Office Intrigue
Office Intrigue, Book 1
MMF Ménage Romance/BDSM
Available formats: E-book, Audio, Print
MMF Ménage Romance/BDSM
Available formats: E-book, Audio, Print
SYNOPSIS
BUY LINKS
EXCERPT
DETAILS
RELATED BOOKS
FUN STUFF
SYNOPSIS
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Do you get up every morning, spend close to an hour or more getting ready, pick out the perfect outfit, make sure your makeup is suitable, then style your hair just so? Do you slip your feet into your favorite heels, lock your modest one-bedroom apartment, climb into your practical car? Do you drive twenty minutes to downtown, find a spot in the company parking garage?
If you do, then you’re very much like me. However, I think our stories will differ significantly once you get to your office and I get to mine. Sure, it’s possible you work in a high-rise office building in the heart of downtown. It could be any downtown office in any big city, in fact. New York, Chicago, Dallas. The location doesn’t matter. It’s even feasible to think that you’re a secretary for a multi-billion-dollar PR firm. You could even have four bosses like I do. Four mouth-watering, male bosses, even. But, like I said, at that point, our stories will likely be drastically different. In order for you to understand why, I’ll have to start at the beginning… |
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BUY LINKS
EXCERPT
Office Intrigue (Office Intrigue, 1) - Chapter One
Beep-ba-beep
“Son of a bitch.”
It should be a crime to have to get up before six o’clock in the morning.
“Eight more minutes is all you get,” I mumbled into my pillow, talking to myself as I smacked the snooze button on my phone.
*
Beep-ba-beep
Eight minutes was not nearly long enough. It felt more like two.
And, okay, fine, it was safe to say I wasn’t a morning person, but this was one of those rare days when it was necessary that I got up at the ass-crack of dawn. The worst time of the day as far as I was concerned. But, it was a necessary evil because unlike…nobody…I didn’t crawl out of bed looking like a super model. That shit didn’t really happen. To anyone.
I rolled onto my stomach and kicked the comforter off my bed and onto the floor. Getting rid of my warm cocoon was the only way to ensure I wouldn’t snuggle down again and ignore the annoying beep-ba-beep that was supposed to be a signal to get my happy ass out of bed.
Of course, I still closed my eyes. That’s what snooze buttons were for, right?
*
Beep-ba-beep
“Craaaaaap!” I was jarred awake by that annoying sound once again, but this time procrastination was not my friend.
Before I could screw myself out of anymore prep time, my feet hit the floor and my tired ass was vertical. I made a big production out of yawning and stretching as I marched groggily to the bathroom. Through the haze of sleep, I flipped on the shower before stripping off my pajama pants and tank top, leaving them on the floor to pick up later. It wasn’t that I was a complete slob…okay, that was a lie, I was a complete slob. Especially when it came to laundry. Good thing I rarely had people over to my apartment.
During my shower, I had a moment of clarity as my hands drifted downward, soaping every inch of skin. It was time for me to schedule another waxing appointment. This realization did not make me happy. How could it? What sane woman enjoyed having her pubic hair brutally ripped from her nether region?
Maybe there was someone who was into that sort of torture, but I wasn’t one of them.
However, it was a necessity. A woman had to be prepared for the day she ran into the man who would rock her world and tip her otherwise unsteady existence right on its axis.
Not that I was looking, of course. I had far better things to do than wait for Mr. Right Now to pop into my life and make anything tip or spin.
Okay, another lie.
I was on a roll today.
It was too early and I hadn’t had coffee. That was my excuse.
When I was done in the shower, I cut the water off. One towel was used to dry my face, then went on my hair, the other was for drying me from neck to toe.
There.
The biggest portion of my morning routine was taken care of and that only cost me…
Thirty-four minutes.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I stared at myself in the mirror. Even I knew I should’ve had a little more energy. After all, I had a job interview in less than two hours, which meant I should’ve been darting around like it was the first day of school.
