Gloria's Revenge (16 page)

She thought I was gay? Was she being serious or funny? I refrained from bursting into laughter. “Hardly. I could have several hundred stunning women give you a stellar recommendation.”
Or was it several thousand? I’d lost count.

To my shock, my statement failed to get a rise out of her. “Oh, so you have them review you like you’re a book on Amazon?”

This time I laughed aloud; she was a regular stand-up comic. “You’re rather quite witty, Ms. Long. I like that in a woman.”

The truth, I’d never met any woman quite like her. She was feisty, independent, and strong-willed. And she wasn’t falling all over me. She was in a word: a challenge.

I moved in closer to her and snagged her braid, coiling it around my long fingers. It was almost like some kind of bondage accessory.

I breathed against her willowy neck. “So, Ms. Long, what will it take to win your account?”
And your cunt?

Ms. Feisty promptly removed my hand and looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve asked every agency I’ve met with to come up with a pitch by Friday. Do you think your agency could do that?”

I assured her we could. “I’ll put my best person on the job.”

Her eyebrows arched. “And who might that be?”

I shot her a wicked grin. “Yours truly,” I said as I rose and escorted her to the door. But she was not leaving yet. I barricaded the door with my body, stretching my muscular arms across the frame. Face- to-face, I could feel her sweet breath warm my cheeks. Her eyes met mine in a heated exchange.

“I meant to tell you, Ms. Long, I find your eyes fascinating.”

Though I’m sure most people did, they widened as if she were a little surprised.

“They’re contradictions just like the rest of you.”

Now, her eyes grew really round. “What do you mean?”

“Your mind says one thing; your body says another.”

She twitched; I was on to her. “Mr. Zander, can I please leave?”

With a triumphant smirk, I let her pass but not before tugging at her braid. “Ms. Long, I look forward to the
pleasure
of seeing you again.”

“The same,” she hissed.

I wanted badly to win her account even if she was going to be one damn tough client. My eyes stay riveted on her as she stomped down the hallway. Fuck, those long legs! That perfectly rounded ass! I swear, I could see right through her layers of clothing.

“Oh, by the way, I find the black lace push-up bra you’re wearing and the matching thong very sexy. And that garter…” My voice trailed off.

Without looking back at me, she kept moving and, in fact, quickened her pace, tightening her grip around her briefcase handle. I didn’t have to see her face to know that it was all screwed up. That scrunchy thing she did turned me on. A hard-on was raging beneath my jeans. Yes, I was determined to win a lot more than her account. Whatever it took, I was going to win her.

Playlist

Here are some of the songs that inspired
Gloria’s Secret
and
Gloria’s Revenge;
many of them are featured within the books. The hit songs of the late, great Laura Branigan were a major source of inspiration, especially “Gloria,” whose lyrics fit so well with Gloria’s story. If you are not familiar with this amazing artist, I hope you will take the time to get to know her.

“Gloria”/Laura Branigan

“Self Control”/Laura Branigan

“Take a Bow”/Rihanna

“Blurred Lines”/Robin Thicke

“La Vie en Rose”/Edith Piaf

“Undercover Lover”/Kids in Glass Houses

“Toi et Moi”/Charles Aznavour

“Je ne Regrette Rien”/Edith Piaf

“Crazy”/Gnarls Barkley

“Good Vibrations”/The Beach Boys

“Bleeding Love”/Leona Lewis

“Jar of Hearts”/Christina Perri

“Just Give me a Reason”/Pink

“Nobody Ever Told You”/Carrie Underwood

“How Am I Supposed to Live Without You”/Laura Branigan

“Angel”/Leona Lewis

Acknowledgments

Another big shout out to Team Gloria…

My beta readers in alphabetical order…Michele Coddington, Adriane Leigh, Cindy Meyers, and Jen Oreto. You were all beyond fabulous with your insightful comments and suggestions.

My
chère amie,
Arianne Richmonde, author of the bestselling
Pearl
series, who cheered me on and offered to find those last minute typos.
Je t’adore!

The passionate bloggers who have stood by me through thick and thin.

My you-know-who-you-are-dear Facebook and Twitter fans whose kind words got me through the final chapters and the long, difficult edit ahead.

My cover artist and formatter, Glendon Haddix of Streetlight Graphics.

My proofreader, Kathie Middlemiss of Kat’s Eye Editing.

Last but not least, my family. Thank you for putting up with me while I’m glued to my computer and can’t always be the mommy you need and want.

Last but not least, I also want to express my gratitude to all my readers. I hope you enjoyed
Gloria’s Secret
and
Gloria’s Revenge
and will take the time to leave reviews. To writers like me, even a short review means so much and helps others discover my books.

Thank you. Love you all.

