Tender Loving Passion: Temptation and Lies
Two classic TLC novels from Essence bestselling author DONNA HILL
The women who sell Tender Loving Care body products are hiding a secret: they are undercover operatives in The Ladies Cartel—the flip-side organization of TLC Cosmetics. They have sworn an oath to never reveal their clandestine activities, so not even their closest family and friends know about their covert lives….
TEMPTATION AND LIES
As CEO of an event-planning company, no one would ever guess that sultry siren Nia Turner is also an undercover agent for TLC. Living a double life can be stressful, especially when Nia begins dating sexy architect Steven Long. As their desire blossoms and their relationship grows, will the web of lies and scandal Nia becomes tangled in tear them apart forever?
LONGING AND LIES
With her sensual looks and free-spirited ways, Ashley Temple is the perfect agent for TLC. But when she poses as part of a happily married couple along with FBI operative Elliot Morgan for her latest assignment, the stakes are sky-high. Ashley knows she’s in deeper than she’s ever been before…. How can she let Elliott go once he’s taken their passion beyond the point of no return?
Tender Loving Passion
Temptation and Lies
Longing and Lies
Donna Hill
www.millsandboon.co.uk
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Temptation and Lies
Longing and Lies
To all my readers old and new. I thank you for the continued love and support. Enjoy the ride!
Temptation and Lies
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1
The October sun peeked through the slats in the vertical blinds, throwing a soft glow across the state-of-the-art kitchen. Mia Turner loved to cook and considered herself something of a gourmet chef, always willing to try new recipes. And she firmly believed that a good meal opened and soothed the soul. The best conversations, confessions and gossip could be had over a good meal.
With her piping-hot mug of imported Turkish coffee on the left, her sparkling pearl-handle .22 on the right, she snapped open the Daily News and immediately turned to Page Six. She circled several high-profile items about celebs and business tycoons spotted in and around the Big Apple as she sipped her coffee. The smooth blend had been a gift from one of her grateful clients. She made a note on the pad next to her saucer to call Paul Han and thank him for his “thank you.”
Page Six aside, she turned her attention to the egg-white omelet that she painstakingly prepared every morning. It was stuffed with mushrooms, tomatoes, green peppers and cheddar cheese. She took a forkful and sighed with pleasure.
There were two things that were paramount in Mia’s life: great food and paying clients. Well, three things—order, too. No, make that four—Steven.
The last item on her must-have list made her smile and she thought about the incredible lovemaking session they’d had just that morning, in this very chair. She wiggled her plump bottom as images of her and Steven played behind her partially closed lids.
Her best friends, Savannah Fields and Danielle Holloway, teased her about her neurotic obsessions, but they had to agree that Steven Long was certainly worth being obsessed about.
Mia was the last of the trio to find someone special in her life. Savannah and Blake had been married for seven years and had just had their first child—Mikayla—the most gorgeous baby girl the world had ever seen. And Danielle had finally allowed her heart to open and let Nick Mateo in, and they were now living together and engaged!
For a while Mia believed she’d always be the fifth wheel, until she actually took a second look at Steven Long.
They’d known each other casually for years: Blake and Steven were best friends and business partners at their architecture and development company.
But it wasn’t until Mia had hosted a party at her house about ten months earlier that they actually saw each other as more than “the best friend of their best friend.”
Since that night, Mia and Steven had been pretty much inseparable, only allowing the pressing business of their respective livelihoods to keep them apart.
Mia closed her paper, finished off her omelet and washed it down with the last of her coffee.
She took her dishes to the sink, rinsed then placed them in the dishwasher.
This part of her morning ritual completed, she took her gun from the table and walked the short hallway that led from the front of the two-bedroom condo to the back where the master bedroom and reconverted second bedroom were located.
She and Steven used that second bedroom as their combined office, so she would never risk him discovering the contents of her “kit,” as Danielle’s lover Nick had done.
A minor disaster like that would take more explaining than she was willing to do. So being the orderly and forward-thinking type-A personality that she was, Mia had cut out a little panel behind the top shelf of her clothes closet, hidden behind boxes of very expensive shoes.
She removed the panel and pulled out her TLC “beauty kit.” Mia smiled as she ran her hand across the smooth pink leather carrying case with the TLC logo emblazoned across the front.
Taking the case to the bed, she turned the latch to review the contents: burglary tools, computer-scanning disk, listening and recording devices, chloroform and a fingerprint dusting kit and, of course, the container that held the bath beads that were actually specially designed tranquilizer bullets for her .22. All the contents were ingeniously camouflaged as bath oil, body lotions, eye shadows, blush, perfumes and lipsticks. She smiled.
