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IT WAS HIS kiss, his touch, and the promise of so much more in his rich cocoa eyes that had taunted Tawny Bishop in the wee hours of the night for the past decade and had finally driven her from Paris to New York City on this cold November night. Memories of her once best friend’s demanding hands running over her heated flesh, enticing her into giving him anything he wanted, brought a rush of adrenaline, and her nerves flamed to life. A cacophony of wind and rain created a dark serenade to her seductive and nerve-racking thoughts as the cab weaved through traffic toward the Ultimate Hotel, where his family was hosting a fundraiser.
Carson Bad.
Even his name sounded stable and strong. She felt a smile tugging at her lips. You were bad, all right. His friendship and his deep, confident voice had once been the salve to all of her worries, righting everything that had felt wrong during her college years. God, she missed him. One sinful Sunday night his voice had done more than soothe. It had slithered beneath her skin, fueling her desires, and he’d introduced her to his darker, sensual side. Look at me, Tawny. What do you see? Her pulse quickened with the memory of him perched above her, her arms bound with silk above her head, his body bearing deliciously down on her. You, Carson. I see you, she’d answered. It hadn’t been enough of an answer. She’d known it then, and it had haunted her in the years since. But she’d been too entranced, so turned on for the first time in her life, rational thinking had not been an option. And every Sunday night for almost two years thereafter, their connection had deepened as they’d explored their sexuality, testing boundaries and taking their fill like drunks at an exclusive bar. Those dark desires had consumed her, making it hard for her to concentrate on anything else. Shame had topped that sexual sundae, making their secret pleasures guilt-inducing and alienating. Until one fateful night when a knock had sounded on his apartment door, and Tawny’s brilliant, lust-addled brain had kicked into gear—and her heart had taken a hit.
She’d been thinking rationally ever since, and as it turned out, a decade of rational thinking was not all it was cracked up to be. Their initial sexual encounter had been the first time meticulously careful and private Tawny had acted on a whim. Coming to see Carson was the second. She’d seen the announcement for the fundraiser only three days earlier, and had been a nervous wreck ever since making her flight arrangements.
She stared out at the dark, rainy night, thinking about her father, who had passed away two years ago from pancreatic cancer. Her mother had been killed while crossing the street when Tawny was only five years old, and her father had never remarried. Days before his death, her father had asked Tawny one question that had changed the direction of her life. Did she have any regrets? That simple question had spurred a torrent of emotions and was the catalyst for her divorce, her move to Paris, and her need to finally deal with her feelings for Carson.
