On laughter, happiness, and sweetness.
That made me think of candy, and it gave me an idea.
I knew someone who loved candy.
12
Brent
Temptation got the better of me as I walked toward the hostess stand at Giada in The Cromwell, a trendy, boutique hotel on the Strip. Shannon was waiting in the entryway, her back to me, looking far too sexy for me to keep my hands to myself.
Because . . . that ass.
Small, but firm and round.
And absolutely delicious.
I knew precisely how fantastic it felt to grab that flesh while I sank deep into her. I shook my head, like a dog shaking off water, but it didn’t deter the dirty thoughts that invaded my brain. Hell, they launched a full-scale attack, completely taking over my sense of propriety as I strode up to her. No one but me should be allowed to see her in a skirt that hugged her ass like that. But then, she couldn’t hide that perfect body in a burlap sack if she tried, and I couldn’t hide my rampant desire for her either.
The hustle and bustle of the evening crowd surrounded me as I crossed the final distance to the restaurant entrance.
Three more steps. Two more steps. One more step.
My hands reached out. I couldn’t help myself. Well, I could. I chose not to.
I cupped her ass, and she flinched for a second, but then I brushed my lips against her neck, and whispered, “You are so unbelievably beautiful that I hope you’ll forgive me for not being able to keep my hands off you.”
She trembled, leaning into me. “You aren’t winning any medals for self-restraint tonight.”
“I’m not competing in that event.”
“You never could keep your hands to yourself in public,” she said, but she wasn’t swatting my mitts away, so I ran my hands along the sweet curves of her body.
“Or in private either. But can you blame me? Have you looked at yourself lately?”
She turned around, breaking contact. Her lips curved in a small grin. “Yes. Why?”
“If I were you, I’d never be able to resist touching myself.”
She playfully rolled her pretty green eyes. “Amazingly, I can find the will to resist incessant self-touching,” she said, but she wasn’t moving away. It was almost as if we’d slipped back in time, forgotten the way we’d split, and had returned to the way we were—good together.
“Do you have a reservation?”
The sweet, cheery voice of the hostess broke the trance Shannon was putting on me. I was like a man hypnotized who’d just snapped out of it. I turned to the ponytailed, fresh-faced young lady in a black dress, and said, “Nichols.”
The hostess scanned the computerized list, and then tapped the screen. “There you are. I see Mario has requested one of the best tables for you,” she said, dropping the name of the restaurant manager I’d called in the favor from. “You’ll love this table.”
Shannon turned to look at me, her lips forming a puckered O. You’re fancy, she mouthed.
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate him doing that,” I said to the hostess.
“Right this way, then, Mr. Nichols.”
The hostess guided us to a table on the terrace with a view of the fountains at the Bellagio.
“Your table,” the hostess said, then walked away.
I pulled out a chair for Shannon, and she smiled at me once more. “This is lovely. Even though there are no tablecloths,” she said seductively.
A rumble worked its way up my chest, and I looped a hand around her waist, tugging her close. She didn’t resist. She moved with me, aligning her body with mine. “I was thinking the same thing,” I said low in her ear, then kissed her there, nibbling on her earlobe.
“Or we could just get a room . . .” she said sexily, letting her voice trail off.
I wrenched back, looked her in the eyes, and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. Now.”
“I was only teasing. I’m terribly hungry,” she said as she shook her head and dropped my hand, then settled into her seat. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for a long time to come here.”
I kept my eyes on those luscious lips I hoped to see parted in pleasure later on. If I had my way, she’d be coming more than once tonight, whether here or back at my place.
* * *
Over appetizers and a bottle of wine, I learned about the productions she’d choreographed, her career path, and how she’d started Shay Productions.
I asked her questions, eager to hear what she’d been up to since college. Like a paint-by-numbers artwork, I was beginning to see all that I had missed. She’d worked on West Side Story, Anything Goes, and Chicago, had logged a gig as a behind-the-scenes choreographer on a reality dance show in Los Angeles, then spent some time with a Cirque du Soleil production, before returning to Vegas and working on a dance revue at Planet Hollywood. That show was the launchpad for her company and the production she’d staged for the Wynn.
“The show at the Wynn really put me on the map,” she said, as she took another drink of the wine.
“That’s a great venue and a great opportunity.”
“It’s funny because I’ve never really thought of myself as a lucky person,” she said, looking philosophical as she stared off in the distance for a moment. “But I’ve had a few lucky breaks in my career—meeting the right people, getting the right introductions—and it’s made all the difference. Like the reality show I worked on. I might do some more work for them. I’ve got a meeting in LA with the producers tomorrow about staging a one-night reunion show with some of the former winners, so there’s another bit of luck,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the table. “Knock on wood.”
“Hey. You deserve some luck,” I said, meeting her gaze, making sure she knew I meant that from the bottom of my soul.
She shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t really subscribe to the notion that someone deserves good things in life. Things just happen. Some people are lucky and some aren’t.”
