Sweet Temptation
“Once won’t be enough to get this out of our systems.”
A tale of out-of-control chemistry from New York Times bestselling author Lauren Hawkeye.
From the moment they met, Meg Marchande and John Brooke have had the kind of chemistry you bow down to, give thanks for and find the nearest bed to release. Despite a magnetic attraction, their timing has never been right. But passion waits for no one.
Moving from city to city for his powerful career, John doesn’t see himself in a traditional relationship. Still, he can’t get Meg out of his mind. Meg is more than happy to meet up with him for increasingly erotic encounters, but she doesn’t let herself think about a happily-ever-after. After all, her business means she has to stay, and his means he has to go. She doesn’t want to give up the things she’s fought for any more than John does.
With both of them set on their own paths yet helplessly drawn to one another, they must discover whether love is enough. Or is their relationship doomed to never be about more than sex?
Mills & Boon DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.
Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!
New York Times bestselling author LAUREN HAWKEYE never imagined that she’d wind up telling stories for a living…though she’s the only one who’s surprised. She lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada, with her husband, two young sons, a pit bull and two idiot cats. In her nonexistent spare time, Lauren partakes in far too many hobbies! She loves to hear from her readers through email, Facebook and Instagram! Sign up for Lauren’s newsletter here: eepurl.com/OeF7r.
Also by Lauren Hawkeye
Between the Lines Playing Dirty
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Sweet Temptation
Lauren Hawkeye
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09928-8
SWEET TEMPTATION
© 2020 Lauren Hawkeye
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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For Patience
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
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
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
TO ANYONE ON the outside looking in, John Brooke had one hell of a night planned.
He’d been seated at a low table in Grapes of Wrath—the new nightspot that was essentially a wine bar with dancing—for over an hour. At the table with him were Theo Lawrence, his friend and the man whose company he’d been working for over the last six months, as well as Theo’s live-in girlfriend, Jo. They were having one final hurrah before John left. He had a week until his next job, the next place he would temporarily call home.
He’d sampled several of the fantastic vintages that the bar offered and was feeling loose and warm, and the attractive blonde waitress had made it clear that she’d be off at midnight if he was interested.
He’d flirted with her in return, thinking that some hot, sweaty sex would be the perfect way to cap off a great day, but for some reason, he wasn’t quite as interested as he should have been. He couldn’t even remember her name, which embarrassed him more than a little.
“Thanks.” Automatically, he flashed her a smile when she brought him his newest drink order, but when she lingered, bending over to give him an eyeful of her cleavage, he found himself winking at her on autopilot. His body appreciated the view, but that was where his interest ended, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.
It had been happening more and more often lately, this hint of dissatisfaction over things that were the norm in his life. John was an independent contractor, his specialty was mentoring start-up companies through successful launches. He’d lived a nomadic lifestyle for over a decade and had always felt a thrill when it was time to move on. Tonight, though, the expected buzz of excitement was hovering just out of reach.
“To John!” Across the table, Theo toasted him with his glass, which contained only sparkling water—Theo was several months sober, all thanks to the spitfire of a woman sitting next to him, who raised her glass, as well. “We’re sad to see you go, man.”
“Thanks, Theo.” John nodded, then sipped his wine—a nice, full-bodied red. Christ, was he ever going to have a headache tomorrow. He’d indulged more than he usually did to compensate for these weird feelings that he couldn’t seem to banish.
For the first time in memory, he had friends. He cared about someone other than himself.
What was happening to him? He didn’t let people in. The second they tried, he was gone, and for good reason. He traveled, he enjoyed the money from the career he’d built off his sweat and blood, and he rarely spent more than a few nights with the same woman. But since meeting Theo and Jo, seeing the way they’d overcome their demons to find a connection that made them both shine... Well. He’d fought against it, but John couldn’t deny that somehow, someway he was now aware that he maybe wanted something more.
“I have a break coming.” The waitress was back. The club’s uniform was a skintight blue dress that showed off the woman’s lean figure, and John knew that in five minutes, he could have the skirt lifted and the woman’s long, tanned legs wrapped around his waist. His cock didn’t hate the idea.
That was it, then. He’d indulge in a quickie, and maybe it would break him out of this mood.
His decision must have shown on his face, because the woman smiled, catlike, and bent to whisper in his ear, “The staff bathroom is at the end of the hall. I’ll be waiting.”
His smile frozen on his face, he watched her sashay away. Theo’s low whistle broke him out of his trance.
“Guess you’re leaving, then?” Theo grinned at him before pulling the woman next to him in close to nuzzle her hair. Jo rolled her eyes in John’s direction, pursing her lips with disapproval.
“You can do better,” she informed him, tipping her head back to catch the last drops of whiskey in her glass. “Her boobs don’t even move. I mean, you can’t deny that they look good, but make sure she doesn’t hit you in the head with one of those things. She’ll knock you out cold.”
“Duly noted,” John replied dryly, finishing the dregs from his glass. Standing, he checked his pockets to make sure that he had a condom, which he did—of course he did. He was the master of details, noticing things that other people were utterly unaware of...such as the fact that he probably should have felt a little more enthused at the moment. He was heading off to have sex with an attractive woman, but as he left Jo and Theo behind to pursue said woman, he found himself thinking that he’d rather go home.
