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Captivate Me
Kira Sinclair


Tonight, a masked man escapes the revelry and glimpses a breathtaking woman undressing in the window below. A naughty show—for him. Desire sparks between them… until the blinds come down.Software developer Alyssa Vaughn has reason to hate damnably-hot nightclub owner Beckett Kayne. Mostly because he’s trying to put her out of business. But Beckett has a secret he’s keeping from her. By day they’re rivals. By night, he dons a mask and brings her wickedest fantasies to life. Until the Bacchanalia Ball, when Alyssa puts on her own mask…and his comes off!







Your Exclusive Invitation…

Join us for the most sinful & decadent event of Mardi Gras—the Bacchanalia Ball. Entrez…

Tonight, a masked man escapes the revelry and glimpses a breathtaking woman undressing in the window below. A naughty show—for him. Desire sparks between them…until the blinds come down.

Software developer Alyssa Vaughn has reason to hate damnably hot nightclub owner Beckett Kayne. Mostly because he’s trying to put her out of business. But Beckett has a secret he’s keeping from her. By day they’re rivals. By night, he dons a mask and brings her most wicked fantasies to life. Until the Bacchanalia Ball, when Alyssa puts on her own mask…and his comes off!


“Touch me.”

“Now? Here? Where anyone and everyone could see?”

Swallowing hard, Alyssa nodded. She didn’t care. Was far beyond that point. Everyone acted crazy during Mardi Gras, she rationalized.

A tortured growl rumbled through the stranger’s chest. The echo of it vibrated across her own skin.

Pouring every ounce of need into the connection, she met his devouring kiss and matched him. She wasn’t content to simply acquiesce, but demanded a piece of him. Her teeth scraped across his bottom lip. Her tongue darted in to get a better taste.

Until he stopped, and pulled back.

“Last night I went home frustrated that you’d teased me, turned me on and then shut me out. Tonight it’s my turn to walk away.”

It hadn’t just been a figment of her tired, deprived, overactive imagination.

“Unlike last night, I won’t torture you with the possibility we might never finish what we started. Let me assure you…we will.”







Dear Reader,

The concept for Captivate Me came to me while I was listening to a fabulous Halestorm song. The idea of being invisible and ignored intrigued me…. Well, more the idea of finally being seen! We all want to be seen—to be important and wanted. After years of living in the shadows, that’s exactly what Alyssa gets from Beckett. And what better time to lose her inhibitions and explore her inner vixen than the steamy days and sultry nights of Mardi Gras!

Beckett, on the other hand, prefers to stay behind the scenes, watching others let loose in his nightclubs. He’s tired and a bit cynical, but when he catches sight of a beautiful stranger undressing in her window, he’s intrigued. Alyssa surprises him, and for the first time in a long while makes him want to be a little bit wild—with her!

I hope you enjoy Beckett and Alyssa’s story! I’d love to hear from you at kira@kirasinclair.com, or stop by and visit me on Facebook and Twitter.

Best wishes,

Kira


Captivate Me

Kira Sinclair




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kira Sinclair is an award-winning author who writes emotional, passionate contemporary romances. Double winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, her first foray into writing fiction was for a high-school English assignment. Nothing could dampen her enthusiasm…not even being forced to read the love story aloud to the class. However, it definitely made her blush. Writing about striking, sexy heroes and passionate, determined women has always excited her. She lives out her own happily-ever-after with her amazing husband, their two beautiful daughters and a menagerie of animals on a small farm in North Alabama. Kira loves to hear from readers at www.kirasinclair.com (http://kirasinclair.com).


I’d like to dedicate this book to a group of people who have meant everything to me. I wouldn’t be here without you guys. Thank you to everyone in Heart of Dixie for your support, encouragement and, of course, drinks at conference.


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u6449332c-7009-5d56-9db0-21ba230ff42b)

Chapter 2 (#u39114ef6-ca75-57b3-b070-d76d6a164ae2)

Chapter 3 (#u6a10548d-294d-55cc-991a-cdb8c263431f)

Chapter 4 (#u74d23ab0-f92e-58b9-acc6-296a3df5df23)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)


1

A PERFECT BLEND of the absurd and obscene. That described the French Quarter during Mardi Gras. Scantily clad women strolling beside men in cat costumes and stilts, all while evangelists screamed about the perils of sin.

Excess. Excitement. And that ever-present air of danger...because just about anything could—and did—happen.

Strangers rubbing against strangers because that was the only way through the wall-to-wall humanity. Heat and hedonism. Music, loud voices and raised laughter filling every available inch of space.

All around him, the party raged. But Beckett Kayne didn’t care.

Leaning against the railing, he watched dispassionately as the crowd beneath the balcony swelled. Beside him Mason Westbrook, his best friend since childhood, held out several blinking LED necklaces. Shaking them enticingly, he yelled something crude.

Two women, wearing short, flared skirts and bustiers, giggled up at them with glassy-eyed interest. They clung together, no doubt keeping each other from falling flat on their wasted asses.

“You know what you have to do to get ’em,” Mason taunted.

One of the women—and Beckett used the term loosely, because if they were a day over twenty-one he’d be damn surprised—shook her head slowly. Considering he owned a series of nightclubs scattered in major cities across the United States, he’d gotten pretty talented at spotting minors.

The brunette pouted. “We can’t.” Tugging at the edge of her top, she yelled, “It’s too tight.”

Mason simply grinned, his teeth flashing white through the dark night. “Then show me something else.”

Moments like these, Beckett wondered why the hell he’d kept Mason in his life past the bonding years of their uninhibited carousing. Yes, there was a time when he would have been beside his friend, trying to coax the coeds into showing what the good Lord gave them.

But at thirty-two he was getting too old for this shit. Certainly too old for the doe-eyed girls on the street.

With a sense of disgust and inevitability, Beckett watched their heads go together as they whispered to each other, cutting quick glances up. After several moments they spun around. Beckett really hoped they were leaving but knew they probably weren’t.

Instead, he watched them bend at the waist and flip up the edges of their skirts to show their practically naked rears.

Mason let out a wolf whistle and rained necklaces, gold coins and a handful of cheap trinkets down onto the street at their feet.

Tonight, the uncontrolled excess seriously bothered Beckett. Or maybe that was just the bad mood he’d been fighting for the past few weeks. He was getting jaded.

Instead of growling something at Mason he’d most likely regret later, Beckett raised his glass and pulled a healthy swallow of expensive scotch into his mouth. It was smooth, and the welcome fire burning down his throat beat back the words threatening to break free.

He didn’t want to be here. Had tried to tell Mason he’d be bad company, but his friend had guilted him into coming anyway. A private balcony party the Friday before Fat Tuesday, thrown by one of the partners in his firm, wasn’t something to be missed.

But his head was firmly embedded in business and the way everything he wanted was slowly slipping through his fingers.

A dark scowl, an expression he’d been wearing all too often lately, pinched his brows. Beckett wasn’t used to being...ignored and dismissed, but that was exactly what V&D Mobile Technology was doing.

Although not anymore. Not after tomorrow.

“Seriously, man, you’re scaring off the chicks. Stop scowling. It’s Mardi Gras,” Mason yelled, as if the music, the people and the mask Beckett was currently wearing weren’t enough for him to notice.

The air of wild debauchery, so palpable he could taste it on the back of his tongue, dark and sinfully sweet, was hard to ignore. Even if he would have liked to.

The girls on the street moved on, but Mason wasn’t disappointed. Not when several feet away two more women, also decked out in feathered masks and barely stable enough to stay atop their skyscraper heels, pulled up their shirts and flashed their naked chests. A hailstorm of beads, accompanied by catcalls, landed at their feet.

Charming. Beckett looked away, disgust twisting hard in his gut. Shaking his head, he watched Mason scoot down the railing toward the women busy gathering the beads they’d exposed themselves to win.

Using Mason’s distraction as a chance to finally slip away, Beckett moved farther into the shadows along the balcony. The big building was divided into expensive townhomes, making the space long and narrow. The balconies, on the second and third levels, curved around the front and all the way along the far side. Most everyone crowded near the street, so they could watch the people and party going on below.

Beckett just wanted a moment of peace to try and combat the headache threatening to balloon into a migraine. Settling his back against the rough brick, he propped a single foot on the intricate metal railing in front of him and closed his eyes. A deep breath and another healthy swallow of scotch had some of the knots unwinding from between his shoulder blades.

