FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, JULY 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Deborah Bladon
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781072078685
eBook ISBN: 9781926440569
Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media
www.deborahbladon.com
Also by Deborah Bladon
THE OBSESSED SERIES
THE EXPOSED SERIES
THE PULSE SERIES
THE VAIN SERIES
THE RUIN SERIES
IMPULSE
SOLO
THE GONE SERIES
FUSE
THE TRACE SERIES
CHANCE
THE EMBER SERIES
THE RISE SERIES
HAZE
SHIVER
TORN
THE HEAT SERIES
MELT
THE TENSE DUET
SWEAT
TROUBLEMAKER
WORTH
HUSH
BARE
WISH
SIN
LACE
THIRST
COMPASS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Preview of Ruthless
Thank you
Deborah’s Mailing List
About the Author
Chapter 1
Dylan
The world within Manhattan is its own beast. You learn that when you live here. When you claw your way around this city looking for something elusive.
For some, that’s a job that will keep a roof over their heads.
For others, it’s a relationship that will stand the test of time and weather the winds of change.
I have the first and no interest in the second.
My needle in the haystack is a particular type of woman.
I don’t bother with blondes.
My cock has zero interest in redheads.
For me, it’s all about the type of woman I see in front of me now.
Light brown hair, blue eyes, and a petite body that can move to the beat of the music.
Experience has taught me that if a woman can dance, she can fuck.
The woman I’m watching now is graceful, beautiful, and within the hour will be in my bed.
I slide off the bar stool and approach her.
“I’m Dylan.”
She taps her ear. “What was that?”
I lean in closer. “I’m Dylan, and you are?”
“Dancing.” She breathes on a small laugh.
“You’ve been watching me.” I stand in place while the patrons of this club dance around me, brushing against my expensive, imported suit.
She spins before she slows. “I could say the same for you.”
I look down at her face.
Jesus, she’s striking. Her eyes are a shade of blue, that particular shade of blue that always takes my breath away.
“We’re leaving together tonight.”
That cocks one of her perfectly arched brows. “You’re assuming that I’m not here with someone.”
“You’re here alone.” I spin when she does to catch her gaze again.
The skirt of her knee-length black dress picks up with the motion revealing a brief flash of her thighs. “Maybe I like being alone.”
“Not tonight.” I reach for her hand.
She slows before she slides her palm against mine. “Dance with me, Dylan.”
I breathe out on a heavy sigh. I haven’t heard those four words in years. I haven’t danced in as long.
I tug her close to me, sliding my free hand down her back. “What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?” She looks up at me.
It never does.
I dance her closer to an alcove, a spot where the crowd is thin and the music quieter.
Her body follows mine instinctively, our shared movements drawing the admiring glances of others.
She’s letting me lead now, but the sureness of her steps promises aggression in bed.
“We’re wasting time.”
Her lips curve up into a smile. “Foreplay comes in many forms.”
“Is that what this is?” I laugh. “I want to fuck you.”
She presses her body against me. “You will.”
My cock swells with those words. “Now.”
“Patience, Dylan.” Her lips brush my jawline. “I promise this will be a night you’ll never forget.”
I move to kiss her, but she pulls back, a burst of laughter escaping her.
She’s a tease.
I shouldn’t find that as alluring as I do. I’ve walked away from teases before without a glance back, but this woman is intoxicating.
Everything from the sweet scent of her skin to the sound of her voice has me captivated.
I splay my hand over the soft curve at the top of her ass, bringing her even closer. I want her to feel me. I want her to know that I’m hard as stone for her. “Come home with me.”
“Home?” She pouts her lips. “I pegged you for the hotel room type.”
I study her face. I see something in it that I always look for when I’m ready to take a woman to bed.
It’s a flash of familiarity. It may be the curve of a chin or the shape of an eyebrow. This woman has it all.
She’s beautiful.
“Hotel rooms are impersonal.” I dish out my standard line. “Everything I need is at my apartment.”
“You’re not going to kidnap me and demand a ransom, are you?” The corner of her mouth twitches in an almost grin.
My cock pulses with each of her subtle movements. We’re still dancing. Our rhythm has slowed, but her hips are still in motion, brushing the front of her dress against me.
