Two hot, sexy billionaires know what they want and they want her, but will they be happy to share nicely?
Kerry Matthews is used to stress—she runs her own high-end London club called Diamonds, but what she isn't used to is attention from two very persuasive and powerful men.
Darren Bennett and Greg Stamford are life-long rivals, but call a truce to spend one night with sassy, curvy Kerry. They're not content to share forever though. They both have a selfish desire to possess her completely.
Darren buys her seductive lingerie, flowers and chocolates, Greg flies her to Paris for a romantic break, cleans her flat and makes her breakfast in bed. Both vying to cement their place in her heart. She needs to decide between them but is dazzled by their persuasive personas and extravagant gifts.
Reader Advisory: This book contains a scene of MFM Ménage and some violence.
General Release Date: 4th October 2013
My club was full of millionaires. It was terrifying. I sashayed around the room in comfortable heels and a sexy dress, smiling, when all I wanted to do was get behind the scenes to check everything was moving smoothly. But I couldn’t. No, I was front of house tonight and I had to be, like it or not.
It was a dream come true to be hosting the Entrepreneur Awards. I had worked damned hard to get my club, Diamonds, up to standard. I’d started out with a huge loan that frightened me and a building crew who seemed to spend more time drinking tea than transforming my vision into reality. Eventually, though, my restaurant and bar had taken shape and it had stayed essentially the same ever since. The dance floor was the prominent feature, the tables arranged around the outside lip. People came to Diamonds to eat, drink, laugh and dance. We did have quieter cubicles at the back for those who wanted to talk with their mouths instead of their bodies and it was this balance of fun, excitement and hidey-holes that kept Diamonds at the top of the business and one of the hottest names on the London entertainment circuit.
Happily, the chance I’d taken had paid off. I’d settled into a routine and spent every spare minute at my club. People told me it wasn’t healthy, that I worked too much, but if I took time off what would I do with it? I enjoyed my work so I buried myself in it.
I liked to be in the back, checking on the chef and the wait staff, going through set lists and dealing with problems as they arose, but I knew tonight I had to be out schmoozing. The varied visitors—men and women of all ages, sizes and creeds—had more money between them than certain nations. These guests were seriously loaded. Everyone was on the rich list. The poorest were mere millionaires but the big fish like Greg Stamford and Darren Bennett were billionaires.
I wanted to book them in for tables or private functions. I wanted them to become regulars at my place. I wanted their money in my tills.
I could entertain up front like this, I could smile and flirt and sell myself and my business pretty well, but I didn’t like doing it. However, it was too important tonight to pass the buck to one of my assistants. I had to do it myself.
To ease myself in, I started by chatting to a group of people gathered around a lovely couple who were regulars at Diamonds already.
“Hello, Kerry, enjoying the evening?” Sasha asked, flashing her perfect white smile beneath her expensive lipstick-soaked lips.
“As much as I can considering I’m working.” I smiled. She introduced me to the people around her, including a snack food entrepreneur whose products were household staples all over the world. He was small and dumpy and had a very disconcerting habit of squeezing my thigh but before our conversation finished he’d booked a private party that would boost my profits handsomely. It was a good start to the evening.
I moved on. My cheeks ached from so many smiles, my throat was dry and I wanted to take off the stupid heels and slip into my sensible, flat everyday shoes that cradled my toes instead of crushing them. I’d only been out front for a couple of hours. The night was still young.
Taking a champagne flute from a tray as one of my waitresses passed, I looked across the crowd. Everywhere I looked there were designer dresses and suits, expensive watches and bracelets and necklaces that cost more than my annual salary to buy.
By the bar were two men who earned more a day than I did in a year. Darren Bennett and Greg Stamford were bitter rivals in the technology world. They created apps for phones and their companies had really taken over the field—spreading out into associated technologies, owning their own mobile phone networks. I was subscribed to Greg’s, actually. I’d never used any of the apps they were world famous for, though. I only owned a basic mobile phone and switched it on once in a blue moon. I wasn’t terribly technically minded.
Greg was tall and severe, all angles and hard lines. He was with a pretty famous model. She had to be fairly well known because even I recognised her face and I didn’t buy women’s magazines—they made me feel uncomfortable, as their models were so thin and elegant, the polar opposite of me. She was blonde and stick-like while he was dark. He had a caramel tan that spoke of weeks beneath exotic skies and his hair was dark black, like the classiest limousine, and equally shiny. And hot. He could take me any which way he liked, the more hostile the better.
Darren looked similar but yet completely different. He had the same elegant air and self-assured smile and stance but his hair was fiery and red. He kept it short but it curled lazily against his scalp and made him appear more relaxed. His style was more playful—even at a distance I could see he was wearing a novelty tie with a character from one of his most popular mobile games. When he laughed, which he did often and loudly, his whole face lit up.
He also had a beautiful woman beside him, a raven-haired beauty I recognised from something on the television. She was holding an in-depth conversation with Greg’s model partner. The way they smiled at each other and touched led me to believe they were flirting with each other. I couldn’t blame them. The men beside them, though obnoxiously rich and annoyingly handsome, hadn’t shown them an ounce of interest in all the time I had watched them. They were engaged in conversation with serious men. I was sure they were working the room just as I was.
A lovely couple distracted me for a while. They wanted to find out my availability for their wedding reception. I spent a good time chatting through the options and dates with the two and when they walked off to find their table for the award ceremony I was happy in the knowledge that I’d secured a very lucrative deal indeed.
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco and Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker (She is TEB's resident "Naked Chef") and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.
Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.
Reviewed by Erotica for All
This book wasn’t quite what I expected, but I certainly don’t want to give anything away, so I can’t say why! Rest assured, though, what follows is a mixture of escapism, suspense, drama and r...
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Reviewed by Alison Greig
I started reading this book thinking it was going to be your average ménage story, albeit with two billionaire males ... it was for a while but then takes a detour into a growing romance and then BAM!...
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Victoria Blisse - BTSe Mag feature
I love being an author, it’s a fantastic job. It’s forever changing, never predictable and always thrilling. There is a definite down side to being a writer though. You can’t really do it with others. It can get a bit lonely, really. So what can you do to combat that? Get out and be social. It sounds obvious but again, it’s not that easy especially if you write erotica. Sex can be frowned upon so bringing up that you write harder stuff than EL James at your local writing group might not go down terribly well.
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