Kitabı oku: «About That Night...»

“Kiss me, Julienne, or let me kiss you.”

Nick ground out the words in a voice that held nothing back. He hungered with an intensity he’d never known before. Her combination of bold temptress with hints of shy innocence captivated him.

The first taste of her wet velvet mouth shot his blood south in a painful rush. Her kiss was inquisitive, a cautious exploration. He let her take the lead, though he ached to deepen their kiss, to drive his tongue into her mouth and test the limits of her passion.

She rewarded his restraint, darting her tongue across his bottom lip. A light touch, a taste really, but there was an intimacy that opened the floodgates. Suddenly her grip tightened and her mouth made demands of him that stole his breath.

Julienne tested his control, lit fires inside him that he knew wouldn’t be doused until he experienced this woman naked with her hair tumbling all around them.

He eased back, staring intently into her eyes so there would be no question about his meaning.

“Can you imagine my hands on you, Julienne? Let me touch you. Let me pleasure you.”

Dear Reader,

More often than not, my family and friends jet around the globe while I stay home to check the mailbox for postcards. But I do occasionally venture into the world. One trip I’m very familiar with is the one that leads north along the eastern seaboard. My sister Kimberly and I never thought twice about hopping in the car and heading to our childhood home in New York, and whenever we did, we’d always find some reason to detour through Savannah, Georgia, just to experience the charm and beauty of this grand Southern city.

Julienne Blake wants to experience something in Savannah, too—passion. With the help of self-hypnosis, she lets her hair down and takes a walk on the wild side, a walk that leads her straight into Nick Fairfax’s arms. Nick signed on only to renovate Savannah’s erotic theater, but one night on the empty stage with this naughty girl convinces him he’ll never be content until he knows all her secrets.

Blaze is the place to explore red-hot romance, and I’m excited to write for a series that excels in steamy happily-ever-afters. I hope About That Night… brings you to happily-ever-after, too. Let me know. Drop me a line in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada, or visit my Web site at www.jeanielondon.com.

Very truly yours,

Jeanie London

P.S.—Don’t forget to check out www.tryblaze.com!

About That Night…
Jeanie London

To Ann Josephson, for your skill,

your friendship and all those spicy brainstorming sessions that never fail to make our husbands blush.

And special thanks to Cheryl Mansfield, for sharing your architectural expertise and writer’s sight.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Prologue

Twenty-one days ago.

NAUGHTY GIRLS feel good about feeling naughty.

Julienne Blake silently read the phrase from the open book, then again, before rallying the courage to say it aloud.

“Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.” The words rolled off her tongue, unfamiliar and shockingly bold in her quiet living room. On the walls hung photographs of her youth spent traveling with her bachelor great uncle to renovate historically significant buildings all over the world.

Thankfully, Uncle Thad wasn’t in the room to hear her read the words again. Despite being seriously out of his element, he’d tried his level best to rear his orphaned great-niece as a good girl after awakening one morning to find her on his doorstep.

“Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.”

There, she had it. Her voice sounded natural, relaxed. A feat that had required a significant amount of practice, given that Julienne had spent her entire adult life studiously avoiding concepts like feeling good and feeling naughty. These weren’t concepts any good girl should dwell on, not when there were other, more productive uses for her time, like focusing on an education and a career.

Julienne had been the ultimate good girl, a fact she’d been proud of—until six months ago when a broken engagement had made her question whether there was more to life than living up to other people’s expectations and always doing the right thing. Especially after her ex-fiancé had placed the blame for their breakup on her, complaining she lacked fire and passion.

Snapping the book shut, she set The Naughty Handbook of Naughty Girl Sex on the end table and leaned back in her favorite chair, a leather recliner where she normally spent nights pouring over her students’ papers. Closing her eyes, she let the message filter through her.

Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.

Julienne planned to feel naughty and feel good about it. She’d just turned thirty, a turning point for finally realizing she should enjoy life. After spending five years with Ethan…she still couldn’t believe she’d spent five years with Ethan simply because it had seemed like the right thing to do.

Come on, girl. Whoever said a woman had to finish college, establish herself in a career and then settle down to get married? When do you get to have fun?

