ShakenandStirred Read online

  Shaken and Stirred

  M.A. Ellis

  Susanne is one final challenge away from winning a national beverage competition and reaching the pinnacle of her career—a management position with a very wealthy client. She’s intent that nothing will stand in her way. Not even the drop-dead-sexy cowboy who sidles up to her at the hotel bar.

  Lucifer Treyton Ryder is under express orders from his uncle to find Susanne and do whatever it takes to have her disqualified. Trey plans to take her to bed and keep her there until the security team discovers them together. It’s against the rules. It’s a foolproof plan. Until the auburn-haired beauty shows more than a passing interest in a bit of yee-haw rope play.

  Before Susanne realizes what he’s about, Trey has her hands expertly bound and she’s forced to make a choice—play it safe or allow the devilishly tempting man full rein for an evening of uninhibited loving? A “perfect” stranger and kinky sex? Susanne’s about to make a choice that could cost her everything.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Shaken and Stirred

  ISBN 9781419923265

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Shaken and Stirred Copyright © 2009 M.A. Ellis

  Edited by Pamela Campbell

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication December 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Shaken and Stirred

  M.A. Ellis

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Brooks Brothers: Retail Brand Alliance, Inc.

  Deere (John Deere): Deere & Company Corporation

  FFA: Future Farmers of America Corporation

  GQ: Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.

  Gentleman Jack Rare Tennessee Whiskey: Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.

  Jack (Jack Daniel’s): Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.

  Ketel One: Double Eagle Brands, NV L.L.C.

  Lamborghini: Same Deutz-Fahr S.p.A

  Lipizzaner Stallions: White Stallion Productions, Inc.

  Louboutin: Christian Louboutin

  Mercedes: Daimler Chrysler AG Corporation

  Old No. 7: Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.

  Porsche: Dr. Ing. h. c. f. Porsche Aktiengesellschaft Corporation

  Resistol: RHE Hatco, Inc.

  Sapphire (Bombay Sapphire Distilled London Dry Gin): Bombay Spirits Company Limited

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Whitestrips: Proctor & Gamble Company

  The Lone Ranger: Classic Media Inc.

  The Wild, Wild West: CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  Chapter One

  “Alrighty…let’s recap, shall we?”

  Susanne Webb swirled the thin black straw, forming a mini whirlpool in her cocktail as she listened to her new friend.

  “I’m focusing on the Rocky Mountain High toothpaste maven and you’re looking at that West Palm ‘you’re fired’ piece of work.”

  “I think we can call them by their names,” Susanne laughed. “We’re not knee-deep in espionage, Gia.”

  “Are you crazy?” the built-like-a-brick-house brunette said in a loud voice before quickly lowering her tone. “You’ve gotta be crafty, woman. Competition has officially turned brutal. This morning one of the chefs in my sector lost an entire eight-quart bowl of the best white chocolate in the free world when a sous-chef from the entrée division ‘accidentally’ tripped and upended his bottle of water into the bowl. Allegiances are being formed and then realigned at rates that make a woman’s head spin.”

  “Well, we’re not so cutthroat here on the mixology side of things,” Susanne said, taking a sip of her no-frills vodka and cranberry juice. She’d spent the last four days creating cutting-edge cocktails for celebrity judges and icons of the restaurant world. She had no time for alliances and no need for anything at the moment other than two simple ingredients and a wedge of lime. The producers of the competition had them sequestered in a high-end oceanfront hotel. There were no phones or internet or hotel menus that they might glean some great pairings from—something that would give them just the edge they needed to blow their fellow contestants out of the water. She’d stick with the basics all the way around. They hadn’t let her down thus far.

  “Not cutthroat, huh? I can guarantee the Dynamic Douche Bags are plotting your demise as we speak.” Gia nodded her head toward the corner and Susanne spun slowly around on the tall barstool to take a look.

  The two men had staked their claim on the farthest corner of the lounge, which was just fine with Susanne. The duo of overly confident, undeniably pampered, highly inebriated bartenders-turned-managers should have been cut off an hour ago. But the man and woman behind the huge, brushed metal bar were extending some professional courtesy to their brethren. Susanne understood their willingness to allow the drinks to flow. It was no different from people living vicariously through the successes of their children or favorite sports teams. Rooting for the people you share a commonality with was second nature. Bartenders were no different from any other working stiffs who inhabited the planet. When one of their own grasped a handful of fame, pride surged in all.

  And tomorrow when the competition was over, Susanne intended to be the victor. The thirty-thousand-dollar cash prize was a decent payday but it was the contacts that would be made that Susanne found ten times more rewarding. There was no way she was letting anything deter her from bettering her livelihood.

