Temptation

by Hart, Romi

  Temptation

  Romi Hart

  Copyright © 2018 by Romi Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.

  Contents

  Also by Romi Hart

  About this book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Addiction - Special Preview

  Author’s Note

  Also by Romi Hart

  About the Author

  Also by Romi Hart

  Addiction

  The Billionaire Bull

  The Billionaire Bastard

  Stamina

  One Kiss To Win

  Sinner

  About this book

  Large. Huge. Magnum.

  That's how girls talk about me.

  I’ve dominated the field all my life.

  Now, I want to dominate Reesa.

  The moment I saw her I knew I wanted her.

  Those curves, those eyes, that sweet voice.

  I want it all for me.

  And I'm gonna take her.

  She can play hard to get all she wants.

  I’ll make it so tempting for her, she can’t resist.

  I've decided to take what's mine and I will.

  She’s my temptation. And I’m not letting her go!

  Chapter 1

  "Look at this place. Not a man here I would give the time of day to,” Kylie Michaels complained, waving a dismissive hand at the crowd around the bar. Shaking her head, she sighed. “I can’t believe there are almost four million men in New York City, and these pieces of rubble are what we get to choose from tonight.”

  Theresa Brighton snorted and motioned for the bartender to bring her another drink. “Why do you even try? I gave up a long time ago.” And with good reason. At 28, she’d already gone through one nasty divorce after a hell of a relationship. She had no intention of seeking out another.

  Scoffing, Kylie shook her head. "One bad round doesn't count, especially if it's not your fault. Besides, you could do better." But her attention had already turned elsewhere, her eyes focused on the television to their right behind and above the bar. Reesa trained her gaze on it, and she sighed in exasperation.

  Marcus Winters, the Soccer Savior for the Seattle Sounders, dominated the screen. Sure, he was gorgeous, but he was as fake and phony as they came, she figured. "Come on, Kylie," she chided as she wrinkled her nose at the interview airing. "You see that smile? How crooked it is? And how he tilts his head ever so slightly so he looks completely cocky and self-absorbed? It's all an act."

  “How dare you say that to me?” Kylie asked in mock offense. Or maybe she really meant it. Reesa didn’t know anymore. She’d grown used to her friend’s celebrity crush on the famous center midfielder and striker. Yes, she’d even had to learn the jargon because of her best friend’s obsession. “That grin is as genuine as they come. See that dot in his cheek? You can’t fake dimples.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s as genuine as his perfectly golden tan,” Reesa laughed, blowing a kiss to the bartender as he handed her the drink. She really needed it, if they might end up talking sports all night. “Listen, Kylie, these guys are nothing like they seem on television. In real life, they’re human, and they don’t have good attitudes. I bet Marcus Winters is one of the most socially awkward people on this planet, and he would sit here at this bar, saying the same things about the women that we say about the men, just to avoid having to approach one of them on his friend’s insistence.”

  “You’re a hater,” Kylie pouted.

  Reesa just shrugged. “Oh, well. Speaking of which, you’re no longer allowed to avoid the stare of that handsome young man over there.” She pointed to a pretty blonde man who’d spent the last fifteen minutes ogling Kylie. “I know he’s no soccer superstar, but he’s a close second.” She gave her friend a shove and watched her weave her way to the other end of the bar. She didn’t turn away until she knew Kylie had joined in conversation and seemed okay.

  Then, she found her vision focused back on the television, her lips pursed as she read the subtitles now scrolling across the screen. It’s all about the fans, and if showing up to get my ass dunked for the Children’s Cancer Research Foundation makes the fans happy, it just fills my heart twice as much.

  What a crock of shit, Reesa thought. It was good publicity for him and the Sounders, that was all. And it was a way to entice more women, not that he needed any help with that. Most of the time, she figured, women threw their panties at him and begged to go to bed with him.

  The reporter spoke now. Winters has also agreed to donate two million dollars personally to the cause, the largest single donation to the new foundation so far.

  “Well, he can afford it,” Reesa mumbled to herself, staring down into her drink.

  “You think I should give more?” Reesa stiffened and nearly choked as she looked up into a ridiculously handsome face and realized it matched the one on the screen. Not possible, she told herself, blinking. This had to be an imposter. But her eyes traced the lines of his full lips, took in his broad shoulders, and felt the ripple of attraction she often denied course through her, however brief, as Marcus Winters pinned her with his emerald gaze.

  Recovering quickly, she shrugged, as if he was just some guy. “What does it matter? It’ll be a tax write-off anyway, right?”

  He inclined his head, that easy crooked grin curling his lips as he leaned one shoulder on the bar beside her. “I suppose. But I don’t do my own taxes. I don’t trust my judgment, so I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “So, how much do you think I should donate? What do you think would be an appropriate hit to my pocketbook to make it a donation truly in the giving spirit?”

