Double the Pleasure

by Julie Leto

  “You are not Zane Masterson!”

  Grey took a deep breath, trying to interpret Reina’s mood. Damn. Just a moment ago he’d been lost in velvet heaven, his mouth merged with hers. For an instant he’d known her. Unbridled. Unrestrained. Until she’d pulled away, his secret revealed. He’d been caught, red-lipped. No woman he’d ever run across would find this situation amusing.

  Still, Reina was no ordinary woman.

  “Let me guess,” Grey ventured. “My brother and I kiss differently?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I wouldn’t know. Why would you ever assume that Zane and I were lovers?”

  “You are an incredibly beautiful woman. And there are these vibes going on between us….”

  Reina cleared her throat. “Yes, that should have been my first clue that you weren’t Zane. As adorable as I find your brother, we’ve never had the kind of chemistry you and I seem to have. And here I blamed my heightened state of arousal on reading those erotic diaries. Apparently there was more at play.”

  “Well,” Grey muttered, “nothing was at play yet.” He shifted closer to her, stroking her bare arm with his finger. “But we were definitely getting there….”

  Dear Reader,

  Don’t you come up with the wildest ideas sometimes when you’re chatting with your friends? That’s what happened when my pal and critique partner Susan Kearney and I were having one of our daily telephone marathons. We’d wanted to work together on a project for a long time, and finally we had the idea. It started with a cover, then twin heroes who trade places, then a concurrent time line and release dates. We even waited until our editor was in town for a visit and plied her with Cajun food to win her over!

  Luckily for us, Harlequin excitedly jumped onto our bandwagon. Double the Pleasure is the story of Grey, the older, very private Masterson twin, while Susan’s Double the Thrill tells the tale of ne’er-do-well Zane. While each story is unique, and very satisfying on its own, I’m certain you’ll double your reading pleasure if you get them both this month. And don’t forget to drop by my Web site at www.julieleto.com to let me know what you thought of the amorous escapades of the Masterson twins….

  Enjoy,

  Julie Elizabeth Leto

  P.S. Don’t forget to check out tryblaze.com!

  Books by Julie Elizabeth Leto

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  4—EXPOSED

  29—JUST WATCH ME…

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  686—SEDUCING SULLIVAN

  724—PRIVATE LESSONS

  783—GOOD GIRLS DO!

  814—PURE CHANCE

  835—INSATIABLE

  884—WHAT’S YOUR PLEASURE?

  DOUBLE THE PLEASURE

  Julie Elizabeth Leto

  For my editor, Brenda Chin, who shows no fear—and has infinite faith in my talents, even when I don’t.

  For Krystyna de Duleba,

  who brands my books with her innovative artistic vision.

  And for Susan Kearney, friend, fellow writer and critique partner, who has made the journey so much better.

  Contents

  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

  Prologue

  REINA PRICE licked her lips hoping the action would offset the tightness in her breasts, the growing shallowness of her breath. The glossy feel of her lipstick, moistened by her tongue, only increased the thrill shimmering through her veins.

  “Magnificent.”

  She traced the lines of the thick, hard shaft with her French-manicured nails, wondering, planning, devising in her mind the best way to work it. Too bad she didn’t blow. She’d love to ply her talents on this masterpiece.

  Claudio di Amante leaned forward to see which drawing Reina admired with such delight. “Ah, the pride of the collection. Il Gioielliere himself posed for the mold. Fashioned in delicate, blown glass and strengthened with an intricate web of gold latticework. Legend says his mistress breathed into the glass during the fashioning. It was a gift for her use when he was…not available.”

  Reina shifted in her seat, thankful that her desk blocked her guest’s view as she squeezed her legs together to offset the pulse flaring between her thighs. Il Gioielliere, a sixteenth-century Italian jeweler and predecessor of Casanova, must have been one impressive lover. Judging by the shape and thickness of the penis represented in the gold and glasswork dildo, the man was particularly well endowed. And to add to his natural attributes, he’d created a diverse assortment of sexual implements and toys, many disguised as mere jewelry but each possessing a secret, sensual use. Unfortunately, the original collection had been destroyed, and Claudio di Amante, a stranger who’d walked into her gallery in the New Orleans Arts District with no appointment, now wanted her to refashion the pieces in the next two weeks.

  Though Reina had been taught to be proud of her sexual responses and impulses, what this man had brought to her in a worn leather attaché proved more evocative than any of the erotic art she housed in her gallery or the erotic jewelry she’d created in her studio. The drawings alone affected her, raising her body temperature and hampering her ability to breathe.

  Accepting Claudio’s commission would be both a professional and personal challenge. With her libido so hypersensitive, she’d either have to take a lover or resort to putting her own dildo collection to good use. She didn’t have a glass one, though they were all the rage, thanks to Il Gioielliere’s Diaries, a reprinting of the man’s personal memoirs that currently topped the New York Times bestseller list. Shamar, the glass artist who displayed her work in Reina’s gallery, couldn’t keep them in stock.

