You Shook Me All Night Long
Scorned Lovers
Simone Harlow
Contents
Title Image
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
The Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Newsletter
Sneak Peek of I Hate Myself For Loving You
Copyright © 2016 by Simone Harlow
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design and Formatting - Mayhem Cover Creations
For all the girls who got kicked to the curb and found their fight.
This one is for you.
All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
U2
Prologue
Live alone
Steal something
Tell a lie
Climb Mount Kilimanjaro
Have sex with a rock star
Swear
Live lavishly
Get a tattoo
Do a striptease in public
Have sex in public
Stop biting your nails
Get back on a horse
Get a Brazilian
Have a threesome
Find a new best friend
Charlotte Lambert glared at the list her twin sister Vivienne had given her one more time. There it was right there at number five: “Have sex with a rock star.” How was she supposed to manage that little feat? Several other items on this list were beyond her.
“So?”
Charlotte lowered the paper. Viv’s chocolate brown eyes looked amused. “If I do some of these things people will call me ‘Charlotte the Harlot!’”
Viv gave her a throaty chuckle. “But they will say it with admiration.”
Charlotte didn’t want to be admired, she wanted to be respected. Most likely she was pitied. Her sister was dying and her fiancé Preston had just left her to run off to Vermont with his beautiful boyfriend. To open a bed and breakfast of all things. Charlotte took a deep breath. She could just picture the headline in the New Orleans Times: Charlotte Lambert Has Sex With a Rock Star. Shame, shame, shame. “There are several things on this list I don’t think I can do.”
Viv reached out her bony hand and patted Charlotte’s knee. The cancer had ravaged her sister’s body, but her hands were still perfectly manicured. “Of course you can.”
Charlotte looked around the hospital room, still amazed that it was decorated like a regular bedroom with cheery mint walls and an overstuffed green and white sofa. “I should say I don’t want to do.”
Viv raised a dark eyebrow. “Why not?”
Really? She had to answer that. Charlotte wished that her mother was here. Not because she’d be of any comfort to Viv or to her. Nicole Lambert had given up on her oldest daughter and her ‘wicked ways’ years ago. But at least they wouldn’t be having this conversation. “Because I’m not you.”
Viv pulled the caramel colored sheet higher. “I haven’t done everything on the list.”
Now that Charlotte didn’t believe for one minute. “What?”
“I didn’t get to that mountain.”
Charlotte gave an unladylike snort. “You were in Africa for two months. What were you doing all that time?”
A slow, salacious smile spread on her sister’s red-painted mouth. “It was rugby season. Have you ever seen rugby players in action? I preferred climbing on them.” She winked.
Charlotte knew she blushed as the heat spread down her neck. She smoothed her beige twill skirt over her knee. “Why do I have to go alone?”
“Charlotte, when was the last time you did something without someone from the family standing right beside you?”
Well…never. She barely went to college by herself, and of course, she hadn’t lived in the dorms. “Does Preston count? Technically, he wasn’t family yet.”
Viv rolled her eyes. “No.”
Was she really this pathetic? God help her, she was. Her sister who was dying had done more living in five minutes than Charlotte had done in twenty-six years. “I don’t understand why you want me to do all this.”
“When was the last time you rebelled against anything?”
“I have rebelled.” Could she sound more defensive?
“When?”
“I voted for Barack Obama. Twice.”
Viv eyes widened and she started laughing. “Bully for you.”
“See! I can be outrageous. I don’t need to get waxed down there.” Not that she was going to tell anyone in the family she’d crossed the party line. Generations of Lamberts must be rolling over in their graves knowing that she voted for the other side.
“I want you to be the fun girl again. I miss her. You are going to need her when I’m gone.”
The room started to close in on Charlotte. Her heart started racing. No matter how pretty they made it look, this was a death room. One her sister was lying in just waiting to die. “Fight, Viv. Please. You can do anything you set your mind to. You’ve always been able to.”
Viv sighed. “Charlotte, I’m okay with dying. I’ve had a great life.”
A hot tear ran down her cheek. “If you can’t fight for yourself anymore, then please fight for me. I can’t be alone.”
Viv grimaced and clutched her stomach. “Fuckin’ A. Cancer is more of a bitch than I am.”
Charlotte bit her trembling lip; she knew Viv didn’t have any fight left. The cancer had ravaged her once startling beauty and vitality. It had not killed her spirit, though, for which Charlotte was grateful. Viv was going to die soon. Charlotte didn’t know what she was going to do without her sister. It was like she was losing a part of herself. “I’ll do it! Just so I can tell you I told you so. You just have to fight. Please.”
“I’ll fight. I promise.” She pushed the pain med button. “Will you be here when I wake up?”
