Entice Read online

  Table of Contents

  ENTICE

  Copyright 2015

  Synopsis

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Note for the Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  ENTICE

  the affair series

  book one

  by Stacey Lynn

  writing as

  S. Layne

  Copyright 2015

  Entice, The Affair Series, book one

  S. Layne

  © 2015 S. Layne

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permissions from the author, except for using small quotes for book review quotations. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks in not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing provided by: Amy Jackson Editing

  Proofreading provided by: Emily A. Lawrence

  Cover design provided by: Sarah Hanson with Okay Creations

  Photography: Bigstock Photos

  Synopsis

  Entice, The Affair Series, Book One

  When the most difficult decision of Laurie Baker’s life needed to be made, she took off for a weekend alone to weigh her pros and cons and consider all her options.

  What she didn’t expect was to run face first into one more complication her life didn’t need.

  Distracting, sexy, and British, Liam Parker offered Laurie exactly what she needed when she was desperate for attention.

  One night of pleasure.

  She wanted it.

  She craved it.

  She took it.

  And when the sunlight dawned and the lusty haze of one night of passion disappeared and reality revealed itself…

  Laurie returned home knowing that everything she had once believed, everything she had once loved and desired, was about to be tossed upside down and shaken in a way she could never imagine.

  “Call me when you get there?”

  I look at the man who stole my heart when I was fourteen and has yet to give it back. James’s dark brown eyes focus solely on mine and my hand clutches the handle of the suitcase tighter. Never in my life did I think I’d become a typical cliché.

  Anger pulls at me, the reminder of his betrayal clawing at me from the inside out, wanting to strike.

  Needing to strike.

  “Laurie.” My name falls from his lips in an anguished purr. God, he’s so sexy. “Come home to me.”

  I shake my head in indecision. “I told you I need time to figure it out.”

  “I’ve said I’m sorry.” He takes a step toward me and my shoulders instantly stiffen. If James touches me now, I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to walk away. But I need to, at least for a little while. I need to get my head straight and figure out my options.

  The only downside is I’m leaving him with her. Because even after he screwed his assistant on a business trip three months ago, she still works for him.

  And every day when James walks out the front door, with an apology and an untrusted promise to love me forever as he brushes his warm lips against my temple, he goes and spends nine hours sitting ten feet from her.

  “It will never happen again. I swear it. It was all a mistake. Just tell me what I can do to make this up to you. I’ll do anything.”

  Except counseling. I scowl. Because counseling is for people who aren’t smart enough to work out their own issues. I’m still uncertain if that was a jab at me the night I approached him about marital counseling. His quick apology told me it wasn’t, but something must have been wrong with us—or me—for him to screw Becky in the first place.

  Becky. Not Rebecca—but Becky. Because it’s perky and happy…just like she is. I hate her. Despise her for willingly sleeping with a married man.

  A man who is married to her best friend.

  Is there any deeper betrayal? Is there anything worse in the world that can possibly rip you open from the inside out when you overhear a conversation between your husband and your best friend discussing their one night together?

  I sigh, exhausted from the stress, the worry, the anger, and just…everything.

  “I’ll be home Friday night.” I ignore his eyes and focus on his jet-black hair. The view isn’t any better. No matter where I look at my husband, my childhood sweetheart, and my one and only lover, my pulse always begins to strum a beat quicker. I hate him for it. “I’ll let you know what I plan to do when I return.”

  I’m being formal. Stiff. An unfortunate product of my wealthy childhood, where I was always forced to be perfect. I shed that life years ago, but in times like this I’m grateful to my parents for teaching me how to wear a mask of indifference.

  It’s the only way I’ve survived the last four weeks since I overheard James and Becky—in my own damn kitchen. I haven’t been able to cook in there since.

  And fuck them—I like cooking. They’ve not only stolen my trust, but my hobbies and the security I used to feel whenever I walked into my house.

  My house. The house James and I moved into when we were married five years ago. The house we bought and planned to raise our future children in.

  It’s within walking distance to our quaint downtown along Lake Michigan.

  It’s beautiful. Everything about it from the size and the location is perfect.

  And now I hate it. Hate them.

  But at the same time, I still love him.

  “I’m so tired of arguing with you about this, James. Just let me go.”

  “Never.” He takes two large, quick steps, and soon his familiar and comforting frame is towering over me. I love it. I used to be able to lean my forehead against his broad chest and breathe in his cologne—my favorite brand I’ve always bought for him. He’d wrap his thick, muscular arms around me and pull me close. There was never a better feeling.

  I haven’t touched him in weeks. And I miss the contact and the warmth he used to provide, but it’s all tainted.