The voice in her head asked valid questions. Although she’d spent a lot of time soul-searching since the breakup, Julienne didn’t have any answers. Not even an answer for why life without Ethan seemed as tepid as life with him had been.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark, Julienne?” Uncle Thad asked. “Are you feeling all right?”

Julienne opened her eyes to find her uncle silhouetted beneath the archway that led to the hall. Snatching The Naughty Handbook from the end table, she flipped the cover down on her lap and gazed at him, an always-welcomed sight. His red apple cheeks and neat white beard lent him a rather Santa Clausish air that always made her think of Christmas. Perhaps because he’d come into her life just like Santa Claus down a chimney, generously devoting his golden years to rearing her.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she assured him. “Just a little tired.”

“You should get to bed then.” He strode into the room and sat in the recliner opposite hers, apparently not noticing her book. “Unless you’re up for a documentary on the History Channel. The show will feature that Philadelphia courthouse Dr. Fairfax renovated a few years back. Since he’s coming to town soon to start work on the Risqué Theatre, I thought I’d watch the program. Starts in a few minutes.”

Julienne usually enjoyed watching programs that featured the work of this well-known preservation architect. With citations from more than three dozen historic organizations and an appointment to the President’s Advisory Council for Historic Preservation, Dr. Nicholas Fairfax was the noted authority in her area of expertise.

But tonight the very idea of TV seemed so symbolic of her staid lifestyle that not even watching the much-admired Nicholas Fairfax could silence Ethan’s unkind comments about fire and passion echoing in her head.

It’s always the same thing, Julienne. If I didn’t suggest get-togethers with our university colleagues, you’d have us at home every night watching urban renewal shows with your uncle.

Though she hadn’t been that gung ho about Ethan’s recreation of choice—especially since get-togethers with their colleagues usually degenerated into long-winded debates on the merits of hypnotherapy in today’s societal climate—she couldn’t argue his point.

Here it was Saturday night and instead of visiting with friends or enjoying one of the many entertainments Savannah offered, she sat at home, contemplating a night watching a very handsome preservation architect prop up rotting joists on TV.

Sheesh. It had taken her weeks to come up with a radical solution to her good-girl problem, a solution she couldn’t implement with her uncle sitting a mere foot away.

Flipping down the recliner footrest, Julienne tucked her book under her arm. “I’ll pass on the documentary tonight, and take your suggestion about getting a good night’s sleep.” She stood, circled his chair and kissed her uncle’s cheek. “See you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, my dear.” Smiling absently, he reached for the remote control on the end table.

Julienne headed upstairs, hoping she could find a balance between the “good” girl Uncle Thad had raised, and the woman who needed to know she possessed at least a spark of fire. She didn’t always have to do things the right way. Ethan had been right and look where he’d gotten her.

A professor of hypnotherapy at the University of Savannah, Dr. Ethan Whiteside had been stable. He’d also been upwardly mobile, financially secure and attractive. But he hadn’t been very aware or supportive of her needs.

After graduating with her doctorate in historical preservation at the unusually ripe young age of twenty-five, Julienne had wanted to go into the field and work on a rehabilitation project to flex her hard-earned skills. She’d been reared in the field with Uncle Thad, right up until he’d retired to an academic position at the university in time for her to start college. She loved to travel and going into the field again before marriage had sounded like a good…okay, a fun thing to do.

But Ethan had wanted a wife on staff at the university to fulfill his dream of being part of an academic power couple. He’d insisted she be groomed to take Uncle Thad’s place at retirement. Julienne had acquiesced. She told herself she should spend as much time as possible with her aging uncle—which she had, and that she couldn’t expect to have things go her way all the time—which they hadn’t.

Although she loved her job and found satisfaction teaching her students, she couldn’t overlook that her relationship with Ethan had always been focused on his desires and his goals. For some reason she still couldn’t quite put her finger on, she’d accepted that. After all, no relationship could be perfect.

It doesn’t have to be perfect, girl, but it should be fulfilling, that voice in her head said. You haven’t been living, you’ve been existing. Time to shake things up.

