Just then, Shannon came walking up the pool steps. “Is it time yet?”
Jenna checked her watch. Oh God, it was. “Yeah, come on, let’s go.”
The two of them were off to the spa for the afternoon. Afterward, they were having their hair done, and then they were going to a wedding: Jenna and Brent’s. Despite the protests of both their families, they’d decided they wanted something private and secluded that reminded them of when they’d first met—and a barefoot ceremony on the beach fit the bill. Shannon and Kevin had come to serve as witnesses—and to partake in a few of the hotel amenities while they were here, although they’d decided to keep it a game of one-on-one.
And so had Jenna and Brent. Despite the pleasures Brent had shown her through multiple partners, now Brent was the only lover Jenna desired. Brent’s life was no longer an escape into sex and Jenna’s life wasn’t an escape
from
sex—but there was still
plenty
of sex. They, too, never tired of enjoying what the resort had to offer—frequently spending private time together in the harem room, on the pirate ship, in the Tudor castle Jenna had only gotten acquainted with after her first visit—and when Brent was feeling especially dominant, he summoned her to the dungeon.
For their wedding night, however, they were returning to the Garden of Eden.
In the end, he’d healed her—but she’d forced
him
to heal, too, and she’d shown him he didn’t always have the answers to
everything
.
All in all, life was grand, because
she’d
been daring enough to go to the Hotel Erotique, and because
he’d
been pushy enough to give her what she needed.
WATCH FOR LACEY ALEXANDER’S NEXT EROTIC NOVEL IN EARLY 2011. Learn more at
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SEVEN NIGHTS OF SIN
another steamy romance
by Lacey Alexander
available now from Heat.
“
don’t need a man. I don’t need a man. I don’t need a man.”
I
Usually, Brenna did her morning affirmations at home, but the alarm had gone off late, and just like breakfast, her affirmations had been forced to wait until she got to the office. Fortunately, she was stealing a few minutes alone in the break room with a donut and the self-help book she’d been reading, aptly titled,
You Don’t Need a Man to Be Happy
.
She lowered her voice even further for the next set. “I don’t need a penis to pleasure me. I don’t need a penis to pleasure me. I don’t need a penis to pleasure me.”
Maybe she should drop that one from her repertoire, though. Saying it only made her think about penises.
“I am responsible for my own pleasure. I am responsible for my own pleasure. I am responsible for my own pleasure.” Which, of course, meant masturbation. And she had nothing against that—it could get a girl through many a long and lonely night. But to tell herself it would be
enough, forever
—well, that was challenging. She’d have to work on
feeling
that one more as she said it.
Still determined, however, she started the first repetition. “I don’t need a man. I don’t—”
“Spoken just like someone who needs a man.”
Flinching, she looked up to find her friend and coworker, Kelly Mills—blond, fairly glamorous, and someone with plenty of men in her life. Kelly did PR for Blue Night Records, the indie music label that employed them both, and she also held a degree in psychology, which she claimed she needed in her line of work.
“I don’t,” Brenna reassured her about needing a man. Despite having little in common, the two had been good friends since Brenna had moved to L.A. three years ago, so if someone had to intrude on her affirmations, she was glad it was Kelly.
Kelly gave her head a scolding tilt. “People who don’t usually
don’t
need to say it.”
“Huh?”
Kelly crossed her arms beneath ample breasts. “Take my next-door neighbor, Ms. Freeland, for instance. She’s seventy-five and never been married. She’s an artist, she traveled the world in her youth, she loves her Scottish terrier, Fiona, and she’s never needed a man. She’s never told me that, but it shows in everything she does. It’s simply a part of her. She doesn’t feel the need to go around explaining why she’s not married or that she doesn’t need a man—because she’s so truly comfortable not having one.
“On the other hand, there’s Ms. Nelson, three doors down.” Kelly dropped her chin derisively and shifted her weight from one pointy red pump to the other. “She’s forty-five and clearly lonely. She tells me all the time how she doesn’t need a man to fulfill her, but what ruins it is how darned bitter and angry she sounds every time she says it. She might not
want
to need a man. But she obviously needs one.”
