Club Prive

Table of Contents

• Club Privé - Release schedule:
  
• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Club Privé - Release schedule:
  

Club Privé

 Book I

By M.S. Parker

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 M.S. Parker

Published by M.S. Parker Romance.

Club Privé - Release schedule:

Book 1: April 11
^th

Book 2: April 25
^th

Book 3: May 9
^th

Book 4: May 23
^rd

Book 5: June 6
^th

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Book Description

Who is Gavin Manning and why does he keep showing up wherever I go? What does he want from me?
These are just a few of the questions law student Carrie Summers asks herself after running into devastatingly handsome Gavin for the third time at the opening of the hottest new club in town, Club Privé. Is he stalking her, or is it fate?
Despite telling herself that she doesn't have time for a relationship, she finds his persistent attention flattering, and can't help but be attracted to those deep blue eyes. An evening of fun and dancing turns into the most incredible night of her life, and she still doesn't have a clue about Gavin. All she knows is he's an amazing lover.
Don't miss Book 1 of the hottest erotic romance series of the year, but be warned – you might need a cold shower after this one.

Chapter 1

“
H
ey, Carrie, check it out. Hot guy coming in at three o’clock,” Krissy whispered as she elbowed me. The music in the stylish sports bar blasted from the speakers, but not so loud that we couldn’t carry on a conversation.

All four of us zoomed in on a guy who had just sat down at the end of the bar, thirty feet across the room from us. He looked to be in his late twenties, sporting dark hair and wearing stylish yet casual clothes.

It was Friday late afternoon and the place was almost empty, as the happy hour had just started. A few couples and groups dotted the scenery, raising glasses to celebrate the end of another weary workweek. I was here with my three best friends Krissy, Leslie and Dena. The four of us worked at the Law Office of Webster and Steinberg, one of New York City's premier firms, and after working our asses off all week, we deserved to have a bit of fun.

And that guy was definitely fun.

“Umm, he
is
hot. I like his shirt,” I replied.

“His shirt?” Leslie echoed as she tossed her bright red curls over her shoulder. “What the heck is wrong with you, girl? I’m sure what’s under the shirt is a hell of a lot more interesting. Maybe you should go talk to him, Carrie. Find out where he bought that
cool shirt
.” Leslie snorted a laugh and a couple sitting two tables over looked at her. She was always the loud one.

“Ha ha, very funny,” I said. “No way am I going to talk to him. I don’t have time to get involved with a guy, even someone who is hot like that…Oh shit! He’s looking right this way.” I dropped my head down, pretending that the sugar-rimmed Lemon Drop martini sitting in front of me was the essence of my life.

“Don’t be shy, girl,” Krissy urged. “He’s totally checking you out. You have to go talk to him.”

I shook my head. “He is not. For all I know, he is probably gay, married or engaged.”

It was true that I had no time for a guy in my life. My full often-over-eight-hour workday, along with studying at night for my Master’s degree, stole every waking second. I couldn’t remember the last time I was on a date or went to the movies. The thought stopped me. When
was
the last time? I remembered now. It was back in Alabama, when I'd gone home over Christmas. Greg had taken me out. More from pity than anything else, I was sure. We had been best friends since high school and going out together on an actual date was awkward. More than awkward. We swore never to try that again. I was just thankful we hadn’t slept together. Sex was even further back for me. Like over a year back. I hadn't slept with anyone since...I thought hard...last spring. A week before I'd caught my asshole now-ex-boyfriend, Gale, in bed with his next-door neighbor Delia. Wow. It had been a long time.

“I’m sure he is not gay…or married,” Krissy said, drawing my attention away from my thoughts. “I don’t see a ring on his finger and my gaydar has never failed me. But, there is only one way to find out for sure.” She shot a mischievous look around the table. “Let’s play a little game.”

I sighed. Krissy and her games. She always suggested or made up party games, and somehow I would always end up the loser. Some things hadn't changed since that first day as a freshman when I was assigned to share a room with the brash, intense girl from Chicago. Six years later, and Krissy Jensen and I still shared a place together, a nice but small apartment in Manhattan.

“I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s not.”

“Don’t be such a bore, Carrie,” Krissy said. “Here’s what we do. Anyone got pen and paper?”

Krissy was persistent and usually got her way. According to her equally intimidating mother, Krissy had always been stubborn, and ever since she was a kid, she had the unique ability to make everyone follow her lead, unlike me. I had never been popular, and sure as hell never had the ability or confidence to get anyone to follow my lead.

