A Wildly Seductive Night: (Seductive Nights: Julia & Clay Book 3.5) Page 5

  “I don’t see how she can,” he said, leashing up the dog and opening the door.

  “Wait. What if she adds honey?”

  Clay raised an appreciative eyebrow as the three of them headed for the elevator. “Now, that’s not a bad idea.”

  After he and Ace walked Carly to the gymnastics day camp several blocks away, he hugged her goodbye. On the return to his home, he strolled through the quieter streets in the Village, noodling on Tyler’s plans for the new deal along the way. He mentally tallied pros and cons, weighing every aspect. Something wasn’t quite sitting well with him, but by the end of his walk, he had a notion of what it was. Dog walks were good for that—thinking time.

  Nothing quite like a man and his beast to sort out what needed to be done.

  Once he was ready for work, and Ace was exhausted, he kissed his sleeping wife goodbye, left a note on the counter with the word honey on it, and headed to the office.

  Clay thumbed through the pages one more time, reviewing the memo Tyler had written. His proposal for the Powder producer was detailed and thorough. Tyler understood entertainment law and wielded it like a well-sharpened knife. The man knew the specifics and details of contracts, provisions, and loopholes, and he was a master at making loopholes work for him.

  But . . .

  “Just lay it on me, man. Give it to me straight.”

  Clay looked up from the pages on his desk and smirked at Tyler in his dress shirt and royal blue tie, parked on the edge of the coffee table, eager as all hell for Clay’s feedback. He tapped his fingers on his knees.

  That was one thing Tyler wasn’t—patient.

  “Cool your jets,” Clay admonished. “I’m almost done.”

  Tyler dragged a hand through his hair. “That’s your third time going through it,” he said in a huff.

  Clay set down the paper and stared hard at his friend and partner. “Do you want my informed opinion? Or do you want me to blow smoke up your skirt and tell you those jeans don’t make you look fat?”

  “Ha ha. You know I don’t wear jeans to work.”

  “And may you never,” Clay said, because that was not the way an attorney dressed. Look the part, be the part, win the deal. And show some motherfucking respect for the person on the other side of the negotiation by dressing as the degree conferred upon you demanded.

  Like a pro.

  When he finished reviewing the pages, Clay rose from the desk, strode across the carpet, and parked himself on the couch. Tyler swiveled around and adopted an overly patient look. He folded his hands and plastered on a ridiculous smile.

  Clay tried his best to rein in a chuckle. He really did. But he had no luck. Tyler cracked him up.

  After several seconds of laughter, Clay cleared his throat and turned serious. “On the surface, this deal looks good,” he began, and Tyler nodded, an eager look in his brown eyes.

  “It does, doesn’t it? We can totally get him.”

  Clay drew a breath and nodded. Tyler was right. They could likely land this client. They could tackle a deal that had thorns. But Clay Nichols had built his reputation on running a squeaky clean business. He was known for pristine deal-making, airtight contracts, and a flawless track record. This deal, if it went south, had the potential to upend that work. It was risky. It was dangerous. It wasn’t his MO.

  But, maybe it could be.

  He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “There’s one provision that concerns me,” he said, then he dived into the part that was rocky. “I think with this sort of risk, you’re going to need to offer more on the back end.”

  “I got you,” Tyler said, with a nod. “What you’re saying is this deal needs some lube.”

  Clay rolled his eyes. “The back end always needs lube, man. But you also need some finesse in here. See what you can give in on to make this work.”

  Tyler rose and folded the pages in half. “I’ll see what I can do to loosen up this loophole.”

  “Maybe a stiff drink,” Clay quipped, since Julia always joked that alcohol was the ultimate lubricant. “Something strong.”

  Always something strong.

  13

  “I can’t give away my secrets now, can I?”

  Julia flashed a smile for the camera, answering the question the reality-show producers had tossed at her that afternoon as she prepped at Speakeasy during a shoot. They wanted to know how she planned to take on JT.

  The producer by the camera fired off another one: “But you think you can beat him?”

  She reached for a martini glass and poured some gin. “I will certainly do my best. That’s all a gal can do, right?”

  She winked and continued her work, the cameras capturing B-roll of her mixing, pouring, and making. Tension rolled through her because she didn’t have a recipe yet, wasn’t even sure she could conjure up something remotely special enough. But she did her best to remain cool and calm. Never let them see you sweat.

  A card shark back in the day, Julia was renowned for having no tells. She could bluff with the best of them, and she sure as hell hoped all those damn card skills were coming in handy now as she poured some lemonade in a glass, testing how that would taste with one of her top-shelf liquors.

  She didn’t want to let on her belly was doing an impression of a bag of jumping beans. Nerves trampolined inside her.

  This is only a contest.

  But even so, she was a competitive gal, and being on the show had made her bar even more popular. That meant she could contribute more to her family and help with Carly’s college fund. Sure, her husband did just fine, thank you very much. But that wasn’t the point. The two of them were a team. Paying the bills. Raising their kid. Making their lives happen. The better off her bar, the better off her family. Besides, JT was firing salvos left and right, and that didn’t sit well with her. She had a good reputation in the food-and-beverage business, and she’d built that on hard work and talent.

