Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Mortal sensation - ALLYSON JAMES
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Dungeon Dreams - SHERI WHITEFEATHER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
eISBN : 978-1-101-43470-3
http://us.penguingroup.com
For Dr. Adrienne Ellis Reeves, one of the most amazing, inspiring women I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.
Prologue
FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS
JAILLISSEMENT DE PLAISIR ... THE FOUNTAIN OF PLEASURE
Hidden away in a forgotten, overgrown courtyard deep in the heart of the French Quarter, the bubbling marble fountain was aptly named.
If one believed in voodoo ...
Legend had it that the beautiful, ancient fountain could cast a powerful and erotic lover’s spell through a simple wish and the tossing of a coin—whether deliberate or innocently done.
Tout quoi vous voulez, the inscription read. Everything you wish.
Was it true? Was the Jaillissement de Plaisir magical? Could it weave an unbreakable spell of sensual, carnal pleasure around a couple who’d once met at the dancing feet of its three beguiling muses?
Or was it all just a huge coincidence?
Tessa Kittredge would always wonder ...
Chapter 1
FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS
PRESENT DAY
“This is a brothel?”
Tessa Kittredge could not believe she’d let her friend Laura talk her into this ... this ... insane idea.
A bachelorette party at a brothel.
“I keep telling you. It’s not a brothel, it’s a private sex club. Here in the Quarter it’s known as a maison.” Laura—the bride—corrected her choice of nomenclature with a mischievous wink. “Not brothel. Maison.”
Oh, excuse me. Maison. Like there was a difference?
Seriously. Not only was the party to be held at this house of ill repute—however upscale—but the bride had actually arranged for her bridesmaids to become part of the evening’s activities—as merchandise!
Oh. My. God.
“Let’s see. The guy at the door took my bank information not just to pay for drinks, but to receive payment for my sexual favors. What part of that isn’t a brothel?” If Tessa weren’t so appalled, she’d have to admit there was a certain cosmic humor to the situation. After all, what was marriage but an elaborate, lifelong contract for sex? Well. At least until one of the partners got tired of the other.
Not that she was cynical or anything.
Still.
“Possible sexual favors,” Laura corrected again. “Just one option on the menu.”
“How do they even get around the law? Last I heard, prostitution was illegal.”
“This is a private club, members only, where sexual fantasies are fulfilled. All completely legal. Being paid for sex is just one of the many scenarios you can choose. Though seriously, when was the last time you made a thousand bucks for a few hours’ work? Well ... pleasure.”
“Very funny.”
“Of course, it’s not called that on the invoice. The rooms here are called pleasure chambers, which is technically what the patron pays for, and your remuneration is a consultant’s fee.”
“Consultant, eh.” Tessa tugged at the short skirt of the slinky blue strapless dress Laura had provided for her to wear and glanced nervously around the main floor of the maison, Chez Duchesne. Once you got through the strict security check, the bar and reception area appeared completely normal, like those of any other luxurious boutique hotel. Except for the part where some of the guests were walking around wearing nothing but sexy underwear—and some not even that much. Along with the golden masks most of the women and some of the men wore to hide their identities.
Which meant they were available. Available.
For purchase. Or any number of other sexual diversions.
Oh. My. God.
Tessa had been stunned when the other two bridesmaids donned their masks with alacrity and disappeared within seconds of the guard letting them inside.
“This is crazy. Even for you,” Tessa murmured to Laura.
Her friend looped arms with her and urged her farther into the sumptuously appointed room. Music pulsed in the background, punctuated by bursts of coy laughter and the tinkle of crystal glasses. The exotic scent of jasmine filled the air. “Darling, every woman fantasizes about being a whore at one time or another,” Laura said. “Don’t tell me you never have, because I know better.”
“Fantasies are one thing,” Tessa pointed out, her cheeks warming at the candid insight. She had to remember that Laura knew her better than anyone else did. Being college roommates first time away from a repressive home tended to bring out one’s most well-kept secrets. “Even schoolgirl fantasies. That doesn’t mean I’d actually do it in real life. Especially now that I know better.”
Laura smiled meaningfully. “Tell me, how many one-night stands have you had in the past ten years?”
There was no use prevaricating. “One or two,” Tessa grudgingly admitted. “But that was different.”
“True. Play your cards right, and tonight you’ll walk away with a nice fat paycheck instead of shattered illusions.”
A thousand dollars for an hour, five grand for the night—which was only half the full charge. Outrageous what men were willing to pay for no strings. Not that she was terribly surprised. Bitter? Hell, not her. It was actually better this way. More honest. In theory, she had no problem with the arrangement. Just not for her.
“I don’t need the money,” she said firmly. She had a great job as a landscape architect. Admittedly, not for a thousand dollars an hour.
