Halston

6 Months Later…

“Hi, welcome to Absinthe Rare and Used!” The greeter we’ve hired for the grand opening of Ford’s new bookshop welcomes a couple of hipster types who wandered in from the street. “Help yourself to a complimentary absinthe cocktail at the bar, and feel free to take a look around.”

The sensation of warm hands on my sides and soft lips against my cheek bring a smile to my face.

“Hey, babe.” I turn to face Ford, cupping his cheek in my hand. Tonight’s his big night, the culmination of a brainchild we dreamed up one lust-and-booze-fueled night in Belfast several months ago. “How are you doing? You doing okay?”

He chuckles through his nose. “I’m on fucking cloud nine.”

“Perfect.” I run my fingers through his soft, dark hair, loving that he kept it on the longer side. It suits him better, I think. He’s so buttoned up and in control in every other aspect of his life, so the casual hair is a sexy contrast. “Your sister took Arlo back to the apartment since it was getting so late.”

“I saw them on their way out,” he says. “Did you try one of those cocktails? With the sugar cube and the flame?”

Lifting my martini glass, I nod. “Delicious. Want to try?”

“Ford Hawthorne?” A silver-haired man in jeans and a blazer interrupts us.

“Yes,” he says.

“Jake Fairweather.” He extends his hand. “I work for the San Francisco Register. Not sure if you’re aware, but we’re the biggest newspaper in the area. Anyway, we have a section devoted to local businesses, and we’d love to feature you.”

“That would be amazing,” Ford says, offering his hand. “We’d love that.”

“Very impressed with this place,” he says, peering around the room and soaking in the scene. “I’ll have my assistant give you a call next week.”

When we first started planning, we wanted it to feel more like a cozy study or library than a bookstore. From the hand-scraped, reclaimed floors to the vintage-inspired custom bookcases and leather seating arrangements to the cedar and mahogany scent we pipe through the air system and the golden age jazz music piping through an old phonograph, everything is intentional and planned out with excruciating attention to detail. Our goal was to make Absinthe Rare and Used feel otherworldly, like taking a step back in time, to an era before Stephen King and Danielle Steele, before Jack Reacher and Game of Thrones.

“Oh, one of my clients just got here. I should go say hello.” I lift on my toes, kissing Ford’s cheek before scampering away.

Ford is a gracious host, and throughout the night I watch him from across the room. For a man who hates small talk, he certainly knows how to make it seem tranquil and effortless. Moving around the room, he ensures there’s a drink in every hand as he welcomes his visitors personally, and I smirk when I overhear him recommending Rebecca to a couple of elderly ladies who are “looking for a good edge-of-your-seat thriller.”

When the last of the visitors leave, we send the hired hostess home and turn out the vintage green lighted sign out front.

The store is dark, save for a few Tiffany lamps.

“We did it,” I say, strutting toward him and placing my empty martini glass on a nearby table. Tomorrow we’ll get this place back in order. Tonight I don’t have the energy.

“Yes, we did.” He reaches for me, bringing me into his arms, his nose grazing mine before he claims my lips with an impatient kiss. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“I’ve been wanting you to do that to me all night,” I say. “I’m not used to having to keep my hands off you for such a long period of time.”

“How do you think it went?” he asks.

“Compared to several of my other grand openings?” I think back to the last handful of events Lila and I have organized. “Exactly as planned. If not better.”

My feet ache from dashing around in heels all evening and my eyes feel like paperweights. All I want to do is go home with my boyfriend, curl into bed, and close my eyes for a hundred-year nap, but when he gives me that look … the one with the wicked glint and hungry smile, I find myself curiously awake all of a sudden.

Ford runs his greedy hands down my sides, curving around to my ass before scooping me up and depositing me on the glass counter near the register. Spreading my knees apart, he slides a hand up my skirt, and I bury my smile in his neck, waiting for his reaction.

A moment later, he moans. “Where are your panties, Halston?”

“I ditched them a little bit ago.”

His other hand cradles my chin, pulling my mouth to his once more. “You dirty, dirty girl.”

“One step ahead of you, Hawthorne,” I say as his fingers separate my folds and plunge inside me. “I know this isn’t technically a library, and there’s no librarian to catch us, but I think we could still make use of that F-K section over there, don’t you think?”

Ford’s mouth curls against mine before taking my bottom lip between his teeth. “I like the way you think, Absinthe.”

Helping me down, he leads me to a dark corner of the shop, away from the store front, somewhere between Fitzgerald and Kafka, and he places my hands on a shelf, spreading my legs apart before gathering the hem of my skirt in his hands.

Tugging the fabric higher, his hand squeezes my ass before sliding lower, teasing my clit.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he says, exhaling and pressing the outline of his engorged cock against the back of my thigh as his fingers explore my depths.

A moment later, a metallic zip is followed by the sensation of smooth, warm flesh pressing against my seam. My legs tremble, weak with anticipation, and the second he slides his length inside me, as deep as it can go, my body is his all over again.

“I love you, baby,” I breathe, placing one hand over his. He kisses the back of my neck before nipping the sensitive spot between his teeth.

“I love you more.”

Ford’s hands control my hips, bringing my body against his with each thrust as we christen Absinthe Rare and Used.

This store is ours.

This life is ours.

This love is ours.