Bared To You: Lay Me Bare, #2

By L M Allen

Turn up the heat and get up close and personal with Will Hunter, the legendary owner of London's most exclusive honeytrap agency. He doesn't believe in love. Why would he? He's bedded hundreds of women. All of them married. And all of them wanted more.

 

All it takes for anyone to cheat is the right looks, with the right words, at the right time. Right? And he should know.

 

That's what he thought. He believed it all his life, until he met Eva Adams. The one mark his honeytraps can't land. She is the woman he didn't believe in. The only woman he ever wanted to want him. So when she falls for him too, their relationship attracts all the wrong kinds of attention.

 

Can Will overcome his demons and learn to trust? To believe in love? Or will a ghost from his past wipe out his future?

 

Bared To You is the second book in the Lay Me Bare steamy romance trilogy. It is recommended that these books be read in order. It is told from Will's point of view over the same time frame as book one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L M Allen
• Release date: Oct 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393394525

L M Allen

L M Allen lives in Northamptonshire, England with her husband, three kids and enough animals to fill a small zoo. She loves the peace and quiet of the countryside but will hop on the train and take things up a gear in London whenever she gets the chance. She is obsessed with romance, chocolate and dogs. Not necessarily in that order.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I can feel the eyes on me as I push open the changing room door and make my way to the mats, the concrete floor freezing cold under my bare feet, the strip lighting overly bright.

The guys always want a shot at the boss. It’s a good way to hash out office politics apparently. The tension is palpable.  The office has been nothing but tense for a few months now. I concentrate on breathing slower—box breathing they call it. I can feel my heart rate start to lower until I’m almost zen-like, a state so at odds with the setting and the man waiting for me, as I perch on a ring-side bench.

Will. I nod hello to Scott ‘Jack’ Jackson and he nods back at me, his attention flicking from me to two of my guys fighting on the mats. Good Christmas? he asks.

Brilliant Christmas. I’d rather be back in Mexico than here. It’s bloody freezing. What time is your flight? I ask, rubbing my hands together and blowing warm air into the gap between them.

Not ‘till tonight. I called Marina already... He trails off, looking at me sideways. The man is taking fucking liberties.

Is that right?

Is that okay?

My eyes narrow. Well, I suppose you have to wait it out somewhere.

What’s the point of having a best mate with a hotel chain if you can’t visit it occasionally? He laughs in a stunted, nervous twitter.

How are you holding up? He shrugs nonchalantly in response but the twitch above his left eyebrow betrays him.

Just another day in the office. I lean backwards onto the bench behind us, stiffening when the icy cold of the surface seeps through the fabric of my T-shirt and straightening out my legs as I wait for the truth.

After a pause, he says, We knew this could happen when we took the case.  He scans the area for any curious bystanders. I just didn’t expect the shit to hit the fan so quickly. Or so... spectacularly.

A high-profile breakup is always big news, and it doesn’t get any bigger than those two. We didn’t ask him to tweet the evidence his wife was having an affair. He didn’t mention that his wife was our mark, that she was supposed to have an affair. An affair he orchestrated and paid for when he hired Cactus, my honeytrap agency, and my best asset.

No. But now, every mark I’ve ever landed could see it. 

It’s a problem. I can’t deny that, but like you said, we knew it could happen, and we have a plan to deal with the fall out. Just as soon as you’re airborne. With our client list, it’s a huge fucking problem.

There’s something else. He doesn’t look up from his bare feet as he draws a deep breath.

What’s that? I ask as I stand, roll my shoulders and stretch out my neck, ready to take the mat.

He had evidence I didn’t give him.

Come again?

I didn’t give him the...he has...bedroom... photos. That is a bigger problem. Jack exhales slowly as Luke floors his opponent a few meters away. 

I think he failed the physical, boss! Luke laughs as he reaches a hand down to pull my new trapper to his feet, but I’m barely listening.

It’s not our policy to take a camera into the bedroom since it’s not, legally, part of the job description to bed a mark. Of course it happens. More often than not, but we have never provided anything other than images of going into or leaving a hotel room or property.

What’s the hold-up, ladies? Luke smirks as he swaggers our way. He’s not even broken a sweat and the new guy looks half-dead. He’s going to need a lot of work if he’s to survive in this industry. How ya doin’, Casanova? Luke grins at Jack and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Jack, clearly not in the mood for Luke’s antics, snags his wrist, holding him at bay. Jack’s fingertips and nails are white from the force he’s applying to those pressure points. Jesus! Luke yells. I was only—

Well, don’t. Get your arse back on that mat, he snarls and stalks over to the mat with a murderous glint in his eye.

