“I’ll just talk to you later or something,” Neal said after a few silent minutes. “I’ll probably go to The Kiln since you don’t want to see me.”
Trihn cringed. She actually hated The Kiln. It was an artistic dream in theory. A bar with live music and slam poetry under the same roof as a pottery studio. But in reality everyone sat around and bemoaned the state of the art movement or lack there of in America, got high as fuck, and then made art with their bodies…with whoever was around. It wasn’t uncommon for the place to turn into an orgy.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see you,” she insisted. “I do really want to see you, but we’ve had this planned for awhile…”
“Okay.”
“But…do you have to go to The Kiln?” she managed to get out. He knew she hated that place. It was a breeding ground for bad behavior. All the while, he claimed that the clubs she went to were bad.
“You’re going out to some club to get wasted with your friends and basically have sex on the dance floor, and you’re asking me to not go out?” he asked in a tone that brokered no argument.
“I’m not going to have sex on the dance floor,” she argued anyway. “But I know that people do at Kiln. It’s just…gross.”
“Trihn, don’t lecture me about what I can and can’t do.”
“I wasn’t,” she whimpered. “I just…”
“Look, I’m going to go. If you decide to stop fucking around and want to take us seriously, then come to Kiln and we can talk.”
“I…”
The line went dead in her hand, and she nearly screamed. How dare he insinuate that she was going out to fuck around, and she didn’t take their relationship seriously!
She was the one putting all the effort into their relationship. Half the time he was pissed off about what she was doing and who she was hanging out with. It was blatantly clear he didn’t trust her. She didn’t get it, because she had never done anything to make him think otherwise. She was as loyal as they came.
After the fiasco with Preston, she couldn’t even imagine fooling around behind someone’s back. It pissed her off all over again.
She tried to rein in her emotions. The last thing she wanted was to be in a bad mood when she went out with the girls. Things with Neal would work out. They always did. He would get mad and lash out, but when they got back together, everything would be fine. He was just frustrated.
“All right,” she said, dropping the phone to her side. “Are you guys ready to party?”
Bryna and Stacia exchanged equally sympathetic looks. They knew things between she and Neal were rocky even if they had only heard half of the conversation.
“Is everything okay?” Stacia asked hesitantly.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Trihn said stiffly. “Let’s just go have a good time.”
She hoped that was still possible.
Excerpt
SINFUL LONGING
Lauren Blakely
“Do you like the music?” he whispered, his lips so close to her skin. Goose bumps rose on her flesh as she blinked open her eyes.
He raised a hand to adjust his tie—he was always doing that, as if ties weren’t his thing—and her gaze settled on his fingers.
Magic fingers, she called them. She knew what they could do to her.
“Yes, I like the music,” she said, trying to center herself.
“I do, too,” he said softly, then stroked his chin. “It’s beautiful. And it reminds me of something.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What does it remind you of? Some other piece of music?” She hadn’t known him to be a classical fan. He was rock, alternative, and indie music all the way.
He shook his head. “Not music. But something else I enjoy. Trying to remember exactly what.”
“Tell me,” she whispered, her curiosity now piqued. Her eyes met his. She searched those dark brown irises, as if she could find the answer there.
The sounds from the stage grew louder. “Wait. I think I know.”
She widened her eyes, and held out her hands as if to say tell me now.
“Turn back to the stage. It helps me think.”
She shot him a look, because that made no sense. Shrugging, she returned her focus to the musicians and the victorious sound of the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth.
“Ah, that’s it,” Colin whispered. “Now I remember. It reminds me of that thing you like so much.”
That thing.
His fingers gently traveled up her neck. A small gasp escaped her lips. “Your neck. The way you move when I kiss you right here,” he said, stopping to trace the outline of one of her birds with the pad of his thumb. She nearly moaned out loud. Elle was convinced every woman had a spot on her body that melted her from head to toe when touched the right way by the right man.
For Elle, it was her neck.
“How you sound when I touch your shoulder,” he continued, letting his fingers graze her collarbone. Her bones turned liquid. Any ounce of resolve still left in her evaporated. She could say it was the thrill of the night, that it was the joy of hitting a massively vital professional goal, or perhaps it was the fact that no one had made her feel this way in years.
But none of that was true.
It was him. He just did something to her.
A shiver rolled down her spine. “No, it doesn’t sound like that at all,” she said, trying faintly to deny the way she responded to him.
He nodded vigorously. “Yes, it does. Just listen to that crescendo. It sounds like you when I— ”
She grabbed his thigh and dug in her nails. The contact silenced him, but reminded her of how much she liked contact with him.
Great job, Elle.
Being so close to him was an injection of lust in her bloodstream, and Elle knew what happened when she was ruled by lust. She knew it well, and she had the lifetime of upended choices to show for it.
Not that she regretted anything in retrospect.
Not one bit.
But she was older and wiser now. Wasn’t she?
She must be, because that wisdom was jostling its way to the front of her brain, trying to strike a deal with her body. They’d tangoed, they’d played—they’d done plenty. But she’d only fully had this man a few times. Maybe one more time and she could finally eradicate him from all her thoughts, from the dirty dreams that lasted all night and lingered too long during the day. She could say good-bye to these rampant hormones, and concentrate on her job, her family, and her promises.
There was no reason not to enjoy the final minutes of this evening to the fullest. One last night of passion, then she could move on from this turbulence of longing that engulfed her every time Colin Sloan was near. Let go of the longing, let go of him.
She couldn’t have him in her life, but she could have one more night.
The concert ended, and the crowd applauded; their clapping and cheering rang through the ballroom.
Seize the night. She turned to face him. Arched an eyebrow. Took on his challenge.
Forget poker. She had other plans now. “So what’s the new tattoo, Colin? You ready to show me?”
To read more find out how here:
http://laurenblakely.com/sinful-nights/