Public Relations
Loose Id Titles by Tibby Armstrong
PUBLIC RELATIONS
Tibby Armstrong
www.loose-id.com
Public Relations
Copyright © October 2013 by Tibby Armstrong
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN 9781623005207
Editor: CJ Williams
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs
Published in the United States of America
Loose Id LLC
PO Box 809
San Francisco CA 94104-0809
www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either 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.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * *
DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Dedication
To my Aunt Deb, for teaching me to read before first grade, and for leaving romance novels around the house for my teen self to discover. Without you, this book never would have been written.
Acknowledgment
Mom, you can’t read this one either, but I love you! Thank you for believing in me.
Denise Tompkins, this is your book as much as it is mine. Thank you for helping me find Georgia’s voice.
CJ and the team at Loose Id, thank you for making every book special.
Chapter One
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Peter drained his champagne and plucked another flute from a passing waiter. Events hosted by New York’s social elite—even the ones he bought and paid for—always left him with the urge to get laid, get drunk, and go to confession. Definitely in that order. If he ever converted, he might even manage to do all three at once.
His mind on the first check box on his list, he automatically scanned the crowd, his attention alighting on his date du jour. Chastity. Letting the dry champagne roll over his tongue, he contemplated her long-limbed, pert form, and the waterfall of blonde tresses brushing her bare back. She was a beauty. The best the service had sent in a while. He might keep this one for a bit. It’d be a nice change of pace.
Putting on his game face, he met Chastity next to a table laden with strawberries and a cluster of champagne flutes. He swept two glasses between the knuckles of one hand and dropped a strawberry into each. Handing her a glass, he sipped at his own and perused her figure with a lazy toe-to-head sweep, ending the journey at the graceful slope of her shoulders.
Her white satin gown showcased only what was appropriate for the venue, but more than enough to give him a glimpse of the lush valley between caramel-kissed breasts. He finally met her too-blue eyes and allowed his appreciation to linger in his gaze. Perfectly pouted pink lips curved into a demure smile in response to the implicit compliment. She was sweet, like candy, and had an innocent quality men loved to corrupt.
“Enjoying yourself?” He slipped an arm around her waist, his hand coming to rest intimately on the crest of her derriere.
“Yes, thank you.” She shifted one hip to encourage his touch.
He played his fingertips over cool satin, teasing the higher peaks and valleys of her ass as he took another sip of his champagne and feigned interest in the crowd. Chastity tilted her head to look at him. He pretended not to notice.
Two gossip columnists, both men, trained their gazes in his direction. Tomorrow’s headlines would ask whether the illusive playboy had finally snagged his
Mrs. Right
. He nearly snorted into his champagne.
The orchestra wound the set to a close. The foundation’s hostess prepared to make the benefit award announcement. Peter snapped his head to the right to release the crick in his neck.
“You’re uptight,” Chastity murmured.
Bunched muscles in Peter’s shoulders twitched at her pronouncement, making him aware of their increasing ache. Smiling for her and her alone, he took in Chastity’s heart-shaped face with its perfectly formed nose and artfully covered freckles. She moistened lips so lush he couldn’t help visualizing them pressed against his awakening arousal.
“A little,” he said, allowing the magnetism of the moment to spark briefly between them.
Long lashes swept low before revealing eyes darkened with desire. “I could fix that for you.”
He quirked a brow at her offer. The rest of him retreated, dismissing advances and overtures he hadn’t instigated. When he didn’t reply, merely took a measured sip of his drink, she stood on tiptoe. The movement barely brought her in contact with his ear, and he forced himself not to tilt his head to accommodate her.
Moist breath whispered over his lobe, nonetheless. “I found the perfect little room. Lots of old books and a gas fireplace. A comfy chair where you can sit while I…massage you.”
The hostess took the wireless microphone from a podium near the orchestra. Judging from the furtive glance she darted in his direction, she’d decided to give him up to the wolves rather than allow his personal donation to remain anonymous. Tomorrow he’d have five hundred requests from global foundations and charity organizations, all because she couldn’t resist the impulse to preen. He cursed himself for giving her the check tonight, in person.
He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Chastity’s pout morphed into a twenty-thousand-dollar smile. Taking his hand, she led him away, through the mingling crowd to a dimly lit corridor, and from there to the private reading room she’d described. The pocket door’s rollers slid quietly enough, but even after several tries the door wouldn’t latch.
