Lauren Blakely - After This Night

So . . . this whole adoration thing . . . are we talking pedestal, shrine or just overall worship level?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 8:31 AM

subject: More than worship

You are adored on every level. I can’t even joke about it because it’s all too true.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 11:48 AM

subject: Exciting news!

I won a contest for my Purple Snow Globe!

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 9:07 AM

subject: As you predicted the night I met you

Tell me more.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 12:32 PM

subject: Be my attorney

Big drink company offered me a contract. I might need a lawyer to look at the fine print.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 9:48 AM

subject: Waiving my fee

I’ll do it for you. You can pay me in blow jobs.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 1:05 PM

subject: My kind of payday

I’d give you those for free.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 10:23 AM

subject: Mine too

I want more.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 1:33 PM

subject: Restrained

I’d give you more anyway. Maybe you can tie me up, tie me down, or tie me all around.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 10:52 AM

subject: Bound and Tied

Don’t tease me. You know I love the way you look in my ties.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 2:16 PM

subject: Yes to both

I’m not teasing.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 11:28 AM

subject: Yes you are

You’ve never been a tease. Except when you tease.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 2:44 PM

subject: This is not teasing.

I miss you like crazy.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 3:07 PM

subject: Fix for that

I have a pill you can take that cures that. It’s called come live with me.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 3:49 PM

subject: Question

How much do you adore me?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 4:02 PM

subject: Answer

So much I can’t measure it.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 4:11 PM

subject: And another

How much do you love me?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 4:18 PM

subject: Hit me with another

More than I know what to do with.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 4:20 PM

subject: One more

How happy would you be if I said yes to your offer?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: June 8, 4:25 PM

subject: One word

Immeasurably.

Iron. He’d cloaked himself in iron. He’d resisted. He hadn’t asked for an answer. He hadn’t pressured her. He’d simply kept up the volley, letting her lead as she seemed to need at the moment. He held tight to his phone, keeping it on his lap as he worked through the latest set of papers for the Pinkertons from home.

He’d hoped to catch a movie with Davis, since his friend was back in town after working in London for the last few months. But Chris had called him that morning, telling him he was sending a bottle of vintage scotch over as a thank you for his new contract.

“The delivery guys said they’ll be there between four and five, so I guess you can just have the doorman sign for it if you’re out?’’

“I don’t have a doorman, but it’s not a problem. I’ve got things I can take care of at the house, so I’ll sign for it myself.”

“Thanks, man,” Chris had said. “It’s the least I can do. You rocked the hell out of my new deal.”

“If you’re pleased, I’m pleased.”

But it was four-thirty and the scotch hadn’t arrived yet. He was looking forward to it, but not as much as he was looking forward to another note from Julia. The clock was ticking, lurching towards midnight. If he were a betting man, he’d put money on Julia using up every second of her week of thinking, and giving him the verdict when the clock struck twelve. That would be fine by him. She was worth waiting for.

He scanned the page in front of him when the message light dinged on his phone.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: June 8, 4:32 PM

subject: One question

Do you still love surprises?

Before he could reply, his phone buzzed with a text message.

Balcony.

He closed his eyes briefly, a spark racing through him with the possibility. Was she reminiscing about the things they’d done on the balcony or was there more to it? He stood up, walked to the door and slid it open. With his heart in his throat and hope winding its way through his bones, he crossed the distance to the railing, and looked down.

His heart stopped, and then started again, thumping hard against his chest with desire, happiness, and mad love.

She was the most beautiful sight in the world. But it wasn’t the stockings and the heels, the skirt or the little tank top. It wasn’t even her hair falling in waves along her shoulders. It was the two humongous suitcases, one on each side of her. She waved at him as his phone rang.

“My driver left me here on the sidewalk with all my things. Don’t suppose you know a big strong man who could help me carry them upstairs to my new home?”

He grinned like a crazy man. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Within seconds—okay, maybe a minute—he was downstairs, looking both ways, and sprinting across the street to her. He gathered her in his arms, and it was like coming home. Her body melted into his as she roped her arms around his neck, and they kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed.

Finally, they pulled apart, but neither one let go. He needed to hold her. To feel her. To know she was real. He ran his hands along her bare arms. The feel of her skin was some kind of magic. He bent his head to her neck, inhaling her scent, the delicious, intoxicating smell of the woman he craved in every way. He lifted a hand to her hair, threading his fingers around her gorgeous flames. The sound of her sweet happy sigh was a shot of pure joy to his heart. She was here. She’d said yes.

“I made sure my flight had Wi-Fi so I could surprise you. Did you think I was in San Francisco the whole day? The time on my laptop was set to Pacific until I landed.”

He nodded. “I did, and I take it there’s no vintage scotch arriving between four and five?”

“I’m the vintage scotch. I hope you like your surprise.”

