Authors: Talyn Scott
She had a plan.
Finishing her third champagne, she placed the empty on a glass top ledge and teetered on impossible heels to the nearest exit, passing through French doors leading to an amazing nighttime view of the Gulf of Mexico. She inhaled the salt air, which was usually a calming balm to her jittery nerves, but it wasn’t working tonight. Nothing would soothe her until she could claim mission accomplished. Sweat was dripping down her temples, her back, and between her breasts. Not to mention that sensation of being watched had come back ten-fold in the past fifteen minutes, and her skin prickled off and on with an uncomfortable sense of awareness. Once again, she glanced left and then right, never spotting anyone fixating on her. After another deep breath, Payton strolled across the candlelit veranda to her best friend’s side.
“Oh, Libby,” she whispered discreetly, picking up her fourth glass of champagne from Libby’s serving tray. “I can’t find an Easton anywhere. How do they throw the largest, annual charity event in Sarasota and not show up for it?”
“Eastons are old money, and old money knows better than to commit such a faux pas.” She stopped speaking and offered champagne to a benefactor with a placid smile, waiting until the gentleman passed before continuing. It was odd seeing Libby completely at ease her first night as a server. “Talk in the kitchen says a few of the brothers are here. I’ve served some of their cousins alongside their aunt. Stir clear of the aunt, though. She’s an eccentric nut.”
“Well, right now, I feel like a nut, too.” Libby’s boyfriend Stephen owned the catering company responsible for supplying a small part of the vast event. “I’m out of my element here.”
“Just stick to the Easton men. We have to find one and hope he will take the time to discuss our issue.” Checking her watch, Libby added, “Time’s nearly up. The party will be winding down in two hours.”
“Stick to the men,” Payton echoed and then tossed back her liquid courage in three consecutive swallows. “Got it.”
“You’re swaying.” She grabbed the crystal flute from Payton’s hand. “Why go overboard? You know you can’t hold your liquor.”
“Champagne is not liquor.” She adjusted her Venetian mask with a huff, pulling sticky, golden feathers from her lip-gloss.
“It’s all the same to you,” Libby argued through a clenched smile, while settling her tray on the buffet table. She placed miniature crab-stuffed tomatoes and scallop ceviche with tarragon vinaigrette on a square, silver plate. “You’re a lightweight, and I don’t have time to watch over you tonight while working.” She pushed the plate in Payton’s hands. “Eat this, and watch the dress. I have to get it back to the theater by early morning or someone will notice.”
Eyeing the food, Payton whispered, “I really appreciate Stephen sneaking me in here.”
“I know, Pay,” she whispered back, her mouth softening beneath her silver mask. “I don’t want us losing what we’ve worked so hard to attain, but we’re putting Stephen in a serious bind.”
“This is the last bind, Lib,” she promised right as she spotted an imposing man making his way to what locals called Tower Amore, with a leggy blonde in tow. Payton narrowed her eyes, trying to get a good look at him as he unhooked the velvet rope blocking the tower door. “Hmmm.” She sat her uneaten plate down and snatched another flute of champagne. “It might be time to beg for crumbs from the master’s table.”
Libby followed her line of vision, squinting through her mask. “Even half smashed, you have eagle eyes. Where?”
“Going into the tower,” Payton explained, mentally reciting everything she planned to say.
“I think I see him. Tall as the sky, dirty blonde hair, and shoulders twice as big as they should be?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s Dylan Easton then,” she replied knowingly. “He was by here earlier. I’m told his grandfather started The Easton Company.”
He wasn’t wearing a mask, so Payton took a long minute to run her eyes all over him as he ushered his companion inside the door. Dylan Easton was well worth a few tipsy-fueled moments of admiration. After finishing another drink, she sat down her empty. “He looks young.”
“Older than you.” Libby cleared some plates off a high table, loading down her tray. “I overheard him introducing himself as one of the board members.” She nudged Payton with a prodding elbow. “Maybe he’s your only shot tonight.”
