Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy

by Eve, Charlotte

  With a final groan, his muscular thighs tensed and his hips thrust upwards and I felt his cock begin to pulse, both our lips wrapped tightly around his throbbing shaft in a kiss, Juliet and I both tasting the warm ambrosia of his cum as it slid downwards, mingling with our kisses.

  I shivered with glee; never had I felt more sexy, more kinky, or more in control ...

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  This couldn’t be happening.

  I stood there, stock still in the middle of the almost-finished restaurant, unable to believe my eyes. Because the huge centerpiece table I’d ordered — the one that was to run right down the center of the restaurant — was huge. So huge in fact that once it was in place, it blocked off the door to the kitchens at one end, and the main entrance to the restaurant at the other.

  I just couldn’t believe it.

  I’d fucked up, royally.

  Looking back over the measurements I’d supplied the carpenter, I discovered I’d made a massive mistake, and this was the result: a table so big it wouldn’t let any customers in through the doors!

  There was no getting around it; this was my error, and I was gonna have to pay for it, big time. And not just me. Max and Andy were going to have pay for my screw-up too, because at this time of night, the very evening before Mermaids grand opening, there was no way I was gonna be able to fix this mess in time.

  The grand opening was going to have to be cancelled. Max and Andy would be furious. And I was going to be a laughing stock. Who was going to employ me now? The interior designer who couldn’t even use a tape measure correctly? My career was over.

  I was so stupid to believe I was cut out for this. It was such a rookie error, and soon everyone was gonna know about it.

  Well, at least Max and Andy haven’t seen it yet, I told myself. There might still be time to fix this mess … If I could just think how. My brain went into overdrive.

  What about if I get a load of cheap packing crates from somewhere? Fling some tablecloths over them, and claim it’s the new hot style?

  No, better than that: breezeblocks! I swear I’ve been in a bar somewhere in Brooklyn that was using them for tables …

  Better still, how about I suggest a hot new concept: everyone eats off the floor!

  It was no use. I was screwed.

  And just then my cell started ringing. I pulled it from my bag: Max calling.

  Oh God. Please not now.

  But I knew I just had to answer; I’d been promising him updates all week.

  “Darling!” he cooed, the moment I picked up. “So? Are we all ready for our big party tomorrow?”

  I knew I had to tell him the truth. But how? Because deep down, I was terrified that if I messed up this job, I’d never work in this city again — and be straight back to Glenbrook Falls as a consequence (this time for good).

  “It’s going … great,” I replied.

  What are you saying?

  Just tell him the truth!

  “Fantabulous!” he gushed. “I just can’t wait to see it!”

  I thanked my lucky stars that Max couldn’t actually see me, crossing my fingers behind my back and shaking my head, as I began telling Max about everything except the colossal screw-up with the table, making the place sound completely and totally ready for tomorrow’s big night.

  What am I doing?

  “Anyway, listen,” I said, trying to wind up the call, my panic rising to new levels. “I’d better go. There’s still a few last minute touches I need to attend to. But don’t worry. It’ll all be perfect by tomorrow …”

  I hung up.

  There was nothing for it. I was going to have to call back the carpenter who’d designed the table and beg him, bribe him, force him to rework the table, to get it ready for tomorrow.

  I slumped onto the floor, suddenly exhausted.

  Just a few months ago, I was living in Brooklyn with Greg and working for Marianne. Just a few weeks ago, I’d found myself back in my bedroom in Glenbrook Falls. And only five short days ago, I’d been writhing with Juliet and Blake in that mirrored chamber at the party.

  I sighed, exasperated. But there was no time right now to feel sorry for myself. There would be plenty of time for that later, when Max and Andy fired me and everyone in this city found out I was a total fraud. But until that moment, I had to do all I could to sort his huge mess out, best as I was able.

  As I went to thumb through my cell for the carpenter’s number, there on the screen was another text message from Gina — the third that day.

  She’d been messaging me all week, asking me to come out partying, and I had started to worry that perhaps there was something really wrong — the tone of her recent messages had seemed a little fraught, a little wired. I was worried that her break up with Julius had really knocked her for six. But as much as I wanted to see her and find out just what was wrong, I’d spent all week neck-deep in this final prep for the big opening. I mean, I hadn’t even been able to see Blake since Friday night’s party, let alone anyone else.

  So sorry, I texted back. I promise we’ll do something soon - Mermaids launch is tomorrow night. Wanna come? X

  There, I’d invited her to the coolest party in town (if I could pull it off, that was). I didn’t need to feel guilty about ignoring her most recent calls and messages.

  And just thinking about tomorrow night’s guest list: page after page of names, rich, important, famous, got me panicking afresh.

  I returned to the job in hand: scanning through my cell for the carpenter’s direct number. I located it and hit call, pacing urgently around the empty restaurant as I waited for him to pick up.

  Come on, come on.

  But it quickly rang to answerphone.

