Sultry in Stilettos Read online

  Sultry In Stilettos

  The In Stilettos Series

  Book Two

  by

  Nana Malone

  Copyright 2012 Nana Malone

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Sultry in Stilettos

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Nana Malone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Kimberly Killion

  Edited by Val Hatfield of Finish the Story

  Published in the United States of America

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To my husband, thank you for seeing me.

  To my daughter, thank you for surprising me.

  To Marcie, just thank you.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Other Books By Nana Malone

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “I want to see other people. Starting right now.”

  Ricca Munroe’s heart stuttered, and her whole world stood still. She blinked up at her boyfriend Charles Garber, trying to comprehend the words that came out of his mouth. But her brain only caught snippets. The phrases she did catch hit her like blows. “Too clingy…” Slap. “Too focused on marriage...” Slap. “…not enough fun…” Punch. “…Don’t care enough about your appearance…” Knockout. Apparently this asshole was related to Roberto Durant.

  He was dumping her? In the middle of the Westhorpe Gala? Hell.

  Right now, one of her best planned fantasies was happening, and not only was she missing it, she was getting dumped. By a guy she’d planned to break up with? While she was wearing Spanxx no less. The universe had a messed up sense of humor.

  Her best friend Jaya was getting the proposal of a lifetime, and Ricca was here on the balcony listening to this asshole. When Jaya’s hope-to-be-fiancé had approached Ricca to plan the proposal, she’d worked hard to make it happen. At least something good would come out of this night.

  She glowered at Charles. When he’d picked her up tonight she’d thought he looked dapper with his gray tuxedo complementing his smooth, café-au-lait skin. Now, he just looked like a slimy slug who’d ignored the black-tie attire suggestion. “Funny how you couldn’t do this back at my place before we came out tonight.” Fury and confusion made for a fiery cocktail in her stomach.

  He had the nerve to look bored. “I’m not an asshole. I wasn’t going to let you walk in all alone. But we’re done. I’m going to go mingle.”

  “Let me get this straight, you’re doing me a favor? Funny how this favor couldn’t wait until the end of the night.” She narrowed her eyes. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

  His voice was smooth—velvety—slick. “I just need to be with someone a little more driven. You know, going places.”

  “And you think because I’m nurturing, I’m not driven.”

  “Let’s face it. You’re the type of woman who wants to be married with kids. And that’s fine. I just don’t want that now.”

  Her hands shook as she spoke. “Get the hell out of my sight.” If he didn’t leave her field of vision, she was likely to slap him in the face with her Spanxx.

  He shrugged and walked away. Even more horrifying than all of this was the fact that the sniveling asshole had dumped her before she could break up with him. She'd known for weeks that she had to do it. But the holidays weren’t ideal. And not because, as her friend Micha suggested, that she would eschew all the good gifts if she did it earlier, but rather because neither one of them was in town. Dumping someone over the phone, or worse by text message, was so the new Post-it breakup, circa Sex and The City.

  Why the hell was she always making bad man choices? Guys that she thought were solid and nice and seemed to care about her. Then shit like this happened. They were either deadbeats like Royce, who’d asked her to buy him a car. They only cared about sex, like Alan. They wanted an in with her friends, like Antoine. Or worse—cheat on her like that asshole, Braedon. She was off men—for good.

  Okay so maybe not for good, but at least for a really long time. Her problem was that she was always chasing the possibility of love. She’d never actually been in love, but she understood the difference. It wasn’t that she hadn’t met the one, but rather that he was actively hiding from her.

  Move, she told herself. Move. Get somewhere safe, then you can cry and throw things. But her feet refused to budge. She couldn't move her arms, like she was frozen alive. Like her limbs didn't connect to her brain, and there was nowhere to hide.

  The crisp clicks of staggering stilettos off the polished concrete floor filtered through Ricca’s numbness as did the cocktail chatter. At least she was on the exterior balcony where no one could see her face. Above her, only a few clouds marred the clear night. Since they were so close to downtown she couldn’t see too many stars, but the few she did twinkled cheerily, oblivious to her woes. Strong heat lamps bracketed against the side of the building were the only thing that kept the crisp air from slicing through her.

  She had to get out of here before anyone saw her. If she ran into Jaya, her friend would insist on trying to help. And God help them all if she ran into Micha. She would slaughter Charles publically, CSI and prison be damned.

  A tear escaped from her lashes. Shit. Nausea rolled through her belly, and she wanted to hurl. But there she was, rooted in place. With no one coming to her aid.

