The Bet: A Manhattan Nights novel

by Natalie Wrye

  She smiles slowly. “Call me Keats one more time and I’ll have to kill you.”

  I return her smile. “I’m trying to be a goddamned decent person here.” I raise an eyebrow. “From what you’ve seen since I’ve been back, you must now know how hard that is for me…”

  She laughs softly. “Yeah, I definitely do.”

  “It’s just… I don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not fully ready for.”

  “Is that you talking or is that Mr. Tequila talking?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s me,” I say, shaking my head. “Definitely me. If it were up to Mr. Tequila, he’d be taking your panties off with his teeth right now.” She scoffs on a laugh, and I hug her close, wrapping her in my arms as I stare down at her. “Mr. Tequila doesn’t like to do a whole a lot of talking if you haven’t noticed.”

  I watch as Violet’s grin falls from her pretty face. Her stare turns serious. Glancing up at me with a gleam in her celeste-blue eyes, she talks to me without words, and as my gaze travels the length of her body—up her stilettos, over the pencil skirt that’s a perfect fit on her sensuously curvy figure and over the blue blouse covering her breasts, I know that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted a woman.

  No, not want. Need.

  God fucking help me… I need this woman.

  And she knows it.

  She clutches me back, her gaze sinking to my lips as they grin at her. I smile at a sudden memory.

  “Do you think I didn’t hear you in your office that first night?” I eye her carefully. “You were whimpering.”

  I hear Violet’s breath hitch. “My feet were hurting from being in heels.”

  “Your clothes were disheveled.”

  “They usually are after a sixteen-hour work day.”

  “You moaned my name.”

  She grabs me as soon as I say the words, crushing me to her in a tight hold. Finishing our conversation with a kiss, Violet’s embrace gives me the answer I have no right to expect, no right to receive, and I decide to show her exactly what she deserves by back-walking her body inside, lavishing her lips with tender kisses as I press her into the kitchen. I slam the front door behind me, moving Violet farther inside.

  Lifting her off her Louboutin shoes, I set her sexy ass on top of the quartz-covered kitchen counters, my mouth trailing between her cotton-covered breasts. Placing my mouth over one tender nipple, I tug it between my teeth, ignoring the interfering blouse, prodding the nub hard enough to make Violet whimper where she sits. I spread her taut, toned legs under her skirt.

  “Now if we’re going to do this, Violet…” I continue kissing across her beautiful tits. “We’re going to do this the right way. No mistakes this time.”

  She exhales softly. “Depends on what you mean by mistake…”

  “I mean, no regrets tonight. No fucking rules.” I start to unbutton her blouse. “I’m not your boss tonight. And you’re not my employee. We’re just two people…” I undo one button. “Who like bad tequila…” There goes the second. “And taking each other’s clothes off. No more. No less.”

  She leans her head back. “Is that an order, Mr. Tequila?”

  “If you want, it can be an edict.” I stop, staring at her once again. “I mean it, Violet.” I watch as she opens her hooded eyes. “I’m not going to fuck you senseless unless we’re both prepared. We’re gambling here, Esquire…” I trail off. “And we should plan on letting the chips fall where they may.”

  It’s a lie…and I know it. I’m risking everything by rolling the dice to have Violet Keats in my bed, but I can’t fucking stop myself. My body is begging to sink itself inside of her. As soon as possible.

  I almost want her to tell me no… because it would give me any excuse not to be better. To go back to being the stubborn, give-no-shits, thick-headed Heath I’ve always been.

  But when the sexiest woman alive looks up at me, her thighs spread for me, her face full of longing, I know I’ll never go back.

  She opens her sensuous mouth, pressing it into an oval before grabbing my face with a small nod. Her voice is as strained as I feel.

  “I’ll take that bet, Heath.” She lifts her chin. “And anything—and I do mean anything—else you’d like to give to me.”

  Chapter 21

  VIOLET

  I was always shit at gambling.

  Risk was never my friend, and beneath the business skirt suit? I was as straight-laced as they came. It was one of the reasons my ex told me he left, and two years later, the flaw haunts me like a fucking phantom.

