An alluring woman in a red dress. Is she an ally…or a killer’s lure?
Sensory Ops, Book 2
May 4, 2010 eBook
April 5, 2011 Print
Actress Kami Evans is tackling the biggest role of her life—as an escort. There’s definitely something going on in Madame V’s mansion, but Kami has to prove herself trustworthy before she can dig deeper and prove her stepbrother didn’t commit suicide.
Her first assignment: seduce a CEO and, oddly, steal his hair brush. He’s everything she avoids in a man: suave, sexy, suited. She plays her role all the way to the bedroom…and finds it stunningly difficult to walk away.
Breck Lawson’s undercover assignment, posing as a replacement CEO, is yielding zero clues as to why his friend tried to kill himself—until Kami comes on the scene. She’s everything he likes in a woman: safe, sexy, temporary. She also arouses him just by walking into a room, a sure sign it’s time to push her away.
Then he connects the dots she unwittingly shares, and realizes their investigations are linked by delicate strands of DNA. Keeping her near isn’t wise, but he has to know her secrets and keep her safe.
Unless they trust each other and come clean, those dots could lead to death for both of them…
This is a necessity. This is not promiscuous. This is not immoral or degrading.
Kamille Evans swiped her tongue across her scarlet-fever-red-painted lips and tucked the thick, coordinated streak of hair behind her ear. She’d gotten used to long hair, but the shoulder-length, tapered cut Madame V had forced on her actually suited her face better. Studying herself in the elevator’s black, glossy wall, Kami took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back and straightened the most amazing red gown she’d ever slipped on.
The silk slithered and shimmered with every move. She turned and studied the back—or rather her back, as the dress had only two crisscrossing straps that were barely thicker than strands of thread.
Repulsion rippled beneath the dress, coating her skin in shame. Telling herself she hadn’t stepped onto a degrading path was a lie. Staring at her misshapen reflection, she shook her head.
Madame V would filet her, but she could send someone else to play date-the-CEO. Donning an elegant dress and using a soft word like escort detracted nothing from reality. She was whoring herself for truths that might not be found.
Reaching out, she pushed the button for the lobby. The twisted chain decorating her neck distorted and became a strangling rope. Her eyes bulged. Breaths gurgled in her throat as she clawed free of the golden noose. The shiny walls closed in. Shrinking. Suffocating.
The elevator doors slid open.
Gasping in untainted air, she stumbled into the glamorous lobby decorated in more black marble and varying shades of cream.
No! Turning back, unable to move forward to the assignment, she reached for the doors as they whisked shut with a dismembering finality.
Behind the double glass doors separating upper management’s inner sanctum from mundane comings and goings, a handsome man a few inches shorter than her stood from behind the mahogany assistant’s desk. He quirked an urbanely waxed brow and waited, judging her as below his station.
It was the same judgment she’d seen on the faces of the cops who’d worked Channing’s crime scene. The cops who’d negated her claims that he’d been murdered.
Demeaning methods aside, her brother deserved justice. Resolve wove through the hollow spaces of her spine.
Glancing heavenward, she sent up a silent prayer. If you’re real, find me a way out of this with my soul intact.
Reassured she’d made the right choice, that she was on the right course for achieving her goals, she crossed the sumptuous foyer. Her stilettos struck the marble floor with decisiveness.
Huge photographed landscapes printed in black and white and hung in simple black frames added a welcoming warmth she hadn’t anticipated, while making it evident that powerful people made powerful deals where she now stood.
The depravity behind the purpose of her visit in the lushness surrounding her reminded her of Julia Roberts walking through that glorious lobby she hadn’t belonged in. Kami no longer belonged in this moneyed world, but she would not fidget.
This night is no different from the thousand others. Well, except my reason for being here. The staff at Elegant Entertainment knew how to perfectly wrap the merchandise.
Tonight, she was the merchandise.
Kami wrapped newly manicured nails around the gold handle of the double doors and pulled.
Dressed elegantly in a tuxedo with shiny lapels, the man behind the desk lifted his head and smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You must be Ms. Evans.”
He scornfully turned the “s” on Ms. into an elongated z. She’d dealt with men like him her entire life. He thought more highly of himself than he should, but she smiled warmly. “Yes. I’m here to see Breck.”
Appearances are crucial. Ava, another of Madame V’s escorts, had advised her while helping Kami dress for the night. Make it appear as if you’ve known him for more than five minutes. Study his environment, and you’ll pick up little insights into the man that will help you get through the night.
