The edge of temptation, p.1
The Edge of Temptation, page 1
The Edge of Temptation
J. Saman
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
End of Book Note
Also by J. Saman
The Edge of Forever Chapter 1
The Edge of Forever Chapter 2
The Edge of Temptation © 2018 J. Saman
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Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Design: Shannoff Designs
Editing: Proofing Style
Chapter One
Halle
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“No,” I reply emphatically, hoping my tone is stronger than my disposition. “I’m not doing it. Absolutely not. Just no.” I point my finger for emphasis, but I don’t think the gesture is getting me anywhere. Rina just stares at me, the tip of her finger gliding along the lip of her martini glass.
“You’re smiling. If you don’t want to do this, then why are you smiling?”
I sigh. She’s right. I am smiling. But only because it’s so ridiculous. In all the years she’s known me, I’ve never hit on a total stranger. I don’t think I’d have any idea how to even do that. And honestly, I’m just not in the right frame of mind to put in the effort. “It’s funny, that’s all.” I shrug, playing it off. It’s really not funny. The word terrifying comes closer. “But my answer is still no.”
“It’s been, what?” Margot chimes in, her gaze flicking between Rina, Aria, and me like she’s actually trying to figure this out. She’s not. I know where she’s going with this and it’s fucking rhetorical. “A month?”
See? I told you.
“You broke up with Matt a month ago. And you can’t play it off like you’re all upset over it, because we know you’re not.”
“Who says I’m not upset?” I furrow my eyebrows, feigning incredulous, but I can’t quite meet their eyes. “I was with him for two years.”
But she’s right. I’m not upset about Matt. I just don’t have the desire to hit on some random dude at some random bar in the South End of Boston.
“Two useless years,” Rina persists with a roll of her blue eyes before taking a sip of her appletini. She sets her glass down, leaning her small frame back in her chair as she crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips like she’s pissed off on my behalf. “The guy was a freaking asshole.”
“And a criminal,” Aria adds, tipping back her fancy glass and finishing off the last of her dirty martini, complete with olive. She chews on it slowly, quirking a pointed eyebrow at me. “The cocksucker repeatedly ignored you so he could defraud people.”
“All true.” I can’t even deny it. My ex was a black-hat hacker. And while that might sound all hot and sexy in a mysterious, dangerous way, it isn’t. The piece of shit stole credit card numbers, and not only used them for himself but sold them on the dark web. He was also one of those hacktivists who got his rocks off by working with other degenerate assholes to try and bring down various companies and websites.
In my defense, I didn’t know what he was up to until the FBI came into my place of work, hauled me downtown and interviewed me for hours. I was so embarrassed, I could hardly show my face at work again. Not only that, but everyone was talking about me. Either with pity or suspicion in their eyes, like I was a criminal right along with him.
Matt had a regular job as a red-team specialist—legit hackers who are paid by companies to go in and try to penetrate their systems. I assumed all that time he spent on his computer at night was him working hard to get ahead. At least that was his perpetual excuse when challenged.
Nothing makes you feel more naïve than discovering the man you had been engaged to is actually a criminal who was stealing from people. And committing said thefts while living with you.
I looked up one of the people the FBI had mentioned in relation to Matt’s criminal activities. The woman had a weird name that stuck out to me for me some reason, and when I found her, I learned she was a widow with three grandchildren, a son in the military and was a recently retired nurse. It made me sick to my stomach. Still does when I think about it.
I told the FBI everything I knew, which was nothing. I explained that I had ended things with Matt three days prior to them arresting him. Pure coincidence. I was fed up with the monotony of our relationship. Of being engaged and never discussing or planning our wedding. Of living with someone I never saw because he was always locked away in his office, too preoccupied with his computer to pay me even an ounce of attention. But really, deep down, I knew I wasn’t in love with him anymore.
I didn’t even shed a tear over our breakup. In fact, I was more relieved than anything. It knew I had dodged a bullet getting out when I did.
And then the FBI showed up.
“I ended it with him. Before I knew he was a total and complete loser,” I tack on, feeling more defensive about the situation than I care to admit. Shifting my weight on my uncomfortable wooden chair, I cross my legs at the knee and stare sightlessly out into the bar.
“And we applaud you for that,” Rina says, nudging Margot and then Aria in the shoulders, forcing them to concur. “It was the absolute right thing to do. But you’ve been miserable and mopey and very . . .”
“Anti-men,” Margot finishes for her, tossing back her lemon drop shot with disturbing exuberance. I think that’s number three for her already, which means it could be a long night. Margot has yet to learn the art of moderation.
