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  Caress of Pleasure

  A Dark Pleasures Novella

  By Julie Kenner

  1001 Dark Nights

  Caress of Pleasure

  A Dark Pleasures Novella

  By Julie Kenner

  Copyright 2015 Julie Kenner

  ISBN: 978-1-940887-56-2

  Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose

  Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Book Description

  Caress of Pleasure

  I'd thought that he was mine, the dark, arresting man who commanded not only my body but my heart. Dante had swept into my life, and I'd succumbed to the burn of passion in his arms.

  I'd believed we had a love that would last forever, but he'd shattered my dreams and broken me into pieces when he'd walked away, taking a piece of my soul with him.

  Now he has come back seeking my help, and though I try to keep my distance and protect my heart, I cannot deny that the fire between us burns hotter than ever. And I cannot help but fear that this time our passion will reduce us both to ashes.

  About Julie Kenner

  J. Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1 International bestselling author of over seventy novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.

  Though known primarily for her award-winning and international bestselling erotic romances (including the Stark and Most Wanted series) that have reached as high as #2 on the New York Times bestseller list, JK has been writing full time for over a decade in a variety of genres including paranormal and contemporary romance, “chicklit” suspense, urban fantasy, and paranormal mommy lit.

  Her foray into the latter, Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner, has been consistently in development in Hollywood since prior to publication. Most recently, it has been optioned by Warner Brothers Television for development as series on the CW Network with Alloy Entertainment producing.

  JK has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a “flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations” and by RT Bookclub for having “cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them.” A four time finalist for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy).

  Her books have sold well over a million copies and are published in over over twenty countries.

  In her previous career as an attorney, JK worked as a clerk on the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, and practiced primarily civil, entertainment and First Amendment litigation in Los Angeles and Irvine, California, as well as in Austin, Texas. She currently lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and two rather spastic cats.

  Also From JK

  (Click to purchase)

  Erotic romance

  As Julie Kenner

  Caress of Darkness

  Find Me in Darkness

  Find Me in Pleasure

  Find Me in Passion

  Caress of Pleasure

  As J. Kenner

  Stark Series novels

  Release Me (a New York Times and USA Today bestseller)

  Claim Me (a #2 New York Times bestseller!)

  Complete Me (a #2 New York Times bestseller!)

  Stark Ever After novellas

  Take Me

  Have Me

  Play My Game

  Stark International novels

  Say My Name

  On My Knees

  Under My Skin

  Stark International novellas

  Tame Me

  The Most Wanted series

  Wanted

  Heated

  Ignited

  Other Genres

  Kate Connor Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom Series (suburban fantasy/paranormal)

  Carpe Demon

  California Demon

  Demons Are Forever

  The Demon You Know

  Deja Demon

  Demon Ex Machina

  Pax Demonica

  The Protector (Superhero) Series (paranormal romance)

  The Cat's Fancy (prequel)

  Aphrodite's Kiss

  Aphrodite's Passion

  Aphrodite's Secret

  Aphrodite's Flame

  Aphrodite's Embrace

  Aphrodite’s Delight

  Aphrodite’s Charms (boxed set)

  Dead Friends and Other Dating Dilemmas

  Blood Lily Chronicles (urban fantasy romance)

  Tainted

  Torn

  Turned

  The Blood Lily Chronicles (boxed set)

  Devil May Care Series (paranormal romance)

  Raising Hell

  Sure As Hell

  By J. Kenner as J.K. Beck:

  Shadow Keepers Series (dark paranormal romance)

  When Blood Calls

  When Pleasure Rules

  When Wicked Craves

  Shadow Keepers: Midnight (e-novella)

  When Passion Lies

  When Darkness Hungers

  When Temptation Burns

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  1001 Dark Nights story

  The First Night

  by Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  About Julie Kenner

  Also from Julie Kenner

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Also From 1001 Dark Nights

  An excerpt from Say My Name by J. Kenner

  Special Thanks

  One Thousand and One Dark Nights

  Once upon a time, in the future…

  I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.

  I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and

  the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast

  library at my father’s home and collected thousands

  of volumes of fantastic tales.

