Unbidden Desires (Den of Sin Book 12)

by Mel Blue

  Table of Contents

  UNBIDDEN DESIRES

  THE DEN OF SIN SERIES

  BLURB

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OTHER BOOKS BY MELISSA BLUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  FORBIDDEN RENDEZVOUS EXCERPT

  BEFORE YOU GO…

  COPYRIGHT

  UNBIDDEN DESIRES

  A Den of Sin Novella

  By Mel Blue

  THE DEN OF SIN SERIES

  The Den of Sin is a multi-author shared world series. That is to say although each story is unique and the author voices are different, the rules are the same, so the fictional Hotel Beaudelaire is always familiar.

  Each story stands alone, though there may be some character overlap and recurring themes. The stories need not be read in order, but they may reference past events and previous guests of the Hotel Beaudelaire. To learn which stories are connected, please visit the Den of Sin website at http://www.denofsinseries.com, click on a story title in the menu, and scroll down to the section titled “Related.”

  Story List

  Season I—New Year’s Eve Party

  Forbidden Rendezvous by Mel Blue

  Ménage à Troys by Holley Trent

  Redeeming the Amazon by L. V. Lewis

  Wicked Surrender by Ambrielle Kirk

  Shamelessly Taken by Mel Blue (free short story)

  Two Strikes by Holley Trent (free short story)

  ***

  Season II—The Beaudelaire Bacchanal

  Debauching the Virgin by Mel Blue

  Illicit Passions by Ambrielle Kirk

  O for Two by Holley Trent

  ***

  Valentines Day (Special)

  As Sweet by Holley Trent (free short story)

  ***

  Season III—Winterball Masquerade

  Melt Into Me by Renee Luke

  Reckless Attraction by Ambrielle Kirk

  Three Strikes by Holley Trent

  Unbidden Desires by Mel Blue

  Winterball by Holley Trent

  BLURB

  When your greatest enemy becomes your best lover…

  Zora Riley’s intentions were to discover the scandalous story her rival dug up on The Beaudelaire. If the whispers were true then a five-star hotel in New Orleans transformed into a Den of Sin. Just the name of one famous attendant could make the rest of her career, and if Alastair planned to report the story first then she had to be the one to scoop him. It was only fair since he’d been taking her stories for the last six months. But when a heated argument with Alastair turns into a toe-curling interlude, she’s shaken to her core.

  Alastair Halliday left Great Britain to make a name for himself in America, but he didn’t come to the Den for a story. Working for years in a dog-eat-dog environment, with insane hours, has left him needing something a little less refined and ambitious…something that will feed his kink. The Den’s winter masquerade ball will allow him to be anyone, someone whose work won’t get in the way of something simple and primal. That is until he kisses Zora, his most tempting rival.

  When the weekend is over and the masks come off, will they go back to being enemies or will they stay lovers?

  CHAPTER ONE

  A second too late Zora Riley realized she’d been caught. The warmth of a man’s hand pressed against her stomach. Her ass curved into his front as he leaned in close from behind her, his breath tickling her lobe. The bass from the music pounded in time with her unsteady heart beat.

  “I’m going to wring your bloody neck.” The cadence of Alastair’s voice was both clipped and melodic.

  A shiver drifted down her spine. Her reaction had nothing to do with the man or his menacing tone. Her full-body tremble had everything to do with the British accent. Although Zora had to admit, if they weren’t in a ballroom filled with people, she might have taken him seriously. But, God, her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest either way.

  For a panicked second she searched for anyone who could help. Couples dressed in their best white suits or gowns continued to dance around them. No one paid any heed to her plight. To think five minutes ago anonymity was exactly what she had wanted.

  Her form-fitting strapless dress matched perfectly with the diamond drops in her ears, because that’s what one wore to Beaudelaire’s Winter Masquerade Ball. In the right light, the Jessica Rabbit gown looked pale blue. Her gold mask had been painfully structured to look like delicate flames, shaping her high cheeks and highlighting her dark brown eyes.

  Zora had pulled every journalistic string she had to get an invitation, and to find out what people meant when they said the high class hotel in New Orleans turned into the Den of Sin. The moniker should have been a dead giveaway, but it was one thing to imagine orgies and people exchanging their hotel room keys and another to chat with people, eat decadent éclairs and just so happen turn around and see what she witnessed.

  In the dim lighting, she could only catch the blur of masks as the couples on the dance floor practically dry-fucked each other. Classy and well-dressed but dry-fucking nonetheless.

  Horny assholes, blocking her escape route, and not giving a shit her goose was cooked.

  Directing her anger at them wouldn’t change the fact Alastair trapped her. She hadn’t been ready to face him, not until she had all her facts lined up. He’d scented a story here at the Beaudelaire, and she had every intention of sniffing it out before him.

  His arm tightened. Zora sighed, accepting she was well and truly caught. She put on her best armor—bluster. “Well, well, well. Threatening women. I don’t find that surprising coming from you.”

  His lips brushed against her earlobe. “Not women. Just you. What the fuck are you doing here? How?”

