Читать книгу: «Sultry Pleasure»

For Dorothy Lindsay and Cherie Evans Lyon. Your encouragement and love lifts me up, always.

Many thanks to Kimberly Kaye Terry for her invaluable help on this journey of mine. Also to Khaulah Naima Nuruddin, Sheree L. Greer, Angela Gabriel, Brook Blander and Keturah Israel—my friends and supporters. The butterflies in my garden.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter 1

Marcus Stanfield walked into the party already looking for the exits. On a Saturday night in Miami, he’d much rather be on his boat or partying with friends than bleeding away the night at a charity ball he had no real interest in attending. The music was calm and laid-back, acceptable jazz that blended into the background while Miami business professionals and philanthropists wove through the crowd in their formal-dinner wear—black tie and tails, cocktail dresses, diamonds dripping from necks and wrists.

He shifted his shoulders under his unbuttoned black blazer and reached out to take a glass of what he hoped was scotch from one of the passing waiters. He sipped the drink and winced. It was scotch but too cheap for his taste. Maybe he wouldn’t even last until the awards were announced.

Marcus left the drink on a nearby table and looked around the room, hoping to find Reynaldo March, one of the men being honored at the night’s charity banquet and a VP at his company, Sucram Holdings. As Marcus glanced over the crowd in search of the gray-haired VP, he heard the sound of a woman’s laughter, husky and low, nearby.

The woman’s laugh was rich and deep, with a hint of naughtiness. A combination that drew him like a bee to honey. His ears latched on to the sound while his eyes tracked the room for its source. Soon he found it.

Two women stood together. One was still laughing, her head thrown back, a hand propped up on her hip. She was slender and pretty, light-skinned with wavy black hair down to the middle of her back. She had a firm and high rear. And she looked money-hungry, like the type who would lie down for a man just because of what was in his wallet. Definitely his usual style.

But, inexplicably, it was the woman standing next to her that drew and kept Marcus’s attention. She had dark skin, angelic features and straightened hair pulled back in an elegant French roll. Even from across the room, he sensed her innocence. While her friend was dressed in a purple satin dress that caught her at midthigh and clung to her slender but generously proportioned body, this woman wore ice-blue.

The pale dress drew Marcus’s eyes to her deep mahogany skin. The dress was modestly cut just beneath her collar bones, the waist cinched and hem flaring out in frothy blue around her knees. She was tapping her feet to the music.

While her friend laughed with her whole body, this woman only smiled faintly, her full mouth tilting up at the corners with mild amusement. Marcus looked back at the friend with her killer body, white teeth and long hair that fell in thick waves over her luscious breasts. She was definitely more his type, a woman who would want him for his money and never anything else. The safe type.

But he wanted the woman in blue. He fastened his blazer’s single button and walked over to them.

“Good evening, ladies,” Marcus said, his charming smile firmly in place.

The laughing woman gave him a considering glance, a quick but thorough evaluation of what he was wearing, how he looked, what he was worth. He had been the focus of that look so many times in Miami that he expected it more often than not when meeting someone new.

“Good evening.” The woman in purple greeted him, a smile curving her full lips. “You’re Marcus, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The woman he wanted treated him like he was intruding on their conversation. She was even more beguiling up close. Not traditionally beautiful but exquisitely made with her large eyes, wide mouth and narrow chin. Her neck was a long and slender stalk he could easily span with one hand. The top of her head only came as high as his jaw, even in her stilettos.

“I’m Trish,” the long-haired one said, offering her hand to shake. “And this is my best friend, Diana.” She nudged her friend, as if encouraging her to be nice to Marcus.

Diana looked at her in irritation, then extended her own hand in greeting. “Marcus.” Her voice was carefully neutral.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he said with a grin. “So formal. Especially when I came over here intending to ask you to dance with me.”

A frown settled on her angelic face. “I don’t dance.”

“She’d love to.” Trish smiled even wider to make up for Diana’s lack of welcome, then nudged her friend again, this time directly into Marcus’s arms. “Enjoy, honey!” She grabbed Diana’s purse and stood back, looking pleased with herself.

