by Tracy Wolff
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
About the Author
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Novels of Tracy Wolff
TEASE ME
“A tightrope of edgy suspense and taut sensuality. One fiery-hot read with nail-biting tension—I couldn’t put it down!”
—Jaci Burton, national bestselling author of Riding on Instinct
“Holy cow! Tracy Wolff’s Tease Me is one scorching-hot read! Don’t miss this one, and don’t forget to bring the ice.”
—Lauren Dane, national bestselling author of Coming Undone
TIE ME DOWN
“Snares you in the first chapter with its detail of the desperation and need of the characters, and then keeps you enthralled as the plot unravels. Wolff grabs your attention and doesn’t let you go. A great read!”
—Fresh Fiction
“All I can say is that it is hot, hot, hot! Murder, mystery, and sex that sizzles—what more can a gal ask for? Warning—read this story with a fan ready at hand.”
—Sunny, author of Lucinda, Dangerously
“An intoxicating blend of suspense and eroticism that will leave readers breathless!”
—Maya Banks, author of Sweet Persuasion
“The sex is wild, exotic, and inventive in Wolff ’s serial-killer thriller.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
“Hot, intense, and downright good, Tie Me Down is a page-turner that gives a huge adrenaline rush. . . . Tracy Wolff has created a superb story that hooked this reader from the first page, and didn’t let go until the dramatic conclusion.”
—The Romance Studio
“Tracy Wolff provides an engaging erotic police procedural romance filled with suspense and sex.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“ Tie Me Down is a very well-written novel that has sizzling suspense with several unexpected twists . . . an enthralling but somewhat disturbing read.”
—Night Owl Romance
FULL EXPOSURE
“Wolff ratchets up the tension in her debut novel, a first-rate tale set in the hot and steamy Louisiana bayou. She combines the adrenaline of a psychological thriller with the intensity of an exquisitely sensual romance while skillfully exploring the deepest emotions of her characters. The erotic encounters lead to a passionate love affair that will have readers sighing with satisfaction. Intriguing twists keep the pages turning and pave the way for an unforgettable conclusion.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars, top pick)
“Edgy and erotic . . . A sultry, red-hot read.”
—New York Times bestselling author Shannon McKenna
“This book kept me on the edge of my seat. . . . I recommend Full Exposure wholeheartedly.”
—Fresh Fiction
“I adored Full Exposure . I found it extremely suspenseful and, in fact, I did not guess the villain until the very end. I LOVE when that happens because as a reader, it means that the author thought through the plot and came up with a viable and highly enticing ending. Add in two characters that fit together so completely they could have been stuck together with glue, and you have the perfect read.”
—Romance Junkies
“The suspense in Full Exposure is as important to this story as the romance, and Ms. Wolff does a splendid job weaving the intrigue throughout the plot, peppering the book with slight hints to the villain’s identity. The climactic ending is a heart-stopper, with moments that will make you gasp in fear before leaving you breathing a sigh of relief at the happy ending.”
—Wild on Books
“Sexy, scorching, tender, poignant, and absolutely unputdownable . . . blends the steamy sensuality of Shannon McKenna and Lori Foster with the nail-biting romantic suspense of Nora Roberts and Linda Howard. Fast-paced, wickedly sensual, and captivating from start to finish . . . not to be missed!”
—Sensual Erotic Romance and Erotica 24/7
“The Bayou never looked so good . . . dynamic characters and a story line with a bite.”
—Romance Novel TV
“ Full Exposure is an on-your-toes erotic thriller that is as hot as the setting. . . . Tracy Wolff can write some hot sex scenes, and don’t be surprised if you want to break out a fan while you read them.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“ Full Exposure is a breathtaking story. . . . I had a hard time putting this book down to do anything else. Tracy Wolff has done an amazing job of bringing her characters to life and making you pray for the best. Prepare for a wild ride with Full Exposure .”
—Manic Readers
“With extremely hot and steamy sex scenes and a stalker all mixed together, Full Exposure sucks you in . . . a thrill ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat until the very end.”
