Tricked

By Beverly Rae

Jane Riggins, like all the other women working at Barton Enterprises, secretly lusts after the very sexy, very wealthy Brandon Barton, but believes she has no chance to grab his attention. Not when every hot female in the world is ready to lie down with him.

When she meets likable Charlie Hinderman, she sets her sights on the mediocre salesman, giving up her dreams of the debonair Brandon. But Brandon’s finally noticed her, even as her two best friends rig the charity event drawing, making sure one of them will win a date with the billionaire.

With Charlie’s help, she double crosses her friends’ scheme. But fate—or is it magic?—steps in when she wins the drawing and is whisked away on a romantic midnight date with Brandon. Jane, torn between her attraction to both Brandon and Charlie, can’t understand why the two men seem so much alike. From their smoldering eyes to the black stone necklace they wear, each man drives her crazy—emotionally and sexually.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beverly Rae
• Release date: Nov 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781941974094

Beverly Rae

When I enrolled in an online writing course in 2004, I had no idea that I’d started a new career. I love writing and had never even thought I could make it my life’s work. I’m married to my real life hero who has supported me from the beginning and given me all the time in the world to realize my dream. I live in Georgia and spend my days in my office writing with my dogs at my feet. What more can a girl ask for?Most of my books are paranormal romances, some MF and some menage, with graphic sex and a laugh or two. Keep checking back and you’ll see more of my books showing up. If you’d like more information about me or my books, go to www.beverlyrae.com.

Book preview

TRICKED

By

Beverly Rae

Tricked Copyright © 2014 by Beverly Forgey

(all rights reserved)

E-Book ISBN: 978-1-941974-09-4

Cover by P & N Graphics

Published by Rae Publishing

WARNING:

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people whether in ebook, print or any other format. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

PLEASE NOTE: This work contains graphic sexual situations and language and is intended for readers 18 years and older.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is solely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

Chapter One

Fantasies, Anyone?

Get a move on, slowpoke!

Jane Riggins barely had time to secure the cover over her vending machine coffee cup before Melissa Martin, her best friend and coworker, tugged her away from the machine, out of the break room and into the elevator.

Damn, Mel, what’s your problem? Wiping drops of coffee off her hand, Jane shuffled toward the rear of the elevator car to make room for the junior executives stepping in after her. She hated how these wanna-be tycoons thought they owned the building. She also hated their discount suits and perfect hairstyles, but fighting them wouldn’t make much sense. Barton Enterprises, owned by the mysterious and illusive Brandon Barton, was the place to be for up-and-coming business men and women. Dealing with their attitudes was simply a fact of life for the other employees.

Jane was content in her position as an administrative assistant to Roger Weltman, Division Head of Marketing. She enjoyed her position even though Roger was a stuck-up, pin-headed, pointed-nose, no-talent jerk who worked as little as he could. Of course, she never complained about his lack of a work ethic. His staying out of the office gave her more freedom.

She and Melissa had roomed together in college and, as soon as they could move to Chicago, they’d found a tiny apartment and had moved in together. Both of them had gotten lucky to have found jobs with the same company. As young girls starting out on their own for the first time, they were doing okay.

He’s here.

The sparkle in Mel’s eyes should’ve clued her in, but it was still morning and she wasn’t a morning person. As a rule, she tried to ignore any and all sparkles until after lunch. Who’s here?

In one smooth motion, the women in the elevator pivoted toward her, their mouths dropping open like a school of big mouth bass. They acted as though she’d questioned God’s existence, the healing attributes of chocolate, and the necessity to carry a makeup bag all in one two-word sentence. What? What’d I say? She shrugged at the others who twitched the corner of their mouths in identical sneers, and turned their backs on her in disgust.

Mel, looking as shocked as the others, yanked her closer. "He’s here. Wake up. You know who I’m talking about. Why else would all these bitches be headed to the top floor?"

She glanced again at her fellow passengers―belatedly noting the lack of any person with a penis between their legs―with their gazes locked on the lighted bar above them. Like a pack of wolves stalking an elk, they tracked the numbers as they climbed from the lobby to the twenty-third floor. The Executive Floor. The floor where the Great and Powerful made business deals involving gazillions of dollars and charted the company to ever-increasing profits. The floor where Brandon Barton’s office was located. Or as some of the women in the company liked to call it―Hunk Heaven.

You’re totally hopeless. Mel shot her an exasperated look and rolled her eyes. Jane knew her friend expected more and wanted her to get as excited as she was, but she simply couldn’t. After all, when competing against the beautiful, thin women standing in front of her, what chance would a chubby brunette have? Answer: no chance in Hell. Or, in her case, no chance in Hunk Heaven. So why the hell try?

But that didn’t stop the dreams. Night after night, one right after the other, she dreamed of Brandon. Dreamed of him showing up on her doorstep and, without saying a word, he’d sweep her into his arms and carry her out to his limousine. He’d tell her to remain quiet as the car sped through the night toward the airport. Once on his private jet, he’d treat her to champagne and a dozen roses. And yet, he’d have still not said a word.

