Tease Camilla Stevens Copyright © 2021 by Camilla Stevens All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. About the Author Camilla Stevens is a New York resident. At night you can find her typing away, often with a glass of wine, getting all the steamy, suspenseful or humorous, Happily Ever After stories out of her head and down on the page. SIGN UP FOR HER NEWSLETTER: http://eepurl.com/cbc3BD AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: amazon.com/author/camillastevens Want to Join the ARC Team? Sign up Here: http://eepurl.com/cvJzfP Next page for more! www.camillastevens.com To the very real southern belle who was very much the inspiration for this book. Also by Camilla Stevens WRIGHT BROTHERS SERIES Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong Mr. & Mrs. Wright So Wrong STAND ALONE One Night Sweet Seduction EX-CLUB ROMANCE SERIES Archer: Ex-Bachelor Dylan: Ex-Bad Boy Bryce: Ex-Business TEXAS HEAT ROMANCE SERIES Home Run High Stakes Hard Sell INTERNATIONAL LEGACIES ROMANCE The Italian Heir The French Thief The Nordic Lightning Her Icelandic Protector Her Russian Defender The Luxembourg Betrayal The Monte Carlo Shark The Spanish Pirate Contents DESCRIPTION Playlist Author’s Note Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Epilogue DESCRIPTION “Hello, neighbor. Going down?” Miss Pink That’s what I call her. Her “real” name is too ridiculous to repeat. Besides, my nickname for her is more than apt. Everything about her is pink, from the pink champagne she gets delivered by the caseload, to the tiny pink feathers I find randomly breezing down the hallway of our apartment building in her wake. It’s ridiculous…in the most addictive way. Clark Kent That’s what I call him. His “real” name is still a mystery to me. Which makes him all the more intriguing. Besides, my nickname for him is more than apt. Everything about him is straight-laced and serious from the dark-rimmed glasses to the dark suits he wears to work each day. There’s something about that stoic demeanor which is…so dang sexy. We’re as opposite as can be. Who would have ever thought we’d end up as a couple? Certainly not our exes. This is a BWWM Romantic Comedy with a very Happily Ever After. Due to Adult situations 18+. Playlist (Only the Love Songs) Love Me Again — John Newman Crazy in Love — Beyoncé I Feel Love — Donna Summer Historia De Un Amor — (Various) You Can’t Hurry Love — The Supremes Lovefool — The Cardigans Sunday Kind of Love — Etta James That’s the Way Love Goes — Janet Jackson Love Hangover - Diana Ross Your Love is my Drug — Ke$ha Love Train — The O’Jays I Was Made to Love Her — Stevie Wonder Author’s Note Welcome to the world of Tease! This book takes place in the same universe as the Ex-Club Series, specifically before Bryce Ex-Business. You do not have to have read those books to appreciate this one, which absolutely stands alone. Happy reading! Chapter One Honey “What’s the point of getting dressed if I’m just going to get naked again?” Poor Eugene gives me a pained look. I realize I’m not making his job as a doorman-slash-fire-putter-outter any easier. But my point remains the same. “She’s being deliberately provocative,” the older woman standing next to him insists, stabbing her index finger my way with each word. I assume this is so that Eugene knows it’s not some other resident of Norton Place dressed in a long, pink, silk robe, with pink feather trim, and pink Manolo Blahnik mules. A cheerful bit of a contrast to the dreary February weather outside. Fortunately, it’s warm and toasty in here. I take a dainty sip of latte from my dainty cup, one dainty pinky finger sticking out daintily before addressing my highly agitated neighbor. We Georgia gals never forget our gentility, nor how to kill a person with kindness, even after five years of living in New York City. Perhaps that will give her time to find her smelling salts before she faints. After all, it was just a nipple for heaven’s sake! “And what exactly is it that I’m—ahem—provokin’ in you, Miss…?” My exaggerated southern drawl, as syrupy sweet as a Georgia peach cobbler, is deliberately provocative, with one eyebrow very provocatively raised. I just barely manage to hide an impish smile behind my cup as I take another sip. “That’s Mrs. to you—not that I have any intention of making your acquaintance.” Her eyes wander down my robe, as though pointing out exactly which affliction of mine she’s quarantining herself from. “As for provoking anything in me, the only things you’ve managed to fill me with are indignation, revulsion, and contempt. ” “Ooh,” I reply, my eyes going wide with delight, “a veritable trifecta or, dare I say, ménage à trois?” I can’t tell if it’s a sigh or a groan that escapes Eugene’s lips. Mrs. gasps, and one hand flies up to clutch at imaginary pearls, something I thought only happened in novels and idioms. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing. That would most certainly ruin the fun. Fortunately, I’m a maestro (correction, maestra) of the façade. Yes, I may have haphazardly tied the sash around my waist before leaving my apartment to jot down and get my free latte from the machine that Norton Place makes available to its residents. And yes, I should have known the thin, slinky fabric could easily part down the middle as I was reaching for the sugar (I have an insatiable sweet tooth, don’t you know). And therefore, yes, I may have given the poor, elderly dear glaring at me right now a brief snapshot of nipple while I was pouring said sugar. It isn’t as though I did it on purpose! “I, for one, am perfectly willing to chalk this whole mess up to a simple wardrobe malfunction.” I wave my hand in a lah-dee-dah manner, as if the matter is already settled. “You call that a wardrobe?” the woman scolds. “Perhaps in the back rooms of a bor-dello.” “Why Mrs.,” I chide, giving her an admonishing look. “How would such a fine, upstanding lady such as yourself
