The Bet: A Manhattan Nights novel

by Natalie Wrye

  Why didn’t you change out of your skirt? my body screams at me.

  My feet are cold. My hands are freezing.

  My gloves are stuck to my skin, and as I try to pry the front door of the SparrowHead building open with my hands, the Burberry scarf around my neck nearly goes flying down the sidewalk.

  The weatherman said it’d be snow; he never said it’d be a monsoon of it.

  Light flurries at five o’clock turn to a steady fall, and five hours after Marilyn drops me at my cozy brownstone, I finally get back to work, my fingers buzzing to begin a night of research on the Fletcher case after getting caught in one of the worst traffic jams in Brooklyn.

  My taxi was already in Manhattan by the time Jack Frost comes to kick ass, and one blistering cab ride later, I bluster onto the familiar Manhattan floor of the SparrowHead lobby, bundled up, my body shivering as I cross the shiny gray tile. Making a beeline towards the elevators to the oh-so-intimate sounds of Hanson’s “MmBop” playing in my iPod headphones, I flash my badge at Security Guard Sam and flounce into the elevators, my mood better than it’s been in days.

  Maybe it’s because of the smell of the snow. Maybe it’s the holiday season. Or maybe it’s because of the conversation in the cab with my Chicago realtor. An end to a chapter I should have closed two years ago.

  I can’t stop the smile on my face.

  Telling her to let my ex, Jeffrey, sell the whole damned condo is the best decision I’ve ever made.

  With Marilyn’s voice in my head and Taylor Hanson in my speakers, I try to exit the elevators onto the seventieth floor of King & Sparrow, an extra pep in my step. But something stops me. I slam head-first into a brick wall, before realizing that it’s someone’s body. Built like cement and just as hard, the imposing person forces me to backtrack on my feet, my own body trembling as I glance up and into the face of anger itself.

  I balk when I realize who it is. Heath.

  He looks livid. And oh so handsome.

  In a navy suit so deep it’s almost black, his dark copper-colored eyes burn down towards me, searing into my skin. His jaw tight, his hair windswept and tousled, he looks every bit of a blazing angel come down to earth. But when he opens his mouth, nothing but the devil himself comes out.

  He locks me in against the elevator wall, his stare hot enough to singe. He places his arms above my head, and when he does, I can feel the emotion coming off him in waves. Worry and rage radiate from his steady gaze.

  He grits his teeth.

  “Where. The. Fuck. Have you been?”

  I wince at his words, finding myself speechless. I place my hands on his solid body, pushing, and when I do, he grabs my hand, lightly squeezing my frozen fingers. He lowers them before asking again.

  “I asked you a question, Keats. Where the hell have you been?”

  “And I told you to stop calling me that,” I counter. “And how about none of your goddamned business, Heath. You’re not my dad.”

  “No?” He lifts a dark eyebrow. “Guess that it’s good that I’m not. Because if I was, I’d put you over my fucking knee.” My breath hitches as he speaks. “Don’t you know how goddamned worried I’ve been about you all day?”

  I scoff, rolling my eyes up at him. “It’s called ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode on your phone. Look into it. And what are you so worried about? You made it perfectly clear that I should stay away from you.” I cross my still chilled arms. “Or did I mishear you last night?

  His jaw ticks, his stubborn chin set in defiance. The scruff along the sides of his sharp jaw seem darker in the dim elevator light—more pronounced, and as I look closer, I can see how pale his skin is. Looking like he’s aged ten more years in the past day, I almost reach out to him to soothe his sallow skin, but indignation—hard and fast—makes me stop.

  I drop my hand, trying to wrench the other still set firmly in Heath’s grasp. He only holds on tighter.

  “Let me go,” I throw at him. I incline my face to meet his dark stare. And I’m shocked when he says “No.”

  “What do you mean no?” I try to step away from him, but can’t. He’s practically got me pinned. My back pressed against the cold elevator wall, my neck arched upwards to face him, I’m almost overcome by his presence, my pulse pounding as Heath crowds me in the small space, his broad shoulders like a barrier over mine.

  He’s just…so tall. So damned built.