Reassured that everything was in order and accounted for, she lifted the top tray and replaced the gun in its cutout compartment below. She knew it was risky to take the gun out each morning after Steven had left for work, but the thrill of seeing it right next to her, where she could admire and stroke it—even though it only held tranquilizer bullets—still gave her a rush.
Mia had become an official member of the Cartel seven months earlier, although she’d been a fringe member since Savannah’s first case a little more than a year ago, which turned up an ugly land deal that would have destroyed an ancient African burial ground right in downtown Brooklyn.
As the owner and CEO of MT Management, Mia’s schedule, though hectic, was her own. That flexibility lent itself to her sideline as an undercover operative for TLC.
Mia returned her kit to its hiding place and checked the time. Jean Wallington-Armstrong, the head of the Cartel, had asked Mia to come to the Harlem brownstone to discuss a new assignment that Jean felt Mia was perfect for.
From there it would be off to her real job—the one she could tell everyone about, she thought with a smile.
Event management was the perfect occupation for Mia. It gave her the opportunity to arrange every aspect of an event, down to the most mundane detail, and she loved every minute of it.
Ever since she was a little girl, growing up in Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn, she’d had a knack for arranging things. As a preschooler she had a precise time and location for all her doll tea parties and all the accessories had to match and be placed “just so” on the tiny pink plastic table.
The most traumatic incident in her young life was when she went to place the teacups on the saucers and discovered that one of the handles was broken and there were no more in her collection that matched. “You see, the tablecloth, paper napkins and the dolls’ outfits were all color-coordinated,” she’d explained to Savannah and Danielle many years later, who’d both given her sympathetic looks.
She’d become so hysterical that her mother had to promise to replace the entire set the following day. Mia was only five at the time, and her obsession with detail and order only grew and crystallized as she got older.
Of course, now she didn’t collapse into tears and fits when things went awry, but her entire demeanor would become one tightly wound band of tension that was terribly uncomfortable to be around.
That aside, Mia Turner was your everyday, ordinary kind of woman unless, of course, you counted her other life.
She squinted at her appearance in the oval hall mirror. Her smooth, shoulder-length hair haloed her face in soft waves. The slight touches of makeup—bronze lip gloss, mascara and a little powder to keep the shine off her nose—kept her lovely features from being overshadowed. She cinched the belt on her knee-length dress, took her coat and purse and headed out, checking the locks three times before she felt comfortable.
* * *
Twenty minutes later she pulled onto 135th Street in Harlem. She parked her midnight-blue Lexus two doors down from the brownstone. The luxury car was a recent present to herself for having achieved a stellar year of profits from her business. In these tight economic times, everyone was cutting back, but her business continued to flourish. Big business, celebrities and the well-off were always having conventions or hosting parties to sell something, impress others or remind everyone else how important they were, and MT Management was the one they invariably called.
Mia slid off her glasses and tucked them into her purse. She was terribly nearsighted but refused to wear her glasses in public and was adamant against “sticking something in her eyes” as she put it, referring to contact lenses. So vanity won out and she went through life squinting, which often gave her a severe appearance that was totally contrary to her open and warm personality. In business, however, it often worked to her advantage: in her dealings and negotiations, her steely gaze gave the impression of a no-nonsense businesswoman.
She gathered her purse and hopped out, her chocolate-colored Milano ankle boots hitting the pavement with a soft pop.
She grabbed her ecru-colored swing coat from the hook in the back of the car and quickly slipped it on. Although it was early October and the sun was high in the sky, the weather had already begun to grow cool.
Setting the alarm on the car, she headed to the brownstone and rang the bottom bell.
Within moments, Claudia, Savannah’s mother, came to the door.
“Hello, darling,” Claudia greeted her, enveloping Mia in a warm hug. The soft scent of Chanel floated around her.
Claudia Martin was in her early sixties, but she didn’t look a day over forty-five. Class and style always exuded from Claudia. She kept her auburn-tinted hair in a fierce cut that mimicked the early Halle Berry look. Her cinnamon complexion was flawless and she rarely wore much makeup, save for a dash of lipstick and mascara to accentuate her incredible hazel eyes. St. John was her designer of choice and she wore it well.
Claudia had been a member of TLC for several years and had recruited her daughter, Savannah. And all those years that Mia, Savannah and Danielle had seen Claudia toting around her TLC carryall and saying she was going to meetings, they’d always believed what she told them: that she was selling beauty products. Ha!
The joke between them, now that Savannah had a daughter of her own, would be that she would recruit little Mikayla when she came of age. Knowing her already feisty infant, Savannah had said Mikayla would probably launch her own division of TLC Tots!
“Looking good as always, Claudia. Bernard must be treating you well. You’re glowing.”
