Tempted by Pleasure (Secret Invitation #1)

by Devon Hart

  I wave my hand. “Right as rain.”

  The front door chimes.

  Mary adjusts her glasses. “I’ll get it.” She picks up the vase and hurries out of my office.

  I concentrate on a list of customer-requested titles I need to order. My store has stayed in the black since I opened. Of course I’ve expanded after hours monthly activities, working with a local winery and café, and hosting mixers twice a month, a poetry club once a week, and a book club. A political alliance used to meet here every Thursday, but I got tired of the constant arguing and helped them relocate.

  I close the store at six and drive home in a daze. Foster Wagner is the guy I daydream about whenever I’m lonely. And for whatever reason, he’s back.

  Chapter 5

  Erin

  Mary appears at my office door. “Excuse me, there’s a gentleman up front.”

  “Not Mr. Wagner again?”

  “No,” she says. “But he’s incredibly well-bred.”

  I take a deep breath and follow her, surprised to find yet another suit-clad, demi-god waiting.

  “Ms. Covington?” He offers me his business card.

  I read it. Dr. Kevin Mallory, MD. “How can I help you?”

  “Is there a place we can chat privately?”

  I gesture across the room. “We won’t be disturbed over there. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “Water?”

  “Sure, be right back.” I grab a couple bottles from the mini-fridge in the break room, then join him on the couch.

  “Have we met before?” I ask, unsure why he’s here. Staring at his meticulously manicured fingernails and Forzieri dress shoes, I know he isn’t the type of man to frequent my store.

  “I’m here in response to your acceptance of our invitation,” he whispers, unscrewing the bottle cap.

  I sink deeper into the plush leather, my cheeks burning. “How did you know where to find me?” Is he stalking me? I never imagined a psycho in Armani.

  “Ms. Covington, I’m not sure you understand how things work. Invitations for our club are sent to superior candidates. We handpick everyone based on a strict formula. Potential members receive a battery of medical tests, a rigorous psychological exam, and must have excellent personal references and a clean criminal record.” He spreads his legs, resting his palms on his knees. “I’m the first line of defense for eliminating any risks.”

  So Katie wasn’t joking. She submitted my name, and someone actually chose me. I’m intrigued and terrified. “Who selected me?”

  “That’s classified information, Ms. Covington. Rest assured we have a board of directors like any other business entity. Our decisions aren’t made lightly.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good.” He takes a sip of water. “Do you understand what the Lazarus Club is?”

  “Similar to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?”

  His restrained façade shows signs of cracking, and he actually chuckles. “Not an entirely misplaced comparison.”

  I lean closer so there’s no chance of Mary overhearing. “A sex club.”

  “Never a sex club, Ms. Covington.” He sets the bottle on the floor. “We’re a social club that offers special accommodations for men and women of certain tastes.”

  “Certain tastes,” I repeat, liking what it suggests. “And what made you think of me? Do I strike you as a woman of certain tastes?”

  His stare lingers for several seconds. “You’re extremely desirable, Ms. Covington. That’s the first gauge for judgment. We can discuss this in my office this afternoon if you’re available.” He’s all business.

  “So soon?”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Is there any reason for delay? Are you menstruating or pregnant?”

  Did he really just ask me that? I wring my hands, too embarrassed to answer.

  “I’ll take your silence as a no.”

  I nod.

  “My office address is on the back of the business card I gave you. I’ll see you at two o’clock, but if you need to reschedule, please let my receptionist know as soon as possible.” He stands, smoothing his jacket. “I take physician-patient privilege very seriously. Your medical history will be kept confidential.”

  “Thank you for being so poignant, Dr. Mallory.”

  Chapter 6

  Foster

  I exit the conference room behind my sales team, pausing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Corpus Christi Bay when my cell rings. It’s the call I’ve been waiting for. “Kevin . . .”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, I just wrapped up for the day.”

  My friend coughs deliberately. I know him too well. He has something important to tell me. “Let me caution you before proceeding with this charade with Ms. Covington.”

  His words surprise me. “Are you advising me as a medical professional or as my friend?”

  “Both.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No. She’s everything I’d want in a woman.”

  He’s never made such intimate observations about any of the women I’ve asked him to examine. Jealousy washes over me. “Explain.”

  “I’m not sure how to. To tell you the truth, Foster, I’m completely bewildered.”

  “By what? She’s perfect.”

  “Oh she’s anatomically correct, psychologically stable, demonstrates financial prudence, has a wonderful sense of humor, although a bit sarcastic at times, and comes from a great family.”

  “So what’s the problem?” I start pacing, wishing he’d get to the fucking point. “I’m well acquainted with her family, remember? Pedigree isn’t the concern. I need to know she has no current attachments, nothing that will complicate my efforts and waste my time.”

  “I’d say she’s never had any deep attachments to anyone.”

  “Quit talking in goddamned riddles.”

  “All right.” He sighs. “Her hymen is intact.”

  “What?”