  She scoffed, thinking of the contract he’d just signed for an unprecedented amount with the Sounders. He could definitely afford more. Straightening and quirking a brow at him, she asked, “How does twenty percent of your net worth sound?”

  He stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing, a deep, throaty sound that made her toes tingle, which only served to piss her off. “I’m not sure it would be that much more. I don’t get a baseball player’s salary, you know. But if you’ll tell me your name, I swear I’ll add at least another half mil.”

  "Are you trying to buy my name?" she threw at him. She couldn't figure out why he made her so angry and indignant. After all, he didn't act any different than most men, except he was a little cockier. Then again, as she let her eyes roam his hard body and shockingly gorgeous face, she figured he had a right to his self-confidence.

  His smile grew larger, and the dimple Kylie found so devastating appeared in his right cheek. “I guess so. I doubt you’re going to give it to me for free.” His chuckle came easy and warmed her blood.

  Hating her body for its betrayal, she sighed and told him, “I’m Reesa.”

  He stood to his full height,
and at an even six feet, he towered eight inches above her. Holding out his hand in greeting, he said, “Pleasure to meet you, Reesa. I’m Marc.”

  Marc. Just like that, like some regular Joe or Tom off the street. This was crazy, and she let herself live in the surrealism for a moment, taking his offered hand and shaking it. His soft skin against hers sparked something that shot through her fingers, up her arm, and spreading through her veins like wildfire. It spurred her heart to beat erratically, and she clenched her jaw in refusal of the reaction. “Nice to meet you, Marc,” she gritted.

  “You really don’t like me, do you?” he asked, confusion marring his brow. Apparently, he rarely ran into a woman who didn’t want to jump his bones. Not that Reesa’s physical reaction differed, but she stood firm in her morals.

  “It’s not about like or dislike, Marc.” Referring to him by the nickname felt strange; celebrities, including sports stars, always came into conversation by their full names. He had always been Marcus Winters. Still, if he wanted to pretend he wouldn’t be accosted by every woman in the bar as soon as someone recognized him, she could play along for a while.

  But before she could explain what she meant, she felt a hand gripping her upper arm and digging in with the force of a vice grip. She turned to find Kylie beside her, face chalk white and drained of blood as she gazed in absolute shock at the man in front of her. Kylie gulped visibly and stuttered, "You're…I'm…how are you even here?" The last words came out as a squeak, and Marc turned up the charm, obviously loving that a fan ogled him with such idol worship.

  "I live in New York, and it's offseason," he said lightly. "I'm Marc. And you are?"

  Kylie looked like she might pass out, so with a roll of her eyes, Reesa spoke for her. “This is Kylie, my best friend. She fancies herself your biggest fan.”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed them across Kylie’s knuckles, and she moaned audibly. Why that struck Reesa wrong, she didn’t know, but she felt relief when he broke contact and his eyes landed on her again. “So, what can I do to convince you I’m not just some heathen looking for a tax break?”

  Brushing the comment aside, she motioned to the bartender for another drink, realizing she’d finished the last at some point. “Even if I believed you on that point, you’re a womanizer and a player. And I’m not talking about your games on the field.”

  He flinched, looking wounded, and she wondered at that. He rubbed the back of his neck as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Look, you can’t believe everything you read or see or hear.” She didn’t respond, just glared at him, and she liked how it made him squirm a little. “Believe it or not, I don’t approach a lot of women, but I think you’re beautiful. And even though you’ve wounded my pride and pierced a hole in my ego, I’ve actually enjoyed talking to you so far. You’re real and honest, and I like that. I’m not asking for a commitment or anything, but I’d really like you to give me a chance to show you I’m not such a bad guy.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, considering his plea. Something inside her wanted to believe him, but she hesitated. She’d been fooled too easily before. Out of nowhere, the smile returned to his face, a teasing glint in his deep green eyes. “What do you think, Kylie? Should your friend here give me a chance?”

  And that was that. Kylie would never forgive her if she didn’t go out with Marcus Winters and bring back detailed stories so she could live vicariously through Reesa’s experience. Holding up her hands in surrender, Reesa nodded. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance. But don’t think I’m going to give you googly eyes and fall into bed with you.”

  He placed his hand over his heart with a serious expression. “I swear I’ll be a complete gentleman.”

  Reesa would have laughed, but a part of her suffered from disappointment – the part of her controlled by her libido and hormones. The rest of her typically paid more attention to the organ in her skull, which told her she should be relieved. She fought to give control to her common sense, holding onto her success by a thin thread.

