Designing Passion

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Designing Passion

Copyright © 2011 by Kali Willows

ISBN: 978-1-61333-104-0

Cover art by Dara England

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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Designing Passion

Kali Willows

A 1 Night Stand Story

~
DEDICATION
~

To my loving husband, who is my hero in every way.

Thank you for your inspiration and support
.

Designing Passion

Reading the questionnaire for the twentieth time, Tawny scanned her answers to the unbearably personal questions. With as much honesty as she could provide, filling out this page opened a can of worms she still might not be ready for.

Six years since she’d even accepted a date, let alone considered having a physical rendezvous with anyone, made the prospect of a match up with a complete stranger nerve wracking to say the least. Her pervasive physical desires—with a nudge from her friend, Laura—had forced their way through her cold exterior and frigid heart. Maybe a one-night stand would be enough to break the ice and give her a chance to move forward for the first time in years. After all, it was only sex. No commitment, no emotion, and no broken heart. One final attempt to experience the earth-shattering intensity she’d enjoyed with her first sexual encounter. Sex had become one disappointment after another; she’d almost given up altogether.

Tawny glared at her friend’s email that had started it all.

Subject: Madame Evangeline
.

Reading it again might remind her of why she agreed to seek 1NightStand’s services.

Tawny, I know you’ve been hurt, but life is passing you by, and you’re missing the best parts. I’m not suggesting you find love, but rather a chance to feel some joy for a change. Please consider contacting Madame Eve. Her reputation is solid, her service is legitimate, and she ensures the safety of all her clients. I promise it’s confidential; no one will ever have to know. Do this for you. Maybe, one day, you can at least smile again. I love you. Laura
.

With a resigned sigh, she closed the questionnaire and hit send, wincing as the outbox emptied in a flash. Done. She’d stalled for a week, obsessing over the questions that dredged up her painful past. Consumed in her black cloud moment, she jerked when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Tawny.”

“Hey, Laura.”

“Well?”

“Well what?” Tawny made no effort to curtail her irritation.

“Did you?”

She stared at the computer screen.

“Tawny?”

“
Yes
.” Drawing a deep breath, she prayed for patience. Laura meant well.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so pushy.”

She got up from her chair and walked to her fridge, thirsty. “I know, Laura. I’m—a little on edge.”

“Was it hard to do?”

“I would rather have chewed glass and crawled over hot coals.” She grabbed the orange juice, closed the door, and took a glass from the cupboard while cradling her lifeline between her ear and shoulder.

“Wow, so, better than you thought?” A soft chuckle slipped through the phone.

“Laura—” She stopped pouring.

“It’s okay, Tawny, you did the right thing. Time to start living again, honey.”

“So what now?”

“From what I understand, Madame Eve will review your profile and find an ideal match for you. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Huh! Can’t disappoint someone who expects nothing.” Carrying her drink, she plopped onto the kitchen stool and slumped over the island.

“Pessimist.”

“Hey, I aim to please. There’s no point in changing my attitude now, is there?”

“Anyway, once she finds a match, she’ll contact you again and make the arrangements.”

“I feel so pathetic, it’s like—I’m desperate—paying someone to get me—”

“Listen, she’s a classy lady with a high end matching service for the romantically impaired. You’ll be fine.”

“If you believe in her so much, why haven’t you utilized her services? As I recall, you’re not so
romantically
fit yourself these days.”

“It just so happens, smartass, I sent my own questionnaire in an hour ago, thank you very much.”

“Seriously?” Tawny couldn’t believe her ears.

“Well, I figured if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” Her laughter gave her away; she shared Tawny’s overwhelming nervousness. “Oh, I took the liberty of asking for a few special extras on your behalf. Okay, I have to leave for work now.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. What do you mean a few extras? What the hell does that mean?” Fear raced through her heart as flashes of panicked imagination came flooding in, and she jerked her hand and had to grab for her wobbling juice glass.

“Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t suggest you wanted a threesome or bondage or anything. Relax.”

“Relax? Are you kidding me?”

“I only suggested a little pampering and adventure might spice things up for you and take the edge off.”

“Sweet Jesus, Laura, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Will you let me know when you hear back from Madame Eve?”

“Of course I will. Talk to you later, troublemaker!”

“I love you too, Tawny.”

Hanging up the phone, the uncommon feeling of the corners of her mouth pulling back into a grin stunned her. Tawny picked up her glass of juice and sat on the stool at the island, the heaviness of her heart lifting a little as she took a savoring sip of the tangy sweetness. There hadn’t been a whole lot to smile about for a long time. She had become accustomed to being the eternal pessimist and overall wet blanket.

She could handle the concept of sex, but the possibility of caring for someone else brought a rush of grief crashing to the surface again. Her smile shrank back into quivering lips as waves of anguish washed over her chest. Would she ever be able to let go of him? Maybe Laura’s idea had merit. A one-night stand didn’t offer the same threat of loss and devastation. Going into an anonymous experience, solely for gratification had the potential to distract her from her torturous grief and emptiness. With a deep, cleansing breath, she turned off the monitor.

