A Wildly Seductive Night: (Seductive Nights: Julia & Clay Book 3.5) (2 page)

T
he camera panned
to Julia as she brought the crystal martini glass to her lips, taking a taste of the gin-based cocktail.

Then, she spat it out in a rather unglamorous spit bucket on the counter at her bar.

Not because it was bad.

Quite the opposite.

With a sweet and spicy flavor, the daring concoction tap-danced on her tongue like a celebration. This drink pushed the boundaries, and that was what she always looked for in a delicious cocktail as a judge on
The Best New Bartender in New York
, a reality TV show that had risen in the popularity ranks over the last few years.

As a regular judge, her job was to sample the drinks, but she certainly couldn’t consume them. If she did, she’d be tipsy all day long.

On the first season, one of the baby-faced newbie contestants had asked the judges how they managed to hold all that liquor. Her crusty old friend Byron, who served as a co-producer, had quipped, “I’m a well-seasoned alcoholic,” while Julia had simply told it like it was: “This is the rare case when I spit rather than swallow.”

That line had made it into the episode and had become a favorite with viewers, but also a classic running joke with her sex-on-a-stick husband. With Clay, of course she swallowed. He tasted better than even the best cocktail.

That was another one of their insider jokes. He was her favorite
cock-tale.

No one would see her spitting out the drink once the show was edited. Neither the producers, nor viewers, nor the mixologists vying for top prize wanted to see a judge appear
not
to like a drink. It was best to maintain the illusion.

But it was no illusion when Julia tapped the side of the glass with her cranberry red nail and delivered the verdict to the hot young bartender dressed in all black.

His name was JT, and he was empirically hot. Not so hot that she wanted to bang him, because she only wanted to bang one man. But JT, with his perennial stubble, lopsided grin, and chocolate brown eyes, was going to be a star.

He had the looks, he had the talent, and he also had the ego. A big, fat ego as wide and high as a Times Square billboard. Too bad he was the leading contender on the show this season, filmed in Speakeasy, the bar Julia co-owned in Manhattan.

But though she wasn’t wild about his personality, she had to judge fairly, and he was a genius at mixing. “You, sir, are a mad scientist of cocktailian proportions. This Gin Fiesta is indeed a fiesta, and I do believe the proper term to describe it is heaven in a glass,” she declared.

JT pumped his fist. “Rocked it!”

Julia held in the urge to roll her eyes. “You certainly did.”

The man then clapped for himself. “I’ve always dreamed of making the best cocktail in New York.”

Byron cleared his throat, scrubbed a hand across his silvery beard, and cut in. “Now, settle down, soldier. I don’t think our Julia said your drink was the best in the whole city,” he pointed out.

This was Byron’s role on the show. He was the instigator. The prickly one. The man who poked and prodded. Each of the three judges—Julia, Byron, and Crazy Lucy—had their roles, and Julia, as the owner of the bar where the show was shot, played the fun and friendly judge.

That was what she preferred anyway, even with cocky bastards like JT. She liked to encourage the young bartenders to be the best they could be.

Until JT said the next thing.

“I’d like to see who can beat this drink.” JT’s tone surged with brazenness as he gestured at his creation. “Maybe we can have a little friendly competition and see if Miss Purple Snow Globe thinks she has another one in her?”

“Whoa!” Crazy Lucy said, holding up her hands.

Julia’s brows rose. The nerve of the little bastard. Sure, she understood the cameras were rolling and they were making entertainment. But challenging a judge had never been part of the plan.

“You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” she countered, hoping to deflect.

Crazy Lucy, a tattooed bartender from Tribeca who worked the sexy hipster vibe, turned to her at the bar. Crazy Lucy was the wild-card judge. You never knew what she’d do. “You can do it, Julia. You can take anyone on.”

JT pointed to his chest. “But can she take me on? Can she take on the Gin Fiesta? I wouldn’t bet on it,” he drawled.

Bet
.

That word was like a thrown gauntlet.

It pissed her off, but it also sparked all her competitive instincts. Julia Nichols, a former card shark who’d gambled her way out of debt from a mobster and then had packed her bags and flown to New York City to join the love of her life, was not a woman who backed down from a challenge or a bet.

“I’ll see your Gin Fiesta, and I’ll raise you one better than the Purple Snow Globe. In fact, how about we put this to the test at the end of next week?”

JT’s jaw dropped, looking thoroughly shocked she’d taken on his dare. She grinned at him, and the other judges cheered while the director, behind the cameramen, punched the air.

When they finished shooting the day’s scenes, she tugged at Byron’s plaid shirt. “Did you plan that?”

He shrugged impishly.

“You did.” She shot Byron a knowing stare. “You told JT to challenge me, right?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“It’s better theater with you surprised,” he said, dropping a hand to her shoulder. “Besides, I know you can represent the old guard. You go show that whippersnapper who makes the best drinks in Manhattan.”

