by Cathryn Fox
Pleasure Exchange
By
Cathryn Fox
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
* * *
Cathryn Fox
Pleasure Exchange
Pleasure Prolonged
Pleasure Control
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* * *
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PLEASURE EXCHANGE. Copyright © 2008 by Cathryn Fox. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022.
HarperCollins books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information please write: Special Markets Department, HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022.
FIRST EDITION February
ISBN-13:978-0-06-089857-1
* * *
To the Allure Authors, Vivi, Slyvia, Sasha, Myla, Lisa,
and Delilah. Thank you for your friendship and support. You
talented ladies continually inspire me!
* * *
Chapter 1
And here she thought things couldn't get any worse. Surrounded by rowdy animal rights activists, journalist Cathleen Nichols rolled her eyes heavenward and wondered who the hell she'd pissed off in a past lifetime to deserve this. As if standing on a picket line outside the Iowa Research Center in a deluge of cold autumn rain with her makeup smeared and her hair plastered to her forehead wasn't enough to top off a perfectly shitty day, she'd spotted him.
The man who despised her.
The man who'd be thrilled to see her in such a predicament.
The same man who'd been starring in her fantasies for the past six months.
Oh hell.
Who knew the article she'd written about the Iowa Research Center's sexual experiments would draw so much attention? Negative attention, that is.
For him.
From behind the lobby doors, his piercing blue eyes sifted through the crowd and settled on her. Oh boy! Desire thrummed through her veins as their gazes collided. On her date rating scale this man scored a triple "A." Anywhere, anytime, anything…
She'd been living across the courtyard from "not-so-nerdy" scientist Sam York for a little over six months. Except for the day he'd helped her carry in packing boxes, they'd barely spoken. She'd come to learn he dedicated his spare time to his work and didn't have much room in his life for other luxuries.
Luxuries like having her writhing beneath him on his king-sized bed. Her pulse leapt into action as she played out that provocative image. Cripes! This wasn't the time to indulge in her rich sexual fantasies.
She'd also come to learn that he spent many evenings at home, alone with his pet chimpanzee Rio, poring over research. And after a long tiring night of work, he'd sometimes forget to close his blinds when he undressed for bed.
Not that she watched and waited.
Not at all.
Not much anyway.
Her body fairly vibrated as she mentally indulged in the erotic slideshow. Sexual longing swamped her, liquid heat moistening the juncture between her legs. She swallowed, her throat suddenly the only dry part on her body.
Even though they were neighbors, they seldom crossed paths. On those rare occasions when they bumped into each other outside the building, they'd exchanged pleasantries. The soft warmth of his voice always pulled at her as his rich scent singed her blood and sent heat curling through her veins.
Sam usually left the house minutes before her but never failed to leave behind his spicy masculine aroma. It permeated the courtyard and seduced her senses. Cat inhaled, clinging to the enticing memory.
The restless crowd grew louder as they chanted and walked in circles around her. Camera crews milled about, filming the action for the evening news. Shaken from her fantasies, Cat glanced up to see Sam push past the lobby doors and step outside. Even though his mouth was set in a grim line, his captivating eyes still glimmered with dark sensuality.
With determined strides, Sam stalked forward. High over his head, his black umbrella bobbed like a buoy in the sea of people. More rankled than a caged animal, he weaved his way through the congestion and advanced toward her.
Shit!
Cat glanced at the clouds knitting together in the ominous, late afternoon sky. Where the hell was a bolt of lightning when she needed it?
A protestor's threatening voice boomed from behind. "Hey buddy, you're not going to get away with this. I'll personally see to it that you never experiment on that chimp of yours again."
Lord, she'd barely mentioned the chimp in the article yet activists had jumped all over that minor point, turning the parking lot into a circus sideshow.
Cat scanned the crowd and noted with mute interest how the majority of women seemed more enamored with Sam than angered. Eyes full of lust, they swarmed him, touching him with intimate recognition as he passed. They looked like a bevy of sharks ready to launch into a feeding frenzy. Cat snorted, suddenly annoyed. She knew exactly what those predators were interested in feasting on. It's not like she could blame them, really. When Sam's smoldering baby blues turned on her, it made her want to drop her panties, too.
The loud male protestor moved in beside her and continued his rant. His voice vibrated right through Cat, eliciting a shudder from deep within. Cat pressed her palms to her ears to block out the ungodly sound. She had one nerve left and the man was riding it.
She twisted sideways to glimpse the protestor who was as relentless as a pit bull and louder than a gaggle of preteens beheading a piñata. Well hell! Recognition hit like a high voltage jolt. It was none other than Eugene Letterman, a man who showed up at every protest, regardless of the cause.
As the camera turned on him, she cursed under her breath and tried not to feel as flustered as she felt. She looked heavenward. "Great. Kill me now." Cat linked her fingers together before she did something she'd regret. Like inflict the infamous protester with bodily harm.
