COME WHEN CALLED (Billionaire & Biker Menage Romance) Read online

  Come When Called

  Piper Trace

  Copyright © 2015 Piper Trace

  Cover design by Mark Henry

  www.pipertrace.com

  All rights reserved. Scanning, uploading or electronic sharing of any part of this book without the prior written permission of the author constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Other than for review purposes, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author. The author can be contacted at [email protected].

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  *****

  A special thank you to Meghan Miller for believing in this book way back when and urging me to write male/male. You gave me confidence when I needed it, held my hand, and played Draw Something with me until the wee hours—an integral part of the writing process.

  Thanks also to Karen Booth and Jessica Lemmon for all of your help with this book, and for reading random parts of it countless times…even some of the dirty, redacted parts (Lemmondrop…), and for all of your editing help and advice!

  Thanks to the Cabal girls for asking about it a million times and urging me to release it upon the world: Shana Gray, Cara Carnes, Anya Richards, Sasha Devlin, Cassandra Carr, Amy Ruttan, A.M. Griffin, Danica Avet, Lea Barrymire

  Thanks to Julie Naughton for all of your support and cheerleading, and for being the first person to read Come When Called in its evolved state from start to finish and loving it. I still remember the moment you told me. Dreamy sigh.

  Thanks to my own romance hero, my husband, who doesn’t know what’s in this book (shh, let’s not tell him).

  And finally, of course, to you, Dear Readers. I hope you enjoy the world of COME WHEN CALLED.

  Contents

  ~THE INCIDENT~

  ~THE OFFER~

  ~CHARLEY~

  ~DEEPER~

  ~DARKER~

  ~THE PUNISHMENT~

  ~THE SUNRISE~

  ~THE INCIDENT~

  CHAPTER ONE

  FORD HAWTHORNE’S SINFUL looks were already enough to give Evie butterflies, but hell, even his fidgeting sent her into naughty daydreams. Dreams about his bed, a place she imagined as a candy-shop of sexual titillation, the likes of which she’d never seen before in her pedestrian life. If only she could be Ford’s sexual focus for a moment. Just one lick. That might tide her over.

  Except of course it wouldn’t. Not for as long as she’d been craving the man.

  Evie swallowed against her lust and blinked until she was solidly back in the law firm library’s tweedy seat instead of writhing naked in her client’s Egyptian cotton sheets. It wasn’t an easy feat. She’d been saving her pennies a long time for a shopping spree in this man’s candy-shop. And she’d worked up quite a sweet-tooth.

  Stop looking at his fingers.

  Stop looking…

  The thought trailed off as Evie watched Ford’s long fingers stroke the mahogany of the table. His index finger caught the corner of the contract and curled it up with a flick again and again. The skin of his large hands was smooth perfection. No scars. No calluses.

  They were the hands of a rich man, engaged most often in activities no more arduous than holding a cell phone, a martini, or the elbow of a long-legged beauty. Having been pampered all his life, Ford might’ve grown up pretentious and unapproachable, especially to service-providers like Evie, yet he was anything but. Though she was only a paralegal working under John Martin, the senior partner who proudly claimed Ford, the firm’s biggest client, as his own, Ford treated Evie as if she ran the place.

  Flick…flick.

  She’d been thinking about him flicking her nipples like he was flicking the paper, and her nipples hardened under her pinstriped shirt, which was work-appropriate only when closed three buttons higher than Evie currently had it fastened. She bit the inside of her cheek.

  “Evie?” Ford’s voice boomed in the silence of the otherwise empty library and she stifled a yelp. Heart hammering, she met his eyes before looking away, whispering, “Sorry.” She collected a stray lock behind her ear with one sapphire-tipped fingernail, trying to look casual, and then clasped her hands firmly in her lap.

  Oh god. Distracted by her fantasy starring Ford—as her sexual fantasies normally did—had she trailed off mid-sentence?

  It was mortifying.

  But worse, it was stupid. She’d spent the last six months trying to get away from a man with money and power who had no need for her, not to mention the fact that carnal thoughts about Ford could cost Evie her job.

  She pressed her lips in a firm line, ignoring the heat smoldering between her legs, the same way it always did when he was around. She had to be masochistic to even be attracted to a man like Ford. He was the heartbreak equivalent of a ticking time-bomb.

  But, damn, he came in a really sexy package.

  Cocking his head, Ford studied her with his dazzling green eyes. But then, everything about Ford was dazzling, really. It was almost disheartening to be around him, since she couldn’t have him.

  He had this intoxicating abundance of elegance and sex appeal, tarnished with just the right amount of cocky bad-boy, and it was all off-limits to her. So, naturally, she couldn’t remember any man she’d wanted more.

  Meeting with Ford to do his legal work often bordered on torture, especially the longer Evie went celibate. When he teased her about something, which he often did, he pursed his lips up into this mix of playful pout and sexy smile that made her want to fuck him on the table.

