The Bad Boys of Eden (35 page)
Read The Bad Boys of Eden Online
Authors: Avery Aster,Opal Carew,Mari Carr,Cathryn Fox,Eliza Gayle,Steena Holmes,Adriana Hunter,Roni Loren,Sharon Page,Daire St. Denis
Carissa wiped the counter at the Royal Lunch. Her small bar was packed to the rafters with regulars, Jett’s family and friends, his publisher and his editor. Everyone was in a celebratory mood. His latest book had released and rocketed to number one on the
New York Times
bestseller list during the first week of sales.
Critics and reviewers were calling it his best book ever, raving over the intensity of the criminal investigation while marveling over a new element. Jett’s detective had found himself a new female partner. It seemed Riley James had fallen head over heels for a straight-shooting, ball-busting, sexy-as-sin bartender. Longtime female fans of his series were delighted to see the diehard hero reveal his romantic side and they swooned over the sexy scenes Carissa had helped her lover
research
for the story.
Caliph lifted his glass, toasting his baby brother as everyone clinked glasses and drank. Carissa grinned when Jett handed his mother a check for two-hundred dollars, claiming he was paying her back for the loan she’d floated him when he first started writing. Everyone laughed as his brother Justin teasingly remarked that Mama Lewis was letting Jett off easy by not charging him interest.
Carissa walked around the counter to join them. His family had accepted her instantly, Mama Lewis chastising her and Jett for taking so long to see what was clear as day to everyone else.
Jett’s sister Chloe mooched a dollar from him, declaring it was time to fire up the jukebox and start dancing. As the sound of Zac Brown’s
Chicken Fried
filled the bar, everyone except Justin shifted tables to the walls and started moving to the beat on the tiny makeshift dance floor.
Justin punched Jett’s shoulder. “I’m still waiting for you to give me credit for breaking your writer’s block. Sort of suspected you to dedicate this last book to me, instead of Carissa.”
Jett crossed his arms. “What makes you think you had anything to do with helping me write again?”
Justin gave Carissa a charming wink. “I told you the secret was to get laid.”
Carissa and Jett laughed, neither of them bothering to tell Justin sex had nothing to do with it. Jett had confessed shortly after their return from Eden he believed it was love that had set him free.
Carissa had told him that was the corniest thing she’d ever heard, but deep down inside, she loved the idea.
Jett was just reaching for her hand, intent on dragging her out for a dance, when a man entered the bar. Jett stopped when he spotted the stranger.
“Who is it?” Carissa asked.
Jett didn’t answer her question. Instead he changed direction, the two of them going to greet the man.
“You found something?” Jett asked.
The stranger nodded and handed Jett a file folder. Jett opened it, scanning the single sheet of paper inside.
Carissa snuck a peek and caught sight of a grainy black-and-white photograph of a pretty blonde woman playing the guitar.
“Is that her?” the man asked Jett.
Jett nodded. Carissa thought for a moment her boyfriend had seen a ghost. His mother didn’t miss his shocked expression. She made her way across the room quickly.
“What’s wrong, Jett?” Mama Lewis asked.
Jett handed his mother the photograph. “It’s Dani, Mama. She’s alive and well and in Nashville.”
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About Mari Carr
Writing a book was number one on Mari Carr’s bucket list. A New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller, Mari’s computer is now jammed full of stories — novels, novellas, short stories and dead-ends.
Mari writes contemporary erotic romance novels. To learn more about her spicy stories, click
here.
Other Titles by Mari Carr
Elemental Pleasure
Primal Passion
Scorching Desire
Forbidden Legacy
Blank Canvas
Crash Point
Full Position
Rough Draft
# # #
Adriana Hunter
When curvy single and struggling romance author Leila Connors receives a mysterious invitation to spend an all-expense paid week on a tropical island, it simply seems too good to be true. Before too long Leila finds herself caught up in a game of irresistible obsession, where truths are exposed, and the dangerously blurred line between fantasy and reality threaten to drive her to the point of no return.
