SEVEN DAYS (PLEASURE SERIES Book 1)

by Rayne,Amber

  SEVEN DAYS

  PLEASURE SERIES BOOK 1

  AMBER RAYNE

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  MESSAGE TO THE READER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Amber Rayne

  Seven Days

  © 2016, Amber Rayne

  Amber.Rayne.Writes@gmail.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Cover Art: Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design

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  CHAPTER 1

  Last night was fun we should do it again sometime. The ring was my grandmother’s, I need it back.

  The message blurred as I blinked back the tears, appreciative of the rain that had started to fall and masked them. A text message. HE ASKED FOR HIS ENGAGEMENT RING BACK IN A TEXT MESSAGE.

  Who does something like that? My ex-fiancé is who does something like that. It was hard to expect anything more from a man who called off our engagement three weeks before the wedding. And as if that wasn’t painful enough, he asked me to move out and gave me a week to do so while he conveniently spent that week at his parent’s home with the excuse of “giving me some space”. Space. I didn’t need space. I needed to not deal with the embarrassment of a broken engagement three weeks before the wedding. I needed him to tell me in person he wanted to leave as opposed to leaving me a damn Dear Sally email or whatever the hell people called it. I needed to not see the stares of pity each day as I tried to hold myself together.

  I stood on the sidewalk, light rain beating against my skin, hoping it could wash away my somber mood. Once it started coming down harder, I ducked into my favorite café, Biscot. The moment I walked in, Tera, the barista stopped me. “Ella, do you want your usual?”

  I nodded; barely looked up as I headed to the restroom where I stayed until the tears stopped welling in my eyes. It was a foolish decision to meet him last night but I wanted what we had back. And there was something in me that needed Jason to be more than a broken engagement and a break-up email. I wanted him to be the man whose first kiss made the others pale in comparison. I wanted back the late nights we binge watched Netflix, pizza nights, our private jokes, and the camping trips where it was us against nature.

  There was that small part of me that clung to the person he was when we were in college and not the arrogant, selfish, narcissistic bastard that he had become since his graduation and his quick rise to Vice President of the bank.

  Reapplying my make-up, I removed all evidence of my tears, paid for my coffee and started out the door to go to work but abruptly stopped. The rain was coming down harder and I watched it collapse many umbrellas in its wake. Chicago is a great place to live but the weather is temperamental. One minute it was your kind friend ushering you into a pleasant day. The sun a soft warmth against your skin, the breeze a relaxing brush. And then there were days like this when it was a wrathful ex-lover, the wind violent and strong, the torrential rain battering and ruining every umbrella in sight.

  I didn’t care about my umbrella, but my computer bag wasn’t water resistant and I refused to let a destroyed Mac be the cherry on top of my crap-tastic day.

  With my caffeine addiction in hand, I surveyed the area looking for a place to sit but everyone seemed to have the same idea and the place was crowded.

  Then I saw him, the man who I knew as just Cafe Americano. His deep seductive cognac-colored gaze lifted to meet mine and it took a moment before I could pull them away. I looked around the cafe for a place to sit but my attention kept going back to the corner where he sat. Generous lips curled into a faint smile, the only one that I’d ever seen him give. Warmth licked at my cheeks as I returned the smile.

  Since our drink order mix up two months ago, we managed to give each other a casual nod or wave, although I was always giving him furtive glances. I held his gaze for more than what would be considered a casual look; I was staring. He was handsome. No, that was too tame of a word, and gorgeous although fitting, seemed too fantastical.

  In an effort to stop staring, I put my cup on the counter and sent Jules a text: I will be there as soon as the rain eases.

  Within minutes she had returned it. Take your time. Why don’t you take the day off?

  What? I moved into one of the corners and called her. “You know I hate to miss work,” I said as soon as she answered the phone.

  Her voice was just as soft and genteel as it was in person, “I know but they are anticipating a thunderstorm and I know you; as soon as you think you can, you’ll try to make it in. I want you to be safe.”

  “I’ll make sure the rain has stopped before I try to head out.”

  “Okay.”

  Working nearly sixty hours a week afforded me some leniency when it came to attendance. In the two years I worked there, I’d only taken off three days because of the flu. I loved my job. I wouldn’t necessarily agree with the platitude that if you loved your job you never feel like you are working. I’m not sure if that’s true but when I was there, I wasn’t under any delusions that it wasn’t work. When I thought of my first job at brokerage firm, I liked it even more.

  I gave the coffeehouse another sweeping glance before going over to his table to ask Café Americano if I could have a seat.

  “Should I be offended that you were looking for somewhere else to sit?” he asked smiling as he extended his hand to the seat across from him.

  Oh you saw that, did you?

  Once I was seated, he returned to his keyboard. His long fingers swept over the keyboard; deft and commanding. And that was exactly the things he exuded. Even in his silence his strong virility kept my attention.

