Текст книги "After This Night"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
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CHAPTER THREE
As he stepped off the red-eye from Los Angeles to New York the next morning, his email burst with a flurry of messages.
First, a note from Flynn about the Pinkertons, and how the deal was coming together for their next film. Then one from his friend Michele, reminding him that they had tickets to the theater in a week. Damn, he’d nearly forgotten they were going to see an adaptation of The Usual Suspects for the stage. Next, a quick update from an actor client, Liam, who was starring in that play and also opening a hip restaurant in Murray Hill. Clay had been advising him on the deal. Liam was a busy guy and Clay liked it that way. Then a note from Chris McCormick, the TV show host he’d met with in San Francisco after spending one more night with Julia.
One unforgettable night that had as much to do with her answering the door wearing only stockings and a shirt as it did with her finally starting to open up to him.
But that had all been a lie, he reminded himself, willing his heart to fossilize when it came to her. Telling himself not to linger on the memories of how she seemed to be sharing her fears, and inviting him into her life, because that was all upended when she lied about who he was to that thug on the street.
His fingers tightened on his phone, gripping it harder, as if he were channeling his frustration into the screen. He needed to get into Manhattan as soon as possible, make a pit stop at his boxing gym, and then get his ass to work. That was his plan of attack: the way to rid Julia from his mind. Head down, nose in work, client meetings—the recipe to numb him to the effect of that woman.
He scrolled through Chris’s note, a quick summary of what he was most looking for in his next contract with the TV network that carried his show, and then he read Chris’s previous contract that the host had handled on his own. As you can probably surmise, negotiating on my own behalf is not my expertise. Happy to have you doing it for me going forward, Chris had written.
He replied quickly to Chris, eager to prove his value to his new client. That the guy was marrying Julia’s sister in a month didn’t even factor into his decision. Because he wasn’t thinking about Julia, not as he walked past security, responding to a note, not as he found his driver while answering another email, and certainly not as he slid into the backseat of a town car that would zip him into the city.
Then he saw a new email land in his inbox. From her. The subject line gave nothing away: Hi. But Pavlovian response kicked in, and he opened it before he could think. Because seeing her name still felt like a damn good thing, still held the promise of a sexy note, a naughty line, or a sweet nothing. But more than any of those options, it held the promise of her.
from: [email protected]
date: April 25, 4:08 AM
subject: Hi
Clay,
Hi. I’m lying awake in bed thinking of last night. How only 24 hours ago you were here with me. How much better it was to sleep with your arms around me, all safe and warm and snug. How much I would love to have you here again. But I know that won’t happen. And I understand. I truly understand. If I were you, I would hate me too. If I were you, I’d be suspicious as hell. And I probably wouldn’t trust me either. So I get 100 percent where you’re coming from and I wish there were another way. I want you in my life so badly that I can feel this ache where you’re supposed to be. But I know I can’t have you, and I’m sorry I can’t be open right now. You deserve more than this. More than me. All I will say is this sucks, and if I could turn back time and do certain things over there’s a lot I would change.
But I wouldn’t change a second with you.
Wow. I just re-read my note. I think that’s the mushiest I’ve ever been with anyone. Damn, you did a number on me, and I’ve got it bad for you. I’m hitting send while I still have the guts in me to do so, even though I will probably regret it. Except this is all true.
Xoxo
Julia
He dropped his head in his hand, and cursed. A wave of frustration and longing rolled through him, and he knew he should turn the damn phone off and ignore her. But this woman, she was under his skin. He hated lies but he’d be lying to himself if he pretended he’d forgotten her in a day.
from: [email protected]
date: April 25, 7:12 AM
subject: Hi
I don’t hate you. The farthest thing from it.
He hit send before the regret washed over him, as it eventually would, he was sure.
* * *
By the end of the day he wasn’t feeling much. He was riding at the perfect levels of blankness. A day in the trenches had done wonders for him, and a night at the gym would drain him of any residual feelings that threatened to resurface.
The next day he did the same, burying himself in business, making sure every T was crossed and I dotted, that points were won, and clients weren’t just making more money, they were being protected in their business deals. His job was a hell of a lot more than wringing more dollars from networks, studios and producers. It was checking out the fine print, making sure clients were looked out for when it came to two, three, four years down the road in a deal.
His days followed that pattern for the next week, and the regular routine of work, gym, business drinks or dinner, sleep, then rinse, lather, repeat the next day turned Julia into a hazy blur in the rearview mirror. Soon, she’d migrated to the back of his mind, and the fact that she’d been relocated there pleased him immensely. A few more days of supreme focus and she would be a distant blip on the horizon.
