Caress Part Three (Arcadia Book 3) Read online

  About this Book

  *****CARESS is an erotic romance that includes explicit sexual scenes. Also warm toasted bagels spread with gooey cream cheese, banana splits dripping with extra cherries, and a panty-dropping alpha male who’s good enough to eat all by himself. Side effects may include naughty thoughts, secret smiles, and friends asking what on earth you’re reading. Proceed at your own risk. XXXOOO Josie*****

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  Welcome to the Arcadia, Manhattan’s most seductive address.

  For almost a century, the exclusive Art Deco apartment building overlooking Central Park has been home to passionate, star-crossed lovers. Now a new generation is about to discover the obsession and mystery hidden within its luxurious walls.

  When smart, gutsy Emma Whittaker returns to the building where she grew up, she’s only hoping to gain a foot-hold in a city that has turned cold and hostile since the exposure of her father’s multi-billion dollar financial fraud. Instead, she meets the one man who can make her forget all the hard-learned lessons that life has taught her and tempt her to risk everything, even her heart.

  Lucas Phelps is New York’s premiere realtor, the confidant of stars, tech moguls, and oligarchs, gatekeeper to the city’s most sought after properties, none more so than the Arcadia itself. At ease in the world of the wealthiest and most powerful, Lucas has long since hidden his true nature behind steely resolve. But his deepest yearnings will return to haunt him when he crosses paths with the one woman capable of shattering his hard-won control and unleashing his darkest desires.

  As the betrayals of the past and the dangers of the present collide within the Arcadia, Emma and Lucas will struggle to overcome both before they can make the future their own.

  Table of Contents

  About this Book

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  Emma

  Frozen in place, hardly able to breathe, I stared into the face of a ghost.

  My father. The man who had committed suicide three years ago in the wake of the massive financial scandal that brought down my world.

  The man, who I believed without a shadow of doubt, was dead. Right up until the moment when his lips shaped my name.

  “Emma.”

  Through the rush of blood drumming in my ears, I could only just make out his voice. It sounded as I remembered, low, clear, a little rough around the edges but with a note of tenderness and regret that went right through me even as I refused to believe that any of this was real.

  Because if it was--

  Emotions welled up in me--pain, hurt, anger--all too much for me to cope with. I jerked my head away, refusing to look at him, just in time to see the black-and-white police cruiser coming around the corner.

  Two uniformed officers were in the front. From their manner, I couldn’t tell if they were on a routine patrol or were looking for something in particular but that didn’t make any difference. The ground felt as though it was opening up beneath me.

  The memory of my father being led from the offices of his investment firm in handcuffs before a wall of cameras and shouting reporters burned through my mind. The district attorney and the police had reaped a publicity bonanza with that perp walk but it was only the beginning.

  Even after he met bail and was able to come home, the paparazzi kept us under siege. They hadn’t been alone. The authorities were outside the Arcadia as well, some to keep the angry crowds at bay, others alert to any hint that the man responsible for the worst Ponzi scheme since Bernie Madoff might try to flee.

  When he finally did, he got no further than the Hudson River, scarcely a quarter-mile away. Multiple witnesses used their cell phones to take video of my father standing on a dilapidated pier, holding a gun to his own head.

  As though in slow motion, I could still see the moment when he pulled the trigger. A spray of red burst from his skull. His body tumbled into the dark swirl of currents that swiftly carried it out to sea.

  I’d long since lost count of how many copies of that video had been sent to me, some by people suggesting that I should meet the same end.

  Was all that torment about to start up once more?

  Panic threatened to consume me. I only just managed to hold it at bay as I tracked the police car with my eyes. It passed by without even slowing down and went on across the intersection to the next block.

  I stared after it, my heart hammering, until it disappeared from sight. Finally, when it was gone, I managed to speak.

  “What do you--?”

  There was no one to hear me. I was alone. My father had vanished into the vast labyrinth of the city just as completely as he had vanished from my life three years before.

  Or he had never been there to begin with. I had to face the possibility that some combination of emotion and nostalgia had led me to imagine the entire encounter.

  Distantly, I remembered reading that hallucinations were more common than people realized. Our minds really do play tricks on us. But the possibility that mine had done so was terrifying. If I couldn’t trust myself, who could I trust?

  The question haunted me as I made my way back to the Arcadia. Riding up in the elevator, still clutching the bagels that I’d just bought, I felt nauseous. I had to pull myself together. If Lucas saw me in such obvious distress, he wouldn’t stop until he knew the reason why.

  And then what could I say? Oh, by the way, you may have been right, my father could still be alive. If I haven’t been hallucinating, that is. In fact, he may be here in the city. Perhaps we could all get together for dinner?

  A hysterical giggle escaped me. The idea of Lucas and my father in the same room was nothing short of horrifying.