Charlotte wiped the tears away and smiled. She had to be strong. She took Viv’s hand in hers. “Of course, I’ll be here.”
“I love you, Charlotte.” Then Viv drifted off and didn’t hear Charlotte say it back.
She watched her sister go to sleep; grateful she would have a respite from the pain for a while. If she wasn’t so selfish and afraid to be without her twin, she’d pray for Viv’s pain to end, but she couldn’t. Why was she so weak? She studied Viv’s sleeping form. Her black hair had started growing back, only because she’d chosen to stop the chemo. Viv joked that she wanted to have a good-looking corpse for an open casket service. Viv spent hours planning her funeral. She’d even sent invitations to all the men she could remember sleeping with and she had her dress picked out. A vintage pi
nk leather Alexander McQueen bondage dress. Whatever that was. Her hairstylist even had a wig custom made for her. She even tried to convince Charlotte to do the jitterbug on her grave.
No wonder she wanted Charlotte to go on this crazy endeavor. Viv always told her she needed to have more fun. If you call having sex in public fun. Charlotte didn’t. She had trouble having sex in Preston’s bedroom with the lights off. Of course, after finding out Preston really preferred having sex with men, she was finally able to stop blaming herself for her failure to enjoy sex. She hadn’t really done it for Preston, so how could he be expected to do it for her.
Charlotte picked up her to-do list from the side table and glanced at it one more time. She shook her head, and then stuffed the paper in her purse. God forbid anyone actually see this. Then she realized she had just accomplished her first task on the list. She’d told her very first lie. She had absolutely no intention of completing that list.
Chapter One
Six months later
Charlotte unlocked the door to Viv’s house and walked in. Correction: her house. Viv had left it to her after she’d died. It was empty now. She put her suitcase down in the foyer and it echoed through the barren interior. As per instruction, the house had been cleared out and all the furniture sold, because Viv knew Charlotte wouldn’t have redecorated. She’d leave the house as a shrine to her, even though Charlotte would have never felt comfortable with Viv’s ultra-modern décor. Except Viv had personally decorated the bedroom before she’d died. It was lavishly decked out in mulberry and khaki silks reminding her of gypsy caravans they’d seen on a trip to Turkey one year. The lavish decor was quite a change from her sedate lavender room at her mother’s house, but she loved it. Although she never would have had the courage to pick something so bold for herself.
A silver and black blur rushed passed Charlotte’s legs. Her cat Magnolia stopped, pinned her with a disdainful stare, then hissed at her before running off toward the kitchen. So much for finding a new best friend. That cat hated her. She had hoped her two week trip to Tanzania would make the cat’s heart grow fonder, but it was not to be. As tempted as she was to take the beast back to the shelter, she couldn’t do it. She was going to make that beast like her if it was the last thing she did.
Speaking of ornery beasts, she should call her mother and let her know she had made it home safely. And that she hadn’t caught Ebola or been abducted. Charlotte huffed as she took out her cell phone and turned it on. She had two messages. One from the painters saying they would be able to start next week on her house. The other message was from her older brother Everett, begging her to come home so their mother would leave him alone. That one made her smile. She quickly texted him and made arrangements for lunch with him and his wife, Henrietta. She dialed her mother and thankful she didn’t answer, left a message. Her mother was still angry with her for going to Africa to climb ‘that mountain,’ but Charlotte hadn’t regretted her decision at all.
Charlotte wasn’t even sure she was going to go until she found herself making a reservation three months after Viv died. She hadn’t even told her family she was going until she was sitting on the plane waiting to take off. Mostly because she knew her mother would have talked her out of it. Well, more likely shame her out of it.
When she arrived in Paris to catch her connecting flight she’d had a slew of phone messages demanding she come home, but she didn’t. A fact she was very proud of. And when she reached the top and threw a handful of Viv’s ashes to the wind, she felt a sense of accomplishment as if she could conquer the world. But more importantly, she felt peace. She went to Tanzania for Viv as much as she had for herself.
Walking to the kitchen, she followed the sound of her cat’s bellows for food and she found a large box sitting on the counter along with the rest of the mail. She looked at the address label. It had Viv’s name on it and a return label marked for London. Her hands shook as she slid a knife along the tape. Inside she found black paper boxes marked with the label ‘Silk.’ That was a lingerie store where Viv had her undergarments custom-made. Charlotte opened the box and pushed the tissue paper aside and a beautiful red and black scalloped-edge bra lay on top. She took it out and held it against her breasts. The cups fit perfectly. All that training she’d been doing to climb a mountain and learn the art of striptease had resulted in her losing some weight. The silk felt so decadent in her hands. Charlotte had never owned sexy lingerie before. They were so Viv.