I’ll take this one. He might kill you, I tell Luke before slapping his shoulder, as he flexes his fingers and shakes out his wrist.

He might kill you too! he rebuts.

I think I can handle it.

Every possibility for the client having evidence he shouldn’t is steamrollering through my head as I take up my position. But whatever the answer turns out to be, I’m fairly sure Jack did nothing wrong.

Jack and I were recruited into trapping together over a decade ago by Jacob Stone. His wife owned our dance school. He said that being able to dance was halfway there when it came to getting women. He wasn’t wrong, and Jack and I were a force to be reckoned with in the industry.

Jacob paid our way through university degrees in psychology (‘since women love to talk, it pays to know what they’re really saying’), and trained us in the art of seduction for the marks, and hardcore mixed martial arts for the husbands. It’s funny... our clients are happy to instruct us, even happy to pay the substantial bill, but nine times out of ten, they’re not so happy when you fuck their wives. Go figure.

We all made a lot of money, until he screwed me over and I got a daughter out of it. Jack stuck with me and I invested my inheritance and every penny I could beg, steal or borrow into screwing him over right back.

It was worth it. I became the proud owner of Cactus, the most exclusive honeytrap agency in London, and Jack is the best trapper I have. It’s going to sting to let him leave for a few months, but he can’t feasibly work the field until the heat has died down. I don’t trap anymore. Not since Mae, my daughter, came into my life.

I plant my feet in the blue padded mat and bring my hands up to protect my face. Jack’s mood becomes crystal clear to anyone watching when his fist flies towards my nose. Oh, ho-ho! I laugh, dodging to the right as his arm sails past my left ear. Game on.

***

When we hit the changing rooms, every man here is sporting more than a few new bruises but I’m considering it a sign of steam blown off. I glance at the time—08:32 a.m. Mae should be calling any minute now. I’m already reaching for my phone when it rings.

Good morning, angel.

Maw-nin’, Daddy.

Tell me.

I cawn’t remembwer, she says, a sad note in her voice.

That’s okay. You want to hear mine?

Yes!

In my dream, we were playing on the beach. It was really sunny and warm, and—

Was it Mezi-o?

Hmmm, kind of. It was kind of a mix between Mexico and Devon.

Where you lived when yow were little?

Yes, that Devon. And—

Was it like our hotel in Mezi-o?

Well, if I could get a word in, I’d tell you! I laugh. Maybe I’d better save this one for tonight or you’ll be late for preschool. Have a good day, angel. I’ll see you later.

Bye, Mae! Luke calls. I pin him with an icy glare.

Who’s dat? she asks.

No one. See you later. Can I talk to Mary, please? I turn away from Luke. His smirk is making me feel violent.  I hear the scuffle as our nanny’s phone is passed back to her.

Morning, Will, she says, a musical note to match the Irish lilt in her voice. I think she’s glad to have Mae back home, and judging by Mae’s chattering, my little girl is equally as glad to be back with her.

Morning. I shouldn’t be too late tonight. Around six-thirty I’d guess.

I’ll have dinner ready. And the heating turned up.

I appreciate it. Bye for now.

Bye.

I tap the screen and hang up. We won’t bite her, ya know, Luke snipes.

Drop it, Jack advises him. But Luke doesn’t know when to quit. It’s part of what makes him an excellent trapper, but right now, it’s wholly annoying.

"Are you saying we’re never going to meet her? Your daughter?"

"That’s exactly what I’m saying. Mae has never met any of my friends, colleagues or staff. The staff in Mexico know to give her a wide berth, but it doesn’t take any kind of super observational powers to see how badly they’re dying to pounce on her when we stay, and Mary has strict instructions to keep her away from any staff at the new hotel too. They’re all far too interested in my daughter, for all the wrong reasons. She’s not a fucking exhibit!" I spit.

Dude. Drop it. Jack steps in front of Luke. I can’t see the look he gives him but I’d be willing to bet it was a warning. Even he has never been properly introduced. He gets it. He knows the full story. Hers and mine.

Jack nudges Luke towards the showers, and as I stow my phone in the locker, it rings again. I reach for it but it’s not lit up. I’m confused for the two seconds it takes to register that it’s another phone in the locker that’s ringing, not mine. Must be the owner trying to track it down. It happens.

