Tempted by Eden (Eden #1)

1. Cora

Chapter one

Cora

T he espresso martini slides down my throat, leaving a trail of warmth as it settles in the pit of my stomach. The sharp bite of alcohol competes with the rich bitterness of coffee, making my nose wrinkle. It could really use a hint of sweetness—a dash of sugar syrup, maybe. Honestly though, I’m surprised the bartender managed to pull off a cocktail in a place like this. Tucked away in a quiet backstreet in the capital of Malta, it’s a far cry from the city’s swanky nightlife scene—no hip bartenders in suspenders mixing up artisanal cocktails, no carefully curated playlists or Instagrammable décor.

“What’s the difference between a G-spot and a golf ball?”

“A guy will actually search for a golf ball.”

Laughter erupts behind me, loud and infectious, from a group of guys propping up the bar. I giggle into my drink. The drunker they get, the cruder their jokes become, and despite myself, I’m drawn in.

“What’s the difference between a hooker and a drug dealer?”

“A hooker can wash her crack and resell it.”

I snort, glancing over my shoulder at the four gorgeous men huddled together, whiskey glasses in hand. For the past twenty minutes I’ve been shamelessly eavesdropping on their contest to see who can recall the most outrageous joke. Their banter fills the bar, cutting through the low drone of the soccer game playing on the TV.

I lick my lips, savoring the bitter coffee as my gaze sweeps over the sagging soccer memorabilia on the walls and the grime-coated tables. The bartender coughs without bothering to cover his mouth, then takes a long drag of his cigarette. Despite the bar’s questionable hygiene standards and décor, the night is turning out better than expected. At least it’s a step up from doing laundry at my hostel.

A distant “Val-let-ta” chant from the city drifts through the humid air, bringing a smile to my face. There’s always a bittersweetness to the end of a trip. After six incredible weeks backpacking across Europe, the memories are etched into me for life. It’s been one hell of a journey.

Thoughts of home creep in and I find myself wondering how Dad is holding up without me. Part of me is eager to get back to him, but the idea of leaving all this behind for the monotony of everyday life… I let out a long sigh.

I’d always envisioned traveling after earning my communications degree, but as the saying goes, “Life happens while you’re busy making other plans.” Graduation came three years later than expected; Mom’s passing was the hardest detour life could throw at me. Now, at twenty-four, my long-awaited solo adventure has finally happened—thanks in no small part to Dad’s gentle push.

A familiar ache tightens in my chest at the thought of Mom. I inhale deeply, trying to chase away the dark clouds threatening to roll in.

Another sip of my drink sends a rush of dizziness through me.

Shit, the bartender’s heavy-handed tonight.

The men’s roar of laughter pulls me from my thoughts.

Damn, I missed that one.

Their conversation grows louder the more they drink. Not only are they hilarious, but they stand out—they’re unmistakably American and impossibly good-looking. In a bar this quiet, with only a few loners sipping their drinks in the shadows, they’re hard to miss.

I finish off my martini; it’s time to call it a night. Even on vacation, it’s well past my bedtime. With an early flight back to Sydney tomorrow, I know better than to tempt a hangover on a twenty-one-hour journey in cattle class, so I head to the bar to settle my tab.

“Okay, okay, okay, I’ve got it.” The man closest to me raises his voice to signal another joke. “What did the leper say to the sex worker?”

Knowing this one, I can’t resist butting in. “Keep the tip.”

There’s a brief pause before they all erupt with laughter.

“Nice one,” slurs the blond and tallest of the group. “What’s a place like you doing in a girl like this?” The others groan at his botched pickup cliché.

“Ignore him, he’s wasted.” Gorgeous dark eyes lock onto mine. They’re so strikingly beautiful that for a moment I lose track of everything around me. His deep brown gaze, framed by tousled black hair that falls just over his forehead, pulls me in. A strong, square jawline balances his full, irresistible lips, and I realize, too late, that I’m biting my own bottom lip.

Jesus Christ.

He catches me eyeing him, and a slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips. “Enjoying the view?”

