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Total-e-bound
www.total-e-bound.com
Copyright ©2011 by Saranna DeWylde
First published in 2011
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
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A Total-E-Bound Publication
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www.total-e-bound.com
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Temporary Tricks
ISBN #978-0-85715-698-3
(C)Copyright Saranna DeWylde
Cover Art by Posh Gosh (C)Copyright September 2011
Edited by Lisa Cox
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
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Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.
Tempting Temps
TEMPORARY TRICKS
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Saranna DeWylde
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A temporary trick turned treat that could be the forever kind.
Khloe Bell knows full well that she's going to regret working for Reed Rothington. She's heard all the stories of mad shagging on his desk, in the limo, at charity balls, and across the filing cabinets. Yes, she'd heard it all from her dear roomie who has to take leave to visit her sick mum in England.
The problem? Bree needs a job to come back to and Khloe needs rent money. Reed needs a secretary to hold down the fort while she's gone, but Reed expects a little more than what's accepted or socially correct from his secretaries. He doesn't pay them for sex, he pays them to go away when it's over. No way is Khloe going to board that ship. She'll file, but there's no way she's taking dick-tation.
But this temporary trick could be just the treat they both need.
Dedication
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To Jennifer L. Hart because none of them would be the same without you.
Huge thanks to Courtney Breazile for the fun hours spent brainstorming and making this series happen.
Thanks also to my wonderful editors, Lisa Cox and Rebecca Hill.
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Trademarks Acknowledgement
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The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Harlequin: Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Gucci: Gucci
SAKs: SAKs, Inc
Armani: The Armani Group
Mercedes: Mercedes-Benz Division of Daimler
G-Chat: Google Inc
Kellogg's: The Kellogg Company
Target: Target Brands
Preparation H: Wyeth, American Home Products Corporation
Vagisil: Combe International
BlackBerry: Research In Motion Limited
Tiffany's: Tiffany & Co
Victoria's Secret: Victoria's Secret Stores Brand Management, Inc.
Lane Bryant: Lane Bryant Purchasing Corp.
Lexus: Toyota
Manolos: Blahnik, Manolo
Pantene: Procter & Gamble Company
Bulgari: Bulgari S.P.a
Royal Doulton: The Royal Doulton Company
The Times: Times Newspapers Ltd.
Nova: Chevrolet
The Foundling: Georgette Heyer
Bath Tangle: Georgette Heyer
Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols: Sex Pistols
Friggin’ in the Riggin': Sex Pistols
Burt's Bees: Burt's Bees, Inc.
Old Rasputin Imperial Stout: North Coast Brewing Company
Pretty Woman: Touchstone Pictures
Doctors Without Borders: Medicins Sans Frontieres
Locks of Love: Locks of Love, Inc.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Prologue
You Won't Regret It
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Khloe Bell's mouth dropped open and creaked back and forth like an old, wrought-iron gate. She couldn't believe what her supposed best friend had just asked her to do. She worked her mouth again, but still found no words forthcoming.
"Look, it's not like I asked you to hang your arse out on the corner for any bloke who happens to fancy it.” Bree smiled as if she were talking to a child. “It's one who pays a lot of money. You don't actually have to sleep with him if you don't want to, but I see it as one of the job's perks.” Bree sighed happily.
"You would,” Khloe muttered dryly and popped another kale chip in her mouth. She wrinkled her nose. “These sure do look nasty, but they taste divine."
"It's ace kale's so bloody cheap too.” Bree crammed a few into her mouth, the delicate edges of the crispy kale disintegrating before they made it to her mouth.
"I don't think I can do it,” Khloe said quietly, turning her attention back to the question at hand.
"Khloe, c'mon,” Bree wheedled. “I really need you to do this for me or I can't go to England and see my mum. She's doing poorly, but I need to know that I have a job and a place to live when I get back."
Khloe couldn't just offer to pay Bree's share of the rent—although if she'd had the money, she wouldn't have thought twice about it. Bree was her best friend. Her only friend, really. The problem was, Khloe wasn't sure how she was going to pay her own share of the rent, let alone fund another semester at NYU. Working for Reed Rothington would get her out of the red, but she couldn't ignore the other aspects of the job. Even if she could make herself okay with sleeping with a man for his money, there was the part about how her friend had already been there, done that and got the T-shirt.
Plus the fact Khloe was a prude.
