Seduced: Den of Sin Boxed Set 1

by Mel Blue

  ***

  “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never needed help in the dating department. How did you manage to get roped into this?” Karen asked. Their history made it easy to skip the small talk Karen was sure most couples embarking on this adventure were enjoying right about now. Paul was engaging and self-deprecating enough to put her at ease. They were riding through the streets of New Orleans proper now. Winter bathed the city in gray, making the historical buildings, most of which had been repaired since Katrina, look even more grizzled with age.

  “To answer your question honestly…” He leveled her with a look. “I stupidly let you get away once, and if signing up for a weekend of debauchery retrieves that missed opportunity, then so be it.”

  Karen didn’t quite know where her boldness was coming from, but since he was being honest, she would be, too. “Have I been that itch you’ve always wanted to scratch?” She looked at his big hands again and couldn’t help wondering how they were going to feel against her skin.

  “I might put other women in that unflattering category. Not you.”

  “You don’t have to say things just to flatter me,” she said. “Word is I’m a sure thing this weekend.” He did a bit of a double-take, and the car wobbled just a little.

  When he got control of the car again, he said, “I know I’ve behaved like an early iteration of Forrest Gump’s Lieutenant Dan for most of the time you’ve known me, but you’ve always been off-limits. When we first met, you were married to Greg, and after that, you were always cozy with Cameron Edwards.”

  Karen laughed. “You’re actually more his type than I am.”

  “He’s gay?” Paul wore a look of incredulity crossed with downright glee, if that were possible.

  “Yeah, last I checked,” Karen said.

  “He’s damn good at hiding his … sexual preference.”

  Karen shook her head. “Like he’d wear it on his sleeve in academia.”

  “No, he was just always so territorial and postured like there was something between you two.”

  “I might have acted as his beard at academic events, and he’s been my plus one a lot, but Cameron and I have known each other since I was his T.A. at Georgetown.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh, indeed,” Karen said.

  There was awkwardness for several seconds before Paul said, “So, we’ve both pretty much kept ourselves emotionally and socially unavailable to each other for all those years for no reason?” His question was both sarcasm-laden and rhetorical.

  Karen didn’t feel the need to answer his question as much as to set the record straight. “Let’s not pretend anything other than friendship was ever possible between us. We’ve lived sixteen hours apart for almost ten years, and you’ve always been sufficiently preoccupied.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You said it yourself. You behaved like Lieutenant Dan.”

  “But, I wasn’t the one using a gay guy as a shield.”

  “Can you blame me? Most men interested in me were still looking for Karen Daniels, the supermodel, and I wasn’t about to go around sharing my health history with every Joe Blow interested in getting under my skirt.” She saw a smoldering in his eyes when she mentioned guys trying to get under her skirt, and he ran his gaze appreciatively over her legs. He tried not to make it obvious but failed.

  “Why are we even having this conversation? When I asked for you, I told Seraphina our history might pose a problem, but she insisted our compatibility profiles were a perfect match. And judging from your reaction back at the airport, you didn’t even know it was going to be me, did you?”

  Karen considered lying then figured what was the use? Her shoulders sagged. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, now that you’re over the initial shock, aren’t you even a little glad it’s me? Because I’m ecstatic Seraphina was able to get you to do this.”

  Karen tried to refrain, but she had to smile. “Yeah?”

  The smile he returned was the only answer she needed. The confrontation was, for the most part, over now. This was how their misunderstandings always went. Emotions ran high until they’d each said their piece, then it was back to normal.

  “I know you’ve been to the hotel a couple of times recently as a regular guest, but how did Seraphina convince you to participate in the fantasy weekend?” he asked.

  “She and my sister Brandy went to college together. They conspired against me.”

  “So, you were still reluctant about the weekend even after seeing my profile? Was I not as spectacular on paper as you expected?”

  He grinned, letting her know he was joking.

  “You forget I already knew the man in person before I met him on paper.”

  “Not well enough, apparently,” he said with a lascivious smile.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. Had I known Greg was going to bail on you a year after I left, I might’ve made my move sooner.”

  This was news to Karen. She’d always thought her feelings for Paul had been one-sided or that he’d just been curious and felt sorry for her. He’d recognized her and even remembered her maiden name, which she’d kept and used throughout her modeling career. In fact, their friendship was almost derailed before it got off the ground, because he’d brought a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue for her to sign, believing it to be a flattering gesture, but she’d refused and explained to him she wasn’t that woman anymore. At any rate, he’d had eight years after her failed marriage to make a move and never did. That spoke volumes, despite her half-assed attempt at using Cameron as a shield.

  “Paul, let’s not go into this with any expectations,” she said. “We still could be totally incompatible, and it’ll make it easier if we just relax and see where these few days take us, okay?”

  He frowned and said, “Ooookay.”

  Cue the second sign of awkwardness.

  They rode the last block to the hotel in silence, then Paul swerved his car into the valet spot of the quaint, luxury hotel on an otherwise quiet, but infamous, street corner. As he helped her out of the car, Karen was assaulted by the smells she remembered from previous visits. There was a hint of shellfish brine, jasmine, roux, chicory, beignets, stale beer, and wisteria in the air.

