by Ava McKnight
Champagne & Cravings
Ava McKnight
Intrigue, champagne and lust—what a combination!
Lacey is a corporate fraud and abuse investigator. Her latest assignment is to discover the saboteur of an ultra-sexy cosmetics campaign. Suddenly she has a multitude of suspects, a lesbian supermodel who wants to get it on with her and a company full of bigwigs none too pleased with the direction of her investigation.
Then there’s Mike, the gorgeous neighbor she finds naked in her shower. She’s been burned by his bad-boy kind before, but he’s wanted Lacey for three years and it seems he’s ready to make his move. While the scandal at work has her juices flowing, it’s the hunky Mike who’s slowly seducing her into shedding her inhibitions. From their first searing kiss, she’s hooked.
Carnal cravings abound, but can Lacey overcome her trust issues to accept the love Mike has to offer?
Champagne & Cravings
Ava McKnight
Chapter One
Even Cristal Can’t Take the Sting Out of Being Duped.
When scandal calls, I always answer. I can’t help myself. I’m fascinated by other people’s dirty deeds and have a natural compulsion to uncover what motivates them to sin—and help to right the wrong, if I can.
Well-versed in fraud and abuse, I landed my first gig as a female super sleuth in Corporate America just two short years ago. Gotta tell you, the things that go on behind closed doors on Madison Avenue, Wall Street and the like would blow your mind. Some might turn you on a bit too. At least, that was what happened to me.
Most of my jobs called for me to be in the trenches, hounding executives and wading through the nitty-gritty to solve cases, such as embezzlement, the theft of proprietary information or property, and misappropriated funds, laptops or resources. Tonight, however, I’d lucked out with a more elegant assignment—investigating the attempted sabotage of a product launch for Elan Essentials, a Fortune 500 cosmetics company. For the first time, I didn’t sit behind a desk overrun with paperwork, one hand pressing a phone to my ear, the other pecking away at a computer keyboard. Instead, I sipped champagne and ate caviar.
The over-the-top affair took place near Central Park. Several hundred elite were on hand, including VIPs from the fashion, modeling and cosmetics industries, as well as a smattering of movie and rock stars, politicians and socialites from all over the country. The rooftop of the prestigious Montlimiere Hotel glittered with twinkle lights in the imported trees and the pearly white smiles and sparkly diamonds worn by the rich and fabulous.
The star-studded event was centered around a long, narrow pool, slightly elevated and sectioned off by velvet ropes. A red carpet paved the way to the lit platform surrounding the water, where the who’s who of the crowd made their entrances and showed off their designer fashions to the flashing cameras of the rabid paparazzi.
I’d dressed for the occasion, though I was nowhere near glamorous enough to stand out in this crowd. For the festivities, I’d styled my long, dark-brown hair into fat curls secured at the nape of my neck, leaving a few loose strands around my face. I’d gone to town on my makeup as well, giving myself smoky eyes and crimson-colored lips that complemented my satiny, silver gown.
My immersion in the fairytale extravaganza was a nice change of pace from my past few down-’n-dirty cases; though again, I didn’t catch anyone’s eye. Not even a bit of media exposure from my days as an investigative reporter on TV could help me to compete with the notables gathered this evening.
Of course, that worked to my advantage, since I was on the clock and anonymity served me well. I hadn’t yet gotten the full scoop on the woes riddling Elan’s most prestigious product launch to date, and the associated megamillion-dollar ad campaign, but I trolled the party with purpose anyway. The flurry of activity gave me plenty of opportunity to catalog faces, look for any sort of suspicious activity and observe body language. The latter being my specialty. Having the keen ability to read nonverbal messages had served me well when it came to snooping around and ferreting out guilty parties.
In this particular setting, the Elan Essentials’ executives were of most importance to me. They were the ones in charge of this ostentatious PR blitz that had miraculously been pulled together in a very short period of time to counteract an impending campaign leak. As I watched the vice president of Marketing bicker with the vice president of Public Relations, recognizing both men from the dossier I’d been provided, Mav Linnear sidled up next to me.
