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Amuse Me
ISBN #978-1-906328-74-0
©Copyright Lexie Davis 2008
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright December 2007
Edited by Michele Paulin
Total-e-bound books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s
imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the
Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the
author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road,
Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning:
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable
for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
AMUSE ME
Lexie Davis
Dedication
To my grandfather.
Words cannot describe how much you mean to me.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the
following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
iPod: Apple, Inc.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Abercrombie and Fitch: Abercrombie and Fitch Trading Co.
Barbie: Mattel, Inc.
Armani: GA Modefine S.A.
Oprah: Harpo, Inc.
Chapter One
Wilmington, North Carolina
I sat at my computer stuck in a writing rut and listening to the Eagles on my
iPod. My boyfriend had left me at the same time I was due to turn in my latest
erotic romance to my editor—and I had nothing.
I massaged my temples hoping something would strike a chord in my brain.
A mere spark of an idea that would be fun to write, fun to read and leaving my
fans breathless and begging for more. The more I thought about it, the harder it
was to convert my thoughts to the blank computer screen.
The blinking curser mocked me as I stared at the white page. Dammit, Rich
may have fucked my life up but he wasn’t going to take a way my passion for
writing. I wouldn’t let him, no matter what it cost.
In high school, young love blooms like tulips in the spring—sometimes
developing into loving, lasting relationships and sometimes setting one up for
heartache. Rich, I thought, would be the loving lasting relationship kind of guy
but, boy, was I wrong. We’d dated throughout high school and college. I’d heard
sex changed the relationship, but I was stupid and naive. Rich was a sexual being
and aroused feelings within me no other man had. If only those feelings had
been mutual.
I’m twenty-five years old and it took me seven years to discover the man I’d
thought I loved—the mushy, gushy kind of love—had cheated on me. Not once
or twice—no that was too easy. He’d fucked every girl he’d come in contact
with.
For six months he’d been out of my life, yet he still haunted my dreams. I’d
found out two days ago, from my best friend, that his latest conquest was having
his baby. The more I thought about it, the more I hated him. I wanted payback. I
needed it for some weird reason.
I started typing, letting my anger fuel the words on paper, my fingers flying
across the keyboard as my thoughts sputtered from my brain. For once in my
life, I was taking all the writing advice I’d thought was crap and putting it to
good use. I wrote what I knew.
I made my real life story an act of fiction.
A few hours later I’d plotted, planned and brainstormed about all the events
I’d experienced and a few from my imagination as well. I had a five-page plan of
events, a storyline and the perfect ending. Funny, how something so obvious was
hidden right under my nose.
My side of the story mixed with a little imagination would be my
vengeance. After all, paybacks always were hell…
Atlanta, Georgia—Erotic Romance Convention
“Montana Raine, I just love your work!” A fan approached me at my
designated table where I was signing of my newest release, Against All Odds.
“Would you please sign my book?”
I signed fans’ copies until my hand felt like it was going to fall off. Writer’s
cramp settled deep into my bones, aching as the line slowly shortened. My
friends, fellow writers, and I used to joke about the kind of people show up at
things like these. At the first signing I attended, we’d had to call security because
a man had read my friend Jenny’s novel and stolen a pair of crotchless panties
like those she’d described in her book from a nearby lingerie store. Thankfully,
that was the only illegal action we’d ever encountered. Most of the time it was
only creepy stares from passing men, judging us by the things we write. An
overwhelming number of fans desperately want to know if I’ve “researched”
everything I write. Though I’m an erotic romance novelist, even I consider some
things to be a bit private. But on the other hand there is a disclosure saying, “this
book is a work of the author’s imagination.” Some things are just…fantasy.
Except for my newest book. Whoever said real life doesn’t make interesting
fiction is a fool. Against All Odds was a bestseller, topping two of the most
proclaimed lists in the country. The book was available in just about every
medium known to man where anyone could read it. Lucky for me people
actually wanted to. I did however spice things up a bit and focus more on my
cheating boyfriend being the jackass he is, but there were more real aspects in it
from my life than would normally show up in my novels. Rich’s inspiration was
nonetheless villain perfect, bringing me to a key point of my story.
Not that the heroine and the villain had anything going on. No, she had the
old cliché every woman loves. Tall, dark and handsome—with a nice car, great
job and for once, a brain. The hero was her own personal sex slave.
