Buch lesen: «Taste of Pleasure»

Prologue

“Silk” was the name swirled in fancy, curly writing on the edged-glass, double doors of the entrance to the club. Inside, skin, sin and satisfaction dominated more than the menu—it dominated private cubbyholes with sheer curtains, the open areas as their centerpieces. Velvety couches sat in these showcased areas, all well adorned with naked bodies indulging in sublime delights.

This was a place Sarah Michaels would never in a million years have dared to enter had she known what to expect. Her close friend Carrie had dared her to be “wild and crazy,” in celebration of her acceptance into UCLA’s law school. And since lately, “wild and crazy” meant a burger and fries without the take-out bag and library decor, the idea held appeal. She yearned to let her long raven hair out of its tightly braided confines as much as she hungered for a little male companionship. She’d worked hard these past few years to build a future outside her family’s business, to create her own identity. To stand on her own. She deserved some fun, to play a little.

But the bodies melting into bodies, the sighs and moans, were far more than she had bargained for. Sex surrounded her. Disturbingly, despite the illicitness of it all, a part of her that she didn’t recognize as herself was aroused, excited. She felt young, inexperienced, afraid, but yet she was effortlessly seduced. Deny it as she might wish to, she reveled, with an uncomfortable certainty, in the hedonistic indulgence of watching. This was not her—she was prim, proper, all about business. The dampness clinging to her panties defiantly contradicted her silent claim.

Sarah crossed her arms in front of her body and clung to any form of cover, a shell to hide beneath. She found it in her slinky black dress and a silent vow that it would not be removed despite everyone else’s state of undress.

Everyone included Carrie, who she’d just left in a private room attended by the companionship of two other females. The facade of sweet, little-girl and Goldilocks innocence that often clung to Carrie had vanished almost instantly upon entering the club. From Sarah’s witness, Carrie was more like the wolf with her prey—in control, hungry for respect and pleasure.

Unwilling to consider how easily her study buddy might have become something far different and irreversible, Sarah had quickly left Carrie’s presence. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t want, nor did she need, to face her own potential actions tomorrow through Carrie’s eyes. Deep down, she recognized a desperate craving for anonymity, for the freedom it offered.

Sarah inhaled, finding herself at the bottom of a winding metal stairwell. Hesitating a mere moment, she raced upward, away from her friend but not from this place—reluctantly admitting her attraction to its forbidden allure. Had Carrie seen this side of her? Seen things Sarah wasn’t willing to see in herself?

At the top of the stairs she found more couches, more curtains. A heavily shadowed corner offered the impression of invisibility, and Sarah pressed tightly into its hollow. It somehow granted her permission to remain. To allow the music, soft and sultry, to ripple through her body as surely as did the lusty heat of arousal as she watched one sensual act after another.

How long she stood there, she did not know. How long until he appeared—far too long. Tall, powerfully muscled, with longish, light blond hair, he stood before a half-moon-shaped couch, a light spraying him in a dim glow, as if he commanded its attention. Certainly, he commanded hers, and that of the two voluptuous, naked females who stood before him, offering their bodies for his enjoyment, receiving a noncommittal inspection in return. He was arrogant, dominant in his demand for attention by way of sheer existence. She was instantly submissive to that demand, instantly seduced. He wasn’t even naked, but then, he didn’t have to be—he was that ruggedly beautiful. His presence exuded an elixir of leather-clad man rippling with delicious muscle and erotic promises.

Heaviness expanded in her chest, her nipples tingled and tightened. Her eyes traveled his body with frenzied hunger. Never before had she drunk of a man’s presence as she did this one. Never before had every pore of her body cried out in explosion at the mere sight of masculinity. She wanted to know why, wanted to know “more.”

She studied him, inspected his physique with the thoroughness of an artist inspecting a masterpiece. She blinked as he removed his shirt. Wet her lips at the sight of his bare chest, his skin glistening golden-brown beneath the glowing lights. Broad shoulders complemented a defined chest sprinkled with just the right amount of hair. Her eyes dropped to his ripped abdominals where a tattoo circled his belly button. She couldn’t make it out, wanted to make it out, wanted to see it up close, touch it…lick it. Her hand went to her stomach. God. What was this man doing to her?

Suddenly, his chin snapped upward, attention diverted from the females at his feet, gaze snapping to Sarah’s corner. She froze, heart skipping a beat. Could he see her? Panicked for reasons she couldn’t explain, she searched his face. But that question was shoved aside as her stomach fluttered violently. She knew him. She knew those eyes, knew them well enough to know what she could not see at this distance—that they were baby-blue, sparked with flecks of amber that made them look like ocean water twinkling at sunrise. Knew him because their families were enemies, a friendship flawed through the corporate anger that had arced between two fathers—his and her own.

