Come As You Are

by Lauren Blakely

  He scoffs. “Twisted your arm? Hardly.”

  I laugh too. “I know. I was willing to go anywhere with my masked duke.” I sit up and meet his piercing gaze. “But it’s you I love. I needed to meet you without knowing who you were to fall in love with you as you are.”

  “I know that,” he says with a soft smile.

  “With me, you always have an invitation to come as you are.”

  He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Your wordplay sounds both loving and filthy.”

  “Sort of like you.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  He slinks an arm around me, claims my mouth in a kiss, and takes me up on my invitation, no costumes needed, clothing optional, right there on the couch.

  Later that night, we head to Gramercy Park.

  He hands me the key, and I unlock the gate, entering the private park. I nearly skip. It’s everything I imagined it to be—a gorgeous, verdant escape from Manhattan.

  “It’s like one of London’s squares,” I say, twirling around, taking it all in, the lush green leaves on the trees, the stone walkways, the benches. “At least I think so. I’ve never been.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  “Do I want to go to London?”

  He nods. “Yes. Do you?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Then we’ll go.”

  He takes my hand, and we walk through the park, and for the first time ever, maybe, just maybe, I begin to believe that fairy tales can come true, the kind where the commoner wins the heart of the prince.

  And the prince wins the love of the commoner.

  All because they make each other uncommonly happy. And that’s what love should do.

  Epilogue

  Flynn

  * * *

  A few months later

  * * *

  One morning on my way to work, I find an invitation under the door.

  It’s from my angel, and when I open it, it puts a fast and easy smile on my face. She’s invited me to a costume party this weekend.

  Masquerades, costumes, and a little role play now and then — that’s our thing.

  That weekend, I put on the outfit she’s chosen for me. I’m the kissing sailor, and when I find her at the rooftop party, the first order of business is to recreate the iconic photograph of the sailor kissing the nurse. That’s the easiest thing in the world as I bend her back, and kiss her deeply.

  Her eyes are glossy when we separate. “That feels like exactly the kind of kiss that will become a famous photo.”

  “Every single one with you does,” I tell her.

  In the months that follow, we go to many more costume parties and masquerade balls, sometimes attending as movie duos, sometimes wearing only silver or gold masks.

  We even find a few fancier fetes, and that’s when we feel as if we’re traveling in time. I don a waistcoat and top hat, and she wears a royal-blue gown. We dance with our Venetian masks on and then slip away to the library where we pretend we’re Angel and Duke again.

  Sometimes, Kevin takes the train into the city and joins us for dinner. One night over Thai food, he says, “Do you know why our last name is Granger?”

  “She told me she just liked the name.” Sabrina had said they changed their last name when their mom left.

  He laughs, shaking his head.

  Sabrina flushes pink as she points to her brother. “Don’t believe him. He makes stuff up.”

  I sit back, waiting. “Oh, this is good. Now I have to know.”

  “Hermione,” Kevin says with a grin.

  I turn to Sabrina. “You named yourself for Hermione from Harry Potter?”

  She shrugs happily. “I love Hermione. She’s brilliant and clever, and she stood up for the people she loved. I defy anyone to come up with a better reason to pick a name.”

  I can’t argue with her on that.

  A month later, I take her to London as promised. We fly first class, and her eyes are stars when she lies all the way back in the seat on the plane. I like showering her with gifts and experiences, and she’s learned not to be so stubborn in accepting them.

  I show her all the sights—Big Ben, the London Eye, the National Gallery—but we find new ones as well, exploring the city in the way we like best.

  That’s what we do when we’re home in New York too. We’ve tracked down bizarre street art in the Village, visited the Met and kissed in the Great Hall, and stopped by the underground gin joint in Chelsea.

  Every day, we add to our list of favorite places in the city, and every night, she comes home with me because my home is her home now. The rollout of Haven has gone fantastically well, so well in fact that I’ve earned that extra comma and the billionaire status officially. As for Sabrina, her job brings her the satisfaction of doing exactly the kind of work she loves.

  Then at night, it’s my job to bring her satisfaction, and that’s exactly what I love doing too.

  Another Epilogue

  Flynn

  * * *

  A little later

  * * *

  It is a Sunday.

  We have brunch with my sister, her husband, and my little niece. Dylan and Evie join us too, and Evie regales us with how much French toast she can eat at eight and a half months pregnant.

  When we’re done, we say our goodbyes and fan out across town, heading homeward. The sun shines brightly on this March day, so I suggest we walk through the park.

  “Besides, we can let the lampposts guide us,” I say, and Sabrina furrows her brow in a silent question.

  “Did you know most of the lampposts have numbers on them to help you find where you’re going?”