  “Ms. Covington is a virgin.”

  Without thinking, I disconnect and tuck my cell into my shirt pocket. A virgin? She’s nearly twenty-four years old and no one has fucked her yet? Warning bells go off in my head. How is it even possible? She’s hiding something. Maybe she had hymenoplasty, because nothing else makes sense. My phone vibrates. Goddamnit.

  “Didn’t see that one coming?” Kevin asks.

  “Unless you were giving a pelvic exam to a teenager, when is the last time you saw a virgin?”

  “Never.”

  “My point exactly. They’re practically extinct.”

  “No thanks to men like us,” he jokes.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Exactly why I suggested you reconsider your motives.”

  “I need to go.”

  “Call me later,” he says.

  Finished talking, I collect my briefcase and jacket from my office and take the elevator to the underground parking garage. I disarm the alarm on my black Jaguar coupe and slide onto the leather seat. My phone rings again, but I ignore it. Once again, Erin Covington has surprised me, the same way she did that night so many years ago. I wanted her then, and want her even more now. Some things stay with a man forever. I rev the engine and pull out of the garage, ready to burn off some of this new frustration with raw horsepower.

  I punch the gas pedal, screeching down Ocean Drive, weaving around cars, not giving a shit if a cop pulls me over. Staring toward the waterfront, I admire the horizon, where dark clouds promise some much-needed rain. Even the palm trees look wilted, thirsty for life-giving water. That’s how I see Erin, as my deliverance from desolation.

  Erin

  I meet Katie at the Lotus Dreams Teahous
e for Irish night. I attend as often as possible, enjoying the traditional Celtic music and cultural readings that accompany the fragrant teas we sample. No matter how much I try, I just can’t seem to get into anything tonight. My mind is still reeling from the medical screening I subjected myself to. I gaze at the framed pictures on the shop walls—scenes from authentic Irish villages, the occasional thatched-roof cottage, and stone fences. I smile, proud to be half Irish. We’re drinking a new breakfast tea and I sip slowly, savoring the robust flavor.

  Katie tries to speak over the flute solo, but I can’t hear, and motion for her to scoot closer.

  “Don’t leave me hanging,” she says. “I understand the doctor showed up at the bookstore. This is no joke, Erin.”

  “Did I ever suggest it was?”

  “No.”

  “You’re committed?” She rests a hand on my arm. “You can have whoever you want.”

  “Maybe,” I admit. “But this idea appeals to me more. No strings, no worries, no chance of my mother finding out. Thank you for providing this opportunity.”

  “I didn’t do anything really, just made a friendly suggestion to a friend of a friend.”

  “I disagree.”

  She rewards me with a soft smile. “Own it, Erin. And once you’ve discovered how special it is to take control of every aspect of your life, maybe you’ll realize Thomas isn’t worthy, and that you deserve so much more.”

  “Don’t be so quick to judge. Your best friend might be a sexual deviant.”

  She giggles. “Thinking about Foster while you masturbate again?”

  I nearly choke on my tea. She’s too honest, but that’s why I love her. “I’m thinking more along the lines of BDSM.”

  “You want someone to tie you up and shove something up your ass? I can do that.”

  “Oh. My. God. No. I want to surrender to someone who gets me so hot I can’t think straight.”

  “You want to be a submissive?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t know how to explain. I’m plagued by dark fantasies, the kind that earn good girls a spot in Hell.”

  My confession doesn’t seem to faze her. She places her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her palm. “You’re normal. Maybe a little crazy for waiting this long to listen to your libido, but trust me, itching for dick is a good sign.”

  “The Lazarus Club is what I want. It’s perfect.”

  She sips her drink. “I’ll support whatever choices you make, but only if you keep me updated on everything. Start with the exam today. What did Dr. Feelgood do?”

  “A routine physical, chest X-ray, bloodwork, urine test, and pelvic exam. I nearly forgot the psychology test.”

  Her mouth drops open. “That’s crazy, might as well be getting screened for the Marine Corp.”

  “I’m pretty sure the workouts are Special-Forces-approved.”

  She giggles. “What did he say?”

  “He seemed surprised I was a virgin.”

  “No shit.”

  “He asked me if I knew what I was getting into.”

  “Do you?”

  Why does she keep questioning me if she was the one who initiated everything? “Don’t backtrack. I want this so bad I can taste it.”

  She stares at me. “I’m finally speechless.”

  “Still my BFF?”

  “Only if you promise to get me an invitation to that party.”

  Chapter 7

  Erin

  As Foster promised, a Mercedes sedan is waiting at the curb for me by 12:45. I dash to the bathroom, turning on both lights, then stare in the big oval mirror over the sink. I’m wearing a black Barbara Bui pencil dress with a cropped lace jacket and strappy heels. For some reason I went for dramatic and spent an hour curling my hair and applying smoky eye shadow. I rarely dress this formal, happy to wear jeans, peasant tops, and heels most of the time.

