Sweet as Sin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  By the same author

  Sweet as Sin

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9780753524954

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  This book is a work of fiction.

  In real life, make sure you practise safe, sane and consensual sex.

  First published in 2007 by

  Nexus

  Thames Wharf Studios

  Rainville Rd

  London W6 9HA

  Copyright © Felix Baron 2007

  The right of Felix Baron to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  www.nexus-books.com

  Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon

  Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD

  The paper used in this book is a natural, recyclable product made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing process conforms to the regulations of the country of origin.

  ISBN 978 0 352 34134 1

  Distributed in the USA by Holtzbrinck Publishers, LLC, 175

  Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010, USA

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Perhaps I am, with desire for you, Rolf.’

  ‘I’m your mother’s husband, your stepfather.’

  She drawled, ‘Yes. Forbidden fruit, right, Rolf? You know what they say about that. Am I forbidden fruit, to you? Does that make me more desirable? I hope it does.’

  ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Am I bad, Rolf, really bad? If I am, I should be punished. Will you punish me, Rolf?’

  She stood. For the first time since her perverted caresses had woken him, Rolf realised that she’d discarded the pants to her pyjamas. Her legs, her incredible long legs, were bare. They were within his reach. Rolf knew, and the knowledge terrified him, that if he reached out and stroked her thigh, she’d welcome the caress.

  By the same author:

  DOMINANT

  One

  Trixie Sanders’s oversized sunglasses matched the lavender-pink of her lipstick, the gloss on her eyelids, the enamel on her fingers and toenails, and her two chiffon scarves – one knotted around the crown of her big black straw hat and the other tied loosely at her hip. Her one-piece swimsuit was also black, with legs that were French-cut to her waist. A net ‘V’ plunged between her breasts, down as far as her navel. At forty, her body was no longer as toned as it had once been. It was still very shapely and deliciously ‘ripe’.

  Penny, her daughter, was nineteen, tanned, lean and lovely. Tropical sun beat down on her perfect young body. Hints of her bikini showed in the pale blue strip barely visible between the taut ovals of her bottom and the thin line of her bra’s strap across her back. She was stretched face-down on a beach towel at Trixie’s feet, with one hand in the inky shade of her mother’s beach umbrella. Her fingers were wrapped companionably around Trixie’s slender ankle.

  ‘You’re going to get a tan line,’ Trixie’s liquid contralto warned.

  ‘Mm?’ Penny made a half-hearted attempt to reach behind herself, to the bow of her bikini’s top. ‘Please?’

  Trixie gave a motherly sigh, leaned forward out of her lounge chair, and tugged the bow loose. ‘Be careful when you sit up,’ she warned.

  ‘Lotion?’

  Indulgently, Trixie spritzed her daughter’s back from a spray-bottle. ‘There ought to be a nice young man around to rub that in for you,’ she observed.

  Penny snorted and flicked her long platinum ponytail. ‘Fat chance! There’s only two kinds of people staying here, divorced men and divorced women. The men in their fifties; women in their forties – the women wiggling their bait and the men trying to nibble on it without getting hooked.’

  Trixie sank back into deep shadow. ‘My bait could do with some serious nibbling on, if the right man should come along.’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘Daughter!’ Trixie pushed her hat back on her honey-blond curls and her sunglasses up to her brow, so she could get her miniature binoculars to her Saxon-blue eyes. She scanned the beach. ‘Right man – rich man – handsome man – sexy man – where are you hiding? Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she mused.

  Penny sighed as if giving up on her incorrigible mother.

  ‘Aha!’ Trixie exclaimed.

  ‘Spotted the man of your dreams?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no, but an interesting male none the less. I spy Juan, the water-boy, the one with the muscles.’

  ‘They all have muscles, Mother. The resort picks them like that, to keep you horny widows and divorcees amused.’

  ‘Juan’s special, or so I’m told.’

  ‘Special? How? Who told you?’

  ‘Magda, the masseuse, told me. All the boys on staff have muscles, but apparently Juan has one muscle in particular that’s quite spectacular.’

  ‘You shouldn’t gossip with the hired help, Mother.’

  ‘No, I should swap tuna casserole recipes with old frumps like the pair we were forced to endure at dinner last night.’ Trixie craned her neck and called out, ‘Water-boy! Juan!’

  ‘You’ve never drunk plain water in your entire life.’

  ‘No, but this Zombie could do with some ice.’

  Juan padded over, his canvas bag of ice swaying on his hip. ‘Bottle of water, lady?’

  ‘Spare me a couple of cubes of ice, would you?’ Trixie held her half-empty Zombie glass above her head.

  Juan ducked under the umbrella and into the deep shade. ‘Sure thing.’ The way Trixie held her glass, the lad had no choice but to stand close to h
er chair. His fingers sorted a lump from the mush and melt in his bag.

