by Julie Kenner
“So how exactly do you plan to teach me about erotica?” Bryce asked
Joan squirmed nervously in her seat. “I was just pondering my lesson plan,” she murmured. “I think we’ll need to take a hands-on approach. Very hands-on.”
Her words washed over him like a caress. Bryce slid his hand over hers, twining their fingers. Then he lifted their joined hands and pressed a slow kiss to her fingers. It was time to get their school for scandal under way. “I’m ready for class to begin.”
She shivered, a slight tremor that brought him tremendous satisfaction. “Soon,” she said, closing her eyes. He brought the tip of one finger into his mouth, his tongue spiraling around her soft skin. Her breath hitched. “Very soon,” she whispered.
His teeth grazed lightly over her finger as he slipped the digit free, then pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Good,” he said. “Just so you know, I always ace my classes.”
Dear Reader,
When Joan first introduced herself to me in Silent Confessions, my latest single-title release, I knew I had to give her a story of her own—particularly one that explored the erotic fantasies Joan discovers daily between the pages of the rare books she works with. But what fun is a fantasy—especially sensual fantasy—without the perfect man to share it? And what man could be more perfect than Bryce Worthington, a sexy-as-sin multimillionaire who’s more than willing to take Joan’s academic interest in erotica to new and intimate heights?
I had a lot of fun writing Joan’s story. She’s definitely a dreamer, a woman who believes in happily ever after. But this fairy tale definitely isn’t for kids….
I hope you enjoy Silent Desires. And if you missed it, be sure to look for Silent Confessions, which was available last April.
I love to hear from readers, so please let me know what you think. You can e-mail me at [email protected] or write me at P.O. Box 151417, Austin, TX 78715-1417. And please visit my Web site at www.juliekenner.com for contests, news and more.
Happy reading!
Julie
Books by Julie Kenner
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
16—L.A. CONFIDENTIAL
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
772—NOBODY DOES IT BETTER
801—RECKLESS
840—INTIMATE FANTASY
893—UNDERCOVER LOVERS
SILENT DESIRES
Julie Kenner
For Brenda.
Contents
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
Epilogue
1
THE LITTLE BELL above the door of Archer’s Rare Books & Manuscripts jingled as Jack Parker slipped out the door and into the dark. Joan Benetti looked on, amused and, if truth be told, a little sad. After almost a year of marriage, Veronica Archer Parker, her boss and friend, was about to follow her husband out the door and head off on her belated honeymoon.
How cool was that?
Joan sighed. Pretty damn cool, actually. For years, Joan had done the New York singles thing, hopping from bar to bar and guy to guy. It had been a hoot and a half, no doubt about that, but now…well, maybe now it was time to get serious. And not just about a man. About a lot of things. Lately Joan had been using Veronica’s life as a mirror, and over and over Joan had found her own reflection wanting.
“Hey?” Veronica—Ronnie, as everyone called her—tapped a fingernail on the glass display counter, her voice pulling Joan from her reverie. “You in there?”
Joan looked up, manufacturing a grin. “Of course. I’m just tired. This four in the morning thing sucks.”
Ronnie laughed. “Can’t help it. The plane leaves at six and I needed to grab a few things from the office. But you didn’t have to get up.”
Joan yawned, the talk of sleep making her tired all over again. “I didn’t get up. I was already up.” She was temporarily living in Ronnie’s old apartment above the bookstore, so she’d thought she might as well come down when she heard Jack and Ronnie come in for the reference books and notes Ronnie was taking with her to Paris and London. The honeymoon was a working trip, but Jack didn’t seem to mind.
“Awake all night,” Ronnie said, her expression amused. “And what does this one do?”
Joan rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t with a guy.”
Ronnie’s brow furrowed. “But it’s Saturday night. Well, Sunday morning.”
“Yeah? So?” Joan knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. Instead of dating, she’d spent the weekend reading and thinking. Big, sweeping life thoughts. “Who-Am-I and What-Should-I-Do-With-My-Life” type questions. Ones best pondered in the dark with a Nina Simone CD and a bottle of merlot. Of course, while she was pondering in the dark, she’d missed flirting with Roy, the DJ at Xylo’s, and she’d really missed the bar’s famous chocolate martinis. But, for the most part, she’d enjoyed her weekend alone. Well, okay, so it was only one night alone, but still… She’d made some important decisions, and that was the key.
Ronnie shrugged. “It’s no big deal,” she said. “I just assumed you’d have a date.”
“Yeah, well, I’m on hiatus.” Joan grinned, then waved to Jack who’d stepped back inside. Ronnie moved easily into his arms, and Joan felt that little tug at her heart again.
The truth was, it was Ronnie’s impending honeymoon that had kick-started Joan’s meditative mood. Jack had rolled out the fairy-tale golden coach for Ronnie and he was whisking her off to the ball. And as far as Joan could tell, Ronnie’s coach showed no signs of turning back into a pumpkin.
That was the trouble with all of Joan’s dates. Trey, Andy, Martin, Jim—and all the rest of them. They were no princes, and no matter how much fun she might have had at the ball with them, the fantasy always came to an end. It sucked, and Joan was tired of it.