Stopping halfway across the dance floor, he debated it for a moment, which was yet another thing that was utterly unlike him. He prided himself on being decisive, on being a man who took action, who always had a plan, and this unsureness left him feeling unmoored.
Make up your mind, John!
He started walking toward the door, away from the waitress waiting for him with her skirt around her waist. That was when he saw her, a split-second glimpse of her from behind before she was swallowed up by the crowd.
He turned toward her, as though he were a satellite set to orientate in her direction. He was a tall man, over six feet, but she was nearly ten inches shorter than him, and try as he might, he couldn’t catch another glimpse from where he was.
It didn’t matter. Even without a second look, he knew that the petite woman packed some serious curves into her small frame. Curves his hands itched to touch. He knew that her hair fell in chocolate-brown ribbons to her waist, making him imagine how it would look spread out over the white sheets on his hotel room bed.
He knew that her skin, smooth and pale, was laced with colorful ink, like all of her sisters. And he knew that every time they were in the same room, the sparks between them threatened to erupt into full flame.
Meg Marchande.
Without consciously thinking about it, he started moving, closing the space between them, irritated at the people in his way keeping him from her. When he was still a few feet away, the crowd parted slightly, and he found her again.
He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She’d chosen to display her curvy body in a thin white T-shirt dress that was low in the neck and high on the thigh. She’d paired it with a pair of black heeled boots that extended up over her knees, the look effortless, though he knew that, as a woman who appreciated fashion, she would have chosen her outfit carefully, conscious of the image that she wanted to project.
He could only assume that she’d wanted her clothing to scream sex, and, oh, had it ever worked.
He tried, really he did, not to let his gaze linger on the delicious cleavage rising out of her neckline, or on the creamy expanse of thigh that made him think of what those legs would look like wrapped around his waist.
She shifted, the already-short hemline riding up even higher, and he lost the battle. It wasn’t the first time, either—in the month since he’d met her, he’d had a very hard time fighting his attraction for the petite brunette.
In another world, fighting it wouldn’t have even been an option. That first day they’d met, when he’d gone to the Marchandes’ home to convince Jo to take a job, the spark had been immediate. There she’d sat, surrounded by her sisters, and the only one he’d seen was her. And if they’d gone for it right then, it probably would have been okay. But now?
Now he and Theo were friends. He and Jo were friends. The Marchandes were a package deal, their mother and Theo included. And that meant that starting anything up with Meg, even a fling, was...well, complicated.
Meg was like a sister to Theo, and wasn’t that an unwritten rule in the bro code? Sisters were hands-off. Sisters were especially hands-off when he was only going to be here for one more week.
That didn’t stop him from thinking about what it would feel like to wrap a hand in those long, loose waves, tugging gently until she gasped.
His cock, which had only paid the barest minimum of attention to the waitress, was fully on board with this new plan. It didn’t help his restraint. Nor did the flare of emerald green jealousy when the man who Meg had been speaking to—flirting with—moved in behind her, placing his hands on her hips and tugging her back against him.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, even as he reminded himself that she had the right to dance with whomever she wanted. She could flirt with whomever she wanted, and she could sleep with whomever she wanted.
None of that, however, meant that he couldn’t throw his hat in the ring.
Looking across the bar, he saw the table where Jo and Theo still sat, wrapped around each other like ribbons on a maypole. John knew Jo well enough to understand that she would just shrug and say it was Meg’s choice, but Theo would string him up and flay him alive and enjoy doing it. He didn’t want to risk the first real friendship he’d had in...ever.
Theo would probably come around if he knew that John liked Meg, on top of wanting to screw her brains out. That was part of the problem, though... No matter how much he liked Meg, it could never be anything more than sex.
He didn’t do connections with other people. It was something of a personal rule, and he wasn’t some naive idiot who needed to lie down on a therapist’s couch to figure out why—he avoided relationships of all kinds because when you cared about people, they could hurt you. This had been his truth since before he could remember, and hitting the streets at age thirteen had locked it in.
Theo and his friendship had sneaked past John’s barriers, but after careful examination, John had decided that he could handle any potential fallout. Same with Jo.
What he felt for Meg, though? That was something best left unexplored, which was why he’d spent the past few months trying to ignore it.
Right now, watching the sway of her hips as she danced? As the primal urge to fight his competition for her thickened in his blood? Combined with the fact that he admired her, liked her?
He’d honed his self-control in iron for his whole life, but he was still only a man, and he wanted her with every fiber in his being.
Before he’d decided on a plan, he started toward them. He ignored the alarm that started shrieking in his head, warning him of the impending danger.
He’d built a very successful company that had made him very wealthy by going after what he wanted with laser focus.
And right now? Maybe he had an undiscovered masochistic streak that had him craving her company, even if he wasn’t ever going to do anything about it. Yeah, he must, because he found himself walking straight toward her.
He couldn’t have her, but the only thing he wanted was Meg.