“I am Edwin Weems.” He crossed the distance and extended his hand. “I will show you to Mr. Lawson’s office.”
Edwin’s arrogant stride, the way he introduced himself as if he was leaving off a crucial the Third, and the slight condescension coating his voice when he said Mr. Lawson’s name suggested that he considered himself above whatever role he served. He was a pompous little man.
“Thank you.” She met Edwin’s gaze directly and shook his hand firmly. She could play this game. She would play this game. For Channing.
She followed him across the large reception area to another set of double doors with ornate handles. Edwin pushed the doors open without knocking. “Ms. Evans is here to see you, Mr. Lawson.”
The beginnings of an Enya song played softly from an iPod dock on the credenza that sat before a massive window. She wouldn’t have pegged the man she’d researched online as an Enya fan, but public profiles rarely held much truth.
“Thanks, Eddie.” A deep, melt-your-thong voice reached her before she stepped through the doors.
“That’s Edwin, sir.” Edwin’s attitude reminded her of a snooty assistant she’d seen on a sitcom. He didn’t mean to be funny, but his natural stuffiness made him so.
Kami cleared her throat to bite back a laugh. Judging from their tones, Breck quite often called his assistant Eddie. Did he do it intentionally to get under Edwin’s skin? It seemed logical that doing so would only succeed in straining their working relationship.
She stepped into the huge, impressively decorated office that carried on the theme of wealth. Breck Lawson, clad in a tuxedo shirt, tie and slacks, gorgeous from the top of his thick, wavy brown hair down, stood behind a massive desk overlooking Biscayne Key. His wicked smile, the humor temporarily transforming the stress lines around his mouth and eyes into laugh lines, indicated his delight in needling Edwin.
It had taken a freak out in the elevator to get her in gear, but Breck’s sense of humor might just make the night’s assignment tolerable. Maybe even enjoyable. No. That would never happen spending the evening at a formal event so like the ones she’d left behind in her teens. Not that she would stay in this life a moment longer than necessary—certainly not long enough for these functions to become a habit again.
Focus on why you’re here, Kami. Do the job.
Kami looked around and saw that Edwin had silently vanished, closing the door behind him.
Breck plucked a tuxedo jacket off the back of his chair and moved around the desk. Tall and slender, he was built and moved like a runner. His surroundings suited him as if he’d been born for a position of power.
Tossing his jacket over the back of a nearby chair, he offered his hand. “Breck Lawson.”
“Kami Evans.” She sat her evening bag on the nearest chair and slid her palm into his. His skin sliding against hers sent a volcanic explosion of awareness flooding her belly and beyond. She’d always required a warm-up period when it came to arousal, and yet Breck’s touch heightened her senses to the sharpest point of awareness.
She closed her eyes and breathed deep. The air—clean and calming like an afternoon in a park—stroked her nerves. A few doubts eased away to be replaced by desire. Desire for the man standing before her.
You’re new at this so you’ll be nervous. Ava’s voice came to her again. Do the deed right off and it’ll be easier for you to play the role of his companion later. Don’t try to back out.
Nerves nipped at her conscience. She wouldn’t have been nervous or minded sex with Breck Lawson under different circumstances. Like ones that didn’t include discreet charges to his credit card.
Breck’s deep brown gaze locked with hers. He slid his thumb over her wrist and molten heat oozed through her veins. She swiped her tongue across her lips, partly from nerves, partly from desire. Screw the circumstances. She wanted him.
He slid his gaze over her body and raised his arm, keeping her hand in his. “Turn.”
She obeyed slowly. His hand tightened a fraction. Her skin tingled beneath the caress of his heated gaze. Her naked thighs brushed together, making her wish it was his skin rubbing along hers. Her thong dampened, and following the silent cues given through his hand holding hers, she turned back to face him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes darkened.
Kami lifted her chin slightly. She lowered their arms and brought his hand to rest at her waist before stepping close, leaving only a few inches between them. Ava had been right about one thing. When they were in the crowded ballroom, she needed to act like she knew Breck well.
What better way to get to know him than to close the deal first off?
She locked her eyes with his and smiled lightly. “Are you satisfied with what you see?”
How satisfied? Sidling closer still, grateful for the added height of the stilettos, she rolled her pelvis against him. His erection pressed against her. Her stomach clenched. Oh yeah. He liked what he saw. She raised her hands to his neck and loosened the tie. “I’m here to satisfy, so that’s good.”