Unfortunately, mornings did not contain the fuel necessary to light a fire under my ass.
That meant I had to rush through my makeup, but first brushing my teeth was critical. If my dentist wasn’t always on my ass about it, I would’ve skipped flossing, but I had to listen to my mother bitch about enough already. I didn’t need to get a lecture about good dental hygiene, too.
“See, Mom.” I offered a toothy grin to my reflection. “All shiny and clean.”
Once that was done, it was time to put my face on. I had to look good. It was a requirement. Admittedly, my resume wasn’t exactly noteworthy, so it was imperative that I looked the part of a professional woman. How did the saying go? Fake it until you make it?
The makeup only took a few minutes, then on to drying my hair, which took a good twenty more thanks to the fact that I had so much of it. Then the flat iron to make the long strands shiny and straight. Finally, on to my clothes. A cute, yet conservative black skirt, a white silk camisole, paired with a charming, yet uber conservative blazer was the winner. Then I grabbed the best black heels I owned—a sexy little pair of Kate Spade’s that I couldn’t live without when I saw them—and slipped them on my feet.
I was finally ready.
For coffee.
Clearly, I spent too much time on my morning ritual, but hey, I was twenty-four years old and jobless. The interview I had that day was going to be the last of many, I hoped. I’d only been on eight in the past two weeks, none of which had panned out, but I had high expectations for this one. It was only one of the most prestigious PR firms in the city and they were looking for a secretary. Which, I thought was the same thing as a receptionist, right? Different term, same job? At least I hoped so because I exceled at that, truly. I mean, I was born to talk on the phone, so yeah, I figured if nothing else, I had a damn good shot.
And maybe you were wondering why I didn’t tell you what city I was in. Truth was, it didn’t matter. If I did tell you, you might know it and that would take some of the intrigue out of my story. So, we’ll keep that a secret as well as the name of the PR firm. After all, you might know that one too.
Back to getting ready.
I tossed my lip gloss into my clutch and grabbed my car key and cell phone before stopping in the kitchen.
The apartment I lived in wasn’t very big. Nothing more than six-hundred square feet, but it was in a good area of town, clean, and relatively inexpensive. And by relatively, I meant that I could afford it back when I had a job three weeks ago. If this didn’t pan out, it was no longer going to be inexpensive. It was going to be available for the next tenant.
But, I couldn’t worry about that now because I had somewhere to be and not a lot of time to get there.
After pulling up my texting app on my phone, I shot a quick message to my friend Kristen.
Luci: Heading to my interview. Wish me luck.
When the coffee maker brewed the single cup, I tossed in a little Equal and a few drops of creamer before popping a lid on the travel mug and heading for the door.
As soon as I grabbed the knob, my phone buzzed.
Kristen: You’ve got this one in the bag.
I didn’t know about all that, but I was grateful to my friend. She was the one who’d gotten me this interview and it couldn’t have come at a better time.
If I was lucky, I’d make it on time and they would hire me.
If I wasn’t lucky, I’d be moving in with my parents.
*
Traffic was a bitch, and I could only hope that this place validated parking because I couldn’t imagine how much it was going to cost. Since I valeted, I figured it wouldn’t be cheap, but hey. It was that or be late and like I said, I needed this job if I planned to have a roof over my head and food in my belly. I wasn’t a huge fan of ramen noodles and let’s face it, moving back in with my folks wasn’t an option.
“May I help you, miss?”
My eyes cut over to see an older man squinting at me from his spot behind a long counter. He had one eyebrow, bushy and solid white and it was currently hovering close to what used to be his hairline.
“I’m good, thank you!” My heels clicked loudly on the marble floors as I dashed toward the elevator.
I knew exactly what I was looking for and the sign by the elevator said I needed to head to the thirty-second floor. I punched the button for the elevator, then adjusted my blazer and tugged on my skirt. It was a little shorter than I remembered it being, but there was nothing I could do about it at that point. It was an interview, so I’d likely be sitting down for it. Plus, I was wearing underwear, so it wasn’t like I was indecent.
