Dirty Ties

Copyright © 2014 by Pam Godwin

All rights reserved.

Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley,
Unforeseen Editing

Editor:
Jacy Mackin

Cover model: Tony Arreguin

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

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or article, without written permission from the author.

Visit my website at
pamgodwin.com

The ache between my legs throbbed, intensely and obsessively. Sometimes I didn’t think about him for hours, not the fluidity of his leather-wrapped body crouched on his sportbike or the strength of his hands around the grips. Often, I went an entire day without mentally tracing the muscle definition in his shoulders and thighs, imagining the flex of his ass, the thrust of his hips.

Today hadn’t been one of those days.

I’d tried to confine my thoughts to merger proposals, senior staffing issues, and all the other initiatives that demanded attention under my leadership. But he was always present, fighting and twisting and charging into my mind, riding on his steel horse, and carrying my body beyond the edge of restless desire.

A man I’d never met.

Gah! Where was my damned dignity? I shut down the tablet displaying the new photos of him and returned it to my leather satchel. Who would’ve thought Chicago’s favorite criminal would be spotted at a grocery store? Somehow, it made him more human. The media seemed to agree, buzzing excitedly about his public appearance on local television and papers. I didn’t like that, didn’t like sharing him with four million women.

Outside the windows of the company car, the mammoth columns and well-lit awning of the Trump Tower drew closer. I shoved my aching feet into the heels, the phone pinned between my ear and shoulder. “When these pictures were snapped, was he caught off guard?” My insides fluttered with foolish hope. “Anyone see his face before he got away?”

The ruffle of papers scraped through the speaker, followed by my personal assistant’s husky, feminine voice. “Nope. He never removed the helmet.”

Always masked, much to my despair, as well as every woman, journalist, and cop in Chicago. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

Thanks to online gambling, the web of criminals profiting from the underground racing syndicate enticed corruption from all over the world—investors, mobsters, and racers alike—turning my Chicago into a hub of dirty money. And at the forefront of this underworld was the undefeated racer himself.

Maybe it was his anonymity that held the city so captivated. Or the inexplicable way he invited death at 185 mph on narrow, potholed streets. Two years ago, one of the reporters at my company had coined him
Evader,
and the moniker stuck. Should’ve been
Invader
, given his persistent intrusion into my fantasies and the subsequent wet spot cooling in my panties.

I squeezed my thighs together. A rough fuck from one of my husband’s hired playmates would be the second best way to spend the evening. The first being entwined with the notorious sportbike racer while straddling the vibrations of his inline-four engine.

The town car rolled to a stop, and I smoothed the skirt over my knees. “Did you send me the latest file?”

My standing order to receive those encrypted files was almost as risky as my appearances at Evader’s dangerous venues. But Jenna couldn’t open the files without the private key. She had no idea they contained the details for upcoming illegal races, information the police and media would love to get their hands on.

The file I was waiting on tonight held the map for the race that was starting in a few hours.

“Yes, Mrs. Baskel. Anything else?”

“That’ll be all.” I dropped the phone in my purse and grabbed the satchel.

The chauffeur opened my door. The din of honking and shouting carried me out, capturing me in the energy of the city. I vibrated with the rush of sensations, the scent of asphalt, the warm press of the evening wind, and the buzz of passing pedestrians, their voices rich in layered accents. At seven o’clock on a Thursday, the nightlife crush had just begun.

I strode the few paces to the dedicated entrance for residents of the Trump Tower, my heart beating with the pulse of traffic. Glass walls of modern architecture towered above, glimmering with the reflection of city lights. Behind those walls, people just like me accumulated millions of dollars through hard work, innovation, marriages…and lies.

While my own marriage was forged in deception, the heart of it resided in a deep friendship, nurtured by our families since birth. A smile twitched my cheeks. The stunning Italian genes Collin Anderson inherited from his mother were an added bonus.

My smile faded. Too bad the sexual chemistry was all wrong. It might’ve been the perfect marriage.

The breeze curled around my bare legs beneath the stiff skirt. Despite the toe-squeezing heels, it would’ve been a beautiful night to walk the four blocks from the Trenchant Media building. A beautiful night for a race.

Every cell in my body sizzled with anticipation. In just a few hours, I would be waiting at the finish line, straining for a stolen glimpse of him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Baskel.” The attendant swept ahead of my brisk walk and held the exterior door open with a decorous stance, his attentive gaze awaiting my direction should I need anything.

My executive position at Trenchant Media, my renowned husband, and our moneyed lifestyle commanded superior service from staff and colleagues. But beneath the tailored power-suit and affluent family, I was a woman like any other with a need for acceptance, a connection to cling to, a passion to balance out the monotony. “Evening, Jimmy. Has Mr. Anderson received any visitors this evening?”

