The After Dark Collection: Books 1-3 in The Gift Series Read online

  There were no engagement photographers. No photos captured by someone else for social media.

  But I had the record of this moment etched into my mind, and it was perfect.

  It was real, and it was ours.

  And it always would be.

  28

  Brandon

  A few weeks later

  My second shoot for the watchmaker in Los Angeles had been another success.

  So good in fact that the client upgraded me to first class for my return flight home to Paris.

  I wasn’t going to complain.

  Not when I settled into the plush leather seat in the second row. Not when I checked the menu for the flight, my mouth watering over the offerings. And not when I saw the wine list.

  A glass of pinot, a good meal, and a long nap as I crossed the country and then an ocean. Sounded like a perfect plan for the flight. I’d been enjoying the little things in life more, and this sure as hell counted.

  I closed my eyes, settling into my seat, savoring a little moment.

  Then I heard a voice.

  One I’d been hearing since a certain flight a couple of months ago.

  I’d thought she was just a stranger. That was the role I’d assigned to her.

  But I couldn’t get the flight attendant out of my head. Her advice had touched down deep inside me. I wanted to remember her words, to hold on to them, so I’d memorized her voice.

  You’ll get there. I can see in your eyes that you’re thinking about it. I know you’ll get there, and you’ll be glad when you tried.

  And there was that voice again.

  “Can I get you a drink before we take off, Mr. Abernathy?”

  My eyes snapped open as she asked the man in front of me for his beverage order.

  As if on cue, her gaze traveled to mine. She blinked, then a sliver of a smile tugged at her lips. She returned her focus to her customer, who asked for a bourbon.

  A minute later, she brought it to him, then she moved to stand by my seat, a knowing grin on her pretty face. “And what brings you to Paris this time, Mr. Winters?”

  My smile spread of its own accord. She remembered my name. “Just heading home.”

  “What a coincidence. I live there too. Another American in Paris.”

  I sat up straighter, feeling buzzed with possibilities for the first time in ages. “You never told me your name.”

  “You never asked.”

  I smiled at the beauty in front of me and let her own words be my guide. You’ll be glad when you tried.

  “I’m Mr. Winters, as you know. But my friends call me Brandon. And I’d love to know your name.”

  Her smile was radiant. “I’m Miss Parker. But my friends call me Serena.”

  * * *

  A few months later, I opened the mailbox at my flat, fishing around for bills or letters. I found an invitation. One I’d known was coming.

  I turned and showed it to the woman by my side.

  The woman who’d become my lover, my partner, and my friend.

  Serena Parker moonlighted as a flight attendant, but her passion was helping others find deep love and intimacy through her podcast.

  She was like me. She’d loved and lost, but she was on the other side now.

  So was I, and I was loving life with this woman. We spent our free nights together, dining at off-the-beaten-path restaurants, wandering along curving roads lit by streetlamps, and imagining the places we’d travel together. We’d go to faraway islands, eat pineapples, and watch the sunset. Or we’d travel to remote lands, embarking on long hikes that led us to beautiful vistas.

  And this time, we’d return to a place I knew well. A place I wanted to go with Serena.

  “Would you like to go to a wedding in Vegas with the best man?”

  She arched a sexy brow. “I very much would.”

  Epilogue

  Ask Aphrodite

  Hello, my gorgeous lovelies! I’ve been reading your comments and enjoying your questions.

  I love that you have so many, and they remind me of how many paths there are to love and intimacy.

  I’ve noticed, too, quite a plethora of questions about me.

  Who is the woman behind Ask Aphrodite? Who is the woman who guides you through the wilds of desire and sensuality, wherever you are in your journey?

  I’m like all of you. And I’m like myself again.

  We all have our own stories to tell.

  Mine is that I’ve found a second chance.

  And I’m here to say that great love is possible more than once.

  I’ve found it with a new man, and he’s found it with me too. Do we have it all? I’d like to think so. Because I practice what I preach. I practice openness and honesty and communication.

  That, my lovelies, is the heart of what this show is all about.

  Learning how to ask for what you want.

  If you ask for it, you just might get it.

  As for me, I’ll be signing off for a few weeks, since we’re heading to a certain city to attend the wedding of a good friend. And while I’m there, we’ll be eloping, and then flying someplace warm and tropical, where we’ll make love all day and night.

  And we’ll eat pineapples too.

  Another Epilogue

  Nina

  “You look beautiful.”

  The words came from my sister, Ella, as she raked her eyes over me in my wedding gown.

  “So do you,” I said, giving her the same treatment in her black maid-of-honor dress. “Also, I think you might be next.”

  “Shh,” she said, bringing her finger to her lips. “Don’t jinx me.”

  Ella had met a fantastic man, a single parent like herself, and they’d been going strong for some time now.

  “There is no jinxing when it comes to love,” I said as she handed me my bouquet.

