Wicked Temptation (Club Wicked Book 1)

WICKED TEMPTATION CLUB WICKED BARBARA NOLAN ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Edited by: Lisa Cullinan Promotions: CJG Consulting Cover Image: Golden Czermak Cover: CT Cover Creations Cover Model: Dylan Horsch Copyright © 2023 by Barbara Nolan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum CONTENTS Prologue 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 Epilogue Also by Barbara Nolan About the Author PROLOGUE Brooklyn 2012 Samson knew what he had to do, the same thing he’d done to plenty of other women, plenty of other times. Only this time was different—it wasn’t just any woman. It was a woman he had no business being with, a woman so far out of his league—one he could honestly care about—and that was what sucked. It also sucked that, once again, he’d had the best sex of his life with this woman, the same as every time they tore up the sheets. Fuck, it was true. The way her body moved and meshed with his, the feel of her soft-as-silk skin, and how he fisted and dug his fingers deep into her riot of auburn curls, then capturing her sweet lips till he got his fill was never enough. The steady pace of her breathing told Samson she’d fallen asleep after their last session of off-the-fuckin’-charts sex, but for once in his fucked up life, he would do the right thing. He’d do it in such a way that she’d not only hate him, but she’d never come back. She’d stay far away from him and the chaos and destruction he called life. Samson rose up on his elbow for one last look to burn into his memory. Yeah, he was a dog, screwing her, then walking out, but who could blame him? It wasn’t every day you met the perfect person. It just sucked that it had to happen at the wrong damn time in the wrong damn place. He lightly cupped her cheek and whispered, “Maybe we could’ve had something. Maybe in another time—” Then he roughly shook Lisbeth's shoulder. “Get up.” 1 Las Vegas, NV 2022 Six months in the making, a year in the planning, and tonight Club Wicked—Where Fantasies Become Reality—would finally open. The upscale Vegas club had everything from an indoor fountain to cage dancers suspended from the vaulted ceiling. It was a long way from the back alleys of Brooklyn, making collections, breaking legs, and doing anything to make a buck. Crazy shit for sure, and even crazier, Samson was running the show alone tonight, whereas Nick, his long-time friend and business partner, stayed in New York smoothing out bullshit, but that was a whole other story. “That’s it, babe. Suck it deep.” Samson leaned his head against the plush couch in his executive office, three levels above the club’s main floor. Daria, the lead bartender from their New York club, was dedicating herself to helping him work off some stress. Her pouty lips hummed around Samson’s cock while his fingers dug into her long dark hair. When his dick hit the back of Daria’s throat, he gripped the cushions, and two seconds later, he blew apart, then his whole body relaxed. Samson’s brain cleared for a blessed few minutes, floating up and above the tension of opening a multi-million-dollar nightspot one block off the Strip. Yeah, nothing like getting head to take the edge off. It beat a line of coke any day. Okay, so nothing beat hovering up a few lines while getting a blowjob, but Samson had no intention of traveling down that road again. Those dark days of waking up in unfamiliar places and staring into unfamiliar faces were in the past, and that’s where he intended to keep them. Daria leaned on his thighs and smiled up at him. “Big night tonight, huh?” The notable lilt in her voice told Samson she wanted him to share, but that wouldn’t happen—especially not with Daria. Samson zipped up and shifted, letting her know playtime was over. She leaned away from him, then, in one smooth move, raised her bangin’ body until his eyes were level with her fringed booty shorts and matching midriff top. Daria leaned in and rested her manicured hands on Samson’s shoulders. “We still have a few minutes before we open.” A sharp knock drew their attention to the office door opening, then Jax’s bulk filled the entry. “Ready when you are, boss.” Jax’s dark eyes swept over him and Daria, but his expression remained unreadable. Tamping down his reaction with a poker face made Jax impossible to interpret, a definite plus as a bodyguard, bouncer, and fixer of problems large and small. Jax and Samson went way back to what was lovingly called “the old neighborhood,” a housing project in Crown Heights where gunshots rang out on the regular and reaching thirty was considered old age. While Samson could pull off the polished look when he had to, Jax’s scarred face and crooked nose made him look like he still belonged on the corner, but he was loyal and dependable, and like Nick, one of Samson’s closest friends. Samson pushed off the sofa, forcing Daria to step back, pulled at the neck of his fitted, button-down designer shirt for the hundredth time, then jerked his chin toward the door. She squared her shoulders, threw him her trademark smirk, and put an extra twist in her hips as she passed Jax, then strutted toward the door and slammed it