  Trixie’s free fingers brushed his muscular thigh just above his knee and stroked up under the baggy leg of his shorts. ‘Take your time,’ she told him.

  He grunted and froze. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Trixie said, ‘What Magda told me, Penny – it’s absolutely true.’

  Her daughter pretended to be asleep.

  Juan, an ice cube melting between his nervous fingers, swallowed hard. His face went crimson under its tan. He started to make little noises in his throat.

  The ice dropped into Trixie’s glass.

  ‘Good boy,’ Trixie said. ‘In future, when I need ice . . .’

  ‘Lady?’

  ‘You come, and you come fast, you hear?’

  ‘You bet, lady.’

  After he’d retreated, Trixie asked Penny, ‘Pass me one of those nice cool wet-wipes, would you, darling?’

  ‘Sticky fingers?’

  ‘No dear, but for some reason I’m feeling quite flushed.’ She dabbed her brow and returned to scanning the beach. ‘Penny, you have a gentleman admirer.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘There’s a handsome young man watching you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Penny pushed up as if she’d forgotten her bra was loose but grabbed it to herself just before the tips of her breasts lifted off her towel. ‘Who? Where?’

  ‘Twenty feet closer to the ocean, at two o’clock.’

  Penny squinted. ‘He’s a bit young for me. You know I prefer older men.’

  ‘He’s three years your senior – Andrew Carmichael, only son and heir to Rolf Carmichael, widower.’

  ‘You’ve checked him out.’

  ‘That’s why God gave us Google, dear.’

  ‘His Daddy’s rich, I presume?’

  ‘Comfortable. He’s an extremely successful engineer, now semi-retired, whose lawyer wife left him a considerable fortune. He’s worth close to twenty mil.’

  ‘So why aren’t you going after the Dad instead of siccing me on the son?’

  ‘The big bull spends all his time in their suite, doing business by phone. The moon-calf is right there, in our sights. Give the boy a chance, Penny. He’s good looking. Maybe he’s charming as well.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Go take a swim, dear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do as Mother says. Mother knows best.’ Trixie leaned down to retie her daughter’s bra.

  ‘I hope you’re doing that properly,’ Penny said.

  ‘I know how to tie a bow, daughter. There, you’re done.’

  ‘Well, I could do with cooling off after your outrageous behaviour.’ Penny writhed to her feet and did a hot-foot dance across the beach. By the time she was walking on cool wet sand, Andrew Carmichael had stretched, yawned, and was casually strolling towards the waves. Trixie grinned and lay back with her binoculars to her eyes.

  Penny waded into backwash waves and braced herself. A waist-high breaker rocked her.

  Andrew called, ‘Look out, Miss,’ as an incoming ten-foot swell began to curl and break. A wall of green and white water washed over Penny and crashed on the beach. When it receded, sucking at the sand, she was nowhere in sight.

  Andrew shouted, ‘Hey.’ He loped awkwardly for a few strides before throwing himself through the next wave. When he stood up in waist-deep water, there Penny was, standing with her back to him, not ten feet away. ‘You OK, Miss?’

  She turned to face him, her hands inefficiently shielding lovely young breasts that were now naked. ‘I’m fine, thanks, except . . .’ Her shrug came perilously close to exposing areas that weren’t tanned. ‘Oh – there it is!’ One hand darted out to point at her bikini’s floating bra and was snatched back so quickly that Andrew couldn’t be sure if he’d glimpsed a rose-pink bud or not.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he volunteered. He returned with the scrap of fabric and held it out to Penny. She raised a brow and shrugged again. There was no way for her to take it without uncovering a breast. ‘Oh – sorry,’ he said. Andrew turned his back and flopped her bra back over his shoulder for her to tug from his fingers.

  A few minutes later, Penny told him, ‘Thanks. I’m decent now. You’re a real gentleman.’

  He turned. ‘You OK now?’

  ‘I’m fine, but if you wouldn’t mind walking me back, just in case another savage wave attacks me?’ She rocked to one side, as if moved by an underwater current.

  Andrew offered his hand but she moved past it, close in, so that his arm went around her waist by reflex.

  ‘I think I’m a little shaken,’ Penny explained.

  ‘I’ll get you back safely.’

  Penny’s head lolled onto his shoulder. ‘My knight in shining armour.’

  As they waded back towards the beach, Penny’s hip was brushing his thigh. Andrew cleared his throat. His mouth was suddenly dry.

  ‘Oh, it must be cocktail hour already,’ Penny said when they got back to the beach. ‘My Mom’s gone in.’

  ‘Do you have to follow her?’

  ‘I don’t like to be out here all alone.’

  ‘I could keep you company, if you like.’

  Penny looked down at the sand and whispered, ‘I’d like that.’

