Tempted by Pleasure (Secret Invitation #1)

by Devon Hart

  I clear my throat, wondering where I should start. He altered my future drastically, gave me every reason to leave home. “After I graduated, I attended college at Texas A & M.”

  “You know we missed each other. That’s where I did my undergrad.”

  I’d heard rumors about him being around. Maybe that’s why I chose to study instead of socializing. “It’s a small world.”

  “Too small.” He cradles my hand in his, massaging the soft flesh between my thumb and ring finger. “Feel it?”

  “What?” The more disinterested I act, the quicker he’ll get the message. I hope.

  “Want me to spell it out?”

  “Stop imagining things, Foster.”

  “Am I?” He caresses my neck.

  As if on command, I sigh with pleasure.

  He smirks and blows on his fingers. “Haven’t lost my touch.”

  I roll my eyes. “Lunch.”

  He leans back in his chair. “But I’m enjoying the conversation. I’ll change the subject if it will help you get more comfortable. Why a bookstore?”

  “I majored in literature and always appreciated the classics. After Grandmother died, I decided to use my inheritance to invest in something I loved.”

  “Is it profitable?”

  “Depends on what your definition of success is. My store does better than most independently owned shops in South Texas. The publishing world is in flux. With the closure or downsizing of so many national chains, readers rely on small stores like mine.”

  “And the name, Shakespeare’s Quill?”

  “I’m fond of The Taming of the Shrew.”

  He chuckles. “Didn’t you land that role in theatre freshman year?”

  Feeling complimented, I say, “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “How could I forget? You were hot, but didn’t have a lick of acting talent.”

  I punch his shoulder playfully. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “That red dress put you on my radar and half the football teams.”

  I laugh so hard it hurts. “What about you, Mr. Peacock? Strutting around on the football field like you were God’s gift to the sport.”

  “I was.”

  “You had a mullet.”

  “Bullshit.” He shoves his chair back and launches himself at me, his strong fingers digging into my sides, tickling too hard. “Mullet?”

  “There’s proof. Glamor shots!” I practically scream.

  “You still have that picture?”

  “I-I . . .” Can’t breathe anymore. “I’m going to hyperventilate.”

  He stops, and I slowly catch my breath.

  “Where’s the photo?” His lips twitch.

  “In my bottom drawer at my parents’ house.”

  For a moment he’s quiet, studying me. He cracks another boyish grin, warming my insides. “Make sure it stays there or I’ll pay them a visit.”

  He repositions himself on his chair. “How are your parents?”

  “As ridiculous as ever.”

  “Still treating you like a teenager?”

  “Try twelve.”

  He laughs. “Care to explain?”

  “You know, phone calls every day, probing questions about my private life, unsolicited business advice.”

  “Anything I should know?”

  “Thomas Kingsley.” Why did I let that slip?

  His eyebrows furrow. “He’s a douche.”

  “And my make-believe fiancé.”

  “What?” He looks confused. “Are you engaged?”

  “Do you even need to ask? No.” Give me some credit.

  He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Then why do you refer to him as your fiancé?”

  “Can we forget I ever mentioned it? I didn’t eat breakfast and I’m hungry.” Hungry for calories and him.

  He agrees to let it go, but I can see how irritated he is. Stretching, his jersey hikes up just enough to reveal his six-pack or is that an eight-pack? I can’t stop staring. His sculpted torso is peppered with dark hair and his caramel-colored skin looks so smooth and edible. My attention doesn’t go unnoticed. He tips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Please . . .”

  “We’ve been apart for eight years, Erin. Eight fucking years and I still make you squirm.”

  I need to ignore him. I reach around and grab the folded linen napkin off the plate in front of me. “Food.”

  He disappears into the kitchen.

  I take advantage of the moment alone and grab my cell out of my purse, six missed texts. I scroll through them, all from Katie, all equally offensive. The last one makes me choke. Are you having fun with his ginormous cock yet?

  Just as I’m about to reply, Foster returns carrying a tray. I stash the phone and meet him at the table.

  “Cornmeal-crusted tilapia tacos, baked mussels, and key lime pie,” he announces as he sets the plates down.

  “Oh. My. God.” Everything looks so good. “Is there a chef slaving away in that kitchen or did you cook?”

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He gestures for me to sit.

  Between bites we catch up on where everyone we attended high school with lives and works. By the time I taste the pie, I’m buzzed from drinking two more glasses of wine.

  He shovels a generous forkful of dessert into my mouth. “You have a great appetite, Erin.”

  “I enjoy food.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “By the way, how did you remember I love orchids? I forgot to thank you.”

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  He’s so hard to read, intense one moment, laid back the next. But he’s still the conceited boy who tried to seduce me in high school, only hotter and more polished. Whatever his intentions, I want to know. “Now tell me why I’m really here.”

