by Mina Carter
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Lyrical Press, Inc.
www.lyricalpress.com
Copyright ©Mina Carter by Mina Carter
First published in 2009, 2009
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
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Playing With Fyre
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About Mina Carter
More from Lyrical Press
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Back Cover Copy
When you play with Fyre, you just might get burned.
Raelyn Borne has a fiery passion to save her home. Unfortunately, lawyer Logan Fyre, is as ruthless an opponent as they come. With him, she can't bribe or threaten her way out of this one.
When backed into a corner, Raelyn has a tendency to get sassy. And now she's desperate enough to enter into a dangerous game with Logan.
Does she have the strength to play with Fyre—without getting burned?
Content Warning: Hot, ruthless lawyer, scorching sex and a woman with a secret. Chocolate cake optional.
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"But that was when I thought you were human, with a heart to reach out to.” She whispered, her courage in the face of his anger only extending to an answer, not the volume of the answer. She was surprised she could talk at all past the tightness of her throat.
He laughed, a derisive little chuckle. “Honey, I'm a lawyer. We don't have hearts. You'd do well to remember that."
Rae fought the urge to step back, nearly flinching as he brought his hand up. His lips compressed as he flicked the top button of her shirt open.
"We are, however, practical people.” His voice was silk over steel, a terrible combination that had all her survival instincts yelling at her to run, get out. Get as far away from this man as she could. “So I'm going to give you another chance to achieve what you set out to do..."
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Playing With Fyre
By Mina Carter
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Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Playing With Fyre
Copyright © 2009, Mina Carter
Edited by Charlotte Cowie
Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Renee Rocco
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
17 Ludlow Street
Staten Island, New York 10312
www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: July, 2009
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Dedication
As always, my friends—Will, Doug and Jake. My editor (and friend) Charlotte, who makes me look far more talented than I am. Renee and Frank, you guys are the best!
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Chapter 1
She had less coming in than she had going out, which was all well and good when it came to diets, but not when it came to her bank balance. In Rae's experience it meant she was in it up to her neck. The financial version of up a creek without a paddle.
Raelyn Borne sighed, slumped back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair as she searched the ceiling of her tiny office for inspiration. Hoping for some sort of divine intervention that would make the figures on the screen in front of her magically add up in her favour. Hell, she'd even throw in a prayer or two if she thought it would help, despite the fact she was definitely not religious. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a church. Not since childhood—a harvest festival or something. She vividly remembered the tables laid out behind the pews, covered in tins and baskets of fruit and vegetables interspersed with corn dollies and whatnot. It was bizarre what avenues Rae's mind took when she was trying to avoid facing facts.
She dropped her hands, the heavy mass of red brown hair falling about her shoulders, and glanced at the screen again in defeat. She'd have been all right; everything would be fine if not for bloody Jensen and Fyre. Her eyes narrowed. A flash of annoyance and hatred surged through her at the mere thought of the name. A property development company, they'd bought up a lot of properties in the area, including the Big House. It had another name of course, Ashton Grange, but locally it was known as the Big House. Jensen and Fyre had bought it a few months ago and rumour had it they wanted to turn it into some swanky hotel.
Rae didn't have a problem with that. A hotel would bring in much needed business for the local area. A small town, Ashton on Sea had to compete with the larger, more popular tourist destinations along the coast. Trouble was, a little off the beaten track it didn't have the resources to attract the visitors, with no big shopping centres or piers like the bigger towns. So a big, posh hotel would provide lots of visitors and jobs for the locals. It would be just the boost the local economy needed.
No, a hotel she didn't have a problem with. The problem was they wanted her place, the Gatehouse, too. A small building set to one side of the long, impressive drive up to the Big House, it had once been a part of the Grange Estate. Even as a small child Rae had dreamed of living in the quirky little house. So when the last owner had decided to start selling off pieces of the estate, Rae had been first in the queue, determined to get her little house.
Now though, she realised she'd overstretched herself by borrowing over and above what she had really been able to afford, justifying the risk with the fact she would be running her own business from the adapted front room of the house. But that wasn't the real problem. She sighed, resisting the urge to bang her forehead against the desk, and reached forwards to shut the PC off.
No, her real mistake had been entrusting her mortgage to small town independent bank Bennett and Bennett. Her teeth ground again in anger, her jaw aching from the pressure. Because when she'd refused the offer they'd made for her house, Jensen and bloody Fyre had decided to play dirty. They'd bought the bank she had her mortgage with.
The doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of her last appointment. Rae sighed again, twisting the heavy fall of her hair into a sloppy pleat and securing it with a silver clip before heading out of the office to greet her client.
