Loe raamatut: «Pleasure Payback»

CHAPTER ONE
Neve

A SINGLE WOMAN walks into a bar...

I felt a little bit like a cliché as I entered the VIP-only bar on the twentieth floor of Hotel M and perched on the stool at the far end of the long smoked-glass counter. At nine p.m. on a Thursday night in late May it was surprisingly quiet, with only a few people seated at the tables, the stunning views of Boston at night their backdrop.

The junior suite I’d splashed out eight hundred bucks for had a fully stocked minibar, more than adequate for my needs. If that failed I could order anything from Room Service.

But...

A single woman walks into a bar. At ease and in control. Because she owns several like it across the East Coast.

Much better.

It’d taken risks to get to this point. Bold risks that had fuelled several sleepless nights. Financially, by gambling every last penny I had on this once-in-a-lifetime deal. Emotionally, by attempting to keep my grandparents’ legacy alive while also fighting to keep the lines of communication with my mother open despite the bitterness and resentment spewed my way every time I braced myself and called.

That particular thread was frayed to the point where I secretly feared my next phone call would be the one that severed our ties for ever. It was why I hadn’t called her in five weeks. Why that dull ache in my chest sharpened every time I thought of reaching out to my one remaining relative even though more often than not she hadn’t been there for me.

To stop myself from dwelling on it, I’d channelled all my energy into making sure the ambitious expansion I was pursuing went off without a hitch, while smothering the whispers of doubt at the back of my mind instigated by those very same phone calls.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Neve?’

‘Shouldn’t you leave this to more experienced people?’

‘You’ll lose everything, then where would you be?’

Cautionary, maternal words that would’ve touched me had they not echoed the same lack of belief in my abilities from the moment I could walk.

I’d smothered the voice, confident in my business plan and the numbers I’d crunched so hard I could taste them in my sleep.

And it’d paid off. That instinct that this would work had earned me an invite to the big leagues.

My goal was within my grasp—a hard-won affiliation deal between Cahill Hotels and Cephei Hotels, my six small but thriving boutique hotels.

So where was the harm in staying out of my comfort zone for one more night? Besides, this was one of Boston’s most prestigious hotels. The hundred-year-old iconic building, recently bought and expertly renovated by the renowned Mortimer Group, sat on prime real estate on Beacon Hill with majestic views of the Charles River. I’d planned on staying at a cheaper hotel, but had fallen in love with the blend of old-world and contemporary decor. It struck that sweet spot of appealing to young artsy types while catering to a mature demographic. Exactly what I was aiming for with my own hotels.

It also didn’t hurt that it happened to be the venue for my meeting.

Excitement fizzed higher.

By this time tomorrow I would’ve signed the biggest deal of my life and set myself on the road to a wider expansion of the hotel and spa group my grandparents had started sixty years ago as a tiny four-bedroom B & B.

Not bad for an almost twenty-nine-year-old.

The thought widened my smile. Enough for the bartender to pause in the act of lining up shot glasses to look my way, interest sparking in his eyes.

I dimmed my smile a touch as he sauntered towards me.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Whiskey sour, please,’ I said, sliding more firmly onto my seat.

He nodded. ‘Coming right up.’

I sighed with relief when he moved away after a brief perusal.

Male attention didn’t bother me. Hell, I enjoyed a bit of flirtation when the mood took me. But I preferred to be in control of the situation, always. What my mother called a flaw I saw as the cornerstone that would ensure I didn’t end up like her, dependent on the wrong men, depressed and resentful when they inevitably let her down. Because of her I’d learned early in life that total independence was my key to maintaining control.

It was why I’d sworn to build on my grandparents’ hard work, why I intended to control my own fate, no matter what. Why I was here tonight, on the cusp of achieving my biggest win yet.

My whiskey sour arrived at the same time as the tall stranger claimed my periphery. A deep compulsion pulled my gaze in his direction; he pulled back the bar stool farthest from me, and hitched one taut, muscled thigh onto it. Bemused, I watched the bartender fall over himself in a hurry to serve him as I wrapped my fingers around the ice-cold glass even as my temperature spiked to furnace-high at the sight of him.

Dry-mouthed, I stared, a hungry tingling sparking inside my belly before nose-diving low and deep.

Dear God, he was hot.

Incandescent.