“You taste better than any scotch, than anything I’ve ever had to eat or drink. So you’re here to stay?” he asked, needing to hear it from her.

She nodded. “I’m here to stay.”

“No more running.”

“No more running,” she repeated.

“We’re together.”

“Absolutely.”

“Which reminds me . . . it’s been a week.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Why do you think I wore a skirt?”

A bolt of pure lust slammed through his body. “Fuck me now,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair.

“That’s sort of the plan,” she said, tipping her forehead to the door to his building. Their building.

“Get inside,” he growled, lifting a heavy suitcase in each hand. She grinned seductively and strutted across the street, glancing behind to watch him watching her. So perfect, so sexy, so beautiful for him. Once inside the elevator, he pressed the button for the fifth floor.

She reached past him, and hit the stop button. “We’re not getting off ‘til we get off.”

He shook his head appreciatively. “You are my woman. You always have been. You always will be,” he said, then reached under her skirt, pulled her panties down and slid his fingers across her. She was ready, oh so ready.

She was eager too, judging from how quickly her nimble little fingers had unzipped his jeans. “You did miss me,” he said playfully.

“So fucking much,” she said as she guided him between her legs.

He lifted her thigh, hitching her leg around his hip, and sliding home. “Oh God.” She gasped, dropping her head back, and rolling her eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t ever forget, Julia. I can always do this to you,” he said, in a hot whisper in her ear as he thrust into her.

“I know. I want it always.”

“We have all of Manhattan for fucking. We have restaurants and bars, and theaters and museums, and I’m going to want to take you everywhere.”

“No pun intended,” she said, in between sexy little moans and pants.

“Take you and take you,” he added. “Fuck you and make love to you. I’m not going to hold back. I’m going to seduce you all over this city, and make you come every single day and night.”

“Please do,” she said, her voice rising higher, her breath coming faster.

“All the time,” he said, gripping her thigh harder, driving deeper. She responded by running her hands up his spine, and digging her fingernails deep into his skin.

“Leave marks on me,” he told her, and she dug in harder. “I want scratch marks from you.”

“You feel so fucking good, you’re going to get them, Clay. Oh God, you’re going to get them,” she said, holding on tight and hard, dragging her nails along his muscles as she cried out, rocking her hips against his as she came, and soon, he chased her there with his own orgasm.

He wrapped his arms around her, needing to hold her, even in the stalled elevator. He layered kisses on her neck, already hot and sweaty. “Julia, I won’t always take you hard like that, but sometimes I’m going to have to,” he whispered.

“You better take me hard, and you better take me slow, and you better make love to me all night long,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eyes. Hers were both fierce, and full of love.

“That’s a promise, and I keep my promises to you,” he said, running his thumb along her cheek.

“I know you do. That’s why I’m here to stay.”

That’s where he always wanted her.

Two Months Later

“What can I get for you?”

The pair of young women in slouchy tops revealing bare shoulders had parked themselves in the burgundy bar stools at Speakeasy, where Julia was now a part-owner. They perused the cocktail menu, and then the blonde one lifted her face to Julia, the look in her eyes full of excitement. “Can you make the Purple Snow Globe? We heard this is the only bar where we can get it made fresh,” she said, emphasizing that last word like it was made of sweet sugar. “I served some at a party last week from the store and everyone loved it, but we wanted to try the real thing.”

“And I will be delighted to make it for you. But I should let you know, this isn’t the only bar. There’s a little place in San Francisco called Cubic Z that also makes a Purple Snow Globe, so if you ever find yourself out west, you know where to go,” she said, and started mixing.

“Our friends are going to be so jealous. Everyone is loving this drink,” the woman said.

“I’m thrilled to hear that.”

After she set down the drinks, she headed to the back of the bar to retrieve more napkins. Along the way, her phone buzzed in her pocket, so she grabbed it. There was a text from Kim.

How’s business? Booming as always, like it is here?

Julia tapped out an answer. Always. She dropped her phone back into her pocket, glad that Craig had taken over behind the bar for her. She still owned a stake in Cubic Z, but Craig had needed a job, and her move had given him the perfect chance to help his wife while she was busy with the newborn. Charlie hadn’t been heard from, and while Julia and Clay had toyed with spreading a nasty rumor on Yelp about Charlie’s chicken, they’d decided not to. Charlie was a man not to be messed with, so they’d chosen to leave him and his chicken in the past. But Julia couldn’t deny she was pleased when her sister forwarded along a few new online reviews for Mr. Pong’s that all noted the restaurant was less popular at lunch these days. Seemed that Charlie had lost a good portion of his venture capital patrons at the restaurant. Hunter with the laughing tell might have been kicked out of the poker circuit, but had managed the last word after all, telling his friends to find a new haunt for their kung pao chicken hankerings, hitting Charlie where it hurt him most.