Deadly Desire

by Audrey Alexander

  Table of Contents

  Frontmatter

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Emma

  Pierce

  Emma

  Pierce

  Three Months Later

  BONUS BOOK: Body of Proof

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Deadly Desire

  Copyright © 2016 Audrey Alexander

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electrical or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover design by Cormar Covers

  Interior design and layout by Audrey Alexander

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  When he strode into the office, I jerked so hard in my chair that I knocked a towering pile of papers off my desk. The guy I was looking at was hands-down the sexiest man I’d ever seen. His dark as night hair highlighted intense blue eyes, and his scruffy facial hair accentuated a chiseled jaw that could have cut the thickest glass. Frozen in place, I continued to stare at him, my eyes drinking in a sleek, expensive suit and biceps that could have rivalled Hugh Jackman’s in Wolverine.

  I’d seen a lot of high class clients since being hired a month ago as a receptionist at Max Weather’s Private Investigator Office on Fifth Avenue, but none of them had looked quite like this. He radiated confidence, wealth, and something else. Edge or danger, though I couldn’t really explain why.

  “You seem to have dropped something.” He gave me a smile, but one unlike I’d ever seen. Something about it was sharp and suggestive, like he wasn’t talking about the papers at all. That’s when I realized my mouth was hanging open.

  “Sorry.” I stood from my chair and dropped to my knees, nervously gathering the papers in my arms. My hands trembled as I picked up piece after piece, heat rushing into my cheeks. This was incredibly embarrassing. Not only had I made an idiot out of myself in front of a client but he was a particularly hot client. And even though I’d only just set eyes on the guy, every cell in my body yearned to impress him.

  I stood with my arms wrapped around the papers, coming chest to chest with him. He stood only an inch away, so close my fingers grazed his. Heat sparked in my skin and travelled up my arm, sending my blush higher onto my cheeks.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I backed up, and he responded by taking a step closer to erase the distance I’d put between us. Gulping, I set the papers on the desk and met his eyes. They were sharp blue, like the morning sky on a cold winter’s day.

  “What can I do for you?” I said in a breathy whisper.

  He gave me a wide grin, and his eyes trailed down my blouse. It was a new outfit I’d picked up only yesterday after cashing my first paycheck. I’d barely had enough to cover the upcoming rent, but I’d been in desperate need of an outfit that looked semi-professional. The clothes had been pretty cheap, and the shirt didn’t fit my chest quite right—the buttons strained against the material.

  “I’m in need of an investigator.” He continued to stare at my chest, and I fought the urge to reach forward and lift his chin to make him look into my eyes. But I didn’t, because a part of me didn’t want to look into his eyes again. There was something in them that left me feeling a little flustered. “This place was recommended to me. Now I see why.”

  “Max is out to lunch,” I said, moving behind the desk and grabbing a notepad from the clutter. “You can wait here until he gets back, but I’m also happy to take your contact details. He can give you a call to schedule a meeting.”

  The man’s lips quirked. “You don’t know who I am.”

  I pressed down the front of my blouse before pretending to write something on the notepad, as if I knew exactly who he was. “Of course I do.”

  He strode slowly around the desk to where I stood, and my entire body went rigid. Leaning over my shoulder, he glanced down at my blank notepad, and the scent of him filled my nose. Fresh aftershave and cigars and crisp laundry. It made my whole body yearn to shift toward him, but instead, I edged away, embarrassed that he’d caught me in my lie.

  “Pierce Donovan.” He grabbed my elbow and twisted me sideways, and I gasped from surprise. “Tell me your name.”

  We were so close. Too close. All I could think about was how near his lips were to my cheek. The sound of his voice filled my ears, a deep and husky tone that sent thrills through my body. I’d never been so overcome by desire for someone in my life, and I knew that’s what it was. This guy was so hot, I couldn’t think straight, and I was making an idiot out of myself in front of him. I hoped he wouldn’t tell my boss about my utter incompetence at even writing his damn name on a paper.

  “Emma Berry,” I finally said.

  “Write this down, Emma,” he said, wrapping his hand around my fingers where I held the pen poised above the paper. I tried to ignore his warm skin and his hot breath on my face, but it was almost impossible to concentrate with him so near. “I need Gloria Anderson followed. She should be meeting with a man this evening. I need some compromising photos of the two of them. It should be fairly straightforward.”

  “Is she your wife?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Grimacing, I looked up at him, and that same smirk he’d worn during our entire exchange still donned his face.

  “No, Emma,” he said. “She is most definitely not my wife.”

