Page 17 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

BROKEN DREAMS

BY CHELLE BLISS

CHAPTER ONE

LACEY

Do not lust after the biker. Do not lust after the biker.

I repeat the phrase in my head over and over in time as the click of my high heels echo off the pristine polished marble of the entryway to Villa Lantana. South Florida’s most exclusive event destination that books out three years in advance for weddings—which I’ve always thought was ridiculous.

I can’t count the number of couples who have toured through the property and put down a depositbigger than some college tuitions to secure a date on our calendar...only to have the engagement end several years before the big day.

I sigh. It’s my job to sell the fantasy, but it’s hard to believe in love when close to twenty percent of our deposits never turn into weddings. This weekend, however, the event is happening even if it’s one I honestly hoped would get called off.

The Florida humidity is nearly melting my hairspray, and it’s not even noon. I hurry to pull open the aged brass door handle, grateful for the blast of chilly air that greets me as I step inside.

“Quiet morning, Bob?” I ask, smiling at the older man behind the front desk as I hurry past.

“My favorite kind, Ms. Mercer,” he says with a nod.

I smooth back the loose strands that have slipped out of my small bun and hustle through the pink marble corridor that leads to my office. Juggling a massive bag over my shoulder, I unlock my door, thrilled to find that my assistant did remember to program my coffeemaker before she left last night. The dreamy aroma of fresh, strong coffee immediately released the tension in my shoulders.

I check the slim gold watch on my wrist and wait for the air conditioning in my office to kick in so I can drink my coffee without breaking into a full-body sweat.

Do not lust after the biker, I remind myself, unpacking my laptop and logging in for the day.

Once I’ve checked my calendar and voice mail, I fill a mug of coffee two-thirds of the way, stir in a touch of sugar, and splash a bit of my milk from the mini fridge under the coffee bar. Then, holding my mug carefully so I don’t spill a precious drop, I walk to the clothing rack hanging in the corner of my office.

Even through the transparent garment bag, I can see the designer tux is luxurious. Fabric so dense and smooth, I want to run my hands down the midnight blue panels. A bloom of heat threatens to break my entire body into a sweat. Damn it. This is exactly the reaction I did not want.

But who could blame me? The suit isn’t just beautiful, it’s massive. It has to be to fit his muscular shoulders. I imagine him, tuxedo jacket open, a slim matching tie loose around the collar of a crisp white shirt that hides all his tattoos except for the ones on the backs of his hands. It’s gorgeous. He’s gorgeous. And for someone who’s been too heartbroken to date for the last two years, he’s quite simply a walking wet dream.

Sweet mother.

I tuck one bare leg behind the other, applying a little friction between my legs. I’m dismally failing at my efforts to stay cool. Picturing him unbuttoning the cuffs, loosening the tie, moving the sumptuous fabric away from his colorful skin to give me a closer look… a taste.

“Not today, Satan,” I remind myself. “Not any day.”

I would never. Could never.

Could I?

I shake my head at my stupidity. What’s gotten into me?

Harmless lusting, naughty thoughts that make my skin tingle.

“Pull it together,” I remind myself.

Thankfully, there’s no one around to hear me get my sex drive in check at this hour. The groundskeepers are all outside, and most of the hospitality staff are holed up in their offices. It should be a quiet morning for me too except for the voice that shatters my horny thoughts.

“Pull what together, darlin’?”

Flutters of electricity quiver along my nerve endings.

Shit, fuck, crap.

He’s here. He’s early. I take a second to compose my expression, take a sip of coffee to fortify myself, and then slowly turn on my five-inch heels to face him.

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