Dangerous Encounter
Dangerous Encounter
Riley Edwards
Dangerous Encounter
TAKEBACK 4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Riley Edwards
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design: Lori Jackson Designs
Written by: Riley Edwards
Published by: Riley Edwards/Rebels Romance
Edited by: Rebecca Hodgkins
Proofreader: Julie Deaton
Book Name: Dangerous Encounter
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-951567-28-6
First edition: August 30, 2022
Copyright © 2022 Riley Edwards
All rights reserved
To my family - my team – my tribe.
This is for you.
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
Audio
Also by Riley Edwards
Be A Rebel
Acknowledgments
1
There I was, standing in a beautiful mansion, surrounded by beautiful people all in varying degrees of undress, watching them mingle and converse. And I was wondering not for the first time or the third or the tenth, how on earth was this my life.
I’d been to enough of these soirées that the nudity didn’t bother me. At first, it did, until I came to the realization that the members of Club Joi paid a hefty price to be there. They paid for the opportunity and the privacy to safely and willingly participate in a lifestyle they enjoyed.
However, as the nights progressed into the public sex, I found any reason I could to leave the area. It wasn’t that it was a free-for-all wild orgy. Everything revolved around consent and that included touching as well as watching. No one was forced to watch. There were designated spaces throughout the mansion where sex acts could be viewed, but no place else.
So, when the penises and vaginas came out, I skedaddled.
I actually knew how this had become my life. Every time I walked into my apartment and didn’t see my roommate’s smiling, pretty face I was reminded. What I was really wondering was why on earth I thought I could find out what happened to Elise. I’d been a part-time waitress, part-time event planner for God’s sake. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was looking for. It wasn’t like during cocktail hour one of the members was going to announce they’d kidnapped my friend. Or during an orgasm, someone was going to scream, “Oh, yes, so good! I killed Elise Keller and buried her in the backyard.”
I’d been working at Club Joi as the executive event coordinator for over six months and I hadn’t heard Elise’s name uttered once. At first, this made me ultra-suspicious—now I understood it was part of the respect and privacy the members extended to each other. There was zero gossip at the club. Which was frustrating. No one asked questions, more frustration.
Six months of nothing.
Elise was gone without a trace. The police were scratching their heads with no leads. Her parents were beside themselves with worry and heartbreak. And I was destroyed.
“Excuse me.” A smooth, rich voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I pulled my gaze from the scantily dressed women drinking champagne in front of the fireplace in the great room to a man who interrupted my thoughts.
Adam Newcomb.
The man was a real-life, walking, talking, billboard ad for something manly.
It was a shame he was a member of a sex club. If I’d met him out in the real world I would’ve done something outrageous to catch his attention, and if that didn’t work, I would’ve approached him and asked him out for a drink.
Sandy-brown hair, nice eyes, carried himself with an air of confidence. Not the kind that was cocky and screamed douchebag. His came from someplace deep, he was comfortable in any environment. He was the master of his universe, and that was because he was good at what he did and knew it.
He was sexy as hell.
But he belonged to a sex club and that was a hard pass.
“Hello, Mr. Newcomb. Is everything all right?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
He was?
“Everything is wonderful, is it not?”
I glanced around the room. Everyone was smiling and happy. Having a good time talking to their fellow members, enjoying light hors d’oeuvres and the two-glass maximum for those who would be playing later. There were also strict rules about intoxication, and a drink limit for anyone who was participating in any kind of sex.
“It is,” he confirmed. “That’s why I’m wondering why you’re standing off to the side, frowning. Do you find something particularly distasteful or is it the party as a whole?”
Damn.
Shit.
“Of course I don’t find consenting adults participating in activities that are mutually satisfying distasteful. If I was frowning, I apologize, I was thinking about the champagne. More to the point, if the staff had ordered enough.”
Semi-lie.
I didn’t find it distasteful per se, it just wasn’t my scene. And it was not something I wanted to witness or be a part of.
Adam leaned closer, his mouth dangerously close to touching my ear when he whispered, “That sounds rehearsed.” I felt his breath against my neck, I caught the scent of his woodsy cologne, and against my will, I shivered. “Or more to my point, it sounds like bullshit.”
He straightened and I felt that, too. The loss of his closeness. It was only for a second, but I didn’t miss the way his heat had surrounded me.
I tipped my head back to catch his gaze and vehemently deny his accusation. That denial was swept away by his smile. I couldn’t muster any of the professionalism I’d mastered over the months I’d worked here. My resolve was slipping faster than I could remind myself that Adam Newcomb liked watching and having public sex. Not that I’d ever witnessed this firsthand. I’d never seen him bring a date, which as a top-level member he was welcome to do. I’d never seen him wander back into the viewing rooms or even sit in the lower lounge, which was referred to as the Hunting Ground, because that was where either unattached female members went to find a partner for the evening, or couples went to find a third or swap. Negotiations happened down there. And other than his tour of the property and the rooms, I hadn’t seen Adam use any of the amenities.
Strange.
“Perhaps I should ask you if you find Club Joi distasteful,” I returned.
In the last couple of months, I’d become an expert on body language, so I didn’t miss the stiffness in Adam’s shoulders or the way he tensed.
“Why would you ask that?”
“You’ve been here over two months,” I noted. “Have you not found our club acceptable? Is there something I could provide for you that would make your time enjoyable?”
Holy shit.
There were some things that, when thought in your mind, sounded better than when actually spoken out loud.
I felt my face heat.
Sweat trickled between my boobs that were pushed together to the max by a fabulous but expensive bra that made them look at least a cup size bigger. I had more cleavage on display than I ever would in my real life. Though, in real life, I also didn’t wear low-cut cocktail dresses and high heels.
