One More Night: Craving Hearts, #1

By Liz Durano

What happens when last year's one-night stand turns out to be your hometown's hottest doctor?

Apparently, not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... and for thirty-something ad exec Ava Turner, that's exactly what happens when her one-night stand turns out to be Auburn Springs' newest-and hottest-doctor.

And when things heat up between them again, Ava must decide whether her big city dreams are more important than a chance at finding love in the small town she thought she left behind.

But when you've spent the last seven years going after the biggest promotion of your career (and that coveted corner office!), falling in love with the right man just might be easier said than done.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Velvet Madrid
• Release date: Sep 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201884390

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

What Happens in Vegas…

AVA

I shouldn’t have answered the call.

I should have let it go to voicemail and enjoyed my vacation with my mother in Auburn Springs. But I took the call and after listening to my panicked boss begging me to fly to the Las Vegas conference in his place, here I am three days later, the job finally done but needing something to do before I board my flight for New York in the morning.

I should head back home and resume my vacation—or what’s left of it—but after securing my biggest client account so far, I want to get the project started back in New York as soon as possible. It’s the only way I can guarantee that my name will be on the project even t hough I suspect Ryan will take all the credit like he does everything else.

That’s what happens when you date the boss although date isn’t exactly the word to describe what happened between us. It was more like a work relationship with benefits. Don’t get me wrong. I knew what I was getting into sleeping with the company owner’s son (while secretly wishing he’d officially announce us as a couple) but I also didn’t want to lose everything I’d worked hard for at the company.

Ah, mistakes. What would we do without them? We’d live better lives, for sure. But I can’t think about that right now. Instead, I need to figure out what to do after finding out my favorite band’s opening night is sold out and scalpers are charging way more than I’m willing to pay for a ticket. Sure, it’s my favorite band but to charge ten times the original price? They’re out of their freaking minds!

I could wander along the Strip. I’ve yet to check out the fountains of Bellagio. Maybe I could ride on a gondola at the Venetian or go up the top of the Eiffel Tower at Paris hotel. But I also don’t want to venture outside my hotel tonight, definitely not by myself. I already stick out like a sore thumb as it is, and less than a minute after I did venture out onto the sidewalk, I was immediately approached by two different men asking if I wanted company while thrusting their business cards at me.

That was my cue to make a quick U-turn and head back to the hotel where I immediately snagged the first empty stool in front of the bar. I didn’t even care that I was alone but when you have to decide whether paying ten times the regular ticket price is worth seeing your favorite band of all time, a little solitude can be a good thing. Maybe I should check out that adult show a colleague told me about today, something about an almost-nude version of a popular circus show.

Considering it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a perfect set of abs, it’s not a terrible idea. The only negative thing about my plan—other than needing to steer clear of men offering their services—is that I’ll be alone. But it beats returning to my hotel room and watching TV. I’m in Sin City, for crying out loud, and I just snagged my biggest account ever. I should celebrate.

I take a deep breath, my mind made up. I’m going to see the show with nude performers. Correction: almost-nude performers. I don’t even care if their six-pack abs are painted on.

Downing the last of my cocktail, I swivel out of my stool. By the time I see the server carrying a tray filled with drinks behind me, it’s too late. My knees meet her legs a little too hard and glasses fall from the tray she’s holding up. A highball, a lowball, and something that looks like a Long Island Iced Tea fly into the air, their respective contents spilling all over a man standing to the server’s right. A blue Hawaiian (judging by the color of the drink and the mini umbrella) splashes on his shirt and trousers.

I am so sorry! I grab a stack of napkins from the bar and start patting the poor man’s drenched shirt all the way down to his trousers. I almost keep going before he grabs my wrist just before I would have patted his… crotch?

Oh, my God, I swear I didn’t mean to feel you up or anything! I drop the napkins on the floor, my face burning with embarrassment as he laughs, a low sound that sends delicious tingles running up and down my spine.

It’s all right, Miss. Accidents happen.

I really am so sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m a… I pause, the words sex-hungry-single-professional-woman forgotten as I stare at the man’s deep blue eyes. They’re gorgeous. No, I take a step back and stare at him. He’s gorgeous. In fact, the whole package is gorgeous. The smile, the abs, the narrow hips and muscled thighs evident from the way the soaked fabric of his pants clings to his legs. And abs. He’s got rock-hard abs.

Why don’t you two step aside so we can clean this area up? The server says as a co-worker sets up two-sided Caution Wet Floor signs.

I cover my face, more embarrassed at the fact that I stared at him for what seems like a full minute. I can’t believe what happened. I feel horrible, I mutter under my breath as my unfortunate bystander dabs his shirt and the front of his trousers with dry napkins. I hope this isn’t going to make you late for anything.

He shakes his head. Don’t worry about it. Considering how my day’s going, this is probably the most excitement I’ve had all week.

I peer at him incredulously. You’re in Vegas. How can you not be having fun? Well, outside of getting drenched in all kinds of cocktails, thanks to me.

When you’ve been stuck in meetings about molecular mechanisms, neural circuit development and plasticity mechanisms all day, he replies. And just when you’re hoping to get some fresh air–

Let me guess, someone gets you all wet.

He shakes his head. Try seeing your ex-girlfriend kissing your buddy in the lobby.

I’m sorry to hear that.

No need to apologize. He shrugs. We did break up a month ago so she can date whoever she wants. But my buddy? No wonder he’d been avoiding me during this whole conference.

I’m sorry.

He raises a finger. No more apologies. It’s not your fault.

You’re right. But I did end up getting you all wet.

Parker shrugs. I’ll live.

Suddenly I don’t want to talk about ex-girlfriends or wet dress shirts. I hold out my hand. I’m Ava, by the way. Ava Turner.

Parker O’Neill. He grips my hand in a firm handshake. What about you? Were you going somewhere? You seemed like you were in a hurry.

In a hurry to go nowhere, to be honest. I was going to walk around, kill time before heading back to my room for the night. No way am I telling him I was going to check out that almost-nude circus act. What about you?

He pulls out a pair of tickets from his jacket pocket and holds them up. I was on my way to the ticket counter to give one of these up. Figured someone out there would be interested. But with all the people hanging out in the main hallway, I thought I’d take a shortcut through the bar and... He pauses, looking down at his drenched shirt and trousers. Well, here we are.

I stare at the tickets. How can you give those tickets up? Aerosmith is the hottest ticket in town. I mean, it’s their opening night!

No shit. Parker laughs. I bought them a few months ago when my girl and I were still together. I don’t mind seeing the show alone, but I’m sure there’s a waiting list of people who’d want this. He holds up one ticket.

I’ll buy it from you. As I reach for my purse, he rests his hand on my wrist.

It’s yours.

I’m serious. I’ll pay you. Scalpers are charging an arm and a leg for a ticket and I’m willing to pay you an arm for that one.

He laughs. I don’t care about the money, and honestly, I prefer your arm where it currently is. But if you want this ticket, it’s yours. You’ll just have to sit next to me, that’s all.

I’d sit on your lap if I had to. I make a face. Sorry. Couldn’t stop myself.

He takes my hand and places the ticket on my palm. Here. It’s all yours. No questions asked.

At least let me buy you a drink or something, or maybe a late dinner.

Parker looks at the soaked shirt clinging to his unmistakable six-pack abs. I’ve got at least half an hour before the doors open and I need to change into something dry. Should I meet you down here in, say, half an hour? You can buy me a drink after the show.

That’ll work.

He grins. Although this time, I’d prefer not to wear it.

After the show, we find a