Beyond Bliss

  Beyond

  Bliss

  by

  Delia Foster

  Copyright © 2014 by Delia Foster

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  Editing Services provided by Chelsea Kuhel, http://www.madisonseidler.com and Cathryn Zuniga (independent editor)

  Cover design by Delia Foster

  Cover photo by http://www.shutterstock.com

  For my Gran—the woman who taught me life has no boundaries. Love you always and forever.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate, and what's written in the stars.”

  ― Anaïs Nin

  Chapter One

  "You’re kidding, right? That’s the only explanation. I mean, I knew it was bad, but because you’re such a prude, and you hate talking about it I didn’t know it was this bad,” the astonished woman’s voice was slightly hysterical. “But seriously? Two whole years without sex? I don’t believe it. You’re not being serious right now…are you?”

  His ears perked up.

  "Like a heart attack," another woman responded glumly. Despite her tone, her voice sounded sweet and innocent. "I don’t think I even remember what it feels like.”

  She paused thoughtfully. “I'm pretty sure my hymen re-generated. Sort of like when a lizard loses a tail or a snake, the skin. Either that or my vagina muscles have atrophied," she declared, her voice wobbling slightly.

  At this, her friend burst into something between a laugh and a groan while Lucas cringed and tried to focus on the Patriots getting pounded on the TV in the corner.

  Too much information. This is what you get for eavesdropping.

  Although...he’d been unable to help himself.

  He'd arrived at the restaurant too early so he decided to kill some time at the slightly crowded bar. There was a lone seat next to two women, but he momentarily hesitated. The last thing he felt like doing was fending off females on the prowl, but they’d seemed heavily preoccupied in whatever it was they were discussing.

  He’d settled into his seat and ordered a scotch. While he waited for the bartender to pour his drink, he pulled out his phone and combed through emails from his assistant when words "sex" and "orgasm" permeated his hearing.

  It was shameless, but he shifted in his seat so he could better hear their conversation. The bartender placed his scotch in front of him, and he took a mild sip looking over at the football game on the plasma TV in the corner. He tried to pay attention to the game, but he couldn’t stop listening to the conversation currently taking place next to him.

  The brunette was still counseling her friend through her 'dilemma'.

  From the corner of his eye, he had an unobstructed view of the brunette who'd laughed earlier, but the Born-Again Virgin had her back to him. All he could see was a waterfall of shining brown-black hair, which glimmered as she shook her head in protest.

  "What about online dating?"

  "Absolutely not. I would rather be hog-tied to a dentist's chair and have multiple root canals - without anesthesia," Born-Again Virgin testily responded. Lucas almost spit out his scotch. Clearly, this woman had reached the pinnacle of frustration and seriously needed to get laid.

  "Why not? You know, Carly in payroll—”

  Her friend interrupted her.

  "Liz, you know I tried online dating. You’re the one who made my freaking profile and forced me to go out on dates. I hate it. And you know what? Honestly, I don't really want a boyfriend,” she paused, inhaling for a moment before rolling full-steam ahead. “I don't want a relationship. I'm happy coming and going as I please and not having to answer to anyone. Maybe it would be nice to have a companion sometimes, sure, but that's a 'nice-to-have', not a 'necessary.’ It's just that it hit me the other day,” she groaned, and it sounded like she face-planted into her hands.

  Her friend made sympathetic noises, encouraging her to continue.

  “I’m turning thirty in a few months, and I haven't had sex in two years! No, in over two years. Jesus, there’s something wrong with me," she finished, sounding confused.

  "What about a one-night stand. Or a friend with benefits?" Liz suggested.

  "I am my own worst enemy. I can’t freaking win.”

  He felt a tiny thump on the bar, and guessed she either put her head down on it this time or slammed her glass down. "I can't. Do you know how many diseases there are running around this city? Any clue?”

  Lucas found himself shuddering at the dire warning in her sweet voice, but she continued. “So, I think I need to have sex because I am technically in the sexual prime of my life—or am I? Anyway, It would be nice, really nice, because I really do think I'm getting sexually frustrated, but I don't want to have sex outside of a committed relationship, and I don't want a relationship, at all. Make sense?"

  He could only imagine the look on her friend’s face.

  "You think you're getting sexually frustrated? Hah! Honey, I think you landed there a long time ago."

  "Liz, you are not helping," Born-Again Virgin growled.

  "Well, first of all, there isn't anything wrong with you. You're attractive, smart, and successful. If you really wanted to do it, you could. You're just your own roadblock, and you need to figure out if you can compromise the necessity of the relationship before sex or evaluate whether or not you really don't want a relationship. Don't you get lonely?" she questioned.

  "Yes," her friend admitted. "But still." She paused. "Ughh, this is so frustrating. I don't even know why I'm thinking about this!"