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Logan Fyre was not a patient man, unless it suited him to be. At the moment, however, it didn't suit him to b
e as he waited at the front door of ‘Gatehouse Aromatherapy.’ This place was the fly in the ointment of his plans for Ashton Grange, a really annoying fly. He pressed the bell again, frustrated at the wait now that he'd decided to come down here and put an end to this messy situation.
He turned in the doorway, ducking down and trying to catch a look through the window. Was anyone even in there? Surely they had to answer the door to customers. A tall, lean figure dressed in a black trench coat over a sharply tailored business suit, there was no way he'd be mistaken for someone wanting ‘aromatherapy.’ His pale eyes narrowed in irritation. Bloody load of rubbish if you asked him. The owner was no doubt some weird old cat lady who made all her decisions by reading the tea leaves of her morning cuppa, waving a bottle of lavender around and claiming to be able to cure all his ills.
He snorted, spotting a figure inside heading his way and straightened up. If she could do that, he'd be amazed. Not that he had any ills, other than being irritable and stubborn. Oh, and a jackass apparently. His latest ex, Jane, had thrown that one at him as she'd stormed out.... Logan Fyre, you ... you vain, manipulative piece of shit ... You're a jackass, and one I hope never to see again as long as I live...
Now the last part he understood. He'd just told her it was finished, their relationship over. She'd had her six months in his life, in his bed, and it was time to move on. In his experience, women tended not to take the news too well and Jane had been no exception. He shrugged to himself; it wasn't a problem. The spot she left in his bed was easily filled.
But vain? That had cut deeply. He wasn't vain. Not by a long stretch of the imagination. Sure he liked to look good. There was a big difference between checking in the mirror to make sure your hair wasn't standing on end or that you hadn't missed a spot shaving, and the full-on male bimbo thing. Metro-sexual they called themselves apparently. Didn't make a blind bit of difference to him what name they used, any man that had more cosmetic products than a woman needed his head checked, in Logan's opinion.
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The door opened to reveal Cat Lady in all her glory. Only she wasn't what he was expecting. She wasn't a cat lady at all, at least not the stereotypical crazy old cat lady. His imagination had conjured up a woman in her late forties with thick bottle-bottom glasses and bad hair. Instead, a younger woman who couldn't have been older than her late twenties stood in front of him. Not only was she not a cat lady, but she was stunning to boot. Warm chocolate eyes, a pert little nose, and full, full lips that just begged to be kissed; the combination gave her an elegant, exotic look he was sure should be gracing a screen somewhere since she looked a little like Audrey Hepburn.
Speechless, Logan's gaze carried on downward. Slender and petite, she was dressed in a white tunic and trousers, her rich, dark hair twisted into a haphazard pleat. His hands itched to pull the clip out and watch her hair tumble around her shoulders. A loose, dark mass for him to slide his hands through, use to pull her head back whilst he claimed her lips...
Shaking his head to dislodge the image, he realised she was looking at him in expectation. Shit, she'd spoken and he'd been so wrapped up in his own little fantasy world he hadn't heard her. He chastised himself; he knew better than that. He'd learnt early in his career not to take his eye of the ball, that was a sure-fire way to get bitten in the ass.
"I do apologise, I was speechless for a moment. I didn't expect to find such a beauty out in the middle of nowhere like this.” He recovered in a heartbeat, giving her his most charming smile. Behind his blue eyes the cogs turned as he rearranged his initial thought that the cat lady was the wife of the guy he'd come here to see.
The guy who owned the place. Ray Borne. It gave the impression of an older guy, middle aged at the least. In which case he'd netted himself a much younger and gorgeous wife, the lucky bastard, or Daddy had bought the property for his daughter. Hopefully, it was the second. Yeah, that would be so much easier to work with.
Her lips compressed a little, the brief flash of irritation concealed before Logan was sure he'd seen it. Okay, kitty didn't like charm then. Pity, he'd like to find out what it took to get her to purr. Logan ignored the thought and smiled.
"No worries. Please come in.” A small smile played at the corners of her lips as she stepped back. Very polite, a professional mask. “Have you had a massage before?"
Logan's face set. Massage? What sort of dodgy place was this? Wasn't aromatherapy sniffing weird oils with a towel over your head or something? Not get your kit off and a bit of ‘how's your father'? His mood took a nose dive, the promise she'd initially presented souring under the possibility she could be a high-class hooker. Ray Borne was no doubt her pimp, Logan decided in disgust.
However, if this was just a front for a brothel, then getting them shut down and acquiring the property was going to be so much simpler, which was what he should be concentrating on rather than his disappointment over Kitty here. But then, when were women ever what a guy thought they'd be?
