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There’s no safety net in love...
As the reigning queen of competitive beach volleyball, Brianna Evans wants her career to go out with a bang. And what better send-off than a signature tournament sponsored by an exclusive high-end luxury resort? But Bree’s heart could end up on the line. Her partner on the project is the irresistible man with whom she shared one perfect night in London...and never heard from again.
After great UK success, premier event promoter Wesley Adams is glad to be back on his North Carolina home turf. Until he discovers the collaborator on his next joint venture is the flawless beauty he spent an unforgettable evening with more than a year ago. Wes wants to finish what they started, but he can’t risk derailing the project or hurting Bree. And when they finally give in to their growing passion, will a terrible secret from his past and an escalating threat from Bree’s cost them their second chance?
“Thank you for dinner.” Bree leaned in, one hand pressed to his chest, and kissed him on the cheek. Her soft scent and body heat surrounded him.
He hadn’t expected the innocent kiss or that he’d be overwhelmed by her nearness.
Bree’s mouth lingered near his as she pulled away slowly. So slow he could hear every microsecond ticking in his head as he tried to catch his breath. He willed himself to stay in control, to keep his hands shoved in his pockets where they wouldn’t get him into trouble.
“You’re welcome.” The words came out much quieter than he’d intended. He dropped his gaze to her sensual lips and she smiled.
“I’d ask you in for an after-dinner drink, but like you said, we’ve got an early morning.” Her voice was soft and captivating, an unspoken invitation.
Wes wet his lower lip and tried to tear his attention away from her mouth and her soft gaze. Tried with every fiber of his being to ignore the fact that he wanted her desperately.
He couldn’t.
Dear Reader,
I’ve always been enchanted with fiction’s ability to transport us to faraway places and acquaint us with unfamiliar experiences.
In Playing with Seduction, UK event promoter Wesley Adams returns to his native North Carolina to establish his business stateside. He and Brianna Evans, the reigning queen of American beach volleyball, take a road trip to get reacquainted with the state. As you accompany them to iconic locations in Raleigh and Asheville, you’ll want to pack your bags and venture there to experience each location for yourself.
You’ll also take an emotional journey with this couple as each of them struggles with the past in a way that threatens to derail their future together.
Enjoy your adventure with Wesley and Brianna. Then, for series news, reader giveaways and more, join my VIP Readers list at reeseryan.com.
Happy reading,
Reese Ryan
Playing with Seduction
Reese Ryan
www.millsandboon.co.uk
REESE RYAN is a multi-published author of romantic fiction featuring complex and deliciously flawed characters. She challenges her heroines with family and career drama, reformed bad boys, and life-changing secrets while treating readers to an emotional love story and unexpected twists.
Past president of her local Romance Writers of America chapter and a panelist at the 2017 Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, Reese is an advocate for the romance genre and diversity in fiction.
A native of The Land (Cleveland, OH), Reese resides in North Carolina where she carefully treads the line between being a Southerner and a Yankee, despite her insistence on calling soda pop. She gauges her progress by the number of “bless your lil’ hearts” she receives each week. She is currently down to two.
Connect with Reese via Instagram, Facebook or reeseryan.com.
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Dedicated to all the remarkable readers I’ve met during my publishing journey. You support African American and multicultural romance with your hard-earned dollars, valuable time, honest reviews and enthusiastic word of mouth. We are nothing without you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Shannon Criss and Keyla Hernandez, for believing in me and acquiring Playing with Desire—the first book in my Pleasure Cove series.
I am truly grateful for your enthusiastic support of my career and your role in affording me other opportunities within Harlequin.
It has truly been a pleasure to work with you both. And it has been an honor to join the ranks of the remarkable Kimani Romance authors I have long admired.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Epilogue
Extract
Copyright
Chapter 1
The click of high heels against the hardwood floors prompted Wesley Adams to look up from his magazine.
A mature, attractive blonde extended her hand, her coral lips pressed into a wide smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Adams. I’m Miranda Hopkins, executive director of Westbrook Charitable Foundation.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Wes stood and shook her hand. “But please, call me Wes.”
“Wes, I’m sorry to tell you Liam won’t be joining us for today’s meeting.” Miranda frowned. “One of the girls isn’t feeling well, so he stayed home with her.”
“No, I wasn’t aware.” Wes was surprised his best friend hadn’t called him. After all, Liam had hounded him for more than a month to fly in from London for this meeting in Pleasure Cove. The woman looked worried he’d bolt, so Wes forced a smile. “But I’m confident he left me in good hands.”
