Last Call (Cocktail #5) (13 page)

Blue.

Flashing.

Fire.

Earrings. Drop earrings filled with diamonds and sapphires, exactly the color of his eyes. Teardrop sapphires hung from a delicate diamond-encrusted base.

“Simon, what did you do?” I breathed, my hand shaking.

“I figured this could be the something old, since they’re old; the something new, since they’re new to you; something blue, obviously; but technically not borrowed, since they’re now yours. You’re borrowing them permanently.”

“From who?” I whispered, already knowing the answer.

“My mom,” he replied, and my eyes filled with tears.

“I could not possibly love you more,” I told him, bringing him down to me for a sweet kiss.

“You like?”

“I love them.”

I promptly put them on, and wore them all day. Which brings me to now, where I had a Wallbanger nibbling on my ear as I stood in a doorway.

“The way I recall it, you hated me on sight that first time we met,” he said, switching from my ear to the back of my neck as he held my hair up high.

“I didn’t hate you, but I sure wasn’t your biggest fan,” I admitted, thinking back to him opening his door after I’d been banging at it relentlessly. “I was missing sleep.”

“You were missing more than sleep, babe,” he said,
nuzzling my shoulder. His hands pulled at my dress, gathering the fabric and bunching it high around my hips. “Pretty sure you were missing this too.” And he placed one hand over my sex. Entirely. My body responded as it always did, with full abandon.

“I really
was
missing this,” I replied, sinking my hands into his thick, dark hair and twirling it under my fingertips. “But you brought it all back.”

“
We
brought it all back,” he reminded me, and pushed me into the bedroom.

“We. I like we,” I moaned, feeling the bed hit the back of my knees.

Simon and I had never gone this long without sex since we’d been together. And under his hands once more, my body came alive for him. I yanked at his pants as he tugged at my dress. I worried off his shoes as he wriggled me out of my bra. My breasts were full in his hands, heavy, and sensitive. And he took my garter down with his teeth, leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses in his wake.

When we were finally naked, tangled, and panting, I scrambled backward on the bed, moving toward the headboard.

“Where you going, sweet Caroline?” he asked, crawling across the bed to get to me.

“I wanted to hold on for this,” I quipped, arching an eyebrow and my back as I grabbed on to the iron headboard.

“That’s my girl.”

He covered me with his body, all long limbs and strong muscles, as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

“I love you, Simon. I love you so fucking much,” I said, sweeping back his hair and holding his face in my hands, his eyes staring down at me.

“I love you too, Mrs. Parker.” And then he pressed into me. Our bodies adjusted to each other, remembered each other, uniquely designed to fit perfectly, sinking in and synching up. He held perfectly still for a moment, feeling me wrapped around him in every way.

“Christ, I’ve missed you,” he groaned, his voice strained with the sweet tension of holding back, taking things slow, making sure he was okay.

But that night, our wedding night, we learned the loveliness of taking things exceedingly slow, with precision and quiet effort. Bodies barely moving, sweet sweat collecting between us, adjusting and readjusting, and then coming together quietly in the night.

Quiet.

Slow.

Sweet.

Perfect.

It was romantic and wonderful, our first time as an official married couple.

The second time, however?

Simon couldn’t help himself. He brought it on home. Hips thrusting, arms flailing, biting, licking, sucking, fucking. Hands intertwined, then holding fast to the headboard once more.

“You’re really going to want to hold on for this one, Nightie Girl.”

And he was so very right.

Thump.

“Oh, God.”

Thump thump.

“Oh, God.”

Good god damn, I loved this man.

And I would continue to for the rest of my life. For
our
lives. Because Wallbanger was the only one who could give me my happy ending.

 . . .

 . . .

 . . .

Ahem.

I had heard the Feeder and the Tall One complaining about cleaning up. I did not see the need. After saying the word
bacon
again and again, teasing without any relief, the very least they could do was leave out the remaining rib tips and nibbles from their celebration.