“I’m swearing off drive-by dating,” Joan blurted, trying her resolution on for size. Ronnie and Jack both looked up, their expressions curious but not too surprised. Okay, so maybe Joan did tend to make a lot of resolutions, but they usually involved diets or exercise. This one she intended to keep.
“Swearing off?” Ronnie repeated.
“Well, yeah,” Joan said. She lifted her chin, reminding herself why she was doing this. “If it looks like there might be something real there, then sure I’ll date. But no more of this random stuff.”
“A woman with a plan,” Jack said. “I almost feel like I should issue some sort of warning to my poor, unwed brothers in arms.”
At that, both Joan and Ronnie rolled their eyes. “We have a taxi waiting,” Ronnie said to Jack as she pointed toward the door. “Go make sure the driver doesn’t take off with our stuff.”
He kissed her. “I’ll meet you out there,” he said. He paused at the door. “I asked Donovan to drop by now and then. Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
Joan grinned. Jack was a homicide detective and his partner, Tyler Donovan, was a good guy who looked about ready to tie the knot himself with a nurse he’d been dating steadily for months. Both men tended to be overprotective. Joan pretended to be annoyed, but in truth, their concern made her feel special. “Thanks, Jack,” she said, then grinned when his expression of surprise revealed that he’d been expecting a protest.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and she wondered what argument for her safety and well-being he’d had to toss by the wayside.
Once he was outside again, Ronnie moved back toward the counter. “So you’re really giving up dating?”
“Sure. It’s no big deal,” Joan said.
“Uh-huh.” Ronnie didn’t look convinced. Which made sense. Joan wasn’t certain she was convinced, either. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
This time, Joan knew she wasn’t talking about her dating life, but about running the store. “Fine,” she said. “I’ve been working here four years now. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
Ronnie had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Still, it’s a big responsibility. You’ve never done the books or payroll before. And it’s not like there’s a lot of room in the budget.” She frowned. “You’ve got the number for our hotels in case there’s an emergency?”
“I’m fine. Everything’s under control.” She licked her lips, wondering if this was the best time to broach one aspect of her resolution to get serious about life. “Ronnie?” she started, jumping in. “Are you still planning on, you know, cutting back?”
Ronnie sighed, then ran her fingers through her hair. “Yeah, unless I can find someone to take on as a partner. The problem is that bookstores make lousy investments. So potential business partners aren’t exactly knocking down my door.”
“So, what then?” Joan asked. “Three days a week?” Ronnie was finishing up her Ph.D. and looking into teaching. Plus, she wanted to spend more time with Jack. That, coupled with the store’s lousy financial condition, had prompted her to consider cutting back the hours. A decision Joan didn’t like at all.
“Something like that,” Ronnie said. “I’ll think about it after we get back. Don’t worry, you know I won’t cut your hours until you’ve found a job to make up the difference.”
Joan opened her mouth to press the issue, to tell Ronnie that she didn’t want another job. That she wanted to be Ronnie’s partner. Wanted a permanent stake in the business, and was willing to work her tail off to get it. But before she could speak, two honks from the taxi echoed through the store.
“I’m going to make us late,” Ronnie said. “Can it wait?”
“Sure,” Joan said, trying for nonchalant. She’d just talk to Ronnie when she got back. And by then, Joan should be in a much better position to convince her boss that bringing Joan in as an owner made all the sense in the world.
“Great.” Ronnie leaned over the counter and gave Joan a quick hug. “I know you’ll take perfect care of the place,” she said.
Joan nodded, wished them a safe trip, and then found herself waving to an empty doorway.
They were gone. Now she was in charge.
It was a nice feeling, one she wanted to last beyond their four short weeks of vacation. She loved this store. Loved the musty smell of ancient books. Loved the customers who came inside, some with definite purpose, some who wandered aimlessly, drifting among the stacks until, as if by magic, they found a book that touched their soul. And she loved the variety of books that filled the shelves—literature, rare illustrated tomes, first editions of biographies and popular fiction, ancient travel guides and so much more.
And, of course, Joan loved the erotica. Ronnie’s specialty was Victorian-era erotica, and she’d made a point of keeping the store well stocked with rare works from that period and others. During downtimes at the store, Joan would peruse the collection, reading everything from Anïs Nin to D. H. Lawrence to The Pillow Book.
Joan had never considered herself uninformed where men were concerned, but this was new territory. The literature thrilled and inspired her, pushing her imagination to decadent limits. Unprofessional, maybe, but she couldn’t help but get turned on by the graphic prose and the raw, unrestricted emotion generated within the pages. Forbidden fruit, and she loved studying it, learning about it, and, yes, losing herself in it.
Now Joan wandered among the stacks, the dim light from the single lamp at the front of the store causing provocative shadows to slide across the shelves in front of her as she moved toward her favorite section of the store—and her favorite book.
When she’d come to work for Ronnie fresh out of college, Joan hadn’t been familiar with erotic literature. Oh, she knew it existed, sure. But she hadn’t known it intimately. Hadn’t known the value of a leather-bound edition, much less the depths of pleasure that the mere words on the page could impart. She shivered—a little tingle of anticipation—as her gaze scanned the shelves.
