Forget Me Not 1: DECEIVED

Deceived

~

Copyright © 2015 by Liv Bennett

All rights reserved.

Red Pearl Publishing

~

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

Cover Image: Kiuikson / iStockphoto LP.

Cover Designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Deceived

~

I'm dirt poor and unattractive, whereas Loraine Carter is a beauty queen and wealthy enough to wipe her nose with hundred dollar bills every day. Yet, she wants me to seduce her husband and the father of her kids—Kenneth D. Carter, the youngest and the sexiest self-made billionaire alive.

That she wants to divorce him to get most of his assets is a big fat lie and we both know it because you don't just give up on a man like Kenneth, the very symbol of power and raw sexuality. You tie him down with chains and barb wires so he can't escape.

While searching for the real reason Loraine has hired me as a nanny, I'm working hard not to fall for Kenneth. That, too, proves to be a big fat lie.

 

Prologue

~

My hands grip the corners of the dryer in the laundry room, my body pressed against it per
his
order. The sweat-soaked, white, cotton t-shirt, the only thing I’m wearing, barely covers the top of my bare buttocks. I tighten my fingers against the dryer to resist the urge to pull the t-shirt down.

My cheeks are hot with humiliation and my mind wonders what he must be thinking.

“That ass…”
he once said with an acute longing in his voice, the only time he referred to any part of my body. And even so, he didn’t finish his sentence; just kept me guessing about what he meant.

My knees tremble, and my feet turn colder the longer I stand on the marble floor. The floral scent of the detergent makes me feel nauseous and dizzy but not as much as the fear of the unknown.

I dare tilt my head, only a little bit though, to see if he’s still behind me, although I know there’s no way in hell he’ll forgive my last move and leave me be.

He’s furious. He’s always been for most of the time I’ve known him, but this time, anger is fuming out of his ears. He’s murderous. Speechless. He’s not even breathing. I can’t foresee his next move. I’m not even sure how long has passed since he cornered me inside this claustrophobic tiny laundry room. Everything about his house is majestic, save for the laundry room where he has chosen to confront me. My bad luck has always been an active and loyal participant in my life.

One minute I’m loading the washer with dirty clothes, the next minute he’s shouting in my ear to take off my panties and bend over the dryer.

My mind is exhausted. I can’t hold in my feelings any longer. I want to turn around to look at him, come clean about everything, and apologize for the depraved games I’ve played with him.

I feel him move toward me, and my nipples harden against the soft fabric of my t-shirt. I want his hands all over me and his fingers exploring my sex, to turn this moment of humiliation into a wildfire of passion. I’ve been longing for him for so long; his mere presence has me drenched and aching for his touch.

But, he hasn’t touched me. Ever. He’s eye-fucked me countless times. He’s yelled, threatened, and even openly told me to get out of his life before, but he has never laid a finger on my body, never made a physical contact.

Cold air hits my thighs, but hot flames are spreading between my legs. My heartbeat pounds against my chest, my breathing short. The waiting is killing me.

He moves even closer to me and suddenly his hand threads into my hair and yanks me back with a painful force. I scream in panic and sorrow. The first physical contact between us has to be like this?

I tremble and fall back against the hard torso I’ve been dying to feel since the first time I saw him. The rough surface of his jeans brushes against my buttocks, the warmth of his body turning up the heat inside me to an unbearable degree.

Panicked and fearful, I glance up at him and see his blue eyes flash with anger as they glare down at me.

“Did you seriously think you had me figured out?” he whispers, each word radiating menace and revenge. “You think you know my weaknesses. You think I’ll fall for your sneaky little games sooner or later.” His hand pulls my hair more, forcing my head to press hard against his shoulder. “Don’t you?”

Unsure of how to answer him, I groan to convey my pain and fear. My tongue wouldn’t move anyway.

“Answer me!” he yells into my ear, and I wince in more pain. He’ll murder me and bury my corpse in the woods. That’s actually what he should do to fix the problem once and for all.

I scream again, hoping he’ll see my fear and let me go. Instead, he shoves me against the dryer, my hips hitting hard against the sharp edge of the machine. His hand lands on my back, between my shoulder blades, and presses me down to keep me in place. An unnecessary move, since I wouldn’t be able to run away anyway.

My nipples harden both in pain and pleasure. My thin t-shirt is rolled way up around my waist. And his hand is still on my back, slowly moving down toward my ass. My breath catches in my throat as the anticipation build
s
inside my chest. I can feel my sex swell and dampen for him, for his touch, and I’m pretty sure he’ll deprive me of it.

Nonetheless, his palm is now crossing from my t-shirt over to my bare skin. This is the very first time his skin has touched mine.