  Two

  The cha-cha ended. The Golden O Orchestra struck a chord. A trumpeter and a guitarist laid their instruments aside and picked up a violin and an accordion. The main lights dimmed. Three spotlights, red, green and white, hit the mirror-ball that was suspended far above. Penny moved in close to Andrew’s chest and said, ‘I think that means the next number’s a tango. It’s my favourite dance.’

  ‘Sorry, Penny. I always thought the tango was for old people. My Dad does it but it’s beyond me.’

  Penny pouted. ‘Maybe I should dance with your Dad, then. Is he here?’

  Andrew’s face turned to stone. ‘Sure, if you like. Come on, then.’ He forged ahead of Penny, not so quickly as to be rude but not at a companionable speed. The orchestra began to play Jealousy.

  Andrew blurted, ‘Dad, this is Penny, the girl I told you about. She loves to tango and I know you do and I don’t so I thought . . .’

  Rolf Carmichael stood, beaming. ‘I’d be delighted!’

  Penny looked the older man up and down. His silvery hair was slightly long and shaggy. Rolf had to be in his fifties by the interesting creases in his craggy face. He had the body of a very fit man of forty, broad across the chest but with narrow hips. He might have been an inch or two taller than his son. Rolf took Penny’s hand and bowed over it briefly before whisking her onto the floor.

  ‘Did Andrew tell you he saved me from a watery grave this morning?’ Penny asked.

  ‘He mentioned something about protecting your modesty.’

  ‘He’s very gallant.’

  As Rolf swung Penny round, her thighs parted to accommodate his right one, which was inevitable with that step. The press of her pubes on his leg wasn’t, but it might have been accidental. Rolf moved her a few inches further back. The next turn brought her close again. The tango is a dance of love and lust. It simulates male domination, female defiance and eventual surrender. With lovers or potential lovers as partners, it’s formalised foreplay. When the man is in his fifties and his partner is a teenage girl, he can feel awkward, especially when the close contact, her scent, and the deep ‘sweetheart’ cleavage he gazes down into all conspire to give him a raging erection.

  ‘I should introduce you to my mother, Mr Carmichael, but I don’t know if I’m going to.’

  ‘Please call me “Rolf”. Why wouldn’t you introduce me to your mother?’

  ‘If she finds out what a good dancer you are I won’t get another chance at you.’

  ‘You’ll be too busy dancing with younger men; my son for instance.’

  Penny looked up at him from under sweeping lashes. ‘Mature men have their own appeal, Rolf.’ Her satin-sheathed tummy brushed across the fly of Rolf’s pants. Was that a secret little smile t
hat twitched the corners of her mouth? Was she aware of his physical reaction to her closeness? Rolf was almost glad when the dance ended.

  ‘My Mom’s over there,’ Penny told him. ‘Come and say “hi”.’

  With one hand deep in his pocket and a finger controlling the jut of his erection, Rolf followed. He found Trixie just as attractive as her daughter, but in a very different way. She was petite but voluptuous, with the sort of full-bosomed, pinch-waisted, flaring-hipped figure that isn’t fashionable any more but that men will always admire. Her clinging black jersey dress came to her wrists and throat but it was backless so deeply that Rolf could see that the narrowness of her waist wasn’t the result of corsetry. Nor was the pout of her plump breasts augmented by a bra.

  He had a sudden urgent need to see her naked and felt an instant stab of guilt. It had only been two years since his Rachel died. Was feeling lust for another woman so soon a betrayal?

  Trixie extended a hand. Rolf bowed over it.

  ‘I’ll go find Andrew, shall I?’ Penny suggested.

  Rolf nodded. Trixie flicked her fingers, dismissing her daughter. Penny swished off to leave the newly-met couple gazing into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Dance?’ Rolf asked.

  If Penny had danced flirtatiously, her mother’s moves were blatant invitations. The tango is a ‘full-contact’ dance but neither the quickstep not the foxtrot are, except as danced by Trixie. By the end of the second number, Rolf had given up trying to keep an inch of air between their bodies. By the end of the third, his splayed hand was on the base of her spine, encouraging her torso’s undulations. He had no doubt she was aware of his erection. It was the focus of her writhing.

  ‘Dad!’ Andrew reprimanded, when the couple returned to the table.

  ‘Get a room,’ Penny added.

  Rolf averted his eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Trixie said. ‘We’re mature adults. Consenting adults, come to that.’

  Rolf beckoned a waiter. ‘Ladies?’

  ‘Martinis. A pitcher’s best, Rolf,’ Trixie told him. ‘It saves time.’

  ‘White wine spritzer?’ from Penny.

  He ordered a Tuborg lager for Andrew and told Trixie he’d share her pitcher. By the time he’d poured his second glass, Trixie was halfway through her third. The youngsters were on the dance floor.