  It’s all bullshit.

  His hand comes out, cups my chin with his warm, soft palm, and raises my head until my gray eyes are pulled to his.

  “I never want to let you go. I don’t know how to get back what we used to have.” He shakes his head, his black hair whisking through the air with the sudden movement. “Fuck. I don’t even have an explanation as to what happened. But I don’t care what it takes…how long I have to work or how long I have to wait…I will earn back your trust. I swear it, Laurie.”

  My nose scrunches.

  “I love you.” His head dips, his lips press harshly against my forehead, and his hand leaves my chin to wrap around the back of my neck. I’m frozen stupid.

  I love you. I want to say. I hate you. I want to say that, too.

  Instead, I exhale a shaky, trembling breath because I no longer remember how to breathe softly and calmly. Not for weeks. He’s stolen my damn breath in the worst of ways, and
I’m left feeling knotted and twisted up, all the damn time.

  Yet I still can’t pull away from his tight grip. Even if I have to leave.

  “I have to go,” I mutter through a thick voice. He’s had enough of my tears and my shouts in the last month. I refuse to let him see more.

  His lips leave my skin, but where they just pressed, there’s a burning sensation in the center of my forehead. As if he just marked me. I feel his breath tickle my nose when he leans his forehead against mine. His shoulders shake and his grip on my neck tightens.

  “I’m so damn fucking sorry. Please, come home to me.”

  Three days. I’ve given myself a three-day deadline while I’m in Chicago, five hours away, for a medical technology conference.

  And by the time I come home, my future will be decided.

  Stay and forgive.

  Or leave.

  Chicago is a completely different beast from our quaint touristy town along Lake Michigan. Even though it’s only a few hours south of Denton, the few times I’ve visited I always ended up feeling as if I’ve stepped into another world.

  I’m used to hot summers where the wind off the lake cools the breeze enough to prevent a stifling, humid feeling that makes your skin feel instantly thicker and the air palpable.

  Chicago—with its loud sounds of traffic and smell of exhaust, along with the hundreds of people who line the streets along Michigan Avenue—makes my heart begin to race with stress and fear.

  The pedestrians don’t look before they cross the street, automatically assuming cars will stop for them.

  In Denton, even during the busy times of our summer tourist seasons that brings families from all over the country looking for a lakeside fishing getaway, the streets may be bustling but there’s nowhere near the amount of traffic or people.

  I already feel overwhelmed by the time I pull into the hotel’s underground parking, claim my ticket, and find a spot in the garage before heading to the check-in counter.

  The Meridian, the hotel where our conference is taking place, is absolutely gorgeous and my eyes roam the marble lobby with its indoor waterfall and enormous fish tank. A small shark swims along the bottom and it catches my eye as I wander by, almost feeling sorry for the small orange and purple fish that swim above it, seemingly oblivious to the danger that lurks below them.

  I pause at the tank, my mind drifting to James and Becky like it always seems to do lately. My hands lift, and I find myself almost reaching out to somehow warn the fish of the danger that is so close to them. It’s absurd. Rationally, that shark will not eat them—otherwise the shark would be the sole swimmer in this gigantic and beautiful fish tank.

  Yet I can’t help it.

  Danger could be nearby and they’re unsuspecting. Was that me—so oblivious to how horrible my marriage was, how rotten my best friend of almost fifteen years was, that I missed something? Silent glances between the two of them that I ignored? Whispered conversations that halted when I entered the room?

  I’ve racked my brain for a month, looking for signs, and I’ve come up empty.

  “Stop this,” I mutter to myself and spin on my heels to walk away.

  The fish are fine. And there’s nothing I can do to save them even if they aren’t.

  I glance back one more time before I hitch my travel bag over my shoulder and search for the concierge desk, when I run directly into a wall.

  “Oh.” I gasp as I hit a solid form in front of me. A wall. Or…my hand reaches up and I move to push back, but my fingers curl into the wall, holding on even as I try to step back.

  The wall is…warm. And soft.

  I open my eyes and look up, and my jaw drops.

  I didn’t hit a wall.

  I have run smack into the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  His hand comes up and curves around my lower back. His head dips down, the faint hint of a smile appearing at the edges.

  “Are you okay?” He tilts his head slightly to the left, and I watch as his hair droops over one eye—sandy brown hair that looks product-free and windswept, perfectly imperfect in its wildness.

  “I…um…” have lost the ability to speak. I swallow, trying to find my voice, but find it impossible as I take him in. Bright blue eyes as bright as the coast in Denton have my jaw dropping in wonder once more.

