Bare Read online

  FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, MARCH 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Deborah Bladon

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1985447875

  ISBN-10: 1985447878

  eBook ISBN: 9781926440507

  Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media

  www.deborahbladon.com

  Also by Deborah Bladon

  THE OBSESSED SERIES

  THE EXPOSED SERIES

  THE PULSE SERIES

  THE VAIN SERIES

  THE RUIN SERIES

  IMPULSE

  SOLO

  THE GONE SERIES

  FUSE

  THE TRACE SERIES

  CHANCE

  THE EMBER SERIES

  THE RISE SERIES

  HAZE

  SHIVER

  TORN

  THE HEAT SERIES

  MELT

  THE TENSE DUET

  SWEAT

  TROUBLEMAKER

  WORTH

  HUSH

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Preview of WISH

  Preview of VERSUS

  Thank you

  Deborah’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Piper

  "Griffin Kent is the worst lover I've ever had." With tears welling in the corners of my eyes, I stare at the woman sitting behind the sleek wooden reception desk. "I can't believe I slept with him. I called the police. They're going to be here any minute."

  She looks past me to the frosted glass doors at the entrance of the law offices of Kent & Colt. "If it's a crime to be a dud in bed, my ex-husband would be serving twenty to life right now."

  I scrub my hand over my face, mascara staining my palm. "I didn't call them because of that."

  "Can I get you a glass of water?" The kind-looking woman is on her feet now. "You look about ready to pass out. Why don't you sit down? We can discuss this."

  Discuss what? I went to a hotel with a man last night. We had really bad sex, and when I woke up an hour ago, he was gone along with my wallet and my smartphone.

  "I don't want to talk about it." I look beyond her to the massive, exquisitely designed space that obviously houses a number of offices. "Where's the asshole? I need to see him now."

  Her lips curl into an unexpected smile. "He's not here. He never gets in until at least nine fifteen."

  My gaze drops to my wrist, but the silver watch I always wear isn't there. "He took everything from me."

  The middle-aged woman rounds the reception desk until she's next to me, her arm slung over my shoulder. "You listen to me. I don't know what happened between you and Mr. Kent, but there's not a man on the face of this earth who can take everything from a woman."

  Great.

  I'm in the middle of a crisis and this woman is on her soapbox preaching about the merit of my inner strength.

  Griffin Kent took that from me too.

  "I don't know what to do," I mutter to myself.

  The self-appointed cheerleader next to me adds her two cents even though I didn't ask for it. "You're going to calm down and let me help you. What's your name, dear?"

  I feel like I should covet every ounce of personal information after what just happened to me. I was open and trusting when I met the attractive man in the bar last night. I told him my name when he asked. He reciprocated by telling me his. Kent.

  An hour later we were in a hotel room and I was proud of myself for checking a one-night stand off my bucket list. I need to wipe that list clean now and focus on one thing and one thing only.

  Find some common sense and use it.

  "Where are the police? I used the phone at the front desk to call them before I left the hotel. They should be here by now." I stare down at my dress. It's silver shimmer, low cut and much too short to see the light of day. I'd never wear this before nine p.m. and yet, here I am.

  Thank the heavens above that my parents are in Denver, completely oblivious to what their only child is doing on her third day in New York City. The move here was supposed to change my life, not drive the entire thing into a ditch at high speed.

  "I think we can straighten this out without involving the NYPD."

  "How?" I face the woman. She reminds me of my first art teacher in high school. That shouldn't offer me any comfort, but it does. "He needs to be arrested and thrown in jail after what he did to me."

  "Were you hurt?" Her eyes scan my face, locking on my green eyes.

  I know exactly what I look like. I didn't have time to shower when I crawled out of the hotel room bed, but I did catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. My makeup was beyond repair. My shoulder length dark brown hair was such a mess that I used a bright pink hair elastic to tie it up into a tight ponytail.

  At least, Griffin Kent left behind my clutch purse with the hair elastic, a tube of lipstick and my apartment keys inside of it.

  Either the bastard has a heart, or he overlooked my keys as he was stealing my wallet.

  "He didn't hurt me." I fiddle with the business card in my hand. "He took my wallet and my phone when I fell asleep. My watch too. He took it all."

  "I find it very hard to believe that Mr. Kent is responsible for this."

  Of course, she'd say that. She's the first face anyone sees when they come through the doors of this law office. It's on Madison Avenue. I doubt like hell that her monthly paycheck has less than five zeroes at the end of it. I'd say that's well above the going rate for what blind faith costs in this city.

  I shove the business card at her. "I have the proof right here."

