Ticket to Temptation Read online

  “Take me, Daniel.”

  With those three words, I exploded into a frenzy. I rode her fast and hard. Each hard thrust drove me closer to the edge. She clamped down hard around my cock, and the spasms of her orgasm pushed me over the edge. I exploded…

  I awoke with a start, the warm stickiness of my ejaculation plastering my pajama bottoms to my skin. I pulled myself into a sitting position and dropped my head in my hands. I’d known Logan in passing these past six years and had done a fairly good job of ignoring how attractive she was, how beautiful and unavailable. So why now, suddenly, couldn’t I keep her out of my mind? Why had she infiltrated my dreams?

  I made my way to the shower to wash away thoughts of this woman who could only mean trouble. Maybe these ideas resulted from the gallery of erotic paintings that lined the walls of the great room at Blackstone Manor. The stately old house had been a surprising mixture of the ancient and new. The outward simplicity of the old stone structure belied the grandeur inside. I was eager to explore and find out more about this strange place.

  I’m one of those guys who, once I’ve decided on a course of action, need to put things in place to enact it. Knowing I was going off the grid for three to four weeks, there were a few things I needed to put in place. In random order, I mentally ticked off my to-do list and got to work.

  I called Robert Charles and arranged to meet him in a couple of hours’ time. I packed a bag and found my ID. I asked a neighbor to keep an eye on the loft, dropped the suitcase in the car, and set out for Wall Street.

  Robert Charles III was a stately older gentleman dressed in a sharply creased, tailored gray suit, exactly what I expected in the prestigious law firm of Livery, Charles, and James. The conference room smelled of lemon-polished leather, old books, and the ink from a million document signings.

  “Anais Blackstone’s will stipulates a portion of the principal must remain in trust, but you’ll find the remainder more than enough to satisfy your needs. In fact, a tidy nest egg has accumulated since your parents died. Did you bring along a voided check so we can direct the funds to your account?”

  “How does Raphael get the money for upkeep on the house?”

  Robert’s blink shuttered a look that gave me the distinct impression he thought I was delusional.

  “Who is Raphael?”

  “He’s the caretaker of the house.”

  “What house?”

  “The house in Watchung. You know, the one you sent the deed for.” Now it was my turn to question my cognitive ability.

  “As far as I’m aware, there is no house on the property in Watchung. To answer your question, any invoices for the upkeep of the property are directed to the firm and paid out of the trust. Things will continue that way until you direct us otherwise. Sign here, here, and here, and you’re all set.” He slid a black Mont Blanc pen across the table.

  I signed, he witnessed, we shook, and I walked out a very rich man.

  I was oblivious to the crowded streets as I covered the ten minutes back to my loft. The city burped and belched exhaust with the more than occasional whiff of raw sewage thrown into the mix. Usually, the crowds, the traffic, and the frenetic pace were balm to my city-addicted system, but not today. I was eager to reach the house before the storm system moved in.

  I slowed as I reached the spot where the driveway should have been. Where the hell was the sign? I squinted into the sun, certain I was at the right location. I turned the car around and circled back, and there it was. I could have sworn the path wasn’t there a minute ago. Weird. But then, just about everything was weird these days. I made the turn and let the forest enfold me.

  After taking a few minutes to admire the fieldstone structure and slate roof, I dropped my bag in the front foyer and went for a tour. Raphael had left instructions beside various appliances. The man was nothing if not thorough. According to Raphael, some water-powered generator and heat pump system powered the house, so it had all the conveniences of this century, albeit dated. If I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m a history buff, and part of my excitement about exploring this house, now my house, was the chance to surround myself with the ambiance of the nineteen twenties and thirties.

  A ball of excitement bubbled through me. This beautiful homestead was mine, all mine. I restrained myself from rushing to the library to investigate the journals. As much as I itched to explore them and the many paintings throughout the house, practicality came first. If I needed anything from town, I’d better get it before the storm hit.