He could still hear the noise from the street, but the side balcony wrapped around into a controlled-access alley. During Mardi Gras, without fences—and sometimes with—every square inch of real estate was covered with humanity. But this building was pricey enough to have very good security—high fences, electronic locks and surveillance cameras. With a practiced eye, Beckett had noticed the expensive recording equipment.

The alley was empty, filled with nothing but shadows, trash cans and a black cat that stared at him with wide, yellow eyes. He was enjoying the muted solitude, gearing up for his inevitable return to the decadence, when a light snapped on in an apartment across the alley.

It startled him. That was the only reason he looked. But once he did...he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

The balcony he was standing on was higher than the windows he was staring straight into, which meant he was looking slightly down into the room.

A bedroom.

A woman’s bedroom.

Blue, green and purple light scattered across the space from a stained-glass lamp on the bedside table. Shadows chased across pale green walls and smooth, dark floors. Heavy furniture, the solid kind that carried age and history, filled the room.

A four-poster bed occupied most of the space with gleaming golden wood and an inviting cloud of fluffy jewel-toned pillows. Appealing and comfortable, the whole room looked like a sumptuous invitation he wanted to accept.

But that really wasn’t what had his gaze glued.

She stood framed by the window. A soft radiance from the lamp slipped across her body. It lit her from behind, painting her in an ethereal splash of color that made her seem dreamy and tragic and somehow unreal.

Maybe that’s why he kept watching. Logically, he realized he was intruding, but there was something about her....

Her head drooped as if she was too tired to hold it up. Her shoulders slumped. He watched them rise and fall on the kind of heavy breath that was more ragged sigh than actual exhalation. Without even hearing it, the sigh shot straight through him.

Until that moment she’d been facing away from him, but she turned slightly, giving him her profile. And she was gorgeous. Little pug nose, elegant jawline, lush lips. Her hair curled over her shoulder in a wave of brown and gold that caught the light and reflected it. His hands itched to sweep it away so that he could run his fingers down the curve of her throat.

Her eyelids slid closed and her head tipped back. Exhaustion was stamped into every line of her body, but that didn’t detract from her allure. In fact, it made Beckett want to reach out and hold her more. To take her weight and the exhaustion on himself.

Her hands drifted slowly up her body, settling at the top button of her blouse. With sure fingers, she popped it open. And another. And another. The edge of her hot-red bra came into view, revealing the swell of enticing breasts, a beautiful, pale expanse of skin.

Tension snapped through Beckett’s body. Perhaps the hedonistic pressure of the night had gotten to him after all. Because, even as his brain was screaming at him to avert his gaze and give her the privacy she obviously thought she had, he couldn’t do it.

Especially as her nimble fingers kept going, giving him more. Suddenly restless, he couldn’t stay still. His muscles twitched, pulsed. Three minutes ago he’d been nursing the beginnings of a headache. Now the ache had moved much farther south.

It had been a very long time since any woman had pulled this kind of immediate physical reaction from him. Spending most of his nights surrounded by inebriated females on the prowl, he’d become a little jaded. After years of being immersed in the cat-and-mouse games, day in and day out, he was long past tired of being a player—or played.

Perhaps it was her air of innocence that not even the windowpane and ten feet of alley could camouflage. Or the fact that she wasn’t playing at anything right now. She was simply herself—unconsciously sensual.

Shifting, Beckett dropped his foot and settled his waist against the hard edge of the railing. Why, he had no idea. It wasn’t as though he could span the space between them. Not really. At least, not with anything other than his gaze.

He wanted to be the one uncovering her soft skin. Undressing her slowly, like a present he’d been waiting all year to receive. To run his fingers over her body. Hear the hitch of her breath when he discovered a sensitive spot. Watch her pupils dilate in response to his touch.

The need was staggering, compelling. It scared him. But not enough to turn away. He wasn’t certain anything could have forced him to do that.

Maybe it was his movement that caught her attention, or the weight of his heated gaze finally penetrating her preoccupation. But suddenly her head snapped up and she looked straight into his eyes.

He watched the movement of her startled gasp, the swell of her breasts as they surged against the cups of her lace-edged bra. Her fingers stilled midmotion. Surprise, embarrassment and anger flitted across her face before finally settling into something darker and a hell of a lot more sinful.

Her head cocked to the side, considering.

She hadn’t screeched down the place. Or slammed the blinds shut.

Without breaking eye contact, Beckett relaxed against the wall, as if settling in for the show, and crossed his arms over his chest. Lifting a single eyebrow, he dared her to keep going and held his breath, praying she would.

It was late. The craziness that was the last weekend before Fat Tuesday permeated the atmosphere. Maybe that spell was working them both.

Heartbreakingly slowly, she turned, giving him a full frontal view. The fingers that had gone still began to move again, making quick work of the few buttons that were left. The edges of her shirt fluttered open. His eyes sharpened, trying to see every minute detail of her body through the distance and the night.

Flat stomach, gorgeous expanse of perfect, creamy skin. He registered the slight pink tinge that swept up her chest and throat. Was it embarrassment, arousal or both?

Tugging each cuff at her wrists, she held her arms wide open and let the gauzy material slither against her skin. Down, down, down, until it puddled on the floor at her feet.

The cups of her bra sat low, barely containing the curve of her breasts. He could see the top arch of her areolae, a deep, dark pink. The color of raspberries. Would she be just as sweet and tart against his tongue?

Lace edged the top of her bra. He imagined it tickling across her sensitive nipples. Two teeny, tiny straps, looking as if they might snap at any moment, curved over her shoulders and strained against the heavy weight of her breasts. Never in his life had Beckett wanted so desperately for fabric to break.

Then she spun away. A growling protest was out of his mouth, and he’d taken a step forward before he realized she wasn’t stopping, simply giving him her back.

Heavy lines of ink curled across her skin. Over her ribs, black, blue and purple twisted together into a picture. He couldn’t see all of it, but enough to get the gist. Delicate wings, ethereal body, flowing hair. Just like her, the lithe fairy was turned away, showing only her back and bowed head.

For some reason, the picture she’d permanently placed on her skin made his chest ache. It reminded him of how she’d looked when she’d first walked into the room, exhausted and a little tragic.

Before he could follow that thread of thought, her arms reached behind her, blocking out his view of her ink. Her palms slipped down, smoothing her skirt. The material clung to her body, hugging the curve of her ass in a way that made his hands itch to do the same. Because he couldn’t, Beckett curled his fingers into fists.

The skirt pulled in, following the contours of her hips and narrowing to skim her thighs. The hem hit just above her knees, a perfectly respectable length. But that didn’t stop him from feeling sorry for every poor bastard who had to work with her, watch her prance around in that skirt and know his chances of getting beneath it were slim.

She took a single step forward, opening the slit that lined up perfectly with the seam of her thighs. This time, the groan Beckett bit back had nothing to do with fear that she was going to stop.

The slit ended near the tops of her thighs, hinting at what lay beneath. That hint was torture. Because, with the slit held open by her position, all he could see were shadows promising him so much more than she was giving.

Beckett’s mouth went dry and then flooded with moisture. He wanted to taste her. To discover the musky scent of her arousal and press his face right there into those shadows.

Twisting, she set her pointy little chin on her shoulder and watched him as her fingers tugged at the zipper. Her hands eased the material down, inch by excruciating inch, revealing the scorching-red panties that matched her bra.

Satin and lace, the boyshorts covered her sweet curves. Something about them was both chaste and tantalizing. Like her, a contradiction. Adorably innocent yet devilishly tempting.

His eyes had been trained so intently on her rounded curves that it took him several moments to notice she was wearing thigh highs beneath that skirt.

Dear God in heaven.

Lace wrapped around the expanse of each thigh, cutting in and holding on. He could practically feel the silky texture of them against his palms, rubbing up and down his ribs as her thighs gripped him. Beckett swallowed. Hard. And the tiny, taunting smile that played across her lips told him she knew exactly the reaction she was pulling from him.

Dammit. It had been a very long time since he’d let a woman have the upper hand. How had this one managed it? With ten feet and a pane of glass between them.

When she walked several feet away from him, he got an unbelievably amazing view of her entire body. Killer legs he could imagine around his waist. Hips that swayed seductively. The firm curve of a good ass. The curl of ink, proof that she wasn’t as buttoned up as her outward appearance suggested. Long expanse of elegant spine, riotous curls begging to have a man’s hands twined in them and holding her close.

