Authors: Lexi Ryan
Tags: #Sexy Romance, #Erotic Romance, #Contemporary Romance
Just One Night (4 page)
Resting on his elbows, Chase smoothed a curl behind Addison’s ear and looked down at her with soft eyes. “Did I ever tell you you’re amazing?”
She smiled up at him, thinking how good it felt to have his weight on her, his heat warming her. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned it, but go ahead. I’m listening.”
“From that first day I met you,” he said, rolled over and stretched out on his side, “I knew you were something special.”
“You avoided me,” she said, grinning. “You hardly gave me the time of day that first summer. Glared at me every time I came into the garage.”
He grunted. “I wasn’t about to pursue the gorgeous eighteen-year-old daughter of the man who had just given me the opportunity of a lifetime.”
She stroked his cheek, watching the emotions play across his face. “You loosened up once I left for school.”
“The distance made you…safer.”
“You were a good friend,” she said. He had no idea how badly she’d needed that.
“Then you left.” He set his jaw. “I hated every minute you were gone, kept turning it over in my brain. What I should have done differently. If I should come after you. Or if I was being an egotistical ass for thinking the move had anything to do with me.” He swallowed. “I’d do it differently if I had the chance.”
She pulled back. “Don’t do this,” she said softly, shaking her head, a sick feeling blossomed in her stomach. “Don’t make tomorrow any harder than it’s going to be.”
He squeezed her hand. “When you came to my house that night, I wanted you to stay.”
She stiffened, the sick feeling growing. “Don’t ruin tonight. Don’t do this.”
He took a deep breath. “I told you no because I wanted more than just one night and I was too much of a coward to ask for it. I told you no because I’d fallen in love with you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Pain and joy warred inside as she pulled herself out of bed.
Swallowing hard, she yanked a tattered tee from her closet and pulled it over her head. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to be tempted to stay.
“Stacey told me about Paris,” he said.
She spun around. “Told you
what
?” she asked.
He stood, fisting his hands and studying her. “That you’re unhappy. That you’re spending more time making copies and setting up lunch dates than working with fashion.”
“It’s a start,” she defended. Which was ridiculous because there wasn’t a moment of her job she found worth defending.
“She said you’re homesick.”
“Stacey should have kept that information to herself.”
“There’s more than sex between us, Addy. I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t.” Hurt and misery flashed across his features, and she wished she was as selfish as Emily accused her of being. She wished she believed she was worth the sacrifice he'd have to make to be with her. “I’m not in love with you.”
Chase was ripping the shingles off his roof when Richard Duval pulled his Charger in front of the house and cut the engine.
From his position on the roof, Chase gave the other man a once-over and went back to taking his frustration out on the roof.
“What’d that roof ever do to you?” Duval called out, climbing the ladder.
“I’m not in the mood for company right now,” Chase growled.
“Well you’re making enough noise to wake the dead, so deal with it.” He climbed up the last rung, stepped onto the roof, and surveyed Chase’s progress.
“Aren’t you supposed to be entertaining all those family members who came to town for Stacey’s wedding?”
Duval ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “They’re making me crazy. I needed to get away.”
Chase gave a sharp nod.
“Your neighbor called me. Emily thought I should know you spent the night with my daughter.”
Chase let out a breath. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” He tossed Duval a crowbar. “If you’re going to be here, make yourself useful.”
Duval ignored him and took a seat a few feet from where Chase was working. “Last night at the reception, you said you wanted to talk to me today.”
“Turns out there’s no need.”
Duval nodded and was silent a moment. “I know my daughter’s in love with you.”
Chase snorted. “Funny, a few hours ago she told me she wasn’t.”
Duval winced. “That’s probably my fault.”
Chase raised a brow. “How do you figure?”
Duval lifted his shoulder. “She was eighteen when you came to town. I saw the way she looked at you. Didn’t like it. I told her you were too old for her. That if she took up with you, you’d be on the fast train back to your life on the streets.”
“She was eighteen. I was a felon, not an idiot.” He blew out a breath, deflated. “Not that it matters.”
“I know my daughter. I see how she looks at you. If she said she doesn’t love you, she lied.”
Chase dropped his hammer and sank down next to his boss, his friend. He rested his head in his hands. “I don’t know what she wants from me. The only thing she’s ever asked for—”
“Spare me the details, okay?”
