Tempted by Pleasure (Secret Invitation #1) Read Free

determined to make the call. “Spontaneity, remember? Hand over the phone.”
    She refuses, turns on my computer, then types something into the Google search bar. “Look!”
    Several pages come up, and something about secret societies catches my attention. She scrolls down, revealing more headlines.
    “Ooh, pictures,” I say.
    She clicks on dozens of photos of men and women in masquerade and I note the captions. Corpus Christi fundraiser. Svengali-like management bans press coverage. Hellfire Club operating in South Texas. Secret lives of the Corpus Christi elite—prowess on Wall Street and in the bedroom. The headlines are endless.
    “See the value in collecting data before you accept?”
    “What search parameters did you use?” I’m fascinated.
    “The exact verbiage on the invitation.” She gazes over her shoulder. “But there’s not much here. Whoever it is prefers anonymity.”
    I laugh nervously. The invitation did list silence as the price. “So now what?”
    “Forget about it. Ropers is a safer venue. Maybe we can hook up with a couple executives from Dallas posing as cowboys.”
    “Why are you so obsessed with cowboys?”
    Her mischievous grin says it all. “Spurs? Rope? Who knows? Ready to go to work?”
    I sigh, feeling completely unmotivated. I hired two reliable employees last year, Mary and Nadia, so whenever I want to play hooky, I just call in. “Girls day off?”
    “Next week. I need the extra cash.”
    Katie picks me up on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and we work afternoons together. “Let me grab my bag.” I head to my bedroom, slip on my heels, and stuff a sweater into my backpack. “Ready.”
    Traffic is light over the Kennedy Causeway and we hit South Padre Island Drive, turn on South Staples Street, then park in the Moore Plaza. My store, Shakespeare’s Quill, is located next to PetSmart. I’ve done everything I can to give the interior the feel of something you’d find in a Harry Potter movie. From the made-to-order American black walnut shelves to the matching dark-wood ceilings, I enjoy being here. Two Victorian stained-glass welcome windows with matching Tiffany lamps on three reading tables are up front. There’s a leather couch in the corner and a small gas fireplace I keep lit to add ambiance. We offer coffee and tea to anyone who enters the front door.
    “Good afternoon,” Mary whispers as I walk by the register.
    I smile and wave. Mary’s soft spoken and reveres the store like a library. Katie follows me to my office, and I drop my bags on the desk.
    “I think Mary needs to attend that party, too,” she teases.
    “Frederick wouldn’t appreciate anyone corrupting his girlfriend.”
    “What about you, Erin?”
    I shrug. “We’ve already discussed it. Now that we know it’s real, all I need to do is accept.”
    “Whoa.” She holds a hand up. “We completed a preliminary Internet search. That doesn’t count. I can’t believe this about-face. Book worm turns ‘girl gone wild.’ And while we’re still on the subject, what’s a Hellfire Club?”
    I plop into my leather chair and power up the laptop on my desk. “Leave it to you to remember that. You’re the history buff.”
    “ American and Texas history. You’re the ancient civilizations expert.”
    I’m very familiar with the legends surrounding the eighteenth century Hellfire Clubs. “Sir Francis Dashwood presumably established the first club in Britain.” I type his name. “Think orgies and pagan rituals, politics and money . . .”
    “Sounds like Manhattan.”
    I giggle. “Would you believe it was rumored Benjamin Franklin frequented the meetings?”
    “I thought old Ben preferred the French court. What’s the point?”
    I angle the computer so she can see the screen. “Brotherhood, similar to today’s fraternities. See this?” I point to a list of secret societies; Skull and Bones, Freemasons, Rosicrucians, Ordo Templis Orientis , Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the Knights Templar . . .