Seduced
Page 1
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sex-pilogue
Excerpt from Trapped
A Note from Kate
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Kate Allure. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Preview of Trapped © 2019 by Kate Allure
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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rights@entangledpublishing.com
Scorched is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Nina Bruhns
Cover design by Jersey Girl Design
Cover photography by Sylvie Corriveau/Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-68281-487-1
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2019
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For the man who makes my life worth living
Prologue
London
Life had turned surreal. Sitting in the luxury of Diana’s chauffeur-driven limo, Tori watched the night lights of London speeding by but saw only a blur. On her way to a posh sex club, the guest of one of London’s reigning society queens, her racing thoughts swirled and blurred with equal speed.
She clutched her long trench coat tightly around her body to conceal the too-short black dress Diana had insisted would be considered conservative at Club Exotica. Her dear friend’s micro-mini served as proof that Tori’s attire was demure in comparison.
If word ever got out, it could destroy her career. But Diana had been right—the place was a ghost. No record of it existed on the internet or anywhere that Tori could find. And she had access to very good resources.
She huffed, a quiet little snort of dismay. What the hell was she doing?
She was out of her mind to even think about setting one foot inside a place like that. She was a respected judge in Her Majesty’s Royal Courts of Justice. And she was on her way to London’s most exclusive, secret, no-holds-barred sex club!
Chapter One
Two weeks earlier
Victoria Whittingstall leveled her gaze on the handsome barrister and silently dared him to say another word. She was, after all, the presiding judge. Their eyes locked.
“My Lady, if it pleases the court, may I approach the bench?” The cocky young barrister’s tone held a hint of challenge.
“It does not please the court. You may state your business in situ, and I’d advise you to be quick about it.” She looked around the courtroom as the audience grew still, unabashedly absorbed in the curious interaction between the two of them.
“Well…” He drew out the word, his low tone making it sound almost sensual. “Perhaps, My Lady would like to review my full brief in chambers at your leisure?”
Tori straightened. Had she imagined it, or had the too-sexy-for-his-black-robes barrister just slanted a fast glance down his body toward his crotch?
Where she now found herself staring.
Seething with an odd mix of annoyance and arousal, her own body came alive. Her toes tingled, and her nipples tightened. And parts in between throbbed deliciously. The flattering attention of this gorgeous guy made her feel much younger and sexier than she had in years. Her mouth curled in the tiniest of smiles.
He threw in yet another “If it pleases the court, My Lady.”
Her gaze flicked back up to his face.
His expression was amused. The hotshot young barrister, Ian King, was a master of innuendo. Among other things. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“It pleases the court to have you drop it. Now.”
She’d just issued an ultimatum, of sorts. It captivated the spectators, everyone glancing back and forth between them, waiting to see what he would say or do next.
It irked her that there were more people here today, the courtroom nearly filled to capacity. Was all of legal London here to watch them spar?
Court watchers, press, even clerks had been following the byplay for weeks, finding the oddly sexual, burgeoning feud between the staid older judge and a sexy, up-and-coming barrister the most fascinating turn in years.
Now, she and King were locked in a dueling stare that had everyone holding their breath.
Finally breaking away, he responded in a low voice, “As you wish.”
At the sound of the audience’s collective sigh, relief washed through her. They had realized the fun was over.
She resumed her routine questioning in the mundane administrative hearing.
The youngest judge ever to rise to the High Court, Tori needed to maintain decorum in her courtroom and in her person. Appointed, as is custom, by the queen herself, she had recently become one of only twenty women out of more than one hundred high court judges in all of England. With that honor had come the title of dame commander of the Order of the British Empire, as well as prestige, social standing, and a salary that had allowed her to finally purchase her own flat—a very nice one at that.
Her breath caught when the young barrister strode forward to submit a document.
How old was young Mr. King, anyway?
Mid thirties, she guessed, but— Wow! Tall, blond, and blue eyed. Cool blue, like arctic ice.
Her gaze lowered again, and she wished for a quick glimpse of his physique under the long court robes. Having seen him about, in and out of court, she knew he had a tight body and chiseled muscles, and he moved liked an athlete. No. More like a panther, a predatory cat whose lithe grace was beautiful to look at, but deadly, too. These last few weeks in court with him, she’d been wonderin
g what it might be like to have sex with such a man.