The elevator finally arrived and at that point, I was beginning to sweat. I had two minutes and if this wasn’t the express way up to the thirty-second floor, I probably wouldn’t make it. The lift was empty, so I stepped inside and hit the 32, making it light up, then turned and checked myself in the mirrors.
“Not bad,” I said to my reflection as I smoothed my hand over my hair, then swiped around my lips with one finger while another fanned my lashes to de-clump the mascara and poof. I was ready.
Another deep breath and then the elevator dinged, signaling my arrival.
I squared my shoulders, planted a brilliant smile on my face, then stepped off into a plush lobby and noticed…
Nothing.
Seriously. Not a soul.
It was empty.
Like ghost town empty.
The lights weren’t even on, which was slightly disconcerting. I quickly located the switch on the wall and made my way over. A second later, the room lit up like the surface of the sun. Okay, maybe not that bright, but at least it was no longer giving me an eerie feeling.
I strolled over to the desk where I assumed a receptionist (fancier name for a secretary, I was pretty sure) should sit. If all went well, that was going to be my desk.
As for it being empty, it sort of made sense because the job position was currently open. But it would soon be filled. By me!
I was optimistic, I wouldn’t lie.
Sure, I had some reasons to be. One, Kristen had recommended me for this position and considering her clout, I felt confident her word went a long way. And two, my resume had plenty of receptionist experience. Provided they could overlook the fact that I’d held twelve jobs in the past three years, I should be a shoe in. Although I hadn’t been let go from any of my previous jobs, I knew it didn’t bode well that I hopped from one place to the next. In my defense, I was still searching for something to make me happy, not quite finding it anywhere.
As for being qualified, I couldn’t tell you because this particular job posting didn’t have any requirements. It actually said: REQUIREMENTS TO BE PROVIDED AT TIME OF INTERVIEW.
Now, I knew that sounded a little odd, but like I said, my friend suggested I apply. Plus, this was a prestigious PR firm with a great reputation. I seriously doubted they were up to anything nefarious.
As I stood in the lobby, I wasn’t sure what to do next.
Did I slip down the hall and peek into offices until I found someone?
Did I take a seat and wait for someone to come to me?
I’d never had this happen before.
So, I asked myself: If I worked at an esteemed PR firm and I was looking to hire a secretary wouldn’t I want someone who had ambition? A problem solver? Someone who could think on the fly?
Straightening my spine and adjusting my blazer, I decided that yes, that was exactly what I would want. So, that was exactly what I’d be.
But, before I did that, I figured I could check out the outer sanctum. The single glass desk held a phone and a calendar. Was it a blotter? I thought that’s what they called it. Not that it mattered. I doubted there would be a vocabulary test. And if there was, it wasn’t like I was a dummy.
To my right, there were three charcoal leather couches that were positioned in a U, facing the reception desk, a glass table that matched the desk sat in the center on a plush gray rug decorated with neon-colored geometric shapes. The walls were painted a light gray, decorated with metal geometric shapes that, yes, matched the patterns on the rug. Very artsy.
On the wall behind me, closest to the elevator, was a small counter—light gray cabinets, dark gray granite—with a fancy coffee maker and little else. On my left was an opaque glass wall that ran the length of the area and continued down what appeared to be a hallway. It was fairly bright behind the wall, likely from the windows, but there were no shadows, which made me believe there were no people working back there.
I guessed that was the way I should go.
Just when I started toward the hallway, the elevator dinged and I spun around, waiting to see who the newcomer might be.
When the doors opened, I found myself staring. Hard.
Four imposing figures stepped out, two at a time, all wearing suits. Not the cheap kind either. These were likely Armani or Gucci or possibly Tom Ford and definitely tailored.
The well-dressed men seemed to be deep in discussion, not one of them noticing me. It gave me a few seconds to take them all in and let me just say, since this was going to be my job (there was that optimism again), I was going to be one happy girl getting to see these yummy treats every day.
