Vanilla

  “Cinnamon sugar,” he said.

  I started to cry.

  “Hey, hey!” He protested, moving around to sit next to me and take my hand. “No crying. It’s your favorite, you told me so yourself.”

  “That’s why I’m crying! Because you remembered!”

  Niall laughed and kissed me then wiped away my tears with his thumbs. He cupped my face with both his hands. “Of course I did.”

  I didn’t tell him that there was no of course about it. I kissed him, instead. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Niall said, “even if you’re a weirdo about cinnamon sugar.”

  “And other things?”

  He smiled again. “Yeah. And other things.”

  We drank tea and ate our perfect cinnamon-sugared toast and yawned our way upstairs to brush our teeth and flop into his bed. I fell asleep almost instantly. When I woke, the sun was bright, and the bed was empty.

  I followed the scent of coffee. He’d made pancakes. I paused in the doorway wearing the T-shirt I’d borrowed from him the night before, self-conscious about my hair and smudged eyeliner and the fact I’d told him that I loved him, even though he’d said it first this time. I took a seat in front of the platter of pancakes, and he sat across from me.

  “I’ve been making a list for you,” Niall said formally.

  Both my eyebrows went up. I was no stranger to making lists, but I hadn’t often been the recipient of one. “Okay.”

  He cleared his throat and pushed the legal pad toward me. On it were two columns written in his tightly angled handwriting. “Yes” and “No.”

  There was yes to blindfolding and hand tying. No in capital letters with an extra no added to it in the front and back to “butt stuff.” I had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from bursting into laughter. Beneath “Yes” he’d added “clothes” with a small asterisk, which marked a footnote at the bottom of the page and the words “for you.”

  That was it; I had to guffaw. “Niall. Oh, my God.”

  “I figured I needed to be up front with you,” he said, still sort of stiffly. He’d poured us both coffee, but he hadn’t eaten very much. “Read the rest of the list.”

  “Yes to toys that are not meant for the back door. Yes to calling me Mistress—” I paused, still reading. “I don’t care to be called Mistress, but thank you. Yes to being made to clean the bathroom?”

  He shrugged. “I hate a nasty bathroom anyway.”

  “Well, I’m on board with you taking it over, but not like a sex thing,” I said carefully. “Unless that’s your...thing?”

  “I don’t have a thing. I just thought if it was your thing...”

  “It’s not my thing,” I said, and looked at his list again. “No to anything in public like wearing a collar or being ordered around like a dog. No to anything that hurts too much, like clothespins on the balls— For fuck’s sake!”

  “I don’t think I’d like it,” he told me.

  That was it, I had to touch him. I pushed out of my chair and settled onto his lap with the list still in my hand. “I don’t want to put clothespins on your balls, Niall.”

  I kissed him for that look of blatant relief. And for lots of other reasons. Mostly because of love, pure and unadulterated and overwhelming.

  His arms went around me. He had to tip his face up for my kiss because of the way I’d straddled him. “This...this is okay, though. You on top.”

  “I like to be on top, baby.” I nuzzled his throat for a second before looking into his eyes. “Thank you very much for this list. You have no idea what this means to me. And I also think you’ve been watching way too much porn. I mean, I don’t have a problem with porn or watching it, in general, but I think maybe you’ve been looking at some stuff that’s a little too scary.”

  “I did a category search,” he admitted. “I couldn’t get through a lot of it. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. God,” I said. “The fact you even tried at all makes me want to kiss you all over. It’s really special, Niall. But what did I tell you about porn before?”

  “That what you like and do isn’t the way it is in porn?”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you remembered that, but the fact you did makes me love you so much right now I can’t even stand it.” I held back a sniffle.

  He squeezed me hard again. “Don’t you cry!”

  “I won’t. Okay, maybe a little.” I buried my face against the side of his neck and breathed away the tears. His hands soothed up and down my back. I snuggled closer. I thought about what Alex had told me, about the reasons why we fall in love. “Niall, listen...it’s not about the things we do or don’t do. It’s about how you make me feel.”

  He shifted my weight a little, but kept holding me close. “How do I make you feel?”

  “Taken care of.” I didn’t even have to think about the answer; the words came out at once. “Understood.”

  “I like to take care of you, Elise.”

  I leaned back to look into his eyes. “You make me feel known, Niall. Inside and out. Hey, hey, don’t you cry now.”

  “If you get to,” he said sternly, eyes glittering, “I get to.”

  But neither of us dissolved into tears. We both smiled. I brushed his hair out of his eyes and let my fingertips trace his eyebrows. I marveled at how beautiful his face had become to me. I leaned close; I breathed him in.

  “I love you,” I whispered again so I could taste the words. Sweet like honey. Rich like wine.

  We kissed for a while until both of us were breathing fast, and he was hard. It took a small change of position, a little rearranging, and I was straddling him. The chair creaked as I rocked on him. I tightened my thighs against his hips when he tried to move.

  Niall kissed the curve of my collarbone above my scooped neckline, then gathered me close with his head pillowed on my chest for a few seconds before he looked up at me. “I don’t know if I can be what you want.”

