Stiletto Secrets

By Bella J

Nicholas loves getting what he wants. 

Being filthy rich and living the high life of a billionaire bachelor, it's all about expensive suits, sleek sports cars, and women who would do just about anything to get his attention.

His life couldn't have been more perfect if he had ordered it out of a goddamn catalog…until one hot as hell encounter with a stripper turns his life upside down. 

Now he can't get her out of his head. Her body, her voice, those sexy as fuck stiletto heels—everything about her has him all tangled up in a giant cluster of lust and desire like he's never experienced before. 

But here's the problem—he has no idea who she is. He doesn't know the face that hides behind the mask she wears whenever he walks into her room. All he knows is that he wants her...

And Nicholas Blake always gets what he wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bella J
• Release date: Aug 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393928836

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

NICHOLAS STARED OUT of his floor to ceiling office window. The Chicago skyline always looked best just before sunset. The brilliance of the gold and orange colors reminded him so much of his life—rich, magnificent and just fucking perfect.

At the age of just twenty-six, Nicholas was one of Chicago’s richest, most eligible bachelors. His life was just one big Fourth of July with an endless supply of bourbon, Cuban cigars and runway models who were eager to play their part in making his life even more perfect. And then there was his own personal underground garage filled with every car he had ever dreamt of. Aston Martin, Lamborghini, Bentley, you name it and Nicholas had it parked in his garage. His life couldn’t have been more awesome if he had ordered it out of a damn catalogue.

How did he come about all this wealth and live this life of privilege? Well, it was all thanks to Daddy dearest’s successful architectural company. Sure his father had been responsible for most of the company’s past successes, but ever since Nicholas stepped up two years ago, the business had skyrocketed, and so did his bank account. After Nicholas got his degree, he just brought a certain je ne sais quoi to company projects. Nicholas was talented in every aspect of his life—in his work, his business endeavors, manipulating everything and anything into getting what he wanted, and of course in bed. Yup, the cream of the crop could kiss his ass.

No use in hiding away up here.

Nicholas turned around and saw his best friend, Adam, walk into his office looking as smooth and professional as ever in one of his Armani suits.

Now why would I be hiding? Nicholas turned his attention back out the window.

Adam slapped him on the shoulder. You’re the birthday boy and you know what that means.

Of course I do.

Whenever one of the guys celebrated a birthday, it was tradition for the rest of the gang to arrange a night out and pay for the entertainment in the form of something that involved a stripper, or multiple strippers.

Nicholas glanced at Adam. Now you and I both know there is no way in hell I’m hiding.

Adam laughed and then stood next to him, hands in his pants pockets and looking out at the skyline too. A lot of people thought them to be brothers. They had the same ink-black hair, height and build, but Nicholas’ blue eyes were just a shade darker than Adam’s. They both loved their lives of luxury, especially all the booty that got handed to them on multiple silver platters. But between the two of them, Adam was most definitely what Nicholas would call a manwhore. Nicholas just slightly bordered on that same title. But nonetheless, Adam had been Nicholas’ best friend since they were kids, and it just so happened that they both had a talent for architecture, hence why Adam, along with Nicholas, was one of the head architects in the company.

So what did Pops get you for your birthday?

Nicholas shrugged. Haven’t seen the old bastard since yesterday morning at breakfast when he kept on bitching about the coffee not being strong enough.

Not even a call? A text? Adam turned to him.

Nope. And I don’t expect anything of the sort either. Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t remember.

Nicholas and his father didn’t exactly have a close relationship. Ever since his mother died when he was thirteen years old, his father had buried himself along with his grief into Blake Architects. As a teenager Nicholas had acted out, trying to get attention in all the wrong ways. But eventually he decided to focus more on the pros than the cons of having a rich, ambitious, successful old man. Pros being having a big fat bank account and the world at his feet.

Anyway, Nicholas buttoned up his gray suit jacket, you guys better not disappoint tonight. Your birthday event last month was epic, because, naturally, I arranged it. It’s gonna be hard to top that.

Adam grinned. Yeah, those C-cup babies will forever be engraved on my thighs.

I’m not sure I want to know what that even means. Nicholas cocked a brow.

Adam continued to stare into open space with a dreamy, horny-looking expression.

Nicholas frowned. Adam Masters, you dirty scumbag. You screwed the stripper, didn’t you?