“You’ve managed some impressive events in the UK,” Miranda said in her heavy, Southern drawl as she guided him toward a carpeted hallway. “We’re so excited that you’re considering taking on our project.”
Wes nodded and thanked her, glad his friend had clearly gotten the point. He was here to assess the project and decide whether it was a good fit. Nothing was written in stone.
As they approached an open door of a glass-walled conference room, he heard the voices of two women. One of them was oddly familiar.
“Wes, this is our events manager, Lisa Chastain.” He reached out to shake Lisa’s hand. Then Miranda drew his attention to the other woman. “And this is Olympic champion and international beach-volleyball star Brianna Evans. Bree, this is Wesley—”
“Adams. We’ve met.” Her expression soured, as if she smelled a rotting corpse. It sure as hell wasn’t her glad-to-see-you-again-Wes face.
Bloody hell.
He hadn’t seen Bree since the night they met at that little club in London’s West End more than a year ago.
Liam, I’m going to strangle you.
He’d tell his friend what he thought of his matchmaking attempt later. For now, he’d play it cool. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. But Bree, whose lips were pursed as she stared at him through narrow slits, obviously disagreed.
Wes widened the smile he’d honed while attending boarding school with kids whose parents made more in a month than his parents made all year. He extended his hand to Bree, despite the look on her face that dared him to touch her.
Bree shoved a limp hand into his, then withdrew it quickly, as if her palm was on fire.
What did, or didn’t, happen between he and Bree was personal. This was business.
“I believe Miss Evans has a bone to pick with me.” Wes pulled out Brianna’s chair and gestured for her to have a seat.
She narrowed her gaze at him, then took her seat. As she turned toward the two women, who exchanged worried glances, Bree forced a laugh. “Wes predicted my alma mater wouldn’t make it back to the Sweet Sixteen, and he was right. I’m convinced he jinxed us.”
Nicely done.
Wes acknowledged her save with a slight nod. He slipped into the chair across from her—the only open seat with an information packet placed on it.
The night they’d met in London, her eyes, flecked with gold, had gazed dreamily into his. The coy, flirtatious vibe she exuded that night was gone.
Bree’s face dripped with disdain. Anger vibrated off her smooth, brown skin—the color of a bar of milk chocolate melting in the hot summer sun.
Wes only realized he’d been staring at Bree when she cleared her throat and opened her information packet.
“Well, I...” Miranda’s gaze darted between Brianna and Wes. “We’re all here. Let’s get started, shall we?”
The meeting was quick and efficient. Miranda and Lisa were respectful of their time and promised they would be throughout the course of planning and executing a celebrity volleyball tournament over the next six months.
Six entire months.
Liam had laid out a dream project for him. The perfect vehicle for expanding his successful UK event planning and promotions company to the US. However, working with Bree Evans for six months would be as pleasant as having an appendectomy, followed by a root canal. On repeat.
The meeting concluded with a full tour of the expansive Pleasure Cove Luxury Resort property. After they toured the main building, the four of them loaded into a golf cart. Wes slipped into the backseat beside Bree and tried not to notice how the smooth, brown skin on her long legs glistened. But her attempts to keep her leg from touching his only drew his attention.
The Westbrooks had gone all-out with the property. In addition to the main building there were four other buildings on either side of it that housed guests. There was a pool and spa house, four different restaurants, a poolside grill, tennis courts and two workout facilities. Large rental homes and a building with smaller, connected guest houses completed the vast property.
“Here we are at the guest houses, where you’ll both be staying. Your luggage has already been taken to your individual guest houses,” Miranda announced. “Wes you’re in guest house five and Bree, I believe you’re right next door in guest house six.”
Of course.
“Makes it convenient to chat about the project whenever you’d like.” Lisa grinned.
“It certainly does.” Wes loosened his tie and stepped out of the golf cart. He extended a hand to Bree, but she stepped out of her side of the cart and walked around.
“See you at the next meeting. If you want to knock around some ideas before then, just give me a call,” Miranda said. She and Lisa waved goodbye as they zipped off in the golf cart.
Wes took a deep breath before he turned to Bree. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call—”
“You’re an ass.” She shifted the strap of her purse higher.
She wasn’t wrong.
Still, the accusation felt like a ton of bricks being launched onto his chest. “Bree, you’re obviously angry—”
“Don’t call me Bree. We’re not friends.” She folded her arms over her breasts, dragging his gaze there.
Wes raised his eyes to hers again. “Okay, what should I call you?”
Psycho? Insane? Ridiculously hot in that tight little black dress?