At seven-thirty on the dot on a Wednesday night, he left his office and headed for Times Square, threading his way through the crowds of tourists in their I Love NY sweat-shirts and Property of NYFD nylon jackets, with pretzels and hot dogs in hand, as they snapped photos of the neon signs and the famous intersection. He walked past the St. James Theater, tapping once on the poster for Crash the Moon, feeling a surge of pride for that show’s quick success. His friend Davis had directed it, and it had become a smash hit in the first month alone, playing to packed houses every single night.
He crossed the street, dodging a cab stalled in traffic, as he made his way to the bright lights of the Shubert Theater where Liam was playing the Kevin Spacey character in The Usual Suspects. Michele waited outside the theater lobby, smiling when she spotted him, and Clay took some comfort in the reliability of a friend like her. She’d been here through the years, always available for a drink, always willing to chat, or to see a movie or show. She was a good one, steady, dependable, and patently honest. A warm feeling rushed over him with the reminder that there were people you could trust implicitly. She would never dance around the truth.
“Hey you,” she said, waving her fingers, and then giving him a quick kiss on each cheek.
“Are we French now?”
“Of course,” she said playfully. “We’ll grab baguettes and sip espresso after the curtain call.”
“That’d be nice,” he said, as they walked into the theater and he handed two tickets to the usher who led them down the aisle to some of the best seats in the house.
Michele raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“Like this is a surprise? We always get the best seats. Your brother is a Tony-winning director,” Clay said, gesturing for Michele to take her seat.
“I know. And I don’t ever take that for granted. And you,” she said, wrapping her hand around his arm, and leaning in close, “are the man behind the scenes who makes this stuff happen, too.”
He waved off the compliment. He wasn’t in the business for compliments. “Tell me about your day,” he said, and listened as she shared the little details that she could, not breaking any client confidentiality but talking in general terms about her work listening to the woes of others as one of New York’s finest shrinks. Her voice was calming and soothing, so he barely noticed that she’d kept her hand on his forearm the whole time.
When the curtain rose at the start of the play, she stayed like that, palm wrapped around him. A few minutes into the first act, he almost asked her to move her hand, but then it wasn’t really bothering him, and they were old friends. Even if they’d kissed once back in college, it didn’t matter that she was touching him, shifting closer. Her shoulder was brushing his by the time the cast took their bows. She smelled nice, he thought. Some flowery scent to her hair, maybe jasmine? He’d never noticed it before.
“Did you like the play?” he asked as the theater rang with cheers for the actors.
“Loved it.”
“Never gets old, does it? Even when you know it’s coming, the Keyser Soze reveal.”
“It’s a brilliant twist,” she said, agreeing.
“I need to go see Liam.” He gestured to the backstage entrance. “You gonna come along?”
“Of course.”
Once backstage, Liam greeted him with a clap on the back and a hearty hug.
“Nice work. You were better than Spacey,” Clay said.
Liam beamed and pointed his index finger at Clay. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Then he turned to Michele. “And who is the lovely lady on your arm tonight?”
Michele laughed nervously. “Oh, we’re not together. Just friends,” she said, extending a hand to shake.
Liam’s green eyes twinkled. “All the better for me,” he said, then ran a hand through his mass of dark hair. “Why don’t you come along to The Vitale then for a nightcap? It’s right next to the restaurant I’ll be opening soon.”
Clay wanted to roll his eyes. Could Liam be any more obvious? But Michele seemed to be enjoying it because she answered quickly. “I would love to.”
“I would love to take you.”
Liam was recognized a few times on the street, and again at the bar where he was amiable, and signed a cocktail napkin for a young woman who said she was a theater student at NYU and had always loved his work.
“That’s so nice that she adores you so much,” Michele said to Liam when the woman walked away.
“And I adore signing cocktail napkins,” Liam said, with his trademark grin that made women swoon. “Signed a few in the Bahamas last weekend.”
“How was your vacation there?” Clay asked. “Good times?”
“Amazing. Gorgeous blue skies, perfect weather . . . did some fishing. Oh, and listen to this. Some guy tried to get me to buy real estate there. A damn condo, of all things,” Liam said, tossing his hands up in exasperation. “Do they think I was born yesterday? I know how those things work. It was probably for one of those deals where only one unit is done so they show you that. And then just pictures of the rest.”
“And you want me to advise you on whether this is a good deal or not?” Clay said in a dry tone.