The kind of hot you initially dismissed as impossible without elective surgery. Or as a trick of light. Or an expert make-up artist’s brush on a vain model.

As I was busy checking him out, a chilled bottle was placed in front of him. He examined it for several seconds before twisting the cap off his sparkling water. Under the elegant half-moon lampshades hanging over the bar, his hair appeared black until closer examination showed the dark mahogany highlights. A slash of dark eyebrows were gathered in a thunderous frown but they didn’t stop me from noticing that he had the most insanely long eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man.

He looked remote. Forbidding.

As he poured the water into a glass, I shamelessly stole the seconds to further examine him. A superbly cut suit draped his body. Dark navy with thin pinstripes and, underneath it, a matching waistcoat and white shirt, finished off with a stylish tie, currently tugged loose, around a masculine neck that framed a square, rugged jaw sporting designer stubble, and a face so impossibly breathtaking, it was a struggle not to gape like a drooling fool.

I sipped my cocktail, hoping the pleasant burn would calm the butterflies flailing in my belly. All it did was awaken impulses that had gone dormant in the hunt of fulfilling dreams.

The bartender murmured something to him. The stranger shook his head and waved him away with a flick of an elegant hand.

My gaze dropped to that hand. To delicious possibilities. To stepping further out of my comfort zone.

I cleared my throat, even then unsure whether I sought to attract his attention or steady my own nerves.

He tensed slightly, his movement slowing. It was the only indication that he’d noticed me. After a moment, he lifted his glass and gulped down half his water.

The bartender sauntered over to me. ‘You want another?’ He nodded to my glass.

I looked down, a little startled to see my almost empty glass. ‘Yes, thanks.’ He was back moments later with a fresh drink. On the wildest whim, I said, ‘A shot of your best whiskey for him too on my tab.’ I cocked my head at the stranger. He looked like a single-malt-savoured-slowly kind of guy.

The bartender hesitated. ‘You sure about that?’ he asked in a low, concerned voice.

I wavered for the tiniest fraction. ‘Of course, I’m sure.’

Trepidation and...yes, anticipation scrambled through me as the bartender reached for the bottle from the top shelf, poured a shot and set it in front of the stranger.

He stared at the expensive amber-coloured drink as if it were poison. As if it were his worst enemy and he were moments away from pummelling it into oblivion with his bare fist. After an eternity, long after the bartender had gestured at me and taken a step back, that sexy head swung my way and I was caught in the headlights of his mesmerising stare.

Sharp hazel eyes widened as if, despite sensing me a moment ago, he was surprised by my presence. For one indecent moment, something hot and filthy and carnal twisted in that gaze, firing up the blaze in my belly, conjuring a fleeting burst of feminine satisfaction.

Far from the look he’d given the glass, he stared at me as if he wanted to devour me, stark hunger I’d never glimpsed before stealing over his face for several blistering seconds.

Right before his jaw clenched tight. ‘Thanks but no, thanks. I don’t pick up women in bars,’ he said.

Momentarily dumbfounded, I couldn’t speak. Not when I was confronted by further potent scrutiny from his unique, piercing hazel eyes and the cut-glass English accent that sent a pulse of heat straight to my clit.

I relocated my tongue. Assembled enough composure to swivel to face him. ‘Great. Neither do I.’

My comeback triggered a twisted smile. Only to disappear seconds later beneath the quiet carnage of whatever was eating him up. I should’ve left him alone then. Should’ve listened to instincts I’d trusted above all else thus far. Ones that warned that tangling with this man would be extremely thrilling, but also deadly.

But he was rising from his seat, nudging the glass of whiskey along the counter as he sauntered towards me. Two stools away, he stopped. Stared with a blatant heated interest I felt to the tips of my toes.

‘I also don’t accept drinks from strangers.’ His second delivery wasn’t drenched in ice but it was still cool enough to draw a shiver.

For the first time in a long time, I ploughed ahead despite the warnings to retreat. Despite wondering how on earth my mother went back for more of this kind of treatment when the tops of my ears were already burning from one rejection. ‘Now I think you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.’

One lean shoulder rose and fell. ‘You’ll get over it, I’m sure,’ he said.

His gaze lingered, dropped to my crossed legs, then back up, pausing for longer than was polite on my cleavage, then up to rest on my lips.

The pulse between my legs throbbed harder, my breath fracturing the longer he stared.

