Hot Property [Discretions 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  Discretions 1

  Hot Property

  When an upcoming American tennis star dies unexpectedly, his sister, supermodel Naomi Redford, storms into London, England intent upon discovering why his life was cut so tragically short. She suspects Saul’s Agents, Jared Maynard and Kenton Sinclair, partners in the prestigious Maynard-Sinclair Agency, of pushing Saul too hard, but can’t ignore the evidence that points in other directions, either.

  She accepts Jared and Kent’s help to delve deeper, desperate to protect her brother’s reputation. How much does his live-in lover know? Do Naomi’s grasping father and step-brothers know more than they’re saying? And what about his former lover, Sam, who wanted Saul back?

  Naomi is distracted by the games Jared and Kent introduce her to which have nothing to do with line calls and double faults, but when it becomes apparent that Saul was murdered and the police have no suspects, the three of them are determined Saul’s killer won’t get away with his crime…

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 54,826 words

  HOT PROPERTY

  Discretions 1

  Zara Chase

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  HOT PROPERTY

  Copyright © 2014 by Zara Chase

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-532-5

  First E-book Publication: October 2014

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  About the Author

  HOT PROPERTY

  Discretions 1

  ZARA CHASE

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  Discretion—separation, disjunction, distinction. The action of discerning or judging. Liberty or power of deciding, or of acting according to one’s own judgment.

  Jared cleared the heavy traffic clogging the suburbs of London, hit the motorway and floored the accelerator. His brand new Mercedes SLS that had set him back a cool quarter of a million leapt forward like a race horse from a starting gate. The weight of the g-force thrust him back in his seat as over six hundred horses sang to him in smooth, perfect harmony. This was as good as it got—a reward for all those sixteen hour days, the upside of playing nursemaid, confidante, go-getter and miracle-worker for a stable of highly strung and demanding would-be sporting legends.

  Driving a fast, responsive car hit all the right buttons and got Jared’s juices following, so he increased his speed, not caring about cameras or lurking traffic police. Kenton, seated beside him, busy texting, shot Jared an amused half glance.

  “You know what they say about men who feel a need to show off their big engines.”

  Jared’s half smile blossomed into a full-on grin. “I don’t need to overcompensate.”

  “Good to know.”

  Jared flipped him off, impressed by Kent’s nonchalant attitude, given that the speed with which Jared had taken to the blacktop had probably given his partner whiplash. “Who you texting?” he asked.

  “Bloody Poppy Price wants her handholding again. Need to get someone on it.”

  “It’s your magic touch that she craves, mate.” Jared chuckled. “For some reason that escapes me, she seems determined to get into your pants.”

  “Yeah well, ain’t gonna happen. We have bigger problems right now. You’d think even someone as self-centered as Poppy would read the news and give us some space.”

  “Nah, not Poppy.”

  Jared’s mobile rang. He checked the display, saw it was his PA, Melody, calling, and used the hands-free feature to take the call.

  “Hey, Mel, what you got?”

  “Sorry to bother you, Jared, but I thought you should know that Detective Regan has been on the phone asking for you. He wants to know…” She paused and Jared could hear her snuffling at the other end of the line. “Sorry, it’s just so awful. I still can’t believe it.”

  “None of us can, Mel,” Jared said softly. “What did the detective want?”

  “He needs to speak with Saul’s sister and wants to know when she’ll be getting here.”

  “She’s flying in today but she’ll be jet-lagged. Tell him she’s staying at Farafield with us and he can see her there tomorrow morning at eleven.”

  “Oh, okay. I thought she might stay at Saul’s apartment.”

  “She can if she’d prefer but I don’t think it would be a good idea for her to be alone. Anyway, we’ll see what she wants to do once she gets over the long flight.
” Jared forced himself to focus. “Did Regan say anything about when the post mortem was being done?”

  “No, sorry, nothing.”

  “Not to worry.” Jared flipped his indicator and moved out of his lane to illegally undertake a slower-moving car. “Anything else?”

  “The press are ringing non-stop, wanting a statement.”

  “Pass them to Tom to deal with.”

