Double Take Seduction – by Lisa Rayne
DOUBLE TAKE SEDUCTION
BY LISA RAYNE
The slam of the telephone receiver against its cradle thundered off the brick walls of Ryder’s loft office. Fury ripped through her, and she snarled between clenched teeth, “That vindictive, pompous, son of a?—”
Whirling, she stormed over to the wall of windows in the ultra-modern corner office she rented in Kansas City’s Crossroads Arts District.
She stared unseeingly at the eclectic neighborhood surrounding the building.
She loved having her interior design business housed in the restored warehouse, but her anger made her edgy, disjointed.
The source of her anger went about his business somewhere across town, completely oblivious to her current mood, which irritated her even more.
For the first time in her life, she understood the impetus for homicidal ideation.
In her black pencil skirt and short-sleeve, mauve, silk blouse, her reflection in the glass looked cool and professional, but the in-the-flesh her wanted to hit something.
No, what I want is to hit someone , she thought.
That would never happen, of course. She let out a deep sigh as she braced a hip against the wall adjacent to the window bay.
A wave of sadness washed over the anger as she thought about her new house.
The house it now looked as if she’d never get the chance to live in because her ex-fiancé was fighting for sole possession of the property.
The desk phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID.
Donnelly & Dalton, PC.
Elijah Farrington again. Her ex’s lawyer.
She thought to ignore the call but yanked the receiver off its cradle. “Eli, my position hasn’t changed. Tell your client to go to hell.”
“Now, Ryder, is that any way to talk to a longtime friend?”
“We’re not friends anymore, Eli. You’re his lawyer. You picked his side, and now you’re trying to take my house away from me.”
A deep sigh sounded on his end of the phone. “Look, Ryder, don’t make this difficult. I didn't want to pick sides. He’s my oldest friend. I couldn’t exactly say no when he asked me for a favor.”
“Yeah, you could have.”
“Come on. Put us both out of our misery and get me out of the middle of you two. You know it’s the fair thing to do. Simply agree to sell the house and split the profits. End of story. No one gets one-upped by the other.”
“Eli, you know I practically designed that house myself. Almost every detail custom-built to my specifications. Every convenience I could think up included. Every room planned with purpose. I even carefully—and strategically—selected the plot of land on which the house sits.”
The house sat on a double lot situated on a corner. Back home in Altadena, she would’ve had to pay ten times more for a lot that size. Kansas City living had taken an adjustment, but she didn’t mind the lower cost of living.
Dropping her forehead into her hand, she shook her head.
“You know I scoped out that land, the perfect architect, and the right builder before Marcus and I had gotten serious enough to even think about marriage, let alone for him to propose. What would have been fair was for you to convince your oldest friend to let me buy him out.”
The contract for purchase of the lot had been entered into in her name alone shortly after she’d gotten to town.
She’d held on to it for some time before she’d finally been ready and in a position to sign a construction loan.
By then, she’d been engaged to Marcus Gardner, and he had insisted on being included on the mortgage and title for the house.
He’d pointed out that by the time the builders finished, the two of them would be moving in as husband and wife so it should be “their” house and not just hers.
Initially, she’d refused him, arguing it shouldn’t matter if the house deed included his name.
Since they would be living together, no matter what, it would still be their home jointly.
Marcus hadn’t accepted her argument. He’d wanted legally to co-own the house with her or wait and buy a house together after they were married.
His male ego made compromise impossible, so she eventually gave in.
Now that their engagement had been called off, or rather now that she had called off the engagement, he wanted to take the house away from her out of spite.
“I tried, Ryder,” Eli said. “You know I tried. I’m the one who suggested you offer him a fifteen percent bonus if he’d simply sign a quitclaim deed and walk away. I already had the papers drawn up when I took the offer to him. I was as surprised as you when he rejected it.”
“I know Marcus doesn’t really want that house.
And so do you. He just doesn’t want me to have it.
My offer to buy him out— generously buy him out—was more than fair.
Frankly, it bordered on extortion.” She’d upped the offer to twenty percent over the value of his half, but he’d still refused.
