Looking Inside

PROLOGUE

Eleanor awakened at two thirty a.m. from a deep sleep. Had she sensed a light going on outside the bedroom window?

Maybe your voyeuristic instincts are sharpening.

She smirked at the thought. Common sense made her hesitate for a moment. Eleanor was known for being even-keeled and rational, after all. But it wasn’t logic that made her throw off the covers and glide through the dark room, drawn to the window irrevocably.

Not a sound could be heard in Caddy’s condominium. She and her sister had stayed up late, putting up Caddy’s Christmas tree and drinking hot chocolate. It was an annual tradition. Undoubtedly Caddy slept deeply in the master bedroom suite down the hall, unsuspecting of her sister’s compulsion. If Caddy ever found out why Eleanor had grown to love staying in her guest bedroom so much, she’d be stunned at first, and then burst out with incredulous laughter.

No one would ever suspect practical, bookish Eleanor of such salacious behavior.

She stood at the corner of the window and peered furtively out to the adjacent high-rise. Her entire body quickened.

He’s there. I can see him.

It had happened rarely enough in the past several months, either that he happened to leave his curtains open or that she stayed over in the guest room at Caddy’s. Tonight, the stars had aligned. She looked into a lit, luxurious bedroom, and onto a scene of vibrant, bold sensuality.

She spied into another world.

He came down over the naked woman on the bed. It was a different woman than she’d seen him with before. He had a new lover. His big, lean body and golden-brown coloring created a stunning contrast to the female’s pale ivory skin, jet-black hair and petite proportions. He’d restrained her arms to the bed, bu

t her legs were free. The woman clamped her thighs together and wriggled her hips in response to his mouth trailing across her skin. The man opened his hand on the woman’s pelvis and kept her in place while his mouth fixed on a breast. Eleanor didn’t even know his name, but she sensed something about him at that moment. He didn’t like a woman to twist and writhe while he made love to her. He wanted her to take every ounce of pleasure he gave . . .

. . . And he gave plenty.

His burnished brown head moved subtly, and Eleanor vividly imagined his wet, lashing tongue, his taut sucking. The woman’s back arched off the bed, as if she offered more of herself to him. Eleanor touched the tip of her own breast, wincing as arousal stabbed at her. He’d taken off his shirt but still wore a pair of black pants. His back muscles and powerful arms bunched and flexed as his head moved lower on the woman’s body. His mouth grazed down her sides while his large hands bracketed her tiny waist. One hand detailed the curve of her hip. Whatever he was doing with his mouth made the woman squirm. He held her hips down firmly, continuing his explorations with his mouth. When she writhed against his hold, one hand slid down to her buttock and flexed in a deliberate, greedy gesture. He spanked the flesh—not hard, but briskly—and then squeezed again. Eleanor started and moaned softly. His lover turned her hip on the bed, again offering more of her flesh to him . . . no, begging him to take more.

What would it be like, to be the focus of his pointed hunger? She’d only seen him make love once before, but he always took and gave with such precision. It had been shocking to her upon first viewing it: his masterful, confident handling of a woman’s body. It wasn’t something she’d ever witnessed before, let alone experienced.

The man’s hand coasted up the woman’s thigh and slid between her legs. His mouth continued to caress her belly, waist and hip while his hand moved knowingly.

Eleanor left the shadows like a sleepwalker and pressed her hands to the frigid windowpane, her entire being vibrating with lust and desperate, hopeless longing.

ONE

One year later

Eleanor Briggs thought it fitting that she’d chosen a reading event to make her debut as a sexually confident, “I take what I want when I want it” female. Her entire job revolved around books, after all. Well . . . the part that didn’t involve conserving historical documents, costumes and artifacts, or doing research that would bore most people out of their minds.

In books, whole new worlds were born and new identities created, all through the power of the imagination. What better venue for her to transform herself into a sexual force of nature and worthy bedmate for her obsession, Trey Riordan? If it weren’t for her imagination, the fuel of distilled longing, and perhaps the cruel eye-opening she’d had after the abrupt loss of her sister, she’d never have the nerve to go after an unobtainable dream like him.

Tonight, she moved out of the shadows and officially into the spotlight.

“Are you here for the reading event?” Stacy Moffitt asked her in a bored tone as she slipped an iPad and phone in a manila envelope and wound a numbered string around the enclosure.

Eleanor took heart from Stacy’s lack of attention. Maybe Stacy wouldn’t notice who she was. Stacy worked under Jimmy Garcia. Jimmy was the director of special events at the Illinois Historical Museum, and Eleanor’s longtime friend. Eleanor worked for the museum too, as the conservation and preservation librarian. Jimmy had been called out of town unexpectedly yesterday, which was a good thing for Eleanor. Jimmy was the only other person on earth who knew about her obsession with Trey Riordan. He didn’t, however, know about her aggressive plan for finally getting his attention.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Eleanor told Stacy.

“There’s a strictly enforced ‘no talking’ policy during reading hours. I need you to turn in all cell phones, tablets and computers. This is a technology-free zone. We only want you focusing on your book for the next two hours,” Stacy said in a preachy voice.

“Ah, I get it now. Thus the name of the event: Leave Everything Behind but a Book. Clever,” Eleanor said under her breath as she dug in the Italian designer bag that used to belong to her sister, Caddy. Stacy glanced up at her sarcastic tone. The way Jimmy’s assistant gaped at her disbelievingly was not flattering.

“Eleanor. Is that you?”

“None other,” Eleanor replied grimly, placing her cell phone on the counter. With a furious effort, she held the young woman’s stare. She would not be cowed a mere minute into her performance.

Stacy’s gaze dropped down over her snug suede bodice and the fitted, conservative blazer paired with it. As far as Eleanor knew, her sister Caddy had only worn the outfit once. Eleanor had practically achieved photosynthesis, she’d been so green with envy when she’d watched her sister leave her condo in it. The occasion had been an Odesza concert given by Chicago socialite Sasha Allen Severnsen exclusively for her closest friends in honor of Caddy’s thirty-third birthday. Caddy was always having awesome, glamorous parties thrown for her. Along with the short skirt, dark brown tights and the soft, fitted, beige thigh-high Rockerchick boots, the outfit screamed money, good times, boldness and sex. In other words, it had Caddy stamped all over it.

Stacy’s stare lingered on the tops of Eleanor’s breasts. The suede bodice had cupped them softly in a seduction that was somehow both tasteful and flagrant at once. It wasn’t just a sensual invitation to Trey Riordan either. Eleanor herself was being seduced by the feeling of the suede against her bare breasts.