The Bet: A Manhattan Nights novel

by Natalie Wrye

  I lift one eyebrow. “Is that a yes, Violet Keats?”

  She grins with glistening eyes. “That’s a maybe.” Her smile widens. “Ask me again in three months. No Mr. Sparrow. No Mr. Tequila. Just Heath.”

  I smile back. “You would have better luck with Mr. Tequila. He would have spelled out his proposal with his tongue.”

  Violet blushes. “There’s no reason he can’t do a trial-run now, though.”

  I kiss her lips, letting my mouth show her that she’s mine. And always be. “No reason at all.”

  I hold her hand to my heart, letting her feel its beat. Just for her.

  One. Two.

  Epilogue

  VIOLET

  One month later

  “Tank! Get out of the kitchen!” I hear screeching through the air. The sound of doggy paws follows, running fast.

  A sloppy grin comes careening around the corner, and I stop the gray and white beast of a dog with my hands, reaching out to pet his short fur.

  I crouch at the knee. I’m thanked with a slobbery rain of puppy kisses, and when I finally stand, extracting myself from the lovable American Bully in my arms, I find the love of my life several feet away, smirking, his full lips spreading over his handsome face.

  In a white apron, collared shirt and black slacks, he is the crowning jewel not just in his elaborate kitchen, but at the entire party. Brett and Elsie’s joint Bachelor-Bachelorette party just two days before their wedding is nothing without the chef-du-jour.

  My man. Mr. Party Host. Mr. Hot-Cock.

  Mr. Cooks-like-a-Five-Star-Chef-and-Looks-Too-Good-to-be-fucking-True.

  He looks down at the overly happy animal in my arms. “I’m guessing this is my sous chef.”

  I can’t help but laugh, my fingertips still scratching behind Tank’s ears. “Sure. If you want a side of drool with your dishes.”

  Heath glances at the gravel gray dog, who barks with delight at my touch. “Lucky bastard,” he growls, his eyebrow lifting.

  “Jealous?”

  “Very much so. Hell, I haven’t gotten a chance to touch you like that all day, Ms. Keats. It’s hard when I’m slaving away in the kitchen. But I see I’m not the only one whipping up his own creations.”

  A secretive smile splays on his full lips, a hint of something devilish in his stare. I don’t get to prod any further into Heath’s cryptic riddle because Marilyn comes rushing into the kitchen, her blue gaze scanning the room, before, at last, landing on the pretty Bully pup at my feet. She frowns down at the animal, and he lowers his ears, knowing instantly his mistake.

  I cover a smile with my hand.

  “Tank Barkington Sparrow.” Her voice is a high-pitched scold. “You come here right now and stop causing trouble.”

  I tug the too-cute troublemaker by his collar towards his puppy-mother, escorting both out of Heath’s large kitchen.

  Cooking isn’t the only thing Heath does well. And before Marilyn showed up, he was just about to show me his first notable feat, the “I-want-to-fuck-you” look written all over his beautiful face.

  I sigh as soon as we’re out of sight, on some level secretly grateful that Marilyn’s here. I pull her to a quiet corner, just as Tank takes off again, his heavy nails scratching against the cherry mahogany-hued hardwood.

  I grab her tiny elbow, leaning in.

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “What?” She hisses. “No, Vi. Of course not.”

  I huff. “Because he’s been giving me a weird look all day. This strange staring thing.”

  “Probably because you look seriously edible,” she declares, tilting her head.

  I look down.

  I did try to look nice tonight. If not for the party, then at least for Heath. In a red velvet number and matching shoes, I’d wanted to look the part for a star-studded event like tonight.

  But it was hard. Especially when there were so many beautiful people in the vicinity, from TV to tattooed wealth and more. And especially when my waistline was widening.

  My body was slowly changing every day. I exhale, the nerves singeing from my fingertips to my toes.

  “Just tell him,” Marilyn whispers. “He’s going to be happy to hear this.”

  “Is he?” I hiss back. “He’s just moved all of his stuff back. He’s finally settling in as head of the firm after your father officially retired. We’re finally making headway on the Jackson case. I don’t know if he’s ready for this…”

  Marilyn’s raises one perfectly waxed brow. “Don’t know if he is ready or you?”

  “Okay, yes. I don’t know if both of us are ready.”

  That much was true. With my ex-husband Jeffrey, having a baby was more of a business decision than anything else, a plan to move forward when the “time felt right.”

  With Heath, everything felt fucking right…and it scared me half-to-death. I hated to admit it.

  When you loved someone so much it hurt, when all the pieces of you became complete the moment your “person” came into your life, you couldn’t imagine that somehow the universe wouldn’t conspire against you.

  Because you were too in love, too damned happy and too cursed for so long for the world to let you have your Happily-Ever-After.

  It’s an irrational fear, I know…that suddenly feels too real. My chest squeezes.

