Page 1 of Tempt

Chapter 1

The air shifted the moment I stepped into London’s version of a speakeasy. Dark but filled with life, this historic looking club had glamour dripping from every corner. Richly stained woods were accented with black leather, crystal chandeliers, white table linens, and gold.

“Allison!” A tall, slender man named Luis stood up from a circular booth on the other side of the dance floor and waved. Like everyone else in the club he was dressed to the nines. Three-piece grey Hugo Boss suit with a smart navy tie. His hair was parted and slicked back like he stepped right out of the 1920’s.

I walked down three stairs onto the main floor just as the band picked up their instruments to start the next number. The first chords of the upright bass hit me square in the chest, jump-starting my heart.

This club was sexy as hell.

I had a thing for swing dancing. The minute my new co-workers heard, they arranged this little extravagant night out. I was all for it, but this place was far beyond anything I’d experienced before. It wasn’t just an exclusive bar hidden behind a teashop. You didn’tjustneed the password to get past the bouncer.

This was so much more than that.

The only people who even knew about this club were invited to know about it, and sworn to secrecy. Every guest was required to conform to the dress code, which was either modern designer cocktail hour, or period costume. Looking around the room I realized Luis hadn’t been lying. Every single man was in a suit, and every woman was either in a slinky designer gown with jewels dripping from her ears and neck, or ready to Charleston her way across the dance floor.

“So glad you could finally join us,” James chided me from his seat in the corner. Shorter and rounder than Luis, but dressed just as well, he had one of those delicious British accents that was soft and sexy. I could only dream of sounding that fantastic when I spoke with my American accent.

“This is amazing,” I said with a glance at the dance floor as a crystal flute of champagne was thrust into my open hand.

“How did the meeting go?” Ava, who was dressed in a strapless champagne colored dress smiled up at me with her lower lip pulled between her teeth.

“I’m either the next most brilliant architect the world has ever seen, or jobless.”

She winced. “You gotta fucking hate when there’s no in between.” Swear words sounded decidedly fantastic when spoken with her clipped accent.

I sipped the champagne and bit back the urge to sing my own praises. I knew I was good; I didn’t need Margaret Hickman to bestow that honor upon me. But my boss felt the need to play games.To test me. So I was sure as hell going to rise to the occasion.

Six weeks ago I got a call asking me to spend six months working on a special project for my firm’s London branch, HMD2. It meant leaving my brand new apartment in the hands of my best friend back in Calhoun Beach, South Carolina, but it also meant opportunity. If I played all of this right I could finally leave my family, and the life they’d planned out for me, behind.

“I debated over the two options before I even landed at Heathrow,” I said. “I could either play it super conservative and by the book—design the building to code and cash my paycheck—or I could take the opportunity to turn things on their ear. Make my mark. I decided if not now, when?”

“Here, here!” Luis said, holding up his champagne. “We barely know you, but we already love you.”

“Fuck that,” James said. “I want to know if you’re all talk. Can you really dance?”

I grinned. “There is only one way to find out.”

He pushed his way out of the booth, then made a grand show of taking my hand and bowing low. “My dear, sweet Allison. May I have this dance?”

“It would be my pleasure.” The band was winding down to the last movement of the upbeat jazz song they were playing. It was the perfect amount of time to get to know James’ style so that we could really have fun with the next song—whatever it may be.

I was told the band would be playing music from the 20’s to the 50’s and to expect dancers of every level and style. At least one couple on the floor was professional level: technical, precise, and very, very good. Another couple was muddling their way through the basic rock-steps trying to find the rhythm of the song. Everyone else was either doing a variation of Lindy Hop or East Coast Swing.

It turns out James was a good dancer. Not great, but really, really good. He knew how to swing, knew all the steps and turns, and most certainly knew how to have fun. One dance turned into four and I was breathless when we returned to the table.

“Water?” Ava slid a tall glass my direction.

I downed half of it immediately. “Thanks!” A moment later I was back out on the dance floor, this time with Luis. He was a fluid dancer. His moves were soft, like silk. It made him fun and not nearly as exhausting.

“So Allison.” He spun me in and we met nose to nose with one arm around me and the other trapped between us. “How are you liking living in London?”

I’d only been in town three weeks, but it already, strangely, felt like home. I couldn’t quite explain it, but walking down the busy streets felt normal. The air smelled right. And the accents, while different, seemed like they’d been part of my life from the very beginning. Sure some of the food and customs were different and the weather—dear god that was taking some getting used to—but all in all, I’d never become so comfortable so fast anywhere I’d moved before.

“I’m already a little sad that my time here is temporary,” I replied.

He spun me away and then pulled me close so we could talk while dancing. “Impress Margie and you might get asked back.”

“Is there such a thing as impressing Margaret Hickman?” It seemed illogical. That woman was never happy or satisfied. Even when a project was done and well received she liked to pick out the hiccups and give everyone a lecture on how to improve. I didn’t think I stood much of a chance of being asked to come back one day.

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