By Private Invitation Read online

  By Private

  Invitation

  STEPHANIE JULIAN

  HEAT | NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books, Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North 2193, South Africa • Penguin China, B7 Jaiming Center, 27 East Third Ring Road North, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100020, China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Julian.

  Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

  Text design by Laura K. Corless.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Heat trade paperback edition / January 2013

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Julian, Stephanie.

  By private invitation / Stephanie Julian.—1st Heat trade pbk ed.

  p. cm.—(A salon games novel)

  ISBN: 978-1-101-59544-2

  1. Antique dealers—Fiction. 2. Hotelkeepers—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3610.U5346B9 2012

  813’.6—dc23

  2012029691

  ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON

  For David, again and always.

  And for Kate, who didn’t live to see this published,

  but whose notes on early pages led me to the book it’s become.

  Miss you.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is such a solitary endeavor but publishing is not.

  Thank you, Leis, for seeing what I see in this story. And for what I didn’t.

  Thank you, Elaine, for your rock-steady guidance.

  Thank you, Judi, just because.

  Thank you, Deb, for the shoulder to whine on.

  Thank you to the women of VFRW, who are always there with hugs and cheers and stickers and chocolate.

  And thank you to my sons, who know I still love them even when I don’t always feed them.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  One

  “Jesus, I really hope I don’t get arrested for indecent exposure. Could you have made my neckline any lower, Kate?”

  Staring into the mirrored doors as they waited for the elevator in Haven Hotel, Annabelle Elder barely recognized herself. If not for the pale green eyes and the auburn hair, she wouldn’t have.

  The woman in the reflection looked freaking amazing with her overflowing breasts and miles of leg. But she didn’t look like any version of the Annabelle she thought she knew.

  “Of course I could have,” Kate Song huffed. “But then you would have been arrested. Stop fussing. You look fine, Annabelle.”

  Kate reached out to fluff Annabelle’s skirt for the hundredth time, exposing more thigh than Beyoncé on Grammy night.

  “Enough already.” Annabelle swatted at Kate’s hands. “I barely recognize myself as it is.”

  “Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? A new you.”

  Annabelle pulled a face at her best friend. Yes, yes. She’d said that, but—

  “Hey!” She yelped and grabbed her skirt as Kate pulled it higher on her thighs. “Do you want me to get arrested for soliciting? Gary the Asshole would love to see me locked away.”

  “Oh, please.” Kate sighed loudly but stepped back, moving her straight black hair off her shoulders. “That jerk deserved whatever you threw at him.” She paused and Annabelle glanced up to see Kate’s grin. “Including his file cabinet.”

  Annabelle’s nose wrinkled. “Too bad it only grazed his shoulder, the ass.”

  She wished she’d taken the two-timing jerk’s head off with the thing. Or aimed a little lower and caught his dangling bits. Little itty-bitty bits that’d been on full display three weeks ago when she’d caught the bastard with his head between his secretary’s legs.

  Kate snapped the elasticized hem of Annabelle’s off-the-shoulder sleeve, pain zinging up her arm.

  “Ow!” She turned to Kate with a frown. “What was that for?”

  “That jerk’s not worth one more second of your time.” Kate flicked her on the shoulder for good measure. “Except to thank him for busting you out of a rut. Think of tonight as your coming-out party.”

  Annabelle tried to take a deep, calming breath but could barely manage against the tight lacing. “I’ll be coming out of this dress if I breathe too deeply.”

  The matching silk-and-satin fairy costumes created by Kate were masterpieces. But where Kate’s blue bodice had a demure little dip in the front, Annabelle’s green one angled down nearly to her belly button. Kate’s short, filmy skirt hit just above her knee. Annabelle’s barely made it to mid-thigh. She was afraid to look at her rear view again. The skirt was a little longer in back so she wasn’t showing off her ass, left naked by a green satin thong, but still…

  “Thank God for big-busted pop singers and all those rappers who love big-ass girls,” Annabelle said with a sigh.

  “Oh, please.” Kate snorted. “You’ve got a great figure.”

  Yeah, if she was one of the women in her Victorian erotic art collection. She loved those paintings, not only for their unabashed sexuality but because those women weren’t skinny little girls with no tits or ass. Both of which she had in abundance.

  Not that she’d ever flashed so much of it. Her friends and neighbors in Adamstown would be scandalized if they saw her now. They only knew quiet, sedate Annabelle who’d been so damn busy keeping her business afloat for the past year. Poor, stupid Annabelle who should’ve dumped Gary the Asshole long ago.

  At least she no longer resembled that girl. Rita Shumacher had quivered with joy from her platinum beehive to her open-toed Manolo knockoffs when Annabelle had told her to cut off her waist-length braid. Then the sixty-something hairdresser had worked her magic and tamed the remaining unruly mass into sleek curls that just brushed her shoulders.


