At Her Own Risk Read online

  Table of Contents

  At Her Own Risk

  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

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at Scarlett's Story

  Excerpt of Calculated Risk ~ Available Now

  About the Author

  Check out these other titles by Rachael Duncan

  Acknowledgments

  At Her Own Risk

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachael Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, if done so constitutes a copyright violation. This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Edited by:

  Nichole Strauss with Insight Editing Services

  Proofread by:

  Judy Zweifel with Judy’s Proofreading

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford with Type A Formatting

  Cover Designed by:

  Marisa Shor with Cover Me, Darling

  Photographer:

  Lindee Robinson with Lindee Robinson Photography

  Models:

  Austin Conn and Courtney Larsen

  Contents

  At Her Own Risk

  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

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at Scarlett's Story

  Excerpt of Calculated Risk ~ Available Now

  About the Author

  Check out these other titles by Rachael Duncan

  Acknowledgments

  To survivors.

  Paige

  MY HANDS SMOOTH down my navy dress before entering the elevators that will take me to my interview. I would swallow to try to soothe my dry throat, but I’m afraid even saliva will trigger my unstable stomach and cause me to vomit. To say I’m nervous is a gross understatement.

  A lot rides on this interview and it’s a huge step in my career. I busted my ass as a financial advisor at a bank for seven years, catching on fast, and handling more accounts than any of my counterparts in the region. But I’m not an ass kisser, and that may be my downfall. I watched as people who did not perform as well as me got praised and promoted, making me realize this was a dead-end job.

  Marcus became like family after he married one of my best friends. Lydia couldn’t have found a more perfect match, and he’s doing me a huge favor. His dad is the CEO of Bank of the States and Marcus put in a good word for me when he heard there was an opening as an investment relationship manager. I’ve done as much research as I can on the duties involved, as well as the person I’d be interviewing with. Marcus got me in the building; it’s up to me to get the job.

  “Hello, Mr. Sanchez. It’s nice to meet you,” I murmur as the elevator car continues its ascent. “Hi, Mr. Sanchez. Thank you so much for this interview—for meeting me—” I let out a sigh. That sounds stupid.

  All too soon, the elevator stops and the doors open. I’ve got this. I can do this. I repeat these words in my head as I make my way to the woman sitting behind the front desk. She greets me with a warm smile. “Hi, how can I help you?”

  “Hi, I have an interview with Mr. Sanchez at two o’clock.”

  She looks down at something on her desk before her eyes come back up to mine. “Ms. Stewart?”

  “That’s me,” I say with a nervous smile.

  “I’ll let him know you’re here. If you’ll have a seat over there,” she instructs as she points to a chair behind me, “someone will be right with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  I want to get this over with. My head runs through all the questions I prepared for prior to coming today, but I’m terrified my nerves will have me drawing a blank. I have the knowledge to complete the duties of the position, I’m just afraid I don’t have the experience they’re looking for. Chastising myself, I push those negative thoughts out of my mind. No sense going into an interview thinking you’re not qualified enough for the position.

  You’ve got this.

  “Ms. Stewart,” the receptionist calls out to me. I turn to face her. “If you want to head back to the last door on the left, he’s ready for you.” Her grin is comforting, encouraging even. As if she’s wishing me luck or something, and I decide right then that I like her.

  I walk down the hall and with one last breath, raise my fist up and knock on the closed door. “Come in,” I hear from the other side.

  With bright eyes and a wide smile, I open the door and walk in, but the smile is wiped right off my face the moment I see who is sitting on the other side of the desk in front of me.

  Sean Riley.

  Normally, I’m annoyed by his presence, but that was before I slept with him at my friend’s baby shower. Now, he’s completely under my skin, and not in a good way.

  “Come in and have a seat.” He motions to the chair in front of him like this is no big deal. Then again, he knew I was coming and wasn’t blindsided.

  Closing the door behind me, I take one step forward but make no move to sit down. “Where’s Mr. Sanchez?” My tone is more defensive than I intend, especially since I really need this job.

  “He had a family emergency so I’m filling in for him today. Would you rather stand through the interview or sit?” He arches an eyebrow at me and my eyes narrow in response. I feel like I’m staring at a completely different person right now. Gone is the man who teases me relentlessly with his sexual jokes and bad lines. Before me is a man who is serious, put-together, and in business mode. Taking slow, measured steps toward the chair, I try to wrap my mind around the two sides of him that are at complete odds with each other.

