Authors: Calista Fox
IOU Sex
IOU Sex
By Calista Fox
Fiona Carlisle didn’t think anything could hurt as much as finding her fiancé in bed with her sister. But receiving an invitation to the happy couple’s engagement party comes a close second. Determined to prove to her family and herself that she’s moved on, Fiona has every intention of attending, looking red-hot and with an even hotter man on her arm. And there’s only one man who will do: renowned photographer and reputed playboy Michael Houston.
Fiona’s rebound fling with Michael was a brief but erotic romp. Michael has made no secret of the fact that he’s still interested. So when Fiona asks him to escort her to the engagement party, he agrees, with one condition: she must spend a sensual weekend with him picking up where they left off.
Intensely attracted to Michael, Fiona can’t resist his offer for long. But when the weekend is over, will she be able to resist giving him her heart?
20,000 words
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Dare I?
The loaded question was one I’d pondered on and off for over a week. Staring at the garment bag hanging on the back of my closed office door, I contemplated the gem concealed behind the zipper. A siren of a dress. Red. Slinky. Sexy as hell. It’d set me back a small fortune when I’d ordered it from Barneys New York, but I’d really had no choice. Desperate times and all that.
I’d yet to try it on, but when I’d ordered it from the website, I’d easily gleaned it was the type of dress meant to make jaws drop and tongues wag. Precisely what I needed for my younger sister’s engagement party. My risqué ensemble would no doubt distract my family from their usual nitpicks and might even possess the power to stun them all into silence. A first in their collective lives.
My suit of armor was one strategic survival tactic for the weekend’s ostentatious event. The
pièce de résistance
would be to have a devastatingly handsome man by my side. A nonverbal eat-your-heart-out directed at my sister’s fiancé, Seth Corbett III. The man
I
was supposed to marry. That love train had jumped the tracks when I’d discovered him and Lizzie in our bed together. Doing things Seth had never done to me in the three years we’d been together.
Oh, it was hell having to face the two of them with a smile. Hence, the need to arm myself. And I knew just the deliciously sinful man to take with me to the party. Michael Houston. Famous photographer. Master flirt. Hottie extraordinaire.
Michael had been my rebound guy after Seth and Lizzie had ripped the rug out from underneath me. He’d also done things Seth had never done to me in the bedroom.
Thinking of my very brief, albeit ultrasteamy affair with Michael made my cheeks flush and my clit tingle. A natural response to such a wicked man.
It also caused that loaded question to pop into my head again.
Dare I?
Wearing the curve-hugging, off-the-shoulder dress to the engagement party would take all the nerve I possessed. Which wasn’t a lot, unfortunately. Fiona Carlisle was a sensible, conservative twenty-seven-year-old woman. Not a femme fatale, by any stretch of the imagination.
Asking Michael to be my date for the evening would also test my willpower because he was damn difficult to resist. He liked to be bad, plain and simple. He was completely unapologetic about his flirtatious nature and highly skilled when it came to seducing women. He’d certainly swept me off my feet—right as I’d sworn off men because of Seth’s infidelity.
Michael was a renowned womanizer. He liked the thrill of the chase. I suspected he considered me a challenge because he was typically in hot pursuit of me whenever he was in town. Somehow I’d managed to not fall into his bed again following our little fling. No easy feat.
In fact, his persuasiveness made me hesitant to ask him for this ginormous favor. I feared the sexual itch I had recently developed, now in desperate need of being scratched, would weaken my defenses. The last thing I wanted was to cave to temptation. As exciting—and satisfying—as sex with Michael was, I’d barely escaped my last go-around with him without incurring more damage to my heart. He had the ability to make good girls like me fall a little too hard.
As I considered all this, my assistant’s voice came over the intercom.
“Bad news,” Jane said with a hint of warning. “Your mother’s on line two.”
I sighed. It was about the tenth time this week she’d called me about Lizzie’s extravagant shindig at a prestigious vineyard in Napa.
“Thanks,” I said before lifting the receiver. I took a quick breath and prepared myself for yet another conversation I’d prefer not to have. “Hello, Mother.”
