One Exquisite Touch: Book One in The Extravagant Series

by Lauren Blakely

  “No, this sex was pretty much the opposite of bad news. The sex was good news. It was a gospel. It was a revelation. It was incredible.”

  She waves a hand in front of her face as if it’s boiling in here. Then she sets her chin in her hands. “So, what’s the problem?”

  I wave a hand breezily. “Oh, you know, his hotel won The Exquisite Show, nabbed the contract from the Renegades, and now they’re probably going after Max and Alex too, and I am determined to get them. It’s a dog-eat-dog world here. It would be like if you were to get involved with the head of the Renegades team.”

  She shudders. “That would never happen.”

  “Because your sights are set on Xavier,” I say, picturing the handsome, strapping backup quarterback who absolutely deserves his time on the gridiron. Too bad her team’s starting quarterback is at the top of his game. Though that’s not truly too bad.

  “What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants.”

  I lift a glass again, clinking it to hers. “Isn’t that the truth?”

  She taps her nails against the table. “But on the bright side, hello, great sex to erase the memory of your cad of an ex.”

  I give her a naughty smile, a saucy lift of my eyebrows. “That is true. I am done thinking about him ever again.”

  “Instead, I bet the movie theater of your mind is doing you the favor of showing a repeat of Hot Office Sex with the Enemy.”

  A tremble runs through me, and I go warm everywhere. I flash back to the other day again. To the things Cole said to me. To how I felt when he took me. To getting down on my knees for him. “I think he’s some kind of sex magician. It’s like he can conduct tricks with my body and pull off all sorts of spectacular reveals. He did things I wasn’t expecting, didn’t know I wanted, and now crave wildly.” I’d do best to snap a rubber band against my wrist as a reminder that Cole Donovan is off-limits. After all, we’re both vying for Max and Alex now. I won’t lose them to somebody else, especially since I just contacted their managers to increase the offer. “But that’s behind me now.”

  Before she can reply, a big, beautiful voice booms across the eatery. “Ladies. How the hell are you gorgeous babes?”

  I turn in the unmistakable direction of the famous singer. In well-worn jeans, motorcycle boots, and a stylish T-shirt, Stone strides across the marble floor with that easy gait and a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, his carved cheekbones on full display, his gorgeous green eyes lighting up the room even from a distance. He’s flanked by his bodyguard, a man who’s got the build of a pro football player and the looks of Chris Hemsworth, all blond and Thor-like.

  The big man walks beside Stone, his eyes swinging left and right, his focus intense.

  Funny, because this isn’t the type of restaurant where you’d think he’d be scanning for trouble. Then again, my sister relies on her bodyguard wherever she goes. She’s needed one, since she dealt with a stalker more than a year ago, and I briefly employed one too, but I no longer feel the need for security beyond the norm at the hotel.

  When Stone reaches me, I stand, grin, and offer him a hand. He scoffs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen, then holds his arms out wide. “Come on, Sage. Bring it in. Bring it in nice and tight.” He wraps me in a huge, warm hug, then lets go, appraising me up and down. “It is motherfucking good to see you.”

  “I could say the same about you, Stone,” I say. Then I say hello to the man by his side. “Hi, Jackson. How’s life treating you with this troublemaker?”

  “Stone is definitely full of trouble,” he says, with a quirk of his lips.

  “You would know,” Stone murmurs.

  Jackson’s lips twitch in the barest of a grin, then his gaze travels around the restaurant because that’s his job. To survey for trouble.

  I gesture to Eliza, who waggles a hand at the musician. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing your lunch.”

  Stone gives her a look like she’s nuts. “I love lunch crashers. Crash all you want anytime.”

  “Eliza is one of the majority stakeholders of the Hawks, along with Nadia.”

  “Then you’re hardly crashing the lunch,” Stone says, kissing the top of her hand.

  That delights Eliza, who nearly coos. “It might seem like I’m crashing when I tell you I am the world’s biggest fan of your music. Your music got me through so much heartache.”