This woman was a siren. That’s all there was to it.

Lifting a single foot to the bench at the end of her bed, she plastered her body down the length of her thigh to lean over and unbuckle the heel still strapped on. Her breasts swayed, straining against the material barely holding them in.

Pain and need and craving pounded through him, settling so deep in his bones he was afraid the ache would never leave.

Her right foot was on the bench angling her body away from him. Flipping him a look over her shoulder and from beneath her lashes, she watched him even as she rolled the stocking carefully down her leg.

Her body swayed gently, the lace at the bottom of her panties creeping higher to give him an alluring glimpse of more. The metal teeth of his zipper bit into the straining length of his erection. He was light-headed from all the blood rushing to his groin.

He couldn’t remember a single time when he’d wanted a woman so much. Beckett hadn’t touched her and didn’t even know her name, but that didn’t seem to matter. There was something about her that...drew him.

All he could think of was tasting her skin. Hearing the sound of her moans, her sharp inhale of breath when he finally pushed home, filling her up and bringing them both unbearable ecstasy.

His hands clenched around the railing, desperately needing an anchor to keep him from slipping entirely into the fantasy.

Devouring her with his eyes, Beckett watched as she straightened and moved back to the window. Her gaze burned as she studied him. Not just with lust, but something more. He felt the pressure of it licking through his blood. It was as if she could see beneath his skin. Recognized just how alone he was, even constantly surrounded by other people.

Because she was just as lonely.

He expected her to stop when she reached the window. Maybe drop her bra to the floor. Or crook her finger and silently tell him to come finish what they’d both started.

What he was too far gone to anticipate was for her to press her breasts right up against the window. The movement tugged at the already precarious edge of her bra giving him a peek at her nipples. Tiny buds hard and tight with the same desire running rampant through his own body. There was no denying she was just as turned on as he was.

He could read it in the desperate glow of her eyes, the flush of her skin and the languid, liquid way her body moved.

Her arms stretched wide out to her sides. She undulated, rolling her hips and ribs and spine in a way that begged him to touch.

And then the blind snapped down between them.

* * *

SAGGING AGAINST THE wall beside the window now covered by the wide slats of her plantation blinds, Alyssa Vaughn let her body slide down. The polished hardwood floor was cold on her rear when it hit, but she welcomed the shock. Maybe it would cool the sizzling tremble running rampant through her body.

She dropped her head to her knees and screwed her eyes shut.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She hadn’t. That was the problem.

The moment her eyelids closed, her overheated mind conjured up the image of him again. A beautiful man with dark, intense eyes that had scraped across her body with a blazing heat, leaving her breathless. Half of his face obscured by a brightly colored mask.

His body had been just as hidden beneath the dark lines of an expensive suit. But she’d known, instinctively, the fire and strength he harbored. Could see it in the flex of long, tapered fingers and bulge of thigh muscles against smooth fabric.

Dangerously elegant. Like the sleekest jungle cat, beautiful in its power, but deadly when provoked.

The man had stirred some force inside her. The way he’d watched her, gaze sharp and exquisitely intense, focused on every miniscule movement. As though there was nothing in the world for him right then except what she was showing. Nothing more important than what they were sharing.

Excitement and something much more dangerous flashed beneath her skin. A craving that went deeper than mere physical satisfaction. A need long buried. A hope long denied.

Sucking a hard breath through her teeth, Alyssa forced her arms to relax and drop away from their tight hold around her body. She raised her head and let it clunk against the wall. Staring up at the ceiling she’d painted a pale heather gray, she focused on breathing, slow and steady.

No harm done. She’d stopped before going too far. Before letting free that wild piece of herself she kept locked down tight. Always ignored.

A bra and boyshorts were no more revealing than most bathing suits. She hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was she struggling with a sickening mixture of guilt, exhilaration and dismay?

He had no idea who she was. It had been late, dark, with only a lamp on for light. He’d been wearing a mask and was ten feet away, lodged in the shadows. They could collide on the street and never know each other.

A moment of insanity. Mardi Gras madness. A release from the stress and pressure she’d been dealing with all day.

It was over. Or, at least, it would be once she dealt with the hum of residual sexual energy lodged squarely between her thighs.

And if, in the throes of passion when her defenses were weak, she imagined his heated gaze sweeping across her body, watching intently as she finished what he’d started, there was no way anyone else would ever know that—especially him.


2

THEY WERE DESPERATE. And that’s just how Beckett wanted them.

Unfortunately, so was he, although, even as he strode into their plush offices, he had no intention of letting V&D know that.

He needed their app. Would do anything to own it. It was the game changer. Something that would take his nightclubs from simply successful to infamous. Like Studio 54, he wanted Exposed to become a household name, the kind whispered with awe and envy.

He craved the notoriety, money and irrefutable proof that he was finally successful, his life stable. The familiar desperation tasted bitter in his mouth.

What a difference fourteen years could make. At eighteen he’d been kicked out of the massive mansion he’d called home, and the whiplash with which he’d lost everything had hurt. But not nearly as much as realizing his father didn’t give a damn about him.

Without a penny or any discernible skills, he’d floundered, imposing on friends, sleeping on couches, carrying what little his father had let him take in a garbage bag. But it had become clear that wasn’t a long-term solution.

He’d had no place to live. Had never held a job. It might not have sounded like a sob story to anyone else, but going a few days without anything to eat after having every meal provided on gold-rimmed plates had been a hell of a shock to the system.

The fake ID he’d used to get into clubs had been useful in convincing the owner of a seedy nightclub to give him a chance. He’d started out slinging drinks, but soon realized that wasn’t going to be enough.

Six months later he was managing the place, his natural charm and leadership skills taking over. Splitting the profits with a drunk who wasn’t coherent enough to realize what he was giving up hadn’t exactly been the stuff of lifelong dreams, but Beckett had socked away every penny until he’d had enough to open his own place.

It’d taken four years, but a year after he actually turned legal he opened the first Exposed deep in the New Orleans Warehouse District. Funky and eclectic, it had appealed to a wide range of people.

Two years later came the club in New York. Then L.A., Nashville, Chicago and Seattle. He now owned twelve locations. But that wasn’t enough.

Part of him wondered if there would ever be enough. If success and security could wipe out those first few years of desperation.

Especially when his father delighted in reminding him just how much of a disappointment and failure he’d once been. Or that the money he’d made since was on the back of something lurid and common.

As if the man hadn’t come from humble beginnings himself. His father was a self-made billionaire. And a ruthless asshole, like a lion eating his young to protect his power position within the pride.

Beckett didn’t care how he made his mark, though. It didn’t bother him that he did it by selling alcohol and providing a dark place where inhibitions dropped and people hooked up.

Sex and sensationalism sold. Which was exactly why he needed V&D’s new social media app. Having a dozen Exposed locations was great. But allowing anyone with a smartphone to feel as if they were at his clubs...that would open his revenue stream up to every city in the country. Hell, in the world. Billions of people dropping in to watch and interact.

However, V&D refused to even entertain his offers.

Which just pissed him off.

It had been a long time since someone had been stupid enough to disrespect him to his face, but that was what V&D was doing. Treating his blood, sweat and tears like the ten-year-old banished to the kiddie table at Christmas. Dismissing him as if he was insignificant. That, more than anything, was what had lodged beneath his skin, itching and burning.

Well, they’d surely realized that was far from the truth by now. He was more than significant. He had them by the balls.

They wouldn’t listen to reason, so he’d simply take what he wanted.

He was going to enjoy watching them squirm. And while that would certainly be entertaining, what he really hoped to gain from this meeting was an understanding of what he’d done to piss them off so much they’d excluded him from the negotiations in the first place.

He hated to be in the dark. That’s when you were open and vulnerable. Beckett did not like being exposed. And the irony wasn’t lost on him at all.

Now V&D were scrambling, and Beckett was going to enjoy sitting back and watching the show. This would be fun.

He grasped the handle of the conference room door and his heart rate kicked. He embraced the physical evidence of his anticipation, letting it free for just a moment. A smile flickered across his lips. Then, completely in control, he wiped his expression clean.

Striding forward with confidence, he raked his gaze across the conference table and the people already waiting. And he nearly stumbled.

