Far Too Tempting
Page 24
“What about you, Kel?” Gretchen swivels around to face Kelly, reaching into the blue bowl nearest her to grab a handful of cherry-flavored jelly beans. She pops one into her mouth, then rests her chin in her hands, waiting for Kelly’s answer.
I start dealing the next hand, doling out two cards apiece before I lay down the flop.
“It’s pretty good,” Kelly says, back to the bright and peppy persona that defines her. “We had this one epic fight, and then agreed we needed to do a better job communicating. Which I know sounds totally cheesy, but it’s true. So we talk more, and we also have sex more.”
Gretchen pumps a fist, then glances at her cards. I do the same, and am pleased with my hand. Not only do I have three jacks, a gorgeous man is waiting at home for me. I go all in, pushing my red, white, and blue chips into the center pile, exaggeratedly, for effect, not caring to act cool or put on a poker face. I have a winning hand.
“So, Jane,” Gretchen slurs, the fourth glass of champagne hitting her full blast as she reveals she’s only holding a queen high, “you haven’t told us any sex stories and you’re the one with the new man. You have the good stuff.”
I wait for Natalie, the last one left. Kelly has folded. My sister shows her cards, two aces, two queens. I lay down my three jacks. There’s a moment at the table when we all sort of look to each other, as if to ask who won. After all, we’ve never pretended we could take down anyone in a tournament. Gretchen whips out her cheat sheet, a list of all the poker hands.
“And the pot goes to the brunette!”
I wrap my arms around the chips, pulling them all toward me, knowing Ethan will be thrilled that I’ve won and that I’ll take him out for pad thai tomorrow night when it’s my time with him. As I count my chips to cash them in, Gretchen tries again. “C’mon, Jane. Give us something. Tell us a story.”
Part of me wants to tell them everything—that Matthew is the most incredible lover in the solar system, galaxy, universe. And that I get to have him. But is that fair? I’ve already won $103 tonight and I get to have him too. An embarrassment of riches, indeed.
But you have to give the audience something. “I don’t like to kiss and tell,” I say coyly, twirling a strand of hair with my index finger for effect. “But I’ll leave you with this thought.”
Then I add in a dramatic pause. I remove my lip liner from my blue shoulder bag, apply it, then add the lipstick. I sling the bag over my shoulder and stand up, placing both of my hands flat on the table. “Every night, my friends. Every single solitary night.”
…
I take a cab to my home in Murray Hill, eager to see my man. He has a key now, so he texted me to tell me he was already there, that he’d be patiently waiting for me. Matthew knows how to keep himself busy. He’s perfectly content with whatever paperback he is onto now. He eats up books.
But he’ll be there when I get home in a few minutes. He’ll smile when I come in and keep reading as I brush my teeth, wash my face, and join him in the bedroom. He’ll watch me as I undress and slide into bed next to him. Then he’ll place his book on the nightstand, the same nightstand where I keep the review he wrote just for me in the drawer.
He’s no longer able to review my albums for Beat, due to conflict of interest. But the day my album was released, he gave me a handwritten review, in his choppy, slanted penmanship and said, “This is what I would have written.”
I once said that the best songs come from broken hearts. I’m going to need to issue an addendum to that statement. I still believe that’s true, but there are also great songs that have nothing to do with love at all—witness The Clash’s “London Calling,” Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” John Lennon’s “Imagine”—and then there are great songs that are all about love, full-bore, head-on, crazy-about-you love. Think about Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line,” The Beatles’s “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.” Oh, wait, that’s about sex. Well, there are some pretty good songs about that too. And Jane Black has now added to the canon of shtupping songs with a few heady numbers of her own on her new album.
I didn’t frame that review. But after I read it, we decided to make a list of all the great sexy songs. That’s in the nightstand drawer too and several tunes are already crossed off. Because we made a vow to make love to every shtupping song ever written. Turns out there are a hell of a lot of those too.
I unlock the door and find him lounging on my couch, reading a book. He tosses it on the coffee table, stands up, and walks over to me.
Okay, so maybe he can’t wait till I brush my teeth and get in bed, and that’s fine with me.
“Please tell me you won enough for me to retire and live the life of the arm candy of the sexiest rock star I’ve ever known,” he says, pressing his palms together in a plaintive prayer.
I smile broadly. “As if you could be content to be arm candy.”
“I’d be willing to try,” he teases, then pulls me in for a kiss. As soon as his lips touch mine, I am warm all over, my skin tingling. I angle my body against his, signaling that I can’t wait much longer either.
“I want more,” I tell him.
“You will always have more with me, Jane. Don’t you realize that now? I have an absolutely insatiable appetite when it comes to you.” He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom, opens the nightstand drawer, and considers the list. He taps the list with a pencil. “Oh, look what’s on it. ‘Physical.’”
I laugh as he tosses the paper on the nightstand and pulls me down onto the bed. “We’re not doing it to my song.”
“Why not?”
“That’s weird, don’t you think?”
“So you want to use Olivia Newton-John’s version?”
“I’d have to break out my leg warmers then.”
“Oddly enough, I’d still find you fetching even in leg warmers,” he says, then pins me down and rains kisses all along my neck, then from my jawline to my earlobe. “Or we could just use any of those songs you wrote about the English Sex God you’re madly in love with.”
“Hmm,” I say as if I’m deep in thought. “I did write some songs about you. Some songs about how much I want you, and how much I love you,” I say, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“I intend to give you inspiration on both counts for a very long time. For always, in fact.”
“Always?”
He nods resolutely. “Always. Because that’s how long I’ll want you, and that’s how long I’ll love you.”
I like the sound of that. I like it a lot.
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to Michelle Wolfson for finding the perfect home for this novel, and for Stacy Abrams and Alycia Tornetta for loving Jane and Matthew as much as I do. I am grateful for the team at Entangled for shepherding this book into eReaders. A special shout-out goes to my friend and longtime book advocate Crystal Perkins. Thanks to Kelly Simmon for all her insight, and to Tara Simone for being my all-time bestie. A huge, massive thank you goes to all the amazing bloggers who have supported my books. You guys are the rock stars! My family, as always, is endlessly supportive and encouraging of the time I spend with fictional characters—my son’s love of Doctor Who inspired the dog’s name. My own dogs are my loyal writing companions.
Most of all, I want to give big hugs to all my readers. I love you madly. You are all the reasons I ever need to write romance.
xoxo
Lauren
About the Author
Lauren Blakely writes sexy contemporary romance novels with heat, heart, and humor, and her books have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and iBooks bestseller lists. Like the heroine in Far Too Tempting, she thinks life should be filled with family, laughter, and the kind of love that love songs promise. Lauren lives in California with her husband, children, and dogs. Her novels include Caught Up In Us, Pretending He’s Mine, Playing With Her Heart, and Trophy Husband. She also writes for young adults under the name Daisy Whitney.
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