  “Erin?” Mary calls.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  “The chauffeur is waiting outside the car.”

  I freshen my mauve lipstick, then turn the lights off. Leave it to Foster to employ men who are as impatient as he is. As soon as I get outside, the driver straightens his spine and grins at me.

  “Ms. Covington?” He opens the passenger door.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Wagner is eager to see you.”

  I ease into the luxurious interior, met by a mixture of scents, new leather and sandalwood. The chauffeur gets in and connects his seatbelt.

  “We’ll be going downtown,” he informs me. “I’m at your disposal for the day, let me know if you need me to stop anywhere.”

  “Thank you.” What else can I say?

  He exits the Moore Plaza and merges with traffic on South Staples Street. I’m glad he’s opted to avoid the Crosstown Expressway, I prefer taking Ocean Drive downtown. I love the bay and parks.

  “Would you care for any music?”

  I tap my chin, wondering if there’s anything to help prepare me for this luncheon. “John Legend.”

  I catch his grin in the rearview mirror as the music starts. I mentally sing along to “All of Me,” reveling in the words. Does Foster even know how deeply his actions affected me that night at his parents’ house? I ran home in tears, devastated and unsure if I’d ever be able to show my face again. Corpus is a large enough city, but the social circles our families move in don’t have any degrees of separation.

  Minutes later, when the car stops, I look up, surprised we’re in the parking lot of a gated condominium complex. “Wait,” I say before the driver gets out. “This isn’t a restaurant.”

  He twists around. “No, ma’am, it’s not.”

  “Mr. Wagner assured me we were meeting in a café, not in a private home.”

  “This is the company condo, ma’am, complete with a private chef and ocean view.”

  “Chef?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I find some comfort in knowing we won’t be alone. “All right.”

  He gets out, then opens my door. He escorts me upstairs, knocking on the front door. I hear heavy footsteps and Foster answers wearing faded jeans and a Dallas Cowboys jersey. The bastard told me no jeans. I frown, but appreciate how good he looks in denim.

  “Erin.” His lingering gaze makes me squirm. “Please, come in.”

  I brush past him, eyeing the interior, curious what he’s planned. Sunshine fills the great room and the dining room table is situated along a wall of glass that offers the ocean view the driver mentioned. The table is set for two, and a bouquet, identical to the one Foster brought me yesterday, graces the center. I suck in a breath as I walk to the windows. No restaurant downtown offers this kind of seascape. Although I live on Padre Island, two blocks from the beach, there’s something special about gazing across the water a dozen stories up.

  “Time has been kind to you, Erin.”

  I turn. Foster is standing behind me. “You told me not to wear jeans.”

  “Sue me.” He shrugs. “I wanted to catch a look at those legs, baby.” He bites his fist.

  “Legs are legs.”

  “Au contraire. Yours are beautiful, like ivory pillars.”

  Not original at all. I’m thinking Song of Solomon. His legs are like pillars of marble. Foster always knew how to sweet-talk his way into a girl’s heart, then between her legs. Seeing him grown up, just a bigger and more dangerous version of himself, makes me feel vulnerable. I can’t ignore his southern-boy charm or the fact that when he glides his tongue over his full lips I feel something. Warmth spreads up my body.

  “What are you thinking, Erin?”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. “How full of shit you really are.”

  He palms my hip and I jerk away, catching his smi
rk.

  “Relax,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here.” He steps forward, trapping me between the glass and his hulking frame. He slides a finger up my arm, evoking such a deep, violent shiver my sex clenches. “Are you hungry?”

  Not for anything he has to offer. That’s a complete lie. I want to suck his tongue into my mouth. And if I had any courage, I’d take care of my little virginity problem right now. I don’t value my innocence like some women. I see it as a handicap. I’m a business owner, educated and cultured, world-travelled, and an extrovert. But I’ve never made love. And this man has the power to shut me down. Why?

  He gently tugs me from the corner. “Want a drink?”

  Wine will help you relax. “Please.”

  He walks to the credenza and opens a door, retrieving two glasses. “I have a bottle of Lafleur open, or do you want something lighter?”

  I’m accustomed to the finer things in life, but once I left home, I learned to budget. Foster seems to have no limitations. I accept the drink and take a tiny sip, tasting licorice and raspberry. “A simple red would have satisfied me.”

  His permagrin stretches wider. “There’s nothing simple about you.”

  “Stop it.”

  “What?”

  “Saturating everything with sexual innuendo.”

  “Can’t help it.” He moves to the table and pulls out a chair. “Join me?”

  I feel safer sitting down. Every measured step he takes, every move, reminds me of a stalking panther. And at the moment, I’m his only prey.

  “Tell me everything about yourself, Erin.”

  He takes a long drink, then sets his glass aside. Our gazes meet, and I can’t resist admiring the incredibly thick lashes that frame his dark eyes—coffee bean brown with specks of gold if the sunlight hits them just so. Or if I were being less complimentary—shit brown.