  Now Annabelle looked sexy. Confident. Ready to find a man to share her bed and her fantasies for the night before reality returned Monday morning.

  Kate yanked on the laces on the back of her dress, making Annabelle squeak.

  “I know what you’re thinking and you can stop right now,” Kate said. “No business tonight.”

  Annabelle sighed. “I know, but don’t you dare.”

  Kate gave an eye-roll worthy of a teenager as her hand froze midway to Annabelle’s hem.

  “You know,” Kate said, a distinct challenge in her tone, “if you want to chicken out, we don’t have to go to the party. I’m only here to keep you company. I don’t need a man. I already have a fiancé.”

  The two tickets for the New Year’s Eve Masquerade at Haven Hotel in Philadelphia had cost a small fortune. More than Annabelle ever would’ve considered spending for any party.

  She’d seen the ad boasting gourmet food, fine champagne, live music, and a night to remember in a piece of newspaper wrapping an antique vase months ago. She’d thought that it sounded like fun, but dismissed it because Gary would never agree to go, the cheapskate. After she’d dumped him, she’d called for tickets.

  The bell dinged and the elevator doors opened, whisking away her reflection as they stepped into the empty cage for the ride to the lobby.

  Annabelle squared her shoulders. “We’re going. And I will have fun tonight. It’s been too long since I had a good time. No one knows me here. I can flirt with a gorgeous guy, dance all night. Maybe even get laid.” She looked down at Kate. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had good sex?”

  Her best friend since college, Kate had her Korean father’s dark eyes and his sleek, straight hair. The rest of her was pure Italian from her late mother. The combination gave her an exotic beauty that always made Annabelle feel like a limp dishrag next to her.

  If they hadn’t been best friends since their freshman year at Gettysburg College, Annabelle would try to hate her. But Kate was too nice to hate. Even with her sharp tongue, occasional foul mood, and inexplicable taste in fiancés.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Kate said. “I know how long you went out with Gary.”

  “Well, I’m sick of being plain, pathetic Annabelle. Tonight, I’m going to be fun, flirty Annabelle.”

  At least, I’m going to try.

  The door opened again, depositing them in the sinfully elegant lobby of Haven Hotel, and Annabelle touched the antique pin on her bodice for luck. The six-carat, teardrop-shaped orange citrine glowed as if lit from within.

  Her grandfather had given it to her a decade ago. After her world had collapsed.

  “No second thoughts.” Annabelle nodded. “It’s a new year.”

  “Good for you.” Kate smacked her on the rear, making Annabelle laugh as they stepped out of the elevator. “Now get out there and get laid.”

  Jared Golden loved beautiful women, cold champagne, and the hum of a well-run party.

  Not always in that order.

  Tonight, it was the reverse.

  From his vantage point at the Italian marble bar in the second-floor ballroom, he surveyed Haven Hotel’s annual New Year’s Eve Masquerade.

  Excited laughter filled the air, along with good music, the mouth-watering aroma of gourmet food, and dry-mouthed sensuality. Beneath it all, he heard a satisfied hum.

  Jared loved that hum. It gave him a measure of satisfaction comparable only to the buzz from good champagne. Or great sex.

  After five years in the hotel business, he and his brother, Tyler, had done exactly what they’d set out to do. They’d created a hedonist’s playground.

  From the swanky Frank’s Bar and Asian fusion restaurant Dome on the first floor to the fourth-floor, invitation-only Salon. From the fantasy suites that were booked solid all year to the Indulgence Spa on the third floor.

  Haven was a place to have fun, let loose, give in to your fantasies. The ultimate adult playground.

  Nothing at all like the stuffy grandeur of his father’s hotels.

  “Jared, love, dance with me.”

  He turned, smile already in place for the luscious blonde dressed in a slinky red gown reminiscent of a Golden Age starlet. “Sorry, Jane. I’m on duty tonight.”

  Jane Collins pouted her collagen-enhanced lips. “I can’t believe how much of a bore you can be when you’re having so much fun.”

  Jared took a sip of champagne to stifle a laugh. Weird but true. “I’m sure there’re more than enough single men here to amuse you.”

  Trailing blood-red fingernails down the front of his shirt, the twice-divorced boutique owner sighed theatrically. “Of course. But I wanted to play with you tonight.”

  Jared swallowed a sharp-edged retort. His grandmother had instilled too many manners for him to deliberately brush off a lady. But tonight he refused to be tied down. Tonight was for mingling and dancing and, later, even more pleasurable activities.

  It was not for dancing to Jane’s tired tune all night. Been there, done that, smacked that ass, he thought. Thank God he’d been smart enough not to invite her to the Salon later.