Blood, adrenaline and a bone-deep craving flooded his body. Every muscle went solid, straining against his skin and the need to reach across the table, grasp the woman staring at him and kiss the hell out of her.

Although the daggers she currently had pointed at him said that probably wouldn’t go over well.

Beckett’s years of harsh control served him well. Shaking his head, he pulled out the chair opposite the gathered contingent and settled against the soft leather surface. Leaning back, he let the chair tip off center and take his weight, his body lax and comfortable.

Scraping the group with a practiced, sharp smile that was all teeth and challenge, he waited to see what their first move would be.

He’d been looking forward to this meeting all morning, but suddenly it had gone from entertaining to downright thrilling.

Because sitting across from him, elegant, cold and seriously pissed off, was the last person he’d ever expected to see.

The woman was far from the tech geek he’d anticipated. While he’d been doing research on both of the partners, the V in V&D had remained a mystery. In an age of social media, she hadn’t had a Facebook, Twitter or Google+ account. Which had struck him as weird, considering she was the brains behind a company poised to explode into the highly competitive tech market.

Hell, she was selling a social media app and didn’t have a single social media account. No photographs or videos of her drunken college days on YouTube. According to rumor, she valued her privacy, preferring her lab, computers and code to actual human interaction.

He’d half prepared himself for some shy, mousy thing with pale skin and eyes bloodshot from staring at flickering screens too long.

Instead, her pale-green gaze was definitely not foggy or distracted. It was intelligent, angry and trained solely on him.

A blouse the same shade as her eyes was buttoned up tight. A single strand of gleaming pearls nestled against the hollow of her throat. The long, lush hair was swept up into a tight twist, bangs feathering across her forehead.

She was clearly the prim and proper businesswoman ready to plunge into shark-infested waters...and win. And maybe, if fate hadn’t intervened, the ruse would have worked.

But he knew her secrets.

He’d seen her naked skin, that heartbreaking tattoo and her sexy lingerie just last night, framed in the lonely window of a French Quarter apartment.

* * *

ALYSSA WATCHED HIM stride into the room, powerful, commanding and utterly confident in his own skin. She’d braced for the impact, but it hadn’t done much good.

The moment he entered it felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Her lungs deflated, leaving her gasping for breath.

It had been years since she’d seen the man, although their single encounter had left a lasting impression. Not just on her psyche, but on her life.

Although she’d bet next year’s profits he didn’t have the first clue who she was...or that he’d once had his tongue down her throat and his hand up her skirt.

Or that he’d humiliated her.

She’d been sixteen and upset from a fight with Bridgett and her father before a friend had picked her up for a party. Her stepmother had accused her of things she hadn’t done—drugs, drinking, seeing an older guy. Without a second thought, her father had believed every word his wife fed him.

That betrayal had hurt. She’d arrived at the party hell-bent on letting loose. If she was going to be painted with the brush then she should at least enjoy the experience. That first beer had tasted terrible, but by the fourth she’d no longer cared about anything.

She’d been thoroughly blitzed by the time Lindsey had pointed out a group of older boys who’d graduated from their exclusive private prep school several years before. Alyssa had noticed Beckett Kayne immediately. Who wouldn’t? He was gorgeous in a wickedly dangerous kind of way that appealed to the rebellious streak she was tired of denying.

Without the liquid courage she probably never would have walked up to him, grabbed his face and kissed the hell out of him. What she hadn’t been prepared for was her immediate, all-consuming response. Or how quickly he took control, backing her into a corner and letting his hands roam across her body.

They didn’t dance or talk, just skipped straight to trying to find an unoccupied room. But somewhere through the haze of alcohol, groping and sparkling heat, Alyssa remembered she needed to tell him she was a virgin. The moment the slurred words left her mouth everything changed.

Beckett vaulted away from her as if she’d suddenly developed the plague. On top of the other emotional upheaval of the night, that loss had felt like a kick in the gut.

It wasn’t until the next day that she truly understood the depth of Beckett’s duplicity. One of his friends let it slip that he’d had his eye on her all night...not because he was interested, but because he was desperate for money, she was young and her father was loaded.

Alyssa bit back a bitter chuckle. If only he’d known he was wasting his time, even the little he’d invested. Her father might have been rich as Croesus, but she sure as hell hadn’t been. Wasn’t. Maybe never would be. Although, money had never really mattered to her.

He’d left her there, humiliated, drunk and alone. She’d been forced to call her father to come pick her up. Ignoring the tear tracks on her cheeks, he and her stepmother had lit into her. Bridgett had ranted about what a bad influence she was on her half sister, Mercedes.

And there was nothing she could say.

From that night on, any hope she’d ever had of repairing her relationship with her father had crumbled to dust.

But that had been years ago, and until Kayne’s name had come across her desk, attached to an intent to bid notice for the Watch Me app, she’d thought she was long over the experience.

Oh, how wrong she’d been. Just his name had sent anger, humiliation and something much more sinful washing across her skin. There was no way in hell she’d do business with the man and she’d said as much to her partner, Mitch Dornigan.

They might be equal owners of V&D, but he hadn’t protested or questioned her snap decision. In the weeks since, her anger hadn’t dissipated. In fact, it had only increased, especially with the man’s latest stunt. She wanted to reach across the conference table and scratch the smug expression right off his face.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from reacting to him. Just the sight of his powerful, suit-clad body had energy humming through her bones, pure electricity. Her pulse skittered, her mouth went dry and her palms started to sweat.

God, she hated that Beckett Kayne had this kind of primal effect on her. She was a strong, independent and intelligent woman. So why, the moment he walked into her sphere of existence, did her brain go haywire and her body revolt?

The simple answer was that the man was inherently sensual in a dark and dangerous sort of way. Even more so now than back then. Any living, breathing female would respond to him. The problem was, he knew exactly the effect he had and wasn’t afraid to use it. Beckett Kayne had a reputation for being ruthless, using whatever advantage he was given.

She had no intention of giving him any more by letting him know just how he affected her.

His thick brown hair made a woman want to grab and take hold. His moody blue eyes were consuming and observant. Rumor had it that he liked to watch, from a room high above the floor of his clubs.

An unwanted shiver snaked down her spine. Alyssa shook it off. Now was not the time. She had to get a grip. The man was here to destroy her business, something she’d spent the past two years building. She’d be damned if she was going to let him. She needed her mind clear and her faculties focused.

He wore a precisely tailored business suit. The material was expensive and skimmed across his body in a way that highlighted the lean muscles and tight build hidden beneath. It was a far cry from the tight jeans, frayed at the hem, and skintight black T-shirt he’d worn the first time they met.

Then he’d looked like an outlaw. An air of danger had clung to his skin along with the scent of alcohol, musk and something purely male. But that wasn’t what had drawn her. Beneath that there’d been a...vulnerability. A misery she recognized, understood and, for some strange reason, wanted to soothe.

Apparently that had been a lie, as well.

She wanted to think the business suit was an improvement, but somehow not even that facade could hide the edge of savagery, the tiger pacing lazily behind iron bars. You just knew if he ever broke free, that deceptive drowsiness would disappear and he’d rip your head off.

Beckett Kayne moved with that same kind of powerful, predatory grace.

Biting back a growl of frustration—at herself—Alyssa watched him drop into the chair across from her and cut a smile over her people. Two seats down, Deirdre sighed, the soft gush of air difficult to misinterpret. He hadn’t even opened his mouth and she was already mesmerized.

The one saving grace was that Kayne didn’t even bother to look in Deirdre’s direction. His eyes were trained unflinchingly on her.

A few seconds stretched into thirty, sixty and then more. Alyssa fought the heavy weight of silence. The pressure built, as if her insides were frantically moving while she sat perfectly still, waiting for him to make the first move. The sensation was unnerving...almost as much as Beckett Kayne’s scrutiny.

Something wicked flashed in his eyes, but before she could blink it was gone. Tingles raced across her skin. Slowly, the most amazing smile stretched his mouth. Wide, knowing and enigmatic, for some reason it made fear spin deep in the pit of her belly.

“Ms. Vaughn, wonderful to finally meet you.”

The warm, throaty rumble of his voice didn’t help to quell the churning. In fact, it made it worse. There was an edge to his words, some deeper meaning that made her muscles tense.

Could he actually remember?

No, surely not.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same, Mr. Kayne.” Grinding her teeth together, Alyssa struggled to keep her emotions in check and tone civil. “I don’t appreciate the position you’ve put us in.”

