Entice Me

by J. Kenner

  He pauses in front of the bar, and I exhale with relief. But then he keeps moving, circling into the main area of the kitchen, and I want to curl up and cry because I’d worked so hard on those damn pages, and how could I have messed it up that badly?

  “Nikki,” he says softly as he places his hands on my shoulders. Then he bends his head and kisses my forehead. “It’s damn near perfect.”

  He must be able to tell that my legs have gone weak, because he closes his arms around me and pulls me close. I cling to him, my cheek pressed against his chest and my eyes closed in relief.

  After a moment, I pull back, then peer at his face, trying unsuccessfully to read his thoughts.

  “You mean it?”

  His smile is slow, but I can see pride on his face, and it shoots right through me, the rush almost as exquisite as sex. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “I mean it.”

  “So you think I have a shot.”

  He releases me, then crosses the kitchen and refills my wine glass before pouring one for himself. “More than a shot,” he says as he hands my glass to me, then raises his in a toast. “To my brilliant wife and her burgeoning career.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say, then clink my glass against his. I take a sip, thinking about his support today and Evelyn’s last night. “It’s nice,” I say softly, “knowing I have a safety net. People who’ll watch my back and pick me up if I crash. You. Jamie. Evelyn.” I feel a tear trickling down my cheek and brush it away. “Anyway. . .”

  “Nikki?” He tilts my chin up with his fingertip. “Baby?”

  “I’m so glad you think it’s good.” I draw a shaky breath and force the rest of the tears back. “That means so much to me. But maybe I shouldn’t submit it at all.”

  He cocks his head, studying me. “Because of Dallas?”

  I lick my lips and nod. “I thought I saw my mother yesterday.”

  He stiffens. “What? Where?”

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I mean, it wasn’t really her. I just—I don’t know.”

  I’m completely exasperated with myself, and I step back so I can lean against the counter in front of the sink and look up at him. “I don’t like feeling this way,” I say, still clinging to Damien as I murmur the words against his chest. I feel edgy. Out of control and off center. And what I hate even more is that it’s that woman who’s making me feel this way. That even when she’s not nearby, she’s in my thoughts, like some horrible parasite that’s made a home inside me.

  I don’t even realize that tears are streaming from my eyes until Damien takes one long stride, then enfolds me in his arms.

  “Shhh,” he says. “It’s okay.”

  I gulp in air. “It is most definitely not okay.” My mother is not someone I want to see in person, much less in my fantasies. I’ve spent too long fighting to get out from under her thumb. To forget the meals she wouldn’t let me eat so that I wouldn’t get “chubby.” To overcome my fear of the dark, a fear that developed after nights locked in a pitch-black room because I had to have my beauty sleep. To literally battle my way out of the life she’d intended for me so that I could study engineering and computer programming. And, of course, to turn a deaf ear to her taunts that Damien couldn’t want a useless girl like me, and that soon enough he would leave me for someone better.

  “What if I get the job?” I ask, my voice thick with tears. “What if I see her in Dallas?”

  “Nikki,” he says, and I can tell from the tone of his voice that he hears so much more than my simple question. The insecurity. The fear. And the pulsing need to fight my way back to center any way I can.

  A knife block on the kitchen counter catches my eye, and for one brief, shining moment, I imagine the blade on my skin. The pressure and then the pain. And then the release that feels like freedom.

  It’s only a split second before I wince and turn away, but it doesn’t matter; I know that Damien has followed both my gaze and my thoughts.

  “Look at me,” he says. I do, lifting my head to see the understanding in his eyes. “Is that what you need?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, because I can’t deny the sharp longing that cuts through me. “Not a blade,” I clarify. “But, yes. Please Damien. I need you.”

  It has been years since I’ve cut, but it doesn’t matter. The need for the pain—for the release—is still in me; it always will be. I fight it daily—but I fight it best with Damien at my side.

  Damien has always understood that need in me to find control in the pain. To use it to center myself. To calm the storm that would otherwise blow wild inside me.