“Right.” Aria nods exaggeratedly at Margot like she just hit the nail on the head, tossing her messy dark curls over her shoulders before twisting them up into something that resembles a bun. “Anti-men. I’m not saying you need to date anyone here. You don’t even have to go home with them. Just let them buy you a drink. Have a normal conversation with a normal guy.”
I scoff. “And you think I’ll find one of those in here?” I splay my arms out wide, waving them around. All these men look like players. They’re in groups with other men, smacking at each other and pointing at the various women who walk in. They’re clearly rating them. And if a woman just so happens to pass by, they blatantly turn and stare at her ass.
This is a hookup bar. All dark mood lighting, annoying, trendy house music in the background and uncomfortable seating. The kind designed to have you standing all night before you take someone home. And now I understand why my very attentive friends brought me here. It’s not our usual go-to place.
“It’s like high school or a frat house in here. And definitely not in a good way. I bet all these guys bathed in Axe body spray, gelled up their hair and left their mothers’ basement to come here and find a ‘chick to bang.’” I put air quotes around those words. I have zero interest in being part of that scheme.
“Well . . .” Rina’s voice drifts off, scanning the room desperately. “I know I can find you someone worthy.”
“Don’t waste your brain function. I’m still not interested.” I roll my eyes dramatically and finish off my drink, slamming the glass down on the table with a bit more force than I intend. Oops. Whatever. I’m extremely satisfied with my anti-men status. Because that’s exactly what I am—anti-men—and I’m discovering I’m unrepentant about it. In fact, I think it’s a fantastic way to be when you rack up one loser after another the way I have. Like a form of self-preservation.
I’ve never had a good track record. Even before Matt, I had a knack for picking the wrong guys. My high school boyfriend ended up being gay. I handed him my V-card shortly before he dropped that bomb on me, though he swore I didn’t turn him gay. He promised he was like that prior to the sex. In college, I dated two guys somewhat seriously. The first one cheated on me for months before I found out, and the second one was way more into his video games than he was me. I think he also had a secret cocaine problem because he’d stay up all night gaming like a fiend. I had given up on men for a while—are you seeing a trend here?—and then in my final year of graduate school, Matt came along. Need I say more? So as far as I’m concerned, men can all go screw themselves. Because they sure as hell aren’t gonna screw me!
“You can stop searching now, Rina.” This is getting pathetic. “I have a vibrator. What else does a girl need?” All three pause their search to examine me and I realize I said that out loud. I blush at that, but it’s true, so I just shrug a shoulder and fold my arms d
They dismiss me immediately, their cause to find me a “normal” male to talk to outweighing my antagonism. And really, if it’s taking this long to find someone then the pickings must really be slim here. I move to flag down the waitress to order another round when Margot points to the far corner.
“There.” The tenacious little bug is gleaming like she just struck oil in her backyard. “That guy. He’s freaking hot as holy sin and he’s alone. He even looks sad, which means he needs a friend.”
“Or he wants to be left alone to his drinking,” I mumble, wishing I had another drink in my hand so I could focus on something other than my friends obsessively staring at some random creep. Where the hell is that waitress?
“Maybe,” Aria muses thoughtfully as she observes the man across the bar, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. Her hands are covered in splotches of multicolored paint. As is her black shirt, now that I look closer. “Or maybe he’s just had a crappy day. He looks so sad, Halle.” She nods like it’s all coming together for her as she makes frowny puppy dog eyes at me. “So very sad. Go over and see if he wants company. Cheer him up.”
“You’d be doing a public service,” Rina agrees. “Men that good-looking should never be sad.”
I roll my eyes at that. “You think a blow job would do it or should I offer him crazy, kinky sex to cheer him up? I still have that domination-for-beginners playset I picked up at Angela’s bachelorette party. Hasn’t even been cracked open.”
Aria tilts her head like she’s actually considering this. “That level of kink might scare him off for the first time. And I wouldn’t give him head unless he goes down on you first.”
Jesus, I’m not drunk enough for this. “Or he’s a total asshole who just fucked his girlfriend’s best friend,” I protest, my voice rising an octave with my objection. I sit up straight, desperate to make my point clear. “Or he’s about to go to prison because he hacks women into tiny bits with a machete before he eats them. Either way, I’m. Not. Interested.”
“God,” Margot snorts, twirling her chestnut hair as she leans back in her chair and levels me with an unimpressed gaze. “Dramatic much? He wouldn’t be out on bail if that were the case. But seriously, that’s like crazy psycho shit, and that guy does not say crazy psycho. He says crave-worthy and yummy and ‘I hand out orgasms like candy on Halloween.’”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Aria says with a knowing smile and a wink.