“And some people are immensely talented and recognized for their talent. And that’s you,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly on her. I wanted her to know how much I admired her work, especially since I hadn’t done the best job of showing respect for her career when I was so focused on my own back then.
“Thank you. I love what I do, and I wasn’t sure I would. I didn’t think I’d be able to survive without being the one dancing.”
“I know.” I covered her hand with my own, memories of her devastating pain still fresh.
“I do love choreography now though,” she said, and a gleam was in her eyes, hinting at her resilience.
“Tell me what you love about it,” I said, resting my elbows on the table as I listened to her share her passion.
She tilted her head to the side, as if she was briefly considering my question. But she didn’t seem to think about it for long. “I love being able to have a vision. To imagine what something beautiful will look like,” she said, talking animatedly with her hands. “And then to make that vision become a reality onstage. I love what my dancers are capable of doing, and being able to take a kernel of an idea and translate it into this moving, fluid entity in front of an audience.” She stopped, took a beat, then added, “And soon, that audience will be your clubgoers.”
I shot her a small grin. “Can’t wait to see that.”
“The show we have planned for Edge is amazing,” she said, enthusiasm latching onto her words. “It’s going to be so sensual and lush. We’re rolling it out in San Francisco first, I believe?”
“Yes. I have no doubt it will be great. Thanks to you,” I said, then I linked our fingers together, twining them. It felt so right. Even better when she gave my hand a squeeze. “You’ve accomplished so much,” I said. Would she have found her way down this career path if we’d stayed together? Between flights and opposing careers and love, perhaps not. “I’m really proud of you.”
“And you have accomplished a lot too.”
“S
han,” I said softly. “I’m not saying this makes up for how we fell apart, and if I could go back in time, I would completely do the whole thing over and find a way to be with you. But I’m so damn glad that you’ve been able to achieve all that you have.”
She didn’t speak at first, and I wasn’t sure if I’d said the wrong thing yet again. Tension flickered through my bloodstream as I waited for her to pull her hand away or shoot me a harsh stare. Instead, she cast her eyes down at the table. When she raised her face, she swallowed. “My grandma told me you went to her house. To return the ring in person.”
My shoulders tightened, but I went with her segue, nodding and acknowledging that moment from years ago. “I did.”
She pressed her teeth against her bottom lip briefly, then breathed out hard. “I really appreciate that. You making the effort to get it back to her. To be certain she had it again.”
“It was the least I could do,” I said, running the pad of my thumb along the outside of her hand, not wanting to let go of her, not wanting to stop touching her.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked softly.
“Of course.”
She took a deep breath. “What did you do with the diamond?” Then she snapped her hand away and held both of them in the air, shaking her head. “Wait. Don’t answer that. It’s nosy. You probably used it for living expenses, and that’s what I would expect.”
I leaned back in my chair and ran my hand roughly through my hair, wishing I didn’t feel so . . . cheesy admitting this. But I had to tell her the truth, now that she’d asked. “I didn’t use it for expenses,” I said in a low voice, as if I had to protect myself from anyone else who might hear.
“You don’t have to tell me. Really. You don’t,” she said insistently.
“I’m going to tell you. Just don’t take away my man card.”
She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Did you turn it into a necklace that you’re secretly wearing or something?”
“No. I sold it,” I blurted out.
“That’s what I expected, but why would that forfeit your man card?” She crossed her arms on the table.
“I’m not done. I sold it in LA to a diamond merchant. And I gave the money to the scholarship fund at Boston Conservatory. The one that put you through school,” I said. Somehow I’d managed to avoid ever telling anyone what I’d done with the diamond. Not my brother, not Mindy. It just made me sound like a forlorn guy stuck on a girl.
Even though that was what I’d been back then. And what I still was.
I looked up.
Her mouth had fallen open. She was frozen in place. She must have been thinking the same thing. That I was a sad, pathetic guy. I couldn’t believe I’d said the wrong thing again. But then I stopped thinking when she rose, stretched across the table, cupped my cheeks in her hands, and pinned my gaze with her sweet green eyes. “That means so much to me.”
She kissed me, softly at first, her tongue darting out as she ran the tip of it across my lips, then more roughly as she gripped my stubbled jaw harder. She kissed me feverishly, crushing her lips against mine, and I groaned as she led, sweeping her tongue into my mouth, diving deeper, consuming me. A shudder wracked through me at her sheer possessiveness. At the feel of her hands on my skin. She didn’t hold back, not one bit. She did everything with passion, everything to the fullest, as she fused her mouth to mine. I was reduced to nothing but desire for her as she took a chance—reaching across the table with a basket of bread below her arms, with wineglasses perched precariously on the table, with hundreds of patrons nearby. She didn’t care. Nor did I. I was damn near ready to shove everything across the table and forget we were in public.
Then I heard a throat being cleared.
The waiter had arrived with our dishes.
She detached from me, adjusted her top, and smirked just for me. As if we had a secret. Even though it was now a very publicly known fact that the two people seated here on the terrace of this restaurant on a June night wanted each other badly.
