Night After Night

Chapter Sixteen

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 16, 10:48 AM

subject: What I’m thinking about…

Everything. Your hair. Your ass. Your beautiful breasts. Your lips. You curled up in my bed. Your attitude. Most of all, why the fuck you left like that.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 16, 11:08 AM

subject: The other thoughts please

Something came up. Can we go back to those other items instead?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to:purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 16, 5:48 PM

subject: Not sure…

I don’t know. Can we?

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 16, 11:48 PM

subject: Be sure…

You tell me.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 17, 6:48 AM

subject: Ball. In. Your. Court.

You tell me what you’re wearing. You tell me if you can’t stop thinking about me. You tell me why you’re not here spread across my lap, that beautiful ass calling out for my palm.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 17, 9:48 AM

subject: Served

So you’re saying you want to spank me?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 17, 3:48 PM

subject: Hand is ready

You have no idea.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 17, 3:49 PM

subject:Ass is too

Oh, I have an idea. I definitely have an idea. And I would like that very much. I also think you have a thing for my ass.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 17, 11:48 PM

subject: More on that

It’s perfection. I want to bite it. Lick it. Smack it. Grip it hard while I fuck you.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 18, 1:01 AM

subject: Which means….

So you still want me, I take it?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 18, 7:01 AM

subject: Yes

You know I do. That didn’t change.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 18, 11:34 AM

subject: Ditto…

I still want you…

Clay stared at the computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keys, considering a reply. But damn, those words were mocking him. I still want you. How could she say that with the way she’d left? It made no sense, and Michele had spelled it out for him in no uncertain terms that if Julia wanted to play ball, she’d be at the plate, not skipping and frolicking along the foul lines, darting in and out of sight. He pushed away from his keyboard, like an alcoholic trying to step away from the bar. Grabbing a pen and a contract from the pile of papers on his desk, he tossed his phone onto his desk, left his office and locked the door.

If he stayed within typing distance of either device, he’d surely keep up this volley with her. Because she was as irresistible to him as she’d been that very first night. With his head down the whole way, he headed to a bench outside Central Park and settled onto it, trying his best to dive into the fine print on a licensing deal that the actor Liam Connor needed wrapped up before he opened a new restaurant in New York in a few weeks. Clay didn’t usually do restaurant deals, but Liam was a long-time client and had asked him to look over the terms with the other co-owner. Clay shoved his hand through his hair as he studied the fine print, but soon the words were levitating on the page, terms like indemnify that he knew backwards and forwards, but now it was a slow, cruel tease because he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.

She weaved in front of him like a damn mirage. Tantalizing and teasing him. Whenever he opened or closed his eyes, she was there. Beautiful and beckoning, she lured him in. He could picture her, he could feel the trace of her, touch the outline of her. She’d left her mark on him and he wanted her day after day, night after night.

He swore loudly and looked up. No one noticed his cursing. No one cared. It was New York and the city spun on its own axis. So he sat and stared at the lunchtime crowds, at a harried doctor rushing by in her scrubs, at a guy in a suit, tugging at his tie while tapping out a message on his phone, at a pair of women in sharp jeans and sweaters, each balancing a cardboard tray of lattes in their hands. A bus trudged by on Fifth Avenue, pulling up to the stop and letting off several passengers, who looked equally hurried as they raced to their destinations. Somehow, the chaos of the city soothed the tangled knots in his chest for the moment, and calmed his mind. He took a deep fueling breath, and returned once more to the contract.

A half-hour later, he’d found the one clause that concerned him most, so when he met Liam for lunch he told him about the points he wanted to iron out.

“That’s why I keep you around, man,” the actor said, flashing his trademark smile that made women swoon and patrons pay top dollar to see his face in lights. “You’re going to come see in The Usual Suspects, right?”

“As if I’d miss it,” Clay said, and mentally marked the date on his calendar to see the stage adaptation of the hit film.

They spent the rest of the meal talking about Liam’s upcoming work, the movies they’d both loved and loathed, and sports, always sports.

When lunch ended, Clay simply hoped he could keep harnessing that focus and use it to stay on track in his business. He didn’t need a repeat of that year with Sabrina. When he returned to his office, refreshed – mostly – from the few hours away from electronic tethers, he clicked on his phone and found another message from the woman who was never far from his mind.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 18, 2:23 PM

subject: On that subject…

So unbelievably much…In every single way.

And all his control unraveled in a second, as his skin heated up, and his heart beat faster, pounding against his chest with the aching want to have her in his arms again. Resistance was futile, so he banged out a reply, saved it in his drafts, and told himself he’d see if he still felt the same way that night. When the work day ended he went to the gym to pound the punching bag until his shoulders were as sore as they’d ever been.

On the way home, he pulled out his phone, opened his drafts and made a decision.