Sinful Abandon
Copyright © 2016 by Jeannine Colette
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editing and Formatting by Jovana Shirley of Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
www.JeannineColette.com
THE ABANDON COLLECTION
A series of stand-alone novels featuring dynamic heroines who have to abandon their reality in order to discover themselves…and love along the way.
Each novel features a new city, couple, and rose of a different color.
Check out these full-length novels in the Abandon Collection.
Pure Abandon
Reckless Abandon
Wild Abandon
Wild Abandon Christmas
To YOU, the reader.
Thank you for giving me a chance.
chapter ONE
chapter TWO
chapter THREE
chapter FOUR
chapter FIVE
chapter SIX
chapter SEVEN
chapter EIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ten p.m., and the only souls in the building are security. They don’t look twice as I walk through the lobby of gold and granite, my five-inch stilettos echoing in the vast space. I walk to the elevator and hit the button for my destination.
Jarrod Bellomy.
When the elevator closes, I do a once-over in the reflection of the doors. My sleek brown tresses have been blown out to perfection by my Michigan Avenue hairstylist. My bright brown eyes are lined in ebony and a smoky shadow. My skin is tinted with a touch of bronzer to look sinful, and my lips are barely glossed. They should be since I expect them to be devoured within minutes.
Looking down, I see the beige Chanel trench I purchased at a consignment shop. It’s two sizes too big, but who cares? It’s Chanel. And, right now, it’s hiding a deliciously exotic plum-colored negligee and garters, all picked out to entice the man I’ve been hunting for the last six months.
Jarrod is my boss and president of the company that owns the lifestyle news program I’ve been working on for the better part of a year. After my last company—Asher-Marks Communications in New York—closed shop, I found myself looking for work. Not only did my new company have to have a great compensation plan, but it also needed to have the number one thing I was looking for in a job—a rich, single boss.
I found the perfect job and that perfect man in Chicago.
When I took the position, it wasn’t just to be a kick-ass producer, overseeing the staff and day-to-day planning of a show that focused on entertainment, gossip, and fashion. I could do that shit in my sleep. Hell, the show was in near ruin when I came on board and turned it around—not that the ungrateful staff cared.
No, my goal was to seduce my forty-year-old boss and one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. It only took a few months, and here I am, pulling out all the stops in preparation for an engagement.
Growing up with a drunk of a father and a mom who left town would give you life goals like you couldn’t believe. Yes, I can and will make my own money. But, since all men are scoundrels, I might as well pick one I can suck every penny out of.
Sounds sad? Yeah, it kinda is. But I don’t give a fuck.
Jarrod said he would be working late tonight, so I decided to surprise him with a late-night office rendezvous. If this little act doesn’t secure an engagement, I don’t know what will.
Dipping my hand inside the trench, I perk my breasts up, making sure they are at full attention. I check my purse to confirm I have the necessary toys for the evening—a blindfold, vibrator, anal beads, and condoms.
The beads are for Jarrod, not me.
He’s kind of a freak that way.
The elevator doors open, and I walk toward his office. The newsroom that is usually bustling with activity is eerily quiet. The room is accentuated in gray, the only source of light coming from the streetlights on Wacker Drive. Jarrod’s corner office door is closed, the inside light seeping through the bottom of the doorway.
Just outside, I stop for a moment. My hand on the door handle, I take a second to straighten my shoulders and pout my lips. When I walk through these doors, my man is going to fall to his knees, and I am going to let him have me.
Ready for the fun to begin, I open the door, and my body freezes.
My arms fall to the sides.
My purse clangs on the ground.
“Holy shit,” I say. I begin to avert my eyes but have to raise my chin again to make sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing.
“Heather? What are you doing here?” Jarrod asks from his position at his desk where he’s standing over Misty Waters, the local weather girl.
Misty is lying on the desk with her bare legs wrapped around Jarrod, her heels digging into his bare ass, as he pumps in and out of her.
Yes, I said that right.
He’s still pumping.
“What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing?” My voice squeaks.
Pants around his ankles, his shirt and tie still intact, Jarrod looks at the weather whore and shrugs. “I was working late, and Misty came by for a break.”
“Hi, Heather,” Misty says with panting breaths. Her white button-down is undone, exposing a lace bra and double Ds.
“I…you…” My jaw is unhinged, and if I don’t get a grip, I’m going to lose every ounce of dignity I have, which is a lot, by the way. “You don’t seem upset at all that I’m standing here while you fuck her.” My hand is up in the air, palm up.
Still thrusting his pelvis into Misty, Jarrod replies, “I wasn’t expecting you. Otherwise, I would have waited. Wanna join?”
The shakes. I get the shakes. My toes start to tremble, and it travels up my calves and into my thighs. My hands start next, and it radiates up through my shoulders, making my head spin.
Do I wanna join?