  The music and voices were so loud he shouldn’t have heard her. So she’d been right all those months ago. The first and only time they’d met face-to-face Zora had muttered egotistical, story-stealing prick as he strode away. His step had slowed and she’d suspected he had heard her until he kept going.

  He had. Dammit.

  Those words, amongst other things, were coming home to roost. There was no way to turn around to face him or break the hold without making a scene. Worse, that meant Alastair had the upper hand, and she had no doubt he’d use it to his advantage. His ability to oust her was why they were rivals in the first place.

  So why was she here? How was she here? Those were questions she couldn’t answer honestly. “I was…” A curious, ambitious monster. “…horny so I wrangled an invitation.”

  Putting on an air of that was the end of that, she stepped forward. Smoothly he followed her movements without losing his hold.

  Shit.

  To anyone who bothered to throw a glance their way, they probably looked like a couple who had decided to hook up. That’s kind of what was expected when the hotel turned into the Den. She’d heard rumors over the past few months, but she couldn’t print salacious whispers. Mainly, her newspaper wouldn’t allow it, and she tended to go for stories that had more meat to their scandal. So did Alastair, and if he was here…

  Now while her brain ran a mile a minute, Alastair had gone still behind her. His chest continued to rise and fall in a calm, smooth rhythm. She could feel the soft brush of his tux against her bare back. He did nothing to reassure her he believed the lie. This was why she’d done her best to run for the exit the second she recognized his broad back. They’d only met face to face once but it was a memorable meeting.

  Zora took a breath, mentally pulled up her big girl
panties and relaxed against him. “How about we get out of here to somewhere a little more quiet?”

  The moment he loosened his hold, she’d make a break for her room. Without him literally breathing down her neck, she could come up with a better plan to shadow him and discover the story he’d dredged up.

  He laughed, right there in her ear, and it was a silken caress. “Yes. Let’s go somewhere nice and quiet, love.”

  Without witnesses. Zora started to worry again whether or not she should take his earlier threat seriously. “Let’s.”

  His hand slid across her stomach to her arm. He pushed her along like he had a gun to her back. He even managed not to trample over the train of her dress. As they entered the hallway, Zora hesitated and wondered what would happen if she screamed for help.

  He nudged her toward the media room. Right. Alastair would probably tell the doe-eyed receptionist at the front desk that Zora had a kidnapping fantasy. And because she was starting to realize every single rumor she heard about this place was true, the receptionist wouldn’t blink. She’d probably provide rope and a gag with a smile that said enjoy your stay.

  They stopped just outside the media room’s door. Staff, probably even the unhelpful receptionist, had long since shut off the computers and television. Some rhythmic and sedate beat filtered through the walls from the ballroom not too far from here. Since Zora had been in the room earlier that day after checking in, she navigated forward well enough.

  There were chairs, long desks and at least two couches to kick back and soak up the best Wi-Fi in the old plantation turned opulent hotel. The dark woods and fabrics ate up most of the ancillary lights. If not for the fairy lights that decorated the hanging oaks outside the bay window, the room would have been pitch black.

  The door clicked shut behind them. Alastair finally said, “Why are you here?”

  This time it sounded like his words fell somewhere between a reprimand and the start of a seduction. She shuddered and hoped the dark hid her reaction. The important thing to focus on was that he’d let her go.

  For the first time since he’d whispered in her ear, Zora turned to face him. “I—”

  The words flew out of her head. She sucked in a breath because for an ambitious asshole he was dangerously gorgeous. Just looking at him could make a woman stupid. He had dark hair, dark brows, but startling green eyes that changed color with his mood. Tonight, his mask obscured the upper part of his face.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up in a smirk as though he knew the effect he had on her. He had a mouth that made her think ripe—as in, she should bite into his lips to find out what heaven tasted like.

  When he took a step forward, his mask drew her full attention. Golden leaves reminiscent of Roman statues edged the black mask, highlighting sharp cheekbones and somehow accentuating his masculinity. Without saying a word, he was telling everyone to think of him as either a Roman god or a bloodthirsty gladiator. Alastair was loathsome and she despised him, but she couldn’t deny how unbelievably delicious he looked sometimes—the fucker.

  He laughed at her, probably aware of her every thought. “You were saying?”

  See. Loathsome.

  Yet her gaze traveled up and then down. The black tuxedo he wore had gone past making him look dapper right to fuckable. The black trousers hugged his long legs. When her gaze reached the bow tie, her hand twitched, fighting a visceral need to tug it loose and tie him up with it. “Like I said; I’m here for the kink.”

  He kept coming closer. She turned her back to him and walked to the couch halfway across the room. She didn’t want to catch his scent. That happened once and she almost swooned. She needed her wits because Alastair was a Brit in America, a damn handsome one. As the crude saying went, he probably needed a catcher’s mitt for all the pussy thrown his way.

  He had to be here for a story, and not just any story about celebrities and politicians having public sex in a hotel. Yes, shocking and scandalous but not exactly his style. He’d go for a three-term senator using tax dollars to fund a sex addiction, or legendary hotel pays workers to keep quiet about being sexually harassed. She should know since he’d scooped more than a few of her career-making stories over the last six months.