  His body is like limestone beneath a Valentino suit, and just when I think he’s going to let me go, he takes a step towards the elevator doors, pressing them shut. He presses pause on the dashboard, stopping the elevator from moving, and in the deathly quiet cage, he returns to my side, glaring down at me, his tawny irises alive and full of heat.

  He raises my hand to his lips and kisses it, his touch surprisingly tender.

  “You’re fucking right,” he sighs. “That is what I said. I let my mouth say something it really didn’t mean.” He inches closer. “So let me show you, Violet, how I feel. I don’t trust my lips to tell the truth right now…but this?”

  He places my hand over his heart.

  “This…I can’t fucking hide from.”

  He bows his head to mine. With my hand still on his heart and Hanson still in my ears, I feel a beat that matches my own, a rhythm I didn’t expect. Heath’s heart races under my touch, playing a broken melody, and as he lowers his lips to meet my waiting mouth, I slip into his kiss letting it take hold of me, pressing my breast against his to make the music that only he and I ever could.

  The mending of two broken souls.

  In that instant our mouths touch, I feel what he feels, fear what he does.

  The connection between us is scary, fucking unreal, and in his arms, my last emotional wall comes crumbling down at his Italian leathered feet, my body heating from within as Heath deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue smoothly over mine to make me moan so loud I’m afraid the elevator will shake.

  I’m hot and can’t get my clothes off fast enough. I reach for the Burberry scarf, letting it slide to the floor. The sound of fabric hitting the ground is soft, the noise barely audible. But the small move ignites some type of flame within Heath, and as he pulls out of the kiss, his eyes focused on mine, a fire scorching in his cinnamon gaze.

  “Fuck this shit,” he hisses. And then he lifts me.

  My headphones fall out of my ears, my purse dropping as he presses into me. His fingers fly to my collar and with skilled hands he removes my coat, slinging it to the side, my gloves and heels next to go as he removes my clothes, kissing at every bare inch he can find.

  My breath picks up, my exhales turning into pants. My words are a whimper when I finally find the will to speak, and as the buttons of my cream-colored blouse go bouncing along the elevator walls, I huff in spurts, my hands dying to unearth the impressive erection I feel pressing at my hip. I grab Heath’s face.

  “What—what are we doing right now?”

  “What we should have done a long time ago. Showing each other how we feel…” He clutches my chin, facing me. “This won’t be a fuck, Violet. This will be more.” He speaks into my face, his halting breath minty and hot. “This is me talking right now. Not Mr. Tequila. Or Mr. Sparrow. Just Heath. And just Heath needs you to know that you are the only woman he can be just Heath with.”

  He kisses me. Hard. And I feel it everywhere on my body. I tremble under his touch. Even more so when he pulls back, pressing his furrowed forehead into mine. “I’m fucking in love with you, Violet Keats. From the moment I met you. I’m tired of pretending I’m something I’m not—someone I’m not. I want to give you all of me—show you everything,” he breathes. “And by everything, I do mean every. Single. Inch.”

  My stomach twists under my open shirt, my chest rising and falling fast. I grip Heath with all the strength my hands can give, and with a slow nod, I lick the edge of his bottom lip, shucking his suit jacket from his muscular shoulders.

  With a slow deliberate finesse, I undress Heath Sparrow, stripping
his shirt from his chiseled body. I open the zipper of his slacks like a present on Christmas Day. Tearing at the seam, I lean back into his arms, raising my own above my head, pressing them against the elevator wall as he pins me. I meet his curious gaze with a small sigh.

  “Show me.”

  His stroke is gentle at first, slow as he slips inside my skirt. With a parting of my panties, he slides his firm hardness along my soaking slit, pressing at its opening, and I gasp as he stops just before plunging, his voice a gritty growl in my ear.

  “Are you sure?”

  I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.

  I’m tempted to tell him just that when I wrap my hands against his well-formed ass, my body eager to receive his. I pant.

  “I… I want Mr. Tequila b-back. He knew better than to—to talk.”