I mean, if he’d asked if I were up for a threesome, I probably would have been game. My goal is to please Jarrod enough to make him propose. But this? This is blatant cheating. He didn’t know I was coming up here. He’s banging the freaking local weather whore on his desk. The same desk we’ve had sex on multiple times.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I spin around and rush back through the newsroom.
“Can you close the door, love? I don’t think the cleaning crew would like a show.” Jarrod’s words echo from his office, but I keep on walking down the corridor and straight to the elevator.
I fold my arms in front of my body and violently tap my foot as I wait for the elevator to open.
Any second now, Jarrod is going to come rushing down the hallway and fall to his knees in apology.
The elevator doors open. I pause for a moment.
Any second now…
The doors are about to close, so I walk inside the cab and press the button to hold the doors open.
Any second…
My heart starts to beat in anticipation. He’s probably pulling up his pants right now. I’m sure he’s tossing Misty out of his office, and he is going to come rushing after me.
Any…
Oh, fuck it.
I let the doors close a
nd hit the lobby button. That piece of shit isn’t coming after me.
What the hell did I expect, chasing after a known womanizer like Jarrod Bellomy? That I’d be the one to make an honest man out of him? What for? It’s not like I love him. Hell, I think he’s beyond conceited, and he has a terrible personality. But he does have the one thing I’m looking for.
I rush out of the elevator and through the lobby. My heels wobble a little as I try to move out of the building as quickly as possible.
When I get to the sidewalk, I see a taxi and charge for it. Thank God. The only thing I want right now is to go home, pour myself a large glass of Tito’s, and drown myself in it.
My hand is on the handle. I pull on the lever and open the door when a man’s hand charges on top of mine and rips my hand away.
“This is my cab,” an irritated male voice says.
I don’t even bother to face him. With a hip nudge, I try to force him to the side. “What are you? The taxi police? Get your own fucking cab.” I start to open the door further.
He places a hand on the door and slams it closed in front of me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spin around to face the asshole, and my heart skips a beat.
Standing eye-to-eye with me is a man, a gorgeous-faced man, with cobalt-blue eyes and a sinful mouth accentuated by a masculine jaw and day-old stubble. I am momentarily rendered speechless.
Momentarily.
“Remove your hand from the door.”
“In or out, guys,” the cabbie calls through the open passenger window.
“I’m getting in as soon as she moves,” the man says.
“I got here first. Get your own cab.” I pull on the handle, again, but he holds the door closed.
His chest presses into mine. “I did, but you just stole it.”
I push back harder. “Stole, my ass. You snooze, you lose.”
“I don’t care that you’re cute and get everything in life. Catch the next one.”
If he think’s I’m cute, I’ll show him just how cute this bitch can be.
Pursing my lips, I dig my heels into the ground. “This has nothing to do with me being a woman!”
“Well, I’d punch you if you were a guy, so let’s both be thankful you’re a woman.”
“I’ve never—”
“Step back before you get run over,” the driver says as he pulls away from the curb.
I jolt back from the car and nearly trip over my stilettos, falling right into the lean, muscular arms of the cab stealer.
“Get off of me,” I demand of him even though I’m clinging to his biceps, steadying myself on the blacktop.
Cars are whizzing by us, but all I feel is the curve of his muscle underneath a blue button-down that brings out his eyes. Across his chest is a messenger bag as brown as the perfectly styled hair on his head.
“I’m not touching you.” He’s not. His arms are out to the sides and in the air to prove it.
Steady on my feet, I brush my hair away from my face and look him in the eyes. “You owe me another taxi.”
He rests his head back, looks up to the sky, and lets out a deep breath. “When are you going to see that I hailed the taxi? Do you think cabs just show up on curbs when you want them to? Are you a witch with magical powers? If so, please, please, make another one appear. I’d love to see this.” His arms are now across his chest, and he’s staring me down.
I clench my jaw and level my eyes with his. “You have no clue who you’re dealing with. I eat men like you for breakfast.”
With a shake of his head, he moves away. “Whatever. Have a good night.”
He turns to walk down the sidewalk, and I turn back to the street. I won’t lie and say I’m not a little disappointed in his easy retreat. I like a good fight. I’ll even give him credit for that punch-in-the-face comment. Now, if he’d actually hit me, that would have been a different story.
As I raise my arm to hail another cab, I feel a tug and a pull backward, and then my too-big trench slips and falls off my shoulders.
“Hot damn, girl.” A passerby gawks and whistles at me. “Look at the rack on this one. Didn’t know they had call girls up on Wacker. Give us a dance, mama!” His voice is shrill, and he’s making obscene hip gestures.
Quickly, I throw my arms across my chest, hiding the very low corset top that has my full breasts pummeling out of the top, my nipples daring to make an appearance.