“Who would I call for the ransom?” I bring her left hand to my mouth, sliding my lips over her bare ring finger. “You’re not married, are you?”
Her eyes widen. “I’m not married.”
I’m grateful. The need to be inside of her is consuming me.
I have the will to walk away if there’s a man waiting somewhere for her, but she’s telling the truth.
The year
s I’ve spent inside courtrooms have trained me to read people. Sharing my bed with countless women in the past has afforded me the benefit of recognizing guilt in the eyes of someone who has a vested interested in another man.
I’ve sent women home that have been out prowling the bars of New York City looking for a quick thrill while their husbands are tucking their children into bed.
Revenge sex isn’t an interest of mine. I won’t be the man that gets you over the inferior son-of-a-bitch that fucked his way into someone else.
If a man cheats on his woman, I want no part of her plan to get even.
I like my sex raw, satisfying, and drama free. I need it to be safe in every possible way.
A good fuck is complicated if hearts are involved.
A barrier of bitterness and regret surrounds mine.
I see no reason to change.
The beauty in my arms stills as the music winds down.
“Promise that you won’t try and keep me,” she whispers as she looks up at me.
That’s a promise I’ll gladly keep. “You have my word. One night is all I want.”
Chapter 2
Dylan
“Maybe I should be the one kidnapping you for a ransom,” she says from behind me.
I chuckle at that. I watched the way her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse of the bank of windows that greets everyone who enters my apartment.
It was a selling point at the time I bought the place.
I had money to burn and no one but myself to impress.
Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a doorman seemed excessive, but investing in real estate is rarely a fool’s pursuit.
I’ve increased my equity since I took possession. The doorman’s face has become one of the few constants in my life, and the views of my corner of Manhattan haven’t changed enough for me to notice.
I live on Fifth Avenue.
My office is a block over on Madison.
I reap the benefits of other people’s misery.
Guilt doesn’t factor into that.
If you wake one morning to realize that you don’t want to be legally bound to the person next to you in bed, I’m the man you call.
“I assure you no one would pay a ransom for me.” I toss my keys on the antique wooden table that houses my home bar.
That consists of a half dozen glass tumblers, an ice bucket that is filled nightly by my assistant, and a bottle of Macallan 15.
Next to that is a manila envelope.
It holds the details of whatever hell awaits me tomorrow. Every night but Friday and Saturday, my assistant prepares his notes for the appointments and cases I’ll be dealing with the next day. Divorce as a business is lucrative. Tomorrow will be profitable judging by the thickness of tonight’s envelope.
“Don’t be so quick to say that.” Her gaze trails around the room before it lands on my face. “You must be important to someone.”
Watching as she gives me a full once-over, I shove a hand through my black hair.
In the car on the way here she avoided looking at me. Her attention was stolen by the Uber driver who was as infatuated with her as I am.
His small talk about the construction that plagues the city in the spring and summer was annoying and trite, but she found it inviting and intriguing.
At least, that’s how it seemed to me as I sat and studied her profile, wondering how anyone can be this beautiful from every angle and in every light.
“Who are you important to?” I reach for the scotch, but I stop before I curve my fingers around the slender neck of the half-empty bottle.
I don’t need a drink. I need a fuck.
She takes a step closer to me. The heels of her stilettos tap against the brushed oak hardwood floor. “You. Tonight.”
She’s right. She’s also still dressed.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Take off your shoes.”
Hesitation doesn’t halt her. She kicks her shoes off with fanfare, sending one flying onto my Italian leather sofa.
She’s no more than five-foot-three or four without the added benefit of her heels.
“The dress,” I demand. “Drop the dress.”
“Tit for tat.” She shakes her head. “Or is it tits for that?”
I watch as her hand circles the air in front of her. “Lose the suit jacket, Dylan.”
My modus operandi has remained unchanged for at least the past decade. The woman I’m with strips naked. I bring her to orgasm with my fingers, or if the temptation is strong, my mouth.
Only then do I undress and that’s so I can fuck freely.
Another round might be in the cards if the first was enticing enough. Often it’s not and my lover for the night will take her leave after trying to push her number on me.
I don’t need phone numbers. I need space to sleep, preferably alone.
I slide my gray suit jacket from my shoulders. Folding it in half, I place it over the arm of the sofa.
