Wicked Pleasures Read online

  2013 Rhonda Lee Carver

  Copyright © 2013 by Rhonda Lee Carver

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States

  Smashwords Edition

  All characters in this book who participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About Rhonda

  Acknowledgements

  To the man who has made dreams possible…Chase

  To my children who have been told “Hang on a minute, I’m writing” too many times to count

  To my friends, I repeatedly picked their brains for ideas and borrowed their talents

  To my dad. He is no longer living, but he remains in my heart

  To my mom. Her gift for poetry is magical

  Chapter 1

  Colorado, 1913

  JILLIAN SAT AT her desk staring through the window and seeing nothing. The full moon cast an odd blue haze on the land, as if warning of trouble while the light of the candles lit the room in a warm glow, but she couldn’t relax. Drawing her attention back to the blank stationary, she sighed in disappointment. The words wouldn’t seem to flow and she had very little time left to make right what she’d done.

  Clearing her mind, she took the pen in hand and began writing…

  A noise outside her window paused her. She waited and her breathing grew loud in her ears.

  Crack!

  Her heart sped up and she quickly blew out the light. Danger lurked outside, just as the witch had said would happen.

  Creaks sounded on the porch and she knew it would only be a matter of seconds before she met death’s grip.

  Grabbing the unfinished letter, and with shaking fingers, she quickly folded it and tucked it inside her dress pocket. Jumping up from the chair, she scurried to find a place to hide but the crashing of the door made her stop. Hiding would be useless. Her fate was written and she wouldn’t cower in fear.

  She turned to stare through the shadows but saw no movement. Heavy breathing echoed off the walls. “I know you’re there. You’ll never get by with this,” she said.

  “I already have.” A thick voice answered.

  Taking several steps back, her shoulders struck the wall. “You’ll die one day for your betrayal,” she hissed.

  “Everyone must die, sweetheart. Too bad today is your day.” There was laughter in his tone.

  Jillian held her breath, listening…waiting. She slid along the rough panel until a hand grabbed her arm and twisted. Pain ripped through her limb and she bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. “I’ll come back for you. I promise,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll see that you get what you deserve—” A grip came on her neck as large fingers dug into her tender skin. Her breath was lost. She brought her arms up and pummeled his brawny chest, but it was like pounding a stone wall—even her kicks made no difference against him.

  Closing her eyes, Jillian accepted defeat and waited for her life to end…

  The tension released and she dropped to the floor. Gasping for breath, she reached up and clutched her sore neck. The ache was almost unbearable. Bringing her head upward, she saw his outline in the moonlight. She cried out as he lifted his arm and the crushing blow struck her head, sending her hard onto her back.

  Several minutes passed, her mind was fuzzy and her breaths shallow. Her vision blurred. Blinking, she wiped the wetness from her forehead but it was coming faster than she could keep it from dripping into her eyes.

  Weakness overcame her and her heartbeat slowed. The light in the distance grew brighter, welcoming her, and the pain eased. A sensation of complete bliss washed over her—the fog was like a magnet drawing her into a rainbow. There was no resistance left in her body.

  A man’s face came to her—olive skin, pale eyes and beautiful smile.

  “Roark…” She smiled and he grinned. Lifting her hand, she reached for him, but like a cloud, his image evaporated.

  Everything went dark…

  Chapter 2

  Colorado, Present Day

  BRONTE SHERIDAN SAT down at her desk and closed her eyes. Her headache wasn’t letting up. Pressing her fingers against her temples, she wished the throbbing would stop. The door opened and she looked up as her assistant walked in.

  “Are you okay?” Fallon asked.

  Bronte dropped her hands. “No. I’ve got this headache again.” She reached into the top drawer, grabbed the small bottle of aspirin, popped the lid and poured out two tablets.

  “Good thing I brought you this.” Fallon handed the paper cup to Bronte. “Caffeine in the middle of the day for a quick pick-me-up. Call it a gift.”

  “You’re a life saver.” Bronte swallowed the pills followed by a gulp of heavily sugared and creamed coffee. “Thank you.” Over the years, they’d become close friends and Fallon always seemed to know how to help.

  “Well, what’s the verdict with Gage?”

  “Sore subject,” Bronte said as she looked up at the pretty blonde. “I told him that I needed time. I can’t continue with our engagement until I’m completely sure where my heart is.” She noticed Fallon’s smirk. “What does that look mean?”

  “You’ve been dating him for what? Two years is it? And you’re not sure?” She shrugged. “That could be a sign.”

  “Is one ever really sure about marriage? A lot of people get cold feet,” Bronte said. “I know people who have been at the alter three times and still sweat bullets.”

  “Is that your father?” Fallon asked. Bronte nodded. “You’re nothing like him. Some people go through marriages like they do trash bags. You believe in love, even if you’ve put your personal life on hold for work too many times. I remember once you told me that you wanted a man who could sweep you off your feet. The only sweeping Gage has done is in the stock market. In fact, and I don’t think I need to point this out, you’ve had a lot of headaches lately.”

