Sinful Rewards 4

by Cynthia Sax

  I glance at the small screen. Lona has sent me more instructions for the lunch today. I groan, not knowing if I can give her the performance she needs. As Hawke has told me numerous times, I’m a horrible liar.

  The doorbell rings. I jump out of bed, clip the phone to my waistband, and hurry through the condo. Cyndi’s bedroom remains dark, the space vacant. She hasn’t returned from her weekend in Hollywood, and this worries me. Cyndi has never spent three days with the same man.

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. Her nasty friend Angel might be right. My days as Cyndi’s roommate could be limited. I add this concern to my ever-lengthening list and glance through the peephole.

  Jacob, the building’s security guard, stands in front of a luggage trolley, his gray uniform pulled tightly over his round belly. Nicolas claimed that all members of his security team have received training from professional military personnel, by Hawke or men like him. I can’t imagine Jacob defusing any dangerous situation.

  My lips twitch as I swing the door open. “Good morning, Jacob.” The trolley holds a familiar brown box and shopping bags from some of the most luxurious retailers in the city. Excitement zings through me. “Are you moving in?”

  “If you had room for the missus and me, I might consider it, Miss Bee.” The security guard chuckles. “Miss Cyndi has told me about your macaroni and cheese.”

  I smile, touched that Cyndi likes my macaroni and cheese enough to talk about it. “Next time I make it, I’ll set aside a portion for you.”

  Jacob grins. “I’d appreciate that.” He grabs three big shopping bags from the trolley. “These are from our mutual friend.”

  Lona promised to send me three outfits to choose from. I peek in the bags as I set them on the hardwood floor. Shoeboxes and smaller bags are placed within the larger bags. My bare toes wiggle, the nails polished to her specifications. I’ve won the fashion lottery, simply by agreeing to have lunch with the escort and the men she seeks to impress.

  “And this is from your secret admirer.” Jacob hands me the box.

  I’ve earned this mystery reward for stripping in front of the window. The box is placed next to the bags. “You still haven’t caught him, I see,” I tease, doubting the security guard will ever catch his boss.

  “He’s a wily fellow.” Jacob winks. “Maybe you should lure him into the open with your macaroni and cheese.”

  “I might do that.” I laugh. “Have a great day, Jacob.”

  I shut the door and survey my windfall, not knowing where to start. A week ago, I wore fake everything. Now I have a gorgeous Salvatore Ferragamo purse, genuine Louboutin shoes, and the contents of these bags and boxes.

  I kneel on the floor, wishing Cyndi, my best friend and roommate, was here to enjoy the moment with me. She’d be bouncing around the room, ripping open the boxes, superexcited for me.

  Instead, I’m alone.

  My phone hums against my hip. The screen displays Boyfriend with Hawke’s number. I shouldn’t answer his call, shouldn’t have fallen asleep with his voice murmuring in my ear, his name on my lips.

  My fingertips brush over the box, the box sent by Friendly. Although the texter refuses to identify himself, I’m almost certain he’s my hardworking billionaire. Nicolas is the person I should wish to speak with, to share my happiness with.

  Nicolas isn’t calling me.

  “Bee Carter,” I answer, my voice lilting with joy.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” Hawke drawls, his deep tones filling the emptiness within me. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I didn’t sleep long enough.” I lean on the box. “It’s a beautiful day. Are you standing on your balcony?” Is he naked, his body warmed by the sun, his tan growing more golden with each passing minute? “If I look out my window, will I see you?”

  “You’ll see me soon.” Hawke doesn’t directly address my question.

  I listen intently, paying attention as he often advises me. Voices murmur in the background. Tires squeal. “You’re not in your condo.”

  “No, I’m not.” He chuckles, the sound curling my bare toes. “You’re clever, love. Not much gets by you.” Pride edges Hawke’s words and I beam, pleased with his praise.

  “I had to run some errands,” he explains. “Now that you’re awake, I’m returning home.” Hawke says this as though he’s returning to our home, a place we share together. “Are you eating before your lunch with Lona? Should I pick up some breakfast for you?”

