Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
If you love erotica, one-click these hot Scorched releases… Sin and Ink
Snatched
Three-Way Split
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Carmen Falcone. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Scorched is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Alethea Spiridon
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover photography by Y-Boychenko/DepositPhotos
ISBN 978-1-64063-696-5
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2018
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
To all the good girls out there who could use some bad lessons. Cheers!
Chapter One
“Would you like to see the wine list, mademoiselle?” the waiter with a thick French accent and handlebar mustache asked.
“Not yet. I’m waiting for my fiancé,” Emma Cavanaugh said. God, two months of engagement and she still smiled every damn time she said the word. Suppressing a giggle, she nodded to the waiter when he flashed her a smile and poured more water into her glass. Slowly. Very slowly, as a reminder she occupied a corner booth during weekend dining primetime.
Emma rubbed her palms together. Simon would be here at any moment. He’d texted her he was running late; not that she complained about having to munch on warm bread made from scratch at the exclusive restaurant.
She stretched her hand on the pristine linen, glancing down at the sparkling diamond ring. Would he finally decide on a wedding date? A couple of weeks ago, she had used her brother Zaine’s upcoming wedding as an excuse to cement the topic.
She’d been dating Simon for almost two years, and the timing was right. He’d asked for her hand in marriage, and why wait around? If losing her brother Zachary a few years ago had taught her something, it was to live the life you want to live. Go after what you want, because tomorrow’s not promised.
Sure, maybe some people would say twenty-five was too young to get married, but she had big plans. Her career as a translator and interpreter was thriving. An old, dear client recently invited her to be the project manager of an animal sanctuary he intended to build overseas. Not only did she adore animals, but the job would fund her dream wedding. Her life was on track. Waiting till her thirties to do what she could now was a waste of time. Besides, she wanted to have kids while she could enjoy them, like her parents had done. When you know, you know.
Simon had a volunteer trip to Venezuela in a couple of days. It made sense for him to set the date before he traveled. They’d iron out the details later. Yes. Simon was the sound choice for her. An up-and-coming dentist, and a great partner—reliable, smart, and they shared plenty of hobbies. Her parents had taken many activities together, or so she heard—her father died when she was a child, but they’d had a great marriage by all accounts.
“Am I late?” The rustle of a chair made her straighten her shoulders and glance at her hubby-to-be.
She winked at him. “You’re right on time.”
Simon shrugged. God, he seemed nervous. The strand of blond hair that usually fell neatly on his forehead was pushed back, which meant he’d been running his fingers through his smooth hair. A couple of buttons on his striped shirt hung open, and she didn’t need a magnifying glass to see the rapid pulse in his neck.
Maybe he’d realized he’d be away from her for a few weeks and wanted to set a date before his departure. A shiver of anticipation rolled down her back, and she wiggled in her seat. Should she go ahead and make things easier for him? “Simon, whatever you wanna tell me, you can go ahead and say it.”
He reached for her glass of water and took a swig of it. “Emma, we’ve been together for two years. And engaged for two months.”
“Yes.” She stretched her hand and caressed his. Oh, the poor fool.
A nervous laugh flew from his lips, and he withdrew his hand from under hers. “Right. Lately I’ve been thinking. I know you’ve reached the time in our relationship where—”
“Would you like to see the wine menu?” the waiter asked, bringing a small leather-bound menu.
Seriously? She crossed her legs and drew in a breath to calm her nerves. No. Not happening.
“Thanks.” Simon nodded at the waiter and grabbed the menu, but kept it closed tight.
“Go ahead.” She brought her hands to her lap and played with the hem of the linen napkin.
He shifted in his seat, his baby blues studying her face. “Well, you’re amazing, and you deserve to fulfill your dreams and hopes. I proposed because I really believe that. And I know you’ve brought up the dates, and I sort of dismissed the subject.”
Yes. She clenched the napkin hard. Oh God. Yes, yes, it’s coming. A wave of warmth bubbled up in her throat, and she clamped her lips to keep from shouting too soon.
“Now I know why. I can’t marry you.” He gave her a lingering glance along with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Em.”
What?
She drew back as if she’d been struck, her head bobbing and fingers loosening the grip on the napkin. It was like someone had dumped a bucket of glacial water on her head. Her body froze, her heart skipping a beat. Warmth gone. “Y-You’re breaking up with me?”
He ran his hand down his face and let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
She managed to blink several times before asking, “Why did you invite me for dinner then?”
He shuffled in his seat, his fingers fidgety over the damn wine menu. “We started our relationship going to nice places. I thought this’d be a nice way to end it.”