“Yes, ma’am. A young man arrived forty-five minutes ago.”

Oh hell, yes.
“Thank you.” I shaped my mouth into a flat line to hide a giddy smile and quickened my gait through the marble foyer. In the elevator, the silver-haired attendant pressed the button for the eighty-eighth floor. A minute later, I strode into the foyer of the condo, pulling the pins from my hair and freeing the unruly blonde mess.

The hall on the left led to my suite, and the one on the right would take me to Collin’s rooms. But I continued to the front like I did every night, magnetized to the wall of windows and its views of the lake, the river, the bridges, and the twinkling cityscape.

Dropping the satchel and purse on the suede armchair, I veered to the wet bar and poured a dirty martini, extra dirty.

The first sip awoke my throat and warmed my blood, instantly relaxing the twelve hours of tension that had accumulated at work. Pinpricks bit through the arches of my feet, but the heels would stay on a little longer. I needed the seduction of those five extra inches for whatever awaited in Collin’s bedroom.

Lost to the glow of lights flickering eighty-eight stories below, I finished the martini, poured another, and removed the suit jacket. Drink in hand, I entered Collin’s hall, hoping to catch him in a deliciously compromising position.

Strained grunts greeted me at the cracked door. I nudged it open with the toe of my shoe and leaned against the doorframe to absorb the sensual landscape.

The bed sat perpendicular to the door at the far side of the room. Collin lay on his back, lengthwise on the mattress, his legs dangling off the end. The cords in his neck stretched, every gorgeous inch of him bare. His fingers threaded through the dark hair of the familiar head bobbing between his spread thighs. Seth knelt on the floor, one hand kneading Collin’s balls, the other pinching and twisting his dark nipple.

My skin heated from the inside out, and my mouth moistened. God, I loved watching Collin in the throes of pleasure. He gave so much of himself to his demanding job and family. It was liberating to see him take something for himself.

He rolled his hips, his trim body trembling, and his eyes caught mine. “Kaci.” His fingers curled on the bed in a come-hither motion.

All of his lovers were bisexual, and this one was a regular. Perhaps too regular. Seth wasn’t one of the hired escorts from the discreet service Collin used. He’d met this particular lover at a photo shoot, and while the dark-haired photographer had always tolerated me, his affections centered one-hundred percent on Collin. Like now.

“Fuck.” Collin groaned. “The man knows how to give head.”

Yeah, yeah, I’d heard it for years. Supposedly, a woman couldn’t rival the sucking power of a man’s lips. I set the martini on the dresser and sashayed toward the bed. “I do, too.” Collin knew this, not because his cock had ever breached my lips, but because he’d been watching me blow guys since we were fifteen.

“Show him.” Collin’s long fingers tightened in Seth’s hair, yanking the man off him.

Seth had fucked me a few times—my ass, my cunt, but not yet my mouth. He climbed to his feet and licked his lips. So blatant in the focus of his lust, he didn’t spare me a glance. His gaze remained locked on Collin’s erection as he shoved his briefs to his feet and kicked them away.

Seth might’ve preferred Collin, but he never seemed repulsed by my participation. Good thing, because Collin was
my
husband, and our unconventional marriage required a middle man. If Seth entertained any misgivings about his role in our relationship, I wouldn’t have to show him the door. Collin would do it for me.

I approached the bed and unbuttoned my blouse. “Maybe he’s intimidated by my tongue.” I addressed my husband, but caught Seth’s chocolate gaze in challenge.

Collin huffed. “Hell,
I’m
intimidated by your tongue.”

Seth shifted from foot to foot, glancing between us and chewing the inside of his cheek. Somewhat boyish in his attractiveness, his appeal was most notable in his dark, brooding eyebrows and pouty lips. His lean physique matched Collin’s. A runner’s build, slim on muscle, but his long legs and soaring height gave him the illusion of strength.

Seth studied me for a weighted moment with a maddening mix of heat and hesitancy stewing in his eyes. What was he thinking? I held my breath and his gaze.

He blinked, gripped the back of my neck, and shoved his tongue past my teeth.

Alrighty then. A bit forced, but I welcomed the roughness, meeting his tongue thrust for thrust. His lips mashed aggressively against mine, his fingers digging into my neck. His other hand caught my laced-covered breast, squeezing with the same bruising pressure as his kiss. I liked it, perhaps a little too much.

I reached for his erection, and my hand bumped into Collin’s fingers where he was unrolling a condom over Seth’s rigid girth. The need thrumming from their shallow breaths fueled mine. In a few moments, I would be writhing beneath all their sweaty, aroused flesh. The anticipation spurred me to bite Seth’s lips and grind against his hard-on while imagining a different body, a stronger, more powerful one encased in racing leathers.