Copyright 2015 Adriana Hunter
Table of Contents
Leila Connors stepped into the elevator, dropped her bags at her feet, and punched the button for her floor. As the doors slid shut, she closed her eyes, rolling her head from side to side in an attempt to stretch the muscles in her neck. The persistent knot between her shoulders that had been there since she boarded the plane home from Austin resisted any attempt by her to unknot. She breathed out a deep sigh of frustration, looking forward to a nice dinner, a hot bath, and then bed. She winced at a twinge of pain in her neck; scratch dinner. She’d head straight to the bath and then get some much needed sleep.
The Romance Writers Association conference had been an absolute disaster. Leila had signed up for an intensive workshop with, among others, her favorite romance author, Cheryl Bullard, and had submitted the opening of her latest work in progress. But the critique had gone downhill right from the reading of her opening sentence. Everything that could be wrong with her manuscript was, or so it seemed. The critique felt endless and by the time it was over, Leila was limp with embarrassment and exhaustion. She felt completely defeated.
The elevator doors swished open and she sighed again, picking up her bags, exhaustion etching its way up her back. She’d have sworn someone put rocks in her luggage; they seemed to grow heavier with every step she took. But her apartment was just at the end of the hall. And then she could begin the process of forgetting about the horrible trip and get back to her life.
Stumbling down the corridor, she finally made it to her apartment, immediately noticing a small cream-colored envelope tucked beneath the door, its edge peeking out.
Oh God, it was probably from the building super or her landlord.
Her sigh this time was louder, her mind running through all the possible scenarios, none of them good, which would result in a note being left under her door. Had a tenant in the upstairs apartment forgotten to turn off the water and her apartment had been flooded? Had she, herself, left the water running?
Her bags hit the floor again and she quickly unlocked her door, pocketing the key. She bent and retrieved the envelope, turning it over, her confusion only deepening. Her name on the envelope was handwritten in a delicate script, flowing and elegant. She could almost swear it looked like it had been written with a quill pen.
This was no note from her landlord or the superintendent. Curiosity piqued, she slid a finger beneath the flap and extracted a thick, folded creamy sheet of paper. She unfolded it and began to read.
Leila’s eyes widened in disbelief as she read the note. This had to be a joke, someone’s idea of sick humor. She read the note again, her brows drawing together.
It couldn’t be.
“Bad news?”
Leila jumped, startled, clutching the note to her chest as she turned. Her neighbor, Jordon Richards, was standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.
“Jordon. No, um…not really. Just…it’s an invitation.”
“Oh, to a party?” His eyes lit up and he favored her with what she thought he probably considered a charming smile. “How fun.”
Much to her consternation, Jordon leaned against the wall next to her. They’d gone out once, for drinks in the hotel lobby next door. Leila had been taken by his boyish good looks; high cheekbones, blond hair, perfect teeth. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with all the confidence of a real man, so it hadn’t taken much for her to get caught up in the perfect gentleman.
Or so she’d thought.
She’d eagerly agreed to drinks, carrying the fantasy that maybe she’d finally found the man of her dreams, living right across the hall from her of all places. Perhaps her luck was about to change and a real relationship would blossom.
But Jordon had turned out to be as boorish as they come, interested in only talking about himself and his many successes. The drinks devolved into a walk outside, even though Leila wasn’t dressed for a midnight ramble, where he insisted on telling her just how lucky she was to be on a date with him. She’d finally gotten him to take her home, desperate to escape. Sometime early in the evening, she’d decided he would not be invited into her apartment for a nightcap. But Jordon had other ideas. He’d pressed her against the wall outside her apartment, swooping in for a goodnight kiss that turned into an uncomfortably long and intimate one, far too intimate for Leila’s liking.
She’d wiggled out from beneath him, pleading an early day at work before finally disappearing into her apartment. She had tried to avoid him ever since.
“So, are you going?”
Leila blinked at him. “Going? Oh, um…no, it’s not to a party. It’s, ah, business related.”
“Oh, what a shame. We could have had a good time together. I would have been happy to go with you.” He detached himself from the wall, moving closer, shifting his body so that he had her pressed against the door of her apartment. His cologne overwhelmed her as he leaned closer, his hot breath fluttering over her neck.
“I had a good time, Leila. We should go out again. Or, we could always stay in.” He ran his hand up her arm, squeezing her with long fingers.
“Jordon, really. I just got home…I’m tired.”
