Once: A Collection of Sinfully Sexy and Twisted Tales

by Anthology

  Once: A Collection of Sinfully Sexy and Twisted Tales

  Table of Contents

  R.S.V.P. by Nicole Hite

  Tonight Only by Layla Stevens

  Liar by allyn lesley

  Pie for Breakfast by Terri George

  Room Number 5 by Alora Kate

  Club X by M. Dauphin

  Don’t Break the Spell by L.E. Chamberlin

  Ivy’s Rule by H.Q. Frost

  Tryst by Brooklyn Taylor

  R.S.V.P.

  By Nicole Hite

  Dedication

  To my husband who pimps my books the hardest! You’re the best husband and P.A. a girl could ask for. You’ve helped me to realize that I don’t need to please everyone, to appreciate the people who love me the most and know they will always have my back. Thank you for always having my back.

  Acknowledgements

  I can’t begin to thank people before I thank the beautiful ladies who participated in this collection of sexiness! Much love to Brooklyn Taylor, Mallory Dauphin, H.Q. Frost, Alora Kate, Layla Stevens, L.e. Stevens, Autumn Grey, Allyn Lesley and Terri George. To say I’m a fangirl is a huge understatement. I still have to pinch myself everyday that I was privileged enough to work with these amazing authors.

  Thank you to my family who accepted my decision to pursue this crazy ass dream. I know it came as a surprise, but I’m so glad I have a supportive family.

  BIG hugs and kisses to my nieces and nephews. They aren’t old enough to read this, but one day I hope they realize the love and pride I have for them.

  My Stormy. I will always acknowledge you in my books. Without you I would not be so fucked up, ha ha ha. But seriously, I love and adore you.

  Endless thanks go out to my editor Murphy Rae at Indie Solutions. Thank you for making my chicken scratch into a cohesive story. Cheers, meow.

  Chapter 1

  “I can’t believe you’re actually going to make me wear this hideous dress.”

  “It’s not that bad, Tessa.”

  “Says the woman who gets to wear a vintage Vera Wang wedding dress.”

  “Look, cut the straps and tuck them into the top. It’ll be fine.”

  Clearly, Monica had lost her damn marbles. This thing was straight out of an 80s prom dress catalog, the way it gripped at the waist. Initially, there was enough tulle to house rodents in it and no one would be the wiser, but I ripped that bitch apart as quick as I could. I will say I do love the color, though—cobalt blue. It went well with my long brown hair with stylish bangs and brown eyes. The only redeeming quality was the tight corset with a sweetheart top. It made my breasts spill out of the peak.

  I had been dreading this day for almost six weeks now. As soon as Monica said she was getting married to Giovanni, my jaw hit the floor. Monica had decided to take a sabbatical from life and went to Italy to “find herself” after a really horrendous breakup with her then boyfriend Chris. She had asked me to come; however, I was elbow deep in flour and bruschetta. Don’t get me wrong; I wanted to go in the worst way. Italy was the place you wanted to go if you were an Italian chef like myself. As a child, I had spent my summers there and I would have loved to go back. Man, the things I could have learned. Oh, and the men!

  I built my restaurant business from the ground up. I knew very early on I wanted to be a chef. My nonna Vanni was one hundred percent Italian. She knew her stuff and she taught me everything. Vanni made the best fettuccini on the planet. I owe a tremendous amount of gratitude to her for making my business so successful. When the opportunity to go to Italy came up, I’d been ready to jump on a plane until I realized Monica wanted to go right in the middle of our renovations.

  Since the restaurant was doing incredibly well, I’d decided to purchase the lot next to it and turn it into an outdoor beer garden. I had envisioned it for a while: brick patio with numerous wooden benches and strands of lights dripping over the tables. It would be the perfect outdoor setting and would really drive business during the spring and summer months.