MWAH!~Nelle

About The Author

Nelle L’Amour is a
USA TODAY
bestselling author who lives in Los Angeles with her Prince Charming-ish husband, twin teenage princesses, and a bevy of royal pain-in-the-butt pets. A former executive in the entertainment and toy industries with a prestigious Humanitas Award behind her, she gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, but still enjoys playing with toys…with
her husband. While she writes in her PJ’s, she loves to get dressed up and pretend she’s Hollywood royalty. She aspires to write juicy stories with characters that will make you both laugh and cry and stay in your heart forever.

She is also the bestselling author of the critically acclaimed erotic love story,
Undying Love
, and the erotic romance series,
Seduced by the Park Avenue
Billionaire.
Additionally, she is featured in the bestselling romance anthology,
Billionaire Bad Boys of
Romance.
Writing under another pen name, she is the author of the highly rated fantasy/romance:
Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil
Queen, an Amazon Top 100 bestseller, and its sequel,
Unhitched.

Nelle is currently working on her next novels,
That Man
, which features more of Jaime and Gloria, and
Endless Love
, the sequel to
Undying Love.

Nelle loves to hear from her readers. Please “like” her author Facebook page and write to her at the email address below so that she can include you in her mailing list and keep you updated with any new publications.

[email protected]

www.facebook.com/NelleLamourAuthor

www.twitter.com/nellelamour

Seduced By The Park Avenue Billionaire

By Nelle L’amour

1

I
’m going to miss my train! That was all I could think of as I dashed through the stately entrance to Philadelphia’s majestic 30th Street Station. My best friend, Lauren, with all her connections, had scored a bunch of coveted tickets to the Black Eyed Peas concert in Central Park, and I was among those she had chosen to be among her entourage… so I had to be home by seven, shower, and get dressed. I rushed past the tempting food court toward the information center. The old-fashioned, flip-letter Amtrak Train schedule board made a ticking sound as it updated arrivals and departures. I glanced up. Shit! My train to Penn Station was leaving in five minutes from Gate 5. My eyes darted around the elegant, high-ceilinged, art-deco station for the escalator leading down to the train platform. Despite how many times I had been in this vast station over the past few months, I never knew where I was going. My sense of direction was nothing to be proud of.

My eyes bounced from the famous Angel of the Resurrection statue to another bronzed statue. A god. A six-foot-two, golden-haired Adonis perched on the VIP mezzanine. Even from this distant vantage point, I could I could tell he was wearing one of those super-expensive, custom-tailored beige suits that New York’s tycoons donned once Spring hit. It made a stunning contrast with his St. Tropez tan, the kind wealthy Manhattanites sported all year round. With his expensive designer glasses perched on his perfectly blown flaxen hair, he looked like he was right out of
GQ.

I couldn’t get my eyes off him. The sight of him made my knees weak and my heart hammer. I had dreamt of men like this, but the reality of ever meeting one was way out of my league. I was a geeky, recent college student who, after several false starts, had finally landed an entry-level job at Ike’s Tikes, an established New York City toy company, and was struggling to make ends meet. Beautiful men were just not in my cards. They never had been. But my mom had always told me it was okay to dream. And for a minute, as Adonis pivoted his head in my direction, I imagined his eyes burning across the station into mine.

A booming voice put an end to my reverie—and the pulsating I felt between my legs. “Last call for Amtrak 148 to Penn Station boarding at Gate 5.” In a blink of an eye, Adonis was gone. Out of my life and dreams forever. My pulse accelerated as my eyes searched the vast station for the gate sign. Finally, I found it, and began to run, my messenger-style leather bag flying behind me. The escalator descending to the train platform was out of order. Thank goodness, I was wearing my trusty combat boots. At breakneck speed, I clambered down the daunting three flights of stairs, praying that the train wouldn’t leave without me.

“Wait!” I screamed as the automatic doors of the sleek silver train were closing. I skimmed through one of them, narrowly missing being a smooshed sardine.

Breathing heavy, I staggered through the car, desperately searching for a seat. Nothing. It was rush hour and every seat was taken. Maybe I would have better luck in the next car, I thought as I wobbled across the connecting bridge, the train rolling into motion. I so needed to sit down, catch my breath, and relax. I was exhausted and rundown. Not just from my sprint to the train, but from months of juggling my Manhattan-based job as the assistant to a demanding female executive with visits to my ailing mother who was receiving experimental cancer treatments at the world-renowned Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. Seeing my mother in her weakened state, hooked up to IV’s and machines, never helped no matter how cheery she was when I came to see her.

