by Scott, Talyn
Even with her head whirling from alcohol, Payton knew better than this. Nevertheless, a taste couldn’t hurt for a second or two, maybe three. Nipping at the corner of her lip with those straight white teeth, he stung her tender flesh before laving away the pain. His knee came between her thighs, the beads of her gown rustling. She gasped at the friction, and he took advantage of her parted lips. With a thrust of his tongue, he moved inside her mouth, invading, and her knees nearly buckled.
Catching her with a steady palm around her thigh, he started lifting her leg over his, pushing his thickly muscled thigh right where she needed it. His free hand moved to her breast, long fingers deftly searching for her hardened nipple. It was no use since she’d bound herself with long bandages to fit in the antiquated dress. However, the sensation of his probing fingers wasn’t lost on her. Neither was the way he was holding her exactly how he had been holding the blonde only moments ago.
Dylan Easton was a player.
Payton Calloway could never be played.
But she would allow herself a final taste.
Payton gripped his biceps, felt his muscles straining beneath his tuxedo, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and slid her tongue over his in a goodbye caress. He groaned deeply, his chest heaving against her swollen breasts. With a sigh, she released him with a slight push to his chest, forcing her mouth away and lowering her leg.
It took him a minute to understand the push off. “I won’t take you out here.” He brushed her jaw with the backs of his knuckles. When he reached to remove her mask, Payton sidestepped him.
“You’re not taking me at a-all,” she replied in her slurring drawl.
“We’ll go to a room,” he assured, holding out his hand for her, “where you’re more comfortable.”
“Where I’m m-more comfortable?” She realized he wouldn’t care if someone happened upon them while they were in the act, just as he didn’t care which woman was beneath him. He’d easily substituted Candice with her. Or was that Caroline? She bit back her true response and tried to tell him the actual reason she was here. “Mr. Easton, I’m from-”
He interrupted her, “You have no idea what red hair does to me, particularly yours.” He twirled a lock around his long finger, seemingly mesmerized. “Even in this dimness, it glows so silkily.” His eyes flipped to hers. “How is that?”
“Oh, you’re good,” she groaned, turning to put some distance between them right before his forearm secured her waist, pulling her back to his chest while walking her down the hallway until they reached the carpeted stairway.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“If I told you” – She wiggled away from him, instantly missing his heat — “would you remember it?”
A mirthless laugh left him. “Ah, I see how it is.” Though his eyes remained heated blue pools brimming with lust, his smiled turned cold, mocking. “What exactly do you want from me?”
Her vision dimmed briefly, and she ass-planted on the steps. “It’s not what I want from you, but what is needed for-”
“I’m certain that you crashed this party.” Leaning down, he placed both hands on either side of her body without touching her. “Someone sent you here, perhaps a slime rag readying to print yet another scathing story about our family. Should I pat you down?” He leered. “Are you hiding a recording device in a forbidden place on your person?”
“No.” She gulped, her head spinning at a disconcerting speed. “I came her on my own. Listen -”
“You hush. You listen.” Dylan flicked the tip of her ear with his tongue. “Here’s a bit of truth for you: You taste like innocence and I want you. Need happens daily, but want hasn’t existed in my life since,” he trailed off, moving to stare down at her again. “But I have enough regrets in my life without you topping my list.” Reaching for her mask again, he stopped just shy of removing it. “I suggest you walk back out that door.”
Abruptly, he stood up, stormed to the nearest elevator, summoned it with a strange key, and disappeared inside without looking back.
“Oh, Dylan Easton, you’re loads of fun,” she shouted after him, her slurring voice echoing through the foyer.
“That’s why he’s so popular,” a deep voice echoed back.
“Who’s there?” There went that prickling again, running down her neck, over her shoulders, and ending at the tips of her toes. When her eyes settled on a landing located up several floors, a man just as imposing as Dylan stared down at her, his hair as black as midnight. “You’ve been watching me all night,” she accused, “haven’t you?”