  I feel his grin. Licking my earlobe, Heath lifts me up higher, impaling me. Now sitting on his immaculate cock, he lowers me slowly, halving my consciousness into two. With a breathy gasp, I give in, my body fitting around his like a firm glove, and when his thick length throbs, he groans, a guttural sound I feel all over my quaking body. I bite into his shoulder.

  “Fuck, Violet,” he hisses, his voice sharp. “How do you feel so fucking amazing?”

  The words are like kryptonite, weakening me at the knees. And when he starts to move, bouncing me harder and harder, his hands on my ass, and his lips at my neck. He mutters words—filthy dirty little words against my open collar and I struggle not to scream his name, my body squeezing from the pleasure building inside out.

  “So fucking sexy, Violet. My God, I couldn’t want you more.”

  “Soak me, baby. Fucking feel me.”

  “So wet. So everything. So mine.”

  I’m a mess, my mouth turned to mush. I sink my fingernails into his skin, my orgasm building. With a deeper bite into his shoulder, I moan, only four words making it to my lips. I cry out inside the small space.

  “Heath, come inside me.”

  His stroke quickens, his length thickens. And then I come. On the crest of an incredible climax, my thighs shaking, my breasts pressed against his immovable chest, the sex god in my arms fills me with his release, sinking farther into me.

  It is the most sensual moment of my life. The most special.

  Tears flood to my eyes, begging to fall hopelessly down my body. I love him. I know I do.

  Every bone in my body is telling me so. And this time? I’m absolutely right.

  There’s no mistaking what this man means to me. What we mean to each other.

  And in his hold, imprinted from the inside-out with his body, I let Heath—just Heath—have me all night long, christening every surface we see with our climax, filling the elevator and every other room from here to his apartment with our ecstasy.

  Chapter 26

  HEATH

  “Holy hell, woman. Haven’t you had enough yet?”

  Violet grins up at me, flashing a smile beneath a wave of ginger-hued hair. The glint in her eye is mischievous, her face full of wickedness and when she presses a kiss between the sheets, between my hips, it is enough to make me grab her and start all over again.

  Not that we haven’t done so all Friday night. Or all Saturday afternoon and evening.

  Sunday morning’s weather forecast is almost as bad as the prior two days and on the tail end of our snowed-in weekend in my penthouse, I am nearly spent.

  Cell phone towers have been knocked down. Service is terrible. Sequestered in our love nest, we’ve fed on everything in my fridge and fucked. Fed some more and fucked again.

  My body is exhausted from making love to Violet all over my apartment, my cock begging me to let him breathe. But the kiss Violet sweeps over my growing erection lets me know that she’s ready for round forty-five.

  And within seconds, I realize…dammit, maybe I am, too.

  I growl on a frustrated groan.

  “Jesus Christ, Vi. You’re worse than me.”

  She winks. “Or better. Depending on how you look at it.”

  She lowers her body down my own, digging her nails into my skin. With a lick of her lips and a brush to the tip, my cock comes alive, thickening. I prepare to slide away from the wily woman under my covers when she covers the entire length with her mouth, sliding me so slowly inside that I’m almost tempted to come.

  Almost.

  “Christ!” I hiss out.

  A mere two days before Christmas, Violet was making it hard for me to remember my manners. With Christmas Day now only hours away, I smile down at the greatest gift God has ever given me, my hands threading in her ruby hair as she swallows me with her lips before pulling back.

  “Once more and then I have to go back to work.”

  I frown. “Work? There is no work.”

  The naked woman in my bed shakes her head. “I want to make headway on the Fletcher case.”

  The frown on my face becomes a scowl, and I remember why I went back to Sparrowhead in the first place. Looking for her. Needing to have her in my sights.

  Needing…to keep her away from whatever cocksucker is quietly threatening her.

  I reach for Violet again and she dodges me.

  “Your boss,” I growl, “says there is no work.”

  “You’re not my boss. You’re just Heath.” She teases, lapping me with her tongue. She’s so hard to resist. With my cock between her hands, wetness glistening against the tip, I’m nearly powerless to tell her no. Especially when she lays her hand flat against my abs, pressing me backwards into the bed, her head dipping to devour me once more. She murmurs against my skin. “Just enjoy, Heath.”

