Need You Now
A Shattered Promises Series Prelude
By Lisa Renee Jones
1001 Dark Nights
Need You Now
A Shattered Promises Series Prelude
By Lisa Renee Jones
1001 Dark Nights
Copyright 2014 Lisa Renee Jones
ISBN: 978-1-940887-20-3
Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose
Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Book Description
Need You Now (Shattered Promises Series Prelude)
By Lisa Renee Jones
Life is hard. Life leaves you beaten, broken...alone. Then one day, a stranger touches your hand and you feel something intense, unforgettable...but you want to forget. You need to forget. It’s safer than believing in things you’ve decided don’t exist. You know shattered promises and lost hope. You know them so much better than you know this excited, warm, wonderful feeling, and it scares you. He scares you, but he also makes you feel alive again. He makes you realize you haven’t really been living. You’ve been surviving and you fear he’s the one who’ll make you forget how to keep doing it. But what if he’s the one who changes everything?
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The First Night
by Shayla Black, Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose
Table of Contents
Foreword
Part One: The First Meeting
Part Two: The Elevator
Part Three: The Morning After
Part Four: Controlled
Part Five: Hungry Like A Wolf
Part Six: Rules
Part Seven: The Kiss
Part Eight: Rules Are Made To Be Broken
Part Nine: The Morning After Take Two
Part Ten: The Wolf
Part Eleven: Prince Charming
Also From 1001 Dark Nights
About Lisa Renee Jones
An excerpt from I Belong to You by Lisa Renee Jones
Also by Lisa Renee Jones
Special Thanks
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Part One: The First Meeting
Another year. Another moment in time that is here and gone, and right and wrong, in the same instant. That’s what birthdays mean to me, but tonight, to my best friend Katie, it’s a celebration her man has missed and a few too many Tequila Sunrises.
“One more!” she exclaims from the dimly lit corner booth of Mickie’s, the bar nestled inside the New York high-rise Norton’s Hotel where we both work.
“No more for me,” I say, holding up my hands. “My head is spinning and I don’t like it.”
“You’re too much of a control freak, Danielle. It’s my birthday. Let loose for once.”
“Danny,” I correct, hating the way my birth name reminds me of stepfather number two, my least favorite of the four. “And I’m already too loose.”
She crinkles her nose and blows a long lock of her blonde hair, as pale as my own, from her eyes. “Danny is too masculine,” she says, ignoring my comment about being “too loose.”
“Nothing wrong with a little masculine energy.”
“On a man. You’re not a man. You are not even close to being a man.”
“Thanks for that validation.” I laugh. “And you’re so drunk it’s not even funny. Work tomorrow is going to be hell for you.”
“My department doesn’t go in until noon on Tuesdays. Besides, I’m 25 and alone on my birthday. And I’m in a stuffy business bar with elevator music softly playing in the background because we both had to work late. We should be two babes in the city finding hot men and we’re not. Of course I’m drunk.”
“First, you have a man, and I’ve sworn off the other sex.”
“Oh please. A girl can’t go a year without a good hot man pressed nice and close without losing her mind. I worry for you, honey.”
“My mind is just fine.” I laugh. “I simply find men distracting when I can’t afford to be distracted. ”
“Then just have sex. You have to miss sex.”
She’s right. I do, but I don’t miss the way it creates a sense of being with someone that is all façade and fantasy, not reality.
“At least when you were on again, off again with that attorney Mad Max,” she continues, “you had a hot man to get naked with.”
I shake my head. “You named him Mad Max for a reason. He was always angry.”
“True, but not in bed, right?”
I bite my bottom lip.
“Oh God,” she gasps. “Was he violent? And why didn’t I know this?”
“He wasn’t violent.
He was...rough.”
“In a good way?”
“Hmmm...Yes. No. Until I figured out that angry and arrogant were his only moods, in bed or out. There was nothing else.”
“But he was rich.”
“Which made him all the more arrogant.” My brow furrows. “And by the way. Alone? You aren’t alone. Who am I? The ghost of birthdays past?”
“You know what I mean,” she chides, glowering to boot. “David isn’t here and it’s hard to be without him.”