  “Okay.” I jotted down the information while my mind began to wonder. Max Weathers tended to handle a lot of these types of cases, and it was probably why Pierce Donovan had come there in the first place. But I’d never heard of a man hiring an investigator to catch a woman’s infidelities who wasn’t his wife…I was dying to know what the deal was, but I knew I couldn’t ask. Max would kill me if I pried into the private lives of his clients. Especially a client like this, who was clearly made of money.

  “Can I get your phone number so Max can call you with a quote for these services?” I asked.

  “I don’t need a quote. I can afford whatever you charge.” Pierce smiled and took a step closer before dropping his voice so low that I could only hear him because his lips were brushing against my ear. “You’re hired.”

  Chills swept through my body, and I swallowed hard. “Okay, great. I’ll let him know when he gets back.”

  “You’ll follow her tonight,” he said. “I just want that to be clear.”

  I frowned. “Max will need to confirm, but I’m sure it won’t be an is
sue.”

  Pierce laughed, a low and rumbling sound that fit him as well as his suit did. “Max doesn’t need to confirm. You will be following her.”

  “Me?” My eyes widened, and I took a step back. “I think you may have misunderstood. I’m not a private investigator. I’m just Max’s receptionist.”

  “You’ll be working as my private investigator. You’re who I want on this case.”

  My mouth dropped open, and then I clamped it shut. He couldn’t be serious. I’d never done any investigative work in my life. I’d only gotten the job because I’d majored in Criminal Law in college, and even then, all my boss wanted me to do was answer the phone.

  “Max isn’t going to let—”

  “You’re on the case.” He gave me a wicked smile that made my heart stutter in my chest. “It’s final.”

  Emma Berry and her big beautiful breasts had caught my attention the second I’d walked into that office. Her little shirt was so tight the buttons strained when she moved. She smelled of something sweet, like cinnamon, and it took all my concentration not to wrap my hand around her waist and give her perfectly-rounded ass a squeeze.

  As she gazed up at me with her wide eyes and slightly parted cheery red lips, my cock twitched in my pants. We were alone here. She’d already admitted her boss was out to lunch. I wanted this girl, and I could take her right now. I could tell by the blush on her cheeks that she was as turned on by me as I was by her.

  No one would have to know a damn thing.

  I smiled. No, that would be way too easy. Things would get a hell of a lot more interesting if I took my time.

  “I’ll need to point her out to you,” I said, smile widening. “Meet me at Roxy Club at nine p.m. Tonight. She’ll be there before she leaves with her lover.”

  “Wait.” Her eyebrows crinkled as she frowned those pouty little lips of hers. “If you know where she’s going to be with this guy, why do you need to hire a private investigator?”

  She really was new on the scene. Max Weathers wasn’t known for asking nosy questions.

  “Because I don’t do my dirty work myself,” I said before winking. “Except in the bedroom, of course.”

  Emma’s entire face flooded with color, and I couldn’t help myself. I shifted closer and brushed her baby blonde hair away from her shoulders. She tensed under my touch, but she didn’t move away.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “I just want to make sure you understand what I want from you,” I said in a low voice.

  She swallowed. “What do you want from me?”

  She was playing right into my hands. Hearing her voice, I could detect a hint of an accent. Southern. She must be new to the city, and I bet she’d never met a man like me before. I usually didn’t like to get involved with someone who needed a detailed introduction to exactly what I wanted—women who knew the score were often easier to handle. But there was something about Emma’s lips and mouth and eyes…I had to have her.

  Just once, to satisfy my need.

  “I want you to be my private investigator.” I stepped back, and she made an unmistakable move after me. “Meet me at the club tonight. And make sure to wear a pretty dress.”

  “Where the hell are you going?” My roommate, Cynthia, raised her eyebrows as I strode into our tiny living room. I’d managed to dig out an old pink bandeau dress from college, and it clung to every curve like duct tape. It didn’t particularly feel like the appropriate outfit for a stalk and snap job, but it was the only thing I had in my closet that might work for a night out in a Manhattan club.

  “I have a job,” I said, grabbing my purse and camera from the rickety coffee table.

  She coughed out a laugh and stood from the couch. “What, as an escort?”

  “Of the private investigator variety. For some rich guy named Pierce Donovan.” I frowned, looking down at my dress. When Max had returned from lunch, I’d kind of neglected to tell him about Pierce Donovan’s weird request to hire me. I couldn’t help but worry that he’d be totally against the idea. And if he wouldn’t let me go, Pierce Donovan wouldn’t be happy, and I felt strangely compelled to do anything he said. Plus, I wanted to see him again.

  “I thought you were just a receptionist,” Cynthia said.

