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  L U S T

  O N E B O T T L E. O N E D A R E. O N E N I G H T.

  M E L I S S A A N D R E A

  L U S T

  Copyright © 2017 BY MELISSA ANDREA

  All Rights Reserved.

  Melissaandrea.com

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews,

  and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously.

  Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination,

  and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  L u s t / M E L I S S A A N D R E A

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser/ Romantic Book Affairs

  Editing by Editing4Indies

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  ALSO BY MELISSA ANDREA

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  The Edge of Darkness

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  Little Black Book

  Little Black Break

  Little Black Beginnings

  Standalones

  LUST

  The Wrath of Sin

  The Procedure

  Jack Hammer

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  C o n t e n t s

  One: Meela

  Two: Reed

  Three: Meela

  Four: Meela

  Five: Reed

  Six: Meela

  Seven: Meela

  Eight: Reed

  Nine: Meela

  Ten: Meela

  Eleven: Reed

  Twelve: Reed

  Thirteen: Meela

  Fourteen: Meela

  Fifteen: Meela

  Sixteen: Reed

  Seventeen: Meela

  Eighteen: Meela

  Nineteen: Reed

  Twenty: Meela

  Twenty-One: Reed

  Twenty-Two: Meela

  Twenty-Three: Reed

  Twenty-Four: Meela

  Twenty-Five: Reed

  Twenty-Six: Meela

  Twenty-Seven; Reed

  Twenty-Eight: Meela

  Twenty-Nine: Reed

  Thirty: Meela

  Thirty-One: Reed

  Thirty-Two: Meela

  Thirty-Three: Reed

  Thirty-Four: Meela

  Thirty-Five: Reed

  Thirty-Six: Meela

  Thirty-Seven: Reed

  Epilogue

  L u s t;

  To have a very strong sexual desire for someone.

  To feel a strong desire for something.

  synonyms: crave, to be consumed with desire for, find sexually attractive, crave, covet, ache for, burn for.

  One

  Meela

  I was going to die in an elevator.

  In an effing elevator during an effing earthquake.

  Two years ago, I’d done one of those ridiculous How Will I Die quizzes on Facebook, and even though the results had been completely outrageous and would never happen, it had also been something inventive, exciting, and somehow wildly satisfying.

  Well, as exciting and satisfying as death could be.

  I would be ninety-five and skydiving, but instead of pulling a parachute, I would release a hang glider and float toward the ocean where I would land perfectly on a moving jet ski and proceed to do crazy flips before slipping, hitting my head, and drowning.

  Granted, the drowning part was tremendously anticlimactic, but as I said, it was completely outrageous and would never happen.

  To some, drowning after skydiving didn’t sound all that exciting, but to my ninety-five-year-old self, that didn’t seem like a bad way to go. Considering living until ninety-five seemed like an accomplishment in and of itself.

  Now standing in this elevator, waiting for the drop, I felt cheated.

  Four years at Duke University.

  Three years at Yale Law School.

  My first solo case and now all my hard-earned work would amount to me plummeting to my death.

  Not to mention dropping my once-in-a-lifetime clerkship with Judge Richard Willis to fill the last position for a first-year junior associate at Jamison, Jones, and Associates—the most sought-after law firm in Charleston, South Carolina.

  I realized my list of priorities probably seemed a little effed up, considering most people would be more upset about the things they hadn’t done before their sudden demise. But I wasn’t like normal people—I rambled and half-ass cursed Facebook quizzes.

  I didn’t even know South Carolina had earthquakes. Why the hell did Mother Nature have to pick today to prove she was a badass?

  The elevator floor trembled again.

  It probably only lasted five seconds, but it was enough to forever ruin my relationship with elevators.

  Another tremble.

  It lasted longer this time, and then everything went black, enclosing me in the small space like a coffin.

  I instantly regretted my own morbid thoughts.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I gripped the metal railing until I thought the steel bar would twist and crush under my sweaty palm.

  “Stay calm, Meela,” I told myself. “You’re not going to—”

  I cried out as the elevator floor shook harder this time, throwing me off balance and against the side of the elevator wall. The railing ground into my hip roughly, bruising the muscles there instantly.

  “Holy hell,” I whimpered. It echoed off the steel walls of what would probably be my final resting place.

  “It’s okay, Meela. It’s almost over.” A deep voice filled the small space. “We’re just feeling the aftershocks now.”

  The sound of his voice triggered a small heart attack, and I realized I wasn’t going to die because I’d decided to take the elevator instead of the stairs—for the first time in four years because I had gained the freshman fifteen times two—all because I didn’t want to sweat in my new suit, only for there to be a fucking earthquake. I had upgraded from half-ass to full-on curse words.