“Fiona Leslie Carlisle,” the very high-and-mighty Judge Briana Carlisle barked in her, well, high-and-mighty voice. “I just got off the phone with Andre. He said you have yet to make an appointment for Saturday morning.”
Oh, this again. “I told you I’d have my hair done by Manuel, remember?
My
stylist.”
“Darling, Andre always does the Carlisle women’s hair before an event.” A slight whine laced her otherwise authoritative tone, having a similar effect as fingernails on a chalkboard. “Why must you be so different from the rest of us?”
I bit back a groan. There was no point in telling her I hated how her stylist attempted to make my hair do things it simply wasn’t meant to do. I didn’t particularly like how he tried to get my hair to defy gravity with an entire can of hairspray that took a triple shampoo, rinse and repeat to get out. Nor did I care to sit in his chair for hours listening to how much easier it was to coif my mother’s, sister’s and all six of my aunts’ hair. Or to tell him for the hundredth time that no, I didn’t want to color my dark auburn hair to match Mother and Lizzie’s delicate strawberry blond. Nor did I want him to cut my long strands into a chic bob like they both wore.
Standing my ground, I said, “It’s nice that you want us all to look similar, but I’ve already had my hair trimmed and deep-conditioned once this week. I think it’ll be just fine for tomorrow’s party.”
She made a soft
tsk
ing noise on the other end of the line, as she was frequently prone to do when speaking with me.
“Is there anything else you needed?”
She hated when I dismissed her. Likely the reason she latched onto another topic of conversation. Our talks weren’t over until she decided they were over. “Do arrive on time tomorrow. Promptly at three o’clock.”
“Of course.”
“And wear something a little more…festive.”
I smiled, despite my previous waffling.
Oh, Mother. You have no idea how festive I have the potential to be!
“I ordered a dress from Barneys,” I told her. “I’m sure it’ll be quite lively for the occasion.”
“Hmm.”
I knew she didn’t believe me. She, like the rest of my family, would expect to see me in a simple black sheath with pearls or a navy pinstripe suit, also with pearls.
Festive
to my mother meant something sparkly in a soft, subtle hue, with a designer label attached to it. I didn’t do sparkles, but still…what a shock to the system they’d all get tomorrow. Wait until they got a load of me in my racy red dress.
The decision to wear it was now solidified. Yes, I did dare!
“Mother,” I said. “I’ve really got to go.” I needed to call Michael. No two ways about it, I absolutely had to have him with me tomorrow.
“You’re bringing someone, aren’t you?” she continued as though I hadn’t spoken.
“Of course.” I cringed since I hadn’t yet asked him. Though in truth, I had little doubt he’d help me out. I knew he was back in town and would do this favor for me. He was that type of guy. Of course, he’d expect something in return. Tit for tat. It was a game we played when I needed his professional photography assistance for one of my public relations gigs.
Luckily, I knew a bottle of his favorite Scotch would grease the wheels.
“You’re seeing someone, then?” she queried. “You haven’t mentioned anyone in a very long while.”
I’d introduced Michael to my family a year ago. They’d been quite impressed I’d landed him. Disappointed I hadn’t kept him.
“I have a client on the other line,” I lied. I didn’t want to throw out the name of my date, on the off chance I couldn’t persuade Michael to traverse this landmine with me.
“Fine. Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“I promise to be at Lizzie’s party at three.”
“Oh, darling. We don’t call her that anymore. She’s a grown woman, about to be married. It’s Elizabeth now. Do try to remember that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Mother. Gotta go.” I disconnected the call before she could launch into another subject. I’m sure that infuriated her.
Sitting back in my chair, I wondered just how badly I’d screwed myself. Perhaps I should have made up an excuse and told her I had an event to manage tomorrow. Then again, if I mentioned work, she’d likely go on and on about how tragic and humiliating it was that I hadn’t followed the four-generation tradition of practicing law.
Resigned to the inevitable, I had to accept my mandatory attendance at Seth and Lizzie’s—er, Elizabeth’s—engagement party.
My gaze lifted to the door again, and I stared at the garment bag. I nodded my head. Yes, indeed, I needed that suit of armor. My hands might be tied when it came to family obligations, but I’d wear a dress that would leave everyone speechless.