  “Lack of sleep.” Bronte laid her head back. “I had that nightmare again—you know the one I told you about. The man. The blood.”

  “Yeah—the tall, dark, handsome stranger? Sounds like a fantasy to me.” Fallon wiggled her brows. “I wish I had dreams of sexy men. Mine consist of burping jerks with holes in their underwear. I can’t get away from men like that in real life either.”

  “I wouldn’t mind the interruption on an occasional night, but they’re intense and I wake up feeling distressed. It’s the strangest thing. And as time goes by, they become stronger and much more real.”

  “I know what you need. A book that deciphers your dreams. I could get you one.”

  “Don’t bother. I’d rather keep this as simple as possible. I’m having dreams without a purpose—nothing more. However, if you have a book that describes a proven remedy for insomnia, I’ll take it,” Bronte said.

  “Good thing you’re going on vacation. That’s exactly what you need. You’ll come back refreshed and transformed, with a tan too. I’m glad you’re finally getting away and I’m sure your clients will survive without you.”

  Bronte watched as Fallon strolled across the office, picked up the can from the windowsill and watered the plants. “You should take them home with you.”

  �
��Oh no, I have enough,” Fallon said with a shake of her head. “And don’t worry, I’ll take care of your buddies while you’re gone.” She lovingly patted a leaf.

  “My buddies? If not for you, they would have died a long time ago. Who in the world would gift plants anyway?”

  Fallon lifted a thin brow. “The writer you contracted a few ago, the one who has made you lots of money from his best sellers.”

  “Oh, right. Then keep them alive. By the way, when I come back I think it’s time for us to talk about a promotion.”

  Fallon spun on heel, her eyes wide. “For me? To editor?”

  Bronte smiled. “You’ve worked here long enough and you’ve shown great instinct and capability. You deserve it. Now, run along so I can finish these reviews. I’d like to catch my plane this evening. The ocean is calling my name.”

  With a new energy in her step, Fallon left, closing the door behind her.

  Bronte relaxed into her chair as a sinking feeling swept over her. She’d be spending the week alone at a resort in Cabo San Lucas. Shouldn’t she be more excited? After all, who wouldn’t want to vacation in paradise? Truth was, she didn’t, but her father had given her the trip for her thirty-second birthday, which she believed was a guilt-gift. She knew them well because she’d gotten a lot of them over the years. Maybe the time away could help her clear her head.

  Bringing her thoughts back to her task at hand, she plunged into her work.

  By five-thirty, Bronte had finished. She closed up the folders, put them away and grabbed her briefcase, checking her desk one last time before heading out.

  The large, open outer room was quiet and the only light came from the windows. A crack of thunder made her jump and she peered outside. Rain fell in sheets. With a sigh, she dropped her suitcase, went back into her office and hunted through a cabinet for an umbrella. A rumbling sound made her pause in her search.

  Ding! The elevator doors sounded.

  Going to the door, she peered out, expecting to see one of the office workers. Instead, two tall, burly men stepped from the cubicle. She started to step out of sight but one of the men spotted her. There was no other alternative but to acknowledge them. “Can I help you?”

  “Bronte Sheridan?” the taller man asked.

  “Yes, but I was on my way—”

  “This won’t take long,” he said as he started his way through the maze of desks.

  “Excuse me?” The hair rose on her nape and alarm made her throat constrict.

  Both were coming her way and Bronte backed up. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be making her flight.

  ****

  Roark stared into the inky night from his position on the second-floor balcony. The slight breeze swept across his nude body and cooled his skin. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with fresh air and the scent of promise. The anticipation of what was coming made him firm in a place where he’d had little satisfaction in many years.

  Taking his cock into his hand, he stroked his hard length until he reached completion. He blew out a long breath between his clenched teeth but tension remained.

  An owl hooted in the distance and he swore he heard howling. Impossible…not tonight. His gift wasn’t due to arrive until dark tomorrow.

  Turning on heel, he walked into his bedroom then stretched his tired body. He’d been edgy for days and his patience was thinning. Now that the gift was almost here, he could feel the eagerness in his bones and every nerve ending was sensitive. He’d dreamt of freedom night after night and had fantasized of salvation. It was as if the sun was about to rise upon a land of gloom and refuge was near. His heart quickened and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  There wasn’t much he could do except sleep. Rest was always a place of seclusion, which he liked. He strode across the cool stone of the floor and slid into bed. The mattress eased under his body and the satin sheets comforted him. He was drained, but not in a way that any amount of slumber could cure. His body grew weaker with each day passing and he despised the lack of control he had in easing his suffering.