She admitted it freely. Khloe was uptight, like a Victorian schoolmarm in a too-tight corset with a propriety stick up her ass. She had been voted most likely to become a nun after high school. She didn't watch movies that had an ‘R’ rating, she didn't read salacious books... Okay, that part was a lie. She'd indulged in every sort of romance she could find. Pirates, highwaymen, millionaires, vampire sheiks, space cowboys—it didn't matter. As long as
the heroes were alpha and the heroines were confident and smart. They didn't have to kick ass or take names—Khloe actually liked them better when they were Plain Janes who had a quieter sort of strength, hidden pearls of greatness. She snickered at her own comparison. Next thing she knew she'd be using descriptors like ‘pearl of pleasure'.
Khloe needed to get her head out of the clouds, but she couldn't help wishing she would meet the man who'd pry her kicking and screaming out of her shell. Although, if she believed everything Harlequin told her, that man would be Reed Rothington. Wouldn't that be a Cinderella story for the New YorkTimes?
The more Khloe thought about it, the more she wished she was that kind of girl. Not the kind who sold her hoo-ha for money, but the kind who grabbed an opportunity by the short and curlies and wasn't afraid to reach for what she wanted—whether it be the aforementioned package of short and curlies or anything else she could imagine. Fairy tales happened for other people, so why didn't they happen for her?
Khloe wasn't the kind who was supposed to have a fairy tale ending, but part of her was screaming that it wasn't because she didn't deserve it—it was because she didn't make it happen.
Oh, sweet Jesus in stilettos, am I going to do this?
"Don't be a cow. I know what you're thinking,” Bree warned, pushing away the plate of kale chips.
"Oh, and what am I thinking?” Khloe raised a sardonic brow. Of course, it was just a show. Bree most likely knew every thought that had skittered through her head like a squirrel who'd been munching the loco weed.
"You're grossed out that I've been shagging him blue and think you should too. Really, our toothbrushes share the same space and we drink after each other out of the milk carton.” Bree raised a dainty, elfin brow. “I know you do it. So, really, there's not too much difference."
Khloe considered this for a moment. She'd never looked at it like that. Still... “Too much like sharing a dildo."
Bree giggled. “Look, ducks, if you were in need, I'd be happy to lend you Brutus. That's what those cleaning wipes are for."
"Really, we don't need to be that close.” Khloe laughed.
"I didn't say it was ideal, I said if you were in need. And you are. I am, too. The temp job you have now isn't paying well. I need a favour that will—and when was the last time you actually got laid?"
"He pays you for—” Khloe bit her lip without finishing her thought. It all sounded so deliciously sordid.
"No,” she corrected. “He pays me to do his filing. He pays me extra for my time when he needs an escort to some boring charity event because he doesn't want a woman clinging to his trousers and demanding his time. I go away when I clock out.” Bree gave her a conspiratorial look. “I fuck him because he's so damn good at it.” She cocked her head to the side for a moment before continuing. “You know, all men pay for it one way or another. At least, that's what my dad used to say."
Khloe knew she was going to regret her decision—she could feel it in the tingling awareness crawling up the back of her neck. Whenever she got that feeling, she always did something monumentally stupid, like trip over her own tugboat feet and land nose deep in a wet pile of dog crap.
But Khloe didn't see any other answer to their predicament and she knew deep down Bree wouldn't hesitate to do it—or Reed Rothington—if it would help Khloe.
"Okay, Bree. I'll do it. I'll type and file papers for one Mr Reed Rothington, but that's it.” She sliced her hands through the air in a horizontal scissoring motion, as if that would actually cut off the possibility of anything else. “There will be no ‘shagging’ as you are so apt to say. No midnight romps on the desk, no ride ‘em cowgirl at the water cooler and definitely no late night dinners and..."
"And here I thought you weren't paying attention to my exploits.” Bree laughed again, then hugged Khloe tightly. “I promise, you won't regret it. Did I mention I haven't shagged him in months?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
Regretting It
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Rothington Towers stood like a sentinel against the skyline—tall and imposing. A massive structure that was nothing short of intimidating. Khloe had been directed to get into the first elevator and use Bree's key to go straight to the top.
Khloe already felt like she was going to spray the Chocolatinis she'd had for breakfast all over her borrowed Italian shoes. She had no idea who the designer was, only that Bree had deemed them the height of fashion and insisted she must wear them for her first day.
Thank the little baby Jesus in Gucci that they weren't insanely high heels—Khloe was already an Amazon at five-foot-eleven. Heels made her legs look great, she did know that much, but she also knew she teetered on them like a pregnant yak.
Granted, she maybe shouldn't have had such a stout breakfast of champions, the two cocktails in her kitchen that had given her the nerve to leave the apartment. She'd been popping mints like a junky needing a fix throughout the cab ride.