She’d hoped to see a flash of regret. Or maybe just something that proved the man had a heart. To her surprise, instead of dimming, his smile morphed. His eyelids went heavy, dropping into a lazy, sensual squint. His mouth crooked, pulling higher on one side. Some might say it was a flaw, his one imperfection. But after all these years it was the thing she remembered most.

It made him human. Attainable. Real.

Once her gaze was snagged, Alyssa fought to force it away from his lips. And failed. It was the only reason she noticed the telltale twitch of humor.

“You gave me no choice, Ms. Vaughn, by ignoring my requests to do business together.”

Blowing out a sound of frustration, Alyssa couldn’t stop her voice from rising. “Perhaps you should invest in a dictionary, Mr. Kayne. It might fill in some of the gaps your lack of education has apparently left. Not giving you the answer you want isn’t the same as ignoring you.”

His lips flattened into a compressed line. Disappointment clawed at her. That she did ignore. Or tried.

“We weren’t interested in doing business with you.”

“Yes, you made that abundantly clear, although I have no idea why. The problem is you made that decision while simultaneously leaving yourselves vulnerable. I’ve never been the kind of man to walk away from an open invitation.”

Probably sensing just how close she was to losing it, Mitch stepped in before she said something that would derail any possibility of finding a reasonable solution to the situation.

“Taking out that loan was hardly an invitation.”

Kayne shrugged his shoulders, the motion smooth and negligent. “That’s the problem with doing business with friends. Taking out a private loan with a personal acquaintance instead of a bank is always risky. Less legal oversight governing the contract.”

Alyssa’s jaw ached from the pressure to keep her mouth from overriding her brain. She’d had plenty of practice swallowing her words, but for some reason the ones she swallowed now were more bitter than any others.

They’d tried to get a conventional loan and none of the banks would back them. Why would they, when the business was already in the red? The bank’s algorithms and number crunchers couldn’t take their upcoming success into account. They were weeks away from a huge influx of capital when their first app sold. And they had another that would be ready within the next two months.

Both she and Mitch had already been tapped out, savings gone and mortgaged to the gills. They’d only needed a few months’ operating capital to make it through, though, and everything would be fine. They’d been so close....

When Mitch had suggested going to a family friend for the money, someone he trusted and had known for most of his life, it had seemed an obvious solution. Sure, it carried more risk, but they’d felt fairly safe and confident in taking that chance.

Hindsight was definitely twenty-twenty.

Apparently, the connection Mitch had counted on had been outweighed by blind greed. According to their sources, Beckett had purchased their loan for almost a fourth more than the face value of the contract.

They were supposed to have six months to pay off the loan. More than enough time to bridge the gap. However, Kayne had decided to activate an escape clause, which allowed him to call the loan due at any point during the term. And he was pulling the trigger.

They had less than two weeks to come up with a huge chunk of change or Beckett Kayne would legally own V&D, including all their intellectual property—specifically, the app he so desperately wanted. She had no intention of letting him have Watch Me.

Not only would it gall her to lose the technology to the man, but they desperately needed the funds from selling the app to keep V&D moving forward.

A few days ago, Alyssa would have said there was no way she could hate Beckett Kayne any more than she already did. She’d have been wrong about that, too. Frustration and desperation warred inside her.

Her hands clenched into tight fists beneath the table as she tried to reign in her emotional turmoil before it bubbled up and spilled out all over the place like a destructive, scorching flow of lava.

“You can’t tell me that in all your years as a businessman, you never took a calculated risk?”

His churning gaze zeroed back on her. “Of course. The difference is, I made damn sure the reward was worth it.”

Realizing this line of discussion was getting them nowhere, Alyssa cut to the chase. “What do you want, Kayne?”

“I would have thought that was obvious.”

A frustrated sound buzzed in the back of her throat. “I’d rather you spell it out for me so there are no misunderstandings or false assumptions.”

The smile fell away, taking the facade with it and leaving behind a piercing expression that had a tremor racing through her body. For the first time since he’d walked in the door, Alyssa felt like maybe she was getting a true glimpse of the man. The problem was it scared her spitless. Beckett Kayne was a bloodthirsty animal with his prey clearly in his sights.

“Watch Me. I want it. Exclusively.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

Alyssa crossed her arms beneath her breasts and stared him down. “I assure you, you are. You think you’ve got us backed into a corner. You’re already counting your win. Don’t forget we still have time to come up with the funds.”

His shoulders rose and fell on a negligent shrug that had her teeth clacking together. She didn’t have the luxury of reacting, not if she wanted to save her company and the work she’d poured her heart and soul into for the past eighteen months.

“Call off your attack dogs. Get your offer together and let us review it along with the others we’re expecting in next week. We’ll even give you a few extra days if you need them.”

“Why would I do that, Ms. Vaughn? Long before you can formalize any offers and arrange payment I’ll have what I want. For the bargain price of a few months of your operating capital I’ll own not just the app, but your entire company.”

Dread flooded her mouth, it tasted bitter and vile, but she choked back her reaction. She would not let Beckett Kayne see her sweat.

“I will not let you destroy V&D. We’ll have the money in time, and when we do any chance you had for procuring the app disappears.”

Something sharp flashed through his blue-gray eyes. “You’ve made it clear I have no chance anyway. You forced me to play dirty, Ms. Vaughn. You don’t have the luxury of crying foul now that you’re the one sitting there covered in muck.”

Alyssa wheezed out a breath. But she refused to let his words derail her. She leaned across the table, closing the space between them. “I’m giving you one chance to do the right thing, Beckett. We both know calling that loan due four months early is a dirty move.”

Surprising her, Kayne matched her movements, leaning against the edge of the table and deep into her personal space. His stare was hard and indecipherable.

“It isn’t a dirty move. It’s a smart move. You strike me as an intelligent women, Ms. Vaughn. Something tells me you’re perfectly aware of my reputation. Do I look like the kind of man who’d care even if it was?”

Silence and tension crackled between them, making everything inside her contract.

Something hard and hedonistic glittered in his eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched. Her own gaze dropped to the movement. But once there...she couldn’t look away.

His lips were lush, perfect, with a hint of harshness. Not the kind of man who’d be soft and safe in bed. She wanted to press her mouth tight to his and find out. Would he devour her? Nibble and tease? Demand her surrender or leave her drowning in a sensual haze?

She sucked in a sharp breath, the sound exploding into the quiet room. Everyone heard it. They had to, and no doubt knew exactly what it meant...that she’d been waylaid by the pull of Beckett Kayne.

With a satisfied smirk on his face, Kayne dropped back into his chair.

“I am doing the right thing, Ms. Vaughn. I’m acquiring the cutting-edge technology that will take my company worldwide, by any means necessary and open to me. I learned a long time ago—the hard way, I might add—that there are no friends in business. It’s every man, or woman, for himself. This world can be cruel. You were bound to learn that lesson at some point. I’d like to say I’m sorry I had to be involved in the education, but that would be a lie.” His stormy eyes flashed, pinning her in place. “I’ve enjoyed matching wits with you too much to regret the experience.”

From the far end of the table, Deirdre made a small choking sound. Mitch leaned forward, body tense and hands splayed across the table as if he were about to vault over and rip into Kayne.

Alyssa stopped him, curling her fingers around his wrist to hold her business partner in place. Beckett’s gaze dropped to her hand, his eyes narrowing.

His sharp, steady gaze returned to hers, and his voice lowered into a dangerous growl, “Let me assure you, Ms. Vaughn, I always get what I want.”

Alyssa’s lungs seized, stealing her ability to respond. Not that she’d have had much opportunity. Surging to his feet, Beckett Kayne ended the discussion long before she was through, disappearing out the door.

Beside her, Mitch snarled. Deirdre sighed, slumping back into her chair.

And Alyssa just sat there, dumbfounded. Her body was a jumble of useless reactions. Her skin tingled, her heart thumped, her skin flushed with swelling temper. She had no outlet for any of it.

Why did it feel as if he meant to own much more than her company?


3

THE DOOR CLICKED shut behind Kayne. Every molecule of tension left the room right along with him. Apparently that tension had been holding her up, because the second it was gone Alyssa’s body slumped into a boneless mess.

What were they going to do?

There was always her stepmother. Just the thought of the perfectly coiffed, hypercritical, manipulative woman had Alyssa letting out a groan.

