Tempted by a Kiss

by Anna Durand

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  Tempted by a Kiss

  by

  Anna Durand

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Tempted by a Kiss

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Anna Durand

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0592-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Tempted by a Kiss

  I swayed on my stool, to the rhythm of the bass beat throbbing into me. Multicolored lights strobed over the dance floor, where couples writhed and rocked, their bodies locked in a carnal ritual. This was Dance Ardor, Chicago’s hottest new underground club. It had seemed like the perfect spot to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, and my freedom.

  Goodbye, Devon McCallister.

  How could I have not known he was cheating on me for the entire two years of our relationship? How blind was I? Completely. I hadn’t figured out the truth until I stumbled onto Devon’s private porn collection—dozens of videos documenting his trysts with seven different women. All stored on his cell phone. I mean, really. His cell phone? I borrowed it all the time, since his phone had a better camera than mine. Maybe he wanted me to find the videos. To see. To be humiliated.

  I tapped my fingernails on the crimson-speckled surface of the purple tabletop. Tonight was for coming out. No more shame. I’d come here on a secret mission to liberate myself—sans chaperone. But my best friend had insisted on meeting me here to celebrate, despite my every attempt to stop that idea in its tracks. I’d have to shake loose my well-meaning friend, before I lost my nerve. And this plan—it required nerves of steel.

  My watch told me I’d been waiting ten minutes past our agreed-upon meeting time. I drummed the toes of my high-heeled shoes on the middle rung of my stool. A dark-skinned man dressed in tight, leather pants and a tighter, emerald shirt smiled at me from across the dance floor. His gaze dropped to my breasts, then flicked back to my face, his smile turning lustful. Bingo. The dress, a cobalt-blue halter that brought out my eyes, worked to perfection. I shifted position, the hem of my dress riding up my thigh a little, the silky fabric teasing my skin. I smiled at the guy and waved.

  A pair of big hands closed over my eyes from behind. My heart thudded. Lips brushed my ear as a familiar voice said, “We’re not sitting out here.”

  I batted away the hands. My best friend, Adam Caras, had sucky timing. The guy on the other side of the club switched his attentions to a blonde in a slinky tube dress. I fingered my dark hair and wondered if I should cut the long waves. The blonde had short, perky hair.

  Adam moved in front of me to blockade me from the dance floor with his lean, tall body. “I reserved a private booth in back. Let’s go.”

  “Hello to you too, Adam.” The boyish grin he flashed melted my irritation a bit. I hated when he did that.

  Adam slanted toward me, our faces level. “Happy Birthday, Mel. You look beautiful.”

  He looked…different. Jeans and t-shirts were his thing, when he wasn’t in his firefighter garb. Tonight, he wore all black, from his shirt down to his leather boots with artfully scuffed bronze buckles. When he leaned his hip on the table, his form-fitting slacks stretched taut over powerful thighs and narrow hips. The top two buttons of his long-sleeve shirt hung open, revealing smooth, tanned skin. The pulsing strobes ignited golden flecks in his warm, brown eyes and honey streaks in his short-cropped cinnamon hair.

  His hand closed over mine and he tugged. Come with me, the gesture meant. Sheesh, firefighters were a bossy lot. But how could I complete my mission if Adam kept blocking my attempts? I sure as hell couldn’t tell him why I needed him to leave. He’d throw me over his shoulder and haul me out of here. I shook my head. “This is a dance club. Shockingly, I came here to dance and have fun.”

  “Your surprise is in the booth.”

  My gaze wandered to the dance floor and to the couples joined in vertical foreplay. That’s what I came here for, dammit. Not to be herded around by Adam.

  He tugged my hand again. “Please, Mel.”

  “I like it out here.” I folded my arms under my breasts, lifting my chin.

  Adam flinched. His gaze veered to the dancers, and of course, he started checking out a brunette with tight, little breasts and a slender body. Adam’s type. Not that he was picky. His pals at the firehouse called him the Arsonist because he could set fire to a woman’s libido with one scorching look. Remote detonation, they called it. Firefighter humor. Go figure.