“Enjoying the party, Miss Mansfield?”
I smiled at Elan’s CEO, a well-groomed man of fifty-one or two. He was easy on the eyes, with a handsome face and a chocolate-colored gaze that was both engaging and shrewd. An interesting combination. His cropped, dark-brown hair had grayed at the temples, giving him a distinguished look, especially when paired with his impeccable tux. Armani, I deduced.
“This is spectacular. Looks more like an awards ceremony than a product launch,” I told him. “And Lacey is fine.”
He nodded at the reminder I was a first-name basis kind of girl, which I’d established over the phone with him a couple days ago, when we’d briefly conversed and had agreed to meet in person tonight at the hotel.
“I had my doubts we’d pull it off,” he admitted. “Moving the product launch up nearly two weeks left us all scrambling. But if we hadn’t made the move, we’d have lost all the momentum and fanfare because of the leak.”
“I hadn’t thought of how detrimental a premature unveiling of your ad campaign could be to the launch. But if everyone knows the outcome before it happens… Yes, I can see where that’d put a damper on things.”
“More than a damper,” he said with a tight laugh. “We’ve put a lot of eggs in this basket and we’re spending an unprecedented amount on the model. The entire marketing plan has been top secret, including who we selected to represent the products.” He’d already told me Elan had signed Biel McKinley, but he obviously didn’t want to say her name out loud, still striving for the element of surprise when it came to this astounding turnout of press-worthy guests. “We made the deal quickly and got right to work. When we shot stills and TV spots, our security team escorted her through the delivery entrance and service elevator, in disguise.”
The company had done an excellent job heightening the speculation of who would represent this highly anticipated line of cosmetics. Even I’d been curious, before Mav had contacted me and spilled the beans.
Of Biel, he said, “No one knew she was in our studio, except those closest to the management of the campaign. That means only someone on the inside knew enough to create the threat of a leak.”
The information had been set to go viral the coming weekend, the reason Elan had to pull off the event in advance, on a Thursday night. A web blogger known for reviewing products before they hit the market for public consumption had recently hinted at having the lowdown on Elan’s new line of ultra-lightweight and luxurious waterproof makeup—and its undisclosed celebrity spokesperson—and that’s when Mav had called in the cavalry, which included me.
Giving me a pointed look, he added, “There’s more to this PR blitz than a product launch. That’s why I need to know who’s sharing embargoed information and pull the plug on them. Sooner rather than later.”
Ah, a sense of urgency to the matter. I felt a familiar tingle of intrigue along my spine as I contemplated reasons why someone would want to rain on a cosmetics campaign’s parade—especially if the saboteur was on the inside, rather than a competitor. Though I wasn’t about to rule out the latter possibility. Infiltrating the organization and working from within was definitely an angle to consider.
I’d already contacted the blogger, but “mum” was the order of the day. And since she ha
dn’t actually posted what she supposedly knew about the launch, Mav had no substantial grounds for recourse. A hands-tied situation that didn’t sit well with either of us. And one that meant I had to start from scratch.
“The background information you provided on your executives is very helpful,” I said. “I’ll be in first thing tomorrow morning to get the ball rolling.”
“My assistant has an office set up for you and I’ve alerted the heads of all of the departments to cooperate with you in whatever capacity necessary. I want everyone to know how serious I am about finding the culprit.”
I slid a glance toward the two VPs, still engaged in a heated debate. They were at the top of my list, based on their positions. They’d be the ones in the know. Their blatant animosity toward each other, which they didn’t bother hiding from anyone who took an interest in them, fascinated me as well. No doubt, there was a good deal of competition there. One of them might attempt to get a leg up in the corporation by undermining the other’s efforts.