Chase studied the older man. “Can I ask why you’re here trying to make me feel better instead of punching me in the face?”
Duval chuckled. “Well, that was my first instinct when Emily called.”
“Thanks,” Chase said, dryly.
“Then I saw how miserable my daughter was this morning, and I knew there was more to it.”
“I’m in love with your daughter.” Chase said, picking at an asphalt shingle. “Have been for a long time.”
Duval nodded. “Figured that out.”
“It needed to be said.” Chase ran a hand through his hair and cut his eyes at the man. “Does that mean I have your blessing? If she’ll have me?”
The old man’s chest puffed out a moment. “Hell, I trust you like a son. Better you than some other bastard.”
Chase pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m touched.”
Addison jarred awake when she realized her driver had pulled over the town car along the side of the road.
“Is there a problem?” she asked rubbing her eyes. She’d not slept the night before—her heart ached too much after Chase left—and now the exhaustion was catching up with her.
“I’m afraid so,” a deep familiar voice said from the driver’s seat.
Her pulse tripped. “Chase?” She swallowed hard. She was imagining things. When she’d first moved to Paris, she’d spotted him at least once a day, and now that she was leaving, it was happening again.
He turned to look at her, a self-conscious smile not reaching his eyes. “I can’t let you go,” he said. “Not again.”
She shook her head, her chest aching with how badly she wanted him. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.
She climbed over the seat to be next to him. “Last night,” she said, “when I said I didn’t love you?” She grabbed his hand, squeezed. “I lied.”
He exhaled audibly. “That’s going to make the romantic abduction I have planned for you considerably less awkward.”
Laughter bubbled through her lips, and she shook her head, eyes moistening. “I can’t let you give up everything for me.”
“I would,” he said gruffly.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I don’t want that. I’ll talk to my father. I’ll see if—”
“I’ve already talked to your father,” he said, cutting her off. He touched her face.
Her jaw dropped, emotion clogged her throat. “You have?”
He reached for her, pulled her into his lap, and she melted into his heat. “He requested I get you to move home, but if you would prefer Paris—”
She kissed him, love and hope swelling so big inside her.
“I’m in love with you, Addison,” he said softly, stroking her cheek.
“I love you too.”
“Enough to give up Paris for me? Because I’m willing to move, but I draw the line at getting manicures. I know metrosexuals are all the rage but—”
She cut him off with her mouth, kissing his smile as she held his face in her hands. When she pulled back, she said, “The only thing better than coming home is coming home to you.”
THE END
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading JUST ONE NIGHT. I hope you enjoyed reading Addison and Chase’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I’ve always been a sucker for love stories of any kind. For me, romance is all about watching characters overcome to be together—whether they’re working against a serial killer or misconceptions of their own worth. I was drawn to Chase and Addison’s story because it fell in the second category. So often, we are the ones in the way of our own happiness, and that was the case for these two.
If you’re curious about the newlyweds, Stacey and Harrison, you’re not alone. I hope you’ll join me for the second Decadence Creek story where the two people needing the happily-ever-after are already married—to each other.
On the following pages, you’ll find the first three chapters of
Text Appeal
, my novel about what happens when the numbers in a cell get switched and some super sexy texts go to the wrong guy.
I love hearing from readers, so shoot me an email at [email protected] or find me on my website: www.lexiryan.com
—Lexi Ryan
Chapter One
“Hello, my name is Riley, and I am addicted to sexy lingerie.” Riley Carter steeled herself to walk past Fredrick’s of Hollywood without spending next week’s paycheck. She kept her stride long and even, moving along with the Miracle Mile crowd in the oppressive Las Vegas heat. With every step, disappointment crushed her internal lingerie junkie.
“Keep moving, Riley,” she told herself. But then she made a tactical error. She glanced at the store’s window and saw four big red letters dooming her to a month of tap water and peanut butter sandwiches: SALE.
The mother ship was calling her home.
Riley peeked over each shoulder, scanning the crowd for familiar faces before tucking her head and making a sharp right into the store.
“Senorita Carter,” Javier, the doorman, said as she entered the store. “We’ve missed you. Where’ve you been?”
