. He’s the perfect distraction.

  I stop before the bar, swallowing roughly past a mouthful of nerves. “Grab a drink with me here?”

  It’s a question. I want more time with him, and I want it tonight.

  Or maybe it’s a need.

  One that’s been building for the last year.

  2

  Ivy

  Callum looks down at the stainless steel Vacheron Constantin watch I gave him for Christmas, then back at me. “I’m on the clock.”

  “You’re on the clock with me.” I use my best insistent tone. My CEO voice.

  Only, it doesn’t work on him. He’s immovable when it comes to rules. Always has been. “I don’t drink on the job,” he says, his tone clear and controlled. The command in it sets a fire inside my belly. I want him to use that voice with me in other ways. So many other ways.

  “Ever?”

  A shake of his head. “I don’t bend. Bending doesn’t keep you safe. But I’ll join you and have a glass of water. I want you to enjoy yourself, Ivy. To relax a little.”

  I huff, like this is the height of compromise, when truth be told, I’ll gladly take a few moments with him any way I can.

  Stolen, even though they’re in public.

  But I’ll take what I can get. A year of longing for one man can do that to a woman. Can make you hungry for the slightest morsel of more.

  I give him a smile. “I hear the water is incredible at Speakeasy,” I say as we walk toward the new bar. “So are all the cocktails. Not only are they delish, but they’re also beautiful to gaze at.”

  “That’s the theme of this place after all. Beautiful,” he says, and for a second, I swear he says, Like you.

  But that’s my fantasies taking the wheel. Those are just wishes and wants.

  Callum wouldn’t do that. Callum wouldn’t say that.

  His eyes might roam over me all day long, but that can easily be excused as him doing his job. I can’t let myself imagine that the man I crave is wishing and wanting the same thing too.

  At the bar, a quick scan of the vintage-style menu has my head spinning. Everything looks tasty, but I’m tired of thinking. With a sigh, I place a hand on his arm. “Will you order for me? I don’t want to have to think. Then we’ll chat. I want to know what you think of everything. You know I value your opinion, and I trust you to give it to me honestly.”

  He locks his gaze with mine. “I’m always honest with you, Ivy.”

  The way he stares at me sends a bolt of heat to my chest, then down my body on a fast track between my legs. He doesn’t take his gaze off me, and I turn hotter, the temperature under my skin soaring. I don’t know if his look right now is unintentional, or if one tight, tense year of simmering desire has gone both ways.

  A little breathless from his hot stare, I say, “I’m honest with you too.”

  That’s true, except about one little thing.

  I fantasize about him, and I’m not honest about that.

  I’ve pictured him doing very bad things to me. Throwing me down on my Alaskan king bed, tying me up, holding me down, taking me.

  So many times I can’t count.

  I’m not honest with him about that. Or the way he finishes in those fantasies.

  There is no need to tell him that at night he does filthy, unspeakable things to me. I should keep my darkest, most private thoughts to myself. That’s where they belong, after all.

  Still, I shiver as the images flick before my eyes, though I try my best to bat them away while
Callum signals the bartender.

  The goateed man closes the distance in seconds, his gray eyes swinging to me right away. “What can I get you, Ms. Carmichael?”

  Callum rests an elbow on the bar. “She’ll have a Long-Distance Lover,” he tells the man, but looks at me. My God, the word lover on Callum’s lips is inviting. He says it like I’m what he wants to drink.

  Or maybe my dirty imagination is running away with me again.

  Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Anything for you?”

  “Make it an iced tea,” Callum says.

  “Coming right up, sir,” the goateed gentleman says, then tosses a smile my way. “Good to see you, Ms. Carmichael. This will be the best Long-Distance Lover you’ve ever had.”

  I flash him a cheery grin. “I have no doubt, Henry,” I say.

  The bartender’s eyes light up, clearly delighted I know his name. Well, name tags do help.

