RECKLESSATTRACTION

by AMBRIELLEKIRK

  Rich was right. I had made mistakes, but they weren’t as scandalous as the ones he had made.

  “Camille! Order up!” The chef at the prep station called out and slid a platter to me.

  “Thanks!” I collected the plates and took it along with all the condiments out to the main restaurant area.

  I had been working at the high-end diner for a little under two years. Before that, Rich and I had just moved to the neighborhood, and I used to come here with my laptop and books to tackle my school assignments. What better place was there to study while earning a degree in restaurant management than a restaurant? At least one good thing had come of it. A few good things really…

  After speaking with the owner of the place several times, she offered me a job—one where I could bus tables and study on my breaks. That was before she found out that my specialty and secondary degree was in pastries. Normally, I ran the bakery side of things in the daytime when the corporate folks were likely to drop by during lunch or while on breaks to grab coffee, sweets, or a snack. Tonight, I was covering a shift for a friend. I baked most pastries fresh in the early morning hours when no one was here. The girl who was covering the counter tonight had more than enough inventory to keep her stocked until closing time.

  As I placed the plates and other condiments on the table in front of my guests, I caught sight of one of the hostesses bringing Trevor Stanley to an empty table in my section. I had to grip the serving tray tighter as a sudden surge of vitality rushed through me.

  Trevor. He was a colleague of my husband, our mutual friend, and the man that sent my sexual libido through the roof whenever he was in the room.

  I saw Trevor more than my husband these days, but still he could make my heart beat like a schoolgirl who had an innocent crush on a handsome male teacher. My face heated as a blush crept up my body. Trevor was a regular at the diner, but nothing about him was normal.

  Of course, I didn’t expect him to be here tonight. He usually ventured in around lunchtime when I worked the pastry counter. His favorite was the chocolate éclairs. He always ordered two at a time, eating them both on site while looking at me over his iPad. Sometimes we never got in a word when it was busy. He would just come and sit down in his usual spot by the window, and other times I’d come out from behind the pastry counter to exchange words with him.

  Trevor was dressed down tonight. No formal suit, like he always wore. He was in a fresh pair of slacks and a loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As I made my way through the tables to reach him, he lifted his dark, brooding eyes and grinned at me like he had a secret.

  Of course we had a secret…

  *

  Trevor

  Seeing Camille was like taking a breath of fresh air. My day had been pretty low key so far, but something was missing and I had an urge that just couldn’t be extinguished. But would it ever? I’d tasted her once and I wanted her again—so much more of her.

  “Hi Trevor,” she said breathlessly upon reaching my table.

  I’d waited almost an hour to be seated in her section. No other waitress would do. I’d come specifically to see Camille.

  She was wearing a little more makeup than I was used to seeing on her. But that was okay for me. She looked beautiful with and without, but I most enjoyed seeing her in the nude—without it. Her lips were a rosy pink color and her eyelashes were dark with the black mascara applied to it. Her hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail, which accentuated her pretty facial features and made her appear younger than her twenty-three years.

  “Camille,” I greeted her.

  She turned her wrist up and looked down at her watch. “I’m surprised to see you here so late.”

  “I was hungry.” I shrugged, but I knew the truth. I knew that she would be here, and I couldn’t dispel this urge to see her.

  “Well…” She visibly swallowed. “I would offer you your favorite, but then that might spoil your appetite. What would you like?” She pointed to the menu and then poised her pen tip against her pad.

  She was trying to be professional and discreet, but why hide our attraction? I could care less anymore about what was right or respectful. I knew what and who I wanted.

  I gave her a once over again. I couldn’t help myself. The black skort she wore, although short and fitting, left much to the imagination, but her long brown legs were free and looked soft to the touch.

  “Nothing on the menu,” I finally said.

  She cleared her throat and glanced to the left, then right, and back at me. “It’s really busy in here tonight, so I’m not taking any special orders. Let’s stick with a menu item.”

  “Coffee.”

  She lifted an eyebrow in question. “Black?”

  I winked. “One sugar.”

  “Is that all, Trevor?”

  “For now.”

  As she walked away, I followed her with my eyes. I didn’t give a damn who saw me. My appetite was building and I was thirsty, but it definitely wasn’t for coffee or anything else but Camille.

  About a year ago, I spotted Camille at this very same diner when my current employer first hired me on. At first introductions, I knew right away who she was then—off limits and dangerously beautiful. Her husband, Rich, was my boss at the time and still is. That didn’t stop me from befriending her.

  I’m the type of man who pursues the things I want the most even if they seem unreachable at the time. If things are meant to be, they eventually come to fruition. My patience is thin, but I never rush things along. I endure the struggles and the game because I know that in the end, I will get the prize.

  I should have tested our limits a long time ago. I had my chance to indulge with Camille before, but I refused to take it. I had my reasons for it and my decision came with consequences I hadn’t expected.

  I didn’t want to share her. I want her all to myself.

  Camille brought back my coffee quickly. She always served me like that. It’s how I knew that she still liked me. She pretended that I was a nuisance sometimes, but more than once I’ve witnessed and felt her nipples bead under her thin blouse whenever I brought her close to me.

