Susceptible to Him Read online

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Lynn Burke

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-209-4

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Jessica Ruth

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For JAB, Keri, & AJ

  SUSCEPTIBLE TO HIM

  Risso Family, 1

  Lynn Burke

  Copyright © 2015

  Lia

  “I got you a date for tonight.”

  My roommate’s words whipped my head around, and my tossed keys landed on the floor inside our apartment door rather than on top of the bookshelf where they belonged. I glared at the spiked red hair, gelled-to-hell atop her head, while kicking the door shut behind me. “You did what?”

  Slumped in her usual spot on our tattered couch, Gwen clicked away on her laptop. “You are going out tonight with a royal hottie.”

  “A date. With a hottie.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Scowling, I flung my purse on the kitchen table and pulled open the fridge door. A quick peek at the meager contents, and my frown deepened. “Did you eat my leftover lo mein?”

  “Yup.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Yup.”

  “I had a shitty day, Gwen. I’m not in the mood.”

  She snapped her laptop closed, placed it on the coffee table, and stood. “It’s been two years.”

  Jack.

  My throat tightened, fading my annoyance. The love of my life since thirteen, my high school sweetheart. The one who, our sophomore year in college, promised me forever with a 2-carat stone set in platinum. The one I had expected to spend every Valentine’s Day with until I lay in a cold grave.

  “You know what day it is.” The words tore from my lips. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Time to move on, Lia.”

  I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. My neck ached. My eyes burned. As with every evening upon returning home from work, I cursed my life, my choice in jobs. Men and accounting sucked ass. “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will.”

  Heaving a sigh, I met her hazel-eyed stare. My best friend since middle school, there was nothing Gwen didn’t know about me. We roomed all through college and then got an apartment in the North End upon graduation. Close enough to home to please my papa, but far enough away to enjoy some independence.

  Not that I’d done anything to warrant either of my parents’ disapproval since I signed the lease.

  The ring through Gwen’s bottom lip twitched, and a smirk soon followed.

  My body stilled. I knew the look well, the type that had always landed us in trouble during our college years. “What did you do?”

  “Don’t get mad.”

  “What. Did. You. Do.”

  She tugged on the frayed edge of her faded Princess Ariel t-shirt. Her pale cheeks flushed. “You know that website I use?”

  “Oh, good Lord.” I palmed my hips. “The lure-a-lover or whatever the hell it’s called?”

  “Yup.”

  I waited, brow raised.

  Gwen sucked in a breath. “Well, I decided to make you a profile and find you the perfect match for a little tickle and poke.”

  What the hell? My Italian temper screamed for release, but I strode down the hallway before I could spout off shit I’d regret.

  “Come on, Lia.” A scramble of feet, and Gwen grabbed my forearm, halting my angry stomping. “You’ve gotta be sick and tired of listening to me and my flavor of the week through these thin walls.”

  “Ear buds, Gwen.” I jabbed my fingers toward the sides of my head. “Ear buds.”

  “Whatever.” She released my arm. “You need to get laid.”

  “I have Mr. Pink.”

  She snorted. “Sorry, but there’s no vibrator on the face of this earth that satisfies like a nice thick—”

  “Gah. Enough, already.” I turned and moved away.

  “One little date. One night of passion to help you get over him.”

  I paused inside the dim room I called my haven—the one place I could allow daily tears to flow without fear of someone finding out I still mourned the bastard who broke my heart.

  “It’s Valentine’s Day, Gwen,” I whispered.

  “Which is precisely why you need this. Ryan Walsh will make you forget Jack the jackass.”

  “Ryan Walsh.”

  “Yup. Hotter than hell. Black hair long enough to tangle your fingers in, the perfect amount of scruff, and crystal-clear blue eyes. Abs my tongue salivated over. Totally your type.”

  My type. The confident jock. Suave.

  The womanizer whose girlfriend walks in on him with another woman—a whore—and the whore’s two friends.

  “Wait.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Abs? As in half-naked pictures of this Ryan guy?”

  “Yup. Won’t lure a lay off that site unless you post some good pics.”

  Good pics. “Oh, God. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  Gwen chewed the inside of her lip as her smirk faded.

  “Not spring break.” My voice escaped as a whine. “Please.”

  “I had to, Lia! You’re built like a brick shithouse, and that white bikini let it all hang out.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly is right. Men love curves.”

  My glance skimmed over her short stature—the skinny ass in tight, black yoga pants. Okay. Not skinny ass, but skinny everything else. If only I’d been blessed with a smaller-than-sapling waist and perfect apple-sized breasts.

  My own melon-like girls jiggled as borderline manic laughter bubbled. “I can’t friggin’ believe you did this.”

  “I did it because I’m sick and tired of listening to you bawl every night.”

  My smile faded. So much for my private haven.

  Gwen straightened to her full, barely five-foot height. “You’re going to go lounge in that bubble bath I drew for you, shave your hairy-ass legs, suck down a glass or two of vino for liquid courage, and go out on a hot date.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. Perhaps it was time. I’d wasted two long years mourning the loss of what I had thought to be the perfect relationship. Some guy from a dating website would be a great first outing—one totally uninterested in getting inside a girl’s heart and mind.