  “Oh god, shut up, Meela. You’re rambling again,” I whispered to myself.

  I heard the snicker, drawing my attention back to the fact I was not alone in the elevator of death.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” I demanded and tried to remember when someone had joined me.

  “The same way you did. Those magical things they call elevator doors.” He laughed, and the sound was deep and smooth.

  I might have laughed too—maybe—if I wasn’t desperately trying to remember when someone got on the elevator with me. Sometimes I scared myself with how easily I got lost in my own thoughts. Apparently, it had gotten so bad that I could be in an elevator with another person and not even realize it.

  “Is there anyone else in here?” I asked stiffly, looking around even though I couldn’t see anything.

  “Nope. Just the two of us,” he whispered in a way that made stomach flip. I quickly covered the spot with my hand, half expecting my insides to be on the o
utside of my body.

  “I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” I admitted.

  I was still having a hard time paying attention as I waited for another aftershock.

  “Well, that’s a first,” he mused, and I frowned.

  “What?” I asked, my curiosity winning over and giving the stranger, who was oddly calming my nerves, a bit more of my attention.

  “I’m not used to a woman not noticing me.”

  I stared into total darkness for a full second before my laughter cut through the silence. It bubbled up my chest, making me drop my head back and wonder was this actually happening?

  Well, it worked; he had successfully distracted me. It wasn’t until I realized he wasn’t laughing with me that I thought he might actually be serious.

  “Wait, are you serious?” My brow lifting in the darkness.

  He shifted slightly, making me think he had turned to look at me. “I’m dead serious.”

  Dead, death, elevators, earthquakes—my last day on earth, and I would die with an egotistical stranger. I couldn’t even control the massive eye roll that overcame me, and I was thankful for the darkness.

  So he was one of those types.

  “Your poor ego,” I soothed sarcastically.

  He laughed, and the sound went straight to my head, making me dizzy. What are you talking about, Meela? It’s not him. It’s the situation. Focus.

  “You really don’t remember?” he asked, pulling me out of my head.

  Again, I frowned. “Remember what?”

  What more could I have possibly missed?

  “We had a moment.”

  “Who had a moment?”

  “You and me.”

  I shook my head. “We did not have a moment.”

  “I’m sorry, Meela, but we did, in fact, have a moment.”

  It was the second time he said my name without me introducing myself to him, and without the shock of realizing I wasn’t alone to soften the blow, I noticed it did something odd to my insides. I ignored it, pushing past the feeling and lifting my chin a notch higher.

  “I doubt it. I don’t have moments with guys.”

  “Well, there lies your problem with our moment.”

  “And what is that?”

  He moved in closer to whisper, “I’m a man, Meela, and we definitely had a moment.”

  The word practically came out as a purr, and I swallowed hard. What in the hell was happening to me? I needed to get out of this elevator and somewhere where I wasn’t stuck in a tiny box with the man next to me. I fought to hold my resolve.

  “We did not—”

  And then everything that happened, leading up to the terrifying earthquake we were still experiencing, played out in my mind as if I was watching a movie.

  The moment I’d stepped into the elevator, I knew there was a good possibility I was going to lose my well-balanced breakfast—which had consisted of a stale cereal bar and too much coffee—all over the elevator floor.

  Mentally, I had talked myself through breathing exercises I memorized after stumbling upon them on YouTube late at night while I was watching massage videos that weirdly helped me sleep better at night. Something was oddly relaxing about watching someone massage someone else, especially when you never had time to get one yourself.

  Standing in the elevator, I watched as the doors took their sweet time closing, but my mind was spinning too much to care as I made mental notes for my case.

  I jumped when I heard someone yell from across the lobby to hold the elevator. I couldn’t see anybody from my line of view, so I wasn’t sure if they were even talking to me. I knew it was the polite thing to do, and I didn’t want to be on the other side of karma’s wrath if I didn’t at least attempt to help.

  I lifted my hand, my fingers wrapping around the elevator doors to stop their slow close when I felt the pressure of a hand cover mine. My head snapped up, my instinct to pull free kicked in, but the pressure was firm and a little tug did nothing to release me.

  “Thanks,” he said, coming into view behind the elevator door.

  His grin was slow and deadly as it spread across his face, making me wonder how many casualties he’d claimed with it. I frowned, more at myself and the reaction I had than at him. I pulled on my hand again, and again, he didn’t let it go. My frown deepened now out of annoyance, and it was all for him.

