by BETH KERY
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF BETH KERY, WINNER OF THE ALL ABOUT ROMANCE READER POLL FOR BEST EROTICA
“An intensely sexual love story.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Addictive, delectable reading.”
—USA Today
“Wicked good storytelling.”
—Jaci Burton, New York Times bestselling author
“Holy hell HAWT.”
—Under the Covers Book Blog
“Suspenseful . . . hella sexy and hot. [The hero and heroine’s] erotic relationship is good enough to make one’s toes curl.”
—RT Book Reviews
“One of the sexiest, most erotic love stories that I have read in a long time.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“A sleek, sexy thrill ride.”
—Jo Davis, national bestselling author
“One of the best erotic romances I’ve ever read.”
—All About Romance
“Nearly singed my eyebrows.”
—Dear Author
“Fabulous, sizzling hot.”
—Julie James, New York Times bestselling author
“Action and sex and plenty of spins and twists.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Intoxicating and exhilarating.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Some of the sexiest love scenes I have read this year.”
—Romance Junkies
“Scorching hot! I was held spellbound.”
—Wild on Books
Because You Are Mine Series
BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE
(also available in serial format)
WHEN I’M WITH YOU
(also available in serial format)
BECAUSE WE BELONG
SINCE I SAW YOU
Titles by Beth Kery
WICKED BURN
DARING TIME
SWEET RESTRAINT
PARADISE RULES
RELEASE
EXPLOSIVE
THE AFFAIR
(also available in serial format)
GLIMMER
GLOW
MAKE ME
(available in serial format)
LOOKING INSIDE
One Night of Passion Series
ADDICTED TO YOU
(writing as Bethany Kane)
EXPOSED TO YOU
ONLY FOR YOU
One Night of Passion Specials
BOUND TO YOU
CAPTURED BY YOU
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Beth Kery
Excerpt from Make Me copyright © 2016 by Beth Kery
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kery, Beth, author.
Title: Looking inside / Beth Kery.
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley, [2016]
Identifiers: LCCN 2016026199 (print) | LCCN 2016032233 (ebook) | ISBN
9780399583698 (softcover) | ISBN 9780399583704
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | FICTION / Romance /
General. | FICTION / Contemporary Women. | GSAFD: Romantic suspense
fiction. | Erotic fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3611.E79 L66 2016 (print) | LCC PS3611.E79 (ebook) |
DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016026199
First Edition: November 2016
Cover photo © plainpicture / Cédric Roulliat; back cover photo: Chicago Skyline © MaxyM / Shutterstock
Cover design by Sarah Oberrender
Book design by Laura K. Corless
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.
Version_1
Contents
Praise for Beth Kery
Titles by Beth Kery
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
Excerpt From MAKE ME
About the Author
In deepest gratitude to my husband, who is the continual source of my romantic inspiration and support
PROLOGUE
Eleanor awakened at two thirty a.m. from a deep sleep. Had she sensed a light going on outside the bedroom window?
Maybe your voyeuristic instincts are sharpening.
She smirked at the thought. Common sense made her hesitate for a moment. Eleanor was known for being even-keeled and rational, after all. But it wasn’t logic that made her throw off the covers and glide through the dark room, drawn to the window irrevocably.
Not a sound could be heard in Caddy’s condominium. She and her sister had stayed up late, putting up Caddy’s Christmas tree and drinking hot chocolate. It was an annual tradition. Undoubtedly Caddy slept deeply in the master bedroom suite down the hall, unsuspecting of her sister’s compulsion. If Caddy ever found out why Eleanor had grown to love staying in her guest bedroom so much, she’d be stunned at first, and then burst out with incredulous laughter.
No one would ever suspect practical, bookish Eleanor of such salacious behavior.
She stood at the corner of the window and peered furtively out to the adjacent high-rise. Her entire body quickened.
He’s there. I can see him.
It had happened rarely enough in the past several months, either that he happened to leave his curtains open or that she stayed over in the guest room at Caddy’s. Tonight, the stars had aligned. She looked into a lit, luxurious bedroom, and onto a scene of vibrant, bold sensuality.
She spied into another world.
He came down over the naked woman on the bed. It was a different woman than she’d seen him with before. He had a new lover. His big, lean body and golden-brown coloring created a stunning contrast to the female’s pale ivory skin, jet-black hair and petite proportions. He’d restrained her arms to the bed, bu
t her legs were free. The woman clamped her thighs together and wriggled her hips in response to his mouth trailing across her skin. The man opened his hand on the woman’s pelvis and kept her in place while his mouth fixed on a breast. Eleanor didn’t even know his name, but she sensed something about him at that moment. He didn’t like a woman to twist and writhe while he made love to her. He wanted her to take every ounce of pleasure he gave . . .