  "Because you are a healthy, red-blooded, attractive, young female. This is normal," Liz reassured. "Did you get a vibrator yet?"

  Lucas heard an astonished gasp from his left and grinned to himself. This just kept getting better, and better. He listened, intently, waiting for Born-Again Virgin's response.

  He kept waiting until he heard Liz's droll reprimand. "Really, Sophie? After all we've talked about, you're going to start holding back now?" She paused, and Lucas saw a hand waving in the periphery of his gaze.

  So the Born-Again-Virgin had a name…

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began scrolling through emails, searching for the list of people he needed to meet, as the bartender made his way over and took the girls' drink order.

  "Drink," Liz commanded.

  Around thirty seconds passed before she ordered, "Spill."

  "You know I have one," Sophie whispered. "You were the fool who gave it to me for my last birthday…but
I tried using it a few times, and nothing really happened. It's just so impersonal. Plus, I think I want someone there. A vibrator can't kiss you," she said defensively.

  Lucas stifled a laugh as he heard Liz burst out in hysterics once again.

  "Sophie, I can't take you. You're hilarious. But—" she paused. "This is something you need to change on your own. Talking about it is only going to do so much. What's the worst that could happen if you have a casual fling? You use protection, ask the right questions to make sure you’re being safe, have mind-blowing sex—hopefully, and then see how you feel about it in the morning. Online dating is out, your sex toys, err, toy, is out."

  He could hear the grin in the other woman’s voice as she continued. "Both of those things you’ve tried, and didn’t like. Before you rule out a casual fuck, I recommend you try it first before deciding it’s not what you want to do. Just pick someone random up and see where it goes."

  Even though Lucas couldn't see Sophie's face, he imagined the face behind the mahogany curtain of hair frowning at her friend. Liz's snort of laughter told him he was right.

  He glanced at his watch. His dinner meeting was in ten minutes, but he found himself reluctant to leave the entertaining conversation between the women.

  He decided to spend the next ten minutes listening to Liz's instructions.

  "It won't be that bad, I promise. Here's a step-by-step guide of what I think you should do..."

  And then five minutes later, when Born-Again-Virgin a.k.a. Sophie slid off the barstool and headed towards the bathroom, he got a good glimpse of her face and his mind shattered.

  His dream girl.

  ****

  A week later, Sophie Harlow, Attorney at Law, found herself perched on the very same barstool she’d been in while her best friend had counseled her on improving her sex life.

  Never mind improvement, she actually needed to get one to improve first.

  She fought the urge to reach into her bag and pull out files to review. No one would come up to her if she looked like she was working, and she’d probably get so caught up in it, she would forget her mission.

  Hah!

  Some mission.

  Hopefully, this was just a phase, something she needed to get out of her system. The restaurant bar was perfect. It was situated across the street from a W Hotel, so if this worked, odds were that she'd pick up—or be picked up by, a businessman traveling for work, in town for a just few days.

  The perfect target.

  A sure guarantee there would be no strings attached, and furthermore, it meant she could avoid any embarrassing run-ins. She took a deep breath, and sipped at her wine. Taking a look around the bar, she noted a few tourists, but nothing promising. Her gaze rested on a lone patron, sitting at the far corner of the bar.

  Tourist, for sure.

  He wore a visor cap, yellow polo shirt, and had what looked like an uncomfortably large camera strap hanging around his neck. She inwardly grimaced as he awkwardly smiled at her from underneath a bushy moustache. The light sheen above said moustache indicated that he was probably sweating into it.

  Ewwww.

  Panicking, she quickly averted her gaze as he slid off his stool and made his way towards her.

  Oh no.

  This was such a bad idea. She was about to hail the bartender to ask for her check so she could quickly escape when she heard a deep voice beside her.

  "Is this seat taken?"

  Oh no. She did not want to turn around to talk to the tourist in yellow, but she hadn't been quick enough to get her check in time. She inhaled, then plastered a fake smile on her face as she turned around, "Actually..."

  Dark, intense gray eyes pierced into her, and she forgot how to breathe.

  Mr. Yellow Tourist stopped in his tracks, obviously intercepted by this new stranger. "Actually, no, it's not. You're welcome to sit there if you like," she finished casually.

  At least she thought so. For all she knew, she sounded like a desperate tween at a Justin Beiber concert.

  In an effort to exude a persona of calm, cool, and collected, Sophie turned back to her wine.

  Damn it, why couldn't she have been flirtatious?

  The man who sat next to her could have been Mr. Yellow Tourist, and instead, one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen now occupied the stool next to her. Clearly a businessman, he wore a suit that probably cost more than a month of her rent, and she was pretty sure the tie loosened around his neck was Ferragamo.

  Even if he hadn't worn a suit, his presence screamed confidence...and hot sex.