However, to prove what was going on he needed some sort of proof. So he had to go in and see exactly what sort of ‘services’ were on offer. He smiled again.
"Not recently. And most definitely not that sort of massage, how much do you charge for ‘extras'?"
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No matter how many times she heard that line Rae's temper rose each and every time. Most of the time it was a joke from old school friends she treated for sporting injuries. But no one ever had the sheer audacity to say it to her as cold and calculated as this man. He wasn't local so he didn't know her, or the struggles she'd had to get the business—her dream—set up. No one who did would ever dare say that to her.
When she'd opened the door, she'd been surprised to say the least. She'd known straight away he wasn't local. Rae had lived in Ashton on Sea all her life and she knew everyone. More than that, she also knew the names of people's extended families, even the odd cousin who had moved over to Brittany. It was a close community to say the least.
It was more than that, though. It was the way he was dressed—stark black coat over an expensive suit. Rae might not have been well travelled but she watched enough TV and film to recognise designer tailoring when she saw it. He was dressed the way she expected a secret agent or a high class businessman to be dressed. Since secret agents tended to be few and far between in Ashton on Sea, Rae's bet was on the latter.
"Mr. St. James.” Her voice was professional but with a firm hint of censure and disapproval in it. “I am a professional massage therapist, not a prostitute. Comments like that are inappropriate and insulting. Please respect that or I shall have to ask you to leave."
He didn't bat an eyelid, just looked her up and down with that cool, blue gaze. Rae stood her ground. If she hadn't been so mad, she'd have thought he was quite attractive. No, scratch that, very attractive. Possibly the hottest thing on two legs she'd ever seen.
Pity he was a rat with a mind in the gutter. Extras indeed!
"Actually that's where you're wrong,” he drawled, still looking at her. A direct look that said he could look into her eyes and know all her secrets. Examine them like a butterfly under a magnifying glass being pinned out for display.
"Is that right?” Rae's temper not only fluttered like a flag in the breeze, it went into full sail in the blink of an eye. How dare he? Booked client or no, he wasn't getting a bloody massage now. In fact, the sooner she got him out the door the better! “Wrong about what, may I ask? The fact that I'm a professional, or the fact that you've already insulted me?"
He smiled. Not a nice smile, a ruthless one. Rae shivered; it was the sort of smile that said its owner was used to getting exactly what he wanted when he wanted.
"No, I'll believe you if you say you're a professional. I'm sure you're extremely good at what you do. What you were wrong about was my name."
Rae was too annoyed to catch the small start of warning her instincts gave her. If she'd been thinking clearly she'd have realised snapping at a complete stranger wasn't suc
h a good idea.
"If I didn't need a name to report to the police I wouldn't give a damn.” Her voice cut through the silence in the cold corridor, made colder by the still open door. “Now please, leave ... It would be a pity if poor Mr. St. James got lumped with a charge of harassment when he's done nothing wrong, now wouldn't it?"
She'd gone too far. Anger flared in his eyes as he moved. The door slammed shut in the next instant. Rae ignored it, her attention on the man stalking towards her, backing her against the wall.
"Well, if I'm going to end up with a charge like that, I might as well do something to deserve it.” His voice was soft, but the tone in it, the look in his eyes made her shiver.
Run, scream. Kick him in the shins. Her instincts all screamed at her to move, do something, but Rae was frozen to the spot, her view of the world blotted out by his broad shoulders. She'd taken him to be lean at first, but up close he was a lot bigger than she'd thought. A shiver went through her, one that had nothing to do with the possible danger she might be in. Instead it was a thrill of awareness.
"Look here, you can't do this. Or would you like me to add assault to the charges as well?” Rae's heart rate tripled as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the leather of his gloves brushing her skin in a sensual caress. A small gasp escaped as her eyes darted to his.
"I hardly think a little kiss would stand as assault, do you?” His words were a whisper against her lips before he claimed them with his. His first touch was exploratory, the second a long slow tasting of her lips and the third blew her mind.
Warm and firm, his lips coaxed hers apart, his tongue sweeping in to taste her. She shivered at the touch as he moved closer, so close she could feel the brush of his coat against the front of her tunic.
She lost all sense of time, heat and need hitting her in the same moment. That she was trying to throw him out a moment ago slid away as he kissed her. Shock held her immobile for a moment but then her lips moved beneath his. Within seconds she was kissing him back, her hands reaching up and her fingers spearing into his short blond hair to hold him to her. She was breathless when he lifted his head. Her lips formed a small pout of disappointment as the kiss ended.