She rubbed her throbbing temples, trying to understand what the hell was happening. This was certainly not part of the plan. A lump of frustration lodged in her throat, and when she tried to swallow, her tongue got stuck to the roof of her mouth.
No. More. Engagement.
“You’re smart, funny, caring. You have all those qualities any guy wants in a woman,” he said, his voice as soft as a cotton ball.
“Then why?” The whole “It’s not you, it’s me” routine wasn’t going to cut it. She was smart enough not to fall for that one.
Simon scratched his head, visibly
uncomfortable, and glanced around them in silence. Sure, there were other tables occupied, with couples whispering lovingly, too involved with each other to care. “We have no sexual chemistry.”
This was all about…sex? “I can work on that,” she said, injecting some enthusiasm in her voice. Really, was that the issue? “I can download a Kama Sutra app or something.” Hadn’t one of her friends raved over one of those before? Emma wasn’t vying for an Olympic medal in the aerobic sex department, but if that’s what it took to keep the man of her dreams, well, she’d roll up her sleeves.
A long sigh flew from his lips. “No. Listen, Emma, I want to be with someone who enjoys sex as much as I do, who values it like I do. You can’t fake that.”
She folded her arms. “Did you meet someone else?”
“No. I’d never cheat on you.” He looked straight into her eyes, and somehow she believed him. “I need to be with someone who’s more adventurous. I’m not here to change you, but I’ve seen a couple friends get married, and with Zaine’s wedding in a month…it got me thinking about what I want in a spouse. I’m sorry I didn’t discuss this with you sooner, before we got this far. I thought I’d be okay with it. Turns out I’m not.”
Hot tears brimmed in her eyes. Holy shit, how humiliating. Her pulse raced, and she wanted to make a big scene and yell at him. Pull the linens and drop the fancy china and cutlery, and he’d be the one stuck with the bill—and maybe a knife would land on his thigh.
Except, the bastard had a point. Sex really didn’t mean a lot to her. Sure, she enjoyed it enough, but she didn’t need it for survival. “You want a sex goddess,” she said softly.
Simon scratched his chin, and she hated how he gazed at her, as if he, too, was in pain. “If things are stale between us now, can you imagine after, say, twelve years of marriage?” he said, his voice trailing off.
She lifted the napkin from her lap and dried the corner of her eyes. “Sex isn’t everything.”
“It is when it’s not working. I’m sorry, Em. I love you, but…” He sighed. “Listen, I’m going to Venezuela for the next three weeks. I’ll be back before your brother’s wedding. If you don’t want me to attend—”
With a shrug, she produced a smile. “That’s silly. You and Zaine are friends, too. He’d want you to be there.” And so will I. She had four weeks to come up with Plan B. Or make it Plan D. “Can I ask you a favor? Don’t…tell anyone about our breakup yet. My mom and sister are so excited about Zaine’s wedding. I’ll let everyone know after the wedding.”
He flashed her an apologetic smile. “You got it.”
“Thanks.” She drew in a breath. If he thought she was done with him, he was dead wrong. Perhaps time apart was all he needed to focus on what really mattered in life. Meanwhile, she’d learn how to become a sexpert and win Simon back.
Oh, hell to the yes.
…
Nico Giordano glanced at the invitation he’d been given less than an hour ago for the fund-raising party. The golden cursive lettering sparkled when he shifted the expensive paper. He’d been trying to buy back his family vacation home for years, and finally he’d have the opportunity to meet the reclusive owner face-to-face.
Excited, he called his brother, Marco. After two rings, Marco came to the phone. Nico heard the giggle of a female voice in the background and hoped he didn’t interrupt anything between Marco and his wife Lily. If he waited for a good time to call them, he’d never do it. Those two screwed every waking moment. “Yeah?”
Nico snorted. He hadn’t gotten laid in four months, a record for him. Sex helped him relax and focus on what mattered. Like the opportunity to sway Desmorais to finally sell him the only place he’d experienced happiness as a child and fulfill a promise he’d made to himself and his late mother. Their former vacation home in Mauritius—the very same house Desmorais habited. “I pulled a few strings and got an invite for a fund-raising party in Mauritius next month.”
“You did? Is this about the Desmorais home?”
“It’s our home,” he said. Memories of the wonderful summers they’d spent in the large white house in Mauritius filled his heart. His mother had been healthy, for the most part, and he firmly believed the warm weather and simple living helped her cope with her mental illness when she’d been away from all the demands of an upper-class family in a traditional Italian setting. After she’d committed suicide and their father descended into alcoholism, it was like Papa had chosen to erase all the evidence of happiness—and selling the beloved home had been on the list.
