Playing All the Angles

208 Pages·2014·0.95 MB·English

by  Lane Nicole

Cover
Title Page
Playing All the Angles
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Nicole Lane
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Omnific Publishing
Los Angeles
Copyright Information
Playing All the Angles, Copyright © 2014 by Nicole Lane
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of
the publisher.
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Omnific Publishing
1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor
Los Angeles, California 90067
www.omnificpublishing.com
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First Omnific eBook edition, June 2014
First Omnific trade paperback edition, June 2014
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by
the author.
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Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
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Lane, Nicole.
Playing All the Angles / Nicole Lane – 1st ed
ISBN: 978-1-623421-14-4
1. Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. Family—Fiction. 3. Sisters—Fiction. 4. Infidelity—Fiction. I. Title
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Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw
Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna
Dedication
For my friends at TTP and the Collective,
most especially Irene Ferris, Darice Moore, and Nicole Vlachos.
You’ve made me a better writer,
and without you, there is no Nicole Lane.
And for my grandmother, Elese Young,
without whom, there would have been no romance.
Chapter 1
L U . T P kept ringing around in Isabelle’s head like wedding bells,
OVED P HE HRASE
though it might just have been the bells of Notre Dame marking every hour
she’d spent in boutiques along the Seine in the past two days. Whatever it was—
love, shopping, or Paris itself—she didn’t think it was possible to be happier.
She hadn’t stopped grinning since her eldest sister, Alora, and their mother
had sprung the trip on her. They had surprised her by whisking her away from
their homeland in England for a Parisian weekend of shopping, eating, and
spending far too much money on the possibility that Dominic, her boyfriend of
two years, would be proposing soon.
“He will,” her mother sang, dismissing any doubt as she pulled Isabelle into
another little shop, hoping to add to her growing trousseau. “He’s got that look
about him.”
“What look?” Isabelle asked.
“The look of a man who came asking your father for his blessing last
week.”
“Mother!”
She clucked at Isabelle’s cry of despair. “I’m not spoiling anything. You
still don’t know how or when.”
“But now you know to be ready,” Alora agreed.
Isabelle gave up with a fond shrug. “I suppose I will.”
“And speaking of ready, look at this,” Alora said, shaking a negligee at her.
“White with blue trim is perfect for a honeymoon. This will look fantastic on the
floor of the bridal suite.”
“Lora!”
“What? You don’t expect to get to wear any of this, do you? When Doyle
and I got married, I don’t think I wore a stitch for days.”
“I don’t need to know that.”
“It’s where babies come from, Issie. And you want babies, don’t you?”
“For heaven’s sake, let the man propose first!”
The three of them laughed together, making their way through the rest of
the boutique and leaving with arms full of bags.
In the late afternoon, as they sat in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, sipping
coffees and sharing chocolate éclairs, Isabelle sighed happily. The only thing
missing was her middle sister. “I just wish Eve could have made it. She knows
all the best places, and she can get into them too.”
Alora let out a puff of air. “She’d have ruined it. She’d have made it all
about her, as always. This weekend is all about you!” She tweaked her sister’s
nose.
“You mean me and the hope that Dominic Phillips marries into the family?”
Isabelle grinned.
“You will make gorgeous babies. After he proposes, of course.” Alora
nodded at her raven-haired sister.
“He is handsome, isn’t he? The genetics are certainly there.” Isabelle
giggled. Dominic was tall and broad shouldered, a well-muscled mass of blue-
eyed, blond-haired, chisel-featured man. A professional motocross racer, he
stayed trim and fit and was like something marble they’d seen earlier in the
Louvre.
“As handsome as you are beautiful, darling,” their mother added with a
smile.
“Here’s hoping he’s half as good a man as Doyle.” Alora lifted her mug.
“Cheers,” Isabelle agreed.
Their mother raised hers into the mix, and they chattered and chuckled into
the evening.
Staring out the window of their hotel suite, watching the city lights twinkle
like little stars, Isabelle was sure the only thing that could have made the surprise
trip better would have been Eve. But Eve worked in fashion, and fashion’s pace
was grueling. That meant she missed a lot of events—not that she bothered to
show up to most of the ones she could make. If Isabelle was the golden girl, the
favored baby, and Alora was the model of domestic perfection, Eve was the
rebellious trouble-maker and the stereotypical middle child.
Isabelle fell back onto the bed and said, “I don’t think she’d have ruined it.
I’m sorry Eve couldn’t come.”
“Well, who knows if she could have.” Alora shrugged, changing into her
nightgown. “We didn’t actually invite her. Mother thought it would be more fun
with just us.”
“Oh! That’s horrible,” Isabelle cried.
“It is not. It’s true. It is more fun just us. Anyway, Eve’s probably off doing
something ridiculous anyway.”
Isabelle hummed in reply. “Well, whatever it is, I hope she’s enjoying
herself.”
Eve whipped her body upright at the waist, long hair flying in damp, ropey
strands to slap against her back and shoulders as it fell. Her skin was damp too,