“Oh yeah. Exactly. Please tell me, because my poor little actor brain can’t figure it out,” he said, and the two men laughed.
“Actually,” Michele chimed in, crossing her legs, and sitting up straighter in the bar stool as she kept her eyes locked on Liam. “I’ve heard that a lot of those scams try to prey on celebrities. Because so many celebrities can often make quick decisions with money.”
“I can make quick decisions on other things,” Liam said, waggling his eyebrows at Michele.
“Like what, Liam?” she asked in a soft, sexy voice Clay had rarely heard her use.
Damn, the flirting between the two was stirring up again. “And that’s my cue to go,” Clay said, slapping some money down on the bar. He patted Liam on the shoulder. “Poker tomorrow night?”
“Of course.”
“See you then.”
He started to leave, but Michele followed him to the doorway. “You’re always just taking off,” she said brusquely, crossing her arms.
“Didn’t seem I was necessary around here. You two are hitting it off,” he said with a shrug.
“Are you trying to pawn me off on him?”
“Pawn you off?” he asked as if she’d been speaking a foreign language. “You guys are getting along. I’m making myself scarce so you can keep getting along.”
She heaved a sigh. “How was your trip to San Francisco last week?”
He could have done without the reminder. It took every ounce of will he had to strip his California girl from his brain. “It was fine.”
“Did you ever hear from that woman you were crazy about?”
And his perfect hold on not thinking about Julia slipped through his fingers. One mention, one reminder of how he felt for her, and she came roaring back to the front of his mind. It was like a truck had slammed into his body, the weight and pressure of the memory of the woman he craved. “Michele, if you don’t want to hang with Liam, I don’t care. I’ll tell him I need to take you home. Whatever you need. I’m not trying to pawn you off on him. I thought you were having a nice time with him and I wanted to get out of the way. If I read the signals wrong, I’m sorry.”
“You do a lot of that, don’t you?” she said, looking him fiercely in the eyes like they were locked in a battle to not blink first.
He squinted at her, as if that would help him understand what she was saying. “What do you mean?”
“Read the signals wrong, Clay. You read the signals wrong,” she said, parking her hands on her hips.
“What signals am I reading wrong?”
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
He shook his head in frustration. “Evidently I don’t. And on that note, it was a pleasure spending the evening with you.”
Once he returned to his home, he tossed his suit jacket on the couch, unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it in the laundry. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, shed the rest of his clothes, and then flopped down on his bed, surrounded by the sounds of silence.
He considered taking up meditation for a nanosecond. Then practicing a mantra. Hell, maybe he could even give yoga a shot. But in the end, none of those things suited him, so he did what his instincts told him to do. Reach out to Julia.
CHAPTER FOUR
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:23 PM
subject: You
I keep thinking about what happened on your street. Can’t stop worrying about you. Are you okay?
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:24 PM
subject: Me
Mostly. How are you?
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:25 PM
subject: Not my favorite day that’s for sure
Been better . . .
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:26 PM
subject: Wish I could change that
I hate the thought of you having a bad day. I want you to be happy.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:27 PM
subject: I’m not unhappy
I’m just worried about you. I feel like an ass. Like I just left you there on the street.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:29 PM
subject: You’re not, but you have a nice ass :)
I’m a big girl. I made it home safely. But it’s sweet you were worried.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:31 PM
subject: Sweet? Me?
I still am worried. Is Stevie bugging you?
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:32 PM
subject: Soooo sweet . . . strong, confident, sexy too
He’s fine. It will all be fine soon enough. Let’s talk about something else. I came up with a new cocktail tonight.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:33 PM
subject: Mixing it up
Tell me about it.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:34 PM
subject: Delish on your lips . . .
It’s lemonade, vodka and champagne.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:35 PM
subject: That describes you . . .
Sounds like something I’d never touch but that will be beloved by your bar goers.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:36 PM
subject: Love your innuendo
It is already. The gal I run the bar with served a ton tonight. Said it was a big hit. Everyone was happy-buzzed too.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:37 PM
subject: Double entendres too
Sounds like a perfect state of existence. Can I have one of those too? The happy-buzz, that is.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:37 PM
subject: Named it for you
I call it The Heist. What did you do tonight? If you were on a date, please just tell me you played with kittens at a rescue shelter or something instead.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:39 PM
subject: No pussy tonight
I saw a play. My favorite kind of storyline. (And thank you for the name. Maybe I will taste it sometime)
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:41 PM
subject: Keep it that way!
The kind with a plot twist?