“Nico, give up. You’ve tried to get this guy’s attention before,” he said, mentioning the successful complex they created in New York City, where one of the investors was good friends with the French billionaire. Nico suspected that he’d put in a good word for him, and maybe he had, but still nothing moved the needle in his favor. Besides an email from his lawyer saying he wasn’t interested in selling his property no matter the price, Desmorais had ignored his phone calls.
“Never,” he hissed.
Marriage and kids weren’t in his cards—hell, kids were physically impossible. He’d made sure of that. The house was the one goal he had, where he saw himself spending his downtime.
His phone pinged, and he noticed another call waiting. It was from his best friend Zaine, who spent his last few weeks in Senegal doing charity work with his fiancée Monique, before returning to California for their wedding. “Hey, I gotta go. Zaine’s on the other line. Talk to you soon.”
He heard another squeal from the other end of the line, and knew his brother wouldn’t be heartbroken to go back to whatever he was doing with Lily. Perverts.
Truth was, he loved Marco, but though he excelled at pretending, whenever he was with his brother his heart squeezed. All those times he hadn’t protected him from their father came to mind. Guilt over the truth he’d always kept hidden from Marco.
“Hey, man,” Zaine said in a rush, pulling him from his thoughts. “I just got a text from the security company saying someone broke into my house. They’re sending a car over, but Emma has been staying there. I can’t get a hold of her. Can you please check it out and call me as soon as possible?”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No. Megan has a small kid, and my mom will go crazy. Can you check it for me and let me know?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Nico. I owe you one.”
Nico hung up his phone, and rushed to the door. His property was located only a few minutes from Zaine’s in Hollywood Hills. He slid into his black Ferrari and zipped through the empty streets.
Emma Cavanaugh. He hoped she wasn’t in any trouble. Zaine’s little sister was a curvy brunette, with an ass that made him drool, and bright hazel eyes that carried a promise. Well, in his mind, anyway.
Which was where his fantasies would remain.
He’d never get involved with his best friend’s sister, because Emma had the whole white-picket-fence dream written on her forehead in bold letters. She was taken, anyway—engaged to some pansy-ass guy he’d met a couple of times. Samuel or Syd or whatever the hell his name was. Nico doubted that a boring dentist who parted his hair to the side and slicked it with gel knew how to properly handle a luscious woman like Emma.
Sighing, he accelerated. She could be in trouble and here he was, salivating over her sexy body and pretty face. His father had a point—Nico didn’t care about anyone but himself, and that suited him. That truth ruled his life, and it expanded his horizons and limited them in equal measures.
He parked in front of the impressive house and ran to the door. All the lights were off. No trace of a police car. Maybe knocking on the door wasn’t the brightest idea… What if the intruder hurt her or took her away?
Nico’s heart thrummed. He walked around the property first to study the area before making up his mind. He didn’t see anyone through those glass walls. A glass of wine sat half empty on the coffee table in the living room, and a reality show was on the
sleek TV screen.
But no sign of Emma.
He climbed up a tree and got to the second floor of the house. He opened the window from the outside and slid inside. He’d excelled in every martial arts class he’d taken, and he doubted the intruder wouldn’t be intimidated by his muscular six-feet-three frame. He curled his fingers into a ball, ready to knock out the bastard when he saw him.
He padded on his feet through the hallways until he found a room with light trespassing down the closed door.
Without delay, he kicked the door open.
Emma was sitting on the bed, eyes widening, as she gasped and tied the knot of her silk robe. “What? Nico?” she shouted. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?”
Did she want to give him one? The smooth fabric outlined her womanly curves. Desire hit him like a blow. “You okay?” he asked, glancing around the guest room she occupied.
“I was until you barged in here and I almost died.”
“Your brother told me to check on you. He said one of the alarms went off.”
“Yes, I know. I drank too much and didn’t remember the code when I walked in here. So the damn thing activated, but I called the security company, and everything is squared away now.”
“So, no intruders?”
She pointed at him. “Well, I have a big intruder right in front of me.”
“Funny.”
“Let’s go downstairs and have a drink.”
“Seems like you’ve been having too much of it. What’s wrong?”
She walked out of her room, and he followed her, trying hard not to ogle her perfectly round, lavish butt cheeks that swayed as she walked. Not only did she have an ass he only dreamed of seeing, she had curvy hips. Her body was the epitome of an hourglass figure, and it raised his internal temperature to an unbearable level.
You’re drooling only because you haven’t nailed her. If you nail her, the magic’s gone.
He sent Zaine a quick text message to say there’d been no break-in, and she was safe. After his friend replied and thanked him, he slid his phone back in his pocket.
When they entered the living area, she turned on two lamps and turned down the TV’s volume. She reached for the bottle of red wine and gestured it to him. “Want?”
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