  With a nod, she motioned for her tab, and she gaped at Marc when he handed over his credit card to pay, telling the bartender to keep Kylie on his bill until she decided to leave. As the bartender walked away, she shook her head, incredulous. “If you think you can buy my affection, you’re wrong.”

  “Definitely not. But I swore to be a gentleman, and a gentleman picks up the tab.” He winked at her, and Reesa thought Kylie would swoon. As it so happened, her own heart fluttered and skipped a beat. Obviously, she’d gone too long without any physical attention. That had to explain it. “So, would you care to join me for a walk and some coffee?”

  Reesa quirked a brow at him. It surprised her that he didn't intend to ply her with alcohol until her brain no longer took charge. "I suppose I could do that." She turned to Kylie in question. "Are you alright here without me?"

  Kylie nodded vigorously, barely able to take her eyes from Marc. “I actually came over here to tell you I wanted to go out with Brad.” She gestured vaguely toward the guy she’d been talking to, though her eyes strayed to Marc, and she licked her lips nervously. “So, don’t worry about me. You go have fun.” Her excitement filled the air, and Reesa had to smile.

  “I appreciate your blessing, Kylie. Have a wonderful night.” Marc gave her a winning smile and swept his arm in a grand gesture toward the door as he returned his attention to Reesa. “Shall we?”

  Reesa braced herself and followed him out the door, glancing back to find Kylie grinning from ear to ear and holding her hand to her ear in the universal sign for call me. With one last nod, she left the club, the cool breeze hitting her in the face and clearing her head. What on earth was she doing? Leaving with a stranger – a stranger who happened to be famous – to go who knew where.

  “What a beautiful evening,” Marc mused, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking at a casual pace. He turned in the direction of Times Square, which at least meant a large crowd. She didn’t have to worry about being alone with him. Of course, she had pepper spray if he tried anything stupid, and she knew self-defense. She’d taken several courses since her divorce.

  She laughed softly. “Do you know how weird it feels to walk down the street next to a guy people worship for his athletic ability, making small talk about the weather?”

  “Would you rather have deep conversation? I can do that,” he told her, humor in his tone. “I’m 31 years old, born in New Jersey. I have a younger sister who lives in Florida with her husband. I wanted to play baseball, but I can’t swing a bat and connect with a ball to save my life. My mother’s Italian and makes the best lasagna in the world.”

  Now, her laughter came out heavy and brash. “Marcus Winters History 101.”

  “Well, I did want you to get to know me before you judged me. I guess I thought divulging the gritty details of my life might get that going a little faster.” He turned a corner, and down the block, the bright lights of the square came into view, the giant screen just out of their field of vision. The noise level increased as they neared the area, thousands of people milling around, shopping, and generally enjoying the area.

  “Fair enough,” she said, trying to wrap her head around the situation. “It’s just a bit much, considering the circumstances. I don’t know how you manage to make so many women comfortable in your presence.”

  “There haven’t been all that many women,” he told her, sounding sheepish. She scowled at him in disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest as a gust of wind picked up and sent a shiver down her spine. “I let them hang around if they want. I like pretty women, but I don’t do a lot of dating. It takes too much time, unless I’m really invested in a woman, which I haven’t been for a long time.”

  As he talked, he steered her into a high-end women's clothing store. "Where are we going?"

  “You’re cold. I want to remedy that situation so we can spend more time together. Pick out a sweater. It’s my treat, since I dragged you out of the warmth of the club.”

  S
tubbornly, Reesa stopped moving, facing him with her hands on her hips and fight in her eyes. “Now, just a minute. I’m a working woman, and I can pay for my own things. I’m not one of the little groupies you can just pacify with a few bucks or an autograph on my breast!”

  Marc sucked in his cheeks, obviously trying not to smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on your breast to sign it. But I promised to be a gentleman.”

  The way his eyes danced broke her resolve, and she melted into a reluctant laugh, a blush creeping into her cheeks at the admission. “Either you’re a really smooth talker or you’re brutally honest. Either way, I should probably keep my guard up.”

  He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could smell his cologne. He’s kept it subtle, rather than the overwhelming cloy of spraying too much musk. It enticed her, and she held her breath as he held her gaze. “I’m sorry if I offended your feminist sensibilities.”

  She frowned. “I’m not a feminist. I’ve just been independent for a very long time.”

  “Well, allow me to pamper you a little then. You can go back to your independence when we part ways tonight. Let me get you something nice to keep you warm. Please.” His expression softened, his eyes alight, and she couldn’t say no.

  Relenting, she shrugged, looked around, and grabbed a cream colored shawl sweater. It was thin but plenty to warm her for the evening, and it would go with everything. When he looked at her in question, she told him, “I’m not much of a shopper. I tend to get more than enough satisfaction with that from work.”