The One Love Collection Page 36

  The fluff ball wedges himself between my boyfriend and me that night.

  I stare at the orange feline, then at Tyler, and I shrug. “He likes us.”

  The cat stretches out his right leg then presses his paw to my chest as he purrs.

  “I’d say he likes you,” Tyler says as the pussycat stretches all six toes then inches even closer to me. “Damn, Mr. Cuddles was an appropriate name if I ever heard one.”

  I laugh as my new rescued polydactyl kitty snuggles next to me under the covers. “But I like Mr. Crazypants better.”

  “He was meant to be yours.”

  “Same for you,” I whisper, and Tyler grins, his brown eyes sparkling.

  “Now, I know Mr. Crazypants is a grade-A snuggler, but there’s something I’ve got that he doesn’t have,” Tyler says, as he slinks his hand under my camisole, feathering his fingers across my belly.

  “A magic cock?” I ask.

  He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to think about a cat’s hardware, please.”

  “Then, whatever did you mean?” I ask, batting my eyelashes innocently.

  “What did you call it?” Tyler asks, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I just can’t seem to remember the word. Let me see if this reminds you.”

  He slides under the covers, tugs down my panties, and reminds me why he alone sets my world on fire. His tongue is an instrument of absolute pleasure, and that’s what he brings me in mere minutes.

  I cry out in bliss, and the new addition even meows in chorus, too.

  We both laugh, then Tyler pops his head out. “I believe it’s called an enchanted tongue.”

  “Well, now that you’ve reminded me, why don’t you remind me what that other part does, too.”

  He makes love to me, and it is magic.

  Later, I tell him I have a gift for him, too, and I’ll give it to him the next day.

  “I can’t wait.”

  Then Mr. Crazypants drapes his feline body over my head, and the three of us drift off like that, a strange new threesome moving well beyond the past, and into a whole new future.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Almost.”

  My hands cover his eyes for the final few feet to the store. When we reach the entrance, I remove my makeshift blindfold. “Ta-da.”

  We’re at Blue Suede.

  He peers at the door, then back at me. “We’re going shoe shopping?” Things don’t quite compute at first, but a second later, his face transforms. The expression in his eyes is dirty, and his lips twitch up in a naughty grin. “We’re going shoe shopping.”

  “Yes.” I tap-dance my fingernails along his chest. “And you get to pick the shoes you want me to wear.”

  “In bed?”

  “Wherever you want. My treat.”

  “I’ll say that’s my treat.”

  He opens the door for me, and we head into the boutique.

  “I should warn you, though, it can be hard to find my size. There might not be too many options.”

  He grabs my waist and pulls me in closer, pressing his hard body against mine. “Then we will keep on shopping. We will soldier on. We will find you the perfect shoes for your gorgeous feet.” He brings his mouth to my ear. “Because I love the way you look when you’re wearing nothing but heels.”

  Twenty minutes later, he’s picked out a pair of purple stilettos, some black fuck-me ankle boots, and a pair of red suede pumps.

  I swear the man is aroused the entire time we’re shopping. I’m convinced at one point he’s going to hump me against some shelves of flats.

  Then hump me he does.

  Later. Back at his house, when I put on the black stilettos and then don his favorite outfit.

  When we’re done, sweaty, elated and sated, he whispers in my ear. “This whole take-it-day-by-day sure is turning out to be a whole lot of fun.”

  Yes. Yes, it is. Even though we don’t know what tomorrow holds, I love all our todays.

  His Epilogue

  A flash of orange hits my line of sight, then a gorgeous face, a smile, and the beautiful blonde the grin belongs to. With her two best friends by her side, Delaney crosses the finish line of the 10K run. The women thrust their arms high.

  I shout. I hoot. And I holler.

  So does Carly, her little voice not quite so little as she happily cheers. The kid has one hell of a set of lungs on her.