There were two brunettes, a blond, and one who was shiny bald. Their skin tones ranged from pale to a sexy, rich chocolate color. If I had to venture a guess about their ages, I would’ve said from mid to late thirties. Their heights ranged from probably right at six feet to several inches taller. Then again, I was totally guessing about that. I wasn’t a good judge of height. Being that I was five-two without shoes, everyone was tall to me.
“Oh, uh,” the blond said, coming to an abrupt halt when he peered up at me. His eyes darted to the reception desk, then back to me.
I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed to find me standing there, or if he’d expected someone else to be with me. Rather than allow the awkward silence to continue, I greeted the men, trying on my best receptionist voice. “I’m Luciana Wagner. I’ve got an interview this morning.”
The blond looked at the brunettes, who—now that I got a good look at them—appeared to be identical twins. Probably close to six and a half feet tall, the two men had a rugged appeal that was heightened by the fact that they wore those expensive suits. Double yum.
Neither of them said anything. It was the dark-skinned, bald gentleman with the glowing brown eyes--swoon!—who stepped forward and held out his hand. He was long and lean, probably the smallest of the four men, but still impressively built. The slow smile that tilted his lips distracted me momentarily. Long enough that I didn’t notice right off the way his iridescent golden eyes had trailed from my breasts to my Kate Spade’s, then back up to meet my eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Luciana Wagner. I’m Benjamin Snowden. You can call me Ben.”
I smiled, transfixed by his killer grin and perfect white teeth. My mother would’ve loved his teeth.
Keeping my tone polite, I replied with, “You can call me Luci.” But what I was thinking was, “You can call me anything you’d like, just as long as you call me.”
Rein it in, Luci.
“And these are my partners,” Ben noted, turning toward the others, but not releasing my hand. He pointed to the blond. “Justin Parker.” His hand swiveled over to the twins. “Landon and Langston Moore.”
“Very nice to meet you all.” With a smile on my face, I reached out and shook each man’s hand once Ben released me. I kept my grip firm, but feminine. I didn’t want them to think I was trying to overpower them or anything.
That, of course, got me to thinking about being overpowered by them. Don’t ask me why.
And suddenly, the room had heated about fifteen degrees.
Should’ve nixed the blazer.
“Son of a bitch.”
It should be a crime to have to get up before six o’clock in the morning.
“Eight more minutes is all you get,” I mumbled into my pillow, talking to myself as I smacked the snooze button on my phone.
*
Beep-ba-beep
Eight minutes was not nearly long enough. It felt more like two.
And, okay, fine, it was safe to say I wasn’t a morning person, but this was one of those rare days when it was necessary that I got up at the ass-crack of dawn. The worst time of the day as far as I was concerned. But, it was a necessary evil because unlike…nobody…I didn’t crawl out of bed looking like a super model. That shit didn’t really happen. To anyone.
I rolled onto my stomach and kicked the comforter off my bed and onto the floor. Getting rid of my warm cocoon was the only way to ensure I wouldn’t snuggle down again and ignore the annoying beep-ba-beep that was supposed to be a signal to get my happy ass out of bed.
Of course, I still closed my eyes. That’s what snooze buttons were for, right?
*
Beep-ba-beep
“Craaaaaap!” I was jarred awake by that annoying sound once again, but this time procrastination was not my friend.
Before I could screw myself out of anymore prep time, my feet hit the floor and my tired ass was vertical. I made a big production out of yawning and stretching as I marched groggily to the bathroom. Through the haze of sleep, I flipped on the shower before stripping off my pajama pants and tank top, leaving them on the floor to pick up later. It wasn’t that I was a complete slob…okay, that was a lie, I was a complete slob. Especially when it came to laundry. Good thing I rarely had people over to my apartment.
During my shower, I had a moment of clarity as my hands drifted downward, soaping every inch of skin. It was time for me to schedule another waxing appointment. This realization did not make me happy. How could it? What sane woman enjoyed having her pubic hair brutally ripped from her nether region?