  The man turns to mix the drink while Callum and I grab a quiet booth in the corner, with two walls surrounding it. That’s Callum’s MO. He doesn’t leave me in the open. That’s how the stalker got close to me a year ago. Too close for my comfort, saying things about my family, my parents, as if my parents had told him about me. I shudder at the memory of that terrible night, but I’m grateful he hasn’t stepped foot in here since.

  “So, what’s on tap for you tonight after you clock out? Must be a late night, since you leveled up to iced tea.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m getting ready to party.”

  I laugh, since that’s not his style at all. “And by ‘party’ I presume you mean going to the boxing gym? The gun range? A Krav Maga class?” I ask, teasing but not quite. He’s devoted to keeping up all his necessary job skills.

  Callum glances at his watch again. “Actually, I’m seeing a friend.”

  Friend? A wild wave of jealousy roils through me. Is Callum involved with someone? Does he go home to a woman at night? How did I not know this? He knows nearly everything about me, and now I’m just learning he has a friend.

  “A friend?” I ask, and it comes out strangled.

  His lips quirk. There’s that grin. That naughty, cocky grin. He moves the slightest bit closer. “A buddy. From years ago.”

  I breathe out, visibly relieved. “Good,” I say, before I’m aware that word slipped from my lips.

  He lifts a brow. “Why is that good?”

  I try to make light of my gaffe, but making light turns into flirting. “It means I get to command all your attention.”

  His eyes twinkle with mischief. “You already do, Ivy.”

  The bartender brings over my drink and Callum’s iced tea, and I thank Henry, then take a sip, savoring the gin and lemonade. “This is terrific. A little sweet, but with a little kick.”

  “Sounds like you,” Callum says, and he’s definitely being flirty too.

  Maybe something is in the air tonight.

  “So, why’d you pick the Long-Distance Lover for me?” I ask, then I’m momentarily distracted by the scene a few booths over.

  A gorgeous redhead in a slinky emerald dress is flanked by two men.

  One has his hand in her hair, stroking her locks. The other sets a hand on her leg.

  “Supposedly, it tastes good on your lips,” Callum says and the innuendo in those flirty, potentially dirty words settles like sex on my skin as I continue staring at the trio.

  Shamelessly.

  I should stop looking.

  They’re my customers, and staring isn’t nice.

  But staring is oh so nice.

  Oh so sexy.

  Because there she is, enjoying herself in public, letting herself feel adored by two strong men who look enrapt with her.

  His words register, and I shift in my seat and tear my gaze away for a split second. “Oh, really?” I ask playfully, smiling at him, this moment made stronger because of the company I’m keeping, this man beside me who makes me feel everything. And I can’t help myself. I need another look.

  She’s . . . the center of attention. Her eyes flutter closed. One man whispers in her ear.

  I swallow, my mind awash in a fresh reel of images, picturing the things they do to her, the ways they get off to her, for her, on her.

  I try to shove the images aside, but ignoring them is too hard. I take another drink.

  “I guess you like your drink,” Callum says, a knowing tone in his voice.

  I lock eyes with him. “I like it so much.”

  Even to my own ears, I sound like I’m in a hazy trance.

  I feel like I am.

  And I think my bodyguard knows.

  I think, too, that he likes it.

  And I have to wonder if he’ll like all my other kinks. Or if I’ll have to continue keeping them to myself.

  3

  Callum

  As Ivy takes a sip of the Long-Distance Lover, I catalog her every move.

  The way her lips touch the glass, how she takes a slow and steady swallow, then the delicate tracing of her finger across her mouth when she’s done.

  It’s a subtle move, almost like she’s swiping away a drop of gin from her lower lip.

  But that’s not what she’s doing.

  She’s watching that booth. Watching and maybe, just maybe, wondering.

  What that woman feels like. What it would be like if Ivy herself were kissed in public. Kissed by one man. Kissed by two.

  She’s not watching purely out of curiosity.

  The way her legs are squeezing together under the table tells me everything.