  I put the memory on pause as I took the time to actually see him at that moment. Giving him a quick once-over, I took in his jeans, casual t-shirt, and the dark messenger bag strap across his chest. My attention was drawn to the muscles of his chest and then the sun-touched tan of his arms and neck. His dark hair was windblown and messy. He seemed like a relatively harmless messenger boy.

  “My hand,” I told him, and he looked down as if just noticing he was holding it hostage.

  “Sorry,” he said with another grin, which completely sold him out because he wasn’t sorry at all.

  He didn’t make any move to lift his hand, and again, I tugged, twisting my face in annoyance. He was trying to be cute, but I was not interested in the game he was playing.

  “Are you getting on? I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass”—because, clearly, that was his job—“but I’m going to be late,” I said impatiently with another hard tug, and this time, my hand came free.

  I took a step back, standing in the middle of the elevator, and without realizing it, I rubbed the back of my hand where he had touched me. He didn’t miss it, and he smiled at me like he knew exactly what his touch had done.

  Dropping my hands, I fisted them at my side while I waited petulantly for him to get inside, but he just stared at me. I opened my mouth to demand he quickly decide or watch the doors close in his face, but a voice shouting behind him drew his attention.

  “I guess I’ll have to catch the next one,” he said, turning to face me again.

  Good, I thought. I was more than happy to ride the elevator up alone. The last thing I wanted to do was share a small space with anyone. I was nervous enough, so if I was going to have an emotional breakdown, I wanted to do it in private.

  He looked reluctant to lose the elevator while he had it, but whoever was trying to get his attention was not going to give up. Slowly, he slid his hand away, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I waited for the doors to close.

  My phone started to ring, and I pulled it free from my purse. A quick glance told me who was calling, and I bit my lip as I debated whether to answer, but I knew if I didn’t, there would be hell to pay afterward. Turning my back to the open doors, I accepted the call and lifted the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, Mom.” I tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible, but like every mother with superpowers could, she heard through my façade.

  “You have nothing to be nervous about, Meela. You said it yourself; this case is open and shut.”

  In the background, I heard a small ding and the sound of elevator doors slowly closing. I felt my breakfast rising, and I cursed myself for not taking the stairs and saving myself from getting sick on the elevator floor.

  “Meela? Are you listening?”

  I tried to focus on the sound of my mom’s voice. “I’m here, Mom, and yes, I’m listening. Open and shut.” I repeated the words, hoping to make myself feel better.

  “That’s why they gave you the case, you said. They knew you could win it, and you will,” she stressed. “I’m so proud of you, Meela.”

  Despite the nerves and doubts I had, I smiled at her words. My mom believed I could do anything, which was why she killed herself working ten-hour days to give me the best education money could buy. It was because of her that I pushed myself to be the very best.

  The elevator lifted, and for those first fleeting seconds, my stomach lost gravity as the elevator finally moved to take me to my floor.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m in the elevator going up now, and I’m sure at any moment I’m going to lose the call—”

  The memory
abruptly cut off just as my phone call had when the first of several tremors had started. The force of the first shake had sent me off balance, sending my phone from my fingers seconds before the elevator was cloaked in darkness.

  “Are you remembering, Meela?”

  I frowned, and the deep timbre of his voice, more than his words, pulled me back to the present.

  “Yes, but I don’t remember a moment and stop calling me that,” I snapped.

  He chuckled. “Why? Isn’t that your name?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “We haven’t actually been introduced.”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean so?”

  “I mean I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re going to have to explain to me what the problem is.”

  I gritted my teeth.

  He was messing with me as if we didn’t have other things to worry about ... like the possibility of plummeting to the bottom floor and dying.

  “It’s weird that you’re calling me by my name when I haven’t actually given you my name.”

  “Okay,” he said, and his body shifted toward me, making me flinch. “So let’s introduce ourselves. I’m Reed Pierce, and you are …?”

  His sentence trailed off as he waited for me to fill in the blanks. This whole situation suddenly felt ridiculous, and now I had no idea why I had pushed the whole introduction thing.

  “I can’t call you by your name, Meela, if you don’t tell me what it is.” His voice was full of amusement.

  “I’m … “ I said slowly, but my mind became a black hole sucking away all logical and rational thought, and I couldn’t focus. Words began slipping past my lips, and I had no control over what I was saying. “I’m a chaotic mess. I’m not supposed to be here stuck in an elevator during an earthquake. I’m supposed to be in the middle of my first solo case in court right now. Instead, I’m here, with you, during the middle of what I’m pretty sure is my very first mental breakdown.” I looked up, but it was too dark to see his face. “I’m Meela Davis. Chaotic, messy Meela Davis and I could really use a damn good distraction right about now.”