She found the volume she was looking for, a book from the late 1800s, bound in green boards and in pristine condition. Very fine, in bookstore terminology. The book’s author was anonymous, but Joan didn’t care. She was interested in the words, not who put them there.
And, oh, those words. Enticing and provocative, the stories could send her pulse racing as effectively as a lover’s touch.
Licking her lips, she trailed her fingertip down the spine, delighting in the rough texture of the cloth, the slightly different feel of the title stamped in gold on the spine: The Pleasures of a Young Woman.
It was the kind of book she wished she could afford for herself, and yet she knew that would never happen. Extremely rare, the book was believed by scholars to be a collection created by some contemporaries of Oscar Wilde. The collection supposedly chronicled the erotic adventures of Mademoiselle X as she traveled from Paris to London. The young miss must have had quite an adventure, because the book read like a personal—very personal—anthology, describing in both words and pictures her forays into every erotic situation imaginable.
Such pleasures…
For just a moment, Joan wondered if her resolution was foolish—if swearing off frivolous dating was simply a masochistic exercise that would do nothing more than keep her frustrated.
No.
With her eyes closed, she pressed the book to her chest. She wasn’t swearing off men, just foolish dating of the wrong sort of man. Her door was wide open to Mr. Right. Absolutely. And if she met a guy with Mr. Right potential, they’d just have to take it slow and steady. That might leave her frustrated, but that was a state of being Joan could take care of on her own. And with a book like this…
Her fingers caressed the book as her mind wandered. It would be so easy. To take the book upstairs. To curl up naked under the crisp, cool sheets. And then to slowly, so slowly, open the book and drink in the pages.
She sighed, her body heating with anticipation. She knew this book. Every word, every nuance. Knew which passages were written with a light, almost humorous, hand, and which passages spoke to her soul, enticing her to stroke her breasts, her belly, and then dip her fingers down, down, down.
She shivered, and then, pulling herself together, firmly returned the book to its place on the shelf. It was almost dawn. She needed her rest. She did not need to lose herself in the steamy heat of erotic prose.
Still…
She paused, her hand hovering near the book. The store was closed on Sunday, so she could rest all day if she wanted to. Besides, she wasn’t sleepy. Just the opposite. She was wired. And the delicious prose was a distraction. Practically a necessity. After all, she’d sworn off casual sex and random dating. No little touches on the dance floor, no tickling of toes under the back booth at Xylo’s. And absolutely no doing the wild thing. Definitely torture.
If she had the company of a warm book, though…well, a book and her imagination could make all the difference in the world.
Convinced, Joan slipped The Pleasures of a Young Woman back off the shelf. With a little sigh, she held it close, and then headed up the stairs to her apartment and to her bed.
A glass of wine, the faint strains of music and the pages of this book. Heaven. Or, at least, as close as she could get to heaven by herself.
“NOW THERE’S a looker,” Leo said, pointing across the smoke-filled SoHo bar at a sultry redhead in too-tight Lycra who looked like she’d paid mightily for hair, tits and ass. “Bet she’d be a tiger between the sheets.”
Bryce shot his attorney a frown, swirling the glass in his hand so that the ice rattled against the side. He took a sip, letting his gaze skim down the woman as the Scotch did
a slow burn down his throat. “Not bad,” he said, but without much enthusiasm.
“What’s the matter?” Leo prompted. “Not your type?”
“I don’t have a type,” Bryce said. If a woman struck his fancy, he was more than willing to schedule time for her between the sheets. But a type? What was the point? Besides, he wasn’t on the lookout for a woman to take up permanent residence in his life. He didn’t have the time or the inclination, and he sure as hell didn’t need the distraction.
“You ought to consider settling down,” Leo said. “It would be good for your image.”
“And she’s the kind of woman I should install in a house in the suburbs?” Bryce asked, nodding toward the redhead.
Leo scowled. “No, she’s the kind of woman you screw.”
Bryce had to laugh. Leave it to Leo to get to the heart of the matter. Hell, that was what made him such a damn good attorney.
“Get it out of your system,” Leo said, “and then come talk to me. Marjorie knows a lot of nice women who’d love to land you as a husband.”
Bryce shook his head, interested in neither landing nor being landed. He didn’t have the time for the sort of real relationship that would provide a solid foundation for marriage. Of course, considering his own parents’ marriage, Bryce had wondered if that mythical solid foundation even existed. He’d thought they’d figured it out. And then ten years ago their idyllic life had crashed and burned. His mother had been having an affair. A long-standing one, apparently, and she’d run off with her lover. All along, she’d put up the perfect front, projected the perfect illusion. And Bryce had never even had a clue.
He didn’t intend to let history repeat itself.
“What do you say?” Leo prodded. “The media’s been all over this Carpenter Shipping deal. Three hundred jobs, Bryce. That’s a lot of folks out of work. They’re saying you don’t care about the little people.”
Bryce ran a hand through his hair. “I know what they say, Leo. I also know what they don’t say—that whenever I buy a company and trim the fat, the business increases its efficiency by over twenty percent. That’s a lot of extra cash in the investors’ pockets, you know.”
