Seduction, page 1
Seduction
Henley Maverick
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Henley Maverick
Sneak Peek
Copyright © 2018 by Henley Maverick
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Printed in the United States of America
One
Alivia strode into her cousin’s garage, more of a strut than a stroll since the retro gingham skirt she wore hugged curves and left nothing to the imagination, despite its below the knee length. If the skirt was modest, she more than compensated for it with bumblebee yellow heels, thus the strut. She would never stoop to actual striding- not if she wanted to admit her power as a woman in her family was flimsy. Nothing offended these men worse than an unfeminine woman mimicking the mannerisms of a man in the presence of her male relatives. Like a silent indictment against their manhood- what woman would want to act like a man unless one wasn’t present?
Well, she didn’t give a hoot for their dignity, but as the only girl in a clan of overbearing, macho men, she had to use whatever wiles she had.
The men stopped talking when she entered, their faces slowly becoming visible as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
“Did you think you would melt if you let in a little light, gentlemen?” she asked.
One of them rose: her cousin, Conor. Another cousin, and a few of their associates, sat around the table. One man caught her eye for a brief second- the stark symmetry of his facial bones under messy dark hair shone like a beam of crystal among coal. But she didn’t have the time nor inclination to gape any longer than a few seconds.
“Liv,” Conor said, putting down his cards and rounding the table. He took her arm, which she allowed because they were in company. “What’re ya doing here? Who’s minding the shop?”
As if he needed to worry about her shop. Her red-slicked lips pursed as she controlled her irritation.
“I want to play,” she said, pitching her voice loud enough so that the other players could hear. She’d expected the laughter, noticing that the pretty one watched her with thoughtful eyes, rubbing something, a stone perhaps, in between his fingers. Something about the rock triggered memory, but she forced herself to concentrate.
“Come on, Liv,” Conor laughed. “You know that ain’t right for a girl to sit down at a card table with men.”
“My cousins are here,” she pointed out. “It’s proper enough. And I want stakes.”
Silence descended. Stakes were important- stakes meant she was here on business and not a whim.
“Stakes?” he repeated.
Alivia wouldn’t be intimidated. Though Conor was a broad shouldered, thick-armed male considered handsome despite his lack of height, she didn’t bother with fear of his anger or irritation. Fear wasted time.
“I need an extension on my loan payment. The shop is having trouble.”
He paused a long moment. “Now, Liv, I warned you when you took the loan from me to open a flower shop that this might happen. You know what happens if you default.”
She knew. And had to suppress a shudder. Conor’s eyes flickered downward, touching on the creamy pale skin bared by a snug, scoop necked sweater with short cap sleeves. But even with the voluptuous shapewear, the smallest twitch gave any red-blooded male plenty of flesh to watch bounce around.
“And since you’re my cousin, and you want to be fair, you’ll let me play a game. It’s just a loan extension. You’d do the same for a associate you favored.”
“True. But I don’t want to offend the boys.”
She looked at her cousin, lip curled. As if the ‘boys’ would object to a bit of flash and curve sitting at the table to give them something besides each other’s ugly mugs to look at. She stepped around Conor, approaching the table with her eyes lowered, hand still on her hip. And posed.
“Do you gentlemen mind?” she asked, softening her tone. “One game. If I win, I get an extension on my loan. A girl has to go down fighting.”
“Let her play,” the pretty one murmured, eyes on his cards when she raised hers in his direction. Liv seated herself in the chair Conor dragged up to the table. She waited until they finished the current round, spending the time watching the players, trying to get a feel for their rhythms.
She played with a single mindedness and casual charm that disarmed her opponents. And, when she won the round, she took care to thank her cousin and the men properly, as if they had let her win as a favor. Mother told her to let a man take credit- that way the next time a gal came knocking for a favor, he was eager to oblige rather than sour from the last time.
But, when she glimpsed Conor’s expression as she took her leave, she knew he would be sour.
Rhys watched her for two weeks. Little Alivia, all grown up. He almost hadn’t recognized her when she swayed her round ass into the card game, intruding in the men’s domain with demure doe eyes- and a smirk on full, glossy lips. The last time he’d seen her...hadn’t it been at a debutante ball for the daughters of all the higher ranked associates? Chest over spilling what should have been an innocent white ball gown, hair in ringlets and crystal pins on her head, shoulders bare. He’d remembered thinking she reminded him of the women in the old country before American fashions intruded and told them to stop eating. The kind of women found nursing babies through long, harsh winters and job strikes because they had plenty of meat on their bones to make milk. Women whose breasts a man could rest his war weary head on. Women who demanded a man slay dragons- and guarded his back from foes during the battle.
So, he watched her, knowing only his most trusted associates were aware of his interest, and learned more about her than she might have wished. Learned that she owed a contract with her cousin Conor that she couldn’t default on unless she wanted to become his personal property like in the old days. They were cousins, and though more intimate services were frowned on in modern America, in the old country the blood between cousins was considered thin enough that a man could take his aunt or uncle’s daughter as a concubine, or a wife.
