Sweet Temptation: A Trick-Or-Treat Collaboration Read online

  Kat T. Masen

  Sweet Temptation

  A Trick or Treat Collaboration

  Kat. T. Masen

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations, or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  Editing by Swish Design & Editing

  Formatting by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover design by Opium House Creatives Copyright 2019

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2019 Kat T. Masen

  All Rights Reserved

  I wished for him.

  My sister’s husband.

  A man who should have been mine all along.

  In a twist-of-fate on Halloween, Scarlett’s wish comes true. The man she longed for now belongs to her.

  Noah Mason is the perfect husband, lover, and soulmate, everything Scarlett had so desperately wanted.

  Until he broke her.

  Just like he broke her sister.

  They say be careful what you wish for.

  Wishes can be brutal, unforgiving, and can be your living nightmare.

  And one night can change your entire world.

  For the good, the bad—and the ugly.

  Blurb

  Table of Contents

  Forward

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Kat T. Masen

  Connect With Me Online

  About The Author

  Trick or treat! We have something sweet for you to devour this Halloween! These sexy heroes are about to put you under their spell...

  But watch out for twists and turns, these new books will have you lusting for more!

  TEN brand new stories full of… eye-candy! This holiday collection is just the right treat to get you in the mood for a sinful Hollow’s Eve.

  Red Hot Night by C.M. Steele

  Pop Rocked by Elle Christensen

  Treat Me by KL Donn

  Love Spell by MA Foster

  His Hot Tamale by Mayra Statham

  Rock Candy by Regina Frame

  My Candy Apple by Terra Kelly

  Sweet as Candy by Tory Baker

  Spellbound by Tracie Douglas

  Sweet Temptation by Kat T. Masen

  .

  “Unrequited love is the infinite curse of a lonely heart.”

  ―Christina Westover

  T’was the night before Halloween, when all through the night

  Was a crowd full of people, Hollywood’s elite dressed in black and white;

  Fancy costumes, and masks, covered in bling

  And even those dressed scandalous wishing for a quick holiday fling;

  But there amongst the crowd, stood the man who owned my heart

  A man so unattainable, forbidden, and worlds apart;

  For he was the man my sister fell in love with and did wed

  And after the rainbow, their marriage fell dead;

  She threw it all away, their happiness, their life

  So, nothing could be done but to mourn the loss of his wife;

  He begged me to fix them, be the pawn in their twisted games

  But games are deceitful, and now’s he’s to blame;

  He broke them for good with a mistress one night

  Shattered everything about them with nothing more to fight;

  They could never be repaired, and if only for one day

  I wished it was me, a world no longer filled with gray;

  A world full of rainbows, for he would be mine

  But be careful what you wish for because it’s only a matter of time;

  For my heart to be broken, just likes hers, riddled with pain

  And now I wish I could take it all back, feel no love, no loss, no vain.

  “This is a fucking disaster.”

  The full-length mirror rests against my bedroom wall, the intricate gold carvings handcrafted by a designer from Italy. It is a ridiculously expensive piece, an impulse purchase fueled by an argument with a sleazy director and a bottle of Dom Pérignon. It became the apple of my eye in this lonely bedroom of mine, and admiring the beautiful gold carvings brought me more joy than the reflection I saw staring back at me.

  Turning to the side, my gaze shifts over the black lace dress in the reflection of the mirror. The dress is awful. Two sizes too big, made from some cheap polyester material. Puffy sleeves were not making a comeback despite what anyone told me.

  “What the hell was Gina thinking? This is the ugliest piece of shit I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t use this to clean the kitchen floor.” Valentino raises his voice, throwing his arms in the air in frustration before closing his eyes and massaging his scalp.

  Valentino is my stylist, self-confessed fashionista, and a fully-fledged drama queen. He lives and breathes fashion, and in the five years he’s worked for me, he hasn’t gotten a single outfit wrong.

  Until now.

  Standing beside me in his Gucci loafers, tight white slacks, and gold silk shirt, he rattles off a list of things he could do with this dress, which all coincidently involve using it as a rag.

  “Valentino,” I say sternly, attempting to rein in his focus. “The party’s in six hours. Do you have any other dresses? Surely, this can’t be the only one. You said there were five. I don’t understand why we can’t find something?”

  My jaw clenches, unable to control my own frustration with something that could have easily been avoided. A long-winded breath escapes my lips as I continue to wait for a response.

  This will be the last time I’ll work with this pathetic excuse for a designer. The bitch offered the dress I was supposed to be wearing to another A-lister celebrity. She has some sort of distaste or issue with me. Bets are it has something to do with her husband trying to get his hands on me at the Annual Met Gala last year. This act is of pure vengeance, but she is messing with the wrong person. Perhaps she doesn’t realize how easily I can destroy her career. I’ve done it before, and I am not afraid to do it again.

