He turned. “What is it?”
She should say anything, but nothing would come out. For once in her life, she couldn’t take a chance and go for it. All she could think about were the limits a new relationship would bring. The words were held prisoner. She glanced down, unable to bear meeting his eyes.
Lincoln lifted a hand as though to touch her face then dropped it. “I have something to tell you. You’re probably expecting it, you might not even be surprised to hear it, but…I love you.”
She gasped, her bottom lip quivering, brought her gaze to his.
“Surely you must know I love you, Brett. As a friend, first and forever, but as so much more, too. I want you and no one else as my woman, my lover. And, one day, my wife. I won’t settle for anything less.” Shaking his head, his voice rasping, he said, “But, you have to want the same, wholeheartedly, or else you’d be cheating yourself and me. I know I’m asking a lot, moving fast, but that’s how right it is for me. And I had to say these things out loud so you’d know what I’m asking for, before you make a decision.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a crushing kiss and left before she could respond.
Pressing her back to the door, she inhaled deeply. Lincoln loved her. The tears spilled and uncontrollable trembling began. Despondent, she flopped on the bed on her stomach. She could smell him on the pillows, on her. She’d been right about him not going halfway. After only one night, he’d determined he wanted her to be his girlfriend and lover, even his wife. That was a lot to put on a woman.
But, staying there wouldn’t give her more clarity. Her thoughts running amok, she showered then packed her bag. Checking the suite for anything they may have left behind, she found their cheesecake and fruit tart desserts in the fridge, untouched, and decided to take them home with her.
The memories of everything they’d done flooded back. How he’d first caressed and seduced her right where she stood, how she’d done the same to him in the bathroom. The things they’d done on the sofa, the bed, in the pool, the shower...she had to leave. Now.
Grabbing her bag, she passed the table, and the card that had been left for her caught her eye. She’d forgotten about it. And the peacock feather. She had to take that too, as a memento, too pretty to leave behind. Casting one more glance around, she headed home.
***
Later that evening, restless and needing someone to talk to, Brett called Tamsyn and told her to come over and bring alcohol. Wine. Rum. Whiskey. It didn’t matter. Happily complying, Tamsyn stood grinning when Brett answered the door. Brett found it impossible to hide the confusing emotions, and Tam instantly assumed the date had gone wrong.
They got comfy on the couch in her living room with a chilled bottle of white wine. While Brett told the story from beginning to end, Tamsyn sat enraptured, eyes wide, taking small bites of fruit tart, as if watching a movie.
She’d expected her friend to slump in disappointment, but, instead, received the reverse reaction altogether.
Tamsyn didn’t convey much surprise at the turn of events. “Classic Lincoln, alpha male through and through,” she remarked. “But, oh my God, it sounds like the most amazing night. Why do you seem so depressed? You had the greatest sex of your life, and he told you he loved you. What more do you want?”
“Exactly! I don’t know!” Brett threw up her hands. “I didn’t tell you this before, but I mostly jumped on this to get rid of my desire for Lincoln. I just ended up feeding it. Over and over.”
Tamsyn cocked her head, her mouth twisting. “And now you don’t know what to do. Why? You and Lincoln as a couple makes perfect sense to me. I can’t believe it took this long in the first place. How much would really change? Except for the fact you’d probably hump yourselves into hibernation for months before I saw you again.”
Brett laughed, shaking her head. “It’s funny you say nothing would change. Lincoln said that, too. Am I the only one who thinks everything would? That’s what I’m afraid of. Him becoming the typical boyfriend, telling me to stay home, stealing all my free time, trying to stop me from doing all the things I want to do.”
Tamsyn scrunched up her face. “Are you sure you’re talking about Lincoln and not your ex? Since when has Linc ever stood in your way? Never. He watches over you, gives you brass knuckles and good advice, but he never stops you.”
Part of the fog cleared. Tamsyn’s words rang true. Lincoln would be the last person to crowd or smother Brett. Her ex had been guilty of that. In fact, the last two had been. They didn’t get her, and, in the end, she couldn’t be with a guy who didn’t bother to try to understand who she was.
Lincoln never struggled with it. He accepted her as is. No one else, not even her own family members, did that.
She squeezed her friend’s hand with gratitude. “Thanks, Tam.”
She waved her off. “Anytime.”
“I know I sort of failed our little experiment—”
“Stop! A failure? Not in the least. You made love with your best friend who adores you. Your night turned out to be exceptional, right?”
Brett smiled softly. “Right.” She cleared her throat. “Now. What about you? When is it going to be you who contacts Madame Eve?”
Tamsyn took in a deep breath, swiping the crumbs from her pants. “I’m going to wait a little bit. Those women at the nail salon were right. It’s a life-changing appointment. Look at you! You’ll never be the same either.” Setting her glass on the coffee table, she added, “I wouldn’t have a handsome guy friend waiting for me, though. Mine would be a stranger. If anything, your experience has made me more nervous to try it.”