  And then there’s his slightly crooked nose, a scar just beneath the outside edge of one eye.

  Pink lips that are stretching into a wide, amused smile, and a row of bright white teeth.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and instantly my cheeks burn.

  Why I’m still so close to him, I don’t understand.

  Yet my knuckles ache from grabbing his suit coat.

  “Oh.” Slowly, I pry them off the man I’ve assaulted and almost accosted in the middle of a ritzy hotel lobby. Embarrassment begins flooding my cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” I stammer once I’ve released my hold.

  His hand on my back jerks slightly before it, too, falls away.

  I blink, watching his hand fall to his side.

  He was holding onto me, too.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say again and take another step away. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  His smile only widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His blue eyes drop and my legs tingle and quiver as he rakes his gorgeous blues up my legs. I feel his gaze dance up my body until it settles back on my eyes.

  And now he’s laughing at me. At least his eyes are.

  I’m not feeling the same freely shared amusement. My cheeks burn but I can’t look away from him.

  I want to know what he has to say. If he likes the way I look.

  Something about the way one of his eyes twitches with unfettered shame at checking me out wants to know if he likes me.

  It’s silly, really. Ridiculous. I’m a married woman, have never looked at another man, but right now my body is already warming, turned on by this stranger checking me out.

  Something that has felt broken and bent—not to mention unbeautiful and tossed aside—begins fixing itself inside my chest when the man takes a small step toward me.

  “Thank you,” he says, and it sounds like he’s purring. My childhood cat used to make a similar noise when it was fully satisfied after a large meal and needed a nap. I used to laugh when I was a teenager and said it was a post-orgasm purr.

  That’s what this man’s voice sounds like. Gravelly and tired, yet…wanting.

  Like he’s fully sated from sex but still desires more.

  My stomach flips at the thought.

  It flips again when he slowly raises his hand to mine. He’s entered my personal space, leaving no distance between us like he owns it, and yet I don’t pull back.

  “It was such a drab morning until you brightened it. Liam Parker,” he drawls confidently with just a hint of a delicious accent. My hand finds it perfectly fits inside his palm.

  How that has happened, I’m unsure. I don’t remember lifting my hand, but his fingers close around the back of mine. I instantly notice two things and my eyes drop to his hand.

  One, his hand is large. His fingers wrap completely around my hand, which disappears inside of his.

  Two, he’s warm. So warm. And his grip is firm…possessive in a way he has no right to be, and yet I don’t move my hand away.

  We stand there until I lift my eyes to his and he’s looking at me again, that faint hint of a smile as if he’s biting back a chuckle, and he has one eyebrow arched.

  Then I realize…oh.

  “Laurie Baker,” I reply, and yet it feels like I’ve whispered the words. The man has rendered me speechless. I haven’t had a reaction like this to a man in years. Quite possibly never.

  If I did, it was when I was fourteen—the first time James turned his handsome and boyish smile on me in Chemistry class.

  I think I went home and giggled and obsessively scribbled our initials into little pink hearts all over my diary, even knowing that
James was a year older and much more popular, and way, way out of my league.

  But I’m not thinking of James.

  I’m thinking of little pink hearts with “LP + LB 4ever” scrawled all over my day planner.

  I gasp at the thought and jerk my hand.

  His grip tightens. “Have drinks with me later.”

  My eyes snap to his and my jaw falls at the invitation.

  “What?” I ask. I’m stunned.

  I don’t even remember the last time someone hit on me. Has it been that long? A part of my femininity wants to preen and rub against him, have his hands run down my side at the thought that he believes I’m beautiful enough to want to have a drink with me.

  It’s confidence-building.

  And I want it.

  “I’m married.”

  Liam flinches, but his hand doesn’t let me go.

  “I’m disappointed, then.” His lips twitch. “But it’s just a drink.”

  Yes, I think. And find myself leaning in. Liam catches the fractional movement toward him and smirks.

  God…was it this easy for James? One look? One thought and he was done for? It’s not right. It doesn’t feel wrong either.

  Not this. Not when I’ve questioned so much and hurt so much.

  And have so much to decide about my future.

  Which is the thought that has me snapping back and ripping my hand out of Liam’s. His smirk twitches when I rub the palm of my hand down the side of my thigh. It does nothing to erase the feel of his warmth, but I pretend it does.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, because I am. What I wouldn’t give for a man to look at me like this for more than a chance encounter in a lobby.

  What I wouldn’t give for James to look at me like this. I feel as if I can conquer the world under Liam’s intense gaze, which has yet to look away from me.

  And I don’t understand why.