  “Scarlett, honey,” Valentino pleads, forcing a smile to keep the energy between us calm. “It’s not about finding something, it’s about the perfect dress. The spotlight is all yours tonight, darling. God forbid you walk out in something I wouldn’t wipe my ass with!”

  Everyone in the room snickers but me. Valentino isn’t helping, throwing childish jokes around while I’m standing here, without a dress, for tonight’s party.

  To anyone else, this wouldn’t be such a dilemma.

  But Hollywood
isn’t so forgiving.

  You fuck up—you pay the price.

  Valentino excuses himself, demanding his assistants follow him to the rack near the large bay window.

  There are four black bags hanging neatly on the clothing rack. Jemima, Valentino’s assistant, pulls the zipper down on bag number one. A loud gasp escapes his dramatic mouth, followed by his feeble attempt at pretending to faint from disgust. This happens another three times before I hear, “Es bonito.”

  There’s a flutter of excitement, some chatter, and a few claps. Valentino carries the dress over to me, laying it flat in my arms, then signing the cross as he silently mumbles some prayer about this dress being the one.

  Stepping off the small podium, with the dress in my hands, I walk into my wardrobe for privacy.

  This room is my favorite place in the entire house and just as large as my bedroom. The walls are painted in a beautiful shade of white called Chantilly Lace. I love it so much I even had my bedroom painted in the same color.

  Surrounding the walls are white, custom-built shelves, each fitted with warm downlights. The left-hand wall houses all my clothes—ballgowns, cocktail dresses, designer everything down to my undergarments. On the right-hand side is my pride and joy—the shoe wall. The last time Valentino counted, there were four-hundred and forty-seven pairs of shoes. Most of them have been given to me by labels in exchange for promotion, and the rest are from my obsession with shoe shopping.

  In the middle of the room, sitting over the marble floors, is a long, custom-made table made from an expensive dark oak. It showcases my jewelry, which is organized behind a glass display, including diamonds and pearls. Expensive and too many to count.

  There are a few armchairs in the room, all part of the Versailles-inspired theme, which cost an absolute fortune. Money well spent as far as I’m concerned. And since I have plenty of it, I barely give it a second thought.

  Carefully, I place the hanger on the hook, removing the ugly black dress and tossing it to the floor. Sliding the dress off the hanger, I admire the ivory fabric with exquisite beading and embroidered with Swarovski Crystals.

  After stepping in, I slide the dress slowly from my feet, pulling it toward my shoulders, careful not to damage any beading while relishing in the soft silk which lines the inside. The rear of the dress dips down to the edge of my lower back, so I quickly remove my bra and zip up to just above my waistline.

  The second it’s on, a zap of electricity shatters through me.

  I yelp, the static of the fabric tarnishing this almost perfect moment.

  It takes a few moments, and several deep breaths, to calm my pounding chest. The aftershock still paralyzing my thoughts, never having experienced such a reaction to a garment.

  Slowly walking back to the bedroom, everyone’s holding their breaths, hands on chest. Valentino is the first to lay his eyes on me, instantly fanning his face until Jemima hands him a silk handkerchief. Jemima beams, nodding in approval, as do my makeup and hair team—Jon, Gabriel, and Maurice.

  Valentino reaches his hands out for me, my own lying on his perfectly manicured hands. He clutches on tight, mumbling something in Spanish, but I know it’s good since he does so with a dignified smile.

  “Simplemente perfecto,” he boasts, wiping a tear away.

  “It’s slightly loose at my waist,” I complain.

  “Why have you stopped eating, darling? You’re becoming my alteration nightmare. It’s too late to call Camila, she left for Paris this morning. I’ll have to call Mama.”

  Great. I’ve never met Valentino’s Mama but can only imagine she’s just as extravagant as him. After all, she gave birth to this drama beast in front of me.

  With a room full of people, I don’t want to tell him my appetite had dwindled to barely anything after last week’s revelation. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach ached in pain, and my heart followed suit.

  Breathe.

  He’s not yours.

  “Okay, this is it!” Valentino’s loud clap echoes in the room, startling us all. “I want you guys back to complete hair and makeup in two hours. Mama is on her way. Stay here, let her alter the dress. And I want the final approval in three hours sharp. Comprende?”

  Everyone scurries out of the room, including Valentino who’s last, shutting the door with a loud click behind him.

  In a few short hours, guests will be arriving at what’s publicized as the biggest Halloween party in Hollywood. I used to thrive on this attention, known for throwing the most lavish parties in Tinseltown. Being the party host and center of attention was something I loved.

