Accidentally Seduced Read online

  Accidentally Seduced

  Naked Truth Series

  Carmen Falcone

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental.

  * * *

  Copyright ©2015 Carmen Falcone. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, and transmit in any form or by any means. For information on subsidiary rights contact the author via her website carmenfalcone.com

  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

  Also by Carmen Falcone:

  Acknowledgments

  About Carmen Falcone

  Chapter 1

  Devon Wilder popped his knuckles. Again. Today, he’d conquer his stupid fear. He stood in front of the state of the art elevator, the modern-day beast he’d wrestled with for way too long.

  “Going in?” some employee from the sales team pointed, as he walked past him.

  His throat clogged. His strong legs were as vulnerable as an insect, but he still forced them to move and entered the elevator. Wasn’t that bad, was it? He glanced around, and besides the one guy, there was plenty of space between the austere wood walls.

  Devon loosened his collar, even though it was not even eight am on a Monday morning. Shit. He was Devon “The Devil” Wilder, the head of Marketing of one of the most successful sports gear company in the country. The proud owner of Smolder, a legendary nightclub in Downtown Denver. Women flocked to him like bees to honey. So why the fuck was this so complicated?

  A bead of sweat slicked his forehead, and he didn’t need to touch it to know—it was clammy. How long ago had it been? Too long. And that terrified seven-year-old kid still cried inside of him. Inside the elevator. For hours.

  The doors started to swiftly close in front of him, and although they didn’t resemble the old creaking metal door, the panic was the same. He shoved his Italian leather shoe to prevent them from closing all the way. A tad too harshly.

  “Go ahead. I left something in my car,” he said, using his usual excuse. His car. His office. Who cared? What kind of man would reach nationwide heights as a CEO if he were scared of a freaking elevator?

  He headed to the emergency exit, and hopped on the stairs. With athletic strides, courtesy of his running and kickboxing, he kept going up, without looking back. At one point, the sound from his breathing filled the space, and the familiar dizziness hit him. Not because of the quick run.

  He glanced behind his shoulder, knowing fully well there was one thing he couldn’t escape.

  The number twelve greeted him, painted in red on the door leading to the floor. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed it on his face. With a long, deep sigh, he opened the door, and ventured inside with a smile. The smile of a champion. A survivor. Not the smile of a terrified child, left alone in a dirty elevator for six hours while his undiscerning mother banged his sperm donor.

  “Good morning, Mr. Devon. How are you today?” A cheerful female assistant flashed him a smile, to which he simply nodded.

  His heart started to return to its resting pace with each step he took toward his office. His gaze darted at Elena’s desk, so pristine and minimalistic. Empty. Besides the computer, print calendar, and a few neatly stacked folders, there was no evidence she had been there yet. Like a teenager waiting for his crush, he searched for the cat mug she usually sipped from. Maybe she was out doing something. Maybe at the break room.

  Who cared? If he knew what was good for him, he shouldn’t.

  I’m nothing like my father. Nothing.

  His father had been reckless and selfish. Caleb Wilder had fled with his stacked secretary, and stole millions from the company he and Imani, Devon’s stepmother, spent decades to build. He’d been a criminal and a coward. Devon would never give in to temptation and seduce his hot assistant of three months, Elena Moretti. After all, wasn’t he still dealing with the aftermath of his own scandal? Elena was a threat to his well-being and his position in the company, since the policies specifically forbade employees from dating other employees.

  Thanks, Dad, for setting the example.

  Picking up his pace, he decided showing Imani, the board, and hell, himself, that he was responsible, that he could be the CEO; buy the shares Imani would eventually sell him, and not screw it up like his father was critical. Especially after the sex scandal involving his ex-girlfriend Regina, he needed to prove he wasn’t just a millionaire bad boy.

  “They’ve been waiting for you, sir.” The red haired, middle-aged assistant said with a professional smile. For a moment though, another image unraveled in his mind. Jet black hair. Ruby red lips. Coffee-colored bedroom eyes.

  “Mr. Wilder?” the woman called him, and he blinked. Elena’s image disappeared from his mind, at least for now. Shit. This was so inconvenient.

  Nodding, he opened the door and got into the large conference room, where an imposing floor to ceiling clear wall showcased downtown Denver.

  “Welcome, Devon,” His stepmother Imani said. “Why are you late?”

  “Maybe he’s got a hangover.” His half-brother Matthew, who sat on the opposite side of the oval marble desk, upped an eyebrow, the sarcasm in his tone clear. I’m the perfect contender for the CEO position. Not Devon, the bastard playboy.

  “I apologize for being late. Won’t happen again.” He cleared his throat and straightened his back on the leather-cushioned swivel chair.

  “Needless to say, being the head of Wilder & Co. has taken a toll on me,” Imani continued, the only one standing. Though she looked prim and proper in a flawless white pantsuit, they all knew behind the strong black woman who saved the company lay the survivor of a recent heart attack. “And I’d like for a family member to occupy my seat. Despite what Caleb has done, I’d like to keep the company in the family.”