  “Enough about me,” she said, dismissing the conversation, her expression turning serious. “I have to tell you something important. Something I’ve hoped to be able to say for a long time. I want you to know I’m so glad you waited. And I don’t say that because of me. I say that because of you. You’re so happy with Adam, and all I’ve ever wanted is to see my little sister this incandescent.”

  That’s how I felt today, and every day with him.

  “Thank you,” I said, emotion clogging my throat.

  She shot me a stern stare. “No crying. Not till you’re Mrs. Adam Larkin.”

  I couldn’t wait to be his officially.

  But truth be told, I’d been his since that first night when he found the list.

  As I walked down the aisle, Miss Sheridan beamed, whispering, “I knew it,” when I passed her. I smiled back, and then my eyes were only on the beautiful man waiting for me, as he watched me walk to him. I felt radiant, knowing we had a lifetime of lists and love ahead of us.

  When the justice of the peace pronounced us man and wife, Adam drew me in for a deep, possessive kiss.

  Yes, this was the man I’d fallen for.

  And now he was my husband.

  My always.

  * * *

  Later that night at the reception, it was time to toss the bouquet.

  I faced the other way as the single women gathered behind me. On the count of three, I sent my bouquet of daisies flying. I expected to see Ella clutching it, but I was shocked to turn around and find the flowers in the hands of a very surprised Kate.

  While Jake stared at her knowingly.

  That was interesting.

  I’d have to find out what that was all about.

  But tonight was mine and Adam’s, so I pulled my husband in for a dance, thrilled to be in his arms where I belonged.

  THE END

  Did you enjoy Nina and Adam’s sexy love story? There’s more in this world! Jake and Kate have a story to tell in THE DECADENT GIFT. Sign up for my VIP After Dark mailing list here!

  The Decadent Gift

  About

  The rules of the game were simple.


  One weekend.

  We play our roles. Actually, we play lots of roles.

  I get the info I need for a secret work project.

  We go back to how we were.

  That’s what I proposed to handsome, clever, commanding Jake.

  That’s what he said yes to—this decadent gift of a weekend that would get me out of debt.

  But that’s not what happened when our nights together in Vegas ended . . .

  The Decadent Gift

  By Lauren Blakely

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  1

  Kate

  I had a dirty little secret.

  Those were the best kind.

  And the worst too.

  Because sometimes secrets could torment you.

  Like at night when you were alone.

  Or during the day when your mind wandered to what-ifs. I had so many what-ifs running through my head.

  As I weaved my way through the casino, checking out the crowds, scanning the couples tangled up in each other, the women sliding close to their men, the men dropping kisses on their cheeks, the latest possibility pulsed inside me.

  Just a regular day in Las Vegas.

  Then, I walked past the roulette tables, headed toward the restaurant where I was meeting my friends, and I spotted a new boutique.

  New to The Luxe Hotel, that was.

  Ava’s, a well-known lingerie shop, had moved last month from the Bellagio to here, peddling an eye-catching assortment of lace and satin that beckoned shoppers through the windows.

  But that wasn’t what first caught my eye.

  It was a sign next to the display, where a lightbox flashed in lush pink: Explore Your Fantasies.

  Might as well be my mantra.

  It was what I’d encouraged my girlfriends to do when they’d come to me for advice.

  I preached it like a religion.

  “Are you reading my mind, Ava?” I whispered.

  Maybe so, because I was a card-carrying believer in delving into your dirty dreams.

  Trouble was, I’d yet to explore all of mine.

  Not the way I wanted to.

  Not the way I craved. I’d never met the kind of man who’d take that journey with me. But still, the possibilities were powerful and alluring, flitting through my mind like will-o’-the-wisps just out of reach.

  I peered at the white door to the shop, open, inviting.

  Hard to resist.

  Music pulsed low, drifting faintly out of the shop into the cavernous hallway, some Corinne Bailey Rae number that suggested nudity was on the menu.

  Well, it was a lingerie shop. The kind of lingerie meant to be taken off.

  Meant for exploring fantasies.

  Would this store hold the key to unlock mine?

  I shivered as I pictured scenarios of entangled bodies, desires, and longing.

  Of hot, naughty nights.

  And words, so many filthy words spilling from lips.

  I stepped into the store, my heels sinking into the plush pink carpet.

  Ava’s was no clandestine sex dungeon, but when I spotted a display in the far corner of the store, I grinned, whispering, “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Elegant French maid costumes. Insanely sexy stewardess uniforms. Schoolgirl skirts that left little to the imagination.

  No, that wasn’t my kink. I wasn’t a costume-play girl. More power to the ones who were, but that didn’t do it for me . . . except in how they suggested scenes, just a few in the endless array of scenarios I could imagine.

  The games. The role-play. The infinite possibilities.

  If a couple came in to buy a schoolgirl costume, what sort of script would they follow that night?