  Only the years of practice in concealing my emotions came to my rescue. As the elevator pinged to a stop, I drew myself upright, took a deep breath, and resolved that no matter what, I was going to stay in control.

  To that end, I went directly to the kitchen and grabbed items from the refrigerator. Without giving myself any time to think, I sliced lemons, diced red onion, and spooned capers into a serving dish. Before I was done, I realized that I was no longer alone.

  “What are you doing?” Lucas asked.

  He stood at the kitchen door, wearing only pajama bottoms that rode low on his lean hips and left the broad sweep of his chest bare. His chocolate brown hair looked deliciously mussed and a night’s growth of scruff softened the hard line of his jaw. He looked even more enticing than he had when I had left him, still asleep in what I had come to think of as our bed.

  Too clearly, I remembered driving my fingers through the rough silk of his hair, clasping him to me as my hips arched toward his sinful mouth. I’d returned the favor, kissing and licking my way down his magnificent torso to swirl my tongue around his cock and--

  I looked away quickly and said, “I thought you were hungry.”

  “For you.” He glanced at the food on the counter in front of me and frowned. “The rest can wait.”

  I struggled to ignore the hot surge of longing that he always inspired. “Did you make coffee? No? I will. It will only take a few minutes. I got orange juice--”

  With just a few steps, he crossed the small space separating us. I had a moment to think tha
t 1950s-style kitchens weren’t all that big. Since then they’d grown to be such a major part of a home, the most extravagant complete with sitting and dining areas, even fireplaces, as though we’d returned to the Colonial era when the kitchen was where everyone gathered--

  “What’s wrong?” Lucas asked, interrupting my rambling train of thought.

  He took the bread knife from my hand and laid it down on the wooden cutting board. Turning me so that I faced him, he said softly, “Tell me.”

  I stared back at him, absorbing the steel gleam of eyes that could under other circumstances be smoky with inner fire, the hard set of his mouth, and the alert stance of his body, as though poised to deal with any danger.

  “Nothing,” I said, my gaze slanting away only to be drawn back irresistibly to his. Too easily, I knew what he was seeing as he studied me: Wide blue eyes shadowed by old pain, flushed cheeks, and a mouth on the verge of trembling.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “Something’s spooked you. What happened?”

  I hesitated, torn between the treacherous desire to tell him and determination to do nothing of the kind. Determination won, if only by the faintest of margins.

  In a flagrant attempt to change the subject, I asked, “Has it occurred to you that you can be more than a little overwhelming?”

  He smiled faintly but his gaze didn’t waiver. “I’m glad to hear it because that’s exactly how you make me feel. Now tell me what’s happened.”

  I’d never been much good as a liar, not as a kid or even as a teen. Since my father had done what he had, I’d had even more of a need for honesty.

  But now I opened my mouth and said, “I got light-headed in the street, a little dizzy. It’s nothing. I’m just hungry.”

  At once his expression changed. Instead of fiercely male with a side of disarming protectiveness, he looked chastened and concerned.

  “I knew we were overdoing it last night,” he said, taking a step back. “I should have stopped--”

  Guilt rippled through me. I turned away, unable to look him in the eye. “We,” I murmured. “We were overdoing, maybe. It’s not all on you.”

  After a moment, Lucas wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me against his back. Softly, he murmured, “That’s one of the things I appreciate about you the most, even if it is hard for me to get used to.”

  Puzzled, I turned my head. “What is?”

  “You take responsibility for your own actions. You never try to put anything off on someone else. I’m not used to that.”

  “What are you used to?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Being the responsible one. It’s what I know, what I’m comfortable with.”

  I could understand that. He’d taken over his family’s firm when he was barely my age; fought off the predators, my father among them, who wanted to devour it; and gone on to immense success. Along the way, he’s also taken care of his mother and younger siblings. I could accept all of that as good and honorable but that didn’t preclude other motives as well.

  Before I could think better of it, I said, “Being responsible puts you in charge.”

  His mouth quirked. “I suppose that’s true.” He moved his head slightly, enough so that his lips nuzzled the lobe of my ear. “I’d like to take charge of you.”

  I stiffened in his embrace and pulled back staring at him. “You did not just say that.”

  He didn’t even pretend to deny it. “I did, worse yet, I meant it.”

  I shook my head, knowing this was unacceptable yet at the same time finding it all-too treacherously tempting. That told me that I needed a reality check as much as he did.

  “This is the twenty-first century,” I said. “Men aren’t in charge of women.”

  He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “that’s too damn bad” and spun me around so that we were facing each other.

  His manner was unrelenting and implacable, yet at the same time strangely comforting.

  “Tell me again,” he said, “you’re just hungry? Nothing else is bothering you?”

  I was on the verge of saying ‘yes’ just to get him to stop asking but the word caught in my throat. I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him even as I recognized the danger he represented.

  Ever since meeting Lucas, I’d been swept up in sensations and experiences unlike any I had ever known. He’d blown apart the narrow strictures of my life and filled me with a tremulous sense of what might be possible.