I’ve already decided I’ll drop it at reception on my way out as I tap the screen and raise it to my ear. He—

Don’t talk. Just listen. You’re a difficult man to get a hold of, Mr Hunter. But now that I have your attention, I want you to do something for me. He pauses but I don’t respond. You were recommended to me. You, personally. He pauses again. When you arrive at Cactus this morning, you will be briefed on an ongoing case. I need you to be the one to close it.

If you know my name, you know I don’t trap anymore. Hello? What the...? I stare at the phone in my hand. Well, that was weird, but with our clientele, the whole clandestine thing isn’t that unusual. I throw the phone in my gym bag and shut the locker.

I’m going to order breakfast. See you there, Luke says as I pass him and Jack on my way to the shower, and I nod.

Go home, Jack. Pack and lay low ‘till we can get you out of here. He nods and I turn for the door, catching half of Luke’s ‘so fucking uptight’ comment, and get knocked in the shoulder by another guy leaving, his dark ball cap pulled too low to see his face.

You would be too, Jack spits.

It’s gonna be one of those days.

Chapter 2

Morning. I greet my staff as I stride into Cactus forty minutes later, fed and calm, well, calmer, and grateful to be out of the bitter London-in-January rain that is now pelting the fourth-floor windows instead of my face. I shrug out of my drenched coat, push my dripping hair from my eyes, and exchange it and my gym bag for the first cup of steaming caffeine of the working year from my assistant, Kelly, with a grateful smile.

As I settle into an empty chair for our weekly run-through of cases, I’m wishing I’d stayed a little longer at my first and favourite hotel. The white sands and turquoise ocean...

Anything new I should be aware of? I ask casually, taking a warming swig from my mug as the mystery caller crawls back into my brain.

We had this one in just before Christmas, Brad, my office manager, says, pressing a button and firing up the projector. De Luca/Adams. He wants you.

This is it.

I’m assuming you told him that’s never going to happen?

I told him. He wasn’t having it. Especially since Luke and I both tried already. Well, he’s going to be disappointed.

I glance up at the screen displaying the basic details so far, realising as he says it, that the case has been active for three weeks and over the Christmas period, when every woman on Earth believes Santa will deliver her a dream man.

––––––––

. Wife (Eva Adams) – suspected of infidelity.

. Digital search for immoral activity – zero returns.

. Dating profiles – none.

. Social media response – none.

––––––––

That doesn’t mean much. Just that she’s smart. And careful.

Have we tried the personal approach?

Yeah. My eyes flick to Luke as I raise my mug. It was her birthday on Christmas Eve. She went out, but not for long. Ate with female friends and left by ten. Alone. My eyebrows jump, waiting for the personal bit. I approached her. May as well have been talking to the wall. He shrugs.

Zero interest? Huh. She barely even looked at me before turning me down flat. Seriously? Luke hardly ever leaves empty-handed. Maybe he was pissed? Put her off?

We’ve only tried on the one night though? I assume out loud, taking another gulp of much-needed caffeine. Jet lag is a bitch.

No. Three times.

Three! Three separate times? No way! And what?

And nothing, he says with an awkward smile. Three approaches by three different professional honeytraps and we haven’t landed her yet?

What. The. Fuck? That is a record. Three? And it goes some way to explaining the phone call.

How much? I ask, meaning how much is the husband paying us to chase his lying, cheating wife all over London.

Five hundred. My eyes go wide as I get a firm grasp on the situation. The full package.

For five hundred grand, we’ll keep going until we land her, with every type of evidence, or we refund him. I’ve never refunded anyone. Ever. But then again, it’s never taken more than two attempts either. Okay. Talk me through it.

I nod along as my guys fill me in on their attempted interactions with Eva Adams. Maybe she’s gay? I offer.

That’s why the third one. Brad flashes me the killer smile I’ve never seen fail yet. Until now. Until Eva Adams. Caroline tried. Definitely not gay.

I have to admit the approaches they described sound textbook perfect; there’s no reason in the world we shouldn’t have closed this case by now. Up the pressure. I want this one put to bed. Before I have to explain, again, that I don’t trap anymore. It’s a shame Jack is leaving tonight. He’d have this one sorted by tomorrow.

Oh man, even you, the famous Will Hunter, would come out of retirement if you saw this girl. She’s bloody gorgeous, the new guy crows. I flip him my equally famous ‘fuck you’ scowl. He wisely chooses to stop talking. She might be gorgeous but she’s a cheat. A liar. Probably went home to her husband and got in his bed after screwing another man.