I found a platter that held more than enough tasty treats, and signaled to the girls that I’d hunted up a feast for them. It was my nature to care for those around me, especially my ladies. In return for granting them accommodation in my home, and general protection from repeat offenders like
Hoover
and
disposal
and
garbage truck,
my trio kept me well groomed and well satisfied. If you know what I mean. And I think that you do.

While the ladies were occupied with a particularly tasty hamburger patty, I went back to my earlier search-and-destroy mission. Normally I avoided trash bins, after a misspent youth chasing Q-tips and cotton balls.
Nothing good ever came of those fruitless, albeit fun, pursuits. But something had piqued my interest in one of the upstairs rooms, the one the Feeder and the Tall One used as their litter box.

I walked silently through their sleeping quarters, sensing that they were only lightly dozing. The Tall One had that look about him today, a look I had come to recognize meant the Feeder would be caterwauling throughout the evening. No matter, I had bigger fish to fry. Mmm, fish.

Slipping into their litter box room unnoticed, I went immediately to the trash can. Pawing with delicate grace, I upended the container, spilling the contents onto the floor. Digging through Kleenex, an empty pill bottle, one damnable cotton ball (which I lost at least twenty minutes to, when it decided to run from me), I came upon the curious item.

Wrapped entirely in toilet paper, as if to dissuade me, was an empty box with a long stick inside. The stick was a good weight, balancing nicely in the mouth. It would be good for a game of pounce hockey keep away. Grasping the flat end in my mouth, I padded into the other room and leapt quietly onto the bed. Climbing over legs and knees, elbows and arms, I nestled in between the Tall One and the Feeder, bringing my hockey stick with me for later.

It had been a long day. I’d been up for at least an hour, and sleep was calling. I examined the stick once more, noticing that on one side there was an interesting
symbol on one end. Two lines, crossed in the middle. Hmm. Putting the mystery aside for now, I stretched out my legs, making sure I was touching both of my people. It seemed to comfort them. And that was my other job, making sure these two were always comfortable.

I could feel the Tall One beginning to stir; I’d better catch a nap before he was fully awake and bothering the Feeder.

I closed my eyes and slept instantly. Blissful. Happy. Content. For in my dreams, there were rib tips for days . . .

“W
hat the hell is this in the bed? Clive? What did you bring . . . huh.”

“What is it?” The Feeder yawned.

A long pause . . .

“Caroline? You want to tell me something?”

A longer pause . . .

“So, Simon. Funny story . . .”

Turn all of your evenings into cocktail hours!

Missed any of the first four intoxicating books in the Cocktail Series?

Keep reading for sneak peeks!

They’re saucy. They’re sexy. They’re laugh-out-loud funny.

I’ll drink to that!

Caroline doesn’t hear things “go bump in the night”—she hears them go
thump
in the night. And it’s always her new neighbor Simon’s headboard . . .

“Caroline, I didn’t realize you knew Simon. What a small world!” Jillian exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

“I wouldn’t say I
know
him, but I’m familiar with his work,” I replied through clenched teeth. Mimi danced in a circle around us like a little kid with a secret.

“Jillian, you won’t believe this but—” she started, her voice bubbling over with barely concealed mirth.

“Mimi. . . .” I warned.

“Simon is Simon from next door! Simon Wallbanger!” Sophia cried, grasping Benjamin’s arm. I’m sure she only did it so she could touch Benjamin.

“Dammit,” I breathed as Jillian took in this information.

“No fucking way,” she breathed, hand clapping over her mouth after she dropped the f-bomb. Jillian always tried to be such a lady.

Benjamin looked confused, and Simon had the decency to blush a little.

“Asshole,” I mouthed to him.

“Cockblocker,” he mouthed back, the smirk returning in full force.

I gasped and clenched my fists, prepared to tell him exactly what he could do with his cockblocker, when Neil burst in.

“Benjamin, check this out—this little hottie here is the Pink Nightie Girl! Can you stand it?” He laughed as Ryan struggled to keep a straight face. Benjamin’s eyes widened, and he raised an eyebrow at me. Simon swallowed a laugh.