  “I am doing.” Mel snuffled some more. “There’s nothing else that can’t wait.”

  “We’ll be out of contact for the next few hours. Text me if there’s anything you need and I’ll get back to you when I can.” Cell phones were barred where he and Kent were headed, which was part of the reason why they went there.

  “Sure thing, Jared. I’ve got the office covered. You and Kent just try and relax.”

  Jared disconnected, only for the phone to ring again almost immediately. He recognized the number as belonging to a leading journalist on one of the dailies. He’d stupidly given him his personal number a while back in return for a favor—a decision he now regretted since the guy wouldn’t leave him alone. He declined to take the call and tried to enjoy driving his new toy instead, but Mel’s reminder of Saul’s untimely death had taken a lot of the pleasure out of it.

  Kent constantly took calls on his own mobile and was yelling into it now.

  “If she only drinks Assam Jungle Cabernet tea, whatever the fuck that is, then get it for her. It ain’t rocket science.” He paused to listen. “How the frigging hell should I know? Use the internet and don’t bother me with details. That’s what I pay you for.”

  Kent ended the call and glowered at the road ahead. “Fucking useless morons. They come to us with their fancy university degrees, claiming to be world changers, but they’ve actually got shit for brains. Not a lick of common sense between the lot of them.”

  Jared nodded his sympathy, aware that Kent needed to vent. Hell, they both did.

  “You need to get laid, mate,” Jared said.

  Kent shot him a look. “And you don’t?”

  “Yeah well…”

  Jared took out his frustrations on a Volvo driver hogging the fast lane but sticking doggedly to the speed limit. He flashed his lights but Volvo man appeared impervious. With an angry growl, Jared checked his mirrors, signaled and whipped past him on the inside.

  The fast ride came to an end sooner than Jared would have liked. He took the next exit and reluctantly slowed his speed. England was enjoying an early summer heat wave, and the rolling Hampshire countryside, with its verdant fields dotted with livestock and ancient trees in full leaf, was bathed in sunshine. Ordinarily, Jared would have enjoyed the beauty of the rural scene. Today, it barely registered. He took a left turn into a narrow lane and slowed even more to avoid having the bodywork of his car scratched by the encroaching hedgerows. A half mile further on he turned between two plain brick gateposts, one of which bore a discreet brass plaque with just one word inscribed.

  Discretions.

  Jared pressed a button on his car’s dashboard and the tall, wrought-iron gates swung open on smooth hinges. Jared drove up the pristine gravel drive, edged by post and rail fencing that kept sheep on the correct side of it. He turned a bend and they were confronted by a large Georgian house, its honey-colored façade turned different shades of pink and yellow by the sunshine beating down on it. The windows sparkled and there wasn’t a leaf out of place in the regimented gardens. The terrace surrounding the swimming pool was set up with tables shaded by huge parasols. God forbid that the cosseted members, sipping lunchtime cocktails, should get too closely acquainted with damaging gamma ray.

  Jared’s car, which had received more than a few envious glances on the motorway, didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary in this establishment. There was a Bentley, a Lamborghini, and several top-of-the-range Jaguars and BMWs already filling the car park. There was even a Roller.

  “Is that Dale’s?” Kent asked, nodding at the Rolls.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Kent grinned. “Flash git.”

  A uniformed chauffeur leaned against the bonnet of the Rolls Royce in question, smoking and reading a copy of The Sun. Jared and Kent would normally have been driven here themselves so they could both enjoy the excellent wines that would be served with their lunch, but today they’d sent Connor to the airport to collect Ms. Redford. Besides, Jared had wanted—no, needed—to let off some pent-up steam by driving his new toy.

  They switched off their phones, climbed out of the car, and reached for their jackets hanging from hooks in the back of the car. Both men were wearing suits from the prestigious Gieves and Hawkes. Jared’s choice today was silver-grey lightweight wool, the creases in the trousers still perfectly aligned after an hour in the car. His white shirt was from Turnbull and Asser, teamed with a Hermes silk tie in muted stripes of silver and blue. His shoes were handmade. He wore a slim gold Cartier wrist watch and his cufflinks were platinum. Kent’s suit was navy with a thin pinstripe, the dark color a perfect foil for his thick blond hair and surfer-boy good looks.

