by Karessa Mann
Deceive
Book 1
Karessa Mann
Contents
Copyright
Deceive - Book 1
About the Author
Also by Karessa Mann
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DECEIVE - BOOK 1
Copyright © 2015 by Karessa Mann
Cover design and ebook formatting by Indie Author Services.
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 — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from the author.
Deceive - Book 1
“I ordered a Pinot Noir,” I say coolly to the guy leering at me from behind the bar.
He huffs lightly as he flips a white towel over the shoulder of his black uniformed shirt. The word Knight is written in bold metallic stitching on his left breast pocket. Strong forearms flex as his hands press flat against the glossy top of the mahogany counter, not a drop of amusement anywhere on his face.
“No, Sweetheart,” he chides, his eyes slithering from my lips to my covered breasts. An arrogance creeps across his face. “You ordered a Merlot.”
My eyes narrow as I hold his gaze. He’s not the first man to talk down to me because he thinks I’m younger than I really am. If I had to guess, I’d say this guy is in his mid-twenties. That makes me a good three to four years older than him, even though he’s looking at me like he’s waiting for the rest of my sorority to show up. He might be attractive if he wiped that smug expression off his face.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
His eyes are glued to my chest, but a sly smile brushes over his lips when he answers, “Trevor.”
With the tip of my plum polished finger I push my glass his way and say through gritted teeth, “Well, Trevor, maybe you heard me incorrectly because it’s not my tits that are speaking.”
He’s unfazed that I caught him staring. I think he actually liked it, but a small piece of his ego deflates at my words. He knows I won’t take the bait. He leans forward and a thick stench of cologne stings my nose as he says, “Are you implying I don’t know how to do my job?”
I am about to answer him in a way that will clear up any confusion about what I think of him when I hear a voice behind me snap, “Get the lady a Pinot.”
The bartender’s eyes flash with fury and I turn to see a man towering over me, his body close enough to pin me to the edge of the bar.
“And I’ll take a dirty martini,” he adds, looking over my head to the cocky boy behind the counter.
I cross my arms over my chest, forcing some space between me and this stranger. What is it about a woman alone in a bar that brings out the chauvinism in men?
“I was handling him just fine myself.”
He peers down at me for the first time and I am uncharacteristically flustered as I catch sight of the most incredibly deep set indigo eyes. They are intense and brilliantly blue, but that’s not what has me rattled. It’s the sincerity in those eyes.
His jet black hair falls off his forehead in short, thick waves and I have to hold myself back from reaching up and touching it. A rush of electricity shoots through me, from my throat to the soft spot between my thighs.
The moment is short lived when his lips part and he says through a teasing grin, “Yes, I can see that.”
My glare is back just as the bartender sets down a full glass. “Here you are, Ma’am. Your Pinot. It’s on the house due to my misunderstanding.”
I would have thanked him for his offer if it weren’t for the thick venom in his voice. Without a response, I take my glass and slide past Mr. Chivalry and walk confidently back to my seat near the entrance of the bar, which is close to the lobby. I wonder how differently I would be treated if I were wearing my typical business attire with my hair swept up respectfully, instead of my long dark waves trailing loosely down my back while I sport jeans and a fitted sweater.
I pick up the book I’ve been pretending to read and take a sip of wine, thankful that ass Trevor got it right this time.
I chose this spot precisely so I could people watch, although a Tuesday night doesn’t appear to be prime time for large crowds, even in downtown Seattle.
The Knight Hotel was once a place of luxury and it still holds a prestigious title, although it’s generally more known to those of the Baby Boomer era. Forty-one stories that overlook the Puget Sound with a roof top restaurant and a world photographed bar in which I now sit. The Knight Hotel has welcomed a long list of both celebrities and political power-houses. Growing up in Seattle my parents brought me here once or twice for special occasions. As an adult, it hasn’t been on my radar until recently. With its rich gold and marble tones and hand-crafted, dark wood detailing, it feels more like a cigar club than a place I’d choose to meet friends for drinks. However, the magnetism of the hotel is hard to ignore.
I turn a page in my book, my eyes skimming over the words. It’s some lack luster love story my sister thought I would enjoy. I’m not even sure why she thinks I have time to read. It’s been years since I finished any of the titles I’ve started. I bring the glass to my lips and nearly choke on my wine as quiet words tingle against my ear.
“For what it’s worth,” he breathes, and I know without looking up that it’s him, the man who pinned me against the bar. “I think you could have taken him.”
I blush, the smile on my lips hidden behind the glass at my mouth. I don’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact, but he would be a fool not to notice how I shivered when his breath touched my skin.
“Excuse me,” he says and an unmistakable chill replaces the warmth in the air around me as he leaves.