The corner of her mouth quirked in a grin that was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She’d caught him staring and seemed to relish his reaction. “Call me Brianna or Ms. Evans. I don’t really care.” Though, clearly, she did.
“All right, Ms. Evans.” Ms. Jackson, if you’re nasty. He bit his lip, scrubbing the image from his brain of her moving her hips and striking a pose. “I’d like to sincerely apologize for not calling when I said I would. It was rude of me. I should’ve called.”
“You shouldn’t have promised.” Her voice was shaky for a moment. “Don’t promise something if you don’t intend to carry it out. That’s one of the basic rules of not being an ass hat.”
“Noted.” He chuckled as he pulled his shades from his inside jacket pocket and put them on. “We good?”
“As good as we need to be.” Brianna turned on her tall heels, which added length to her mile-long legs. His gaze followed the sway of her generous hips. She opened the door of her guest house and glanced over her shoulder momentarily before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
Wesley sighed. He’d spent more than a decade building his event-planning-and-promotion business from a ragtag team of university misfits planning pop-up events for a little extra dosh to a company that routinely planned events for some of the hottest celebs and largest corporations in the UK. Taking point on the planning of the Westbrook’s new celebrity volleyball tournament would help him establish a name with major players in the US more quickly.
But would Bree’s animosity make it impossible for them to work together effectively?
He’d lived in London the better part of his life, and he loved living there. Still, the blue skies, warm sun and salty breeze drifting in from the Atlantic Ocean made him nostalgic for home.
But then he hadn’t really gone home. He hadn’t even told his mother he was in North Carolina.
Maybe he only missed the idea of home.
Either way, it was time to find out.
* * *
Bree tossed her purse onto the nearest chair and flopped down onto the sandy beige sofa. It was the same color as Wesley’s pants. Not that she cared. She just happened to notice the color, and how well the material had hugged his firm bottom.
No. No. No. Do not think about his ass or any other parts of his anatomy.
She kicked off her shoes and headed to the bar. It was well-stocked, courtesy of Liam Westbrook. But she also had Liam to thank for bringing her and Wes together on this project.
The stunned look on Wes’s face indicated that he was just as surprised to see her. Liam obviously hadn’t told his friend that he’d invited her to work on the project.
But why?
They were best friends. Which meant Liam probably knew what had happened that night.
Her cheeks stung as she surveyed the bottles of wine. No. It was too early to drink chardonnay alone. She pulled out a split of champagne and a bottle of orange juice.
It’s never too early for mimosas.
She took a sip of the cocktail and felt she could breathe for the first time since she’d laid eyes on Wesley Adams. His six-foot-three frame had filled out the navy jacket and beige pants as if they were made for him.
Bree checked the time on her phone. It was still early out in California. After a recent shoulder surgery, her best friend and volleyball partner, Rebecca Jacobs wouldn’t be following her usual early morning workout routine. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to text.
Bree sent a text message with one hand while nursing her drink in the other. Bex, you up?
Within seconds Bex replied. Uh-oh. How’d your meeting go?
Bree sighed. Was she really that transparent? Then again, she and Bex had been partners for the last seven years, so there wasn’t much she could put past her friend. Meeting was great. Unfortunately, I would have to work with the devil himself. Don’t know if I can do this.
The phone rang within seconds of her sending the text.
“What the hell is going on?”
Bree laughed. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry. Good morning. Now, what the hell is going on? Who was at the meeting that would make you want to pass up this opportunity?”
She sighed, her finger tracing the bar. “Wes Adams.”
“The guy you met at the bar that night in London?” Bex let out a sigh of relief. “I know you’re bummed he didn’t call, but he’s a guy. Don’t take it personally. In fact, you should be glad you guys didn’t sleep together. That’d be awkward.”
“Today was awkward.” Bree balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she wrestled with the plastic-wrapped gift basket filled with goodies. She could use some chocolate. Stat.
“Why? Because you guys fooled around a little? You are seriously out of practice, my friend.” She laughed. “I told you not having a life would catch up with you.”
“Volleyball is my life.” Bree ripped open a chocolate truffle and stuffed it in her mouth.
“And it’s a great life, but it won’t always be there. We’re approaching thirty. Time to start thinking about life after volleyball.”
“You aren’t thinking of retiring on me, are you?” Bree mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.
“No, but this injury has given me a lot of time to think. I don’t want to wake up one day and feel like I missed out on the things that are really important.”
“Like?” Her friend was surprisingly philosophical. It made Bree uneasy. She was usually the one reminding Bex to be more frugal and save for the future, when tournament money, appearance fees and endorsements were no longer flowing in, something they’d both been forced to think about more lately.