  I learned all about ancient races and bygone

  times. About myths and legends and dreams of all

  people through the millennium. And the more I read

  the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered

  that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually

  become part of them.

  I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher

  and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I

  would not be telling you this tale now.

  But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off

  with bravery.

  One afternoon, curious about the myth of the

  Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to

  see for myself if it was true that every
day Shahryar

  (Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then

  sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written

  and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,

  the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand

  women.

  Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived

  in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged

  places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had

  never occurred before and that still to this day, I

  cannot explain.

  Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have

  taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can

  protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to

  protect herself and stay alive.

  Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

  And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a

  point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

  And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that

  he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

  As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new

  one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before

  you now.

  Chapter 1

  Dante strode through the members’ area of Dark Pleasures, ignoring the coy looks from two women, both of whom he’d fucked within the last six months. He wasn’t interested in them. Hell, he wasn’t even interested in the exceptionally nubile young actress who’d spent the last two nights in his bed. Or in the curvy detective who’d warmed his sheets for three days before that.

  His fling with that leggy gallery owner had lasted almost two weeks, but he’d known it was doomed from the beginning. There was never a real spark, and when he’d caught his mind wandering while she was sucking his cock, he knew that it was time to move on.

  He was drowning in a sea of women, and he’d never been more lonely.

  Damn, but he was fucked up.

  With a sigh, he paused in front of the long mahogany bar. He turned, leaning back against it and letting the soft strains of music from the five-piece orchestra in the corner drift over him. After a moment, Gregory, the club’s newly hired bartender, approached from behind. “Anything for you, sir?”

  Dante shook his head. “I’m not staying. Not tonight.” He turned to face the younger man. Twenty-six, an aspiring actor. He was a recent hire and had the bearing and respectful attitude that did the members-only club credit.

  As one of the owners, Dante spent a great deal of time in this room, chatting up members at the bar, discussing literature in the corners while smoking a fine cigar and sipping scotch. Flirting with the women in the shadows, and then inviting a select few back to his brownstone next door.

  It had become a routine, sometimes a pleasure. Always a distraction.

  Tonight, he wanted none of it.

  Although, actually, he did want a drink. Five or six, even. Just not here.

  One of the women—Lisa? Liesl?—tried to catch his attention as he pushed away from the bar, but he passed her without comment as he moved with purpose to the far side of the room, then punched his code into the keypad to enter the private VIP area, exclusive only to Dark Pleasures’ owners and their special guests.

  He stepped inside, relieved to be away from the crowd, to not have to be on his best behavior. And to not have to watch every tiny word he said, lest he give some inadvertent hint that Dark Pleasures—and the men who owned it—weren’t exactly as they seemed.

  The decor in the VIP lounge was similar to that in the main area—stunning paintings, comfortable furniture, leather and wood, and the kind of dim lighting that gave the place a smoky feel appropriate for an establishment that focused on fine liquor and even finer cigars.

  But unlike the members’ area, the lounge had an additional quality of casual camaraderie. Of coming home. Because to the men and women of the Phoenix Brotherhood, this place really was a second home. Certainly, it was where they gathered to be with family.

  Here, no bartender was needed, and Dante headed straight to the bar, grabbed one of the whiskey glasses, and poured himself two fingers of Glenmorangie.

  He kept his back to the room, letting the voices of his friends in the brotherhood drift over him. Liam, Mal, Raine. And the women, Jessica and Callie and Christina. He hadn’t seen Dagny when he entered, and he didn’t hear her now.

  He wasn’t surprised. She’d been spending time with a mortal—Christina’s old roommate and best friend. And while Dagny swore it wasn’t serious, Dante could see that hungry look in her eyes—and oh, dear Christ, he pitied her. He’d fallen for a mortal, after all. And after thirteen years, the memory of Brenna Hart still had the power to wreck him.

  Hell, it was wrecking him right now.

  Fuck.

  He pushed through the melancholy, forcing it out of his mind by checking out and just letting the sounds and scents flow through him some more. The drift of conversation. The clink of ice in glasses. That uniquely sweet scent of scotch mixed with the pungent tang of fine cigars. Even in his current mood, it was soothing.