  “I had no idea. But obviously, we need to verify this.”

  “Clearly. Since the park is one of our favorites places.”

  In the last several months, we’ve uncovered even more favorite places within it—the conservatory gardens, the literary walk with its statues of writers, and the Delacorte Musical Clock that sings a tune every thirty minutes.

  We search for the lampposts, pointing out numbers to each other for the first few blocks as we head south.

  She reaches for my hand. “Do you ever feel like we’ll run out of things to do?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Nope. There’s always something new to uncover.”

  She smiles and rests her head briefly against my shoulder before looking at me as we walk toward the Ramble. “I suppose that’s true. We’ll always have to keep looking for things we haven’t seen.”

  I press a kiss to her forehead, keying in on something she said. “Interesting word you just used.”

  “What word?” she asks curiously. “Seen? Done?”

  I shake my head. “A certain adverb, my grammar nerd.”

  She scrunches her brow. “Always?”

  “Yes. Always,” I say, looking ahead toward a bend in the path in the Ramble. I checked it out yesterday, and everything is the way I want it.

  “Always is a nice word,” she adds, giving me a look that says she knows I’m up to something.

  I am definitely up to something.

  When we pass the curve on the path, a freshly washed green bench with a polished and gleaming plaque greets us.

  “But as I was saying, your worries about us finding something new are unfounded. That’s something new to uncover, for instance.” I point to the bench.

  She peers at the plaque and anticipation winds tight in my body. Hope fills my cells. When she gasps, that’s my cue.

  I bend to one knee and flip open a jewelry box. “What does it say?” I ask, though I already know.

  Once upon a time, a duke met an angel and fell madly in love. He fell in love so deeply, so truly, he asked her to marry him. Marry me, Sabrina, and be mine always.

  She spins around, tears sliding down her face over a smile more radiant than any I’ve ever seen. “Yes. I say yes.”

  I slide the ring on her finger, and the princess-cut diamond shines brighter than the sun. It better. It’s huge.
<
br />   Well, I wasn’t going to buy her a tiny ring.

  She deserves the best.

  “It’s perfect, because you’re the perfect guy,” she says, and kisses me as deeply and as passionately as she did that first night.

  When she breaks the kiss, she takes my hand and guides me to the bench. “Let’s go enjoy our bench.”

  We sit, and we kiss more, and we talk more, and she stares at her ring, and I tell her that it was either the bench or a knock-knock joke for the proposal, but the bench won out.

  “I still want to hear the knock-knock joke.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Marry.”

  “Marry who?”

  “Marry me.”

  * * *

  Sabrina

  * * *

  I laugh and wrap an arm around him. “My answer is still yes.”

  “Good because we have lots of favorite places to find. Always is a long, long time.”

  “I like always with you.”

  “You should. Want to know why?” my fiancé asks as a bird chirps overhead. He squeezes my finger and admires my ring.

  I admire it too. When I look at it, I see hope, and a future, and love. This certainty was worth every risk. “Why?”

  “Because always means we live happily ever after.”

  * * *

  THE END

  * * *

  Dear Reader:

  You may be curious about the NYC locations in this story. The hotel where Sabrina and Flynn first meet is inspired by the New York City mansions and clubs on the East side, and The Dollhouse is inspired by a number of underground speakeasies.

  The abandoned subway stations are real, including the City Hall one, as is the Starry Night locksmith, the Elevator Museum, and the inscriptions on the benches in Central Park, including the ones from Tony and Karen, and Vic and Nancy. The streetlamps are also numbered to help you find your way. Gramercy Park requires a key.

  Manhattan is also magical when you fall in love.

  Want more Flynn and Sabrina? Sign up here to receive a bonus scene of this sexy, fun couple sent straight to your inbox! If you’ve already signed up for my list, be sure to sign up again! It’s the only way to receive the COME AS YOU ARE bonus scene, but rest assured you won’t be double subscribed to the list! You can also sign up directly for my newsletter to receive an alert when these sexy new books are available!

  * * *

  Coming Soon!

  My next release is PART-TIME LOVER, a standalone contemporary romance releasing in June! It’s a no-strings attached arrangement meets a marriage of convenience storyline and it was so fun to write! You can sign up directly for my newsletter to receive an alert when sexy new books are available!

  Upcoming Releases

  ABOUT PART-TIME LOVER…

  * * *

  I’ll say this about Christian — he made one hell of a first impression. When I first saw the strapping man, he was doing handstands naked on a dock along the canal. His crown jewels were far more entertaining than anything else I’d seen on the boat tour, so I did what any curious woman would do — I took his photo. I might have looked at the shot a few dozen times. Little did I know I’d meet him again, a year later, at a secret garden bar in the heart of the city, where I’d learn that his mind and his mouth were even more captivating. But given the way my heart had been trampled, I wanted only a simple deal — No strings. No expectations.

