Sin City Seduction

by Margot Radcliffe

  He had his hands shoved in his pockets now and was staring at me, still looking every inch the stern Viking with his steely gaze, hard jaw and powerful build.

  An intimidating guy, Everett Calhoun.

  But he’d never intimidated me. I’d known him since I was eight and he was the boy next door who’d seen me crying in the backyard. He asked me if I wanted to shoot some hoops with him, because he wanted to be a basketball player when he grew up and that I should be too, since I was tall.

  He’d been the first person to see my height as an asset not a drawback, and that was how he’d treated me ever since. He was a good guy who looked out for people even though life had dealt him a shitty hand.

  Or at least it had been shitty. Now it was pretty good, though he’d worked very hard to get where he was today, and I admired him for that.

  Still wasn’t intimidated, though.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he said patiently.

  ‘What question?’

  ‘I asked you what was up.’

  So he had.

  ‘So “what’s up” in the general sense?’ I said. ‘Or maybe “what’s up” in the literal sense, as in some balloons escaping or...’

  Everett remained silent, his blue gaze unwavering. How had he picked up that I was nervous? Admittedly, I tended to run at the mouth when I was uncertain, but I was sure I hadn’t been babbling before.

  I needed some more margarita. Stat.

  ‘Jet lag,’ I said, gulping at my drink. ‘It’s a bitch.’

  ‘Jet lag,’ he echoed, those two words somehow encompassing an entire universe of scepticism.

  ‘Yeah, man. Flying cattle class is no joke. You’ve probably forgotten.’

  Everett’s brows twitched. ‘I offered to pay for business class.’

  ‘Which was generous, but unnecessary.’ I could have used the extra legroom, but it was just such a waste of money. A plane was a plane. ‘Anyway, so this is fun. Not. Why didn’t you ask one of the fillies over there to be your date?’ I waved my glass in the general direction of the Thoroughbreds. ‘I’m not ungrateful, believe me. Just...puzzled.’

  ‘Because Morgan said we had to bring someone who mattered to us,’ Everett said, turning to glance out across the crowded gallery.

  Morgan was the little woman I’d seen trailing after Ulysses. His PA and Damian’s baby sister, apparently. She was the one who’d organised this launch for the new Black and White Foundation, which was something to do with disadvantaged kids. A great project, I thought, and it was very Everett to put all his considerable money behind a very good cause.

  He was a man of action rather than words, but that was what I liked about him. He never spent a lot of time talking about what he was going to do. He just went ahead and did it.

  ‘Plus,’ Everett went on, clearly reading my mind, ‘I hate shit like this and it’s good having someone around that I don’t need to talk to all the time.’

  I grinned, a small glow of pleasure sitting just behind my breastbone. It was always nice to be appreciated by him, especially since he didn’t often say stuff like that out loud.

  All of this is going to change when you ask him for your favour—you realise that, don’t you?

  Lifting my glass, I took another healthy sip, watching the swirl of the crowd in the gallery and shoving that thought aside to an unused corner of my brain. Operation Orgasm didn’t have to change anything, not if I didn’t let it. And I wasn’t going to let it.

  All I wanted was to turn up at Tiffany’s hen party with the knowledge that my clitoris and/or vagina were in perfect working order, and that I was just as much a woman as my perfect, delicate cousins were, despite what my aunt thought. And hey, once I knew for certain that the issue wasn’t me, perhaps I could move on from my hopeless crush on my best friend and find someone who might want to crush on me instead.

  ‘Thanks E,’ I said. ‘Best friends who are also billionaires rule.’

  He grunted, which was Everett-speak for thank you.

  I knocked back more margarita, only slightly disturbed to see I’d had nearly all of it in the couple of minutes since Everett had brought it to me. But if downing a whole margarita in the space of five minutes was what was needed to get this request out, then that was what was needed.

  There was a silence. An uncomfortable one.

