If the Sun Never Sets (If Love)

Farrah’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she strode toward the elevator bank in Blake’s building. The contractors finished the floors and tiling last week, and she’d hired a company to move the items from the storage unit into the apartment so she could start her favorite part of the design process: arranging the furniture and decor and bringing her vision to life.

The elevator dinged on the twenty-seventh floor. Earlier that day, she’d overseen the assembly and arranging of the large furniture items—the sofa, the bed, the dining table—before she ducked out for a quick dinner, but she wanted to double-check everything before she wrapped up today so she could jump right into work tomorrow.

Farrah fished the spare key Blake had given her to use for the duration of the project out of her purse and let herself in. The apartment smelled of new furniture and lemon-scented wood polish.

Blake had decamped to a nearby hotel while he waited for the project to finish, so Farrah hadn’t seen him at all during her comings and goings.

She brushed away the niggle of disappointment in her stomach and focused on the task at hand.

She was so engrossed in examining the furniture she didn’t hear Blake’s bedroom door open.

“It’s looking good.”

Farrah screamed and spun around while picking up the nearest item that could double as a weapon—a white ceramic vase with navy blue coral design, to be exact. Her heart slammed against her sternum as panic crashed over her in waves.

Three years of living in New York and she had yet to be mugged or accosted in any way—unless you count the aggressive elbowing of irate New Yorkers on the subway during rush hour—but Farrah wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

“Whoa. Don’t shoot.” The person held up their hands, and the fog of adrenaline cleared enough for Farrah to notice the familiar head of blond hair and knife-sharp cheekbones.

She lowered the vase, waiting for her pulse to return to normal before she hissed, “Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

Farrah caught a shadow of Blake’s dimples before they disappeared. “It’s my apartment.”

“I thought you were staying in a hotel.”

“I am. I came to pick up more clothes.” Blake gestured at the black duffel bag sitting at his feet. “Turns out, I’m not a great packer.”

“Blake Ryan admitting he’s not great at something? That’s a first.”

“I have more than enough redeeming qualities to make up for such a minor fault.”

Her mouth tilted up into a smile.

Then she remembered what happened between them the last time they saw each other, and the smile disappeared.

Blake watched her with guarded eyes. “The apartment does look good. I wish Mode de Vie had panned out so the world could see it.”

Farrah swallowed the lump of disappointment in her throat. Blake called and broke the news a few days ago. Their first conversation since Syracuse, and a short one at that. As much as she’d freaked out about what might happen after being mentioned in a platform as large and influential as Mode de Vie, she hated seeing the opportunity slip between her fingers, especially since she had yet to receive a single callback for an interview.

Hundreds of job applications and not one follow-up, not even from the small design firms. Farrah even checked to make sure her emails were sending correctly. It didn’t make sense. New York was a tough job market, but she had a stellar resume. She should’ve at least received a phone screen.

The earnings from Blake’s project would tide her over for a while, but if she didn’t find stable employment soon, she’d be saying goodbye to the Big Apple and hello to L.A. smog in less than a year.

“Thanks.” Farrah shoved her rising panic into her Deal-With-It-Later drawer. “It’s not done yet. Give it another week. I just came by to double-check everything before I leave for the night.”

“You don’t have to rush now that the magazine scrapped the shoot.”

“I’m not. Timeline worked out that way.”

Silence descended. Farrah rubbed her thumb over her pendant, seeking comfort in its cool familiarity. Sammy’s words echoed in her mind.

The next time you see him, ask him about the night you lost your necklace.

She could. The curiosity burned her from the inside out, and it wasn’t like things could get any more awkward between her and Blake. At the same time, she was terrified of the answer. Whatever it was, it was bound to tilt her world off its axis, and she’d had enough changes in her life these past few months, thank you.

Like they said, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.

“We should talk about what happened in Syracuse.” Blake stepped closer.

Run, her sensible self warned, but something glued her feet in place.

Running wouldn’t do her any good, anyway. Blake was a black hole, a raw force so powerful he could suck her in whether she was four feet or four worlds away.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Farrah focused on Blake’s jaw instead of his intense eyes. It was strong and square, covered by a light layer of stubble that made him look even more like a Calvin Klein model than usual.

It should be illegal for guys to keep their good looks after they break a girl’s heart.

If the universe were just, it would dish out one major physical flaw per heartbreak for the offender, like a giant, oozing wart on the forehead or something. The flaw would serve as both a punishment and a warning.

Sadly, the universe was not just, which explained how Farrah ended up in her current predicament.

“I disagree,” Blake said smoothly.

“Too bad.”

His lips quirked up in a smile and sent the butterflies in her stomach in a tizzy.

Butterflies, Farrah decided, are the Benedict Arnolds of the animal kingdom.

“I have a proposition for you. Well—” He paused. “More like a response to your proposition.”

“I didn’t proposition you.”

“You kissed the hell out of me and begged for more. I’m pretty sure that’s a proposition.”

Farrah’s cheeks flamed hotter than a bag of Hot Cheetos. “I’m done with this conversation,” she declared with as much dignity as she could muster, given how damp her panties got at the mental image Blake’s words elicited.

