One Exquisite Touch: Book One in The Extravagant Series

by Lauren Blakely

  I wrap the barrette, call my personal assistant, and ask her to deliver the package to Sage.

  I have her number, now that I know who she is, so I text her to tell her something is on the way.

  An hour later, I find a text from her.

  * * *

  Sage: Thank you! This is wonderful. I was looking for my clip. I was hoping it would come back into my life.

  * * *

  Cole: I planned to return it to you the following Saturday night. It’s a beautiful clip.

  * * *

  Sage: It’s one of my favorites. I felt foolish having lost it.

  * * *

  Cole: We had our hands all over you. Don’t feel foolish. Feel . . . adored.

  * * *

  Sage: That’s a good way of putting it—how I felt. And thank you again. This means the world to me.

  * * *

  I want to know why it matters to her. After I pour a glass of scotch, I sink down onto my couch and type a note.

  * * *

  Cole: I had a feeling it was important to you. I couldn’t help but notice the inscription. Brilliant for brilliant.

  * * *

  I send the message, hoping she picks up on the implied question, hoping she tells me what it means.

  * * *

  Sage: It’s from my parents.

  * * *

  Cole: They had a wonderful reputation. They did terrific things for the city.

  * * *

  Sage: They were great people. I admired them so much. And I miss them a lot.

  * * *

  Cole: I’m sorry for your loss.

  * * *

  Sage: It was a few years ago. But I do miss them still. I think I always will.

  * * *

  I stare at that word. Miss. I don’t miss Georgia anymore. But Sage and I aren’t talking about the same kind of loss. There is a difference between romantic loss and family loss.

  I certainly missed Georgia plenty during those dark few months following her death. More than I expected to. More than I knew how to deal with. And that’s why the games with Daniel became necessary. That’s why I craved them for new reasons. As the antidote. As the cure. A way to feel good again without getting attached.

  * * *

  Cole: What does “brilliant for brilliant” mean? I bet it means something special.

  * * *

  Sage: My parents always believed in NOT praising their daughters just for their looks. Little girls are often told they’re pretty all the time. My father wasn’t like that. He wanted us to be praised for our intelligence and heart. So that’s what he said to me. That was his line. Brilliant for brilliant.

  * * *

  I smile as I read the note, loving that her parents believed that. That they were progressive and thoughtful.

  * * *

  Cole: I agree with your parents. That’s the way to raise a child.

  * * *

  Sage: We used to go to the park near our home, and my father would read to me, then ask me to read to him. We sat on the bench for hours reading. It was wonderful.

  * * *

  Cole: He’s where your love of books comes from?

  * * *

  Sage: Mom was a big reader too. All of us were, and are. You’d have found the four of us on family vacations, ensconced in our lounge chairs on the beach, tucked into books.

  * * *

  Cole: That’s a wonderful image.

  * * *

  Sage: I probably have an actual photo of that somewhere.

  * * *

  Cole: Keep that photo safe. Moments like that matter.

  * * *

  Sage: They do. I’m lucky I have those memories.

  * * *

  Cole: I’m glad you have them too. And I also believe you’re brilliant.

  * * *

  Sage: Cole, are you just trying to bend me over again?

  * * *

  I laugh then reply, even though I should shut this down right now. I should stay far away from my rival. And yet . . .

  * * *

  Cole: We agreed not to do that. And look, you went there. You are filthy and brilliant.

  * * *

  Sage: Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re still the competition.

  * * *

  Cole: And so are you. But here we are, talking about family. I think it’s fantastic that you’re close to them even though they’re gone. That they taught you things that are important.

  * * *

  Sage: What about you? Are you close to your family?

  * * *

  I stare at the question, thinking about how to answer. And I reply with the honest truth.

  * * *

  Cole: I’m close to my mother. Actually, just sent her back to California today. She’s a professor.

  * * *

  Sage: That explains a lot about you, with your love of literature.

  * * *

  Cole: Yes, I definitely got that from her. I’m working my way through F. Scott Fitzgerald now.

  * * *

  Sage: Like you were reading at the masquerade.