  I’d always wondered why Adam didn’t settle down. He was a good man, he loved kids, he believed in marriage, and he had two loving parents as role models. Still, he chose the love-’em-and-leave-’em lifestyle. I shook my head.

  Adam mistook my confusion for obstinacy and clasped my upper arm in his muscular hand. “If you won’t heel, then dance with me.”

  “Heel?” I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m not a puppy.”

  His gaze roamed over my body, hesitated at my breasts, then rose to fix on my eyes. His lips quirked. “I know exactly what you are, Mel.”

  This time, he offered me his hand, palm up. I stared at it. My stomach fluttered, though I had no clue why. I’d danced with Adam a number of times, at weddings and parties.

  A strange warmth rushed through me, but evaporated in an instant. The hand, the one attached to the arm of my best friend, waited patiently. I settled my palm in his. He curled his fingers around my hand. I hopped off the stool and let him guide me toward the dance floor. The music had segued from an up-tempo number to a slow, seductive beat with an enticing melody, played on exotic instruments. The song conjured visions of a Middle Eastern palace, belly dancers, and hot, dark men with lascivious intentions.

  We sidled between the other dancers, wending our way across the dance floor on the hunt for a vacant slot. At last, we broke out of the masses into a cramped space just wide enough for the two of us, forcing me to move closer to Adam. He pivoted on his heels to face me and, keeping my hand in his, lifted it in a ballroom dancing position. His other hand lightly rested on my hip. This was what I expected from a dance with Adam. Then he dragged me into him, my body suddenly crushed against his heat. My heart skipped. The strobes had given way to soft, pulsing, golden lights. In the twilight of the floor, I couldn’t make out his expression. Entwined with Adam, aware of every hard line of his muscles, I was paralyzed.

  He began to move. His hips swayed against mine, urging me to rock with him. Some primal instinct overtook my reason and I let his body command mine. Our hips bound in an erotic rhythm. My breasts smashed to his chest. His sensuous mouth a breath away from mine. This was the Arsonist in action, I realized with a shock. Why was he wasting his moves on me?

  One of his hands drifted up my back. His fingertips feathered over my skin. I clung to his shou
lders, my breaths quick and shallow. The hairs all over my body stiffened as if an electrical current grazed my skin. He grasped my hips in both hands, rolling me into him, over and over, in time with the exotic melody. The bass beat pounded through the floor, pulsated up my legs, quivered between my thighs. His chest rubbed against mine, back and forth, with each rock of our fused hips. My nipples tightened. I gasped. What the hell was wrong with me? This was Adam. I couldn’t—

  “It’s time,” he whispered into my ear.

  A hard shiver raked through me. He took my hand. We wended our way through the crowd, past a man grinding his hips into the crotch of his buxom partner. She thrust into him, head thrown back, expression wild with ecstasy. The man covered her breasts with his hands and ran his tongue up her throat. I pictured Adam licking my neck, his hands on—

  My cheeks burned. Whether from the brazen antics of the other dancers or from my own reaction to Adam, I had no clue. My brain had turned to gelatin. The warmth of Adam’s hand. The gentle strength of his grip. The sight of his muscles flexing and tautening as we traversed the floor. Heat pooled in my belly, sliding lower. Wherever Adam was taking me, I didn’t care. So long as he took me.

  ****

  Lavender bulbs illuminated the corridor, where I counted eight curtained-booths. Adam led me to the last one, tucked into a corner. Velvet curtains the color of ripe plums concealed the private booths.

  My last thought as we left the dance floor resurfaced. So long as he took me. I had not meant it in the way it would’ve sounded if I spoke the words aloud. No way. Adam was my friend. Period.

  Fleeting thoughts rarely merited inspection. And the way my body responded to his dance moves…Ditto for fleeting heat.