  A safe, sure date that wouldn’t lead to love and heartache.

  “All right.” I dipped my head a single time in agreement. “I’ll go, but I’m not shaving my legs.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I’m not going to sleep with some guy I’ve only just met, and having hairy-ass legs will ensure I don’t.”

  “You’re gross.”

  “And you’re a bitch.”

  “So you’ve said. Now strip out of that god-awful pinstripe suit…skirt…thingy that looks like death on you, and get in the tub.” Gwen peered at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got less than two hours.”

  ****

  I dabbed on my favorite red lipstick and went back out to the living room.

  Gwen looked up from her laptop, her dark eyebrows marred by a frown. “Where’s the black dress I laid out for you?”

  “The one that leaves nothing to the imagination?”

  “Yup.”

  I peered down at my
ass-hugging jeans, the ones that made me feel skinny. Sexy. The ones which hid my unshaved legs. “Um…yeah. Didn’t feel like it.”

  “You’re meeting him at Valentino’s.”

  Shit. Valet-parking, tie-a-necessity Valentino’s. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  “Throw on those red, bend-me-over-the-couch heels, and wear the low-cut silk shirt that matches. You’ll be good to go.”

  Stomach alighting like a million hummingbirds, I hurried to do as she said, grumbling the entire time.

  “Better?” I asked as I raced back, out of breath.

  One last perusal. “Take down your hair.”

  I untangled the clip holding my hair up, and my dark tresses tumbled in waves as I speared my fingers through it.

  Gwen’s hazel eyes twinkled. “You’re going to knock his socks off, and if he’s not going commando, his briefs too.”

  Shaking my head, I pulled on my wool peacoat against the cold, New England evening.

  “To you, my friend.” Gwen raised her wineglass as I moved toward the front door. “May his dick be as big as Mr. Pink, and may your screams be loud and—”

  “I told you, I have no plans of getting laid,” I said over my shoulder.

  She laughed. “Fine, then. Bring him back here…for me.”

  I slammed the door, thankful for the second glass of wine I’d guzzled while dressing.

  Three blocks.

  Only three blocks to Valentino’s, and my first date in over two years.

  Ryan

  Relentless, is what she’d been.

  PM-ed me on the website earlier in the morning, insisting we meet for dinner. Saying no a half-dozen times hadn’t dampened her insistence. The woman obviously needed some serious action.

  And Valentine’s Day?

  A growl rumbled in my chest. I’d offered to take her out the next night or the following, but she persisted. Why the hell did I give in?

  V-day. The day of the year women expected true love. A ring. White picket fences.

  I didn’t want the complication.

  “Stupid ass.”

  I swiped my phone off the coffee table and pulled up the picture of her face for the tenth time. Black hair cascaded over her shoulders, the loose curls teasing cleavage a man could get lost in. Eyes dark as coal. A full bottom lip begging to be bitten.

  Hotter than any of the girls I’d met on the site that offered an abundance of willing females to bury myself in. I should have been shifting to ease an erection.

  “Since when, Old Boy?” I glanced down at my flannel pants and noted the lack of a tent. “Shit.”

  I hoped the pictures on her profile weren’t of some distant cousin who lived a block from the white beach behind her. Had it happen to me before. Not that the lie stopped me from closing my eyes and thinking of a different face while thrusting between the woman’s legs.

  Tossing my phone on the table, I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling. Boredom had crashed a few days ago, and even though I loved Boston, my feet itched to pack a bag and jet. Hop the first overseas-bound plane available, and spend a month or two going who the hell knew where.

  Tomorrow.

  Tonight I promised to meet a beautiful woman for dinner.

  I forced my lazy ass up off the leather couch. A click took me from a sports talk show to light jazz. “Maybe that’ll put you in a better mood, Old Boy, cuz like it or not, it’s off to Valentino’s we go.”

  My phone chirped, halting my walk to the bathroom. I checked the number, grinned, and swiped to answer. “What’s up, Matty?”

  “Me and some of the boys are going to The Fours for steak tips and beers. Wanna go?”

  “Wish you’d fuckin’ called me earlier. Got trapped into a date.”

  “Trapped?” Matty laughed. “Mr. I’ll-never-commit-to-a-woman Walsh is going out on Valentine’s Day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Imagine that. Wait’ll I tell the guys.”

  I chuckled along with him, although I didn’t find the thought amusing. “Catch ya later, Matty.”

  “You too, Walsh. Enjoy yourself tonight!”

  No way in hell.

  ****

  I pulled up to the valet and put my red Gran Turismo in park. “Scratch this baby, and your balls will decorate my mantel.”

  The valet paled, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Pausing at the entrance, I tugged on the tie that was choking the hell out of me. My feet itched to spin and head home.

  Why did I agree to this?