—Coffee Time Romance
“ Full Exposure is a riveting read that will keep you in the dark until the last frame is fully developed. . . . Tracy Wolff has garnered my attention with her dazzling debut, and I will most assuredly be on the lookout for what she plans to offer next.”
—Novel Talk
OTHER BOOKS BY TRACY WOLFF
FULL EXPOSURE TIE ME DOWN
HEAT
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Heat, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, April 2010
Copyright © Tracy Deebs-Elkenaney, 2010 All rights reserved
HEAT is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Wolff, Tracy.
Tease me/Tracy Wolff.
p. cm.
eISBN: 9781101427620
1. Women authors—Fiction. 2. Carpenters—Fiction. 3. New Orleans (La.)—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3623.O57T43 2010
813’.6—dc22 200904
0781
Set in Sabon
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
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For Adam
Acknowledgments
Thanks to everyone at NAL who makes my books possible, especially my intrepid and wonderful editor, Becky Vinter, who always knows what’s best for my books—even when I don’t. You’re the greatest!
And to my family, who put up with missed breakfasts and football games, late dinners and dirty clothes when I’m in full book-writing mode. Thanks for hanging in there with me.
Chapter One
I feel you watching me, feel your eyes through the cold glass of my window and the sheer curtain that does such a poor job of covering it. You don’t know that I sense you, that I revel in your burning eyes as they run over me.
To torment you—and myself—I open the pearl buttons of my blouse. I toy with them, sliding each through the buttonhole more slowly than the one before it. I can feel your impatience. Your rage. Your need, racing through the humid night until it slams into me as you long to do.
I slide my blouse from my shoulders, then slip out of my skirt, until I stand before you covered only by my white bra and panties, which are no cover at all.
I cup my breasts, rub my nipples through the stiff lace that has been a torment—and a delight—through the endless day.
You growl, low in your throat, and I swear I can hear you despite the courtyard separating us. I slide my fingers down my stomach, over the lace and silk that barely covers the secret, aching heart of me.
And imagine it is you.
Imagine that it is your hands caressing me. Imagine that it is your mouth upon me.
I rejoice in your strength—in the hardness of your muscles and the sweet seduction of your mouth. I run my fingers down your naked back, cup your ass in my hands and pull you to the very center of me so that you can feel my hard nipples and the wild, staccato pounding of my heart.
So that you can feel my damp, heated core and know that you are responsible. That you have done this to me. That it is you, and only you, that I want.
That I need.
That I crave.
“Fuck!” Byron Hawthorne slammed his laptop shut as need ran through him like a goddamn freight train. But closing the computer couldn’t make him forget what he’d read—or cool the desire shooting through his veins. But then, nothing ever did. Or ever would, he was afraid—save a random case of complete and total amnesia.
Striving to put some distance between himself and the words spinning in his head, he shoved himself away from his desk with a curse, only to find that his legs were almost too shaky to hold him. Goddamn it. His cock was on fire, his entire body so hard and turned on that it was impossible to breathe without pain.
Why did he continue to torture himself? Why, when he knew he’d spend the rest of the night so hard and horny that he would barely be able to function, did he continue to read her damn blog?
Because he was obsessed, that’s why. Obsessed, delusional and completely fucking masochistic. There was no other answer for it. No other excuse as to why he—like the thousands of other morons who were ruled by their dicks instead of their brains—couldn’t go a day without visiting her damn Web site.
What had begun as a lark had become the very best—and worst—part of his day. A friend of his, who was big into the New Orleans Internet scene, had introduced him to the blog months ago, while they were hanging out during halftime of one football game or another. Mike had told him the site was becoming another piece of New Orleans’ ever-changing, sexually based culture, and that as a newly single transplant to the Big Easy, he should have his finger on the pulse of what the city considered sexy.
At first Byron had made fun of Mike for going to the blog, had laughed at him for being so pathetically wrapped up in the words of a woman he’d never get the chance to meet. Had even wondered aloud what she got out of such a blatant fuck-you to the men of the world.