  Claudio di Amante, il Gio’s last remaining descendant, sat back into the tall, leather chair, his athletic, middle-aged body molded comfortably into the antique wing chair. Reina tried hard not to stare. Despite his age, he was undeniably handsome, with a glint of a secret dancing in his dark eyes. She supposed he was old enough to be her father but couldn’t say for sure since she had no idea how old her father actually was. Still, the man piqued her curiosity on several different levels—starting with why he’d chosen her over other better-known artists to recreate his jewelry collection.

  As an only child traveling the world with a famous mother, Reina had turned to crafting jewelry as a way to ward off boredom. At fifteen, her designs began to reflect the sensual, sexual lifestyle enjoyed by her mother, her friends and, honestly, herself. That’s when her brooches, earrings, necklaces and pendants caught the eye of people who knew fashion and weren’t afraid to pay for it. Her gallery, opened five years ago when she decided to join her mother and settle down in New Orleans, had only recently received notice with the mainstream press. When a famed haute couture designer chose her pieces to accessorize his spring line last year, Reina finally garnered real recognition for her work.

  But she was by no means a household name. She fought to keep her gallery in the black, a battle intensified by two recent robberies that threatened the solvency of her business and the future of her designs. So why had Claudio chosen her? And why now?

  The man claimed to be a struggling entrepreneur, but he couldn’t hide a natural, elegant style. Dressed in a dark suit with thin lapels and an even darker shirt, Claudio’s olive skin provided a startling backdrop for eyes the color of onyx and rare mother-of-pearl. Shots of white along his temples toned down the glossiness of his jet hair
, a hue that might have, in his youth, matched her own.

  Reina swallowed, wondering when she was going to stop trying to find her father in each and every man over fifty that she met. Claudio di Amante was probably the unlikeliest candidate to date. While handsome, the man didn’t have much money, and what he did have, he didn’t spend without careful planning—at least that is what Reina had gleaned from their conversation. His modest use of money was enough to take him out of the running for any relationship with Reina’s mother.

  According to his story, he lived just outside Venice, quite near her mother’s summer home. But when he spoke of his sprawling yet crumbling palazzo, Reina knew such a place would never have piqued Pilar’s avaricious interests. For twenty difficult years, Claudio had lived hand-to-mouth, watching his beloved family home deteriorate around him. After having his ancestor’s diaries stolen and published without his consent or profit, he’d decided the time had come to unearth il Gioielliere’s schematics and regain his family’s lost wealth. And now, he wanted to turn the treasured drawings and priceless gemstones over to Reina. At the worst possible time. She’d listened to his proposal with real interest, although she didn’t think she should even entertain the idea of accepting his commission.

  Reina gathered the photocopies of the hand-drawn diagrams and took one last look. Her mouth dried, her fingers itched, her eyes ached to study the drawings in greater depth. But she couldn’t accept this design assignment. Not when the jewels he promised to deliver tomorrow wouldn’t be safe in her possession.

  “I’m so sorry, Signore di Amante,” she began.

  “Claudio, please. I understand Americans don’t much stand on ceremony.”

  “No, they don’t. We don’t,” she amended, still unaccustomed to considering herself American since she’d lived everywhere but in the United States for most of her life. “I learned this lesson over the years.”

  “But you are American, yes?”

  She smiled, aware that a little coy confession went a long way with men like Claudio. “Born in New York City during one of my mother’s runs on Broadway. I’ve only been in the States permanently for five years. I love this country, and New Orleans, but I’m still adjusting. My mother was quite the world traveler during my childhood.”

  “Ah, your mother. The great stage actress.”

  The hair at Reina’s neck bristled. “You know my mother?”

  He chuckled, but the sound was soft, secret, as if there was a great deal he knew but wasn’t willing to share. “Who in Europe doesn’t know the great Pilar Price?”

  Who anywhere didn’t know of Pilar? Reina reminded herself yet again that while theater grew more and more obscure both in the United States and abroad, save a few big Broadway and East End productions, her mother was still a celebrity of international fame—if not for her profession, then for her lifestyle. Paparazzi still stalked the sidewalk in front of her French Quarter home, hoping to catch a glimpse of a senator or governor sneaking out of Pilar’s bedroom sometime during the night.

  Reina, however, preferred to draw less attention to her love life, such that it was. Her friend, Chantal Dupre, liked to refer to her infrequent dates as “drive-by lovers,” which was fine with Reina. Romantic entanglements and messy emotional dramas were her mother’s style, not hers. She chose to concentrate on her business and on using her inherited charm and exotic sex appeal to give her an entrepreneurial edge.

  What had started as a persona created to match the evocative designs in her jewelry had become her most useful asset, her most effective weapon. Disaffected, bored and well-sexed worked on men and women alike. The women admired her, wanted to emulate her. The men wanted her in bed but doubted their prowess to please her. Either way, Reina called the shots—choosing friends and business associates with care and protecting her privacy…and, more important, her heart.

  She shook her head, displacing a curl from the loose twist she’d secured this morning with an ebony clip. She blew the hair aside and, with great regret, stacked the papers together and slid them across her polished desk.