Julienne headed into her bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her. She planned to start having fun. She was through with existing, done with living up to other people’s expectations. No more tepid emotions. And absolutely no more tepid sex ever again.

Time to shake off apathy and enjoy life.

Glancing in the mirror above her dresser, she noticed pale cheeks where her blush had faded away, the once-neat French braid so at odds with the naughty girl image in her head.

“You can do this,” she told her reflection. “You can put aside your good-girl notions. You can take charge of your life and explore your sensuality.”

Curiously enough, the ex-fiancé and hypnotherapist, had unwittingly provided the key to shedding her inhibitions with a nifty form of conditioning called self-hypnosis.

Hypnotherapy can be a powerful tool, Julienne. It uses autosuggestion, imagery and imagination to improve different aspects of your personality. I can show you a few techniques.

She didn’t want Ethan to show her any techniques, nor did she desire his help in deciding which aspects of her personality needed improving. And if she hadn’t gotten the general idea about hypnotherapy after listening to him talk about his work for the past five years, she had access to the university library and all his treatises on the subject.

“Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty,” she chanted her key phrase, smiling when the words slipped from her lips without making her blush.

She breathed deeply and tried again. “Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.”

Twenty-one days of mastering suggestibility techniques, of chanting key phrases, of visualizing herself as a naughty girl, would create a lasting subconscious impression that she could be the type of woman who could catch a hot-blooded man’s attention.

And when she’d convinced herself she did have a spark of passion inside…Julienne knew the perfect hot-blooded man to test her skills on.

1

Today

AFTER TAKING a deep breath to steel her nerves for what was possibly the most outrageous—and potentially disastrous—decision she’d ever made, Julienne pushed through the etched-glass front door of Casa de Ramón, plunging herself into a frenetic world of bright lights, whirring blow dryers and pungent chemical smells.

Chic Art Deco furnishings incorporated the hydraulic chairs, rows of shampoo bowls and otherworldly hood dryers in an upscale salon that brought to mind images of grooming beautiful people who didn’t mind looking at themselves in walls and walls of mirrors.

Julienne hoped she could cultivate that particular skill, because when she caught sight of herself walking into the reception area, French-braided hair and dove-gray business suit unassuming amid the surrounding grandeur, she could only pray Ramón was up for a challenge.

Come on, girl. Think beautiful. Naughty girls come in all shapes and sizes.

“Jules, sweetheart.” Owner and stylist extraordinaire, Ramón, hurried down the aisle between the stylists’ booths, long black overcoat whipping out behind him like Batman’s cape. “I saw you on my book and I’m marked off for hours. Tell me, tell me. What are we doing today?”

Clients peered up from beneath wet bangs and foil strips that made their heads resemble shiny antennae. Now that she had everyone’s undivided attention…

Naughty girls enjoy being noticed.

“We’re doing something different today,” she said, not quite as enthusiastically as someone who enjoyed being noticed might say it, but reasonably self-possessed all the same.

“Not the usual ‘just put a new line in the bottom but don’t take off much length’?” Ramón didn’t give her a chance to reply as he waved at the receptionist, a beautiful young girl who sat behind a desk, completely unflustered by her boss’s theatrics. “Don’t put any calls through. And for God’s sake don’t let anyone back to bother us. I don’t care if Elvis himself shows up crooning. Jules and I have business.”

With that he latched a long-fingered hand around her upper arm and practically frog-marched her back to his semiprivate station past the rows of booths where his stylists waved, smiled and eyed her with interest.

“What is it, Jules? You finally want some shape in this mop? Or curl?”

Julienne allowed herself to be guided into the hydraulic chair and spun to face another unforgiving mirror with such speed her already fluttering stomach gave a decided lurch.

“No curl.”

“Color?” A tall, lean man, Ramón bent over her and peered myopically at her reflection in the mirror. “Don’t tell me you found a gray.”

“No. You don’t see any, do you?”

He surveyed the top of her head. “No grays. So why are you finally letting me do something to bring out the beauty of this exquisite color God gave you?”

Naughty girls look the part.

“I just want something different.”

“Be more specific, please.”