Seconds passed, pregnant silence surrounding her, blocking out the music, the surroundings. There was just her and him. Tension stretched, and so did the warmth in her body, so did the arousal heavy in her limbs. His lips twitched, lifted—a smile but not a smile. Awareness. That word came to mind. He knew she was there, that she watched, that she longed to do more than watch. Perhaps he knew who she was. Perhaps he did not. If he did, he gave no indication of that knowledge. His eyes lingered, held her paralyzed. An invisible hand seemed to stretch across that couch, across the space, and caress her with promises of forbidden pleasures she would not soon forget.

She should have moved. She should have left. She felt traitorous to her family, to her roots and to herself. Rebellion and desire flared out of nowhere and pressed her against the corner wall, not away from it. Sarah wasn’t going anywhere, she realized. She was staying. She was watching. She was celebrating.

Chapter One

Eight years later

If not for the weight of the four long weeks as interim CEO at Chocolate Delights, Sarah suspected she would have known he was there. Suspected she would have recognized the tingling awareness trickling down her spine as more than the warm splash of water in the Olympic-size pool of the Houston, Texas, country club. Instead, she dismissed the sensation as the edginess created from hours of boardroom brawls, an edginess she’d hoped to dispose of in a dozen laps. And since her swim appeared to be failing miserably, she had every intention of pulling out the big gun—a pint of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. Of course, she’d have to run by the store. Unlike her Austin home, her corporate apartment wasn’t well stocked with critical necessities like her favorite frozen treat.

Her mouth was watering with anticipation of the cookie dough flavor she adored, when she brought herself upright, her fingers curling around the concrete ledge of the pool, and blinked a pair of dusty cowboy boots into view. Boots that could have belonged to any one of the hundreds of club members, but the late hour, near nine o’clock in the evening, coupled with the instinctive thunder of her heart, said they did not. Those boots were going to be trouble, like everything else that had been thrown her way since her father’s diagnosis a month before.

Slowly, Sarah’s gaze lifted, taking in long, muscular, jean-clad thighs and lean hips before jerking to his face—Ryan White, aka the CEO of Delight’s rival, Deluxe Sweets, for the past five, highly successful years. Ryan White, who was also the star of most of her midnight fantasies. She didn’t think for a minute that his appearance poolside was a coincidence. Nor was his choice of faded jeans, rather than one of those designer suits he’d worn to grace the covers of numerous business magazines.

Deceptively casual. Calculated. As was his showing up when she was darn near naked. Well, she wasn’t a young college kid anymore, easily intimidated. She was a corporate attorney with years of experience. Granted, only a few of those years were actually with Delights before she and her father bumped heads over the direction of the company’s future and she’d departed. But that made no difference. She’d met plenty of men like Ryan White, men who were after success at all costs. Okay, maybe not exactly like him. A flash of him standing over those naked women in that club years before had her swallowing hard. Regardless, he was after something—and she knew what. She knew all too well. And he could forget it.

“You heard about my father,” she said flatly, not playing the game of unnecessary introductions any more than she would play cat-and-mouse.

He bent down, light blond hair framing a handsome face. “How is he?” Ryan asked, his voice, his expression, actually sounding concerned.

Emotion welled in her chest, defensiveness rising in her chest. “He has cancer,” she said. “Other than that, he’s great.” And he’ ready to quit fighting, she added silently. The certainty that he would lose the company was eating him alive as rapidly as his cancer. And with good reason. It was in financial ruin. No doubt, Ryan thought to take advantage of the weakness. He could think again.

Sarah lifted herself out of the pool and directly into his path, giving him no chance to avoid the splash of water. She expected him to back away. He didn’t. His hands went to her waist, over the simple, navy, one-piece suit that had felt conservative before it was wet and clinging to her every curve. Sarah froze, heat rushing over her, awareness like she hadn’t felt, well…ever.

“Hello to you too, Sarah,” he said, his eyes latching onto hers, simmering with heat, his voice a confident, sexy drawl that dripped arrogance and sex. His gaze melted into hers a moment, and then, with intentional directness, he let his eyes slide downward, over her nipples pebbling through the material. Lingering, touching her without touching her.

How long had she wanted this with this man? How long had she known what she knew now? That he was the definition of forbidden fruit. She wanted to shove him away; she wanted to stay close. But she held her ground, refusing to be intimidated. Seconds ticked by like hours, before crystal-blue eyes the color of the pool lifted back to hers, heat simmering in their depths. Then he said, “It’s been a long time.”

A long time. In three words, the intimidation rolled through her. In three words, he had successfully zapped her customary control—hit her with the dreaded memory, too soon after the wave of emotion over her father—and melted her into a rare moment of weakness. Heat and embarrassment flooded her system, weakening her knees. They had not seen each other since they were children except once in that club so many years before. The idea of him using that night against her to gain an upper hand didn’t sit well. Not well at all.