She swivels her head to check him out again and licks her lips reflexively. I haven’t bothered to peek yet because my back is to him and I hate that I’m curious. All three ladies are eyeing him with unfettered appreciation and obvious lust. Their tastes in men differ tremendously, which indicates this guy probably is hot. I shouldn’t be tempted. I really shouldn’t be. I’m asking for a world of trouble or hurt or legal fees. So why am I finding the idea of a one-nighter with a total stranger growing on me?
I’ve never been that girl before. But maybe they’re right? Maybe a one-nighter with a random guy is just the ticket to wipe out my past of bad choices in men and make a fresh start? I don’t even know if that makes sense since a one-nighter is the antithesis of a smart choice. But my libido is taking over for my brain and now I’m starting to rationalize, possibly even encourage. I need to stop this now.
“He’s gay. Hot men are always gay. Or assholes. Or criminals. Or cheaters. Or just generally suck at life.”
“You’ve had some bad luck, is all. Look at Oliver. He’s good-looking, sweet, loving, and not an asshole. Or a criminal. And he likes you. You could date him.”
Reaching over, I steal Rina’s cocktail. She doesn’t stop me or even seem to register the action. I stare at her with narrowed eyes over the rim of her glass as I slurp down about half of it in one gulp. “I’m not dating your brother, Rina. That’s weird and begging for drama. You and I are best friends.”
She sighs and then I sigh because I’m being a bitch and I don’t mean to be. I like her brother. He is all of those things she just mentioned, minus the liking me part. But if things went bad between us, which they inherently would, it would cost me one of my most important friendships. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Plus, unbeknownst to Rina, Oliver is one of the biggest players in the greater Boston area.
“I’m just saying not all men are bad,” Rina continues, and I shake my head. “We’ll buy your drinks for a month if you go talk to this guy,” she offers hastily, trying to close the deal.
Margot glances over at her with furrowed eyebrows, a bit surprised by that declaration, but she quickly comes around with an indifferent shrug. Aria smiles, liking that idea. Then again, money is not Aria’s problem. “Most definitely,” she agrees. “Go. Let a stranger touch your lady parts. You’re waxed and shaved and looking hot. Let someone take advantage of that.”
“And if he shoots me down?”
“You don’t have to sleep with him,” Rina reminds me. “Or even give him your real name. In fact, tell him nothing real about yourself. It could be like a sexual experiment.” I shake my head in exasperation. “We won’t bother you about it again,” she promises solemnly. “But he won’t shoot you down. You look movie star hot tonight.”
I can only roll my eyes at that. While I appreciate the sentiment from my loving and supportive friends, being shot down by a total stranger when I’m already feeling emotionally strung out might just do me in. Even if I have no interest in him. But free drinks . . .
Twisting around in my chair, I stare across the crowded bar, probing for a few seconds until I spot the man in the corner. Holy Christmas in Florida, he is hot. There is no mistaking that. His hair is light blond, short along the sides and just a bit longer on top. Just long enough that you could grab it and hold on tight while he kisses you. His profile speaks to his straight nose and strong, chiseled, cleanly shaven jaw. I must admit, I do enjoy a bit of stubble on my men, but he makes the lack of beard look so enticing that I don’t miss the roughness. He’s wearing a suit. A dark suit. More than likely expensive judging by the way it contours to his broad shoulders and the flash of gold on his wrist that I catch in the form of cufflinks.
But the thing that’s giving me pause is his anguish. It’s radiating off him. His beautiful face is downcast, staring sightlessly into his full glass of something amber. Maybe scotch. Maybe bourbon. It doesn’t matter. That expression has purpose. Those eyes have meaning behind them and I doubt he’s seeking any sort of company. In fact, I’m positive he’d have no trouble finding any if he were so inclined.
That thought alone makes me stand up without further comment. He’s the perfect man to get my friends off my back. He’s going to shoot me down in an instant and I won’t even take it personally. Well, not too much. I can feel the girls exchanging gleeful smiles, but I figure I’ll be back with them in under five minutes, so their misguided enthusiasm is inconsequential. I watch him the entire way across the bar. He doesn’t sip at his drink. He just stares blankly into it. That sort of heartbreak makes my stomach churn. This miserable stranger isn’t just your typical Saturday night bar dweller looking for a quick hookup.
He’s drowning his sorrows.
Miserable Stranger doesn’t notice my approach. He doesn’t even notice me as I wedge myself in between him and the person seated beside him. And he definitely doesn’t notice me as I order myself a dirty martini. I’m close enough to smell him. And damn, it’s so freaking good I catch myself wanting to close my eyes and breathe in deeper. Sandalwood? Citrus? Freaking godly man? Who knows. I have no idea what to say to him. In fact, I’m half tempted to grab my drink and scurry off, but I catch Rina, Margot, and Aria watching vigilantly from across the bar with excited, encouraging smiles. There’s no way I can get out of this without at least saying hello.
