CHAPTER SEVEN.

New York City, afternoon . . .

Casey ran her thumb over the LolaRing, absently flicking it on as she chatted in her office with one of her top executives, Nelle O'Connor.

The miniature vibrator buzzed against her thumb as Nelle shared the updates on the various partnerships Joy Delivered had struck in the last year-a deal with a high-class boutique in Stockholm, a partnership with a leading department store in Paris-courtesy of Jack's new European contacts-and even a pair-up with an upscale pharmacy called Sofia's in London that Casey had a meeting with in two weeks. Sofia's was a first in England-not many high-end pharmacies carried pleasure toys, but Sofia's took a chance, adding a few Joy Delivered products to its shelves, and the partnership had been a runaway success. Those retail outlets had also been carrying The Wild One, a twelve-speed vibrator introduced two years ago that had won legions of fans.

Next up was the LolaRing.

"Did you and Abbot hammer out any of the positioning details last week?" the no-nonsense Nelle asked, and Casey nearly dropped the toy in surprise from the unintended double meaning.

"Not in great detail, but we'll be doing that once he returns from Vietnam and Hong Kong," she said, and was tempted to add among other things.

Well, she was getting ahead of herself thinking of other things. They'd need to start with dinner, with more getting-to-know-you before they got to other things. She certainly hoped they had a good time at dinner. And that he was a good guy too. And, of course, that he treated her well. Would it be too much to also want him to be well hung?

Like Nate.

Who knew he'd been packing that kind of heat all along? She was a lucky lady to be able to turn to a man like him for her bedroom makeover project. Because that man did not have a textbook dick. His dick was so beautiful it needed a nickname. Like JackHammer. Or Plow Me Now. Or Mouthwateringly Delicious. Or Long, Tall Piece of Man Candy.

Actually, those sounded more like marketing slogans that other sex toy makers might use, like her friends at Good Vibes. She loved that company and was in regular contact with the top execs, but they approached the market differently. Joy Delivered tried to operate at a cut above, but Nate had her stooping to all sorts of low levels. Like on her knees. Or maybe on her hands and knees next.

Okay, time for her wandering mind to get out of its down and dirty gutter, and focus on catching up with her top employee on Monday afternoon.

Nelle peered at Casey over the top of her fuchsia glasses. They were camped out on the purple couch in Casey's office, the one she'd chosen for her brother when he was CEO, then reclaimed when he left for Paris.

"I've got some ideas I'd like to share with you for how to promote the partnership. Perhaps they'll come in handy as we prep. Contracts told me the paperwork has already been sent over, so we might as well get moving," Nelle said. The woman was both efficient and creative. Those twin qualities rarely resided in one body, but they did in Nelle, who'd been overseeing the rollout plans for the LolaRing.

The new toy had received through-the-roof reviews from The Happiest Ladies in the World, the product-testing group at the company. The toy marked an evolution in one of Joy Delivered's most popular vibrators, the Lola, that simulated oral sex. It was an amazing device, and truly felt like the world's most talented tongue. The LolaRing was a two-person toy, because it paired the Lola with a cock ring. Being man-free for the last year, Casey hadn't been able to take the LolaRing for a test drive herself, but the Happiest Ladies had said in their product write-ups that it was "like being licked and fucked" at the same time. "Translation: Heaven, Absolute Heaven," one of them had written.

Casey was jealous as hell when she'd read those reviews.

She tried to picture a man like Grant wanting to use this toy with her, but the image didn't compute, and she wasn't entirely sure why. She couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe because she was putting the cart before the horse to think of him that way. She didn't know if they were physically compatible, or emotionally compatible, for that matter. She didn't even know how he kissed. And here she was, trying to change her ways for him.

Was she crazy? Foolish? Or just plain stupid?

But, she reasoned, even if Grant Abbot was a bust, she needed to try a different approach with the opposite sex in general. Her romantic life had been sorely in need of a shake-up. And that's what she was giving it. These lessons with Nate would be useful whether she and Grant were a match, or she and the next guy.

Right? Right.

Funny how giving up control with Nate wasn't as hard as she'd expected, but maybe that was because he knew her inside and out. She trusted him completely. Grant was a step up from a stranger. And that was all the more reason to keep up the lessons. She needed to be thoroughly schooled in how to let go.

A hand waved broadly in her face. "Earth to Casey."

She snapped her attention back to Nelle, with her piercing dark eyes and straight black hair. "Sorry," she said.

"You went in space cadet mode there," Nelle said with a smirk. "Worn out from New Orleans?"

Worn out from great . . . almost sex. "Yes. Sorry. It was just such a quick trip. One night-turnaround and all," she said, even though that was no excuse. She'd been back in New York for two full days now. She wasn't known for zoning out during a one-on-one meeting with her right-hand woman. She pushed all men from her mind.

When they finished the meeting, Nelle headed out, stopping briefly in the doorway. She rapped her knuckles on the wood. "Knock, knock."

Casey rolled her eyes, but happily replied with "Who's there?" This was the side of Nelle that wasn't no-nonsense. Her knock-knock side.