. . . And he gave plenty.
His burnished brown head moved subtly, and Eleanor vividly imagined his wet, lashing tongue, his taut sucking. The woman’s back arched off the bed, as if she offered more of herself to him. Eleanor touched the tip of her own breast, wincing as arousal stabbed at her. He’d taken off his shirt but still wore a pair of black pants. His back muscles and powerful arms bunched and flexed as his head moved lower on the woman’s body. His mouth grazed down her sides while his large hands bracketed her tiny waist. One hand detailed the curve of her hip. Whatever he was doing with his mouth made the woman squirm. He held her hips down firmly, continuing his explorations with his mouth. When she writhed against his hold, one hand slid down to her buttock and flexed in a deliberate, greedy gesture. He spanked the flesh—not hard, but briskly—and then squeezed again. Eleanor started and moaned softly. His lover turned her hip on the bed, again offering more of her flesh to him . . . no, begging him to take more.
What would it be like, to be the focus of his pointed hunger? She’d only seen him make love once before, but he always took and gave with such precision. It had been shocking to her upon first viewing it: his masterful, confident handling of a woman’s body. It wasn’t something she’d ever witnessed before, let alone experienced.
The man’s hand coasted up the woman’s thigh and slid between her legs. His mouth continued to caress her belly, waist and hip while his hand moved knowingly.
Eleanor left the shadows like a sleepwalker and pressed her hands to the frigid windowpane, her entire being vibrating with lust and desperate, hopeless longing.
ONE
One year later
Eleanor Briggs thought it fitting that she’d chosen a reading event to make her debut as a sexually confident, “I take what I want when I want it” female. Her entire job revolved around books, after all. Well . . . the part that didn’t involve conserving historical documents, costumes and artifacts, or doing research that would bore most people out of their minds.
In books, whole new worlds were born and new identities created, all through the power of the imagination. What better venue for her to transform herself into a sexual force of nature and worthy bedmate for her obsession, Trey Riordan? If it weren’t for her imagination, the fuel of distilled longing, and perhaps the cruel eye-opening she’d had after the abrupt loss of her sister, she’d never have the nerve to go after an unobtainable dream like him.
Tonight, she moved out of the shadows and officially into the spotlight.
“Are you here for the reading event?” Stacy Moffitt asked her in a bored tone as she slipped an iPad and phone in a manila envelope and wound a numbered string around the enclosure.
Eleanor took heart from Stacy’s lack of attention. Maybe Stacy wouldn’t notice who she was. Stacy worked under Jimmy Garcia. Jimmy was the director of special events at the Illinois Historical Museum, and Eleanor’s longtime friend. Eleanor worked for the museum too, as the conservation and preservation librarian. Jimmy had been called out of town unexpectedly yesterday, which was a good thing for Eleanor. Jimmy was the only other person on earth who knew about her obsession with Trey Riordan. He didn’t, however, know about her aggressive plan for finally getting his attention.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Eleanor told Stacy.
“There’s a strictly enforced ‘no talking’ policy during reading hours. I need you to turn in all cell phones, tablets and computers. This is a technology-free zone. We only want you focusing on your book for the next two hours,” Stacy said in a preachy voice.
“Ah, I get it now. Thus the name of the event: Leave Everything Behind but a Book. Clever,” Eleanor said under her breath as she dug in the Italian designer bag that used to belong to her sister, Caddy. Stacy glanced up at her sarcastic tone. The way Jimmy’s assistant gaped at her disbelievingly was not flattering.
“Eleanor. Is that you?”
“None other,” Eleanor replied grimly, placing her cell phone on the counter. With a furious effort, she held the young woman’s stare. She would not be cowed a mere minute into her performance.
Stacy’s gaze dropped down over her snug suede bodice and the fitted, conservative blazer paired with it. As far as Eleanor knew, her sister Caddy had only worn the outfit once. Eleanor had practically achieved photosynthesis, she’d been so green with envy when she’d watched her sister leave her condo in it. The occasion had been an Odesza concert given by Chicago socialite Sasha Allen Severnsen exclusively for her closest friends in honor of Caddy’s thirty-third birthday. Caddy was always having awesome, glamorous parties thrown for her. Along with the short skirt, dark brown tights and the soft, fitted, beige thigh-high Rockerchick boots, the outfit screamed money, good times, boldness and sex. In other words, it had Caddy stamped all over it.