He stepped fully out of the shadows, gripping the bannister, an ivory Venetian mask covering the length of his face. “And if I have?”
“W-why would you?”
“I couldn’t help myself.” He walked away, blending into the shadows.
“Hey, don’t go! Are you an Easton?” Silence answered her. “Please.” Finding her way to the elevators, she pressed three buttons to no avail. No lights illuminated the panels. No sounds of cables pulling cars met her ears, yet Dylan Easton had left in one of them. How? Glancing to the right, she spotted a brass lock fitted into a panel on the wall, its opening would fit a key. Peculiar didn’t begin to describe it. She tapped it, chewing her lip as she contemplated using the stairs to find someone who obliviously no longer wanted to be found.
“What do they put in champagne?” she whispered, her head whirling furiously. She palmed her forehead, fighting the sensation while perspiring beneath the heavily beaded gown. “I can’t give up.” When her knees turned to jelly, solid arms enveloped her and lifted her high, effortlessly, to an equally solid chest.
The man in the mask studied her as he carried her to the staircase. “On what?”
“Huh?”
“What can’t you give up on?”
“Never mind that. You’re carrying me,” she said instead, sensing them rise, step by step, quickly up the grand staircase.
“You were about to drop.”
They turned left, where he called an elevator that actually worked. When he stepped inside, still holding her, she asked, “Who are you?”
His lip curled, his finger working the interior panel. “The gentleman preventing a lady from making a mistake while she is in a drunken stupor.”
Her spine stiffened, though her head stayed in the spin cycle. “I’m far from a drunken stupor.”
“Do you normally allow strange men to carry you anywhere they desire?”
She sputtered, “No!”
“Do you normally allow strange men to kiss you?”
“No.” she wiggled to get down.
“I didn’t think so.” He tightened his hold on her, preventing her escape. “Drunken stupor it is,” he confirmed, stepping out into what felt like the night air. But there was a breeze here that she hadn’t encountered earlier on the lower veranda.
“The top,” she whispered, horrifically awed. “I hate heights.” But she couldn’t look away. Sarasota was everywhere, twinkling beneath their feet. Sounds of music and laughter barely floated up, the party below was so insignificant when compared to the night’s enormous stars.
Slowly, he eased her down, gripping her elbows until she found her footing. “See where drunkenness lands you? On top of a tower with a stranger.”
She wrapped nervous fingers around the railing, her sweaty palm slipping. “Yes, you could toss me over quite easily.”
“Not with the orchestra right below, too many witnesses.” Two fingers pressed beneath her chin, tilting her face away from the view and up to his. His lips parted. “Why do you want to speak with an Easton?”
“Are you one?”
“I’m a curious man only wondering why you crashed this particular fundraiser with an agenda.”
“Do you really think I’m the only one with an agenda who crashed tonight’s benefit?”
He tugged on one of her curls. “No, but you’re the only one who caught my eye in doing so.”
She stepped b
ack, unsure of what to say. Large men always made her uncomfortable, and he was the second one she’d encountered this closely tonight. “He’s ruining everything.”
He stepped closer. “Dylan Easton, in what way?”
“Well, I can’t say it was him exactly, but The Easton Company sure has.” Taking another step back, she swallowed roughly, the alcohol now firing between her legs. “A-and like I said, they’ve ruined everything. I’m ruined!”
“Hmmm. You sure don’t look ruined.”
She laughed. “Take my word for it.”
He backed her against a rotund column, his large hand cupping the side of her face. Stroking her bottom lip with his thumb, much the way Dylan had earlier, he licked his bottom lip. Slowly. “I’m a bit puzzled.”
“Puzzled?” Black dots prickled her vision, connecting one to the other in zigzag lines. Limb by limb, her muscles grew languid. “Why are you puzzled?”
“Dylan Easton never kisses anyone on the lips.”
She shook her head, her body liquefying. He wrapped his free arm around her, his opposite palm still cupping her face. “He kissed me, though,” Payton protested, “on the lips.” No matter how drunk she was, she’d never forget his kiss or the peculiarity of him saying to her, a complete stranger, ‘I miss you’.