  Partners and friends, Jared and Kent took the steps to the front door two at a time. Several bronzed females looked up from beside the pool and gave them the once over. Neither man reacted. They stepped into the magnificent entrance hall with its original checkered floor, marble pillars, tasteful artwork and antique furniture. Several stories above them was an ornate ceiling with a mosaic-glazed dome, sun filtering through its multi-faceted sides. Jenson, the club’s maître d’, stepped forward to greet them.

  “Mr. Maynard, Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “I was very sorry to hear about Mr. Redford. Such a terrible waste of a young talent.”

  “Thanks, Jenson. It is indeed.” Jared nodded. “Are the others all here?”

  “Yes, sir. You two gentlemen are the last.”

  “Right, we’d best not keep them waiting, then.”

  Jenson and Kent ascended the wide, winding staircase with its original ornate wrought-iron balustrade and made their way to a private dining room that overlooked the terrace and pool below. An oval table was set with pristine white linen and the very best of crystal glassware. Their fellow guests were on the balcony, two waiters circulating between them with drinks and canapés.

  “Looks like a full turn out,” Jared said, counting ten male heads on the balcony.

  It was like an ad for Saville Row, Jared thought, aware that everyone on the terrace would be as well dressed as he and Kent. The concept of dress-down Friday hadn’t yet penetrated the hallowed halls of Discretions. Jared hoped it never would.

  Good taste in clothing and the wherewithal to indulge it wasn’t all these men had in common. Each one of them was a millionaire several times over, but had got there through his own guile, entrepreneurship and enterprise. They met here on a Friday because they could be themselves, free from the demands of their business empires and needy hangers-on. All the members of Discretions were well-off—they had to be in order to stump up the astronomical membership fees—but the twelve men in this exclusive Friday get-together were a class apart.

  They shared a desire to use their wealth for the greater good, short-circuiting red tape, cutting through the rules that governed the majority as they righted one wrong at a time. Between them they had just about every business that mattered covered, answered to no laws other than their own, and had yet to fail in any venture they took on.

  “Hey, Jared, Kent.” Dale Benson, originator of the group and owner of the Roller, stepped up and shook their hands. “Glad you could make it. We wondered if we’d see you today, given the circumstances.”

  “Where else would we go for Friday lunch?”

  Jared knew nothing more would be said about Saul until after lunch, when the waiters had left them. Kent asked the steward for a whisky. Jared stuck to water. He might be prepared to risk a speeding ticket in return for the pleasure of putting his new car through its paces, but being pulled over for a Breathalyzer was out of the question.
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br />   Jared and Kent joined the others at the edge of the expansive balcony and looked down at the bikini-clad babes poolside who were pretended not to look up at them. A short time later they were called to the table. Jared didn’t even notice what he ate, which was a measure of his preoccupation. He liked good food and it didn’t come any better than the fayre provided by the Michelin-star chef who owned shares in Discretions. Dale had sensibly involved himself in stealing him away from a famous London restaurant with all sorts of financial incentives and had never had reason to regret that decision.

  Jared forced his troubles aside and enjoyed the ambience. He savored a glass of Chateau Nerve de Pap ‘83, allowing the nectar to slide slowly down his throat—fruity, aromatic and peppery. At a hundred quid a bottle, so it should be. Not that anyone seated at that particular table would turn a hair at the cost. Jared still sometimes forgot that he didn’t need to, either.

  Talk was general—the stock market, investment opportunities, politics, sport. Wives and kids weren’t mentioned, mainly because none of the men in the room were married, much to the chagrin of the determined horde of females who regularly pursued them.

  Jared answered a question from Joey about a football player the Maynard-Sinclair Agency had just signed, absently watching the waiters efficiently clear away the plates. Shortly thereafter they provided a cheese board, Napoleon brandy, vintage port and coffee. At a nod from Dale they then left the room, closing the doors quietly as they went.

  As soon as they were gone, jackets were removed, ties loosened and, in Jared’s case, his chair was pushed back so he could cross one ankle over his opposite thigh.