  “Coffee. Black with one sugar packet.” She set down a mug of hot coffee on a coaster.

  I reached out to touch her hand. My fingertips tingled as I swept them across her skin.

  She gasped but made no move to draw it away. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I find it quite interesting that we’re both left-handed,” I said, turning her hand over so that her palm was facing upward.

  “I noticed that a while back,” she replied.

  I massaged her palm, which was smooth, soft, and damp. “You’re a little tense. You should relax and loosen up a bit.” Glancing up at her, I caught her heated gaze. I thought I saw a bit of recollection in her eyes for a few seconds, but then it was gone.

  “Just trying to keep up. I normally don’t bus tables. You should know that,” she breathed.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I have other people waiting to order,” she said, but made no moves to extract her hand from mine. “They’re hungry as well.”

  I felt regret that we couldn’t chat for a bit longer like we did during the lunch hour, but I chuckled anyway. “I told you once before that I won’t share you.”

  “Sharing would imply that I somehow belong to you,” she said curtly.

  “I wish you did…belong to me.” I licked my lips. “I’d eat regularly, and then I wouldn’t be so hungry.”

  Her nostrils flared and my cock hardened.

  “Trevor,” she warned and pressed her lips together.

  “Camille,” I said, just to tease her.

  Her eyebrows drew closer together. “Do you want to wreck your career?”

  I grinned. “Only under one circumstance would I ever do that. Should I remind you what that is?”

  “Unlike you—“ She took her hand away from mine “—
I need my job now more than ever, so if you don’t mind…”

  “One more thing?”

  “Yes, Trevor?” she asked.

  I brought her to lean down to me so that I could smell her sweet perfume and whisper in her ear. “Do you use your left hand to pleasure yourself?”

  Her breath hitched sharply and she straightened. “If I wasn’t on the clock, I would slap you so hard into tomorrow.”

  My balls tightened and heated with my seed at the same time, but before I could muster a reply, she turned on her heels and walked off, showing me her perky little ass.

  I licked my lips and then bit into the bottom corner of my mouth.

  Why did I do this to myself? Coming to see her and working up an erection so hard, I’d have no choice but to shoot off in the shower tonight with images of Camille’s ass in a little black skort.

  I pulled out my iPhone and logged onto Anya’s Maven only because I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to hide behind this screen name anymore. For months, I forced myself to become content with exchanging messages with Camille online, but it just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because she wouldn’t let me verbally tell her how much I wanted her, and she didn’t know that I was her online secret admirer.

  I knew Camille probably wouldn’t see my message until after I was long gone and after her shift ended at the diner, but I typed my note to her anyway.

  TEMPTED909: I have two more reasons for why we should meet soon: 1 – I think you might enjoy a daily stress reliever and 2 – I bet those pretty little fingers of yours could use some rest

  I didn’t hesitate before pushing the send button. To say that I needed Camille was an understatement. I had to have her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Camille

  I was all tucked away in bed, drowsy and fatigued from working an irregular shift, but of course, I checked my messages anyway.

  My sex throbbed as soon as I read TEMPTED909’s words. Maybe he was right—I needed to relieve more stress, and sometimes my fingers weren’t as satisfying as the real deal. But he’d have to give me better reasons to physically meet than those.

  <3PEARLS: |

  I drew a blank as my fingers poised over the keyboard. My cursor flashed for a long while as I recalled what happened tonight between Trevor and me. I had to admit that both men aroused me. One of them I knew almost intimately through our virtual encounters. And the other, I knew personally through our frequent meetings at the diner.

  Why did I feel this way? Why was I lusting after two men? Was Rich right after all? Had he changed me and made me into a woman who craved what wasn’t good for me? Was I beginning to understand Rich’s dual nature? I’d stuck my hand in the cookie jar, and now it was hard to break my habit. I blame myself really because I don’t know who to blame anymore.

  Not too long ago, Trevor had turned me down. Well, not me exactly. He’d turned down an invite from Rich, who wanted to experience what he referred to as a married couple’s taboo. To this day, I wonder if the notion of having a threesome that included me in it was more for Rich’s benefit or mine. He’d always sworn up and down that the offer was for our mutual benefit. Now I don’t know anymore…which irks me. I’m juggling between two extremes: Had Rich somehow thought I could share in his extracurricular lifestyle after showing me the way or was he just a self-conceited, cheating bastard?

  The fact of the matter was—and still is—Trevor turned us down, and to me, that was just like turning me down. He’d had his chance, so why couldn’t he just let it go? If not for me, for the sake of his career and friendship with Rich.

  I came to a resolution tonight. Maybe it was just time for me to let go and sever all the ties. This divorce was the first step. The second step was taking my skills and moving away from here. I was comfortable here in this town because it was all I knew, but holding onto inhibitions had never gotten me anywhere stable in the first place. Maybe it was time to do more than just let go…

  <3PEARLS: I now alternate between my fingers and a toy I call “Mr. Rabbit”. So don’t worry – These fingers get plenty of rest.