  Jackson chuckles, and Stone shifts his gaze to him. “Did my music get you through some heartache too, my man?”

  An eye roll comes from the bodyguard. “It’s just interesting how many people use your words as a balm for the heart.”

  Stone claps Jackson on the shoulder. “That’s what I am. I am a salve. I’m a balm. I am a cure-all. A magic elixir. I am the medication for whatever ails you.”

  Jackson laughs, then almost mutters under his breath, “A legend in your own mind.”

  Stone points a finger at him, narrowing his eyes. “A legend everywhere. But why not be a legend in my own mind too? It’s a great place to be a legend.”

  My gaze turns to Jackson. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”

  He shakes his head. “Thank you, but no.”

  “He rarely joins. He has his job to do,” Stone says, like he has to make an excuse for the man.

  “You want me to do my job, Stone,” Jackson corrects.

  “That is very true, because nobody does it better.” There’s a note of intensity in his voice, like these words are nothing but the truth. Stone points his thumb at the bodyguard. “He’s the best in the entire biz. A good bodyguard is worth everything.”

  Jackson says little. Simply offers a curt “Just doing my job.”

  That makes me wonder, though, if his job necessitates him being this close.

  But as soon as that thought touches down, Jackson walks away, stationing himself near the entrance to the restaurant.

  Stone sits down, and we look at the menus, and when the waiter arrives shortly, we order. We thank him, then I rub my palms together and dive into business. “Everything is going to be fantastic for your upcoming concert series.”

  “It is,” he says, cutting in. “And I want you to know I made a big decision.”

  “Oh, what’s that?” I ask, a little taken aback.

  “I saw you were donating ten percent of the proceeds to local charities.”

  “I am. We are. It’s part of what we believe in, my sister and I. And Eliza and her business partners on the Hawks as well,” I say, gesturing to my friend, who is also a big champion of many nonprofit organizations.

  “I’m going to do the same. Ten percent of my proceeds too,” Stone says.

  Eliza’s jaw drops first. I blink, stunned speechless for a moment by his generosity. Quickly, though, I compose myself. “That’s amazing. Fantastic. I’m even more thrilled to be in business with you.”

  “Happy to do my part.”

  I slide back to the details, a warm glow inside me. “I know Ivy has already gone over some of the details, but I wanted to meet to discuss how we can include this in our part of the ‘Experience Las Vegas’ campaign.”

  “So Vegas can experience me?” Stone suggests with a twinkle in his eye.

  I smile. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  Stone slaps his palm on the table. “I love it. I am all fucking in.”

  After the meal ends, we thank him, then Eliza and I walk ahead. As we wind through the blackjack tables, I catch a brief glimpse of him with his bodyguard again. Softly, I say to Eliza, “Does it feel like there’s an energy between them?”

  She nods vigorously. “Oh yeah. Especially since I’m pretty sure Jackson didn’t technically need to walk Stone all the way into the restaurant.”

  I picture Ivy and her bodyguard, Callum, how he’ll often escort her to a lunch meeting, walk her all the way in, drop a kiss on her cheek, then wait outside. But then, he’s her lover too. Which makes me wonder . . .

  “Exactly. I was thinking
the same thing.”

  “It’s almost like they vibe off each other. Like they enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Or more so, they enjoy giving each other a hard time,” I add.

  Eliza wiggles her brows. “Do they, Sage? Do they like giving each other a hard time?”

  I smack her shoulder playfully. “You dirty girl.”

  “What? There is nothing wrong with a woman enjoying the prospect of a little man-on-man action.”

  “Nothing at all,” I second, since I’m learning too that we all like different things. “We all get our kicks in our own ways.”

  She holds up a hand, preach it style. “That is true. What about you? Are you hoping to return to your masquerade kinks?”

  My kink.

  What exactly is my kink?

  Is it two men?

  Is it being used?

