Page 1 of Seduced By You

Chapter1

Leesa

When the apocalypse comes,

cats will rule the world.

Fifteen minutes had passedsince I’d tossed the stupid pink wedding invitation with its scalloped edges and handwritten calligraphy onto the coffee table. Bewildered and angry—like a snorting-bull-ready-to-gore-the-matador angry—I paced, wearing out a strip of my living room carpet.

How dare he?Howdare he!The sheer arrogance of the man. What on earth had possessed my former fiancé to send to me, of all people, an invitation to his wedding? Was Benedict so narcissistic that he thought, for a single second, I’dwantto attend? Or was he just rubbing my nose in it, squeezing the last drops of humiliation out of me? Knowing him, both things were probably true.

Although, why he’d left it so late to invite me was something of a mystery. I bet there’d been a cancellation and his bride’s stinking-rich parents didn’t want any spare seats ruining the aesthetics forHello!magazine.And as they’d invited half of England, suitable replacements must have been in short supply. Except I was the furthest from asuitable replacementas you could get. No one invited their ex-fiancée to their wedding. No one exceptmyex-fiancé, it seemed.

As if I’d give him the satisfaction of attending his shitty wedding to his shitty fiancée, someone I’d once thought of as a friend, albeit not a close one. They could stick their invitation to the grandly named Grange Manor, owned by Benedict’s soon-to-be father-in-law, up their arse. Twat.

In spite of the rage spreading like a wildfire through my bloodstream, I chuckled. My English mother had taught my French father that word when they’d first met, and he loved it.

My smile fell. I hadn’t spoken to my parents in nine months. My mother’s outrage when I’d informed her I’d decided to quit modeling for good, at twenty-six, still stung. The life of a catwalk model was short enough without wrecking one’s own career, Maman had said. We’d exchanged bitter words, and I hadn’t seen either of them since. I refused to make the first move. They owed me the apology, not the other way around.

Screw Benedict. Screw my parents. Screw the shallow world of modeling, where girls’ biggest concerns were that they’d eaten two lettuce leaves for lunch instead of one. I had a new life now, thanks to Kadon Kingcaid. I’d met him shortly after Benedict had broken off our engagement. He’d given me a job and a chance to show the world I wasn’t the airhead the media made me out to be, or Benedict’s ex-fiancée, whom he’d publicly dumped. I was me. Annaleesa Sabine Alarie, half French, half English, all fucking woman.

I read the card once more, but instead of throwing it into the trash, I slipped it inside my purse. I should burn it, but with my luck, I’d set fire to the house. Perhaps I wanted to hold on to my anger for a little while longer. It was a heck of a lot better than hurting. That sucker of an emotion weakened me. Rage and indignation fueled me.

Leaving Dash, my once-stray cat whom I’d adopted six months ago and who now ruled my life soaking up the sun, I unlocked the cat flap, filled his water bowl, and gave his ears a final scratch. “Be good, you little shit. No bringing friends over while I’m gone.”

He answered by licking his paws, his startling blue-gray eyes narrowing as if to say, “I’ll do whatever I want, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.” The worst thing was I couldn’t argue with his logic.

Kingcaid Beach Club Saint Tropez, where I worked as the VIP Operations Manager, was located right on the seafront. It took up a considerable amount of real estate. If I hazarded a guess as to the value of the land alone, I’d put it in the high tens of millions. Possibly even the hundreds of millions. Everyone who was anyone came here from the moment the club opened in March to the day it closed for the winter on October 31.

Hence the requirement for someone to look after our most important guests. My role was to ensure that those guests had their every wish catered to. Sometimes, it was a pain in the rear, but most of the time, I enjoyed my job. It wasn’t easy. Because of the shorter season down here in the South of France, we worked seven days a week, with only an occasional day off here and there. As this was my first season, I was exhausted. Even my bones hurt. I couldn’t wait for the next four weeks to pass. I planned to head off somewhere warm, work out a plan for my long-term goals, and relax.

I didnotplan to attend McJerky’s stupid November wedding in the cold and damp English countryside. Not a chance.

The guard stopped me and checked my credentials, then lifted the barrier and let me through. The infamy of some of our guests meant that security was, by necessity, tight. We couldn’t allow a single unapproved visitor inside the beach club. Our clientele paid enormous sums of money each year for a membership to Kingcaid’s worldwide beach club resorts. It would only take one so-called fan to approach a star in their executive bungalow, and the hard-won reputation of Kadon’s business would disappear faster than Dash chasing a mouse.

Kadon prided himself on ensuring privacy and delivering top-class service, and as a member of his senior management team, I’d make damned sure I upheld the values of this organization.

I maneuvered my car into my allotted space and got out. A cool breeze blew strands of hair across my face. I tucked them behind my ears and fastened my jacket. The temperatures would reach the low seventies today, but I doubted most customers would arrive much before midday. In the height of summer, they’d often turn up by nine in the morning and leave long after the sun had set, but this close to the end of the season always saw a drop-off. At least, that was what Kadon had told me.

Kadon's gunmetal gray Aston Martin sat in his reserved space. It didn’t surprise that me he was here already. He’d be champing at the bit, going through the figures from the last few days and making sure everything was in order. Kadon wasn’t a descendant of the ridiculously rich Kingcaid family for nothing. Very little got past him. But outside of work, Kadon was as far removed from a billionaire as you could imagine. Shoulder-length, messy, blond-streaked hair, rarely dressed in anything other than casual clothing, fun-loving, and considerate of others. He was much more suited to hanging with the surfers who frequented Galiote Beach than in a shirt and tie and sitting around a boardroom table. Little wonder his father had put him in charge of this arm of the business.

I headed straight for Kadon’s office. One rap on the door, and I pushed it open. I found him sitting behind his desk—but it wasn’t the Kadon who’d left here a few days earlier.

My jaw dropped, and I burst out laughing. “What the hell happened to you?”

Chapter2

Kadon

A wig? Why the hell didn’t I think of that?

“Don’t say another fucking word.”I raised my hand and glowered. Today wasn’t the day to mess with me. Not that it changed Lee’s reaction. She was the very last person to fear me, as evidenced by her laughter bouncing off the walls.

“Holy shit. My poor Samson.” Flopping into the visitors chair opposite my desk, she flicked her lavender hair over her shoulder, propped her elbows on the polished oak, and fluttered her eyelashes. “Have you lost all your strength along with your luscious locks?”

I poked my tongue into my cheek and inhaled a slow breath. “I’m not kidding, Lee. It isn’t fucking funny.”

I loved my long hair. It was me. I’d worn it long for years, never imagining a time when I’d cut it.

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