  I feel it even now.

  And if it weren’t for the cheap tequila in my system, the supremely sexy moonlight that shines through Heath Sparrow’s penthouse windows and the even sexier man himself, I wouldn’t take the wager—to sacrifice my heart and head on the altar that is Heath’s bed.

  But I can’t stop myself.

  I want him more than sanity.

  The grin he gives me at my answer is enough to make me melt on the spot and when he puts his full mouth back on my body, his touch is no longer a caress, his tongue no longer gentle at all.

  There’s a need in him I hadn’t seen until now. A release that he now relishes in.

  He crushes his mouth to mine, devouring my needy kiss. He presses the length of his long body against me, and under his rigid muscles, I writhe on the kitchen counter, wanting more, getting it as soon as he slides his slacks between my legs, pressing an impressive erection between my thighs.

  He is unyieldingly hard.

  Excitement I’d forgotten how to feel blooms beneath my breast, and I grip him harshly, squeezing his solid biceps. My fingers fly to his collar, pulling at its top button. The little knob pops and as soon as the fabric parts, I latch my mouth to the skin it exposes. Sucking hard. My teeth sinking into every inch I can find.

  He smells so good. Tastes even better.

  A heady, smoky mix mingles on my tongue, and as I stroke my tongue at the base of his neck, Heath groans, his fingers sliding to my own blouse which he unbuttons quicker than the law should allow.

  My blue shirt falls open, exposing my bra, and I exhale from the chill that hits my skin—a chill that’s stopped immediately by Heath’s pressing against my hot skin, his palms cupping my suddenly tender breasts hard enough to hurt.

  I whimper his name.

  With a rough chuckle—a rumble against my cheek, the beautiful beast of a man whispers in my ear, words that are so raspy, so drippingly damned sexy that I fear I might climax right there on his counter.

  I bite my bottom lip, squeezing my eyes shut as he grazes my earlobe with his teeth, his touch rough and tenderly raw. His laugh licks against my skin.

  “Fucking you was the best thing I’ve ever done, Keats. I don’t know how it took me so long to do it twice.”

  I exhale, my body sagging from its sudden aroused weight. I sink into his touch.

  “You haven’t fucked me twice yet,” I hiss.

  “Haven’t I?” He chuckles again. “Hell, talking to you is fucking foreplay, getting a peek into your mind another base. Just being with you, Keats, is already a goddamned homerun. The actual intercourse? Shit…” He sighs. “That’s just one part of the fun.” His kisses sink once again between my breasts, his bite surprising as his mouth travels. He takes one taut nipple into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue, and just when I can’t take anymore, he lowers the silky fabric, exposing my aroused blush-colored areoles to the open air.

  He plays with me as he laps a path across each one with his talented tongue, his mouth moving slowly as he speaks between sweeping strokes.

  My head falls back, my clit throbbing as his fingers move. He removes my blouse, throwing it to the floor, and it is all I can do not to moan immediately, my skin coming alive underneath his rough caress, the rigid tips of his practiced fingers.

  He is every bit of a fantasy. And more.

  He shrugs out of his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and before I can reach for him a
nd remove the rest, his knees sink to sit next to the discarded garment, his gaze going to the space between my thighs. I close them instinctively, and he pries them apart with his thumbs, his hands gripping each of my slightly scarred knees.

  His stare—hot and steady—returns to my barely-there panties, and as I squirm, unable to take the intensity of his scrutiny, he places one finger under my skirt, sliding the fabric covering my most sensitive skin to the side. My heart thrums a frantic rhythm, and I glance down at him, soaking in the sight of his furrowed face.

  I inhale slowly.

  “What are you doing?” I ask with a quivery breath.

  He gazes back up at me, his chestnut hair tousled as his eyes smile. His face follows suit. “Just admiring the view…” He looks back down, beneath the fabric over my thighs. “You…” His deep voice rasps low. “Are so fucking beautiful, Violet.”

  He never calls me Violet. And the sound of my name coming off his full, hungry mouth makes me thread my fingers through the thick strands atop his head. He lowers his lips, pressing forward.

