Three Sweet Nothings (Blindfold Club #5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Thank You

  The Club

  About

  Copyright

  for my husband

  Chapter

  ONE

  KYLE

  I fisted my cock, stroking the hard length, and tightened my grip.

  My hand ached. I’d been at it a while, and even though my gaze was on my iPad, my mind wandered elsewhere. Fuck, this porn wasn’t getting it done tonight. It wasn’t real. The girl’s moans were as fake as her tits, and the guy kept grunting out his words like a caveman. I tapped the screen, shut it off, and tossed it down on the empty side of my bed in frustration.

  Okay, time to get serious. I was tired and didn’t want to fall asleep with my dick in my hand. I shifted under the sheets to get comfortable and focus.

  I retrieved the memory which never failed to get me off. Ruby Carter’s drunken laugh while she was sandwiched between me and her friend Leslie, her tight body pressed back against mine, while I worked a hand up her shirt. Ruby had such perfect breasts, and I remembered the shock when I discovered Leslie had beaten me to them. Our palms met over the top of Ruby’s bra, trying to get inside while she squirmed beneath our mutual touch.

  Every detail of that night had been committed to perfect memory. I could still smell the sunny laundry detergent that lingered in Ruby’s sheets, and hear the breathless moan she gave as Leslie explored, both girls trying something new and eager for more. I didn’t know how the stars aligned so goddamn perfectly to bring that night into existence, and I wasn’t going to question it.

  I pumped my grip, twisting around the head, and then had to flex my fingers to shake the strain from them. Ruby’s breathy moans ramped up in my head as I recalled sliding my fingers down the front of her jeans. I’d decided to stay out of Leslie’s way up top, and skip right to the best part.

  Making Ruby come.

  There wasn’t anything else like it. I’d fucked women before and after her, but no one compared. She shook violently with the force of her orgasms. Deep groans of pleasure rolled out of her as the waves wracked her body, over and over again. I’d made her come countless times during the ten months we’d dated, but every time she came, it felt . . . new. Like a shocking surprise.

  My fingers ached as I squeezed harder, willing my hand not to cramp. Or were they aching because I wished they were buried between Ruby’s legs as they’d been then? She was so wet. Making out with Leslie had turned us both on, and then the potential there’d be more had brought us both to the brink.

  I’d barely touched Ruby. Just one swipe of my fingertips on her swollen clit, and she jerked. Her shoulders seized and shuddered, followed by a loud gasp, and then she shattered.

  “Fuck,” I whispered in my empty bedroom, echoing Ruby’s word as she came on my damp fingers. I was just as close to coming now as I’d been then, but there was no need to hold back tonight. No need to satisfy anyone but myself. One more stroke, and I’d have a mess on my hands.

  My phone rang, vibrating noisily on the nightstand and bathing the room in dull light.

  Jesus Christ, what asshole doesn’t send a text at one in the morning?

  I ceased moving my hand when I read the screen. Payton McCreary. Although it should probably say Ward now. Her wedding was a week ago, and my independent sister had surprisingly taken her husband’s last name. Was she back from her honeymoon already, or was this a drunk dial where she forgot about the time change?

  A weird feeling rolled through me. Payton was wild, but not inconsiderate. She wouldn’t call at this hour unless it was an emergency. And if that was the case, when did I become the one she called for help?

  “Hello?” I said, abandoning my cock.

  “Kyle.” Relief filled Payton’s voice. “What are you doing?”

  “Jerking off. You?” I clamped my teeth together. Where the fuck did that come from?

  There was no hesitation from her. “Can you finish later? I . . . need your help.”

  My throbbing hard-on began to flag. My sister was confident, but she didn’t sound that way now. Hearing her nervous made me nervous.

  “Help with what?” I blinked back confusion as I sat upright.

  “I need to talk to you. Can you come over?”

  “Now?” I threw off the covers and stood. “Is Dominic around?”

  Wait. My mind was slow as the blood began to return to my brain upstairs. She’d told me their honeymoon was short due to Dominic’s demanding job.

  “No, I’m not at home.”

  “Okay, where are you?”

  She paused. “I’m at the Federal building.”

  I froze. “You’re where?”

  “I’m being questioned by the FBI.” Her voice was clipped. “My friend is, too.”

  “Evie?” I asked. Payton had been best friends with Evelyn since college. “Why are you being questioned?”

  “Not Evie. His name is Julius, and it’s . . . complicated. Can you come, like, right now? I told him not to say anything until you get here.”

  Things sharpened into focus. Payton wasn’t calling me for help as her big brother. I tried to ignore the tinge of disappointment. My sister was a product of our parents. Self-reliant, proud, and headstrong. It made sense she would only need me for legal counsel.

  “Yeah,” I said, heading for my closet. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I gazed at the selection before me. “How serious is it?”

