Naughty Temptations

Chapter One

Chapter One

“I hate Valentine’s Day,” Anastasia Style muttered as she contemplated the wisdom of kicking the flat tire she was glaring at. If she hadn’t been wearing her very expensive, incredibly sexy red high-heeled Manolo Blahniks, she might have attempted it.

Sighing with frustration, she reached into the stylish leather handbag she’d just retrieved from her vehicle and rummaged around until she found her cell phone. As she dialed her office, she glared at the offensive piece of rubber. Of all the days to get a flat.

“Hi, Maryann.” She spoke calmly even though a part of her wanted to scream. Her normally composed assistant sounded flustered on the other end. Not good. But not surprising. Valentine’s Day was shaping up to be her second busiest time of the year. Only Christmas had been more frantic. As the owner and manager of Hassle-free Holidays, her holidays were anything but hassle-free.

“I’ve got a slight problem.” She explained her situation to Maryann and paused while the other woman commiserated. “Call Manny’s Garage for me, will you?” Her family had been using Manny’s for as long as she’d been alive. “Tell him to take it back to the garage and I’ll pick it up later. I can’t afford to wait, so I’m going to call a cab.”

She stared into the backseat of her normally reliable six-year-old Honda Civic and eyed the expensive bottle of Dom Pérignon, the huge box of Godiva Chocolates and the extravagant arrangement of colorful carnations. The carnations didn’t quite fit with the other two items, but that wasn’t her concern. Whatever the client wanted, the client got. That was the mantra for her business.

She glanced at her watch and groaned. This day was going from bad to worse. She had to make this delivery for a very last minute—but extremely lucrative—client and get to her lawyer’s office before five o’clock.

She was signing her divorce papers today.

Pushing that thought aside, she said goodbye to Maryann and punched in the number of a local taxi company. After they’d promised her they’d have a car to her location within fifteen minutes, she popped the phone into her purse and climbed back into the driver’s seat to wait. It was only four o’clock, so she still had time to take care of everything and run back to her office to make sure that the rest of the deliveries had gone off without a hitch.

Luckily for her, her office was located on the first floor of the old Victorian-style house that she’d purchased a year ago, just after she and Mason had split. She bit her lip and shook her head. She didn’t want to think about her soon-to-be ex-husband, but it seemed appropriate today.

Mason would have had a field day with this episode if they were still together. He’d lecture her on the fact that she should have let him buy her a new car. New to him meant expensive. Mason Style was a successful land developer who came from old money and, at thirty-five, he had taken over the family business and done more than his fair share to pad the family coffers. They’d met when she went to work for him.

It had all been so clichéd—the boss falling for the working-class secretary. She chuckled as she admired her new shoes. Okay, so she had expensive taste. But that was all right. She’d worked and paid for every luxury she had. In fact, these were her one and only real splurge in the shoe department. But with the divorce being finalized today, she’d wanted to feel confident and, yes, sexy.

Lingerie was her biggest vice. It was one of the things that she hadn’t had any problem allowing Mason to buy for her. Somehow him blowing a few hundred dollars on a sexy negligee that they’d both enjoy wasn’t quite the same thing as allowing him to buy her a fancy car, diamonds or…whatever.

She shivered and flicked the heater up on high, even though the interior of the car wasn’t that chilly. Memories assailed her.

After the wedding, her life had changed one day at a time until it barely resembled a life she recognized. It had happened so slowly, she hadn’t been actually aware of it happening. She’d started dressing differently—more upscale, so as not to feel so out of place when she had lunch with the wives of some of her husband’s business associates and friends or when she, heaven forbid, spent time with his mother.

This time she shuddered. Marjorie Style was a social snob in the worst way. It was all about acting appropriately, wearing the right clothing and spending time with the right sorts of people. It was only after Anastasia and Mason had married in a whirlwind affair one weekend—an event that his mother had heartily voiced her disapproval of—that Anastasia had come to realize that the right sort of people did not include her family and friends.

They’d just celebrated their first wedding anniversary when Mason began to suggest that she might want to quit work and stay home. He’d hinted that they should think about starting a family. Anastasia had awakened on that cold, dreary morning last Valentine’s Day a woman of leisure, and instead of being content, she’d panicked.

The woman staring back at her from the mirror was not a happy one. She’d tried to talk to Mason, but he’d been in a hurry to get to work and had kissed her instead. And after that, it was impossible to think about anything at all. The physical side of their relationship was the one place where they’d never had any problems. It seemed that whenever they came together, sparks flew and heat ignited within her.

She swore as she squirmed in her seat. Just thinking about her soon-to-be ex was enough to make her cream her silky red thong. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the headrest and sighed. Whatever else could be said about the man, Mason Style was six feet of prime male.

