The Temptation Trap, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance)

E
mma Wright was becoming a problem
. She was supposed to be a job. An easy job. Get close to her, find evidence that she was selling confidential data to a competitor. Get paid a ton of money. How hard could it be? She was the head of Human Resources at a shipping company, not Mata Hari. This kind of thing was the bread and butter of Sinclair Security. I figured I’d take the meeting and pass the case to one of my guys.

Then I got a good look at Emma Wright.

Fiery red hair, creamy skin, abundant curves, and clear blue eyes with a wicked glint. She was irresistible. Luscious, soft, and more than a handful in all the right places. The moment I saw her picture, I knew I’d be handling her myself.

Fucking the suspect wasn’t usually my MO, but in this case, I was prepared to make an exception. Normally, my approach was to get the evidence, give it to the client, close the case, and cash the check. Not with Emma.

Getting her into bed wasn’t the hard part. Neither was pretending to be her lover. But Emma was tricky. She was smart. Funny. Gorgeous. And surprisingly kinky. Deliciously kinky. I’d never admit it, but it’s possible I was taking my time on the case just to have an excuse to keep fucking her.

That, and it was harder than I’d expected to find what I was looking for. I kept waiting for her to slip. Everyone did, eventually. But so far, nothing. I hadn’t caught her in even the tiniest lie. The client was getting restless, and I was starting to wonder if I was losing my touch.

I knew she was guilty. Most people were when it came down to it. I already knew what would happen in the end. Tears. Pleading. Excuses and justifications. None of that would matter to me. I’d taken the contract, and I would do my job. In the back of my mind, I was hoping it would last just a little longer. I hadn’t yet had my fill of that lush body, and once I found the data Emma was smuggling out of Harper Shipping, she’d go to jail and our affair would be over.

Tonight my plan was to push her off balance, enough so she might make a mistake. Until now, I’d worked it out so that most of our dates were dinner at her house. More intimate and easier to search her place. When I did take her out somewhere, I chose places that were upscale, expensive, and not my usual style. I didn’t need to be recognized as Axel Sinclair when I was pretending to be Adam Stewart. But tonight I’d picked a quiet, low-key Italian place around the corner from Emma’s. I’d expected her to pout or act annoyed that I wasn’t spending a few hundred dollars on her dinner. I should have known better.

Emma was relaxed, drinking her wine and digging into her fettuccine Alfredo. Watching the woman eat pasta was a torturous form of foreplay. When the creamy sauce hit her tongue, she sucked a stray noodle into her mouth with pursed lips, her eyes closed in rapture. I couldn’t help but imagine her sucking me off with that same expression on her face.

She couldn’t have cared less if she was in an exclusive restaurant surrounded by the best of Vegas society or a place like this one with paper napkins and a chalkboard menu on the wall. Emma enjoyed life however it came at her. I wondered if that would serve her well when she went to prison.

There was a chance she could avoid going to jail. Either way, I had to remind myself it wasn’t my problem. My job was to find proof she was stealing and give that proof to her boss. What happened to her after that was between them. Most of the time the client didn’t press charges. That kind of publicity was worse for business than the crime itself. But the owner and CEO of Harper Shipping had made his intentions clear. As soon as he could prove what she’d done, he was calling the police.

Knowing Emma, she’d get off with probation. She was smart enough to hire a good lawyer, and she’d be able to afford decent counsel. She’d managed to hide the money she was getting for the data she’d stolen. If my hackers couldn’t find it, neither would the police. Somewhere out there, Emma had a tidy little nest egg, ready to cushion her when she fell.

Watching her wind pasta around her fork as she laughed over a story a friend had told her, I found it hard to reconcile the woman before me with the liar I knew she was. I’d been in this game long enough to know that anyone could be a criminal, no matter how innocent they appeared on the surface. But Emma just didn’t give me the guilty vibe. If I hadn’t seen surveillance video of her rifling through secured files and copying them, then later handing them off to a competitor in a dark parking lot late at night, I would have sworn she wasn’t the one they were looking for.

But I had seen it, seen her face clearly. Even had one of my guys check it. Video could be manufactured. This was real. On top of that, she treated her briefcase like it held the keys to Fort Knox. And she got jumpy whenever I brought up her job. In fact, it was the only time she acted oddly. Not guilty. Not exactly. But not her usual fun loving self.

All of it added together was more than enough to convince me. Emma was guilty, and I would bring her down. A voice in the back of my head told me to find the evidence and close the case before I got in any deeper. Sitting across from her, my eyes glued to her lips as she sipped her wine, I knew it was already too late. I was in deep with Emma. And part of me, a part I’d thought long dead, hoped that somehow I’d find a way to prove her innocent.