  * * *

  Cole: I try to steal life’s interstitial moments to read as often as I can.

  * * *

  Sage: Rather than scrolling through Instagram. I like that. What book are you on now? Tender Is the Night is my favorite. I do love a good tragic tale.

  * * *

  Cole: That’s next. I’m finishing This Side of Paradise. I do love a good story of love and greed.

  * * *

  Sage: We could start a book club. I choose Oscar Wilde next.

  * * *

  Cole: I’m in. As the man said so aptly, “I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.”

  * * *

  Sage: That sounds like you. At least, from what I can tell so far.

  * * *

  Cole: What else can you tell about me?

  * * *

  Sage: You’re direct. You’re determined. You’re passionate. Very passionate. Incredibly passionate.

  * * *

  Cole: Flattery will get you everywhere, and you’re still the competition.

  * * *

  Sage: Excellent. I know your weakness now.

  * * *

  Cole: Since I can’t stop texting you, perhaps you’re my weakness.

  * * *

  Sage: I’m not exactly stopping either. So, tell me something else. You’re close to your mother. What about the rest of your family?

  * * *

  I take a moment before I answer her. There’s no point denying the truth, or tiptoeing around it. It’s no deep secret either, since I’m never photographed with my father, never seen with him. Meanwhile, my mother has attended plenty of events with me—charity fundraisers, galas, hotel openings.

  But I’d rather be the one to tell her about my father, rather than avoid the thorny topic. I want to be the man Sage sees me as.

  Direct. Determined. Passionate.

  I am that man, but she also brings out that side of me. I want to be that person with her, so I answer her straight from the heart.

  * * *

  Cole: My father isn’t a part of my life. He never believed in me, never thought I would amount to anything. Said I was good for nothing. And he was the same way with my mother. He treated her without respect. I don’t speak to him.

  * * *

  Sage: He was clearly wrong. You are someone who should definitely be believed in. And people should treat each other with respect.

  * * *

  Cole: All the time, always.

  * * *

  Sage: I’m glad we agree on that.

  * * *

  Cole: I suspect we agree on a lot.

  * * *

  I don’t say more about my father. I don’t tell her that’s why every day I work hard to prove the opposite. That I am not my father’s son. That I am my mother’s son. That I can deliver for her, for my family, for my brother, and for everyone I’ve worked with. And
that also means I shouldn’t be having these types of earnest conversations with Sage Carmichael.

  Even over text.

  Yet the woman is hard to resist. And I’m not even in the same building as her. So I send her one more note.

  * * *

  Cole: I bet you’d look stunning with that clip in your hair right now.

  * * *

  I wait for her text, not entirely expecting one. But hoping. Absolutely hoping.

  Five minutes later, it comes. There’s a close-up shot of the clip in her hair, and she’s lying on her bed. I can just make out the pillows behind her, and all I can think is I would love to unclip her hair again, run my fingers through it, tug on it, and plant a hot, searing kiss on her neck. My body throbs with desire.

  * * *

  Cole: If I were there, I’d have my hands in your hair.

  * * *

  Sage: We agreed not to do this.

  * * *

  Cole: We did agree. And yet I love the way your hair feels in my hands.

  * * *

  Sage: And I like the way it feels when you tug on it. When you smack me. When you talk dirty to me.

  * * *

  Cole: And when I fuck you hard.

  * * *

  Sage: I believe we established all of that earlier today in my office.

  * * *

  Cole: And so many other things about your desires too.

  * * *

  Sage: But we’re not going to explore them anymore.

  * * *

  I run my palm over my hard-on, firm as steel in my pants right now. And I reply with a lie.

  * * *

  Cole: Of course not.

  * * *

  Sage: Then I should say good night. And thank you again for the thoughtful return of the clip.

  * * *

  Cole: Good night, Sage. Sweet dreams. Or dirty ones.

  * * *

  I set down the phone, take my cock out, and get myself off to all the filthy thoughts of how I want to make Sage Carmichael my plaything again. How I want to make her scream, how I want to make her come, just the two of us, and how I want to do it again while Daniel takes her at the same damn time.