Heat blasted her cheeks. She’d failed in her attempts to break her slightly naughty and very secret little addiction. She had made some progress, though. It had been twenty-six days, two hours and—she glanced at her watch—five minutes since she’d fed her inner vixen. In that time, she hadn’t bought a single bustier, teddy, or lacey panty. “It hasn’t been that long,” she said, but it had felt like an eternity. So what? She had a lingerie addiction. She lived in Sin City, where people came to feed old addictions—and find new ones. In comparison, lingerie was harmless—though an old-fashioned crack habit might have been cheaper.
“Big sale today,” Javier was saying, but she’d already zeroed in on the sale racks, mentally calculating her budget.
To her right, a mannequin wore a black leather bustier with red piping and matching corset laces—not a sale item. She wondered if Chaz would approve of it—or of any of the hundreds of naughty-but-never-worn items in her collection. She imagined the leather hugging the underside of her breasts, leaving the tops exposed. She had a pair of red stilettos that would look fabulous with—
Focus, Riley!
She narrowed in on the deep discount sale bins. Thirty seconds later, she was elbow deep in thongs, garter belts and crotchless panties.
She studied a vibrant pink pair of the latter and bit her lip. Though her collection would put the famed Victoria and all of her secrets to shame, she’d yet to indulge in this particular variety of naughtiness. What was the point? Crotchless panties were for women who had illicit rendezvous in restaurant bathrooms or the backs of limos. They were for women whose boyfriends were so hot for them they couldn’t wait the two-point-five seconds required for panty removal.
In short, they were for hoo-haws that saw more sex than a hotel room above a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel on the Strip.
Riley sighed and fingered the lace tie at the panty’s hip. A smile curved her lips as she remembered the text Chaz sent her that morning.
I miss you. Are you available for dinner?
She hadn’t gotten a chance to answer him before her cell had gone missing. Chaz was the kind of guy she’d always wanted. He was courteous and gracious, and her father loved him. Like Riley, Chaz worked for her father’s empire: Carter Hotels and Entertainment. He understood the demands of the business.
“Black lace would be a better contrast against your fair skin,” someone said behind her.
Riley jumped and dropped the panties. Cheeks ablaze, she looked up.
“But I like the style. I could definitely see you in something like that.” Charlie Singleton—the face of professional poker—stood before her wearing Ray-Bans and a come-hither smile that made her insides do a little Snoopy dance. Eyes concealed by his ever-present shades, the only sign of his approving once-over was slight tilt of his head and the Machiavellian smile twisting his lips. Damn it all, but he made her skin tingle.
Riley’s Inner Naughty Girl practically purred.
Charlie would like the black leather bustier.
Of course he would. Charlie liked women—in clothes, in lingerie, out of clothes, out of lingerie. From what she’d seen, he didn’t discriminate. Heck, he probably made eyes at the old ladies who took up residence in front of the slots at the Bellagio. It was his special talent. He made every woman feel like the only one in the room. Or, at least, the only one who mattered.
“I’m just…I’m just picking something up for my friend,” she stammered.
Charlie’s broad chest shook with his silent laugh. “Isn’t that the excuse I’m supposed to use?”
Riley pulled her shoulders back and stuck out her chin. “No, I don’t imagine you’d use an excuse at all. Instead, you’d tell me that you were looking for something skimpy for your latest supermodel conquest. Then you’d probably try to get me to help you pick it out.”
He cocked his head, thoughtful, then, with a shrug, nodded. “I guess that’s a fair assessment. So, we’ve covered that I’m only here because I’m a womanizing cad.” His smile let her know he wasn’t displeased by the conclusion. “What about you? Is this a secret side of Riley I’ve been missing out on?”
Good gracious! She needed Charlie Singleton knowing about her lingerie addiction like she needed a hole in the head.
With a sigh, Riley snuck a glance at the pink panties she’d dropped into the bin. Damn, Charlie! She was going to have to walk away empty-handed now. Her Inner Naughty Girl whimpered.
She shot Charlie a glare she hoped was withering.
He shook his head and pulled off his sunglasses, giving her a full view of his rarely-revealed ice blue eyes. She wished he’d put them back on.
Charlie had this unsettling habit of looking at her like she was a triple chocolate ice cream cone with a single drip running down the side—a look that worried her as much as it turned her on.
“I’m glad to see you, Riley,” he said, flashing that signature smile again. “I’ve been thinking about you.” He eyed the discount bin. “And I can’t say I mind the circumstances.”