I take a long drink and peer over my book, watching Mr. Chivalry with the bluest of blue eyes saunter out of the bar, his martini glass in hand. He stops to greet a woman by the concierge counter. He’s tall, which has to do more with the way he carries himself than just his height alone. His broad shoulders fill out his charcoal gray suit, silhouetting the firmness of his physique. Anyone can see that this man is strikingly handsome, and in just the small amount of time it took him to cross from the bar to the lobby, he’s turned the heads of nearly every woman in the room, even women who have to be nearly twenty years older than him.
Now, the young receptionist behind the lobby desk, fittingly named Skye as I learned earlier, is all but wagging her tongue at him like a lost puppy eyeing a delectable treat. He pays no attention to her and it surprises me and frustrates me that I like that.
The last thing I need is a distraction. That’s not why I’m here tonight. It’s strictly business. But as I glide my eyes over him, I’m keenly aware that it's been way too long since I let a man distract me.
I take a sip of wine and try to concentrate on my book but my eyes deceive me. They lift just in time to see him reach out and embrace the beautiful woman with elegant shoulder length black hair near the concierge desk. The hug between them is casual and quickly leads me to believe she’s neither a wife nor girlfriend. He smiles genuinely at her as she speaks and I am drawn into the way he’s giving her his full attention. His hands are large as he clasps them together and suddenly I’m imagining what it would be like to have them on my body—the strength of them on my back or tugging gently at my breasts and sliding between my thighs.
The rush of electricity I
felt towards him earlier is now muddled by hot pangs of jealousy. I quickly reprimand myself and blame everything I’m feeling on the fact that I haven't allowed a man into my bed since—well, longer than I care to admit.
I take the last sip of my wine and set the empty glass down. Turning back to my book, I actually manage to read a paragraph this time, hoping it will entertain me. But I can still see them out of the corner of my eye. I look up again and that’s a mistake. I am instantly sucked into the way his full lips move when he speaks, and mesmerized by how his mouth twists into a slightly crooked line when he smiles down at her. The straightness of his teeth, the dark shadow around his jaw. They are both dressed for business, which makes me think they’re colleagues. Then I can’t help but wonder what business they are in and if they’re here in Seattle for a conference or meeting. It’s clear the three of us (minus the rude bartender and love-struck receptionist) are the youngest ones I’ve seen in the hotel. I’m guessing he’s close to thirty, and the woman—maybe in her mid-thirties? She laughs at whatever it is he just said, playfully swatting at his arm. As I continue to dissect their relationship, something feeling intensely like jealousy begins to seep into my throat.
“Another Pinot,” the bartender says, startling me and snapping my attention away from my obsessive staring and detective work. Trevor sets the glass down with a smirk and takes the empty one.
I choke on my words as I say, “I didn’t—I didn’t order another drink.”
The bartender cocks his head then nods in the direction of the lobby. I wave a dismissive hand at him and, thankfully, he goes away, just like I hoped he would. I tilt my gaze toward the enigmatic stranger I’ve been all too enamored with, only to see he’s looking right at me. He takes a drink of his martini as the woman continues to speak to him, but for the first time, he doesn’t appear to be listening. His gaze holds mine and I smile politely and nod at my now full glass. His perfect mouth twists up into a charming grin.
Desire sweeps through me. I forgot what that feels like.
It’s not welcome.
I twist my chair around so that I am facing the bar rather than the lobby. I just need to pretend he isn’t there.
I get back to the work at hand, taking a sip of wine and surveying the crowd. I spot a man with strikingly white hair nursing a glass of brandy. His eyes are closed as he drums his fingers on the table in time to the pianist playing in the corner next to the thickly draped window. I imagine he’s a local who makes this his weekly stop from his financial job before he drives home to Queen Anne.
An elderly couple sits a few seats over, mesmerized by the man at the piano and I think they must be tourists. A retired couple, maybe from California, who came up north to visit Seattle in the summertime and tour the surrounding islands on ferry boats and eat fresh fish thrown by the men at Pikes Market. They smile at the bartender as he brings their order and Trevor smiles politely in return. At least now I know he’s not a total prick to everyone.
I take another drink as my eyes shift to a booth in the back corner I didn’t realize was occupied. I watch a man in his mid-forties get up from his seat and slide in beside a woman who’s sitting across from him. He whispers into her ear and she smiles. I can see from the movement of his arm that his hand is gliding up her thigh. My face flushes when I catch myself enthralled in the private moment, but I can’t seem to turn away as he presses his lips to the hollow of her neck and she closes her eyes in pleasure.
“An affair.”
My breath catches in my throat at the unexpected voice behind me. I turn and Mr. Chivalry is peering down at me with a sly grin.
“Excuse me?” I choke out.
“How’s the book?” He smiles as he says this and I wonder if he’s teasing me. How long has he been watching me? Does he know I haven’t read a full page since I sat down? He ignores his own question and motions to the couple I was staring at who are now in a full make-out session in the back corner. “They’re having an affair,” he confirms in a hushed tone near my ear, sending chills down my spine. He slides into the chair beside me uninvited.