“Oh, Tam, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Sometimes you just have to go in blind. But, you’ll know when you’re ready. Trust your instincts.” Brett’s voice softened, remembering seeing Linc step out to greet her, how her world had twisted on its axis in that one moment. “As my grandmother used to say, sprinkles of mystery revive the soul.”
Later, Brett hugged her good friend good-bye and shuffled to her den. A deadline loomed for her article and if she didn’t start now, she’d procrastinate until panic mode set in. She had a few hundred words typed when her cell phone vibrated with a text message.
Digging in her purse, she couldn’t believe how her heart thudded. It might be Lincoln, but was only a calendar reminder about a meeting at work the next day. She shoved the phone back in her purse then noticed the envelope she’d put in there before leaving the villa.
Plucking it out, she flopped back on her broken-in sofa and propped her feet on the coffee table, tracing her fingers over the gold-embossed lettering of her name. Heavy, expensive stationery. Smiling, she opened it and pulled out two sheets of paper. The first read:
Dear Miss Carver,
I must admit, Lincoln’s email surprised me. A rare occurrence. Nevertheless, fate has had this in store for you for a long time. I was merely a catalyst to bring you together.
It was always going to be Lincoln for you, my dear. Yet, you pushed him away, fearing you’d lose your coveted independence to the one person you should consider losing it to. A woman’s independence is a priceless flower, for she needs it to grow, but a flower requires water as well. It nurtures and quenches you when life leaves you dry. Let Lincoln be that for you.
He might not have expressed himself as well as he should, and so I’ve enclosed a copy of the email he sent so you can read it for yourself. Perhaps it will help you see clearer.
Wishing you love and happiness,
Madame Evangeline
Brett bolted upright. Wait. The envelope had been left before either of them had arrived at the villa. How had Madame Eve known how she would feel?
Quickly, she switched pages.
To Madame Eve,
My name is Lincoln Murrow and I’m Brett Carver’s best friend. I accidentally saw your email to her about the one-night stand arrangement. Before I am accused of spying, please let me explain.
I love this woman.
She was my first love, the first girl I ever cared about because she made my youth bearable. Now, I love her as a man loves a woman and see her in my dreams every night, thanking God she’s in my life.
I’ve been a coward for not telling her. Waiting for the right time. But reading your email forced me to make that time NOW. I want my chance. I will pay or do whatever you need to consent allowing a switch. Please consider my proposal.
One last thing. Growing up, nothing I did impressed my father. Then I met Brett. When I showed her one of my inventions, her beautiful eyes lit with excitement, and she jumped up and down, as if I’d created the moon. She did that every single day and still does.
So don’t you see? She’s my world.
Sincerely,
Lincoln Murrow
***
Lincoln strode out of his office the following Monday afternoon. As he reached into his inside pocket for his cell, his office manager called him over. A quick glance at his phone told him he had no texts or voicemails, at least not from the one person he wanted to hear from. Another long night of wishing Brett would end his misery lay ahead. Even if that end didn’t happen to be the one he wished for, at least he’d have some closure.
He approached the manager’s desk. “Hi, Teresa. Something for me?”
She smiled and handed him an envelope.
Making his way to the garage, he thought about where he’d gone wrong. Maybe Brett needed more time, but, in his experience, that almost always meant the decision would not tip in his favor. Besides, if she didn’t feel the way he did now, then she never would. And the last thing he wanted was for her to get used to the idea of being with him or, worst of all, settle for him.
He might as well start to accept the loss, even if doing so ripped his chest wide open. Maybe he should get good and drunk. Though that would solve nothing, it might make him sleep, something he hadn’t done since he’d left her at the villa.
As he walked, he sliced open the envelope, brows furrowing when he pulled out a thin stack of note cards. Steps slowing, he flipped through them. The first card had the number nine written on it. The second, a two. The third, a three. Then an eight.
And it dawned on him. A security code. The one he’d forced her to enter when he’d had her security system installed.
He grinned when he came to the last card, written in Brett’s unmistakable handwriting.
Linc,
Confession. I didn’t really request a 1Night Stand for research. I did it because I couldn’t stop wanting you and was looking for a distraction. I would have preferred to be with you, but I had you on such a pedestal, I didn’t want something as basic as physical attraction to ruin our friendship. But there’s nothing basic about you and me. I believed it was a good solution to get you out of my head, but you’ve been in my heart this whole time, and you’ll never, ever leave.
I thought I would lose us if I took a chance with you after this weekend ended. Now I see I can finally have it all.
Please forgive me for taking this long. With all my heart, I love you.
Come home to me.
Your woman, lover, and future wife,
Brett
A Note from Angelita
One of my favorite romance stories to read are friends to lovers, as I truly believe some of the best relationships start when friendship is the foundation. Not only is the build-up of sexual tension high (does he? I wonder if she…?) but it can hit you months, even years after being friends that the one you need has been in front of you the entire time. I hear this theme all the time, of women who fell in love with their best friend. I’m one of them. I hope you enjoy Brett and Lincoln’s journey. Thanks for reading and cheers!
[email protected]
Also from Decadent Publishing
www.decadentpublishing.com
Endless Affair
Chapter One
She is so close.
