For One Night Only, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by Raven McAllan
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
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About the Author
Totally Bound Publishing books by Raven McAllan
Single Books
Hong Kong Heat
Taken Identity
Fairground Attraction
The Duke’s Temptation
The Viscount Meets his Match
Diomhair
Secrets Shared
Secrets Uncovered
Secrets Remembered
Secrets Dispatched
Secrets Learned
Secrets Dispelled
Daring Ladies
The Earl and The Courtesan
A Little Bit Cupid
FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY
RAVEN MCALLAN
For One Night Only
ISBN # 978-1-83943-361-0
©Copyright Raven McAllan 2020
Cover Art by Claire Siemaszkiewicz ©Copyright February 2020
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2020 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.
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 authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
For one night only. However, commitment has a habit of sneaking up on you. Then you have a choice, is it one night only or something more?
Ava Welsh has split from her toe-rag of a boyfriend and needs a partner for a wedding.
Conal Camlin has waved bye-bye to his grasping girlfriend and needs a partner for an award night.
When they literally bump into each other, they both have the same thought.
Here’s someone to accompany me to a one-off event.
Neither wants commitment, just a partner for that one special thing. Could they make this one night only thing work? Of course, they’ll need to spend time together, to make sure it looks real. But spending time together means you get to know each other. And when you get to know each other, you discover if you like each other.
Can they really say goodbye and thank you, and go their separate ways after each single night, or could it be the start of something more? Will Valentine’s Day be the end of their no-commitment vows?
Dedication
To my own Valentine
Love you, Paul
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Botox: Allergan, Inc.
Mazda: Mazda Motor Corporation
Uber: Uber Technologies, Inc.
Kindle: Amazon
Merc: Daimler AG
Jeep: Fiat Chrysler Automobiles
Mulberry: Mulberrys Franchising LLC
You’re a Pink Toothbrush: Ralph Ruvin, Bob Halfin, Harold Irving, Johnny Sheridan
My Funny Valentine: Lorenz Hart
Brain of Britain: BBC
Prologue
To watch a guy you don’t know, have never seen in your life, skinny-dipping, could, Ava supposed, be construed as voyeurism.
But when you’ve come across him innocently, or almost innocently, what are you meant to do? Back away, fall over a bush and let him know he’s been seen? Or stay where you are, close your eyes and wait until he’s gone?
She sort of chose the latter. She stayed where she was, but, try as she might, Ava couldn’t command her eyes to close.
They decided they were independently acting body parts and stayed stubbornly open.
She feasted on the sight.
One body to die for with all the right bits in the proper places.
And oh my, what bits they were.
Abs to drool over, a grin to make you smile and come-to-bed eyes to make you turn into a puddle of lust.
His body glistened with water as he shook his head. Droplets splashed everywhere. One landed on what appeared to be a tiny birthmark in the shape of a heart on his ass, highlighting it.
The guy turned and water trickled down his chest to rest in the dark arrow of wiry hair that circled his cock.
Ava gulped. What a magnificent cock it was. Not that she’d seen many, but his was enough to make her salivate. Would it grow, harden then fill her mouth if she ever got the chance to taste?
Dammit, she did recognize him. His picture was everywhere, even on the side of the local bus. Tasting was not on the cards. Talk about stalking.
She was not a groupie.
It just had to be him, of course. The last person in the world to pay any attention to a skinny, hair-like-a-drainpipe blonde with a potty mouth and an opinion on everything. No yes girl, quite the opposite.
So not his type.
With those thoughts in mind, a sour taste filled her mouth, and she slowly backed away.
Instead of being a glorious moment, it became sordid.
Almost.
She still couldn’t forget his cock.
Chapter One
Five years later
Ava Welsh glanced at the elaborately decorated piece of card in her hand and fought back the desire to rip it into tiny pieces and-or cry her eyes out. Why that on top of everything else?
In the space of a week, she’d split from Malc, her toe-rag of a boyfriend, who thought, as she had the better job, he should just give his up and sponge off her. Never going to happen, and he was most put out when she told him so. On reflection, she’d realised she’d paid for most things anyway, and enough was enough.
He’d retaliated by saying she was rubbish at sex and Ava had replied with, ‘It takes one to know one.’
That had been Monday.
Tuesday she’d had a visit from Clare, her best mate, saying Brad, her brother, was getting married at short notice and no, the bride wasn’t pregnant. They were just mushily in love and didn’t want to wait. Then she’d dropped the unwanted news that Ava was invited.
