Secret Pleasure

Secret Pleasure
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She’s sweet as sin…and he’s twice as wicked!Bombshell burlesque performer Kaylee Whitfield has perfected the art of the tease—especially when deliciously gorgeous Aidan Beckett is watching. Of course Aidan has no idea that she’s his ex-bestie’s little sister, or that he broke Kaylee’s teenage heart. It was supposed to be one sexy—and secret—tryst. But Kaylee has a few things to learn about searingly hot temptation…and risking her heart.

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She’s sweet as sin

...and he’s twice as wicked!

Bombshell burlesque performer Kaylee Whitfield has perfected the art of the tease—especially when deliciously gorgeous Aidan Beckett is watching. Of course Aidan has no idea that she’s his ex-bestie’s little sister, or that he broke Kaylee’s teenage heart. It was supposed to be one sexy—and secret—tryst. But Kaylee has a few things to learn about searingly hot temptation...and risking her heart.

TARYN LEIGH TAYLOR likes dinosaurs, bridges and space—both personal and the final frontier variety. She shamelessly indulges in clichés, most notably her Starbucks addiction—grande six-pump whole milk, no water chai-tea latte, aka: ‘the usual’, her shoe hoard (I can stop any time I… Ooh! These are pretty!) and her penchant for falling in lust with fictional men with great abs. She also really loves books, which was what sent her down the crazy path of writing in the first place. Want to be virtual friends? Check out tarynleightaylor.com, Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1 and Twitter, @tarynltaylor.

Secret Pleasure

Taryn Leigh Taylor


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07151-2

SECRET PLEASURE

© 2018 Taryn Leigh Taylor

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Tina—this book would not be without you.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And for Crystal—alpha consultant, proof-reader,

sanity-restorer, best friend. I don’t know how you do it all, but I sure am glad you do. I hope this one lives up to pineapple-shorted expectations.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, put your hands together for the one and only Lola Mariposa!”

The rush of that moment, the split second before anything happened, hit like a freight train. Nervousness, excitement, fear, anticipation, all toppling over one another, crowding her chest, grappling for dominance.

The curtains whooshed open. The spotlight beat down. She could feel their gazes on her.

It thrilled her to her core.

The music started, the old song sounding a little tinny and scratchy in the top-of-the-line speakers, and just like that, Kaylee Whitfield disappeared completely into her braver, sassier, sultrier alter ego.

The blond wig, blue contacts, and stage makeup helped, of course, but there was something magical that happened when she was out on the stage. Anonymous. Free.

She sat at the prop vanity set, her back to the club, pretending to brush her hair and apply blush. Then the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald launched into the first verse of “Bei Mir Bist du Schön” and Kaylee threw a coy glance over her shoulder, careful to keep her sight line just over their heads as she placed her index finger between her ruby-red lips. In a practiced move, she tugged her black satin glove off with her teeth before twirling it over her head and tossing it aside.

She never made eye contact while she was onstage. Because her performances weren’t for the crowd.



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