Tonight's The Night (Night #5)

by Lauren Milson

  Tonight’s The Night

  A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance

  Lauren Milson

  Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Milson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About the Author

  Tonight’s The Night

  Prologue

  1. Joshua

  2. Angela

  3. Joshua

  4. Angela

  5. Joshua

  6. Angela

  7. Joshua

  8. Angela

  9. Joshua - Two Weeks Later

  10. Angela

  Epilogue

  Night Moves - Preview

  1. Lilly

  2. Chris

  Also by Lauren Milson

  About the Author

  I write sweet, smutty romance - the kind that keeps you up past your bedtime to finish ❤️

  Get a FREE ott insta-love firefighter romance when you sign up for my mailing list! - http://eepurl.com/difde1

  I can't be held responsible if your Kindle sparks, melts, or combusts. I'm happy to take responsibility if the same happens to your clothes.

  Thank you for reading!

  xx, Lauren

  Tonight’s The Night

  I know it’s wrong. He’s my best friend’s dad. But I can’t help it. Tonight’s the night.

  Joshua Stevens is everything. Fiercely focused, astonishingly gorgeous, and incredibly kind.

  He’s also my best friend’s dad.

  A year ago, I left home to go to college on the other side of the country. I thought the time away would dampen my innocent crush. But the fire inside me hasn’t dissipated. No way. The time apart has only added fuel to the flames.

  My crush isn’t so innocent anymore.

  And now that I’m home for the summer, it looks like the feelings are mutual.

  A year ago he was a shoulder to cry on. A rock to steady me when I needed it the most. He was sweet and kind and a wonderful man.

  But now, everything is different. He doesn’t look at me so sweetly anymore. His eyes caress me like a flame. He’s sneaking glances at me that are anything but innocent.

  The way he looks at me in my little white bikini tells me everything I need to know.

  Okay, maybe I put on the bikini to push him. I didn’t think he would actually take the bait.

  Turns out I thought wrong. Very wrong.

  It looks like tonight is going to be the night. The night I’ve saved just for him.

  But once this protective, possessive older man gets me in his arms…something tells me I’m never going to want the night to end…

  Short, sweet and steamy, HEA, no cheating.

  This book is part of the Night series but each book is a complete stand-alone and the books can be read in any order.

  Enjoy!

  xx, Lauren

  Prologue

  Angela

  I’m sitting on something hard. There are also two hard somethings to my left and my right. Emily called this a “make-out party.” She is into the idea of experimenting. I’m not interested in experimenting because I already know what I want.

  I’m realizing now that this party was a mistake. There’s no getting over the man I want with some stupid make-out session. The idea that I have some other dude’s hands on me right now is making my skin scrawl.

  “Elijah,” I whisper, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips. His fingertips slide just inside the waist of my skirt. “Elijah, I’m sorry.”

  The music in here is loud and the bass is so overbearing that I assume it must be making the pool water ripple. We’re in the guest house of my best friend Emily’s father’s massive home in East Hampton, New York. If you looked for it on a map I’m fairly certain the regulation-sized tennis court and the big swimming pool would be eminently visible.

  “Should we go find someplace more private?” Elijah whispers against my hair, tucking it over my shoulder and putting his lips near my ear. I exhale as my eyelids flutter closed, the beat from the music and the beer I drank making me feel distant from it all. Elijah’s fingers find the buckle on my belt and he slides the end through the metal loop.

  Slowly.

  I can feel the faint clicking of the button and zipper of my skirt coming undone — the music is far too loud for the clicking to register as anything more than a feeling — and the next breath I inhale is a delicate whine of panic and excitement that catches in my throat and weaves its way through my veins. I gulp. There’s only one man I’ll let undress me, and it’s not this guy. His fingers are playing against the hyper-sensitive skin below my belly button and if I don’t stop him now, they’ll be down inside my panties soon. My eyelids flutter open lazily and catch the gaze of two jocks in the corner, their eyes driving through me with precise intent, the barrels of their chests rising and falling.

  They want Elijah to get his fingers down my skirt and they want to watch as he does it. That’s wrong, isn’t it? Voyeurism? There’s always been a little bit of a voyeuristic streak in my best friend. This is an expression of it. But what I want isn’t this. It’s so much more wrong than this. The man I want is off-limits in a delicately balanced way, as though a gust of wind could knock me off my axis and send me careening straight into the forbidden.

  “I can’t,” I whisper. He acquiesces and my head falls back against his chest and I slide down between his massive thighs until I’m sitting between them. The leather under me squeaks and his hard-on is against my back now as I quickly fix my clothes and belt. But despite the speed with which I get myself properly dressed, everything around me feels slow-moving like quicksand. I stand up between Elijah’s knees and turn to face him. He puts his hands on my waist, squeezing where it narrows and exhaling deeply, a growl rumbling from his chest.