  “Well, not tonight.” I shrugged and moved toward the door. “Don’t wait up. I might be out late.”

  ***

  When I arrived at Roxy Club, a part of me wanted to turn around and run right back home. The sleek black doors were manned by two impressive bouncers, their muscles straining against their thin cotton t-shirts. A long line spread down the block, full of thin girls wear classy black dresses. The guys who peppered the line looked a lot like Pierce. Smooth and sharp and rich, and every single one wore a suit.

  I definitely did not wear the right thing. I stood out like a tacky sore thumb, and if I went in there now, Pierce Donovan would probably take one look at me and fire me on the spot. Private investigators weren’t exactly supposed to stand out in a crowd.

  “Miss Berry.” One of the bouncers caught my eye and gave a twitch of his fingers, signalling me to move from my spot on the sidewalk. Glancing around, I made my way past the line. Surely this was Pierce’s doing, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

  The bouncer pulled back the red rope and ushered me inside without even checking my I.D. I was twenty-one, but only just, and I wasn’t exactly used to going into clubs without getting carded, except for the ones near campus back home. “Mr. Donovan is waiting for you at his V.I.P. table in the back.”

  Really, who was this guy? Pierce Donovan seemed like something straight out of a movie. A fancy rich guy who could go anywhere at anytime and get the best seat in the house.

  “Thank you,” I said to the bouncer before easing into the club. Immediately, my senses were assaulted by strobe lights and hectic uptempo music. Every beat of the heavy bass pulsed against my skin, along with the warm, thick air radiating from the crowded dance floor.

  In a dark corner at the edges of the wall, Pierce stood and motioned at me with a flick of his fingers. My breath caught in my throat, and I swore my heart skipped a beat. He wore a sleek black suit, somehow smoother and more pristine than the one he’d been wearing earlier in the office. His dark hair curled around his face, and his short facial hair cast a dark shadow on his chiseled jaw.

  He was hands-down the hottest guy in this club, and he was looking right at me.

  All he wants from you is for you to do a job, the logical part of my brain said as I began to make my way toward him in my four-inch heels. But that didn’t explain why he’d looked at me the way he had at the office. His smile had been so suggestive, and his eyes had looked as if he’d seen an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  I never would have thought a guy like that would want a girl like me, but he’d sure as hell wanted something. I guessed I was about to find out what, sitting in that tiny little booth with him.

  When I reached his table, he leaned forward to give me a brush of his lips on my cheek. My face got hot, and I looked anywhere but at his eyes. At the curved bar, at the tiny black table, at the girls in perfect dresses walking by.

  “Nice dress,” he murmured before moving away.

  “Sorry,” I said, glancing down at my pink number. “I didn’t know it would be a place like this.”

  His lips quirked. “Like what?”

  I glanced around, at a loss for words. “Just…like this.”

  “The target is on the dance floor.” He pointed down at the strobe-lit section of the club where a swarm of bodies writhed to the beat of the music.

  My heart thumped. “The target?”

  “Gloria Anderson,” he said. “The woman I’ve hired you to follow.”

  “Right.” I shook my head, mentally smacking myself for being so slow. I didn’t know why I’d envisioned a romantic moment in the booth with him, sipping champagne and laughing at whatever it was that rich guys like him laughed at. Probably girls like me.

>   He held out a hand and smiled that sharp-edged smile. “Come dance with me.”

  Swallowing hard, I took his hand, and his skin felt exactly as I’d imagined. Smooth and strong with a hint of roughness. Enough to suggest that he had an edge but that he’d gotten through life as easily as he could. He’d said earlier he didn’t do his dirty work himself, and I bet it hadn’t been a joke.

  Pierce led me back he way I’d come and eased into the crowd with his hand tight around mine. People barely glanced our way as we edged closer and closer to the speakers. Pierce stopped, facing me, his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me in close so fast my breath flew from throat in a gasp. My body melted against his, and I could feel his muscles twitch as he shifted slowly, moving just enough that every single inch of me was aware of every part of him.

  His breath was hot on my neck as he dipped his head to nuzzle his lips against my ear. Sparks exploded across my skin, and I stiffened in his tight grip. What the hell was he doing? Maybe I’d been right after all. Maybe he really was interested in me. He’d said to meet him here so I could follow some woman, but this felt a lot different than any investigator case I’d ever imagined.

  “Relax,” he murmured into my ear, the light touch of his lips tickling my skin. “Pretend to dance with me. She’s just right over my left shoulder. Black lacy dress. Sexy high heels. Brunette waves all the way down to her waist.”