I shift slightly in my seat, unnerved by the nearness of him. But I choose to play along.
“How do you figure that?” I challenge. “Why can’t they be on a first date? Or maybe they’re newlyweds?”
He settles in, setting his half-full martini glass beside my almost empty second glass of wine. He smells intoxicating, authentically manly and deliciously sweet. He smiles knowingly at the couple and my eyes follow his gaze as he explains.
“It’s the secretiveness. Like they don’t want to be seen.”
“Or bothered,” I correct.
He shakes his head with a devilish grin. “It’s more than that.” He leans in close to me and my eyes follow his to the couple as he speaks. “Do you see how they chose the very back booth? Sitting beside each other? The way he whispers to her like he doesn’t want anyone to hear, but the way his hands can’t seem to keep from sliding up her leg?”
I gulp as I watch the man’s fingers find their way under the woman’s skirt, her legs falling as open as her mouth.
“So, why not just get a room?” My voice is a whisper.
“Ahhh.” He nods. “That’s just it. What if paying for a room shows up on a bank statement? Or perhaps they were meeting here to call it off and couldn’t resist.”
“Or maybe this is the first time,” I add. “Maybe they didn’t intend to have an affair.”
He’s looking at me now. “They just couldn’t resist each other, ” he repeats.
I lift my glass and take a sip to calm my nerves. This man sitting beside me has somehow broken a wall, making me feels things I haven’t felt in a long time, and I don’t even know his name.
“You seem to have it all figured out,” I say.
He shrugs and sits back, giving me just enough space that I realize I want him closer. “I guess you can say it’s a little game I like to play. I find other people’s lives fascinating and I like to try to figure out what they’re all about.” He smiles. “I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character.”
“Is that so?” I tease. It feels good to be light. I am so used to being on my game, in control. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. I finish my wine. “Okay then.” I sit up a little straighter in my chair, setting down my empty glass. “What about me?”
He laughs and it’s captivating how it lights up his blue eyes. He sits up straighter as well, leaning in as if to study me. I quickly become uncomfortable again.
“Well,” he drawls. “Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“You tell me,” I murmur, realizing what I’ve said before I have a chance to retract it.
His eyes fix with mine. There’s magnetism in his irises and I can’t seem to turn away, even as the bartender sets down another glass of Pinot I didn’t order and a second martini, despite the fact that the man beside me has yet to finish his first.
When Trevor walks away, I gaze at this handsome stranger. “I should say thank you for buying me a drink.”
His lips curl up in a smirk. “Yes, you should. But why do I get the impression saying thank you is a hard thing for you to do?”
I lift a brow as I take a sip. I am acutely aware of the way my lips curl around the glass and the way my tongue presses against the warm liquid. Being beside him has enlightened me to sensations I’ve taken for granted for too long. Like the way my breasts rise when I take a breath, pushing my erect nipples against the delicate fabric of my bra. Or the tightness of my jeans and how moving just an inch to the left rubs the rough material against my sex. I draw the glass away from my lips and he’s watching my mouth.
“That’s an awfully bold statement to say to a stranger,” I say. “What makes you so sure of yourself?”
He doesn’t answer at first and the silence, or maybe it’s the way he’s studying me, makes me nervous. I don’t know his game and that’s terrifying. He looks me over with respectful contemplation, like my
body will give him the answer he’s searching for while lacking the vulgarity I’d expect from a man in a bar.
Finally, he says, “It’s in your eyes.” He tilts his head as though that will give him a better view. “They aren’t dark enough to hide the mistrust and self-reliance I see in them.”
It’s as if I am suddenly stripped naked in front of this man. Heat rises in my cheeks and I want to push myself out of this chair and run right out of the hotel. But I am locked in place, my legs betraying me, unable to stand, let alone run away. So instead, I take a steady breath and say with unmistakable sarcasm, “That’s quite the flattering combo. Not the most attractive traits. Why bother wasting your time here with me?”
He doesn’t flinch despite my tone and, damn it, I find that even sexier than if he’d just smiled at me.
“Because I also see unreleased passion,” he says candidly.
I look away, staring at nothing in particular but extremely uncomfortable that this man seems to get me, better than the few close friends I keep.
“I’m Damon.”
My eyes flash back to his, finally having a name to put with the incredibly handsome face waiting for me to reciprocate. I accept his out stretched hand and I am once again entranced at the beauty and strength of his fingers and wonder what it would be like to have them touching the private areas of my body.
“Scarlett,” I lie. It’s the name I used when I’d checked in.
“Hmm,” he says, his hand still wrapped around mine, as though he can’t let go until he decides if the name fits my face. He smiles and the way he repeats those two simple syllables, so slowly, I feel as though I own the name.
I retract my hand and bring it to my glass. “So, tell me Damon, are you here for business or pleasure?”
He laughs softly and takes the first drink of his martini since he sat down. “Seems lately, I am nothing but business.”
“That’s a shame,” I say.