  Sliding the rest of my skirt’s fabric aside, he crosses the tip of his pink tongue across my clit, strumming, and I collapse the rest of the way against the hardened counters, my back arching as Heath slides inside of my slit with the entire length of that marvelous mouth.

  My chest heaves, my body trembling as he makes love to me with his tongue, his lips, his thick fingers, and as he strokes, sinks, and sucks, my body strains, my pulse threatening to pack up and climb out of my climaxing body.

  Heath pulls back suddenly.

  “No,” he orders, stopping my insane ascent to heaven. “Not yet, gorgeous. When I make you come…” I watch his stare sear up my body as I open my eyes, gawking at him in wonder. “I want your everything. I won’t settle for less…”

  Everything? I’m so close to coming apart at the seams that I don’t see how I could have anything else to give.

  My bare bottom slides against the smooth granite surface, as he slips one digit inside my wet opening, swirling so skillfully that my teeth break the skin over my sensitive lip.

  “Fuck, Heath,” I breathe, stars swinging through my vision. “I don’t think I can give any more.”

  “Maybe not. But I can give you more…” he counters. “And more and more…”

  His mouth descends one more time, and I know this is the finisher. As he flicks the pad of his thumb against my clit, he fucks me with his tongue. Plunging. Plundering. Playing to his heart’s content.

  He pumps me over and over with its pink length, and I cry out, my hands holding onto his messy brown mane for dear life.

  “Heath!” I scream. “Oh my God… I’m going to… I’m going to…”

  He releases his mouth just long enough to say “Come on my fucking tongue, sweetheart” and I do, my body releasing in a blinding, disorienting orgasm that soaks my inner thighs and Heath in the process.

  He laps up every drop, dipping his lips to press at the skin surrounding my slippery slit.

  I sigh, willing my body to just breathe. I throw my hands above my head—spent, and as Heath stands to his feet, I know I can’t wait. I can’t wait for him to fuck me.

  To take that hard cock of his and sink it into me hard enough to send us both into oblivion. He leans forward, kissing me slowly, and with my taste on the edge of his tongue, I suck my own flavor—hard.

  Another rush of arousal hits me and as I reach for Heath, to press into him, hip-to-hip, the sudden drum of footsteps coming fast in our direction makes me scream. I drop my hands from Heath’s body as the biggest dog I’ve ever seen rushes at us, nearly knocking Heath over as he jumps up—powerful paws and all, landing a heavy blow on the tall man’s tightened hips.

  “Tank!” He shouts, seemingly as surprised as I am. “What the fuck are you doing out of your cage?”

  As if the dog can understand him, he tucks a set of dark gray ears close to his head, his sloppy grin shutting as he watches Heath with careful eyes. The beautiful beast glares over at me, and I sit straight up, and as my blue eyes meet his, my racing heart slows…and melts.

  He is such a magnificent creature.

  “Tank!” Heath cries again, startling the humongous pup. “Get out of here!” He snaps. “Right now.”

  “No!” I shout, shocking everyone in the room, including Tank. Straightening my skirt, I slide from the sharp edge of the kitchen counter, standing to my feet.

  I hang my hand hesitantly in front of the gorgeous American Bully. He sniffs, as I knew he would, and as he becomes familiar with my scent, I start to smile.

  He’s just like my old dog, Espresso.

  To most, Espresso was a walking miniature monster. But most wouldn’t look beyond the big exterior to see the lovable ball of fur lying beneath.

  Tank licks my hand, and I feel instantly connected to the sturdy-shouldered mutt, my fingers finally reaching up to stroke behind the tiny marvel’s short ears. He grunts in satisfaction, and I sink my fingers deeper, rubbing the skin harder as Heath watches us both in awe.

  His mouth hangs open for a second before he closes it suddenly. He gazes over at me.

  “This is the meanest damned dog alive.”

  I grin at Tank. “I guess he didn’t get the memo.”

  “Tank doesn’t like anybody. Least of all, me.”

  I crouch, petting Tank with both hands. I glance up. “Then why do you have him?”

