Ticket to Temptation

by Lilith Darville

  “I think you and Judy were dropped here from some idyllic planet where they believe that love conquers and all that happy ending shit.” I took another swig.

  “I believe you’re beginning to realize you’ve been hiding in some self-imposed private hell you’re reluctant to leave behind. I think I just heard your Gran turn in her grave.” Raphael had that weird little smile on his face as if he knew some secret only he was privy to.

  I snorted. “As if. Where is Anais buried, by the way? I should probably go pay my respects.” Not something I’d normally have done, but I figure someone who leaves you fifty million dollars deserves a moment.

  Raphael gave me another of those looks. God, what was it with him? I took another drink, determined to put myself into an alcoholic stupor or alcoholic poisoning, whichever came first.

  “When are you going to stop blaming Logan for your inadequacies?”

  Blaming Logan? Inadequacies? “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Are you sure this is about Logan?

  I couldn’t figure out if he had some empathic gift or if it was the drunken haze dropping over my sensibilities, but that question made sense to me.

  “Turns out she isn’t who I thought she was.”

  “Then who is she?”

  “She’s one of those nouveau riche Stepford wives stepping out from time to time with her boy toys.”

  Raphael’s eyebrow inched even higher. “Are you sure your perceptions are accurate? Methinks you may be projecting.”

  “What the hell would you know about it?” I stood up abruptly, intent on making my point. The room started to spin. I sat back down in an even bigger hurry.

  Raphael replaced my drink with a cup of coffee. Shit. I hadn’t even seen him get it.

  “I think you should read this.” He handed me a letter.

  My darling Anais,

  If you’re reading this, it means I’ll only be coming back to you in your dreams. Know that I fought my way back to you, I just must have lost the battle.

  You are everything to me. You gave me the greatest gifts, greater than all my worldly possessions—yourself. You opened your heart and gave me your love and the truth of who you are. You accepted and embraced who I am. We brought out the best in each other.

  “What happened to him?” I asked.

  “He went down with the Titanic.”

  “Why the hell would he be on the Titanic of all places? Next thing you’ll tell me is that his name was Jack.” I hiccupped and laughed at my joke. Unfortunately, the look on Raphael’s face let me know he didn’t share the humor.

  “He went back to England to settle his affairs and move his business interests over here. Anais was his one true love, and he wanted to be with her. He was willing to take a substantial financial loss to make that happen. He was on his way back to her when the ship went down.”

  I scanned the rest of the first page and put the letter down. Raphael still had me locked in his sights with that inscrutable look of the English schoolmaster. The coffee was washing away the alcoholic haze. I wished he’d leave me alone so I could drown myself in the warm embrace of Jack and Jim.

  “Yeah, yeah. He loved her, she was the best thing, yadda yadda.”

  “Keep reading.”

  My love, continue to embrace your inner sexuality. How we live is neither sinful nor shameful. Do not allow Reverend Griffin’s edicts that you’re an aberration affect you for he is an abomination and the worst kind of liar—one who believes he has the right to determine how others should live. You now have the resources to fight back. Stay strong and continue to fight for what you believe is right. Kindred spirits will find you, and your boys will protect you.

  Now he had my attention. I knew from the journals that inner sexuality referred to what we called kink in today’s world. “Boys?”

  “Dominic and James. They helped her escape the clutches of the good reverend.”

  “Oh yes, I remember. You told me about them the day we met.” I went back to the letter.

  You will have already met Robert Charles of Livery and Charles, my lawyer and dear friend. He will help you handle my estate and any other problems you may encounter. You can trust absolutely in his discretion. He is a bit odd, but I trust him with my life. We’ve taken steps to ensure The Manor will remain you and our child’s heritage.

  “She was pregnant?”

  “I certainly hope so, or you would not be here to tell the tale.”

  “How do you know so bloody much about my Gran, as you call her?”

  Raphael gave me one of his sad little smiles. “She told me.”

  “You knew her? How?”

  “As I said when we first met, I was her caretaker.”