I’d rather be alone than with an asshole like her boyfriend, but I hold my tongue on that little tidbit of truth. To me, alone is safe. And I’m good at it, but everyone isn’t, Katie especially. “You’re dating a rock star,” I remind her, trying to ground her in the reality of her decisions. “That means you accept he’s often away on tour.”
She snorts, proving she left normal ladylike tendencies swimming in the last glass of tequila. “He’s not a rock star yet,” she argues. “He’s still indie and if he won’t go out of his way for my birthday now, what do I have to expect if he gets that contract he’s after? He’s got days before his next show. He could have been here if he wanted to be.” She finishes off her drink. “He’s got groupies already. He’s probably with them.” Her cell phone rings and she anxiously scrambles for it, clearly hoping it’s the rock star asshole himself, but her face falls. “It’s my mother. I have to take it.”
I share an understanding look with her, scooting to the end of the booth, preparing to give her privacy.
“Can you—” she begins.
“Get drinks,” I supply, standing. “You got it.”
A look of appreciation flashes over her chiseled, model-like features, so different from my sweet cheeks and heart-shaped face, as she mouths, “Lord help me” and answers the call.
I make tracks toward the oval bar at the right of the room, dodging several smaller, round tables with red, pearl-shaped lights dangling above them, fully intending to buy her some comfort. I know how this conversation is going to affect her, even on a birthday. Heck, especially on a birthday. I love my mother but I dread her calls, too.
At the counter, I claim a gaping spot between two empty barstools, and flag Jimmy, the thirty-something bartender who works in accounting by day and here at night for nearly a year. “Ready for the cake?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I say, but he doesn’t move, hesitating and running a hand through his curly blond hair. Another moment of hesitation and he leans across the bar and gets close enough to be heard over the music. “Thank you.”
“What for?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“Come on, Danny. I know you were behind my raise today.”
“Your dedication was behind that raise.”
“Meredith Brooks never recognizes anyone’s dedication,” he says of the CEO and my direct boss.
“She’s not the witch you think she is. She’s just...busy.”
He grimaces and ignores my protest on Meredith's behalf. “You did this. I know you did and my family thanks you.”
I give him an awkward nod. “I’m just glad it came through for you,” I say, thinking I owe him a thank you as well for reminding me there are a few good men out there. I just seem to have my mother’s curse of crossing paths with all the rest.
“I’ll get the cake,” he says, cutting his gaze before I can see what I think is an emotional response.
He turns away and I sigh, settling onto the edge of a barstool. I both dread and revel in the day my savings will complement my trust fund enough to allow me to go to med school and I’ll leave this place. Six more months after three years of struggling, if my calculations prove on target. But the employees here need a buffer between them and Meredith, and one that understands her enough to fight for them without being fired. I seem to have that certain something that resonates with her for whatever reason. And I do get her. I do. She’s stressed and running a family-owned business in a family that all hate each other, but it’s the employees that keep this place afloat. She forgets that too easily.
I rotate to check on Katie and suck in a breath as my gaze collides with that of the man now standing beside me, blocking the view. And not just any man. This one is tall and dark, with waves of lush hair, his lips full, his mouth close. Really kissably close. And, oh God. My hand has somehow come down on the dark-blue fitted suit covering his impressively fit chest, a tingling sensation climbing up my arm.
“Sorry,” I say, jerking my hand back, my heart racing about ten million miles an hour, and I’m not sure how, but it’s like he’s touched me all over and warmth is spreading...everywhere. And maybe Katie is right and it’s been too long since I’ve touched a man because I’m looking at his deliciously masculine mouth again.
“I’m not,” he says.
He’s not? I can’t remember what we were talking about. “You’re not?”
“I’m not sorry for our little...encounter.”
Encounter? We’re having an encounter? “I didn’t know you were standing there.”
“But you do now.”
Oh yes. Oh yes, I do. “Yes,” I say, repeating the word again, and somehow it trails into the stream of soft elevator music, and nothing else comes from my mouth.
His eyes, dark in the dim lighting, heat, or maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe it’s simply the dim lighting but then he repeats the word, “Yes,” and there is this raspy warmth to his tone that has the muscles low in my belly flexing.
I’m not even sure what he’s saying “yes” to. All I know is that there are butterflies in my belly, and I’m flustered when I don’t get flustered. I deal with hot, often rich and arrogant men in my job all the time and never stumble left or right, most certainly not forward, as I am now.
