Southern Seduction ; Pleasure in His Arms Read online

  Books by Pamela Yaye

  Harlequin Kimani Romance

  Mocha Pleasures

  Seduced by the Bachelor

  Secret Miami Nights

  Seduced by the Tycoon at Christmas

  Pleasure in His Kiss

  Pleasure at Midnight

  Pleasure in His Arms

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Acknowledgments

  A HUGE thank-you to senior executive editor Glenda Howard. I appreciate your professionalism, your support and your exceptional editorial notes. God bless you always.

  Daniel and Gwendolyn Odidison: I wouldn’t have finished this book without your help. Thank you for all of the delicious home-cooked meals, for taking the kids on vacation and for spoiling me every time you come visit. I love you with all my heart and appreciate everything you do for me and my family. Mom and Dad, you are, and always will be, my heroes.

  Dear Reader,

  The number one question readers ask me is “Where do you get your ideas from?” I get ideas from reading articles, watching documentaries, making small talk with perfect strangers and even from song lyrics. And sometimes a character appears in a book, steals the show and tells me their story. This was the case with social media darling Demi Harris and charming app developer Chase Crawford. They meet in Ibiza, Spain, when Demi comes to Chase’s rescue at a trendy nightclub, and they instantly hit it off.

  I hope Demi and Chase inspire you to live in the moment, and to “chase” your dreams, no matter how far-fetched they seem. If Demi can do it, so can you! I’d love to hear from you, so drop me a line when you finish reading Pleasure in His Arms.

  All the best in life and love,

  Pamela Yaye

  Contents

  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 1

  “Gigi, this party is lit!” Demi Harris shrieked, lobbing an arm around her sister’s shoulders. They’d traveled to Ibiza five days earlier to prepare for the album release party at Infamous—the most expensive and exclusive nightclub on the Spanish Balearic island—and their hard work had paid off. The nightclub was packed, partiers were dancing and socializing throughout the VIP lounge, and the atmosphere was more electrifying than a championship football game. “I’m so proud of you, I feel like my heart’s going to burst with happiness! You glow girl!”

  Giggling, Demi gave Geneviève a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her sister, Jennifer “Geneviève” Harris, was an award-winning singer. Blessed with remarkable talent, Geneviève, had one of the greatest voices of the twenty-first century. She had an angelic voice, a big heart, and people couldn’t get enough of her. Everyone from Drake to the Royals loved her music, and Geneviève couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed by her loyal, die-hard fans.

  “Thanks, sis, but I couldn’t have done any of this without you—”

  “That’s true,” Demi conceded with a cheeky smile. “I’m the wind beneath your wings!”

  The sisters laughed and held each other tight as they swayed to the music blaring in the nightclub. Feeling playful in her ruffle-trimmed, tangerine dress, Demi snapped her fingers and swiveled her hips to the beat of the popular song. Decorated with bronze chandeliers, plush furniture and glass vases filled with yellow carnations, the VIP lounge had a fragrant scent and chic ambience. Everyone in the room was dressed to impress and world-renowned celebrity photographer, Kenyon Blake, was on hand to capture every candid moment. MTV was filming the album release party for a three-part special about Geneviève, and there was no doubt in Demi’s mind that the docuseries, which was scheduled to air next month, would be a hit.

  “Do I look okay?” Geneviève asked, smoothing the top of her braided ponytail with her right hand. “Or should I slip into the private bathroom to freshen up before I hit the stage?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Demi said. “You look perfect, just like me, so don’t change a thing!”

  The photographer appeared and the sisters posed for so many pictures Demi’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Geneviève came alive in front of the camera, moving and dancing as if she was on stage. Standing tall, Geneviève wowed in a sequined minidress, diamond jewelry and ankle pumps. Her outfit screamed pop star and, from the moment she’d entered the nightclub, people had been gawking at her. Demi couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Geneviève this excited and hoped nothing happened to ruin her sister’s good mood.

  Spotting their mom at the bar, sipping from a champagne flute, Demi sighed in relief. Althea was deep in conversation with some well-known music executives. The CEO of Urban Beats Records thought Geneviève’s seventh studio album, Love Is, was going to be the biggest selling album of the year, and so did Demi.

  Althea beckon to Geneviève, and Demi groaned inwardly. Her mom needed to give Geneviève space, not badger her about doing another world tour. Demi considered pulling Althea aside so she could speak to her privately, but struck the thought from her mind. Althea never listened to her or anyone else for that matter. Althea didn’t wait for things to happen, she made things happen, and even though she didn’t have a business degree from Harvard, she acted like she did and outsmarted record executives, event promoters and seasoned professionals on a daily basis.

  Demi clasped Genevieve’s hand and squeezed it, wanting her to know she had her back. After a tumultuous year Geneviève had returned to Philadelphia for a well-deserved break. During her hiatus, she’d not only lost weight, and gotten engaged, she’d written a notebook’s worth of fresh, new songs. At her producer’s urging, she’d gone into the studio for an informal jam session and two days later the single, In His Arms, had been mysteriously leaked online. Like all of her previous songs, the acoustic track had raked up millions of downloads within hours and skyrocketed to the top of the charts.