“I’m going.” Payton brought a cocktail napkin to her chest, blotting her perspiration. That niggling sensation was hitting her again, raising her hackles. Here at a cocktail party for the rich, why did she feel hunted? “Should I wait until after he’s done his thing with her?”
“Nope.” Libby gestured at the tower. “I’ve been inside once before, and there are many rooms and several exits. You might lose him if you wait.”
She slipped another glass in her trembling hand and said in passing, “Either way, Lib, I’m going to piss him off.”
Libby brushed her shoulder sympathetically. “For our sakes, let’s hope not.”
Five minutes of maneuvering her way through the crowd later, Payton palmed the tower’s door handle, turning it, her index finger gliding over a small inscription: Easton Hotel 1926. Although she’d been a child when it happened, Payton remembered this tower was the only original structure left of the first Easton Hotel after the grounds caught fire nearly fifteen years ago. A night still horrifically embedded in the memories of most locals. Not only had the Eastons lost family to those mysterious flames, but also longstanding patrons.
When she stepped across the threshold, she wasn’t shocked to find that time stood still here. Though her surroundings were clean and posh, the tower hadn’t been updated in more than a decade. Obviously, it stood unused. Maybe it was a memorial the family could no longer share with the public.
She raised a brow, hearing footfalls echo across the black and white checkered floor. Following the sounds of low laughter between seconds of utter silence, Payton made her way down a darkened corridor only lit by an exit sign. The red light glowed, beaming down and illuminating Dylan’s blond head with nothing short of the devil’s halo. He had one hand underneath the blonde’s knee, pulling her leg up his thigh, her silk hose scraping the expensive fabric of his pants. His other hand cupped his companion’s breast, his thumb and his forefinger squeezing her pebbled nipple through her dress. Payton’s mouth went dry, her mind reeling with thoughts of this man doing that to her body, making her moan in anticipation of what was to come.
As Dylan nipped the woman across her collarbone, taking measured bites as he went along, his teeth flashed white in the glowing red. When had a man ever devoured Payton like that, as if he couldn’t take another breath without touching her?
Never.
Giving her pause, Payton flattened her palm on the wall and fought the clenching building low in her belly. Clearly, she’d had too much to drink because watching wasn’t her style. Ever. While warring with whether to leave or to stay and interrupt him, Dylan Easton lifted his golden head.
Blinking his eyes a few times, he zeroed in on her. “Hey,” he called out, his deep baritone rumbling down the quiet corridor. Removing a hand from the blonde, he curled his index finger in a come-here motion. “If you want to join in, we’ll have to take a room upstairs. The wall isn’t the best place for what I have in mind for three.”
Payton knew she couldn’t afford to tell him off, but his arrogance deserved a serious set down. Briefly, she closed her eyes, searching for the right response. When she parted her mouth, the sound of flesh smacking flesh stopped her reply. Payton opened her eyes to find Mr. Easton rubbing his jaw.
“I told you I wasn’t into any of your kinky shit, Dylan,” the blonde snapped furiously. “I’m better than this, and I’ve had it with you!”
“Come on, Candice, don’t be that way,” he called to her, rolling his eyes as she stomped by Payton.
Sudden tears filled the woman’s eyes when she turned around. “My name is Caroline. After two weeks of taking me every which way you can, don’t I deserve to be called by my actual name?” She stayed his response with her hand, shaking her head in disgust. To Payton she said, “Run from all Eastons. They’re beautiful. They’re rich. They’re powerful. And how they make you feel in bed…” She left that thought to hang as she took one final look at Dylan, her eyes burning with frightening need and desperate longing. “But they’ll destroy you, particularly him.” She left in a fury of clicking heels, clenched fists, and bouncing curls.
Payton gaped. “Aren’t you going after her?” Dimly, she realized that she was slurring.
In the distance, the door to the tower slammed with finality. His eyes lit up, the aqua conflicting with the red-lighted sign. “Why would I go after her when I have you? Here. Alone.”
This wasn’t the response she expected. Good thing she wasn’t a horny, needy woman who couldn’t go toe-to-toe with his charms. She pushed away from the wall when he spun on her. One of his hands pressed against the wall by her head as his broad-shouldered body backed her to the smooth, fresco-painted stucco.
