I tell her that my mom has retired from jingle writing and is doing what she truly loves—training dogs. Her own dogs. I ask her about Brooklyn, and she tells me about the tiny thimble of an apartment she has there, but how she makes the best of it, shoehorning in room for her laptop and sock-making accoutrements, but that’s about it.
“When did you start the sock making?”
“A few years ago. It’s a fun outlet for stress. Something to keep me busy.”
“Sounds like you like being busy.”
She smiles. “I definitely do.”
“And is the sock business hopping along?” I ask playfully.
She winks. “It’s my side hustle. Socks with mottos. It brings in a few extra dollars, so I can’t complain. Tell me more about the clinic and how that’s been.”
I tell her I’ve loved building the vet practice, that my employees are the best, and that I admire the hell out of her father. I also admit I thought he was going to retire.
She takes a drink of champagne, seems to marinate on what I’ve just said, then puts down the glass. “Do you want him to?”
I go for the full truth. “Admittedly? I do. It’s been my dream to run the business myself.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of my dad.” Sadness creeps in as I remember him, but also as I fail to recall him too. He’s been dead for nearly as many years of my life as he was alive. “It was what he wanted to do. It was always his dream to own a neighborhood practice, to run it solo. He grew up here in the West Village, met my mom here, and he raised us here, so he had this whole vision of being a community vet.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“He wanted to be the guy who knew all the neighbors and would ask whether Tom the tuxedo was using his scratching post and if Dolly the bulldog mix was doing okay with her arthritis.”
Sloane sets a hand on her heart. “I love that.”
“That was one of the reasons he went into business in the first place. But when he became sick, well, he wasn’t able to do it.”
“Did he ask you to pick up the mantle for him?”
I swallow roughly, remembering those last days with him, the conversations, ever more brief, that we had. I shake my head. “That’s the thing. He never asked me to. He never said that he wanted me to do this or that. He wanted me to pursue what I wanted in life. But I also knew that I wanted to do it for him, to complete the dream he had. Because somewhere along the way, his dream became my dream.”
“You wanted the same things.” She rests her cheek in her hand.
“I like knowing the people who come into the practice. I like knowing Ms. Clarke and her monkey-humping dog, Ruby, and Mr. Franklin with the blind-in-one-eye white cat. I suppose my dad’s goals and mine became the same, and I wanted to own a practice here perhaps as a tribute to him. And yes, I’ve worked closely with Doug, and I’m a junior partner, but I’d like to be able to do it on my own. I mean that as no disrespect to your father. You know I think the world of him, and I’ve learned so much from the guy.”
She laughs lightly. “It’s okay. I didn’t take it in a bad way. I don’t have daddy issues, so I’m not bothered that you want him gone.”
“I swear, I don’t want him gone,” I say, mostly denying the truth.
She shoots me the side-eye. “It’s okay. I can tell you do.”
I sigh. “It’s not him. It’s that I’d like to do this on my own. But how is it for you working with him? Is it weird or tense at all?” I ask, glad that we can discuss him as her father rather than as the very real obstacle in our universe.
She purses her lips, seems to noodle on this, then nods. “It’s actually fine. My parents split up when I was three, and there was never a ton of animosity, even though my mom changed my last name to hers after the divorce. I saw Dad every other weekend. I visited him during the summers. He wasn’t an absentee parent, but he wasn’t terribly present either, so it made for a mostly uncomplicated relationship. My mom harbored no ill will against him, so I didn’t have to deal with that.” She takes a drink. “I see him more now than I did when I was a kid.”
“And that’s good? You like that?”
“We actually have a lot in common, being in the same business. So it’s kind of cool to bond over animal welfare. I’m close with my mom, and was definitely close with her growing up, so maybe this is just my time to connect with him more.”
And that’s another reminder to resist the woman. This is her chance to spend time with her dad in a way she wasn’t able to growing up. Far be it from me to get in the way. If my dad were here, I know I’d want to spend time with him.
I raise a glass. “To family. To fathers.”
She lifts her champagne. “To the ones we have, and the ones in our hearts.”
My throat tightens, but I swallow past the roughness and take a drink. “Tell me more about your mom. What’s she like?” I ask, thinking that will be the safer parent to talk about.
Sloane’s eyes twinkle. “You’ll understand everything about me when I tell you. My mom’s a hippy, a laid-back animal lover who rescued every three-legged dog and tailless cat she found.”
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“I was definitely cut from the same cloth, and I’m sure I wound up in rescue because of her rather than because of Dad. We always rescued animals growing up. My mom would see a lost dog and move heaven and earth to return it to where it belonged. But I’m also a lot like my father. He’s more intense. Always working. Always thinking.”
“That’s exactly like Doug.”
“He’s more wound up than her. More type A, and I’m the same in that way. I’ve never been good at getting out of my own head. I’m always thinking about the next thing I want to do. For a while when I was much younger, I thought I wanted to be an actress. I was even in a play in college.”
I smile, imagining Sloane onstage. “I wouldn’t have been able to take my eyes off you.”
She scoffs. “Oh, you would’ve, because I was terrible at it. You would have cringed.”