  The restaurant took up all of my time, so traveling or even meeting new and exciting people had been completely out of the question. I’d tried a couple blind dates and even online dating websites, but the person never wanted to stick around long enough to get to know me. My schedule was never consistent, and truthfully, my heart was more into the restaurant than trying to make a relationship work. Nope, the only thing coming near my lady zone was my handy dolphin from Adam and Eve. It was the only boyfriend I needed, and frankly, I was okay with that as long as I had a thriving business and a lot of batteries handy.

  “You know Giovanni’s roommate from college, Paolo, is one of his best men. If I weren’t marrying Giovanni I would totally jump all over Paolo.”

  “You know I don’t have time for relationships, Mon. As soon as guys know I own a restaurant and I’m gone at all hours, they run faster than the road runner.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship? He lives in Italy and is only in town for the wedding. I say have some fun. Looks like you could use a little sexual healing.”

  Bang and bounce did sound good though. In, out, done, satisfied—I hoped. Watch him be extremely arrogant and completely boring. Then again, who cared if all I wanted to do was hook up?

  “I’ll check him out, but don’t push it.”

  Chapter 2

  I don’t know why I was so nervous. It wasn’t my wedding, so why did I care that all these people were going to be staring at me? I gripped the bouquet of white lilies as the giant mahogany doors to the cathedral opened. HOLY SHIT! There were so many people. I guess that’s what you get when one Italian marries into another Italian family.

  I will admit Monica looked absolutely stunning. She had on a vintage Vera, which, by the way, she’d hunted down like the predator she was. I didn’t need to go on a diet leading up to the wedding; Monica took care of that. She had me running up, down, and everywhere from my asshole to my bellybutton to find the perfect dress. I hoped it was worth it.

  Finally getting to the altar, I gave Giovanni a smile and shot him a look. If you fuck over my best friend, I will kill you. I could hear a little cough, which covered a slight giggle coming from beside Giovanni. Fuck-a-duck! Please, god, let this man be Paolo. Giovanni leaned over and nudged this mystery man. “Shhh, Pao, my bride is about to walk down the aisle.” Jackpot!

  I took my place at the altar as this Italian god locked eyes with mine. Physically I could see no visible flaw in this man. He was impeccable. From his insanely gorgeous smile to the closely cut beard he wore, I was humming with excitement. I could already feel the dampness pooling between my legs, the way this man stared me down just as I was doing to him. He stood at a respectable six foot four, and you could tell he was built under his tuxedo coat. His hair was styled as if he’d just stepped off a runway—shorter on the side but longer on the top. Almost long enough to put in a ponytail. He was sexy as hell.

  I stared just a little too long. “Hey, Tess. Wanna take my bouquet?”

  Shit! I had completely missed my best friend walking down the aisle. I was too distracted by this ridiculously good-looking man. The thoughts racing through my head were sacrilegious and had me wanting to go to confession right there and then. Sister Denise would be appalled that I wanted to take this man right now—

  and on the altar, no less. I was going to hell for that. However, I was sure I’d punched that ticket a long time ago.

  After standing at the altar for almost an hour, Father Matthews finally wrapped up the traditional catholic ceremony. As Monica took her bouquet back, she and Giovanni began walking down the aisle, arm in arm. I took
a step toward Paolo with the sexiest smile I could muster. He offered his defined arm to me and I clutched his firm arm.

  “Hi. I’m Paolo,” he whispered to me as we exited the church.

  “Tessa,” I said trying to suppress the angst rising between my legs.

  As soon as we cleared the mahogany doors, we unhitched arms and went our separate ways. He slipped away to meet and greet with what clearly looked like Gio’s family members. He kissed each member from one cheek to another, but not before giving me a wink. This man was going to destroy me, even if just for one night.

  Chapter 3

  As I pulled up to The Tavern on the Green, I glanced one more time in the mirror to touch up my lipstick. Monica had been dreaming of her storybook wedding ever since she was a little girl, so it was no surprise she wanted to have her reception here. I hoped Gio knew what he was getting into by marrying Mon. I imagined he already knew by the way he kept stroking the checks for this elaborate wedding. He would go to the ends of the earth for her too. He was even moving to the U.S. to start an office here. Talk about commitment.

