The Note (Manhattan Nights #5) - Natalie Wrye Page 0,88

in that bed by yourself. And I’m going to make up for the craziness I put you through when we get back to that bed.”

Noah grins, his eyes following the path of mine as our friends and family scurry away, expletives exploding in the air as the new three stooges argue their way out of sight. The man between my hands gives a shrug. “It could be worse.”

“How?”

“When Jase ultimately buries Lachlan for another inappropriate joke, at least it won’t be in a nearby Pet Sematary.”

I blink fast. “A nearby what?”

Noah shakes his head. “Pet Sematary? You know, the King novel? Dead family members?” He waits. “Resurrection? ‘Sometimes dead is better’?” He chuckles softly as I stare up at him blankly, none of his words registering. His grin is soft. “You have so much to learn…”

I grip him closer, loving the feel of him, wishing I could get him alone. I whisper to him only. “And I can’t wait for you to teach me.”

“Give me thirty minutes and a bucket of ice, and I’ll do just that.” His fingers curl around my waist, holding tight. “And speaking of source material…” his voice sinks to a quiet rumble. “I’ve got an idea for your next painting.”

“Oh do you?”

“Yes, I do.” He leans in, his lips hovering dangerously above mine, his woodsy scent flooding my senses. Heat curls between my legs at the nearness of Noah and his body pressing suggestively against mine. “How do you feel about nudes?”

My pulse tap dances all over the place, growing more chaotic as Noah puts his mouth to my neck and presses ever so lightly. I hold in a sigh.

“I’ve never done one before…” My voice is but a breath when I respond. “But I could be open to the suggestion.” I lean my head back, giving him greater access, my body humming with need as his lips move slowly, forming circles on my skin. “What’ll you give me for it?”

“Hmm.” Noah hums against my throat. “I was thinking… I still have your note, don’t I?”

“Are you blackmailing me? Again?”

“I like to think of it as payment, rather than punishment. And I am good for it, Miss Somerset.”

Hmm, sex at a wedding.

It wasn’t exactly the order in which most fairytales worked, but it would definitely do.

I had found my prince, after all.

Someone who knew his scotch—and when to put it down—and his way around a woman’s skin.

But most importantly, I found myself.

I’d once believed my sad little frozen-in-fear existence was enough. And in the end, it was one little note that linked my fate to a story I never wanted to stop living.

It wasn’t a love letter—this note. But it would be when I retold the tale to my eventual children.

Being Little Bear from the Goldilocks fairytale did have his perks, because instead of finding a little girl with ringlets in my bed, I was going to have the Big Bad Wolf there.

I’d leave that tiny part out from my future offspring for the re-telling.

Epilogue

NOAH

A few weeks later

There’s only one thing worse than going to a wedding rotten drunk. And that’s going to a wedding completely sober…and outrageously randy.

With little time left before Jesse Somerset’s wedding, I pace the length of my apartment’s dark-wooded kitchen, holding my phone close as I talk to my lawyer, Emily Armand, about my newly minted business partner, Barbara Fletcher of the New York finance tycoons, Fletcher Financial Group.

Their money was old, their patience was short and they too had once been bamboozled by Chris Jackson and his un-merry men of thieves.

Barbara was the president of the financial group and as classily ruthless as she was gray.

The confirmation of her partnership with Quinn Real Estate, Inc. had cleared away all of our debt, just under the two-week wire, but today?

I was lucky enough to confirm the terms with Emily, instead of the elder woman who was tough enough to shit barbed wire.

Clearing her throat over the line, Emily is the epitome of big-city sophistication as she recaps our entire conversation, her honeyed voice full of finesse.

“Well, then it’s settled then, Mr. Quinn. We’ll gladly take up the mantle for Millennium Gardens and turn its old Jackson-affiliated financials over to the authorities. As for the Luxe, everything is officially settled.” I swear I can hear her nod. “Welcome to the Fletcher Financial family.”

“It’s good to be part of it. Should we do something to officially seal the new relationship with the Fletchers? A celebratory dinner? An inappropriately awkward Christmas dinner where