As the train picked up speed, I struggled to keep my balance and open the sliding door to the next car. Using all the muscle power I could muster, I finally yanked it open and tumbled into the cabin. This car was different than the one before. It was far more spacious and deluxe. Roomy pairs of rich brown leather seats lined the aisles, and the well-dressed occupants were sipping cocktails in real glasses and toying with the latest electronic gadgets. This was obviously business-class. I sure as hell did not belong here wearing my T.J. Maxx midi skirt and Fruit of the Loom t-shirt. Oh yeah, and my worn out combat boots, which I had found at a flea market. This was the cabin where Louis Vuittons, Jimmy Choos, and Chanels mingled with other LVs, Jimmies, and Cocos. No, I didn’t belong here. Not one bit.

Fighting the speed of the train and my embarrassment, I clumsily zigzagged down the aisle, occasionally grabbing onto the corner of a seat for balance. Like the previous cabin, every seat was taken. No one seemed to notice me, but truthfully, I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. As I neared the rear end of the car, the train jerked, sending me flying into the lap of a
Wall Street Journal
-reading commuter to my left.

“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked at my victim whose face was still buried in his
WSJ
.

He flexed his leg muscles under my muscular butt, signaling me to get up, and then slowly lowered his newspaper. A smirk curled on his lips.
Oh tho
s
e lips!

My heart leaped into my throat. Adonis!

“Sit,” he said, motioning to the empty window seat next to his.

“Um, uh, I’m in economy,” I stuttered, my eyes unable to leave his face, no matter how humiliated I felt. Up close, he was even more beautiful than I imagined with his chiseled nose, strong, angular jaw line, and piercing eyes the color of sapphires.

“Don’t worry; I’ll handle it,” he said with a wink.

Holy shit! Adonis had just winked at me!

“Sit,” he growled, this time as if it were an order.

With a powerful heave of his knees, he bounced me to my feet, forcing me to plop down next to him.

Holy shit again! I was going to spend the next hour and a half sitting next to this gorgeous man—a man that existed in my dreams—and now I had no idea what to say. My heart pounded.

“What’s your name?” he asked, in a coy tone that suggested he was daring me to answer.

“Sarah,” I replied, pulling myself together in time to reply in a very business-like voice.

“Saarah,” he repeated, his voice deep and sexy.

The way he said my name, drawing out the first syllable with breathiness—sent a chill down my spine. I could not help thinking of my favorite song from one of my favorite movies,
West Side Story
. Yes, the soft way he said it was almost like praying.

“Ari,” he said next, not giving me time to ask the obvious.

A fitting name. Almost like Ares, the Greek god of war. This man was a warrior. A beautiful warrior. And I was soon to find out that conquest was his middle name.

I held out my slender hand to shake his. Truthfully, I didn’t know what else to do. His long, tan fingers entwined mine. His grip was strong. Powerful. Slowly, he raised my hand to his lush lips. Blood rushed to my head as they pressed ever so gently against the back of my palm. One by one, he unfolded my fingers, sucking each one as if they were candy sticks. The wetness of his warm saliva glistened on my fingertips. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and wetness pooled between my legs.
What the hell was he doing? And why the hell was I letting him do it?

My heart was racing as fast as the Amtrak. I needed to stop this. Move to another seat. My eyes darted around the cabin, but still there were none to be had. No one seemed to notice what was going on; they either had their faces buried in newspapers or books, or were occupied with their smartphones, iPads, or Kindles.

This was just not right. I was sitting next to a complete stranger and letting him suck my fingers. He could be a total whack job… molester… or serial killer. Who knew? Though my fear was fleeting, I made up a desperate clichéd excuse. “Um, uh excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” Actually, I really did. I needed to get away from this mysterious, seductive stranger and get a grip.

“It’s right behind us,” said Adonis dryly, returning to his newspaper.

I leaped up from my seat. Tripping over my bag, I caught a glimpse of Trainman’s bemused expression. He refused to move his long legs, forcing my butt to brush against them as I made my escape.

The door to the unisex restroom located at the back of the cabin was locked. That meant someone was inside. I tapped my foot impatiently, my head filling with the image of the blond, blue-eyed Adonis sitting next to me. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? These kinds of things never happened to geeky me. They were the stuff of novels and movies. Not my boring all-work-no-play life.

“Hi.” A familiar velvety voice catapulted me out of my thoughts, and a waft of warm breath blew across the nape of my neck. I spun around.

My mysterious stranger. His crisp blue eyes burned into mine, making my temperature soar, and my legs turn to jelly. What was he doing here? I suppose he had to go. I couldn’t stop that.

I turned my head away, and stared squarely at the bathroom door, praying silently that whoever was in there would hurry up. He blew hot air on my neck again and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his rock-hard body. A bulge pressed against my buttocks. I was getting sick to my stomach and might need the bathroom more than I’d originally thought.