  My heart rate sped up, and I sat forward in excitement.

  “How long did you know her? Did she ever marry after Edward died? Did you know my parents?”

  Raphael raised his hand, palm facing me. “Whoa, whoa. One thing at a time. A Ticket to Temptation led me here as a young man, and I ended up staying on as Anais’s caretaker. In time, her boys, as she called them, ended up marrying and setting up homes of their own in town. She needed a caretaker, and I needed a job.”

  I snorted. “Sounds like you were more than a caretaker.”

  “I was a good friend and confident, nothing more.” Raphael finished off his drink and stood. “I thank you for another interesting sojourn, and now I have some things I need to take care of.”

  “Hold on. You haven’t finished telling me about Anais.”

  “You know everything relevant about Anais. If I may be so presumptuous, my young friend, knowing more of the past won’t help you find what you’re looking for. The answers you need can only be found here.” He placed his palm over his heart. “When you listen to it, you’ll know. That’s the only path to this truth you are so desperately looking for.”

  Chapter 25

  Logan

  It had taken most of the afternoon on that yacht, a few nail-biting, adrenaline-rushing hours. I’d finally convinced Greg’s slimy business partner—who will forever remain fixed in my mind as Darth Vadar—I wanted to make up with Greg. I’d signed the paperwork and played nicely, sublimating the urge to vomit into preening like the good little Stepford wife Greg wanted me to be.

  After I’d signed the documents to their satisfaction, I convinced dimwitted Darth I was a founding member of the Flat Earth Society. I had to put up with a couple of hours of questioning and listening to him play marriage counselor with us, but I managed. The sooner I got this taken care of, the sooner I’d be back to Daniel.

  What did I know? Nothing, you bastards. That one was easy because I didn’t even have a clue how to lay my hands on my money. Lots of fodder to whine about there.

  Why had I left Greg? I was mad at him for fooling around on me. AND, he didn’t even try to hide it. Darth tutted and tisked and made some noises about Greg keeping his little inchworm in his pants and treating his wife with respect. I loved that one; Darth made that prophetic announcement after he copped a rather ample handful of my ass. I’d resisted the urge to cup, yank, and twist the sagging sack hanging between his legs.

  What would it take for me to forgive Greg and take him back for good? I’d managed to fawn and fuss my way back into their good graces by getting Greg to make all sorts of promises—increase my allowance (no, I didn’t vomit), stop hiring bimbos and making them his mistresses. Darth assured me Greg would only hire older matrons I’d approved from now on—yeah right. Like that would stop him. Greg would be more romantic (thank God my choking turned into a legitimate coughing fit). Finally, the almighty Mr. Vadar had let us go. After all, there was still business to conduct to finish off the latest deal.

  All the way back, all I thought about was Daniel. How much I wanted to feel his hands on me. The way he laughed at my wacky sense of humor. The way he curled his hands into my hair and made me look in his eyes as he buried himself deep inside me. The white-hot fire of lust burning in his
eyes when he gazed at my naked body. The turmoil of emotions racing across his face when he told me he was in like with me. The way I knew exactly how he felt—until the moment my like turned to love.

  I almost passed out as Greg pulled into the driveway of the house I used to call home and parked right beside Daniel’s car. The last thing I’d expected during this thrill-filled day was for Daniel to appear. And what impeccable timing. I had to make Greg believe I was his for just a little while longer. Or, as he’d said, there was some wolf in the Pen just waiting to make pretty-boy Daniel his fuck toy. He’d taken great delight in describing what they’d do to Daniel’s ass. He needn’t have bothered. I’d been morbidly addicted to the TV series, Oz, and the prison rape scenes left nothing to the imagination. One particular scene involving a spoon left me with no doubt about what would happen to Daniel unless I saved him.

  “What the fuck is he doing here? Jesus Christ.” Greg grabbed my arm…hard. “Fuck this up for me, Logan, and I’ll make sure our pretty boy never sees the light of day again.”