  I was painfully conscious of his massive, powerful figure standing next to me, and for a second I didn’t know what would be worse, him saying, ‘Yeah, sure, I’ll give you an orgasm’ or, ‘Not if my life depended on it’.

  ‘You’re nervous.’ His deep voice was a rumble, his gaze still on the swirling crowd. ‘Why?’

  Dammit. Of course he’d come back around to that. He never let anything go, the asshole. And I still wasn’t ready to tell him the reason.

  You’re never going to be ready.

  That was, unfortunately, true. In which case, I needed to suck it up, get on with it and stop pretending it mattered. Hell, if the worst came to the worst, I could always pay someone to give me one. I wouldn’t be the first woman to pay for an orgasm, surely?

  Ignoring his question, I downed the rest of my margarita and put the empty glass on a plinth supporting some ancient Greek sculpture. Then I glanced around to make sure there weren’t any other groups of people near us, because the last thing I wanted was an audience.

  Luckily, there was no one in our immediate vicinity, so I turned to face him. I was aware of the small thrill that hit me every time I had to look up at him, because I generally had to look down at people, not up. ‘I...uh...need to ask you something.’

  He raised one blond brow.

  Okay, Freya. It’s now or never.

  It should have been easy. I owned a garage and was around men all day. I’d never had any problems talking to them before. I’d never had any problems talking to Everett either. But suddenly it wasn’t easy. Suddenly it felt like the hardest thing I’d had to do for years and years.

  Perhaps it was because I preferred to give help rather than receive it. It definitely had nothing whatsoever to do with the sex.

  ‘So, uh, remember the night of my twenty-first birthday?’ I began awkwardly.

  His gaze narrowed. ‘Some.’

  ‘Right, well, you know you made me an offer that night?’

  His gaze narrowed still further. Did he remember? Part of me hoped he didn’t, even though it would mean me having to explain the whole thing out loud.

  ‘About orgasms, yes?’ He didn’t hesitate with the reply or stumble over the word. As if he said ‘orgasms’ every day in just that tone of voice.

  So. Clearly, he remembered. Which was great since I didn’t have to go over the whole thing again, but also...awkward.

  ‘Yeah.’ I willed my cheeks not to flush, because red on red was never a good look. ‘And you said that—’

  ‘If you wanted an orgasm, you could come to me,’ he finished, his face disturbingly expressionless.

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’ My hands were somehow in fists at my sides so I opened them, trying to relax. ‘So, I guess that’s why I’m a little...nervous.’ I took a breath. ‘Because...uh... I’d like to take you up on your offer.’

  Copyright © 2020 by Jackie Ashenden

  New York Times bestselling author Chantal Fernando returns to the Knights of Fury series with her most complicated hero yet. He may be the epitome of cool, but this MC president isn’t called Temper for nothing...

  Temper

  by Chantal Fernando

  Prologue

  Five Years Ago

  “Can I have a whiskey, please?” the brown-eyed behemoth of a man asks, studying me with a little too much intensity for my liking. He’s wearing a black cut over more black clothing, and he smells good, like leather with a hint of cologne. “You have pretty eyes.”


  “Thank you,” I reply, ducking my head. My eyes were always a source of insecurity for me growing up, with them being quite bright and amber in color. To say I was teased about them was an understatement. At school they used to call me a cat and say I was possessed. I don’t care what people think about me anymore, a confidence I think comes with age, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get embarrassed when someone says something about them.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, never moving his eyes from me.

  “Abbie.”

  “I’m Temper,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, Tommy.”

  “How many people call you Tommy?” I find myself asking, trying to hide my smile. I’ve heard all of the bikers that pass through use road names for each other. I don’t know how many of them actually go by their real names, but it’s nice that he offered it to me. I can only imagine why they call him Temper, and if that isn’t warning to stay away from this man, I don’t know what is.

  “Uhh.” He tilts his head back, actually considering the answer to my question. “None.”

  I laugh softly and slide him his drink. “Okay, Temper it is.”