  Karen admired the majestic nineteenth-century building with a Federal façade of red brick. She couldn’t wait to see the distinctive Creole loggias that opened onto the garden, and the inside of the hotel itself, which boasted three courtyards. There was a heated swimming pool and hot tub, and it was bordered by outbuildings that once might have been slave quarters. There were also six floors of galleried suites. Seeing it in person, the hotel looked as if it allowed its residents the opportunity to step back in time.

  Although she’d been to the hotel several times over the years, this was her first foray into the “Den of Sin.” She’d studied the brochure Seraphina sent with the profile like it was a classroom text, another dead giveaway that she was more interested in this than she was willing to admit.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Paul had come abreast of her, wheeling their luggage.

  “Even more gorgeous than the last time.” She was only half-referring to the hotel. What was really drawing her admiration was his ass in those jeans.

  The valet exchanged Paul’s keys for a ticket, and a bellman took their luggage and headed for the entryway. Paul took Karen’s hand. There was more than a modicum of chemistry between them as his big hand engulfed hers, even though she considered herself less than petite.

  Her Amazonian stature had earned her college tuition several times over in her former chosen career. It might have bought her a comfortable early retirement, if she hadn’t used a big chunk of it to save her life when she’d gotten breast cancer at twenty-three. She had good health insurance, but many of the alternative medical procedures she’d adopted weren’t reimbursable, and she hadn’t bought the more expensive cancer policy
. In your twenties, you think you’ll never get sick, and you’re going to live forever.

  When genetic tests revealed she had the BCRA2 gene, she’d opted for the radical double mastectomy, even though only one breast had actually been cancerous. It meant the college degree that was supposed to have been her plan B became her only plan, other than doing everything she could to survive. Her life as a fashion model had become superfluous. The seven years at Morgan State as an Associate Professor of African-American History had kept her sane.

  They made quick work of checking in. That’s when the realization struck Karen that the people mingling in the parlor were like them—coming together for a weekend of unbridled sexual fantasy. If she thought too much about it, she might bolt. Instead she decided to concentrate on hers and Paul’s clasped hands, and the proximity to this man she’d known almost a decade but with whom she’d never crossed that physical line. Now she had what amounted to four days with him, counting this particular Friday afternoon, and she was ready to end the year on a high note.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You can have the top two drawers for your things,” Paul said and proceeded to open his suitcase. Despite having known Karen for almost ten years and having a thing for her most of that time, including when she was still married to that dickwad Gregory Freeman, he was nervous.

  “But you’re taller,” she said as she hung her garment bag in the closet and pulled down the zipper. He was glad her back was to him, so he could adjust himself.

  Usually in situations with women post-amputation, he was only nervous until he got the disclosure about his missing limb out of the way, so he wasn’t sure why his palms were sweaty.

  The most incongruous thing of all was the state of his dick. He’d been sporting a stiffy, as if he were a hormonal teenager, since he first spotted her at the airport. He was thankful it had been obscured by thick jeans. At this point, he was hard to the point of pain, and this didn’t bode well for her. Considering all he’d read about the difficulties women faced after breast cancer, he couldn’t just go charging her with his hard-on like the horny bastard he was. He needed to finesse his best and most intimate foreplay skill. Karen needed gentle, not bull in a china shop.

  All of his things were put away, and she arranged the last of her belongings in the top drawers. Had he been thinking lecherously rather than gentlemanly, he might have left her the bottom drawers, so he could get a good look when she bent over. He could’ve slapped himself over his sophomoric thoughts as he put their suitcases away in the closet. They hadn’t discussed how these four days of cohabitation would go, but it seemed they were at least compatible in their dwelling habits, so far.

  The flowers he’d had delivered were proudly on display on a table, flanked by two comfortable-looking antique chairs. No expectations. Her request had come a bit late. All wasn’t lost, if he could get to the card before she noticed them. Big romantic gestures weren’t usually his forte anyway. What had he been thinking? He much preferred quiet, understated dates where he wasn’t required to play the Casanova. Even before his injury, his shyness around women had been construed as overconfidence, and that had played to his advantage. His reputation had preceded him. After that he’d never needed to try.

  He’d just barely nabbed the tiny envelope, when Karen plopped into one of the chairs. “Would you like dinner here at the hotel, or do you want to venture out?” Then she paused when she noticed the card in his hand. “Oh, are those for me?” Damn, he was busted. “I thought maybe the hotel provided them.” She held out her hand.

  He gave her the card, and all he could do then was recite the inscription in his head as she read it: “To Karen, The Penthesilea to my Achilles. May our physical altercations only include weapons of pleasure. Yours, (this weekend and as long as you’ll have me), Paul.”

  She looked up at him, her forehead wrinkled with apprehension. “This is really sweet, Paul, but I meant what I said. I won’t hold you to anything past this weekend.” She deposited the card and envelope on the table next to the flowers and stood. Then she locked eyes with him, but she wasn’t letting him in emotionally.