The thrill of finally feeling his heat and the hard planes of his body will make my heart explode. My clit throbs in hunger; desire pulsates through my wet folds. I’ve been yearning for this moment and dreaming of it every night.

My senses are heightened; my lips part to gasp for air.

He runs his finger down the crack of my ass. He grunts when his fingers slide between the moist lips of my sex, probing my tender flesh, his skin coated with my arousal. “Jesus!”

My mind turns foggy and my eyes close, the rest of my senses focused on only him. I still sharply when I feel his finger move further until it hits the tight knob of my clit. Even with my back turned against him and my eyes closed, I can sense his struggle as he circles the tip of his finger around my clit. Both of us know this will bring his end without a doubt, although neither of us can stop.

I am unable to prevent the involuntary rocking of my hips in rhythm with his moves. Nor am I able to stop the moans escaping my lips each time he presses the pad of his thumb against my clit, the heated pleasure of it making my eyes roll back in their sockets. The muscles inside my sex clench as the craving for release wraps around my body like a thick blanket. Sweat drops gather around my forehead.

Each new second he keeps his hand between my legs is another step into insanity.

His finger moves back slightly, abandoning my trembling clit, and then suddenly dips into my wetness, rubbing the throbbing flesh inside my sex. With a moan, I push my ass against him, wanting him deeper and harder.

“You want me to rub your little cunt until you come, don’t you? You need it so badly, you’re ready to throw away your life for a momentary pleasure.” He chuckles, clearly amused, then his voice turns to steel when he says, “Some nights I go to bed with the thought of fucking you senseless driving me crazy. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t work. It’s your doing, all of it.”

I gasp and pant in desperation, as the friction of his finger inside me has me trembling with an agonizing need for release. Panic rises inside me when he stops his movements.

“Please, don’t stop,” I mumble, fearful of not being able to get the relief my body demands.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh, yes, please,” I cry, my desire too great to contain.

As if my begging meant nothing, he yanks his finger out of me, cutting all the physical contact between us, and moves away.

“Do you honestly think you deserve my affection?” are the last words leaving his mouth, before I hear the door shut behind me.

 

CH 1

~

Present

The café is bustling with customers as usual for seven-thirty in the morning. Although Chris and I do our best, there’s a long line of impatient customers waiting to get their morning fix of our house-roasted coffee.

My stomach rumbles as I place the order for the lady who’s requested two sesame bagels with cream cheese and two muffins before her. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and as it turns out nineteen hours on an empty stomach isn’t the best condition for working as a barista. Drawing in a long breath of air to calm my raging stomach, I look up at the next customer with my practiced smile.

“Good morning. What can I get for…” My lips stop moving, and my jaw drops while I gape at the customer moving to the register.

I must have gone into a hunger-induced coma and be hallucinating the prettiest set of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re magnetic, sizzling and hold my gaze for longer than would be considered normal. Of course, the rest of the customer’s face matches up to the beauty of his eyes. Smooth skin flawlessly shaved, strong jaw, classical Roman nose, full lips that are twitching up at the corners in amusement. His masculine scent is pushing my mind into the unforgiving hands of euphoria and…suddenly I realize a significantly long moment must have passed since my coma started.

I blink my eyes several times and give my head a quick shake to dissolve the dream away and get back to my day. When I finally glance back at him again, the shock of seeing him hits me with the same strong blow.

Perhaps due to seeing my confusion, he starts drinking me in as well, and as his eyes roam over my neck and chest, I feel my breathing falter and my heart race with excitement.

Chris calls the next customer to the cash register beside me, and I hear the lady in a nurse’s uniform making tsk sounds in my direction before she gives her order to Chris. That’s my clue to get back to my job.

“What can I get for you?” I mumble, tearing my gaze away from Mr. Magnetic Eyes’ face, which seems to be the root of my imbalance. However, it’s hard to escape his hypnotic pull because now my gaze is stuck on his exquisite suit that, I have no doubt, is hiding a trim athletic body.

He’s very tall, easily six-feet-three, and when he moves toward the counter, he spreads his arms on both sides of the cash register, his gorgeous torso encompassing my entire view. A cold shiver runs down my spine. My stomach flutters at the sight of the endlessly wide shoulders and chest. It’s a welcome change from all the embarrassing sounds of growling I’ve had to endure.

Despite the awkwardness of it all, I continue studying the intriguing male who has obliterated all thought of my constant hunger, the rent that’s due in two days, and the crippling poverty I haven’t been able to escape in my nineteen years. Which reminds me of the fact that I should pay attention to his order if I want to keep my eight-dollar-an-hour job with its shift changes that prevent me from being able to work a second job to keep me afloat.