“I’m not exactly sure what,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m placing myself in your capable hands. I want a new look.”

Julienne expected exultation, or enthusiasm at the very least. After all, Ramón had been after her for the entire five years of their acquaintance to do something…anything with her hair.

But he only eyed her skeptically above the slices of black eyeglass frames resting low on his nose.

“How new?”

“New-new. Just not anything too short or too crazy.”

He circled her slowly, assessing, reminding her of Uncle Thad whenever he stepped inside an old building to assess the construction of walls and decorative moldings for restoration.

“What prompted this sudden need for a new you?”

“I just turned thirty.”

“Okay, a milestone birthday. What else?”

“What do you mean ‘what else’?”

He frowned.

“I’m just ready for a change.” She wasn’t about to tell him the truth.

“Does this sudden inspiration have anything to do with Dr. Whiteside?”

“Ramón, what kind of question is that?”

“A personal one I need an answer to, before I’ll touch my scissors to this mop you’ve been growing forever.” He sniffed haughtily. “Once I cut into the length, it’ll take decades to grow back out if you don’t like it. I don’t have the patience to listen to you sob the whole time.”

“Oh.”

She could understand caution. She’d lived a whole life filled with it. And she really had no reason to be uncomfortable about fessing up to Ramón. He’d been styling her hair ever since Ethan had insisted she make an appointment with his stylist. Besides…

Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Ethan does factor in a little. We called off our engagement six months ago and I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m ready to head in a new direction.”

Curiosity finally sparked in Ramón’s expression, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the back of the chair, his face so close she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with powerful traces of permanent wave solution from an earlier client. “A new direction, hmm? How new?”

“New-new. I plan to enjoy myself.”

There, you said it and you didn’t even blush. See, girl, twenty-one days of self-hypnosis are paying off.

“You’re booked in for the whole day,” Ramón said. “You want more than just a new hairstyle, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Facial, makeup and image consultation? The works?”

She nodded again.

Ramón bolted upright as if he’d been shot from a gun, making Julienne jump in the chair.

“Celeste, round up the troops,” he bellowed toward the front of the salon. “Jules’ll be leaving here a new woman.”

A new woman! That’s exactly what you want to be. Now sit back and enjoy the transformation.

Julienne didn’t have a chance to sit back and enjoy anything before being herded into a dressing room, instructed to strip out of her suit and don a black salon overcoat.

The troops arrived. Kathy the skincare specialist and makeup artist. Stephanie with the body spa. Judith, the salon’s colorist, though Ramón assured her he’d be doing her color himself. She already knew Katriona, the six-foot-two manicurist, who dripped gold spandex and flaunted her cake makeup and razor-stubbled cheeks proudly.

“Well, hey, sister,” she said. “What’s this Ramón said about real nails? Tell me you’re finally giving up that modish farmhand look you’ve been sporting since the dawn of time.”

To Katriona real nails meant acrylic and lots of it, along with sparkly gems, traffic-stopping colors and gold jewelry that resembled Barbie-doll sized nose rings.

“Just something feminine for tonight. I can’t wear them too long or I won’t be able to work. I’ve got my interns taking samples at a one hundred and thirty-six-year-old church this week.”

“Fascinating, I’m sure,” Katriona said in a decidedly bored drawl. “But what’s happening tonight? Something more lively than scraping paint chips off rotting floorboards, I hope.”

“The closing performance at the Risqué Theatre.”

“The Risqué?” Ramón asked, his fingers coming to a sudden halt in her braid. “You’re joking.”

“No,” she said, unsure why he was so surprised. “The Risqué Theatre is a building of architectural and historical significance. I’ve been there lots of times.”

“With your uncle?”

The subject matter performed at the Risqué was on the racy side for her sweet, but whole-other-generation uncle. “Ah, no.”

“I know you didn’t go with Dr. Whiteside.” Ramón frowned. “I can’t imagine him stepping foot inside the place no matter how architecturally or historically significant it is. The Risquéisan erotic theater, Jules. I’ve seen performances there that made my hair curl.”