Maybe there was someone who was into that sort of torture, but I wasn’t one of them.
However, it was a necessity. A woman had to be prepared for the day she ran into the man who would rock her world and tip her otherwise unsteady existence right on its axis.
Not that I was looking, of course. I had far better things to do than wait for Mr. Right Now to pop into my life and make anything tip or spin.
Okay, another lie.
I was on a roll today.
It was too early and I hadn’t had coffee. That was my excuse.
When I was done in the shower, I cut the water off. One towel was used to dry my face, then went on my hair, the other was for drying me from neck to toe.
There.
The biggest portion of my morning routine was taken care of and that only cost me…
Thirty-four minutes.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I stared at myself in the mirror. Even I knew I should’ve had a little more energy. After all, I had a job interview in less than two hours, which meant I should’ve been darting around like it was the first day of school.
Unfortunately, mornings did not contain the fuel necessary to light a fire under my ass.
That meant I had to rush through my makeup, but first brushing my teeth was critical. If my dentist wasn’t always on my ass about it, I would’ve skipped flossing, but I had to listen to my mother bitch about enough already. I didn’t need to get a lecture about good dental hygiene, too.
“See, Mom.” I offered a toothy grin to my reflection. “All shiny and clean.”
Once that was done, it was time to put my face on. I had to look good. It was a requirement. Admittedly, my resume wasn’t exactly noteworthy, so it was imperative that I looked the part of a professional woman. How did the saying go? Fake it until you make it?
The makeup only took a few minutes, then on to drying my hair, which took a good twenty more thanks to the fact that I had so much of it. Then the flat iron to make the long strands shiny and straight. Finally, on to my clothes. A cute, yet conservative black skirt, a white silk camisole, paired with a charming, yet uber conservative blazer was the winner. Then I grabbed the best black heels I owned—a sexy little pair of Kate Spade’s that I couldn’t live without when I saw them—and slipped them on my feet.
I was finally ready.
For coffee.
Clearly, I spent too much time on my morning ritual, but hey, I was twenty-four years old and jobless. The interview I had that day was going to be the last of many, I hoped. I’d only been on eight in the past two weeks, none of which had panned out, but I had high expectations for this one. It was only one of the most prestigious PR firms in the city and they were looking for a secretary. Which, I thought was the same thing as a receptionist, right? Different term, same job? At least I hoped so because I exceled at that, truly. I mean, I was born to talk on the phone, so yeah, I figured if nothing else, I had a damn good shot.
And maybe you were wondering why I didn’t tell you what city I was in. Truth was, it didn’t matter. If I did tell you, you might know it and that would take some of the intrigue out of my story. So, we’ll keep that a secret as well as the name of the PR firm. After all, you might know that one too.
Back to getting ready.
I tossed my lip gloss into my clutch and grabbed my car key and cell phone before stopping in the kitchen.
The apartment I lived in wasn’t very big. Nothing more than six-hundred square feet, but it was in a good area of town, clean, and relatively inexpensive. And by relatively, I meant that I could afford it back when I had a job three weeks ago. If this didn’t pan out, it was no longer going to be inexpensive. It was going to be available for the next tenant.
But, I couldn’t worry about that now because I had somewhere to be and not a lot of time to get there.
After pulling up my texting app on my phone, I shot a quick message to my friend Kristen.
Luci: Heading to my interview. Wish me luck.
When the coffee maker brewed the single cup, I tossed in a little Equal and a few drops of creamer before popping a lid on the travel mug and heading for the door.
As soon as I grabbed the knob, my phone buzzed.
Kristen: You’ve got this one in the bag.
I didn’t know about all that, but I was grateful to my friend. She was the one who’d gotten me this interview and it couldn’t have come at a better time.
If I was lucky, I’d make it on time and they would hire me.
If I wasn’t lucky, I’d be moving in with my parents.