Magnetic Eyes’ smile grows, and he places a twenty-dollar note next to the cash register. “A small cappuccino with four shots,” he says. I guess he has realized my nonstop worship and is kind enough not to put me under the spotlight. “Keep the change,” he adds.

That’s sixteen dollars and fifty-one cents, and for me, two-weeks’ worth of dinner money. I’m too poor to argue with him about his unusual generosity and give him my thanks with a soft voice while slipping the change into the back pocket of my jeans.

Chris takes over the next customer while I prepare the order for Magnetic Eyes. Keeping my gaze fixed on the coffee machine, rather than on him, requires intense self-control. And of course I fail and allow my eyes to indulge in him one last time.

Jesus! He’s so very hot, like Hollywood star hot, and I feel the room getting too warm. Just as I start admiring the details of his stunning features, the subtle shake of his head as if to say
‘don’t’
makes me snap my attention back to the coffee machine just in time to keep from spilling cappuccino all over the floor.

He’s wealthy and too handsome for the majority of women. I’m poor and so very ugly; I don’t even have the right to look at him for longer than necessary.

Gulping down my disappointment and unending frustration with life, I place his cappuccino on the counter and call out his order loudly, although he’s right in front of me. I don’t dare glance up at him when he says “thank you,” but I don’t miss the woman he walks out of the café with.

Of course, he’s with a woman. What else would an overly hot and wealthy man walk around with? A Chihuahua?

Anger at myself for wasting my limited energy on unnecessary thoughts of a man floods my chest. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. If I don’t calm my hunger soon, I’ll pass out and possibly get very sick, and any illness right now will definitely cause me to wind up being homeless.

The unbearable hunger makes me come close to stopping a customer from throwing a half-eaten bagel in the trash, but I manage to control myself in the last second as I remember the sixteen unexpected dollars Magnetic Eyes left me. I can have a full lunch with it. I only have to last three more hours until my break.

Tom, the owner of the café, comes out of his office and crooks his finger at me to call me to his office. I nod and hurry toward him. “Did you need something?” I ask as cheerily as I can with my quickly diminishing energy level.

“Come on in.” He walks into his office and closes the door when I follow him in.

With my heart in my throat, I watch him settle behind his desk. Just yesterday, he fired a barista claiming she was embezzling, but we all knew it was his way of downsizing.

When he lifts his hand and starts scratching the back of his head, looking uncomfortable, I sense I’m the next to be laid off. It’s a crappy job, but it’s the only café I can walk to from my home and not have to juggle busses. As it turns out, L.A. isn’t exactly the place to live without a car, and I’ve never been able to save more than $200, which means I have to depend on buses and my feet for the foreseeable future.

“You don’t look good. Is everything okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. It’s just…that time of the month.”
Where the only food my finances allows me to eat is peanut butter sandwiches.

“Oh, okay… Ahh, the reason I wanted to talk to you is that…the business has been very slow the last couple of months,” he starts, and I feel lightheaded both with hunger and worry that I’m about to lose my job and have to look for something new. I’m one paycheck away from winding up on the streets, and if I have to look for another job, I might as well invest my last dollars into a quality sleeping bag.

“I won’t be able to pay this month’s payroll on time,” he adds.

I blink in confusion. I’m not the next downsizing victim? I never thought having a delay in receiving my salary would make me feel so relieved.

“Here’s your paycheck for half your salary, and I’ll pay the other half within two weeks.”

I almost chuckle in happiness as I take the check from his hand and thank him before leaving his office. Despite Tom’s claims about the slow business, more customers line up in front of the cash registers. Quickly, I pour a glass of water, gulping it down to calm my growling stomach, and return to the cash register.

“What can I get for you?” I ask with a smile and glance at the beautiful, tall, blonde lady before me. Is there a film shooting nearby? I mean, what’s up with all these gorgeous and wealthy people invading our humble little café only nerds and elderly people normally frequent?

“Fifteen minutes of your time?” she says, intensifying my curiosity. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Loraine Carter. I’d like to have a little chat with you about a problem of mine if that’s okay with you. I’ll pay you for the time I’ll be stealing you from your work.”

Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I study her black dress and Louise Vuitton handbag. These wealthy people… They think they can get anything by mentioning money. “I can’t take a break right now. Would you like something to drink?”

She pulls a wide red purse out of her expensive handbag and takes a fifty-dollar bill out of it, placing it with an unmatched elegance on the counter. “Could I please steal your colleague for fifteen minutes?” she asks to Chris, pushing the money toward him.