A very nice change of pace at a Carlisle family outing.
Though I had one more gigantic step to take in order to achieve the impossible.
I took a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds then slowly let it out. I picked up the phone again and hit a speed dial number.
Three rings later, a deep, sexy voice came from the other end of the line. “This is Michael.”
My stomach fluttered. Not necessarily a good thing. Hoping I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt, I asked, “Never just Mike?”
“Would you prefer just Mike?”
I smiled. “No, I guess not. Michael suits you.”
“Then Michael it is.”
Settling more comfortably into my chair, I asked, “Where are you?” I’d called him on his cell. I needed to confirm he was in San Francisco before I asked him on this treacherous date to the wine country.
It’s not a date.
That sentiment was supposed to calm my suddenly jangled nerves. It didn’t work.
“I’m in town,” he said. “Just rolled in on my motorcycle.”
As if I needed one more thing about this man to be so disarming. I pictured him swinging one very long, powerful leg over the back of the bike as he climbed off. In my little fantasy, he wore black leather pants that hugged his high, tight ass and a black T-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders, wide chest and rock-hard biceps. His collar-dusting dark brown hair was tousled from the wind, because who the hell needed a helmet in a fantasy? He raked a hand through it before whipping off his shades to reveal eyes the color of a clear summer sky.
I bit back a sigh of longing.
“Still there, babe?”
His deep voice interrupted my wayward thoughts. This really was dangerous territory to enter.
“Yes, I’m still here. Just…” I shook my head. Clearly, I was stalling. For God’s sake, ask him already. “Look, I’m calling because I need a favor.”
“You don’t say?” I didn’t miss the amusement in his voice.
“It’s a big one.”
He was quiet for a moment. I heard a soft rustling in the background and imagined him in his living room, settling on the sofa, propping his booted feet up on the coffee table. “Come over and ask me in person.”
Oh, how he tempted me!
“Michael.” Leave it to him to make this more complicated than it needed to be.
“Fiona,” he countered.
“Fine.” I caved so easily it made me want to kick myself. Way to stand your ground, girlfriend. “I’ll stop by the loft after work. I have a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Glenlivet for you.”
He whistled under his breath. “That’s a fairly serious bottle of Scotch. Is this favor an illegal one?”
“Of course not.” I laughed nervously. Though my family’s parties really should be outlawed. They gave new meaning to the terms
excessive
and
over-the-top
. And the bickering that went on. I’d find it hilarious to watch if I wasn’t always a prime target for their snide remarks. I would forever be, as my mother regularly pointed out, vastly different from everyone else. The anomaly tended to get the most abuse.
But to skip a Carlisle event…that’d be sacrilege in her eyes.
“I’ll tell you what I need when I come over.”
“I’ll have the glasses ready.”
“See you around six.” I hung up.
He was definitely going to push my willpower to its limits. When he wanted me to come to his loft, it was never just for a glass of Scotch.
He’d been upfront lately about his intentions. He wanted to sleep with me again. A flattering thought, but also a disconcerting one. A girl could only resist temptation for so long. Especially when it was wrapped in a devilishly handsome package and complemented by a steadfast constitution. He was one of the best friends I’d ever had, even after we’d slept together, which made him even more dangerous to my heart.
But I’d set the wheels in motion, and I knew I couldn’t turn back now. Instead, I dove into my work, trying to take my mind off tonight. I’d barely gotten through a PowerPoint presentation for a charity function when Jane came into my office to deliver some files and the mail. She set two large envelopes under a smaller one already sitting in my inbox. I caught her frown.
Lifting the champagne-colored packet, she said, “This has been here for over two weeks.”
“It’s the engagement party invitation.”
“Oh.” Her expression changed as though she’d just sucked on something tart and distasteful. She held the offensive package with finger and thumb like it was a smelly diaper, making me laugh.
Leave it to Jane to brighten a dark moment. She knew all about the sordid situation that involved my sister and me, and one very prominent, thirty-year-old attorney named Seth Corbett III. Also known between us as The Lying, Cheating Bastard.