The light on the speakerphone flashed. Rhys leaned forward and pushed the intercom button.
“Sir, Conor is here.”
“Send him up.”
Rhys remained seated, knowing the first thing the middle level associate would see when he entered the office was a backdrop of clear glass displaying a view of the city for miles. And Rhys, a cold figure in front of an ancient desk of dark wood, hand carved by his ancestors, still and waiting.
Conor came in moments later. Rhys had to give the man credit- he didn’t let his awe show in anything but the slightest twitch of his suit-clad shoulders. If Rhys wasn’t about to pull the rug out from under the man, he might have offered him a job higher in the organization. But, as it was, Rhys’s business interests were mostly legitimate these days- and he knew Conor didn’t see quite eye to eye about that.
“Have a seat.” Rhys indicated a chair in front of his desk. Reached for a crystal decanter on the edge of the desk and poured them both a shot of amber colored liquid.
Conor nodded thanks, and they drank in silence, neither flinching from the fiery burn.
“I was a little surprised to get a summons,” Conor said after they’d set their glasses down. “And I’m flattered that I may be of some use to you. I didn’t think our interests quite... aligned.”
“They don’t,” Rhys replied pleasantly. “But, in this case, the favor I’m about to ask is more of a personal nature.” He smiled, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’d like to buy your contract with Alivia.”
Conor’s eyes widened, brow lifting. Poker face, it was not. “My cousin, Alivia? What did you want to do that for?” Conor paused, as if remembering whom he was addressing.
Rhys waved a hand, smiling to show he didn’t mind the plain speaking. “She intrigues me. And I’ve a mind to add some... softer businesses to my portfolio. Thought I could start with something somewhat closer to home.” Rhys pulled a piece of paper out of his desk, slid it across the table. “I’m prepared to offer a very generous buyout, to compensate you for potential loss of interest over the years.”
Conor skimmed the contract, not touching it. Rhys’s estimation of his intelligence went up several notches. He would bet his rocks that the man had just read- and understood- the entire thing.
“This is, indeed, a generous offer.” Conor paused. “But Alivia is my cousin and I wouldn’t feel right selling her interests to a man not of our family like she is a stranger.”
Rhys leaned back in his chair, expression sliding into a blend of pleasant neutrality.
“I’m not exactly a stranger,” he reminded the man, gently. He let it sink in as he watched Conor’s expression set. Skin pale, just a little. “Think about it? I don’t need an answer right away.”
Conor rose, nodding his head. “I appreciate it.”
“This is cosmic,” Siobhan said as they stood in front of the main shop
“It’s something,” Liv replied.
When she’d invited the Earth Day Group to use her flower shop as a platform to raise awareness of the environmental crisis for the extinction of bees, she hadn’t quite envisioned...this. The chapter head, a small woman who smelled like sugar cookies and roses, reminded Liv of her own grandmother. Seeing the woman now, chained to half of a dozen chapter members and laying in the street to stop traffic... Liv admitted to a fleeting sense of panic before she steeled her nerves.
She’d wanted more business. This was going to get her more business.
The bell on the shop door rang.
“Another customer!”
Siobhan darted off to greet the couple entering the shop. As an employee, she wore Bloomers’ signature color, green, in the form of a crinkle peasant blouse and multicolored long skirt, light brown hair braided and beaded in a fashion that said more vintage hippie than flower girl. But whatever. The pinup pale green dress Liv wore was belted in black to add contrast at the waist before her hips and ass took over. She’d pinned her hair up today with a white bloom to accent, and changed her lipstick from glossy to matte.
“We couldn’t believe the news,” the couple was saying.
Liv frowned, drifting closer.
“We pass this shop every morning on our walk- we had no idea it was mob owned!”
Liv halted, eyes widening.
“It was all over the news! Who knew the mob was interested in environmental conservation?”
Liv turned, made her way to the stockroom, where she kept a laptop, and turned on her internet television, switching to a local news channel. Several minutes later, the bird’s eye view of the protesters was unique, as well as Conor’s picture flashing on the monitor as co-owner of Bloomers. Liv emerged from the back. Well, she’d wanted publicity. Wanted to generate an influx of income to help pay off her loan to Conor. She was getting what she’d wanted. As usual, life threw in an extra helping of unwanted consequences as well.
Liv spent the next thirty minutes selling small plants and bouquets, fielding questions about the protesters and her connection to the mob.
“Do I look like a mob doll?” she asked one teenager, laughing. The girl just looked her up and down, saying nothing.
Liv sighed, then made the mistake of stepping outside her shop for fresh air.
She had to hand it to the media; they were quick. Liv supposed if their small city were bigger on the radar of things then Bloomers wouldn’t merit all this attention. But evidently, it tickled someone’s fancy that the ‘’mob’’ was somehow involved in trying to save bees. When Liv saw her picture on television, a shot they’d taken of her when she’d stepped outside for some air, she realized she’d made it worse. It had been funny when the kid called her a mob doll. It wasn’t funny when it was now on the news.