Heat rises from my chest to my cheeks, and I know I’m burning bright red. “Absolutely.” I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a grin. Boldness isn’t usually my style, but with liquid courage pulsing through my veins, it’s seemingly effortless.

“Jonathon.” He takes my hand in a firm grip without waiting for me to offer it. His long fingers are slightly calloused, and his touch makes my skin prickle.

“Cora,” I breathe out.

“Nice to meet you, Cora. That’s an Aussie accent, right? Take a seat.” Jonathon gestures to the stool behind me and my eyebrows shoot up at the order.

“You know what? I think I’ll stand. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to ask a lady nicely?” I squint at him.

“She did. She also taught me that eavesdropping was rude.” His eyes sparkle with amusement.

Shit.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught out again. I hate blushing—there’s no hiding it. Thanks to my mother’s northern Italian genes, my skin can’t mask anything. When I’m embarrassed, angry, or aroused, it’s right there for the world to see. If I could change one thing about myself, it would be to hide my emotions better.

“How much have you had to drink?” Jonathon’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He inspects me from head to toe, as if he can assess my sobriety with a single look. At five foot two, I’m no model, but I know how to work with what I’ve got. He towers over me, and I curse myself for choosing flats instead of heels tonight. At least my hair is on point—smooth brown waves cascading down my back—and my jeans are doing their job, highlighting my curves, making my ass look fantastic. Small wins.

“Excuse me?”

Ignoring my biting tone, Jonathon signals to the bartender and orders a water.

“It’s a simple question, Cora. How much have you had to drink?”

“Why do you care?” I snap back.

The bartender sets down a bottle of water and a questionably clean glass with ice. In the background, his friends have shifted from crude jokes to quoting terrible pickup lines.

I eye the water, my resolve weakening. Hydration wins out over pride, and I grab the bottle, taking a long sip.

“Because I consider myself a gentleman, and I don’t fuck drunk chicks,” he deadpans.

I choke on the water, spraying it everywhere.

What the fuck?

“I want my woman to feel every inch of me,” he says, lowering his voice, “sliding in and out, without her senses numbed.” He picks up a napkin and leans in, wiping the water from my chin. “Let’s hope you swallow better than that,” he adds with a wink.

Heat floods my cheeks as the pull of arousal in my abdomen drifts lower.

“Jesus, arrogant much? It’s a shame you’ll never find out.” My voice holds steady, but my mind is racing.

Damn it, I do love a challenge.

He leans in closer, and I catch an intoxicating mix of cologne, whiskey, and mint. His eyes scan my face, lingering on my flushed cheeks.

“Your blush is gorgeous, Cora,” he says, tone softening. “How about we make a deal? If I can make you blush again in the next minute, I’m coming back to your hotel room.”

“And if I don’t, what do I get?” I ask, pitching an eyebrow.

“My tongue in all three of your holes,” he murmurs, “as I tongue-fuck you until you can’t remember your name.”

Well… that’s a win–win situation if I’ve ever heard one .

The flames licking at my cheeks give me away, and we both know it. I’ve already lost this game—and I’m not sure I even want to win.

But I’m never one to back down from a challenge. I meet his stare with a playful grin. “Let’s make this more interesting.” My eyes flick to the pool table behind him. “How about a game of pool? If you win, I’ll come back to your hotel, and nothing is off-limits. I’ll be at your complete mercy—”

“Nothing?” he interrupts, eyebrows shooting up.

I roll my lips over my teeth to fight the grin from spreading. “Nothing,” I confirm, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the audacity of my offer. “But if I win…” I pause, thinking on my feet. The last thing I want is him coming back to my hostel. It’s not exactly the vibe I’m going for. “Same rules, but you’re under my control. Anything I say goes. You game?”

My sultry smile seals the deal.

“Let’s go.” The mischievous glint in his eyes spells trouble for me. But he doesn’t know what he’s up against.