  I need to surrender. To let him walk me down that line between pleasure and pain, and take us both into ecstasy.

  For a moment, he just looks at me. Then he makes a circular motion with his finger. “Turn around,” he says. “Hands on the counter, and bend forward.”

  My pulse kicks up, and I hurry to comply. He’s wearing fleece athletic pants tied loosely around his waist and nothing else, and as he steps behind me, I feel the material brush against my bare legs beneath my silk sleep shorts.

  I also feel his erection pressing against my ass, and my body tightens with both desire and anticipation. Slowly, his hands trail up my thighs, then equally slowly, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and eases them down. I start to step out of them, but he swats my ass with one quick motion. “No,” he says. “You don’t move unless I tell you to.”

  I resist the urge to nod, but my lips curve into a smile. Since my back is to him, I figure that’s okay. Right now, he can’t see my face.

  His fingertips dance along the curve of my rear, a slow torment that is not quite a caress and not quite a tickle. “Is this what you need?” he muses as his palm stings my rear. I bite my lip, not in pain, but so that I won’t cry out that yes, yes, that is exactly what I need. That sharp impact, those brilliant red sparks. The sting that spreads out, filling me up before fading into a warm, soothing glow.

  “Or maybe this,” Damien suggests, running his fingertip down my crack and teasing my ass with his thumb while his fingers tease my core, but never enter me. “Should I take you like this? Hard and fast and with no warning?”

  I whimper, and it takes all my effort not to gyrate my hips in a silent plea, because he’s right there, and I want to feel him inside me. In that moment, it feels as though I might shrivel up and die if he doesn’t just get down to it and fuck me right now.

  “Or maybe both,” he says, his words adding a new thrill even as I mourn the removal of his hand from between my legs.

  “Spread your legs,” he orders, backing away from me. I comply, and the cool air on my wet sex is so delicious that I moan a bit. He’s no longer right behind me, and it’s all I can do to resist the urge to turn around. I hear a drawer open and close, and then I feel something cool and flat against my bare skin. A spatula, I think. Or maybe a serving spoon.

  “I’m going to turn your ass red,” he whispers, and just the words alone make my cunt throb with wicked anticipation. He’s bent over my back so that his lips are by my ear. He’s taken off the sweat pants, and his erection is nestled between my legs, the slight friction as he moves freeing a wanton desire to curl through me.

  His palm rubs my ass, and then the flat thing smacks against me, and I cry out in surprise more than pain. He soothes my rear with his palm, and I bite my lip, waiting for a second blow. And when this one comes, the sting is real and biting and so damn wonderful I feel as though it is swallowing me, wrapping me up in shooting stars, with Damien right there to grab me and lead me home.

  “Baby,” he murmurs as he slips his hand between my legs, his fingers slipping inside as he lands another blow. I cry out, my body clenching tight around his hand. “Nikki, god, Nikki. The way you respond to me. Do you know? Do you really understand? Everything I have. Everything I am, pales in comparison to the way I feel about you.

  “I love you, baby,” he continues as he tosses the spatula aside to clatter on the ground beside
me, as he spreads my legs and thrusts hard inside me. “Anything you need. Anything you want. You will always have it. Forever, baby. I’m yours forever, and then some.”

  I feel my cheeks warm with tears even as my body spirals up and up. He’s silent now, his body slamming over and over into mine. Possessing me. Claiming me. And, finally, destroying me in the sweetest way possible.

  I break apart in his arms at the same time that he climaxes, and he clings to me, holding me tight, putting me back together, and leading me back to reality in his arms.

  We slide to the floor together, and he holds me gently, then brushes a kiss over my temple.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, as I curl up next to him on the cold tile floor. “But thank you.”

  “Oh, baby, you know better than that. Don’t ever be sorry for what you need.”

  “I don’t like feeling afraid. Feeling weak.”

  “It’s not a weakness to need someone. If it were, I would be the weakest man on this earth, because I need you more than I can ever say.”