  “You have no idea how much I’d like to accept your commission, Claudio. But I can’t, not in good conscience. Your jewels would not be safe with me and I don’t currently have the funds for added security.”

  Claudio nodded but didn’t touch the designs. “I’ve heard about the thefts in your gallery. Very unfortunate.”

  Reina looked askance at the letter on the corner of her desk, the one she’d received last week from her insurance agent canceling her coverage. After two unsolved jewel thefts from the safe in her office, the carrier was no longer willing to insure her business. The timing couldn’t have been worse. First, the splash in the fashion world, then the feature in Elle magazine, which had highlighted her particular interest in refashioning estate pieces into erotic treasures. Ever since, she’d fielded inquiries from wealthy women and men from around the world about what she could create with a grandmother’s old ruby brooch or a collection of unmatched sapphires.

  But she couldn’t afford the higher premiums of a new carrier or increased security. She’d thought about only keeping jewels in her studio when she had to work on them and then locking them away in a safety-deposit box at night—after all, neither of the robberies had occurred during the day. But Reina couldn’t be sure the thief, or thieves, wouldn’t become more bold. So, until the cases were solved, she had to turn down all jobs that involved resetting valuable stones.

  Including this one.

  “Incredibly unfortunate. I can’t guarantee the safety of your stones or these plans—” she folded them back into the attaché “—so I must, very regrettably, say no to your offer.”

  “Can you not hire more guards?”

  “I don’t have the funds at this time and, frankly, I don’t even have an insurance carrier for the studio. Other artists who lease space here from me have purchased individual policies to insure their work. Maybe my situation will change in the future.”

  Reina had called the police first thing this morning, praying they had found the culprit and made an arrest, but they’d made no headway. Everything pointed to an inside job and she had no idea who could have betrayed her. Her personal assistant, Judi, had been with her since Reina moved to the States five years ago and had become a good friend. All the artists in the gallery had been thoroughly checked out. Everyone had passed lie detector tests, including Reina, though she and the police knew how unreliable the technology could be.

  Yet, there’d been no break-in, no damage to the safe or the lock—as if the thief had known the combination, pointing back to a gallery employee or artist.

  After the first theft, Reina had changed the combination code and kept the numbers to herself. She’d also spent most of her operating capital installing security cameras and employing a guard—a guard who’d been knocked unconscious during the second robbery. The security tapes had disappeared. With the bulk of her money tied up in investments and, with no insurance, she couldn’t afford to put il Gioielliere’s jewels at such risk.

  “The future is now, Reina,” Claudio insisted. “Have you consulted the bestseller lists, lately? Il Gioielliere’s Diaries is selling millions of copies around the world. Sooner or later, someone will attempt to reproduce the jewelry from the descriptions in the book. There is not the detail I have in the drawings, but we cannot miss the opportunity. Both of us have a lot to gain, and much to lose.”

  Shortly after Claudio’s arrival, he’d explained to Reina that the original diaries had been stolen from him years ago and published without his knowledge or consent. So someone else, someone the publisher refused to name, was reaping the benefits of the diary’s popularity. Extreme popularity. She’d read articles calling Il Gioielliere’s Diaries the new Kama Sutra. The book had already been optioned for a film. Copies were flying off the shelves. Reina had certainly noted an increased interest in glass Shamar’s dildos.

  Yet none were as delicate or intricate as the one sketched out
on Claudio’s drawings. Even the peace-loving Shamar would kill to get her talented hands on the tricky design.

  “I could use some good publicity again,” she muttered.

  “You could also use the royalties from the tour I have planned, as well as commissions from the sale of reproductions. We can both be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

  “If we’re willing to take a great risk.”

  “There is no profit without risk. Besides, you don’t have to keep the jewels here, where they would be unsafe. Perhaps you have somewhere else where you can work?”

  “I have a studio in my home,” Reina said, thinking aloud. “I actually do most of my work there and devote my time in the gallery to selling the pieces.”

  “You see? I will bring them to your home.”

  Reina shook her head. “I cannot guarantee that my home is any safer than my business.”

  Nevertheless, Claudio stood, a confident smile beneath his thin mustache. “Then find a way to give me that guarantee.”

  He snatched a memo pad from the corner of her desk, then asked for her address, which she gave.

  “I’ll meet you at your home tomorrow evening, with the sketches and the jewels. If you have found a way to insure they will be safe, then we, as you Americans say, will have a deal.”

  She stood when he scooped up his attaché. She offered her hand, and he took it gently, then bent to sweep a chivalrous kiss across her knuckles.

  “Until tomorrow, bella.”

  Once he’d left, Reina slid back into her chair and splayed her hands on the glassy top of her desk, her mouth wide with shock.

  What had just happened?

  What had she agreed to?

  She’d agreed to a deal that could turn her string of bad luck into a business boom. Too bad that, until then, she still had the same problem. Well, two actually. First, she had to burn off the excess sexual energy before she dealt with the collection drawings again. If not, she might end up making some sort of fool out of herself, getting all hot and bothered over pen and ink. Second, she had to find a way to protect the jewels once she took possession tomorrow evening, at her house.