by Lexie Davis
A Total-e-bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Amuse Me
ISBN #978-1-906328-74-0
©Copyright Lexie Davis 2008
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright December 2007
Edited by Michele Paulin
Total-e-bound books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road
, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning:
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
AMUSE ME
Lexie Davis
Dedication
To my grandfather.
Words cannot describe how much you mean to me.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
iPod: Apple, Inc.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Abercrombie and Fitch: Abercrombie and Fitch Trading Co.
Barbie: Mattel, Inc.
Armani: GA Modefine S.A.
Oprah: Harpo, Inc.
Chapter One
Wilmington, North Carolina
I sat at my computer stuck in a writing rut and listening to the Eagles on my iPod. My boyfriend had left me at the same time I was due to turn in my latest erotic romance to my editor—and I had nothing.
I massaged my temples hoping something would strike a chord in my brain. A mere spark of an idea that would be fun to write, fun to read and leaving my fans breathless and begging for more. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to convert my thoughts to the blank computer screen.
The blinking curser mocked me as I stared at the white page. Dammit, Rich may have fucked my life up but he wasn’t going to take a way my passion for writing. I wouldn’t let him, no matter what it cost.
In high school, young love blooms like tulips in the spring—sometimes developing into loving, lasting relationships and sometimes setting one up for heartache. Rich, I thought, would be the loving lasting relationship kind of guy but, boy, was I wrong. We’d dated throughout high school and college. I’d heard sex changed the relationship, but I was stupid and naive. Rich was a sexual being and aroused feelings within me no other man had. If only those feelings had been mutual.
I’m twenty-five years old and it took me seven years to discover the man I’d thought I loved—the mushy, gushy kind of love—had cheated on me. Not once or twice—no that was too easy. He’d fucked every girl he’d come in contact with.
For six months he’d been out of my life, yet he still haunted my dreams. I’d found out two days ago, from my best friend, that his latest conquest was having his baby. The more I thought about it, the more I hated him. I wanted payback. I needed it for some weird reason.
I started typing, letting my anger fuel the words on paper, my fingers flying across the keyboard as my thoughts sputtered from my brain. For once in my life, I was taking all the writing advice I’d thought was crap and putting it to good use. I wrote what I knew.
I made my real life story an act of fiction.
A few hours later I’d plotted, planned and brainstormed about all the events I’d experienced and a few from my imagination as well. I had a five-page plan of events, a storyline and the perfect ending. Funny, how something so obvious was hidden right under my nose.
My side of the story mixed with a little imagination would be my vengeance. After all, paybacks always were hell…
Atlanta, Georgia—Erotic Romance Convention
“Montana Raine, I just love your work!” A fan approached me at my designated table where I was signing of my newest release, Against All Odds. “Would you please sign my book?”
I signed fans’ copies until my hand felt like it was going to fall off. Writer’s cramp settled deep into my bones, aching as the line slowly shortened. My friends, fellow writers, and I used to joke about the kind of people show up at things like these. At the first signing I attended, we’d had to call security because a man had read my friend Jenny’s novel and stolen a pair of crotchless panties like those she’d described in her book from a nearby lingerie store. Thankfully, that was the only illegal action we’d ever encountered. Most of the time it was only creepy stares from passing men, judging us by the things we write. An overwhelming number of fans desperately want to know if I’ve “researched” everything I write. Though I’m an erotic romance novelist, even I consider some things to be a bit private. But on the other hand there is a disclosure saying, “this book is a work of the author’s imagination.” Some things are just…fantasy.
Except for my newest book. Whoever said real life doesn’t make interesting fiction is a fool. Against All Odds was a bestseller, topping two of the most proclaimed lists in the country. The book was available in just about every medium known to man where anyone could read it. Lucky for me people actually wanted to. I did however spice things up a bit and focus more on my cheating boyfriend being the jackass he is, but there were more real aspects in it from my life than would normally show up in my novels. Rich’s inspiration was nonetheless villain perfect, bringing me to a key point of my story.
Not that the heroine and the villain had anything going on. No, she had the old cliché every woman loves. Tall, dark and handsome—with a nice car, great job and for once, a brain. The hero was her own personal sex slave.
“Megan.” My editor Kaitlin Moore sashayed over to my table, breaking the line to talk to me. “Can you find time to take a break? The new CEO of Quicksand Books wants to talk to you about a book deal. He’s waiting in the backroom as we speak.”
Quicksand Books, Inc. had recently made a few business changes, and if they were still going to keep me on board as one of their authors, then so be it. I’d make the time to meet with them. They’d stuck by me throughout my career, me being one of their very first clients. We were sort of old friends.