A feat in itself, given that as far as she could tell his perfectly coiffed hair looked as smooth as a pin. While Julienne had never attended any hair-curling performances herself, she’d seen some very provocative ones. “Well, um, I usually go by myself.”

Ramón relinquished his grip on her braid and motioned to his crew with a smug smile. “Jules, sweetheart, that man was the root of all your troubles. I am so happy you’ve finally broken free. Once we get you a new look, we’re going to have to work on getting you a new guy.”

Julienne had a new guy in mind, but she didn’t intend to share that with Ramón and company. Which was just as well since Ramón began conferring with his crew again in a rush of instructions that made her head spin.

They circled her. They freed her almost waist-length hair from its braid. They held swatches to her cheeks and discussed color choices. They generally consulted on her new look.

Ramón reassured her with a smile but Julienne mentally chanted her key phrases and breathed like she’d sprinted a quick mile by the time they’d arrived back at his station. He issued orders like a drill sergeant to an assistant, who opened tubes of haircolor and mixed various thick pastes in bowls.

“I’m going to do a little highlighting and lowlighting to frame your face.”

She wasn’t sure what lowlighting was, but she knew highlighting well enough to ask, “You’re not making me blond, are you?”

“Perish the thought.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re a natural auburn, Jules. Way too red to ever lift you through all the brass. And I don’t do brassy blondes, thank you. Think subtle strands of deeper and lighter red woven around your face. Think naturally enhancing this incredible color. Think everyone who sees you will ask what genius did your hair and you’ll give her one of my cards.” He winked and reached for a thin sheet of foil. “I’ll make sure Celeste sends you home with a stack.”

Julienne laughed, all nervousness about her hair fading away, but in its wake came an unsettling thought. “Ramón, does Ethan still get his hair cut here?”

“Mmm, hmm,” he replied around the long-tailed comb he currently clamped between pursed lips.

Julienne took that to mean yes. “You’d never… I mean, you wouldn’t repeat anything we discussed—”

He flipped the comb out of his mouth and speared it into her hair with a ruthlessness that made her wince. “I’m quieter than your confessor. Trust me. Just because I take the man’s money doesn’t mean I like him. It’s business, and he’s a good tipper, especially at Christmas. Did you know he books his next appointment before he even walks out the door?”

“Organization was always one of his strengths.”

“I’m all for a little chaos myself, but I’m glad he referred you to me. I’m tremendously fond of you, and Uncle Thad. I knew one day you’d come to your senses….”

Julienne wasn’t exactly sure dabbling in self-hypnosis and letting Ramón renovate her from the ground up could be classified as sensible, but she’d spent the past twenty-one days preparing to put her plan into action. Tonight was the big night, her debut as a woman daring, beautiful and confident enough to catch a hot-blooded man’s attention.

The Naughty Handbook called it starting off with a bang, jumping feetfirst into her future as a woman who enjoyed her sensuality and made no apologies for it. A healthy sexual appetite was a natural, healthy thing.

Naughty girls have the courage to explore their desires.

But no matter how often she chanted key phrases and practiced suggestibility techniques, Julienne knew she could never start off with a bang by flirting with a total stranger. Uncle Thad was a very noble gentleman from another era and Julienne had lived with him since she’d been barely six years old. He’d raised her to be a moral, upstanding, good girl, and while she appreciated his efforts in shaping the woman she’d become, she had some work to do putting good into perspective.

She’d flirt tonight, but within comfortable parameters. Nicholas Fairfax wasn’t a stranger. Not exactly. Though she’d never met the man, she’d read every article and treatise he’d ever written. She’d studied his work so much that she could identify his subtle, yet aggressive technique on any building at a glance. She knew his credentials as a nationally recognized expert in the historic preservation field, every board he’d ever served on—and he’d served on many—and every lecture he’d ever given.

But she hadn’t known a thing about his personal life until his appointment last year to the President’s Advisory Council, a federal agency that oversaw and advised on all national historic preservation matters.

His presidential appointment had placed him under the media’s scrutiny and she’d learned that the founder of the renowned Architectural Design Firm, one of the largest preservation organizations on the West Coast, was not only a brilliant and ambitious architect, but an incredibly virile man.