  Suddenly feeling shy, I start to wipe down the counter while his friend returns from the bathroom and sits down next to him. “You didn’t order me a drink?” he asks Temper, unimpressed.

  “Sorry, Prez, got a little distracted,” Temper replies, sounding amused.

  Prez looks at me. “Hey, sweetheart, could I get a beer, please?”

  “Sure,” I say, grabbing the first bottle I can reach from the fridge. “Is this one okay?”

  He nods. “Perfect.”

  Setting the beer in front of him, he throws some money on the table and smiles. “Thank you.”

  My mother always warned me about the bikers passing through the bar, and while I have had bad vibes from other bikers in the past, I don’t get any from these two. But what do I know? I’m twenty-three and have never even left Nevada. I’m the stereotypical small-town girl, something I always thought I’d never end up being. Our bar is off the major interstate that is one of the only ways to get to Vegas from Southern California and vice versa. Because of our location, we see just about every type of person—truckers, families, young people and bikers.

  “What time do you finish work?” Temper asks me as he stands to leave. “Can I take you out for dinner? Or coffee, or something?”

  I shake my head, taken aback by his request. “No, I don’t think so. But thank you for asking me.”

  He’s older than me; I know that much. If I had to guess, I would say he’s in his midthirties, which is maybe why I’m so surprised by the fact that he asked me out. If I’m being honest, while I am attracted to him, the age difference freaks me out a bit. I’ve been stuck here pretty much my whole life—I wouldn’t know what to talk to him about. I’d probably bore him to death. Also, I’m flattered, but I don’t think going out with a man by the name of Temper would be a good idea.

  “Okay.” He nods, brown eyes flashing with disappointment before he masks it. “Have a good night, Abbie.”

  “You too, Temper,” I respond, our gazes holding and lingering for longer than necessary.

  Flashing him a smile, I head back into the kitchen to hide, pushing away a slither of regret that hits me out of nowhere. Yeah, he’s good looking, but so what? There’s plenty of good-looking men out there.

  I’ve never been on a proper date before, and my first one isn’t going to be with a man like that.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  “That man keeps staring at you,” Sierra says under her breath, eyes on the cash register. “He’s kind of sexy, in an ‘I don’t know if I’m going to give you the best orgasm of your life or kill you in your sleep’ kind of way.”

  I don’t bother looking up, because I already know exactly who she’s talking about. Temper, President of the Knights of Fury MC, has been coming into our family-owned bar, Franks, for several years now. He’s not a regular—in fact, the MC only passes through maybe once or twice a year—but he’s not someone that’s easily forgotten.

  The last time he was here, he told me that he was now the president because his Prez had died, and he practically cried as he said it. When he asked me out, like he always does each time he is here, I almost caved.

  Almost.

  “Abbie,” Sierra growls. “Pay attention, he’s coming over here.”

  I glance up just as he stands in front of the bar. “Abbie,” he says with a nod, smiling. “How have you been?”

  “Not too bad,” I reply, taking in those brown eyes and shaved head. I’m not quite being honest. With my mom’s declining health, I’ve had to take over Franks, and had to drop out of college to do so. I spend every day here or at home, helping her as much as I can. My younger sister, Ivy, helps too, but I insisted she stay in college, so she can’t always be here.

  One of us had to make a sacrifice, and I volunteered. She can still become something, get out of this small highway town and follow her dreams.

  “Really? It’s been about eight months since I’ve seen you, and that’s all you have to say?” he asks, brow furrowing.

  I wish I had something exciting to say, like maybe tell him about a vacation I went on, or a competition I won, anything really, but I have nothing.

  “Just work,” I explain, smiling sadly. “Mom’s not well, so I’ve had to take over with running the place.”

  He nods, understanding reaching his eyes. “I see. So you and Ivy work here full time now? What about school?”

  “I’ve had to put that on hold,” I admit, and it hurts to do so. I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer, ever since I can remember, but now it looks like my life is going to be spent serving drinks. When I brought up the idea of selling the place to Mom, you would have thought I had asked her for a million dollars. Franks has been in our family for decades, and it’s more than just a bar to her, it’s our family legacy. “Hopefully next year or so I can go back.”

