TALL, HARD and TROUBLE
2 Scintillating Romantic Suspense Tales
By
Cerise DeLand
Copyright © 2015 by Cerise DeLand
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or
transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
www.cerisedeland.com
W.J. Power publisher
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Art by http://www.syneca-originalsyn.com
Tall, Hard and Trouble, 2 Scintillating Romantic Suspense Tales, by Cerise DeLand.
ISBN: 978-0-9908943-1-5
No Night Without You
Book 1
What if a man wants to savor one of his employees after hours—and she’s never even given him the time of day?
What if he’s honorable? And he sees her attacked?
Tate Ryder chucks his ethics in a heartbeat.
But Anna Stevens can’t let Tate protect her. He’s sweet. He’s damn delicious. But he could get hurt. And she knows if shows him how deeply she cares for him, he won’t back off.
Good for her that Tate won’t take no for an answer.
Good for him that Anna has hungered for him for years.
Too bad no one can protect her from the secret that’s stalked her all her life.
No Night Too Long
Book 2
What if a man can’t forget one special woman who left him months ago without a word?
What if she suddenly appears one morning in Venice at the same meeting with the same agenda?
And she apologizes. Explains.
Coco Dalton isn’t just a photographer. She’s much more—and because of a job gone wrong, she’s in trouble. Desperate trouble.
Grant Warwick is stunned.
Can he help her?
He has to—or she’ll lose her life and he’ll lose his reason to live.
NO NIGHT WITHOUT YOU
By
Cerise DeLand
Chapter One
Tate Ryder tore his eyes away from the vision of elegant Anna Stevens as she strode toward him onto the veranda of his Houston penthouse. She fished in the pocket of her black satin trousers and brought out her cell phone. With a frown on her face, she answered a call.
So, yeah. She wasn’t looking for him. She didn’t want to chat. Break down the walls between him and her. She never did.
He bit the inside of his cheek and reminded himself once more of the three rules he never broke. Don’t borrow trouble. Don’t start anything you can’t finish. And most important of all, don’t romance the staff.
Leaning back on the railing, he gazed through the glass walls of his condo and surveyed the party raging inside. He congratulated himself he’d never approached Anna as anything other than the CEO of Ryder Resorts and Spas. God knew, every time he got within twenty feet of his director of oriental meditation services, he needed to chill. Even now from the corner of his eye, he could feel her seep into his pores. Hear her sandpaper contralto that rubbed his body into a hot rash of desire.
Like her voice is the only asset that makes me pant. How about those long legs in those flowing slacks? The pert breasts poking up in that ruffled silk blouse. The grace of her in stilettos. The full-throated laughter that usually marked her personality. That wasn’t apparent tonight, but what the hell. The whole package made him ache.
Don’t do the staff.
For the past two years, he’d been such a good CEO and followed that rule with her. And it took more than an ounce of willpower every damn day to keep his eyes polite and sweaty palms to himself.
Sure, he praised himself for his dedication to being an ethical boss, but damn, if he didn’t still want her. Good thing she hadn’t ever indicated any interest in him.
Like that matters. Her rich beauty burned his brain. Worse, his cock got locked and loaded every time he looked at her.
He downed a swig of his champagne and cursed his dilemma.
She was nothing like the women who used to attract him. Lithe, delicate, Anna sported a cloud of rich rosewood hair, sprinkles of freckles on her nose, flawless porcelain skin and the biggest set of hazel eyes he’d ever seen. The yoga and Pilates director at the Texas Gulf Coast spa he owned with his brother Cord and sister-in-law Sienna, Anna moved like a sea breeze. She had firm breasts that stood up without benefit of a bra, her huge flat nipples outlined in the ridiculously thin leotards she wore to work. But what really worked him over were her legs. Long as a gazelle’s, they were beautifully cut from years of working-out. The hollow of her inner thigh was a curve he longed to bury his face in. Better yet, her thighs were supple muscular treats that deserved to be grasped and opened often by a man who knew how to lavish kisses on her and make her purr.
He licked his lower lip, wondering for the thousandth time what she tasted like. He shifted, his cock rising to the fantasy that never left him.
He swallowed back his frustration. He was the host here in his condo, he should act like it. Mix. Mingle. Try to summon some interest in any one of the women in attendance tonight who neither worked for him nor wanted anything from him except maybe a great time in bed.
He downed his drink. Like he’d even been able to get interested in any woman except Anna for the past year. He had one night stands. Correction. More like, one hour stands. For all the exercise his cock was getting lately, he might as well become a monk. “Time to think about getting laid with someone you can have.”
“Talking to yourself these days?” His older brother Cord clamped a hand on his shoulder. Mona Travis, their friend and owner of another chain of spas in the U.S., stood beside him.
Tate shot them both a grim look. “What I do best.”
Cord chuckled. “Only about one subject.”
Mona arched a long thin brow. “Are you drooling over Anna again?”
Tate scoffed. “Should I wear a billboard?”