A grin tugged at her lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere. But did you just say whippersnapper for real?”

He nodded, his gray eyes glinting. “I sure did, and it felt damn good. And listen, this is going to make for great ratings.”

Julia inhaled deeply and nodded. This was going to be a fine storyline, indeed. JT didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Julia was fearless.

A
s Clay landed
a punishing right hook on the punching bag, he couldn’t help but think Tyler was taking too big a chance.

He slammed a left next, breathing out hard, then delivered a final combination as he finished his workout alongside his cousin in their boxing gym.

With his breath coming fast, he headed for the nearby water fountain, creaky from years of use, and downed a gulp of cold water. The gym was old and weatherworn from years of use, just the way Clay liked it. He had no need for fancy gyms or equipment when a good hard run and an even harder round of punches and footwork kept him in fighting shape.

As he straightened, he wiped a hand across his mouth. He met Tyler’s gaze and returned to the topic they’d been debating all day. “You sure you want to go after this?”

Tyler nodded, his brown eyes resolute, his gaze certain.

Tyler was bold and confident, and that was why he made a damn good sparring partner and a fine junior partner at the law firm.

Clay shook his head and leaned against the concrete wall. “Man, you don’t make things easy on me.”

Tyler grinned, gripping both ends of the towel around his neck. “Not my job to make it easy.”

“But it’d be nice every now and then if you did,” Clay said, clapping him on the arm.

“If you wanted easy, you wouldn’t have hired me,” Tyler said, all that bravado rising up once more.

The man was still in his late twenties, brash and full of confidence. Clay was certainly confident, too, but with nearly a decade on Tyler, Clay was wiser. He knew some deals you just didn’t want to touch. Pursuing a thorny opportunity like the one Tyler coveted—trying to lure the creator of the hit cable show
Powder,
a mega-popular high-stakes drama, to another network—was not going to be easy. That road was fraught with potholes, and Tyler ran the risk of failing and failing big. The network that carried the show had its claws in it, not to mention the fact that the contract was stuffed with odd provisions. But Tyler had made a pitch. He had a plan. He’d outlined a strategy to reel in the big fish.

“You sure you don’t want to look elsewhere to find a new client?”

Tyler shook his head and ran a hand through his thick brown hair, sweaty from their workout. “This is the kind of deal that made me want to get into this business. Something to sink my teeth into,” he said, miming taking a big juicy bite.

Clay laughed. “You’re a fearless bastard.”

“That’s why you named the firm Nichols & Nichols.”

Clay held up a finger, his expression turning serious. “Hey now. We might share the same last name, but don’t ever forget the Nichols before the ampersand belongs to me.”

Tyler chuckled, a deep and hearty laugh that underscored the man’s smile-and-take-no-prisoners attitude. “That’s why you’ll be there for me if things get dicey.”

“If you think I’m going to bail you out of trouble, you are sorely mistaken,” Clay said as they headed to the locker room. But the truth was, he would be there for Tyler. Clay’s job wasn’t just to run the firm; it was to make sure everyone who worked with him could operate at the top of the game. Tyler possessed a stellar track record. His client list was damn impressive, and he’d just nailed a stunning new deal for one of the firm’s top clients, Nick Hammer, creator of the popular dirty cartoon
The Adventures of Mister Orgasm.

What Tyler had in mind for
Powder
was the kind of risk that would make hedge-fund managers quake. But that was what Tyler did well—stare down cliffs, jump from airplanes, bet big.

Clay didn’t always see eye to eye with his cousin. “Listen,” he said, “I’m not saying I agree. I’m not saying we should pursue this client. What I’m saying is I will help you figure it out. So let’s go to this dinner and get the lay of the land.”

Tyler flashed him a smile and they knocked fists. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

* * *

A
fter the shower
, Clay suited up, knotted his tie, and texted his wife that he’d be home late tonight. Past bedtime.

T
hen he fired
off one more note. This one wasn’t of the naughty nature.

T
he thought
of not seeing his little girl tonight tugged at his heart, but he’d make sure to find time for her tomorrow.

“
A
nd then he
had the nerve to challenge me.” Julia pointed to her chest, still shocked at JT’s antics today. “Me. The audacity.”

“What does auda . . . whatever that word is . . . what does that mean, Mommy?” Carly craned her neck, looking up at Julia with her wide hazel eyes as they walked hand in hand along Jane Street that evening.

“It means boldness, love,” Julia said, as Ace tugged at the leash. “Heel, Ace,” Julia said to the dog, and the border collie mix fell back in step, right next to her.

Ace was full of pep and energy and needed several walks a day. Clay ran with him in the mornings, and Julia walked him each day, too. She and Carly were exercising him on their way to pick up dinner, as Julia related the basic details. While her daughter was only six and entering kindergarten when summer ended, Julia liked to share as much as was appropriate, and Carly loved tales of life on-set.