  I was still looking at him when he closed his laptop, leaned back in the chair, took a sip of his coffee and then focused on me. I should have been working and I had every intention of reviewing the presentation again for what would have been the twelfth time in the past two days. I knew it was solid.

  He leaned forward, his finger slid over my ring finger. “Nice engagement ring,” he said eyeing it.

  I looked down at it as though I was seeing it for the first time. I had taken it off a couple of days after Jason had ended it. Then a date with him yesterday restored my hope that we would reconcile. It was a nice dinner that ended with us back at his home and the most heated sex we had ever had. He kissed me tenderly, gently running his finger over the ring on my hand and commenting about how perfect it looked. I felt a new bliss, confident that things were back to normal and he would be my husband. In my mind, when he kissed me before I left we were back together. The ache in my chested started again and I inhaled a slow breath as I recounted the text he’d just sent me asking for the ring back.

  “It’s over.” I said stumbling over the words. The breath I took was jagged and rough even when I exhaled it slow
ly. But I kept taking them with hope that they would help me maintain my composure. I would eventually break down and cry but I would be damned if it would be in the coffee house, in the middle of the day, in front of Café Americano and everyone in Biscot. I sat up taller, slid the ring off my finger and then placed it in my purse in one sweeping movement. My nonchalance over it was convincing enough—or at least I thought. But the smile on his face disappeared and his eyes displayed a warmth and sympathy that wasn’t there before.

  “It’s probably good that it did.” I added, softly.

  The inquiry and curiosity covered his face, but like most people he was too polite to ask. With a hint of playfulness, he asked in a deep melodious voice, “How’s your coffee, Ella? Peppermint white mocha, right?”

  His questioned rekindled my memories of the first time we met, similar to a day like this one. We were both at the counter waiting for our drinks. “This is definitely not my drink,” he said with a sly smile, turning to me as he took another sip of my peppermint white mocha. The gentle amber gaze held mine just a little too long. “It’s good,” he licked his lips and I tried not to stare at how supple they were. “But a little too tame for my palette. Sweet,” he said.

  “Sor-,” I stopped mid-word. It was something I was trying to stop. I apologized incessantly for things that weren’t my fault. I had plenty to be sorry about but Café Americano getting my drink wasn’t one of them. I became acutely aware of his hands covering mine, as he brought the cup in my hand to my mouth. He gently urged it to my lips. “Try it,” he said.

  The command of his tone, the silkiness of his voice, the gentle smile, all leveled my defenses. He watched me carefully as I took a sip of something stronger than anything I would ever drink.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his tone a low sensual drawl. Dropping my eyes to the cup, trying hard not to be pulled into the light blanket of brown, I couldn’t help but feel trapped in my spot. Standing a little over six feet, he had about seven inches on me and his presence was too imposing to ignore.

  A smile hinted at his lips as he waited patiently for me to answer.

  I shook my head. Honesty was my favorite attribute and my biggest flaw. I could have just said yes and ended the conversation. “It’s too strong and bold for my tastes.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” he said, his hand still cupping mine as he spoke.

  He turned to reorder the drinks. “I guess I will see you tomorrow, Ella.”

  And before I asked how he knew, he turned the cup around revealing my name scribbled on it.

  He did see me the next day, but I came in ten minutes later, hoping to avoid him. I was engaged and there was something devilishly tantalizing about him and I refused to be allow myself to be tempted. All I would allow was a casual nod, friendly smile, or wave in passing. Most of the time I couldn’t get out of there fast enough hoping to miss him. Because even those casual pleasantries had an air of seduction to them. Or maybe it was wishful thinking.

  I couldn’t keep calling him Café Americano, so inconspicuously, I tried to look at his cup to see his name. A miscreant smile curled his lips as he turned his cup so that I could get a better look. Scribbled on it was Café A.

  “Aiden, my name is Aiden,” he said softly as if he were giving me information for my ears only.

  For a long moment, there was an awkward silence. He took a sip from his coffee, studying me with interest as he rested back in his chair. “You or him?” he asked.

  I knew what he was asking. Who called the wedding? I was flushed from embarrassment. It shouldn’t have been hard telling a stranger, what did I care what he thought? But the answer remained stuck in the back of my throat. I couldn’t admit that I came home to a letter telling me that he tried to make it work but he realized that he just didn’t love me. How do you tell someone that? “Mutual decision,” I lied.

  “Recently you had it off, you must have reconciled.” I guess Aiden wasn’t hindered by the silly social graces that most people subscribe to. But it was the question that stumped me. How did he know that? Who notices something like that?

  Once again he smiled, the wayward grin that pulled at my curiosity. “I’m very observant, I’m paid to be.”