  “I’d like to be friends.”

  “Friends?” I doubt it.

  “Hang out, eat dinner, and maybe catch a flick once in a while.”

  “Chick flicks?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  While I think of ways to torture him with foreign films and Nicolas Sparks movies, he clears the table, stacking the dirty dishes on the credenza. A fork falls off a plate and he bends over to retrieve it, his ridiculously firm ass within touching distance. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my breasts suddenly heavy with desire. He’s right. Eight years, and I’m still hopelessly attracted to him, something I can’t let him take advantage of.

  “What time is it?” I stare out the glass doors.

  “Three-thirty,” he answers. “Why?”

  “Time to go.”

  I’m mesmerized by the sparkling water below. My body tenses when Foster hooks me from behind and tugs me close, his erection poking me in the back. My body hums to life, breaking every promise I made to myself before I stepped inside the condo. Don’t let him put his hands on you.

  “I love the way you smell.” He nuzzles into my hair.

  As soon as his lips meet the back of my neck, I’m in trouble. Moisture pools between my legs. If I were smart, I’d let him be the solution. One night of meaningless sex with Foster would break me in, and probably make me limp for a week.

  “Erin?” He spins me. “I want to kiss you.”

  I shake my head, resting my palms on his chest. “I don’t think . . .”

  “Don’t think.” He slants his mouth over mine, testing my resistance at first, his tongue gently tracing the seam of my lips.

  He’s so built and tall, so unbelievably warm. My hands slide up his biceps, enjoying the ridges of muscle. God help me. I open up to him and his tongue knif
es into my mouth. He walks me backward until my shoulders hit glass.

  “Erin,” he growls, closing his eyes and tilting his head for deeper penetration.

  “No!”

  His eyes open. “What?”

  “I can’t, we can’t do this. If we’re going to be friends, we need to establish some boundaries.”

  “Chemistry,” he whispers.

  “I’ll let you know if I need a fuck buddy.” I push him away, my heart pounding.

  The driver told me he was at my disposal. I rush to the couch, snatch my purse up, and glance in Foster’s general direction, avoiding his hypnotic eyes. “Call me.” My heels click noisily across the tile and I step into the hallway outside, desperate to escape.

  Another minute under his spell, I would have ripped his clothes off.

  Chapter 8

  Foster

  “Ripe as forbidden fruit.” I suck down half a beer. “I let her slip through my hands like an idiot.”

  “I had my doubts yesterday,” Kevin says. “But if she’s repressed her sexuality all this time, does it really surprise you how she responded?”

  I stare at my best friend, wondering if he’s from a different planet. “Shed the fucking lab coat and talk normal. She’s not a medical case.”

  “No, but I’m fascinated.”

  “Find your own.”

  “Maybe I will.” He nips his wine. “Did you have a chance to review the nondisclosure agreement and other paperwork for Erin?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Good. I plan on stopping by her store tomorrow morning and getting her signature on the necessary forms.”

  “Shouldn’t you call first, make an appointment?”

  He exhales loudly. “The element of surprise always works to our advantage, one of the first rules you taught me. Give women too much time to think and they’ll likely change their minds. Do you want Ms. Covington to back out?”

  “No,” I snap, sexually frustrated for the first time since adolescence. “I want you to run an extensive background check on Thomas Kingsley.”

  “The port-a-potty king’s son?” He looks amused.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you considering a recommendation for membership?”

  I’d prefer eliminating him from the human race, but Kevin just gave me a better idea. “Report back to me as soon as you can.”

  “Anything else?”

  I glance up, still absorbed in my own thoughts. Mutual attraction was never in question, but after I got a taste of Erin’s sweet lips again, something happened. It’s similar to a goddamned aftershock, and the earthquake hasn’t even occurred yet. “Drink.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

  “Get drunk,” I clarify.

  He smirks and refills his glass. “Should I be worried?”

  I laugh. “Shall I drink you under the table again?” I outweigh Kevin by thirty pounds. “Get me a whiskey on the rocks while you’re up.” I offer him my empty high ball.

  He grabs it. “Anything else, mistress?” Kevin trudges to the wet bar on the far side of my living room. “Perhaps I need to reevaluate your mental fitness to remain an active member.”

  I like the sound of the ice cubes chinking the bottom of my glass. “Invite her to the cocktail party tomorrow night.”

  He gazes at me. “That’s for platinum members only.”

  “Not anymore. I need to see her in a different setting, when she’s open to physical contact.”

  “But not with you.”

  I nod. “I’ve picked my front man.”

  “Who?”

  “Jeffrey Whitmore.”