  He shrugs with an amused grin. “It’s Marilyn’s dog. I’m just holding him until…” He trails off, never picking the sentence back up. His mocha eyes turn sad.

  So much emotion in one man. So many surprises.

  I stand, brushing my hands off on my skirt as my new best friend sidles up to my exposed leg. Heath stares at Tank in defiance.

  “Looks like somebody’s trying to stake his claim.”

  I laugh out loud. I gaze quickly at the dog nuzzling near my feet. I look back up at Heath. “He reminds me of someone I know.” I arch my eyebrow, and I realize it is a mistake immediately.

  My beautiful boss—God, I still can’t believe it—takes the gesture as a challenge. He starts to walk closer, causing a hungry chill to run over my skin, as he stalks me with singeing cocoa eyes. His hands reach me—pulling, and I let him wrap them around me as his willing victim.

  “Is this someone anyone I know?”

  I shrug, my pussy throbbing to the beat of Heath’s hovering body. “Maybe. He goes by the name of Sparrow. And he’s arrogant. Irreverent. Totally impossible to work with.”

  He nods, a hidden smile peeking beneath his stare. “You forgot one thing about this someone.”

  “What?”

  “He’s completely crazy about you.”

  The revelation makes my stomach tighten, and when he lowers his mouth to meet mine, I know that we’re going to make the greatest love I’ve ever fucking experienced. My body is humming, starving to finish what it’s started.

  Until a bumbling sound comes barreling into the silence.

  The screech of his ringing phone cuts through my good—or maybe, it’s bad?—sense, and when I watch Heath reach for the bleeping square, his face fixed to the screen, I know our night is over.

  He releases me.

  “Hello?” He rumbles into the phone, his voice still gravelly with want. “Yes…this is he.” He listens. “Yeah… Yeah, I understand.” He waits. “Are you fucking serious?”

  The question catches me off-guard.

  A cold distance enters into his eyes as he takes a step back. The room drops a few degrees with that distance, and I stare into his handsome face, trying to decipher the emotion etched there. His dark brows knit together, sewing anger into his features. He walks away, stalking across the kitchen. Shoulders hunched, back arched, he reaches for a coat thrown across his couch, slipping into it quickly.

  The words “I’ll be there” fly out of his mouth and before I can move, he’s running—no, sprinting—across the apartment, snatching his cell phone, his word
s thick and gritty.

  “Violet, I need you to grab your things. Get dressed now.”

  My heart sinks, and he saves it from dropping to the floor. He clutches my waist. “We have to go. Now.”

  “Why? Is Marilyn okay? What about your…?”

  “It’s not Mare. Or my dad. It’s the police.” He cuts me off, his smoldering brown eyes on fire. “I need to meet a detective on the case right now.”

  “Case?” I can feel the confusion on my face. “Since when has their accident been a case…?”

  “Since the police found out that their car accident…” he comments slowly, each word more strained than the last. “Wasn’t an accident at all…”

  Chapter 22

  HEATH

  The next morning in the office is pure Hell.

  After arriving to New York Police headquarters with Violet in tow, my pulse racing as I pushed the newest driver of my on-call town car service to the brink of insanity, I nearly lost it in the lobby of the station.

  A rage I had never known crept its way into my skin, and I stood there, talking to the police, my sense of decorum barely in check as the officers relayed the devastating details to me--careful not to push.

  The car was tampered with.

  Whoever “they” were.

  The line to my dad’s Ferrari’s steeling column was deliberately cut—clipped right down the middle, and he’d lost control of the car, the vehicle eventually spinning in a destructive circle that almost left him and Marilyn dead on the spot.

  Speaking of spots, the one I imagined in the middle of the tiled floor was the only thing my wayward mind could focus on while the NYPD recounted their fucked-up findings. On the way to Violet’s house, I earn a Master’s in the thousand-yard stare, my gaze stuck in the middle of windshield glass until finally I find myself sitting outside of her door, the town car driver calling me from the front seat, cutting into my morbid thoughts.

  I blink, my vision blurry. Until Violet reaches out and touches my face, her fingers tracing a line across it. Her beautiful blue eyes are worried. And it makes me feel worse.