  She reaches to take the card from me, but I hold tight to the corner of it. It's evidence. He left this behind. I found it on the carpeted floor of the hotel room next to one of my heeled sandals that I'd kicked off before I got into bed with the thieving bastard.

  Griffin Kent. Attorney at Law. It's right there in black raised lettering on the card.

  If that's not proof, I don't know what is.

  "Did he give that to you?"

  "He dropped it," I explain. "It must have fallen out of his pocket."

  Her
tongue skims over her front teeth. "What does Mr. Kent look like?"

  I survey the office. There's no movement anywhere. I can hear muffled voices in the distance, but I haven't seen another soul since I walked through the doors to the reception area.

  Since the hotel I was at is on Columbus and Eighty-first Street I walked here through Central Park. I spent the bulk of that time rehearsing what I was going to say to Kent once I saw him. I never expected to be subjected to a pre-confrontation interview by his receptionist.

  "You know what he looks like," I bite back with a sigh. "I know that he spent the night with me and then robbed me blind."

  "Humor me, dear." She squeezes my shoulder. "Describe Mr. Kent to me."

  If it's going to take that to chase away the look of doubt that's plastered all over her expression, I'll give her what she wants. "He's the same height as me, blonde hair, full beard, really nice brown eyes."

  "What the hell is going on here?" The low rumble of a deeply seductive voice asks from behind me.

  "Mr. Kent." The woman next to me turns quickly. "This young woman is here looking for ... well, sir, I think I'll let her explain why she's here."

  Mr. Kent? The voice I just heard isn't the same one that invited me up to that hotel room last night. I turn around.

  Dark brown hair, blue eyes, full lips and a face so handsome that women must stop and stare when he passes them by. I know I would. I can't tear my gaze from him now.

  "I'm Griffin Kent," he says smoothly as he nears me. "And you are?"

  Chapter 2

  Piper

  My eyes widen when he offers me his hand. I don’t accept because I have no idea what the hell is going on. “You’re not Griffin Kent.”

  His brows arch as he looks at the woman standing next to me before his gaze falls back on my face. “I am Griffin Kent. You’re standing in my office, so I’ll ask again, who are you?”

  I suddenly feel very confused. If he’s Griffin Kent who the hell did I spend the night with? I look down at the business card in my hand. It must belong to the tall man standing in front of me in the expensive black suit. He’s what I would imagine when I think of an attorney in Manhattan, not the guy who I met last night. That guy was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a brown sweater.

  “This young woman found your business card after she was robbed, Mr. Kent.” The woman next to me pokes me in the arm as if she needs to clarify which of the three of us she’s referring to. “Apparently, she was with a man at a hotel. He took her belongings and left behind your card.”

  “What did he look like?”

  I know the question is directed at me, but I wait for a beat to see if the woman who works for him will keep talking.

  She doesn’t.

  “He had blond hair, brown eyes and he was my height so about five nine.” I give my full attention to Griffin Kent now because maybe he knows who the man is. “He had a beard. Men with beards aren’t usually my type, but he seemed nice.”

  Shut the hell up, Piper.

  He looks me over from head-to-toe before he points at the business card in my hand. “Is there anything written on the back of that?”

  I turn it over to show him. I studied the card on my walk from the hotel. The back is blank.

  “I always write my personal cell number on the back of those cards when I give them to clients.” His jaw sets. “You found this in a hotel?”

  I nod in silence.

  “Which hotel?” He digs his cell phone out of his jacket pocket when a chime rings through the air. His gaze skims the screen before he looks back at me. “What’s the name of the hotel where you found that card?”

  You’d think I’d know that. I could have stored it to memory before I stormed out the door and made my way here. I didn’t. I blame my anger for that. It left no room for logical thinking. “I can’t remember.”

  “You can’t remember?” he repeats. “I’d say that’s a rather important detail in your story.”

  “Story?” I take a deep breath, pushing back the urge to ask outright if he thinks I made up the experience. Instead, I go for a much more civilized approach. “I just arrived in New York three days ago. I may not recall the hotel’s name, but I can tell you exactly where it’s located.”

  That seems to appease him for now. “Did you go to this hotel room with the man in question voluntarily?”

  Is this an interrogation? I’m tempted to ask if there’s another attorney available who can represent me.

  “I did,” I answer truthfully without adding the detail that I hesitated briefly when I was in the hotel’s elevator because it smelled like old pizza.

  “What happened once you got to the room?” he asks matter-of-factly.

  Am I supposed to run through the itinerary?

  We kissed.

  We had sex.

  I didn’t come.