If she could believe one-tenth of what the papers reported, the man she’d revered for his architectural brilliance was a naughty boy personified. And lucky for her, this naughty boy had accepted the commission to renovate the Risqué Theatre and would arrive for the closing performance tonight.

To her knowledge—and Julienne believed herself very knowledgeable about Nicholas Fairfax’s work—he’d never renovated any buildings in Savannah, which meant his black book might not be all filled up when he got off the plane.

She wanted her phone number to be his first entry.

Julienne knew she’d never catch a naughty boy’s attention looking the way she did now. Not that there was anything wrong with her looks. She’d always been very grateful for her natural, easily maintained appearance. But she’d never exactly been a fashion plate. Once she and Uncle Thad had settled in Savannah, she’d led the life of a busy student and an academic. She’d always leaned toward the conservative and hadn’t had the impetus to change.

Until now.

She clung to that thought through the color and shampoo process, a facial, a manicure and pedicure.

But when the first strands of hair to hit the floor were well over a foot long, Julienne’s anticipation veered sharply toward worry. “You won’t make it too short, will you?”

“Of course not.” Ramón exhaled sharply with impatience, spinning her chair so she faced away from the mirrors. “Don’t wig on me now, Jules, because you’ll look ridiculous if I stop. I’m only layering your hair to put some shape around your face. You won’t miss what I take off, trust me.”

Relax, girl. He’s brilliant and you know it, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in his chair.

Julienne tried not to cringe as the next chunk of hair hit the floor with a wet plop. She closed her eyes to shut out the stimuli of the busy salon. After all, her one-length hair had never been as much a styling preference as it had been a necessity.

Working in the field with Uncle Thad had taken them to some pretty remote parts of the globe, where regularly scheduled haircuts hadn’t been available. More often than not, schools hadn’t been available and as a result, her uncle and his crew had tutored her until she’d entered college. She’d only worn her hair one length because the style had been easy to pull back into a presentable ponytail. A comfortable style and since Julienne was officially done with comfortable…

“What kind of product do you have at home?” Ramón asked.

“I buy whatever you tell me to buy.” Eager-to-please Julienne. But no more. Opening her eyes, she resisted the urge to turn her head and peek in the mirrors.

“Shampoo, finishing rinse and an ends’ conditioner. That’s not enough. You need gel, mousse and spray now that you have shape, sweetheart. Celeste,” he called out and the tolerant receptionist hurried through the salon to join them. “Put a care package together for Jules. Basic styling products. Oh, and throw in some of the hair glitter, too. Pearlescent.”

“Pearlescent hair glitter?” Julienne asked.

“New-new, remember?” Shooing Celeste off, he poured a glob of what she presumed to be styling gel into his palm. “If you’re inhabiting places like the Risqué, you’ll need hair glitter, trust me. Now tell me what you’re wearing tonight.”

“I figured I’d decide after I saw the new me.”

“Tell me about the choices.”

As Ramón styled, Julienne told him about her formal-length black sheath and green velvet taffeta.

“I don’t like those,” he yelled over the roar of the blow dryer, motioning her to lean forward and put her head between her legs while he flipped the—gratefully—still considerable mass of hair over her head. “What else do you have?”

“A caviar-beaded skirt set.”

“What color?”

“Black.”

He snorted. “I thought you said you’d attended performances at the Risqué before. Sounds like all you do is go to funerals.”

Julienne might have scowled if she’d stood a chance of being seen, but as she was buried beneath damp hair with the blood rushing to her head, she could only correct him. “Black is a classic color for formal functions, not the only color I own. I have a pale-pink sequined ball gown I wore to a New Year’s party, but I think it would be too much for tonight.”

The blow dryer abruptly cut off and suddenly the curtain of hair parted to reveal Ramón peering at her upside down.

“Can you make time to visit Leona’s Boutique next door? She’ll have something that won’t make you look like Cinderella on her way to the ball.”

Julienne nodded. Cinderella in a ball gown was not a look to start her off with a bang. The time had apparently come to expand her wardrobe.

Naughty girls dress the part.