Finally, the door burst open in my face; a sour-faced, overweight matron barged out. Calling on every muscle in my body, I broke free of Trainman’s grip and hastily dashed into the stall and the stench she left behind. My hands shaky, I fumbled to slide the latch, but before I could get it through the lock, the door forcefully swung open.

“I couldn’t wait,” Trainman growled, pushing me against the cold metal sink basin. He thrust his hips tight against mine. I was trapped.

He leaned in close to me. A mix of his warm, minty breath and expensive cologne rushed into my nostrils, eradicating all traces of the fetid odor. His eyes narrowed, turning into collectible slivers of blue sand glass. His mouth descended onto the right side of my neck then slowly trailed upward to my earlobe. He clamped his warm, moist lips on the cartilage, alternating between nipping and sucking it. Oh my God! I didn’t know my earlobes could feel so much. The last time they felt anything was when I got them pierced in eighth grade. And that was pain. Pure pain. Now what I was feeling was joy. Pure, tingly joy… and the sensation was coursing through my entire body.

Still pressing me hard against the sink with his hipbones, he pinched my dime-size nipples between his thumb and index fingers and then began massaging them in small counterclockwise circles, each rotation harder than the one before. Magically, the buds elongated and hardened beneath my navy cotton t-shirt. A new I-want-to-burst-out-of-my skin sensation gathered in the triangle between my legs. I moaned softly.

“You don’t wear a bra,” he murmured in my ear.

I rarely wore a bra because I really didn’t need one. My boobs never got past a small A-cup, the size of old-fashioned champagne saucers. Before I could say a word, that is if I could utter a word, he whispered, “Sexy.”

Moi,
Sarah plain and tall, sexy? And this coming from this gorgeous beast? Pinch me. I must be dreaming this entire fantasy. As if on cue, he pinched one of my nipples again. My sex roared silently in delight. No, this was real. And it was happening to me. Sarah Greene. Art school graduate. Aspiring toy designer. Twenty-five-year-old virgin.

I stared at his beautiful face. His eyes were tilted downward. A sly smile tipped to the left made me nervous. In a good way.

While one hand continued to twirl a nipple, the other slid down my torso past my tight, twisted abdomen and under the elastic waistbands of both my skirt and pantyhose. His hands felt like hot velvet as they explored my inner thighs.

“Hmm,” he moaned. “No panties?”

I never wore panties with pantyhose. Why bother? They were called pantyhose for a reason. And I confess, not buying expensive panties—and bras—saved me a lot of money—money I needed desperately to visit my sick mother.

“Very sexy,” he said, enunciating each syllable, as his fingertips made their way to the triangle between my legs. They stopped to caress my patch of hair, stroking it as if were a beloved pussy… cat.

“So soft and silky,” Trainman purred as if I were auditioning for one of those look-at-my-gorgeous-hair product commercials.

After a tug of a curled clump, his fingers plunged lower to the smooth folds between my legs. They explored this new territory eagerly like someone who was searching for gold. And then he discovered it. The nugget. Greedily, he rubbed the pad of this thumb around his discovery with intense little circles that were driving me insane. A loud moan escaped my lips.

“You’re so wet,” he crooned.

That was an understatement. I was swimming in my own juices. My eyes caught a glimpse of him. A wicked smile crossed his face, and his blue eyes glistened.

He squeezed the tender folds of my labia together and then used his fingers to spread them apart.

“I want you,” he moaned, his voice all hot and breathy.

And despite myself, I wanted him. More than anyone or anything. Well, except for my mother getting well again.

Still massaging my clit with his thumb, he plunged his long middle finger into the cavity between the folds. I gasped, not prepared for the shock of penetration. Shockwaves spread throughout my body as his finger glided up and down the soaked, spongy walls. In and out, each thrust deeper than the one before.

“Baby,” he moaned. “You’re so hot.”

I gasped again, still not sure this was really happening. My core was aching for more. Desperate for it. Why was I not resisting?

“I’m going to take you now,” he growled.

Take me where? I didn’t want to be anywhere, any place but here in this cramped bathroom with this mysterious sorcerer who was doing his magic on me.

Using his free hand, he yanked down both my skirt and hose. My eyes glanced down at my skirt puddled on the floor and my pantyhose scrunched up above my combat boots. His hand made its way back upward, and I heard him unzip his fly. My gaze stopped short at a massive hunk of pink, veined flesh that was aimed at my crotch.
Yowzer!
I was ready to surrender. Yes, take me now.

“Sit on the sink,” he ordered.

I was in no condition to argue. I plunked my buttocks down on the edge of the steely basin. The cold metal gave me goose bumps all over. He pulled off my boots and the hose.

“Now, spread your legs.”

Yes, sir.

He placed both hands on my boyishly narrow hips to anchor me. An intensity washed over his face. Like an artist who was contemplating painting his masterpiece.

“Now, take me and insert me where you want me.”