His black hair, which always seemed to be shaggy in spite of the fact he had it cut regularly, hung to just above his shirt collar. She’d liked to run her fingers through it when they made love. Regular workouts and his love of sports kept him physically fit. But it was his eyes that she’d first fallen for. His brows were thick and black and his eyelashes were sinfully long and dark. His eyes were a bluish-green that was almost turquoise and as clear as the tropical sea they’d swam in on their honeymoon. And they’d stared at her as if she were the most fascinating and captivatingly gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

Anastasia groaned and dropped her head into her hands. The movement made her smart, tailored jacket brush against her silky red camisole, which was all she was wearing beneath it. She bit her lip to stifle another groan. All these thoughts of Mason were obviously having an effect on her libido. And no wonder. She’d gone from having the best s*x of her life to no s*x at all for the past twelve months.

She’d known that fateful morning that she had to do something drastic. So she’d sat at the huge kitchen table in the middle of the mansion that she’d never really liked or wanted and had written him a long letter, detailing every doubt that she had. She’d poured her heart into the letter, wanting him to understand so that they could hopefully talk about things and work them out. Then she’d gone to a friend’s house. She’d waited for hours for Mason to come to see her or to call. She’d made sure he’d known where she would be, but he’d never shown up. Never called.

Her clothing had arrived on the doorstep the next morning. A week later, his lawyer had contacted her.

Her fingers found the long strand of pearls that wrapped around her neck and hung almost to her waist. They were real. She’d inherited them from her Grandmother Pepperfield, a feisty redhead whom everyone said she took after. Gram had always said that pearls were always appropriate, no matter the occasion, and Anastasia had worn them almost every day since they’d come into her possession. Even as a child, she’d been fascinated by them. They’d seemed so beautiful—almost alive. She still remembered her grandmother whispering to her, telling her the story behind the pearls.

“Ana, always remember that pearls keep their luster by being worn. Never pack them away in the dark, but wear them daily as a reminder.” When she’d asked her grandmother what they were supposed to remind her of, she’d replied, “Love. It’s easy to forget about love in the business of living, but you shouldn’t neglect it or its luster will fade.” Then she’d get a faraway look in her eyes and young Anastasia would know that her grandmother was thinking about her grandfather who’d passed away before she’d been born. The love that they’d shared was legendary among the family.

Now, as she ran her fingers lovingly over the long strands, she wondered. Had she done everything in her power to make her marriage work? Had she lost sight of it in the business of living? She honestly didn’t know. She’d tried to call Mason several times after, both at work and at home, but he’d never answered or returned her messages. She’d even gone by the house one night and had found Marjorie there instead. Mason’s mother had calmly informed her that Mason was out for dinner—with a female friend.

Anastasia had been devastated. Up until that moment, she’d held out some hope that they might reconcile and save their marriage. After that, she’d stopped avoiding Mason’s lawyer and had gotten one of her own.

What had gone so wrong? She remembered the first months of their marriage. God, they’d both been so happy. They’d laughed and talked and played. They’d worked together during the week and they’d sure as heck enjoyed their weekends, spending much of it in bed together.

Her face burned as she thought about those early days of wedded bliss. Mason had been insatiable. The man could spend hours touching her…

*****

His fingers lightly traced her leg from ankle to thigh and back down again. Slowly. Maddeningly. His fingers would never quite go high enough to touch the slick folds of her s*x.

“Mason,” she groaned.

He glanced up at her with a sexy grin on his face. “What?”

She picked up a pillow, covered her face with it and screamed with frustration. When she heard his low chuckle, she gripped the pillow tight and whacked him in the head with it. He tore her makeshift weapon from her fingers and tossed it to the floor.

Then he pounced.

He tickled her waist, which wasn’t fair when she thought about it. He knew how ticklish she was there. They rolled around the huge king-sized bed until she was breathlessly begging for mercy. Mason laughed, gripped both of her hands in one of his and raised them over her head. His legs had hers trapped between them and the bulk of his body held her captive. “You know you can’t rush an artist when he’s working.” He nibbled the line of her jaw.

“So you’re an artist now, are you?”

He released his hold on her and levered himself up on his forearms. His expression was serious as he gazed down at her. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re definitely a work of art.”

“Oh, Mason.” Tears pricked her eyes. He was always saying things like that to her, and no matter how many times she heard them, she had a hard time believing them. She’d grown up a thin, klutzy redhead with braces, and memories of childhood taunting still rang in her head even though she’d filled out nicely as an adult.

Taking his time, he kissed every one of the six freckles that were sprinkled across her face. She was more fortunate than many natural redheads in that her skin was mostly smooth and clear, but her husband seemed to love her freckles.

Anastasia forgot all about her childhood and her freckles as Mason brushed his lips over hers. His tongue snaked out to lick at her mouth, and when she moaned, he slipped it inside. Their breath mingled as their tongues stroked and touched. She was gasping when he withdrew and began to kiss his way down her neck, taking special care to linger over the sensitive skin at the base where it met her shoulder.

“I want to kiss and lick every square inch of your body, Ana.” He continued downward, licking her collarbone, his body sliding over hers as he went lower. She could feel the tightness in his muscles and the hardness of his erection against her thigh, but still he focused all his attention on her.

Her fingers curled into the thick muscles of his shoulders as he lapped at one of her swollen n*****s. And when he began to suckle, she arched toward him, her nails digging deep as she tried desperately to anchor herself.