Maybe it was his inability to look away, despite his words, that bolstered my confidence. Or maybe I was making excuses.

But for whatever reason I wanted to draw him out of the funk eating him up. I was in a celebratory mood and wanted someone to celebrate with. And he intrigued me. A lot. Enough for me to slide off my stool and venture closer, accepting that my motives weren’t wholly altruistic.

Long before my last boyfriend, Gray, had tossed his bags into the back of his Chevy and made a false promise to call when he reached his new job in Chicago eight months ago, I knew the relationship was as dead as the lacklustre sex we’d been having. When he’d failed to call, my primary emotion had been relief.

I hadn’t been fucked to anywhere near my satisfaction for longer than I could remember.

This stranger, with the harsh, handsome face, brooding eyes and wickedly sexy hands, could cure me of the ache between my legs. Barring that, he could make it so my evening wasn’t wracked with the last-minute doubts plaguing me. Doubts that had fuelled my decision to come down to the bar instead of celebrating solo in my room.

He watched me with a dark gleam in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as I paused with one stool between us. Slowly, he blinked, a slightly bewildered look whispering over his features, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether I was friend or foe.

Walk away. Return to the safety of your suite.

My feet had other ideas though. They stayed put, compelled by that look in his eyes.

Time slowly ticked by, the atmosphere thickening as we stared at one another, acknowledged the dirty desire eddying around us.

‘You shouldn’t let it go to waste.’ He tapped a fingernail against the whiskey glass without taking his eyes off me.

‘It won’t if you drink it.’

His mouth firmed. ‘Do you make a habit of buying four-hundred-dollar shots for strangers?’ he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

This time eighteen months ago, that price tag would’ve made my eyes water. Not any more. Pride swelled inside me for all I’d achieved and I shrugged. ‘I can afford it. And you look like you need it.’

He stared at me for a beat, shifted closer and leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. ‘You don’t have the faintest clue what I need,’ he breathed, sending a wild shiver down my spine.

I swallowed as his scent—rich and earthy and mouth-watering—engulfed me. ‘Don’t I?’ I challenged faintly.

Hazel eyes ringed with darkness clashed with mine. ‘You’re looking for someone to tangle with. Nothing wrong with that. But I’m not your man.’ Despite his words, I heard the throb of betraying lust in his voice.

He wanted me, and that dark, torrid longing stopped me from calling quits to this strange but exhilarating exchange. I’d never done this before. But I’d never pulled a multimillion-dollar deal together before either.

His dark intensity was a little scary but that only amped up my buzz.

‘You take yourself far too seriously.’

His sensual lips twisted as he straightened. ‘You have no idea.’

‘Go on, enlighten me,’ I invited, aware that he hadn’t moved away. If anything, he’d leaned closer.

He stared at me for an age, myriad expressions flitting across his face. A few too fast to catch. Others lingered. Interest. Lust. Bleakness. Hard-edged determination.

‘It’s private,’ he finally said in a tone that reeked of deep, dark secrets.

‘If you want privacy, you shouldn’t have come to a bar.’

From close by, I heard the bartender’s swift intake of breath. I ignored it, keeping my attention on Tall, Dark and Acerbic.

‘Tell you what. Let me return the favour and we can call it even, hmm?’ He lifted a hand and beckoned the bartender.

I flicked my hand too, belaying the order. ‘No need. I’m all set. Two drinks is my limit anyway.’

He flicked a glance at my glass with something approaching approval. ‘That’s probably wise.’

I raised my glass, wrapped my lips around the thin straw and sucked. The cold tartness went nowhere near cooling the fires his darkened gaze stoked as it landed on my mouth. Beneath the soft layer of my black wrap cocktail dress, my nipples tightened, my skin tingling under his scrutiny.

Whoever this man was, his words were saying one thing but his body was betraying him mercilessly, broadcasting his interest.

Shamelessly feeding off it, I slowly swirled my tongue over my bottom lip.

Hunger, raw and potent, blazed in his eyes then slammed mercilessly into me.

‘Did you need something else, Mr Mortimer?’ the bartender interrupted.

He blinked, then frowned at the intrusion.

Mr Mortimer? Of The Mortimer Group? Inside, the butterflies in my stomach somersaulted. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence.

Did I really just try to buy the owner of this amazing hotel a drink?

The bold and reckless demon inside me grinned wide even as the less effervescent Neve cringed.