A
dam had
that look on his face again. I’d seen it before, and I didn’t know what it meant. He stared at me as if I was a puzzle and he needed to figure me out. It didn't make sense. There's not that much to figure out about me. I'm a basic girl. I have a job I like, good friends, nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, the only unusual thing in my life was Adam.

We’d been dating for more than three weeks, and I still wasn’t sure what he was doing with me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty good catch. I’m intelligent, not hard on the eyes, and my friends say I’m fun to be around. I have a few too many curves for guys who like skinny chicks, but that’s okay with me. For every guy who wants a waif, there are two who like a full set of DD’s and a round ass. I hate starving myself, and while I don’t mind going to the gym a couple of times a week I’m not spending my life there. I’d never be on a catwalk, and I didn’t care. None of the few guys who’d seen me naked had complained. That said, I’ve never dated much, mostly by choice. No offense to any good guys out there but most of the guys I’d hooked up with were assholes.

Going out every night and trying to find a good man is a waste of time. I know they say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, but seriously, I’ve had enough frog kissing to last a lifetime. Maybe I have a low tolerance for bullshit. Or maybe I’m impatient. Either way, I’d rather hang out with my friends, have fun with my hobbies, and live the good life without one more lying, deadbeat guy asking to borrow money before he cheats on me.

I'm not bitter or anything. I don't have some horrible ex in my past. I have a great Dad and two fantastic brothers. And I have some girlfriends with amazing husbands. I know there are good guys out there, I just don't seem to attract them. I attract the dicks who have mommy issues and can't hold down a job or think that having self-confidence makes me a bitch. No thanks.

Adam was different. So far, not an asshole. But also, way out of my league. Like I said, I'm a pretty good catch. I've dated men with money. Successful men. Good-looking men. Adam was all three. He was the kind of man you'd expect to see helping a supermodel out of a Ferrari. Not the kind of man you'd expect to meet in a cooking class at the local community college.

There I’d been, slicing carrots at my first night of learning to cook Thai food, when from beside me I heard a low, deep voice say, "What exactly are we supposed to be doing here? I got in late, and I don't have a partner. Tell me you're not taken."

I'd almost passed out when I got my first look at the new arrival. Tall, at least, 6'4". I’ve always loved tall men. At 5’ 10" it was a luxury to look up into a man's eyes. Short dark hair, eyes so dark brown they were almost black, sharp cheekbones, and full lips. All of that with broad shoulders, lean hips, and no sign of a beer belly. I was ready to swoon. I immediately forgave my friend Allison for talking me into Thai cooking class and then bailing at the last minute because she got back together with her boyfriend.

"Nope, I'm free," I’d said with a smile. "I signed up with a friend, but she's a no-show."

He let out a relieved breath and said, "Same for me. I thought I was going to have to do this myself." Holding out a hand, he’d said, "I'm Adam Stewart."

That was the beginning of what had become the wildest love affair of my life. That first night we’d eaten the Pad Thai we'd cooked, and Adam had asked me out for a drink. The class was on Wednesday nights, and I didn't usually go out drinking when I had to work the next day. Especially with all the stress at the office in the last few months. But cooking with him had been a blast. He was fun as well as hot, and I wasn't ready to say good night.

Two glasses of wine and a scorching kiss later I'd left him in the parking lot and driven home wondering what would happen when I saw him in class the following week. If he even showed up. I didn't want to get my hopes up. After that kiss, I had no doubt he would've preferred to end the night in my bed, but I didn't sleep with guys on the first date. Not even guys as hot as Adam.

Who was I kidding? I’d never been with a guy as hot as Adam. I still wasn't sure why I hadn't taken him up on his not-so-subtle suggestion that I invite him home. Maybe I was intimidated. Maybe it just seemed too good to be true that someone as attractive and interesting as Adam Stewart wanted me.

I walked into class the following week to find him waiting at our work table. He looked up and saw me, a welcoming smile spread across his face, bringing light to his intense eyes and melting my caution. We spent two hours making a green chili curry, and when we were done, I swallowed my nerves and asked him if he wanted to have a glass of wine with me. At my place.

We'd barely made it through the door before we fell on each other, all eager, frantic hands, his mouth hungry and insistent on mine. That first time he overwhelmed me. He tore the buttons from my blouse, my fingers slipped on the catch of my skirt, and then the rasp of the carpet against my back as we hit the floor. I was lucky he remembered protection. By the time we were naked, I was too far gone, dizzy and blind from the feel of his hard body against mine.

I'd been going through a dry spell for the past few months, and the press of his cock inside me was almost too much. The first orgasm had crashed through me in a tidal wave of sharp, sweet pleasure. He fucked me in hard, deep thrusts, dragging out my orgasm until he followed me into bliss, his eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched. We'd lay on the carpet or a few minutes, trying to catch our breath before Adam rolled to his feet, took my hand and led me to my bedroom.