It was always this way with Mason. She sank deeper and deeper into a well of sensuality and sexuality until she thought she might drown. With him, she allowed herself to let go in a way she never had, trusting him to always catch her and hold her close when she spiraled out of control.

His hands gripped her hips, his thumbs grazing her hipbones as he left a trail of kisses down her stomach. She sucked in a breath when his tongue dipped into her bellybutton and swirled around. He caught her silver bellybutton ring with his teeth and gently pulled. Anastasia felt that tug deep in her core as if his lips had sucked on her c******s.

Cream seeped from her slit as she shifted her legs restlessly. She stroked her hands over every inch of his flesh that she could reach—his shoulders, his biceps, his back. She loved to touch him, to feel the shift and play of his muscles as they moved beneath his flesh. His c**k pulsed against her thigh and moisture seeping from the tip, dampening her leg. She knew he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

“God, you’re incredible,” he muttered against her belly as he prowled lower. “I love the fact that you’re a natural redhead.” He sifted his fingers through the neat thatch of curls that covered her mound. “Very sexy.”

“So you wouldn’t have fallen for me if I’d been a brunette?” she teased.

He sat up and glared at her, his turquoise eyes fierce in the low light of their bedroom. “I fell in love with the woman. Your intelligence, your sense of humor and your warm, giving spirit drew me to you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Ana.” His hand began to trace circles on her thigh. She shifted her legs wider. “You’re absolutely unique and I count myself lucky the day you walked into my office to interview for the job as my assistant.”

She could see the sincerity blazing from his eyes and her heart swelled. “I love you too, Mason. I’d given up believing I’d find someone who’d love me the way you do.” She’d been thirty when they’d met, and after being in the dating game for well over a decade, she’d become very disillusioned with it all. In fact, she’d been on a dating hiatus, determined not to go out with anyone when she’d met him. It had taken him quite a while to break though her defenses, but he’d done it, one day at a time, simply by being himself.

He lowered himself until he was lying between her spread thighs. From the way he was settling in, he didn’t plan on moving any time soon. She licked her lips in anticipation and he didn’t disappoint her.

His thumbs skimmed over her damp folds, spreading them wide as he leaned closer. “Beautiful,” he whispered, allowing his warm breath to flow over her heated flesh. “So pink and perfect and mine.”

“Yes,” she groaned as she gripped his hair and tugged him closer. She needed his tongue on her. Now.

His tongue lapped up one side and down the other. Her hips rose to meet his mouth, silently encouraging him. Beads of perspiration dotted her skin. Her breathing quickened.

Mason nipped at the swollen folds as he carefully and very slowly inserted one long, thick finger inside her. Anastasia sucked in a breath. “Mason,” she moaned.

“Very tasty,” he whispered. Then he took her distended c******s between his lips and sucked.

She cried out, heat rushing through her veins as it rocketed toward her p***y. Digging her heels into the mattress, she lifted her hips as he inserted a second finger inside her, pushing past the natural resistance. Her inner muscles clenched and relaxed, welcoming the invasion.

Her breathing was coming harder now as she struggled for air. Her entire body was tense. Poised for the coming explosion. She was so close. Yet he held himself steady, keeping her precariously balanced on the edge of s****l completion.

“Mason,” she panted, not able to say more than his name. She wanted to scream at him to finish it, to do that one little thing that would push her over the edge into oblivion. One more flick of his tongue. One slight shift of his fingers.

Her husband lifted his head and smiled at her.

Anastasia sucked in a breath…

*****

And barely stifled a scream when someone rapped hard on the car window. She jerked around to see a concerned male face staring at her. She came to her senses enough to realize that there was a yellow taxicab pulled ahead of her car and it was the driver who was not-so-patiently waiting for her. Needing a moment, she rolled down the window.

“You still want a ride, lady?” He was staring strangely at her.

“Yes.” Her voice sounded hoarse, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes. Just give me a minute.”

His gruff expression softened slightly. “You okay?”

She nodded affirmative, even though she wasn’t sure she’d ever be truly okay again. “Fine. I just need to gather my things.”

The driver eyed the stuff in the backseat of her vehicle. “You taking all that with you?”

“Absolutely. If you can take the box with the champagne and chocolate, I’ll get the flowers.”

“Big Valentine’s Day celebration?” he asked as he opened the back door and hefted the box out.

“You have no idea,” she muttered as she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her face was slightly flushed, but other than that small, telltale sign, there was no other indication that she’d almost had a screaming orgasm sitting in the front seat of her car on the side of a busy street while fantasizing about her soon-to-be ex-husband.

It wasn’t to be borne. She had to get over him. After today, Mason was a part of her past. Once her signature was on those papers, they no longer had any ties to bind them. Gathering her purse, she climbed out of the driver’s seat and locked the front door. She reached into the back and carefully lifted the arrangement of carnations off the seat. After pressing down the lock, she used her hip to knock the door shut and headed toward the cab, determined to put every last thought of Mason out of her head.