  Before I had a chance to open my car door, it mysteriously opened. Standing before me was the gorgeous Paolo, who clearly liked what he saw by the way he was gawking at my legs. It didn’t hurt that he got the aerial view of my girls either.

  “Thank you, Paolo. I’m surprised you aren’t escorting your date into the reception area right now.”

  “Who says I have a date?”

  “I just assumed…”

  “Well, you assumed wrong. Besides, I have excellent arm candy to keep me company.”

  I tried my hand at flirting back. “And by keeping you company, you mean?”

  “I guess we will just have to see how the night progresses.”

  “I think I could use a drink, you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We walked into the reception, arm in arm, and headed straight for the bar. If this night was going to play out like I wanted, I was going to need a little liquid courage. Paolo was smooth—much smoother than myself. Call it the Italian charm, but he was the envy of every man in the room that night. Men wanted to be him, and ladies wanted to fuck him.

  The reception area was incredible. There were tons of decorated round tables with elaborate floral arrangements of white and blush roses. The ceiling was covered in yards of gorgeous fabric that ballooned and met in the middle by what could quite possibly be the biggest chandelier I’d ever seen. It hovered over the dance floor as six others lined the sides of the room. There were thousands of peonies and crystals dripping from each table. Gio really spared no expense to make my best friend happy.

  Monica and Giovanni had their own sweetheart table, while the rest of us were forced to fend for ourselves. Before the dinner was served, I needed to check on my team. My wedding present to the lovely couple was a completely catered service, including a wedding cake I had been working on for the past week. There were almost three hundred people in attendance at this wedding, so to have three hundred critics was a little nerve-racking. I had assurance though; my Nonna had taught me well.

  As I busted through the kitchen, my staff was quickly buzzing around. I dipped a spoon into Nonna’s special recipe alfredo sauce and moaned at its yummy goodness. It looked like everything was coming along nicely, so I slipped out of the kitchen before anyone could identify me as the chef. I looked across the room for an empty seat anywhere, but nothing seemed to be vacated until I saw him. Paolo had saved me a seat next to him at a table far across the room.

  I quickly sauntered over to the table, hoping he would notice. Why I chose today to test out thigh highs and a garter belt was beyond me. I was a glutton for punishment, but they seemed to be working out swimmingly. If I was going to wear this ridiculous dress, I was going to put my own spin on it, and that meant fishnet thigh highs.

  As I reached the table, Paolo stood to pull out my chair like a true gentleman would. This guy was two for two—good looks and good manners. What I didn’t notice from across the room was the table filled with obnoxiously beautiful women. Looks like Paolo was like a dog whistle the way the girls flocked to him in hordes. All I wanted was a good lay; I didn’t need to fight for it. These bitches could have him, because I didn’t play those games. Maybe I spoke too soon—strike one.

  Chapter 4

  As the wait staff circulated the room, the main entrée was served, and I was nervous to hear what people had to say of my cooking. I never let on that it was my very own restaurant supplying the cuisine, but I did want to know that everyone was satisfied. I had never gotten a bad review from a customer, and I didn’t expect it to start tonight.

  The presentation of the fettuccini with alfredo sauce was pristine. Nonna hadn’t just taught me her famous recipes, but also taught me how to present my artwork, knowledge which I then passed on to my staff. The dishes were served in generous portions and garnished to precision. As my staff laid out the plates, I beamed with pride.

  “This looks amazing,” one woman stated.

  “I heard the food is from an amazing restaurant on fifth. Perfezione, I believe.”

  “Oh my god, they are remarkable. I had them about a month ago. Their bruschetta was mind-blowing.”

  Hearing their kind words made my heart swell with pride.