“Ever since the day you hired her away from me,” Mona taunted Tate, “you’ve had a fever for the lady.”
“Does not compute, you guys.” Tate warned. “The lady is not interested.”
“I do wonder why.” Cord cast an eye at Tate’s auburn hair. “You are a catch, man. Rich, good looking.”
“Says you. But I’m resigned. She’s never given me a second look and my poor damaged ego can’t bear to ask her why. Plus, I am not going to break our rule.” Cord had spoken to Tate frequently lately, recognizing Tate’s desire for Anna was a temptation. But Tate had never broken a trust with his brother—and didn’t intend to. Not for a woman who couldn’t care less for him.
Cord nodded. “Good thinking. Me? I’m just saying good night. I’ve greeted everyone. So we are officially in good shape for the opening of the Texas spa. But I’ve got to home. Sienna needs me.”
Tate smiled. “Sure. Do it. Those twins are demanding little guys.”
“Sienna’s still exhausted from their birth.”
“I’ve got control here. I’ll show all these folks the door soon anyway. I need my beauty sleep to get an early start in the morning. The boat’s ready, stocked with food and supplies.”
“Mexico?” Mona asked.
“Yep,” Tate said. “They screwed up the plumbing on the first foundation and have to pour a new one.”
“And they’re late,” Cord added with a scowl.
“What else is new?” Mona commiserated, then leaned forward
to kiss Tate’s cheek. “I’m leaving too, honey. Early day tomorrow with one of my importers from Monterrey.”
“Take it easy, Mona.” Tate gave her a hug. The older woman had become a good friend over the past few years as well as a business associate. As she walked toward the door, he took stock of the people in his living room. The builders, the architects and suppliers for the Texas Gulf Coast property mixed with the resort spa’s staff, laughing and joking, celebrating the beginning of construction of their Mexican spa and resort.
He glanced at his brother. “Go home to your wife and babies.”
“Give ‘em hell down there, Tate. That new foundation should’ve been finished last month.”
“I won’t pay the next installment until it’s done. No worries, Cord. Good night.” He slapped his brother on the back.
As Cord made his way through the throng toward the front door, Tate saw that crowd was thinning, many drifting toward the door. He spied Anna at the far end of the veranda. Alone. Leaning away from him so he couldn’t overhear her conversation.
Some discussion that was to put that terrified look on her face.
What the hell?
She had no family. He’d learned that much about her during the past two years. Friends. Sure, she had loads of girl friends. He saw them come for her by the carload often to pick her up after work or dart in to the spa to meet her for lunch. Men were another story. She didn’t date. Or no men he’d ever heard of. None he’d ever seen her bring to their corporate dinners or parties. He’d wondered at one point if she preferred women, but his sister-in-law Sienna had soon cleared up that misperception.
“Anna is saving herself for Mr. Right.”
That told him four things that alternately thrilled him and destroyed him. She liked men. Wanted one. One right man. But clearly, he wasn’t a candidate.
He examined her as she argued with whoever was on the other end of that conversation. Was that a man?
Curiosity and jealousy drove him forward. If it was a guy who put that expression on her face, Tate would crush the asshole.
Tate halted in front of her and lifted his chin toward the phone, a question forming on his lips.
She watched him approach, her eyes growing rounder, starker with fear that made Tate narrow his eyes at her.
She put a hand up to ward him off.
He shook his head at her.
“No,” she ordered the person on the other end, “do not do that.”
Tate could hear the person reply, something dark, angry and male.
She fumed. “I told you no. Do not call me again.” She stared up at Tate as she ended the call and dropped her cell in her trouser pocket.
He caught her wrist. “What’s wrong, Anna?”
“Nothing.” She stepped to one side. “Let go.”
“No.” He put two hands to her upper arms. Something he’d never done. But he was jarred by how strong, how honed her triceps were. And the tension rippling there froze him. “Do you always tremble for no reason?”
She jerked out of his hold. “This is none of your business.”
He stepped forward and contrary to that rule about borrowing trouble, he knew he had to do something about hers. “This does concern me. You’re scared. Why?”
“Forget it, Tate.” She yanked away from him. “I’ve got to go.”
Once more, she did what she’d done so well for two years. She’d been impersonal with him. Professional. Putting him in his place.
He fumed silently as she marched toward the hall closet where she collected her shawl and flung it over her arm. On her way, she hugged Mona who was saying her own good–byes to a builder. Then Anna opened the front door and let herself out.
He’d never seen her afraid. Never seen her angry. She was so even-tempered, happy, throwing back her mane of rich chocolate hair to laugh at most of life. That had been the first thing that struck him about her. Her enjoyment of little things, all things small and joyful. He’d never known a woman like that.
And he liked women. Loved to be with them. Especially in bed. But as years went on, he found fewer and fewer who attracted him. Those he did take to bed were certainly beautiful. Most were spoiled or wanted to be. They were self-impressed. Self-gratifying. Eager to say they’d been laid by Super Bowl football legend, Tate Ryder. But Anna was nothing like any of those women.