  It was fortuitous that the members of the National Consortium of Restaurateurs had chosen South Beach for this year’s event. High five for home-field advantage! Knowing where to find the best local ingredients, a fact that was paramount to winning any creative culinary competition no matter what the subgenre, had given her a leg up. She had been nearly giddy when the previous elimination challenge required the use of at least one fresh Chinese fruit. She owed her ex’s grandmother a debt of gratitude for smuggling in a fragile sapling when she had emigrated from southern China seventy years ago. Susanne’s lychee martini had sent two contestants home and propelled her into one of the three final spots in the spirits division.

  She watched her male competitors each wrap an arm around the other’s shoulder in a show of mock solidarity. There was no way in hell they were having a true “I love you, man” moment.

  “Don’t waste your time worrying about them. You’ve kicked their collective asses with your arsenal of creative concoctions and they know it.”

  Susanne looked at Gia and smiled. She had met her ally
in the hotel’s registration line less than a week before. Somewhere between the “Enter Here” sign and a heavily tanned customer service associate asking them “Who’s next?” they had struck up a friendship—both heaving sighs of relief when they established that they weren’t competing against each other.

  “Right back at you, queen of the coconut crème brûlée,” Susanne said.

  “You’re too kind,” Gia said, offering Susanne a regal nod. “And I’m sure as shit not going to get an executive pastry chef position with Ms. Whitestrips with something that mundane. The gods of superfine sugar and fire were apparently watching over me yesterday. The last thing I want tomorrow is another win by default.”

  “You did not win by default.”

  “Right. Three desserts over-caramelized, three chefs who needed to be eliminated. Mere coincidence? No freakin’ way. Change of subject—word on the boulevard is they’re bringing in entertainment to help alleviate the night-before-finale jitters.”

  “Really?” Susanne had learned by the end of the first day that for some reason the pastry folks were the gatherers of the gossip. “They’ve got plenty to choose from this weekend. There’s some huge world championship bull-riding thing at the arena. The Lipizzaner Stallions are somewhere in The Gables and I think my aunt said one of the larger circuses is setting up outside the stadium.”

  “Holy shit,” Gia said, taking a sip of her club soda and lime. “None of those sound overly diverting. I doubt a bunch of bowlegged chuck-wagon-food lovers are going to be rubbing elbows with eight of the nation’s leading restaurant gods. And I hope to hell they keep the equines safe from that dude Ken, who is tops in the appetizer division. He was telling everyone, the other day, how wonderfully tasty horsemeat can be if marinated properly. What a psycho.”

  Susanne joined Gia in a shiver of disgust before commenting. “Then it’s probably going to be clowns and sword swallowers.”

  “Hah! That might just give you the edge you need. I’m pretty sure those two pretty boys you’re up against aren’t strangers to sheathing a dagger or two in places not mentionable in mixed company. Something long and strong that subliminally represents a fourteen-inch cock will throw them into a tizzy, ensuring that you, the always-focused Mistress of Mixology, shall blend her way to victory.”

  Susanne smiled and shook her head. “They’re not gay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure…but then again, I was wrong about you.”

  “Most are,” Gia said with a wink. “God played a cruel joke on the male populace when he gave me huge boobs and a giant ass. I seem to be every guy’s wet-yet-unattainable dream.”

  Susanne nodded and took a sip of her drink. She knew from experience how the bulk of male minds processed a woman’s worth. Giving consideration to what was above shoulder level was generally an afterthought for most men. She’d seen it time and again in the food and beverage industry. In the case of women like herself—women who weren’t “mammary gifted” as her grandmother liked to say—men tended to automatically consider her a little more intelligent than her counterparts. It hadn’t helped her sex life all that much, and it sure as hell had lost her tip money over the years, but it had certainly proven beneficial to her progressing to a level way beyond that of flair bartender.

  She had been executive bar manager for over five years, working hard to reach for a piece of pie that most would consider highly elusive to a woman with few business connections. She was ready for the move to the upper echelon. She would still implement her management skills but a win would guarantee she could have the pick of positions in the private sector of her choice. Those jobs came with excellent benefits and starting salaries that could never be equaled in the public arena. If she were fortunate enough to be hired for an estate position she could add all meals and lodging to the benefit package and that would put her just shy of six figures.

  “Holy dick-on-a-stick! Speaking of wet dreams! The Pony Express has apparently arrived.”

  Susanne followed Gia’s wide-eyed stare to the columned entrance of the lounge. Murmurs drifted through the crowded room as, one by one, the patrons noticed the denim-clad group of men who suddenly dominated the space. Some were large and bulky, others were not, but they all exuded an air of pure masculinity.

  “Are you, or are you not gay?” Susanne asked offhandedly as one drop-dead-gorgeous man after another started to break away from the pack. Several headed straight for the bar while others ambled slowly over to the huge wall of windows that offered a panoramic view of the wave-cresting Atlantic Ocean.