Hey, don’t judge me. I’m not the one with the shoe fetish.

Ah, yes. Nicholas did love women wearing all those stylish, sexy shoes, especially stilettos. In fact, every time he hooked up with a woman, she would wear those high heels, and she would wear nothing but those high heels.

You’re still unbelievable. She was a stripper, Adam. Not a prostitute. Nicholas grabbed his keys from his desk.

Hey, it’s not my fault I have the gift of bringing out the sexually easy side of women.

Nicholas just shook his head. You know, Adam, one day you are going to find a woman who is going to bring you to your knees by grabbing you by the balls.

Adam snorted. Not likely, my friend.

Just know, Nicholas straightened his suit jacket and shot his cuffs, when that day comes, I will be laughing my ass off.

Whatever. And it’s not like you’re Mr. prim-and-proper either. You have a new girl in your bed every weekend.

Or girls.

Manwhore. Adam smirked.

Nicholas just laughed and walked out of his office. Come on, let’s get the humiliation of your epic failure in planning a birthday party out of the way.

Oh, we’ll just see about that.

I take it Hunter is meeting us wherever the hell it is we’re going? Nicholas stood to the side waiting for Adam to pass so he could close his office door.

Yep, and if I know Hunter he’s already seduced three strippers into giving him free lap dances.

Both of them laughed and then stepped into the elevator. Nicholas glanced at his wristwatch. It was just past eight p.m. For a fleeting moment he wondered where his dad was, and whether the old bastard really did forget his only son’s birthday. But Nicholas quickly shrugged off the disappointing thought and steeled himself against emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for many, many years now. To him the past was gone and not worth dwelling over, and the future just did not seem like something Nicholas needed to worry about at his age. The only thing that mattered was the here and now—the present—and nothing else.

LIZZY, I NEED TO USE the bathroom. You’ve been in there like forever.

Emma Tremaine stood outside the bathroom door, trying to get her sister to hurry the hell up. Lizzy, I need to get ready for my show...er...meeting. Damn, she almost slipped up there.

I’m almost done.

Emma stood to the side with her hands on her hips. Who is this guy anyway? How come I’ve never met him? She didn’t like that her little sister was going on a date with a guy she had never met. Besides, Lizzy was only nineteen, and according to Emma that was just way too young to start dating.

Just then the bathroom door got flung open. Lizzy stood in the doorway with her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, her face showcasing way too much makeup, and the dress she was wearing hardly covering what it needed to.

Emma gave her little sister a very disapproving glare. What is that?

It’s a dress. Lizzy shouldered past Emma.

That piece of fabric hardly qualifies as being a dress. Emma had completely forgotten the fact that she had been bashing against the bathroom door a few seconds ago, trying to get her turn. Now she was too distracted with what the hell her sister was wearing.

And his name is Tray. Lizzy spoke over her shoulder while walking to her room.

Tray? What kind of a name is Tray?

Lizzy stopped and turned around. It’s a cool name.

Cool? Emma’s arched brows almost touched her hairline. And what is it that this Tray does for a living?

He’s in a band. Lizzy spun back around and sauntered down the hall.

Of course he’s in a band, Emma muttered under her breath.

I heard that! Lizzy slammed her bedroom door shut.

Emma huffed and then blew a stray dark curl out of her face. Her little sister—okay, maybe not so little anymore—was becoming more exasperating by the day. Emma wondered if this was how mothers of teenaged daughters felt.

Immediately her thoughts drifted off to her own mother. Emma was only five years old when her mother had died of complications during giving birth to Lizzy. It was the worst day of Emma’s life, yet also supposed to be a happy day since she had gotten a little sister.

Lizzy reminded Emma so much of her mother. Even though she couldn’t remember much, she knew Lizzy had the same dark brown eyes, and straight, light brown hair. And she had the exact same dimples as her mother. Emma had her father’s dark chocolate curls and blue-green eyes. But her father had always said she had her mother’s cute little button nose which she would scrunch up whenever she was deep in thought.

Emma had a few memories she clung to as well as a box filled with pictures of her mother and father during happier times. It took Emma’s father three years to move on, and when he finally did, it meant hell for Emma and her sister.

Emma glanced at her wristwatch. Shit!

