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

“
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?

W
ith 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.

“
R
emember
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. It 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.

“How much I needed you,” he said, speaking the barest truth.

“You knew that then?”

He nodded against her, nibbling on her earlobe before he whispered in her ear, “I knew you were my everything, Julia. I knew you were the woman I wanted to share a life with, forever and ever and always. I knew I would never love anyone else the way I love you.”

“How do you love me?”

He raised his face, cupped her cheeks, and gazed into her green eyes. Those eyes that owned him, that heart that knew him, this woman that consumed him. “With every part of me. With all of my heart. I love you every day, every hour, every moment. I love you always, and madly, and truly.”

She trembled against him and squeezed her thighs tighter against his legs. “Did you ever think it would be like this when we first met? That we’d still feel this way nearly a decade later?”

He shook his head and ran a hand through the soft tangle of her hair, the auburn strands falling over his fingers. “No. I could never have known what this could become. All I knew was you affected me like no one else ever had.”

“And do I still?” she asked with a sneaky smile, as her hands tiptoed their way up the front of his shirt, unbuttoning it.

He dragged his hands down her sides then under her purple top, his skin heating as he cupped her breasts. “Look at me. Look at us,” he said, his eyes holding hers tight. “I can't keep my hands off of you. You are the most daring, confident, sexy woman I have ever known. That was all I knew the night we met. You gave me your body, and you took my heart. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“Is there anything else you want? Anything else I can give you?”

He squeezed her rear, his fingers kneading the flesh, and shook his head. “I swear I’m the happiest bastard alive.”

She dipped her head to his neck and kissed a path to his ear. “Are you sure?”

He chuckled softly. What more could he ask for from her? He might have some dirty dreams, but what man didn’t? He couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed from time to time, and the things he dreamed of doing to her. But hell, this woman put on a wig, pretended to be a stranger, and let him screw her on the deck of a boat.

“I want for nothing, Julia,” he said, tugging her close.

She yanked up her skirt and unzipped his pants. “Then make love to me on our balcony.”

“Don’t you know every time I touch you, whether it’s rough or tender, hard or fast, that I’m making love to you?”

She ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know that. I’ve never doubted it.”

Then he did just that, yanking her on him and thrusting up into her, taking her on the balcony of their home. They’d done it like this eight years ago, and they’d do it again next week, and the week after, and the one after that.

After they came, she snuggled against him, and whispered, “I’m thirsty.”

He laughed. “Good thing you’re a bartender. Grab that drink and down the hatch with it.”

He reached for her glass on the corner table and handed it to her. She took a sip then thrust it to him. “Your turn. Try it. It has honey in it.”

“Honey. I wonder where that idea came from?” he mused.

“From my honey,” she said playfully.

He knocked some back and tapped the glass. “That’s a damn fine drink. It’s close to what you want. You want an original cocktail.”

Her eyes lit up like sparklers, and she snapped her fingers. “I think you might be onto something.”

“That so?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I had an idea while we were fucking.”

He laughed. “To fuck again?”

“No. Something to add to the drink. For the cocktail.”

“You were thinking of my cock-tale?”

“I’m always thinking of your cock-tale, and yes, that got me going. I think I know what to make now.”

He smacked her rear. “Then get inside, woman, and fix me a drink.”

When he tasted what she’d whipped up, his eyes danced with excitement and his mouth was a happy place. “You are no one-trick pony. This is a helluva drink.”

* * *

T
he next day at work
, Clay rapped on the doorway of Tyler’s office. It was a courtesy. The door was wide open, and Tyler lifted his head, looking up from the mountain of papers on his desk.

“What’s the story? You got it sorted?” Clay asked.

Tyler nodded, a satisfied expression on his face. “Like a pro, man,” he said, then mimed dunking a basketball.

Clay nodded. “Good work.”

“You want to look it over?”

He shook his head. “Nope.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. I want you to go after these deals. The risky ones. I trust you.”

Tyler set down his pen and studied Clay’s expression, trying to read him. “You do?”

“Of course. We’re in this together. You bring something to this firm that I don’t have.”

“Insanity?”

Clay laughed. “That, and your willingness to bungee jump. Just keep using a helmet, and be the ferocious, confident, meticulous bastard I know you can be.”

Tyler beamed. “Thanks, man.”

Clay turned on his heel, grabbed his suit jacket, and headed to a client meeting. That moment with Tyler was a small thing, but it was an important one, too. Sometimes you had to take chances. His wife was doing that in her career, embracing new opportunities, doing her damnedest to reinvent herself and not rest on her laurels. Clay had built a successful firm on the foundation of
his
guidelines and rules for running a business. Tyler might be a little wilder, a little less cautious, but that didn’t have to be bad. He might very well be what Clay needed to keep his firm ahead of the game.

By trying something different.

Like a new recipe.

Tyler knew what he was doing, and that was why Clay had wanted to work with him. To stay nimble.

Besides, tomorrow was his anniversary, and he was a happy man. His biggest worry had been what to get his wife for the occasion, and he’d figured it out. He was giving her exactly what she wanted. Something simple. Something basic. Because he knew her.

* * *

T
homas bounced
up and down on the bed in the Plaza, and Carly joined her cousin, shooting higher in the air.

Brent's little boy, younger than Carly, was a whole heap of hellion. No surprise there. Brent had been the same. His daughter was quieter, and one of the happiest babies in the universe, though she was now a toddler, and Brent’s wife, Shannon, had to chase her around the hotel room.

“So, you’ve got yourself a real vacation here,” Clay deadpanned as he observed the chaos of his brother’s hotel room in Manhattan.

“That I do, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“What do you have planned for tonight?” Clay asked.

“We’re going to feed the kids sundaes, then we’ve set up mainlines for sugar,” Shannon teased. “After that, we’ll take Carly to the M&M store and make sure she surpasses the legal limit for candy consumption before we send her home to you.”

Clay nodded seriously and clapped his hands together. “On that note, I’m going to join my bride.”

When he returned to his home to take his wife to dinner and the premiere of a new heist movie, he wasn’t so sure they’d make their dinner reservation. Or the movie.

He didn’t care, not when he saw what she’d left for him on the table in the foyer.