Chastity laughed and placed gold-painted fingertips on his biceps. “It’s okay. I don’t mind an audience.”
Something in his stomach curdled. Probably the goose-liver pâté.
He moved past her to the fireplace and flipped the switch. A gas hiss preceded the whoosh of the flames. Christmas decorations—a wreath, gold balls, and holly—adorned the mantel and the space above. Two leather wingback chairs flanked the hearth, but he remained standing as he watched the flames dance over a fake log in a predictable pattern.
Moving about the room like an apparition in slithering satin, Chastity circled, homing ever closer to her target. Peter listened for the sounds of applause down the hall and tensed when his name reached his ears. Then the clapping began, and tension knotted his stomach.
Chastity stepped toward him. He snapped his head up to glare at her. “Stop.”
Her eyes went wide, and he saw the confident-woman facade crumble. Hands laced together, twisting, she bit her lip and looked over her shoulder. When she looked at him again, it was with a question in her eyes. Should she leave?
Peter sighed and dropped into one of the chairs, drained glass dangling from his fingertips. It wasn’t her fault he was a control freak. “Come here.”
She approached with hesitant steps until she stood before him. He ran a palm up her hip. Bunching the smooth fabric of her gown, he studied the contrast between her curves and the masculine angles of his hand. The applause crescendoed outside. People called for him openly. He dropped his hand, and Chastity’s dress swirled around her ankles, hiding strappy gold heels and an expensive pedicure. Flicking his gaze to the rug at his feet, he indicated his preference and gave her his hand, palm up.
Material whispered over her skin as she knelt between his opened thighs. A measure of control settled over his universe once more, wrapping him in tight arms. He dipped two fingers into his glass and withdrew the strawberry. Droplets glistened against the red, ripe skin and dotted his fingertips. Tipping Chastity’s chin with his featherlight grip, he dangled the berry above her lips. “Don’t bite until I say.”
Her gaze never left his. “All right.”
The tanned line of his wrist ended with crisp white cuffs. Gold, square cuff links, each engraved with a classically severe
W
, winked with firelight as he traced the berry along plump, parted lips. “Lick.”
Chastity pressed the flat of her tongue against the berry.
Peter pulled back. “Just the tip.”
Delicate nostrils flared, telling him he’d managed to arouse a woman whom, likely, very little tempted anymore. His masculinity roared its approval, and his cock took notice of the conquest. Lowering the berry just within reach, he made her work for it and watched the point of her tongue dance to taste the fruit’s tangy sweetness. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Eyes widening, she withdrew her tongue and swallowed hard. He noted her unwillingness to talk. Didn’t press when she merely shrugged slender shoulders and darted a glance toward the fire. All artifice gone, she was his and his alone.
He brought the berry to his lips, drawing her attention. The bright sweetness of champagne and berry bathed his tongue as he bit into the delicate skin. Savoring the taste, he kept his narrowed gaze on her as he chewed slowly and swallowed. She waited patiently until he pressed the bitten berry against her lips. Where pink once reigned, red blossomed as juices coated her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned.
“Taste,” he commanded.
Remembering the previous lesson, she used only the merest touch of her tongue to trace the pulpy insides.
“Very nice.”
Golden skin brightened at his compliment. Dark lashes fluttered upward as she smiled shyly at him.
“Ready for your treat?” He rolled the berry delicately between his thumb and forefinger to encourage the juices as he leaned sideways to place his glass on the floor.
Pink tongue darting in anticipation, she murmured her assent. He dropped the dripping tidbit between her parted lips and scooped her off the floor into his lap. Threading his fingers at her nape, he tilted her head and claimed her mouth. A sweep of his tongue caught the last sweet burst of flavor from the berry. Pretty sighs escaped her, bathing him in heat and the scent of summer fruit.
Palming one perfectly rounded breast, he appreciated the taut, proud nipple at its crest with a brush of his thumb. In a slow reveal of silken limbs, he pushed her gown upward and positioned her so one foot rested on the floor and the opposite dangled prettily over one arm of the chair. Back to him, she presented a landscape of hills and valleys, dips and curves to explore at his leisure. In keeping with the specifications in her contract, she hadn’t worn any panties.