She dashed to the bathroom and somehow managed to do in twenty minutes what she would normally need an hour for. Dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse and one of only two pairs of stilettos she owned, she knocked on Lizzy’s door. I’m off to my meeting.

’Kay, was the only response Emma got.

Is it necessary for me to say that you should please be careful while on your date with Tray tonight?

The bedroom door opened and Lizzy glared at her. I’m not twelve.

Well, dressed like that you certainly don’t look twelve, no. Some situations just required a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes before scanning over Emma’s outfit. What kind of meetings do you go to, exactly, that can only take place on Saturday nights?

Slightly unnerved by the question, Emma straightened her skirt. I’m a freelance journalist, Lizzy. We don’t have the luxury of working a nine-to-five job. Hopefully that answer was evasive enough.

Lizzy crossed her arms and looked at Emma with suspicion. Ah-huh. And then Lizzy closed the door again.

Emma felt like she wanted to scream, or throw something.

Taking a deep breath, Emma counted to ten and then made her way to the kitchen to grab her purse. She lived in a tiny apartment in Chicago, Illinois, and luckily Lizzy only came over on some weekends when she needed to escape campus life. Although Emma would miss her sister when she wasn’t there, it was just much more convenient since Emma had a few secrets of her own which she did not want to share with Lizzy.

Emma perused her living room which only consisted of the bare essentials. Two couches, an ottoman, a few scatter cushions just to jazz it up a bit, and a magazine rack in the corner. And then of course the only thing of value in the entire apartment, the flat-screen television set hanging proudly on her living room wall. Other than that, the apartment was quite dull and dreary, screaming I need a makeover. Unfortunately for Emma’s living room, she had much more important things to spend her money on—like her little sister’s tuition.

She heard the horn of the taxicab she had arranged, and then darted out of the apartment, down the stairs and out the door. It was early spring, yet the nights were still a little nippy. But Emma was just glad winter was over. She hated the cold, wet, snowy season.

Two hundred and ten Madison Street, Emma told the cabby when she closed the door. She noticed the cabby stare at her in his rearview mirror. Yeah, you heard right, she sneered, knowing that the cabby knew that address all too well.

Emma leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes wondering what her night would hold in store for her. Plus now she had Tray to worry about too. Her sister had a good head on her shoulders, but her taste in guys had just been a tad questionable. But hey, who was Emma to judge? It’s not like she took the moral high ground in her life. And admittedly, she felt slightly ashamed at what she did, yet a part of her liked the excitement, the thrill of it all. Every Saturday night she had the chance to embrace that part of her. And tonight would be no different.

CHAPTER 2

AND WELCOME TO TWISTED Fable, my friend.

Nicholas looked up at the neon-pink sign with what looked like a dancing girl consisting of moving lights just beneath it.

Then he noticed the line of people trying to get into the club that stretched all around the corner of the building. Nicholas had to admit that by looking at the outside of the club, so far, he was impressed.

Adam grabbed Nicholas around his shoulders. I have no idea how we managed to miss this one for so long. Apparently it’s been here for months now.

We’re not standing in that line, are we? Nicholas pulled his face like the thought alone was just too painful to consider.

Don’t be ridiculous. Adam shot his cuffs. I’ve got us covered.

With the smooth swagger only Adam possessed, he walked up to the mean ass looking guy standing outside by the red rope, letting people in randomly.

Mr. Masters, Adam said to the bouncer while straightening his suit jacket.

The guy eyed Adam curiously, then scanned over the list he held in his hand—and what do you know, they got let in.

Adam winked at Nicholas. Told you. Stick with me and I’ll make you famous, or get you laid.

Once inside the club, Nicholas was even more impressed. Twisted Fable consisted of one huge stage up front, a bar going all around the back in a half-moon shape, with waitresses moving around on roller blades wearing black thongs, little shimmering star-shaped patches on their nipples, and bow ties.

The décor was mainly black and silver with just a touch of blue in the form of lights all around the bar. The smell of cigars and expensive whiskey filled the air, along with the sweet-smelling perfume of women. Nicholas inhaled. Oh yes, it smelled like heaven.

There were three girls on the stage doing moves on poles which would be considered reason enough to apply for danger pay. Nicholas had been to more strip clubs than he could count, but he had never seen girls move like that. Those girls worked the poles like they belonged in Cirque du Soleil with their supple bodies flexing and bending in the most erotic ways. His spine was already all tingly with excitement from the prospects the evening held.