  I left as calm a message as I could, explaining the problem and urging him to call me back at the first opportunity, but already my hopes were sinking fast. After all, it was well after six p.m. And which carpenters really worked into the evenings? He was probably at home with his family by now, or out at a bar, kicking back.

  If he wasn’t gonna answer his phone, I was going to have to go to him.

  So I ran over to the corner of the restaurant which had been doubling up as my office for the past week, searching through the many stacks of paperwork for the carpenter’s invoice in order to get his address. Finally I found it, and I winced when I caught sight of the incorrect measurements I’d supplied him with.

  And I winced again when I saw the address of his business. He was located all the way in Connecticut. There was no way I was going to make it there in time. It was just too far.

  What made me choose a supplier so far away, God-damn-it?!

  I turned and looked once more at the table, feeling another lurch of panic. It looked absolutely awful, not to mention being a real health and safety hazard. No, it just wouldn’t work. But without it, the room had no focus, no centerpiece, nothing at all to draw the eye. And if I decided to do away with it, how would I even get rid of it anyway?

  After all, I was stuck here, totally on my own, and it was huge. Monstrous. Too big for me to handle. I imagined myself somehow sawing it two, before remembering that it had cost the best part of three hundred thousand dollars. It had seemed so sensible, not to mention modern and chic, having one large table instead of twenty smaller ones. Ha! It had even seemed cost effective at the time, but now it just seemed a ridiculous waste of money.

  And then the thought flashed into my head: there was one person I knew who might be able to get me out of this mess, one person I knew who worked with wood all day and lived right here in this city.

  But would ever want to speak to me again?

  §

  Josh arrived less than an hour later, dressed in the same scruffy work clothes he always wore, his big brown eyes framed as usual in those thick-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses, his hair a little longer than the last time I’d seen him. He’d grown a beard too, and wow: it suited him.

  I had to admit, when I saw him arrive, carrying his big box of tools,
I felt a small flutter of excitement. After all, there was just something so rugged, so dirty and manly about him, so at odds with his soft smile and kind eyes. Rugged, manly and kind? He sounded like the perfect guy, and I wondered why he hadn’t been snapped up already.

  “I’ve been asked to do jobs at short notice before,” he said with a smile, “but I’d never heard of such a thing as a ‘carpenter’s emergency’ until you rang …”

  “Thank you so much for doing this,” I gushed, leading him into the restaurant and showing him the mess.

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s the biggest table I’ve ever seen. How did they even get it in here in one piece?”

  “It took four guys two whole hours to get it in place,” I explained. “I thought that was normal. I didn’t realize that something was really wrong until they left. Worst thing is,” I groaned, “it was my fault. I gave the wrong measurements. I just need it scaling down a little. You know, so it actually fits in the room, and chairs can go around it, and people can, like, enter the restaurant without stubbing their toes on it. Think you can do it?”

  He took a few steps forward and began examining the table closely, assessing it carefully, kneeling down to run his fingers gently over the honey-colored wood.

  “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “This thing is absolutely beautiful. How much did it cost?”

  “You really don’t want to know,” I replied with an awkward smile. “So, think you can do it?”

  “Normally, I’d hate to butcher such a breathtaking piece of carpentry,” he replied. “Whoever made this is a real craftsman. But you say this place has gotta be ready for tomorrow morning? Well, I suppose in that case there’s nothing else for it. As long as swear you don’t tell anyone I did this, then … yeah, I’ll do it.”

  I clapped my hands together, feeling another flutter of excitement as I watched him pull off his shirt, revealing a paint- and oil-stained vest beneath, not to mention his body− which was a little more toned and sculpted than I’d first imagined.

  Josh was … hot.

  “Thank you so much for this,” I said, honestly.

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied with a grin and a shrug, getting to work.

  And as I watched him, I began to wonder if maybe I’d done the wrong thing running out on him, back at that concert.

  §

  Somehow, in just a couple of hours, Josh had completely reworked the table: bringing it down to the correct specifications, taking off a couple of meters at each end, and then finishing the wood to such a standard that, unless you were a total expert, it would be impossible to even tell the join.

  My ass was saved!

  And as he worked, I’ll admit it: I’d been enjoying watching him, too, his face fixed in concentration, the sweat standing out on his brow, his surprisingly toned body covered in a thin sheen of perspiration as he sanded and sawed and lacquered and polished …

  I’d been trying to organize my files, iron out the last few creases and clear my stuff away, ready for the waiting staff to arrive first thing tomorrow morning. But most of my busyness had only been pretend. Josh was just too damn distracting.

  “How much do I owe you,” I said once he was finally finished, wondering if there was any price you could put on saving someone’s whole career the way he’d just done.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he smiled back. “I’m just glad I could help.”

  “Well, let me buy you a beer at least?” I said.

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, kind of relieved that the payback was so small. But then I realized I knew exactly what he was going to say next.

  “This time, you don’t run out on me halfway through.”

