Constant Craving: Book Three (The Craving Trilogy 3), page 1
Constant Craving
Book Three
Tamara Lush
Edited by
Jami Nord
Copyright © 2018 by Tamara Lush
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Praise for Tamara Lush and Tell Me a Story
Constant Craving-Book Three
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
SNOW ANGEL
About the Author
Praise for Tamara Lush and Tell Me a Story
“Lush writes naughty stuff, the kind of lusty chick lit that uses words such as “moist,’’ “lick’’ and even some c-words to rev up her growing fan base.”
- The New York Post
“A steamy romance and a captivating storyline makes it a perfect read for any 50 Shades lover.”
- Redbook Magazine
“Tamara has such an engaging voice, sexy, likable heroes and heroines and a wry sense of humor.”
- New York Times bestselling author Beth Kery
“Tamara Lush tells a story of undeniable lust and temptation.”
- Buzzfeed
“The steamy (and oh-so-passionate) romance of a lifetime blooms and we promise you won’t be able to put it down. By the time you finish this, you won’t even remember who Christian Grey is.”
- YourTango
“Florida heat, spontaneous readings of erotica, a book shop owner and a businessman—do we have your attention?”
- Working Mother Magazine
Constant Craving-Book Three
1
JUSTINE
Sumptuous white silk shantung whooshes around my legs, and I lift the skirt with my thumbs and forefingers, not wanting the pristine fabric to drag on the Spanish tile. The floor is icy on my bare feet, and I tiptoe quickly across the hall.
“Justine, you’d better not be dirtying that dress.” Caroline’s Southern accent wafts from the library, the room we’ve taken over for wedding preparation and primping.
“I’m being careful, no worries,” I call out from the bedroom.
“Don’t even think about taking a pee without us,” Diana hollers.
I laugh out loud and sift through the jewelry box I’ve set atop the bureau. It’s a solid, mahogany chest with delicate gold filament inlays of cherry blossoms.
I’m looking for a pair of diamond earrings, and I make a noise of impatience as I look through the haphazardly arranged bracelets and necklaces. I need to organize this better, especially now Rafa is buying me expensive jewelry on the regular. A gold bracelet and the diamond and platinum necklace he’d bought me last month are in a different jewelry box on another table in the bedroom. But I’d brought this old one when we’d moved to the villa two weeks ago because it had sentimental value.
It had been my mother’s.
She’d kept her jewelry more organized. Which was why she’d only let me touch the sparkly baubles occasionally.
God, I wish she were here for this. Happy with a man who loves me. Living in a historic villa in our beloved city. Pregnant with her grandchild. Running the family’s paper. It’s been years since I’ve heard my mother’s voice, but I’ve never forgotten the Southern cadence. Almost like Caroline’s, but raspier, throatier, similar to a forties movie star.
I tear up, thinking of her.
I’m searching for the earrings she wore during her wedding to my father.
It’s perhaps the only nod to Dad, one Rafael doesn’t need to know about.
Ah! There they are. I pluck an earring out and attach it to my ear without looking in the mirror above the bureau. It’s only when I get the second one on that I glance up to make sure the understated, one-carat studs match my dress.
My breath catches when I see myself. My gown is sleeveless and unadorned with beads or crystals. It has a deep V-neck and an A-line skirt. It’s a brilliant bone-white, the color of mythical virgins, which is appropriate, considering I lost my virginity fifteen years ago to the man who is about to be my husband.
I am a bride.
I am Rafael’s bride.
How many times in college had I daydreamed about this? I’d zone out in class, wondering how he’d propose, where we’d marry. Back then, I’d imagined he’d do it on the beach at sunrise. Or at an expensive restaurant in Miami, after we’d launched our careers. I’d assumed we’d get married somewhere in Florida, of course.
Never had I dreamt it would take more than a decade to get to this point. We’d had more twists and turns than a theme park ride in Orlando. A miscarriage. More than a decade apart. A sex-filled, angst-ridden reunion, ending in a surprise pregnancy.
And the conviction that we can’t live without each other.
This is the day I’ve been waiting for since I was in college. The moment I’ve always wanted—to say “I do” with him—is fast approaching. Twenty-five minutes, to be exact. I sniffle. It will be impossible not to weep during the ceremony.
“Justine,” Diana calls out. “Get in here so we can have a toast before the vows.”
I laugh and pick up my skirt. By the time I step into the library, which is littered with makeup, hairbrushes, and a tray of salty snacks, Diana and Caroline have a bottle at the ready.
“Rafael made sure we had the most expensive sparkling white grape juice he could find.” Caroline sounds proud, as if Rafael’s her own son.
Diana fusses with my updo, twisting a tendril around her finger. “This damn thing won’t stay curled. Of all the days for your hair to be straight. Let me get the curling iron.”