  So I do.

  Violet pumps with her mouth and hands, working me into a frenzy. Sliding the underside of me against her smooth tongue, she circles the tip of me, making me moan. Her mouth is hot and wet, a cavern for my come. She presses down around my hardness, sucking me into oblivion, and when I swirl my hips, swinging farther onto her tongue, she inhales even harder, a finishing move that shoots me to the brink.

  “Fuck, gorgeous. I’m gonna come…”

  She sinks her fingertips into me tighter. With my release in her throat, she swallows skillfully. Her mouth spreads into a smile, a self-satisfied look on her pretty face. I grab her wrist, pulling her towards me, tempted to kiss her groan. I breathe into her face.

  “You did that on goddamned purpose.”

  “Yup.” She beams up at me.

  I let her go. “Let me show you what real torture is like.”

  She laughs. “You’ve been showing me all weekend.”

  I slide down the bed. “I wasn’t talking to you.” I point between her legs. “I was talking to her. See, I told her sometime last night that I was going to make her happy. And I don’t think I’ve finished that job yet? Do you?”

  VIOLET

  I no longer think of Heath Sparrow as a liar.

  A year ago, I would have never uttered the words. But when he said he was going to ‘make good on his every mutter promise to tongue my honeyed pussy all night long,’ well…he meant it.

  We spent the weekend among the piling snow in bed, but come Monday morning, while he slept peacefully in his penthouse suite, it was clear that one of us was still telling tall tales.

  And that someone…is me.

  I couldn’t sleep. At four am, with half of the snow melted, I caught a taxi cab to the SparrowHead building, eager to get back to the case I was building.

  Chris Jackson was going down. If I have anything to say about it.

  I’d made a promise to Arlene Fletcher. A promise to myself.

  In the early morning hours, just before dawn, I sit at my desk, feet kicked up, Wham!’s Last Christmas sounding from my headset—as awful as I think the song is, thinking about Heath.

  Until my office door swings open at 8am. And Emily steps in.

  Her brunette curls bounce as she strolls over to my desk, files in hand. Her arms are clutched tightly to her chest as she smiles down at me—as
if it isn’t Christmas Eve, her hazel eyes lively as she sashays right in.

  Her good mood matches mine, and with a determined strut, she stops right before my desk.

  “Good morning, Miss Keats.”

  “Good morning, Em,” I manage to eek out. “You look chipper.”

  “I am,” she grins. “Woke up on the right side of the bed this morning despite a bad date on Saturday night. Got a call from a gentleman, and I’ve been talking to him for the entirety of today’s morning. I find him very interesting.”

  “Interesting?” I nod over the edge of my coffee mug towards the files, reaching a hand out for the documents in her hand. I managed to actually swallow some of the piping hot drink as our hands pulled the exchange.

  But when I pull back, I almost choke on the caramel mocha again. More and more was getting revealed about Emily, enough to catch me off guard. I glance at her beautiful new blouse.

  “Em” I scoff with amused surprise. “You look fantastic.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Her eyes skim down at her outfit. “It’s nothing special. Just a little something I picked up on a whim last weekend.” She dusts some lint off her new navy blue suit, and I have to admit: my eyes follow.

  Her get-up is phenomenal.

  The pencil skirt is a perfect fit for her darkened blue blazer. The lapels of her jacket look crisp around the color of a lily-white blouse, and her jewelry is of modest and impeccable taste.

  She looks effortlessly clean. Minimal but chic. It’s a feat few businesswomen are capable of pulling off, and she’s done it with style. A grace that’s respectable and feminine and she looks like…she looks like…

  I set down my coffee mug.

  She looks like me. I swallow harshly.

  “Emily, this…outfit…” I comment stiltedly.

  She throws her hands out. “Okay, so I might have taken a few cues from you in terms of fashion, but…”

  “A few?” I start to laugh. “Emily, if I weren’t a redhead, you would be my clone.”

  She winces, shifting on her feet. “It’s that bad, isn’t it? I figured if I was going to act like a lawyer, I needed to look like one.”