***

Six different designs ran on his AutoCAD, multitasking second nature to him, when the sharp ringing of the phone pierced his concentration. A heavy groan escaped him as he reached for the cordless unit.

“Wyatt MacKenzie speaking.”

“Hi, Wyatt, it’s Jackson Castillo.”

“Ah, my favorite client. How can I help you today?” Releasing a laugh, Wyatt pulled out his planner, saved his online work, and opened a new file.

“Wyatt, I got your email. The prelims you completed for the new site are exactly what we hoped for. We’re looking to move to the next phase of development.”

Pulling up the drafting for the project, Wyatt clicked and tapped away at the design while he spoke.

“Terrific. So have you decided on the style you want for the new site?”

“That’s what we’re still not clear on. I have a proposal for you, though.”

“Oh? What would that be?”

“You’ve been a great architect and helped me put together some magnificent hotels for our chain. To put this project in perspective, I wonder if you would be willing to make a bit of a business trip for me.”

“Where to, Jackson?” He stifled a chuckle. Jackson always kept him on his toes.

“I’m sending you an email. I’d like you to stay at one of the hotels we discussed modeling this next site after, but there is a catch. While you’re gathering ideas that will fit the Rio locale, I have a personal matter for you to attend to as well. Take a look at the proposal, think it over, and get back to me.”

“You’re sounding mysterious, Jackson—what are you up to?” Wyatt’s suspicions overtook his attempt at sounding aloof.

“The email will explain it all. We’ll chat later. Let me know what you decide—I do have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“Try to keep an open mind.”

“Jackson—”

“I’ll talk to you later; the missus is meeting me in Gina’s kitchen. We have some new dishes to sample. Bye.”

Before he could respond, the phone went dead. Baffled and still suspicious, Wyatt opened his email. Dozens of messages downloaded and he scanned them until Jackson’s address popped up.

The subject line had only a name:
Madame Evangeline
.

Clicking it open, he grabbed his mug and sipped at his steaming coffee. Halfway through taking a drink, he choked, spitting the hot brew on his open planner and the glowing monitor. “What the hell?”

Canvassing his desktop, he had nothing to clean up the mess. He jumped up, grabbed a box of Kleenex, wiped up the excess moisture, and sat down again.

Sopping up his chin and the front of his shirt, he strained to focus on the glaring words before him. “Matchmaking?” This had to be a joke. The most active playboy in America didn’t need a matchmaking service. He turned spoiled debutantes away on a daily basis. There was no shortage of women in his life. Had Jackson lost his mind? Or was he playing a really bad joke?

Scrolling down, he read the explanation.

Wyatt, you’re a hardworking man whom I have grown to respect a great deal. The women you see have proven themselves to be a disappointment. I thought, perhaps, I could offer you a small favor to repay you for everything you’ve done, helping me and my family with our hotel chain. Madame Eve is highly respected, private, and can make your wildest dreams come true—a one-night stand, with no gold diggers looking to land a bank account.

I realize you’re a highly accomplished man in the romance department, but the way we have been keeping you so busy, traveling the world and building our hotels, has also cost you personally. No, this isn’t a joke. Please think about it. If you’re willing to be adventurous and give it a try, fill out her questionnaire and send it to her. She’ll be in touch with you when she finds a good match. No commitment and no disappointment. Trust me; I know what I’m talking about.

Jackson

This was by far, the most absurd offer he’d ever received—a one-night stand through a dating service. Jackson did know how to get his goat. Challenging him to be adventurous always triggered a deep-rooted need to rise to the occasion. Cynically, he scoffed and opened the attachment as he began to gnaw on his lip.

The inside of his lip stung from the chewing when Wyatt sat back in disbelief and denial.
That pompous ass expects me to pour my heart and soul out to a faceless name on an email? For what, a night of sex? Sex I can get anywhere and anytime
.

Over the years, Wyatt had become quite a master at masking and even burying his feelings and his heartbreak. Now, he faced a personal interrogation, a page of seriously personal questions that opened up his vulnerabilities. The first question opened the door to the secret emotions he had avoided all this time.

Have you ever been in love?

Propelled by resentment and anger, he hammered away at the keys, releasing years of pent-up frustration and sorrow. At first, he found it more of a cathartic device, to vent, rather than take it out on a valuable client who’d become a good friend. Jackson’s intentions may have been ideal, but his actions….

An hour later, the very document that had sent him into a fury to begin with had become a project he wanted to finish. Completing the entire questionnaire had left him with a pressing sense of curiosity, rather than bitterness.

Maybe Jackson had a point. All the spoiled little rich girls who chased him had further soured his already broken sense of love and trust. The question that puzzled him most involved the level of passion he’d experienced. It asked about his most explosive and moving sexual encounter. He searched his mental catalogue of gratuitous memories. Hundreds of sexual conquests, all leaving some level of dissatisfaction. The most extreme and compelling experience he recalled occurred in his teens, with the girl who ripped his heart from his chest. She’d effectively ruined any chance for him to love again, let alone truly experience passion.