But he’d logged on. He’d told himself it was just because he wanted to harass Mike, but as the days passed and he continued to read the fantasies, he’d had to admit that he was hooked on the blog. Hooked on and obsessed with What a Girl Wants—as the mystery blogger had named her site.
It was a place where she could anonymously post her deepest, darkest fantasies. Where she could tell the world—or at least her small corner of it—what she’d never have the guts to tell anyone else. Or so she said . . .
But it was so much more than that. At least to him. It was like she had a window into his soul, like she knew exactly what he wanted. What he needed. The idea that she needed it too—well, that’s what kept him up at night, his body aching for release no matter how many times he jacked off.
It drove him insane—the knowledge that she was out there, that she lived in the same damn city as him, and he would never be able to meet her. Never have a chance with her. Hell, he couldn’t even try to find her, unless he wanted to look like some fucked-up, crazy stalker.
Which he wasn’t, he assured himself as he strode to the fridge and pulled out a beer. At least not yet. But if this insane sexual frustration kept up, who knew what the hell he’d end up being in a month or two. He could give up his gig as a carpenter and become a full-time psycho instead. He shook his head with disgust at the thought.
As it was, he’d been through five girlfriends in the last four months as he tried, desperately, to focus on a real, live woman instead of his fantasies. But he couldn’t connect to any of the women he’d dated lately, and while a year ago he would have at least tried to forge a relationship with one of them, these days he couldn’t be bothered. There was nothing wrong with any of the women he’d seen—they were nice, attractive, smart. But they weren’t her.
His laugh, when it came, was strangled—more angry than amused. Of course they weren’t. Because, really, who could be? Even this woman—who seemed to be the living, breathing epitome of every fantasy he’d ever had—couldn’t be real. Her writings were just words, her online personality just a persona that she’d adopted.
Or at least that’s what he tried to believe. What he had to believe, he corrected himself as he downed the beer in two long swallows. Otherwise he’d go insane thinking that his perfect woman was out there and he’d never have more of her than her fantasies. Never have any more of her than thousands of other men had too.
Just the thought of other men reading her words made him feel vaguely homicidal—a surefire sign that he was closer to insanity than he liked to admit. Because he wanted to go back to the laptop and read today’s blog entry again, he forced himself to stay on the other side of the room from it. It wasn’t nearly as explicit as some of the ones she’d written in the past, yet her list of wants—of needs—was so close to his own that he couldn’t help responding to it.
Pissed off, out of sorts, and still more than a little turned on, he grabbed another beer and headed out to hi
s balcony. It was late August in New Orleans, which meant it was already hot as hell and twice as humid, but at least a storm was coming in and the fry-your-brain temperatures of earlier in the day had receded a little bit.
Once he got outside, he felt some of the tension ease. There was something about being out here, as day slowly faded to twilight, that relaxed him. In fact, it was this balcony, and the peaceful, narrow courtyard it overlooked, that had sold him on this building when he’d moved to the city last year.
To this day, he didn’t know if it was the magnolia-scented air or the soft trickle of water in the fountain down below that calmed him. Nor did he care. All that mattered was that for a little while, he had surcease from the painful, clawing need that enveloped him every time he thought about his fantasy woman. The fact that he was pretty much the only one who ever came out here made the whole thing just a little better.
Yet even as the thought formed, he heard the soft snick of a door opening and then closing. Annoyed at the disturbance, he bent forward until his forearms were resting on the wrought iron of the balcony railing, his beer dangling from loose fingertips.
Scanning the area where the sound had come from, he finally found the unexpected intruder. It was the sexy redhead from across the courtyard, the one who had moved in to the building last month and had caught his attention from his very first glimpse of her.
For a while, he’d thought about asking her out, about using her to help him get her and her dick-twisting fantasies out of his head. But the redhead had never even acknowledged Byron’s existence, even when they passed in the parking lot or took out their trash at the same time, and he hadn’t been interested enough to try to get her attention.