“Cufflinks,” she says in a voice that is a mix of a breathed whisper and a veiled moan.
Power is heady. If watching me undress gets her wet, I’ll play her little game.
I remove my cufflinks, carefully placing them on the table next to the bottle of scotch.
I turn my attention back to her. Her bare feet are shifting on the floor. It’s not nervous energy. She’s moving to a beat that only she can hear.
She’s a natural. A born dancer, much like the woman she reminds me of.
“The dress,” I repeat. “Take it off.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll lose the watch.”
Her left hand makes quick work of the clasp on the silver watch on her right wrist. Once it’s free, she tosses it at me.
I effortlessly catch it.
My gaze drops to it. It’s delicate. The band is dotted with diamonds. I rest it next to my cufflinks before I place my watch beside it.
“Your turn,” I point out noting that the only other jewelry she’s wearing is a pair of small silver hoop earrings.
My patience should be wearing thin, but I have all night. Even though I’m aroused, this exchange is unexpected and as fascinating as the woman I’m staring at.
“No.” She takes two steps closer to me. “I want you to take off your shirt.”
I’d debate the point and likely win, but the white button-down shirt will be on my bedroom floor within the next thirty minutes, so I comply.
I watch her eyes as I loosen my navy blue tie before tossing it on the back of the sofa. Her gaze is riveted to my fingers. Each button that is undone reveals more of the smooth skin of my chest and my abs.
“Do you have any tattoos?” she asks, stepping closer.
The query perks my brows and my curiosity. “Is that a requirement?”
“It’s a question.”
I’ve never considered inking my skin, but that’s not because I don’t see the beauty of the art or believe in the meaning behind it.
The person I hate most in the world is covered with tattoos. His chest, back, and arms bore colorful ink the last time I saw him.
A tattoo on my skin would inevitably remind me of him.
I don’t need or want that.
I answer the question with a push of the shirt from my shoulders.
Her eyes rake my bare torso and arms. “Turn around.”
If she’s this demanding in bed, a second or even third round is a given. I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this much.
That’s a lie. I can remember even though I’ve tried in vain to forget.
I don’t move. “I’ll show you my back once you show me you.”
Her eyes drop to the front of her dress. It’s modest, but low cut enough to reveal the promise of a pair of round tits.
She’s tiny but curvy. She’s exactly what I want and need tonight.
Her hands fall to the thin leather belt that is cinched around her waist. She unbuckles it before she slides it off and drops it at her feet.
My
hand moves to the front of my pants. I squeeze my hardened cock through the fabric as she glides one shoulder of the dress down revealing the thin strap of a black bra.
Chapter 3
Dylan
I’m on her when the dress hits the floor.
My cock is throbbing inside the constraint of my pants. My heart is hammering so hard that I expect my chest to split open down the middle.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I tug her against me, wrapping my arms around her.
The sight of those perfect tits in the black lace bra she’s wearing, and the matching panties almost sent me over the edge.
The last time I shot my load in my boxer briefs I was seventeen-years-old.
That was sixteen fucking years ago.
“Kiss me,” she murmurs.
I lower my mouth to hers, taking a second to run my tongue over the seam of her plump lips.
She moans into the kiss. It’s not coming from a place of need. I’ve heard enough of those sounds to recognize the difference between need and want.
This woman wants me just as much as I want her.
She doesn’t need me, so why in the hell do I feel like I need her?
The kiss breaks when her teeth clamp down on my lower lip.
I welcome the pain. I welcome anything she gifts me with.
“Take me to bed,” she demands in a whisper.
I pick her up. Her legs wrap around me. Her ankles cross at the base of my back.
I can feel the heat coming from her skin. I can sense how wet those lace panties are.
I turn us around but stop when her lips find mine again.
This time the kiss is intense and deep. Her tongue slides against mine, fighting for control.
I don’t give in. I take more, wrapping my hand around the back of her head, tugging her even closer.
She sucks in a deep breath when I pull back.
Her long eyelashes bat as a smile curves her mouth. “You can kiss.”
I stare into her beautiful eyes. “The bed.”
“Take me there.” Her lips trail a path over my jaw. “Now, Dylan.”
I steal one last kiss before I take a step forward.
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