I spin around to hide the view of my ass cheeks peeking out of the ruffled bottom but have to spin around again to keep the oncoming traffic from witnessing my nearly bare bottom. My upper thighs are fully exposed, and the garters attaching the lace panties to the thigh-high stockings only highlight the creamy flesh.
I’m a free and confident woman. I love to show off my body. But only to those of my choosing. This, being on display for anyone to see is…well, unnerving.
My throat quakes.
My lips tremble.
And the backs of my eyes quiver.
I’m bending down, trying my best to cover my very exposed self, when a warm blanket wraps around me. It doesn’t take long to see that the blanket is, in fact, my trench coat, and it is being placed on my shoulders by warm, strong hands.
An arm slings around me, and I am being pulled into a body. I look up to see the side profile of the man I was arguing with over the cab. He’s ushering me closer to the curb, his other arm up in the air. He whistles loudly, and a taxi is at the curb in an instant.
With an ease I wasn’t expecting, he guides me into the back of the cab. I climb in. When I see his foot step into the car as well, I scoot over and make room.
“Where to?” the cabbie asks.
I look around in bewilderment and swallow. “Lake Shore Drive.”
The car starts to move, and I pull my coat tighter around me. Moving to the furthest side of the cab, I look back at the man sharing the bench seat with me.
His mouth is open, ready to speak. “I must have stepped on your belt and dragged your coat as you were walking away. I didn’t realize it until I heard that creep making comments.”
I shrug with a feeling of disgust. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”
He skeptically eyes me, but I don’t elaborate.
I fix my trench and tie the belt back up. Serves me right for having a jacket with no buttons. Thought it would make for a sexy negligee reveal. Not a peep show for all of Chicago.
I run my fingers along the inside of my palm. This night is not turning out how I expected. I was supposed to be getting boinked by a millionaire in a skyscraper. Not ogled by strangers like I’m a two-bit hooker.
Maybe Jarrod is texting me with his apologies. I turn to my bag, but it’s not on my shoulder. I feel around the inside of the cab, but it’s not here.
“Fuck my life!” I shout into the open air.
“Is there any particular reason we’re fucking life right now?” the man asks.
“Not any life. Just my life.” I run my hand through my hair. “I left my bag in my office. I must have dropped it when…” I start to say but then realize I’m digressing. “I have no money.” I lean forward to the driver. “Let me out. I’ll walk.”
The car starts to move to the right.
The man next to me throws his arm across my body and says to the driver, “No. Keep driving.” Cobalt blues turn to me. “I got this.”
I lean back to get a good look at him. He’s about my age, mid- to late-twenties. He fills out his button-down well, and his fitted gray trousers showcase his strong thighs. His shoes are brown and generic. No Ferragamos on this guy. His messenger bag has a name I’ve never heard of, but it looks new.
Despite his designer-free clothing and lack of expensive cologne, he’s really good-looking. It’s only Sunday night, but he could be out, getting laid by any single gal in Chi-Town. Unless he’s gay, which is a possibility.
“Why the hell would you pay for my cab? You were shouting at me a minute ago. Now, you’re being�
��chivalrous?”
He lowers that gaze, sending heat and strength directly to me. “I am not about to let a woman in lingerie and a trench coat walk twenty blocks home, alone, at night in the city.”
I scrunch my eyes at him. I don’t trust people, especially ones who do nice things for strangers.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Ryan. What’s yours?”
“Heather. Where are you from?”
“Evergreen Park. You?”
“Where the hell is that?”
I know I’m being rude, but he doesn’t seem to care because he just laughs lightly and shakes his head.
“You’re obviously not from here.”
His hand rises to the lever on the ceiling of the cab. The action makes his bicep protrude through his shirtsleeve that is rolled up to his elbows. I can’t help but notice the lean muscles of his forearm as well.
“It’s a suburb about thirty minutes away.”
His words make my eyes flutter up to his face. I blink for a second as I try to recall what he was saying. Or did he just ask me something?
“Queens, New York,” I say.
The corners of his mouth rise, as do his brows. “You don’t sound like you’re from New York. Where’s your accent?”
Nice of him to notice. I worked hard to get rid of that dreadful Queens accent. With my dad already the drunken version of Archie Bunker, I refused to bear the nasally tone of my relatives, with each word drawn out way too long. Every time I feel the inflection approach the back of my throat, I snap into action and put my perfect diction back into place.
“I got rid of it,” I say matter-of-factly.
This piques Ryan’s interest. “How exactly does one get rid of an accent?”
I’ve never told anyone this because it sounds like the dumbest thing in the world. But, whatever, I don’t have to impress this guy. At all.
“Dr. Seuss,” I say. When he still stares at me, waiting for me to further explain, I continue, “I used to read Dr. Seuss books as a kid to work on my diction. You’d be surprised by how well it works.”
I brace myself for his laughter. Instead, he nods his head and looks back at me, like he’s impressed.
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