Enticed (Dark Passions) Read online

  Enticed

  Story 1 of the Dark Passions Series

  Sarah Bailey

  Copyright 2012, Sarah Bailey

  Cover photo from iStock

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  “Congrats, Mel! You made it through week one working for Don Draper. Time for a stiff drink.”

  I laughed out loud. “A stiff drink? I work for Don Draper, remember? All I do is get sloshed and take naps on the agency’s swanky couches.”

  “Ha, ha,” Jen said, her voice full-on snarky. “I’m sure that’s what you do all day, Miss Workaholic. Anyway, work hard, play hard, right? We’re all heading to Pegu Club tonight. On West Houston. We’re meeting up at 10pm. Dressing hot is mandatory.”

  I looked at my watch. 7:30pm. I had just enough time to take a luxurious bubble bath, eat some take-out, and pick out an outfit for this evening. Part of me wanted to stay in, put on my silk pajamas, and sip obscenely delicious red wine on my new leather couch, in my new Soho apartment. I’d only been in town for two weeks, and I still had a lot of decorating to do. Plus I’d been so busy at work, I’d barely seen the place, coming home every night at 10pm and crashing, sometimes full-clothed, on my 19th century French bed.

  My bed was my one self-indulgent purchase. I’d picked it up in an antique shop my first day in town. It was a little on the expensive side, but I’m a sucker for objects that exude history. The apartment itself was a little beyond my price range. Even with my new six-figure salary as a senior copywriter at a prestigious Madison Avenue ad firm, the place was unaffordable. I’d been looking for a pad in Harlem, but my overprotective father insisted that if I was going to move to a dangerous city like New York, I was at least going to be living in the safest neighborhood in town, and I had plenty of money in my trust fund to cover the bill. I didn’t put up too much of a protest. I had a soft spot for Soho. With its cast-iron buildings, cobblestone streets, art galleries, and weekend street performers and jewelry vendors, it was a bohemian fantasy come true.

  “So, we’re on, right?” Jen asked impatiently.

  I sighed. I really did want to see Jen. I hadn’t seen her since she moved from Chicago to New York a year ago. “Sure. Count me in.”

  ***

  “Mel!” Jen yelled, sliding off the bar stool and strutting towards me, her tight red Valentino cocktail dress showing off her long legs, tiny waist, and curvy hips. With each step she took, her thick blond curls literally bounced. Shooting me a blindingly white smile, she bent down and gave me a massive hug.

  “Hey, supermodel,” I said, and laughed at her exuberance. “So good to see you.”

  Jen stepped back and took me in, her eyes assessing my every inch. “Well, you look gorgeous, as ever. But I said dress hot, not business chic.”

  I gave a small sharp slap to her bare arm. “Easy there, sweetheart. We can’t all look like we just stepped off the runway.”

  Jen rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just shut the hell up already,” she said, with mock anger in her tone. Then she shook her head and narrowed her eyes at me. “I’d kill for those curves of yours. And those huge blue eyes.”

  Then suddenly her expression clouded over, and she looked at me cautiously. “It’s just, well, I think you’re attracting the wrong kind of man with that look,” she said, biting her lip and frowning at me.

  I shook my head and threw my arms up in exasperation. “Let’s just go have some fun, okay?”

  Jen nodded, but then shot me a quick, pointed look. “Has he called?”

  I felt a surge of anger and frustration pulse through me. “Yes, about a million times,” I said, shrugging helplessly.

  Jen’s eyes darkened and her shoulders became tense. “Hasn’t he gotten the message yet? It’s over. I never did get it, Mel. I mean he’s so controlling and dull as dishwater. And…the thing about the clothes. You never dressed like that until you met him.”

  I looked at her in disbelief. “Dressed like what?”

  “You know, so conservative,” she said, her face tensing in expectation of another slap on the arm.

  I decided to pretend to be offended. “I’ll have you know that this is a cutting-edge Prada sheath dress,” I said in a stern tone, while smoothing down the black satin along my hips with my palms.

  Jen’s face became exaggeratedly pained as she twirled a thick blond lock around her finger. “Darling, that’s not cutting-edge. It’s classic. And we all know classic is a euphemism for boring.”

  All I could do was sigh in exasperation and give her another slap on the arm.

  “Ouch!” she said. “That’s going to bruise.”

  I rolled my eyes at her and held out my arm as a link for hers. “Come on. We’re being rude. Introduce me to your friends.”

  ***

  Jen’s friends were, for the most part, fabulous. Jen, Tina, and Silvia all worked at the same PR firm. And all three of them liked to play hard. We were seated along the long bar, laughing loudly and drinking like it was going out of style. I was about five Old Cuban’s deep, gazing around at the potted palms, pale wood tables, the East-Asian wood grilles on the windows, and the shadows of patrons flickering on the cream colored walls, when he caught my eye and I was nearly startled off my stool.