"Ben Hur," Nelle replied, deadpan style.

"Ben Hur who?" Casey asked as she sank down into her desk chair.

"Ben Hur over the table," Nelle said, then doffed an imaginary top hat and bowed deeply before leaving on a trail of Casey's amusement.

Later that afternoon, Casey plowed through her emails, pleased to find a note from Grant.

"Glad to see everything is moving along smoothly with our deal. I'm taking off for Asia this evening, so let me simply say I hope the next month flies by."

She grinned and the teeniest spark tried to light up in her chest at the thought of Grant. She concentrated on that small flame, tried to will it to flare, but it quickly died out. There'd be time for flames though, for roaring fires and burning heat. These were the first tentative steps. Clicking through her inbox, she stopped at a message from her brother that had arrived a few minutes ago, which was after midnight, his time. He'd always been a night owl, but he and Michelle had taken to the Paris lifestyle, dining out at 10 p.m. on most nights. They'd probably just returned from dinner.

Michelle is calling you about your dress. Whatever she says, YOU LIKE IT.

Casey tapped out a quick reply. But I DO like it!

Moments later, her phone rang from the France country code.

"Hi Michelle," Casey said, as she swiveled around in her chair, giving herself a better view of her favorite office scenery-a replica of a Roy Lichtenstein painting, a comic book style rendering of a couple kissing. She had another one from the series at her home.

"How did you know it was me, and not Jack?" Michelle asked curiously.

"He just emailed and told me you were calling. He also told me to tell you no matter what that I like the dress. But I LOVE the bridesmaid dress, so I don't have to fake it. And you should tell him he doesn't have to say those things."

"Jack," Michelle shouted. "You're in so much trouble."

She heard him respond with, "The good kind of trouble?"

Michelle laughed, then returned to the call. "Anyway, does it fit? I'm sorry it took so long to get it to you, but I wanted to find a perfect dress for an island wedding."

Casey scoffed. Loudly. Pointedly. "Island wedding? That's what you call a wedding in Hawaii. Or the Caribbean. Your wedding is a paradise wedding. That's what you call a wedding in the Maldives."

She swore she could hear Michelle smiling through the phone. "Well, can't wait to see you in paradise then, in three weeks."

"Me too. Can you put Jack on?"

There was a rustling sound from Michelle handing the phone to Jack, then his voice. "Thanks for getting me in trouble."

"You do it to yourself, Jack Sullivan. Whenever are you going to learn that the women in your life can see straight through you?"

"Never. Probably never."

They chatted more, and she caught him up to speed on the latest news with Joy Delivered, then he told her about some projects he was working on. He'd become a strategy consultant for many European companies, advising them on the U.S. market. He'd started in related businesses to Joy Delivered, but had now expanded, and even had begun working with some investors who specialized in high-end goods, from diamonds to vintage cars to art.

"You're so fancy now," she teased.

"That's me."

She told him she'd see him soon in the Maldives, and said goodbye.

Soon in the Maldives.

The words slammed her in the chest, like a linebacker knocking out the opponent's air, as she connected all the dots that were in front of her.

The wedding was taking place on the property of one of Nate's hotels in the Maldives. He was the best man, and his wedding gift had been to arrange for a discounted block of rooms for the guests, friends and family. She'd be at her brother's wedding, standing beside the bride and groom with the man whose hands and mouth and tongue had been exploring her. The man who was teaching her how to let go. How to give in. How to bend.

She waved her hand in front of her face, like a fan. Hell, just the thought of him was turning her on. Grabbing her phone, she began to dial his number to find out when their next lesson was. But before she hit the final digit, a neon sign flashed through her brain, blaring: Let me pursue you.

She had to do the same with Nate.

Letting him lead this unconventional arrangement was part of her much-needed romantic transformation from intimidating to demure.

She set down her phone and focused on work, eagerly diving into her projects. Because here, in the office, overseeing this company she'd loved and founded, she was allowed to be her true self-to pick and choose, to decide, to direct.

Even so, as she stayed late, burning the midnight oil, she couldn't deny that inside she was squirming, hoping he'd reach out soon. When she packed up to go, she stopped to consider the painting on her wall, a favorite of hers. She'd studied business in school, but had minored in art history.

She ran her fingertips lightly over the illustrated lips, then touched her own lips, as she closed her eyes, remembering how Nate had kissed her. Like a field course in kissing. The kind of kisses scientists would study for years in an attempt to dissect all the elements of a perfect kiss. Sultry, possessive, as if he were claiming both sides of her-the side that wanted a tender, lingering touch and the side that wanted it rough and hard.

"He's the perfect dog. The girls love him and he's so obedient," Kat said as she leashed up the Dachshund, who'd immediately burrowed into his sister's arms when Nate dropped him off Saturday after the flight, and now, two days later, had clearly made himself at home with his new family.

"He's a chick magnet already," Nate quipped and Kat flashed him a smile as they walked down the steps of her brownstone on Park Avenue.