“Pink Nightie Girl?” Jillian asked, and I heard Benjamin lean in and tell her he’d explain later.

“Okay, that’s it!” I shouted, and I pointed at Simon. “You. A word, please?” I barked and grabbed him by the arm. I yanked him outside and pulled him down one of the paths that led away from the house. He scrambled along after me, my heels ringing out angrily on the flagstone.

“Jesus, slow down, will you?”

My response was to dig my nails into his arm, which made him yelp. Good.

We reached a little enclave set away from the house and the party—far enough away that no one would hear him scream when I removed his balls from his body. I released his arm and rounded on him, pointing a finger in his surprised face.

“You’ve got some nerve telling everyone about me, asshole! What the hell?
Pink Nightie Girl?
Are you kidding me?” I whisper-yelled.

“Hey, I could ask you the same question! Why do all those girls in there call me Wallbanger, huh? Who’s telling tales now?” he whisper-yelled right back.

“Are you kidding me? Cockblocker? Just because I refused to spend another night listening to you and your harem does not make me a cockblocker!” I hissed.

“Well, due to the fact that your door banging blocked my cock, it actually
does
make you a cockblocker. Cockblocker!” he hissed back. This entire conversation was beginning to sound like something that might have happened in fourth grade—except for all the nightie and cock talk.

“Now, you listen here, mister,” I said, trying for a more adult tone. “I’m not going to spend every night listening to you try to crash your girl’s head through my wall with the force of your dick alone! No way, buddy.” I pointed a finger at him. He grabbed it.

“What I do on my side of that wall is my business. Let’s get that straight right now. And why are you so concerned about me and my dick anyway?” he asked, smirking at me again.

It was the smirk, that damn smirk, that made me go ballistic. That and the fact that he was still holding my finger.

“It
is
my business when you and your sex train come knocking on
my
wall every night!”

“You’re really fixated on this, aren’t you? Wish you were on the other side of that wall? Are you lookin’ to ride that sex train, Nightie Girl?” He chuckled as he wagged his finger in my face.

“Okay, that’s it,” I growled. I grabbed his finger in defense, which instantly locked us together. We must have looked like two loggers trying to cut down a tree. We struggled back and forth—beyond ridiculous. We both huffed and puffed, each trying to get the upper hand, each refusing to relent.

“Why are you such a manwhoring asshole?” I asked, my face inches from his.

“Why are you such a cockblocking priss?” he asked.

And when I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought, the fucker kissed me.

Caroline and Simon are all set to play house, but her crazy work schedule and his world travels keep coming between them and the sheets. Sure, the reunion sex is hot hot hot—but is that really enough? Alice Clayton serves sexy straight up—with a twist.

As I turned my key in my apartment door I heard a distinct thump, followed by a
click click click
padding toward me.

Clive.

Pushing through the door, I was greeted by my wonder cat, my own little piece of feline heaven. In a burst of gray fur, my ankles were surrounded by purrs and insistent nudges.

“Hi there, sweet boy, were you a good boy today?” I asked, leaning down to scratch his silky fur.

Arching up into my hand, he assured me that yes, he was in fact a sweet boy, and also a good boy. Berating me for leaving him alone for a thousand years, he cooed and chirped, herding me toward the kitchen.

We talked as I readied his dinner for him, which of course I’d been put on earth expressly to do, and our conversation covered the normal subjects. What birds he’d seen from the window today, whether any dust bunnies had emerged from under the bed, and whether I’d find any toys buried in the toe of my slippers. He was noncommittal on this last question.

Once his kibble was in his bowl he ignored me completely, and I headed back to the bedroom to put on some comfy clothes. Untucking my turtleneck, I went to the mirrored dresser to grab some yoga pants. While pulling my arms out of my shirt, my heart leapt into my throat when I saw the reflection of someone sitting on my bed. Instinct kicked in and I whirled, fists clenched, a scream ready to let loose.

My brain only processed that it was Simon after my fist was flung.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the
hell,
Caroline!” he yelled as he grabbed his jaw.