  But before she came into Speakeasy for the shoot today, her phone had dinged with an alert from one of the trade mags covering the reality show. In the piece, JT crowed about how he was going to come out on top. “Isn’t it time someone dethroned Miss Purple Snow Globe? Let’s be honest. She’s a one-trick pony, still riding on the success of that single drink. She’s like the Tainted Love of bartenders.”

  Being compared to the biggest one-hit wonder song of all time?

  Ouch.

  Just ouch.

  While Julia had no qualms about someone else besting her, a little grace in sport went a long way. JT lacked it, and that made her yearn to beat him more.

  Though demolish was more like it.

  When the camera operator said cut, Julia released a breath and took a long drink of an iced tea. The cold settled her.

  Byron wandered behind the counter and clapped her on the back. “You gonna kick his hiney?”

  Julia laughed. “That’s the goal, my friend. But what’s the plan for choosing a winner? We three judges clearly can’t pick who made a better drink with me as one of the contestants in this little side battle.”

  Byron’s eyebrows wiggled. “Don’t you worry. I’ve got a plan. A good plan.”

  “Well . . .” She parked her hands on her hips. “Are you going to tell me?”

  He shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not yet. But it’s a good one.”

  She poked him in the chest. “And why should I believe you? You pretty much sent me into the lion’s den.”

  He shook his head. “I beg to differ. I sent my very best into the den, and she’ll emerge unscathed.” He cleared his throat. “You got some ideas, though?”

  He sounded nervous, and Julia couldn’t help but delight in the fact that he was now on his toes. She tugged his silvery beard. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

  She did have some ideas, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to tip off him or anyone else. Not with cameras nearby. She kept the ideas locked in her head and would test them properly. At home.


  The crew left, and after a couple hours dealing with paperwork and business matters, Julia packed up for the day. She said hello and goodbye to her manager and bartenders in the early evening when their shifts began, then caught a subway downtown, putting distance between her working world and her family time.

  An evening at the playground at Washington Square Park with her two favorite people sounded divine. When she arrived, she tossed all her competitive worries behind her because her husband was pushing Carly in a swing.

  “Higher! Higher!” Carly shouted, delight skyrocketing in her six-year-old voice.

  Julia beamed. Shedding her cares, she made a decision that whether she won or lost a little bet in a show, she’d be just fine. So what if JT won? She had these two people in her life who made her incandescently happy.

  “Hey, sweet pea,” Julia called out.

  “Look at me!”

  Carly swung high on another arc, her little feet pointing skyward. Julia’s heart raced up her throat as she watched her tiny daredevil. “Be careful, honey!”

  “I will!” she shrieked, and then Clay blew Julia a kiss.

  She pretended to catch it.

  On a downswing, Carly shouted, “You look pretty in purple, Mommy.”

  Julia glanced down at her silky purple top. Her signature color, and yet another reminder that if she remained Miss Purple Snow Globe, that’d be all right, too. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have created a popular drink. If her biggest worries were topping a cocky bartender and deciding what to get her husband for their wedding anniversary, she had nothing to complain about at all.

  Carly slowed and hopped off the swing, grabbed her mom’s hand, then her dad’s, and dragged them over to the seesaw.

  After thirty minutes in the playground, dusk began to settle in Manhattan, pink-orange fingers tugging the sky to the horizon.

  They stopped for sushi on the way home—a regular habit, since neither Clay nor Julia was particularly interested in cooking with any sort of regularity, and then it was bath time and bedtime for the munchkin.

  “Good night, Mommy,” Carly said from her bed, reaching out for a hug. Julia tugged her close, savoring the lavender smell of her daughter’s shampoo, and that clean, fresh scent of her little girl. Then it was Clay’s turn, and he got an even bigger hug.

  Julia leaned against the doorway, her heart thumping harder as she watched the two of them. Carly was a daddy’s girl, and that delighted Julia. Little could make her happier than seeing her baby girl worshipping her father. A smile spread across her lips as she watched her big, strong husband, the man who had the filthiest mouth in the land, easily slide into his other role as the kindest, most loving father.

  Seeing how he treated their girl not only made her heart warm, it kind of turned her on.

  Well, who wouldn’t find it sexy when a man took care of his family?

  14

  With Carly conked out, Julia poured a Scotch for her husband and was about to make it a double—one for her—when she remembered the note Clay had left her this morning.

  Honey.

  Yes. Honey. That might just do the trick.

  Setting down the bottle, she grabbed some whisky, then a splash of absinthe, then swirled a dab of honey in it. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip.

  She hummed a note of approval. “Not bad,” she said out loud, then brought the drinks to the balcony where Clay relaxed on a wooden bench, gazing up at the New York sky, stars twinkling even through the city lights.

  She sat next to him, tucked her feet under her, and handed him his glass.

  “Lucky me. I’ve got a good drink and a good woman,” he quipped.

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “And I think I have an idea for a recipe,” she said. Because even though winning wasn’t everything, and even though she’d be content if that son of a bitch beat her, she still had her sights set on the prize. She simply wasn’t going to let it become her obsession.