“Of course.”
After finishing out my autograph line, I took a few seconds to get a bottle of water from a Coke machine and went searching for my editor. At thirty, Kaitlin was a few years older than me but knew more about this business than I possibly could after only three years of writing and selling my work to her company. Michele Lockland-Stewart had started the company with her own money. Now she was on maternity leave, and from what I had heard, the new owner, her brother Blake, was quite a drill sergeant.
“Kaitlin,” I said, coming up to my editor at her table. The conference held at the Atlanta convention centre had aspiring authors from all around the country pitching their current works-in-progress, begging and pleading for any and all editor’s and agent’s attention. It had taken three minutes for me to make my way through the crowd to her table.
“Oh, Megan.” She stood and turned to her assistant. “Debbie, please man the crow
d for a second. I’ll be right back.”
She led me through the large room, past several editors I knew and writers who were my close friends. The faint smell of roses filled my nose before I realised a big name writer had received two-dozen roses from an adoring fan. Must suck to be her.
We made it to the other side of the room, bypassing table after table until we finally entered a narrow hallway off-limits to the general public. In a way, being taken to the back to meet a guy seemed a bit creepy—even for me.
“Sorry about pulling you away from your fans. Mr. Lockland wanted to see you right away. He’s a bit shy. That’s why he’s hanging out in the staff lounge.” She stepped aside opening a door for me.
The room we entered was a typical lounge. A black couch sat in the middle of the room with a TV pointing directly at it. Round restaurant-style tables with matching white chairs crammed the small kitchenette—perfect for slacking on the job. On the couch, however, sat a man with his back to us watching a football game on the TV. I couldn’t see much detail about him, but the look on my editor’s face said he definitely appealed to her.
“Mr. Lockland, this is Megan Bradshaw, AKA Montana Raine.” Kaitlin smiled for a brief second, and when I turned my head, I could see why.
Dark brown hair and silvery-blue eyes bewitched me, everything else in the room fading away. I swallowed hard, remembering my mother’s words about being rude. I couldn’t help it. He had the face and body of a model, perfect for the Abercrombie and Fitch catalogues, advertising sex on a stick.
When he stood, my gaze glided over his body. From his tight blue dress shirt, free from the tie he’d thrown on the couch next to him, to his long lean legs encased in black slacks—he practically made my mouth water. I wondered what was hidden from my viewing pleasure. My eyes shifted to the huge bulge between his legs, answering my question. I tried to keep my reaction to myself, but my throat clammed up as he spoke to me. It took me three tries before I could speak. I moved the necessary steps to shake hands with him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lockland.” I felt like a total idiot. I knew I blushed because he saw me staring. There was no way he could have missed it or my reaction.
A small quirk of his lips hinted at a smile, as his big hand engulfed mine. Don’t stare into his eyes, I scolded myself. Don’t grip his hand too tight. And for Heaven’s sake, do not stare at the incredible package between his thighs. While my mind blundered the random thoughts of what I shouldn’t do, he brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it with soft, warm lips.
A bolt of heat shot up my arm and went straight to my crotch, moisture pooling at my pussy lips. That lump in my throat came back—or maybe it had never really left—and I swallowed hard, my over-active imagination taking over again.
“The pleasure really is mine.” His thumb rotated in small circles on the back of my hand.
I nearly came undone just thinking about that thumb stroking somewhere a little bit lower. With perfect pressure, he held my eyes with his, as if he knew the reaction he caused in my body. Maybe he was imagining it himself.
“Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my table.” Kaitlin cleared her throat, reminding us we weren’t the only ones in the room.
Mr. Lockland looked over at her with a dismissing gesture. “Thanks Kaitlin. I’ll inform you on the business side of the agreement tomorrow at our meeting.”
She smiled, shifting her gaze to our interlocked hands. “Of course.”
When she was gone, his glittering eyes returned to mine. “Have a seat.” He pointed to the couch he’d occupied. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” I said minding my manners—making my momma proud—for the first time in my life. “Kaitlin said you wanted to talk to me about a book deal?”
His blue shirt accentuated his tanned skin, while his spicy cologne worked havoc on my senses. Was the room getting hot? Or was it just me? My breath hitched a bit, and I licked my lips to distract myself. Dammit! If he wasn’t staring at me—my mouth—no doubt thinking things he’d rather being doing than talking business.
His gaze slowly lifted to meet my eyes. “Yes. I read your last novel and would like to offer you a five-book deal if you’ll continue to write for Quicksand Books.” He stood with his hands on his hips, his crotch straight in my line of vision, even though he stood several feet from me.