“Your point again?” Brenna asked, eyebrows raised.
“Saying you don’t need a man over and over indicates that, like it or not, you do. And there’s no crime in that, by the way. Most women are wired to desire love and commitment.”
Brenna only rolled her eyes. “Love and commitment—bleh.” She didn’t have to say more since Kelly knew all the nasty details about her cheating husband and recent divorce. “The last thing I’m interested in is commitment. And that’s the truth.”
Kelly nodded. “I believe you. You have trust issues. But I’ll tell you what you
do
need.”
“What’s that?”
“To paraphrase the immortal words of John Mellencamp, you need a lover—who won’t drive you crazy.”
A lover? Brenna had had relationships, and guys she’d dated, and of course, a husband, but she’d never been the confident, carefree sort of woman who could have someone she thought of as a
lover
. So she pointed to her book. “According to this, a good vibrator will provide the same fulfillment.”
Kelly raised her eyebrows matter-of-factly. “Do you have one?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Brenna pursed her lips. “Besides the fact that I’m too shy to go into one of those stores? Well, because somehow an evening with a vibrator just sounds a little . . . empty, as in boring. I know some women talk a good game about it, but—”
Kelly held up her hands in a
stop
motion. “Say no more. And listen to me. You
need
a lover. How long has it been since you’ve had one, by the way?”
“Does Wayne count?” Her smarmy ex.
Kelly grimaced. “Don’t tell me he’s the last? I mean, you’ve been divorced for, what, six months now?”
Brenna sighed. “And separated for a year before that.”
Kelly looked as if Brenna had just announced the death of a loved one. “Oh dear God, you poor girl. Stand up.”
Brenna blinked her surprise at the command, but the imposing look in Kelly’s eyes pushed her to her feet. Placing her hands on Brenna’s hips, Kelly positioned her in front of the small mirror above the sink in one corner of the break room. Reaching around her from behind, Kelly deftly undid the top two buttons on Brenna’s blouse, then firmly cupped the undersides of her breasts to hoist them higher. “We’ve got to get you a man, and we’re going to start by showing off your assets a little more.”
Sadly, it had been so long since anyone had touched Brenna intimately that even Kelly’s unexpected grasp aroused her a little, sending a tingling sensation shooting straight to her panties.
But she still had no desire for some meaningless affair. Or some meaning
ful
affair. Which pretty much cut out affairs. And brought her back to the book. “I don’t know, Kel. I just don’t think men or sex is on my personal menu anymore. That’s why I’m doing these affirmations. I want to get them out of my system.”
Kelly stepped back to the table, peering down at the books still lying open. Then she let out a huge
harrumph
. “Oh my God! Trust me, honey, you
do
need penises. We
all
need penises. Penises are one of God’s gifts to women. Sure. He gave us labor pains. And periods. And kept us oppressed for centuries. But He did give us the penis, and that makes up for a lot.”
Brenna simply sighed. Then buttoned up her blouse, hiding the cleavage Kelly had just revealed. This was pointless—the cleavage
and
the conversation. “Did you come in here just to harass me or did you have a purpose?”
“Oops, sorry—I almost forgot. Your moratorium on men totally sidetracked me. Jenkins wants to see you in his office.” Their boss and the CEO of Blue Night. “Word in the halls is that he’s got some big announcement to make, but no one knows what it is. So go check it out and end the suspense for all of us.”
An announcement, huh? It was the first Brenna had heard of it, and being Jenkins’ right-hand gal, she usually knew what was going on around here. So, after wiping away donut crumbs with a napkin, stowing her book in her desk drawer, and checking to make sure she’d rebuttoned her blouse correctly, she grabbed up a notepad and pen and headed toward Jenkins’ office, knocking gently on the open door as she peeked inside.
“Brenna, come in,” he said with what she thought was a rather devious smile. “And close the door.”
Carl Jenkins was exactly the kind of man people commonly referred to by his last name. Smart and calculating, no nonsense, all business—more the kind of guy you’d expect to work at one of the majors than a small indie label. That said, Blue Night had grown fast the last few years, in no small thanks to him. Sporting slicked-back hair and rather beady eyes, he was also the kind of guy you never felt completely comfortable with, and Brenna still didn’t, even after three years as his administrative assistant.