But why the hell not? He was wildly attractive, with the kind of sexual charisma that set women’s panties alight with alarming frequency. What was wrong with wanting a piece of that?

The grim set to his jaw put paid to that wild fantasy.

I was already at my two-drink limit, a hard cap I’d set myself after witnessing countless times what alcohol did to my mother. The dark depths of despair interspersed with endless bitter rants about the world at large and me in particular whenever she’d had more than a few. Much as I’d told myself that it was the alcohol talking, the barbs she’d thrown my way had found their mark.

Thoughts of my mother dampened my mood. Tucking my purse under my arm, I turned to the bartender. ‘Put the drinks on my room, please. Suite 6799.’

I felt Mortimer move, his shadow looming closer. My insides tightened, my pussy throbbing at the thought of further tussling with him.

But as much as I wanted that thrill, my screaming instincts had other ideas. Curbing the need for one last thirst-quenching look, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bar.

Twenty minutes later, fresh from a hot shower, I shrugged into the complimentary satin robe, tying the belt loosely around my waist. Drawn to the spectacular view, I was halfway across the carpeted suite when the hard triple-rap on the door froze my steps.

For some absurd reason my pulse jumped. It could be many things. The concierge delivering my final bill before I checked out tomorrow. The complimentary turn-down service listed among the numerous guest perks.

Still, my blood thrummed with excitement as I pulled the door open.

He stood with hands rammed deep into his pockets, his hair a little dishevelled and his tie still loose, exposing the beginnings of a mouth-watering, hair-dusted chest.

For a pulse-racing stretch of time, we stared at each other, neither of us making a move.

‘You shouldn’t blurt out your room number in front of strangers,’ he rasped, his gaze climbing from my legs to clash with mine.

‘Even the stranger whose hotel I’m staying in?’

Only the fleeting gleam in his eyes said I’d correctly guessed his identity. ‘Especially him.’

‘Thanks for the tip. And thanks for installing the peephole and latch to ensure I have the choice of only opening the door to people I feel I can trust.’

A muscle ticced in his jaw, a telltale sign that he was fighting urges or demons. ‘You think you can trust me, Neve Nolan?’

It shouldn’t have made me hot and wet, the fact that a powerful man like him had taken the time to find out my name. But, boy, did it.

I shrugged, and when the robe slipped off one shoulder to reveal my upper arm and the slope of one breast, I didn’t adjust it. I stood stock-still and let his gaze caress skin I’d exposed.

He stared long and hard. Then cursed tightly. ‘Bloody hell, I shouldn’t be here,’ he muttered, his fingers clawing through his hair.

He started to turn away.

Something sharp and urgent pierced me. ‘And yet here you are.’

He froze. Lust and something harsh swirled through his eyes as our gazes reconnected. ‘Tell me to leave you alone, Neve.’

I shrugged again, projecting calm I didn’t feel. I didn’t want him to walk away but I wasn’t going to beg. ‘You’re a big boy. If you don’t want to be here, you know where the elevator is. If not...’ I left the sentence hanging, released the door handle and turned my back on him for the second time in under an hour.

I wasn’t one for calling bluffs. Yet something urged me to challenge this towering force of a man caught between desire and demons. I put the distance of the suite between us and made it to the window and the view beyond. But not even the spectacular vista of night-time Boston could divert my senses from his solid, overwhelming presence.

The door closed with a sharp snick and my pulse leapt. Through the window’s reflection, I watched him prowl towards me. He arrived behind me and stopped, saying nothing, his sandalwood and earthy scent swathing me.

Between one breath and the next, he spun me around, long, lean fingers meshing into my loose hair, gripping it tight enough to send delicious tingles to my pussy. Slowly he tipped my head back, stared deep into my eyes. ‘You’re an exceptionally beautiful woman, Neve.’

‘Thank you,’ I murmured, lava-thick lust oozing inside me.

He nodded, a brittle little gesture incongruent with the liquid heat in his eyes. ‘But you should be debating the wisdom of letting me entangle you in my life. I’m having a very bad day, you see,’ he grated, then gave a hard laugh. ‘Scratch that. I’m having a very bad fucking year.’

‘I can tell. On the flip side, I’m having a pretty good one, with the expectation of a great one tomorrow. The way I see it, we can balance each other out brilliantly. I don’t want to celebrate alone and you don’t want to sink into that hell I see swirling in your eyes. Correct?’