  Payton’s voice was thick. “Wear your most intimidating suit.”

  After passing through security, I was ushered into the FBI office and led down a hallway to a small conference room which probably doubled as an interview space. Gray carpet, a government cheap table, and no windows. My sister sat on one of the worn chairs, staring vacantly at the most wanted list posted on a wall.

  Payton looked much younger than her twenty-eight years, sitting alone with worry etching her face and her shoulders slumped. My sister was attractive. I knew because I’d heard about it from guys during high school, the ones who were dumb enough to tell me how fuckable they thought my sister was.

  She’d grown into a gorgeous woman. Even if I’d failed to realize that, her fiancé Dominic was quick to remind. Husband, I corrected. How could I forget my little sister was married? My mother hadn’t stopped shooting me disappointed looks throughout the evening this past Saturday. I hadn’t even brought a date to the wedding.

  “God, thanks for coming.” Payton leapt to her feet, and in four quick strides, reached me. She th
rew her arms around my shoulders and squeezed.

  “Are you all right?” When she nodded, I added, “Are they holding you? Have you been charged with anything?”

  “No, not me. Just questions.” She straightened. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  We hadn’t been close growing up. I’d had pressure coming at me from all sides, and if I was honest, it pissed me off how differently our parents treated us. I’d resented Payton for how she did whatever she wanted. Mom and Dad acted like I was the better child. The smarter one, but the reality was Payton was more intelligent. She’d figured out how to brush off our parents’ disapproval nearly a decade before I did.

  Things shifted between us last year when I moved back to Chicago. We’d forged slowly into new territory, getting to actually know each other. She’d let me siphon friends from her, too. The move home from New York had been difficult. Why was it so hard to meet people as a single guy at thirty?

  Payton dropped into the chair and gestured to the one opposite her. “You’re going to want to sit for this.”

  I lowered into a seat. “What’s going on?”

  “Can we talk freely in here?”

  “They can’t record your conversation with counsel.” What the hell had she gotten into?

  She pressed her lips together, but then gave a slight shake of her head, surrendering. “The wine club I sometimes work at . . . it’s a front. The place is actually a high-class brothel.”

  What?

  I couldn’t . . .

  My mind was pure confusion. “This isn’t Nevada, it’s Cook County. Prostitution is illegal.”

  “Yup.” It seemed like she was watching my reaction intently, and her expression was guarded. “My job is to negotiate the purchase price between the clients and the girls.”

  Emotions clashed inside me. Horror Payton worked at an illegal whorehouse. Relief she wasn’t one of the girls. “So,” I tried to assemble the words and floundered. “You aren’t the one sleeping with clients for money?”

  “No, no. Not anymore.”

  The room went still.

  What the fuck did she mean?

  Payton combed a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her face, and leaned forward on the tabletop. Her expression hardened. “I like money, and I like sex, and I’m really fucking good at it. So, yeah, I was an escort for a while, and I don’t regret it.” She straightened, and defensiveness flashed in her eyes. “It’s how I really met Dominic.”

  She was right, it was a damn good thing I was sitting down, because her words left me reeling. “Dominic paid to be with you?”

  “Yeah.” She scowled, like she abruptly thought better of her answer. “No, he didn’t, actually. It doesn’t matter. That was years ago. After Dominic, I only worked at the club when Joseph needed help managing or if a sales assistant called in sick.”

  “Wait a minute.” I pulled my shoulders back. “Joseph Monsato?”

  Again, she nodded. “It was his club up until last year.”

  Thoughts swam in my brain. I’d been the fifth wheel to Payton and Dominic’s dinners with Joseph and Noemi a half-dozen times. Payton had been a prostitute and Dominic was her john, so that made Joseph . . . her pimp? Good God, what was she going to tell me next? “Jesus. And Noemi? Is that how he met her?”

  “Fuck, no. She’s the reason he gave up the club.”

  In the onslaught of all the shocking information, my brain focused on the dumb stuff. I liked hanging out with Joseph. His dominating personality was one I admired, and there was something . . . intriguing about the way he was around his fiancée.

  Not just intriguing, but fascinating. He seemed to have command over Noemi, but the smallest word or gesture from her could draw a huge reaction from him. As if he was always dialed in to what she was thinking and feeling. Being around them made me envious.

  I wanted what they had.

  But now? I felt like I had nothing in common with him. Joseph had sold sex. Fuck, he’d sold sex with my little sister, and yeah, even though she’d been willing, the idea made my fist tighten.

  “I get that you need time,” Payton said, interrupting my anger, “but we don’t have it. Julius needs your help now.”

  “Who?”

  “My friend. He’s the club manager.”

  I broke my gaze from Payton and stared at the tabletop marred with scratches. She wanted me to defend a pimp? I struggled. “Okay, putting all the personal shit to the side for a minute, how exactly is the FBI involved?”