Sucking in a hard breath, she let her head drop, not even trying to stop the sharp pain as her skull clunked heavily against the edge of the table. Because that pain was better than the inevitable agony that resulted whenever she ventured into the same zip code as her stepmother, she did it again. And again.

“Jesus, Lys, stop it,” Mitch said beside her, slapping his palm in front of her so she’d hit him instead of the table.

Her forehead smacked into the warmth of his hand and instead of going back for more, she rolled against him. Back and forth, as if shaking her head would allow her to deny everything that was happening and make it all disappear.

With a sigh, Alyssa said, “Deirdre, can you leave us for a bit?”

Pretending wouldn’t help the situation, even if it was tempting to run away and lock herself into the comforting solitude of her workroom. Her computers never yelled or criticized or ignored. They were there when she needed them, uncomplicated and nonjudgmental.

But she was far from the emotionally damaged girl she’d once been. She’d spent years fighting for her self-confidence, to figure out who she was and where she belonged in the world. And she’d be damned if anyone—especially Beckett Kayne—sent her back to that dark, lonely place.

The warmth of Mitch’s hand settled between her shoulder blades. Just...there. As he always was. Not for the first time, she wondered why she couldn’t be attracted to him. But she wasn’t and never would be. With Mitch it had always been easy and comfortable. No tension. He didn’t make her skin tighten with anticipation or her heart flutter with awareness. He was the protective older brother she’d never had and always needed.

“We’ll figure this out, Lys. I promise.”

Twisting her head, she looked up at him, forcing a sad smile to her lips.

Mitch had always been the one shining light when she’d needed it most. Whenever she started to feel so thin and invisible everyone could surely see straight through her, he’d forced her back into existence. He wouldn’t let her disappear into herself.

He’d saved the girl she’d been and given her the space and support she’d needed to become the woman she was. She owed him everything, including whatever it would cost her to fix this mess.

Bridgett, her stepmother, was calculating and ruthless. Alyssa had no idea how her father had never known just how cold his wife could be. No, that wasn’t true. He never knew because Bridgett didn’t want him to see. She was pregnant less than three months after their wedding, and from the moment Mercedes had come into the world Bridgett had made sure her father doted on his youngest child. Spoiled her. Gave her everything, most especially his attention and love.

Alyssa had become a fifth wheel, completely unnecessary and unwanted.

By the time Alyssa hit her teens, Bridgett had convinced her father she was a poor reflection on the Vaughn name and her father’s pristine reputation.

Alyssa couldn’t remember the moment she realized her father despised her. The seed had simply grown until it blossomed into painful understanding. She was a constant reminder of her mother, who’d chosen to run off with a penniless mechanic rather than remain in the opulent world and stifling perfection Alyssa’s father had demanded. Transferring his rage to his daughter had been easy.

He’d never hurt her, at least not physically. It might have been easier if he had. Then maybe someone else would have recognized her pain.

Bridgett had gotten exactly what she wanted—almost all of her husband’s money. When he’d died four years ago he’d left everything to her. Everything except enough for Alyssa to put a nice down payment on her apartment in the Quarter. She never would have been able to afford the mortgage without it.

The irony was that she hadn’t wanted his money. What she’d craved was a father who loved and doted on her the way he obviously cared about Mercedes. But that unfulfilled dream died right along with him.

She could ask Bridgett for the money. Alyssa’s eyes closed on a convulsive gesture of dread. And her stepmother would give it to her just so she could hold it up as evidence of Alyssa’s failure. Her stomach rolled with loathing.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mitch warned, his dark brown eyes flashing. “There’s no way I’m letting you do it.”

“Do what?” she asked listlessly.

“Going to the Stepford Witch is a last resort.”

Mitch knew her so well. She hadn’t even had to voice the option for him to know exactly the hell her head had gone to.

“Uh, I think we’re there, Mitch.”

His fingers hardened, digging into the edge of the table a little too roughly for a moment before easing back. “Not yet. What about the new interactive tourism app? I know you wanted to wait another month or two, but everyone else thinks it’s ready. Deirdre has already spoken to Vance Eaton about it. They’re interested and are excited about New Orleans being the debut city. We could sell it quickly, add a package for support and design tweaks to cover any bugs. Problem solved.”

Alyssa tried not to let the ray of hope tempt her. The warmth of it was difficult to resist, but she didn’t want to talk herself into one bad business decision simply to dodge another.

Mitch sat quietly, familiar with her need to work through all the angles of a problem—or potential solution.

He was right. For the most part, the app was ready. The fine-tuning just required access to the specific requirements of the debut city. With its interactive, party atmosphere, New Orleans was exactly the kind of location she’d known would best utilize the application.

Tourist apps were a dime a dozen, but theirs married the best of social media with the latest information available. Constant updates would be provided, but as people communicated and interacted through the app there would be a continual stream of live information.

A great band was playing at a club? Someone could post pictures, videos and information. The line to get into an attraction was unusually long? People could post and help each other avoid unnecessary waits and wasted time. A group of college students were trying to connect in the crowd of Mardi Gras? Upload a photograph of your physical location.

It didn’t escape her notice that both of the apps she’d focused on so far, at their core, were designed to bring people together. She didn’t need a psych evaluation to figure out where that need grew from. At least something good could come from her lonely existence.

Focusing on one product launch at a time had seemed like the intelligent choice, especially since they’d never done one before, but now they no longer had that luxury.

With a nod, she agreed, “Make the call.”

A sunny smile lit Mitch’s eyes. “I already did.”

Letting out a laugh, Alyssa punched Mitch in the arm. “Bastard. Then why did you even ask me?”

“I was laying groundwork we’d need eventually whether we pushed the timeline up or kept the release date a few months from now. You needed to come to the decision on your own.”

“Right, with a not so subtle shove.”

Mitch shrugged. “It’s the right move.”

For the first time in several days, the heavy weight crushing her chest eased away.

“I’ll get the lawyers involved. Hopefully we’ll have the details hammered out by Wednesday and a check in hand by close of business Friday.”

Alyssa’s gaze searched Mitch’s deep chocolate eyes. She saw the same hope reflected back, which meant maybe she could actually let herself believe in it.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Alyssa knew instantly what he was talking about, but chose to pretend. “What do you mean?”

Mitch just cut her a glance that silently called bullshit.

With a sigh, she gave in. “I have no idea.”

And that scared the crap out of her. Whatever she’d expected when Beckett Kayne walked into her conference room, it wasn’t the scorching awareness that had flared between them.

Or the interest she’d seen glowing out of those stormy blue eyes. Especially when, the last time he’d seen her, he’d dismissed her like the inexperienced child she’d been.

His parting words rang through her brain, sending a shudder down her spine.

No doubt Mitch saw it. A sound rolled up from his chest, a combination of concern and disbelief. “Be careful, Lys. Beckett Kayne isn’t the kind of man who brings you candy and flowers. He’s rough and unrelenting. He won’t think twice about hurting you. Using you.”

Mitch wasn’t telling her anything her brain didn’t already know. But her body... Apparently, it didn’t give a flying flip.

Maybe to distract them both from that train of thought, Alyssa found herself blurting out words she hadn’t meant to ever say. “I gave a random stranger a striptease last night.”

That bombshell rocked Mitch backward. “Come again?”

Scrunching her nose, Alyssa sagged back into the welcome warmth of the leather chair. She stared at the pale blue wall opposite, better that than Mitch. He knew her too well and would immediately pick up on her conflicted response to the whole episode.

“Last night. I got home late. Had to walk through the crazy crowds.”

“Expected.”

Yeah, that’s what she got living in the Quarter. A lot of residents lived close to Fat Tuesday, but she didn’t have the time or money right now.

“I was so exhausted I didn’t really think about it. I just started undressing, dreaming about collapsing into bed and dealing with the mess in the morning.”

Mitch gave an empathetic grunt. He’d been working the same long hours and no doubt had collapsed bonelessly into his own bed last night.

“Something caught my attention. He moved maybe. I don’t know. But I looked out my window to the balcony across the alley and saw a man standing there. He was almost completely in shadow, a mask obscuring half of his face.”

Just the memory had her words going breathy. The way, even through the distance, his hot gaze had raked over her. The anticipation and tension. Need and excitement.

“I just...kept going.”

“Jesus, Lys. What were you thinking? Don’t you have enough problems right now? You really don’t need to add a crazed stalker to the mix.”