  Being teased? Being taken? By both?

  And yes, I also like it when one of them, in particular, does that.

  When Cole does.

  I like being his plaything and their plaything.

  And I have no idea what that means or how it’s going to manifest in my life. If at all.

  As I head toward my office, I confess to my best friend, “I can’t stop thinking about one of them. And maybe also the other one.”

  And tomorrow night, I’ll be attending a dinner, and both of them will be there.

  17

  Sage

  I head to a celebrity chef’s trendy new eatery in Caesars Palace. Eating out is my jam. Especially since I live in a hotel and dinner is a great chance to escape from the one that’s my home.

  I love my home, but I also love this city. The chance to visit other hotels on the Strip remains as giddy a delight now as it was when I was a little girl soaking in the sights and sounds of this city for the first time—all the noise, all the lights, all the people.

  With traffic being light, I’m early to arrive. As I weave my way through the roulette tables, my hair swishes around my shoulders. My short black dress clings to my frame. I’m not working the full after-hours look like at the masquerade party, but this isn’t the buttoned-up suit look I wear during the day either.

  I am evening Sage.

  I’m also keenly aware that I dressed for Cole.

  That even if I shouldn’t have him, I do want him to be captivated by me.

  I reach the restaurant and tell the maître d’ I’m here.

  “Right this way,” he says, escorting me to the private room where the dinner will be held. Along the way, I spot two gorgeous men at the bar, and my heartbeat quickens.

  My two Prince Wickeds are indeed male specimens, and all the more handsome with their masks off. Cole rests an elbow against the bar, chatting animatedly with Daniel, who laughs at something Cole has said.

  My pulse surges as I drink in the sight of the two business partners, the two longtime friends. The pair of gorgeous men who pleasured me that night. My skin heats, and instantly I imagine brand-new scenarios—sliding between them at the bar, perching on a stool, Cole’s hand on one of my legs, Daniel’s on the other.

  I’d draw a breath, inhaling both of them.

  I’d be intoxicated by the mix of their colognes, their soap, their deliriously sexy scents. Then, by their touch, as their hands glide up my thighs.

  Further. Closer. I’d spread my legs for them.

  I’d shut my eyes, and savor every delicious second.

  And with those filthy images dancing before me, I shiver.

  Yes, I definitely dressed with dirty hope in mind.

  And I need to resist.

  I clear my thoughts, trying to quench the fire inside me. “I think I’m just going to head to the bar and grab a quick drink,” I say to the host.

  “Of course.”

  When I’m several feet away, Daniel’s phone rings, and he picks it up, then signals to Cole that he’s going to take the call. As he walks away, Cole’s eyes swing around the restaurant, stopping at me. Lingering on me.

  My stomach flips. My chest flutters.

  I want both of them.

  And I also want him.

  Desperately.

  Glancing at the stool next to him, he gestures for me to join him. If a gesture could be possessive, his is rife with it.

  Is this why I’m early?

  For a chance to see him?

  Truth be told, I hoped for this—for another chance encounter.

  An encounter I shouldn’t want.

  So I vow to look, but not touch.

  I stride over, admiring the view of the rakish Cole Donovan. He’s dressed down in charcoal slacks and a crisp checkered shirt, nursing a tumbler of what must be scotch. The ice clinks in it as I reach him.

  He lifts the glass. “Join me, Ms. Carmichael.”

  Leaning in, he brushes his stubbly jaw against my face, dusts a welcoming kiss on my cheek, and whispers in my ear, “So lovely to see you.”

  A tremble tangos down my spine. “It’s good to see you too,” I say, a little wobbly, a little feathery, as hot sparks from that kiss rain down on my body.

  I want them both, yes.

  But I want this one solo.

  And I don’t know what to make of these twin desires.

  Or how to sort them out.

  “What’s your poison?” he asks.

  “Bourbon.”

  He arches a brow as if to say impressive.

  “Does that surprise you, Cole?”