  As Delaney, Nicole, and Penny slow to a jog, we meet them at the end of the finish line, handing them waters and high-fives. Today’s run was to raise money for some of the local animal rescues in Manhattan.

  “You ladies are amazing,” I say, giving Delaney a quick kiss then congratulating her friends, too.

  “And you’re amazing for handing us this most delicious bottled water,” Nicole says, chiming in as she takes a long and hearty swig in between breaths.

  “We beat our time from last year,” Penny points out, and Delaney smacks her friend’s palm.

  “Next year, you’re going to join us, right?” Delaney says to Carly.

  My niece laughs and shakes her head. “Only if I can do it on rollerblades.”

  Delaney shrugs. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  I point a thumb at my chest. “She learned all her negotiation skills from me. And speaking of negotiation, how about I take you all out for breakfast at The Charming Breakfast Spot?”

  Four pairs of eyes light up. “Yes, but where’s the negotiation in that?” Delaney teases.

  I shrug and smile. “Got me. Turns out there’s none. But I figured you all earned it with the way you ran for the dogs today.”

  “And we are looking forward to eggs and toast,” Nicole says, then she narrows her eyes. “But don’t think you’re going to get any details out of me that I wouldn’t give up last time.”

  In unison, Delaney and Penny zip their lips.

  The first time I went out with her and her friends last week, the girls had been chatting about a new guy Nicole’s interested in, but they clammed up when I joined them. Delaney had asked me to meet up with them for cocktails at Speakeasy. I’ll admit it—I was a tad bit nervous meeting her friends. Knowing how close she is to them, I wasn’t sure if they’d welcome me with open arms.

  I had nothing to worry about. Penny and Nicole love Delaney like a sister, so they grilled me as any family member would do. I can honestly say I enjoyed every second of their cross-examination, especially since I passed it. Nicole even pretended to tap me with a magic wand at the end, declaring, “We like you. Now, be good to our girl always.”

  I nodded solemnly. “That’s a promise.”

  And as I head to the café, holding Carly’s little hand in mine so we can scout out a table in advance, that’s exactly what I intend to do.

  Another Epilogue

  Someday, maybe someday soon

  Tyler

  I groan when I wake up.

  I wish I were making this sound because Delaney’s lips were wrapped around my dick.

  That would be my favorite kind of alarm clock.

  Though, in her defense, she does, indeed, provide cock-a-doodle-doo services on a fairly regular basis.

  I am one lucky bastard.

  The only part of me that isn’t so lucky is the neck.

  This damn cat.

  Mr. Crazypants is wrapped around my neck, motherfucking purring in my ear. Don’t get me wrong. This cat is cool as hell. But his cuddly tendencies have put a crook in my spine.

  I’ve never been so sore in my life.

  Fortunately, I’m involved with the best damn masseuse in all of New York City. She insisted on scheduling a massage for me today. Sure, she rubs my neck at home, too, and last night, she gave me one fantastic massage. But she told me I needed to get my behind into Nirvana at nine a.m. sharp so she could work on me properly. It’s Saturday, and she’s already at work. I gently remove the cat from his scarf pose, swing my legs over the bed, and stretch, trying to work out the kinks.

  I hit the shower, get dr
essed in jeans and a T-shirt, grab my wallet, phone, and shades, and head for the door. The orange fluff ball rubs against my leg.

  “Meow!”

  Mr. Crazypants rises up on his back legs and paws me with his twelve front toes. Delaney was right—six-toed cats are the bomb. Even though his zealous cuddling is a pain in the neck, he’s a badass dude otherwise. Delaney loves him, and he makes her happy, so that’s a big win-win in my book.

  “Be back soon, little dude,” I say, then scratch him between the ears.

  He rewards me with a loud rumble, and then I take off.

  Fifteen minutes later, I reach the front door of Nirvana. Inside, Felipe greets me with a smile and a waggle of his fingers.

  “Delaney is almost ready for you. Let me show you back. And I know you’re still a no-robe man,” he says as he escorts me to the Rainfall Room.