Not only had the unexpected threesome been played out on the Society pages of the newspapers and in the tabloids because of the two last names attached to the scandal, but it had also happened just as I’d hung my shingle last year. I’d hired Jane at that time, and she’d been caught in the crossfire of phone calls and office visits from my family and Seth. The conversations had been civil, yet laced with snarky undercurrents. Such was the way of the Carlisle family. Jane proved she was a stand-up gal by sticking with me those first few months.
She said, “You didn’t bother to RSVP for the party. Way to make a statement.”
“I really shouldn’t even go. In fact, I’d prefer not to, but you know my mother.”
Her blond brows lifted. “Indeed, I do. That is one woman I would not want to cross.”
Unfortunately it was too late for me to employ that cautionary tactic. I’d defied her my entire life, much to her extreme exasperation.
Still holding the unopened envelope as though it turned the very air we breathed foul, Jane asked, “Want me to toss this?”
I gave it some thought, then shook my head. Reaching for the packet, I looked carefully at it for the first time since it had arrived, studying the raised black lettering, the elegant script. Call it sadistic, but I grabbed my letter opener, slid the sharp silver tip under the flap of the envelope and extracted the note card nestled inside. My heart stammered and my blood ran cold.
“Oh, she did not…” I could barely breathe.
“Something wrong?” Jane asked, though we both knew that when it came to my family and me, there was always something wrong.
I glanced up at my assistant as the chill set in. “This is
my
stationery Lizzie is using. These are the invitations I’d picked out for mine and Seth’s wedding.”
“Wow.” That was all Jane could say, and I didn’t blame her.
For several moments, I was completely dazed, the wind knocked out of me. She had some nerve, that little sister of mine.
When I recovered somewhat from the blow, I handed over the package that contained the invitation to the engagement party, a photo of the happy couple and the RSVP card and envelope.
“Trash.”
Jane nodded as she took the odious materials and promptly left my office with them in hand. She was a good enough friend to not drop the invitation in my own trash bin, instead taking it far, far away from me.
My gaze fell to the phone again. I really and truly wanted to call my mother and tell her I couldn’t make it tomorrow. What sane person would put herself through this? I’d been humiliated and devastated by my sister’s deception and my fiancé’s betrayal. But for the past year, I’d played the role of the bigger, better person. Rising above the mortification and pain to face my family with my head held high. Yet, it was definitely sagging right now.
Tears stung my eyes. I’d never asked my sister or my fiancé how they could do something so deceitful, how they could hurt me the way they had. Instead, I’d said if Lizzie was who Seth wanted to be with, it was good we all discovered the truth before my wedding. I’d taken the high road. Pretended the entire debacle didn’t wreck me. Then I’d pushed it out of my mind, trying to imagine it’d never happened.
I couldn’t deny it any longer, though. Nor could I keep the anger from returning full force.
Brushing away the tears that streamed down my flushed cheeks, I stood and collected my purse and laptop. The Glenlivet was in the top drawer of my credenza. I added it to my laptop tote before slinging the strap over my shoulder. I grabbed the garment bag hanging on the back of my office door and headed out.
The best revenge would be to go to that stupid engagement party looking as hot as I possibly could, my arm linked with someone more successful and definitely more gorgeous than Seth. Michael would fawn over me, playing it up because he knew all the sordid details too. I’d carry on the facade and appear to be unaffected by Lizzie and Seth’s impending nuptials. I wouldn’t let them, or anyone else, know how badly they’d hurt me.
Stepping into the elevator, I caught the pained expression in my green eyes. The reflection in the shiny doors would have to be remedied. I couldn’t show up looking emotionally bruised and battered.
Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin a notch.
You can do this.
I prayed the mental pep talk worked.
Arriving at the loft on the outskirts of North Beach, bribe in hand, I rang the bell and nervously tapped the toe of one pointy-tipped black leather shoe on the sidewalk. I heard Michael bound down the flight of polished wood stairs moments before the door swung open.
“Hey, babe,” he said with a melt-my-heart-grin. My stomach did that crazy fluttering thing again.