Eugene Letterman. Otherwise known as Mr. Glory Hound around her office. An unemployed movie-star-wannabe working on turning his fifteen minutes of fame into a career.
Cat cringed as he spouted rude comments and made obscene gestures with his freakishly long middle finger. Cripes, his remarks were making this situation so much worse for Sam. Surely one little jab in the ribs wouldn't get her into too much trouble. The sudden, delightful image of Eugene dangling from a tree and Cat with a foot-long stick rushed through her mind. The visual made her grin.
She turned back to face Sam as he approached. A scowl etched his handsome face as he pinned her with a glare. Her smile dropped out of sight faster than Eugene Letterman after the cameras turned off. Starching her spine, she rooted her feet, jerked her chin up, and steeled herself. The look in Sam's eyes told her this was not going to be one of their pleasant courtyard exchanges.
It hadn't been her intention to p
iss Sam off or rattle animal rights activists. All she had wanted was to pen an article that would make her editor, Blain Grant, stand up and take notice of her writing skills. If she couldn't branch out and prove to Blain that she had the talent to write serious pieces, no New York newspapers would ever consider hiring her, and she'd never become a successful journalist like her father.
Her heart softened as she thought of her parents. It had been their dream to see their only daughter follow in her father's footsteps. The motor vehicle accident that had left she and her six older brothers parentless two years previously had acted like a catalyst for Cat, driving her to strive harder to move beyond tongue-in-cheek fluff articles to serious, hard-hitting news.
Just last week the ideal job had opened at the Daily Press in New York. In her quest to write journalistic pieces, she'd forwarded her resume along with a copy of her Iowa research article, the same article that had Sam riled. But without any other substantial experience or noteworthy editorials under her belt, she seriously doubted they'd give her a second glance, especially in such a fiercely competitive market.
Her editor gave all the hard-hitting news to Eric Hawkins, otherwise know as Hawk. Cat preferred to think he'd derived the nickname from his long pointed nose and beady eyes rather than his "Eye of the Hawk" column.
Cat's attention returned to Sam as he cut a path through the crowd. She quickly palmed her hair and smoothed it from her face. Cat didn't know why she was so concerned about her appearance. Why bother trying to make herself look presentable for Sam York? He probably hated her, and honestly, she really didn't care how she looked to him.
Not at all.
Not much anyway.
Hell, who was she kidding? She wanted Sam. Upside down, inside out, but mostly on top. Perhaps it was her lack of dating or her inability to attract a decent guy that had her libido in an uproar and her mind conjuring up fantasies about her neighbor.
In truth, the downtown dating scene had left her colder than a snowman's balls. It hadn't taken her long to figure out she was a jackass magnet.
Cat wasn't looking for true love or any type of long-term relationship. After all, she had a career to concentrate on and was counting down the days until she could move to New York. The last thing she wanted was a man to keep her tied down in Iowa, preventing her from reaching her goal. She'd seen too many of her friends have babies and give up careers for a man only to end up broken and unhappy. That wasn't going to happen to her.
Nope, no way, not her. She hadn't spent years in journalism school to toss all that education out the window because some man gave her a panty-soaking smile, or to write fluff articles for a small time press, no matter how much she enjoyed it. With fierce determination, Cat had set her sights on bigger and better, as her father had always posed it. She planned on moving to New York where she could write articles that mattered. Articles that had value.
In the interim, however, a date or two with a nice guy would certainly be a welcome distraction. Unfortunately, she couldn't meet a nice guy if her life depended on it. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd met Sam York. And he certainly seemed nice enough. On many occasions, she'd watched him carry in groceries and hold the door for the elderly tenants in their complex. Call her old-fashioned but she liked it when a man showed a little chivalry. Small thoughtful gestures went a long way in her books.
Underneath his nerdy lab coat existed one hell of a sexy guy. Too bad he had more interest in his work and his chimp than her. And how did she remedy that small inconvenient problem? By writing an article on him and the lab's sexual experiments. Now he was lavishing her with lots of attention. Just not the kind she'd envisioned.
Brilliant!
Totally freaking brilliant!
The one man she wanted to get naked with didn't want to get naked with her.
She let out a long sigh.
Wasn't life a bitch like that?
The crowd tightened and moved forward as Sam stalked toward her. His eyes flared as they met hers. Shutting out the din of the protestors, she narrowed her focus and concentrated all her attention on Mr. Sexy Scientist.
He swept his arm through the masses and pulled her to him. "We need to talk." Good Lord, even laced with anger, the deep tenor of his sensuous voice seeped into her skin and filled her with longing. With effort, she fought down the urge to squirm.