  His eyes study my face. “Everything about you surprises me.”

  “Good,” I say.

  He calls over the bartender, orders my drink, then says, “You like being a surprise?”

  “I think I do. I think I like surprising you.”

  “You’re doing an excellent job at it.”

  I turn the tables on him, studying his face. “And do you like being surprised?”

  He takes his time, his eyes serious. “I like all the things I’ve learned about you, especially the surprises.”

  Another thing about him to like. Everything with Derek was by the book. Dates. Sex. Expectations.

  With Cole, nothing is by the book. Everything from the sex to the conversations to the gift he gave me, even to our texts the night after our daytime tryst in my office, has been unexpected. And, in some ways, they’ve been more meaningful than many of my times with Derek, and we were together for months. It’s almost as if Cole and I are on a collision course to know each other. Maybe we’re staying on that course too, unable to veer away. I crave knowing him, I’m hungry to understand him.

  “Did your mother enjoy her stay here?”

  He smiles, a genuine sort of grin as he talks about her. “She had a lovely visit,” he says, and tells me more about what they did—shopping, dining, her spa day. “Amazingly, she still found time to chide me, like any good mother does.”

  “What would she chide you about?” The bartender brings me my drink, and I thank him then lift my glass to clink with Cole’s.

  “To lovely visits,” I say.

  “I’ll drink to that,” he says, then knocks some back, sets it down, and taps his sternum. “She wants me to watch out for my heart.”

  “Do you not look out for your heart? Are you eating too much red meat?” I ask, teasing.

  He laughs. “I’m all about fish and salad and healthy meals.”

  “Then why does she worry about your heart, Cole?” I tilt my head, gentling my tone. “Was it broken?”

  He takes a deep breath. In that silence, there’s my answer. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of it.” I bring my hand to my chest, opening myself up to him. “My heart was broken several months ago. I was falling in love with the man I’d been seeing, and I learned he’d been cheating on me. He did it publicly too. It was incredibly humiliating, and I was devastated.”

  Cole sneers. “He didn’t deserve you. And you don’t deserve to be devastated.”

  “No one does, and yet so many of us are.” I swallow some of my d
rink, enjoying the burn and the way it makes my nostrils tingle too. I return to the issue of his heart. “May I ask? What happened to you? Broken heart? Something worse?”

  He’s quick, clipped, even. “She died. In a car accident.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, my own heart lurching toward him, my hand reaching for his arm, rubbing it up and down. But not in a sexual way. More in a comforting way. But I still feel like an idiot for having said something about my situation when his story runs deeper, hurts more. I let go of him. “I didn’t mean to commandeer the conversation and make that comment about a breakup, since what you went through is much worse.”

  He shakes his head, adamant, then sets a hand on my shoulder. Possessively, once again. That’s his style, and I don’t mind it. “Don’t belittle your experiences. We go through what we go through. That was something to you, and the way you were treated is awful. And you didn’t know what had happened to me.”

  I take a beat, then dive back in. “What happened? May I ask?”

  He clears his throat as he takes his hand off me. “We were in LA. The three of us had gone out to dinner.”

  I file that data point away. The three of them.

  “We were out as friends,” he clarifies. “Daniel was driving. A car swerved out of nowhere, hit her side of the car. She died on the way to the hospital.”

  My heart craters, shards of pain slicing through me like jagged glass as I try to imagine how he felt. The horror of all that. The immediacy of the loss. The terror and the fear and the denial that must have come that night, and in the days to follow.

  “You were in love with her?” I ask, seeing the feelings in his brown eyes.

  “No,” he says. “I was, however, falling in love with her—yes.”

  That adds another layer of complexity. “It’s so hard when you lose someone. I’m sorry that happened to you.” I tilt my head, curious. “You didn’t mention anything about it last week when we were talking about loss.”

  “Because you were talking about your parents. This was just a nascent relationship.”

  “But that can hurt too. As someone recently said to me—we go through what we go through.”