“Are you staying in the hotel?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say again, as if I have no other word in my vocabulary, and when “no” should be the answer. “Are you?”
“I am,” he says and holds his hand out. “I’m Jensen.”
“Jensen,” I repeat, hesitating to touch him again, afraid of how out of control the tequila has made me. It has to be the tequila. It’s the only thing that explains this crazy sensation of sinking into a warm, wonderful, hazy enclave where no one but this man and me exist.
Seeming to sense my hesitation, he arches a dark brown brow, and while the light is dim, I guess him to be older than me, at least in his early thirties, and confident. A man who knows who he is and makes no apologies. It’s sexy as hell.
I slip my hand into his, intending to make it a quick shake, but the heat of his palm seeps into mine, his strong fingers closing around me. Suddenly, I am swimming in his stare, feeling the touch of his palm in places he is not touching but I want him to be.
“Jensen,” I start again, trying to distract myself from what can only be called “lust.” “It’s a unique name.”
“Uncommon,” he replies. “Like your eyes.”
“You can’t see my eyes. It’s dark.”
“But I feel them.”
Oh, Lord help me. I melt like chocolate in the sun, gooey and rich with the sweet seduction of the moment. He’s still holding my hand. I’m still holding his. I look down and back up. “We should—”
His lips quirk again. God, I love this man’s lips. “Yes,” he concurs. “Yes, we should.” Only I’m not sure he’s talking about what I’m talking about. But then he releases me and it’s such a contrast to his words I find I want to step closer to him, to feel him again. But I don’t. I won’t. He’s a stranger. I do not act like this with a stranger in my prim and proper blue suit at my place of work. And yet...we stare at each other and he arches that brow again, as if he’s challenging me to do exactly what I’m thinking. I sway toward him, trying to fight the urge to act out of character.
“Tequila. I need tequila.”
The sound of Katie’s voice jolts me and I turn to find her stepping between me and my stranger, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. There’s a panicked feeli
ng inside me. He’s gone. I’ve lost the moment and him. Not that I had him. Not that I needed him, except my body says I did.
“I need tequila,” Katie declares. “A shot. Please do one with me.” She flags down the second bartender who quickly complies. The shot glasses appear and are filled. Jimmy appears with the cake before we drink them and Katie flings her arms around my neck, giving me a big hug.
“You are amazing,” she declares, and my face is too buried in her hair to see over my shoulder to find out if Jensen is still beside us. “I love you, Danny,” she declares, leaning back to look at me.
“I love you, too,” I say as she pulls back and I reach up and brush the hair from her eyes. Katie really is the sister I never had and suddenly I feel like such a bitch. I shouldn’t be thinking about men when she needs me.
“Then let’s drink,” she says.
“I can’t—”
“My mother’s pregnant. She doesn’t know who the father is.”
I gulp and grab the shot glass. “Let’s drink.”
There’s a flurry of activity behind us, and we turn to discover a tall, raven-haired, gorgeous hunk of a man in ripped jeans striding forward. Katie yelps and runs to him, wrapping her arms around her rock star boyfriend. A crazy-hot kiss follows that has me glancing toward the space where Jensen is supposed to be, but is not. He’s gone and disappointment fills me. My encounter is over and there will be no crazy-hot kiss for me tonight. It’s for the best. Men are distracting and the MCAT, repeat or not, is never easy. I down the shot of tequila. Katie waves a hotel key at me over her shoulder as her rocker guy drags her toward the door.
I sigh and lean on the bar, and for some reason tonight feels very...alone.
Part Two: The Elevator
Avoiding my empty apartment that will require me to take a subway ride with a tequila buzz, I spend a good hour at the bar chatting with Jimmy and eating too much chocolate cake. When I’m still feeling the effects of the drinks I’ve consumed, Jimmy tries to convince me to either stay the night at the hotel or wait until he’s off and he and his wife will drive me home, but I refuse. It’s a subway ride. I’ll be okay. I’m not drunk. And while I’m just not exactly clear-headed, listening to Jimmy talk about family has me suddenly craving the shelter of home, no matter how empty it might be. It’s mine. It’s safe.