CHAPTER TWO
IF THE MAN rocking his pelvis against her ass knew that Meg was going over her list of orders for the next day in her head while he got handsy, he probably wouldn’t have been too thrilled. And it wasn’t that he bored her or anything—she’d quite enjoyed their flirtation, which had started after he’d watched her down two shots in quick succession. He was hot, and she wasn’t immune to the sensation of his hardening erection pressing against her from behind.
It was just that she had a lot going on these days. Her brain was full, and she was tired. Or wired. She couldn’t tell anymore. Before she’d opened her small catering company, others had told her how proud she’d be, how nice it would feel to be her own boss and set her own hours. These things were true, but why hadn’t anyone told her how freaking hard it was? In the past, at the catering company she’d worked for since she was a teenager, there had always been someone high ranking to pass problems to.
Now? She was that high-ranking person. She was the end of the line. And while she was happy, it also meant that most of the time, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. Which sometimes led to multitasking...like working in her head while a hot guy tried to get into her pants.
Jo had all but dragged her out by the hair tonight, reminding her that after fighting so hard for her success, she should be enjoying it a bit, too. Meg knew her sister was right, but even two shots hadn’t been enough to clear her head.
Behind her, she felt Aaron—that was his name, right?—slide one of the hands resting on her hips down lower to toy with the hem of her short dress. The pads of his fingers were hard, the calloused skin of a man who worked with them for a living, and she liked the sensation of them scratching her skin. A thin ribbon of arousal spooled out in her belly, and she pressed back against him, making him groan.
“Want to get out of here?” he whispered against her ear. “My place is only a block away.”
She considered. Maybe some sweaty sex was just what she needed to clear her head. Aaron was hot, in a rough kind of way—his nose had the crooked lines of a brawler, and the body beneath his no-nonsense jeans and T-shirt promised that she wouldn’t be disappointed. She suspected that sex with him would be the same—straightforward, simple, a transaction that got them both off.
She could get down with that. She shifted in his arms so that she could reply in the affirmative, but as she did she found her gaze drawn toward the long, sticky surface of the bar. Gaze awareness, she thought it was called—that weird thing that happened when you sensed someone looking at you.
She wasn’t wrong. Someone was indeed looking at her, and when she saw him, she knew she wouldn’t be going home with Aaron tonight, or any other night.
Keeping one eye on her new admirer, she turned in Aaron’s arms, smiling up at him ruefully. “Not tonight, but thanks for the dance.”
He furrowed his brow momentarily, and Meg felt herself tense. Some men—not all men, but some—didn’t understand that a dance wasn’t a promise, that accepting the offer of a drink, or a flirtatious conversation, or the choice of a short skirt and high boots wasn’t a contract promising that they’d get their rocks off.
Aaron, however, shrugged good-naturedly after a moment of disappointment and took off into the crowd, in search of a woman who would take him up on that offer of simple sex. Meg exhaled a sigh of relief before turning back to where the other man still watched her, a slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.
“See something you like?” she asked with more than a hint of sarcasm as she approached him, signaling for the bartender. She didn’t expect him to answer, because they both knew the truth—they’d been hot for each other since the moment they’d met, but their moment had passed. She’d been sprinting forward with the opening of A Moveable Feast, managing a million details, but she still would have made the time for what she just knew would be toe-curling sex. He’d pulled back, though, just a bit, immersing himself in his role at Theo’s dating-app company, and the heat between them had turned itself down to a manageable simmer. Especially when Theo had made sure to take her aside and explain, in no uncertain terms, that while John was a great option for casual sex, he didn’t ever—ever—do more than that. And also that if John went anywhere near her, Theo would go after his testicles with Jo’s manicure scissors.
Meg had rolled her eyes, informed him that her tomboy sister didn’t own any of those and then punched him in the gut. He’d doubled over, wheezing, but she’d made her point—she made decisions about her own life. No one else.
However, when it came to sex, both parties had to agree, and since she suspected that Theo had given John that same “don’t touch my sister” chat, she was pretty sure that he no longer viewed her as a potential partner for sexual escapades.
It was just her luck that she’d run into him when she was keyed up from dancing with Aaron and had sex on the brain. It made it harder to ignore that knee-jerk punch of attraction.
Accepting the icy bottle of beer from the bartender, she took a long swallow, letting the crisp liquid cool her off. Thus fortified, she turned to face him, let herself take him in.
She was attracted to him, but she wasn’t so naive as to think that she was the only one. She’d have had to be blind not to appreciate the sheer perfection of his face. She’d grown up next door to Theo, who, while she’d sure never seen him that way, turned plenty of heads with that whole Latin lover thing he had going on. She’d dated men who were nice to look at, but John was just ridiculously good-looking. His skin was a smooth medium brown, and next to it his pale eyes—which were, of course, fringed with lashes long enough to make a woman weep—were impossible not to focus on. He kept his ebony hair buzzed down close to his head, letting the lean planes of his face take center stage, and his body was a continuation on the theme—the man obviously logged some serious gym time, because, well, damn.
It didn’t surprise her that half the women in Boston had reportedly dropped their panties the second he’d arrived in town.
Dammit. He caught her looking, and that smug little half smile deepened, making her stomach do a little flip.