Marcus took Diana’s arm and led her to the dance floor, where they were playing Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up.” He drew her into his arms, keeping a respectable distance between them but still allowing himself the pleasure of smelling the light rosemary-scented perfume that clung to her skin. Another scent, something sweeter, lingered beneath the hint of fresh herb.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes large and serious behind a veil of thick lashes. Her narrow chin jutted out.

“You know very well I didn’t agree to dance with you,” she said.

“You don’t strike me as a woman who’d let herself be talked into something she didn’t want to do,” he murmured as they moved to the beat of the song. “Whatever small part of you wanted to come with me, I’m grateful for it.” He smiled, strangely charmed by her coolness. Her reaction to him was completely different from what he usually got from women.

At his look, Diana pursed her lips, the lines of her face softening. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day. Everyone here seems to think just because I work for a nonprofit, that means I’m going to whore myself out to the one with the biggest bank account.”

Damn. She was definitely not his type at all. With other women, he knew what they wanted, and they knew what he could give. Sex for money: a transparent transaction. But he didn’t want to let Diana go yet.

“If it makes you feel any better, you don’t have to whore yourself out to me at all.” Marcus dipped his hips close to hers as they moved to the music, then pulled back. “All I want is a dance.”

She looked at him with a hint of doubt in her sparkling brown eyes. “A dance is all you really want?”

Marcus smiled. “For now.” He spun her around to the rhythm of the song, then pulled her back seamlessly into his arms. “Later I was thinking of trying to tempt you with dinner, maybe a late-night walk on the beach.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I’ve already eaten, and I try to avoid the beach at night.”

“Why is that?”

She looked at him with a pointed rise of an eyebrow. “Sharks.”

Marcus only shook his head, carefully keeping his amusement from showing. “Well, that’s where you have me all wrong,” he said. “I don’t bite. At least not on the first date.”

* * *

Against her will, Diana Hobbes was getting swept away. Marcus was a charmer. He danced beautifully, a graceful companion as they moved through the steps of the old-school dance, not grandstanding, simply complementing the moves she made, the subtle rocking of her hips and dip of her shoulders. He danced with her like he wanted something and was willing to be patient until he got it.

He was a handsome man. She had noticed that immediately when he came up to her and Trish. Tall and wickedly sexy with eyes the color of old gold rimmed in black. He was obviously one of the rich ones despite his lack of the usual trappings. His blazer and jeans looked like they had been tailored to fit his gym-hard body, and his haircut was crisp and fresh, his nails buff-shined and recently manicured. The jeans and sneakers he wore said he obviously didn’t care what people thought, yet no one looked twice at him. She just couldn’t tell if he was one of the idle rich or someone who actually worked for his money.

Trish had known immediately who he was, but Diana had no clue. She reminded herself to ask her best friend later exactly who this guy was. In the meantime, the feel of his strong arms around her was intoxicating. The subtle scent of his sandalwood cologne, along with his deep and rumbling voice that pulled answers from her rather than talking about himself, worked magic on her attention-starved body. It had been a long time since a man had paid her such focused attention, especially with Trish around. But she knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

“What about the second date?” she asked. “What should I expect then?”

The question fell from Diana’s lips against her will. She bit the inside of her cheek, but it was impossible to take back the words. She didn’t want to seem overly interested. Or desperate.

“On the second date, anything can happen,” he said with an amused light in his mesmerizing black-rimmed pale eyes. “Are you giving me something to look forward to?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said. Though she might as well have been talking to herself. Just because he was the first man in months to show her this much attention shouldn’t be a reason to throw all caution to the wind. Like all the others, once he figured out she didn’t have much space in her life for anyone else, he would disappear.

“I never do that,” he said. “But I do go after what I want.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Can we at least have a first date before we discuss the terms of the second?”

Her fingers tightened briefly on his shoulder through the soft blazer. She had been working harder than usual lately. Giving all her days and even some of her nights to Building Bridges. Never leaving time to find a man, much less cultivating something meaningful and lasting—or just hot and delicious—with one. And then there was her family.