Nicholas slapped Adam on the shoulder. Not bad, man. Not bad at all.

And this night is only just beginning. Wait until you see what we have in store for you, my friend. Adam had a naughty glint in his eye as he stared at Nicholas.

Hey, guys, over here.

Nicholas and Adam turned toward the husky voice that could only belong to one guy. Hunter Keaton, PI by day, cage fighter by night—and also scary as hell if you didn’t know the guy.

Now how exactly were Nicholas and Adam friends with Mr. Tough? They met him one day when Nicholas and Adam decided to cut school and headed over to the local park. Hunter was there leading a group of kids playing some football, and looking like a real badass.

They had been the trio of terror ever since Hunter threw the ball at Adam and said, You here to play football, or stand there and watch like little girls?

It was instant bromance.

Adam waved like a loser toward the table where Hunter was sitting.

Hey, man. Hunter got up and shoved two glasses of bourbon into their hands. Hunter was drinking beer as usual.

He looked at Nicholas. Happy birthday. May your day be filled with tits and ass.

Thanks, man. Nicholas clinked his glass against Hunter’s beer bottle. That was exactly the birthday wishes I was hoping for.

Hunter was one big-ass man with a very large art collection in the form of tattoos. Those green eyes and thick blond hair had women crawling all over him. He usually had a crowd of at least five willing females to choose from on any given night. But unlike Nicholas and Adam, Hunter had a very specific type when it came to women and always seemed like he was scouting for the perfect candidate. He never shared any details of his sex life, keeping that part of his life locked up from the rest of the world. In fact, his entire life seemed like one big top secret file hidden in a vault somewhere inside the fucking Pentagon. So, gentlemen, Adam started while holding up his drink, here’s to another epic bachelor birthday party. He turned to Nicholas. My friend, all I can say is buckle up. Adam winked.

What are you up to, Adam Masters? Nicholas raised his eyebrows in suspicion and leisurely leaned back in his seat.

Adam shot him a sly grin. You are about to find out.

Just then, two girls came up to them with their rollerblades and nipple patches gesturing for Nicholas to follow them. Nicholas eyed Adam suspiciously. What did you do?

Let me just say that I took the challenge of arranging one hell of a birthday party for you very seriously, Nicky dearest. This is going to be a night like none other. So let’s just say that your little fetish is about to skyrocket, my friend.

My fetish?

You’ll see. Just enjoy it, man. Adam held up his drink. Cheers, and bottoms up!

Nicholas couldn’t help but laugh. His friend was such a carefree soul, and no one knew Nicholas as well as Adam did. Sometimes Nicholas wished he had a little more of Adam’s free spirited outlook on life.

Bring back a memento, Hunter hollered and then laughed while clinking drinks with Adam.

So, not being a coward and always up for entertainment, Nicholas followed the girls who leisurely rollerbladed the way in front of him. They reached a red curtain, and both girls stood to each side and held it open so Nicholas could walk through. Hesitating for just a second, he glanced at the little blonde on his left. If this night is an epic fail, can I get your number?

Pretty blue eyes stared at him with batting eyelashes, and Nicholas knew he had it in the bag with this one. Even if it’s not a failure, you can still get my number, she whispered. And maybe more.

Yup, he was driving this one home tonight.

Nicholas stepped through the curtain and into a corridor. Erotic, yet tasteful black and white framed pictures of half-naked women decorated the crimson walls. Once the girls let the curtain fall closed behind him, the sound of the club music was all muffled and he slowly started down the hall.

Mr. Blake? A woman dressed in a stylish black romper walked up to him. She had a slit down her cleavage that had Nicholas anticipating a nip-slip at any second—but it never happened, which was kind of disappointing.

Yes, that’s me, he replied politely, trying not to stare at the beautiful smooth skin of her neck, framed with silky curls of fiery red. Oh, he was such a male slut. But Nicholas never gave any woman the idea that he was the promising-forever type of guy, because he wasn’t. In fact, making promises of anything more than just a good time and nights filled with pleasure went completely against his religion.

Right this way. She smiled and turned around, walking back in the direction she came.

So, do you mind telling me where we’re going? he asked while admiring the view of a perfectly toned ass swaying in front of him. Yeah, maybe he didn’t just border on being a manwhore.

Just then she stopped in