I arch a brow. “Are you sure?”
“I was the worst,” she says, finishing her champagne as I empty my Scotch. We order another round, and she returns to the subject. “I was terrible. I had a heartfelt speech to deliver in an original play I was in. And I just wasn’t present. I was thinking about what papers I had due the next day, or what causes I was going to work on next. I wasn’t fully invested. So I chose to do something I could put all of my head and my heart into at the same time.”
“And are you happy giving all of your head and heart to rescue?”
She nods vigorously. “Yes. Definitely yes. I love it. Thank you for encouraging me to do it.”
“We were instrumental to each other, it seems.” Truly slides us the fresh drinks, and I knock back more Scotch. “So what about you? What did you do over the last seven years? And please don’t mention Plant or Brick or anyone like that.”
She shoots me a flirty smile, then mimes zipping her lips. She unzips them, though, to talk. “I got a master’s, and I worked in some other charities in development, and that’s how I knew for sure I wanted to open my own rescue.”
“And presumably you’ve been completely single the entire time and have never dated anyone?” I ask, deadpan and praying.
Her expression is 100 percent serious. “Not a soul. I absolutely didn’t date anyone at all.”
I lift my glass. “Excellent. I will drink to that.”
She smacks my arm. “And yet it’s okay for you to have been a man about town?”
I arch a brow. “How do you know I was a man about town?”
She gives me a thorough once-over. “Look at you. That’s really your flaw. You’re too good-looking. And you’re too charming. You’ve had women all over you, haven’t you?”
“Is that a flaw? Also, do you really want me to answer that?”
Sighing, she shakes her head and takes a drink. “I don’t really wan
t to know.” She takes a breath then nods. “Actually, I do. Were you involved with anyone serious? I do want to know that.”
I scratch my jaw, remembering Lucy, Kelly, Lilah.
“There were a few women who I was serious about, but no one I saw myself having a long future, or a meaningful one, with.” I brace myself to ask the same. “What about you?”
She shakes her head. “There were a couple of guys here and there. You meet someone, you think it’s going to work out, you think you have a lot in common, and then it turns out that he wants to spend his whole weekend watching sports.”
“Hey, now!”
“I’m just saying, you’re flawed.”
“And you’ve discovered my flaw evidently.” I narrow my eyes. “But do you truly think I don’t listen to the little voice on my shoulder?”
“I don’t know. Do you ignore it? What’s it been telling you tonight?”
“It’s been telling me that you and I are becoming friends,” I say, but my tone isn’t entirely friendly.
Her lips curve up. “Is that so? We’re friends?”
“Feels that way.” But it actually feels like we’re in Tahiti again. And tonight is its own separate night, apart from time and space and reason.
“It does feel that way,” she agrees softly. “Do you think we found that alternate universe you mentioned?”
I inch closer. “I’d like to spend a night in that alternate universe.”
She licks her lips. “Everything’s different there.”
“Nothing’s off-limits there.”
“Maybe that’s where we are.” The words come out a little husky, a lot sexy, and I know what’s changing.
The reminder of who she is, how we’re connected, isn’t keeping me away.
The barrier isn’t strong enough tonight.
No matter how much we talk.
No matter how hard we try to be friends or colleagues or business partners.
The wall can’t hold.
The kind of chemistry we have doesn’t disappear with the snap of your fingers or the flip of a switch.
Yes, I want this newfangled friendship. Yes, I want all our various business arrangements to go swimmingly. And tangoing with someone I work with in close quarters is all kinds of risky.
But hell, this woman and I, we have a lot of unfinished business.
And I want to finish it.
Tonight.
I set a hand on her leg, spreading my palm over the fabric covering her thigh. She trembles under my touch. “There’s something I’ve been wondering,” I say, my fingers playing with her dress.
Her voice is a feather. “What’s that?”
I don’t take my eyes off her. Traveling along her body, I wrap my hand around her hip, tightening my grip. The feel of her is intoxicating.
I’ve definitely had more than one drink. I’ve had a whole bottle.
And I want another.
I move my hand to her face, cupping her cheek, sliding my thumb over her lip. “I can’t stop wondering if you taste like champagne.”
Her eyes are etched with desire, blazing with heat. “Why don’t you find out?”
19
A voice says Do it.
It’s not a little voice. It’s not Truly’s voice.
It’s in my head, and it’s all mine.
And, honestly, it’s probably connected straight to my libido, since that voice has the tendency to override everything else in moments like this.
Like, for instance, good judgment.
Like warnings from business partners too.
I dip my face to hers, savoring every sliver of a second. Her glossy pink lips part the slightest bit, an invitation.
I take my time, because I want to experience every moment of kissing her again. I dust my thumb over the corner of her lips and seal my mouth to hers, capturing her kiss.
Seven long years unfurl. The moment on the street the other week was a mere snapshot. A five-second trailer to tease the audience, to leave them wanting more. This is the opening credits. The start of the whole story, unfolding on screen.
Her lips part, welcoming me. Roping her arms around my neck, she brings herself closer as I sweep my lips over hers.