  Zora turned to face him and then startled. He hadn’t stopped stalking toward her. Only a foot of space separated them now. She leaned against the back of the couch, spreading her hands over the top. She fisted her hands into the soft fabric, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His rich spicy musk filled her lungs. His pheromones and testosterone had made a concoction that put a flutter in her stomach and made her want to let out a breathy moan.

  “You want to play daft?” he asked.

  She barely managed to keep from narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  He placed his fingertips on her stomach. She gasped. Liquid heat pooled into her stomach and spread lower in a languid slide.

  He led his fingers up and stopped below her breasts. “You can barely fit into this dress so I could almost believe your reason for being here, but I know just how much you hate me. I also know you’re a prude. You’d never come to a place like this unless you were here to follow me, thinking I’d caught scent of a story.”

  She may despise him, loathe him for stealing her stories, but she respected his intelligence. Zora dropped the coy act. “Why are you here?”

  He pinned her between him and the couch. Her heart skipped. The strapless, tight dress left nothing between them. Alastair’s cock pressed into her stomach. A firm, thick length that turned the flutter into something a little more primal and hungry. The whole time in the ballroom she hadn’t felt this, him like this, and they’d been close enough for her to feel him aroused.

  “To fuck someone.” The green in his eyes had darkened.

  Her bravado faded. The way his gaze drunk her in left no doubt the someone he had in mind. “Oh.”

  This time his chuckle was wicked. “You’re wearing a mask made from flames and a dress to match. Should I assume you volunteer, love?”

  “Ha,” she said with a nervous tremor. Was he serious or toying with her? “Points for the pop culture reference, but let’s get real. You’re just trying to shock me.”

  “Maybe.” His voice lowered and he grasped her arms. “Or maybe seeing you here has…” He bent down to her ear, brushed his mouth against her lobe and groaned.

  Her skin heated like he’d lit a match to it. “This is disturbing,” she murmured.

  His hands rose until one cupped her face and the other gripped her neck. His lips were right there. Full. Ripe. Just begging her to take a bite. He probably tasted of wine, hate-sex and regrets. She wanted to know, which said too much about her frame of mind.

  Alastair leaned forward, a breath away from kissing her. A tingle crept up from the nape of her neck where his fingers had nestled. Her nipples hardened and ached. She leaned forward. Suddenly, he backed up and she might have fallen if her fist hadn’t gripped the couch.

  The lust he’d stoked in those few seconds refused to die down. Confusion pulled her brows down. Why had he stepped away? Why did a tinge of regret sink its teeth in at the action? She despised him for damn good reasons, and yet…she wanted him to steal her space again and do the things with his mouth his gaze had promised—No. Hell, no. No. No. No.

  Still, her brain and mouth betrayed her, “Alastair?”

  “Oi,” he said. “I guess you are desperate enough to be here if you’d consider kissing me.”

  See. “Loathsome,” Zora muttered and this time she did it low enough not even a dog could hear here. “God, I hate you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alastair Halliday lived by a sod-it-all credo, so it was a bit unnerving to find himself fighting the urge to kiss Zora. Zora Riley. He’d put two feet of space between them now, but he could still feel the way her breasts had crushed against his chest. They were full, lickable and made the back of his throat dry from the need to find out how she’d taste. How she’d feel under hi
s tongue.

  How would she feel if he buried his cock balls deep?

  Her lip curled in anger. “You’re a bastard.”

  He tried to shake off the shock with a flippant reply. “Actually my mum is quite fond of my father and married him before I was born. Very nice people.”

  She opened her mouth to skewer him, but he pressed his hand over her lips until she quieted. He needed a moment, and from the way Zora trembled, so did she. This feeling knotting in his gut, for her, was new. It was a base need he hadn’t expected, especially for this woman.

  Six months ago, he’d received a tip about the mayor resigning. He had followed that where it naturally led—a scandal. Turned out the mayor had been dipping into his campaign funds to pay undocumented child support to a mistress. It wasn’t Alastair’s fault all his sources had lined up before hers. He had a reputation, and sometimes he made his accent a bit more posh to get people to talk. He used everything in his arsenal when he needed a story.

  Zora had sent him a congratulatory email that time. He replied and for a little while he would have considered them friendly associates. Maybe a little more than that, because he didn’t just admire her work, he’d liked her.

  The second time he one-upped her, well, she’d confronted him in person. That exchange turned ugly, and then the third and fourth scoop was intentional. In his defense, not the fifth. So he understood her anger and resentment. It was just misplaced. They moved in small circles. Though they worked at competing newspapers in California, they probably had the same sources. The only difference was he was able to loosen their lips faster.

  But in all that time he’d never touched her. Rational men didn’t sleep with women who despised them and vice versa. Didn’t matter how voluptuous the woman happened to be. He blamed his parents’ forty-year marriage for preferring to have companionship and genial feelings for his lovers. There would be only one feeling toward Zora, and that was anger. Yet at the moment, the thought of pounding all his unspent frustration into her held an appeal he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.