“So, respectfully, counselor, your client can kiss my ass. And don’t call me again.
I’m hiring my own lawyer. You can deal with her for all future communications. ”
“Ryder—”
She didn’t listen to the rest. She hung up on Eli. Again.
Marcus himself was a lawyer. But believing in that age-old adage that any attorney who represents himself has a fool for a client, he’d asked one of his law partners—who just happened to also be his best friend—to serve as his counsel.
She really used to like Eli, but now he was the enemy.
And the enemy had informed her via his first call today that Marcus insisted he get one hundred percent ownership of the property or they move forward with a sale of the house and split of the profit.
“Dammit. What was I thinking?” she queried her reflection as she turned back to the double-pane glass.
A little voice in her head had told her she was making a mistake back then. That voice had nagged at her right up to the signing of the mortgage documents. She’d ignored her intuition, and now she would pay for it. The thought sent her blood pressure spiking again.
As if he felt her thoughts, her cell phone rang announcing a call from Marcus.
She could tell it was him without looking because the Theme from Rocky she’d selected for his ringtone blared out a warning.
She stepped over to her antique mahogany desk and tapped the button to ignore the call.
He was clearly of a mind to mess with her today.
She’d had enough. She really needed to get out of the office and get her mind on something other than the urge to beat her ex to a pulp.
Plopping down in one of her guest chairs, she picked up the now-silent cell phone, dialed, and waited. When a cheery female voice answered, she said, “Hey, Mac. Do you still need a body to fill in tonight?”
“You’re going to play?” Mackenzie Davenport, her former college roommate and best friend in the world, basically squealed out the question.
“Yes.” She laughed, drawing the phone momentarily away from her ear at the high-pitched enthusiasm coming through it. “I need to burn off some pent-up frustration.”
“Uh-oh. More drama from Marcus and his henchman?”
“You guessed it.” She put the phone on speaker and placed it on the edge of her desk. “One day I’m going to wring his neck.”
Mac barked out a laugh. “It’s my job to keep you out of jail through all this. Let’s stick with volleyball for now. Maybe now that you’re playing, our team won’t get clobbered.”
Her friend coordinated a recreational volleyball team, and they’d been down a setter for the last two matches.
Ryder had only played sporadically over the twelve years since she’d graduated college and parted from her NCAA Division I championship team.
Nevertheless, Mac had been trying to cajole her into playing ever since Mac had joined the league with a couple of her childhood buddies, two guys who’d grown up next door to her.
“Are you still at the office?” Mac asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, get out of there. We start at six thirty. We’re at the PAC.”
“Got it.” She smiled as she clicked off the call, her edginess slowly sliding into anticipation.
She was going to get to hit something tonight after all.
Checking her watch, she calculated the time. The Parkville Athletic Complex wasn’t much of a drive from the Northland villa she currently rented, but she still needed to hurry. She raced home, changed clothes in a rush, and made it from her house to the PAC in record time.
Anxious to get started and replace her ex drama with endorphins, she half skipped down the stairs to the courts.
Glancing around for Mac, she noticed a group doing hitting drills on the opposite side of the net on Court One.
Her steps slowed when her eyes landed on a brother making his hitting approach at left front.
All gorgeous hunk of male, he sailed through the air with hang time even Jordan would have envied and hit the ball with perfect form.
The volleyball slammed straight down, landing in the opposite back corner on her side of the net.
His arms were cut with sinewy muscles, including well-shaped biceps.
Athletic shorts revealed narrow hips and a trim waistline above cut, gorgeous brown legs shaped by powerful thighs and muscular calves.
His black T-shirt hugged a well-formed, well-defined chest. Hair—dark as night—grew a smidge long enough to reveal a slight wave pattern.
When he gave his setter a high five, his luscious lips parted into a make-the-girls-swoon smile.
Damn. The man was fi-ine .
Thank you, Mac, for the invitation, she thought. After all, there were ways other than athletics to relieve frustration. Talk about your endorphins.
Maybe she’d get to hit something besides just a volleyball tonight.
The hunk lined up for another hit, and Ryder crossed to the sideline.