IOU Sex Part 1

IOU s.e.x.

By Calista Fox.

Fiona Carlisle didn't think anything could hurt as much as finding her fiance in bed with her sister. But receiving an invitation to the happy couple's engagement party comes a close second. Determined to prove to her family and herself that she's moved on, Fiona has every intention of attending, looking red-hot and with an even hotter man on her arm. And there's only one man who will do: renowned photographer and reputed playboy Michael Houston.

Fiona's rebound fling with Michael was a brief but erotic romp. Michael has made no secret of the fact that he's still interested. So when Fiona asks him to escort her to the engagement party, he agrees, with one condition: she must spend a sensual weekend with him picking up where they left off.

Intensely attracted to Michael, Fiona can't resist his offer for long. But when the weekend is over, will she be able to resist giving him her heart?

20,000 words.

Dear Reader, I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, "we've only been publis.h.i.+ng books for four months, give us time" and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.

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Chapter One.

Dare I?

The loaded question was one I'd pondered on and off for over a week. Staring at the garment bag hanging on the back of my closed office door, I contemplated the gem concealed behind the zipper. A siren of a dress. Red. Slinky. s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. It'd set me back a small fortune when I'd ordered it from Barneys New York, but I'd really had no choice. Desperate times and all that.

I'd yet to try it on, but when I'd ordered it from the website, I'd easily gleaned it was the type of dress meant to make jaws drop and tongues wag. Precisely what I needed for my younger sister's engagement party. My risque ensemble would no doubt distract my family from their usual nitpicks and might even possess the power to stun them all into silence. A first in their collective lives.

My suit of armor was one strategic survival tactic for the weekend's ostentatious event. The piece de resistance would be to have a devastatingly handsome man by my side. A nonverbal eat-your-heart-out directed at my sister's fiance, Seth Corbett III. The man I was supposed to marry. That love train had jumped the tracks when I'd discovered him and Lizzie in our bed together. Doing things Seth had never done to me in the three years we'd been together.

Oh, it was h.e.l.l having to face the two of them with a smile. Hence, the need to arm myself. And I knew just the deliciously sinful man to take with me to the party. Michael Houston. Famous photographer. Master flirt. Hottie extraordinaire.

Michael had been my rebound guy after Seth and Lizzie had ripped the rug out from underneath me. He'd also done things Seth had never done to me in the bedroom.

Thinking of my very brief, albeit ultrasteamy affair with Michael made my cheeks flush and my c.l.i.t tingle. A natural response to such a wicked man.

It also caused that loaded question to pop into my head again.

Dare I?

Wearing the curve-hugging, off-the-shoulder dress to the engagement party would take all the nerve I possessed. Which wasn't a lot, unfortunately. Fiona Carlisle was a sensible, conservative twenty-seven-year-old woman. Not a femme fatale, by any stretch of the imagination.

Asking Michael to be my date for the evening would also test my willpower because he was d.a.m.n difficult to resist. He liked to be bad, plain and simple. He was completely unapologetic about his flirtatious nature and highly skilled when it came to seducing women. He'd certainly swept me off my feet-right as I'd sworn off men because of Seth's infidelity.

Michael was a renowned womanizer. He liked the thrill of the chase. I suspected he considered me a challenge because he was typically in hot pursuit of me whenever he was in town. Somehow I'd managed to not fall into his bed again following our little fling. No easy feat.

In fact, his persuasiveness made me hesitant to ask him for this ginormous favor. I feared the s.e.xual itch I had recently developed, now in desperate need of being scratched, would weaken my defenses. The last thing I wanted was to cave to temptation. As exciting-and satisfying-as s.e.x with Michael was, I'd barely escaped my last go-around with him without incurring more damage to my heart. He had the ability to make good girls like me fall a little too hard.

As I considered all this, my a.s.sistant's voice came over the intercom.

"Bad news," Jane said with a hint of warning. "Your mother's on line two."

I sighed. It was about the tenth time this week she'd called me about Lizzie's extravagant s.h.i.+ndig at a prestigious vineyard in Napa.

"Thanks," I said before lifting the receiver. I took a quick breath and prepared myself for yet another conversation I'd prefer not to have. "h.e.l.lo, Mother."

"Fiona Leslie Carlisle," the very high-and-mighty Judge Briana Carlisle barked in her, well, high-and-mighty voice. "I just got off the phone with Andre. He said you have yet to make an appointment for Sat.u.r.day morning."

Oh, this again. "I told you I'd have my hair done by Manuel, remember? My stylist."

"Darling, Andre always does the Carlisle women's hair before an event." A slight whine laced her otherwise authoritative tone, having a similar effect as fingernails on a chalkboard. "Why must you be so different from the rest of us?"

I bit back a groan. There was no point in telling her I hated how her stylist attempted to make my hair do things it simply wasn't meant to do. I didn't particularly like how he tried to get my hair to defy gravity with an entire can of hairspray that took a triple shampoo, rinse and repeat to get out. Nor did I care to sit in his chair for hours listening to how much easier it was to coif my mother's, sister's and all six of my aunts' hair. Or to tell him for the hundredth time that no, I didn't want to color my dark auburn hair to match Mother and Lizzie's delicate strawberry blond. Nor did I want him to cut my long strands into a chic bob like they both wore.

Standing my ground, I said, "It's nice that you want us all to look similar, but I've already had my hair trimmed and deep-conditioned once this week. I think it'll be just fine for tomorrow's party."

She made a soft tsking noise on the other end of the line, as she was frequently p.r.o.ne to do when speaking with me.