  To celebrate, Urban Beats Records had booked the largest club in Ibiza for the album release party and invited hundreds of celebrities to the Valentine’s Day event. The VIP area was filled with A-lists guests, and Demi enjoyed schmoozing with the rich and famous. Though she’d been Geneviève’s assistant for years, meeting celebrities never got old; it gave her a rush every time and inspired her to work hard to achieve her own dreams.

  Colored lights and laser beams flashed around the club, illuminating the faces of the partiers on the dance floor. The willowy, female DJ was worth every penny of her six-figure fee. Demi wanted to give her social media followers a behind-the-scenes look at Geneviève’s album release party and made a mental note to visit the DJ booth to take pictures with the former reality star.

  Demi checked her iPhone, realized her post “Life in Ibiza” had racked up hundreds of comments, and did a happy dance. Last year she’d launched her official website and YouTube channel and both were a hit with millennials. Obsessed with attracting more viewers and sponsors, she posted videos, pictures and beauty tutorials daily. And her new dating segment, “Ask Demi,” was the hottest thing online. Now that she’d officially resigned as Geneviève’s personal assistant, she could devote all of her time and energy to her career.

  “I almost forgot to tell you,” Demi said brightly. “Mom arranged a one o’clock interview for you at a local TV station, but I remembered you saying tomorrow was your day off, so I cancelled it and booked you a massage instead.”

  “Se
e why I need you? You’re the best!”

  Demi laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I know you’re anxious to expand your brand, but can you stay on as my assistant for a few more months? Or at least until after the wedding?” Geneviève begged, clasping her hands. “You help keep me on track and I need you around to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

  Heat warmed Demi’s cheeks. Needing a moment to collect her thoughts, she sipped her fruity, rum-infused drink. Geneviève paid her exceptionally well, and she loved the incredible perks that came with working for one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. But she was tired of living under her sister’s shadow. All her life she’d been compared to Geneviève and if she didn’t make an effort to branch out on her own, it would never stop.

  “Girl, please,” Demi quipped, sweeping her long, layered bangs off her forehead. Her chin-length bob made her feel fierce, as if she could take on the world, and she planned to. “You’re so busy with your gorgeous fiancé you won’t even notice I’m gone!”

  “Do you blame me? Roderick’s a dream, and I love everything about him...”

  Forcing herself not to roll her eyes to the ceiling, Demi listened to her sister rave about her soul mate—for the umpteenth time that night. Demi was thrilled that her sister had found true love after several failed relationships, but she was tired of hearing how wonderful the entertainment attorney was. Roderick had proposed on Geneviève’s twenty-ninth birthday, while the couple was vacationing in Madrid, and when her sister wasn’t praising her fiancé, she was gushing about her ten-carat, diamond engagement ring. Demi liked Roderick and appreciated how he treated her sister, but she didn’t have much faith in men.

  Thoughts of her ex-boyfriend consumed her mind and Demi clutched her glass so hard a searing pain stabbed her wrist. She’d met Warner Erikson at the Hampton Polo club and they’d instantly hit it off. The budget analyst was a catch, with a brilliant mind and a bright future, and she’d fallen hard for him. To her dismay, his family had disapproved of their relationship and he’d dumped her while she was on tour with Geneviève in Europe. Six months later the hurtful things he’d said during their last conversation still weighed on her mind. I’m embarrassed by your posts... Delete your YouTube page, quit doling out outrageous sex tips on your blog, and grow up...

  Pressing her eyes shut, Demi refused to think about her ex-boyfriend’s insensitive comments. Focused on her career, she’d decided to take an indefinite break from dating and, even though her girlfriends thought she was being extreme, Demi was determined to keep her distance from the opposite sex—even cuties like the Saudi prince eyeballing her from across the room.

  “There’s my stunning fiancée with the dazzling smile...”

  Shaking her head to clear her mind, Demi finished her cocktail and smiled at Roderick. The suave New York attorney who’d swept Geneviève off her feet appeared in front of them wearing a broad grin. He was holding two plates in each hand, filled with bite-size desserts, and the delicious aromas made Demi’s mouth water and her stomach grumble.

  “Sweet treats for the most beautiful women in the room,” Roderick said. “Enjoy, ladies.”

  “Thanks future brother-in-law.” Demi took one of the plates and tasted the hazelnut tart. “OMG, this is so good. It’s like heaven in my mouth.”

  Geneviève agreed. “Thanks, baby. You’re the best fiancé ever.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Mrs. Drake-to-be.”

  The couple kissed passionately and, for some strange reason, tears pricked Demi’s eyes. The expression on Roderick’s face said it all: he was head-over-heels in love, and his devotion to Geneviève moved Demi deeply. More than anything, she wanted her sister to be happy, and Roderick’s calm demeanor and protective nature made it easy for Demi to give the entertainment attorney the seal of approval.

  Demi glanced at her cell phone. She hadn’t posted anything in almost an hour and decided to live stream from the swank VIP lounge. Raising her iPhone in the air with one hand, she pressed the record button with the other, then waved at the screen. “Hi, friends! Happy Valentine’s Day,” she greeted in a cheerful voice. “That’s right. You guessed it. I’m here at the legendary nightclub, Infamous, in sunny Ibiza, at Geneviève’s album release party!”