  Shit, she had to move before everyone witnessed her crumble into sloppy reality TV star kind of tears. Bracing her hand on the steel railing of the balcony, she wrapped an arm around her waist. The borrowed Balenciaga corset dress was a bad call. Not only had she had to put a cropped blazer jacket over it to cover the girls, but now the damn thing was cutting off her circulation. Or maybe that was the Spanxx. She dragged in several deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm her nerves. How the hell did someone escape a crowded party with their boobs hanging out, teetering on four-inch stilts while being asphyxiated? The hint of Hugo by Hugo Boss cologne alerted her that she wasn’t alone on the balcony. The scent was as familiar to her
as her Marc Jacobs Oh Lola! perfume. As her heart kicked, her breathing grew shallow, and her palms started to sweat.

  “Help. I need a rescue. Stage one Annie Wilkes clinger on my tail.”

  Ricca gasped with surprise as Beckett Mills practically skidded into her. Given his broad-shouldered, six foot five-inch frame, she would have been road kill if he’d actually run over her. But what a way to go. With his curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes, not to mention his swimmer’s body, she’d have been the envy of every woman here.

  Quickly she wiped her cheeks with her drink napkin and plastered a smile on her face. She could do this. A little small talk and she could escape. Nerves of steel, Ricca. The last thing she needed was Beckett’s pity. Ricca was used to playing buffer between him and overzealous women. After all, what good were wing-women if not as buffers? This was familiar territory. She’d explore her feelings about Charles dumping her later. Just as soon as she burned her Spanxx.

  “Sorry, B, you’re no Paul Sheldon. Besides, I told you not to bring a colossal clinger as your date. When I met her last week, I told you this one wanted to have your babies like tomorrow. But you never listen to me.”

  Beckett’s aqua blue eyes narrowed, and he frowned as he scrutinized her. The frown hardened his too-handsome features and made him look dangerous. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she answered automatically. Best friend or not, she didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not with him.

  He sighed and adjusted his bow tie, sticking a finger between the tight knot and his Adam’s apple. “You might as well tell me. I’ll keep harassing you until you do, and that would be a waste of your holy-shit-you’re-actually-showing-skin party dress. Just tell me.”

  Ricca squared her shoulders. “You’re very irritating, you know that?” Ever since she’d known him, he had a way of making her forget her inherent shyness and just be her. Probably because he was persistently annoying. “Charles dumped me, okay? Can we stop talking about this now?”

  “When the hell did he dump you? I saw you come in with that sniveling moron. I mean, why would you come with him to the party if—” He snapped his jaw shut, and his shoulders slumped. “Shit. When I just saw him walking away…”

  “Was me telling him to go screw him—”

  She didn’t get to finish as she instantly came in contact with Beckett’s chest. His arms enveloped her, and he squeezed. “He’s an asshole. If you want, I’ll grab Micha, and we’ll go disappear Charles’ ass.”

  For one overindulgent second, Ricca let herself sink into Beckett’s embrace. She inhaled his unique scent of ocean and Hugo cologne. She allowed herself just one second of flutter in her lower belly and a galloping heart. Then she very deliberately stepped away.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. Now do you want to explain to me how you ended up with yet another clinger?”

  His lips quirked into a parody of a smile, but his brow remained furrowed. “Well, I wouldn’t have had to show up with a sub-par date if you had come with me.”

  Ricca schooled her expression, even though she winced inwardly. She’d been deflecting Beckett’s shameless flirting for years. But tonight it smarted. “Well, to be fair, I had a boyfriend when you came running to me needing a last minute date.” Sniveling asshole EX-boyfriend.

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Where is the asswipe, anyway? I’m going to see if I can get him tossed out.”

  “Don’t bother. He’ll just cause a scene. God, I can’t believe I wore Spanxx for this guy.”

  “What the hell are Spanxx? And can I see them?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She rolled her eyes. Ignore and deflect. “You don’t want to know. And no, you may not. Besides, I know you like your women modelesque. My Spanxx would scare you.” For years she’d tried telling Beckett he might have more luck with a longstanding relationship if he just picked someone a little less Starving-Barbie and a little more normal. Like me.

  With practiced ease, she smothered the errant thought. Her college crush on Beckett always picked the most inappropriate times to rear its head. Beside, Beckett Mills was not the marrying kind. Nor, with her petite curvy figure, was she in any way his type.

  He inclined his head and grinned. “Nothing wrong with hot women. I can’t help it if they want to date me.”

  “So modest. But maybe just once you could date someone who looks like she actually eats. What’s her name tonight could do with a pork chop or some of my mother’s callaloo.” Growing up, the Trinidadian dish, with its spices and hint of sweetness from coconut milk, was one of her favorites. It also was probably the reason for half her curves.

  He nodded. “Yeah, hot.” He licked his lips. “And don’t make me hungry. I love your mom’s cooking.”