still a little wet from the shower but also covered with a fine sheen of sweat. If
nothing else, he made her sweat, and that’s what she wanted. She closed her eyes
against the expression on his face, concentrating on the burn in her muscles
where his fingertips were digging into her thighs hard enough to bruise, and the
swollen ache between her legs, where the pounding she’d just taken was now her
rhythm to control.
She rode his hips, teeth bared, until he groaned loudly, gripping her waist to
force a stop to the motion as he came in waves. She dropped forward onto her
hands, watching as her hair swung with her, this time falling into his face, and
then she dismounted to roll onto her back.
When she could breathe again, she said, “You need to go home now.”
“Gimme a minute,” he panted.
Eve sat up and felt around for her T-shirt, pulling it on in the dark, then
found her yoga pants and did the same. “Come on, Dominic. Get up. You’ll fall
asleep, and you can’t sleep here. Go home.”
“Why can’t I sleep here?” he asked, covering a yawn.
She gave him a narrow look and hissed out a breath. “You know why.”
“She’s out. Won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know the deal.”
“Right,” he grumbled, finally sitting up. “Just the sex and nothing more.”
“It’s better that way. Less complicated.”
“And the fact that I’m living with your sister doesn’t complicate things at
all.”
Eve sighed in the darkness. “Dominic…go home.”
“Have you got someone else coming over?”
“What if I do?”
“Do you?”
“Go home, Dominic. We had our fuck; now go home.”
Instead of complying, he simply settled back more comfortably, rooting
around until he could use his feet to pull the sheet up over his body as he shifted
onto his side. “I’m at least having a nap. You can’t deny me that.”
“Fine.” She stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. As
usual, she felt dirty and disgusted with herself, but not so dirty or disgusted that
she’d even try to lie that it would be the last time.
Her sister Isabelle seemed clueless to the reality of it, but Eve had done all
she could to make sure the fling didn’t become more than that. It was just very
hot sex; she got what she wanted and then sent him home. She always sent him
home.
Now she felt restless, guilty, wishing she’d not told him to come round
when he’d messaged her earlier. At least when he left right away, she was able
to put their coupling behind her. It was done, and she didn’t have to think about
it again…until the next time.
There was always a next time.
She poured herself a glass of water and drank it, standing beside the kitchen
sink. Instead of leaving, he was now stretched out in her bed like a cat in cream,
and that thought made her start to tingle pleasantly again. Rather than rejoining
him, though, she put on her shoes, threw a sweater on over her clothes, scraped
her hair back into a knot, and walked outside.
It was cool enough that her dampness made her shiver, but she wasn’t really
cold. She lived in a small complex inside a shopping square, in one of the
sought-after corner units. Her entry opened into a courtyard, and she strolled out
through it, a pack of cigarettes and lighter in hand, and sat down at one of the
stone tables to smoke. She’d just taken her first drag when a neighbor’s door
opened and a tall, thin man appeared, dragging his garbage behind him.
She watched him as he went, blowing out an approving lungful of air. He
was stunning, with a choppy fringe of dark hair falling across his eyes. The rest
was carelessly layered, curling at his square jaw and kicking out over the collar
on his polo shirt. He was ridiculously handsome, so much so that Eve laughed.
No man had a right to be that pretty.
The man turned toward the sound.
She gave a little wave. “Hello.”
“Hello.” He waved back, taking the few steps required to reach her. “I’m
Tad.” He wiped his hands on his legs, then offered her one. “Just moved in.”
“Eve.” She shook his hand, using her chin to indicate her home. “I’m in the
corner here. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks. Good to meet you,” he said, grinning. The expression made his
face even more angelic than she’d originally thought. She hoped he hadn’t heard
the hiccup of a gasp she’d given at the sight. Although, she seemed to be having
the same effect on him. Even fresh from sex, wearing what amounted to
pajamas, Eve was aware that she could turn any head. It was something she’d
grown used to, if never fully comfortable with, and something she’d learned to
use to her advantage.
All the D’Amico girls drew attention. Their height alone made them stand
out in a crowd. She and her sisters were tall and slim, with the creamy
complexions, long, curly lashes, and full red lips of their Irish mother and the
strong, beautiful features and thick, rich hair of their Italian father. Isabelle and
Alora favored him, with sleek, raven hair and blue eyes. Eve looked most like
their black-eyed mother, with a mass of auburn curls and the temper to match.
“That’s a nice flat too,” she said, indicating his door to break the spell
they’d cast on one another. “I knew the previous tenants. It’s a good space.”
He nodded. “I like it,” he agreed, glancing around before letting his eyes
find her face again. “It seems pretty quiet here as well.”
“Not too bad. A few lager louts during the footie season, but nothing
serious.”
“Good. You lived here long?”
“Three years.”
“Oh, so you know the neighborhood, then.” His smile grew a bit wider. “I
just moved down from Birmingham.”
“Oh yeah? Culture shock, then? I know the area pretty well.” She smiled
back. “Want to sit?”
“Thanks.” He slid a chair out and folded his long legs under the seat beside
her. “Bum a smoke?”
“Help yourself.” She tapped the pack, pushing the lighter over with it.
“What brings you here?”