  “Who pays you to be so observant?” I asked trying to change the subject. If he was anything like Jason, he could go on for hours about his job. And it would be a welcomed distraction. I needed something—anything to get my mind of the text message.

  “I work at KMedia,” he said.

  I said the name over and over in my head until the name nudged my memory. It was an advertisement company downtown that was responsible for most of the ads plastered throughout the city and most of them that popped up on my feeds. I often dreamed of using them to advertise for our small company. After all, if they advertised for us we wouldn’t be struggling. But on the contrary, if we could afford to pay their fees we probably didn’t really need them.

  “What do you do there?”

  “This and that, nothing special.”

  This and that. His cufflinks on his French cut tailored shirt probably cost more than what I made in a month. And the Rolex probably cost more than my car and he lived near the coffee house, in a condo that I suspected cost more than a mortgage for a three-bedroom home in my neighborhood -- anything in this area with a bedroom ran you upwards in the millions. It was safe to say he did more than just “this and that.”

  “Who was it, you or him?” he inquired again, redirecting the conversation back to Jason, my broken engagement and the wedding I wasn’t going to have. I just couldn’t do it and needed an escape.

  The weather changed, the rain had dwindled to a drizzle. A perfect time to leave. “I have to get to work, you have fun doing ‘this and that’” I teased as I grabbed my things and headed for the door.

  He came to his feet as well and took hold of my arm, “Did I upset you?”

  “No, of course not,” I lied. “I really need to get back to work. I’ll see you later.”

  “Have a good day, Ella,” his deep melodic was just a light whisper. I liked the way he said my name, a light accent, maybe Northeastern. A person saying my name shouldn’t bring naughty thoughts to my mind, but it did. I turned away and went out the door. The last man who made me feel like this when he said my name dumped me with a Dear Sally letter three weeks before the wedding.

  As I headed toward the door, I looked back; just as I suspected, he was still watching me, a captivating smile resting casually on his features making its way to his eyes. The lilt in his lips remained as he watched me pass the café’s window. I slowed, taking another look at him. He was gorgeous and denying it was just silly. And I held his entrancing cognac eyes as they narrowed, watching me attentively. I waved goodbye as he continued to watch me. Blocks away, I felt like his penetrating eyes were still on me.

  CHAPTER 2

  I stayed away from Biscot for three days avoiding Aiden, which I planned to do for the rest of the week. Seven o’clock in the evening after leaving the office, I was surprised to see him sitting in his usual spot, listening to an acoustic guitarist, whose deep raspy voice had mesmerized the crowd with his soulful melodies and seemingly mellowed them out of their caffeine high. The small audience was enthralled by his singing. Our weekly work meeting only lasted an hour but always managed to make my day two hours longer, so Wednesdays were my late day. As I did every Wednesday, I stopped for an evening cup of coffee for the train ride home.

  The moment I walked in, I saw him. Quickly I placed my order and tried to leave without unnoticed.

  “Ella,” I heard him call my name just a few feet away. The hunter-green shirt and brown slacks brought out his features and his eyes that held mine; making it hard to drop and even harder to ignore.

  “Join me.” His hand pressed gently into my back didn’t leave a lot of room for declining.

  “It’s late. I should get home.”

  “I’ll take you home,” he said. “Just for a little while.” Hype
raware of his hand on the small of my back, once again I scolded myself for the salacious thoughts that came to my mind. As he guided me to the table it was apparent that not many people said no to him.

  “I hoped I would have a chance to apologize,” he offered.

  “For what?”

  “I was intrusive and rude. Far too often my curiosity gets the best of me,” he admitted as he relaxed back in the chair.

  When his hand slipped over mine, I relaxed into his touch and let it stay there. “No worries. Talking about the engagement is hard. It’s over and that is the best for us both.” It was the most convincing I had ever sounded. But the stab in my chest that always accompanied when I thought about it was there.

  “Fine, we won’t discuss it.” His eyes met mine as he eased back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What would you like to talk about Ella?” he asked as his lips lifted into a sly grin.

  I closed my eyes for microsecond, taking in the way he said my name; satin smooth. My imagination got the best of me as I imagined him saying over and over again in some place other than a coffee house that was becoming increasingly crowded.

  “You. Let’s talk about you. How did a man like you, end up in a place like this, doing “this and that” at a place like KMedia?” I asked resting my chin on my hands, studying him. Generous lips bowed ever so slightly. I allowed myself a brief moment to imagine how they would feel on me and quickly dismissed the idea. Nope. The way I felt, I didn’t want to think about sex, relationships or any variations of the two. I just wanted to not feel like my heart was being twisted in a vice every morning. Getting over the pain was the only thing I needed to focus on.

  “Aliens. Those little buggers will do it every time. One minute I am in a nice little town in upstate New York and then I find myself trapped in an office in Chicago working for the man,” he said with a grin.