“Megan.” My editor Kaitlin Moore sashayed over to my table, breaking the
line to talk to me. “Can you find time to take a break? The new CEO of
Quicksand Books wants to talk to you about a book deal. He’s waiting in the
backroom as we speak.”
Quicksand Books, Inc. had recently made a few business changes, and if
they were still going to keep me on board as one of their authors, then so be it.
I’d make the time to meet with them. They’d stuck by me throughout my career,
me being one of their very first clients. We were sort of old friends.
“Of course.”
After finishing out my autograph line, I took a few seconds to get a bottle of
water from a Coke machine and went searching for my editor. At thirty, Kaitlin
was a few years older than me but knew more about this business than I possibly
could after only three years of writing and selling my work to her company.
Michele Lockland-Stewart had started the company with her own money. Now
she was on maternity leave, and from what I had heard, the new owner, her
brother Blake, was quite a drill sergeant.
“Kaitlin,” I said, coming up to my editor at her table. The conference held at
the Atlanta convention centre had aspiring authors from all around the country
pitching their current works-in-progress, begging and pleading for any and all
editor’s and agent’s attention. It had taken three minutes for me to make my way
through the crowd to her table.
“Oh, Megan.” She stood and turned to her assistant. “Debbie, please man
the crowd for a second. I’ll be right back.”
She led me through the large room, past several editors I knew and writers
who were my close friends. The faint smell of roses filled my nose before I
realised a big name writer had received two-dozen roses from an adoring fan.
Must suck to be her.
We made it to the other side of the room, bypassing table after table until we
finally entered a narrow hallway off-limits to the general public. In a way, being
taken to the back to meet a guy seemed a bit creepy—even for me.
“Sorry about pulling you away from your fans. Mr. Lockland wanted to see
you right away. He’s a bit shy. That’s why he’s hanging out in the staff lounge.”
She stepped aside opening a door for me.
The room we entered was a typical lounge. A black couch sat in the middle
of the room with a TV pointing directly at it. Round restaurant-style tables with
matching white chairs crammed the small kitchenette—perfect for slacking on
the job. On the couch, however, sat a man with his back to us watching a football
game on the TV. I couldn’t see much detail about him, but the look on my
editor’s face said he definitely appealed to her.
“Mr. Lockland, this is Megan Bradshaw, AKA Montana Raine.” Kaitlin
smiled for a brief second, and when I turned my head, I could see why.
Dark brown hair and silvery-blue eyes bewitched me, everything else in
the room fading away. I swallowed hard, remembering my mother’s words about
being rude. I couldn’t help it. He had the face and body of a model, perfect for
the Abercrombie and Fitch catalogues, advertising sex on a stick.
When he stood, my gaze glided over his body. From his tight blue dress
shirt, free from the tie he’d thrown on the couch next to him, to his long lean
legs encased in black slacks—he practically made my mouth water. I wondered
what was hidden from my viewing pleasure. My eyes shifted to the huge bulge
between his legs, answering my question. I tried to keep my reaction to myself,
but my throat clammed up as he spoke to me. It took me three tries before I
could speak. I moved the necessary steps to shake hands with him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lockland.” I felt like a total idiot. I knew I
blushed because he saw me staring. There was no way he could have missed it or
my reaction.
A small quirk of his lips hinted at a smile, as his big hand engulfed mine.
Don’t stare into his eyes, I scolded myself. Don’t grip his hand too tight. And for
Heaven’s sake, do not stare at the incredible package between his thighs. While
my mind blundered the random thoughts of what I shouldn’t do, he brought my
hand to his mouth, kissing it with soft, warm lips.
A bolt of heat shot up my arm and went straight to my crotch, moisture
pooling at my pussy lips. That lump in my throat came back—or maybe it had
never really left—and I swallowed hard, my over-active imagination taking over
again.
“The pleasure really is mine.” His thumb rotated in small circles on the back
of my hand.
I nearly came undone just thinking about that thumb stroking somewhere a
little bit lower. With perfect pressure, he held my eyes with his, as if he knew the
reaction he caused in my body. Maybe he was imagining it himself.
“Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my table.” Kaitlin cleared her
throat, reminding us we weren’t the only ones in the room.
Mr. Lockland looked over at her with a dismissing gesture. “Thanks Kaitlin.