She nodded, pretending that smile didn’t turn her insides to goo, pretending part of her hadn’t been counting down the days until next week’s thirtieth annual Grand Escape Resort and Casino’s National Poker Tournament. Since her father’s hotel hosted the tournament, it meant guaranteed face time with Mr. Two Scoop Sundae.
She liked to look at Charlie. She liked the way he looked at her. Liked the way her belly flip-flopped when he entered a room. What was the harm in that? It wasn’t as though she planned to
do
anything about it.
“Have you seen your sister yet?” she asked, groping for a subject safer than lingerie or even why he might have been thinking about her. Riley’s roommate, Lacey, was Charlie’s sister. Charlie had moved to L.A. as a teen and still kept a home there, but he was in Vegas often enough for poker tournaments that he and his sister remained close.
Charlie shook his head. “Just got in.”
And Fredrick’s was his first stop? Further evidence that Charlie was capital B, capital N, Bad News. Riley sighed and stole a final glance at the panties.
Adieu, my friend. We could have been great together.
“Well, I’ll let her know. I lost my phone this morning and she’s meeting me to help me pick out a new one.” In fact, she was supposed to be on her way right now.
Not
shopping for lingerie with Charlie No-Other-Man-Will-Ever-Measure-Up Singleton.
Charlie looped his finger under the ribbon of the panties he’d caught Riley holding. He lifted them from the bin. “On second thought,” he murmured, “the vibrant pink would look good with your dark hair.”
Riley covered her face. “Oh. My. God. You did not just say that.”
“What?” He pulled away her hand.
“I don’t want you thinking about my hair
down there
,” she whispered.
Charlie chuckled. “Who said anything about
down there
?” He shifted his gaze to the panties and, upon spotting their special feature, broadened his smile. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re a little kinky, aren’t you?”
She slapped at his hand, trying to make him drop the offending panties. “They’re not for me,” she seethed. “I have a friend who...who...” What? Had a medical need for crotchless panties? Bluffing had never been Riley’s strength. “She’s getting married.”
He cocked a brow. “Honey, married women don’t wear panties like these. These are reserved for wild single chicks, or...” He studied her for a beat. Raised a brow. “...good girls with a secret naughty side?”
One of the saleswomen approached. “How are you today, Miss Carter? Is there anything we can get for you?”
Riley cringed. She wanted to peek at Charlie—did he notice the saleswoman calling her by name?—but she was too nervous. There were plenty of reasons they might know her…
“I saw you noticing the black leather bustier,” the woman continued. “I’ll be honest, I thought of you when it came in. I thought, ‘Miss Carter would just
swoon
for this!’ And I was right, wasn’t I? We even have a matching red leather thong. I tucked back a set in your size so we wouldn’t sell out before you made it in. I know how you like me to do that.”
“Um...” Riley wished she could disappear. “No, thanks, I don’t think that’s what I’ll be getting my
friend
.” She risked a glance at Charlie.
The saleswoman frowned.
Charlie was studying Riley now, but at least that damn smirk was gone. “She’ll take it,” he said, never taking his eyes off Riley’s face.
The saleswoman’s smile returned. “Great,” she said before bouncing away.
“I’m not going to let you buy me lingerie, Charlie,” Riley said, but her eyes were glued to the bustier on display, and Inner Naughty Girl was damn near salivating over the thought of her next fix.
Time she accept the facts: if she was going to kick this addiction, she needed professional help—something she should have recognized around the time she’d nicknamed her secret wild side her ING.
“Don’t be a spoil sport, Ry,” Charlie said, his voice soft.
Riley chewed on her lip and tore her eyes away from the bustier to look at Charlie. ING purred again. Apparently she liked Charlie even more than she liked lingerie—precisely why she couldn’t be trusted.
“I see the way you look at that bustier.”
“It’s fine leather craftsmanship,” she said, forcing a shrug. “I appreciate the work.”
With a smile, he lowered his voice. “Honey, look at me like you’re looking at that get-up, and I’ll buy you the whole damn store.” He winked and her insides shimmied.
The rational part of her brain stepped forward, and she thumped him on the arm. “Stop coming on to me.”
He cocked his head. “Why?”
“Because I’m...” That was a good question. Why?
Right. Chaz.