“I know,” he said tightly. “I watched you take his tongue deep inside your mouth.” Her masked stranger shook his head. “It’s all wrong.” His head dipped low, a groan leaving the back of his throat. “And speaking of wrong.” Her eyes widened when he kissed a damp line up the column of her neck, blazing a trail across her chin, before fitting his lips over the shape of hers. He kissed her just as deeply as Dylan had, just as urgently, too. And he wasn’t finished, taking more…giving more. She gasped between his kisses, sliding down the column an inch with every velvety stroke of his tongue.
Pulling away slightly, his lips brushed beneath her mask until he dipped his tongue inside her ear, twirling until she had to clench her thighs around his leg. “Ah!”
“Easy.” Abruptly, he shifted her, his breath leaving his body in a hiss. “One more taste is all I need. I swear it.” Moving his hand, he cupped her nape possessively and pressed his mouth against hers, moving his tongue deeply, gliding and retreating, tangling and pressing with grazing friction. This kiss seemed desperate, almost savage. “Damn,” he whispered into her lips. Sounds drifted away from her ears, his touch evaporating from her skin, and everything turned completely black. But before she drifted completely, Payton heard him say, “I just made a promise I can’t keep.”
3
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Payton slapped her palm around, feeling for her nightstand. Buzz. Buzz. Reaching beneath her back, she pulled out her phone. “Hello,” she mumbled. Her head didn’t feel quite right and cotton had replaced her tongue.
Libby screeched, “Where the hell are you?”
She pulled the phone away from her ear, flipping on her side. “Bed. Sleeping.”
“In bed.”
“That’s what I said.” Payton yawned, wondering why Libby was phoning her when she could just walk up the hall. After all, Libby, Noah, and Payton had shared a loft since they’d bought the dilapidated, firehouse on Dolphin and Sixth and then significantly renovated the structure. “Since you’re so energetic this morning, grab me some coffee.”
“Where exactly would I bring this coffee?” she inquired in a clipped, schoolmarm voice.
“Where would you…?” One eye popped open. “Holy Moses, I’m not in my room.” She bolted upright, still wearing her borrowed flapper dress and Venetian mask. “What the…”
“Payton, tell me where you are.”
“Give me a second to figure it out.” She scooted over the plush, four-poster bed, patting the crushed velvet embroidered with golden thread. Her feet met a rug woven in hues of wine and gold, matching the duvet. The same wine covered the walls in damask, though upward an elaborate fresco filled a coffered ceiling above the enormous bed. She shook her head, wondering what stories this room could tell.
“Pay, what do you see?”
“I’m in a bedroom.”
“I figured that when you said you were in a bed. I’m on your laptop tracking your phone, but it’s taking forever.”
“I don’t remember leaving the party, Lib.” She walked through the center of six towering columns. All in cream, they stood at six-foot intervals in a commanding half circle, leading to a limestone and wrought iron balcony. Two sets of French doors were opened, allowing the sunlight and the salty, morning breeze to enter the room. Her stocking feet met the tiled porch, and she stepped outside to the best view Sarasota Florida had to offer. “I’m still here.” And in one piece, she realized with relief. Her bindings remained beneath her dress, her panties and stockings still securely in place.
“I know,” Libby agreed, rattling her keys. “I just found you.”
“I think I’m in…the tower.” A knock sounded.
“You mean Tower Amore, where you followed Dylan Easton?
“Has to be.” She turned to check out the corridor door, eyeing the moving lever. “This place is…a fairy tale.”
“One that took lives in a fire.” A horn blared from Libby’s end. “I’ll be there in flash.” She heard the smooth engine of Libby’s Porsche stir to life. “Remember the back kitchen alleyway? I still have the security pass on my car’s dashboard from last night, so the staff entrance would be my best bet to get you out of there quickly.”