  He glared at Matthew, who leaned back on his chair and stretched his athletic arms. Since he’d been fifteen years old, he’d to deal with Matthew’s patronizing ways to show him he was really not family. The bastard son. The hard playing, skirt chasing, carbon copy of Caleb. Devon swallowed the lump of frustration lodged in his thick throat.

  “Well, if you want family, Mom,” Matthew said, hands behind his head, emphasizing the last word, “I’d say your choice is clear.”

  “Damn straight.” A closed lip smile formed on Imani’s lips, and she twirled one of her kinky black curls around her finger. “It’ll be one of the two of you.” Matthew opened his mouth to argue, but with a single hand gesture and a don’t-give-me-your-usual-bullshit look, she silenced him. “But, right now we don’t have time for a pissing contest. Before I start analyzing which one of you is best for the position, we have a much bigger problem at hand. Remember a couple of months ago when our accountant Toby mentioned a discrepancy in our numbers?”

  Devon nodded. Matthew jerked back from his chair, his lips pressed into a bitter line.

  “Well, we thought there was a glitch in the system and went through the trouble of updating our software program. The discrepancies were too small to make a dent, which is why we chose to go in that direction. However, it turns out someone very smart is creating fake accounts and stealing from us.”

  “How much?” Devon looked straight into her midnight eyes. Imani smoothed her hands over her blouse. “Over a million.” Matthew scowled. “Isn’t Toby’s job to find out the thief?”

  “He’s been trying along with a special team. But the thief is very skilled. There’s a probability this is someone who works here. Someone who can virtually steal the money and do it so cleverly, none of us knows exactly where it’s going.”

  “How long has this been going on for exactly?” Devon asked.

  “Three months, give or take,” she answered.

  Three months. He clicked the pen a few more times then rolled it on the table. A tech geek. Without closing his eyes, the image formed in front of him in broad daylight. Elena. His assistant, always strangely aware of her surroundings. Always kept to herself. Far too qualified for a simple assistant position.

  “I don’t want the board to find out about this—not until we solve the problem. After thirty years in this place, I sure as hell won’t go out like that. Do either of you have any idea who could be behind this?”

  Did he? “No, but I’ll find out.” He gave her a small smile. If Elena was behind this, he would get to the bottom of things and unmask her. By all means necessary.

  Mom told us about financial discrepancies. Get access to his personal profile. Find out how his club is really doing. He may be the one stealing.

  Stealing? What? Elena looked down at the text message and slid her finger on the screen. When she told her best friend Matthew she would help him expose his half-brother, she never imagined secret texting shenanigans would be a part of her daily routine. All she’d agreed to was keeping a close eye on Devon to find any deal-breaking flaw that could give Matthew an advantage on the CEO race. Thank goodness she had a nifty app that erased messages right after reading th
em.

  God Bless the Internet.

  “A text from a hot guy?” Holly placed her small cup under the soundless dispenser of espresso and winked at her. Janie bit into her blueberry muffin.

  “No.” Elena slid her iPhone into her pocket and folded her arms, leaning on the opposite counter. She shook her head at her coworkers, who often sneaked to the twelfth floor to get their daily top-notch caffeine kick. The executive floor break room was a lot more than a simple coffee station. It offered a plethora of pastries and bite size candy bars, not to mention the espresso machine, clean stainless steel appliances, and a sink.

  Janie worked under Toby, the accountant, and had thick brown luscious hair, courtesy of her Greek heritage. Holly’s Scandinavian beauty and honesty offered Elena a fresh break from the darkness sitting heavy in her chest and threatening to burst out of her.

  “Talking about sexy guys… is your boss still seeing that lady?” Holly asked.

  “The one from the sex scandal?” Janie asked, hinting at the tell-all interview that Devon’s ex-girlfriend Regina gave some months ago, exposing their open relationship to the world. Who would have thought she was starting a swing club and needed the press?

  “I don’t know anything about his private life,” Elena said in a small voice. Not that she wanted to—the little she’d read in the papers was enough to set her mind on a crazy spiral of dangerous curiosity—but according to Matthew, knowing what he was up to would help expose him. Although he hadn’t been seen with Regina for months, wasn’t it strange she opened a state-of-the-art adult club in Denver? Sure, she could have made money from the interview alone, but this wasn’t Hollywood. There was something else—

  Janie lifted her shoulders. “I see nothing sexy about a grown man slutting up like a hormonal teenager,” she said, as usual the voice of reason. With a sigh, she continued, “My Roy would never act like that.” And there it was, the first daily mention of her husband of twenty years. Elena shot a playful glance at Holly. When would it ever stop?

  “Whatever. I’d still do Devon Wilder with my hands tied. No pun intended,” Holly said, and let out a hearty laugh.

  “I bet you would. Maybe you already have.” Janie stuck her tongue at Holly in teasing mode.

  “I wish.” Holly nudged Janie’s elbow.