  “Excellent. I have every faith in the world that you’ll pull off the next Purple Snow Globe.”

  And there it was. The essence of her concern. The foundation of why she’d been strung tight earlier today. The stress wasn’t about supporting her family or beating that guy. Her nerves stemmed from something internal. From her own worries that the best days of her career were behind her.

  She swallowed, took a breath, and let the truth spill out, all raw and messy. “What if I never do better than that one? What if I am a one-trick pony?”

  Clay dropped a hand to her knee, bare since she wore a skirt. “So your worry is that you’ll never top an award-winning cocktail that has made you wildly successful and something of a legend in bartender circles?” he asked, playfully.

  “When you put it like that it sounds silly.” Her voice faltered. “But I don’t want to feel like a has-been. I don’t want to be obsolete. Just some bartender who got lucky once and can’t manage any more success.”

  He squeezed her knee. “You’re not a one-hit wonder, Julia. You have it in you to make another hit drink. Stop thinking about the Purple Snow Globe. Just do your magic.”

  “But what if I don’t have it anymore? What if I lost my mojo?”

  He threaded his other hand through her hair. “You are all mojo, Julia Nichols. There is not an ounce of missing mojo in you.”

  “You don’t think I’ve become complacent? Just going through the motions every day with my job?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “No more than I have. Am I not a good lawyer because Tyler likes to take bigger risks than I do?”

  She shook her head adamantly. “No,” she said, her voice strong. “That’s how you run the ship. Is he being Bungee Jump Tyler again?”

  Clay laughed at her nickname for his cousin. “A little bit. And if I don’t want him to jump without a helmet does that mean I’ve lost my mojo?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You haven’t lost yours, either, then, gorgeous.”

  She sighed softly. “I don’t want to feel like I’m past my prime. Fine, I’m just a bartender when it comes right down to it. I know I’m not teaching the youth of America or curing a terrible disease. All I’m doing is making something tasty, so I should stop stressing about whether I can do it well. It’s only entertainment.”

  He held up his hand, his lips turning into a ruler-straight line. “Hey now. Never underestimate the power of entertainment. It’s what I do, too. We find our ways to bring a little joy to the world. You’ve created a place at Speakeasy where friends hang out, spend time together, and enjoy the company of those they care about. That’s a good thing. It makes life richer, makes people happier. I’m no different—I make deals to help creative people share their ideas with the world in the form of plays, movies, and TV. Nothing wrong with that. As far as I’m concerned, there’s not a whole lot better than going to the movies with the girls I love,” he said, planting a kiss on her temple. “Makes me happier than anything else.”

  She flashed him a smile that couldn’t be contained. “It’s my favorite thing to do with you and Carly, too. Dinner and a movie, and I’m good to go.”

  “You’ll be an easy date for our anniversary,” he said, taking a drink of his Scotch.

  She elbowed him playfully. “Seriously, though. I don’t need anything fancy. Though, if you want to take me to Fiji, I’m certainly not going to turn it down. But I’m more than content to get Thai food, hold your hand during a heist flick, and then take you home and make sweet love to you.”

  He tugged her closer and ran a finger over her lips. “Or maybe I’ll be the one making love to you.” Warmth rushed through her from his words. It turned to heat when he said, “Fucking you. Taking you. Having you.”

  She shivered, sensing where this evening was heading.

  15

  “Remember the first time we made love on your balcony?” she asked, snuggling into his arms.

  “I could never forget,” he answered, and the memory snapped before his eyes. I
t was more than eight years ago, the night he’d taken her right here on this deck. Heat thrummed in his veins as he pictured her blindfolded and fucking her own fingers, then on her hands and knees taking him in her mouth. After that she’d straddled him, and he’d cuffed her with the black silk, tying her hands behind her as he’d told her all the ways he wanted to fuck her, asking her if she’d ever let him into her body everywhere.

  He craved this woman as if she was air, and he was consumed with her. He couldn’t deny that a part of him wanted to claim all of her.

  But that time on the balcony was more than one of the most intense nights of lovemaking of his life. He’d known then, with a bone-deep certainty, that she was it for him—heart, mind, and body. He might have been the one tying her up, but she’d stolen his heart, and it would be hers for the rest of his days. She’d captivated him, and he knew there would never be another like her.

  She was his passion, his home, his love.

  She was everything he’d ever wanted. She still was. She was all that and more—the mother of his child, the friend he wanted to fuck, his partner in all of life’s wild adventures.

  Their tryst had started with just sex, but it had transformed into the great love of his life.

  “That’s the night I knew I was wildly in love with you, Clay,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and a grin tugged at his mouth with the reminder of how utterly in sync they were.

  He grasped her hips and pulled her on top of him so she straddled his thighs on the wooden bench, the warm summer air wrapping around them, the notes of a New York evening playing a soundtrack to their night. Voices floated up from the sidewalks, cars whipped by on the street, buses rumbled down the avenue.

  But here, it was just her and him.

  “I remember everything about you, and every goddamn detail about that night,” he said, nuzzling her neck, brushing kisses all along her sweet, soft flesh.

  “What do you remember?” she asked, her voice feathery as she looped her arms around him, holding on.