  Roark laid there for a few minutes before sleepiness enveloped him in a warm, pleasing blanket. He gave into its sweet seduction and closed his heavy eyes. Within this peacefulness, he saw her and it always gratified him. It was the only place love came without harm or pain.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out before being pulled him from his restful cocoon. He listened closely and a loud knock came at his door. Who would be brave enough to disturb him in the middle of the night? His men knew better.

  “Fuck off,” he bellowed. He’d hoped his roaring demand would deter the intruder and help them realize the severity of bothering him. When the annoying bang came again, he knew he’d have to send them along the hard way.

  Getting out of bed, nostrils flaring, he stomped across the room and tore open the thick, mahogany door, almost releasing it from its hinges. “Who the fuc—”

  “Roark, my friend, it’s about time.”

  He eyed his best friend through a blurred haze as his heart fluttered in comprehension. Shelby would only come at this late hour for one reason. “Have you brought the treasure?” Roark asked. His grip tightened on the doorknob and he felt the metal give under his fingers. He hadn’t expected the package so soon.

  “We have. There was a change of plans. Didn’t you smell it?”

  Roark scoffed. “I’ve smelled it for days.” And it had almost been his undoing. “Where is it?”

  “The gem is waiting downstairs in the back of the Prombron.” Shelby scratched his scraggly, grey beard. It was a sign that the brawny man hadn’t been asleep for a few days. “The package wasn’t an easy transport.” The older man then swiped a hand through his thick blonde hair.

  “You like challenges, buddy.” Roark grinned. “Why are you complaining? Bring it in.” He could barely keep the eagerness from his voice.

  “Yes I enjoy a challenge, my friend. I’m always looking for entertainment.” Shelby chuckled. “Can I lend a suggestion?”

  “What?” Roark growled the word. Shelby’s casual nature worked on Roark’s last nerve. Time wasted, which was something they had little of.

  “Put some clothes on, man.”

  Roark looked down. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t wearing anything. He looked back up at his friend and shrugged. “I’ll take care of this.”

  Shelby started to turn, but then he stopped. He looked back at Roark with concern etching wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. “You sure you’re ready for the package?”

  “Ready isn’t the word I’d use. Maybe restless. Anyway, what other choice do I have?” They’d been through this. The plan had been in the works for six months and it’d been a very long and stressful wait. Roark had felt like a bear hibernating, anticipating the moment when he could walk out of the cave and back into the sunlight.

  “True,” Shelby nodded. “Meet in the den?”

  “Yes.” Roark stood in the open doorway, listening as Shelby’s heavy footsteps faded down the hall. The time was here and all of his planning had come to a head. As prepared as he’d thought he was, suddenly he was a bit displeased when he should be happy. This was his opportunity for a new beginning.

  Going to the armoire, he dug through his clothes for something to wear. He grabbed a pair of jeans and tugged them on, snapping the button at the same time he heard shuffling downstairs. The package was inside.

  Slamming the door shut to the cabinet, he quickly left the room and headed to the top of the stairs. From his perch in the darkened corridor, he watched below. Shelby and Crenshaw carried the package between them as they disappeared inside the den. Anxiety grew within Roark as he descended each step that brought him closer to the gift. The nearer he got, the faster his heart raced.

  Roark paused outside of the door to the room where they’d taken the gem and he could smell the strong scent—it made the hairs stand on the back of his neck. He was a man with nerves of steel, but they were absent.

  Gaining his bear
ings, he marched into the room. Embers remained in the fireplace but there was a chill to the air, or maybe it was in his heart. Either way, he wanted the warmth of a blaze. He motioned for Crenshaw, who’d been standing by the door, to start one. The man nodded, grabbed the poker and began stoking the ash. Shelby stood in the middle of the room, his burly six-feet-five frame hid the chair. Roark moved further in as he absorbed every noise.

  Rustling sounds penetrated his senses as the package moved. His blood pounded through his veins like a raging river.

  “Your long awaited prize, Roark.” Shelby smirked as he pointed a thumb downward and moved to the side.

  “Yes, I can smell her.” Roark drew in long breaths. The scent of vanilla tangled with fresh blood made his stomach churn. “Has she been hurt?” He couldn’t see her face because it was covered with a cotton bag. He ticked his gaze over her slender curves as curiosity grew in him. She appeared small, almost fragile, sitting in the huge leather chair. Her white top was ripped at the neckline, showing the tops of pale breasts in a red bra, and her black slacks were covered in blood. He edged his gaze further down to her pink toenails, then quickly lifted his attention back up. She was breathing so fast and her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the beating of his heart. His upper body tightened and his groin pulsated in a familiar sweep of emotions. “Answer me, Shelby. Is she wounded?” Roark lost patience.

  “The little wench wouldn’t behave. She threw a tantrum, broke a vase and cut her hand,” he answered in an annoyed tone.

  “Did you clean up?”

  “Of course,” Shelby answered.

  “Why didn’t you wait until tomorrow to take her from the airport parking garage, like we’d planned?” Roark asked.

  “Because we had the ultimate opportunity. She was alone,” he sneered.