  “I wish you’d shown this side all along,” he grunts.

  I lean forward and kiss his cheek. I’ve had a taste and decided this isn’t going to happen, and I don’t know if the kiss is a consolation prize or just confirms that I’m a tease. We aren’t going to be seeing much of each other this summer. He can do this with someone else.

  “Sorry,” I say against his cheek. I thought this might be for me, but I was wrong.

  He hooks a finger into the waist of my skirt and I let him. He pulls me closer, my bare belly at his eye-level. He slides his thick finger back and forth between the material and my bare skin.

  “You’d like it,” he whispers, trying to tantalize me. “And I always make sure the girl comes first.”

  Oh…that should pique my attention. It should send a thrill up my spine. This is a sure thing. I could sink down into his lap and hold on to the back of his neck as I hovered above him a little, let him put his hand between my legs and then sink down onto it, impaling myself on a pair of fingers. He’s a football star. His hands are course and rough. It might be nice to have his fingers there. I could look over my shoulder at his two massive friends in the corner and watch them as their dicks got hard, knowing that I was responsible for it. That should be sexy, right?

  “Shit,” Emily says from my right. I turn my attention to her as she leans back in her boyfriend’s lap to look out to the driveway. A pair of headlights sweeps through the guest house and someone turns down the music. Emily dismounts to her feet and puts a finger over her lips as she begins to corral everyone toward the door. I just hope she doesn’t turn a light on. “By the door, everyone by the door, let’s g
o.”

  I walk over to the window and peer through it out to the driveway and see Joshua’s cashmere white Benz pulling on to the property through the tall, wrought-iron gates.

  “Psst!” I hiss, throwing my hands over my head and waving them back and forth. I whisper-shout. “Everyone get in the back corner. I’m going to run interference. Blow these candles out and shut off the music and everyone just stay the hell where you are.”

  I crouch down near one of the big windows and curl my fingers over the sill, lifting my gaze to watch Joshua intently as he cuts his headlights. I nearly feel my heart float away as he gets out of the car and slams the door shut behind him, rubbing his hands together as though he’s drooling and starving and looking at a piece of meat. I can’t see the passenger side of the car but it looks like there might be someone with him.

  His smile is brilliant and the curl of his lips accentuates his diamond-cut jaw with its peppering of a slight beard. I feel my lungs empty as the tip of my tongue glides across the curve of my upper lip. What football star? My heart is racing because of Joshua. When he leaves my line of vision I turn around, still crouched in the corner, and signal to my friends that I’m going in.

  My exit is quick and the mission is clear. I just need to get across the lawn and inside the house to create a diversion while my classmates pound sand. I crouch low to scamper across the vast lawn and put my back against one of the columns that lines the broad walkway at the back of the house, imagining that I am a very glamorous woman with a tiny waist and broad hips in a white bikini and a flowing Pucci coverup in Monaco or Greece and maybe I’m carrying a pistol. Peeking over my shoulder, I sense some movement from inside. A lick flicks on and I rise to my full height, walking toward the house like I belong here.

  I take a deep breath and reach out to grip the handle to the back door that leads into the kitchen. We left it unlocked for just a situation like this. Emily had told me and our girlfriends by group text earlier that her dad would be out this evening and that we should skip the dance’s first few hours and show up fashionably late. Though, as Emily pointed out, her father would likely come home at an unpredictable time. I would be the perfect candidate to show up in the middle of him coming home because I spend enough time over here for my walking from the guest house and into the main house to be inconspicuous.

  I make my way inside. Yes, even if I hadn’t seen his car, I would know he was just around a corner or on the other side of a wall from the heady, masculine scent that I have visited high-end department store after high-end department store to seek out. And I found it. My heart glowed and I followed the notes of depth and freshly-cut grass all the way to a special counter. I tingled all over when I sprayed it into the air in front of me and walked slowly through it the mist, and on the bus ride home I nestled my nose against my sweater and breathed in deeply to make that scent part of my DNA. They can genetically engineer crops, and so I’d become convinced that I would be able to engineer my own sense of smell by making every follicle in my nose and every pore in my body feel Joshua Stevens’ scent.

  His scent, fresh and woodsy and so remarkably him, makes my clit tingle and nearly sets fire to my heart. It makes it beat faster, makes my breath shallow, makes me nearly squeal with delight every time I’m in its presence because it means that he is not far away.

  I want him, but things have been so strained between us for the past few months. Ever since my birthday. I’m eighteen now. He used to be so nice to me. He said I was the responsible one in our friend group and teased his daughter for not being more like me. I admired him. I liked the attention he gave me. I haven’t grown up with all of the privileges that Emily has. Her parents are wealthy. Her dad has an amazing job. It all seems so glitzy and fancy. He works in the city some days and from his home out here on Long Island some days. I’ve always thought it was so special to have two places to work from, as though your career was more important than the average job.