Claudia laughed lightly. “That he does, my dear. Nothing like a good man to get the kinks out.” She winked at Mia and walked inside.
“Have you two finally set a date?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” She clasped Mia’s arm and her diamond ring flashed in the late-morning light. “Now that Savannah had the baby and can fit into something ‘fabulous,’ as she said, we wanted a December wedding. Do you think you can put something together in time?”
Mia stopped short, propped her hand on her hip and gave Claudia a look of mild reprimand. “Claudia, this is me. If you said your wedding was this afternoon and you wanted it in Paris, I would make it happen. It’s what I do.”
Claudia laughed in response. “Chile, what was I thinking? Go on,” she said, still chuckling. “Jean is upstairs in her office.”
“We’ll make an appointment to talk,” she promised before heading off.
* * *
Mia went up the stairs and down the “hall of fame” as it had been dubbed. The walls on either side were lined with portraits of all the Cartel members who had been affiliated for at least a year and had successfully completed their assignments. She smiled as she spotted Savannah’s photo and then two photos down was one of Danielle. Claudia’s was at the beginning of the row, right next to Jean. Mia drew in a breath of resolve. One day soon her photo would grace the hall of fame, too.
Mia knocked lightly on the closed door.
“Come in.” Jean looked up from her computer screen when Mia entered. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
Mia did as instructed, taking in the room while she waited. As with all of the brownstones in Harlem and in Brooklyn—which had not been cut up or converted—the rooms were enormous; grand would be a better word. Vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, parquet floors, mahogany sliding doors, massive mantelpieces, stained-glass windows and working fireplaces. Some even had the claw-foot bathtubs and original porcelain sconces.
She’d grown up in a brownstone on Putnam Avenue in Brooklyn. Not quite as big as this one, but large enough. So any time she came here she felt right at home.
Mia crossed her legs.
“Thank you for coming,” Jean began, bypassing any pleasantries.
Mia merely nodded, knowing from experience that Jean wasn’t one for chitchat.
“I have an assignment that is perfect for you, especially with the business that you’re in.”
Jean took a sealed manila envelope from her desk drawer. “All the details are inside. I’ll briefly give you some background. This was handed to me from a personal contact at the FBI. There are some extremely high-profile individuals involved and before the lid gets blown off, they need to be absolutely sure.” She cleared her throat and removed her red-framed glasses, setting them gently down on the desktop. “There is a major, very elite, very exclusive escort service operating in New York City. Although that’s nothing new, what is new is that it appears to be run by Avante Enterprises. You need to find a way to get inside the organization, and get the evidence that the Feds need to shut it down.”
For an instant, Mia couldn’t move. She hoped that Jean couldn’t read the distress on her face, or hear the escalated pounding of her heart. Avante Enterprises had been one of her clients, and several years ago she’d broken a cardinal rule and had a short but fiery affair with its CEO, Michael Burke.
Chapter 2
Mia managed to get through the rest of the briefing without screaming. When she got behind the wheel of her Lexus, she wasn’t quite certain she’d heard anything Jean had said after she’d dropped her Michael Burke bombshell.
By rote she turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred to life, along with the sounds of Marvin Gaye’s classic, “What’s Going On.”
That was the question of the day, she mused. She put on her glasses, drew in a long steadying breath and slowly pulled off in the early-afternoon traffic.
* * *
In the privacy of her business office, a ground-floor rental in SoHo, Mia closed and locked the door on the off chance that her new assistant, Ashley Temple, might decide to burst in—as she was prone to do—to update her on the latest TMZ news (a celebrity online and off-line news outlet). She was relieved that Ashley wasn’t up front when she came in and she was able to get to her office undetected, at least for the time being.
Mia depressed the Do Not Disturb button on her phone, then removed the manila envelope from her purse.
She placed it on the desk and stared at the innocuous-looking envelope. It looked like millions of others, but she knew better. The contents had the potential to turn her life inside out.
The affair between her and Michael had been discreet. No one knew about it, especially within the business circles they traveled in. Not even Savannah or Danielle had any idea that anything had transpired. They’d always believed that she simply hadn’t found the right man and, until she’d met Michael, she hadn’t.
When they broke up, it was a long three years before she started intermittently dating. But she’d never found anyone who could measure up—until Steven Long.
Mia ran her manicured finger across the smooth surface of the envelope.
If she broke the seal and opened it, there was no turning back. She’d have to carry out the assignment. Her type-A personality wouldn’t allow her to give up or turn the reins over to someone else.
Drawing in a long breath, she exhaled her doubts and trepidations and broke the seal.
The documents detailed Michael’s rise up the business ranks to eventually running his own management company. He was considered one of the best in the management consulting business.