Maybe if he came a little closer and gave me a little taste, I’d consider. I chuckled. Who the hell was I kidding? Authors struggle to sell books. No matter how famous you are, it doesn’t mean every book you write will be as great as the last. Ideally it should be better, but shit happens. Life gets in the way of your muse, and the next thing you know, you’ve contracted a deadly case of writer’s block that threatens to end your career. Five books was a lot for a person with no general inspiration.
I’d just have to get inspired. Maybe I’d take a holiday on a cruise or something. Fellow writers say the Caribbean is the perfect place to see new things while being peaceful enough to find your muse. It was worth a try.
“Five books?” I smiled. “Wow. You like my writing that much?”
Blake stared at me. At first sight, I’d wanted his cock inside me, making it hard to have a serious conversation with him—a business conversation—without thinking of stripping him down and have him fuck me every way his imagination invented.
“Yes, I do.” He cleared his throat, looking almost in pain. “You’re last book, uh, was an interesting read. Possibly the highest selling digital book we’ve had since Quicksand Books opened its door five years ago. I haven’t looked at the current paperback sales but judging by how many people have come by your table, I know they’re grand as well.”
If he’d read my book, from cover to cover, no wonder he was having a difficult time having a decent conversation with me. I wasn’t ashamed. I just hated when men looked at me and expected me to do the things I’d made my characters do.
“I appreciate the deal, Mr. Lockland. I’d like to take you up on it.” I stood. The conversation was over. Time for me get back to my table before someone complained. It had never happened to me but people can be annoyingly rude sometimes.
“Thank you.” I extended my hand, uncomfortable with the way he stared at it. “If you’ll have Kaitlin pass the contract to me that’ll be great.”
He took my hand in his again, spreading his warmth across my body. “Do you have any plans tonight, Megan? Or would you rather be called Montana? How’d you get that name anyway?”
Oh, Lordy, this man was working a real number on me. Back when I watched superhero movies, I remember special villains who had the power to suck energy out of the good guys with one touch. Not that he was a villain, but Blake Lockland did that to me right now. The longer I was in a room with him the dirtier my thoughts became and the more willing I became to give into my temptation. Business was always separate from pleasure. Always.
“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping with my friends later,” I replied, feeling stupid. “As for my name, I’m Megan to everyone that knows me. Montana is just for my fans.” I avoided that last question. He didn’t need to know about my stripper cousin giving me Montana as my stripping name. I decided to keep that information private.
“Okay, Megan. I have the contract ready. Perhaps I can bring it by personally, maybe over dinner tonight?” How could I resist? My thighs were drenched with my essence due to lack of underwear I didn’t have the decency to put on. With one look from Blake, it was beyond me how I’d keep myself in check.
“Dinner? Um, I was sort of planning a quiet night at my hotel,” I lied. “I’m working on a project, and I’m right in the middle of the first draft.” Yeah, planning the first draft maybe—God I hope he doesn’t ask to read it. “But I guess you can drop by the contract.”
There’s a bright idea, Megan. He thinks you’re a slut and you just invited him to your hotel. What the hell had happened to my brain cells? He looked amused, finally releas
ing my hand.
“Ok, shall we make it seven?”
“Seven it is.” I smiled, hoping he saw it as nothing more than that but doubting it all the same.
By the time I got back to my table the line filled the hall again, making my next few hours busier than I could imagine, which was good. The work kept my mind off Blake, and how he planned to come to my room tonight. If only it could distract my body the same way.
Chapter Two
I desperately tried to force myself to sit at my laptop and type something—anything—that resembled a story idea. The only thing I came up with was Blake coming to my hotel room and fucking my brains out.
Yeah, okay my pussy was needy. I couldn’t help it. After being in a relationship for so long I’d gotten used to some things and it was hard to give them up. Maybe I was a sex addict and this was my withdrawal? No. That wasn’t it. I hadn’t even had the urge for six months after the breakup—until had Kaitlin introduced me to the handsome new owner of Quicksand Books.
Now, my pussy craved him. His fingers, his tongue, his cock—I wanted all of him. I laughed at the words I’d typed, my fingers quick to delete them. I really didn’t need to think about fucking him. Sign the contract and get him out of my hotel room unscathed—that was my plan. No touching. No lingering looks of lust. No bodily reaction to his eyes, his mouth or his crotch. I would simply keep my hands, my eyes and my thoughts to myself.
A knock sounded at my door, and my heart jumped into my throat. Who was I kidding? Expecting him, knowing he looked undeniably handsome on the other side of my door, was enough to get me wet. The damn man didn’t even have to be in the same room with me and I was drenched. God, how was I going to make it through a couple of minutes of close quarter contact?
