I point to the guys on stage. “They’re not technically naked.”

  “They’re nearly naked,” she counters.

  “Nearly, technically, completely. Don’t care. Why would any of the above bother me?”

  “Most men wouldn’t join a woman at a strip club where hot, sculpted, well-hung, abalicious men are shaking their booties,” she says, threading her fingers through my hair.

  “I’m not most men,” I whisper in her ear, then nip the lobe.

  With a sexy murmur, she curls her arms tighter, like she owns me.

  “Someone’s awfully possessive tonight,” TJ chimes in, but he’s looking at Bellamy.

  “Very possessive,” Coco puts in with a smirk.

  “And I’m owning it. Don’t go on stage for amateur hour, Easton,” Bellamy says, clutching at my shirt. “I don’t want any of the cute girls here throwing greenbacks at you.”

  TJ cracks up. “You have nothing to worry about, honey. I’ve seen this guy at weddings. He can’t dance for shit.”

  I narrow a frown at TJ. “Hey now. Keep some of my secrets, will ya?”

  “Only some, my friend. Only some.” TJ lifts his glass of amber liquid. “Also, good to see you here again, bro.”

  Bellamy smiles at me with curiosity. “Do you come here often?”

  I laugh. “Let’s just say it’s not the first time TJ has convinced me to join him.”

  “Or me,” Coco says, then returns to her tablet.

  “Tell the truth, E,” TJ says, then curls a hand around my shoulder as he directs his attention to Bellamy. “This man? Easton took me here right after my ex dumped me.”

  “You needed to get to your happy place,” I say with a shrug. Of course I was going to take him to the one spot in town where his busy mind and heavy heart could have the night off.

  “My Happy Place!” TJ shouts, then grabs his phone, taps out a note, muttering to himself, but still audible enough for me to hear. “Future . . . book . . . title.”

  I pounce on that. “Dude. Did you just dictate a work note to yourself while we’re out? You know the punishment.”

  With a groan, he says, “Ah, fuck me.”

  “Oh, what’s the punishment?” Bellamy asks, her tone dripping with intrigue.

  “We get to pick a guy for him to try to kiss.”

  Her jaw drops as she makes the connection, and then she slugs me. “That’s what your friends did to you the night we met.”

  I plant a kiss on her cheek. “And the fuckers picked well. Admit it.”

  She pouts, but she’s only pretending to be mad. “I want to pick for him.”

  “Please pick,” TJ begs. “You’ll do a better job than Easton.”

  She wiggles around on my lap, clearly excited with the task. “I’ll have someone for you in a bit. I’m going to take my time with this mission. But tell me—did coming here back then work for you, TJ? Did you get to your happy place?”

  TJ swirls the amber liquid in his glass, a little contemplative. “I’m still working on that. But aren’t we all? At least I have good friends to get me through the hard shit.”

  “I’ll drink to that too, brother.” I reach for Bellamy’s glass and clink it to TJ’s. I swallow some of her drink, then smack my lips.

  “Bet your lips taste fiery,” she whispers in my ear, and heat flares from her words, her nearness. Just from . . . her.

  I turn my head and catch her lips against mine in a scorching kiss that ends too soon.

  “Give it up for Jack the fireman!” the DJ calls as the man on stage pumps his hips then yanks off his pants.

  TJ hoots.

  Bellamy cheers.

  Coco nods sagely. “Indeed. Jack has excellent charisma.” My grandmother sounds like she’s appraising dogs at Westminster.

  TJ stretches an arm out to tap Coco on the shoulder. “Put that on Jack’s pros list. But we need to see how he handles a G-string.”

  “But of course,” she says, her glasses sliding down her nose as she enters more notes.

  Chuckling, I turn to the beauty in my lap, her honeysuckle smell mingling with the cloying scent of perfumes from other patrons. “What about you, Bellamy? What do you think about Jack?”

  She studiously watches the sculpted dancer as he exits the stage, then gives her ruling. “Jack is an excellent choice. Not only does he have charisma, I hear he’s a fabulous listener.” Then she dips her voice for my ears only. “And that’s so very important.”

  “It is,” I say.

  “Now, here’s Jones with the long, hot hose,” the DJ croons.

  I gesture to the dancer, so she can evaluate him next. “Tell me about Jones,” I say, low and just for her as the guy slinks to the lip of the stage, threads his hands through his hair, and jerks his head back.

  Bellamy is all over the new guy’s pros, whispering to me once more. “A hose is nice, but that’s not his greatest asset. What they don’t tell you about Jones is he’s very quick with his tongue. He can fire off commentary on any subject like that.” She snaps her fingers. “News, politics, books, wine, songs . . .”

  “My, my. He sounds fabulous,” I say.

  “But he can’t back down from a bet,” she adds with a pout.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  She cups my jaw, roams her soft fingers down my day-old stubble. Her questing touch sends lightning-bolt tremors through me. “As long as he doesn’t let it get in the way of his heart’s desire.”

  I know where we’re going, and I like this game. “And finally, what about him?” I point to the last guy on stage—an Asian man who gyrates his pelvis at Mach speed.