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:42 PM
subject: Good memory
Yes. Call me impressed.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:44 PM
subject: You are on my mind
I remember everything about you . . . So . . . is today getting better for you?
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:46 PM
subject: Yes. Since 20 minutes ago
Now it is.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:48 PM
subject: What was your favorite day ever?
Tell me a favorite memory from when you were younger. Pumpkin patch visit as a boy in Vegas? Lettering in varsity football? Prom? I bet you were prom king.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:49 PM
subject: I was not . . .
But I looked good in a blue ruffly tux.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:50 PM
subject: Pictures please
Dying to see THAT.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:51 PM
subject: Lawyers don’t send pictures
I know better than to send self-incriminating evidence.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:53 PM
subject: Damn that lawyer photo clause
I will just have to imagine you in your tux, and even though you were probably an insanely hot teenage boy, I suppose I really should be perving on you as a man. An insanely hot man. And you probably look insanely hot in a tux.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 8:55 PM
subject: Tux fetish?
I suspect any tux I wore would look best with your hands on the buttons.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 11:56 PM
subject: You fetish
Unbuttoning them.
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 9:02 PM
subject: Dangerous ground
We shouldn’t be doing this . . .
from: [email protected]
date: May 3, 12:04 AM
subject: Say the word
Do you want me to stop?
from: [email protected]
date: May 2, 9:05 PM
subject: Don’t stop
No . . .
He told himself he was safe from her web of lies and brand of hurt by the three thousand miles that separated them. As long as he stayed a continent away, he’d be okay. So when her name flashed across the screen with the enticing words—incoming call—he answered immediately.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” she said in a sleep-sexy purr.
“Are you in bed?”
“Only place I like to be when I’m talking to you,” she said, and he loved knowing what she looked like all stretched out on her bed. Like an invitation. A beautiful fucking invitation for him with those long, strong legs, her curvy hips, her beautiful breasts, and that gorgeous red hair spread out on the covers.
“I bet you’re wearing something sexy. Some little lingerie or bra-and-panty set,” he said, keeping the talk to sexiness because he couldn’t handle anything more right now.
“Do you want to know?”
“I want you to paint the image in my eye.”
“I have on my bare legs.”
A bolt of heat shot through his body, as he pictured her. “I like it when you wear those.”
“And I hope you’re not disappointed, but I don’t have on a bra.”
An appreciative growl escaped his throat. “Mmm. That is an excellent look on you. You do bra-lessness well. And now I’m picturing those naked shoulders of yours, kissing you all over, nibbling on your collarbone.”
“Biting down,” she said, continuing their imaginary travels.
“You taste so good, Julia. So sweet. Your skin is so damn sweet all over,” he said, and the memory of her taste rushed back to him, blasting into him like a collision of senses in his memory. Her collarbone, the fruity smell of her hair from whatever shampoo she used, so much more enticing than any other woman’s, the smell of her legs when she’d stepped out of the bath. And most of all, the scent of her arousal. The way he could tell just from inhaling her how he’d turned her on.
“Don’t you want to know what else I’m wearing?” she offered, her voice as naughty as could be.
He stretched out on his own bed, and parked his free hand behind his head. He was so hard right now from picturing her, but he had to restrain himself because he knew he couldn’t have her. But maybe this kind of teasing would be enough to get her out of his system. He knew this was trouble, he’d been there before, but this woman allured him like no other. She was a sexy drug and he wanted another hit.
“I do want to know,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Hold on a sec,” she said, and he heard a scatter of movement on her end. Then her voice again. “Go see.”
Those two words shot straight to his groin, and he was fighting a losing battle with resistance when he scrolled to his screen, and thumbed open his text message to find a picture. A flash of white lace, a glimpse of her hipbone, and then her hand just barely dipped into the waistband of her panties. Suggesting what she was about to do if things continued.
Did he want them to?
No. And yes. And no. And yes. But as he tried to retain the reasons for hanging up, they all fell to dust when she whispered, “I’m touching myself and I’m thinking of you.”
He groaned, unbidden. Everything in him craved her. Needed her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She didn’t answer right away, only breathed once, a low, sexy moan. In the span of those seconds, images flashed before him—her tied up to his bed, her bent over his desk, handcuffed to his balcony. Him pleasuring her, owning her body.
“Kissing you,” she whispered, and his blood stilled because he’d been expecting something dirtier from her sexy mouth.
“Yeah? You like that?”
“I wouldn’t like any of the other things if I didn’t like kissing you first,” she said, a gasp escaping her.
“What do you like about the way I kiss you?”