Evidently, Conor didn’t think it was funny either.
“We don’t close for thirty minutes,” she said, voice even, as soon as she saw it was him walking through the front door.
“Then let’s go to the back and talk,” he replied, teeth gritted.
“That’s not a good idea. I don’t want Siobhan to get overrun by customers.” Liv smiled at her cousin. “Business is... blooming. Looks like I’ll be able to make the next three loan payments on time. Good news, right?” Especially since the contract was coming up for renewal soon.
He waited until the last customer left, then flipped the closed sign before rounding on her.
“You are embarrassing me.”
Liv’s hand crept to her hip. She glared. “I’m running a legal, almost profitable business and contributing to environmental awareness. How am I embarrassing you?”
He strode close enough that their noses were almost touching. She remembered a time on the playground as children when she’d had to enforce her ideas of personal space with a fist. He probably wouldn’t let her get away with that now. Liv held her ground.
“The news is talking about how this is a mob run joint, yadda yadda and shit, and how we’re growing soft. You get those hippies away from here or I will.”
She laughed. “What will you do in front of cameras? Threaten them? Come on, Connie. We just have to ignore the press until it blows over. Earth Day is doing a good thing. Do you have any idea how it will destroy the food chain if the bees become extinct? We’ll starve.”
“You’re out of your mind. You got one day to-”
“Hey, aren’t you Conor O’Reilly?”
Neither of them had processed the little bell ringing to announce a visitor. Conor turned around, a genial smile plastered on his face.
“Hey, we’re closed right now, but if you come back in the morning we can take care of ya real good.”
Liv rolled her eyes, stepping in front of her cousin. “Can I help you? We are closed but-” she stopped, eyeing a camera at the young man’s side. “I’m sorry, did you ask if this is Conor O’Reilly? I’m afraid you are mistaken. We’re closed.”
The reporter eyed them both, eyes narrowed. “You sure look like the middle level mob associate suspected of numerous counts of-”
“Closed,” Liv repeated, refusing to roll her eyes.
“Yeah, I was just here to pick up a bouquet. Why don’t you get that rung up for me, miss?”
Liv turned, heading toward her register. “Of course.” Behind the counter, she pulled out an extravagant bouquet of yellow and white exotic blooms interspersed with wildflowers, all set in a crystal vase. A canceled order. Setting it on the counter, she rang it up and aimed a bright smile at Conor.
“That’s $194.38,” she said with a wide smile. “Will that be cash or plastic?”
Conor froze for one split second, then prodded by the suspicious reporter at his back, pulled out a wallet.
A few minutes later, when the reporter lost interest and left, Liv reached in the till and counted out two hundred dollars in cash.
“Here you go, Conor. Half of my payment that’s past due. I’ll have the other half tomorrow.” She smiled at him. “Guess our loan will stay current after all.”
He stared at her for one long minute, then turned on his heels and stalked out.
Two
Rhys lounged on the plush leather couch in his den, one hand idly clicking channels, the other loosely holding a glass of red wine. It was a rare evening when he forced himself to turn off the laptop- though his mind was never far from work- and just relax. He supposed his DVR was somewhere around 200% full and there were at least three different series he needed to catch up on. He considered, for an idle moment, actually taking a day off to do nothing more pressing than catch up on his favorite cooking shows. And there were still some lessons pending in his inbox from the last video assignment he’d turned into his instructor. He was paying top dollar for virtual gourmet cooking classes; he really needed to actually complete them.
The green dress caught his attention. Well, that and the incredibly womanly body it encased. Rare these days that mere images produced any stir in his cock- pretty faces were a dime a dozen, and any housewife or college brat could buy a decent set of tits. But fire in the eyes combined with wit and class- that was a rare combination. The kind of combination he craved, all packaged in a body he could explore for years to come.
Conor might not understand his interest in Alivia’s business- the man certainly hadn’t bought the bullshit reasoning Rhys had given him- but he soon would. Because she was already on his mind, when her image flashed across the screen, his finger froze on the remote, even though he wasn’t really paying attention to the picture.
He unmuted the set, zooming the picture. Yes, it was definitely her. Large, cool dark eyes surveying something in front of her with a calculation that thrilled him. Her hair was in a loose bun, a red ribbon and flower caught in the dark curls. She looked classy, quirky, and sexy. A delectable combination of innocence and sexuality. And temper. Rhys knew if she ever found out he’d been...observing... her the last several weeks without her knowledge, she would be upset. He wouldn’t call himself a stalker- but how else was he supposed to learn anything about her before approaching? He didn’t like to lose; he preferred to come to her with knowledge in his arsenal. Knowledge of what would tempt her, frighten her, inspire her to dream of home and family. He’d watched her handle the men in her family, observed her interactions with her employees. Pulled up the financials on her business and looked at her personal spending habits. Spoken to people who knew her- and now, watching her on television and understanding instantly that she’d figured out a way to draw publicity to her business to drive sales. Clever, and ruthless. Almost, but not quite, skirting a line. Mob doll, indeed.