“Here you go, Kris,” Dena said, brushing her white-blond bangs out of her face. She was petite, the smallest of us. With her pixie haircut, she looked more like a junior high student than one of the most ruthless legal minds I’d ever encountered. Her quiet nature just made more people underestimate her.

She was also the most organized of the four of us. Prepared as usual, she handed Krissy a small leather-covered notebook and a black pen. Krissy ripped out a piece of paper and tore it into four equal pieces. She then drew a heart on one of the pieces, crumpled them all into little balls and mixed them up on the table.

“So here’s how we are going to play. We each take a ball and the one who picks up the heart has to approach Mr. Hot Guy over there and get his phone number. Okay?”

It was a silly game, but the martinis had started to work their magic and made everything seem fuzzy and fun. We all nodded in agreement. Even my reluctance had faded to the back of my mind.

“What’s the reward for collecting the number, besides getting a chance with Mr. Hunk?” Leslie asked and smirked, nodding in the direction of the bar. Her green eyes were glowing, and I didn't think it was just from the alcohol.

“Hmm, how about...if the winner gets his number, all her drinks are paid for, but if not, she has to buy all our drinks.” Krissy looked pleased with herself.

“All right, sounds good. Let’s do this,” I said. “I just want to get this over and done with.” Actually, I wanted it done before my buzz wore off and I remembered what a bad idea this was.

We each picked a ball of paper. Surprise, surprise. When I unfolded my piece, I was staring at the dreaded heart.

“I knew it,” I said with a sigh. “I always lose in these stupid games.”

“What do you mean, lose? You won, girl. Now, go get your prize,” Krissy was almost bursting with laughter. She loved it. Always pushing me out of my comfort zone. She'd been doing that since freshman year when she'd taken me to my first frat party and gotten me passing-out drunk. I still didn’t understand why she brought me. She was gorgeous, with those big dark eyes and thick black hair, and the life of any party. I was the definition of a buzz-kill.

I set my jaw. Not today, I decided. No buzz-kill. I was going to do this. I picked up my martini and emptied the glass in one big gulp. I squared my shoulders and rose from my seat as Krissy cheered me on.

“Go get him, hon.”

I shot her a sharp look, picked up the notepad and pen, and zeroed in on the mission at hand.

As I approached the hunky guy sitting alone on a rustic dark stool, I felt a twinge in the pit in my stomach. What had I just agreed to? Getting a second look at him didn’t help curb my anxiety. Up close he looked even hotter than from back in the seat. Dark hair, curled in front, almost covered his deep blue eyes. His skin was tan, but looked healthy and smooth, more natural than from time spent in the sun. And speaking of healthy…No fries on his diet. He was tall and fit, noticeable even from his seated position. As I stepped closer I could see that the rich outlines of his shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. He had the physique and tone of one of those guys from fitness magazines with eight percent body fat and abs so tight and firm that you could bounce on them like a trampoline.

What was I doing? This guy was way out of my league. I glanced back at my friends and they all made shooing gestures, urging me on.

He was typing on his phone with his left side facing towards me as I came up next to him. Standing so close to him made my cheeks heat up.

I wanted to return to my seat, but facing the evil stares from my so-called friends made me reconsider. I’d agreed and now I had to go through with it. If I didn't, I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, it was just a quick conversation. How bad could it be?

Nervously, I moistened my dry lips. “Excuse me. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

The incredibly hot guy turned around in his seat, and when he faced me, his mouth curved into a devastating smile. “Depends on what the favor is, I guess, although it will be pretty hard to resist helping someone as stunning as you.”

I giggled, and immediately blamed the alcohol. I didn’t giggle. I was an adult. A college graduate paralegal on her way to a law degree and becoming a lawyer. Yet, here I was, fidgeting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Even his voice was sexy as hell.

“Well, see my girlfriends over there?” I gestured over my shoulder, but didn't turn to look at them, afraid I’d lose my nerve if I did. “They are a bunch of crazy idiots who dared me to come over here to get your phone number. In fact, if I don’t come back with it, they are going to make me pay for all their drinks.”

“All their drinks? Wow, that doesn’t seem fair,” he said, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“I know, right? Story of my life. Listen, you don’t have to give me your real number. Any fake number will do nicely.” The words came out of me in a rush. I handed him the pen and notepad. He reached out and his hand brushed against mine. His skin felt soft and warm, and a tingling sensation shot through my body.

Damn, he was hot. And what the hell was that rush I just felt?

“Are you always this direct and commanding?” he asked as he wrote down a name and some digits.

“Only when I’m on a mission. Time is too short to procrastinate.” I mentally kicked myself. What was I blathering on about? I sounded like an idiot.