  He’d bring me food? I hug the box to my chest. “I shouldn’t eat. This lunch has my stomach in knots. Lona is superstressed about it, and I’m worried about messing up.”

  “You won’t mess up,” Hawke assures me, his confidence in my abilities lowering my anxiety by a notch. “Do you need someone to rehearse with? Lona is well-known for her scripts.”

  “Yes.” I laugh. “She has a script for every possible response.” I peruse the shopping bags surrounding me and then look down at my grubby clothes. “Let me take a shower first.”

  “I can help you with that too.” Hawke’s voice deepens even more.

  I grin. “I think I have that under control. Call me before you drop by.” I end the call. The smile on my face lingers.

  I rip open the flaps on the box. A piece of card stock is set on brown tissue paper. “Your Reward” is typed in an untraceable font, the message always the same. Nicolas values routine, reliability being a character trait I want and need in a man.

  I push the tissue paper aside and gasp, my eyes widening. A black Chanel suit jacket is folded neatly inside the box. It has a Peter Pan collar with folded 2½-inch cuffs, four front pockets, and a silk lining. The buttons are black with the signature interlocking Cs etched in gold. The seams are small and straight and perfect.

  It’s a work of art. My chest tightens. And it’s mine.

  I remove the jacket carefully from the package, revealing a skirt as exquisitely crafted as the jacket. When I pair the outfit with my black Louboutins, I’ll be the equal of any interview candidate.

  I hold the skirt against my hips. The hem falls exactly where it should, as though the garment was crafted specifically for my smaller—Hawke would say shorter—frame. I snap a photo of the suit and send it to Cyndi, needing to share my joy.

  There’s no response from my best friend. She isn’t an early riser and she’s in a different time zone. She won’t look at her phone for hours.

  If Lona wasn’t in such a tizzy about her all-important lunch, I’d send a photo to her. She’d appreciate the suit. Chanel is her favorite designer.

  Is that a coincidence? I stare at the distinctive buttons. Or is Lona helping Nicolas purchase my rewards? Buying a suit requires knowledge of a woman’s body. I look at the shopping bags. A knowledge Lona must have. She didn’t ask me for my size before making the purchases.

  I place the gorgeous suit in the box and carry it to my bedroom. If I leave the box in the main room, Hawke will spot it and ask questions. Who sent it to me? What does he want? I don’t know the answers, can’t tell him with certainty who is responsible.

  He’d be disappointed with that response, tell me to pay closer attention, question if I’m as clever as he thinks I am. I don’t want that. I strip my clothes as I move into the bathroom. I like having his admiration.

  I hurry through my morning routine, showering and drying my hair. The tendrils flow loose and straight down my back as per Lona’s instructions. Having not yet decided upon my outfit for the lunch, I dress in a white bra and panty set, a pale blue blouse, the shade matching Hawke’s eyes, and white pants, leaving my feet bare. My makeup is minimal, a touch of lip gloss that will have to be reapplied before I meet Lona. I smile. Hawke will kiss my lips clean as he always does.

  He’s dependable that way.

  I buzz around the condo, cleaning, tucking the bar stools under the counter, fluffing the couch cushions. I know he’s not home, not watching me, but I don’t feel alone, anticipation pulsing through my body.

  Hawke
will arrive soon, touch me, hold me. He’ll press me against his big body, run his calloused palms down my back, flattening my breasts with his chest.

  Once our passions are temporarily sated, I’ll give him a fashion show, trying on the delicious clothing Lona sent me. He’ll listen as I explain why each outfit is a wearable work of art, help me choose one, then peel the clothing off my body, kissing every inch of exposed skin.

  There will be no guilt dampening my pleasure because Hawke has already seen, kissed, tasted my skin. Another round of touching won’t make a difference.

