Living in Sin (Living In…, Book 2)

By: Jackie Ashenden

Her temptation…his salvation.

Living In…, Book 2

At twenty, Lily Andrews has already lived a lifetime. Her battle with leukemia put her three years behind her ballet career, and now that the grueling treatment is behind her, she’s eager to put her dancing shoes back on—literally and figuratively.

One man has been her personal light at the end of her tunnel, the one man she’s sure will help her rekindle her passion for life. Kahu Winter. And she’ll let nothing stand in the way of having him—not even Kahu himself.

When Kahu catches Lily sneaking into his club, the desire in her eyes tells him it’s more than a delayed act of youthful rebellion. Her lively spirit calls to him, but Kahu is too cynical, too jaded, too broken for a sweet young thing like her.

But Lily won’t take no for answer so he’ll make her a deal: She’s got one month to seduce him and after that, he’s moving on—figuratively and literally.

There’s just one thing he forgot to keep out of her reach. His heart…

Warning: Contains a hot older man in need of some anti-cynicism pills, a snarky younger woman who’s going to get past his defenses and make him beg, more forbidden lust, and naked ballet dancing. Advanced WTFery for experienced users only.





Living in Sin

Jackie Ashenden





Dedication

This one’s for the Ashendens.

 Chapter One

“She’s here again.”

“Oh fuck, really?” Kahu Winter leaned back in his office chair and stared at Mike, the bouncer who’d been working the door at the Auckland Club for the last five years.

Mike, a huge Tongan guy who used to do a lot of pro-wrestling, folded his arms. “Yeah. And she says she wants to see you.”

Since that’s what she’d been saying for the past couple of nights, Kahu wasn’t surprised. Jesus Christ. What a pain in the ass.

He had more important things to do than fuck about dealing with Rob’s daughter. The guy was Kahu’s business partner and would not be happy at the thought of his twenty-year-old daughter hassling for entry into one of Auckland’s most exclusive private-member’s clubs.

What the hell was she doing here? What the hell did she want?

“That’s the third time this week.” Kahu threw the pen he’d been toying with back down on his desk. “And I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it.”

Mike was unimpressed. “Perhaps if you go out and see what she wants, she’ll go away,” he pointed out.

Not what Kahu wanted to hear. Christ, the last two nights he’d paid for a taxi to take her home and if she kept this up, it was going to start getting expensive.

Of course, he could go out there and speak to her. But he liked being manipulated even less than he liked being told what to do. And he hated being told what to do. Especially when the person doing the telling was a spoiled little twenty-year-old on some mysterious mission she wouldn’t talk to anyone about other than him.

Jesus, it made him feel tired. And pretty fucking old.

“Goddamn. I’m going to have to speak to her, aren’t I?”

Mike lifted a shoulder. “Up to you, boss.”

Yeah, he was going to have to.

Cursing, Kahu shoved his chair back and got up. The work he was doing, going over the club’s accounts, could wait. And he probably needed a break anyway.

In the corridor outside his office, he could hear the sounds of conversation from the Ivy Room, the club’s main bar and dining area. Friday night and the place was packed with members having a post-work drink or seven.

The sound of success. Anita would have been so proud.

Yeah, but not so proud of the fact you’re planning on ditching it, huh?

No, probably not. She’d left him the club thirteen years ago, when she’d first realized she was getting sick. A gift he’d promptly thrown back in her face by fucking off overseas, refusing to accept the responsibility or the reality of her illness. It had taken him five years to come to terms with it. To come back to New Zealand, to take on the club, and most importantly, to care for her. The lover who’d rescued him from the streets and given him the stars.

On the other hand, Anita was six months dead and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

As he approached the club’s entrance—a vaulted hallway with stairs leading to the upper floors, a parquet floor, and a chandelier dominating the space like a massive, glittering sun—people greeted him. Since he granted all memberships to the club personally, he knew everyone. Some more than others, of course, but he prided himself on the fact that he knew everyone’s names at least.

He ostentatiously kissed the hand of a politician’s wife, slapped the back of a well-known actor, air-kissed with a socialite and shook hands with an awestruck nobody. But then that’s what the Auckland Club was like. Nobodies and somebodies, all mixing together. It appealed to his sense of irony. And, fuck, it was a nice distraction if nothing else.

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