  The net effect of all that was to tempt me to let down the barriers that I’d constructed so carefully around myself. But they were all that had kept me safe for the past three years. I both hated and needed them.

  Life had taught me to rely strictly on myself. What would happen if I threw that harsh lesson aside and did as he wanted?

  As the silence drew out between us and I felt the tension mounting in him, an even more urgent question occurred to me: What would happen if I didn’t?

  What exactly was the price of defying Lucas Phelps?

  Chapter Two

  Emma

  Lucas’ hands tightened on my shoulders. He was waiting for an answer.

  Mutely, I looked away.

  But not so far that I couldn’t see his reaction. His expression darkened. I shivered as his gazed moved over me, at once icy in intent and flaming hot.

  “That’s how you want to play it?” he asked.

  Play it? I wasn’t playing, not remotely. I was…drowning? No, that couldn’t be right because I was catching fire, ignited by him, by my own desires and by something more that I didn’t dare name.

  “I’m not--”

  I got that much out before his mouth closed on mine, rough, hard, demanding. His tongue thrust deep, filling me with his taste, claiming me. For just an instant I hesitated, remembering my hard won independence, the ring fence of old pain separating me from the world.

  Then it crumbled and I opened for him, giving him with my body what I couldn’t admit to with words.

  He groaned and pressed me against the kitchen counter. Until that instant, I hadn’t realized how cold I’d felt since being visited by the apparition of my father, or whatever it was that I’d seen. But Lucas warmed me all the way through.

  The change was instant and dramatic. Heat prickled along every inch of my skin at the same time I felt myself becoming hot and wet deep inside, readying for him.

  My body had become so attuned to his that even a short time apart had left me aching. I groaned and twined my fingers in his hair, clasping him as close as I could allowing for the barrier of our clothes still between us.

  That separation must have been as intolerable for him as it was for me because he broke free suddenly, staring at me with molten eyes, and rasped, “Unless you want to get fucked on this counter, we need to stop now.”

  Stop? Insanity. The building could collapse around my ears and I wasn’t about to stop. I was vibrating with need, desperate to lose myself in him.

  With him, I could let go of everything else. I craved that emotional release at least as much as I needed the physical variety.

  My breath was coming in shallow pants, precluding speech. All the better to make do with action.

  Holding his eyes with mine, I toed off the flats I’d put on to make the bagel run, unzipped my jeans and tugged them off. I was left in a cherry red thong and the oversized sweater I’d opted for so that I wouldn’t have to bother with a bra.

  My breasts were still sensitive from the night before but now they felt full and heavy, aching with need for him. I wanted his hands on them, his mouth, the feel of his teeth scraping my nipples...

  Watching me, Lucas’ nostrils flared. I shivered at the thought that he could smell my arousal.

  Deliberately, I pulled the sweater down to bare one shoulder and then the other before I shimmied out of it and kicked it aside.

  My nipples tightened further as I felt his gaze on them. His lips were parted slightly, his chest rising and falling. Glancing down, I saw that his hands were
clenched into fists, as though he was determined not to touch me. At least not right there, not on my terms.

  I’d already defied him once by refusing to tell him what had happened. Apparently, further defiance wasn’t going to be rewarded.

  We’d see about that.

  Flattening my palms against his chest, I savored the feel of rock hard muscle lightly covered by taut, warm skin. Slowly, delighting in every inch, I stroked lower until I came to the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

  “You’re overdressed,” I murmured.

  He grabbed my hands, stopping me from going any further.

  “I told you to stop,” he said.

  “Actually,” I reminded him, “you gave me a choice.”

  Before he could react, I lowered myself far enough to grasp the edge of the waistband between my teeth. A wicked sense of daring surged through me as I began dragging it down, over his flat abdomen and the lean curve of his hips. For good measure, I let the flat of my tongue taste his heated skin.

  “Damn it, Emma!” he groaned. Letting go of my hands, he cupped my head. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  It occurred to me that just maybe I didn’t. Despite all we’d shared sexually, I still had the lingering sense that he was holding back in some way.

  On the face of it, that was absurd. He drove me to release so intense that I wondered at times how I survived it. And I wasn’t alone. The image of him, thrusting deep within me, his head thrown back, the tendons of his throat corded, a roar of primal satisfaction breaking from him was enough all by itself to make me wet.

  And yet…I persisted in believing that there was more to Lucas than he chose to reveal. I’d felt it that first day on the couch, lying there with my hands tied, waiting to discover what he intended to do.

  I wanted to feel it again.

  Digging the tips of my fingers into his chiseled ass, I continued using my teeth and was rewarded when his cock bobbed free.

  At the sight of his erection, I licked my lips in anticipation and not a little astonishment. Every time I saw him like this, I marveled that I could take him so fully inside myself.