He deserved his professional arrogance, she conceded. Reluctantly. An enormously gifted barrister, he’d worked his way up quickly. But he’d become too cocky by far—always pushing her buttons for no apparent reason. She’d enjoy bringing him down a peg or two. And yet…
“Semel in anno licet insanire,” she mumbled quietly in her old county-school Latin. Once in a year, one is allowed to go crazy. If there was ever a time in her life when she could forgive herself some naughty fun, it should be on her birthday. She turned forty-three today.
Armed with her flimsy justification, she raised her hand and addressed the court at large. “It seems we are at an impasse regarding the disclosure issue before us. The court is considering a recess to allow counsel to review and further augment the documentation.”
Immediately, clerks began shoving papers into folders.
Narrowing her gaze on her young nemesis, she added, “Regarding your earlier proposition, Mr. King. If I thought there was anything worthy of my full attention in your aforementioned brief”—she flicked the quickest glance downward—“anything at all, I would consider reviewing it, but I think whatever you might have would be…scanty, at best.”
Surprised spectators paused mid–paper shove, their eyes swiveling back to her. Silence prevailed.
King appeared surprised, too. His lips parted, and his head tilted as he studied her. The quiet, oh-so-proper Judge Whittingstall had suddenly, unexpectedly, thrown down a verbal gauntlet, and he looked uncertain whether or not to pick it up.
After a moment, he strutted forward—literally strutted, as if beautiful peacock feathers were arrayed in full glory behind him. Reaching the bench, he stood squarely and proudly below her.
Adopting a serious expression on his Jude Law–esque face, he countered, “With the utmost respect to your learned self, I beg to differ. I think My Lady would find a full load of information to examine, so hefty it would require two hands and considerable time to explore.”
As his words sank in, the spectators covered their snickers with coughs and more paper shuffling, but all eyes swung in her direction.
A momentary panic gripped her, but she forced it away, subduing her reflexive propriety before it took over. Having thrown caution to the wind, she wouldn’t back down now.
She gave her tone a full measure of gravitas. “Mr. King, the court finds that it cannot accept, sight unseen, such grand claims to an abundance of…information. However, should such an enormity exist, this court would be fully capable of taking it all in and making comprehensive use of it, I assure you.”
She reined in the smirk threatening to emerge, forcing a bland expression instead.
He grinned cheekily back. “Well then, My Lady, might I respectfully repeat my request to meet you in camera so I might personally present my case? I would relish the opportunity to demonstrate my skill in providing abundant service to the court.”
He stared impudently at her, and her eyes flashed back with heat. The tension between them was almost palpable, a live wire of electricity sizzling from where he stood below, up to her, seated high above him.
Her body grew hot, her sex throbbing.
She suddenly wished the baron wasn’t out of town.
She urgently needed a good bonk…even a perfunctory one like the kind preferred by her longtime companion, Rupert, The Right Honorable Lord Bridlington.
She sighed. Like a splash of cold water to her face, her tepid love life reminded her of the futility of continuing this arousing but ultimately useless repartee with a too-young barrister in open court. It could go nowhere, because it would damage her reputation, perhaps even ruin her career, if it ever came out that she was having an affair with a barrister from her court. Not to mention the embarrassment of looking like some cougar chasing a younger man.
Directing her gaze back to her adversary, she cleared her throat and pronounced in her most dignified tone, “Mr. King, this discussion can go nowhere. I suggest you focus on the case.”
She raised her hand to silence him when he opened his mouth to rebut.
“Court is adjourned! We’ll reconvene tomorrow to review additional documentation.”
Chapter Two
After court, Tori walked the short distance down busy Chancery Lane to meet her two closest friends at a local pub. Even though it was summer, a chilly London fog shrouded her in solitude.
Why did the man keep flirting with her?
Her thoughts kept swirling around Ian King, no matter how much she tried to banish him. It seemed inconceivable that the gorgeous, young thirty-something really wanted anything to do with boring old her. He must take some perverse pleasure in pushing the buttons of the oh-so-conventional Ms. Justice Whittingstall, who never, ever let her hair down—both literally and figuratively.
She reached back to the nape of her neck to ensure her hair remained secure in her usual neat bun.
Glancing down, she checked how her attire had fared after the long day in court. She grimaced, but not because she looked messy—her dark Paddy Campbell suit was the finest quality, her thick black stockings free of snags, and her low pumps unscuffed. She wore the standard uniform of legal women in England.