After pushing the door shut, she eased into the chair across from him, wondering exactly what the big news was. “Kelly said you wanted to see me. There’s some sort of big announcement afoot?”
Her boss’s gaze widened as he chuckled lightly. Clearly, he was surprised but not startled to hear his employees suspected something was up. “An announcement? Sort of, dependent upon this conversation. But first, a secret. And I know I can trust you to keep a secret—right, Brenna? Especially when it’s in your best interest professionally.”
“Of course,” she said, hoping he didn’t see her nervous swallow. Brenna
hated
secrets. Professional, personal—either way, she just didn’t like them. She’d gotten
divorced
over a secret, after all—a secret affair. But it sounded as if she was about to have one dropped on her anyway.
“I’ve watched you grow in this business the last few years, Brenna. You’re a quick learner, smart, responsible, and people like you. Plus, you’re nice. In a city like L.A., you don’t always
find
a lot of nice, and that makes you a commodity.”
She was a commodity? When had
that
happened? But no matter—maybe this meant she was getting a raise. Maybe a
secret
raise no one else was getting? A secret like that she could probably keep. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. I’ve really loved learning about the music business since coming to work here.”
“You may not realize this, Brenna, but you probably know the ins and outs of this company better than most people in this office. I hear you on the phone with everyone from our artists to our distributors, and you know what you’re doing. To a degree that I think it’s a sin to keep you in your current position.”
At this, Brenna blinked. This wasn’t just a raise?
“I want to groom you to be Blue Night’s next A&R rep,” Jenkins said—and she struggled not to let her jaw drop.
He wanted to give
her
—little Brenna Cayton from Centerville, Ohio—the most coveted position at the label? Most of the people who worked there, from the mailroom guy on up, had taken jobs at Blue Night with the aspiration of someday advancing to the glamorous post of artist and repertoire representative, scouting for and signing new talent. She, on the other hand, had not. She’d simply needed a job, gone on an interview. She found it fulfilling enough just to work at a cool record label. But to be that cool label’s A&R person—wow, talk about a head rush.
Then it hit her. “Is Damon leaving? Going to one of the majors?”
Damon Andros
was
Blue Night Records to the industry—and the paparazzi. His heart-stopping sex appeal combined with his rock star persona to make him deliciously photo-worthy, especially when out partying with rock bands or on the arm of the latest female pop sensation. He was also Blue Night’s sole A&R rep—so successful and well-known in the biz that there was no need for anyone else. Brenna attributed the label’s accomplishments just as much to Damon Andros as she did to Jenkins.
Whose smile stayed in place but stiffened. “That’s where the secret comes in.”
“Oh?” Brenna held her breath, waiting.
“It’s like this,” her boss said, tilting his head. “Despite Damon’s obvious success, over time he’s started to . . . become a liability. If you don’t believe me, just ask Kelly—she takes the calls from the reporters, fields the rumors. But I’m sure you don’t
have
to ask her—because everyone knows.”
Brenna nodded shortly, sighing. There
were
rumors. That Damon Andros ran a modern-day casting couch—signing women only after they’d slept with him. That he partied illicitly hard with the musicians he hung out with. He was the L.A. music scene’s official bad boy. “I just didn’t realize Damon’s behavior had any significant impact on Blue Night’s business.” After all, it was a rock-n-roll lifestyle and this was La La Land.
“Fortunately, it’s been a slow-coming thing. But now I’ve got Claire Starr threatening to sue us, claiming he wouldn’t give her a contract until she had sex with him.” Starr was a recent Blue Night one-hit wonder whose bad attitude had gotten her ousted from a label that usually nurtured performers and stuck with them through ups and downs. “Could be sour grapes since we dropped her, but on the other hand, it’s the kind of publicity that could kill us, and whether or not it’s true, his general behavior makes it plausible.” A hopeful smile slid back onto Jenkins’ face. “So, would you like to hear my proposition?”