Seduction (The Secret Billionaire Asher Christmas Duet Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Z. L. Arkadie Books

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-942857-73-0

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  You Might Like These Series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Penina Ross

  Ugh, here he comes.

  I ducked my head and nearly stared a hole through the wood grain of the bar, praying I’d gotten it wrong and that Rich Durbin, my ex-boyfriend, was not approaching me and we hadn’t locked eyes a few seconds ago. What did my gaze reveal? I was sure I hadn’t shown more than how shocked I was to see him in Bellies Bar and Grill. According to the great Rich Durbin, backup quarterback for the New Orleans Quest, the eatery, which catered mostly to those who worked at Unity Memorial Hospital across the street, wasn’t cool enough for him. The spots he frequented always had plenty of professional athletes with their entourages and groupies.

  I squeezed my eyes shut to think. In a matter of seconds, I would know if Rich was coming to see me or not. We’d broken up at the end of summer, which meant I hadn’t seen him for two, nearly three months. Have I missed him? Perhaps a smidgen, maybe not. I’d been so busy at the hospital that time without him flew by. However, we had dated for three years, which was one thousand ninety-four days too long.

  Rich was a serial cheater and, like most men, wasn’t that good at it. I used to occasionally receive phone calls from random women informing me that my boyfriend had given her an STD, which was never transmitted to me. I never slept with him without a condom. Instinct always warned me to protect myself in that department, and I always followed my gut.

  Also, the occasional girl came into the hospital, requesting me as their physician, only to learn that I was a neurosurgery resident, which meant that if her brain didn’t need to be sliced open for any reason, and bad judgment for getting involved with Rich didn’t qualify, then I was the wrong doctor for her.

  Sometimes the crazies showed up where I lived and banged on my door. After the fourth time that happened, I developed a process with Jamie, the building manager. I would call her. She would call her brother Joe, who was a local police officer, and he and his partner would stop by and escort the crazy lady out of the building and threaten to arrest her for trespassing if she showed up again.

  To say that dating Rich Durbin had been stressful was an understatement. It would be a spring day in hell before I went back to him.

  However, when a large hand came down on my back, I knew I couldn’t escape him.

  “Pen,” he said jollily, as if he was ultra-excited to see me.

  Everyone called me Pen, short for Penina. I hated my name. Grade school bullies had had a field day with it. I’d been called Pinhead, Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and other silly insults that were only funny to fifth graders.

  I smiled hesitantly. “Rich? What are you doing here?”

  He freely put his arm around my upper back and guided me in for a hug. “You look good, as usual.”

  I squeezed my arms against the sides of my chest, remembering how I never wanted him to touch me again. He had also avoided answering a direct question. Experience had taught me that he was hiding something, and such secrets usually involved another woman. Suddenly, all I wanted him to do was get as far away from me as possible. The feeling was like being overtaken by a wave of severe PMS. I wanted him to evaporate into thin air and get out of my life forever.

  Rich pointed at the glass in front of me. “Wait, you’re drinking alcohol?”

  “It’s tonic water with lemon,” I mumbled and pointed at my wings. “I’m here for a bite before heading home, but you already know that.”

  He sneered. “To sleep, then you’re back at the hospital to do it again and again and fucking again.”

  My brow furrowed. “Yeah,” I said, remembering how he’d complained about the exorbitant amount of time I spent at the hospital. “So, why are you here again?”

  He sniffed then scratched an eyebrow before donning his famous lopsided smile. The expression used to give me butterflies but not anymore. It was official. I was over him.

  “I’m here because I’m meeting someone,” he said.

  Even though I was tired after an on-call shift and didn’t feel like carrying on a conversation, I piped up, “Oh, are you meeting one of the ortho surgeons?”

  My question wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I’d met Rich because on the day Dr. Nordoff was to perform an arthroscopic surgery to repair his wrist, Rich passed out in the bed. His CT scan revealed a brain bleed. If he hadn’t been in the hospital already, he could’ve died. I was the resident assigned to him. During my post-surgery rounds, the first question I asked him was “How are you feeling today, Mr. Durbin?”

  He went from appearing irritated about being bedridden to flashing his charming smile. “Better now that you’re here…” His eyebrows rose as he studied my name tag. “Whoa, the beautiful Dr. Ross. Today’s my lucky day.”

  I was used to being hit on by male patients, but I would never cross that line. My patients needed to view me as a medical professional only, especially when their health and, oftentimes, their lives, depended on me. Plus, a relationship was the last thing I had room for in my life, so initially, I kept our interactions genial but professional. However, every time I walked into his hospital room, Rich’s face would light up. He would engage me in conversation, which always ended up with me revealing something to him I hadn’t known about myself. My revelations weren’t deep, but they were certainly delightful. For instance, I didn’t know I loved The Southern Candymakers so much until I told him how often I walked down to their store on Decatur to buy turtles and pralines to help get me through a night-call shift. Or whenever I had a few moments to spare, I liked to visit old cemeteries just to remind myself how old the city was. He seemed so delighted by everything I said. For a professional athlete, I found him down to earth and nice back then, cute too with his wavy neck-length brown hair and seductive brown eyes. Rich also had a powerful frame, the sort that would have made him a champion gladiator.