He drew closer, wedged one thickly muscled thigh between my legs. My burning centre rubbed against his leg and at the moan I let loose, his cock thickened against my hip. ‘Beautiful, irresistible and intuitive. Where did you come from, Neve Nolan?’

I blinked up at him and smiled when his cock jerked against my leg. ‘Connecticut. I’m here in your lovely city for one night only.’

He laughed under his breath. ‘This isn’t my city. I’m visiting too.’

‘Then let’s make the most of it,’ I replied.

He pondered that for a few seconds, and a little of the chaos in his eyes abated. ‘Ships passing in the night, and all that?’

‘Hmm. But it would also help if you told me your first name.’

One eyebrow spiked. ‘Help with what, exactly?’

‘With whose name I scream when you’re balls-deep inside me. Or would you like me to scream some random name?’

His fingers tightened a fraction, enough to shower me with fresh waves of decadent tingles. ‘No, darling, I most certainly would not. The name you’ll want when you hit that special place is Damian.’

I reached for my belt and tugged the ends free. The robe parted enough for him to see I was completely naked underneath.

Enough to draw a rough sound from his throat.

‘Nice to meet you, Damian. Now take off your clothes.’

He didn’t comply. Not immediately. His gaze dropped to my mouth for the longest time, his eyelids half masts of sinful need he couldn’t hide as he released my hair and stepped back. Impatient fingers tugged his tie free and made short work of his shirt. Belt, shoes and socks followed. In less than a minute, Damian Mortimer was down to his boxers.

He was exceptionally built. Ripped in all the right places with a happy trail that drew my gaze down to the thick erection pressed against soft cotton.

Need flooded my system. Hard and fast and merciless. Enough to make me groan and slide my fingers over my belly to the furnace raging between my legs. He gave a thick curse as his gaze latched onto the brazen movement of my fingers.

I was wet. Soaking. And I was more than enjoying the rabid look in his eyes as he watched me caress myself.

He groaned, almost as if against his will.

‘You like that?’

One large hand curled around his cock and stroked. ‘Fuck, yes.’

With my free hand, I shucked off my robe. My shoulders met the cool glass and I gasped as my nipples peaked to painful points. ‘Come here, Damian.’

Lust propelled him forward, even as a hard look lanced through his eyes. It was that same look I’d seen at the bar after I bought him the drink. But I didn’t care. Not enough to stop and examine it. We were both adults and this was a one-night-only thing.

Hands braced on either side of my shoulders, his breathing harsh and frantic, he stared down at the busy fingers between my legs. I raised my chin, aligned my face to his in silent command.

With a grunt, he fused his lips to mine, kissed me with brutal urgency, his tongue tangling with mine as if he couldn’t help himself, and, God, it was just what I needed after long fallow months where work dominated my life. To be kissed, desired, as if I were the harvest after a terrible famine. My hungry lips clung to his, my moans filling the room as my reawakened body blazed.

Damian plastered his glorious body against mine. When his hands left the glass wall to curl around my nape, I slid my free hand beneath his waistband and grasped his hot, velvety length. He jerked within my closed fist, a tortured grunt leaving his throat at my eager caress.

‘Jesus, that feels good.’

The guttural confession made my pussy clench tight, need making my fingers work faster. God, I was close and he hadn’t even touched my erogenous zones yet. The wet sounds of our lips and my fingers grew louder and he wrenched away.

‘Need a taste.’

Still brazen, I shook my head. ‘Not yet. I get to go first.’

His eyes darkened until they were almost black save for the tiny gold flecks within the burning depths. ‘You want to wrap that gorgeous mouth around my cock?’ he croaked.

‘I want nothing to occupy your mind except how good your cock feels sliding down my throat,’ I replied, gliding sinuously down the glass until my knees hit the soft carpet.

A wild tremor shook his frame as he stared slack-jawed down at me. At my parted lips. Past my hard-tipped breasts to the fingers working my pussy.

‘Tell me you don’t need that.’

A spasm of bleakness darted over his face and he shut his eyes for a split second. ‘I need it. More than you could possibly know.’

I offered him another smile. One that slowly disappeared as he pushed his boxers down his muscular thighs and kicked them away.

Sweet heaven.

He was thick and long enough to elicit a momentary pang of alarm. But need eroded alarm, leaving behind savage hunger.