“After that last nasty breakup, you could use a little fun,” Laura pointed out, steering her toward the bar. “A night of unreserved sexual fantasy. Trust me, it’ll be amazing.”
Easy for her to say. Laura had always been the impetuous, spontaneous, wild-child friend. The one that careful, orderly, good-girl Tessa had always envied just a little. Okay, a lot. But she had already spotted the groom among the guests, so she knew very well what fantasy they were playing at tonight, and it wasn’t sex for money. She, however, had no one waiting in the wings to make the scenario less ... alarming. Not here. Not back home. Hell, not ever again, if she had anything to say about it.
“You know I’m not into sex with strangers,” she said over the pulsing throb of the music. “I’m not eighteen and naïve anymore. Besides, I’m done with men for a while.” She was tired of being unfulfilled and then bearing the blame for being too hard to please. Could she help it if the guys she’d met sucked at turning her on?
The men around them were glancing over now, openly interested. The heat in Tessa’s cheeks intensified. It made her feel ... exposed. On display. And surprisingly, a little excited. She couldn’t deny the fantasy of selling oneself to a
stranger was a powerful one. Heck, doing anything sexual with a complete stranger was, for that matter.
“You don’t have to sell yourself,” Laura assured her, her eyes flirting openly with one of the lookers. “Not unless you want to. Hell, you could even pay one of these guys to please you. No rules, Tessa. No requirements, other than to have a good time.”
Yeah, they’d already been through all of this. Outside, in that eerie, overgrown courtyard next door, where she, Laura, and the other two bridesmaids had stopped to make a wish at an unnervingly evocative voodoo fountain. The fountain, called the Jaillissement de Plaisir—a more than suggestive name, if her high school French served her—was supposed to bring immense sexual pleasure and everlasting love to all who made an offering to it. After giggling through their wishes and tossing their coins—which Tessa had palmed rather than let fly into the water—they’d sat down on the crumbling fountain wall and Laura had revealed the shocking details of the bachelorette party.
But to be honest, Tessa hadn’t been able to concentrate on the explanation. Chills kept running up and down her spine. That deserted courtyard had seemed so strangely, spookily familiar. Like she’d been there before. And the three half-nude muses holding up the fountain all seemed to be dancing just for her, gazing at her with alluring eyes, beckoning her to join them in their wantonness. Not to mention the unnerving feeling that someone had been watching her the whole time. Someone male and hidden from view, with a powerful aura she could almost taste in the sultry night air.
All day she’d been feeling restless, like she was waiting for something to happen. Something that would change her life forever.
Could this be it?
“Come on,” Laura said, leading her deeper into the decadence. “Let yourself go. If you don’t want to have sex with anyone, don’t. Just indulge yourself and enjoy the possibilities. You decide how far things go.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Tessa murmured, torn between the temptation of the fantasy and fear of the reality.
Laura handed her a golden mask. “Of course you can. Darling, for one night, give yourself permission to become whomever you want, to do whatever you wish.” She smiled mysteriously. “Who knows what erotic, sensual spell the Jaillissement de Plaisir has already cast upon you? You might just find you like it.”
Chapter 2
Treves “Shay” Duchesne strode through the main atrium of the maison that bore his family name, heading for the bar. He nodded politely to the many women and even a man or two who turned to flaunt their bodies and smile at him flirtatiously. As on every other night, it was like walking a sexual gauntlet.
“Not tonight, cher,” he murmured a dozen times without slowing his pace, his own smile firmly affixed to his lips despite his anger and frustration.
Thwarted. Again.
Putain de foutre. Fucking hell. This was all that damned fountain’s fault.
Jaillissement de Plaisir. Shay snorted derisively. Not. More like Jaillissement de Merde.
The thing was hexed, all right. But it did not grant endless love and pleasure. Not by a long shot. It brought nothing but everlasting trouble.
“Something wrong, boss?” Piron, his friend and Chez Duchesne’s majordomo, asked when he went straight to the top shelf and poured himself a shot of twenty-five-year-old bourbon.
Shay tossed it back and poured another. “We’ve been denied again.”
“The permit?”
He nodded. For fifteen years his family had been trying to turn that eyesore fountain courtyard into a beautiful outdoor restaurant—gourmet food, beignets, the whole New Orleans thing. Fifteen years! But each time, the building permit had been turned down. All because he wanted to repair the ancient brick walkways so they wouldn’t be a safety hazard. The Historical Society insisted that would be changing the original character of the important landmark. Never mind it was his own great-great-great-grand-père who had laid the bricks himself. Dieu!
“I own the damn property! Historical foutu landmark, mon cul.” Jesus. It wasn’t like he planned to touch the damn fountain. He’d carefully planned a new intimate gourmet dining area with the Jaillissement as its centerpiece. Hell, the fountain would only enhance the restaurant’s appeal to the upscale clientele. But not if they tripped and broke their necks on the uneven bricks. “I hope that charlatan Marie Laveau rots in hell for casting her silly love spells at its base for my sadly delusioned ancestor.”