  I sit down and watch hi
m as he reads whatever paper is in his hand. I’ve never seen him in anything but casual clothing, so it’s somewhat weird to see him dressed in professional attire. His suit is tailored to perfection as it highlights all of his attributes. No doubt it cost more than my whole wardrobe, but it’s worth every penny. His dirty blond hair is styled to perfection and his face is freshly shaved.

  He looks damn good.

  As the thought races across my mind, his blue eyes come up to meet mine. I try desperately to school my features, but if the twitch of his lips is any indication, he definitely notices the slight blush across my cheeks.

  This has bad idea written all over it.

  “So, tell me a little about yourself.” I wait for him to make a wise crack about how well he knows me, but he doesn’t. His face remains stoic as he waits for my reply.

  I imagine I’m talking to a man I’ve never met before. A man who hasn’t relentlessly pursued me for about two years. A man whose prowess in all things orgasmic isn’t featured in my thoughts as I pleasure myself. I need to separate the Sean I know from the task at hand or this is going to go south real quick.

  “I graduated from NC State in May of 2010 where I majored in business administration with a concentration in finance. After graduation, I was hired by my last employer and have been working there for the last seven years.”

  I’m pretty much repeating the information on my résumé, but I’m not sure what else he wants me to say.

  “Can I ask what’s making you leave your last place of employment?”

  I know he’s heard me bitch about my job several times when everyone has hung out. The realization that he’s witnessed me speaking so unprofessionally about my employer causes me to blush in embarrassment. It’s definitely not the impression you want your potential boss to have of you.

  Licking my lips, I swallow before replying. “To be frank, there’s no potential there. I hate speaking ill of a former employer,” I say, to which he grins the slightest bit. Yeah, he’s definitely recalling all the times I’ve contradicted that very statement. “After a while, it became clear there would be no career advancement for me there. I need to feel challenged and I wasn’t anymore.”

  He studies my face as if deciding if I’m telling him a practiced line or the truth. I maintain firm eye contact despite the way it makes me feel. My heart beats a tiny bit faster and my palms get sweatier. I’m quickly reminded of the way his piercing blue eyes stare into my soul. No matter how much I fight and run, they always find me and see straight through my crap. I look away not able to handle the intensity.

  When I glance back up, his eyes are focused on the piece of paper lying on his desk. A quick peek at it lets me know it’s my résumé.

  His focus returns to me, and I almost want to punch him. How is he so indifferent? Here I am a ball of nerves, resisting the urge to squirm in my seat as I sit across from him. He’s not even doing anything and I’m still completely affected by him, especially when I recall the way his hands felt on my bare skin, or how his lips tasted.

  “What makes you a good fit for Bank of the States?” His question breaks me from my lust-filled thoughts. Thoughts I wish I could rid my mind of.

  I wrack my brain for an intelligent response, but come up blank. Great, the one thing I feared walking into the room is happening. But between being thrown off by his presence, and the images rolling around in my head, I can’t fake it.

  A huff leaves my mouth, unable to keep up this façade. “How is this not awkward for you? How are you able to sit there and pretend like nothing happened between us?”

  “Would you care to address it, Ms. Stewart?” His eyebrow arches in a challenging manner as he folds his arms and rests them on his desk. “Would you like to talk about how I can still taste you on my tongue and feel you around my dick?”

  My eyes widen as my cheeks flush. “No.”

  Yes.

  Sean

  I SWEAR TO God if she licks her lips one more time I’ll lose my mind. I’ve noticed it’s something she does whenever I make her uncomfortable or nervous. She squirms in her seat the longer my eyes focus on her. If I had to make a bet, I’d wager my whole month’s salary she was squeezing her legs together right now.

  Her throat works down a swallow and I can’t pull my attention away from the delicate skin her swept back hair allows me to see. I wish I could say I feel bad for putting her on the spot, but I don’t. Maybe that makes me a bastard; I don’t care. This girl has given me the runaround for way too damn long.

  When I found out I was interviewing her today, a sick sense of pleasure consumed me. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face, and she didn’t disappoint. If she’d seen a ghost, she’d look less stunned. It took all of my willpower not to flash a shit-eating grin. She was avoiding me, but there was no escaping and nowhere to hide. Paige wanted to ignore me? Fine. Two can play this game.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Because it seems as though you do want to discuss it. In fact, I’ll bet it’s the only thing you’ve been thinking about since you walked through that door.”

  It’s been a little over two weeks now since I’ve seen or talked to her. Two weeks since she finally caved and I had her pinned against the door and feasted on her while she was perched on top of the sink. Two weeks since she ran off without a backwards glance moments after she was biting my shoulder to muffle her screams. Sixteen days later, and I can still hear, feel, and taste her as if it’s been mere seconds.