  The first flash of his rugged beauty was enough to make my pulse race and my breath catch in my throat. He had dark wavy hair which gleamed a golden brown in the dim light cast from the pot lights. His features were strong and chiseled, his eyes intense and gleaming, his mouth curved in a sensuous crooked smile. With his battered black leather jacket and light stubble, he looked out of place among all of the three-piece suits surrounding him. His glittering eyes continued to bore into me, and I felt a rush of heat between my legs, and my hands starting to tremble. I was rattled, no doubt about it. No, that’s an understatement. I was shaken to my core. I tore my eyes away from him, looking for the nearest escape, the washroom or an exit. Even in her drunken state, Jen was perceptive as ever.

  “Hey,” she slurred, bringing her hand down sloppily over mine. “Are you okay? You look totally shaken up.”

  I shot a quick glance in the direction of the devastatingly gorgeous man responsible for sending me so off balance. He was still staring, his eyes running slowly up my body, taking me in, his gaze finally shifting to my face, his eyes locking with mine. Jen didn’t miss a beat. “That,” she said, clumsily but emphatically, “Is exactly the right kind of man for you.”

  I shook my head vehemently and pulled my hand out from under hers. “No, Jen. That man screams trouble.” I smoothed my hands down the skirt of my dress, using the repetitive motion to soothe my nerves and gain some control back into my demeanor. “I need to get out of here,” I said, scrambling to my feet and grabbing my black velvet clutch purse off the bar.

  “You are not chickening out of this one,” Jen said, latching onto my arm and pulling me back onto the sto
ol. “Listen,” she whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “That man has ‘your type’ written all over him. At least the old you. Remember fearless, impulsive, wild little Mel? The girl who took risks. Studied art history ‘cause she loved it, not because it would land her a safe job. Dated the bad boy, even though he would probably break her heart.”

  I pulled out of her grasp, and averted my gaze, fixing my eyes on the Exit sign. “You mean irresponsible Mel who couldn’t hold a relationship together for longer than three months? Reckless Mel who held out her heart on a platter, offering it up to be smashed to pieces by boys who couldn’t commit?” I could feel my whole body start to tremble.

  “Hey,” she said softly, draping her arm over my shoulders and pulling me close. “Playing it safe with Mr. Dull as Dishwater didn’t exactly work out either, now did it?” I gave her a weak, sardonic smile.

  Stroking my shoulder, she said, “At the very least, bad boy over there looks like he’d be adventurous in bed. You need that. You deserve that after putting up with two years of ‘I only do missionary’ man.”

  Tina and Silvia broke off their conversation and turned to see what all the commotion was about. “Girls, you ‘bout ready for another round?” Tina asked, leaning over to get a better look at us.

  “Yes,” Jen said, almost icily, not taking her eyes off of me. “Mel was just saying it was about time for another drink.”

  I raised my eyebrow and pointed at my Old Cuban. “I’ve barely even finished this one,” I said. “And I’m drunk. I think I’m going to take off before things get sloppy.”

  My eyes once again fixed on the Exit sign, I stood up and started rushing blindly toward it, only to find myself up against a strong, muscular chest. An intoxicating woodsy scent filled my nostrils, and strong hands were wrapped around my waist, keeping me from sliding to the floor. I looked up at the face of the man holding me. It was him. His brilliant green eyes were twinkling with mischief, and his look was so knowing, so probing, I felt stripped bare. My heart was racing, and I could feel the heat coming off his chest, making me dizzy with desire. I had to resist the impulse to bury my face into the crook of his neck. I immediately hardened my gaze to block him from seeing into the depths of me. Then I took a step back and tried pulling out of his grasp. He was reluctant to let me go, but when my stare turned icy, he relented and released his grip. “I have to go,” I said to him, under my breath, but he heard it.

  With him still blocking my path, I could feel his eyes searching for mine again, willing me to look up at him. I took a deep breath, stood up to my full height of 5 foot 8 inches, and tilted up my head to look him squarely in the eye. He was easily 6 foot 2 and towered over me. “What’s the rush?” he asked in a casual but husky tone that once again made my insides flutter with dangerous pleasure.

  “Yeah, what’s the rush?” Jen piped up, giving me a hard, critical look. “We just got here.” She gave Mystery Man a winning smile and said, “There’s a seat free right here beside Melanie. Please do join us.”

  “Melanie,” he said, giving me a sinfully sexy smile and holding out his hand. “I’m Bradley.” I offered up a tentative half-smile and reluctantly stretched out my hand. The moment his firm fingers curled around mine, encasing my hand in his strong, warm grasp, I felt a slow, sultry thrill rush up my spine.

  Suddenly, Silvia was on her feet, stumbling, draping an arm around Bradley’s waist. “Well, well, what do we have here,” she purred up at him, fluttering her lashes, and bringing her wet lips close to his throat. “Please do join us,” she added, sliding a hand up the white linen shirt draping his muscular chest. “There’s a seat here right next to me,” she said, patting an adjacent stool with her free hand. I felt my mouth drop open, and jealousy twist my gut into a knot. What was wrong with me? I was ready to run away as fast as I could from this man, but now watching Silvia come on to him made me want to go knock her to the ground.