*
Traffic was a bitch, and I could only hope that this place validated parking because I couldn’t imagine how much it was going to cost. Since I valeted, I figured it wouldn’t be cheap, but hey. It was that or be late and like I said, I needed this job if I planned to have a roof over my head and food in my belly. I wasn’t a huge fan of ramen noodles and let’s face it, moving back in with my folks wasn’t an option.
“May I help you, miss?”
My eyes cut over to see an older man squinting at me from his spot behind a long counter. He had one eyebrow, bushy and solid white and it was currently hovering close to what used to be his hairline.
“I’m good, thank you!” My heels clicked loudly on the marble floors as I dashed toward the elevator.
I knew exactly what I was looking for and the sign by the elevator said I needed to head to the thirty-second floor. I punched the button for the elevator, then adjusted my blazer and tugged on my skirt. It was a little shorter than I remembered it being, but there was nothing I could do about it at that point. It was an interview, so I’d likely be sitting down for it. Plus, I was wearing underwear, so it wasn’t like I was indecent.
The elevator finally arrived and at that point, I was beginning to sweat. I had two minutes and if this wasn’t the express way up to the thirty-second floor, I probably wouldn’t make it. The lift was empty, so I stepped inside and hit the 32, making it light up, then turned and checked myself in the mirrors.
“Not bad,” I said to my reflection as I smoothed my hand over my hair, then swiped around my lips with one finger while another fanned my lashes to de-clump the mascara and poof. I was ready.
Another deep breath and then the elevator dinged, signaling my arrival.
I squared my shoulders, planted a brilliant smile on my face, then stepped off into a plush lobby and noticed…
Nothing.
Seriously. Not a soul.
It was empty.
Like ghost town empty.
The lights weren’t even on, which was slightly disconcerting. I quickly located the switch on the wall and made my way over. A second later, the room lit up like the surface of the sun. Okay, maybe not that bright, but at least it was no longer giving me an eerie feeling.
I strolled over to the desk where I assumed a receptionist (fancier name for a secretary, I was pretty sure) should sit. If all went well, that was going to be my desk.
As for it being empty, it sort of made sense because the job position was currently open. But it would soon be filled. By me!
I was optimistic, I wouldn’t lie.
Sure, I had some reasons to be. One, Kristen had recommended me for this position and considering her clout, I felt confident her word went a long way. And two, my resume had plenty of receptionist experience. Provided they could overlook the fact that I’d held twelve jobs in the past three years, I should be a shoe in. Although I hadn’t been let go from any of my previous jobs, I knew it didn’t bode well that I hopped from one place to the next. In my defense, I was still searching for something to make me happy, not quite finding it anywhere.
As for being qualified, I couldn’t tell you because this particular job posting didn’t have any requirements. It actually said: REQUIREMENTS TO BE PROVIDED AT TIME OF INTERVIEW.
Now, I knew that sounded a little odd, but like I said, my friend suggested I apply. Plus, this was a prestigious PR firm with a great reputation. I seriously doubted they were up to anything nefarious.
As I stood in the lobby, I wasn’t sure what to do next.
Did I slip down the hall and peek into offices until I found someone?
Did I take a seat and wait for someone to come to me?
I’d never had this happen before.
So, I asked myself: If I worked at an esteemed PR firm and I was looking to hire a secretary wouldn’t I want someone who had ambition? A problem solver? Someone who could think on the fly?
Straightening my spine and adjusting my blazer, I decided that yes, that was exactly what I would want. So, that was exactly what I’d be.
But, before I did that, I figured I could check out the outer sanctum. The single glass desk held a phone and a calendar. Was it a blotter? I thought that’s what they called it. Not that it mattered. I doubted there would be a vocabulary test. And if there was, it wasn’t like I was a dummy.
To my right, there were three charcoal leather couches that were positioned in a U, facing the reception desk, a glass table that matched the desk sat in the center on a plush gray rug decorated with neon-colored geometric shapes. The walls were painted a light gray, decorated with metal geometric shapes that, yes, matched the patterns on the rug. Very artsy.