So why is she not biting? Cheaters aren’t usually too picky, in my experience. It’s the thrill of the forbidden or sometimes just the attention they’re after. So why, when faced with two very good-looking guys trained to seduce, is this case still not closed?

In this job, it’s hard to believe in things like faithful partners, love and marriage or monogamous relationships of any kind. The truth is: all it takes for anyone to cheat is the right looks with the right words at the right time. That soppy shit only exists in fairy tales and love songs. End of.

I’m barely listening to the run-through of the other cases. They’re all in the game, doing what they’re supposed to. I need to know more about the De Luca/Adams case. What are we not doing right?

––––––––

When the last case is closed off and handed over to accounts, Luke leaves to work the field with instructions to find an ‘in’ for the Adams girl. I walk towards my office in determined strides. This is a problem that needs sorting. I don’t get involved with the field work, as a rule, but I don’t want to have to refund half a million quid because we missed something.

I push through the door and round my desk, shoving the token cactus plant aside, drop heavily into the high-back leather chair and fire up my desktop.

Hey, Will, Karen coos from the door. I missed you while you were away. I flick my eyes up briefly.

Did you.

Did you miss me? she pouts. No. I didn’t.  Did you meet anyone interesting while you were away? she asks, twirling her dark hair around her finger and giving me ‘fuck me’ eyes.

Interesting? No. Interested? Yes. Loads of ‘em. Being the owner of the hottest hotel in Playa del Carmen would pretty much guarantee even a potbellied, impotent dwarf a fair amount of female attention. Throw in the looks and the body and it’s irritating, verging on infuriating.

I’m not being big-headed—it’s just a fact. One I’m reminded of every time I look in the mirror. I’m a good-looking bloke. That and the money are what other people see when they look at me. All I see is my mother. These women know nothing about me, but they throw themselves at my feet. I’m not interested in being anyone’s toy. Or meal ticket.

Karen, we’ve been over this.

You don’t want a relationship?

Exactly.

Just sex? With someone you can walk away from?

Karen—

You know what I think, Will? she says, eyes narrowed and prowling towards me. I think you offered me the contract here to put up a barrier. I think you want me and that scares you. I think... She moves closer and I push my chair back, creating some space. She perches her arse on the edge of my desk. ...if I were to kiss you now, you’d like it.

Do you?

Yes, she breathes. Her eyes flick to my mouth as her tongue darts out, moistening her lips.

I don’t stop her as she leans in. I know I should, but I’m curious to see if I’d like it too. If she can make me feel... something.

––––––––

Her lips are dry, slightly chapped. She smells musky. It’s not unpleasant but it’s doing nothing for me. Relax, she whispers, manoeuvring herself to straddle my lap.

Karen... I warn as her hands start to wander.

Shhh.

Okay. You’ve had your fun. Stop.

I know you want me too. Her voice is low and husky as she moves her mouth to my neck, tasting her way to my ear.

No. I don’t. I really don’t. Yeah, she was fun for a couple of months but then she started getting stupid ideas. I haven’t met a woman I’ve wanted in the thirty years I’ve been wandering this fucked-up planet. They don’t really want me—they don’t know me. But they want to fuck me.

There was a time when that was okay. It was my job to seduce them after all.  I haven’t been active in the field since Mae was born; but before that, I had a different mark every night. And, although it’s not in the job description, I fucked every one of them. To expose them? Yes. But to prove a point too. I could make them want me without ever wanting them. And then, I’d break them. What does that make me, I wonder?

Taking hold of her elbows, I stand and set her on the floor, trying not to notice how pale her face has gotten or the bright pink patches on her cheeks.

I told you I don’t do the soppy shit.

Can’t we just go back to how it was? she says, looking up at me through her lashes.

"You said you had feelings for me. That’s not just sex. That’s sex with expectations. You knew I was out at that point."

You have to let someone in sometime. At least I know what I’m getting into with you. I wouldn’t ask you to change.

You just did. That will never fucking happen.

Will...

Karen. I sigh, trying to rein in my frustration. It’s nothing personal. That’s not who I am. I don’t do...that.  Relationships... they’re just not for me. I’m sorry...it’s never going to happen. I’ll never let anyone that close.

I don’t understand why any sane adult would purposely do that to themselves.

I can do just sex, she says quietly, her voice shaking and her lip trembling.

Not with me. That right there. That emotional shit. She’s upset because she’d concocted a story of the two of us in her head. If she wasn’t getting too attached, she wouldn’t give a single fuck. I don’t need this. I’ve been there already and look where that got me. Fatherhood. I give her a look that ends the conversation dead, she hiccups as she spins on her heel and then hurries across my office.