I gulp down the rest of my water and follow him to the pool table, my eyes roaming over his muscular back, tight ass, and lean frame. A white T-shirt clings to his shoulders, and his dark blue jeans and sneakers give him a casual, relaxed look. He’s effortlessly handsome, and I can’t think of a better way to end my vacation.

The pool table has clearly seen better days, its green felt worn down to patches of bare wood. He rubs his jaw, eyeing the dilapidated surface.

“Are you sure about this? I’m pretty good at pool.”

I tilt my head. “So, it’s an easy win for you,” I taunt, shrugging my shoulder.

“Okay. Your loss.” Jonathon hands me a cue and then proceeds to chalk his own, his eyes flicking to me every few seconds, assessing the competition. I smirk, setting up the balls in the rack, confident that I’m about to give him a run for his money.

“Wanna flip to see who breaks?” I offer.

“Ladies first. I’m a gentleman, after all.”

I chalk my cue, pursing my lips as I blow off the excess. Our eyes lock and the attraction between us is thick in the air. There’s an undeniable tension, a magnetic pull that makes it hard to focus on anything else.

As I position the cue for the break, I glance at him, half-tempted to act coy and ask him to show me how it’s done, just to feel his body close to mine. I can already imagine the warmth of him, the way his muscles would press against my back, his breath hot on my neck. But I’m not the type to play helpless, and I’m definitely not one to lose. I could beat him with my eyes closed. But I won’t. He’s too fucking cute.

With a swift, practiced motion, I take the shot, smoothly breaking the balls and sending them scattering across the table. A striped ball sinks into the corner pocket, and I grin, lining up my next shot. His eyes are on me, watching, hungry, as I pocket ball after ball. One shot. Then another. And another. The balls disappear in quick succession.

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve just been hustled?” he grumbles, amusement flickering in his eyes.

I twist my lips, satisfied, and with only two striped balls left on the table, I make my move. Walking over to him, I place a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is strong and rapid under my palm. My other hand snakes up his neck, fingers playing with the soft ends of his hair. He groans, low and deep, and the sound sends a shiver through me.

“You shouldn’t have been such a gentleman and let me break,” I whisper, rising up on my toes to meet his mouth as his head drops towards mine. I bite his lower lip, tugging it gently between my teeth before releasing it. His eyes darken, the desire in them unmistakable.

“Wanna get out of here?” he rumbles.

I nod, the game already forgotten. He tosses our cues onto the table and grabs my hand, threading his fingers through mine. Without another word, he throws some cash onto the bar and leads me out to the cobbled street.

He mentions that his hotel is only a couple blocks away, but the short walk stretches into a drawn-out journey. We stop every few steps, too caught up in each other to care about getting there quickly. Pressed against buildings, our kisses are frantic, hands roaming wildly. A few people glance our way—some amused, some annoyed—but I don’t give a fuck and I don’t think Jonathon does either. Tonight is about pure, unfiltered pleasure, two bodies colliding in the pursuit of nothing but feeling good. Just one night of no-strings-attached fun before reality catches up with me.

By the time we reach his hotel, we’re breathless, laughing as he fumbles with the key card. When we stumble into the room, I glance around—it’s sleek, modern, and spacious. Worlds apart from the cramped, dingy hostel I’ve been staying in. The bed is huge and inviting, and I’m relieved we’re here. This place is the perfect escape for a night like this.

Jonathon grabs me and tosses me onto the bed. Then he’s quickly on me, lips crashing into mine and stealing my breath. His hands are everywhere, possessive, hungry, and I can’t get enough. We tear at each other’s clothes, desperate to be skin-to-skin. It’s frantic, raw, and every touch is electric.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both panting, eyes locked in a haze of shared lust. Then he slowly makes his way down my body, trailing kisses across my skin, lower and lower.

I catch my breath, trying to steady the pounding of my heart. “What are you doing?”

His gaze lifts to mine, a wicked smile spreading across his lips. “What I promised.”

A flush creeps up my neck as the memory of his earlier words floods back. I flop onto the bed, more than ready for him to make good on that promise—to keep going until I forget my own name, until nothing exists but the pleasure of his wicked tongue.