On the wall behind me, closest to the elevator, was a small counter—light gray cabinets, dark gray granite—with a fancy coffee maker and little else. On my left was an opaque glass wall that ran the length of the area and continued down what appeared to be a hallway. It was fairly bright behind the wall, likely from the windows, but there were no shadows, which made me believe there were no people working back there.
I guessed that was the way I should go.
Just when I started toward the hallway, the elevator dinged and I spun around, waiting to see who the newcomer might be.
When the doors opened, I found myself staring. Hard.
Four imposing figures stepped out, two at a time, all wearing suits. Not the cheap kind either. These were likely Armani or Gucci or possibly Tom Ford and definitely tailored.
The well-dressed men seemed to be deep in discussion, not one of them noticing me. It gave me a few seconds to take them all in and let me just say, since this was going to be my job (there was that optimism again), I was going to be one happy girl getting to see these yummy treats every day.
There were two brunettes, a blond, and one who was shiny bald. Their skin tones ranged from pale to a sexy, rich chocolate color. If I had to venture a guess about their ages, I would’ve said from mid to late thirties. Their heights ranged from probably right at six feet to several inches taller. Then again, I was totally guessing about that. I wasn’t a good judge of height. Being that I was five-two without shoes, everyone was tall to me.
“Oh, uh,” the blond said, coming to an abrupt halt when he peered up at me. His eyes darted to the reception desk, then back to me.
I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed to find me standing there, or if he’d expected someone else to be with me. Rather than allow the awkward silence to continue, I greeted the men, trying on my best receptionist voice. “I’m Luciana Wagner. I’ve got an interview this morning.”
The blond looked at the brunettes, who—now that I got a good look at them—appeared to be identical twins. Probably close to six and a half feet tall, the two men had a rugged appeal that was heightened by the fact that they wore those expensive suits. Double yum.
Neither of them said anything. It was the dark-skinned, bald gentleman with the glowing brown eyes--swoon!—who stepped forward and held out his hand. He was long and lean, probably the smallest of the four men, but still impressively built. The slow smile that tilted his lips distracted me momentarily. Long enough that I didn’t notice right off the way his iridescent golden eyes had trailed from my breasts to my Kate Spade’s, then back up to meet my eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Luciana Wagner. I’m Benjamin Snowden. You can call me Ben.”
I smiled, transfixed by his killer grin and perfect white teeth. My mother would’ve loved his teeth.
Keeping my tone polite, I replied with, “You can call me Luci.” But what I was thinking was, “You can call me anything you’d like, just as long as you call me.”
Rein it in, Luci.
“And these are my partners,” Ben noted, turning toward the others, but not releasing my hand. He pointed to the blond. “Justin Parker.” His hand swiveled over to the twins. “Landon and Langston Moore.”
“Very nice to meet you all.” With a smile on my face, I reached out and shook each man’s hand once Ben released me. I kept my grip firm, but feminine. I didn’t want them to think I was trying to overpower them or anything.
That, of course, got me to thinking about being overpowered by them. Don’t ask me why.
And suddenly, the room had heated about fifteen degrees.
Should’ve nixed the blazer.
DETAILS
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e-BOOK
Publication Date: December 5, 2017 Publisher: Nicole Edwards Limited ISBN: 978-1-939786-84-5 Cover Design : Nicole Edwards Limited Cover Image Copyright © Wander Aguiar Photography Cover Model(s): Olivia Korte |
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PRINT
Publication Date: December 5, 2017 Publisher: Nicole Edwards Limited ISBN: 978-1-939786-83-8 Cover Design : Nicole Edwards Limited Cover Image Copyright © Wander Aguiar Photography Cover Model(s): Olivia Korte |
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AUDIO
Publication Date: March 22, 2018 Publisher: Nicole Edwards Limited ISBN: Narrators: Jill Smith Cover Image Copyright © kantver |
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