If she'd had any other option, she would have hopped right back in the next cab and burned rubber back home, where she belonged. Unfortunately, she'd used the last of her funds to get there.
The elevator ride was not fun, either. Khloe had no love for heights and an elevator with a view was not what she would call luxury. It was a horror above all horrors and she forced herself to stare at the buttons. All the while she had a white-knuckle grip on the wooden panel that separated her from the glass. As if that would help save her from plummeting to a certain and messy death. Just as she thought those Chocolatinis were going to win the revolt in her stomach, the elevator stopped and the door opened.
A deep breath was definitely in order.
"Khloe Bell?"
The voice was kind enough to startle the ever-loving hell out of her. Khloe let out a small shriek and tried to step back, but found her way blocked by the closed elevator doors, which propelled her forward into the man's arms.
He caught her easily and with all the grace of a...well, not her.
"How about we see how your typing skills are before we rush into the ‘mad shagging'?” He smirked.
And she blushed, deciding to kill Bree slowly for telling him about their conversation.
He was devastatingly handsome. Too bad he was an absolute bastard. The complete sex appeal of the man who held her had shoved her out on the precipice between speechless and stupid. He was so hot, she'd been struck dumb. Maybe deaf, too. His lips were still moving, but she couldn't hear any of the words coming out of his mouth. If she were Bree, she'd simply call him a wanker or a git and slap him on the arm, as cute as a baby seal. But no, she wasn't Bree. She was Khloe.
"My apologies—I thought Bree had made it clear that I am only here for the typing part of the job, thank you very much.” She reluctantly pulled herself out of his arms and straightened her borrowed suit.
Why had she said that? She should have simply sprawled herself over his desk and thanked the gods of sex that she had an opportunity not only to see a man like that naked, but actually to touch him and be touched by him.
Dear heaven and all the saints, he was delicious. The embodiment of every romance hero ever written.
The man must live in the gym. Not only did he have the face of a Greek god, but he had the body as well. It had been very delightful indeed to be plastered against the broad expanse of his chest, in the steel vice of his arms. Oh, Lord. His dark hair hung over his brow in rakish rebellion...
"Oh, good. I wouldn't want some silly girl who thought if she let me get into her pants she'd be on the fast track to Mrs Rothington."
She almost nodded, as if she understood why they might think that. Instead, she mustered some backbone. “Why in the hell would I want that?” Except to fuck you sixty-three variations from sin on Sunday
The dark slashes of his brows crashed together and he looked at her as if she were a new sort of tick he hadn't seen before. “Yes, then I think you will do nicely."
"No, I really can't agree
. I don't think this is going to work out at all.” Everything about him was too much, she knew instinctively he'd be dangerous to her piece of mind. Khloe smiled her most professional and polite smile and turned to walk away, dreading the ninety blocks she'd have to walk home.
"Wait, Miss Bell. I don't think you're going to care for that walk home. Bree asked that I give you cab fare this first week until you get a cheque. Which I am more than happy to do, but not until I get a day's work out of you."
Khloe turned back to face him. “It's already clear that we aren't going to suit."
He cut her off with a laugh. “You're too much, really. Suit? What is this, Regency England?"
Oh yes, it was. Right now. It would be again a few hours later, when Khloe was home by herself in the shower, with Walter, the new high-pressure showerhead. She could easily see Reed in breeches and boots—oh, God! Khloe was so wet with anticipation. All of Bree's stories were running through her head and Khloe could picture herself in each and every one. She made a mental note to strangle her best friend when she got back.
"I think we'll suit just fine, Khloe Bell.” He shoved a stack of papers at her. “Familiarise yourself with my schedule. You'll find an email and password and everything else you'll need in the top drawer of your desk. Bree set everything up for you before she left."
He turned and went back to his office, the pretentious prick. Khloe sighed. He hadn't even introduced himself, as if everyone should just know he was Reed Rothington, God of Cunny and Financial Genius.
She sank into the chair and, not seeing any other choice, began to do as he'd instructed. Though Khloe wondered if the walk back to her apartment would have ended up being the least painful of her options in the long run.
It didn't take her long to familiarise herself with his schedule, type the memos he'd drafted, sort his mail and learn he liked one stevia packet and a tablespoon of chocolate creamer in his coffee. Which was exactly how she liked her own.
It was really a very easy position.
Position. Missionary, reverse-cowgirl, doggy... On her desk, on his desk, on that leather couch, riding him in that plush chair and—
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