  Kevin hands me my drink, then reclaims his place on the couch. “He’s nearly a dead ringer for you.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You know how I feel about this, Foster.”

  “And you know how she feels about me. I fucked up any chance of a normal relationship with her.”

  He waves his hand. “Years ago.”

  “Not to her.”

  “What if she gets attached to Jeffrey?”

  “I’ve taken every precaution, established a rigid understanding with him.”

  To my surprise, Kevin guzzles his drink now, apparently up to the challenge. “We’ve never experimented like this before or broken rules.”

  “There’s always a first time.” I’m determined. Kevin’s acute sense of right or wrong won’t sway me. After spending several hours with Erin, I know she’ll resist me just to prove something. I knew it before I visited her store. “Your only concern is to make sure she shows up.”

  Erin

  Dr. Mallory arrives at my store while I’m knee-deep in boxes, packing tape, and garbage. Katie escorts him to the storage room and stands behind him with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “I wasn’t expecting you today,” I say, stepping over a pile of hardcovers. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Good.” I offer my hand and he raises it to his lips. “There’s paperwork to look over. Can we go to your office?”

  “Sure.”

  “Erin?” Katie coughs.

  “Can you finish the inventory alone?” I ask her.

  “No.” Although she initiated contact with the club, I think she’s having second thoughts. I’m afraid she’ll say something out of line.

  “Dr. Mallory, this is Katie.”

  “Ms. Vargas.” He flashes perfect teeth, his gaze lingering on her for a few seconds, then focuses on me again. “Twenty minutes and we’ll be done.”

  How did he know her last name? “This way.” We walk down a short hallway to my cramped space. “Please, have a seat.”

  Once I close the door, he sets his expensive Italian leather briefcase on my desk. He takes out a folder and flips it open. “All of your lab results are in. My only concern is a slight iron deficiency.”

  “My levels fluctuate, but I take supplements and see my doctor regularly.”

  He nods. “I’d like to run another blood test in sixty days to establish a baseline for my own records. Okay?”

  I agree.

  “Good. Now the first document I need you to review is a nondisclosure agreement. Read it very carefully, Ms. Covington, it’s legally binding. And if you choose to break it once you’ve signed, I must tell you, the legal fallout will rival Chernobyl.”

  I don’t appreciate his threatening tone, but I suppose he’s only doing his job. I take the paper. I’m immediately drawn to the section that reads The nondisclosure provisions of this Agreement shall survive the termination of this Agreement and Receiving Party's duty to hold Confidential Information in confidence shall remain in effect until the Confidential Information no longer qualifies as a trade secret or until the Receiving Party’s death, whichever occurs first . . .

  As a business owner, I’ve signed my share of legal documents but this is so morbid. I flick my eyes up. “Blood of a virgin? My firstborn?”

  His lips twitch. “Please note the agreement extends to your family members. If you discuss anything with anyone and they go public, serious ramifications will follow.”

  “Just what am I getting into, Dr. Mallory?”

  “Something that can change your future for the better. The contacts you’ll make through your membership will improve many aspects of your life, Ms. Covington. However, if you have any doubts, let me advise you to refrain from signing anything.”

  I stare at him. Is he an attorney or doctor? He’s much too comfortable in his own skin. Cool and confident, polished and painfully sexy. Does he represent the typical Lazarus member? If so, I’d be foolish to say no. However, underneath his sophisticated façade is a darker side. I sense it. Anyone who can represent
a sex club with such detached finesse must be dangerous. He doesn’t bat an eyelash as I continue to scrutinize him.

  “Your reaction is normal.”

  “Is it?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t put me at ease.” How could it? “I don’t know if I’m comfortable being told I can’t engage in intercourse outside the charter.”

  “Cunnilingus, fellatio, and penetrative intercourse are reserved for members only.”

  Heat suffuses my whole body. Suddenly I understand why my mother nearly fainted when I tried to discuss sex with her. “Thank you for clarifying that for me.”

  “If you are in a relationship . . .”

  “I’m not!”

  He grins. “If your relationship status changes, you can cancel your membership at any time. Just know, once you do, you can never rejoin.”

  Such finality. I stare at the document again, rereading each section. We also review the club handbook, a booklet as thick as any paperback on my shelves. It covers everything from hygiene to interacting with members.

  “Do you have a pen?” He offers me a Montblanc ballpoint.

  I sign. I’m fully committed. And it’s time to put my own needs first. “What’s next?”

  He pockets his pen, then checks the papers. “Everything is in order, Ms. Covington. Let me be the first to congratulate you. Read the handbook tonight. You’ve been invited to an exclusive cocktail party tomorrow evening, an event typically reserved for our platinum members.”

  “Why?”

  “It seems you already have admirers in high places.” He stashes the contract in his briefcase. “Until tomorrow.”