  As it does, the sound of Wham!’s Careless Whisper comes floating from behind the closed doors of Heath’s massive kitchen. I roll my eyes, glancing over at Marilyn who giggles.

  His taste in food? Phenomenal. His taste in music? Sometimes made me suicidal.

  Clearly, I wasn’t done teaching him the right eighties classics yet.

  I grin at Marilyn. “I’ve got to go. Who knows what we’ll hear next?”

  I spin back into the kitchen, my gaze scanning over the small feast he’s created, the myriad of sauces and soufflés he’s managed to whip up in a couple of hours. My mouth starts to water. I can’t tell if it’s because of the meal…or the man, and I glance appreciatively at both, watching as Heath grins, his deep brown eyes never leaving my face as he swipes a finger through a thick brown sauce, bringing it to my face.

  “You should be proud,” I comment. “Everything here looks amazing.”

  “Everything?” He presses. I smile, sauntering closer.

  He reaches out for me, and I sink helplessly into his touch. I tilt my head upwards, cupping the five o’clock shadow around his face, and just as I start to pull him towards me, he shakes his head, extending a sauce-covered finger to the tip of my lips before speaking, his husky tone turning into a silk-laced growl. He touches the skin along my bottom lip.

  “Taste.”

  And it’s the only word it takes.

  I suck gently on the tip of his finger, savoring the dark flavor. It’s a delight on my tongue, sweet to the taste, and as my tongue flicks out to try more, Heath lowers his mouth, descending on mine, turning my brain into mush.

  His kiss is soft at first—a tease of what’s to come. With the sweet sensuous acidity still on my mouth, I let Heath’s soft tongue stroke my own, needing his flavor more than anything else in the world.

  I sigh, stepping out of his kiss. “Now’s not the time, Heath…” I whisper.

  “Actually,” I watch as his autumn-colored eyes glow, “this is striking me as exactly the right time, Ms. Keats. I know something that tastes much better than anything in here…” He leans in, nipping my ear. “And it’s located right between those sexy thighs.”

  I shiver, shaking at the knee as he inclines forward, kissing my neck. The kisses don’t stop there. They trail to my collar and before I know it, Heath is lifting me onto his quartz counter, his fingertips skimming under the skirt of my red dress, his hands reaching for my panties. He lifts my hips before sending the pieces of silk sailing.

  His fingers descend to the middle of my thighs.

  The noise from the rest of the party is just outside the kitchen’s double doors, and I glance hesitantly at them,
my vision going blurry as Heath strokes a finger against my slowly soaking slit, his thumb circling my clit as I gasp greedily under his touch. My mouth can barely move.

  “We-we can’t do this. Not here.”

  He chuckles. “That’s why I set you on a separate counter from the food.”

  “No, not here,” I whimper as his hands stroke and wind. “I mean, here. In the kitchen. Where anyone can walk in at any moment.”

  “It’s my kitchen. And I’m the chef.” He bites the dip near my neck, his teeth digging deeply. I moan out loud, and he keeps going. “No one has been in here all night. Except you. And I watched you lock the door behind Marilyn because of Tank.” He grins again. “Violet, this is my domain. My house. All these damn hangers-on should be glad I’ve let them in. Especially since this is about Brett and Elsie. And no one else.”

  “Right.” I sigh as Heath sinks to his knees. “About no else,” I agree, watching as he spreads my knees. I lean my head back on a groan. “If it’s about the bride and groom, can’t this wait?”

  I don’t want it to. God knows I don’t want it to. But I’m trying to be the sane one here… And it isn’t easy.

  Heath glances up at me with a wicked smirk.

  “Yes,” he says, savoring the sight of my nakedness under the skirt. “But it’s been a long day, gorgeous. And you know what they say about angry chefs?”

  I exhale loudly, blowing out a ragged breath. “What do they say?”

  “Even the best deserve a snack sometimes.”

  And then he puts his mouth on me.

  His tongue is slow this time—lovingly lazy. Tantalizingly tender and skilled, he sweeps the edge of it along my slit, circling me with its soft buds. His licks are twisted brushes, flying figure-eights under my dress, and as he lowers his lips, sucking hard, I almost see stars—veritable universes, until he stops suddenly, blowing over my pulsing pussy.

  My moan is almost scarily loud, a tired sound of sexual frustration. I stare at Heath’s handsome face as he lifts his head, the expression there twisting into a small scowl. My eyes can’t help but widen.

  I straighten where I sit. “What?”

  “You know…” he comments off-handedly, “A chef has certain rules, Violet… Rules he doesn’t like to broken.”

  I nod. “I’m sure.”

  He replaces his lips with his fingers, pumping me with his hand instead. “And when a cook in the kitchen interferes with a chef in his duties, she must be punished…shouldn’t she?”

  Confusion contorts the expression on my face, I know, but the question on my lips dies under his touch, melts away under his motions. Heath continues talking.