  Adam swept aside one velvet curtain. Expression unreadable, he waved for me to enter. I ducked inside. Behind us, an acoustic wall, half the height of the club’s vaulted ceiling, shielded the back rooms from the dance floor and muted the thumping of the music. A semi-circular couch, padded with plum-colored velvet cushioning, surrounded an oblong table.

  As the curtain fluttered closed behind him, Adam ushered me toward the couch. I scooted halfway across it, the velvet drawing up the hem of my dress, brushing my bare skin. I did a little shimmy to tug my dress down again. Adam hissed a breath out his nose. I glanced at him sideways. He tore his wide-eyed gaze from my now-covered thigh, coughed, and rubbed his neck, suddenly obsessed with the booth’s velvet curtain. Why should a glimpse of my thigh bother him? He’d seen me in a bikini, for pete’s sake. I tugged my hem down farther. Adam had seen me half naked, how many times? It never affected me before, but now every nerve in my body sparked at the realization. Crazy.

  On the table, a solitary lamp bathed the space in a creamy glow and spilled over the birthday cake situated near the edge. Pink letters scrawled across the white frosting spelled out, Happy 30th Birthday, Mel.

  Adam slid up beside me. He laid an arm on the couch’s back, behind me. “Cake’s red velvet. Your favorite.”

  My throat constricted and tears pricked my eyes. I blinked them away. I hated my birthday, and Adam knew it. “Thank you. This is really sweet.”

  “I couldn’t let you spend your birthday alone.”

  He stretched an arm out to reach behind the layer cake and plucked up a gift-wrapped box. The little square package featured a tiny pink bow. He offered the box to me. “Here’s your present.”

  I tore off the wrapping and fingered the satin covering of the little…jewelry box. My gaze flew up to Adam’s. He didn’t give jewelry. Ever. His siblings, all brothers, wouldn’t have appreciated dangly earrings and his late-mother hadn’t worn jewelry either. When it came to Adam’s lovers, he told me once jewelry was “too intimate” a gift. I translated that as too close to commitment. So why the hell was he giving me jewelry? My fingers trembled. My mouth went dry.

  He scrunched his eyebrows. I must’ve looked freaked out. For some reason, I was freaked out. Don’t be ridiculous. Just open the stupid thing. I flipped up the lid. There, nestled in satin, lay a pair of delicate drop earrings. Ornate, silver-colored metal enclosed matching faceted-stones of rich red. I touched an earring with one trembling finger. “Are these—”

  “Rubies. Your birthstone. And that’s white gold.”

  “Holy shit, Adam.” I froze, my finger on the stone, and threw a sidelong, probably gaping, glance at him. “You can’t buy me expensive jewelry.”

  “Why not?” He looked genuinely baffled.

  “Because…” Well, why, huh? It felt wrong somehow, but I couldn’t explain the reason. I’m not one of his lovers, this does not imply…anything. “Devon wouldn’t buy me jewelry. If my ex-boyfriend thought it was too much, then my best friend definitely shouldn’t be giving me ruby earrings.”

  Adam snorted. “Devon’s a prick.”

  Couldn’t argue the point. “It’s inappropriate.”

  He exhaled a sharp, irritated sigh. “You didn’t complain last year when I bought you a twelve-game pack of Cubs tickets, and believe me, those cost a damn sight more than these earrings.”

  “You bought me Cubs tickets so I’d take you to the games with me.”

  A sly smile stole across his luscious lips. What? No, his lips were not luscious. They were plain old lips. He bent his head to whisper against the corner of my mouth. “Exactly.”

  “What?” The word was breathless, like me.

  The arm he’d draped behind me shifted a little closer to my shoulders, a hair’s breadth from skimming the bare skin of my back. His fingertips danced over the flesh of my upper arm. “Devon hates baseball. I wanted you all to myself, for a few hours now and then.”

  The bass beat pumped through the floor and bench, vibrating my body, more muted than before yet with enough force to excite all my most sensitive regions. The music did this to me. Adam could not affect me this way. He pulled away, though his arm lingered behind me.