  I look up at him through tear-filled eyes, and the gentleness of his smile smooths away the last of my rough edges. I nod slowly, in understanding and agreement.

  “And as for being afraid, there’s nothing wrong with that. What matters is how you handle it.”

  I quirk my mouth. “Right now, the running away option seems reasonable. Forget the proposal. Never see Dallas again.”

  “But. . .?”

  “But I want that job,” I admit. “I at least want a shot at it. Damien, I can do the work, and I think my proposal will catch their attention.”

  “I know it will.”

  “But Dallas. My mother.” I shiver. “I’ll be walking through the ghosts of my old life. How can I do that?”

  “You can do it because you’re not alone. I’m right there with you, baby. And if there are ghosts, we’ll fight them together. And I promise you, we’ll win.”

  “I love you,” I say.

  “Oh, baby, I know. But I never get tired of hearing it.”

  Chapter Nine

  The aptly named Pearl Hotel stands out like a gem even in a city as charming as Santa Barbara. The mission-style building gleams in the California sun, with two sparkling pools, burnished red roof tiles, and multiple rooftop patios with views of both the city and the white sand beach.

  One of those patios graces the roof above the Presidential Suite, and as I stand at the railing, Damien’s arms encircle my waist. I lean back against him and sigh deeply as I look out over the rooftops of nearby houses, a small park, and the ocean in the distance.

  “I love it here,” I say. “It’s like an oasis in the middle of the city.”

  “At night it’s even better,” he says, as he looks out at the sun that still hangs well above the horizon. “Why don’t we move the meeting with Bertrand earlier, then come back here in time to watch the sunset and have dinner here on the roof?”

  “Tempting,” I say, leaning back in the circle of his arms. “But too many moving parts. Ryan and Carmela and Wyatt, not to mention Evelyn and Charles for one. We’re meeting them in just a few, remember? And Carmela if she can think of an excuse to sneak away from Bertrand.”

  It’s just about time to dive into the Bertrand plan, and we’re meeting to go over the plan one final time. And, of course, I have to consider all the puzzle pieces that Damien doesn’t know about. Like the three dozen guests who are currently stashed away in their own rooms at this hotel or its sister property three blocks over.

  They’re staying out of sight until Damien and I are safely in Evelyn’s room, which we’re using as a staging area. As soon as we enter, Evelyn is going to call room service for cocktails. True, we want the drinks, but that will also be the cue for the concierge to not only call all the guests so that they can hurry to the Presidential Suite, but also to signal the event team to move in and set up the room.

  In theory, it’s going to go off like clockwork, and by the time everyone has played their part and Damien has laid down the law with Bertrand, the guests will be in place, the food will be set out, the decorations will be up, and Damien and I will walk through that door to a full-on, one-hundred percent surprise.

  Just a few more hours, and I can stop worrying, because one way or another, the party will have started.

  “All right,” Damien says. His hands are around my waist, but as he bends his head so that he can press his lips to my ear, his hands slide higher to cup my breasts. “We’ll just have to work with the schedule we have,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

  “Yes,” I say, arching back as he cups my breasts and his tongue traces the curve of my ear. “We’ll make do.”

  “Fortunately, I don’t anticipate a long meeting. What I’m most looking forward to,” he says, “is when we come back. I have very definite plans for the evening.”

  “Oh?” I say innocently.

  “Oh, yes. First, I’m going to bring you back up here to the roof. Then I’m going to very slowly remove every bit of clothing until you’re naked under the stars, the cool wind soothing on your hot skin. Then I’m going to have you stretch out on one of the chaise lounges, your eyes up toward the sky. Not that you’ll see the stars, because I’ll have a blindfold on you.”

  “Damien. . .” I’m not sure if I want him to stop or continue. All I know is that I’m already wildly aroused, and that we have to leave very, very soon.

  “Shhh,” he says, pressing a finger over my lips. “Next, I’m going to tie your arms down. Then I’ll spread your legs wide, your feet on either side of the chaise, so that you’re wide open, baby. Open and hot and wet for me.”