  Hell, it was home.

  Of course, not everyone was around. Asher and Trace were both out of the country this week, and Pieter, who had spent the last twenty years heading up the Bangkok office, was busy moving into the guest apartment until he decided where he wanted to settle in Manhattan.

  Slowly, Dante rolled his neck, working out the kinks. Then he tossed back the scotch and poured himself another.

  A moment later, Raine edged up beside him, grabbed the bottle, and poured a glass of his own. Dante glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye.

  Raine ran a hand over his close-shaved head, sighed, and then took a long swallow before shifting his stance to prop his elbow on the bar and focus that razor-sharp attention on Dante.

  For centuries, Raine had walked with a shadow. Hell, he’d seemed dead, which was damned ironic considering he was immortal. But that shadow had dissipated months ago. Now, Raine practically burst with life. And Dante knew the reason—Callie. Raine had been reunited with his mate, and while Dante was happy as shit for his friend, he was also so goddamn fucking jealous he was making himself crazy.

  Shit.

  He poured again. He drank again.

  And then he refilled his glass one more time.

  Beside him, Raine eyed him impassively. “Bad day?”

  “Bad century,” Dante said, then corrected himself. “No, bad thirteen years. Fuck.” He tossed back the last of his drink, then grabbed the bottle.

  “Dante...”

  Raine’s voice held an edge of understanding, and Dante cringed. Truth was, if anyone understood it would be Raine. For thousands of years Raine had been alone, believing his love was lost forever. So, yeah, maybe he got it.

  But right now, Dante didn’t care about understanding. He didn’t care about pity. He wanted only one thing, and that was something he couldn’t have.

  He’d tossed Brenna away with both hands thirteen years ago because it was impossible, and though he knew he’d done the right thing, every few years the weight of the loss seemed to add up until it finally pushed him down and he had to just give in and wallow.

  Tomorrow, he’d find another woman to take the edge off. Tonight, he’d lie in bed, drink, and remember.

  “Come on, man,” Raine said. “Mal’s got a call with London so he’s not up for a game of chess, but I could use one.

  “I’m not good company tonight.”

  “Planning a bender?”

  “Gonna do my best.” Considering his—and all the brotherhood’s—remarkable ability to heal, getting drunk really wasn’t in the cards. But if he tossed back shot after shot, maybe he could at least get a little buzz on. Right now, the prospect was pretty damned appealing.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  Dante actually chuckled. Raine was a damn good fri
end, but touchy-feely he wasn’t. If he was offering Dante the chance to spill his emotional debris all over the polished wooden floor, then Dante must look more wrecked than he’d thought.

  He glanced across the room and saw Callie, Raine’s mate. His wife. The woman he’d been bound to thousands of years ago—and at the same time the woman he’d known for only a few months. And there was Mal, sitting on the leather sofa talking into his phone while Christina curled up beside him, her feet on his lap as she read a book. They’d been reunited after thousands of years apart. Mated. Bound.

  Fated.

  And as for Liam and Jessica, they’d been side-by-side for three thousand years, and now she was whispering something in his ear and he had his arm around her waist, and it was all just so goddamn fucking perfect that Dante—

  “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  No way was he shitting all over his friends’ happiness.

  Better to try and drown his troubles. Or at least take a long nap. He lifted the bottle as if in salute. “I’ll be back to myself tomorrow. Tonight, I’m just a little fucked up. You’ll excuse me. I need to go valiantly try to drink myself into oblivion. I’ll fail, but I’m up for the challenge.”

  * * * *

  “Dante, hold up a second!”

  Mal’s voice rang out from across the room, and Dante swallowed a curse before he turned around to face his friend, who also happened to be the co-leader of the brotherhood along with Liam. But leader or not, Dante was going to tell Mal that whatever it was could wait until morning.

  Or he was going to say that until he saw the look on Mal’s face. Shock and grief and the gray sheen of past pain. And underneath that, Dante saw just the slightest hint of hope.