  I opt for a question of my own to save both him and the woman standing next to me the gruesome details of my bad sexual experience. “What do you mean?”

  “Did he hurt you or threaten you in any way?” There’s not a hint of concern in his voice.

  I consider the question. He threatened to fuck me again after he came the first time, but I pretended to be sleepy to save myself the torture of another round of that. “No, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t hurt me.”

  “Is this a one-night stand gone wrong?” His eyes give nothing away as he looks into mine.

  I take a steadying breath to calm myself before I respond. I know that I don’t have to tell him anything, but since he’s the only link I have to my missing wallet and phone, I answer. “Yes. We met last night.”

  He cocks his head as if he’s absorbing what I just said. “Joyce will help you sort this out. If I can be of any assistance, she’ll let me know.”

  That’s great but who the hell is Joyce?

  “I should have introduced myself sooner.” The woman next to me speaks as if on cue. “I’m Joyce Treadwell, Mr. Kent’s assistant. What’s your name, dear?”

  “Piper,” I say softly. “I’m Piper Ellis.”

  “Good luck with everything, Piper Ellis.” A smile eases across Griffin’s lips, as he looks me over. “And welcome to New York.”

  Chapter 3

  Griffin

  “I hate him and I hired you to make him understand just how deep that hatred runs.”

  I look across the conference table at Morgan Tresoni. She’s attractive if you’re into women who spend their days shopping, sipping over-priced cocktails and bashing their almost-ex-husband to anyone who will listen.

  I’m paid to listen, so I nod. “I was under the impression that you hired me to represent you in your divorce, Morgan. This is the third time we’ve been through this process, is it not? You know how this works. You can hate him as much as you want, but you need to remain focused on the bigger picture.”

  “The bigger picture?” She twirls one of her long red curls around her index finger. “What is the bigger picture, Griffin?”

  I look directly into her green eyes. “Your divorce. If you’re civil to Marco, this entire process will be over before you know it and you can move on with your life.”

  “I have moved on,” she blurts back with a toss of her hair over her shoulder. “I’m already dating.”

  I’m not surprised. Morgan has been a regular client for the past few years. She was one of my first appointments when I launched this practice with my friend and college roommate Dylan Colt.

  “We’re going to meet with Marco and his attorney next week to discuss the settlement.” I stress the next sentence with a change in my tone. “Do not leave the country, Morgan. You have to be at that meeting. I don’t want a repeat of what happened with Chuck.”

  The mention of her second husband brings a scowl to her face. “You promised you’d never say his name again. I pay you not to say his name.”

  The continual reminders of why she pays me grate on my last nerve. “You pay me to keep your bank account well above s
even figures. Be available for this meeting, or Marco will come out on top.”

  She pushes back from the table with exaggerated effort. Unnecessary drama is one of the unfortunate drawbacks of being a divorce attorney. “Fine.”

  “Stay close to your phone.” I stand and button my suit jacket. “I’ll have you unattached before you know it.”

  ***

  I walk Morgan to the reception area while I listen to her talk about her schedule for the remainder of the day. I don’t find any of it interesting, but I say goodbye to her with a smile.

  I don’t judge the people who hire me. I’ve never been married so I have no idea how difficult a journey that is. My parents toughed it out for years, but even they couldn’t make it to the finish line.

  I stand next to the reception desk waiting for Joyce to finish up a call. She was hired on as a receptionist soon after we launched the firm. We wanted someone with a trusting appearance and the ability to calm down emotional clients who stop in looking for a referral.

  Since then, Joyce has transitioned into the role of my primary assistant. Today, she just so happens to be filling in for the regular receptionist, Fiona, who is on a two-week vacation that Dylan approved. I was against it initially, but since his dick knows her better than any part of my body ever will, I deferred to him on that.

  Joyce ends the call with a promise of a follow-up later in the week. It’s an approach that works well when someone is considering leaving his or her spouse. It’s free for a caller to chat with the receptionist. They outline the basics to potential clients before I’m brought in for a preliminary consultation.

  “Is Mrs. Tresoni behaving herself?” Joyce inches up from her seat to watch Morgan as she leaves through the frosted glass doors.

  “Does she ever?” I lean against the reception desk. “Did you take care of the matter from earlier?”

  “The matter from earlier?” Her gaze is now locked to a pile of mail. “You’re going to need to be more specific. I have a lot going on today, Griffin.”

  “Piper Ellis.” I drag my thoughts back to hours ago when I walked into the office to the sight of a breathtaking brunette in a silver dress. At first, I assumed she was a client who had left her husband after a night of partying and arguing.