  “He’s a beast in bed,” Bellamy says, but she’s not looking his way as she slides her fingers through my hair again. “But that’s not the most important thing. He’s the kind of guy who treats his woman like a queen. Makes her feel like she’s the center of the world. Like nothing else even matters. Because he wants to find the one. The one who makes his heart thunder.”

  My chest hollows because I can’t be that guy for her. I know what happens when I play that role. I’ve been there, and the pain is too much. The dark days terrify me. But I’d love to give her everything she craves, so I play along for now. “He should give that to her,” I say.

  Her irises flash with vulnerability. “So, is that the kind of man you’re going to find for me at Carpe Diem? Someone who’s all of those things?”

  I run a hand down her arm, torn up inside between what I want and what I fear. “I’ll find you someone you deserve. You deserve all of those things.”

  “Find him for me. I’m getting tired of kissing all these frogs,” she whispers, but there’s a note of sadness in her voice.

  For tonight, I can give her that. “Spend the night with me. Kiss this frog for a little bit longer.”

  Before she can answer, though, my gaze snags on the man in leather making a beeline for my grandmother.

  “Hello, beautiful angel. I’m Rod, and I wanted to personally see if there’s anything at all you need tonight,” he says to her.

  Afraid of nothing, Coco eyes him up and down. “What could you offer me, Rodney?”

  “A drink on the house? A lap dance? A scintillating conversation with this strip club mogul?”

  “I’ll take door number three.” She rises and hands her iPad to TJ so she can join the owner for a drink.

  I turn to my friend, but before I can say a word, he waves me off. “Go. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

  Bellamy lifts a finger. “Jones, the fireman with the long, hot hose,” she tells TJ. “Go for it.”

  He just laughs. “We’ll see.”

  “Coco will be my eyes and ears,” Bellamy says, but I’m not so sure she will. Or that TJ will do a damn thing about the dare.

  And right now, I don’t fucking care.

  I’m leaving with my woman.

  That’s who she is for tonight because that’s all I’ll allow.

  37

  Good Things Come

  Bellamy’s hands rope around my neck the second we slide into the cab. “I can’t wait,” she says.

  “But good things come to those who do,” I murmur against those lush lips.

  Yet when she hauls me close, waiting seems damn near impossible.

  Then, it feels like scaling Everest as she sucks on my bottom lip and spears her tongue in my mouth. Bellamy takes over my entire brain, the kiss crackling through my nervous system.

  When she grabs my hand and slams it between her thighs, my staunch control snaps. A groan rips from my chest as I palm her through her jeans, the heat from her center short-circuiting all sense of decorum.

  But I don’t want anyone else privy to what we do.

  “Need to get you alone, sweetheart,” I rasp, finding the willpower to end the kiss.

  She whimpers. “Tease. You terrible, awful tease.”

  “But teasing can be fun,” I say.

  A shiver washes over her. “And edging.”

  Oh, hello, brilliant idea. “Is that your happy place, Bellamy?”

  With a drag of her teeth along her red lips, she gives a coy shrug. “Find out.”

  Fast forward ten minutes, and I slam the door to her place, back her up to it, and shove my hand down her jeans.

  She unleashes a throaty groan that makes my dick as hard as a fire pole. Her hands push the denim to her thighs, giving me room to stroke her wet center, her slickness welcoming my fingers.

  Her mouth invites me back, too, as she parts her lips and begs with words and deeds, “Please kiss me.”

  “Since you asked so nicely,” I tell her, then I tease the fuck out of her mouth as I tend to her pussy.

  With a slow, tantalizing sweep of my lips, I kiss her while I rub circles on the delicious rise of her clit—dizzying circles, judging by the way she rocks and moans.

  And by her nails, too, digging into my shoulders.

  Bellamy’s always been a sensual woman, deeply in tune with her body, but tonight she’s vibrating at a heightened level of desire.

  Her cries tell me she’s not far off.

  Her fevered kisses turn sloppier, and that’s a signal too.

  And so’s this—my fingers are coated in her wetness as I thrust two inside her.

  “Oh God,” she gasps, clawing at my shoulders like she’s holding on for life.

  My dick thumps against my jeans, desperate to get in on the action.

  But it’s time for a pause.

  I wrench away, draw my hand from her thighs, then suck her off my fingers, savoring the taste of her almost climax.

  “You clit tease.” She pouts, her brow creasing as if she’s in pain.

  “You asked to be taunted, sweetheart.”

  With a shudder, she slides her hands down my chest, then palms my bulge. “You like it too.”

  “Fucking love it,” I say. A minute later, she’s perched on the couch, her jeans are off, and I’m kneeling between her legs.

  Yes.

  This is my happy place, indeed.

  I indulge in her sweet pussy, lapping and kissing as she grabs at my hair, clutches my skull. Her back arches and her hips shoot off the cushion as she fucks my face with utter abandon.

  Always a fearless lover, tonight she’s even more so. She’s louder, hungrier, and completely unabashed as she holds me close and rocks feverishly against my mouth. She’s ridiculously wet, her arousal coating my jaw, my chin, my whole damn face. My cock pleads to come out to play.

  But all in due time.