  On the day he checked out of the hospital, he held my hand for way too long and said, “I’m not over you yet, Dr. Ross.”

  I just smiled, feeling no need to tell him that I hadn’t felt the same way.

  Then the next day, he sent enough turtles and pralines from The Southern Candymakers to make the day of our entire ward. It went on for a week, and each delivery came with a card that had a message that said something like, “Beauty and brains, my perfect woman” or, “Practice went perfect because of your healing hands, Dr. Beautiful.”

  One d
ay, he personally delivered the candy himself and asked me on a date in front of everyone who was at the care station. Red-faced from embarrassment and utterly charmed into submission, I said yes. One dinner led to the next, then another, and soon we were making love and referring to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend.

  The more dates we went on, the more I realized we had hardly anything in common. That wasn’t a bad thing—we were just different. Whenever we were together, I would smile and try to stay awake as he talked about his coach, the team, and the trainers. He had a dog named Buddy that I liked, but Buddy wasn’t the reason I stayed with his owner for way past our relationship expiration date. Rich had the family I always dreamed of, headed by his father, Ray, and stepmother, Caroline, who lived in Houston, Texas. On rare occasions when he or I had precious holiday time off, Rich would fly us to Houston so that we could spend that day with his family. My favorite gatherings with the Durbins had been the Super Duper Fourth of July Texas Barbecue Cookout and the Labor Day Luncheon. The previous year, they’d hosted a mean Thanksgiving and Christmas as well. No one could do family like the Durbins. They were good at it. They were respectful of each other, and the gatherings had lots of laughing, dancing, food, and love. Oh, the food. The day I broke up with Rich, I knew I would miss Ray and Caroline. They would never have me without him. But the trade-off, his cheating for their company, was far more than any self-respecting woman could tolerate.

  Rich still hadn’t answered my question, and I was about to ask it again when he rubbed his hands together and said, “Here she comes.”

  I swiveled to see what had captured his attention. He was watching Courtney Peters, a nurse who worked at the hospital. Her silk camisole blouse showed off her plump, fake tits. Her long, slender legs were wrapped in tight skinny jeans, and her enormous amount of blond hair made her tiny face look even smaller. She certainly wasn’t coming on or going off shift. And she was beaming at Rich as if he were her sun. I felt my heart sink into my stomach. No way. Courtney and I were friends, not the best of friends, but we were at least solid acquaintances. I had complained to her about Rich on several occasions. She knew what sort of dump he was. Surely, she hadn’t gotten herself involved with him.

  I got my answer when they greeted each other and hugged and kissed in front of me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and worked like crazy to keep my jaw from dropping.

  Courtney’s eyes sparkled, and a grin stretched wide across her face when she said, “Pen, you’re still around.”

  Speechless, I raised my hand at Roy, the bartender, to let him know I was ready to pay for my wings. “Not anymore,” I muttered, feeling ambushed.

  Roy slid a basket of wings and fries in front of another patron. “Can I put it on your tab? I’m busy.”

  I nodded. Bellies was almost always packed at that hour. I heard they had the best drinks in the vicinity. They certainly had the best bourbon wings. I swiped my bag off the back of my stool, ready to escape the presence of my ex and the chipper and backstabbing nurse as fast as I could.

  “No, stay. Have a drink with us,” Courtney said. She was smiling as if the picture she was presenting by standing next to my ex with his arm around her was acceptable.

  My gaze flitted between the two of them, then I slid out of my seat. “Sorry, I’ve been here too long already.” My smile couldn’t be faker as I said, “But you guys enjoy yourselves.”

  Courtney stepped in front of me to block my path. Her brazenness made me draw back and assess the situation further. Not only was she in my way, but she had something purposeful about her expression. I felt it was by no accident she and Rich were standing in front of me.

  “So, I invited you to my Midsummer’s Night NOLA-Style Feast, remember?” Courtney sang as if she was about to break some bad news to me.

  I tipped my head back and said, “Yeah.”

  Courtney was hosting the most popular party of the year. Everyone in our ward was invited, and I was counting on being there. I hated being left out. Not only that, but I wasn’t a fan of being alone for too long either. I had no family that hosted big gatherings or lavish parties. I hardly had any family at all. My mother was missing in action yet again, and I’d never met my father. My aunt Christine, my mother’s sister, was in my life, but we rarely visited each other.