  “No robes forever. That’s my mantra.”

  Felipe opens the door, shoots me a smile, and shuts it as he leaves. I strip down to nothing, thinking back briefly to when I did this many months ago. I smile privately, loving that it set the two of us in motion.

  I fold my clothes, place them on top of a stool, and climb onto the table. I know the routine well by now, since Delaney schedules regular massages for me.

  We moved in together after a few months of dating. “The cat wants it, and so do I,” she said one Sunday afternoon following another epic session of walking and kissing—in Greenwich Village that particular day, wandering in and out of shops and cafés.

  “If Mr. Crazypants wants me full-time, then so be it,” I’d said.

  “And me,” she’d reminded me.

  We moved into my apartment, and she quickly added her feminine touches, including setting some lovely lilacs by the window. I did my part by making sure she had all the closet space she needed. For her clothes, and for all those new shoes.

  As I linger on a recent memory of her wearing silver pumps while waiting for me in the kitchen, holding a glass of chardonnay, the door opens. I peer up from the face cradle to see a blond beauty wearing yoga pants and a sweet smile just for me.

  “Hey, angel.”

  “Hey, handsome.” She comes to my side and drops a soft kiss on my cheek. Her hair brushes against my skin.

  “Mmm,” I murmur, and I’m about to tug her onto the table with me, even though she has a strict no-screwing-at-work policy.

  But then, she drops to her knees.

  Startled, I prop myself up on my elbow. “What’s up?”

  She’s not just on her knees. She’s on one knee. She holds a black jewelry box. “This is where we started again. Where you showed up and made a grand gesture to win my heart. And you won it big time. Now I’m asking if you’re ready for the next big gesture, because I know I am.”

  I blink as it registers. As the sheer enormity of this moment hits me. She’s ready. She’s fucking ready.

  I part my lips to speak, but she’s faster.

  “Ask me again,” she says, her voice soft but sure.

  And I suppose it couldn’t be more fitting that I’m naked. I slide out from under the sheet, yank her up to the table so she’s perched right next to me on the edge, then take the box in my hand. “Will you marry me?”

  She grins like the happiest person in the world, and she nods and nods and keeps on nodding. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  I slide the ring on her finger, where it belongs. She holds up her hand and the diamond sparkles in the dimly lit room.

  At last.

  It took me nearly a decade to find my way back to her. But when the love of your life slips through your fingers, then you’re lucky enough to stumble into her life again, you do everything you can to win her back, even if you have to wait until she’s ready.

  I waited. I did it step by step. I didn’t cut corners. I took my time.

  She’s no longer the one who got away.

  She’s the one I’m keeping close to my heart for all time.

  THE END

  Curious about Nicole? Turns out she’s ready to put a bun in her oven! Find out all about her baby-making plans and meet the sexy-as-sin hero she falls for in THE KNOCKED UP PLAN, available everywhere! Sign up for my newsletter to receive an alert when these fabulous new books are available!

  There are three little words most guys don’t want to hear on the first date.

  Not those…I mean these…“knock me up.”

  This single gal has had enough of the games, the BS and the endless chase. I know what I want most, and it’s not true love. It’s a bun in the oven, and I’m not afraid to hit up my sex-on-a-stick co-worker to do the job. Ryder is gorgeous, witty and wild — and he’s also a notorious commitment-phobe. That makes him the perfect candidate to make a deposit in the bank of me.

  I won’t fall for him, he won’t fall for me, and there’s no way baby will make three.

  Right?

  ****

  There are four words every guy wants to hear on the first date — “your place or mine?”

  When my hot-as-sin co-worker makes me a no-strings-attached offer that involves her place, my place, any place — as well as any position — I can’t refuse. After all, my job is like a coach and my latest assignment for the good of mankind is to create a fail-safe, battle-tested, proven guide of what to do or say to get a woman to fall into your bed — I mean, fall for you. So when Nicole says she’s game to work through my list in a hands-on way, I take her up on her deal even with her one BIG condition.