  This woman is in my head and under my skin.

  I both want to have her to myself and I want to share her.

  And I’ve never felt that way about anyone.

  I’ve never felt this kind of wild desire to have a woman in every possible way and to give her every possible kind of pleasure.

  But I want it with her. With a woman I absolutely can’t have.

  I do my best to remind myself of that when I see her reply.

  * * *

  Sage: I have no doubt they’ll be dirty.

  * * *

  Cole: Those are the best kind of dreams.

  * * *

  Then I do shut it down. And as I woo Max and Alex throughout the next few days and over the weekend, I constantly remind myself that she’s the competition.

  16

  Sage

  On Monday, as I wait at a restaurant for my lunch meeting, my phone pings with a new email.

  From Max and Alex’s managers.

  * * *

  Dear Sage,

  * * *

  Thanks again for golf last week—it was great, and we loved hearing more about The Extravagant and think it’s a good fit for us.

  * * *

  I know we indicated we were ready to sign on, but we’ve had an offer from another casino come through this morning that requires some serious consideration. We thought it only fair to let you know the reason for our delay.

  * * *

  We’ll be in touch in the next few weeks.

  * * *

  Regards,

  Max and Alex Management

  * * *

  Damn it.

  I throw my phone on the table as the waitress places a jug of ice water down. I’d felt certain Max and Alex were as good as a done deal, in the bag. And with most of the casinos having residencies locked in for the next few months, who else could be courting them?

  A sheet of ice prickles my neck.

  I know of one man.

  One incredibly sexy, passionate, competitive man.

  I quickly shoot them back an email and increase our offer just as Eliza walks in, the first to arrive for our lunch with Stone.

  As always, my friend is perfectly put together and looking a little bit like a rock star herself, wearing designer jeans, a trendy violet top, and red shoes that I have no choice but to covet six ways to Sunday. They’re adorned with images of female comic book superheroes, and sport red sequins on the chunky heel.

  Perfect for her.

  Full of personality with a feisty touch.

  I give her a hug, then a once-over. “Why do you always have to look so perfect?”

  She flicks her silky chestnut hair and juts out a hip. “Because I’m meeting a rock star. Can you believe he’s been friends with my business partner for a few months now, and I haven’t met him yet?”

  “Nadia is evil and clearly likes to hoard her trophies,” I say.

  “That is true. Also, I was out of town for a while working up overseas deals,” she says.

  I give her a I know you were nod. “Exactly. So now you get to meet the man.”

  “Thank you again for letting me play groupie today.”

  I wave a hand dismissively, scoffing. “Oh, please. If memory serves, your football team is one of the sponsors of his upcoming concert series.” She’s not simply here because she’s the world’s biggest fan of Stone. Her team is partnering with us on the residency he’s doing at The Extravagant. “Also, I do believe we have a little contract going for your team to stay at my hotel the night before each home game,” I say with a wink.

  She bumps shoulders with me. “Woman power. I do love dealmaking with my bestie.”

  “It’s the best way to make deals,” I say.

  “Still,” she says, brushing some unseen lint off her shirt, “I don’t know that I’ll ever feel like anything but a groupie, so I’m approaching sky-high levels of excited. But speaking of excited . . .” She wiggles her eyebrows as we sit down, glancing around perhaps to make sure Stone isn’t here yet. “I want the full story about what went down with Cole Donovan.”

  I’d texted her after the meeting in my office, serving up the key details—he was one of my strangers, and oops, we did it again.

  Or rather, we did more.

  A sensory memory of what we did last week rushes over me, as images flicker by of how it felt to touch him and to be touched by him.

  “I gave you the basic facts,” I say, playfully evasive.

  Her green eyes widen, all tell me now, girlfriend. “And now I want the feels. Was it as amazing as it was at the party the other night?”

  I laugh, then take a drink of the ice water on the table. “Why do I feel like you’re egging me on? Aren’t you supposed to be my friend and say he’s bad news and to stay away from him?”

  Eliza reaches for her water, takes a drink, then simply shrugs. “Of course he’s bad news, but it’s not like the sex was the bad news.”