The story went, when Shay’s great-great-great-grand-père came over from France and built Chez Duchesne, he invited the beautiful New Orleans voodoo queen to come and give her blessing to the exotic maison, which at the time had been a full-fledged bordello. She’d instantly become enchanted with the Jaillissement de Plaisir fountain, and supposedly, the courtyard became one of her favorite gris-gris spots, along with occasionally gracing the patron de la maison with her favors. Or so the story went.
Piron shrugged. “A hundred seventy years later, her spells, dey still seem to be working.” He gestured to the full house. “Place is packed, everyone enjoying the fruits of her magic.”
“Don’t you start.” Shay threw back his second shot with a scowl. “That’s due solely to my hard work, and my father’s, and his father’s before him. Not some witchy curse.”
Piron chuckled. “Mais, yeah. Goes without saying.”
“Stupid superstitions.”
Piron slid a key card into Shay’s jacket pocket and winked. “Forget about that ol’ courtyard tonight. Pick you out a woman, you. Feel better in da morning.”
“Not in the mood,” he practically growled.
Despite that, Shay’s thoughts strayed to the woman he’d seen making a wish at the fountain a little while ago.
Yeah, that was the other problem. Of all days to see her again—the little vixen who’d sent his life careening down this path of voodoo merde. Not that he believed in hexes or spells. Not for a single second. He just needed to find the woman, confront her, and erase her from his memory once and for all. Because two kids tossing coins into some stupid fountain together—accidentally yet—had not caused his never-ending difficulties with that goddamn courtyard nor his inability to find a lover he was happy with for more than three nights running. The thought was ridiculous, completement fou.
This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. Tonight he’d watched the apparition from his past in the falling darkness from his private balcony overlooking the courtyard. And been kicked in the gut by the still-vivid memory of that long auburn hair, the proud, distinctive set to her slim shoulders, the shocked expression in her youthful green eyes as, in his own adolescent cockiness, he’d tried to kiss her. He could still feel the impact of her outraged smack on the check ... just as he had relived in his mind a score of times over the past fifteen years.
Of course, so far it had never actually been the woman that sweet jeune fille must have grown into by now. But one of these days, it would be her. The real her. She would come back. Drawn to that damned fountain by the same insane compulsion that constantly gnawed at his own insides. He felt the certainty of it as surely as he felt the creeping boredom that promised to slowly suffocate him if he didn’t find something more to fill his life. Something real. Something like—God knew what.
Merde.
He slammed his empty glass onto the bar in frustration. “Have you seen an auburn-haired woman in a short blue dress?” he demanded of Piron. “She was at the Jaillissement earlier. With three other women. They may have come in together a few minutes ago.”
Piron’s brow arched. “Your pretty obsession again?”
Always a comedian. “Just answer the damn question.”
Piron jerked his chin toward the far end of the bar. “You mean dat fille, over dere?”
Shay turned to look at the woman his friend had indicated. And froze where he stood. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up in shock and amazement.
Le bon Dieu.
It was her.
The same
beautiful fall of auburn hair. The same proud, slim shoulders. The same lush, tempting lips.
And she was just putting on a golden mask.
Chapter 3
Tessa lifted the featherlight mask to her face, testing the feel of it against her skin. It felt ... unnervingly good. Cool and satin-smooth. Mysterious and sexy. For a breathless second she actually considered leaving it on.
What would it be like to choose a man and let him explore her body? To let him demand licentious acts of her? To submit to his every sexual whim, and let him pay for the privilege?
A wash of goose bumps spilled down her bare arms. Laura was so right. Tessa had fantasized more than once about doing just that. Having amazing, anonymous sex with a hot guy whose only connection to her was a straightforward business arrangement. No games, no future expectations. A night of blissful carnal excess without any of the usual emotional fall-out. A man she could totally be herself around without worrying that she didn’t measure up to some unachievable standard of perfect feminine behavior. A chance to explore the shadow side of herself she’d never quite dared acknowledge, except in the forbidden dreams she would occasionally wake up from, panting from a mortifyingly intense climax. But this time she’d be awake.
The prospect turned her on. A lot. She felt her body stir with an unfamiliar sexual hunger, urging her to let herself go. Just this once ...
But no. How could she even consider it? The whole idea was too outrageous. Too risky. Too ... unlike her. Decisively, she lowered the mask and turned back to Laura. “Honest to God, Laur, I just can’t—”
But her friend had vanished.
In her place stood a man. Tall, dark, and exquisitely handsome, he wore an elegant suit that fit him to perfection and a button-down shirt with an open collar that revealed an enticing triangle of tan skin and the barest hint of black chest hair peeking out.
Wedding Favors Page 1