And then things got a little crazy. As I've mentioned, I'm a pretty normal girl. Not a virgin, not a slut. I don't break any mirrors, but I’m not gorgeous. I'd had sex before, a handful of boyfriends and one long-term relationship. So far, the sex had been fairly normal, just like me. Not much worth gossiping about with my girlfriends, but not bad. Just sex.

Sex with Adam was not normal. Not that first time when it was all desperate urgency and crazed desire. And definitely not normal the second time when he carefully removed what was left of my bra and used it to tie me to the bed.

It had never occurred to me that I'd like being tied up. I've been thinking about it since that first time. A lot. Because I didn't just like it, I loved it. When we had our clothes on Adam treated me like an equal.

I could be loud, and I could be opinionated. That had been a problem with men in the past. My personality attracted them at the beginning, but once we were together, it always seemed that what they really wanted was a quiet woman who agreed with everything they said. Not Adam. He enjoyed our verbal sparring. He liked my enthusiasm. And while he was pretty much the definition of confident and assertive, he didn't need to control me to feel powerful.

When the clothes came off, everything changed. Adam was in charge, and what he wanted, he got. In a million years I never would have thought I'd find that attractive. I don't know if I can explain it because I've always hated it when anyone told me what to do. The easiest way to get me to do something is to tell me to do the opposite.

But when Adam gave me that intent focused look and followed it with an order, I complied immediately, my body heating in anticipation. I think it's safe to say the whole relationship had me spun. The first time he told me to get on my knees and suck his cock, I'd glared at him in outrage. He’d raised one dark eyebrow and stared me down. By the time I had his belt open, the insides of my thighs were slick with moisture, every cell in my body white-hot with need.

Maybe I would've felt differently if he'd dismissed me afterward, if he treated me like a one night stand or a booty call. But after the sex, after the orgasms, he was always there. He never slept over, but he didn't rush out either. He'd lay in bed with me, his long body curled around mine, his hands stroking my skin, soothing and sweet. Sometimes we'd talk, whispered conversations about nothing and everything. Other times I'd fall asleep with him and wake alone.

Adam Stewart seemed like my dream man. For the most part, he was. But still, there were things that didn't add up. He was very, very good at distracting me with his body, but I hadn't missed the fact that I'd never met any of his friends, never been to his place, and never seen where he worked.

We hadn't been together that long, barely a month, but by now he should have at least invited me to see where he lived. I'd asked, and his excuse about renovations could have been the truth. I didn't want to doubt him. For one thing, I trusted him. At least as much as I could trust anyone I'd only known a month. Maybe I just didn't want to believe he was hiding something.

I'll admit it; I worried that if I got any deeper and found out something I didn't want to know, I'd have to give up the best sex I've ever had. Maybe I should have broken up with him, or demanded he prove he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend. Another woman might have tried snooping in his cell phone or his wallet. I didn't do any of that.

My life had gotten very complicated in the past few months, and Adam was a blissful distraction. I was afraid if I peeked behind the curtain I would find out that he had been nothing more than an illusion. I was wary enough to continually remind myself not to fall for him. Laughing over a shared dinner, mind-blowing kinky sex, and snuggling were all well and good, but I was keeping my heart out of it. At least, I was trying to.

Across the table, Adam broke through my reverie when he put down his fork and pushed his plate away.

“Almost finished?" He asked, his eyes focused on my mouth as he watched me take my last bite of pasta. Adam had a number of looks I couldn't decipher. His intense gaze and heavy eyelids were not one of them. My belly tightened in anticipation. I had no idea what he was planning for tonight, but I knew whatever it was, I was going to love it.

I put down my fork, finished chewing, and took a sip of wine. "I'm finished," I said. Adam gestured for the check, not bothering to ask if I wanted dessert. Normally, I always wanted dessert, but with the way Adam was looking at me, I couldn't have cared less. I’d get my after dinner treat; it just wouldn’t be in the form of food. The waiter was at the table a moment later, then walking away a minute after that, cash in hand.

Adam and I rose together, our eyes locked on each other. He helped me into my coat, his gaze leaving a searing path across my skin everywhere it touched. Standing behind me, settling my coat over my shoulders, he reached around to fasten the top button, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of my upper chest. My nipples tightened at his touch, and I shivered when he whispered into my ear, "I like this dress. I'd hate to damage it. What should we do about that?"

"I guess that depends on how you want to fuck me," I murmured back. "Do you want me naked? Or do you want me to bend over and pull it up out of your way?"

Adam's hands dropped as he fastened the middle button of my coat. I felt the loss of his touch as soon as he stepped away. He took my arm and led me toward the door in silence, my question hanging in the air between us.