  * * *

  Our arrangement worked well enough until the day I needed a lot more from him…

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Let me just say, this whole part-time lover thing was her idea. I’d have gone all-in from the start, but hey, when a gorgeous, brilliant woman invites you into her bed, and only her bed…well, I said yes.

  * * *

  But then, one hysterical phone call from my brother later, begging me to find myself a wife so grandfather’s business stays in the family, and I need a promotion with Elise. Turns out a full-time husband suits her needs too, and a temporary marriage of convenience ought to do the trick, until we can simply untie the knot…

  * * *

  As long as no one finds out…

  As long as no one gets hurt…

  As long as no one falls in love…

  * * *

  But our ending was one I never saw coming.

  * * *

  PART-TIME LOVER will be available everywhere on June 4! Please enjoy this excerpt!

  * * *

  “Why do you want to believe this”—she gestures from me to her—“is fate? Don’t tell me you’re one of those hopeless romantics.”

  I laugh unabashedly, tossing back my head. “You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

  She lifts her glass, eyes me over the rim. Her tone is serious. “Are you?”

  She truly seems to want an honest answer, not a flirty one, so I give her one. “No. I’m a realist, and realism dictates my feelings about relationships and the power of randomness.” Then I toss out one more knot in the fate skein. “I suppose true fate would have been if we were on the same flight back to Paris the next day.”

  She laughs lightly, and I get the sense she appreciates that answer a lot. She takes a drink. “That seems highly unlikely.”

  I shrug as I swallow some absinthe. “The crazy thing is I actually thought I saw you on the flight back to Paris. I took the mid-morning one the next day.”

  Her eyes pop. She emits a small squeak. Her glass starts to slip from her fingers, and I dart to catch it before it falls. My fingers cover hers, and we hold it together. “Judging from your expression, I’m guessing you were indeed on the same flight. Wearing a blue shirt, lounging in first class. With these sexy-as-hell glasses on and your eyes closed.”

  She takes a deep breath and is quiet as a cat as she whispers yes. We put down the glass.

  “Third time’s a charm, then?”

  “Seems it is,” she says, her voice still feathery.

  I raise my own glass. “Forgive my manners. We ought to toast.”

  “What are we toasting to?” she asks, recovering from her surprise.

  I don’t speak right away. Instead, I stare into her rich brown eyes. Wait until I see a spark there. A hint of desire, so I know she feels the chemistry between us. It’s impossible not to feel it. It’s real, it’s crackling, and I’m not letting her get away from me this time.

  “To fate.”

  She arches a brow, lifting her glass. “To chance.”

  We take drinks, then I lean closer as the music pulses louder. “I want to know how that tastes on your lips.”

  “You’re forward.”

  “I am. And since our friends are friends, it’s clearly fated that I kiss you senseless tonight.”

  Setting down her glass, she wraps her hand around my forearm, and I like the way her fingers feel on me. “Christian, you’re literally the most handsome creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life, but you can’t possibly believe that.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s such a romantic notion.”

  “Who said anything about romance? Maybe I think we were fated to . . .” I move in closer as I tuck a strand of hair over her ear and finish the sentence with a whisper, “Fuck.”

  She shudders, lifting her hand to her neck as if cupping the imprint of my touch as I pull away. She looks dazed, and that’s a most excellent look on her. “You smell like coconut,” I tell her.

  “You’re spearmint and liquor.” Her eyes linger on my mouth. “It’s devastatingly enticing.”

  “Let me devastate you in other ways.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re too handsome. Too much.”

  I’m undeterred. I want her. “Elise, come home with me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my mind is a blur of absinthe an
d spearmint right now.” She raises a hand, brushes her fingers over my jaw, then cups the back of my head. I’m turned on beyond all reason. Brushing her lips over my cheek, she whispers, “And because you’ve wanted to kiss me for more than a year. Think how much better it would be if I let you have a little taste of me every now and then.” She steps away.

  “You’re offering me a third date? Because let’s be honest—this is almost like a second date, and you have seen me naked.”

  She laughs. “This is barely a first date, and only by chance. Maybe buy me dinner, and then you’ll know how my lips taste.”

  “In that case, I know a little bistro around the corner that could rustle up something if I make a reservation for, say, eleven thirty tonight? Care to join me for a late dinner?”

  “Are you always this persistent?”

  “Only when I know I absolutely want something.”

  * * *

  PART-TIME LOVER will be available everywhere on June 4!

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