As she opened her mouth to respond to Marcus, the song ended. He took her hand, looked around the room as if searching for someone, then tugged her toward the back of the enormous ballroom and outside to the balcony.

The night was beautiful. A symphony of stars shone in the sky, and the gorgeous Miami skyline lit up like a Christmas tree in December. The balmy breeze brushed over Diana’s face and throat.

“Come to dinner with me.” The laughter was gone from his voice.

“I’m a little busy right now,” she said, though her heart pounded in her chest at his nearness and the urgent way he spoke. She allowed him to pull her close and then closer, overwhelming her with the spicy scent of his aftershave and the heat of his body.

“You are a very compelling woman,” he said in his rumbling voice.

“And what is it, Marcus, that makes me so compelling in your eyes?” She meant to tease him, to force him into a tongue-tied mess so he could retreat and put them back on more appropriate footing.

His mouth tucked up at the corners. “Because you insist on saying my name in such a stern way, for one.” He moved a hand down her back, eliciting a round of intrigued tremors. “When you say my name, it sounds like I’m in trouble.”

“Hmm. Is this better?” She tested the gentler sound of his name on her tongue. Once. Twice.

“Say my name one more time like that and I might have to accelerate this to being our second date. My teeth are aching for a taste.”

She shuddered and drew back, her hands falling off his chest and to her sides. She put a few more feet of space between them. His teasing was getting to be more than she could handle. Yes, she liked him, but she was never one to rush into something with any man.

“I think you’ll have to go hungry this time around,” she said.

He looked at her with disappointment, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. He leaned back against the railing separating them from the brilliant Miami night. “You’re breaking my heart,” he said softly. “I hope this isn’t something you’re going to do all the time.”

She turned away from him and toward the rooftop pool, glittering impossibly blue under the lights. “I don’t play games,” she said.

“But games are part of what make life fun.” Amusement and temptation laced his voice.

Diana knew she had to get away from this man. She had danced with him for longer than she planned, had stepped out to the balcony with him although she’d known it wasn’t a good idea. And it would soon be time for the awards to be announced. Her boss, the executive director of Building Bridges, wanted to have Diana by her side when the crystal plaques were presented. She looked past Marcus’s shoulder to see the room resolving itself into order, people stepping away from the dance floor en masse and heading into the ballroom, where the round tables and chairs sat.

“I have to go,” she said.

He gently grabbed her hand. “Come out with me after this. I’d like to show you my Miami.”

Just then, a gray-haired man with a red rose in his lapel opened the door behind them and announced that it was almost time for the awards presentation. Diana felt he had looked specifically at her and Marcus, although there were nearly a dozen other people out on the balcony enjoying the balmy evening.

“We’ll see,” she said, tugging her hand away.

Diana felt his disappointment but refused to turn around. She slipped inside and made her way quickly into the ballroom and over to the table where her boss was waiting.

“Diana! I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” Nora Evers, elegant and poised in her pearls and iron-gray Chanel dress, held out her hands to grip Diana’s. “Come. It’s about to start.”

Nora’s lush figure was downplayed in the severely cut dress, but it was still apparent why the newspapers often called her one of the sexiest women in nonprofit. Her frosted gray hair was cut in a sleek natural style that showed off her long-lashed bedroom eyes and pillowy lips. Her still-youthful body and the way she spoke with someone as if they were the only person in the room made her irresistible to many.

Despite her boss’s call for her attention, Diana couldn’t resist a last look over her shoulder toward Marcus. Then she deliberately pushed him from her mind and concentrated on the event at hand.

The Prism Award Ceremony and Gala was one of the best attended and most prestigious charity events in Miami. The award honored business people and philanthropists in south Florida for the outstanding charity work they had done for the local community. Although Building Bridges had been doing its work for more than eight years with Nora at the helm for three of those years, this was the first time the organization had been invited to the Prism gala.

It was a well-known fact that when an organization’s head was personally invited to the Prism gala, it meant the organization was either being awarded or considered for an award the following year. Either way, Nora and the Building Bridges family were ecstatic. It meant more notice to their small nonprofit, which hopefully would translate into more donations, more interest and more work being done for the children they helped place in loving and safe homes.