  She hadn't looked at his face since she'd first swerved around, but it remained seared in her memory. He had a straight nose set above lips that she could only describe as perfect—not too full or too thin. Dark hair framed his face perfectly, although the slightly shaggy length suggested he’d missed a recent haircut. An angular, rugged jawline completed the picture of masculine beauty.

  If his jaw had been just a touch softer, he’d have pretty boy good looks—his face was that perfect.

  Instead, he was all man.

  A man she couldn't and wouldn't dare to proposition.

  He could be gay, or he could be married. He could have a sexually transmitted infection, or maybe he was a member of the clergy.

  Priests drank, right?

  And even if he was available and straight, a man who looked like him probably had orgies with flocks of models every night.

  Sophie Harlow knew she hadn’t been hit by the ugly branch, but she was definitely not a model.

  Nor was she one to share or engage in orgies.

  Convinced that her plans for the entire evening had been a bad idea, she resigned herself to picking up a bottle of wine and watching a movie for the night—at home. She tried to get the attention of the bartender again, sighing once more.

  "Long day?" he queried.

  Oh my God, he's talking.

  Anxious that she would say something stupid if she dared to look at him or give him a lengthy response, she muttered a curt "yes" before she continued her efforts to flag the bartender down, avoiding eye contact with the handsome stranger at all costs.

  "If I'm bothering you, I can move," he offered graciously.

  His offer caught her off guard, but she had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her.

  Get a grip.

  She gave up trying to get the bartender's attention and finally turned to look at him.

  "You don't have to leave," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I just decided to leave some time ago, and I've been trying to get her attention."

  He smiled in return and raised his hand. The bartender finally looked over, she noticed angrily, while trying to calm her raging hormones.

  That smile was lethal.

  The pretty blonde bartender sauntered over, her eyes lighting up as she spotted the handsome male customer. She batted heavily made-up eyes at him and smiled.

  "What can I get you?" she purred, perching on her side of the bar and leaning over just enough to display the right amount of cleavage.

  He seemed immune to it and motioned to Sophie. "The lady needs her check, and I'd like a Laphroaig, neat."

  She smiled invitingly. "Sure thing, handsome."

  Sophie observed the interaction, silently berating herself.

  Why can't I flirt like that?

  There was no reason to feel intimidated. If the Britney Spears wanna-be behind the bar could do it, so could she. She hastily pulled her phone from her bag, pretending to check her text messages. The bartender brought over her check and the stranger's scotch.

  Sophie smiled sweetly at the woman across the bar. "Actually, my friend is late, so I can stay for one more. I'd like another glass of Malbec, please."

  The blonde's eyes narrowed at her. "Sure."

  There, she'd done it!

  She heard Liz's voice in her head …

  Baby steps, Sophie, baby steps.

  She'd given just enough detail so the man sitting ne
xt to her wouldn't think that she was staying just for him. She settled back on the stool and turned a friendly smile to her neighbor. "Thanks for getting her attention."

  "My pleasure." His voice was deep and velvety, but his deep gray eyes gleamed back at her.

  With his gaze trained on her as if she was the only woman in the room, her skin tingled. He wasn’t even touching her, but she found herself spell-bound, tumbling into an abyss of the unknown. Fighting hard not to let his effect on her show, she extended her hand. "I'm Sophie."

  And when he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss over her skin, she felt as though a small piece of her died.

  Or maybe it just transferred from her soul into his.

  She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the crazy path it was headed down when he winked at her.

  "You can call me Lucas."

  Chapter Two

  This was a horrible fucking idea.

  Despite the alarms ringing loud and clear in his head, he made his way to the restaurant across the street from the hotel on Friday evening.

  Even though he'd overheard her conversation with her friend, he'd only decided that morning that he would show up.

  If sweet Sophie Harlow was going to have casual sex with a stranger, he’d be damned if anyone else was going to have the pleasure of being said stranger.

  He wondered if this was an invasion of privacy—or even worse, stalking.

  Because you have to know the person you're stalking.

  That night, even before he’d caught a glimpse of her face—from the soft lilt of her voice, her beautiful hair, and her frame, he fucking knew she was the one.

  And then he saw her.

  He’d tried telling himself it was just boredom and curiosity.

  That the next few years in New York promised nothing but ruthless business and the same tiresome set who considered themselves "society."

  But then he stepped through the entryway to the restaurant's bar and grinned.

  Apparently little miss Born-Again Virgin was a creature of habit.

  She sat in the same stool as she had a week ago, but he frowned when he sensed something was amiss. He couldn’t see her face because she was preoccupied with wildly waving her hand towards the petite blonde bartender who looked in every direction except the flailing hand. She turned towards him for a flash of a second, eyes as wide as a deer in the headlights before she turned back and resumed her efforts to get the bartender to notice her.