“Your hair is natural, isn’t it?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Mouth dry, sweetheart?” he asked smoothly, lifting the flute from her hand and tipping the rim to her lips. “Allow me.”
Another drink couldn’t hurt, especially before she told him why she was here. Payton downed the entire contents, licking her lips after he slowly eased it away. Staring down at her, his breathing kicked up a notch as his opposite hand left the wall. When his thumb settled on the center of her bottom lip, he brushed it back and forth methodically, stoking the ache nestled low in her belly.
His face appeared almost pained, his deep voice cracking when he whispered, “I miss…you.” The crystal flute fell out of his grasp, hitting the checkered floor with a resounding crash just as his mouth landed on hers.
Even with her head whirling from alcohol, Payton knew better than this. Nevertheless, a taste couldn’t hurt for a second or two, maybe three. Nipping at the corner of her lip with those straight white teeth, he stung her tender flesh before laving away the pain. His knee came between her thighs, the beads of her gown rustling. She gasped at the friction, and he took advantage of her parted lips. With a thrust of his tongue, he moved inside her mouth, invading, and her knees nearly buckled.
Catching her with a steady palm around her thigh, he started lifting her leg over his, pushing his thickly muscled thigh right where she needed it. His free hand moved to her breast, long fingers deftly searching for her hardened nipple. It was no use since she’d bound herself with long bandages to fit in the antiquated dress. However, the sensation of his probing fingers wasn’t lost on her. Neither was the way he was holding her exactly how he had been holding the blonde only moments ago.
Dylan Easton was a player.
Payton Calloway could never be played.
But she would allow herself a final taste.
Payton gripped his biceps, felt his muscles straining beneath his tuxedo, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and slid her tongue over his in a goodbye caress. He groaned deeply, his chest heaving against her swollen breasts. With a sigh, she released him with a slight push to his chest, forcing her mouth away and lowering her leg.
It took him a minute to understand the push off. “I won’t take you out here.” He brushed her jaw with the backs of his knuckles. When he reached to remove her mask, Payton sidestepped him.
“You’re not taking me at a-all,” she replied in her slurring drawl.
“We’ll go to a room,” he assured, holding out his hand for her, “where you’re more comfortable.”
“Where I’m m-more comfortable?” She realized he wouldn’t care if someone happened upon them while they were in the act, just as he didn’t care which woman was beneath him. He’d easily substituted Candice with her. Or was that Caroline? She bit back her true response and tried to tell him the actual reason she was here. “Mr. Easton, I’m from-”
He interrupted her, “You have no idea what red hair does to me, particularly yours.” He twirled a lock around his long finger, seemingly mesmerized. “Even in this dimness, it glows so silkily.” His eyes flipped to hers. “How is that?”
“Oh, you’re good,” she groaned, turning to put some distance between them right before his forearm secured her waist, pulling her back to his chest while walking her down the hallway until they reached the carpeted stairway.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“If I told you” – She wiggled away from him, instantly missing his heat — “would you remember it?”
A mirthless laugh left him. “Ah, I see how it is.” Though his eyes remained heated blue pools brimming with lust, his smiled turned cold, mocking. “What exactly do you want from me?”
Her vision dimmed briefly, and she ass-planted on the steps. “It’s not what I want from you, but what is needed for-”
“I’m certain that you crashed this party.” Leaning down, he placed both hands on either side of her body without touching her. “Someone sent you here, perhaps a slime rag readying to print yet another scathing story about our family. Should I pat you down?” He leered. “Are you hiding a recording device in a forbidden place on your person?”
“No.” She gulped, her head spinning at a disconcerting speed. “I came her on my own. Listen -”
“You hush. You listen.” Dylan flicked the tip of her ear with his tongue. “Here’s a bit of truth for you: You taste like innocence and I want you. Need happens daily, but want hasn’t existed in my life since,” he trailed off, moving to stare down at her again. “But I have enough regrets in my life without you topping my list.” Reaching for her mask again, he stopped just shy of removing it. “I suggest you walk back out that door.”