“Then staying in would be perfect.” He leaned in closer still, his mouth coming down on hers as his hand moved from her arm to slide across her breast, squeezing hard.
Leila stiffened at the touch of his lips on hers and the rough touch of his hand, appalled by his audacity. As his tongue probed her tightly clamped lips, he thrust his knee between hers, parting her legs, rubbing his thigh against her body.
The crack of her hand against his cheek was surprisingly loud and more painful than she would have imagined. Jordon jerked back instantly, his eyes going dark, brow furrowed.
“What the hell, Leila?”
“I…I’m…” An automatic apology rose to her lips, but that wasn’t really what she wanted to do. Fumbling behind her, she opened the door to her apartment, reached down, and grabbed her bags, backing through the door. Jordon took a step forward, but she slammed the door before he could get inside.
She looked at the closed door a moment then quickly reached out, turning the lock. There was a thud from the other side, possibly Jordon kicking the door, and a muffled curse. Leila took an instinctive step backward, her hand on her throat.
Then there was silence and she ventured forward after a moment, peering through the peephole. She caught a glimpse of Jordon entering his apartment and heard the resounding slam of his door.
Leila turned, heading for the couch. She collapsed onto the cushions, leaned back, and closed her eyes. This day had just gone from bad to worse. Jordon was one more example, proving once again that Leila was a failure when it came to men. Someone at the conference had suggested, rather strongly, that her inability to craft a believable romance might stem from her own lack of experience. She’d wondered at the time if someone had read her journals or her mind but dismissed that line of thought as completely absurd, bordering on paranoia.
It had occurred to her though, more than once, that not being lucky in love might impact her writing. Even though the dictum of write what you know was often touted as the first rule of writing, romance or otherwise, she didn’t take that to heart. After all, there were many popular crime and thriller writers who had never carried out a jewelry heist or killed anyone, and their books were wildly successful.
With a sigh, Leila realized she was still clutching the now crumpled note in her hand. Smoothing out the paper on her knee, she read through it one more time.
It was an invitation, not to a party, but to an exclusive weeklong writing retreat. The invitation came from not just anyone, but from Cheryl Bullard herself. The note went on to explain that while Ms. Bullard realized Leila’s experiences at the convention may not have been all that positive, she had recognized something in Leila’s writing, a certain creative spark that, with intensive and personal attention, would help Leila blossom into the romance writer Ms. Bullard knew she could be.
The rest of the note held instructions for Leila to arrive at the helipad atop the Norris-Marcum building, not far from her apartment. There she would be taken to the location of the retreat, which would be held in secret. Everything she needed would be provided, including her attire for the week. She was to bring only her passport. The note also held assurances that arrangements had been made with her employer, granting her immediate leave.
Leila sat for a moment in the late morning light, stunned, trying to imagine what it would be like, traveling to some remote location, spending a week with Cheryl Bullard herself. Leila’s heart stuttered in her chest just thinking about being alone in the same room with the romance mogul. The woman’s novels were epic, deeply romantic and sensual, her characters so alive on the page that when Leila set down one of Ms. Bullard’s books, she was incapable of writing for days, her thoughts scattered, her mind constantly going back to the scenes in the book.
The note listed three o’clock that afternoon as the departure time. Leila glanced at her watch. It was just before two. If she took a shower, changed clothes, and grabbed her cosmetics bag from her luggage, she might just make the deadline.
Leila shook her head; it was all madness, some horrible prank. Things like this just didn’t happen. Or they only happened in fiction. This was real life…
her
life.
A loud bang on her door and the harsh voice of Jordon Richards on the other side brought her bolt upright on the couch. She couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was belligerent, angry, and possibly drunk. Then the voice faded down the hall and was gone. The thought of spending a week away from Jordon was the deciding factor.
“I’ll do it.” Her voice sounded more resolute than she really felt, but saying the words out loud seemed to give credence to the whole crazy idea. Worst case, she’d waste cab fare for a round trip and be no worse for wear, albeit horribly embarrassed for being so gullible.
But a tiny voice said she’d regret at least not taking the chance. Leila wasn’t a daredevil, but she’d played it safe all her life. Maybe an adventure was what exactly she needed.