Stacy’s stare lingered on the tops of Eleanor’s breasts. The suede bodice had cupped them softly in a seduction that was somehow both tasteful and flagrant at once. It wasn’t just a sensual invitation to Trey Riordan either. Eleanor herself was being seduced by the feeling of the suede against her bare breasts.
“That’s quite an outfit,” Stacy finally said disbelievingly as she held out a claim ticket for Eleanor’s phone. “Not your typical work wardrobe, that’s for sure. What’s the occasion?”
Eleanor shrugged, reached into her bag and withdrew her reading choice for the evening. “I’m reading a very sexy book.”
Normally, she wouldn’t have the nerve. It was Caddy’s outfit that made her say it. Ignoring Stacy’s openmouthed shock at her book choice for what was supposed to be a serious, highbrow literary event, Eleanor plucked the claim ticket out of Stacy’s hand and strode into the quickly filling Historic Grounds Coffee Shop. The thigh-high boots she wore were the equivalent of sexual jet fuel. They weren’t “fuck me” boots, necessarily. They had only a half-inch flat heel, but they hugged her legs tightly, showing off their shape. Eleanor would more describe them as “fuck you” boots . . . and maybe “me,” if you’ve got some major balls.
Trey Riordan did. Her fingers were crossed.
It was surprising how easy it was to play the part while wearing Caddy’s clothing. Eleanor suspected this was how all understudies felt when they first donned the star’s wardrobe and felt the rush of an enraptured audience.
Not that she was interested in the audience in general, Eleanor acknowledged as she scanned the crowd and several men’s stares landed on her and stuck. It was flattering, of course. A month ago, she would have grown giddy at the idea of men going glassy-eyed when they looked at her. That was before she’d sampled a couple of the outfits she’d inherited from Caddy and noticed their effect on people.
She should skip ordering coffee, knowing it wasn’t a good idea to add caffeine to her nervous excitement. Her jitters only amplified when she couldn’t locate her target audience. Jimmy had told her Trey Riordan’s name had been the second one on the list when he’d signed up for the Historical Society reading event a month ago. Surely such eagerness implied he wasn’t likely to change his mind? Just as her heart began to sink in disappointment, she saw the back of his golden-brown hair and those edible shoulders beneath a light blue shirt.
How could she have missed him? He was only ten feet away from her. She was used to seeing him from the distance between the two adjacent buildings, that was the problem. Plus, he’d grown even leaner in the past month. His waist appeared especially narrow in comparison to his powerful back and shoulders. Even though he probably had lost negligible weight, his
muscles were even more pronounced than they’d been in the past. Eleanor wondered what had him appearing so wiry and fighting lean.
He bent and withdrew a leather-bound book from his briefcase. His close proximity struck her as surreal.
Her heartbeat started to drum in her ears, but whether the rhythm was a death march or a sexual tattoo, Eleanor couldn’t say. I’m going to make a hot mess of this. For a charged few seconds, she experienced a strong urge to run. Sure, she’d dressed in Caddy’s clothes a few times, but only Jimmy and her parents had ever really seen her in them. And with them, it was impossible to thoroughly disguise bookish, distracted Eleanor, whom they knew all too well.
There was still time to run home, cuddle up on her couch with a bag of Cheetos and watch the latest episode of The Librarians.
But as a dazed state of fear descended upon her, she found her vision narrowing on Trey’s riot of burnished brown waves of hair. It wasn’t long, but it wasn’t close-clipped either. It symbolized his irreverent, carelessly sexy style: the hallmark of a corporate rebel. It looked so soft, especially in comparison to those wide, very solid shoulders. What she wouldn’t dare, to sink her fingers into that thick, tousled hair and dig her nails into that muscular, rippling back, urging him on while he drove his cock into her body.
God, I hope this works.
She had good reason to worry. For more than a month now, he’d typically been alone when he’d entered the penthouse late at night. He watched television alone, ate alone and slept alone. He pleasured himself alone. That memory would burn her until her dying day, it’d been scorched so deep in her brain.
Still, Trey Riordan wasn’t the type of man to stay solitary for long. He was the brilliant bad-boy entrepreneur. He’d been at the center of the Scarpetti twin controversy after being photographed with the heiress sisters in flagrante delicto behind the curtain of an upscale club in Rome. Trey wasn’t anywhere near as famous as the Scarpetti twins. Yet a recent survey had calculated that the seminude, viral photo of him and the gorgeous twin sisters was unique, because it was prized equally among males and females across the globe.