  I’ve got my woman to take care of.

  And when she lets out a desperate cry of impending bliss, I execute the cruelest torture.

  I just plain quit my sensual assault.

  “Fuck you, Easton,” she mutters.

  “Yes, that’s the plan.”

  I yank her up, unzip my pants, and bend her over the back of the couch.

  Grabbing a condom from my wallet, I cover up quickly, then hike up her hips. She’s so determined to come that she’s already playing with herself.

  I shake my head, admonishing her as I tug her hand away from her clit. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”

  She lifts her ass higher. “Then get in me and make me come.”

  “I’ll make you come and then come again,” I say as I sink inside.

  Lust torpedoes every cell in my body, and I waste no time. I fuck her hard and deep, one hand curled mercilessly tight around her hip, the other stroking her clit.

  With a bow of her back, she lets loose the hottest groan I’ve ever heard, then detonates with a gloriously sexy cry.

  I don’t let up. I don’t miss a beat even as electricity crackles in my bones from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

  I push harder, fuck deeper, determined to give her an encore.

  Soon enough, we’re both sweating and groaning, our flesh slapping together as I seek the edge for her one more time.

  Then, she comes again, with an orgasm that seems to both wrack her body and wreck me.

  Seconds later, I am spent.

  Completely wrung out from all these blissful feelings—the sexual ones and the ones I didn’t expect.

  The ones from deep in my chest that tell me to keep her close.

  Hold her tight.

  All night long and then some.

  Later, we’re in her bed reviewing Coco’s pros and cons list, then laughing at TJ’s text—a simple white flag. No idea if that means he scored with Jack or didn’t. We chuckle too, at Nolan’s note saying he’s got TJ’s place to himself so far.

  And so far, I’ve had this woman all to myself. Bet or no bet, I don’t want that to change. Maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe I can pull this off for a little longer.

  I set down the phone. “Do you like musicals?”

  “What do you think?”

  Of course she’d answer a question with a question. Of course she’ll expect me to know the correct answer. “That you like excellent listeners,” I say, thinking of her pros and cons from earlier.

  She shifts in my arms, shooting me a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, I listen to you. And that means hearing what you say and what you don’t say. So, yeah, I think you like musicals.”

  With a soft smile, she nods. “I do.”

  “I know you well,” I say.

  She curls tighter against me. “I think you do, and I like it.”

  Me fucking too. “My sister and cousin were talking about Dirty Rotten Scoundrels yesterday, and I kept thinking how I’d like to take you.”

  “Are you asking me to go?” She sounds utterly delighted at the prospect.

  I don’t know what the hell asking her means—except for something bigger than I can probably handle. But I ask anyway. “Do you want to see it with me?”

  Her answer comes in the blink of an eye. “I do.”

  And once she says that, I’m pretty sure I’m screwed. Especially since one week later, it’s time.

  To put me online and to put her before the crowds at my next party.

  38

  Four-Letter Words

  Saturday morning is a flurry of activity. A last-minute call with a vendor. A final check of the warehouse. Then a dash to the Upper West Side to grab some of those . . . what the hell are they called again?

  But that’s what sisters are for.

  Your favorite brother: What are those light strands that hang down and look pretty? A curtain wall?

  * * *

  Mom and Dad’s favorite child: Lights. They’re called lights.

  * * *

  Your favorite brother: You’re not helpful.

  I fire off a note to Bellamy asking the same question, and she replies in seconds.

  * * *

  Bellamy: Window curtain lights.

  That’s all she says. No snark. No teasing.

  * * *

  Easton: You okay?

  * * *

  Bellamy: Yes. Why?

  As I stare at the phone, a sense of unease seeps through me. Why do I feel weird asking her this?

  I stop in my tracks at the crosswalk.

  Did I really ask her that? The name of the thing Anna was picking up the day she died?

  Easton: Sorry. I forgot you told me this already. I think I have a block about what they’re called.

  * * *

  Bellamy: Understandable :) Am I still seeing you at the chocolate shop this afternoon?

  * * *

  Easton: I’ll be there.

  Stuffing the phone into my pocket, I try to clear my head, to not think about the other times I’ve run this errand.

  And, especially, about the time I didn’t.

  Fate is a capricious overlord. Its randomness can capsize more than a party. It can overthrow all your life’s plans. It can send you into a tailspin. Hell, it can stall you completely.

  I do my best to stay one step ahead of fate.

  That afternoon, I head to the chocolate shop, but my unease escalates when I see Bellamy—it’s agitation met with something else.

  Something a little familiar, but all new too. A spasming in my chest.

  My heart jumps when I see her, and my stomach feels queasy at the same damn time.

  What the hell is happening to me? Is this anxiety?

  I try to shove it aside as I sit across from her at the white table, the same one where we met a few weeks ago. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Well, that was the least enthusiastic greeting ever. “You okay?”

  She smiles, and it seems . . . professional. “Yes. Of course. Are you?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? Online dating is so fun,” I say, going for lightness. But when I slap a smile on my face, it feels wholly false.

  Maybe we’re both faking it today.

  “Ready to go digital?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. What have you got?”