Charlotte thought of the things she had done on Viv’s list. After getting to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, for just one second, she believed she could do anything. That she could be the woman she secretly wanted to be. She wanted to embrace life and feel alive. She could do this. She could break free and live. She could be like Viv. She could be Viv if she wanted to.
Charlotte took a deep breath and got out of the cab. Surprisingly she wasn’t as nervous as she thought she should be. In a strange way, she had something to prove to herself. She was on to number five on her life list. A line of black leather and blue jean clad people snaked around the nightclub. Looking down at herself, she knew she wasn’t dressed for this sort of event. Well, at least not now. Under the conservative suit she had worn to dinner with her mother she wore a skin tight dress. She’d found the black and nude dress among the things of Viv’s that hadn’t been packed away. Hell, the dress still had the tag on it. Viv had a lot of clothes she hadn’t gotten around to wearing. And she left them all for Charlotte.
Out of nowhere a man ran into her. “Excuse me.”
“You’re in the way, lady.”
True, she thought, as she walked to the head of the line.
The doorman pinned her with menacing stare. “Bankers need to go to the end of the line.”
When in the face of an obstacle going to politeness had always served her well. “I’d like to see the concert please.”
“Do you have a ticket?”
“No, I’m sorry I don’t, but I believe that should cover the cost.” Charlotte smiled and reached into her pocket and pulled out some bills. She placed the bills in the man’s hand and let her money do the talking.
The man did a quick count of the bills. “Welcome to Diesel, Mrs. Ben Franklin.” He unhooked the velvet rope and stood aside.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy the concert.”
She knew that wasn’t going to happen. She’d listened to the band before she came here. She’d thought her ears were going to bleed. But, then again, she didn’t have to like their music to sleep with one of them. Right? Although she had noted that all the men in the band were handsome in a rough, overtly masculine way. Not that she preferred that. She found men who were a bit less alpha-male more appealing, safer.
She went to the bathroom to get out of her suit and look like she belonged here. She found the bathroom and noticed all the stalls were filled and apparently not just by women. Leaving the bathroom, Charlotte looked for a corner. She could hide until she could get this over with, but first she had to get her backstage pass. Thank goodness she brought a lot of cash with her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the backstage door and walked over.
“Are you a school teacher?” A big burly man in a yellow jacket asked her.
“School teachers don’t go to concerts?” She reached into her purse and pulled out more money.
“Money I don’t need.” He reached out and stroked the lapel of her jacket. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll give you a pass.”
Charlotte took a step back, intimidated. “I have to have sex with you, too?” she muttered to herself. This was turning out to be harder than climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. She turned around and marched away. She found a quiet corner and spent the next half hour plotting her invasion.
At the end of the show she went back to the bathroom to change. Luckily she found it empty and quickly locked herself in a stall. Looking down at the damp floor she decided she didn’t want to know what was down there. She took several toilet seat covers and p
laced them neatly on the floor. She hadn’t worn pantyhose and wanted a barrier between herself and the dirt just in case her bare feet touched the floor. She took the black and gold Brian Atwood pumps out of her bag and placed them on the seat covers. God, they were gorgeous. They would look perfect with the black Herve Leger bandage dress. Quickly she took off her clothes and stuffed them in her tote bag. As she pulled down her dress, someone came into the bathroom.
“If I blow you, you’ll give me a back stage pass?”
“Get me off and, yeah, you can get backstage.”
Don’t be shocked, she thought to herself. Just get out of here.
The pair quickly went into the stall next to hers. The woman got down on her knees, a zipper rasped down, and she heard sucking noises. For a few minutes she couldn’t move and just stood there listening. Her mouth fell open. She had to get out of there. She hastily fixed her dress. Putting the shoes on, she wobbled for a second on the five inch heels, hit her head and her hair barrette went sliding into the occupied stall. Well, it appeared she would be wearing her hair down tonight. She finished dressing as the two next door became more vocal in their endeavor. Stepping out of the stall she tried not to think about what she was doing, because if she did, she’d run home and hide for the next week. For some ungodly reason her sister thought she needed to get out of her bubble. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she was pale as a ghost. Her black hair tumbled around her shoulders in wild curls. She needed some lipstick. That would only take five seconds, right? As she dug through her bag, the bathroom door opened. Two young women stumbled in. They stopped and looked at her. The tall redhead stared at her. “Are you a model?”
Should she feel complimented? She wasn’t sure. “No.”
Her blonde friend gazed at the stall then turned back to her friend. “I think I’m going to hurl.”
The redhead yanked a lanyard off her friend’s neck and tossed it in the cracked sink. “Don’t you dare throw up on the pass. I had to fuck a couple of jerks to get it.” She dragged her friend to the toilet stall and slammed the door.
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