  What might unfold between a flight attendant and a first-class passenger on a transatlantic flight?

  What if, what if, oh yes, what if.

  A slight shiver ran through me.

  “Anything catch your eye?”

  The sultry, smoky voice drew me back from speculation to reality. I turned to a willowy blonde behind the counter.

  “All of it,” I said with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the items in the corner.

  She smiled back. “Glad to hear you like what we have.”

  But I wasn’t so interested in my likes. Since I’d never met a question that I wouldn’t ask, I voiced the one foremost in my mind. “Are they selling well?”

  Translation: are there role-playing games transpiring all around us right now, this minute?

  “Indeed.” Her satisfied grin hinted that she had a naughty secret, and I wondered briefly what it might be. Maybe she was buying up the naughty nurse garb. “We added them last week. They’re a big part of our store’s mission.” Her gaze drifted to the displays. “Is there anything particular you’re looking for in that arena?”

  I could have answered that question in many ways. The most honest would have been I’m merely interested in the games people play.

  But before I could fashion any sort of reply, my phone trilled from the pocket of my purse—my boss’s ringtone.

  I smiled apologetically, patting my purse. “Another time,” I told the blonde.

  She nodded. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

  Something about that stuck with me. When you’re ready. I liked how it implied the opportunity would inevitably come. It wouldn’t pass me by.

  Right now, though, I had to be ready for a call with Trish Valentine.

  I always had to be ready for my twenty-four-seven boss. But that suited me just fine—work and the paychecks that came with it were what I needed most in my life.

  Not fantasies. Not mine, and not anyone else’s.

  I shucked off those distractions as I stepped out of the store and into the wide hallway.

  “Hi, boss lady,” I said into the phone, keeping it as upbeat as she liked.

  Trish laughed, a familiar throaty sound. “Haven’t I told you that Queen of the Night will do? That’s all I require.”

  It was an apt title, given some of our more risqué clients. “Queen of the Night you are, and I am but your humble servant.”

  I could sense the eye roll from across the city. “Please, you’re my right-hand gal, Kate. I can’t do this without you.” Trish’s assurances were genuine, her tone as kind as she was. Despite the you’re-on-call treatment, the woman was warm and caring.

  “Which is why I’m calling,” she went on. “I’m on my way to an appointment, but we just landed a new client, and I want you to take the lead. I’ll give you the details tomorrow. It will be amazing, but we need to move quickly for them. They’re rolling out new products right away.”

  My ears perked. Everything perked. Trish had been hinting at some new work for her marketing firm, where I was a vice president. New work for us meant potential bonus money for me. And I needed every extra shade of green. Badly. “This is the client you’ve been angling for?”

  “Yes indeed. It’s a woman-centric company. The messaging needs to be spot-on for females who love this city. I need you to be my woman on the ground. You know Vegas, you know young women, and you know what makes them tick. Be thinking about girls’ night out marketing.”

  Ah, so girls’ nights out—that was what the client did. Perhaps arranged them? Organized bachelorette parties? “What kind of girls’ night out?”

  “The extra fun kind,” she said, teasing. “I’ll tell you more in the morning. Must go. My driver is here.”

  Before she hung up, I heard her purr, “Hello, Daniel.”

  Intrigued, I filed that—hello, Daniel—away. Was she having a fling with her driver?

  But now wasn’t the time to linger on my boss’s preferences—there was never a time to do that—so I turned my mind to the scant breadcrumb trail of information she’d tossed out.

  Be thinking about girls’ night out marketing.

  That was a little broad, and
secretive too. But then, so was my job, marketing the after-hours world I inhabited here in Sin City. Most of our clients preferred we operated under the radar, marketing them in subtle, nuanced ways.

  I rounded the bend, heading for the restaurant.

  A dinner out with my best friends could only help prepare me for this secretive meeting tomorrow to talk about girls’ night marketing.

  The extra fun kind.

  2

  Kate

  Through the edamame appetizer, miso soup, and seaweed salad, I pondered this city.

  What it offered in nights out.

  Vegas was a pleasure palace, and you could have any extravagance you desired for the right amount of money. Everything had a price tag.

  It was the kind of city where you could buy, barter, win, or lose anything.

  Bets were only the beginning.

  You could arrange for nights out, nights in, nights with men, nights with women, and nights with a mix. Like in a cupcake box, you could pick your flavor, make your sampler, and take it home.

  Devour it.

  Vegas was a hamlet for freedom of the nighttime variety. The city encouraged exploration of your fantasies because Vegas let you shed your inhibitions after dark.

  In a city where anything went, nothing stayed forbidden. It was a city of why not.

  That was what I would lean on tomorrow during the meeting.

  Those notions.

  Tonight, though, was for research.

  As Lily, Nina, and I moved on to our rainbow rolls, my gaze drifted to a clutch of women in full bachelorette-party garb sauntering toward the sushi joint’s bar.