  Because I never could turn down dark hair and curves that begged for my hands and mouth. Not bothering to button my navy-blue Kiton suit jacket, I entered the restaurant.

  I breathed in the aroma of garlic and fresh baked bread. If nothing else, I’d return home with a full, satisfied stomach. Maybe I’d ditch her early and join the boys for a few beers. I expected I’d need them after a romantic, candlelit dinner with some chick who had to beg for a date on Valentine’s Day.

  “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Valentino’s.” The thickly accented Italian voice drew my attention to the hostess post on my left. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Walsh.”

  The plump, little woman’s dark eyes skipped down my length as she moved toward me. “Right this way, sir.”

  At six foot two, I had no difficulty scanning the dim dining room over her head. Muted Italian opera filtered through hidden speakers as flatware chinked against plates. Murmuring created a din in my ears, but it all turned to buzzing as my gaze landed on her.

  The Italian goddess from my teenage wet dreams.

  Her shining black hair swept to the side, exposing a pale neck. The Grecian nose outlined by her profile overlooked full, ruby-red lips the same color as the silk caressing her chest.

  Old Boy twitched, and I grinned.

  Thata boy.

  She double-tapped the phone on the table before her, and those beautiful breasts heaved as she pushed it aside.

  I glanced at my Rolex.

  Shit. Five minutes late.

  The hostess paused a few paces from the goddess’ table. “Your table, sir.”

  Ignoring her, I strode on, my attention glued on the seated woman. “Lia Risso?”

  Long lashes rose, and her eyes, full of dark, deep sadness met mine. I drew in air as every blood cell in my body sped to my groin.

  She peered up at me, unsmiling. “Mr. Walsh?”

  Offering the grin women swooned over, I held out my hand. “Ryan. Please.”

  Lia hesitated before accepting my greeting. Smooth as satin, her fingertips touched mine.

  Bending, I lifted her knuckles to my lips and inhaled the scent of vanilla.

  Fuck yeah.

  I slid onto the seat across from her before Old Boy could embarrass me.

  Grinning again, I kept my eyes on her face rather than delving downward like my tongue wanted to do. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Her soft snort reached my ears as she looked away, a snarl curling her glistening lips. “Thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from the word. “You too.”

  I sat back, hands on my thighs. What the fuck?

  A presence registered in my peripheral. “Welcome to Valentino’s. Would you care to see our wine list?”

  “A bottle of red—your best,” I replied without glancing up at the waiter.

  “Of course, sir.”

  He moved away, and I surprised myself by leaning forward. “Care to tell me what the snarl was for?”

  Dark eyes focused on me once more. She motioned across the table. “This. I can’t believe she…” Pursing her lips, Lia shook her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

  Baffled, I stared as she snatched up her phone and tossed it into the small clutch she gripped.

  My hand shot out of its own accord to stop her as she started to rise. “Wait. Please.” I had never begged a woman to stay.

  Ever.

  A frown tugged at her arched brows as
she studied my face.

  “Please.”

  Another sigh raised the breasts begging for my hands, and I released my light hold on her arm as she sat back down. She wore sadness like a shroud, and I wanted to peel it back to see what lay beneath.

  Not one to usually give a shit, my interest concerned me. “Care to explain?” I asked anyway.

  Forehead wrinkling, she stared at me as though trying to read my soul. The normal mask my childhood had taught me to wear remained in place, but I at least allowed her to see a hint of compassion.

  A puff of air blown through her plump lips drew my eye. “My best friend put me up to this nonsense.”

  Realization dawned, and curses swelled within me as I choked back laughter. “She created your account?”

  Lia tossed her purse on the table again. “Yes.”

  I tried not to grin, but failed miserably. “Thought you needed a tumble in someone’s bed, huh?”

  Pink stained her cheeks, a blush I wished my tongue brought about. “A ‘tickle and poke,’ Gwen said.”

  Laughter burst out of me, turning the heads of those closest to us, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. “Well, Lia, I’m not your normal ‘feed me then fuck me’ kinda guy.” Her blush deepened, and Old Boy twitched his interest. “I’m more a ‘let’s share a bottle or two of wine and give me your number’ type.”

  Her shoulders relaxed, but although the beginnings of a smile tipped up those lips, her dark orbs remained haunted. “All right.”

  “You’ll stay?”

  “I guess. But just for dinner.”

  Leaning forward, I lowered my voice. “As you wish.”

  “Best. Movie. Ever.”

  Her full-blown smile knifed my heart, and I barely kept my jaw from unhinging. A niggling of fear—panic to flee this woman’s sudden spell—rushed through me, but I didn’t move.

  Couldn’t.

  Her black eyes mesmerized, and I sat unmoving except for the swelling shaft pushing against my dress pants.

  I’d always been a sucker for mysteries, and Lia Risso intrigued the hell outta me. Her girlfriend insisted she needed to face something on Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to know what. And why.

  The desire to be the real Ryan and make myself vulnerable crashed into me like a twenty-foot ocean swell.

  Fuck me. I am so screwed.