As Mav replaced my empty champagne flute with a fresh one, a loud chime rang out with panache, like the announcement of the beginning of an opera at The Met. A hush fell over the crowd. With a hand on my elbow, Mav directed me forward until we neared the embankment of the pool. Across the rooftop, the elevator doors slid open and Biel McKinley, supermodel extraordinaire, stepped out, much to the surprise and delight of those gathered about. The mystery had been solved this evening, the way Mav had intended and not a moment before.
The large projection screens mounted in the far corners captured Biel’s every move as she glided down the red carpet. She looked spectacular in a midnight-blue satin gown that pulled tight across her flat stomach, then flowed like a languid-running stream down her long legs and flared at her calves to create a shimmering puddle of material at her feet.
The bodice of her dress was intricately designed with sparkly beads along the vee’d neckline, which dipped provocatively to reveal the inner swells of her round, perky breasts. Her sleek, dark auburn hair cascaded down her bare back. She moved with such grace and elegance, she mesmerized us all. And made me feel mousy, even in my designer attire. I suspected every female in attendance had the same flicker of inferiority when eclipsed by a woman born to bask in the limelight.
At twenty-one, Biel was already a big-name model, but her star was still on the rise. Given the monetary investment in the campaign and the projected exposure Mav had mentioned when he’d first contacted me, I wouldn’t be surprised if this job served as the skyrocket that sent her career into the stratosphere.
“Watch carefully,” Mav said as he leaned in, close enough for me to catch the scent of his expensive-smelling cologne. No doubt from Elan’s vast collection.
I noticed some of his other executives had joined us, including the two VPs. From our vantage point, we lost Biel in the throng of onlookers until she ascended the few steps to the raised pool. A tuxedo-clad waiter handed her a glass of champagne, which she sipped as the cameras snapped off a zillion shots.
I had to admit, she was breathtaking. I wasn’t into women by any stretch of the imagination, but I found this one erotically stirring. She had deep-set, emerald-green eyes that sparkled under the lights as though she knew she held the world on a string. Her infectious smile revealed straight teeth that were blindingly white. Her arms were long and tanned and her narrow waist accentuated her breasts and hips, giving her a sexy hourglass figure infinitely more appealing than those of straight-bodied, stick-thin models.
All of these things made her radiant and beautiful, but the way she carried herself with such confidence, her chin lifted at just the right angle, her shoulders squared, impressed me the most. Clearly blessed with self-awareness, the woman knew how to command attention. I could see it by the way her gaze moved over the crowd with purpose. She made eye contact with everyone in attendance, it seemed.
When her emerald irises connected with mine, I felt a physical jolt low in my belly. I couldn’t explain it, other than to say the woman possessed animal magnetism that transcended genders. She had sex appeal in spades. She smiled softly at me before her gaze drifted away. I hadn’t quite gotten my breath back when Biel handed over her champagne glass, kicked off her sandals and dove smoothly into the water, shocking the hell out of her rapt audience—and ruining Prada, for God’s sake. The collective gasp echoed across the rooftop.
She swam the short width of the pool underwater and emerged moments later, her wet hair still sleek as it smoothed away from her face and down her back. Climbing the steps on the opposite side with such ease, she captivated us once more, her makeup still perfectly intact. A few hushed voices rippled through the crowd, but all eyes were on Biel. Except for mine. I spared a glance at Mav and then the VPs. They were entranced, triumphant smiles on their faces. Biel had pulled off her part of the launch. The element of surprise had not been foiled by the inside saboteur or the blogger.
This case would be a cakewalk. It was just a matter of poking around until I discovered who’d provided the 411 on the campaign. I figured I’d have the assignment wrapped up by the middle of next week. I touched the rim of my champagne flute to Mav’s before taking another sip of Cristal, as Biel reached the top of the platform. The thin material of her gown clung to every inch of her. Her small nipples pebbled behind the bodice and the wet dress plastered to her body outlined the apex of her legs. An effect I realized was deliberate. A tickle along my clit confirmed how alluring she truly was.
Of course, her stunt was meant to do more than arouse the masses. But just as I, and the others around me, were about to applaud the performance, another wave of whispers caught my attention.