  Bright white walls accented with white cupboards flanking stained glass windows greeted me as I entered the kitchen. In addition to the staples, the well-stocked fridge circa 1920 held everything from cold cuts and an impressive selection of cheeses to complete meals. Either Raphael loved to cook or was a most thoughtful host, maybe both. It was clearly evident I wouldn’t need to worry about food during my stay. He’d strategically placed notes with instructions and tips as if he knew that “handy” was not my middle name.

  I continued my tour going from room to room. The house whispered of a bygone era, as I stopped to admire the eight-foot pocket doors and fifteen-foot ceilings before arriving at that magnificent library with handcrafted shelves loaded with books. Its splendor and understated elegance drew me in, and I took a moment to inhale the ambiance. When I shut my eyes, I was almost certain I caught the whiff of a fine cigar permeating the weirdly intoxicating smell of paper, ink, and leather. As promised, Raphael had left stacks of journals for me to explore. Time enough for that later.

  I grabbed my bag and climbed the mahogany staircase, taking a moment to study the artful paintings of the beautiful woman Raphael called my great-great-grandmother, Anais. Something reflected in those sensual eyes reminded me of Logan. Logan resplendent in French silk and lace, laying on the chaise lounge in the drawing room. Logan bent over, dressed in nothing but boxers, wagging that beautiful ass as she gave me a wink. Logan… I shook myself out of the daze I’d clearly fallen into. Logan was definitely not the wagging or winking kind. Enough with the Logan crap.

  I made my way down the hall, peeking into each of the beautifully decorated bedrooms. Matching etched French doors stood open at the end of the hall, inviting me in. The one on the right led into a large room complete with a massive, scrolled, white wrought-iron bed covered with a huge white duvet and matching pillows. Lace curtains and heavy white drapes covered the floor-to-ceiling windows opening to a small patio overlooking a large English-style garden. Clearly, this was a woman’s domain and a bit too frou-frou for my tastes. I walked through the large white marble and mirrored en suite with two large sinks and an enormous tub that immediately made me think of Logan, submerged in bubbles, luxuriating in the warm, scented water… Stop that!

  The adjoining bedroom with its dark wood and masculine decor had my name written all over it. An enormous four-poster bed seemed dwarfed in the large room. More floor-to-ceiling windows, these adorned with thick velvet drapes, opened onto a secluded patio on the opposite side of the house. I stored my clothes in the two empty dresser drawers and tried the bed. Perfect. A bookmarked journal lay open on the bedside table. I tucked it under my arm and headed back to the kitchen.

  A loud clap of thunder announced the large bolt of lightning that lit up the darkening room. Midsummer storm clouds shuttered the late afternoon light, and the soft glow from the wall sconces wrapped me in a cocoon of safety. Raphael had said this old house had been built to withstand a monsoon, and the massive stone walls and slate roof comforted me as strong winds lashed the surrounding trees. I made myself a sandwich and settled in at the large marble island, eager to start what looked like one of Granny’s journals.

  My beloved,

  You asked me what I liked best during our night of exploration. I’ve discovered I like to have my behind paddled. When you took me over your knee…

  Well, well…not what I normally considered granny journals!

  Crack! A horn followed the loud bang. What the
fuck? I ran to a front window. Headlights shone dimly through the rain, and that horn penetrated as the gods unleashed their anger. Strong winds resisted my efforts to open the door. The limbs of a large tree covered a stalled car. Seconds seemed like hours as I struggled against wind and rain. Long black hair covered the head slumped against the steering wheel. I wrenched the door open, pulled the limp form into my arms, and battled my way back to the safety of the house. I lay her on the sofa, covering her with the afghan resting on the back of the couch. She moaned as I brushed the hair from her face. Her lids flew open, and large frightened sapphire blue eyes stared up at me.

  “Daniel?”

  Logan!