“But you can win. You’re tough.” She patted Julia’s lower back. “Don’t let him think he can beat my mom.”

Julia grinned. “No way will I let him win. You have my word.”

Julia Nichols wasn’t a one-trick pony, like JT had tried to suggest with his snide “Miss Purple Snow Globe” comment. Sure, she’d created a wildly successful cocktail that still sold well in stores and supermarkets, but she’d knocked out a few more concoctions since then, too. She had no reason to think she couldn’t do it again, and then she’d show him that he’d taken on the wrong bartender.

She’d served as a judge on
The Best New Bartender in New York
since the show’s inception five years ago. Byron had emailed her late one night, his note arriving when Carly was having trouble sleeping as a baby. Julia had nursed her, but Carly was fussy, so Clay had been rocking her back to sleep. There, in the dark of their West Village home, sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed, she’d read Clay the email, and they’d tossed out names of cocktails into the wee hours.

What started as a fun little game had surprisingly turned into a real thing. Clay, with his experience and contacts in the entertainment business, had inked the deal for her. The show became a fast and steady hit on one of the premiere cable networks.

The best part? The hours. Julia only needed to be on camera a few times a week when the show was being shot, so it didn’t interfere with her work running Speakeasy or, more importantly, taking care of her girl. Julia’s various gigs made it possible for her to spend time with her daughter, to take her to pre-school and pick her up and soon to kindergarten, to bring her to the park and play, and take her to gymnastics classes and camp, since Carly was wildly energetic, like a border collie in little girl form.

“What are you going to do, Mom? Are you going to come up with the best recipe ever?”

“You know,” she said, as they strolled and Ace sniffed at stoops, “I think I am.”

Carly clasped her hands together, batting her big eyes innocently. “Can I help? Pretty please?”

Julia laughed and shook her head as they came to a stop at the corner, Ace plopping down on his bottom in a sit as they waited for the light to change.

“You know well and good that you may not help me make drinks, Miss Mischievous. What I do for a living is not something for young kids to play with.”

“Can we make cookies then?”

“I can’t think of a thing I’d rather do than bake cookies tonight with my little pumpkin pie,” she said, since cookies were most definitely a recipe they could partake in together in the kitchen.

They stopped by the Thai restaurant near their home, and Carly popped in, picking up the takeout order as Julia waited outside with the dog. When they returned to their home, they enjoyed a fine meal of pad thai and noodles on the balcony overlooking the Village.

As they finished, Ace’s furry black and white ears pricked, following a noise that sounded like a faint meow. Julia peered in the direction of her neighbor’s balcony and spotted a tiger cat.

She stroked Ace’s head. “Nothing to worry about, Ace. That’s just your cat friend, Fido.”

Carly popped up from her chair, looking around for the cat. “Mom, do Spencer and Charlotte know their cat is on the balcony? We should tell them. Want me to go tell them?”

Julia shook her head and pointed. “Fido has his harness on. See?”

Carly stared at the cat on the brick balcony. A long leash was attached to his harness, and the leash was likely tied to a table leg inside their home. Their neighbors, a newly married couple, liked to let their cat enjoy some evenings outside, albeit safe and sound, thanks to the leash.

Julia took her daughter’s hand, headed inside, and closed the balcony door. In the kitchen, the two of them proceeded to whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

“These are the best in Manhattan,” Julia declared and Carly agreed, her “yes” chased by a long, hearty yawn.

“Time for bed, Miss Mischievous.”

* * *

A
little later
, when Carly was asleep, Julia riffled through the cupboards for her best top-shelf liquor.

With a bottle of tequila, some of her favorite gin, and a fantastic vodka as her options, she set to work on her own potions. She might be a bar owner, and she might be a TV show judge, but at her core she was a drink maker, and she knew how to mix with the best of them.

She sampled a few combinations, took some notes, and made a list of what she needed to work on tomorrow. With Carly safe in bed, Julia took Ace outside the front door for one last pee break, then returned to their home, where the dog trotted into Carly’s room and curled up next to her. Julia headed up the stairs to the bedroom on the loft level, rinsed off the day in a hot, steamy shower, and slipped under the covers. Tiredness threaded through her, and she checked her phone, finding a note from Clay, letting her know that his business dinner was still going on.

C
lay
: Still thinking about my tongue between your legs.

S
he smiled
, his note turning her on, as notes from her husband always did.

J
ulia
:
Do more than think about it when you get home. Do everything possible to wake me up, even if it means going down on me while I’m asleep. I do like to wake up to you eating me.

T
hat should get
him home sooner. As tired as she was, she was always up for an orgasm or two. Make that three, with her husband.

A hot shiver ran through her as she drifted off to thoughts of him touching her.