Somebody's Lover (16 page)

What a day. She
felt like crap, and she looked like last month’s leftovers.

Where was Livie?
It was after nine. Toni threw her overnight bag on the bed, hung up tomorrow’s
skirt and sweater so they wouldn’t wrinkle, tossed the stuff she’d borrowed
this morning in the hamper, then set her cosmetics out on the counter in
Livie’s bathroom. Her sister used the cheap stuff, which couldn’t be good for
her skin.

Livie was pretty,
but, without a conceited bone in her body, Toni knew she was prettier. It
wasn’t conceit to admit to better bone structure and curvier curves. She also
knew how to best enhance what God gave her. Her hair, for instance, was a
honey-gold which went much better with her coloring than plain old
reddish-brown. Livie should live a little and dye a little. Not to mention that
contact lenses changed muddy irises to a brilliant jungle green, or anything
else a girl wanted. What the heck, Livie was Livie. She didn’t care much about
her appearance as long she was considered neat and professional. She would
never have purchased that short dress and hot pink blazer she’d worn this
morning if Toni hadn’t goaded her into buying it months ago. It still had the
tags, for God’s sake.

Now, what would
Livie have in the refrigerator besides low-fat yogurt and fruit? Toni was
starving. She hadn’t been able to eat all day over that terrible episode with
Reese. She’d picked up the phone a thousand times to call him, but really, a
man had to learn how to crawl a little when he’d made a mistake, especially
since he hadn’t answered any of her messages from yesterday. She wasn’t done
with him yet. She knew the man had huge potential in bed, and she would make
sure she got him there. Oh yeah, she’d make him beg first, but she’d definitely
take him back when she felt he’d shown the proper contrition.

A key jiggled in
the front door.

Livie already had
her jacket off and folded over her arm. She’d dropped her keys on the entry
table and set her briefcase and purse on the floor before she saw Toni standing
in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey.” After a
moment’s pause and not a single expression on her face, Livie headed into the
living room, a shopping bag dangling from her fingers. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Toni
shrugged and leaned against the wall. “I didn’t want to be alone. You don’t
mind, do you?”

Livie draped her
jacket over the back of the sofa without turning around. “Of course not.”

She probably did,
but Livie wouldn’t say. Which was usually a good thing for Toni. She got away
with murder if she acted first and asked later. “What’s in the bag?”

“A book. I ran
out of things to read.” Livie pulled it out, set it on the coffee table, and
wadded up the bag.

“What is it?”

“
The
Fountainhead.
” She examined the receipt in her hand. “Someone at work
mentioned it, and I’ve never read it. It’s some sort of classic written in the
forties.”

Sounded boring.
Weird that Livie was late because she’d stopped to buy a book. Ah, but Livie
loved to read in the tub. It relaxed her. Tonight, though, she had Toni to
entertain instead. What fun for them both.

“Did you eat?”
Livie slipped past her into the kitchen and bent to peer into the refrigerator.

“I was hoping
you’d feed me.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,”
Livie answered without turning.

“Then what have
you got?”

Shuffling a few
things around, Livie surveyed the contents. “How about scrambled eggs on
toast?”

Great comfort
food. Their mom used to scramble eggs on cold winter nights when Dad was out of
town. They got to eat in front of the TV and stay up an hour later than usual.
Of course, there’d be a ton of carbs in the toast. Comfort, carbs, comfort,
carbs? Comfort won. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

Livie put the
eggs on the counter, then pulled out bread, margarine and milk. From the drawer
beneath the oven, she retrieved a frying pan and set it on the stove. “I’ll
change, then start dinner.”

“You want me to
break the eggs or anything?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Livie,
you’re great.”

Livie smiled and
patted Toni’s cheek as she passed, grabbed her discarded jacket, and headed
into the bedroom.

Yeah, Livie was
great. And guilt was a beautiful emotion. Hmm, was it actually an emotion?
Whatever. Livie had it in spades, and Toni didn’t mind playing on that guilt
when she really, really needed to. She deserved a little payback after the
terrible things her sister had done to her.

If
you enjoyed this excerpt, look for
Twisted
by Love
, Reincarnation Tales, Book 1
!

Here’s a taste of Jasmine’s steamy
Open Invitation
series.

Invitation
to Seduction

Open Invitation, Book 1

Copyright
2012 Jasmine Haynes

Cover
design by Rae Monet Inc

Previously
published in 2006 in the
Open Invitation
anthology

Here’s
your invitation to The Sex Club, elegant, classy, sexy, every woman’s fantasy,
every man’s desire...

When her best friend drags her out to a bachelorette party,
Debbie Carter knows one thing for sure—this will be the last time she'll try to
attract the opposite sex. She's learned the hard way that she isn't desirable
anymore. But when she flirts with a man at
The Sex Club
, she gets far
more than she bargained for, and
the game she plays
soon turns to obsession for the fire in one man’s touch.
Will she have to choose between the love of her life and
her secure, safe, yet intolerable existence.

Stephen Knight enters the club looking for the woman he has
fallen for over email and through her art work. She's everything he's ever
dreamed of and seeing her in the flesh makes him desire her physically as well.
As her passion comes to life in his arms, Stephen's lust turns to love. Wanting
far more from her than a few nights of seduction, can he make her believe in
forever?