  Temper’s lips tighten. “I know how important that is to you.”

  He’s killing me. I can’t believe he remembers. Last time he was here, in addition to him opening up to me about Prez, I had told him just how much I was loving my courses. He commented on my excitement over it, telling me it was cute, and he could see just how passionate I was about school. And now here I am, months later, admitting to him how I’ve basically dropped out to work full time.

  “Whiskey?” I ask, changing the subject. The last thing I want to discuss with him is how my life is no longer going according to plan, and I’m here because I need to be. Mom didn’t want me to drop out either, but there was no other option, and now I’m stuck.

  I always do this. I’m the first to want to help, the first to volunteer myself up, and you know what they say—no good deed goes unpunished. I’m learning how true that is firsthand. It’s not like my mom is helping the situation either; she’s milking it by just lying around the house feeling sorry for herself. And yesterday she didn’t even go to her doctor’s appointment. She seems depressed, and it’s almost like the roles have reversed and I’m now the parent, and it’s a whole lot of stress for me. I wish she would take her health seriously—she did have a stroke—and be responsible. Her doctors have said she will make a full recovery so long as she puts in the work. It’s hard running Franks and constantly worrying about her as well.

  I’m going to go gray soon, I can feel it.

  He nods, and I take the opportunity to distract myself. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and he looks good. It’s like the man doesn’t age. He’s tall, strong, and kind of mean looking, but he’s been nothing but nice and respectful toward me. We kind of have a routine going every time we see each other. We chat, we flirt, he asks if he can buy me dinner, and I say no. He accepts that and leaves, until next time.

  I don’t know why I a
lways say no anymore. The first time was a combination of him being a biker and feeling so much older than me. But the age thing doesn’t bother me that much anymore. Truth is I’ve never said yes, to any man, to any date. I get asked out by people coming into the bar, but you don’t have to be experienced to know what they are really looking for, and it’s not a loving, long-lasting relationship. My experience is severely lacking, aside from prom and the mistake I made after it, and there’s no saving me now. I’m going to be a spinster. Hopefully Ivy will give me some nieces and nephews I can claim as my own.

  Temper places money on the table, with a huge tip, like he always does. “Seriously? Who tips that much?”

  His lip twitches. “You can take yourself out to a nice dinner with it, since I know you’re never going to let me take you out.”

  “You giving up that easily?” I tease, giving him a flirtatious smile. I don’t know where this sudden boldness is coming from, other than the fact that I don’t want him to stop asking me out, and I’ve only just realized this.

  I’ve never met another man like Temper, and I don’t think I ever will. I see how people treat him, avoid him, and make sure not to challenge him. Hell, my own mother warned me to be friendly with him, but never too friendly. He has this air of menace about him, but over the years I’ve also seen how he treats his MC brothers like family, and he’s always respectful, even to the people who work here. I’ve seen him vulnerable when he talked about his Prez... Hammer was his name, I think. He’s never rude, or arrogant—to me, anyway—and he’s always generous and polite. When he speaks to me, he always uses a humble, gentle tone, one that I’ve come to enjoy listening to. I know there is another side to him, and I can’t help but want to get to know that more.

  “It only took a few years of rejection,” he jokes, lifting the whiskey glass to his lips. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him make a joke before.

  “Maybe this was the year I was going to say yes,” I reply, clearing my throat. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I have the feeling like if I truly do want to take a chance and go on this date, it’s now or never. I’m stuck here, in the same job, doing the same thing every damn day, and I deserve to have a little fun and do something reckless for once in my life. I’ve always been the good girl, the trusted daughter, and the responsible older sister, taking care of my family as much as I can, since my dad has never been around. I know his name, Cohen Pierce, and that he lives in California somewhere. But he wanted, and still wants, nothing to do with me, and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that.