––––––––

I watch Karen leave in a near run, pulling the door quietly shut, and push her from my mind. I turn my attention back to the bigger problem at hand: the De Luca/Adams case.

The first thing I need is the folder of images. What does he look like? Maybe we need someone who looks a bit like him? She married him after all. I open the file and click through to the images. Dan DeLuca has short, dark brown, almost black hair and light brown eyes. He’s tall but not as tall as I am; he’s 6’2". Big built. He must spend a lot of time dead lifting, judging by the shoulders.

A good-looking guy and clearly well off, or he wouldn’t be our client, but nothing we can’t match. All of my staff are good looking. It goes with the territory. Luke is similar to him in colouring, and Brad would give him a run for his money in the gym any day of the week. But they’ve both tried and failed. Seeing his photo, I’m even more convinced we must be missing something. But what?

I click on her photo next—Eva Adams—and look up when there’s a sharp rap at the door. Brad pokes his head around. Mate. Issues of the husband variety.

Great. I stretch out my neck, side to side, as I stand and stride off after him.

Where is he! I can hear the client yelling way before I can see him. Where is he? he screams.

Jack isn’t here. If you come on through, we can discuss— Brad tries to placate the man shrieking at him.

I’m going to kill him! the client yells again, his cheeks reddening.

Oh, here we go. I press my back teeth together in an effort to stop myself from rolling my eyes. He’s one of those husbands. He told the whole fucking world! He tweeted photos! She’ll never forgive me...! He breaks down, sobbing so hard his shoulders are shaking, but I’ve never been more confused. He thinks Jack leaked photos? It’s in the news for Christ’s sake!

Get him a drink, I tell Kelly quietly. She nods and scurries off towards the kitchen while I consider my options.

––––––––

When he’s calm, I walk the client to my office and he takes the chair opposite mine at my desk. Sir, as I understand it, the tweets came from your account—

Jack must have hacked it.

Why would he do that?

"Why do you think! To show the world he had my wife."

No.

No?

"No. You can’t honestly believe that yours is the only high-profile breakup we’ve been involved in? This agency has landed scores of marks, equally as high profile. Jack probably accounts for about thirty percent of those personally. You really think he’d risk his reputation and any future cases for a quick dig at you? He stares back at me blankly.  If someone hacked your account, it wasn’t Jack, and it wasn’t someone at Cactus."

So...who was it then?

I don’t know. But if you’re telling me it wasn’t you, I can authorise an investigation to find out.

It wasn’t me. Christ, what have I done? Here comes the regret.

Go home. Get some rest. I’ll contact you when I know more.

Okay. Just...can you do something for me?

What’s that?

Delete any photos you’ve got. All of them.

Okay, let’s do it now. We’ll do it together so you know it’s done.

I wait for his nod of agreement, turn my screen so that we can both see it and tap in my password.

I click on the cross in the top right corner to close any open tabs and catch the briefest glimpse of turquoise and blonde. Light blonde.

I fight my riveted gaze away from the now blank screen and the client is staring too. Umm... so...

Photos, I remind us both as I open his case file.

Yeah. Photos. Um... His attention flicks to the screen and back again. Who is...? Never mind. You probably can’t tell me. He shakes his head but his expression is hopefully conspiratorial.

These are the only images we have. I’ll delete them now. I’m just as eager to move the cursor over a bit as my client is for me to do so.

––––––––

Ten minutes later, as I walk the client to the door, Kelly rushes at me with my gym bag. This is ringing, Will.

Thanks. I take it from her hand, rummage for the phone I threw in there earlier and note the ‘withheld’ status of the number calling.

Hunter, I answer sharply. If this guy thinks I’m gonna run around at his beck and call, he has another thing coming.

You see the issue, Mr Hunter? They’ve tried and failed. It needs to be you.

No can do, Mr De Luca. I don’t trap anymore.

I heard that. I also heard you’re the best there is, so I’m asking you to consider stepping out of retirement for a week or two. And, so you know, De Luca is my boss. However, you’ll be dealing with me.

I think you’re getting way ahead of yourself. We still have several other trappers who could just as easily tie this up for you.

And if they can’t?

I take a sharp breath as the tingle of adrenaline shoots through my veins. That thrill that comes with the prospect of the chase starts in my fingertips, and the promise of a challenge swirls in my stomach. "We’ll cross that bridge...