  “As much fun as that sounds”—Jared injected just the right amount of regret into his tone—“I do have a job.”

  Luckily, after another unsuccessful minute trying to garner his undivided attention, Jane spotted another eligible bachelor, this one a lawyer, and glided off in his direction.

  Allowing Jared to return his full attention to the only mistress he’d never tire of—the hotel.

  New people in and out every day. Challenges to overcome. Problems to solve.

  Parties to plan. Jared lived for a good party.

  This one was off to a good start. But it was the invitation-only event scheduled for later tonight that put a true smile on his lips.

  Last year’s first Salon Games had been a carefully guarded secret. He’d chosen each of the ten participants personally, laid out the rules explicitly, then let it happen.

  Everyone had left the next afternoon with a smile. And not one word of it had leaked. Amazing, considering the nature of the games.

  But then, those who’d been there had wanted to be invited back.

  Looking out over the ballroom, he picked out several of the guests invited to the Salon tonight. A few caught his eye, nodded, then went back to what they were doing. Men and women Jared had known for years, some for most of his life. People who shared the same interests.

  People he trusted and who trusted him. There weren’t many he counted in that category.

  As his gaze continued around the large room, he saw two new arrivals approach the arched entrance of the ballroom. Two women.

  He watched as the maître d’ greeted them and showed them to a table close to the dance floor.

  As host for the evening, Jared felt compelled to greet everyone at the party. He started toward the women’s table, speaking briefly to a few people along the way but never losing sight of his original target.

  When he reached their table, he waited until they looked up at him before bowing his head.

  “Ladies, welcome to Haven. My name is Jared. I hope your table’s satisfactory?”

  Pale green and midnight black gazes locked onto him from behind feathered masks. Dressed in fairy costumes, complete with wings, the women had natural beauty that couldn’t be bought at a plastic surgeon’s office.

  The brunette in blue was sleek and slim, delicate. Her exotically shaped eyes hinted at an Asian heritage, her mouth a wide bow.

  But the redhead…Damn. Her green eyes flashed and held on his, wide and inquisitive, her hair a rich autumn red that fell in curls around her shoulders.

  She stared at him for a moment, assessing. Then her smile broke free, a beautiful sight on full lips he’d bet had never been artificially enhanced.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It seems the party’s in full swing. We were a little late arriving.”

  Jared’s smile widened. “Well, I’m certainly glad you made it.
Is this your first time at Haven? I believe I’d remember such beautiful women.”

  “Yes, it’s our first time,” the blue fairy answered. “We’re just here for the night.”

  “Then I hope you enjoy your evening,” Jared said. “And I’d appreciate if you would each save me a dance tonight.”

  When he turned to the redhead, her smile had turned downright sultry. And his body tightened as if she’d stroked a hand over his cock.

  “I’d like that dance.” Her voice held no trace of guile, no simpering fakery.

  Jared’s heart started a slow, familiar rhythm as he held her gaze. Her smile widened as he straightened.

  He liked that smile. It was sexy but uncomplicated. Completely natural.

  So unlike the women he typically dated.

  As he nodded again, ready to leave, a glint of color caught his eye and his gaze dropped past spectacular breasts to the pin at the bottom of the vee on her dress. The pin looked familiar somehow, pinged something in his brain, some memory. He’d ask about it. Later.

  “I’ll be back to collect.” Jared signaled a waitress to their table and headed back to the door, trying to shake off the feeling he’d missed something.

  “Jared, honey, this is a lovely party.”

  Beatrice Golden sat on a barstool, a Manhattan in one hand, a delicate silk fan in the other. The fan matched the authentic Japanese kimono she wore.

  “Hello, Nana. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

  His seventy-five-year-old grandmother put her deceptively frail hand on his sleeve, bringing him closer. “The young woman you were just talking to, is she your date?”

  He smiled ruefully. “No date, Nana. Not tonight. I’m working. Besides, there are too many beautiful women in the world to tie myself to just one.”

  Beatrice tsked and rapped his arm with her fan, her short gray hair swaying around her still-youthful features. “You are going to live to eat those words. I’ve had to give up on Tyler. For the moment. But I plan to see you fall. And soon. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh.” She sighed. “I just wish I had the pin or the ring to give you. The legend—”

  “Nana,” he cut her off gently. “You’re going to live forever.” At six-two, Jared had to bend to kiss his tiny grandmother’s wrinkled cheek. “And the legend is just that, a story—”

  “No, it’s not.” Beatrice’s voice held firm. “Since those jewels were stolen, our family has had horrible luck in love. Your parents have had such a rough time.” She sighed, shaking her head. “And Tyler’s fiancée. Her death was such a tragedy.”