  Chapter 9

  Logan

  I must have died and woken up in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I stared into the absolutely gorgeous and magnetic blue eyes of Daniel Masterson. The same Daniel who’d given me the brush-off.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.” Daniel’s long, lean, piano-player fingers took my pulse, which skipped a beat before increasing to a gallop at his touch.

  “Of course I’m awake.” Dizziness overwhelmed me as I started to sit up. “Ouch.”

  “Not so fast. Stay put. I’ll get you some ice.” He tucked in the edges of the large afghan covering me. “Don’t go anywhere.” A tiny demon lurked in his smile, a devil who dove straight between my legs.

  I gingerly touched the bump on my head as my gaze followed the vision of that toned butt as he padded out of the room, barefoot, sleek and graceful, like a wild cat in search of a warm sunny rock. For a split second, I imagined my legs wrapped around his powerful thighs, impaled…

  Have you lost your mind? The throbbing in my head brought me back to reality. What on earth was Daniel doing here?

  He perched on the edge of the couch, cupped the back of my neck, and pressed a cold pack wrapped in a kitchen towel to the side of my head. I reached up to grab it from him.

  “Just relax. I’ve got this.”

  “I can do it myself, you know.”

  “Of that I have no doubt, but just relax and let me take care of this.”

  I struggled to sit up, but that large, hard body along with the gentle and insistent hold he had on my head made it impossible to move more than a few inches.

  “I’m used to taking care of myself.”

  “Another thing I have no doubt about. Just humor me for a minute.”

  I sighed and relaxed back onto the cushion. Daniel smelled all smoky and fresh with just a hint of musky fragrance. Like tamed testosterone. My nipples stood at attention. I almost gasped. It had been so long since I’d heard from the girls, I’d almost forgotten about them. Now they throbbed as blood surged into their tips. Please don’t look down.

  I needn’t have feared. Daniel’s gaze fixed on my eyes as if searching for a thought I’d hidden. Tendrils of heat floated from the long tongues of flame drifting into the chimney of the large stone fireplace, slowly loosening the chill that gripped me. I shivered. Daniel lifted the cold pack and stood.

  “We’ve got to get you out of these wet clothes.”

  I sat up and immediately dropped my head in my hands as dizziness overwhelmed me. Daniel crouched in front of me.

  “Are you okay? Looks like you’re not ready to make any fast moves yet. You’ve got quite the bump there.” He reached up and brushed the wet hair cascading over my face behind my ear.

  “I’ll need my clothes. They’re in the car.”

  “Well, we won’t be getting them anytime soon in this storm. I’ll see what I can find.”

  I lay back and once again had the pleasure of watching his tight, toned, and disappearing backside.

  He returned a few minutes later and held out a few articles of clothing.

  “Here. I found these. They look like they might fit. If not, I can loan you one of my tee shirts, but you’ll probably swim in it.”

  I fingered the creamy lace and embroidered appliqué of the fine peach silk chemise and matching bloomers. They were exquisite and reminded me of the woman in the painting above the fireplace.

  “This was Anais’s, wasn’t it?”

  “I presume so. There’s a whole wardrobe of clothes in her bedroom upstairs. I guess that’s where you’ll stay.”

  I raised my head, reminded that he didn’t belong here.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be staying. What are you doing here anyway?”

  Daniel laughed. “You’re not one to relax and enjoy the moment, are you? Look, how about you get out of those clothes while I fix us something to eat. All this excitement made me hungry. We can talk then.” He pointed to an ornate paneled Asian screen in the corner. “You can change there.”

  He led me to the screen covering a large area in the corner. I sank gratefully into the embroidered love seat sitting diagonally behind the screen. The fabric was such a deep red it was almost burgundy and matched the drawings—were those love scenes?—etched into the ivory and decoupage screen. Everything about the house seemed odd…and ancient. I stripped out of my wet clothes and into the lingerie. It fit like it was made for me. I felt almost naked yet strangely comfortable, aware of my body like I hadn’t been for some time.