What would he have to say anyway? She’d see the love in his eyes, along with lust that would have her wetting her panties. She’d feel his need in a quick caress, a subtle touch. They wouldn’t need to speak to understand each other.

Instead, their love would be complete just being with each other. Then, as they soared through the skies, he’d reach over and bring his mouth only an inch from hers.

Jane, I have a very important question to ask.

Yes?

His blue eyes seemed to deepen in color. Will you—

She jerked away from Brandon as the elevator doors slid open and one after another of the femme fatales swayed into the lobby area of the penthouse office space. With a not-very-discreet glance toward his office, she followed the others as one after another of the college educated women got down to the real business of their day—taking up sentinel right outside his door.

Jane kept her scowl hidden. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? They were all huddled together, waiting to pounce on Brandon, er, Mr. Barton. As if they couldn’t spread out in the three thousand square foot office space of the penthouse floor. She followed them a few feet more before turning to the left, and heading toward her desk outside Mr. Weltman’s office.

Come on. Mel gave a couple of sideways nods toward Mr. Barton’s office.

Jane slumped into her creaky chair. What for? He rarely comes out before everyone else goes home. And I’m not like the rest. She glanced at the bimbos pretending to work while surreptitiously searching for any sign of the great man. They had their lips lipsticked, their boobs pushed up in gravity-defying positions, and their hair in a perfect I’ve-just-been-fucked tousled style.

Besides, I don’t have the equipment the competition has. My boobs may not be much, but they’re not silicone and they’re all mine. Not to mention, unlike those stick women, I have curves like a normal woman has. These girls probably spend their free time in either the plastic surgeon’s office or throwing up in the bathroom.

She’d known Mel wouldn’t be able to suppress a giggle, although she recovered fast enough. Damn it, Jane. Someone said he’s got a woman with him. If he does, I want to know.

Why? She ignored the lurch of her stomach. If he did have a woman with him—and it wouldn’t be the first time—then she didn’t want to find out.

Just because. Mel kept glancing at his office. Not that it would do her any good. The door was closed. Maybe I should get a glass and hold it against the door.

You do remember his office is soundproof, right? Brandon Barton’s sexual escapades were legendary and he didn’t mind bringing them to work.

Yeah, I remember. But I have to find out something. Who knows? Maybe he forgot to lock the door and a gust of wind might blow it open.

The wind? Inside an office building? With windows that don’t open? She stifled a grin. Was Mel getting her ready for one of her jokes?

Uh-huh, the wind. You know. The wind from all the women whispering and sighing about him.

Not one of her best jokes, but she gave it a chuckle anyway. Ha, ha. Now if you’ll excuse me, one woman in this building is going to do something she’s actually paid to do. Her gaze darted to his office. Okay, maybe there’s two of us getting paid for our, um, work. But my work is done sitting in a chair—not lying on top of a desk.

She doubted he’d ever had to pay for sex, but she hadn’t been able to resist the dig. Not liking herself much for what she’d said, she swiveled her chair toward her computer and started checking her email.

Harder, Brandon baby, harder.

The red-headed woman bent lower over his desk and wiggled her butt at him. If Brandon Barton had had any doubt the color of her hair was natural, he didn’t any longer. Not after she’d dropped her clothes showing him she was ready, willing, and oh-so-incredibly able. Still, he’d bet he couldn’t say the same of her tits. They were so large that only a good plastic surgeon could’ve kept them nipples-pointed-up.

Fuck yeah, uh…

What the hell is her name again? Wendy? Wanda? Wilma?

An image of the cartoon Flintstone wife popped into his mind as he thrust into her wetness.

Nah, none of those. Does her name start with a T?

He groaned as he clutched her buttocks and squeezed them, making good use of what little ass the woman had. The phrase baby’s got back would never apply to this woman.

I’m going to the doctor for lipo on my butt cheeks. Next time, you won’t have to put up with such a big rear end. She twisted around to look at him, then ran her tongue over her upper lip. I’m such a fat pig right now, but I won’t be for long. I promise.

Like he planned on seeing her again? He returned her smile because he knew she wanted him to. Fat pig? Hell, he’d be lucky if her bones didn’t stab him in the crotch. Why had he allowed her to pick him up this morning outside his hotel suite? Was he rewarding her for breaking through his tight security? Sometimes living in the most exclusive hotel in Chicago had its disadvantages.

Partly to keep from climaxing, and partly out of frustration, he shoved away from her. However, she took his action as a sign he wanted something else to satisfy him. Moving with the grace of the high fashion model she was, she swiveled around as if dancing a pirouette, sank to her knees, and grabbed his throbbing penis. Let’s play Hot Dog, okay?

Now that was one game he knew. Although he’d never heard it called that. He was the wiener and she was the bun. Yet before he could answer, she had him in her mouth and his answer was forgotten.

Naked from the waist down, he spread his legs to keep steady as she took slow drags up and down