  Bradley shot Sylvia a wicked grin, lifted her up and placed her back on her stool. “Thanks for the offer, hon. But Melanie and I have some catching up to do.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I felt a little triumphant thrill bubble through me. He was picking me over confident, drop-dead gorgeous Silvia.

  Sylvia turned around and grasped him by the lapel of his leather motorcycle jacket. “Well, when you two are done, you know where to find me,” she said and planted a kiss on his cheek. This time, I watched on in amusement as Bradley wiped the thick lipstick mark off his cheek. But when he turned back toward me, my nerves once again got the better of me. He took three purposeful strides to bridge the distance between us and gently stroked my cheek with his powerful hand. He bent down, and with his lips grazing my ear whispered, “Come on. There’s a free table right there in the corner.”

  ***

  The corner was quaint, with East-Asian lanterns emitting a golden glow, the palms leaves rustling under the blast from the air vent, and the chatter of the huge bar crowd far enough away that we could actually hear each other speak. A waiter came by and looked at us expectantly. Bradley gave him an easy smile, and in that husky voice that made my stomach quiver he said, “Another whiskey for me, and an Old Cuban for the lady.”

  I gave him a hard look, and felt my whole body tense. When he met my steely gaze, I said “What, I don’t get a choice?”

  He studied me for a moment with those piercing eyes, then leaned over and said softly, “Of course you do. If you want me to call back the waiter, I will. It’s just that I’ve been watching you all night, and it’s been Old Cubans since I first cast my eyes on that delectable face and body of yours.”

  I felt my cheeks, my whole body start to burn with both pleasure and embarrassment. I felt so exposed, but also thrilled at having captivated this stunning man’s attention. He leaned forward until his face was inches from mine. With his full, sensuous lips so close, it was hard to think straight. My breathing became rapid and shallow as he pinned me with those penetrating green eyes.

  When he spoke his tone was both hard and earnest. “I figured I’d been watching you long enough, attentively enough to know what you want. Was I mistaken?”

  He was still scrutinizing me closely, and there was a challenge in his expression. “No,” I said softly, with a sheepish smile. I tucked a stray piece of my brown hair behind my ear, squirmed a bit in my seat, and crossed my legs. His eyes slowly followed the exposed curve of my thigh down to my red stiletto. With his eyes still fixed on my foot, his lips spread into a slow smile.

  “What is it?” I asked, cursing myself inwardly for the tremble in my voice. Then, with more bravado, I added, “Let me guess. You have a foot fetish. Well, sorry to say, but I’m really not into guys sucking my toes.”

  His eyes smiling, he looked at me and shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Cute as your toes are, that’s not my thing,” he added with a wicked grin. “It’s just,” he began, his grin turning sly, “well, your shoes. Fire engine red with gold heels. Kinda doesn’t go with the tight ponytail and conservative dress now does it?”

  I quickly bit the corner of my lip in an attempt to hide my smile, but lost the battle and let out a little laugh. This guy didn’t miss a beat. “I like extravagant accessories,” I said nonchalantly, leaning forward and cupping my hands around my raised knee.

  He cocked his head to the side, and gave me another sly smile, exposing his large white teeth. I had a flash of those teeth nibbling along my ear, biting playfully at my shoulders, pulling gently at my nipples, and felt a bolt of euphoria slam through me. I tightened my grip around my knee to steady myself.

  “I think it’s more than that,” he said, his voice taking on a reflective tone. “The conservative bit seems to me like a put on. Like you’re accommodating someone else’s expectations of you.”

  I could feel the color draining from my face. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, eyeing me carefully over the rim of his glass. “The red stilettos,” he said, trying to suppress the desire in his eyes, “those say something about yo
ur real character.”

  I squirmed again in my seat, and found my eyes glued to the Exit sign. Suddenly anger surged through me. No, I decided, I was not going to run like a little girl, or let this guy rattle me. I uncrossed my legs, leaned forward and pinned him with a steady stare. “What are you, a shrink working undercover as a Hell’s Angels biker? Stalking Manhattan bars for screwed up women to psychoanalyze?”

  He let out a little chuckle, his green eyes gleaming with pleasure. Annoyed by his reaction, I took a good hard look at him and decided two could play this game. Letting my eyes run all over his heavenly body, I searched for clues to his identity. The motorcycle jacket was old and battered, but the linen shirt underneath was expensive. Hugo Boss. His jeans were faded, and on his feet were black motorcycle boots with huge silver buckles. Fluevogs. On his wrist was a thick, gold Rolex watch. I tilted my head and gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t get it,” I finally said. “Either you’re a bad boy with a trust fund, or a male supermodel who swears by mixing high and low fashion.”

  Bradley looked at me with amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I’m offended,” he said, with an exaggerated frown. “Male supermodel,” he said, a subtle smile playing on his lips, “all brawn, no brains.” Then, giving me a devastatingly sexy look, he added, “I am, however, flattered, that you’re impressed with my looks, Melanie.”