And it gutted him that she couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he ever looked at her. Wanted her. Craved her.
But damn if he was going to let some man frighten her.
He strode over to his caterer and instructed him to go around and signal that the party was over.
The host was leaving and determined to break one of his own rules.
With one of the staff.
* * *
Anna stepped into the elevator in Tate’s condo building and punched the button to the garage level. The steel doors swished closed and she shuddered at what had just happened with the caller—and with Tate. She had to get home to her own place, lock the doors, twirl the dead bolt and turn on the security system. Why had she ever decided to venture out tonight to the Ryders’ celebration party?
She sank against the cool wall and felt her ears pop as the elevator whooshed down the twenty floors to the bottom.
I know why I came tonight. I can’t ignore any opportunity to be near Tate. Can’t deny the chance to feel his eyes on me. Or revel in the knowledge that such a mouth-watering hunk of a boss wants a lying nobody like me.
But he wouldn’t be so interested if he knew her real problem.
Like the jerk who was after her now. Whoever he was.
Cringing, she put a hand to her forehead. She was all kinds of a fool to think she was ever safe from fly-by-night idiots who thought they could corner her, trap her into revealing the truth of her own existence.
Hell. She dug in her evening bag for her car keys, wishing she were rummaging instead for the cool, hard feel of her Sig Sauer. Then she wouldn’t feel so naked.
The thick doors slid open.
She hung back for a fraction of a second, heart pounding, vulnerable, weak. Exactly the way she never meant to expose herself. To anyone. Ever again.
She reached down and slid off her six-inch heels, hooking the straps on her fingers. She had parked her car over against the far wall and she was going to race to it with the speed she’d trained herself to use at times like this.
Sprinting, she flicked her keypad door opener and the birdie chirp made her wince. But she heard nothing else. Saw nothing move in the subterranean garage. No headlights, no humming motors told her otherwise. Yanking open her car door, she sank into the plush leather of her Sebring convertible and hit the lock.
“Home, baby,” she told herself as she turned the ignition and flicked on her high beams to begin the serpentine coil toward the exit two floors up. She pulled out of her slot, spun the steering wheel—and she heard the squeal of a car pulling out of another parking space. Stunned, she hit the gas.
Was that asshole here? Stalking her?
She spun the wheel, tried to straighten her car. But she jerked forward as the other car banged head long into her bumper.
“No, no.” She glanced back to see a man driving what looked like a red Rodeo. “You won’t get me.”
She twirled the wheel, over–shot and headed straight for a man darting out of the elevator.
Tate?
Oh, no! She corrected her aim.
Ryder almost stood on his toes as he skidded to a halt in what had been a dead run toward her.
She jammed on the brakes, heart slamming in her chest that she’d nearly hit him. If she hadn’t seen him, she might have killed him. Oh god. God.
The Rodeo jammed into her bumper again, crunching metal and sending her headlong headfirst toward the dash.
Tate yelled at her.
Stop? She couldn’t.
Instead, she backed up, straight into the Rodeo, pushing him back into a cement pole, crunching his rear. Terrified, she put
the pedal to the metal and off she sprang, barely missing crashing into the other cars as she rode round and round to the exit. She sped up quickly, noticing with thanks that no one was in the control booth and the exit bar was up. She zoomed out onto the main street, careening into her proper lane of traffic and jockeying to hold her place.
But she had to get away.
Did this creep know where she lived?
How could he? He always called on her corporate cell. Never her private number. So she was safe to go home. Wasn’t she?
She told herself to breathe deeply. Center yourself. Think. What’s best here?
In a flash, she knew. She took the first road east toward Interstate 10. Away from her townhouse. She could lose him. Confuse him. She certainly wasn’t going to the police with her problems. What could they do for her? What had they ever done when guys like this thought they had found a rare prize? Nothing. She had always been able to fake them out, lose them, and change her home, her work, her life.
Yeah. In her own defense, she was smart, hard and fast.
Tears in her eyes surprised her.
She flung them away with the back of her hand, took the ramp east toward Louisiana on Interstate 10. Feeling freer, safer, adrenalin still pumping, she punched the speed up to eighty and checked the rear view mirror. No one was behind her. She could do this. She’d escaped before.
Problem was this time when she left her life in Houston behind her, she’d leave friends she loved. A job she adored. And one special man she’d never had.
“Life’s a bitch, babe,” her mom had often offered up as salve for all the wounds of their migratory lifestyle.
“Ain’t that the truth.” Anna clutched the steering wheel in her anger, cursed her loss of serenity, and in her rage, forced her car up to ninety on the dark and lonely road to nowhere she wanted to go.
Chapter Two
Tate watched from his own darkened Mercedes as Anna’s silver Sebring cruised slowly around the corner toward her townhouse for the second time. If she made out his presence, she didn’t acknowledge him as she passed him and parked her car twenty feet up on the opposite side of the street. Still, she sat there a few minutes. Probably casing the street. When she finally turned off her headlights and decided to climb out of her car, he opened his door and stood up.
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