“I dunno. Like a husband. Maybe kids.”
“Wow.” Bree’s mouth curled in a smirk. “So what’s his name?”
“Shut up.” Bex fell suspiciously quiet before releasing a long sigh. “His name is Nick. He’s my physical therapist, and he is so cute.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But we’re not talking about me right now, Bree. This is about you. Why is running in to this guy again such a big deal? Do you have a serious thing for him or something?”
“No.” Even to her ears, her response sounded like that of a tween in denial, punctuated by an unladylike snort. Her mother would be so proud.
Bex paused, which told Bree that she heard her unconvincing denial, but chose to ignore it. “Then no harm, no foul. Certainly nothing worth giving up this opportunity. You could become the face of the hottest new beach volleyball event on the East Coast. Besides, Westbrook International Luxury Resorts is a worldwide organization. This could be the beginning of spreading your brand. Our brand. So don’t wuss out on me.”
Bree gritted her teeth and stared out onto the water. A huge wave licked the shore, the chilly waters chasing away a toy Pomeranian. “Okay, fine. I’ll figure out how to deal with it. With him.”
“That a girl. Whatever it takes. Just like on the court. Got it?”
Bree chucked the truffle she was about to open back into its box and nodded. “Got it. Whatever it takes.”
She talked to Bex for another half hour, getting an update on her injured shoulder and her hot new physical therapist before finally ending the call. Bree changed into a pair of yoga pants, a T-shirt and a sweater. She stepped out onto the back deck and inhaled the salty ocean breeze. It was sixty-two degrees out. A fairly warm day for early February.
She flopped onto the chaise and tried to remember her friend’s words. They hadn’t slept together. So why was she still so pissed at him?
Because she’d wanted to sleep with him. God, she’d wanted to. She’d fantasized about it in the wee hours of the morning, when she couldn’t shake the memory of his kiss from her brain.
She shuddered, remembering the touch of his hand when she’d been all but obligated to shake it and make up that story about why she was upset with him. There was some truth to the story.
A slight smile played on Bree’s lips as she remembered their argument about what football team had a chance of winning the Super Bowl. She just left out the part where he’d asked her to come back to his place. Bree had turned him down. He smiled, his eyes filled with understanding. Then he gave her the sweetest kiss. Sweet and innocent, yet filled with the promise of passionate nights ahead. They’d only spent a few hours together, but he’d managed to make the kiss feel meaningful. Real.
Real enough that she’d stared at her phone for a week afterward, waiting for him to call. Like he’d promised after their kiss.
Her response that night kept replaying in her head. Sorry, but I’m not that kind of girl. She laughed bitterly. True, she wasn’t the kind of girl who normally believed in one-night stands. In fact, she wasn’t the kind of girl who got laid at all. Not for a very long time. Not since...
She tried to erase the memory of the scornful mouth and hard, dark eyes she’d once found so intriguing. Sexy even. She’d been wrong about that asshole. Apparently, she’d been just as wrong about Wesley Adams.
The man was handsome and tall with warm brown skin. An athletic body that had felt incredible pressed against hers on the dance floor. And a killer smile. One worthy of a toothpaste commercial. He had the straightest, most brilliant teeth she’d ever seen.
And she loved his laugh, which he employed often. Because he was funny. And smart. And he liked sports. Just like she did. But he wasn’t intimidated because she was knowledgeable about sports and full of opinions she readily shared. He was the kind of guy she could see herself spending time with on those lonely nights she actually got to spend in her own bed back in Huntington Beach.
Wes was the kind of guy she wanted to spend more than one night with, so she’d turned down his offer to go back to his place.
She’d gone to the pub with Bex that night, determined to crawl out of all the insecurities that rumbled around in her head, barely leaving elbow room for her own thoughts.
She went to The Alley that night, intending to take someone back to her hotel. Just once she wanted to be a little naughty. To shed the good-girl image she’d worked so hard to perfect over the past two decades.
She was the scholarship kid who struggled to fit in at a private school, terrified that the kids would find out she lived in the run-down projects. Two of the front stairs missing and not a single blade of grass on their “lawn.”
She’d spent the past ten years creating her image as the perfect spokesperson. A successful player with a feel-good story and the kind of good-girl image that garnered endorsements and kept them. Not the kind of girl who would stroll into a club and pick up a random guy for the night.
In the end, she hadn’t turned him down to protect her shiny, good-girl reputation. She politely turned down his offer because she liked him.