Excerpt

“It’s a veritable
mansion.” Virginia, seated in the backseat, rolled down her window. For the
outing, she’d worn a peach silk suit, the skirt covering her to her knees. Next
to Stacy, and Debbie in her sexy borrowed skirt and blouse, Virginia looked
like a maiden aunt. Yet this place had been her choice, though Debbie thought
The Sex Club was way out of character for Virginia.

Set amid a grove
of eucalyptus at the end of a long, sloping drive, with the moon providing the
only illumination, the house looked like something out of a Vincent Price
movie. A hulking behemoth over three stories high, with dormer windows at
presumably the attic level. No lights filled any of the windows. No valet
parking attendants swarmed about the wide stone porch. Not a single living soul
moved; not even a curtain flickered.

“It’s so quiet,”
Virginia said, “it’s almost creepy.”

Stacy huffed.
“It’s private. And exclusive. What did you expect, floodlights and a marching
band?”

Debbie didn’t
find the mansion creepy. Excitement rippled through her at the sight of it. The
Sex Club’s mystery made her blood pump faster and her nipples harden. Moisture
gathered between her thighs. The darkness beckoned, promised seduction,
secrecy, and fantasy fulfillment.
Just
fantasy, she didn’t have to
do
anything. Observe, pretend for a little while. Jaywalk over to the wild side
for a night. The clingy black top and skirt Stacy had loaned her, the high
heels and stockings with garter belt, even the truly outrageous shade of
vermillion Stacy had painted on her nails, all fit her blossoming mood. She’d
walked out of her home with the promise to herself that something spectacular
was going to happen. Something that would make her feel alive. This was a night
for magic and a house that invited it.

Some gorgeous man
was going to seduce her with nothing more than a look. Of course, she wouldn’t
act on it, but she would believe, for one night, that she was gorgeous, sexy,
and desirable. She wanted to add to her store of fantasies that could be put to
good use when she was going mad for an orgasm.

Stacy maneuvered
the car into the parking garage—which turned out to be under the house—pulled
into a spot, and turned off the engine. Porsches, Jags, and BMWs dominated in
the underground lot. Sex appeared to be for the rich, at least here.

“Virginia, the
invitations, please.” Stacy waggled her fingers, her French manicure gleaming
in the shaft of overhead light falling through the windshield.

Virginia pulled
the stack of cream-colored envelopes from her purse. Stacy took them with a
flourish. “Now, ladies, here are the rules. It’s invitation
only
the
first time. After that, women are allowed in without it. Or sometimes a woman
might be sent an invitation by a very special someone.” She arched a brow and
smiled, which made Debbie think Stacy’d been honored with a special invite at
one time or another.

“But men,” Stacy
went on, “must
always
have an invitation or they don’t get in. That
excludes horn-dog frat boys who don’t know a clitoris from a hole in the wall
and aren’t willing to spend the time to learn. We don’t use real names. We do
use condoms. They have bowls of them all over the place. Like candy dishes. We
say no to whatever we don’t want, and we say yes to whatever we do. If somebody
bugs you, you tell an attendant, and the offending party bites the dust. Got
it?”

With all the talk
about clitorises and condoms, Debbie glanced back at Virginia. She was getting
married tomorrow in Las Vegas. Was she out simply for a night of titillation
before settling down? Or did she plan on something more? Titillation, Debbie
decided, or Virginia would have chosen a more provocative outfit than the peach
suit.

Stacy flipped
through the gold-labeled envelopes in her lap. “This one’s mine. Serena.” She
put a hand to her sequined chest. “I look like a Serena, don’t you think?”
Serena
could do anything she wanted, she had that kind of feminine power.

She handed the
second invitation to Virginia. “Regina.”

Virginia wrinkled
her nose. “I was going to say something about that earlier. It reminds me a
little of vagina.”

Stacy smiled.
“Depends on how you say it when you introduce yourself, darling.” Then she got
to the last envelope.

Debbie held her
breath.

“Desiree.”

Debbie held the
invitation lightly in her fingers, the name embossed in gold.
Desiree.
Desire.
“I like it,” she whispered. “So this is the name we give if anyone
asks?”

Stacy gave her
the once-over. “Everyone’s going to ask. No real names, remember.”

Debbie traced the
raised lettering. “This place must cost a fortune to get into. You haven’t
asked for any money.”

“The first time,
you’re a guest.” Stacy held her gaze.

“The first time?”

“Almost everyone
comes back.”

Debbie felt the
challenge in the statement. For a moment, she got the distinct impression that
Stacy knew her entire marital history, even the months and years between
lovemaking. She’d given herself away somehow, though she couldn’t remember even
hinting at her problem.

Stacy turned in
her seat. “We can stick together or we split off. But we’ll meet back in the
lobby at midnight.” She checked her thin gold watch. “That gives us three
hours.”

Virginia just
smiled, a secretive smile Debbie could swear she’d never seen before.

Stacy yanked on
her door handle. “Well, ladies, let’s see where the night leads us.”

If
you enjoyed this excerpt, look for
Invitation
to Seduction
,
Open Invitation, Book 1
. Then comes
Invitation
to Pleasure
(Virginia’s story) and
Invitation
to Passion
(Stacy’s story).