  I knew he’d always disliked Devon, a sentiment my ex shared. During my relationship with Devon, they glared at each other anytime their paths crossed. Adam feigned politeness, for my sake, but Devon made no attempt to mask his disgust with my best friend. Therein lay the difference between the men in my life. All of Adam’s exes liked him, because Adam was considerate and honest. Devon was a lying bastard. Why had I needed so long to figure it out?

  Adam withdrew his arm from behind me. He leaned forward to grab a cake-cutting knife and, positioning it with care, slid the blade down through the layers. As he deposited a slice onto a plastic plate, he asked, “When did you find out he was cheating on you?”

  “The day I left him.” I smoothed my dress over my thighs, chewing my lip. “I’m an idiot, right? I should’ve seen it two years ago. He was too charming, too attentive.”

  Focused on the cake, he cut another piece. “You didn’t seem all that happy with Devon.”

  “I was, at first.” I squirmed, but couldn’t get comfortable. “He, uh, changed. Gradually. I was like the frog in a pot of water who doesn’t notice the temperature rising until the water’s boiling and it’s too late.” I studied the cobalt fabric of my dress, the tiny swirls in the color. “I let him burn me. Because I’m nowhere near as smart as I like to think. I’m a moron.”

  Adam clapped the cake cutter onto the tabletop, rotated toward me, and locked his gaze on mine. His expression was startlingly gentle, in contrast with his rigid posture. He spoke in a quiet, consoling tone. “Mel, you are smart and capable. You run your own business, for Christ’s sake. That takes guts and brains.”

  “Designing websites isn’t rocket science.”

  “You are an amazing woman. End of story.”

  A faint flutter in my stomach made me gulp. “But you hate Devon. Why didn’t you tell me to dump him?”

  He pursed his lips. “How could I say anything? You loved him, and I love you. All I want is for you to be happy. When I realized you weren’t…” He shut his eyes for a second. “I couldn’t butt in. It wasn’t my place.”

&nbs
p; I love you. He meant, as a friend. Didn’t he?

  Adam scratched his neck. “Maybe I should’ve said something.”

  “No, you’re right. It would’ve been a mistake. You despise my boyfriends and I can’t stand to hear about your escapades. Noninterference is the best policy.” I sagged against the couch. “Besides, if you’d told me to leave Devon, it would’ve pitted you against him, with me stuck in the middle. I didn’t want you anywhere near him. “

  Adam arched one brow. “Why is that?”

  “I just…” Why indeed? I scratched my nails across the plush seat. I didn’t want Adam confronting Devon for the same reason I couldn’t take seeing Adam with his conquests. It unsettled me in a way I preferred not to examine. “Could we change the subject? Devon is old news. I’m moving on.”

  He planted one elbow on the table, leaning into it. His shirt tightened across his torso, each muscle outlined against the fabric. I’d known he had a good body, but never had he displayed it to such effect before. Not around me, anyway. What the hell was going on here? Half an hour ago, I’d been on a mission. Now, I sat cloistered in a smokily lit booth ogling my best friend’s abs.

  “I know what you’re doing tonight, Mel.” His voice rumbled low and husky.

  “What are you talking about?” He couldn’t know my secret plan. I told no one.

  His mouth quirked in a rueful half smile. “I’m not that dense. Yesterday, you asked me what the secret was to messing around with women I’d just met and not feeling guilty about it.” He flexed his fingers over the tabletop, curled them in, and flexed them again, as if massaging pliant flesh. “Then you told me about your moratorium on dating. Next thing I know, you’re sneaking off to a club people come to when they want a one night stand.”

  My mouth dropped open. I blinked rapidly, but the shock lingered. How could I have been so transparent? I floundered for a way to save my plan. “I had no idea it was that kind of club.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “You’re a bad liar, Mel.”

  I sank back into the plush upholstery. “I told you not to come here tonight.”