  I followed in the direction Daniel headed. The white tiled walls of the kitchen backlit his radiance, blocking out the stormy night. I paused in the shadow of the doorway soaking in his gorgeous, wavy blond hair and finely-muscled arms, wanting nothing more at that moment than to run my fingers through the sprinkle of light hair sweeping across his chest. A ray of sunshine dropped into my little corner of the world, and a warm glow of desire wicked through me. For a brief second, I thought anything was possible, then shook the thought away. I must be losing my mind. Here I was in the middle of what would no doubt prove a tumultuous separation with no idea who I was. Sorting all that out was what should be consuming my mind; but instead, I was in the midst of a cougar moment. It must be the house.

  The kitchen was warm, fun, and inviting, a throwback to a different era, just like the rest of the house. Daniel stood at a ceramic tile island putting the finishing touches on two enormous sandwiches, whistling an almost recognizable tune. A little ashamed of my outright ogling, I stepped into the room.

  “Oh hi.”

  “Hi there.” Shyness slid over me like that of an adolescent girl at a school dance watching the boy of her dreams approaching. The heat of his gaze swept me from head to toe before returning to my face.

  “You look good.”

  Three simple words, but they lit me on fire. Three simple words that meant more to me than the last three hundred times Greg had said, “I love you.” Those three simple words swept me into a whirlpool of raging lust. I needed to get a grip.

  He dropped a few potato chips on the plate and slid it across to me.

  “Eat.”

  “Thanks. This looks delicious.”

  Daniel poured a couple of glasses of lemonade and slid onto the stool beside me. I studiously tried to ignore the heat radiating from the lean sinew of his hard body. Heady with hunger, I bit into the sandwich, reveling at the burst of flavors coating my tongue like dew in a rain forest. I hadn’t realized just how ravenous I was. Ravenous for him was more like it. There I went again; it must be the bump on the head.

  “This is amazing.”

  “It’s my version of a Dagwood sandwich. I’ve been making them ever since I was a kid, so I just about have them perfected.”

  “Um-hum, I’d say you do. I could eat these forever.”

  “The secret’s in the sauce.”

  “Who’s Dagwood?”

  Daniel’s laugh washed over me like a warm summer rain.

  “Dagwood was the idiot husband in the comic strip Blondie. He loved making enormous sandwiches like this one. Do you follow any cartoons?”

  “Not really. I’m more of a movie buff. I’m a big fan of action movies.”

  “Who’s your favorite?”

  I paused a beat, drawn into those startling blue eyes regarding me as if the ne
xt words out of my mouth would answer some profound question about the universe.

  “It’s a close contest between Bruce Willis and Tom Cruise, but I’ll have to go with Bruce.”

  “Yup, hard core gets them every time. I would have bet on Tom.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “You would be wrong.”

  “Ouch.” Daniel faked falling off the stool. “Watch it, eh?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” I grabbed his elbow to pull him upright.

  Daniel laughed again, and if I never heard another sound, I’d still die a happy woman. “Relax, I’m just yanking your chain.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I sat in a puddle of embarrassment, unsure what to do or say next. Honestly, you would think I was reliving my adolescence.

  “You need to lighten up a bit.” Daniel started tidying up our dishes. “So tell me, Logan, what are you doing here?”

  The abrupt subject change made my head swivel like a wind vane trying to measure the weather. What was I doing here?

  “I met the caretaker the other day, and he invited me to stay here for a while. I decided to take him up on his offer. Why, what are you doing here?”

  “I own the place.”

  I choked on a sip of lemonade, and we spent the next couple of minutes dealing with the ensuing coughing fit.

  When I returned to my senses, I said, “Say that again? Raphael didn’t say anything about you owning the place.”

  Daniel cocked his head to the side. “Why would he?”

  “Why would he what?”

  “Why would he say anything about me owning the place?”

  I wasn’t used to such a direct approach. Greg in his omniscient fashion would be giving me all kinds of reasons why Raphael would have told me. Greg, pompous ass that he was, thought he held the secrets to the universe.