Spontaneous – Book One of the Suited To You Trilogy

Book 0: Suited To You Trilogy

by Demelza Hart

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Spontaneous – Book One in The Suited To You Trilogy



An incredible night left Tara with The Suit’s phone number.



But who exactly is he…Tara’s desire for another encounter with the anonymous, mysterious and devastatingly sexy Suit compels Tara to dial the number. As The Suit leads her into increasingly exposed and exhilarating situations, Tara finds herself in deep pleasure. She may let him control her body, but can anyone control her emotions?

Release date: October 31, 2013

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 80

Sample

Chapter One

The torn fragment of peach-coloured paper poked out of my diary, compelling me towards it yet again. My pencil tapped distractedly on the desk.

‘I wish you’d bloody stop that.’

‘What?’ I glanced up. Polly was frowning at me over her monitor.

‘That. Tapping. Does my head in.’

‘Sorry.’ I sucked in a breath, tearing my attention away from the scrap of the Financial Times.

‘What’s the matter with you, Tara? You feeling all right?’

‘I just …’

‘Haven’t had a decent shag recently? I know the feeling. Not like you, though. You’re never exactly short of offers.’ She grinned across slyly, her dark eyes sparkling. Polly knew to a large extent of my varied and active sex life, but for once her compliment made me a little queasy. Since the incredible night on the Tube two weeks before, I hadn’t been with anyone – a record.

I’d replayed the journey in my mind every day and night since. Five men and me, shut in a train carriage for several hours with the sole intention of fucking each other’s brains out, witnessed by passing passengers and ourselves.

I wasn’t supposed to see any of them again. That was the deal. That was the intention. But he’d left his number. He’d written it on the newspaper he’d left behind. He was the one I’d most wanted from the first lurch along the tracks, and he was the one I now could not get out of my head.

The Suit. Immaculately attired, distinguished: an elegant, inscrutable mystery.

I took out the little piece of newspaper and stared at his words again.

You are perfection. Call me.

My eyes lingered on the number he’d written underneath.

I’d almost dialled it that same night. I’d almost dialled it the next morning. I’d come so incredibly close to dialling it every single minute of every day since. But I hadn’t. Why not? I was a busy, working girl. I had no need for commitment at this stage in my life. I craved new sexual encounters and experience; I’d proved that to myself time and time again. But The Suit exerted an influence which almost unnerved me. God, I wanted him again, but his sexual aura and potency evoked in me a feeling akin to inadequacy. Was I actually worthy of this man, who loomed so large in my erotic imagination?

‘Earth calling Tara. You’re at it again. Away with the fucking fairies,’ Polly sighed.

‘Sorry. Late night.’ I shook myself out of it and tried to focus on the email dancing across the screen.

‘With someone?’

‘No.’

‘Thought not. You need to be done good and hard, my lovely. Let’s go out tonight and find you someone.’

‘No, Pols, really …’ It was hopeless. ‘You know what? I’m going to call it a day. I’m really not feeling too great.’

‘Oh Tara,’ she sighed, frowning sympathetically. ‘Time of the month?’

‘Might as well be,’ I mumbled, standing up.

‘Take it easy, babe. Hope you’re better tomorrow. I’ll let Sarah know you’re feeling rough.’

I smiled meekly, affecting my infirmity, and, gathering my things, left work.

The train rattled me home. Judder and swish. That familiar rumble on the track. I closed my eyes and remembered the sensations of that glorious night. It had been too long. This was ridiculous. The decision was made.

Once back, I raced up the stairs to my flat and threw myself against the door as it shut. I reached into my pocket and felt for the cool, hard metal of my phone. My eager fingers closed around it and I pulled it out.

Now. Do it now.

My heart started pumping so hard I could hear it booming through my skull. I scrambled for the scrap of FT wedged in my diary.

No hesitation. No regret.

My thumbs worked quickly to tap out the number and I brought the phone to my ear. It was ringing.

Shit.

What would I say? What if I had to leave a message? But my thoughts were cut off quickly as it was picked up. A voice sounded on the end.

‘Hello?’

It was him. I’d know that voice again instantly – low and assured. God, it felt good.

‘Hi.’ My mind was suddenly blank. There was silence down the line.

‘It’s me,’ I added. Why should he know who the hell “me” was?

‘I know,’ he said.

If I hadn’t been so drunk with excitement I would have realised I was pressing my legs together, trying to relieve the already heavy pull of lust.

‘Umm …’ Bloody hell! My mind emptied of reason and coherence.

‘Are you free at six?’ His query was straight and low-key.

‘Yes.’ I didn’t hesitate.

‘There’s a bar at the southern end of Hopkins Street where it curls around. Do you know it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be waiting there at six.’

He hung up.

Fuck! I’d had sex with strangers on a train, I’d shagged men I barely knew against the walls of nightclubs; I’d been tied up, spanked, and fucked in the arse more times than I’d had hot dinners; I’d let a boyfriend’s father eat me out, but this was unnerving me like nothing before.

For a moment I could only stand, stock still, staring at my phone, as if unsure that the conversation had actually taken place.

But, Christ, I wanted him again, completely and totally. The thought of seeing his hypnotically handsome face and the smooth, toned lines of his body made me giggle with schoolgirl glee. Suddenly energised, I raced upstairs to the bedroom and tore open my wardrobe. What to wear? Clothes were tossed out, appraised, and discarded on the bed. After a few minutes of desperate scrabbling and vacillation, I opted for a russet dress, soft, clingy and with a hem ending just above my knee, and threw on a low-slung necklace which drippe. . .