  This is a lie I tell myself, as it will make a difference. Every caress, every brush of his lips, binds me tighter to him. But I ignore the rational part of my brain, the part telling me this is a bad idea, that I’m putting my plan at jeopardy.

  I cup my cotton-covered breasts. When Hawke undresses me, he’ll see that the bruise around my nipple has faded. He’ll seek to reinstate his claim, marking me once more. My pussy moistens, this possibility escalating my passions.

  The doorbell rings. He’s here. “It’s about time.” I swing the door open and freeze.

  Nicolas stands before me, his handsome face clean-shaven, his dark eyes glimmering with intent, his lean, hard body clad in an expensive black suit, white shirt, forest green tie. He’s perfect, gorgeous, and not the man I expected to see.

  I cover my disappointment with a smile, counting on my billionaire to be distracted by work matters, to not pay attention to my reaction.

  “It is about time.” Nicolas repeats my words, words meant for another man. “In business, I always know what I want. With my personal life, it’s taken me too damn long to figure out what I needed.”

  I gaze up at him, my thoughts preoccupied, my stomach fluttering with nerves. Hawke will be here in mere minutes. I should text him, tell him. . .what? Give me some time. I’m meeting with your rival?

  Nicolas holds out his precious phone. “This is for you.”

  I close my fingers around the cool metal case. “You want me to have your phone?” Am I to be his assistant today?

  “For the next twenty minutes, it’s yours.” He steps closer to me, invading my personal space, and I suppress my instinctual response to move backward, retreat, protect myself.

  The scent of sandalwood and exotic spices fills my nostrils, easing my fears, reminding me who he is. There’s no need to protect myself. This is Nicolas, my future, my forever.

  “The phone has been turned off,” he informs me. “All of my calls will be sent straight to voice mail with an emergency number listed.” Worry lines form between his black eyebrows. “I’ve never done this before.”

  He’s putting me before the company he’s spent his lifetime building. My chest warms. “You’ve never turned your phone off before?” I ask.

  “Never.” Nicolas’s lips lift. “I’ve been a selfish asshole my entire life.” He drifts a soft fingertip along my cheek. “But I want to change that.” He gazes at me as though I’m the most beautiful, intriguing woman on the planet, his attention seducing me, slowly dissipating thoughts of Hawke. “Because you’re important to me, Bee.”

  I blink, dazed by his words, his touch, his focus. Nicolas is wealthy, good-looking, and crazily clever, and I’m a priority for him. This is everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve planned and worked for. Nicolas slides his right hand around my waist and pulls me to him, his body heat engulfing me.

  This is what I want. . .isn’t it?

  I tilt my head back and part my lips in invitation, needing Nicolas’s touch to banish these lingering doubts. My billionaire dips his gorgeous head and captures my mouth, his lips firm and his chin smooth. He tastes of black coffee and mint, a delicious combination.

  My phone hums against my hip. Hawke has returned home. He’s calling, wishing to see me, touch me, hold me.

  I shouldn’t wish to see him. Nicolas, the perfect man for me, ravishes my mouth, stroking into me, giving me all of his attention, his gorgeous face close to me.

  Our tongues twist and tangle. His fingers splay over my lower back. His breath wafts against my cheeks. My building arousal is tempered by a gut-wrenching, soul-deep guilt, a sense of wrongness, of making the biggest mistake of my life.

  Which is ridiculous. I’m kissing Nicolas Rainer, Chicago’s most sought-after bachelor. He’s made me his top priority, and soon he’ll give me the commitment, the forever, the security I’ve always dreamed of.

  This can’t be wrong.

  Want to know what happens next for Bee, Nicolas, and Hawke?

  SINFUL REWARDS 5 is available November 18.

  About the Author

  CYNTHIA SAX lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.

  Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.