  There’s no way I’ll want more from one woman than any position, any where, any night? Except . . . what if I do?

  THE KNOCKED UP PLAN is everywhere!

  You’ll also love my sexy standalone romance COME AS YOU ARE! You'll find a masquerade ball, a smoldering secret rendezvous, and a sexy, billionaire hero who will sweep you off your feet in this opposite-sides-of-the-tracks romance. Available everywhere!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Helen Williams for the amazing cover! Thank you to KP Simmon for everything. I am so grateful for the work that Kelley, Candi, Keyanna and Kara do for every book. Huge gratitude to my girls, Laurelin, CD and Kristy, and, of course, to Lili Valente. I'm indebted to the patient and fabulous feedback from Jen McCoy and Dena Marie when crafting these characters, and to Kim who watches over the finished book. Thank you to all my editors from Tiffany to Lauren to Janice and especially Karen on this one. Thank you to my family and my husband, and to my fabulous dogs! HUGE thank you to all the bloggers and reviewers who spread the word. Biggest thanks of all goes to my readers. I love you!

  Xoxo

  Lauren

  The Knocked Up Plan

  1

  Nicole

  I fight back a tear as I listen to the radio caller. As I nod in the studio booth, my headphones on, I cover my mouth so I don’t sob during my own show. I’m not even sure I can bear to repeat what she’s told me out loud on air. But I’ll have to when it’s my turn to give Rachel from Murray Hill some advice.

  The poor dear.

  She hasn’t had an orgasm with another person ever.

  Have you ever heard such a tale of woe?

  No. Just say you haven’t. Because that, my friend, is a horror story.

  That is fright night, all right.

  “We tried all the positions that the Blue Steel site recommended, even the Crouching Cowgirl, which they said was a guaranteed path to an O, and that still didn’t work.”

  The second she mentions Blue Steel, there’s no more hint of rain in my ocular forecast. My spine straightens, and I’m no-nonsense as I jump in. “Rachel, let me ask you something—did Blue Steel recommend the Wheelbarrow in its list of positions?”

  “Yes,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “How did you know?”

  I shake my head. That man-centric site is too much. “Listen, love. Do you honestly think any woman is going to climax when being pushed like a big old gardening tool that’s typically used for hauling rocks and dirt? And hey, if a lady c
an trip the light fantastic upside-down while doing a handstand, then I’m awarding her top honors in the Orgasm Olympics.”

  Rachel snickers.

  “But here’s the thing. Those positions you see on the men’s sites—they’re mostly about acrobatics and notches on a bedpost. A woman like you, who has struggled”—my tone softens, my deep and absolute sympathy for her as clear as day—“to achieve the ultimate in personal pleasure”—miraculously, I say this without breaking down into a pool of abject sorrow—“should look elsewhere. I would advise you to check out positions designed to maximize enjoyment for the woman.”

  I rattle off some top-notch bring-it-on-ers, as I like to call my five favorite positions for climbing the peak. “But Rachel,” I say, propping my elbow on the desk and imagining I’m fixing this woman with a serious stare, even though my sidekick, Jamie, is the only one here, “if you’re not into the guy, you’re probably not going to visit the Promised Land. Do you like him?”

  Dead. Silence.

  There’s nothing worse on air than a whole lot of nothing. I push her again. “Does he do it for you? Does he make your stomach flip? Does he give you butterflies? Do you feel it in your knees when he kisses you?”

  “Ummmmm . . .”

  There is no time for hemming and hawing on a live show, even if the bulk of my listenership comes from podcast downloads the next day. “I want you to think about the stomach-flipping factor of the equation, Rachel. I want you to ask yourself if he’s the one you want. When you’re all alone, your eyes are closed, and you’re free to dream about whoever floats your boat, is it him? Does he make your toes curl? Because in my experience, a grade-A, top-choice, certified toe-curler is what’ll get you over the O hump.”