“No, I’m good. It looks fine.” I grin at her fussy sigh and sink onto one of the few uncluttered surfaces, a brown leather ottoman. Now three months pregnant, I’m just barely showing, but the dress hides the bump.
I rub my lower back. Today I’ve been on my feet more than usual, between Diana and Caroline’s primping, running up and down stairs making sure the orchids had arrived, talking with the wedding planner.
With a twist of the cork, Caroline pops open the non-alcoholic bubbly and pours it into three crystal flutes atop a silver tray.
I take the glass of sparkling grape juice from Caroline.
“It’s organic,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow, which makes Diana giggle.
“Only the best for his bride and his baby.” Caroline sniffs the juice as if it were fine wine.
“It’s true. He’s been a little obsessed with making sure I have organic food and all-natural cleaning products. He even suggested we buy unbleached cotton sheets. Said he’d been doing research into how those were better for the baby’s crib and figured they’d be good for me, too.”
Caroline raises her glass, and my muscles ache as I stand up. “A toast. To the most doting groom and father-to-be on the planet, and to you…” She pauses, and when I see tears pool in her eyes, mine start to water. “And to you, Justine, who has fought so hard for so much. I’m so proud of you, dear. Your mother would be over the moon today, too.”
I rub my lips together, feeling the slick of my light pink lipstick. I don’t want to ugly-cry with all this dark mascara and heavy, smoky eyeshadow, but these memories of my mother, who died in a car crash when I was seventeen, make me swallow a lump of tears in my throat. I notice Caroline doesn’t mention my father. Because he wouldn’t be proud or happy I was marrying Rafael.
Somewhere, wherever he is, he should be. Not only is Rafael making his daughter the happiest woman in the world, but he’s also saving our family’s newspaper.
He’s even put the sale of the Times building on hold—without me asking.
“To Justine,” a grinning Diana pipes up, rescuing the moment from melancholy. “Thank God she’s marrying Rafael, because I know she’d never truly be happy without him. And God knows he’d be insufferable without you.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Caroline brushes one of my curls out of my face.
We clink the crystal glasses and sip the sparkling juice. The sweet liquid gives me a rush of energy.
Diana walks to the French doors, which overlook the courtyard, and takes a pull of her drink. “Lordy, he’s already standing there, and the ceremony isn’t for another twenty minutes.”
I laugh. “I think he’s more nervous than I am. Is he fidgeting with his cuffs?”
Caroline joins her, her royal blue gown’s sequins shimmering in the sunlight. “He sure is. And he looks stunning today.”
&
I plop onto the ottoman again and finish my juice. I’m nervous, too, but I don’t show it like Rafael does. For all of his alpha male-CEO steeliness, he’s surprisingly anxious about our wedding. He must have asked me a million questions this week about everything from the flowers to the harpist.
Diana kneels at my feet and opens a shoebox. She takes out a white silk slipper—I want comfort today, not pain-inducing heels—and I raise my foot.
Caroline’s still at the window, and she sighs dreamily. “You and the planner did an amazing job in such a short amount of time. Those orchids are stunning.”
“It helps it’s such a small ceremony. It was simple.”
“But the harpist. And the rush alterations on the dress. And the two photographers.”
“The photographers are old friends who work at the paper in Jacksonville.”
“And that jasmine-covered trellis. Who could find so much jasmine out of season? I can’t wait to smell it down there.”
Who would have a thicket of jasmine in perfect bloom? A bride and groom with an extreme amount of money. Rafael had given me an open checkbook to have whatever ceremony I desired. I could have rented the most expensive venue in New York, for all he cared.
But I didn’t want extravagant or ostentatious. I’d said no to makeup artists, hairdressers, and personal assistants, instead relying on my two best and oldest friends.
I wanted things that reflected our relationship and our values: simple and beautiful, the essence of pure love. The decorations in the courtyard had the same ethereal theme—white orchids and jasmine; white rattan chairs; a white trellis; two tall, alabaster modern art statues, with ribbons and tassels in sparkling gold accents sprinkled everywhere.
Diana slips the flat on one foot, and I raise the other.
“These look comfy. Glad your feet aren’t swollen.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
She looks up at me as I twist my ankle, admiring the shoe. “You feeling good, still, Justine?”
They keep asking me that, probably because I’d lost Rafa’s baby all those years ago.
“Feeling perfect. No nausea, no lightheadedness. Glad it’s over. It was a bitch puking every day. Now, just a little back pain.” I follow quickly with a sheepish glance. “Don’t you dare tell Rafael.”
Diana makes a zip motion over her mouth.
“He’d fly me to a specialist in New York if he knew.”