Mitch’s words vaulted her out of the haze threatening to suck her back into the memory. Now was not the time. Not when her body was still on edge from her encounter with Kayne. That was a dangerous combination just begging for a spark to detonate.

“You’re hilarious,” she drawled out.

“I’m not being funny. I know you’re oblivious to it, but you’re gorgeous. Half of the single male population of New Orleans want inside your panties. And the other half just haven’t met you yet.”

It was easy for Alyssa to ignore his words. She could count on one hand the number of men she’d slept with and have a couple of fingers of left over for fun. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got hit on in bars and never had been.

Mitch had to say stuff like that, though. It was the equivalent of most mothers saying their daughters were pretty.

“Seriously. And doing something that stupid during Mardi Gras...someone could have been taking pictures or taping you. You know people cross boundaries they’d never think about approaching any other time.”

Mitch was right, but until last night she’d never been tempted to join the group of people who used Mardi Gras as an excuse to make bad behavior acceptable. She was far from a prude. Her motto tended more towards c’est la vie than repent, you sinners. It just wasn’t her thing.

Until last night. It had been rather thrilling doing something so taboo.

That was the attraction. Really. That was all it was. She’d been upset and surrounded by happy drunks without a care in the world.

“I’ll never see him again,” she promised both Mitch and herself.

“Just...be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

Mitch grunted, a sound that could mean just about anything.

“If he shows up again you’ll let me know? Let me make sure he isn’t an escaped felon or alcoholic or—”

“A good guy, stealing a few moments of peace during a party held on the balcony of a multimillion-dollar home in the Quarter?”

“Just ’cause he got invited to a snooty party doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”

“True.”

As much as she wanted to reassure Mitch, there was something about her masked stranger that sent a delicious wave of foreboding prickling along her skin.

She was afraid the man watching her last night was very dangerous. And bold. And wickedly depraved.

The problem was that didn’t bother Alyssa, although it definitely should.

* * *

BECKETT STARED OUT of the one-way window that looked over the twisting, gyrating mass of bodies below. Not even the double-paned glass could block the loud, thumping music blaring through the club.

Lights flashed, white, gold, green and blue, spinning, twirling and pulsing rhythmically.

Arms crossed over his chest, hips spread wide, he surveyed his domain. From his vantage point he could see the bar was three deep in people yelling for another round of drinks. He’d thought about scheduling another bartender, but with three working already it would have been a tight squeeze to get another person back there.

The customers didn’t seem to mind the wait. Not when there was a line of people outside chomping at the bit to get in. Waitresses in deep-red bustiers, black satin boyshorts and silk thigh highs circulated through the room. Tonight, in a nod to Mardi Gras, they wore black feathered masks and had ropes of beads draped around their necks.

The three waiters working the floor all walked around naked from the waist up. That wasn’t his requirement, but the guys quickly realized they made better tips that way. Besides, between the packed bodies and the heat generated from the dance floor, they all said it was cooler.

Beckett didn’t care, as long as it didn’t cause problems. Women were just as likely to have roaming hands as men, and sometimes when they drank they forgot their boyfriends were sitting there watching them fondle his staff.

Satisfied that everything was working smoothly tonight, Beckett’s focus shifted from the floor to the walls and rafters. It was an old warehouse he’d converted, and there was plenty of room to handle the upgrades he wanted.

V&D’s app was a twist on an interactive social media platform that dovetailed nicely with the theme of Exposed—sumptuous and gritty, in-your-face access.

Watch Me would connect to cameras set up to record and broadcast live feeds directly from each of his clubs. People anywhere could not only watch the party, but also interact.

He already had contractors ready to install huge screens that would plaster the walls and ceiling. Several of them would project other locations—the New York feed would play on screens in Chicago. Someone from Iowa or Paris could hook up the feed and play it at their own makeshift party. And then upload videos of their experience, which would play over the screens in Seattle.

It essentially made the world one big, connected party.

To take it a step further, there was in-app communication. A guy in Geneva could message the beautiful girl in New Orleans he just watched dance and even send her a drink from the bar.

Global exposure and connection.

He could see it. Technology being used to bring people together instead of separating and isolating them.

What he couldn’t understand was how Alyssa Vaughn didn’t see the potential. Or didn’t want to see it.

The memory of their meeting had conflicting emotions rolling through his body—frustration and urgency. His muscles tightened, his hands balled into fists.

The way her pale eyes had flashed at him, angry and full of disdain.

He’d thought of revealing who he was, but he didn’t think she would have appreciated that revelation in company. And by the time the meeting was finished, he’d been so irritated and aroused he’d decided to keep the secret indefinitely.

He still had no idea what he’d done to her, but it was obvious her aversion to him went deeper than a simple business decision.

And he couldn’t help but wonder how often she’d done something like that striptease last night. Was he a first? Or one in a long line of wanton experiences?

From out of nowhere, a surge of jealousy had his eyes narrowing dangerously. That line of thinking would get him nowhere.

Needing the distraction, he slipped out of his office and through the cleverly concealed door in the wall, down onto the floor. He wasn’t drunk or interested in dancing, but he had to weave through half the club to get to the bar.

On his way through, he lost count of how many times his ass was grabbed or palms slid across his chest. Someone even managed to slip fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Clamping his hand around the offending wrist, he pulled the digits away from his skin. They were attached to a beautiful blonde, her body covered in a dark red dress that plunged in the front and stopped about four inches down her thighs. She smiled at him, blue eyes full of invitation.

Despite the way he used his grip on her arm to hold her away, her body undulated suggestively, as if she were plastered hard against him.

“Hi, sugar. Care to buy me a drink?” she asked, her lips smirking with promise.

It was impossible not to compare this woman to Alyssa. Blatant sexuality against bone-deep sensuality. This woman had everything she offered on display. There was no mystery. No challenge. He could have her upstairs across his desk in three minutes flat—only because it would take that long to get back to the office.

It had been a long time since Beckett had wanted easy.

Alyssa was all mystery, her wild streak hidden from prying eyes just as surely as the heavyhearted ink on her ribs. Everything about her was a question and contradiction.

If today had been their first meeting, he probably would have walked away thinking she was innocently gorgeous, but positively untouchable. No doubt, he would still have been attracted to her, but he’d have figured she wasn’t the kind of woman who could match him.

But last night...that changed everything. He’d seen beneath the perfect veneer. And he wanted more.

Maybe that’s why he found himself turning around. And instead of heading to the bar to check on his employees, was out the door.


4

BECKETT LOUNGED ON the street, his eyes glued to the door of Alyssa’s building. The press of people, swirl of madness and cacophony of sound surrounding him should have been distracting. But he couldn’t tear his gaze from her door.

He shouldn’t be here. Logically, he realized this was a bad idea. But, for some reason, his feet wouldn’t obey the order to walk away.

Standing on the sidewalk outside her building was rather stupid, especially since he had no way of knowing if she was even home. Most people weren’t. Not on a Saturday during Mardi Gras. The party raged right outside her front door and she was probably lost somewhere in the crowd, enjoying it.

While he was staked out here staring at her apartment like he might suddenly develop X-ray vision.

He’d wanted her last night when she’d given him a glimpse of herself. And he didn’t just mean the smooth expanse of her skin. The fever of her desire. The way she’d reveled in his eyes on her. Her teasing and tempting. Bold and sensual. Daring.

It was the siren beneath her prim and proper exterior that held him captive. Instinct told him it was something she didn’t share with many. He craved the moment she’d surrender and give in to the need snapping hot and dangerous between them.

Being pulled along by the frenzied atmosphere, Beckett had joined in, donning the same mask from the night before. A cup of beer clutched in his hand, he settled back against the wall. And forced his gaze to focus on the crowd instead of the apartment across the way.

He was mentally arguing with himself, trying to convince himself that he should leave, when she was suddenly there. Pausing just outside the door that protected her building from the madness, she stared into the throng, getting her bearings.

A small smile tugging her lips, she pushed through the crowd, heading for Canal and the Endymion parade that would roll through soon. She was too late to get close, people had been camped out for hours to save spots, but she didn’t seem to care.

Unlike last night, she was no longer weighed down by exhaustion. An answering bubble of amusement rippled through his chest. He wanted to see her happy.

He wasn’t sure why, but that realization surprised him.