  I swallow and squeeze my thighs together to quell a building need.

  “Then I’m going to touch every inch of you without actually touching you. A feather. My breath. An ice cube. . .” He trails his finger down the side of my neck, and I have to reach out and hold onto the railing because my legs seem incapable of holding me up.

  I whimper softly. Damien notices and smiles, the bastard.

  “I’ll run my fingertip over your skin next, paying special attention to your nipples. And then I’ll kiss my way up your thighs, getting close, but never quite where you want me. Do you know why?”

  “Because you’re a cruel man?”

  “Pretty much. Mostly because I want you desperate. I want you to beg me. And,” he adds in a lighter tone, “because it’s my birthday.”

  “Is it?” I ask innocently. “In that case, sir, I’m at your disposal.”

  He chuckles. “I like the sound of that. But right now, I think you have a scam to pull off. But,” he adds, pulling me close enough that I can feel his erection pressing against me, “we’ll be back here soon enough.”

  We will, I think. But I won’t be getting my rooftop seduction.

  I sigh.

  I really, really hope that Damien enjoys the hell out of his party.

  “How did it go?” I ask, as Evelyn and Charles shut the door behind them. We’re in Evelyn’s suite, using it as our base of operations, and Damien, Ryan, Jamie and I have been waiting for the last twenty minutes for her and Charles to return.

  “Brilliant,” Evelyn says, pouring herself a glass of bourbon before sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs. “He’s familiar with both me and Charlie, so he was primed to believe I’m representing Wyatt and some of the lesser models for the catalog shoot. Wyatt’s still in there, by the way. Bertrand wants some candids of him and Carmela behind the scenes.”

  I’m sitting on one of the stools by the kitchen island with Jamie beside me. Ryan and Damien are by the window, and though I may be projecting, to me they both already look forbidding.

  Beside me, Jamie turns on the stool, looking between Charles and Evelyn. “He knew who both of you were, but he didn’t think about Damien?”

  It’s a valid question. Evelyn was a very public representative for Damien back in his youth, and now it’s no secret that they remain good friends. And Cha
rles has been his primary attorney for at least as long. Considering Damien features so prominently in Bertrand’s blackmail pictures, it’s surprising he didn’t make the connection.

  But Charles just shakes his head. “Maybe he’s a damn good actor, but I don’t think so. I think having Wyatt’s editor friend call first made the whole thing seem more legitimate. He wasn’t thinking in terms of scamming or getting scammed. He was thinking about his bank account.”

  I nod, grateful that Wyatt had been able to coax a friend at one of the top fashion magazines into helping us. She’d called to tell Bertrand that she wanted to do a spread with Carmela during Fashion Week.

  “And Carmela?” Damien asks. “She’s still in with him?”

  Evelyn nods. “She’s playing the role brilliantly. Thrilled about her modeling comeback, but cold and standoffish to Bertrand.” She shifts her attention to me. “Did she tell you she couldn’t act? I’d say she’s doing a fine job.”

  “In my experience, Carmela has a knack for acting in whatever manner will get her what she wants,” Damien says with affectionate humor. “I think that trait is serving her well now.”

  “When are we going in?” Jamie asks.

  “You’re not,” Ryan says. “It’s just me and Damien.”

  “And Nikki,” Damien adds. “She should be there for Carmela.”

  I meet his eye, and see just the hint of a smirk. Apparently he sees the irony in me being there for Carmela as much as I do.

  Jamie takes a step toward Ryan, undoubtedly to argue the point, but I grab her arm. “If you’re there, he’s going to be even more defensive,” I say. “Besides, you can stay here with Evelyn and Charles. Hang out. Go get a drink. We’ll find you when we’re done,” I say, looking her straight in the eye so that there’s no way she can miss that what I mean is that we’ll find her in my suite. Because that’s where she’s supposed to go next, to organize the party for Damien.

  She crosses her arms and makes a face, but she nods. Then she pokes me in the chest. “You owe me one.”

  “Definitely,” I say.