  “Evie, love—” He slid his chair toward her, his wonderful, deep voice as plush as velvet. “I’m bored with this contract. Distract me.” He narrowed his eyes. “You seemed distracted. Tell me what you were you thinking about.”

  They were at the point when all the subtle flirting for months had grown into barely-concealed innuendo. Ford might think they were at the point where it was inevitable something would happen, the question being only when and where. But Evie knew something he didn’t—that nothing could happen between them. Ever. Not only was Ford a client, and getting involved with him would be a serious conflict of interest, resulting in her immediate dismissal from the firm—zero tolerance—there was also a more menacing reason that went by the name of John Martin, her boss and crazy-ass ex-boyfriend.

  “Tell me,” he repeated, his tone edging on command now.

  “No,” she said, a little too loudly. “I mean, nothing. I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Her face grew hot and she shifted sideways in the orange-woolen chair. It occurred to her the industrial fabric would be scratchy on her bare ass.

  What was wrong with her? She needed to pull herself together.

  Sucking in a fortifying breath, she tugged down on her short length of pencil skirt, which fell a good four inches shy of her knees. Why had she worn it to a meeting with Ford? If she’d had a best friend, that friend would demand to know what in the hell Evie thought she was doing. Evie was asking herself the same thing.

  The green, glass-shaded library lamps threw shadows on the high walls of leather-bound books around them, providing a false feeling of seclusion that wasn’t helping. The blackness outside the windows, dotted with the lights of Atlanta, reflected Evie and Ford’s cozy vignette, their figures intimately close, their bodies nearly touching.

  It was too dark, too p
rivate, and they were too alone.

  She knew better than to meet him late at night in the deserted law firm. Infamous for wanting to control every aspect of his legal work, but busy running an empire, Ford often requested meetings with his legal team, which consisted of John and Evie, at odd hours. John used to join them, but for the past year, John had more and more let Evie shoulder the load of his work, micromanaging her with calls for status updates to create the ruse that he was fully involved. So lately, more often than not, it was just Ford and Evie working together. Alone.

  For John, what had started as “therapeutic” drug use to allegedly give him the energy he needed to handle the workload and stress of making senior partner at the firm, had been spiraling out of control for the last year. Evie’s excellent legal work, being passed off by John as his own, was the only thing keeping him from being fired, but if Ford noticed the situation, he never mentioned it.

  She didn’t mind the extra work, especially since every day led her closer to the day she could leave the firm and would never have to see John again. It was such a cliché that the daughter of a drug addict would somehow, even in the posh world of top law firms, find a druggie to hook up with. And her carefully cultivated quiet life had disintegrated because of it. The lesson was not lost on her. When she was free, she’d start over and fix it all again, finally find a way to feel safe.

  But in the meantime she was apparently dead-set on creating more problems for herself. When Ford had called earlier that day asking for this after-hours meeting, Evie had actually gone out at lunch and bought a shorter skirt.

  She may as well have bought an incendiary device, for all the sense it made.

  Looking in the mirror in the dressing room, she had told herself that making a man like Ford, John’s most important client, want her—even if John didn’t know about it—was just her way of rebelling against her ex for the terrible situation he’d put her in. But now, as she sat in the library feeling helplessly aroused, looking at Ford’s impossibly handsome face, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest, she knew her choice in wardrobe had little to do with John. A sinking, sick feeling clutched her stomach as she considered whether “rebelliousness” was just a glamorous, rationalized synonym for “self-destructiveness”.

  She smiled apologetically—he was the client after all. “We’ve been at this for a while. Would you like to take a break?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” He mirrored her smile, his dimples transforming his face from merely very handsome into Oh. My. God.

  Evie could lose herself in those dimples. Ford’s dimples were one of the many reasons he was infamous around the law firm. When he flashed those babies, the polite feminine constraints of every woman in the room fell away like the clothing in their imaginations.

  He stretched and ran one of his large hands through his thick, always-tousled hair, and it fell back into place as perfectly mussed as before he’d touched it. Ten years her senior at thirty-six, Ford was starting to go salt-and-pepper at his temples but the rest of his hair was a shiny dark-brown, which set off his green eyes in stunning and stark contrast.

  Her coloring was much lighter than his, her eyes a clear blue and her hair a dark-blonde. John had once said her long, wavy hair made him think of the ocean in front of his family’s beach house in Cape Cod. The day after she’d ended their relationship, she’d chopped her hair off to her chin so the only thing it would remind him of was her hatred for him. It had since grown out to brush her shoulders.

  Evie tucked a loose wave behind her ear again and pulled out her phone to check emails. Her eyes focused on the screen but her brain didn’t register any of the bolded, unread messages. Instead, she just kept thinking about Ford. She had it bad tonight.

  She’d seen pictures of him in the society pages of the local newspaper and he seemed to be perpetually emerging from shiny, black cars with gorgeous, long-limbed women—models, heiresses, CEO’s, even the occasional movie star. How might Evie look taking his hand and stepping out of a limo? Would everyone recognize she was faking it? That she didn’t belong?