“Hey, yourself.” I’d always liked the term of endearment he used with me, though I’d never asked him if he called every former lover
babe
.
As he stepped aside, I entered the foyer. Setting my laptop bag on the table next to the coatrack, where I hung my dress, I retrieved the Scotch and handed it over.
“This is a little excessive for a favor,” he said as he eyed the label on the wooden box that contained the whisky.
“Wait ‘til I tell you what I need from you before you say that.”
One dark brow lifted. “If it’s photographing the opening of another fetish club, you can forget it. I now draw the line at snapping shots of men in studded collars and bare-butt leather shorts.”
I laughed. “This is San Francisco. A very diverse city with very diverse tastes.”
“Yeah, well,” he said with a snicker as he helped me out of my overcoat, “I have a ‘diverse’ enough portfolio, thank you very much.”
“So narrow-minded,” I teased as I preceded him up the stairs to his loft.
“Please. You were blushing from head to toe the entire night. In fact, I’m shocked you even took on the job.”
“I’ve only been in business for a year. I can’t afford to be selective yet.”
He crossed the vast living room to the wet bar. A fire crackled in the middle of one brown brick wall and jazz music flowed from hidden speakers. The exposed beams overhead added to the open and spacious feeling of the loft. In the center of the living room was a large bronze-colored leather sofa flanked by matching loveseats.
I sank into the sofa facing the fire and kicked my shoes off. There was a chill in the early autumn air, so I tucked my feet under me on the cushion and reached for the cream-colored chenille throw draped over the arm of the couch. I covered my bare legs with it as he poured Scotch for himself and then opened a bottle of Chardonnay for me.
“Want more flame?” he asked as he joined me.
“No, it’s fine. I should have worn pants today. Little nippy out there.”
He eyed the flash of bare thigh not covered by the blanket. “The skirt puts me in a more generous mood.” He wagged both brows at me.
“No flirting,” I warned. It was bad enough that one look at him made my nipples tighten and my insides sizzle. He truly was a handsome devil, with chiseled cheeks, a strong jawline, straight white teeth and mesmerizing azure eyes. I didn’t need him adding more fuel to the fire with his suggestive comments.
Nearly a year had passed since I’d last had sex, and I’d been feeling nature’s call of late. This weakened my resistance. Michael’s charm and stunning good looks quickly did a number on me, making me a little breathless and a lot restless. My instant reaction to him hardly supported my resolve to stay out of his bed.
He took a sip of whisky then said, “I can’t help flirting with you. I’ve missed you.”
Subconsciously I’d already known that, which served as another hit to my determination to keep this a friendly, not sexual, visit. But I couldn’t dismiss the fact that his calls from the road, while he was on assignment, had become more frequent over the past couple of months.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admitted. Dinner or drinks once a week when he was in town had almost become the extent of my social life since I was working most of the time.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze slowly roving my body. His eyes lingered on my breasts, concealed behind a silver, satin button-down blouse tucked into my black skirt. He moved onto my bent legs and added, “Why don’t you curl up over here with me? I’ll warm you up.”
“Michael.”
“Fiona.”
The battle of wills ensued once more.
“I’m not here for anything more than a drink and to ask my favor.”
“Let me unbutton your blouse, and you can have whatever you want.”
A little prickle of desire along my clit made it damn hard to resist giving him whatever
he
wanted. Though he wasn’t dressed in black leather pants and a T-shirt as I’d envisioned when we were on the phone, he still looked unbelievably sexy in a pair of faded Levi’s and a white, button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his biceps, revealing the strong muscles of his arms. His hands were large, the fingers long and blunt tipped. I knew just how they felt on my skin and in my pussy, the memory making me bite back a moan.
I couldn’t help but think of how incredible it felt to make love with him. The images of numerous torrid nights spent together were vivid in my mind, even close to a year later. Of course, I fantasized about him enough to keep the mental pictures fresh.
Diverting my gaze so it didn’t land on his too-handsome-for-words face and those extremely kissable lips, I reached for the glass he’d set on the coffee table in front of us. I took a sip, hoping the chilled wine would cool my blazing insides. I even had to push the throw off my legs because I was burning up.