  “I mean, if the cook is making something without telling the chef, that should be a problem. Especially if that chef had a hand in creating that very thing…”

  His voice sinks to a whisper—a sexy hiss. “Especially if the chef knows the cook is keeping a secret.”

  But I can’t think. Can’t talk as Heath continues his confusing story.

  With filthy fondles under my skirt, the man molding my body like dough makes me forget everything else. I can barely hear what he’s saying as he penetrates me with his fingertips, dipping and swirling into my swollen cavern. And when he lowers his mouth once again, gripping his hands into my hips, he is no longer loving me with his tongue.

  He is fucking me with it.

  His hold is relentless as he slides me back and forth. His fingertips squeeze into my skin and as my body sweeps across the counter, my pussy plunging around his tongue, it is all I can do not to scream, my senses scattering as Heath impales me with his soft pink tip, making me see heaven over and over again.

  I come so many times I fear I might crash and burn.

  I grip into my very own Greek god’s tousled hair, tangling my fingers. When I finally come back down to earth, Heath stands to his feet, fixing my skirt. His kiss is brutal as he crushes me towards him, his grip fierce.

  He pulls back, gazing into my eyes, his voice and stare softer than I’ve ever seen both. His words almost break as he releases me, his glare saying everything his eyes don’t.

  “Now, does the cook want to tell the chef about his little bun in her oven? Or not?”

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  SNEAK PEEK of The Deal

  MARILYN

  Shit! I can’t believe he actually showed up.

  This is supposed to be Brett and Elsie’s night…

  Not his.

  But the touch of Liam Taylor’s lips on my cheek tells me what I already know. That the spotlight is his.

  And on the large lamp-heated balcony, under the Manhattan blue moon, I remember what it felt like to have his lips on more than just my cheek, the memory of what had been between us a barely forgotten fantasy.

  I remember the heat that used to exist between us. The balmy nights.

  Sweat under the skirt. Red lipstick and collar stains.

  That’s how I remembered kisses.

  Back when the two of us used to have them…

  The blonde currently on his arm erases each darkened dream, and as I scramble for what to say, a hand brushes against my bare arm, stroking the skin. A deep voice sounds in my ear, and before I know it, I am grabbing the strange man by the arm, pulling him close.

  Green eyes stare into mine, and before my brain can catch up, my mouth is already making an announcement, a practiced smile forming on my lips as I shove my unsuspecting date forward, beaming up at Liam and the blonde.

  “Of course. Liam, it’s great to see you, too,” I coo. “I have some of my own surprises. I’d like to you meet Jesse…” I wave a hand as the tall, green-eyed man beside me extends his towards the confused twosome in front of me. I swallow. “My fiancé.”

  The word catches in my throat. A look of surprise lands on Jesse’s stubbled face, but before he can utter a word, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

  He smells of pine and brandy, and as I stretch on tip-toe towards him, my mouth poised for a kiss, I’m afraid he’ll turn away. Reject me right in front of Liam. Make me feel like a bigger fool than I’ve already been.

  But the broadly built lawyer does no such thing.

  He lets me kiss him.

  Or rather…he kisses me.

  The kiss starts slow at first. Deep and hesitant. There’s a moment’s pause mixed in there, but the second my lips brush my brother’s best friend’s, a tango begins between us. A wicked dance that hints at a touch of desire.

  His lips feel incredible.

  Clad in a dark blue suit that plays off the sapphire hints in his sea-green eyes, Jesse trails a thumb along my jaw, holding me just as close as I’m clutching him.

  The hour is growing late and the balcony is dim, but when he slips his tongue between our lips, the feel of it is overwhelmingly foreign, the combined sensation of his mouth and hand creating a heat on my skin that belies the chilly breeze that hits my thighs on this coldest of late January nights.

  It is a sensual dance—this kiss, a wicked rhythm. Intertwining mixed emotions of long-awaited lust and first date fears, I am no longer acting as I give into it, my body warming from the outside in.

  I want Jesse.

  Need him in that moment.

  The primal, unexpected need almost makes me moan, and just as I press my breasts against his solid chest, soak in the sensation of his strong heart beating hard against his suit, Liam clears his throat.

  I step back for a second, feeling dazed. Jesse drops his hands from my face, and just as I open my mouth to speak, another voice sounds over mine.

  A husky masculine voice that is only too familiar.

  I glance towards the doorway to the balcony, staring at eyes shaped just like mine. I inhale slowl
y.

  “Heath…”

  My brother only stares back at me.

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  Also by Natalie Wrye

  THE KISSES & CRIMES SERIES

  The Bodyguard

  The Investigator

  The Imposter

  The Enforcer

  THE REVENGE SERIES

  Riske and Revenge

  Perfect Revenge

  Sweet Revenge

  THE MANHATTAN NIGHTS SERIES

  The Vow

  The Bet

  The Deal (Coming Spring 2019)

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  About the Author

  Natalie Wrye is a tequila connoisseur, Game of Thrones addict and author best known for writing steamy bedtime reads.