  Ford pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and Evie glanced up at the movement. She could see his arm and chest muscles outlined under the fitted material of his tailored shirt. Obviously the man had time to do more than make money. He probably kept firm by doing things like swimming or playing football, or somehow otherwise getting sweaty with some male-model-looking friends, all shirtless. Then, back to the locker room, where they all get naked…

  Realizing she was staring at Ford instead of her phone, she snapped her eyes back down to the small screen and made a show of scrolling and mumbling about the mountain of unread emails there. He touched her arm and she nearly jumped.

  “It’s good of you to meet me this late,” he said quietly. He swept his eyes over her hair and face. “You shouldn’t be stuck with a client in a law library on a Thursday night.” He nodded toward her phone. “Am I keeping you from somebody?”

  “Oh, no.” She waggled the phone. “Work emails.” She smiled, hoping it didn’t look as rueful as she felt. “There’s nowhere else for me to be.”

  That’s right. I have no life.

  “Oh come on. Surely you have a boyfriend. Or two?” He raised his eyebrows, his bright eyes glinting mischief.

  “No!” She laughed. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, since the day she’d lost her virginity she couldn’t remember a more celibate time in her life than the last six months. So it was killing her to be around Ford. “I spend all my time working. I guess I’m between boyfriends.” Or maybe just “after boyfriend” if she couldn’t get away from John long enough to ever safely date again.

  “All your time working? What about family?”

  Evie’s derisive laugh escaped before she could quell it.

  Cocking his head, Ford narrowed his eyes. “Mommy issues?”

  “Uh, no,” she said firmly. “I haven’t spoken to my mother in years.” Why was she telling him this?

  “Daddy issues?”

  “Stop that!” But she couldn’t help but grin at him, no matter how rude he was being. He was just so charmingly infuriating. “I’ve actually never met my father,” she added quietly.

  “Ah.” His voice was low and serious, and he nodded sagely. “Definitely daddy issues.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you said that!”

  His grin widened. He enjoyed flustering her. “If I had a dollar for every time someone couldn’t believe—”

  “You’d be what? Richer?” she interrupted. “You’re already filthy rich.”

  “That’s right. I am.” His smile faded and he tilted his head, studying her. “You’re alone in this world. Just like me.”

  Staring at him in silence, she was at a loss for a response. Ford Hawthorne…alone? No. People must flock to this man. She thought back to the ladies in the limos.

  “So that means you’re all mine?” he asked softly. “Tonight, I mean?”

  “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be, so I guess I’m available for anything you need.” Clamping her lips shut, she turned away to hide the blush she felt heating her cheeks. She’d only meant available professionally, of course.

  I think.

  She was trying to play it cool, but she suspected she was about as subtle as a blinking, neon sign, Vegas-style, pointing at her head and proclaiming, “This gal wants to screw your brains out!” His grin said as much.

  “Anything I need?” Ford tipped his head and his glittering eyes caught hers. “I must warn you, Evie Radmin. There is a lot I need from you.” Slowly and deliberately, he brushed the bare length of her leg between the hem of her skirt and her knee.

  She sucked in her breath and panicked. Without thinking, she swiped his hand away and laughed as if he’d been joking, hoping he didn’t notice the slight maniacal edge to her giggles.

  Geez, god. This man was going to be the death of her. Maybe literally, if John fo
und out.

  “Mr. Hawthorne, we’re never going to get this done.” Turning her attention back to the contract, she tugged down on her skirt again. “You’re going to have to behave if we have any hope of finishing this tonight.”

  Would he notice the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing picked up? The probable pink of her cheeks, hinting at her arousal? Being alone in a room with him was like being in a cage with a hungry lion.

  Ford leaned closer. “I don’t think you don’t want me to behave.” His graceful voice stroked over her skin and she wanted to stretch and purr. “And no one has succeeded in making me behave since my father died when I was eighteen.” He dropped his gaze to her legs. “Don’t try and make me start now. I assure you, it won’t work.” He trailed the backs of his fingernails over her skin. “Besides, I’ve decided I don’t intend to behave around you anymore,” he murmured.

  His last comment tore through her, realigning every one of her thoughts to his intentions. And she hoped his intentions were bad. Really bad.

  Still, her survival instincts screamed a reminder about her situation with John, and she opened her mouth to shut Ford down, but the look on his face made the words flee her head. She saw the desire that mirrored her own, but there was also a hint of vulnerability she’d never seen before. Had it come from his mention of his father’s death? Or was he…lonely?

  How could this charismatic man, capable of literally charming the pants off most any woman, possibly be lonely?

  She mentally flipped through the pictures of the steady stream of society-page women, one more long-legged than the next. Though she had noticed it was never the same woman twice, and she’d only ever heard him mention one friend—someone named Charley. She knew from his legal history that he had no living relatives.

  The thought was so incongruous with what she knew about Ford. Could it be true? Instead of a playboy with an enviably perfect life, could Ford be an attractive, lonely man taking advantage of his golden façade to keep everybody at arm’s length?