Remember Chaz
, she lectured herself. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Ah,” Charlie said, sliding his glasses back on and hiding those hypnotic blue eyes. “And you don’t want to be thinking of me when you wear it for him?”
“No!”
“You won’t think of me?”
“I won’t wear it for him,” she said through her teeth.
He raised a brow. “Because...he prefers satin?”
“I’m not going to wear it at all,” she seethed. “Chaz doesn’t need me to dress in outrageous lingerie. He’s very...respectable.”
Charlie wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to talk to him about that?”
“Why would I—? No!” Why did she always let him do this to her? All he had to do was walk in a room and she turned into a frazzled, driveling idiot.
And—more to the point—why did she seem to
enjoy
it?
Charlie strode to the counter where the saleswoman was ringing up the bustier.
Riley swallowed. She could practically feel the leather now. What would it hurt, really, letting him buy her a little something? They were friends. Wasn’t that what friends did?
Where was her reasonable self when she needed her?
You left her out on the sidewalk, Riley, right next to your dignity.
Charlie pulled out his credit card, and Riley groped at the last thread of her willpower. “Don’t waste your money.”
His gaze traveled slowly up her body, inch by inch. Her thighs clenched and her nipples tightened. “Trust me, it’s no waste,” he said, his voice rough and low. “And if you ever need someone to wear it for—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish because the man behind them in line tapped him on the shoulder.
Saved by the tourist.
Charlie turned around. “Can I help you?”
“Hey, man, are you Charlie Singleton, the professional poker player?”
Charlie smiled and offered his hand. “I sure am.”
The man pulled a rolled up manila envelope from his back pocket and slapped it into Charlie’s open palm. “Mr. Singleton, you’ve been served.”
***
Charlie stayed behind when Riley left Fredrick’s. Only after she was gone did he turn back to the woman who’d rung up Riley’s bustier. He gave her the sweetest smile he could muster, given the circumstances.
Her eyes drifted south…and landed on the manila envelope. If she was wondering what the hell he’d been served for, she could take a number. “Can I help you?”
“You sure can. I was hoping you could tell me where Angela Rollins’ office is?”
It didn’t take genius to figure out Angela had set him up. Her voicemail had been so sweet, he should have guessed she covering something vile.
Hey, Charlie, it’s Angela. Yeah, remember from high school? Good times! Listen, I was hoping to see you when you’re in town for the tournament. I’m the manager at Fredrick’s on the Miracle Mile. Stop by.
Such an innocent voicemail, and he’d been half excited about reliving some good old days with her. Apparently he’d forgotten Angela’s middle name was
Manipulative
. He didn’t know what he’d just been served with, but he knew he had Angela to thank.
“May I tell her who’s asking?”
“Just say her old friend Charlie is here. I’m sure she’ll want to see me.”
The girl nodded and picked up her phone. “Ms. Rollins? A man by the name of Charlie is here to see you?” With a nod, she hung up the phone. “Follow me?”
The narrow hallway behind the front counter led to a small office with a placard reading,
Angela Rollins, Manager
. Go figure, she hadn’t lied about everything.
“Come on in, Charlie,” Angela called from behind a big mahogany desk. She was tall and lithe, just as he remembered her, but she had a little age on her face now, and cynicism showed in the features framed by her stick-straight black bob.
“What is this about?” he said, holding up the manila envelope.
She smirked. “I see they found you.”
“And I suppose I have you to thank for that? What the hell, Angela? I haven’t seen you in sixteen years and you call out of the blue and ask me to meet you at your store so you can have me
served
? And why the hell didn’t you try a fucking phone call first?”
She pushed back from her desk and smoothed down her skirt. “My lawyer thought it would be best to let the courts handle this. Since they couldn’t catch you at the hotel, thanks to the limited access to that fancy suite, we thought this might work just as well.”
“And, what, may I ask, is this about?”
She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Listen, I don’t want this to be ugly. I just want it to be over. If you have any questions, you can call my lawyer.” She handed him a slick beige business card and motioned him out of the office.
He begrudgingly stepped out and watched her as she locked up.
She turned around and ran her gaze over him—up, down, and slowly up again. “You look good, Charlie. I hope when this all settles, we can go for a drink and put this all behind us.”
He watched her walk out the back exit before looking at the card in his hand.
CLERENCE FRENCH LAW, LTD.
Specializing in Child Custody, Child Support