  “I wasn’t always a lover of the boxed lunch, babe. I’m more than capable of appreciating a perfectly chiseled body, be it male or female. These guys are gorgeous. Look at that one at the end of the line. Something that yummy puts a whole new meaning to ‘bringing up the rear’.”

  Susanne had already noticed the man who towered over the rest of the entourage. The contrast between his camel-colored hat against the dark browns and blacks of the other men in front of him caught her attention.

  “Think he’s the good guy?” Susanne asked softly before glancing back at Gia. “The Lone Ranger of the rodeo world perhaps?”

  “Are you kidding? The way those jeans hug all the right places? I think he’s probably a very good guy. Excellent eye, Suze. You feeling lucky enough to take part in a little game of Five-Card-Studly?”

  Susanne was unable to keep her gaze from drifting back to the spot where his tall form seemed rooted in place. “I’m not here for diversions.”

  “No matter how tasty they might be?” Gia asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Well, maybe you should be. Loosen up a little and see what the night brings. You’ve got zero prep work—nothing to brainstorm or devise. Until they give you the final drink challenge, your time is yours. Make the most of it, for god’s sake. I’m thinking you should let your last night as a contender go out with a bang. Literally.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Susanne said and laughed in a not-so-convincing manner. She’d made the dreaded mistake of telling Gia just how nonexistent her sex life had become.

  Now that the band of cowboys had dispersed, the relaxed stance of the man’s lean body set him apart from the other men in the room. While there was a nervous energy surrounding them, this man looked totally at ease with the activity surrounding him. Susanne took a moment to soak in every shred of his gorgeousness, forced to start with his firm jawline since the brim of his hat was obscuring the upper portion of his face. His dark facial hair was closely trimmed into a goatee and disconnected mustache that Susanne had seen on a thousand men, a thousand times before. For some ungodly reason, she had the urge to walk over and rub her thumb over the little vertical patch of hair between his full bottom lip and that strong chin.

  “Holy crap,” she whispered, clearing her suddenly dry throat before focusing on something other than the fact that she wanted to kiss him. She looked into her drink, wondering if the barmaid had given her a gratis double of Ketel One.

  “If there were a GQ for ranch hands, that man would be cover worthy,” Gia said.

  Just like that, Susanne looked back in his direction, picking up her perusal. He wore a white shirt. No western designs or cording or pearl-type snaps, which were worn by some of his associates. Just pure, crisp cotton that accentuated the sun-kissed hue of his face and the tempting view of the small triangle of his chest that leaving the top two buttons undone afforded anyone who cared to look. And a great number of the female contestants who were crowded into the lounge were definitely looking.

  The cut of the shirt accentuated the delicious fact that his broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist. He wore a dark leather belt with some sort of silver buckle but nothing as large and gaudy as some of his peers. His jeans were a medium shade of denim that was neither tight nor loose and Susanne watched him lean back against a pillar and cross one booted foot over the other. The simple action forced her to admit that Gia had been spot on. H
e possessed an enticingly impressive cradle of male flesh that would no doubt warrant him very good indeed.

  Susanne shook her head, trying to clear the illicit images that were starting to swirl. She focused instead on how he should have seemed out of place in a room filled with sleek furnishings and polished-chrome designs but he didn’t. Due in part to his palpable confidence. Having been surrounded all week by men who were constantly on edge and rethinking their every decision made him all the more attractive.

  “Oh my god. Look,” Gia whispered conspiratorially.

  Susanne reluctantly pulled her gaze from the cowboy and tried to see who had caught her friend’s attention. Gia was already on her feet, smoothing the creases from her black dress pants.

  “I might have to reevaluate my opinion of campfires and baked beans,” she said. Susanne watched her square her shoulders as if preparing for battle.

  “She’s just my type. Look at those legs. My god, they go on forever. Wish me luck, woman.”

  “Good luck,” Susanne finally said, but Gia was already halfway across the room, making a beeline for a woman wearing gray ostrich-skin boots, a short, black denim skirt and silky, silver tank top.

  Her friend’s movement caught the attention of every man in the room, including the one still lazing in the entryway. He lifted his head and Susanne got an unobstructed view of his face. His nose was long but not quite straight, as if it had been broken at one point and not quite properly set. She had no earthly idea why she found it totally sexy. Her taste in men tended to run more toward the Brooks Brothers set.

  Your taste in men has sucked so far.

  At least the executive types offered her something more conversational than local sports and fishing tournaments.

  Right. They talk about their jobs and their cars and the next big business acquisition. But surprise of all surprises, they seem to forget to talk about their wives or girlfriends. Imagine that!