"I already picked a name for him," she said as they reached the sidewalk.

"You didn't let Chloe and Cara name him?"

His sister shot him a stern look. "They're one, Nate. I'm not giving them naming rights to the first dog."

"Fair enough. What's his name?"

"Indiana Jones," she said, as if it were an obvious choice. But then, it dawned on him what she'd done and why. "Because it was your favorite movie growing up. Remember we went to see it when you won the election for class president in eighth grade?"

Nate nodded, the memories flashing by of their childhood, summer days at the shore, dinners together every evening, movie nights to celebrate special occasions. His home had been happy, his parents had been in love and still were, and they'd worked together in a tourist shop they continued to run in his hometown of Mystic, Connecticut. His mind flicked to Casey. Her parents had split the second she'd left the house for college, so eager to be divorced. It was ironic that he and Casey had the opposite experiences, and each veered in the other direction. Despite her unhappy parents, she hadn't soured on love; she still had faith in it. Meanwhile, Nate believed in un-love.

Thanks to Joanna.

Funny, how several years ago he'd have bet this would be his life now-two kids, the happy home in the city. He was drunk on love with Joanna then. The two of them spent late nights tangled up together in their Murray Hill apartment, drinking wine, playing slow, sexy music and coming together again and again. She'd even sculpted his hands once. She'd made a goddamn sculpture of them as a wedding gift to him. "The only hands I ever want touching me," she'd said, and it was so heady, those words falling from her red pouty lips that poured forth promises of being together forever. They swore they'd be wrapped up in each other 'til the end of time.

Their marriage had lasted two intense, and seemingly beautiful, years. Then he was divorced at age twenty-eight.

Love was a drug; it played voodoo tricks on your brain, and the chemicals bathed you in lies as you fell, tempting you to believe in crazy notions like happily-ever-afters, and houses, and families.

He clenched his fists, shoving the memories away. He was happy, quite happy, thank you very much, in life post-Joanna. There was no need to linger on the past. He'd learned his lesson. He was glad though that his sister was happy.

They talked more as they walked. The little brown and tan creature sniffed every stoop, every bush, every small tree on the handful of blocks between Kat's home and Fifth Avenue where they caught up with Bryan, who'd gone for a jog in the park with the kids.

He was running down the block, pushing a double stroller.

Nate clapped his friend on the back when he pulled up next to them, breathing hard. "Look at you. Dog, two kids, and the double wide. Such the family man now. I'd give you a hard time if you were married to anyone but my sister," Nate said, and Bryan rolled his eyes.

"Thanks man. I appreciate the un-compliment."

"Hey," Kat said softly to Bryan, then pecked him on the cheek before she bent down to coo at her daughters. Nate joined in, because his nieces, Chloe and Cara, were pretty much the cutest babies in the whole world.

"Why don't you boys take Indiana Jones for a walk and I'll get the girls fed," Kat said, switching places. Bryan handed off the stroller, and she gave him the leash then turned around. "Bye, Nate. Don't forget, if you get those tickets for the Yankees game, I want in. I'll get a sitter."

He saluted her his yes, since he'd been in touch with his contact who'd always snagged him box seats at the game. "Consider it done."

"Um, excuse me," Bryan said, holding up a hand. "I'd like to claim one of those tickets too."

"We'll see, buddy," Nate said.

Kat shrugged playfully at her husband. "What can I say, Bryan? He likes me better than you." She blew kisses in the air and walked off.

Bryan looked at the Dachshund, and shook his head. "I'm a man with a hot dog now. And my friend won't even score Yankees tickets for me."

"Hey, that's a prize dog. Don't put Indiana Jones in the middle of your mid-life crisis," Nate joked, pointing to the pooch, who happily trotted towards the park.

"So what's the latest with you?" Bryan said, wiping off the sweat on his brow with his T-shirt. "I trust you have stories to tell me of your trip to New Orleans? Regale me with your tales."

Nate laughed, but didn't plan on giving up any intel on the woman he'd spent the night with in the Big Easy. "Hardly."

"Oh, c'mon. You falling down on that score?"

"Never," he said, and his mind was right back to Casey, on the look on her face on the airplane yesterday. The way her eyes floated closed, how her breath hitched, how she bit down hard on his hand when she came. He glanced at his palm, almost wishing there were imprints from her. Evidence of her passion.

Nate's phone buzzed. He grabbed it in case it was an urgent work call. He needed to return to the office tonight anyway. The message was from Ethan, who he'd reached out to earlier in the day about grabbing a beer.

"Beer is always good. I'm free tonight or tomorrow."

He gestured to the screen. "Ethan Holmes. I need to reconnect with him."

But he needed to reconnect with Casey too. And he'd been mulling over the best way to take the next step with her. Even though he wasn't wooing her or courting her, he wanted to rock her world with this sexual boot camp.

And that's when he realized what was needed next. Supplies for their training.

"Hey, I gotta take off," he said, and turned tail, texting Casey to let her know she'd need a new email address for him to use as her "teacher."