Just as she became a Billy—or was it Milly—no-mates?
Today was Wednesday and it was shaping up to be as bad.
The invitation to the wedding had arrived. And, to add insult to injury, the ceremony was on Valentine’s Day. Ironic or what? Everyone all loved-up, with cards from not-so-unknown admirers…and her. She would be card-less, admirer-less and less than enamoured with the whole thing. The fact she usually loved anything romantic, Ava chose to ignore. She was off men and romance big time. It was bad enough being partnerless, without love and romance being rubbed in ad nauseam. She knew Brad. He’d be so besotted with his bride, it would be hearts and flowers every which way and no doubt schmaltzy love songs on a continuous loop.
Ava was conscious she was being a damp squib and in any other circumstance she’d be shimmying around the room, high-fiving and deciding what to wear.
Because along with the invite was a note stating where the wedding was—a very exclusive venue in Barbados—and saying it would be a week’s visit. Plus, the information Brad had arranged for her to get the time off, as her boss was a friend of his family, and it was all expenses paid, tickets included.
The scribbled And we got your passport details from Clare solved one problem. The other was that, although there was no ticket for a plus one, another note said one could be accommodated with a flight nearer the wedding day, just email all the details.
Everything sorted except her feelings. And the knowledge that Clare knew Malc the toe-rag was no more and had passed the message on.
The only bright note was that her ratings from the morning radio show she hosted had steadily risen and her boss had hinted of greater things to come as he’d told her to enjoy the break.
“I’ve still got a week to go,” she’d said, wishing it was a month—or never. Why had the
“You deserve it, you’ve been brilliant, and there’s the big charity week later on this year. You’ll more than make up for it then. Enjoy a rest while you can. It’ll fly past,” her boss had said. “Then a week in the sun and that fabulous wedding. You’ll have a ball.”
She’d prefer to take her ball and go home. Or boot it into the sea and find an excuse not to go.
What a wuss. Suck it up, buttercup. Think of it as a holiday with one day of work or something. Not easy, but she’d have to try. After all, who could not be happy in Barbados?
Only fools and miserable buggers, and she was not going to be either if she could help it.
Ava tidied up her desk, said her usual thanks to the crew who had helped her through three hours of early-morning madness, and headed for the lift to the car park. What excuse could she come up with for not attending? She couldn’t. To not go to a wedding to see the ‘til death us do part’ and her almost-except-for-blood brother marry wasn’t on. But to someone called Twensy Cumberland-Bankks—double ‘k’ no less? Weird. And to be all alone with no plus one was going to be a nightmare.
She’d be the one to buck the trend and be unhappy in Barbados.
And would have to remember to take some duty-free rum and gin with her.
Plus mint and lemon. Limes were usually not a problem.
It hadn’t been that many years earlier on holiday there that she’d tried to get a mojito, to be told the island had had a mint shortage and mojitos couldn’t be served.
She wasn’t going to risk that again. Ava was no tippler, but on holiday her G and T or whatever was something to look forward to and enjoy.
* * * *
Conal Camlin was pissed off to put it lightly, and fairly politely. To be honest, he was fucked.
Or not fucked, as the case may be.
Today of all days? Okay, last night, but what’s a few hours between friends—or no longer friends, for fuck’s sake? Why had flipping Fiona, after he’d been away for five weeks working—and was ready for a bloody good fuck-fest—told him to fuck off?
Or in her words, ‘This friends with benefits thing isn’t working. Your idea of benefits isn’t the same as mine. I want more than bed no board. Either we go the whole hog or it’s over.’
So it was over. When asked to elaborate, it had seemed Fiona hadn’t been truthful. Not one grain of truth had passed her lips. She had, she’d said through gritted teeth, thought that once he’d had a taste he’d want more. The more being her wedded as well as bedded.
‘I want your ring on my finger, no prenup, and an allowance,’ she’d declared. ‘Or it’s over.’ She’d smiled and immediately Conal’s senses had gone to high alert. She had been up to something.
‘Either we give Jenna Jessop an exclusive for her mag, or I’m out of here,’ she’d stated in a triumphant, gotcha tone. ‘Then who will you take to your prestigious awards do tomorrow, eh?’