“If I thought for a second you were offering what it sounded like you were, I would take you up on it in a hot minute. However, to answer your question, the club is perfectly acceptable.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to offer what it sounded like I was. And I would be offering it if he wasn’t a member. As a part of my employment contract, I had the same membership Adam had purchased. I could participate any time I wanted.
“Have a good night, Sloane.”
I was still recovering from the sexy way my name had fallen from his lips, wondering how it would sound while we were in bed, naked, and he was deep inside of me, when I felt the faintest brush of his hand against mine.
Barely a brush.
But forbidden.
That slightest touch without my permission could get him banned.
His eyes danced with a dare. A naughty, filthy dare.
“You as well, Adam.”
His lips quirked up into the hottest smirk that made my thighs squeeze together.
That smirk turned primal.
And I had a feeling I’d unwittingly issued a challenge.
2
I stepped out into the bright SoCal sunshine, slid my sunglasses down over my eyes, and stopped dead. Not only did my feet stop moving but my heart did this funny flutter—a cross between skipping a beat and thumping double time.
Adam Newcomb.
Right in front of me.
A man who was so insanely gorgeous that it was actually annoying. I’d never seen him in the light of day, nor had I ever seen him outside of the club. And seeing him now, dressed casually with the sun’s rays making his sandy-brown hair look more sandy than brown, I wished I never had. In the club, he looked like the wealthy businessman he was. In broad daylight standing on Ventura Boulevard, he looked like the quintessential California Abercrombie model and that was annoying, too. But his unruly hair, jeans that were faded in a way that let my practiced eye know they were not designer but fit him like they were specifically made for him, and his tee that molded to his upper body to perfection were not annoying—they were infuriating.
He was so freaking hot, I was rooted to the sidewalk outside of a boutique. It’d be a miracle if there wasn’t drool leaking from the corner of my mouth.
Gah.
Why?
Why did hot guy Adam Newcomb have to be a member of a sex club?
Seriously!
“Sloane.” My name rolled off his tongue and that was maddening, too.
There was an arrogance to the way his lips formed my name, the way his eyes danced with humor. He knew I was stunned by his presence, and he had no qualms calling me out on my stupor by way of saying my name in a sexy, smooth tone that made me wish I could hear him when we were not on a busy sidewalk but instead alone in a room with a bed and rumpled sheets after he’d given me multiple orgasms and I’d returned the favor.
Yep. That was what I was thinking, and I knew that even though my eyes were covered by my shades, Adam read my look. Those delicious lips quirked up into a smirk. And you guessed it, that smirk was sexy as fuck. I also wanted to wipe the grin off his smug—but handsome—face.
Adam’s head tilted to the side just a smidge and he looked like he was going to say something. Something likely to embarrass me, like calling me out for standing there like a zombie staring at him. Or maybe he’d snap his fingers in front of my face to pull me from my dirty thoughts.
Gah.
So, I beat him to it and asked, “What are you doing here?”
The smirk turned into a full-fledged smile when he asked back, “Here, like in front of,” he paused and his eyes flicked to the sign behind me, “Reclaimed? Or here as in walking down Ventura?”
“Here, as in The Valley,” I clarified.
“Did I miss the sign on PCH declaring The Valley off-limits from all non-residents?”
I didn’t miss the emphasis on “The Valley” or the snark he’d injected into his question.
“The mere fact you drove down PCH to get to Encino is grounds to kick you out.”
“And which way do you prefer, Sloane?”
You bending me over the arm of my couch, pulling my hair while you take me rough.
There it was again, my name purred in a way that reminded me I was sex-starved and deprived of human touch. It was a sad time in my life. There were numerous reasons for this—the first and most important was my best friend was missing. Gone. Vanished. Without a trace. And when the days had slipped into weeks, then weeks into months and the police had no leads, no direction, no answers, my worry had turned into desperation. That desperation and fear had led me to work at a club I knew Elise had frequented. I never understood the appeal of public sex—having it or watching it. But I did understand what two or three or five consenting adults do sexually is none of my business and seeing as that was the case, my friend’s sex life was not for me to judge.
Elise was sweet, loyal, outgoing, and kind. As the saying went, she’d never met a stranger. She lit up every room she entered. She made everyone around her smile. She was also too trusting and more than a little naïve. Not to further stereotypes, but she was the stereotypical midwestern girl who’d moved to L.A. with big dreams. She didn’t want to be a model or an actress. She was perfectly content being a waitress at a high-end, trendy eatery in The Palisades where she made a good living that afforded her to live the dream she’d dreamt—a life surrounded by beauty. From the weather to the people, to the beaches, to the cityscapes Elise loved SoCal. As cliché as it was, this dream stemmed from 90’s TV shows. And up until a few months ago, she was enjoying her life to the fullest. Now she was…gone.
A far step down from my friend missing, but still adding to my sadness, was that my life was no longer mine. Worry and fear and the need to find out what happened to Elise had taken over every aspect of my life. I wasn’t complaining; I’d gladly put my life on hold forever if it meant I’d find Elise unharmed and alive, but still. Every waking moment was dedicated to the task of finding my friend and that included working in a sex club. My other friends drifted away. They did it slowly, as nicely as one could do while they turned their back on you, but the bottom line was that none of them understood what they called an obsession. They all thought I should get on with my life and let the police look for Elise.
As if that was going to happen.
Another step down was dating. I was not the type of woman who approached dating as a necessary evil or the path to finding a husband. I loved dating. I loved the thrill of meeting someone new. I loved the getting-to-know-you part. I loved going out and having fun, getting wild, loud, and crazy. I loved that when I was older and settled, I’d have a million great stories to tell. I loved my life—scratch that; before Elise disappeared, I loved my life. Now my every thought was consumed with horrid, scary thoughts about what could’ve happened to her. Where she was. What was happening to her. The torturous thoughts were never-ending.