She turned to leave but didn’t make it two steps before Blake was behind her, his scent filling her nostrils and his breath brushing her ear. “Is the offer still on the table?” His voice threaded itself around her like a long, sensuous ribbon.

Goosebumps peppered her skin, and Farrah clenched her thighs to ease the hot throb of arousal.

Blake didn’t touch her, but she could feel him all around her. His touch on her skin, his taste on her lips, his muscles rippling beneath her hands as he thrust himself into her. Fantasies so vivid they blurred the line between dream and reality.

She fought back a moan. “Yes.”

They both knew she knew what offer he was talking about. It would’ve been disingenuous to pretend otherwise.

The word barely left her mouth before Blake spun her around and his lips crashed against hers. Farrah reacted instinctively. She locked her arms around his neck and pressed herself flush against him. Her soft curves slid into the hard, lean lines of Blake’s body as easily as pieces in a puzzle. It was as if they were made for each other.

A part of Farrah wondered if she was making the right choice. Another, much larger part didn’t care, because she couldn’t stand it anymore. The knot of frustration inside her, waiting to burst; the tension that threaded her to him, ensuring he was on her mind even if he wasn’t in her presence; the promise of the things he could do to her. Her body responded to Blake in a way it never had for anyone else, and Farrah was sick of denying herself the pleasure of being back in his arms.

It’s just sex.

Blake grasped the backs of her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist, never taking his mouth off hers as he navigated them toward the bedroom. Farrah would’ve been impressed by his deft multitasking, except her mind had gone hazy and she couldn’t focus on anything except the throbbing in her core and the scrape of her hard nipples against her bra.

God, it really had been too long since she’d had sex. Farrah could hardly remember the times when she couldn’t orgasm with a guy, not even Blake, because she was this close to combusting, and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off.

“Wait,” she gasped right before Blake lowered her on the bed. “No sheets.”

The contractors assembled the bed this morning, but Farrah hadn’t had time to dress it up yet.

“Fuck the sheets.” Blake nipped at her neck, swirling his tongue over her needy flesh. This time, a moan did escape her mouth. “We’ll deal with it later.”

Farrah was tempted, but… “This is a $10,000 Hastens mattress.”

“$10,000?” His shock rippled down his spine. “That’s obscene.”

“You signed off on it.” She’d presented him with a detailed list of her suggested furnishings for the apartment, with their prices, before she ordered anything.

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Blake’s fingers skimmed the edge of her panties, which were already drenched with arousal. “But I don’t want to talk about furniture right now.”

Farrah muffled her laugh against his skin. “Bathroom,” she ordered. She may be so turned on she couldn’t breathe right, but she wasn’t so crazy she’d ruin a brand-new Hastens.

She didn’t have to ask twice.

Blake picked her up again and carried her into the bathroom, his fingers tugging impatiently at the zipper of her dress as he did so. He waited until the black silk pooled on the floor before he set her on the counter and shed himself of his shirt and jeans.

Farrah sucked in a sharp inhale. God, he was beautiful. No matter how many times she saw him, she couldn’t get over it. Broad shoulders tapering down to a flat stomach and narrow waist, lean hips, long powerful legs, and sleek muscles encased in golden skin, not to mention the thick bulge behind his black Calvin Klein briefs. Michelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted a more perfect piece of art.

A lazy smile crossed Blake’s face as he drank in her unabashed appreciation. “Like what you see?” he drawled. Confidence seeped from every pore, mixing with raw sensuality and potent masculinity to create an irresistible cocktail that Farrah lapped up like a kitten with cream.

“Very much.” She ran her hand over his chest, reveling in his warm strength. She could feel the erratic rhythm of his heart beneath her fingertips. “But I’d like it better if you took those briefs off.”

There’d been a time when saying such a thing out loud would’ve mortified her, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and she wanted Blake.

Blake chuckled. “Soon. But first, I want to feast.”

He unclasped her bra and tossed it to the side without so much as a glance. He palmed her breast and rubbed his thumb over her nipple, sending a jolt of heat through her belly. He lowered his head to her other nipple, sucking and licking and blowing cool air on the warm, sensitive skin.

Farrah arched into him, wrapping her legs around his waist once more and drawing him closer until his erection rested against her most sensitive flesh. She braced herself on the counter and ground against Blake with abandon, desperate for the one thing only he could give her, while he devoured her breasts. Her body was a live wire, dancing with a thousand nerve endings on the verge of exploding.

Blake kissed his way down her stomach and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. Her legs quivered in anticipation, but there was one thing Farrah needed to clarify before she lost her senses altogether.

“Blake.” His name came out as a breathy whisper.

He looked up at her, his eyes glittering with lust.

“This is just sex.” Farrah needed him to understand that. This was their one night. Nothing more, nothing less.

Another emotion swirled behind those sapphire blues, but when she blinked, it was gone.

“I know.”

Then Blake yanked her panties down her legs, dipped his head, and proceeded to make her lose her goddamned mind.