Although that joviality didn’t last for long. Not when, following her and debating whether or not to approach, he watched another man push into her personal space. The guy, most likely a college student—and from the looks of him an underage one, drunk off his ass—slammed into her.

Worry and anger twisted in Beckett’s gut. Ignoring the glares and shouts, he started shoving at the wall of people blocking him from Alyssa. But he couldn’t get to her fast enough.

His gaze never strayed, though. Huge clumsy hands wrapped around her hips, jerking her closer. Alyssa rocked back, going up onto the heels of the turquoise cowboy boots that hugged her calves. Who owned shoes that loud? He definitely wouldn’t have expected it of the cool-and-collected Alyssa he’d faced off with across the table today.

Now the minx who’d teased him last night...those boots fit her perfectly, all wild and outlandish.

Drunk Frat Boy ran a hand up her naked arm, from wrist to shoulder. He squeezed, urging her against the wide expanse of his chest. Beckett had spent the past several years of his life watching men and women dance around each other, playing the attraction game. It was clear to him this guy wanted Alyssa. He wouldn’t put it past the dude to have bumped into her on purpose.

Beckett’s teeth ground together. His hands balled into fists and he shot forward ready to intervene.

But her reaction stopped him.

Tossing her head back, Alyssa laughed. The sight literally stopped him in his tracks. It...changed everything about her. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how wistful her gaze had been. It was as if someone had flipped on a switch. It made his chest tighten and ache.

He’d seen the same pensive expression in his own mirror more times than he cared to remember.

Frozen, he watched her light green eyes sparkle. Her wide, luscious mouth stretched and opened. Instead of pulling away, she wrapped her long, elegant fingers around the guy’s shoulders and went up on tiptoe as she leaned into him. Her mouth brushed close to his ear. Beckett could see her lips moving, but there was no way to hear what she was saying above the din of music and noise.

Whatever it was, Beckett didn’t like it. The guy’s eyes, already glassy with too much alcohol, went completely glazed.

Alyssa patted Frat Boy’s shoulder before slipping away. The guy stood there staring after her with the kind of expression that would make a devoted puppy envious. His friends snagged him and pulled him away, but his gaze stayed glued to Alyssa’s retreating back until the mob swallowed him whole.

She wove in and out of the flood of humanity. Beckett couldn’t look away. Unlike Frat Boy, he didn’t have friends ready to pull him in the opposite direction. Somehow, he found himself behind her, watching the sway of her hips, as if the sight was water and he’d been crawling the desert for days.

A tight skirt—this one entirely different from last night’s and this morning’s—swished against the back of her thighs. The denim pockets were encrusted with a mess of rhinestones in matching fleur-de-lis. It hit a couple of inches above her knee, so wasn’t indecent, especially compared to some of the other outfits on the street.

A filmy, almost see-through shirt the same color as her boots floated around her body, loose, breezy and falling off one shoulder. It bared a large expanse of her creamy skin. Beneath it, a black tank clung in all the right places.

Even casual, she managed to be sexy in an understated way that was more tempting than any blatant display of skin. He knew her secret, though. Beneath the facade she hid a wild little wanton.

Slipping into one of the bars, she grabbed a drink and then came back outside to wander. Even when she reached the parade, she didn’t really pay attention to it. Instead, she watched the people.

He paid attention to what drew her notice, collecting details she most likely wasn’t aware of revealing. Watching for years from behind the barrier of his office window, he’d become rather adept at reading body language and people.

A family. A mom and dad with their arms draped around each other. Two kids, a boy and a girl, both teens, shoving at each other, bickering and bantering. Until someone knocked into the girl, and the boy went immediately into protective mode, pushing her behind the wall of his gangly, developing body. The parents exchanged an indulgent glance.

Alyssa let out a deep sigh, her expression making him curious. A half smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes were full of disappointment, longing and hurt.

He didn’t like that at all.

There were plenty of men on the streets. Beckett watched quite a few of them turn to stare as Alyssa passed by. But she was completely oblivious to the scrutiny. And not once did her gaze sweep across any of them with interest.

However, she noticed the couples. Their heads bent close. A guy whispering in his lover’s ear. A couple with their hands lodged in each other’s back pockets. She took it all in, ambling along as though she had nowhere to be and nothing more weighty on her mind than what her next drink would be.

Finally, she turned a corner to a side street that was a little less crowded. About halfway down the block she stopped. Around her, people streamed by, but she didn’t notice. Her gaze was riveted to something in the shadows of a deep alcove between two buildings.

Chancing discovery, Beckett moved closer until he could see what had caught her attention.

Something dark and hot surged through his blood when he realized she was staring at a couple blatantly making out. They weren’t trying to cover up what they were doing. Actually, they gave every impression of being completely oblivious that anyone else in the world existed.

The pale expanse of a leg wrapped tight around a denim-clad male hip shone in the light from the streetlamps. The man’s hands were pressed against the wall on either side of the woman’s head, but his entire body touched her from lips to chest to hip. Her fingers gripped his hair, holding him tight to her mouth.

They were devouring each other and, if they didn’t pull away, would eventually be giving anyone walking by a free show.

Beckett took all this in with a three-second glance. He couldn’t have cared less about the couple. What held him entranced was Alyssa’s response to them.

She was turned on. More than that. Her chest rose and fell on quick, shallow breaths.

Her mouth was open, but he watched her tongue sneak out, sweeping across the deep pink of her bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. He wanted to taste her lips and find out just how sweet they’d be.

Moving quickly, Beckett closed the space between them. His chest collided with her back and his hands settled gently on her hips, holding her still. Her body jolted.

Slipping one arm around her waist, Beckett let his other slide up her ribs. Cupping her cheek in his palm, he coaxed her to turn to him. To see him. Her frantic gaze darted across his masked face. Recognition shot through her and her tensed body immediately softened.

She stilled and then melted into him. Beckett accepted her weight and the spreading warmth of finally having her loose and lax in his arms.

Her pupils dilated, not with anxiety or fear, but barely suppressed excitement.

That realization only stoked his already chaotic emotions higher.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed.

“Did you really think I’d let you get away with shutting me out?” he asked. “Tell me to let you go. Or get lost. But let me taste you first. Once. Please,” he begged, right before finally claiming her mouth.

* * *

GOD, SHE WAS kissing a complete stranger in the middle of Mardi Gras. No, that wasn’t true. She might be participating, but there was no mistaking just who was controlling this moment.

And it wasn’t her.

She was simply along for the ride. Swept away on the current of sensation. His hard fingers, cupping her jaw, held her still. The band of his arm across her belly pulled her close, as if letting her go would devastate him. His warmth radiated through her and seeped deep into her bones.

The unmistakable ridge of masculine arousal nestled tight against the small of her back. Alyssa’s hips rolled against him. An unconscious movement, but it felt good knowing she had that effect on him.

Because he had the same effect on her.

Maybe that’s why she went with the moment and didn’t fight him or herself. In the middle of a public street, he completely consumed her. And, unlike the couple in the shadows, he made no attempt to hide.

Despite everything, this was safe. At least a hell of a lot safer than the frantic, unwanted thoughts of Beckett Kayne she’d been fighting all night. This kiss, these moments, made her forget everything except the masked man holding her. The way he made her body respond and her brain simply shut down leaving nothing but...pure sensation and unfiltered response.

Maybe it was her imagination that added the slide of multiple gazes across her body, across them. She wanted them to watch. Wanted someone else to see what was happening to her.

To make it real.

The feathers from his mask tickled her skin. His mouth, somehow both hard and soft, moved against hers, demanding and restrained. He knew exactly what he was doing and methodically enthralled her.

His tongue thrust between her lips, taking whatever he wanted from her. It was sweet and sharp. Heaven and absolute hell, because in the same moment he’d surprised her he’d also managed to pin her arms uselessly to her sides.

She struggled against him, not to get free, but so she could participate, do something more than surrender and melt.

With a gasp that burst across her open, wet lips, he tore his mouth free. But didn’t let go. Instead, he used his hold to turn her head and expose the long column of her throat.

A trail of fire followed his lips. A shiver jolted down her spine and raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

He chuckled, dragging his mouth across the evidence of her instinctive reaction. The sound of it, deep, warm and entirely egotistical, resonated through her body, settling deep between her thighs with a pressing ache.

How could his pleased response ratchet up her own desire? She didn’t need or want his approval. Had given up the need for that kind of validation from anyone a long time ago.




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