But she isn’t here yet.
Five years. The longest I’ve ever remained in one dimension.
And it’s becoming harder to find Moira.
Tanith propped his shoulder against the outside wall of the Hotel Ambassadeur in Paris, his hand trembling as he tapped the invitation against his leg. Not with apprehension or fear, but awareness.
As soon as he materialized into a new parallel universe, he prepared for the unexpected. Nothing’s familiar, everything’s the same, he always said. Survival had to come first, but once he adapted, his goal was Moira.
He’d never give up searching for her, but it seemed more challenging than ever, making him wait...and doubt, he’d ever see her again. He had her first name and a master artist’s sketch of her face derived from his memory. Her surname changed every time. As did her location.
Word-of-mouth had led him to1Night Stand. Luck had been on his side when the lady in charge had miraculously found her, and fate—damn and bless it at the same time—had given him yet another chance. He knew next to nothing about Madame Eve, what her methods were, or how she’d succeeded where he’d failed.
Secret databases? Dark arts? Reading chicken bones on a plate? Didn’t matter.
When she informed him she knew Moira’s location, he begged to make an arrangement for them to meet. Madame warned that the woman he loved could shy away from one of her “usual” arrangements. I can see why you would never forget her, she had emailed, including a summary of Moira’s background.
As a young girl, she’d moved from New York to France with her mother, and had excelled at one of the most prestigious dance academies in the world. Now she owned the title of premier danseur for the De Fleurs Paris Ballet Company and rarely, if ever, socialized outside her circle. Her world revolved around dance. She didn’t date, didn’t party, didn’t go anywhere unless it had to do with the company.
Madame Eve recommended a casual encounter instead of approaching his ballerina in a direct manner. To her, it would appear chance, but it was anything but. Madame sent Moira the invitation and promised him she would be there.
The anticipation was almost more than he could take.
With a rake of his fingers through his hair, he straightened and smoothed a palm down his tuxedo jacket.
Fitting on his black Venetian eye mask, he strode to the entrance.
***
On satin-covered feet, Moira flitted, turned, and spun, the spotlight tracking her. The rush of being center stage, all eyes focused on every perfected move, exhilarated her. Like the sun cajoling the tiniest flower to life, an auditorium packed with spectators who loved ballet filled her soul with resplendent freedom, their rapt enthusiasm feeding the artist within her.
At her solo’s end, she bowed to roaring applause. The others joined her for a company bow before the curtain fell on the final show of the season.
As she exited, blotting the sweat from her brow with a tissue, her mood turned wistful. The dark backstage held such cold contrast to the heat and light out front. Nothing compared to the stage. If it were possible, she’d dance all night, every night.
The company director crushed her in his bony embrace, kissed her cheeks, and praised her in rapid French. A few minutes later, she entered her tiny dressing room alone, took a seat at the cluttered vanity, and noticed a gift.
Rectangular, black, the size of a shoe box and wrapped in wide red ribbon, it stood out with its elaborate presentation. She picked it up and gave it a shake. So weightless, it could be empty. Then she saw the card tucked underneath the satin tie,
An invitation, penned in flowing English calligraphy.
You are invited
A Black & White Masquerade
Tonight
9 p.m.
Hotel Ambassadeur
Odd. Anyone who knew her wouldn’t bother to invite her to such an event. She’d turned down countless, to the point of rudeness. They’d all given up by now. Parties just weren’t her thing.
She flipped the card over. A personal message was scrawled across the fine parchment:
<
br /> Your body and soul dance, yet your heart still cries out for more. Tonight is the night you find out why.
Reading it again and again, her pulse quickened, the words trembling before her eyes. Why would her hand shake? She pulled at the bow and lifted the lid. Her lips parted on a soft gasp. A Venetian half mask lay within—ivory, with a unique top corner edge styling and embossed gold detailing, with black ribbon ties. Using the tips of her fingers, she lifted it, shifting the mask side to side to watch the glitter catch under the vanity lights.
This was no ordinary invite.
She stuffed the mask back in and shoved the box away.
Trying to squelch the rapid rise of temptation, she began removing her makeup with heavy cream and a tissue, watching her face transform from a vivid, buoyant story character to a fresh-faced young woman. Honey-brown hair, dark blue eyes and mismatched lips, the upper one puffier than the bottom. Remembering when kids at school would call her fish lips, she sighed and rose from her chair.
After removing her costume, she dressed in her leggings and thin wrap sweater then jammed her belongings in a shoulder sack.
Lingering to gaze at the mask...a tingle in her fingers and a sudden urgency in her chest startled her. She spun away to the door.
Mon Dieu, this is ridiculous. I should go home. Pretend I never saw the box. Her hand rested on the cold doorknob, turning it...and something inside her seemed to twist and burn. A merciless emotion that would not be ignored.
Glancing back to the invitation, she sensed if she didn’t go, somehow, some way, she’d regret the decision.
She snatched the mask and card from the vanity, and excitement burst in her stomach, giving her a childlike, giddy feeling.
First and Forever Page 6