Her pulse pounded in her temples when she scrolled down to review his personal information.
Marital Status: Divorced
Reflexively, she gripped the pages tighter between her fingers. Her heart thumped as her breathing shortened.
Divorced. He was free. At least on paper.
He was married when they’d met. Guilt had riddled her each time they’d made love until her conscience had no longer allowed her to do that to another woman. Michael had literally begged her not to leave him. He’d promised to get a divorce—just give me some time, he’d said.
But time and promises were things she could not depend on, nor did she want to.
“I can’t do this anymore, Michael,” she recalled saying to him, the agony of speaking the words making her voice paper thin, sounding weak and without conviction.
He turned onto his side. His dark brown eyes moved slowly along her face. His thumb brushed across her bottom lip. “Do what?” he asked, his voice husky and taunting. “This?” His large hand slid between her damp thighs and gently caressed her there.
Mia drew in a sharp breath as the powerful sensations rippled through her.
“Michael...” Her hips arched. She gripped his shoulders and he rose above her, bracing his weight on his forearms.
“I love you so much, Mia,” he said on a ragged breath as he pushed slowly inside her.
Mia wrapped her body and her heart around him, giving him all of her because she knew that this could never happen again.
And it didn’t.
* * *
Mia ran her hand along the length of her hair and for a moment shut her eyes, wishing the images of the past away.
She looked down and read further. Michael had been under surveillance for a while. He’d come under suspicion during a routine audit of his company’s finances. There were several discrepancies, which had apparently been cleared up, but he remained a blip on the radar screen.
Apparently, deposits of three to five thousand dollars were routinely placed in one of his secondary accounts, then were quickly transferred to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands.
The more she read, the more ill she became.
The Michael Burke she knew was ambitious, and he could be manipulative if it would land him an account. But this man on paper was not the man she remembered and had once loved.
She closed the folder and knew that shortly the ink would disappear, as if the damning words had never existed.
The knock on her door snapped her to attention. She shoved the envelope into her desk drawer, removed her glasses and went to unlock the door.
“Hi. Come in.”
Ashley’s updated Angela Davis fro bounced in a cinnamon-brown halo around her openly expressive face.
Every time she looked at Ashley, Mia thought of a highly energetic, inquisitive child, even though Ashley was easily in her early thirties.
Ashley was a godsend after Mia lost her last assistant to marriage and happily ever after. Ashley was bright, totally efficient and loved the event-planning business. She was so good, in fact, that Mia had given Ashley two of her own accounts to manage, and her clients loved her.
“Hey, boss,” Ashley greeted her, her warm brown eyes sparkling, as always. Her deep dimples flashed.
“What’s up?”
“A couple of calls that I thought you’d want to handle personally.” She handed Mia a slip of the company’s teal-colored message paper.
They walked toward the small circular table in the far corner of the office and sat down.
Mia squinted at the words on the page until they came into focus. “Sahara Club?” she asked.
Ashley read from a sheet in her hand detailing all the particulars about the Sahara Club, which catered to married couples who wanted to plan quick romantic getaways. The club management wanted to put together an event to promote their business, inviting previous guests to give testimonials about their experience.
Mia’s brows rose as she listened.
“I did an Internet search on them,” Ashley offered in response to the question that hovered on Mia’s lips. She handed over her research material. “I also have a short list of some of their clients. I can have them checked, if you want.”
Mia took the notes and briefly scanned them, the words blurry around the edges.
“This one is for the grand opening of a boutique in Tribeca,” she went on reading her second set of notes. “They want something really upscale. They’d like to come in and talk with you. Should I schedule it?”
“Why don’t you take that one?” Mia said absently. “I’ll sit in on the initial meeting if you need me, but I think you can handle it.”
“No problem.” She paused a moment. “Are you okay? You seem really out of it.”
In the six months that Ashley had worked for Mia, they’d grown rather close, sharing stories and giving each other advice on things like clothes, cars, best deals, politics, religion. Mia had even invited Ashley to join her, Savannah and Danielle for their weekly girls’ brunch at their favorite hangout, The Shop. Over time Mia had grown to respect Ashley’s judgment and clearheaded opinions, which she often sought out. But her current dilemma she could not share.
“I’m fine. Just a little headache.”
Ashley leaned forward. “Maybe if you wore your glasses to read and move around in the world, your head would stop hurting. It’s probably eyestrain.”
Mia made a face. It was her personal pet peeve. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take something for it.”
Ashley huffed. “Suit yourself.” She pushed up from the desk. “I’ll give these ladies from the boutique a call and get that set up.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
Alone now, Mia’s thoughts reluctantly turned to her most pressing situation: in order to complete her assignment, she was going to have to see Michael again. And she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle that.