  Hands tied… Oh man, the image of submitting to Devon’s powerful control shot heat through Elena’s veins. “I don’t know if he’s seeing anyone. Don’t care.” Discreetly, she clenched her legs together to stop the heat from settling between her thighs. But it was too late.

  “I’m sure there’s a very lucky woman out there grinning like a fool,” Holly said.

  “Or feeling like one,” Janie mused.

  Elena opened the fridge and looked at it for a moment, welcoming the waves of cool air on her warm skin. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the small Fiji bottle all the way in the back, if anything to give her more time to forget that image. And the chill would damper any burning thought involving the infamous Devon Wilder.

  “Is that a new skirt?” Holly pointed down at her.

  “Oh this?” Elena slammed the fridge door. She grabbed the bottle with one hand and with the other, smoothed the crease-free, shape snugging black pencil skirt with her hands. “I’ve had it for a while.”

  Admitting she made not one but two trips to the mall over the past week would only raise more speculations. What kind of clothes was she expected to wear anyway as an amateur spy? The brisk fall weather could warrant a trench coat and gloves, but inside the office was a different story. It was as if the heater was stuck on a hell-like temperature, for she was burning. All. The. Time.

  Holly arched a long, manicured eyebrow. “Really? I saw it on a Bloomingdale’s mannequin, just a week ago.”

  “Bloomingdale’s huh?” a deep syrupy voice said behind her, and her heart slammed against her white silky blouse.

  She spun on her burgundy heels to see Devon Wilder leaning against the threshold, arms crossed and lips curled at the corner of his sinful mouth. Lifting her hand to her chest, she changed her mind midway and raised it to fiddle with her pearl necklace. “I’m sure it was just a similar skirt,” she said to Holly, but couldn’t tear her gaze from him. “You know how they say fashion recycles itself? My wardrobe is living proof.”

  Silence stretched into the break room. While Holly slid a hungry gaze over Devon, Elena almost laughed when she saw Janie’s face. Her pink-colored lips were parted, attention focused on Devon. If she continued that way, Elena was sure her friend would drool soon. Roy, my ass. Well, what else did she expect? That was the effect he had in women, especially when he was so damn close to them.

  A crisp white shirt opened at the top and unconfined by a tie contrasted against his dark chocolate skin. The black jacket matched the designer slacks, and highlighted his large frame. Make it extra large. And extra hot. Why on Earth did he have the charisma of a campaigning politician, the body of a professional football player, and dimples that could bring women to their knees? So not fair.

  She had to bring him down, just not the way she wanted to. Which was as damaging as self-mutilation. Dr. Hodge had promised her libido would come back some day, but seriously, did it have to happen like this? Latent desire for the one guy she couldn’t—wouldn’t—have? After three years of drought at her downstairs?

  “Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Wilder?” Holly asked, her voice sultry like a burlesque routine.

  “No, thanks,” he answered.

  Janie chugged down the remainder of her coffee and set it inside the steel dishwasher. “Break’s over, Holly. Let’s go,” she said, and nudged Holly out of the break room.

  Elena remained stiff as a brick, her ass pushing against the counter. When her gaze swung from the girls sauntering out to Devon, her heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. With eyes that gleamed like dark silver, he watched her. Crap, who was she kidding? Three beats.

  “Nice skirt.”

  She clenched the bottle of water so tight, it made a squeaky noise. “Thanks.” Relax, girl.

  “I need you.”

  He leaned forward. The distance between them was safe enough—it would be, if he were anyone else. I need you. His manly baritone rang deep in her ears, and her blood went on a low simmer. God. Why did he have to be so tall? Her five feet five nearly shrank if compared to his extra foot. She took a swig of the water.

  “In my office.”

  She blinked. “O-of course.”

  “After you.” He gestured with his hand, and without questioning she managed to walk through the elegant but understated hallway until they reached the inside of his sleek modern office. On the way, she put her water down and grabbed her iPad.

  As the President of Marketing, his office showcased his creative mind, with more paintings and objets d’art on the wall than in the whole building. Abstract paintings, all enhanced by strategic lighting. Most of Wilder & Co. was see through. Besides dark wood frames that would remind her of a lodge deep in the mountains, all doors and walls were made of glass. Clarity and transparency. She could laugh at the irony.

  “Were you able to get a hold of Morrison?” He plopped down on the leather seat against the backdrop of a grey overcast Denver.

  “Yes, he’s available for lunch on Monday if you are.”

  The buzz of her iPhone inside her tight pocket made him raise his head from reading something on his Mac and look at her.

  She simply jammed her hand inside the pocket and clicked it.

  He frowned. “Do you need to take that, Elena?”

  “What? No. Sorry, Mr. Wilder.”

  “Devon. Remember? Call me Devon.”

  “Of course.” She pulled her most informal voice and shot at him what she hoped was a genuine smile. Darn it. She sucked at this. If Matthew hadn’t scooped her up from the crappiest time in her life, she wouldn’t have agreed in a million years to spy on the man who gave Boris Kodjoe a run for his money.