  Paul was disappointed but wasn’t ready to give up, not by a long-shot. He took her hand, and though she tried to look as if it was no big deal, he felt her trembling.

  “Let’s begin again,” he implored. “Because I want to do something I was too honorable to do while you were someone else’s wife.”

  “Okay,” she said and nodded vigorously at the same time. She expelled a puff of breath as he turned to set the mood. First he turned on the satellite radio to a soft jazz station. Then, he walked over to the wetbar where a half-split of champagne was chilling in a bucket alongside a small, covered plate he knew contained grapes and an assortment of cheeses and crackers. He opened the bottle, poured them both a glass of the champagne, and took one back to Karen where she still sat, looking like a nervous ingénue who was about to be seduced by an experienced lothario. Though it wasn’t far from the truth, he didn’t want her to be nervous, and he hoped the champagne would soon work its magic. Until it did, he decided to hold off on his planned seduction and reminded himself again he needed to be patient. Take it slow.

  He took the seat next to her and held his glass toward her. She followed his lead and touched her glass to his.

  “To a successful fantasy weekend and beyond.”

  Karen didn’t add anything to the toast. She quickly took a sip of her champagne, and he took a leisurely sip as he watched her glance from him, to the bed, and finally to the beautiful view of the gardens just beyond the balcony window. The vision before him was more interesting than the aesthetics of their location.

  He took in the caramel skin he couldn’t wait to taste, the shapely long legs he’d admired for more than a decade, and her beautiful brown eyes. He’d first admired her as the supermodel who’d been the stuff of many men’s fantasies, then later as the broken, unhappily married woman he’d met in Baltimore. They’d wasted so many years waltzing around their attraction, and in as much as he’d tried to drown the feelings he had for her in a sea of other women, it hadn’t worked.

  This weekend was the beginning of his quest to convince her they belonged together, and if things worked out the way he hoped, they would be in virtually the same place for the spring semester, giving them all the time they needed to build a relationship at last. He knew she’d interviewed at Tulane and that the job was as good as hers. His Department Head at LSU was friends with the Department Head at Tulane and had intimated as much. That was as good a segue as any to spark conversation, but Karen steered it in a different direction.

  “I’ve never seen you dance,” she said.

  “Probably because I’d never been much good at it with both legs, and now …” He waved it off. “Bad enough to step on my partner’s foot, but to do it with a clunky prosthetic? No, thanks.”

  “All it takes is a little coordination,” she said.

  She took another drink, set her glass down on the tiny table between them, and stood. “Here, let me show you a few moves. There’s a masked ball this weekend, and if you’re going to be my date, you have to be able to dance with me.”

  She extended her hand to him. He took it and joined her.

  “So, show me what you got, Beaudelaire.”

  “I haven’t danced since I was an undergrad at LSU.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’ve got to remember something.” She held her arms out to him, already posed as if they were dancing.

  He moved close to her, snaked one arm around her waist, and took her raised hand. Frissons of electrical current zapped him when they touched. This either never happened to them before, or he’d tamped the attraction he had for her down so tight, it’d never surfaced. This weekend all bets were off, because he was going to finally have this woman he’d been denied for so long. He tried not to look like a goofball as she instructed him on what to do.

  They danced to a jazzed-up saxophone solo version of “The Wa
y We Were.” First, he followed her lead as she showed him foot movements to a basic slow dance. Then she handed the reins over to him, and he pulled her closer. They moved around the small floor space in a coordination he hadn’t tried in a very long time.

  Paul had to concentrate so as not to injure her, but after a minute or so, he got the hang of it and avoided colliding with her toes. Having her in his arms for more than the infrequent friendly hug was divine, and their bodies fit together like they’d been cut from complementary molds. That she was tall was an asset.

  “You’re doing well,” she said then rested her head on his shoulder. Her even breathing wafted warm over his throat. He nuzzled into her hair and placed close-mouthed kisses there. Then he threw all caution to wind.

  “Karen, I’d like to kiss you,” he murmured, just so his intentions were clear.

  “Is that the thing you mentioned wanting to do?” she whispered.

  “Part of it,” he said.

  When she raised her head to look into his eyes, in one fluid motion he lowered his head and kissed her. He gathered her closer into his arms, his control slain. Already halfway there, he held her tighter and took everything she was willing to give. First her luscious lips and sweet tongue, then her captivating body plastered against his. Paul’s instincts took over, and he backed them toward the bed where they fell, lips still locked and bodies intertwined.

  He’d originally intended a slow, intimate seduction, perhaps after an intimate dinner, but he wasn’t about to put the brakes on now that they were otherwise engaged. He kneaded the soft, supple muscle beneath her sweater as he trailed one hand down to that perfect derriere he’d wanted to touch since forever. Just the right combination of soft flesh and tight muscle. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he feared he wouldn’t last long at all if they were to make love at that moment.

  Their hands were a flurry of motion as they quickly divested themselves of clothing and explored terrain that had heretofore been taboo. As lips met skin and hands caressed flesh that hadn’t had human touch in quite some time, the only sounds in the room were moans of pleasure and murmurs of acquiescence.