Caroline joins us, tapping her watch. “It’s time, dear.”
Sucking in a breath, I stand, and my head swims with dizziness. It’s not worth mentioning anything, because I’m sure it’s nerves.
First, I hug Diana. “Thank you. Thank you for being here through it all,” I whisper. She’s wearing a sleeveless silk dress, short and sky blue. It’s a sheath and cut lower in the back. Her skin is warm and she smells like roses, and I kiss her on the cheek.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She sniffles loudly. “Jesus, I told myself I’d save the tears for the wedding. I’m glad this is finally happening so you can’t drive me batshit crazy anymore.”
We both explode in laughter. “How many hours do you think you’ve dissected Rafael’s behavior, words, and thoughts with me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Too fucking many. I’m headed down.”
She gives me a squeeze, then breaks away and walks out of the room, her heels clacking on the tile floor.
I turn to Caroline, who’s dabbing at her eyes with a hanky.
“Oh, my dear.” Her eyes are glassy with tears.
I choke back a sob as she takes me in her arms. “Thank you for being a mother to me. Not like a mother. A mother.”
“I love you.” It’s such a simple statement, but I’ve never heard it from her.
“I love you, too, Caroline.”
She pulls back and looks at me, her hands around my bare arms. “You be good to Rafa. He’s a fragile man, for all of his bluster and bravado and machismo.”
I nod. “I know. He has a soft, gooey core. Only we see it. And I will be good to him.”
“I gave him a pep talk about you, too, last night.”
I laugh as she grabs a tissue and hands it to me.
“Here. Now wipe your tears carefully. I’m going downstairs.”
I nod and pat the corner of my eyes, then check in a nearby hand mirror whether I resemble a raccoon. So far, so good.
And then, it’s me, alone in the room. We’d talked about having Diana or Caroline walk me down the aisle. Or both.
Ultimately, we’d decided against it. I knew I’d want a moment to myself before the ceremony, and I’d also wanted to silently honor my own parents. Plus, Rafa and I have gone through our trials to get to this point alone, and in so many ways, together.
We’ve foregone the maid of honor and best man. Only our closest friends and their significant others are here. Caroline’s brought a beau—Larry, the security guard at the newspaper—and Diana’s with her husband. David, Rafa’s vice president and closest confidante, is here with his girlfriend. Six guests in all.
Cautiously, I peer out the window down at the courtyard. Caroline and Larry are looking at each other, googly eyed. He gives her a shy kiss on the cheek, and I laugh. They’re the cutest, and I’m glad they found each other after losing their spouses some years ago.
My eyes go to my soon-to-be husband. His black tuxedo is impeccably tailored, perfectly fitting his broad shoulders. His hair is freshly cut, and even from up here, I can see that his face is smooth from a close shave. I can’t wait to press my lips to the soft skin of his jaw. He’s standing near the jasmine trellis, talking to David. They appear surprisingly serious for a day that’s supposed to be a celebration. Why is Rafa frowning, and why do his dark eyes look more intense than usual?
They’re probably discussing business, because they can’t ever stop. David claps him on the shoulder and turns to sit next to his girlfriend.
Stone-faced, Rafa clasps his hands in front of him. To the casual observer, he’s the picture-perfect rich financier. But only I know that the commanding, even lethal, demeanor goes far deeper than mere arrogance or power.
He’s terrified. Oh, sure, I suspect he’s relieved that he’s finally making me his. But he’s also worried that the ceremony won’t go as perfectly as we planned.
He looks toward the house and up at the window. I duck, not wanting him to spot me.
From an open window, I hear the harpist’s first glittering notes. This is my five-minute cue.
I take a deep breath and search for my purse. It’s sitting next to the box containing my hand-wrapped bouquet of white orchids that are so splayed open they’re almost pornographic. My fingers go to my hair, stiff with spray, and I pat at the diamond tiara adhered to my updo.
No veil for me because there’s nothing to symbolically unveil. Rafael knows all of my secrets, and he is entangled with my soul.
I open my purse. Sad as it is to say, I want to peek at my email one last time before the wedding. I know I shouldn’t worry about the paper at a time like this, but it’s instinctual. A compulsion, even. I want to check on the status of a rare, pre-hurricane season tropical wave. It’s nowhere near Florida and forecasters say it’s probably curving out to sea, but I like to keep track of every storm that’s anywhere in the Atlantic.
Old news junkie habits die hard, and my first impulse is to fire off an email to the desk. Surely they’re monitoring this wave, or at least checking the wire services. Still, I have a personal reason to obsess—I want to make sure the storm isn’t headed anywhere near the islands. Even a tropical wave might bring a lot of rain…but maybe a rainy day in bed with my husband wouldn’t be so bad.