  His job literally takes up more space than anyone else’s. And he has clients all over the world - here, London, Hong Kong, Madrid. He speaks three languages. Three! I can count on one finger how many languages I speak: one. Just the one. I’m okay at this one, but still…yeah, it’s just the one.

  I don’t get attention from many people, let alone many men. It felt like I grew up overnight — at least that’s what Emily tells me. One of her guilty pleasures is those teen movies that came out in the eighties and nineties and she always says I am like the girl who suddenly traded in her glasses for contacts and took down her curly ponytail to reveal a long, silky mane of flowing hair. She says my hair looks good for pulling on. I think I know what she means, but dammit, I am a late bloomer and I demand whatever the hell’s supposed to be blooming inside me to get along with it and bloom and grow already!

  And it is. It’s starting. I keep moving through the kitchen so I can intercept Joshua before he catches on that there’s a full-on make-out party in his guest house.

  The light from the living room clicks off when I reach the end of the length of kitchen counter. I put my shoulder to the frame of the grand white arch leading into the living room to peek around.

  Nothing. He isn’t here. I tip-toe toward the stairs because there’s a sliver of light slicing through the banister. There’s no harm in me just popping upstairs and seeing what he’s up to. I pace up the stairs carefully and feel mildly as though I am an intruder. When I get to the landing at the top of the flight of the grand staircase, I freeze when my eye catches a glimpse of Mr. Stevens.

  His door is open slightly but what’s going on beyond it is not slight. It’s his back, and his shirt is untucked, and his ass is clenched inside his gray slim pants. One of his hands is holding onto the edge of his dresser, and when I take another step forward, I catch his eyes in the mirror.

  And he catches me, too. That’s when I see what he’s doing. He’s rubbing himself, fast, and the head of his cock is visible in the mirror. He groans and the sound pins me in place, and for a split second a beat of recognition passes over his eyes.

  “Get out of here,” he growls, turning around to face me. Still I am immobile at the top of the stairs, and when he turns around to cross his room and shut the door, I see him in all his glory.

  His hair is pushed back from his forehead and the five-o’clock shadow that always peppers his jaw looks thicker now that I’m closer. His crisp white shirt is unbuttoned and hanging out of his pants to reveal a broad, rippling mass of a wide chest and narrow hips. I force myself to not look lower, and my will prevails over my desire. But what I can’t will my body to do is not become alive for the first time, lit up and bright, with a thundering roll colliding against my belly and a flicking pulse between my legs. He finishes crossing the room and even though it’s only been a second, it feels like a decade passes before he shuts the door.

  But not before he casts me a long, cool glance, a look to tell me that everything’s all right.

  I turn around and race down the stairs.

  Emily meets me at the back door and shoves my party dress into my arms, layers of black tulle and silk that I thought would look cute with a little silk bowtie instead of a necklace.

  “We should start to get ready, no?” she whispers. “I got everyone to leave. Does he know?”

  I shake my head.

  “Let’s get ready in the guest house instead,” I say, pulling the door closed behind me, stone cold sobriety flashing through my veins. I don’t think she would take well to what just happened, even though it was just an accident.

  What I don’t know now is that my heart will not stop pounding for the next twelve months.

  1

  Joshua

  My world is full of people who are morally bankrupt and ethically deficient and I am no better than any of them.

  My fist curls around my glass of scotch and I toss it back as I stand from my chair.

  “She wants seventy percent.” My client’s voice sounds from the phone on my desk. “Her fa
ther talked me out of the prenup the night before the fucking wedding. I’d burn the bitch if she wasn’t finally pregnant. Is there a way to invalidate an agreement if you entered it under duress?”

  “Being convinced not to pursue a prenup because you were too distracted snorting coke off a stripper’s ass doesn’t count as being under duress,” I husk, putting my finger in my collar to loosen my tie.

  I walk to the window in my office, overlooking the pool and guest house out at the back of my property. This client still lives in Manhattan because he’s only 27 and thinks making seventy grand a month at his firm means he doesn’t have enough money to buy something “good.” I insert my fingers between two of the venetian slats over the window and split them to get a look at what’s going on a story below me.

  “Jesus Christ,” I grit through my teeth, slamming my glass down on my desk. My fists curl at my sides. Angela is doing a back-stroke through my swimming pool and I can see the pebbles of her nipples from here. I am going to hell for the thoughts I’ve had about her for the past year. Since she was young — too young. Hell, she still is. Half my age. A perfect, lithe woman with a ripe young body.