As assistant executive director, in addition to her regular duties, Diana had to also be her single boss’s “work wife.” That included supporting Nora at events like this. She brushed a bit of lint from Nora’s shoulder, then sat down at the table they shared with Trish and two other members of the Building Bridges staff.

The round table was set up with a beautiful floral centerpiece, full water glasses in front of each of the five chairs and the proper utensils for the meal to come. They were seated near the middle of the room, not so far to the front as the Gates Foundation but definitely not by the kitchen, either. Diana knew Nora would care about that. She nervously touched the back of her ear, then forced her hand to her lap.

“How was the dance?” Trish appeared at Diana’s side. She sat down at the table, sliding both their purses near the table’s centerpiece. Her amused whisper was for Diana’s ears only.

She bit the inside of her lips to prevent a smile. Her friend was always trying to save her love life, usually with mixed results. “It went well,” she said. “He’s a good dancer.”

“Who’s a good dancer?” Nora looked up from her prepared speech, tapping the index cards briefly against the table.

“A man Diana just met.” Trish grinned wickedly. “He took her off to the dance floor earlier. I thought he was coming my way, but when he latched on to our sweet girl, I was tickled.” The look on her face suggested she wanted to say much more, but she contented herself with making kissing faces when Nora wasn’t looking. Diana rolled her eyes, hiding a smile.

“What’s his name?” Nora asked.

When Trish told her, Nora’s brow furrowed.

“That name sounds familiar.” Nora adjusted her pearls at her throat, eyes looking into the middle distance as she thought about who Marcus was. “Ah, yes. That most enterprising young man who owns the boat my friends and I always see sailing the bay early Sunday mornings. The Dirty Diana, I think it’s called.”

Trish chuckled. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.” She winked at Diana.

Diana kicked her friend under the table, then deliberately turned to Nora. “He seems interesting,” she said.

Nora laughed. “Of course, dear. Even I can see what a lovely piece of man candy that is.”

Trish guffawed. “Man candy, for sure. Something for you to suck on, Di?”

Nora cleared her throat, subtly letting Trish know she had gone a little too far. Trish only grinned, unrepentant.

As the women talked, the room quickly filled with some of the wealthiest and most influential citizens of Miami. Their voices rose and fell in conversation and in laughter as they found their seats. Then the clink of water and wineglasses. The faint strains of Tchaikovsky leaked from the speakers overhead while the host from the Prism Foundation, Sheila Beck, stood at the podium, checked the microphone, then gestured to someone Diana couldn’t see. Before long, everyone was seated at their respective tables, the conversation and music lulling. Unable to help herself, Diana stretched her neck, looking for Marcus. But she didn’t see him.

* * *

Marcus stood at the entrance to the ballroom, watching the crowd settle into their seats. From across the room, he saw Diana at the table with her friend, Trish, and three other women. He shook the hands of several men and women he’d done business with over the years and congratulated them on the good work they had been doing.

Although he was supposed to be at the table with Reynaldo and representing his company and his father at the award ceremony, an event where a bunch of rich men and women congratulated each other on the amount of money they were able to write off by tossing peanuts to one cause or another, Marcus was exactly where he wanted to be: watching Diana.

Why did he find her so damn interesting? Marcus asked himself the question as he took in the slender shape of her inclined in a listening pose toward the older woman seated at her table. It could have been that air of innocence about her. The way it made him want to pull her into a dark corner and find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.

“Marcus!”

Reynaldo’s voice pulled him from his reverie. The slender, dark-haired man appeared at Marcus’s side in his tuxedo, black bow tie against his gleaming white shirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

Marcus hadn’t been sure he’d make it either. After a long night and morning at a party in Coconut Grove, he hadn’t been in the mood for anything more than his bed. But responsibility had kicked in. He shrugged off his exhaustion, showered and looked over his secretary’s notes about what was supposed to happen at the event. The Prism Gala was a good PR opportunity for Sacrum Holdings. His donations to their various charities made his company look good and made him look good.