“Everything. Every single thing. Your lips are soft, and your stubble is rough, and you know exactly how to kiss me and make me melt for you,” she said, and something about her voice was different this time; needier, hungrier.
“I love it when you melt into my arms,” he said. “When I first see you and first kiss you.”
“And it’s like lightning or electricity or something,” she said, and her breathing intensified.
“Like we can’t get enough of each other, and can’t stop kissing,” he said, and a shudder wracked his body. “Tell me where your hand is now.”
“Between my legs. Moving faster,” she said, and let out a sexy cry that sent heat waves throughout his bones and blood.
“Are you writhing there on your bed?”
“Yes.”
“With your legs wide open?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice rising higher, and he could tell she was getting closer. “Are you touching yourself, Clay?”
“No,” he said, though he was sure he’d need to handcuff his wrists any second to keep from grabbing his erection.
“Please,” she said, her voice a delicious beg. That beg unwound him. It reached deep into his dirty mind and made him want to do everything with her, for her, to her.
“Please what?”
“Please touch yourself,” she moaned, and he pictured her rocking her hips into her hand. With that image burned in front of his eyes, her voice in his ear, he knew it wouldn’t take long. A few quick strokes, and he’d be there.
“Why do you want me to?”
“I like picturing you touching yourself. I like the image of your big, strong hand wrapped around your cock. Stroking yourself. Thinking of me.”
“Yeah? That gets you hot?” His hands were trembling. He wanted so badly to give in to this moment with her.
“So hot. Anything you do turns me on. Don’t you get that?”
“I think you just want to break me down. And make me think of you.”
“But you already are, aren’t you?”
“I already am,” he admitted.
“Then come with me.”
“What makes you think I’m going to come?”
“Because I know you. You will when you hear me in about thirty seconds,” she said, and words fell away. She’d been reduced to moans and cries and pants, and there was no fucking way he could resist. It was either a cold shower for the rest of the whole night, or taking matters into his own hands. So he did, and it didn’t take long for him to join her, pleasure rippling through every single vein as she cried out his name and he came hard and fast.
A minute later, after he’d washed his hands and returned to the dark of the bedroom, she spoke. “I wish I were there wearing your clothes right now.”
He laughed. “That’s what you want to be doing? Because I’d like to be fucking you if you were here.”
“Well, that too. But then I’d put on your shirt.”
“You like that, don’t you?”
“I know you do too,” she said.
“I do. Seeing you in my shirt and your heels is my kryptonite.”
“Oh, is that it? That’s your kryptonite?”
“Or maybe it’s just that you are,” he whispered, admitting more than he wanted to.
“I think the same could be said here.”
There was a pause, and though they were three thousand miles apart, the silence was heady. He was in a drugged-out state tonight. This woman was his pill, and closeness with her was what he craved most even as he feared she would destroy his heart. Smash it to a million tiny pieces and eat it for lunch. But he had a built-in barrier in distance, and with no trips to San Francisco on his immediate calendar he saw nothing wrong with this temporary moment of relief from the pressure inside of him from wanting her. They couldn’t be together in any meaningful way, and he couldn’t get hurt if he didn’t actually see her. Right? Right, he answered for himself.
“What are we doing, Julia?” he asked, and he was sure she could hear the longing in his tone, but he didn’t care. There was no need to hide it after they’d just broken down and pleasured themselves together.
“I wish I knew,” she said, her voice wistful and full of yearning. “I really wish I knew.”
He heaved a sigh, trying to sort out his thoughts, but his brain was a mixed-up mess and he didn’t know how to untangle all the threads. Or if he wanted to remain tangled up with her instead.
“What are you going to do when we hang up?” he asked, changing direction.
“Read a book.”
“What are you reading these days?”
“A crazy story about a guy who treks across Antarctica.”
“That does sound crazy.”
“Yeah. He’s kind of hallucinating and talking to penguins right now,” she said with a small laugh.
“Can you blame him? I have to imagine if you’re stuck in the polar ice cap that talking to penguins might be a rare source of comfort.”
“As long as he doesn’t eat the penguins I’ll keep reading it.”
“Here’s to no penguin meals in the books we read.”
“What will you do?”
“I suspect I will fall fast asleep and dream of a beautiful redhead on the other side of the country.”
“She would like that dream very much,” she said in a sweet voice, the kind that worked its way beneath all the hard edges in him, and settled deep in his heart. “Will I talk to you again soon?”
He took a fueling breath, and put his armor back on, steeling himself. “I don’t know the answer to that.”