  She’s interested for real. And that interests me.

  Everything about her preferences interests me.

  More than it should, but so it goes.

  I’ve known Ivy since I personally took over as head of her security after the previous firm let a stalker get inside the casino.

  She’d fired that security firm and hired the one I own and run.

  I won’t let that happen to her again.

  It’s my job to protect her, but it’s also a privilege, because in the last year, she’s become more than a critical job, so much more than a top assignment.

  She’s become a friend. She treats me with respect, and I damn well do the same to her in return.

  Sure, I might want her more than I’ve ever wanted any woman in my whole damn life, but I care about her too much to make a move simply because my body tells me she’d be magic to touch, that she’d fit extraordinarily well beneath me, that we’d set the sheets on fire.

  I know we’d be like that in bed because of how we are out of bed. Because of the way we tease, the way we speak our minds, how we’ve come to trust each other.

  But in the year of this work-relationship-turned-work-friendship, I’ve never known her to take a man home to her suite, much less ask someone else to join them.

  That’s why I’m more surprised than anything else to see her enrapt by this throuple, like it’s something she wants too.

  But I can’t simply say, Hey, Ivy, what do you think of that table?

  We need a distraction. So, I do what we do best. I have a few more minutes before I’m meeting my buddy Stone, so I engage her in conversation, returning to a topic she brought up on her tour. “You mentioned that you had some plans in mind to make a splash. Anything you care to tell me? Or is that, like so many other things . . . top secret?”

  As I take a drink of my iced tea, she peels her gaze away from the trio once more and back to me. “Callum,” she says, chiding. “I don’t keep secrets from you.”

  I scoff. We both know that’s a lie. She’s the boss. She has to keep secrets.

  “You don’t?” I say, egging her on.

  “Well, not like that,” she says, then takes a breath, running her finger along the edge of the glass. “So, this is what I have planned. I’ve managed to book a few special one-night-only concerts. To bring in a new wave of guests to the casino,” she says, then rattles off names of performers, from Jane Black, who won a Grammy fo
r an epic breakup album, to the Heartbreakers, who recently reunited after more than a decade apart.

  “Those are great choices,” I say, impressed.

  “Are they, Mr. I Follow Music?” There’s a sexy look in her eyes as she gives me some sassy attitude. But then, I’m pretty sure she always has a sexy look in her eyes, because the woman exudes sex appeal. She’s a goddess. She’s Venus. A Botticelli—a fitting description, with those long blonde waves and bright blue eyes of hers.

  And legs I’d like to feel wrapped around me.

  “They’re great,” I say. “And I love that idea. And yes, I mean it. I’m being honest with you, like you asked.”

  She arches a skeptical brow. “No teasing?”

  “None whatsoever.” I draw a breath, turning over her remarks in my head, then meeting her eyes once more. “But the thing is . . . it doesn’t sound like they’re quite what you want. Don’t get me wrong. They’re great choices. But I hear longing in your voice. Like you want more.”

  She hums briefly. “You know me so well,” she says, her gaze once again drifting over to the redhead.

  A small gasp escapes her lips when one of the men kisses the woman’s cheek, and Ivy jerks her gaze back to me.

  “Do I though? Know you so well?” I ask. “You seem distracted.”

  “I’m fine.” She swallows then takes a breath, almost like she’s pushing away whatever distracting thoughts are in her head. “And you do know me well. Yes, I am longing for something more. I want to land a bigger fish. Something that people will be talking about for years after. Something like Gaga bringing Bradley on stage, or a much-publicized reunion show, or . . .”

  My lips quirk up. I have just the ace up my sleeve. “Or Stone.”

  She blinks, her blue eyes widening. “Stone . . . as in Stone? Stone with the silver Stratocaster and the wild hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed? The ink across his arms? Stone, notorious-for-his-epic-love-life Stone?”

  I jerk back. “Whoa. Does someone have a crush on Stone?”

  “Only half of America.”