“The committee appreciates your presence,” Reynaldo said. “And I do as well.”

“Of course.” Marcus nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Where are we sitting?”

The VP showed him to a table near the front of the room, a brief walk through the large ballroom that felt like a parade. How many CEOs had shown up to see one of their executives honored? Marcus knew he was one of the few and was being looked at positively as a result. The members of the Prism committee may be a tight-assed lot, but they were also very powerful. You never know when you might need a favor, Marcus thought as he unbuttoned his blazer and sank into the plush chair at Reynaldo’s side.

The ceremony began shortly after they sat, with the music winding all the way down and the conversations tapering off as the host, an excited-looking woman in her mid-forties, Sheila Beck, made her way to the stage and took the microphone. Marcus relaxed in his seat, bracing his elbows on top of the table as he looked around the crowded ballroom.

It was a sea of sameness. Tuxedos, gray dresses and black dresses, pearls, jewels, the occasional flare of a pale blue or green dress, the women for the most part keeping to the traditional muted tones, even though this was Miami. Marcus had no respect for such boring presentation.

Instead of traditional black tie, he wore what he wanted. A red handkerchief in the pocket of his black blazer, the white button-down shirt open at the collar. Black jeans and high-top Jordans. Needlessly rebellious, he knew, but it made him feel better about being trapped indoors for something like this when he’d rather be out making money or playing on his boat.

His eyes found Diana a few tables back. She was watching him. He grinned but she quickly looked away, fiddling with her earring. When he failed to compel her to look at him again through the power of his stare alone, he turned his attention back to the ceremony.

Sheila Beck and her fellow committee members put on a good show. Lively and fast. Reynaldo received his award to much applause while Sacrum Holdings was unexpectedly honored as one of the most environmentally sound companies in Miami. Instead of leaving like he’d originally planned, Marcus sat in his seat, held prisoner by the slim possibility that Diana would go somewhere with him after the ceremony.

Applause. Speeches. The apparent surprise award to one of the women sitting at Diana’s table—a gray-haired woman with more style than half the women in the room, although she did wear the least offensive color imaginable. Marcus took note of the organization, the woman’s name and the fact that she took her time as she grasped the crystal statuette in hands that shook. The woman was gracious on the stage, and brief. She thanked each of her staff by name, including Diana Hobbes, who was apparently the assistant executive director of Building Bridges. Interesting.

Building Bridges was one of the nonprofits he donated to every year. Small world.

As soon as the ceremony was over, Marcus made his way over to Diana’s table. Most of the gala’s attendees still lingered in the ballroom, grabbing one last drink from the open bar or rabidly shaking as many well-connected hands as they could.

Diana was still seated and talking quietly with her boss. As Marcus moved toward her, he was struck again by how delicate and delicious she looked. His imagination easily conjured what it would be like to walk up to her and kiss the back of her neck, inhale the evocative scent of her perfume, peel that ice-blue dress from her body. He stopped just behind her chair and greeted the other women around the table with a nod and smile.

“How about that midnight walk on the beach?” he asked, resting his hands on the back of her chair.

Diana drew in a breath of surprise but did not bother to look at him. She glanced instead at her boss and then at her friend Trish, who smirked up at Marcus.

“I can’t,” Diana said. “I have to wrap things up here with Nora,” she said.

Her boss waved a dismissive hand. “No, you don’t. Take a little time to yourself this evening. It’s been a long and hard road to get here. Enjoy yourself.” She gave a naughty grin of her own.

“Yes, please do,” Trish said, staring pointedly at her friend.

“Well, Diana, it looks like the only resistance is you,” he said, finally able to meet her eyes, which were a deep, velvet brown. “I would really enjoy your company tonight.”

“Go ahead, Di,” Trish said. “A night with this one won’t bring an end to your carefully constructed world, I promise.”

Diana flinched as if her friend had touched a nerve. She bit her lip. “Okay,” she said. “But I don’t do the beach.” She allowed him to grasp her hand and help her to her feet.

Marcus smiled at Diana’s boss and at her friend. “Thank you for the encouragement, ladies. Have a wonderful night.”