  Daniel tapped on my window. I looked into the misery and confusion emanating from his gorgeous blue eyes and knew what I had to do. To save him, I’d have to lose him.

  Greg buzzed the window down. “What’s up, buddy? I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He sounded all friendly and cheerful like he was having a bromance with Daniel or something.

  “I need a minute with Logan.” Daniel’s eyes hadn’t left my face. There was something dangerous and just bloody awful emanating from that penetrating stare.

  I’d gotten out of the car and let Greg play handsies with my neck, his sign of ownership. Daniel’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground. Dammit, the man was stubborn. Finally, Greg left us alone. All I wanted to do was wrap myself around Daniel’s gorgeous body and drown in his kink, in his love. Instead, I told him we were through. He parried with one of his courtroom style questions and almost pierced through my defenses. I took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eyes, and said the deadly words I knew would end it all right there: “I do hope we can be friends.”

  The blade of agony flashing through his eyes hit me like a sharp slap to my face. The solid wall detaching me sliced straight through my heart.

  Somehow, I’d managed to keep up the charade when I followed Greg into the house. He backed me against the wall of the great room. Then he kissed me. Ick!

  “Why don’t you show the Big Guy how much you’ve missed us? How about you lick my lollipop?” He grabbed my hand, covered his growing erection, started slobbering all over me, and made noises about us renewing our vows. I threw up just a little bit more in my mouth. Major ick!

  I gave the little “big guy” a squeeze. “Oh, my.” I managed a wink, slid under his arm, and quickly walked toward the bar. “Greg, sweetheart, I’d like nothing more, but you know what that man said. He’ll hurt us if you don’t do what he said.”

  Greg ran a hand over his unshaven face. “I know, but I want you.” His whine hit the decibel level of a buzz saw in heat.

  “I know. Me too. Why don’t I make us a drink and order some food while you do your business? Then we can sit back and relax and make a night of it.” I managed to get that out with a straight face. With Greg, a night of sex was an oxymoron.

  He came up behind me and squeezed my ass. Ew. I took a swig of tequila and grabbed his chin. I kissed him letting the tequila trickle down his lips. He stepped back, laughed, and wiped the trickle from his chin.

  “Atta girl, matadors. Make a pitcher. Don’t be long.” He swatted my ass again, harder this time, then, thankfully, left the room.

  I barely got back to the bar before the shaking set in. I sank to the floor and put my head between my legs.

  Deep breaths, Logan. Deep breaths. You can do this. I prayed that Cliff and his team were ready. But what if they weren’t? I needed a plan B.

  I ordered a veritable feast from Greg’s favorite Italian restaurant: Chicken Piccata, Veal Marsala, Sorrento Salad, Pasta with Garlic and Oil, and Tiramisu. I took a long pass on Regina’s Passion Salad, one of his all-time favorites—probably more because of the name than the taste sensation if offered. I debated pulling a bottle of wine for a nanosecond. Whatever my Plan B, I knew I needed Greg well plied with liquor. I unearthed the half bottle of Sierra Tequila Silver I kept for just such an occasion. Two ounces of the tequila—at 150 proof, it wouldn’t take much—a good chaser of pineapple juice, and a splash of lemon juice. I went to our en suite and grabbed a couple of Greg’s sleeping pills, ignoring the warning against taking them with alcohol. On my way back, I poked my head into his study.

  “Food should be here any minute. How’s it going, sugums?” I know, pathetic isn’t it, but he just loved me calling him that. Heavens only knew why, something to do with Mae West.

  He didn’t even look up from the computer. He lifted his empty glass and waved it in my general direction. “Get me another one of these, would you?”

  I grabbed the cup and leaned over his shoulder all close and personal. “How’s it going?” I didn’t have to pretend about my interest in this business.

  “Good. Good. I’m about halfway there.” He reached up and patted my arm as if I were his favorite pet looking for reassurance. I squeezed his hand and slid my arm out from under.

  “Be right back.”