  §

  I let Josh choose the bar, and he took me to one of his favorites, just a few blocks away, a cute little tavern that you wouldn’t even notice from the street save for a single set of steps that led you down to a small basement-level place. And down there, the small unassuming door led into a single room done out like a living room, warm and cozy, with mismatched tables lit by flickering candles.

  “Wow, this is great,” I said. “I bet you take all the girls here.”

  I could feel myself doing it again: flirting.

  Should I be feeling more guilty? I wondered.

  But since I’d come back to this city, I was determined to take things easy, to have fun — including fun with other guys — to not get too hung up on Blake. Because surely that’s what he was doing tonight, wasn’t it? Out with some other girl, no doubt …

  Josh laughed and shook his head. “Despite what you might have heard about me,” he blushed, “I’m not that much of a lady-killer. I like things uncomplicated.”

  He led me to a table in the corner with a beat-up sofa facing it, small enough to cause my bare knee to touch against the rough denim of Josh’s pants as we sat down, and as it did so I felt my heart flutter, just a little.

  Since I’d been at work that day, I was dressed for business. A white silk t-shirt and black blazer. But now I was here, sitting so close, I was glad that instead of trousers, I’d opted for a pair of cute little city shorts. I hoped that Josh could check out my legs in the dim light, and that he liked what he saw.

  “I have to be honest,” he said, his handsome boyish face illuminated by the soft orange glow of a nearby candle, “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. And after your disappearing act last time, I began to worry that maybe—”

  “Don’t worry,” I interrupted. “I promise I’m not about to make a dash for the door this time. In fact …”

  Am I really about to say this?

  “What?” Josh asked, his brown eyes fixed intently on to mine as he waited for me to finish my sentence.

  “Well,” I said hesitantly, trying again to summon the courage to say it, “I was hoping we might pick up things from where we left off.”

  “And where was that exactly?” Josh said, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he slowly realized just what I was getting at.

  “Right about here …” I whispered, pressing my leg against his and turning into him, leaning forwards to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The big night had finally arrived: the glamorous launch of Mermaids, and so far nobody had noticed Josh’s expert handiwork. The table was now exactly the size it was supposed to be, dividing the room in two with one strong, clean line, but still leaving plenty of room to walk around it. The whole place was totally heaving with curious patrons and food critics, and from my vantage point, tucked away by the double doors to the kitchens, I surveyed the whole scene, shaking my head with wonder at the fact that everything really was working out okay.

  There were Max and Andy working the room, both dressed in flamboyant baby blue tuxedos to match the sumptuous furnishings, and over at the opposite side of the room, I caught sight of Blake, sipping from a Martini glass as he chatted happily to Elizabeth O’Connor.

  I told myself I’d go over to him in a moment. We hadn’t spoken yet. By now, I was used to this kind of social event – surrounded by high society once again, I didn’t even feel intimidated. After all, they were all admiring my handiwork, weren’t they? So if it wasn’t a question of nerves, then why didn’t I just go straight up to Blake and ask him what he thought?

  Well, a part of me felt somewhat guilty, I guess. And despite all my new resolutions about ‘just having fun’ I did feel weird about last night. I knew, as soon as I saw Josh again, that I wanted him. And when we’d started talking, I remembered how much I liked him, too. Being here alone last night with him just felt so natural.

  I knew what was going to happen in that bar, too. In fact, I hadn’t even left it to chance and waited for him to make a move. I’d kissed him. But he hadn’t pulled away. If the bartender hadn’t called time, I wonder whether we’d still be there now, my hands in his hair, his arm around my waist.

  And when we stepped back onto the fre
ezing city street, the blast of cold air seemed to shock me back to my senses. A part of me just wouldn’t let things go any further with him, no matter how much I wanted them too. I was too confused. So with a final chaste kiss goodbye, I saw Josh off at the nearest subway, promising I’d be in touch again soon.

  Did Blake ever feel that way, I wondered? How many other women was he falling for? Did he ever look at me and feel guilty that he’d been with another girl just last night?

  No, of course not.

  And I needed to be the same.

  I’m young and single.

  I can have a little fun …

  I had nothing to feel guilty about. And I wanted to see Blake. I wanted to hear his thoughts about the restaurant. And of course, I wanted to say thank you in person to Elizabeth O’Connor, too. I’d sent her about a thousand gushing emails since I’d won the commission, but she was so busy that we hadn’t yet had a chance to actually meet.

  I took a step out from the shadows, to make my way across the crowded restaurant to Blake and Elizabeth, when a face I really wasn’t expecting to see popped into view and my heart froze, mid-beat, as an all-too-familiar wave of anxiety washed over me.

  Marianne.

  I hoped beyond hope that I could somehow duck out of the way, or step back into my shadowly corner, but even as I was frantically scanning the bustling room for an escape route, she was making a beeline straight for me, dressed in one of her trademark Versace blouses, this time coral silk with enormous shoulder pads.

  There was no way out; all I could do was steel myself to receive yet another dose of her venom. But to my surprise, as she approached her face began to soften, perhaps even breaking into … no it couldn’t be. Was that an actual smile?!