  “You’re incorrigible. You deserve what you get.” Good old Beckett, predictable in his flirting. Normally, she indulged herself and enjoyed the attention. One of life’s little indulgences and, save one night in college, she knew better than to take his flirting as anything more. But tonight she wasn’t in the mood. All she wanted to do right now was go home and crawl into bed. With Beckett. No. Not with Beckett. Even she wasn’t that self-destructive.

  One of the many photographers rolled around and snapped a shot of them together, which they dutifully smiled for. The poor guy had a tough time trying to get the two of them in the same frame. At her even five feet, she was more than a foot shorter than Beckett.

  Beckett stared gloomily into his empty champagne glass. “So, are you going to let Jaya put you in one of those hideous bridesmaids’ gowns? If you want, I can recommend those ones from the mermaid fantasy we did last year.”

  She grimaced. “Don’t you dare. The color alone is enough to make me vomit.” Of course he would remember that fantasy. They’d both worked at Fantasy, Inc. as event planners for three years. Leave it to Beckett to remember her least favorite fantasy.

  “You wouldn’t have known it from the way you encouraged that woman. You were so sweet. I couldn’t believe you were able to pull that one off. The bride was a nightmare.”

  “Well, that’s my job.” She tipped her head up and narrowed her gaze. “You going to survive Jaya’s wedding? I know you and Alec aren’t the best of friends.”

  Beckett shrugged. “I don’t have any problem with the guy. And he seems to make Jaya happy, though I could do without the two of them pawing each other every chance they get. It’s not too likely that we’ll be chummy. Besides, my little ducklings have to grow up sometime.” He reached over to tug one of the tendrils that escaped her side bun.

  Ricca gasped and ducked out of the way. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get my hair to do this?” The side-swept messy bun had just the right amount of control and fun to it. Her hair was hard enough to control she didn’t need Beckett adding to the mess. “If I were you, I wouldn’t let Micha hear you call her a little duckling. I don’t want to think about what she might do or say to you.”

  “I’m not afraid of Micha.” But still he looked around to make sure she wasn’t standing nearby.

  From behind them, someone said, “How about a kiss?”

  Both of them whirled and gaped at the unassuming photographer. Ricca’s heart skipped into a trot at the suggestion. Even as she drew in a shuddering breath, she clamped the flare of desire quick. No. Not ever going to happen. That would be all kinds of fuckeduptitude. She opened her mouth for some pat awkward response, but Beckett beat her to it.

  “Yeah, no. I don’t think so. We’re not a couple.”

  The photographer held up the camera. “It’s for the charity kiss auction. Winners of best kiss will get twenty thousand dollars donated to their favorite charity. Are you sure you can’t muster up a kiss?”

  Ricca could practically hear Beckett’s teeth grinding. He needed the money. He’d been dying to rehab an old gymnasium downtown for years. Besides women, it was all he ever talked about. Twenty thousand dollars would go miles toward rehabbing it into a practice pool for underpri
vileged kids.

  Never mind that she’d only fantasized about him kissing her for a million years. But this would not be that kind of kiss, she admonished herself. It’s for charity, her inner diva whined. But one kiss from him and she’d be in a mess of trouble. He was too much like his brother Braedon.

  ****

  Becket’s heart thudded, and in that breath, he leaped at the idea. Not just because of the charity earnings. He might tease Ricca, but flirting with her was about as close as he’d ever let himself get. She was the one relationship he couldn’t fuck up—wouldn’t fuck up. She was right. It would ruin everything if he kissed her. But God, of the most secret wishes, it was the one he kept closeted under lock and key and under a wardrobe trunk.

  Still, twenty grand, and he could have that pool open by the end of the year if he busted ass. He already had a few architects he wanted to take a look at the place. All he needed was the start up cash—and to risk his most important friendship for a dream. Maybe it would be fine. Maybe.

  All he had to do was kiss her. Something quick and brief enough to put a holster on any errant fantasy that might crawl its way to the surface, but with enough dramatic flair to win. Geez. He cleared his throat. Maybe if he made a joke of it, it would be okay. “Relax, Ricca. I promise you, I’m very good.” He waggled his eyebrows for effect. Keep it nice and light.

  She wrinkled her brows as she looked between him and the photographer. “You’re kidding me, right? Beckett, this is insane.”

  “This is for charity. And I know just the charity. Help some underprivileged kids get a pool. It’s for the kids, Ricca. I can’t help it if you want my body.” He could only wish.

  She scoffed. “You’re an idiot.”

  “That may be true, but your man has a point. The charity kiss auction has been a Westhorpe Gala tradition for thirty years.” Adele Westhorpe, the hostess and billionaire hotel magnate, interjected as she strolled up to them, looking regal in her shimmer and diamonds. “Besides,” she added, “You’re standing under the mistletoe. You almost have to kiss at this point.”