Eve Vaughn, Romance Author

I Know Who You Did Last Summer

I Know Who You Did Last Summer

Read an Excerpt
Changeling Press • 
Order eBook:Changeling Press

I Know Who You Did Last Summer. If you want answers, meet me at the Steam Engine tonight at 8:00. I’ll find you. Wear something sexy.

A power play. That’s all it is and Patricia knows it. A high-powered advertising executive, Patricia’s known around the office as the ice princess. But hey. She’s trying to survive in a man’s world. She’s not about to be cowed by a simple little note. She’s not about to let anyone at work know she’s fantasized about BDSM, either.

Determined to find the perpetrators and stop these notes, Patricia runs right into her nemesis, Clint Donavon. He’s everything she never wanted — all 6’ 3″ gorgeous inches of him. Clint has to be one of the sexiest men she’s ever met. But how can she possibly submit to a man she can’t trust?

Read an Excerpt

I Know Who You Did Last Summer. If you want answers, meet me at the Steam Engine tonight at 8:00. I’ll find you. Wear something sexy.

“I must be crazy,” Patricia Guevara muttered to herself as the large, leather-clad bouncer stepped aside to let her into the club. When she’d read that note earlier in the day, her first inclination was to toss it in the garbage can like the others, but something held her back.

Her curiosity got the better of her. She needed to know who’d left the notes on her desk and what they wanted from her. Patricia had asked Maven who’d been in her office, but her secretary had no idea.

On her drive home she debated whether to go to the club or wing it and see what would happen next if she didn’t. It wasn’t until nearly seven o’clock that she decided to give in and go to the Steam Engine.

It dawned on her that somehow this person had indeed found out her secret. Why else would he or she want to meet her here of all places? The Steam Engine was a known fetish club in the city. There was only one other time she’d been here… last summer.

Now here she was in a tight black dress, make-up expertly done, and her five-inch stilettos giving her usually five foot two inch body extra height. She always felt more confident when she knew she looked good. She pulled her compact from her purse, looking into it briefly. A cap of shoulder length auburn hair set off her dark honey complexion, making her green eyes look more vivid than normal. Pleased with her appearance, she replaced the mirror. Patricia tried to convince herself that her made-up look wasn’t for the benefit of the mystery writer.

She needed all the confidence she could get now.

The club was dark and smoky. If she remembered correctly there was a bar on the far end of the club. All she needed was to make it through the pressing crowd and find a seat, so she could scope out the scene for anyone she might know.

As she pushed her way through the throng of people, she noticed many of the leather and latex-clad club-goers. Some men and women walked around bare-chested, while some people were led around on leashes.

Patricia passed a room, and stopped when she heard loud moaning. It was the demonstration room. She turned to look inside and stood transfixed at the scene before her. A tall striking blonde was strapped against a wall. She wore a tight red leather half corset that bared her large berry-tipped breasts, adorned with nipple clamps connected by a silver chain. Black fishnet stockings and high heel platforms encased her legs and feet. She wore no panties. The blonde’s wrists were tightly secured, but her legs were unrestrained.

A cute brunette rested on her knees next to the blonde, wearing only a spiked collar and a pair of lacy thong panties. A tall bald man wearing a pair of black leather pants, combat boots and spiked bracelets held a cat-o’-nine-tails whip in his hand.

Patricia couldn’t hear what was going on but it looked as though he was instructing the brunette to do something. The obedient woman immediately stood up and began to massage the blonde’s breast. The bound woman’s face lit up with obvious pleasure.

Baldy leaned over and whispered something in the blonde’s ear. She nodded. He let the tips of his whip caress her peaches and cream skin. The brunette began to place kisses over the flesh she’d just caressed.

Patricia could feel herself grow damp at the homoerotic scene she witnessed before her. Other women had never particularly turned her on, but she was comfortable enough in her sexuality to appreciate what was going on. The sensual movements of the Master and the brunette running their hands over the blonde’s body made Patricia wonder what it would be like if she were bound, on display for all to see. Helpless to do anything except feel and enjoy the burning within.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her side, itching to relieve the ache between her thighs. She pressed her thighs tightly together. God, she was hot.

What she really needed was to get out of this club, go home and screw herself senseless with her dildo. The way she felt at this moment, she believed she could go all night.

Once again she resisted the urge to touch herself. Patricia did not consider herself an exhibitionist, but at the Steam Engine anything went. There were people fucking in the corners of the club, half naked people and people fulfilling just about any fetish known to man. If she felt like playing with herself in plain view of any passerby, no one would bat an eye. But still, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She needed to get out of there, and fast, or she might just do something she regretted. As she turned around, she slammed into a lean hard body. She looked up and gasped.

Patricia squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to believe that Clint Donovan, dressed completely in black, was standing in front of her. She slowly opened her eyes, and sure enough there he was, a slight grin on his chiseled face.

Why did she have to be so attracted to him — all six foot three delectable inches of him? Clint had to be one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen.

He was lean, but she bet underneath his clothes he was all sensual corded muscle. Clint had a pair of broad shoulders made for resting one’s head on. His raven hair was free of the mousse and gel many men used to give themselves that preppy look. He had big hands with unmanicured fingernails. Clint was definitely not the metrosexual man of today. He was a man’s man.

And what a man he was.

He couldn’t be classified as handsome. Actually, his lips were a little too thin and his long nose had a hump at the top, as though it had been broken and didn’t heal properly, and a scar that slashed at the corner of his mouth. These parts looked at individually made him quite unexceptional, but when put together, they worked.

Clint oozed sex appeal with each word he spoke and each step he took. Women in the office looked twice whenever he walked by. When he smiled, she knew he set many hearts fluttering. He made Patricia’s heart pitter-patter a little as well.

“What… what are you… doing here?”

“You know why I’m here, babe.”

She shook her head in vehement denial. “No. I don’t.”

“Oh yes you do. There’s no need to pretend. You received my notes.”

It had been Clint all along. What game was he playing? What did those cryptic messages mean?

“If you’re trying to blackmail me, do your worst. I’m going home.”

When she moved to go past him, Clint grabbed her arm and turned her back around to face him. His dark eyes glittered with a fierce emotion Patricia couldn’t quite read. “I’m not trying to blackmail you. It’s not my style.”

“Then what do you want?”

A smile touched his sensuous lips. She had the sudden urge to trace them with the tip of her tongue. Patricia shook her head to erase the carnal thoughts from her mind. He was the enemy.

“Isn’t it obvious what I want?”

She wrenched her arm out of his grip. “I’m not in the mood to play games with you. Just tell me what you want and let me go on my way.”

“I want you.”