  Courtney touched my hand as if she were consoling me, and perhaps she was. The look on my face probably made her think she needed to. “I… we…” She rubbed Rich’s massive back. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re a couple before you show up at the party, and well… you know.” She turned the corners of her mouth down as if she could feel the severe heartache I was supposed to be experiencing.

  I wasn’t a snide person, but I fought the urge to behave as one and say something like, No, Court, I don’t know, and may his perpetually itchy dick give you itchy pussy.

  Instead I forced a smile. “Sure,” I said in a strained voice and cleared my throat. “And really, I don’t have a problem with the two of you being together. Um, congratulations.”

  I hoped that was the truth and felt that it was, sort of. I didn’t want to be disinvited from the biggest party of the year. Everyone was going. Dr. Deb Glasgow, our chief resident, had created a killer schedule designed to make sure everyone worked a limited number of hours on the day before, of, and after the party so that we could eat, drink, dance, and stay out as long as our hearts desired. I would be working three hours on night call, which meant I would be as fresh as a baby’s powdered bottom, which wasn’t my usual state. The rest of my colleagues and I were perpetually exhausted and would be so until the last day of our residency. I had a month and a half to go.

  “Great,” Courtney sang. I could tell she either didn’t believe me or didn’t want to. She was the sort of girl who acquired a morsel of gratification from having something someone else coveted. That was because she liked to show off her toys—new shoes, new jewelry, new purse, new boyfriend, big new house, new this or that—and would simper as she watched everyone say ooh and ahh.

  “Well, okay, then. Goodbye,” I said in a rush, wanting to vacate the scene at warp speed.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have a drink?” Courtney asked.

  “She doesn’t drink,” Rich said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him then fake-smiled at Courtney again. His purporting to know what I did or didn’t do bothered me. He wasn’t my boyfriend, which meant he was no longer allowed to talk about my habits. That was such an intimate thing to do.

  Thumbing toward the exit, I said, “I’m on the back end of a thirty-hour shift. So, I’m leaving.”

  Before I could take a step back, Courtney hugged me. She always smelled like a strawberries and sweet perfume. I avoided looking at Rich, but I could feel him watching me.

  “I’m glad you’re cool about this,” she said, still squeezing me. “I was worried. I mean, we can’t help who we fall in love with, can we?”

  Instead of shouting, “Bullshit,” I gave another tight smile then said, “Right, uh-huh. Goodbye,” before walking away as fast as I could, maneuvering past tables like a pinball, on my way out of Bellies.

  The nearby Mississippi River made the humidity more intense. I wasn’t one of those people who was made famished by too much humidity, though. I was from the dry desert, and the New Orleans air reminded me how far away I was from my early days. After the excitement from my encounter with Rich and Court, I remembered how exhausted I was, but I’d been drained since day one of my residency, so it wasn’t that much of a distraction. With each step, I couldn’t shake out of my head the picture of the two of them standing beside each other, appearing as though they were the perfect couple. I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for Courtney, though. She had been forewarned about Rich. If she wanted to date a serial cheater, then she would get what she signed up for.

  As I plodded along, my legs and arms were as heavy as cinder blocks, and the dull ache in my head warned me that my grace period to be awake was al
most over. I usually slept well once I crawled into bed and put my eye mask on. However, I was beginning to fear that what happened at Bellies might continue to vex me and, as a result, disturb my precious sleep. Suddenly, my mental image of them morphed into a plastic couple on top of a wedding cake. Soon, she would be able to hobnob with Caroline and Ray. I had no doubt they would like Courtney. She could hoot it up with the best of them, even if her cheery, dearie, fun-girl-slash-good-girl persona was fake.

  I forced myself to pay attention to cute shops I passed as I walked under wraparound balconies. I worked and lived in the Warehouse District. Each day, I was reminded of why I’d chosen to do my residency in New Orleans. I’d become enamored with the city during my freshman year of college. Nat, my then-dormmate, was from Baton Rouge. Every Thanksgiving, I would go home with her for the holiday, and we would make our way to the Big Easy to party on Frenchman Street. The live bands, the excitement, the dancing, and the boys all merged to be the most exhilarating experience ever. I thought for certain the partying and fun would continue, but I hadn’t been able to partake in either since day one of my residency.

  Finally, my building was in sight, and I released the tension in my shoulders a bit. I lived on the third floor of a four-story apartment complex that used to be a brick warehouse. Feeling as if I were almost on my last leg, I stared at the iron gate that stood between me and the front door. As I repeated my gate code to myself, which was something I did to keep my eyes open, a tall drink of water walked out onto the stoop.

  My brow furrowed and released as my gaze locked in on him. The more I advanced, the harder it was to look away. I’d never seen the guy before. All tenants in the building worked at the hospital in some capacity, so I’d seen just about everyone before but never him. I was drawn to his strong posture the most. Truly confident men always turned me on. I watched as he shook a cigarette out of a package, put the stick in his mouth, and lit it.