  “Earlier tonight I negotiated a deal between a woman and some asshole, and after I left the room, it went to shit. The guy tried to kill her, and he would have done it if Julius hadn’t stopped him.” Payton took a deep, preparing breath. “So, apparently, this woman, who I thought was my friend, is actually an undercover agent, and the asshole is a congressman. Or, he was. Don’t think they let you stay in office when you try to strangle the fucking life out of someone.”

  “It was a sting operation to bring down the club?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Regan—” A scowl crossed her face. “The agent has been working at the club for over a year.”

  If that had been the goal, the feds wouldn’t need that much time to shut down the club. It meant the sting had been set up to trap someone else. The congressman? Maybe other high profile players in Chicago?

  “Did you witness the assault?”

  “Not in person, but Julius has video of the whole thing.”

  Her eyes hinted at something and I understood instantly. “Julius has it. Not the FBI.”

  “He’s smart.” She rose from her chair, forcing me to do the same. “He knows how valuable the video is.” Payton stepped closer. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but will you help him? Julius saved Regan’s life and called the ambulance, knowing it was going to destroy his club. He’s a good guy.”

  My gaze fell to her hand, which gently gripped my arm.

  “Please, Kyle.”

  I’d failed Payton as a brother most of my life. I wasn’t going to do it anymore.

  My voice was strong. “Of course. Where is he?”

  Chapter

  TWO

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Spoons. I was actually getting ready to write a motion about spoons.

  Keith and Elizabeth Gillespie had been in the process of divorcing for more than two years. Their union had begun forty-three years ago, and I was certain they’d despised each other at least that long. So why had they gotten married in the first place? Keith said the sex, even now, was fantastic.

  They fought over everything as I struggled to separate their assets. Last month it had been the window treatments. Now it was a set of collectable spoons from a trip they’d taken to Rome. In 1997.

  Two years ago, I’d been at a top-tier firm in Manhattan, arguing cases that mattered. Now, I’d been handed the Gillespie’s joke of a divorce, a case from the bottom of the barrel. Punishment for not coming to James, Franklin, and McCreary after I’d graduated law school as my parents expected me to. It’d been five years and they still weren’t over it.

  I spun in my office chair, turning to glance out the floor-to-ceiling window. I stared at the black tinted windows of another high-rise. If I leaned forward in my chair, there would be a break in the buildings and I could see a sliver of Lake Michigan.

  “Kyle.”

  My father stood in my doorway, one hand on the door frame. Robert McCreary’s hair was graying and had gone completely white at the temples. It made him look trustworthy, when the truth was he was a shark.

  “What’s your schedule for New Year’s Eve?”

  My parents wanted to spend the holiday together as a family? That’d be a first.

  “I don’t have anything yet. Why?”

  “Your mother double booked us for a fundraising event and a midnight cruise with the partners.” He didn’t pause long enough for me to protest, since I knew what he was about to say. “We need you to go to the fundraiser for us.”

&
nbsp; “Uh, pass.”

  He stepped into the office, pulling my door shut. “The school’s unveiling their new McCreary theater, so a McCreary has to attend for the press release.”

  I bit back the swear word I wanted to let loose. It wasn’t like they could ask Payton. She didn’t even hyphenate her new last name with her maiden one, as if she couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

  And my parents wouldn’t forgo anything with their precious partners. The plain expression on my father’s face said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  I scrubbed away the wrinkle that was developing on my forehead. “All right, all right.” The old me would have just gone with it, but not anymore. If I was giving up my holiday to perform a symbolic ribbon cutting, I deserved something in return. “But I get my pick from the client list next time I have an opening.”

  Displeasure was an ugly expression on my father’s face. I didn’t blindly accept his demand, and it was as if I had insulted him. He didn’t have a choice, though. His grimace faded into resignation. “Agreed.”

  As he exited my office, my focus returned to my computer screen. I’d done what I could to ensure this was the last goddamn motion I ever wrote about spoons.

  Soldier Field was thick with Bears fans, anxious for football. After taking an escalator, two elevators, and following a winding hallway, I arrived at the box suite. I’d taken Julius’s case pro bono, which allowed me to keep it under the radar from my parents, and as a thank you, Julius had invited me to watch the game with him. The Chicago Bears versus their arch rival the Green Bay Packers.

  Tickets would have cost a fortune, but not for Julius. He’d played football in college with Tariq Crawford, a cornerback for the Bears. At least a third of the fans I’d passed coming up here had Crawford’s number on their jerseys.

  I hung my coat in the space just inside the door and stared through the deep room out the glass to the stadium beyond. Players warmed up on the field, which was starting to yellow from winter.

  The suite was half-full with people, more women than men, and a few children sat at a side table, engrossed in their tablets while adults mingled by the marble-top bar. Fancy-looking appetizers waited under heat lamps, while a black and white portrait of George Halas looked on.