  “You’re exactly what I want. Better than that, Niall, you’re what I need.” I shook my head. “I told you, it’s not about the toys or the games. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because I don’t think if you like something that much you should have to give it up,” he said seriously. “And I think that if I don’t give it to you, you’ll want to find it from someone else.”

  It was a fair concern. “I don’t get off on making someone do something they don’t want to do. So, sure, would I like to push your boundaries and explore some territory you’ve never tried? Well, wouldn’t you want to do that with me, if there was something you liked and I hadn’t done?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything I’d like that you haven’t done,” Niall said.

  “And that bothers you.”

  He shifted me again, one hand gripping my knee. “Yeah. Of course it does.”

  “I can’t change it.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “For me, what it all comes down to is really pretty simple. I like to be taken care of. Even better when I don’t have to explain or repeat myself. The rest is only icing, Niall.” I ran my finger over his lips until he opened his mouth, and then I kissed him.

  “The icing is the best part,” he said into my kiss.

  I smiled. “Eat too much, and it will make you sick.”

  “But you’ve had that kind of relationship. Guys who did those things. That guy who broke your heart. He did that stuff, right? And the other one, the one you were with when we met.” Niall frowned. “Hard to convince me that after having that, you’ll settle for plain, old-fashioned sex.”

  “You made me a list,” I reminded him. “You’re willing to try some new things. What more could I possibly want?”

  “Everything,” Niall said.

  I took his face in my hands until he looked into my eyes. “Listen to me, because I’m not going to repeat myself again. Four years ago I was crazy mad in love with a guy I loved too much. Three months ago, I was with a man I didn’t love e
nough. But you, Niall...you, I love just right. I love being with you. Not just fucking you, but being with you. When I’m with you, I feel complete. Now stop your arguing and fretting and accept the fact that me and you, baby, we’re like salt and pepper. Wherever we go, we’re gonna be together.”

  “I do kind of like it when you talk to me like that,” he said with a grin and a waggle of his brows. “All stern, like a pissed-off librarian.”

  I laughed. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Now make love to me,” I told him.

  Niall grinned and nodded, heat flaring in his gaze, and as with everything else he’d ever given me, his answer was just right. “Yes, ma’am.”

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed the character of Alex Kennedy, be sure to check out other stories from Megan Hart featuring this fan-favorite character:

  TEMPTED

  EVERYTHING CHANGES

  NAKED

  Available now.

  Author Song List

  I could write without music, but I’m so glad I don’t have to. Below is a partial list of the songs I listened to while writing Vanilla. Please support the artists by buying their music.

  “In My Veins” —Andrew Belle (featuring Erin McCarley)

  “One Heart Missing” —Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

  “Stars” —Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

  “Wasting All These Tears” —Cassadee Pope

  “Near to You” —A Fine Frenzy

  “Use Somebody” —Laura Jansen

  “Maybe” —Lily Kershaw

  “Over You” —Ingrid Michaelson (featuring A Great Big World)

  “Nicotine” —Panic! at the Disco

  “1000 Times” —Sara Bareilles

  “Silence & Scars” —Pop Evil

  “Cry to Me” —Solomon Burke

  “All of Me” —John Legend

  “Maybe” —Ingrid Michaelson

  Keep reading for an excerpt from STRANGER by Megan Hart.

  “Hart’s beautiful use of language and discerning eye toward human experience elevate the book to a poignant reflection on the deepest yearnings of the human heart and the seductive temptation of passion in its many forms.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on Tear You Apart

  If you loved Vanilla, look for these other great reads by New York Times bestselling author Megan Hart, available now in ebook format:

  Stranger

  Tear You Apart

  Naked

  Broken

  Dirty

  The Space Between Us

  Also, don’t miss these Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Harlequin by Megan Hart!

  Tangled Up

  Captivated (with Tiffany Reisz)

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

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  Harlequin.com/newsletters

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  HarlequinBlog.com

  1

  I was looking for a stranger.

  The Fishtank wasn’t my usual hangout, though I’d been inside it once or twice. Recently redecorated, it sought to compete with a bunch of brand-new bars and restaurants that had opened in downtown Harrisburg, but though the tropical theme and aquariums were pretty and the drinks cheap enough, the Fishtank was too far away from restaurant row to really compete. What it did have that the other, newer bars didn’t, was the attached hotel. The Fishtank, “where you hook ’em,” was sort of a joke with the young and single crowd of central Pennsylvania. Or at least with me, and I was young. And blessedly, purposefully, single.

  Scanning the crowd, I wove my way through the closely set tables toward the bar. The Fishtank was filled, literally, with people I didn’t know. One would be the perfect stranger, emphasis on perfect.

  So far, I hadn’t seen him, but there was still time. I took a seat at the bar. My black skirt rode up a little and my stockings, held up by a garter belt of wispy lace, slipped on the leather stool. The sensation whispered up my thighs, bare above the tops of my stockings. My panties, of even wispier lace, rubbed me as I shifted.

  “Tröegs Pale Ale,” I told the bartender, who passed me a bottle with a nod.