  All before him.

  I’ve almost forgotten what life was like before Noah Mason stepped into my world. Glamor, men at my beck-and-call, and voted Hollywood’s most beautiful actress. I had it all. A life designed to be the fantasy of every woman.

  My house in Bel Air was featured as one of the prime real estates in Los Angeles. It’s filled with everything glamorous and is complemented by the expensive cars parked in the driveway.

  I had it all. At least, I thought I had it all.

  Fame, wealth, and beauty.

  Then Noah stormed into my life, destroying my perfect world.

  I heard through a friend that three years ago when Noah first arrived in Los Angeles, he had his eyes set firmly on me.

  His obsession ran deep with me.

  But as if the universe would ever be on my side when it came to love, Karma was a downright bitch, and she had it out for me.

  During the time when Noah came into my life, I was at the height of my career and avoided dealing with anyone unless absolutely necessary. My fame had become this giant parade of popularity, taking on a life of its own.

  My security team was ramped up—I had only the best in the country around me. Everyone down to my housekeeping staff had an overhaul. Trust wasn’t so easy to come by in Hollywood, and I needed someone who would never let me down and always put me first.

  My sister, Morgan, ran my entire life. She was my personal assistant for as long as I’d been acting. She’s been there from day one, and there is no one in the world I trusted more than her.

  She knew what was right for me at the time, and it was keeping Noah away.

  I knew no different. Too busy up my own ass promoting movie after movie, until one day, she tells me she’s in love with him. It was the most ludicrous thing I’d ever heard—Morgan had a husband, and Wyatt was a good guy. I knew they were trying to separate, but for the sake of his son, Michael, who Morgan helped raise, their living arrangements and relationship became complicated.

  But, of course, Morgan won in the end. It was your classic tale of Cinderella.

  My sister fell in love, and Noah suddenly had eyes for only her.

  Then things got twisted, Noah got jealous, and in a quick heartbeat, it was all over.

  Morgan was devasted, but I expected her to move on or run back to Wyatt. She was built tough like that—a logical thinker but not emotionally driven.

  And perhaps, my judgment proved wrong.

  Making a move on Noah is something I regret to this day. Humiliation is something I don’t wear well, especially when they got back together, married, and had a child.

  That’s when the fool became me.

  To make our family life even more complicated, Noah’s mother and my dad got married. That was a shock, but not as big as his mom falling pregnant.

  So, now, at the age of twenty-seven, I have a four-year-old brother. Jerry Springer, eat your heart out.

  The biggest regret I’ve had to this day is allowing my feelings to fester. I should have moved on by now and burned any desire toward him and cut ties, while my heart could still cope with the loss.

  Noah Mason will forever be the one man I can’t have, but as time drags on, it only gets worse. I’ve spent countless months with my heart weighed down by a heavy stone as I agonize about how to overcome the bitter depression I’ve fallen into. He has some sort of hold over me,
and the worst part he doesn’t even know it.

  It’s not the greatest punishment anyone could place upon themselves—to be in love with a man who belongs to their sister.

  This is what my life has become.

  There’s a gentle knock on my door, disrupting me from my morbid and self-destructive thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  A beam of light shines through the room, the door opening at a painfully slow pace. Mama Valentino shuffles through the entrance with a small brown bag in hand. She’s frail, dragging each step in her black leather shoes. Slightly hunched over, her face lifts, meeting my gaze. Staring back at me is the bluest of eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m almost certain Valentino told me his Mama is partially blind.

  “You must be Senorita Winters.”

  Her accent is thick, more so than Valentino’s.

  “Yes, I am,” I respond cordially.

  Her pace is starting to frustrate me. If she took this long to walk over here, how long will it take her to alter this dress? I have to be in hair and makeup in less than two hours.

  What the fuck is Valentino thinking?

  “Are we able to make this quick? Valentino must have told you I need this dress tonight.”

  She doesn’t say another word, placing her bag down and opening a small wooden box. The carvings on the lid catch my attention—Latin symbols carved delicately into the wood.

  With a needle and thread, she pricks the tip of her index finger.

  My cell begins to ring, the tone sounding obnoxiously loud in the room. Morgan’s name flashes on my screen.

  “Morgan, I’m kind of busy right now,” I tell her without a hello.

  “That’s fine. I’m just driving anyway.” Her voice echoes on the Bluetooth, a horn quickly following in the background. “I wanted to let you know that I managed to find a babysitter, so I’ll be coming tonight.”

  The cell almost slips out of my palm, panic rising in my throat, restricting my ability to speak.