The door opened slowly, an overgrown man with a Bluetooth in his ear pushed a cart across the threshold. Payton swallowed thickly. “Someone’s here with breakfast.”
“You don’t have time for breakfast,” Libby growled. “Both of us have to get things done today. And I can’t even imagine what’s going to happen if I don’t get that dress back to the theater!”
“I’m coming down,” Payton replied, hitting end, and then addressing the rather scary man before her, “Hello.”
“Madam,” he replied coolly, eyeing her mask while flashing his identification too quickly to make out anything other than The Easton Hotel’s logo. “I have breakfast and an awaiting car to take you wherever you need to be this morning.”
Obviously, this man had removed women before, which was probably Dylan Easton’s nightly MO. “Who brought me to this room?” Spotting her purse on a narrow chest, she slid her phone inside and clutched it beneath her arm.
“I did.” He curled a dark brow. “You were inebriated.”
Guilty as charged, she mused with a pounding head. And even though she was embarrassed in front of this striking stranger dressed in an impeccable suit and black tie, at least he understood she hadn’t been last night’s chew toy for Mr. Easton. “That’s what cabs are for,” Payton retorted, swiping bottled water from the rolling tray and a cleverly added basket of toiletries, including a toothbrush and aspirin. She chugged the water and popped two aspirins. “It wasn’t necessary to keep me here.” Although the sumptuous food offering included salmon and soft-boiled eggs, her sour stomach and time contrasts trumped any plans of sitting down for this mini-feast.
“Wasn’t necessary? Well, it wasn’t necessary for you to consume enough alcohol to pass out cold but you did.” He stared down his nose at her. Probably in his early thirties, he had closely trimmed black hair and hard blue eyes - definitely military at one point. “Where will I be driving you this morning?”
“I have a ride arriving any minute.” She walked no less than twenty paces and found a bathroom made for a princess. After making quick use of the water closet, she washed her hands and removed her mask, wincing in the mirror when noticing reddened impressions on her cheeks and forehead. Splashing water on her face, she grabbed a white washcloth and scrubbed her raccoon eyes, before warming up the streaming water and going at her teeth and tongue with the toothbrush. After another rinse, she tossed the toothbrush blazed with the Easton Hotel logo in the mirrored trash can and found her shoes next to the shower.
; When she walked back out, the man openly stared at her uncovered face for a hard minute, seemingly confused before schooling his features. “I’ll walk you out.”
“You mean you’ll escort me out. Big difference.” He said nothing and Payton’s ankle twisted slightly when she passed him.
He steadied Payton by taking her elbow. “You should have eaten.”
“Why would you care?” When he stayed quiet, she wondered where her manners had gone. Just because she’d screwed up didn’t mean she should take it out on him. Sighing, she rubbed the tension from her neck as they turned right and headed for the elevators. He’d placed her in an exquisite suite and brought her breakfast, when he could have tossed her on her butt, could have called the cops. “I’m sorry. Normally, I’m a better morning person, nicer in general.”
“Uh huh.” He flashed those blue steels and corralled her into a working elevator.
“So” — she leaned against the mirrored wall, fighting the rising bile as the elevator descended disturbingly fast — “how long has this tower been closed to the public?” His lip curled, saying nothing - his signature response. “All right, then.” She shrugged impassively.
With an old-fashioned ding, the doors parted to reveal the plush lobby where she’d followed Dylan Easton. Memories of him touching her, his fingers threading through her hair, assaulted her senses. And his words, his sex-husky voice saying…she stopped a moment, pushing her fingertips against her temples. What had he told her? It was at the tip of her brain, bugging her, yet refused to surface. Better yet, what had she told him? She observed the staircase covered in red, fit for nothing less than royalty or celebrities, the ebony bannisters etched in gold. He’d lowered her on those stairs, had placed his body against hers. Flashes of his anger came to mind, but what had he been angry about? Then she couldn’t recall anything more.
“After you,” he said, holding the glass door open for her, guiding her away from this bygone-era building.