  Please visit her on the web and sign up for her release day newsletter at http://cynthiasax.com/.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Also by Cynthia Sax

  Sinful Rewards 3

  Sinful Rewards 2

  Sinful Rewards 1

  Breaking all the Rules

  Flashes of Me

  The Seen Trilogy

  He Claims Me

  He Touches Me

  He Watches Me

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at six brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Impulse.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  BEAUTY AND THE BRIT

  By Lizbeth Selvig

  THE GOVERNESS CLUB: SARA

  By Ellie Macdonald

  CAUGHT IN THE ACT

  BOOK TWO: INDEPENDENCE FALLS

  By Sara Jane Stone

  SINFUL REWARDS 1

  A BILLIONAIRES AND BIKERS NOVELLA

  By Cynthia Sax

  WHEN THE RANCHER CAME TO TOWN

  A VALENTINE VALLEY NOVELLA

  By Emma Cane

  LEARNING THE ROPES

  By T. J. Kline

  An Excerpt from

  BEAUTY AND THE BRIT

  by Lizbeth Selvig

  Tough and self-reliant Rio Montoya has looked after her two siblings for most of their lives. But when a gang leader makes threats against her sister Bonnie, even Rio isn’t prepared for the storm that could destroy her family. Rio seeks refuge for them all at a peaceful horse farm in the small town of Kennison Falls, Minnesota, but her budding romance with the stable’s owner, handsome British ex-pat David Pitts-Matherson, feels as dangerous as her past.

  “Did I ever tell you how much I hate British arrogance?” Chase grinned and captured the ball, dribbled it to the free-throw line, turned, and sank the shot. “Nothin’ but net.”

  “Did I ever tell you how much I hate Americans showing off?”

  “Yup. You have.”

  David laughed again and clapped Chase on the arm. Not quite a year before, Chase had married David’s good friend and colleague Jill Carpenter, and this was the second time David had overnighted with Chase at Crossroads Youth and Community Center in Minneapolis. He was grateful for the camaraderie, and for the free lodging on his supply runs to the city, but mostly for the distraction from life at the stable back home in Kennison Falls. Here there were no bills staring up at him from his desk, no finances to finagle, no colicky horses. Here he could forget he was one disaster away from . . . well, disaster.

  It also boggled his mind that he and Chase had an entire converted middle school to themselves.

  “All right, play to thirty,” Chase said, tossing him the ball. “Oughta take me no more’n three minutes to hang your limey ass out to dry.” />
  “Bring it on, Nancy-boy.”

  A loud buzzer halted the game before it started.

  “Isn’t that the front door?” David asked.

  “Yeah.” Deep lines formed between Chase’s brows.

  The center had officially closed an hour before at nine o’clock. Members with I.D. pass cards could enter until eleven—but only did so for emergencies. David followed Chase toward the gymnasium doors. Voices echoed down the hallway.

  “Stop pulling, Rio, you’re worse than Hector. He’s not going to follow us in here.”

  “It’s Bonnie and Rio Montoya.” Surprise colored Chase’s voice. “Rio’s one of the really good ones. Sane. Hardworking. I can’t imagine why she’s here.”

  Rio? David searched his memory but could only recall ever hearing the name in the Duran Duran song.

  “Don’t be an idiot.” A second voice, filled with firm, angry notes, rang out clearly as David neared the source. “Of course they’re following us. They may not come inside, but they’ll be waiting, and you cannot handle either of them no matter how much you think you can. Dr. Preston’s on duty tonight. He might be able to run interference.”

  “They won’t listen to him. To them he’s just a pretty face. Let me talk to Heco. You never gave me the chance.”

  “And I won’t, even if I have to lock you in juvie for a year.”

  “God, Rio, you just don’t get it.”

  “You’re right, Bonnie Marie. I don’t. What in God’s name possessed you to meet Hector Black after curfew? Do you know what almost went down in that parking lot? Do you know who that other dude was?”

  Chase hustled through the doorway. “Rio? Bonnie? Something happen?”

  David followed five feet behind him. The hallway outside the gym glowed with harsh fluorescent lighting. Chase had the attention of both girls, but when David moved into view, one of them turned. A force field slammed him out of nowhere—a force field made up of amber-red hair and blazing blue eyes.