Conal had seen red. He knew a set-up when he saw one. ‘And I guess Jenna is all ready and has most of the article done?’ he’d drawled in a way most sensible people would be wary of. Not Fiona. She’d ignored it, or hadn’t noticed it. Fiona wasn’t, Conal reasoned, the sharpest pencil in the box. It hadn’t been a consideration when it was friends with benefits, not Brain of Britain.
She’d nodded. ‘Of course. She just needs some pictures. Russells, the jewellers in The Arcade, are going to stay open for us to choose the ring. I’ve seen the one I want. All set.’ She’d beamed at him as if she’d handed him the Holy Grail, not a poisoned chalice.
‘All set indeed. Except for one thing.’
Fiona had looked puzzled. ‘What have I missed?’
‘My agreement. My asking you to marry me. And’ his voice had risen, ‘my emphatic there’s the door, don’t let the knob hit you on the ass as you leave.’
Her mouth had dropped open. She’d looked like a trout. Had she had Botox or lip plumper and he’d not noticed?
“What? But…why?”
What a whine.
‘Because if you cast your tiny mind back three months’—bloody hell, had it only been three short months?—‘you were in total agreement we were to be’—he mimed quote marks—‘friends with benefits. As in screwing each other senseless like rabbits. A mutual itch scratch. No more. I’ve kept to my side of the agreement.’
She had scowled. ‘I didn’t think you meant it.’
Conal had narrowed his eyes. ‘I did. So I suggest you tell your dear friend Jenna there’s nothing to know, ring the jeweller and tell him there’s nothing doing, and get the hell out of my house. Which you have no right to enter without my permission. In fact, how did you?’
‘I copied your key.’ She’d beamed as if she’d done something special and wanted congratulating. How wrong could someone be?
‘So we can add a few misdemeanours and unlawful entrance to your unreasonable behaviour.’ Conal had had enough. ‘Just go. And leave the key.’
She’d grabbed a suitcase he’d never seen before, flung the key onto the table and snapped, ‘Better off without you,’ as she’d flounced out.
Even so, he had changed the locks first thing the following morning. He didn’t trust her not to have made a spare. Then he’d headed to the studio, ready to do battle with whoever wanted to mess around with his latest documentary.
Several long, angry hours later—having won the argument—Conal headed home to get ready for the evening’s ceremony. One he no longer had a partner for.
It was the last place he wanted to be Billy-no-mates.
During the day from hell he’d just had, several people had asked who he was taking to the ceremony. Conal had tapped his nose at all of them as he’d refused to say who his partner was. ‘She’s shy, we’ve not been together long, and I don’t want to frighten her off,’ he’d said as he mentally flipped through his list of potential partners. Sadly, a very short one. An empty one. ‘You’ll see when we arrive.’
He’d borne the teasing by biting his tongue and leaving the studio as soon as he could. Now, he had around four hours to find a friend—a tongue-twister if ever there was one—also known as someone who knew the score. Who wouldn’t read more into being his partner for the evening than being his partner for the evening.
Not easy.
Conal eschewed the lift and took the three flights of stairs two at a time. He swung open the door that led to the car park and it bounced back on its hinges.
“What the hell…ooft.”
The voice was female…and seething.
He looked down to see what appeared to be a long-legged blonde sprawled at his feet, cussing fluently in a melodious, albeit furious, voice. Her floaty skirt had lived up to its name and floated up and around her waist, as she twisted to see what was going on. That action revealed quite the nicest arse he’d seen in ages.
And the sexiest pair of undies ever, that he itched to take off and frame.
Perhaps life was looking up?
Chapter Two
“What the shit bat crazy hell has happened now?” Ava spat dust out of her mouth, rued the reason, now forgotten, why she’d worn her bloody skirt, and wondered what else could go wrong. She clambered onto her knees, pulled her skirt down and ignored the “Pity” she heard before she glared up into a face she knew by repute.
Conal Camlin.
The guy of the naked swim all those years ago. The one who featured in most of her hot-as-hell dreams. Former wild child, womaniser and alleged reformed rake. She’d believe that when she saw it.
“Are you absolutely determined to kill off the female half of the human race or is it only blondes?” she snapped, remembering one memorable interview where he’d said no sane man went out with a blonde. “You moronic idiot. Who in their right minds shoves a door so hard it upends any sensible person coming out of the lift? Why?”
“Any sensible person takes the stairs and stays healthy,” Conal said. “Lifts are for lazies.”