  Pointing her iPhone at the crowd, she recorded the VIP lounge, making sure to capture Geneviève and Roderick on camera. Her sister was notoriously shy about her personal life and Demi knew posting the intimate footage would send Geneviève’s fans into a frenzy—and increase traffic on Demi’s YouTube page. Wanting to give her viewers an exclusive experience, she’d interviewed Instagram models, the first family of reality TV, a Formula One race car driver and the members of Geneviève’s all-female band, Divalicious. The group consisted of four bad-ass musicians who were as talented as they were fierce. After years of working together, Charlotte, Akari, Esmerelda and Shante were part of her girl squad, and Demi couldn’t have asked for more loyal and supportive friends. The VIP lounge was so loud, she worried the sound quality would suffer, so she exited the room through the sliding-glass door.

  The corridor had high ceilings, pendant lights, and framed caricatures covered the burgundy walls. Demi spotted a portrait of the King of Pop and snapped a selfie in front of it. Using the image as her backdrop, she continued recording, chatting excitedly into her iPhone about the album release party. “This is my first time to Ibiza, but it won’t be my last. I love everything about the island—the people, the food, the energy and the atmosphere—and I’d stay here forever if I could.”

  “In His Arms” played inside the corridor. The ballad was an irresistible hit, telling a love story about faith, hope and second chances. It was a brilliant song with powerful lyrics set to a sultry beat that Demi loved dancing to. “If you don’t have a copy of Love Is, get yourself one today. It’s Geneviève’s best album yet and you won’t be disappointed—”

  Hearing angry voices in the corridor, Demi broke off speaking. Annoyed, she glanced over her shoulder to see what the commotion was. A tall, dark-skinned man in a khaki suit was standing between two women, imploring them to calm down. The females were speaking Russian and even though Demi didn’t understand what they were saying, she knew they were pissed. They were shouting, and pushing each other, and she feared they were going to trade blows.

  “Ladies, you shouldn’t be fighting...”

  At the sound of his voice, her skin tingled. Oh my! Demi thought, licking her crimson lips. He sounds dreamy! Hearing the stranger’s accent, she guessed he was from New York and studied his distinguished profile. He had black, cropped hair, broad shoulders and a toned, athletic physique that deserved to be on the cover of a men’s health magazine.

  Curious about what was going to happen next, Demi ended her recording, and shoved her iPhone inside her tassel-style clutch purse. This is crazy! And highly entertaining, she thought, watching the women glare at each other. Damn, I wish I had buttered popcorn! Shouting insults, the women lunged at each other, swinging their hands wildly in the air, whacking the stranger in the head. His eyes darkened but he spoke in a calm, measured voice. “Please stop,” he said, his gaze darting between the brawling duo. “I came here to party, not referee a fight.”

  The elevator pinged and a bridal party group decked out in feather boas, cut-out dresses and fishnet stockings sashayed down the hall, laughing hysterically. Returning her gaze to the brawling duo, Demi realized the stranger had turned around and was now facing her.

  Desire barreled through her body and her legs wobbled. Oh wow, he’s hot! No wonder they’re fighting over him! He was wearing designer eyeglasses, but he had dark, soulful eyes that a woman could get lost in—and she did. Demi had no words. For the first time in her life she was speechless, dumbfounded at the sight of this scrumptious hottie with the smooth, mocha-brown complexion, full lips and dimpled chin. He had a face that belonged on the
big screen and a voice that inspired lustful thoughts.

  “You have to pick,” insisted the heavyset blond.

  The stranger gave Demi a pleading look and an idea popped into her mind. A smirk curled her lips. Tucking her purse under her forearm, she sashayed down the corridor as if it was her own personal runway, and it was. Her confidence was her greatest asset and Demi was going to use her fearless, take-no-prisoner’s attitude to rescue the ebony Adonis with the chiseled physique.

  “Baby, there you are,” Demi cooed, raising her voice to be heard above the loud, bickering blondes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  The stranger coughed into his fist then cleared his throat. “I went to the men’s room.”

  “Gosh, I can’t take you anywhere.” For effect, she playfully swatted his forearm. “The minute I turn around, you’re gone. Just like my terrier, Luna, but she’s a three-month-old puppy who needs to be trained. What’s your excuse?”

  “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  Wearing an apologetic smile, the stranger spoke in a low voice that rippled across her flesh like a warm summer breeze. Their eyes met and Demi felt light-headed, as if she was going to faint, and willed herself to keep it together.

  “I went to check out the rooftop bar, ran into some friendly tourists, and lost track of time.”

  “H-h-honey?” the blondes stammered. “You have a girlfriend?”

  “He sure does.” Demi linked arms with the stranger and rested her head on his shoulder. His biceps were firm, rippling with muscle, and his spicy cologne made her mouth wet with hunger. He was even sexier up close and touching him aroused her. Staying in character, she inclined her head and narrowed her eyes. “Ladies, find someone else to fight over because this is my man, and I don’t like sharing, so bounce!”