A redeeming passion
Ten years ago, rebellious corporate heir Alexander Diallo was living in Jamaica, a world away from his moneyed roots. But his youthful indiscretions have followed the successful computer engineer back to Miami. Now he’s being emotionally blackmailed into romancing a perfect stranger. The seduction becomes all too real when Lex starts falling for Noelle Palmer...and longs to turn the pleasure-driven charade into a more permanent union.
Being abandoned at the altar left emotional scars, and Noelle isn’t ready to trust again—even if Lex is everything she ever dreamed of in a lover. His sensuality and magnetic charm tempt her to let down her guard and open her heart. Until she discovers that they didn’t meet by chance. Can Lex convince her that what began as a deception has deepened into a love that can erase all the mistakes of the past?
“You look beautiful,” Lex said. His whiskey-scented breath brushed Noelle’s cheek and she shivered. “I thought about you last night.”
If she had any doubts about what he meant, the firm and possessive curve of his hand on her hip dismissed them all. She licked her lips, wanting to be reasonable and sane. This was the same man who’d had another woman hanging off him just a few minutes before. But this was also the same man who made her knees weak with just one look. His hand on her hip guided her back into the wall.
“No,” she said, although she wasn’t sure what she was saying no to.
“You didn’t think about me?” He stepped closer, like he was under a spell and couldn’t help himself, his eyes focused only on her.
“I didn’t,” she lied.
Up until she’d fallen asleep, Lex had been wrapped firmly around her very thoughts. Wondering why she wanted him so much, wondering if she could have him, hoping...
He stopped a few breaths from her. “Kiss me,” he said.
“What?”
“Kiss me. I can’t—”
I’m Lex Diallo. Former stripper, current software engineer and recent celibate.
Food, family and the favors of generous women are, or at least were, some of my favorite things to enjoy when I’m not working. I don’t like to tell people who my family is, but by the time I finish saying my last name and flash this gorgeous smile, they know I’m one of the Miami Diallos and very closely connected to their multibillion-dollar cosmetics company. My family’s money isn’t what makes me sexy, though.
To find out more about me, get deeper between these covers and come take a long, hard look. I promise it’ll be worth it.
Lex Diallo
Bare Pleasures
Lindsay Evans
LINDSAY EVANS was born in Jamaica and currently lives and writes in Atlanta, Georgia, where she’s constantly on the hunt for inspiration, club in hand. She loves good food and romance and would happily travel to the ends of the earth for both. Find out more at www.lindsayevanswrites.com.
For my readers, old and new. Thank you.
Contents
Alexander Diallo was taking a break from casual hookups.
He sipped his champagne, his back to the wall of the gallery where his sister was currently having her first solo exhibition, trying not to think how this would impact his social life.
“Hey, Lex.” His brother Kingsley walked up with a champagne glass of his own, tapped Lex’s glass with it. “Did you congratulate Lola yet?”
“No, not yet. She’s a little busy.”
In the center of the room, their younger sister stood surrounded by nearly a dozen people. Willowy and petite with big anime eyes her siblings often teased her about, Lola, who was two years younger than Lex, looked years away from being twenty-six. She wore some sort of pale green, flowy dress that brushed the floor, a contrast to her dark and moody paintings on the gallery walls.
“Yeah.” Kingsley sipped his champagne and swept his eyes around the rest of the gallery. “A lot of people are here tonight.” He said it like he was surprised.
“Why not? She’s popular enough and not just on Facebook.” Lex tracked his eyes around the room, not so subtly checking out all the gorgeous women not related to him. This resolution wasn’t off to a great start.
“Lola is a pretty girl everyone loves to be around, but that doesn’t translate