* * *
After the waiter served my fritto misto and her tortellini, I broached a subject that had once been a source of friction, but then had brought us closer.
“Is your mom still writing to you?” I asked gently, picking up my fork. I watched her, careful not to push too far.
She closed her eyes briefly, her fingers clutching her wineglass. When she opened them, she was the girl I’d known in college, the one who’d relied on me for everything.
She nodded. “Yes. It was every few months for a while. But lately it’s been a couple times a week. She sent me one this weekend. I haven’t opened it yet.”
I winced, hating that she was going through that. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I know those ripped you apart.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together, then breathed out hard. “She still says she didn’t do it.”
“She probably always will say that,” I said softly, wanting so badly to erase all her sadness. I’d always wanted to, ever since she’d finally let me in. She’d been so closed off at first about her family, so secretive, and it had driven me mad. I’d wanted to talk to her, to help her through her troubles, but she hadn’t even told me what it was that tore her apart.
Finally, she’d confided in me, telling me all the things that weren’t in the press, that weren’t public knowledge simply from growing up in Vegas at the time it happened. I’d known her as the girl whose mom had killed her dad, but I hadn’t been privy to the backstory, the details that didn’t make it into the local news.
The full story had shocked me to the core.
My family was so . . . normal. My parents were still married. They were both retired now and played golf together a few days a week in a swank suburb on the outskirts of the city. I tried to see them once or twice a month, and always visited on holidays. I even baked a pumpkin pie every year for the Nichols family Thanksgiving. There was no drama, no dysfunction, and certainly no murder for hire.
Maybe that was why I’d been able to comfort her when we were younger. Maybe that was why we’d been drawn together on some subconscious level. I’d grown up unequivocally happy, and I had extra doses of it. I had a whole storage closet full of additional happiness, and I tried to bring that to her. Lean on me, I’d told her. I could handle it. I’d do it again if she needed me to.
“And have you seen her recently?” I asked.
With a shaky breath, she answered, “I went at Christmas with Ryan. She asked if anyone had found the people who did it. Same thing she always says, even though she knows Stefano is behind bars.” She lowered her voice to a feathery whisper, her tone confessional. “I still check his inmate number every few months. To make sure he’s still in prison. It’s silly, I know, since he’s in for life. But I just like to know he’s where he belongs.”
I shook my head, reassuring her, because that’s all I could do. “It’s not silly in the least to find some kind of comfort in knowing he’s locked up.”
“It’s not like it makes me happy,” she said, sadness washing over her eyes. “It just makes me feel as much peace as I guess I can feel.”
“You don’t have to be happy. You can just . . . be,” I said, and that was what I’d told her in college too.
She met my eyes, a sliver of a smile forming on her beautiful lips. “I’m happy right now,” she said.
And hell, if that didn’t add an extra gallon to all those stores of glee I had.
13
Shannon
This was what I wanted.
A night that felt good. A night where I could see us coming back together, where trust and faith felt possible again.
Where moving on seemed likely.
And maybe, just maybe, where we might come together in our favorite way.
After the plates were cleared, I declared the meal a feast. “I knew I asked the right man to get me into this delicious restaurant. It was amazing, and everything I hoped it would be,” I said, then segued into a new topic. “I wa
tched a funny video before I met you for dinner.”
He raised an eyebrow in question. “I thought you weren’t into internet videos?”
“I’m not. I only watch videos of my dance rehearsals, and I shoot most of those myself. But my friend Ally showed me a cat video.”
“Well, there you go. Nothing better than cat videos.”
“And it reminded me of you,” I added, a playful grin spreading on my face.
“Am I a cat to you, Shan?”
I laughed, then bit my lip, holding in a chuckle. “Kind of. It’s a good thing. Cats make me happy.”
He squared his shoulders. “Compliment accepted, then. Also, meow.”
I laughed again, a ribbon of warmth spreading through my chest. The man had always made me laugh. He was handsome as sin and funny as hell, and that combo had been all I’d ever needed. He had filled the sad places inside me. He’d burrowed into me with his laughter and his wit, replacing my darkness with his light. Tonight, he was firing on all cylinders—his caring, tender side out in full force, along with his clever one, not to mention that handsome side. In his jeans and long-sleeved Henley stretched tight across his chest, he was a sight to behold.
“And since we’re talking about things that make us happy,” I added, “I remember your sweet tooth.”
He let his tongue loll out of his mouth. “Mine is legendary.”
“I remember,” I teased. “Do you remember that time, all those years ago, when I bought a lollipop from a fundraiser?”
Heat flashed across his eyes. “It’s burned in my memory for eternity.”
“Same,” I whispered, sultry, sexy. He’d pretty much tossed me over his shoulder and taken me to his dorm the second I’d taken my first lick.
Did I want him to do that now?
I wasn’t sure if I was ready for sex.
But I was definitely ready for feeling good.
My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Page 10