  Compared to many of the women in the Fishtank, I was dressed conservatively. My black skirt was cut fashionably just above the knee, my blouse silky and formfitting, but in the sea of low-riding jeans and navel-baring T-shirts, spaghetti straps and hooker heels, I stood out. Just the way I wanted.

  I sipped my beer and looked around. Who would it be? Who would take me upstairs tonight? How long would I have to wait?

  Apparently, not long. The seat next to mine had been empty when I sat, but now a man took it. Unfortunately, it was the wrong man. A stranger, yes, but not the one I was waiting for. The guy had blond hair and a gap between his two front teeth. Cute, but definitely not what I wanted. Also unfortunately, he didn’t seem to take a hint.

  “No, thanks,” I said when he offered to buy me a drink. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”

  “You’re not waiting for your boyfriend.” He said this with unshakable confidence. “You’re just saying that. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “I have one already.” I gave him points for persistence, but I wasn’t here to go home with a frat boy who thought “not” jokes were the height of humor.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you alone.” Pause. “NOT!”

  He laughed, slapping a thigh. “C’mon. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “I—”

  “Are you hitting on my date?”

  Frat Boy and I turned, and both our jaws dropped. I’m pretty sure we each had different reasons. His was probably surprise at being wrong. Mine was in delight.

  The man standing next to me had the dark hair and blue eyes I’d been looking for. The earring. The jeans, deliciously worn in all the right places and the white T-shirt with a leather jacket over it. I was seated on a high bar stool and he still towered over me. I guessed him to be at least four inches over six feet, if not more.

  Very, very nice.

  My stranger flicked his hand like he was brushing away Frat Boy. “G’wan, now. Go.”

  Frat Boy, to give him credit, didn’t try to make excuses. He just grinned and got off the stool. “Sorry, man. You can’t blame me for trying, can you?”

  My stranger turned to look at me, and his blue-eyed gaze roamed over my every inch before he answered. “No.” He sounded considering. “I don’t guess I can.”

  My stranger took the vacated seat. He held out the hand not gripping the glass of dark beer. “Hi. I’m Sam. Don’t say Sam I am, or I’ll toss you back to that doofus.”

  Sam. The name suited him. Before he gave it I might’ve imagined him as anyone, but once he did I could think of him as nobody else.

  “Grace.” I shook his proffered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “What are you drinking, Grace?”

  I lifted my bottle. “Tröegs Pale Ale.”

  “How is that?”

  I sipped. “Pale.”

  Sam held up his glass. “I’ve got Guinness. It’s not pale. Let me buy you one.”

  “I haven’t finished the one I have,” I said, but with the smile I hadn’t given Frat Boy.

  Sam leaned in. “C’mon, Grace. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

  “Uh-huh. Do I look like I want hair on my chest?”

  Sam blatantly eyed the front of my blouse. “Without seeing the chest in question, I’m afraid I can’t say.”

  I laughed. “Riiiight. Try again.”

  Sam gestured to the bartender and asked for two more bottles of the pale ale. “For when you’re done with that one.”

  I didn’t take the second bottle. “I can’t, really. I’m on call.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Sam tipped back the last of his beer from his glass and pulled a bottle toward him.

  “No.?
??

  He paused, waiting for me to say more, but I didn’t. He drank, swallowed. He gave the sort of manly grunt and lip-smack guys make when they drink beer from bottles and are trying to impress women. I watched him without speaking and sipped from my own bottle, wondering how he meant to do this. I really hoped he’d make it convincing enough for me to go upstairs with him.

  “So. You’re not here to drink, then?” Sam eyed me, then turned on his stool so our knees touched.

  I smiled at the touch of challenge in his tone. “Not really. No.”

  “So...” He paused, as if thinking. He was very good. “So what you’re saying is, let’s say a guy, oh, bought you a drink.”

  “Okay.”

  “Before he knew you weren’t here to drink.”

  I smiled again, holding back a laugh. “Sure. Let’s say that.”

  Sam swiveled on his stool to fix me with an intense gaze. “Would he already have fucked up too bad, or would you give him a chance to make it up to you?”

  I pushed the bottle he’d bought me toward him. “I guess that would depend.”

  Sam’s slow grin was a heat-seeking missile sent straight between my thighs. “On what?”

  “On if he was cute or not.”

  Slowly he turned to show off his profile, then to the other side until he finally looked at me head-on. “How’s this?”

  I looked him over. His hair, the color of expensive black licorice and spiked on the crown, feathered a bit over his ears and against the back of his neck. His jeans had rubbed to white in interesting places. He wore black, scuffed boots I hadn’t noticed before. I looked back up to his face and the quirking mouth, the nose saved from being too sharp only by the way the rest of his features came together. He had brows like dark wings, arched high over the center of his eyes and tapering to nothing at the outside corners.

  “Yes.” I leaned closer. “You’re cute enough.”

  Sam rapped the top of the bar with his knuckles and wa-hooed. The noise turned heads, but he didn’t notice. Or he pretended not to. “Damn. My mama was right. I am purty.”