  “Perfection? That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it?” Paolo finally chimed in.

  “Perhaps if you tried it you might think it was perfection,” I said defensively.

  “Perfection is a strong word that should only be used when absolutely necessary. In my universe, some things can be flawless, but that doesn’t make them perfect,” he said while trying to scoot his chair closer to me.

  I lifted the seat of my chair up just slightly to move it away from this man. His arrogance was a little too much for my taste.

  “Like I said, try it and tell me it’s not pure heaven.”

  “We will see about that,” he said in a thick Italian accent.

  Strike two. What was next? Maybe once he’d tasted my cooking he wouldn’t be so critical. What? I was trying to be optimistic. The moans of enjoyment from around the table were validation alone that I was a good chef. I didn’t need some arrogant asshole to belittle my craft.

  As he lifted the fork from the plate, he let the fettuccine slide across his delicate lips. Paolo licked the excess sauce while brushing his thumb across his beautiful mouth. His lips were perfect. As a chef, nothing is more euphoric then seeing a sexy man eat your cooking. It seems every time he makes a smartass comment, the scoreboard is wiped clean when he does something as carnal as licking his fork.

  “So, what do you think, Paolo?” I asked in a smug voice.

  “It’s good, but not perfection. I’ve had better.”

  “You’ve had better? You’ve had better?” I was heated. I was more than heated. I was enraged. My eyes glazed over as a sheen of red started to cloud my vision.

  “This,” I said, pointing to my dish. “This is authentic Italian cooking, you schmuck! You have no clue what perfection is! I bet you eat Pasta Roni back in Italy. You’ve had better, sheesh.”

  “No need to be so defensive. It’s not like you made it or anything.”

  I stood from my chair and stared him down like the dog he was. “Actually, I did, you prick. You are a complete jackass who knows nothing about genuine Italian cuisine. I spent every summer of my childhood in my Nonna’s kitchen in Italy, learning the art of cooking, and you have the audacity to insult my cooking. Fuck. You’re even insulting my Nonna. You are unbelievable. I thought you were a standup guy—hot even—but you are just another arrogant jackass like every other man.”

  “You think I’m hot?”

  “Well not now, you asshole. You kind of ruined that when you insulted my cooking. You can go to hell for all I care.”

  If Paolo was looking for entertainment, he sure-as-shit got it. I stood from the table, pushing back my chair as I threw down my tablecloth.

  “If you’ll
excuse me, ladies, he’s all yours.”

  I stormed off in extravagant fashion as I pushed open the kitchen doors, fuming. He was such an egotistical bastard. He didn’t just insult me, he insulted my Nonna. Fuck that!

  “You okay, boss lady?”

  “Paulo. Shit. Ass. Fuck. Aghhh.”

  “Umm, Tessa, could you please form a coherent sentence, or are you going to continue with your rampage of one-word answers?”

  “Nino. There was a guy out there that said my work was okay. That he had eaten better. What the hell? I can’t believe him!”

  “Yikes. Did you claw his eyes out?”

  “Hardly, but I wanted to.”

  Just as I was finally cooling down, the kitchen door swung open and there stood trouble. As mad as I wanted to be at this man, I couldn’t deny he was sexy as hell. He stirred something inside of me, which had been in hibernation for quite some time.

  Chapter 5

  “Do you have a second to talk?” Paola asked.

  “Why the hell would I want to talk to you?”

  “Because I need to state my case.”

  “There is no case. You are wrong. I am right. You may leave now.”

  “You’re a feisty one,” he retorted.

  “Really, I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

  “Come with me,” he said as he took my hand and led me down the hallway.

  “Where the hell are we going?”

  “We need to have a serious discussion.”

  As I busted through the pantry door, Paolo was hot on my heels. I spun around to get in his face, but he was already there to get in front of mine.

  “Listen, you…you.” I tried to take control.

  As he crept closer and closer to me, my back was soon flat against the metal shelving.