“Sure,” Chris replies eagerly and takes the money. “Go ahead. I can handle the customers.”

“Please,” the lady in the black dress says softly to me, and I shrug and follow her to a table outside, wondering what kind of topic she wants to discuss with me that’s worth fifty dollars.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk.” She sits down on the chair gracefully, crossing her legs immediately, and places her handbag on the table. “I’ll keep it brief for you.”

I nod and settle into the chair, keeping my hands in the pockets of my apron. She has perfectly styled, light blonde hair reaching her shoulders, and bright green eyes. Her earrings and necklace are a thick set made of gold and probably cost a few thousand dollars, ditto for her black, body-hugging dress. Her skin is smooth, her makeup as perfect as the rest of her appearance.

What can such a perfect-looking and wealthy woman want to talk to a poor barista like me about? It’s not like she loved the way I pour the coffee out of the coffee machine and now wants to have me as her personal coffee-pourer.

“I’d like to hire you as a nanny for my two kids,” she starts.

“Excuse me?” Coffee-pourer would have been less awkward since she can’t possibly have a single idea about my child-care skills. For all she knows, I might be into child pornography and record her kids naked while bathing. Sick people are everywhere. That’s why a responsible parent should run background checks and call a variety of references to make sure her kids are safe. I assume safety isn’t on her priority list.

“Yes,” she smiles and continues explaining with a gentle and friendly tone. “I need a nanny, but your main job won’t be exactly looking after my kids. They go to daycare from eight ‘til five and I’ll be with them and with you the rest of the time. You won’t really have to be their nanny in the real sense.”

Her explanation makes me even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I need you to pretend to be my children’s nanny, but your main duty will be…ahh, it’ll sound very strange and I apologize for that, but… I’ll need you to seduce my husband.”

Just when I start rolling my eyes, she leans forward and holds my elbow with a careful tug of her hand. “Please, don’t go yet. Before you dismiss my proposal, it involves a lot of money. The kind of money that you could mean not ever having to work as a barista ever in your life again.”

I swallow, curious and scared in equal amounts. She might be a Madame of a bordello on the lookout for her next virgin prostitute, for all I know. Only I’m not a virgin and prostitution is really the last resort I’d consider and that would be only if I were facing jail time for my debts.

“My husband is a very wealthy man,” she continues. “And I want to divorce him. But I don’t want to end up with a measly alimony and child support. I want half of his assets and, because of our prenup, getting him to cheat on me is the only way I can get what I deserve.”

I have serious doubts about her sight. Surely, it can’t be as good as her looks if she’s considering me appealing enough to seduce anyone, especially a rich man. She’s a solid ten on the attractiveness scale, and I’d be probably a five if I put on a revealing dress and get my makeup and hair done professionally. How can she expect me to seduce a husband who is used to her level of beauty? That is, if I were to accept her offer.

“Ma’am, thank you for considering me for the job you have in mind, but I’m an ordinary girl. I might be poor, but I work my ass off so I don’t end up sucking someone’s dick on the street. What you’re offering me is exactly that. I won’t become a whore to your husband no matter how much money you offer me.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Believe me, I love my husband and would remain married to him if it was up to me. But—” Her gaze falls on her hands on the table, and her lips begin trembling, signaling a sob that’s coming any second. “—He’s not the man I married. He’s always been very attractive, and he’s become very wealthy. But recently, he’s become the center of attention since he appeared as one of the hottest five up-and-coming businessmen of the nation in a popular magazine. He’s getting hundreds of love letters and emails every day from gorgeous women who are more than willing to become his whore for nothing. He probably wouldn’t marry me if I met him now. I don’t think he’s cheating on me at the moment, but he’s only human and will eventually succumb to his weakness. I don’t want to be unprepared when he does. I want to control it when the worst case scenario happens. I want my husband to cheat on me with you so I have proof of his adultery and can use it against him in court.”

She straightens up and looks right into my eyes. “I love him very much, but this suspicion and the fear that he’ll leave me for another woman is killing me. I don’t want to be hurt. And the only way to avoid it is to have control of it.”

She sounds genuine, and as silly as it may sound, I feel sorry for her. I take a long breath and glance up at her with a smile on my lips. “You don’t know if your husband will find me attractive. In fact, I can assure you he won’t even take a second look at me, if what you’re saying is true about beautiful women throwing themselves at him. I’m not pretty.” Hearing the truth about my looks from my own mouth makes my stomach churn in disgust. I don’t have money. I don’t have beauty in any sense. All I have is my drive to make it one more day in this ugly world without getting sick or having to beg someone else for food or shelter.

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