  She scoffs and rolls her eyes in disgust. “You’re so full of yourself.”

  “It wasn’t long ago you were full of me too.”

  Her mouth falls open and I am able to render her speechless. I’d say that’s an accomplishment if nothing else is.

  “Now, unless you’re up for round two . . .” My eyes trail down her body as much as they can with the desk between us. “I suggest we get back to the interview.”

  She swallows hard before nodding, still not able to find her voice.

  “Perfect.” Despite wanting to throw her on my desk and make damn sure it’s impossible for her to ignore what this is between us, I slide back into my role as a professional and carry on with the interview. She fumbles through the questions, nothing close to the confident, feisty woman I know. If she were anyone else I would’ve thrown her résumé out the second she left the office, but I’m sure she’s thrown off with my presence. Plus, I know she’s smart, hardworking, and more than qualified for this position. The only reason she’s off her game is because I’m the person sitting in front of her.

  “I’ll forward your information to Mr. Sanchez. He has the final say since you’ll be working directly under him,” I tell her once we’re finished. If I wasn’t watching, I would’ve missed the way her shoulders sagged with relief at the mention of not working for me.

  Trust me, princess, I’ll have you under me again, but it’ll be in my bed, not in the company hierarchy.

  I clear my throat to rid my mind of that passing thought. “If he has any further questions, he’ll be in touch.”

  “It was a pleasure, Mr. Riley.” She stands and holds out her hand. The twitch of her lips lets me know she’s being sarcastic with the formality, and I’m not mad about her usual feistiness making an appearance.

  Following suit, I reciprocate her offered hand, holding it longer than necessary. “If I remember correctly, I’d say the pleasure was mutual.” I give her a wink before saying, “I’ll see you around, Ms. Stewart.”

  Like a gaping fish, her mouth opens and closes before she thinks better of replying and leaves the room in a hurry. As soon as the door clicks shut, I plop back down into my chair.

  Damn, that girl gets under my skin unlike any other. I’ve never in my life been hung up on a woman the way I am with Paige, and I can’t even explain why. She’s just . . . different.

  It’s in the way she challenges me at every turn, the way she beams from the inside out with the smallest of compliments, the way her sharp wit keeps me on my to
es. I’m attracted to her. A lot. And for whatever reason, she’s hesitant to jump into this with me. Trust me, it’s not from a lack of trying either.

  From the very first arch of her eyebrow, I knew I was in trouble. My smooth lines and confident smile usually works on women, but not Paige. I struck out two years ago in a bar in Myrtle Beach. As I tried to break the ice, I was met with nothing but disgust and repulsion. She’s not the type to fall for bullshit lines. You have to work for her. When Marcus and I went back to our room, she was all I could think about. Her gorgeous hazel eyes and long blond hair haunted me, her smirk teased me, and the lingering smell of her perfume was a constant reminder of the one girl to ever challenge me.

  I never thought I’d see her again. I wasn’t sure where she was from, and we had driven in from Apex, North Carolina. You couldn’t imagine my surprise when my brother pulled over a car for speeding, and Lydia was the driver. It was as if the fucking stars had aligned, and I knew then this thing between Paige and me wasn’t over. I renewed my efforts despite the constant resistance with enough sexual tension to leave me in a perpetual state of blue balls. Don’t get me wrong, she’s worth every bit of effort, but a guy can only take so much rejection, right?

  I’ve tried dating here and there when frustration set in. If she didn’t want me, then I’d find someone who did. The problem was I kept comparing the other women to Paige. No one ever lived up to my standards and I kind of hate her for setting the bar so damn high. And that was all before I’d had a taste of her. Now that I know how she feels beneath me, there’s no going back.

  I’m gonna make her mine—I just have to figure out how.

  Fifty hours.

  That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen her.

  God, I sound like a pussy.

  Fuck it; I don’t even care. If I thought about her a lot in the two years I’ve known her, it pales in comparison to how often she circles through my mind since Nate and Charlotte’s baby shower over two weeks ago. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about the look in her eyes as she finally caved into her desires. All the resistance faded away and in its place was pure need and carnality. We snuck off to the bathroom and let two years of sexual tension collide into the best fucking experience of my whole damn life. I thought I’d won and gotten through to her, but she disappeared and has been giving me the cold shoulder ever since. I want nothing more than to rid her like an infection and carry on with my life.