After This Night

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Julia skipped down the sidewalk at two in the morning. Every move she made brought a smile to his face, and touched down with happiness in his heart.

She’d done it. She’d won big. After precariously losing to Michele for a while there, she’d made a few big bets on a few big hands, and had pulled out ahead. She’d wrapped her arms around the chips, and tugged them in tight. She sure looked like she wanted to kiss them, to bring each and every one to her lips, and then shake them at the sky victoriously. Instead, she’d stacked them, handed them to Liam since he’d acted as the bank, and watched with wide eyes as those chips turned into cash.

She threw her head back, twirling on the street, as if she were a kid catching snowflakes on her tongue.

“And here’s your money, sir,” she sang, pretending to hand it over to Charlie. “Now, go fuck off forever.”

She was jubilant, ready to lead a victory march. Clay grabbed her arm and pulled her in for a kiss, bending her back and kissing her like they were on a postcard. Let the whole damn city be jealous. Let the world want what he had. He claimed her mouth with his own, kissing her hard and passionately, like he planned to always. He’d never tire of the way her lips tasted, of her sweetness, of how she responded to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and held on tight.

“Take me home, now,” she said. “I want to know what it feels like to have you as a free woman.”

He tensed briefly as she said that. But that was ridiculous. She was free. Completely free. He hailed a cab, and ten minutes later he had her in his home, stripping her clothes off as they somehow made their way up the stairs, tangled up in each other. He was still buzzed on the night, on the things he’d said, on the way she’d won, on her sheer and utter happiness, and on telling her he loved her.

It didn’t matter that one of those things was a lie.

There would be time in the morning to tell the truth. When day broke, and the sun rose, that’s when he’d let her know. The night was for more.

“Did I ever tell you I have a thing for mirrors?” he said as he left his clothes in a heap on the floor.

She raised an eyebrow, as she stepped out of her skirt. “Then join me in the bathroom, handsome,” she said, taking his hand and guiding him to the spacious room. She hopped up on the sink with the mirror behind them, roped her arms around his neck, and pulled him in close. Resting her forehead against his, she ran her hands down his naked chest, making him shiver with desire. “Thank you, Clay,” she whispered. “Thank you for doing that for me. I can’t tell you how much it means to be free of Charlie, and free of Dillon on my own terms. And I loved it. I loved playing for real. Playing in a game that wasn’t fake. Where I had to rely on chance and skill and myself,” she said, and her words were like a tight knot in his gut. But he let her continue. “It means so much to me. You mean so much to me. I am so glad you walked into my bar, and into my life, and into my heart.”

He kissed her softly, brushing his lips against hers. At least this part was true. This contact. This touch. “That’s the only place I want to be. In your heart,” he said, then took a beat. “Though I like being in your pants, too.”

She laughed. “Then get in my pants. Except I’m not wearing any,” she said, gesturing to her naked body, covered only in the stockings he’d bought for her. “So this ought to be really easy.”

He shoved everything else aside, clearing his mind. He wanted to be with her completely. “Nothing worth having is easy,” he said, lifting her off the counter and setting her down on the tiled floor. He shifted her around so she faced the mirror above the vanity, then spoke low in her ear. “I want to watch us. I want you to watch us.”

She gasped a yes as he dipped a hand between her legs, running his other hand up her belly. He entered her slowly, rolling his hips, savoring the delicious wetness, the tightness. Her eyes floated closed as he rocked into her. “Look in the mirror,” he told her, and she opened her eyes, meeting his dark eyes in the reflection. There was so much want in her gaze, so much openness. “Watch.”

“I am,” she said, breathing in, breathing out. “I am watching.”

“What do we look like to you?”

Her eyes were hazy, her lips falling open.

“Like two people in love,” she answered.

He nodded against her neck. “Exactly. That’s what we are. And I’m going to take you there, Julia. I’m going to take you over the edge. Because I love fucking you, and I fucking love you,” he said, tugging her tighter, holding her closer as he thrust into her. She stretched out her neck, leaning against his shoulder, her body becoming a canvas for his hands as he touched her breasts, her belly, her neck, and her throat. He wrapped one hand around her throat, not so tight that it hurt, but tight enough to let her know she was his. He was possessing her. “Tell me you’re close.”

“So close.”

“Tell me who’s fucking you right now.”

“The man I love,” she said in between broken breaths, her lips open, her green eyes watching him in the mirror.

“That’s right. The man you love is fucking you. The man you love is making you come,” he said, watching her face contort in pleasure, feeling her body tighten on him, feeling her heat all over him as the sound of her ecstasy rang in his ears and he followed her there, chasing her to the other side.

He breathed out hard, and so did she as he wrapped his arms around her when they were done.

“Julia,” he started, and he should have been nervous or scared, but he wasn’t. Not one bit. He knew what he wanted. “I hate the thought of you going home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Me too, but I have to.”

“I know, but what if you come back, and this bathroom becomes our bathroom? And the bedroom becomes our bedroom? And this home becomes our home? I can’t stand being without you. I want you here in New York.”

He searched her features, but her expression gave nothing away. Her mouth was set in a line; her eyes were stoic. He tried to read her, to understand what was going through her mind, but he came up empty. And that’s when the real fear shot off inside him. Had he scared her away? Asked for too much from a woman who needed to live life on her terms? He opened his mouth to backpedal, to say he’d take what he could get, because a little of her was better than losing her.

But then she turned around, face to face. “I could give you some long answer about how that’s too hard or too complicated, and how I don’t know how to pull it off or make it work, and how I have a job and a family and a business in San Francisco, and that’s all true . . .” she said, then stopped talking, and in that silence his heart thumped hard against his chest, and he swore she could hear every heartbeat of his fear, could tell that each persistent pound was the soundtrack of his misery, of her leaving him.

“And?” he asked, his throat dry.

“And,” she answered, the corner of her lips curving up, “and if you’re willing to work with me and help me figure all that out, then I can’t give you a single reason why this shouldn’t be my bathroom, because I love your tub,” she said pointing at the tub, and a smile broke across his face. She leaned back and tapped the mirror. “And I love this mirror.” She gestured to the bedroom. “And your bed.”

“Our bed,” he said, correcting her.

“Our bed. I love our bed. Now, take me to bed, handsome. Because I want to sleep in my home. Tomorrow we can figure out all the details.”

Yes, tomorrow. There were so many details for tomorrow.