Shielding her from the rain with his umbrella, he leaned forward, caging her between him and the protestors. He stood so close she could absorb the heat radiating from his flesh. His scent assailed her senses. She blinked a fat raindrop from her lashes and tipped her head to meet his eyes. A rush of sexual energy hit her as she allowed herself a moment to admire his roguish good looks. It baffled her that a guy this hot spent his nights alone. Especially seeing the way women reacted to him.
Maybe he was gay.
She pursed her lips. "Is there going to be yelling involved?"
A muscle in his jaw clenched as his frown deepened. "It's a high probability," he assured her.
She shrugged, her damp hair falling over her shoulders. "Okay, just checking."
Sam reached out and shackled her wrist. The warmth of his skin chased the chill from her body. She kept pace as he negotiated them through the crowd and into the front lobby of his building. God, if he had this much passion when he was angry, she could only imagine how much he'd have when he was aroused. Damned if she didn't want to find out.
Once inside, he twisted around and leveled her with a glare. He muffled curses under his breath. "Do you have any idea…"
He stopped mid-sentence and hesitated. His simmering blue eyes flitted across her face before panning downward, registering every detail of her rain-soaked clothes. Had his gaze just lingered around the vicinity of her breasts?
So maybe he wasn't gay.
She acknowledged the flare of desire deep between her thighs as her body hummed in anticipation. She wondered if he could see the telltale hardening of her nipples beneath her wet, breast-hugging sweater.
She shivered, water dripping from her clothes and pooling at her feet. His features softened as his attention drifted back to her face. "We need to get you out of those clothes." Like a blanket of warmth, his seductive cadence heated her from the inside out. He brushed a damp lock from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, an intimate gesture that sent shock-waves rocketing through her. A muscle in his jaw clenched. "Right now," he insisted, his voice sounding tight as he panned her body-molding clothes a second time.
A slow, lazy grin tugged at her mouth as her lust-drunk mind envisioned those strong hands disrobing her. Her gaze journeyed over his fine athletic body, taking in his low-slung scrubs and matching, short-sleeved, loose-fitting pale green top. She devoured every delicious detail as a curious tingle rushed through her bloodstream.
His brows knit together with concern. She recognized that look. It was the same motherly look of concern she'd seen her sister-in-law Sarah give her three-year-old nephew, Matt, when he'd come down with the flu a few months back.
"Before you catch pneumonia," he added.
The grin slipped from her face as her bliss disappeared. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes heavenward. Gay. Throwing her hands up, she nodded in understanding. "Of course, pneumonia. We wouldn't want that now, would we?"
He slipped his arm under hers and guided her to the security counter. "I keep an extra pair of scrubs in my lab. You can wear those, and then we need to talk."
Talk!
Didn't he know talking was overrated?
Especially when there were so many other things they could be doing.
As they moved through the foyer, across the wide expanse of marble floor, Sam angled his head and took in the wet erotic vision before him.
Cat Nichols.
He was convinced the drenched she-devil had been put on earth to try his patience. Had she never heard of a damn umbrella?
His blood ignited to near boiling as he allowed himself a brief luxurious moment to c
onjure up the image of him peeling off her soaked thigh-hugging jeans and breast-molding sweater.
Fuck. His damn future was at stake and all he could think about was sex. Terrific. That's what he got for burying himself in his work and going without the finer things in life for the last six months. And by finer, he meant Cat Nichols.
He commanded himself to redirect his thoughts as they approached the security counter. After he hastily signed her in and fitted her with a "visitor" pass, he watched the sway of her lush ass as she stepped onto the waiting elevator. He closed his eyes against the flood of heat gravitating south. Lord, what he'd do to cradle that hot little backside in his palms. Temptation like he'd never before experienced swamped him, prompting his dick into action.
He clenched his jaw and bit back a moan. The last thing he needed was a fucking hard-on in his unforgiving scrubs. A public display of his current aroused state ranked right up there with the time he'd gotten an erection during his seventh-grade gym class when Jessica Johnson had worn her short shorts. It was not one of his finer moments. It had been a long time since a woman had made him feel like a lusty, hormone-driven teen on date night. And here he'd thought he'd gotten control over those unexpected risings. Talk about the second coming!
A low growl rumbled from the depths of his throat and reverberated off the metal walls, despite his best efforts to stifle it.
Cat swatted her hair from her forehead and turned around to face him. "What was that?"
Ignoring her question, he jabbed the elevator button and leaned against the wall. He met her glance but wished he hadn't. Seductive green eyes dusted with tiny flecks of honey stared up at him. Cat eyes. Hence, the nickname, no doubt. Her blonde hair hung over slender shoulders, nestling against the gentle slope of her breasts. He'd just bet that sun-kissed color hadn't come from a bottle. His fingers clenched and unclenched as his gaze dropped to her waistband. Lust clawed to the surface as he perused her. She seemed completely unaware of her allure or how much she stirred his libido and fired his blood.