"Is there anything else you needed?"

She hated when I dismissed her. Likely the reason she latched onto another topic of conversation. Our talks weren't over until she decided they were over. "Do arrive on time tomorrow. Promptly at three o'clock."

"Of course."

"And wear something a little more...festive."

I smiled, despite my previous waffling. Oh, Mother. You have no idea how festive I have the potential to be!

"I ordered a dress from Barneys," I told her. "I'm sure it'll be quite lively for the occasion."

"Hmm."

I knew she didn't believe me. She, like the rest of my family, would expect to see me in a simple black sheath with pearls or a navy pinstripe suit, also with pearls. Festive to my mother meant something sparkly in a soft, subtle hue, with a designer label attached to it. I didn't do sparkles, but still...what a shock to the system they'd all get tomorrow. Wait until they got a load of me in my racy red dress.

The decision to wear it was now solidified. Yes, I did dare!

"Mother," I said. "I've really got to go." I needed to call Michael. No two ways about it, I absolutely had to have him with me tomorrow.

"You're bringing someone, aren't you?" she continued as though I hadn't spoken.

"Of course." I cringed since I hadn't yet asked him. Though in truth, I had little doubt he'd help me out. I knew he was back in town and would do this favor for me. He was that type of guy. Of course, he'd expect something in return. t.i.t for tat. It was a game we played when I needed his professional photography a.s.sistance for one of my public relations gigs.

Luckily, I knew a bottle of his favorite Scotch would grease the wheels.

"You're seeing someone, then?" she queried. "You haven't mentioned anyone in a very long while."

I'd introduced Michael to my family a year ago. They'd been quite impressed I'd landed him. Disappointed I hadn't kept him.

"I have a client on the other line," I lied. I didn't want to throw out the name of my date, on the off chance I couldn't persuade Michael to traverse this landmine with me.

"Fine. Don't be late tomorrow."

"I promise to be at Lizzie's party at three."

"Oh, darling. We don't call her that anymore. She's a grown woman, about to be married. It's Elizabeth now. Do try to remember that."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, Mother. Gotta go." I disconnected the call before she could launch into another subject. I'm sure that infuriated her.

Sitting back in my chair, I wondered just how badly I'd screwed myself. Perhaps I should have made up an excuse and told her I had an event to manage tomorrow. Then again, if I mentioned work, she'd likely go on and on about how tragic and humiliating it was that I hadn't followed the four-generation tradition of practicing law.

Resigned to the inevitable, I had to accept my mandatory attendance at Seth and Lizzie's-er, Elizabeth's-engagement party.

My gaze lifted to the door again, and I stared at the garment bag. I nodded my head. Yes, indeed, I needed that suit of armor. My hands might be tied when it came to family obligations, but I'd wear a dress that would leave everyone speechless.

A very nice change of pace at a Carlisle family outing.

Though I had one more gigantic step to take in order to achieve the impossible.

Chapter Two.

I took a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds then slowly let it out. I picked up the phone again and hit a speed dial number.

Three rings later, a deep, s.e.xy voice came from the other end of the line. "This is Michael."

My stomach fluttered. Not necessarily a good thing. Hoping I didn't sound as breathless as I felt, I asked, "Never just Mike?"

"Would you prefer just Mike?"

I smiled. "No, I guess not. Michael suits you."

"Then Michael it is."

Settling more comfortably into my chair, I asked, "Where are you?" I'd called him on his cell. I needed to confirm he was in San Francis...o...b..fore I asked him on this treacherous date to the wine country.

It's not a date. That sentiment was supposed to calm my suddenly jangled nerves. It didn't work.

"I'm in town," he said. "Just rolled in on my motorcycle."

As if I needed one more thing about this man to be so disarming. I pictured him swinging one very long, powerful leg over the back of the bike as he climbed off. In my little fantasy, he wore black leather pants that hugged his high, tight a.s.s and a black T-s.h.i.+rt that accentuated his broad shoulders, wide chest and rock-hard biceps. His collar-dusting dark brown hair was tousled from the wind, because who the h.e.l.l needed a helmet in a fantasy? He raked a hand through it before whipping off his shades to reveal eyes the color of a clear summer sky.

I bit back a sigh of longing.

"Still there, babe?"

His deep voice interrupted my wayward thoughts. This really was dangerous territory to enter.

"Yes, I'm still here. Just..." I shook my head. Clearly, I was stalling. For G.o.d's sake, ask him already. "Look, I'm calling because I need a favor."

"You don't say?" I didn't miss the amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

"It's a big one."

He was quiet for a moment. I heard a soft rustling in the background and imagined him in his living room, settling on the sofa, propping his booted feet up on the coffee table. "Come over and ask me in person."

Oh, how he tempted me!

"Michael." Leave it to him to make this more complicated than it needed to be.

"Fiona," he countered.

"Fine." I caved so easily it made me want to kick myself. Way to stand your ground, girlfriend. "I'll stop by the loft after work. I have a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Glenlivet for you."

He whistled under his breath. "That's a fairly serious bottle of Scotch. Is this favor an illegal one?"

"Of course not." I laughed nervously. Though my family's parties really should be outlawed. They gave new meaning to the terms excessive and over-the-top. And the bickering that went on. I'd find it hilarious to watch if I wasn't always a prime target for their snide remarks. I would forever be, as my mother regularly pointed out, vastly different from everyone else. The anomaly tended to get the most abuse.

But to skip a Carlisle event...that'd be sacrilege in her eyes.

"I'll tell you what I need when I come over."

"I'll have the gla.s.ses ready."