Glancing up at Biel’s face, I saw the thin streams of black trickle down her high cheekbones. Another man dressed in a tux handed her a fluffy white towel and I had to bite back the urge to scream at Biel—this woman I didn’t even know—not to wipe her face. But a heartbeat later, she blotted. When she pulled the towel away, the stunned gasps were much louder this time. All of the makeup on her beautiful face had smudged.
At first, it was clear she had no idea what the shocked expressions and embarrassed-for-her intakes of breath were all about. Then she looked over her slim shoulder at one of the screens, saw the raccoon eyes from her ruined mascara and let out a loud shriek that resonated deep within me.
My heart sank. Somehow I’d become emotionally invested in this gig. Not at all something I was accustomed to and it shook me up a bit. Maybe it was a result of that lingering gaze Biel had given me earlier. Perhaps it was the reminder of my own professional travesty, which had driven me out of Phoenix and the microscope I’d lived under when my career had taken its rapid downward spiral and had caused me to lose myself in the anonymity of bustling New York City. Whatever the reason, I could empathize with her sudden mortification.
Poor Biel probably felt like diving back into the pool, or maybe the elevator. Escape the gaping looks and personal humiliation by hiding out for the rest of her life. I knew the feeling all too well.
Beside me, Mav’s fury radiated from every pore of his being. “What the hell?” he demanded in a low tone as his fist balled at his side, while the other one nearly squeezed the life out of the champagne glass. I was shocked the stem didn’t snap as his knuckles turned white.
“Holy fuck,” the VP of Marketing said, not-so-eloquently summing up the horrific turn of events. “That was not supposed to happen.”
“Ya think?” This snide remark from the VP of PR.
The press went absolutely apeshit, converging on a speechless and distraught Biel with their cameras and microphones.
“We are so screwed,” another Elan exec groaned.
Mav turned to me, his face beet red as he seethed. In a very slow, measured voice, he said, “I want someone’s head on a platter, Lacey.”
Okay, now I had my work cut out for me.
Chapter Two
Note to Self—When Confronted by a Naked Man Built Like a Modern-Day Hercu
les,
Do NOT Look Down.
I arrived home before midnight. Security at the hotel had whisked Biel away following the makeup debacle and the ensuing media frenzy. Mav and I had followed, along with his top brass. Gathered in the suite where Biel’s makeup had been applied shortly before her appearance on the rooftop, we carefully inspected the bottles and confirmed that, indeed, the appropriate cosmetics had been replaced with their non-waterproof counterparts.
Biel had been beside herself as she’d wiped off the mess on her face, making it difficult to get any answers to my questions. My heart really did go out to her. She muttered mostly incoherent words, but I’d caught the gist of her rant. She feared she was ruined, her career murdered by a sabotage beyond her control.
Everyone in the suite was in an absolute uproar, so I collected and sealed the evidence and made appointments for the following morning with each of the Elan execs who’d come to the Montlimiere. Through her tears, Biel agreed to meet with me in the afternoon. I left a furious Mav, who intended to do damage control with his PR people. I instructed him not to release a statement until we talked in private, to make sure he didn’t inadvertently reveal something critical to my investigation.
After letting myself into my apartment, I shut and locked the door behind me, then dropped the keys, my clutch and the cosmetics bag in the large decorative bowl on the foyer table. Crossing the hardwood floor, I entered the hallway and stepped into the dressing area between the bedroom and the bathroom. Only to draw up short and let out a scream that would have woken my neighbor and had him crashing through the front door to save me.
Had he not been standing naked before me.
“Holy Christ, Mike!” I glared at him as my heart leaped into my throat, both out of extreme shock and instantaneous arousal.
Mike Lucas, private investigator and supermassive hottie, had a melt-me-right-into-my-Jimmy-Choo-shoes grin, but did I mention the man was naked? Gloriously naked? From head to toe, nothing but bronze-skin-covering-hard-muscles naked?