  <3PEARLS: You’ll need a much better excuse for meeting me. Still tempted?

  It was too bad that when I used Mr. Rabbit that night, my visions were filled with Trevor Stanley’s cocky grin and arrogant voice, not TEMPTED909’s lion insignia. I came hard and long with Trevor’s name on the tip of my tongue and then drifted off into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Camille

  Mondays were always hectic for me. I usually rose earlier on the first day of the week to make sure the bakery was well stocked. Restaurant guests seemed to have a sweet tooth on the first day of the week more than any other day. The afternoon rush hour always brought in a surge of people who needed a quick sugar pick-me-up. That was fine by me.

  An independent courier pulled up in front of my car just as I was throwing my bags inside. I had thirty minutes to get to work and if I stayed around another minute I was sure to catch the morning traffic driving through the city.

  In full uniform, the guy came up beside my car and handed me a plain white cardboard envelope.

  “Mrs. Broughton?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I need your full signature and initials here please.” He pointed to a dotted line.

  My fingers shook as I signed for the package, and a million possibilities ran through my head. Final divorce papers? It just had to be the final separation paperwork from Rich. This was long overdue, especially after all the stalling and lame excuses from him.

  Had he finally acquiesced? I just couldn’t devote as much time or money to fighting Rich anymore. I was tired of it. I wanted to focus on my schoolwork more than anything else now.

  So why was I so nervous? I should have been giddy with excitement to be free…

  My focus returned to the envelope. There was no return address on the package. Right next to my home address, the front was stamped with Personal & Confidential

  Curious and nervous all at the same time, I peeled the top flap up and pulled out a black envelope. Why put an envelope in an envelope? This certainly looked like one of Rich’s tricks. I opened the second flap and then pulled out what felt like card stock and turned it over to glimpse the shiny black vellum paper lining the edges. I felt my nose wrinkle as I scrutinized the perfect penmanship in fine cursive handwriting.

  This wasn’t the signed divorce papers.

  It was an invitation.

  I read it slowly, still unable to process my sudden mix of feelings. Mrs. Camille Broughton, it read:

  Your presence is requested at The Beaudelaire’s Den of Sin Winterball Masquerade, where your most intimate fantasies come to life. This weekend only, we invite you to be our guest. Leave your inhibitions at the door.

  It was signed by Henri Beaudelaire. In the furthest left corner, there was a postscript: “P.S., your secret admirer awaits you.”

  I chuckled nervously. Was this some type of joke? Had Rich sent me a prank? He was known for doing this sort of thing. I looked up, paranoid, expecting to see him pull up in his Jag at any moment.

  But he didn’t.

  RSVP details were written at the bottom, complete with an address. I turned the card over. The back was completely blank. I peeked inside the package and was surprised to find a folded letter inside. It provided no further explanation and only asked for STD and health check results to be submitted prior to me confirming my attendance.

  What the fuck was this?

  Was someone spying on me? Certainly no one had discovered any of my activities online with the TEMPTED909 stranger? My heart beat a million miles an hour, but I dug into my purse for my iPhone and dialed the number to the Beaudelaire hotel displayed on the top of the letterhead.

  “It’s a beautiful morning at the Beaudelaire. How may I direct your call?” a chipper voice with a French accent answered.

  “Uh…” I cleared my throat and looked down
at the paper. “Seraphina? I’m calling to speak with a Seraphina.”

  “Do you have reservation?” the reception asked in her French accent again.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Let me help you make a reservation.”

  “I have an invite and I have some questions.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Your name, please?”

  I swallowed. “Camille Broughton.”

  “Hold the line.” There was some music—about five minutes of it before another woman answered the phone.

  “This is Seraphina. May I help you?” she asked, her greeting sounding just as rehearsed as the receptionist’s.

  “My name is Camille, and I have a letter here with a note to contact you with my questions.”

  “Yes?” Her reply was curt.

  “I don’t understand why I’m receiving this invitation. I don’t know anyone by the name of Henri Beaudelaire.” I looked at the name on the invitation, hoping that I had pronounced it correctly.

  “Mr. Beaudelaire is the owner of the hotel.”

  I hadn’t.

  Seraphina continued. “This invitation is being extended to you on behalf of your secret admirer.”

  “And who’s that?”

  “You said your name was…?”

  “Camille Broughton.” I bit the bottom corner of my lip nervously, wondering if I’d given away too much information by offering my name—my full name at that. “Is this some type of joke?”

  “One question at a time, please. I have your profile open and that of your secret admirer,” Seraphina replied. “I do apologize, but I’m not able to give out any information.”

  I guffawed audibly over the phone. “So you expect me to come to this—“ I looked down at the invite again. “—Den of Sin Winterball at the request of someone I don’t know?”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m not requesting anything, Camille. You were invited, but no one is forcing you to attend. Your admirer knows you or they wouldn’t have requested the meeting with you. Don’t worry, we perform a background check on all guests before extending invites. Prior to your RSVP, your doctor will be required to submit a health check and a negative STD and disease profile. We take precautions at all of our events.”