Our mouths explore. Touching. Discovering. Tasting.
My brain goes hazy, and as I deepen the kiss, I’m nothing but sensations that overwhelm all else.
It’s sparklers waving, lighting up the darkened sky on a hot summer night.
It’s the exhilarating first dip of a sixty-mile-per-hour roller coaster.
It’s the first sip of a vintage Scotch. A taste that makes you moan. That makes your mouth water and crave so much more.
Kissing Sloane is everything good in the world. She tastes like champagne, and it goes to my head. Her hair smells like vanilla, and it floods my senses. I want to kiss her breathless. Yanking her closer, I grind against her, needing her to feel how much I want her. She groans as she clearly gets my message.
Then she sends her own message, wrapping her hands tighter around my neck. She’s fierce, kissing me harder, rougher.
It’s like past times and it’s like present times, because there’s a brand-new urgency between us.
My pulse spikes and my blood heats. It’s as if a clock is ticking. Hell, time’s speeding up, spinning faster.
I’m vaguely aware we’re in public.
But I don’t care because the woman I’ve wanted for years is rubbing against the outline of my cock. Her fingers dart to my hair, tugging. “Harder, more,” she pants.
Damn, those are two of my favorite words.
I give her a rough, demanding kiss, but soon she breaks it, taking a moment to breathe, to smooth her hair.
“So how are we doing as friends?” she asks, a naughty glint in her lovely brown eyes.
I need a second to recalibrate, since we just went from racing around the track to a leisurely drive.
“I’d say we’re great friends in our alternate universe.” I lower my face and kiss her neck, whispering, “If friends do this . . .”
Adjusting the pace, I leave a trail of kisses along the column of her throat, her murmurs the soundtrack to my path up to her ear. I nibble on the shell, since she seems to need a respite from the intensity.
“Your alternate universe has funny rules.” She slides a hand around the back of my head and tugs me back.
Claiming my lips.
Saying You’re mine.
Oh, hell yeah. She can have me.
The brief respite is over.
She kisses with fire. With determination. With a hot, hungry need. She’s vibrating with desire, thrumming with sexual energy. This kiss is a collision, hands sliding into hair, bodies crashing together, teeth and tongue and nothing left behind. We’re storming the night, marching into town, taking no prisoners.
The clatter of glasses and the murmur of voices reminds me where we are. I snap my eyes open to find Truly behind the bar, filling a glass, shaking her head. She mouths, Get a room.
That voice?
That’s the voice I should listen to.
I meet Sloane’s gaze then go for it. Because this night has only one destination. “We should go to Tahiti.”
“Tonight?”
“Too long a flight?”
She lets go of my hand and holds up her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe a little. Not that I’m turning down a trip to Tahiti. Wait? Are you saying you want to take me to Tahiti? Because I can pack like that.”
Smiling, I slide my hand to her ass, squeezing. I whisper roughly in her ear, “I’m saying I’d like to escape with you. Like we’re getting away for the night. Let’s fuck away all this hot, wild desire.”
She exhales then goes quiet, perhaps lost in thought. “But I thought we were going to resist kissing.”
I brush the backs of my fingers along her jaw. “We already failed that test.”
She pouts. “I was supposed to be an un-vixen.”
“Didn’t work. You’re the oppos
ite, and I want you so fucking much.” I press against her. “You have me so wound up. I’m pretty sure you’re wound up too.”
She pushes back. “You know I am. You know I want you too. That was never the issue.”
I have to get closer to her. I need to have her. “Let’s give in. Just once.” I slide my fingers into her hair, she leans her head against my palm, and I continue making my case. “I can take you places. I can make you feel extraordinary, like I’ve always wanted to.”
She hums. “You’re making it hard to say no.”
“True. I’m very hard to resist.”
A smile spreads across her face. “You are, Malone. You’re terribly, impossibly hard to resist.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “One night. Our secret. What happens in Tahiti stays in Tahiti.”
“Absolutely,” I say as my dick high-fives me.
“And where is this alternate universe?”
I curl my fingers around her hip bone. “My place isn’t far. There’s also a hotel down the block. Either way, I intend to strip you naked, get my lips all over you, and make you feel as fucking good as you looked when you were watching me sing.”
She shudders. “I looked good when I was watching you? How so?”
I run my thumb over her hip, rubbing in slow, sensual circles. “You’re so seductive. You looked so incredibly alluring. You looked exactly as you are—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” My fingers stray to her belly, gliding down the fabric of her dress toward my final destination. “And you and I have unfinished business.”
She leans her head back, and the most delicious moan ever recorded escapes her lips. When she raises her face, she tap-dances her fingers down my chest then runs them over the silk of my tie. “Are you saying we’re going to finish the business tonight?”
“Yes, and then tomorrow . . . we can be friends again.” The thought pains me, but I know this is the only way to deal with our reality.
“Exactly,” she says, nodding her agreement. “We take a trip tonight. We get away to a remote island. And tomorrow we go back to the real world?” She’s seriously considering this. Hell, I’ve already considered it six ways to Sunday in the span of ten seconds, and I say it’s a brilliant plan.
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