  I dissolved the sleeping pills in hot water and poured a little into his drink. I grabbed a glass of wine. Handing him the refill, I leaned over his shoulder again, sipping my wine, trying my best to emulate the vacancy of one of his bimbettes.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Greg threw me a look, fur all puffed up like a cat defending its territory. “Why the sudden interest?”

  I rested my hand on his forearm and gave him my best come-hither look. “I just want to know more about your career, darling. Remember what your friend said. If we’re going to make this marriage work, we need to take more interest in each other’s lives. And you know how much your lawyer talk turns me on. That stuff that you’re doing looks sooooo complicated.”

  I took a deliberate sip of my wine and picked up a random file on his desk. “Is this one of your cases?”

  Greg relaxed back in his chair and smiled. Yup, it worked every time. “Yeah, but that’s just some old boring patent case. This stuff’s much more interesting. Here, let me show you.” He pulled a chair over beside him. “Watch this.”

  I managed to stop the shock that jolted through me from reaching my face. I sat. “I don’t think I’ll understand any of it. You know what I’m like with techie stuff.”

  He did indeed, so he proceeded to strut his stuff by explaining each and every maneuver while he transferred the deeds to properties and move around funds. It was all one big game to him. When the doorbell rang, Greg handed over his wallet without a word.

  “Would you like me to bring you a plate?”

  “No, almost done. I could use another, though.” He drained his glass. I obligingly refilled it with even more of the syrup, hoping and praying he wouldn’t pass out before he’d done what Cliff needed to arrest him.

  I returned to the kitchen and set the table in the breakfast nook with linens, candles, and the whole shebang. I had to drag this out long enough for Cliff’s guys to get what they needed and get their asses over here. I sipped my wine and stared into the gloaming reflecting on what the hell had possessed me. Ah, there was the operative word, and I could answer it with one corresponding word, Daniel. Tall, blond, and full of panache, caring Daniel. Desire stormed through my system as I remembered the feel of his hands as he stroked my body, stroked my cheek, slapped my ass, and tipped my chin. Those blue eyes that could douse a fire or melt an iceberg or make me feel like the most beautiful woman in history. Like I could do anything I set my mind to.

  The crash of glass hitting the ceramic tile floor startled me out of my reverie. What the—

  “Sheet. What a waste of a good drink.” Greg stood looking at the mess as if his gaze alone would mirac
ulously clear it up

  “That’s okay. I’ll get it. Hungry?” I poured him another drink and set it on the table. “I’ll have that cleaned up in a sec.” I got the broom and dustpan.

  Greg lifted the lid of one of the serving dishes. “Oh good, Italian. Did you get any gnocchi?”

  I dropped the broom at the loud banging on the front door. Even though I was expecting it, my heart hammered in my chest.

  “Police. Open up in the name of the law.”

  I started toward the front door.

  “Don’t open it. Shit.”

  I ignored the crash of dishes I heard and opened the door. Cliff and two big burly guys in uniform pushed their way past me. Cliff winked. Thank God. They’d made it in time.

  “Gregory Norman Dick, you’re under arrest for—”

  “You can’t do this.” Greg’s words slurred together in a cacophony of almost unintelligible sounds. “…got a search warrant.”

  “International money laundering.” Cliff continued reading the Miranda warning while he turned and cuffed Greg. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

  “I’m a lawyer, you goddamn asshole. How dare you barge into my home? Where’s your warrant?” Cliff snapped his fingers, and a burly guy with red hair handed him a sheaf of paper. Cliff flicked it open and held it up for Greg to see and pointed to it. “See here buddy, this covers the premises, including your garage and shed. All computer equipment and files. All the I’s dotted and all the T’s crossed. All nice and tight.” He looked at me. “Office?”

  I pointed down the hall, and the burly boys headed off in that direction.

  When I looked back at Greg, venom positively dripped off him as he swayed on his feet. I could smell the tequila across the room. “You just signed your death warrant, you cow. You think those men were playing games this afternoon?”

  “Actually Gregums, we’ve had you all under surveillance for some time. Thanks to you and your little play today, we have all we need to put the whole lot of you away.” His radio crackled.