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Authors: Elizabeth Bevarly
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the time or inclination to seduce someone with no experience? Who actually paid money for someone to pretend that? Gavin would rather get right to the action. Foreplay was way overrated. Hell, if he were going to pay a woman to have sex, it would be so she would skip over all that touching and fondling and stroking and licking andâ¦andâ¦andâ¦
Where was he?
Oh, right. Marveling at Ravenâsâ¦he meant Violetâsâ¦reaction to his decadent paintings. Which also made him wonder about her art commentary that had made her sound so pedestrian. Any high-priced call girl worth her salt would make it a point to school herself in whatever interests her elite clientele had, and art would definitely be an interest of an elite clientele.
Just who the hell was Violet Tandy? Who was Raven French? They were the same woman, but they seemed to have little in common.
She was playing a part, he told himself again. Sheâd slipped into the role she always plays with wealthy, powerful men to get what she wanted: Money. Maybe she wasnât earning a paycheck from him at the momentâwell, not the way she normally didâbut she was definitely protecting her financial assets by ensuring he didnât sue her. Of course she would deal with him the way she dealt with all her customers, by pretending to be something she wasnât. In this case sweet, innocent and vulnerable.
Yeah, right. Gavin wasnât one of her customers. He wasnât paying her anything. On the contrary, he wanted a piece of her. Which maybe wasnât the most tactful way to put it, butwas appropriate in this case. He would have satisfaction. He would have a piece of Violet Tandy. And he would have it soon.
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Violet didnât stop fleeing until she was five blocks from the shiny metal building that held Gavin Masonâs decadent office and paintings. And she only stopped then because sheâd reached the shop where she had to return her outfit. Talk of the Town was a cozy boutique off Michigan Avenue that rented haute couture fashion and accessories to women who needed to rent high society. It was owned by a woman named Ava Brenner, who had been incredibly helpful to Violet every time sheâd come by the shop.
Ava was helping another woman when Violet entered, and her assistant was ringing up a transaction for another customer, so Violet stole a few moments to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. Inescapably, her thoughts turned to Gavin Mason, something that did nothing to quell her ragged breathing.
What had happened in his office? One minute, sheâd felt so in control of the situation, and the next, heâd snatched it right out of her hands. Sheâd felt like a small, helpless creature running for its life with the big, bad wolf right on her tail, his rabid, hot breath dampening the back of her neck, his big, hot paws stroking the length of her spine, his slick, hot tongue tasting her nape, andâ
And goodness, it was hot in here. What did Ava keep the thermostat on, anyway?
Violet inhaled a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to clear and her heart rate to slow. Think beautiful thoughts, she told herself. That was how she had always reacted to stressful situations when she was a child. Whenever she found herself in a new foster home, or when the other kids were mean to her, or whenfriends were moved to a new home where she would never see them again. Beautiful thoughts. The ocean had been a favorite, even though sheâd never seen the ocean in person. Sheâd seen it on TV often enough. And she had a very vivid imagination.
In her mindâs eye, the ocean appeared, blue, blue water lapping at a sparkling white beach. The crisp azure sky was cloudless above it, the white-hot sun tossing diamonds onto the waterâs surface. Oh, yes. Violet was feeling calmer already. Now she placed herself in the scene, sitting at the waterâs edge, the foamy surf licking her
Where was he?
Oh, right. Marveling at Ravenâsâ¦he meant Violetâsâ¦reaction to his decadent paintings. Which also made him wonder about her art commentary that had made her sound so pedestrian. Any high-priced call girl worth her salt would make it a point to school herself in whatever interests her elite clientele had, and art would definitely be an interest of an elite clientele.
Just who the hell was Violet Tandy? Who was Raven French? They were the same woman, but they seemed to have little in common.
She was playing a part, he told himself again. Sheâd slipped into the role she always plays with wealthy, powerful men to get what she wanted: Money. Maybe she wasnât earning a paycheck from him at the momentâwell, not the way she normally didâbut she was definitely protecting her financial assets by ensuring he didnât sue her. Of course she would deal with him the way she dealt with all her customers, by pretending to be something she wasnât. In this case sweet, innocent and vulnerable.
Yeah, right. Gavin wasnât one of her customers. He wasnât paying her anything. On the contrary, he wanted a piece of her. Which maybe wasnât the most tactful way to put it, butwas appropriate in this case. He would have satisfaction. He would have a piece of Violet Tandy. And he would have it soon.
Â
Violet didnât stop fleeing until she was five blocks from the shiny metal building that held Gavin Masonâs decadent office and paintings. And she only stopped then because sheâd reached the shop where she had to return her outfit. Talk of the Town was a cozy boutique off Michigan Avenue that rented haute couture fashion and accessories to women who needed to rent high society. It was owned by a woman named Ava Brenner, who had been incredibly helpful to Violet every time sheâd come by the shop.
Ava was helping another woman when Violet entered, and her assistant was ringing up a transaction for another customer, so Violet stole a few moments to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. Inescapably, her thoughts turned to Gavin Mason, something that did nothing to quell her ragged breathing.
What had happened in his office? One minute, sheâd felt so in control of the situation, and the next, heâd snatched it right out of her hands. Sheâd felt like a small, helpless creature running for its life with the big, bad wolf right on her tail, his rabid, hot breath dampening the back of her neck, his big, hot paws stroking the length of her spine, his slick, hot tongue tasting her nape, andâ
And goodness, it was hot in here. What did Ava keep the thermostat on, anyway?
Violet inhaled a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to clear and her heart rate to slow. Think beautiful thoughts, she told herself. That was how she had always reacted to stressful situations when she was a child. Whenever she found herself in a new foster home, or when the other kids were mean to her, or whenfriends were moved to a new home where she would never see them again. Beautiful thoughts. The ocean had been a favorite, even though sheâd never seen the ocean in person. Sheâd seen it on TV often enough. And she had a very vivid imagination.
In her mindâs eye, the ocean appeared, blue, blue water lapping at a sparkling white beach. The crisp azure sky was cloudless above it, the white-hot sun tossing diamonds onto the waterâs surface. Oh, yes. Violet was feeling calmer already. Now she placed herself in the scene, sitting at the waterâs edge, the foamy surf licking her
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