But after all these years, she’d begun to resent some of the trappings of her profession, the symbols of success she’d worked so very hard to obtain. In court, her judge’s silk robe with red, high-court tabs made her formidable, but tonight she wanted to be both powerful…and pretty.
Her lips turned down. Even without the black shroud, she couldn’t imagine Ian King would find her conservative attire enticing—the pencil skirt was too long and the jacket too boxy, effectively concealing her curvy body.
In fact, nothing she did would interest a guy like him. She wore her cautious demeanor like armor, shielding her from too much masculine attention. It had been necessary as a young female barrister just starting out, her too-voluptuous figure a distraction in a world ruled by influential men, but after so many years it had become habit. No longer a mask, it had become all she was.
She flicked nonexistent lint off her shoulder and straightened her already-straight skirt. Anyway, Rupert loved how she looked—stylishly respectable and appropriate. She forced a smile and gave a confirming nod. It was her long-term companion’s opinion that mattered, not some young nobody who meant nothing to her.
She pulled open the glass door to the four-hundred-year-old Seven Stars Pub and glanced around to see who else was there tonight. Most of legal London frequented the tiny tavern, due to its close proximity to the Royal Courts and to the delicious creations of its most recent owner. Walking through the dark-wood-paneled interior, she nodded to a couple colleagues but didn’t stop. Her friends waited for her in the back corner.
Katherine Pemberton and Lady Diana Stanhope saw her and waved her over to their table, one of only twelve in the cozy, crowded pub. Nearing them, she forcibly banished the gloomy thoughts about her appearance and the titillating ones about the young barrister, determined to enjoy the evening.
“Happy birthday!” exclaimed Kate, smiling warmly and giving her a quick hug.
“Yes, congrats, Tori,” added Diana using the nickname only her closest friends were allowed. “Hope you don’t mind, but we went ahead and ordered champagne to celebrate.” She gestured to an ice bucket. “We can round out the evening with a pint of your favorite Adnams later.”
“I’m so happy to see you both,” Tori responded. She sat down and accepted a glass of bubbly. “It’s been too long.”
Almost immediately, Thomas Paine, the pub’s plump resident cat, who wore a white legal collar, rubbed against her leg, an honor bestowed only to regulars. Reaching down, she gave the feline a scratch on the head. And spied two small gift-wrapped boxes on the table.
A pleased smile on her face, she asked, “For me?”
“Who else, dahling?” said Diana. “We wanted to get you something special, so we went in on it together.”
Diana jumped in before she could answer. “No, I thought you knew. The old fuddy-duddy’s always busy on Tuesday and Thursday nights. So it’s up to us to provide all the birthday cheer.”
Tori sighed. Her friend’s disdain for Rupert had become a source of some disagreement between them. “Yes, he has standing squash games each week, but I think he would have skipped it for my birthday. However, in point of fact, he’s at Bridlington taking care of estate business this week, repairs to the wing that houses the hotel.”
Diana wrinkled her nose. “Rupert’s too old for you. I just don’t understand what you see in him.”
“He’s only fifty-six,” Tori retorted. “And we enjoy a friendly companionship. I’m not looking for an earth-shaking romance. I’m forty-three today, for heaven’s sake!”
“Exactly. You’re forty-three, not eighty-three. Get out there and have some fun and some awesome sex before it’s too late.”
An image of an irreverent, grinning barrister flashed through Tori’s mind. However, she said, “Rubbish. We do have fun. But he’s a baron, so obviously we have to keep up the proprieties. You know.”
Diana snorted, an aristocratic sound from a real-life member of the peerage. A titled lady by birth, she’d never cared a whit that she came from a higher social and financial stratum. Even when they’d all shared a place at Oxford, Tori on private scholarships and her flatmates underwritten by their wealthy families, it had never seemed to matter—they were then and remained today the best of friends.
“He just seems to think rather highly of himself. It’s as if he thinks he’s doing you a favor by being with you.”
Tori winced. “First off, he’s not like that. Rupert’s doing great work in the House of Lords to support low-income housing. He’s considerate, and he respects me. Our relationship is stable, which means a lot to me at this point in my life.”
“Stable!” Diana grimaced. “You deserve some excitement. All I’m saying is, you should date someone who makes you swoon. Someone who makes you burn in the bedroom. Not fizzle.”