Kathy Lyons - Under His Spell

Under His Spell

Kathy Lyons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I recently went on a cruise and had the absolute best time! Mostly I read and ate. There might even have been drinking involved! And one night, I attended a hypnotist’s show. It was hilarious! My daughter’s friend turned out to be highly suggestible. Though normally a shy young man, he was suddenly Michael Jackson dancing “Thriller,” complete with sparkling glove and pelvic thrusts. It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. It was also inspiring.

What if a woman was on the verge of a breakdown? What if that exhausted, stressed-out woman named Nicky got hypnotized by a stage act …?

That’s why this book is one of the FORBIDDEN FANTASIES. Nicky’s sudden lack of inhibition opens the door to all sorts of interesting scenarios. Fortunately she has the perfect man to help her. Jimmy Rayburn has loved Nicky since school. And he’s especially skilled at creating safe, sexy and downright mesmerizing environments to prove that he is just the man for her.

Hope you enjoy my walk on the wild side. I certainly did!

Kathy Lyons

Cover

Title Page Under His Spell Kathy Lyons www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Copyright

“DON’T FORGET, NICKY. Please, sis, you can’t forget.”

Nicky Taylor ground her teeth, then stopped, worried that her older sister, Susan, would hear it over the Bluetooth connection.

“What?” Susan asked. “What did you say?”

“Aieee!” Nicky swerved her car, then slammed on the brakes as she tried to avoid a motorcycle zipping too fast down the oncoming lane. No less than three other cars had to do something similar, and their horns blared angrily all around her.

“Damn cyclists!” she cursed even as she flushed in embarrassment. Truthfully, that near-accident had been her fault. She’d been trying to maneuver around a slow-moving bus. She was in a section of Chicago that had the triple threat: narrow lanes, heavy traffic and three streets intersecting in a confusing mess.

“Nicky! Nicky, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” she groused to cover her own guilt. “I’m meeting Tammy at that club and I’m late.”

“You’re always late. What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just a motorcyclist and a city bus.” She glanced at the time and her chest tightened exponentially. Damn, she hated being late. “Tammy is going to have a fit. The first amateur act has probably already started.”

“We’re used to you being late. I’ll text her that you’re on your way. Just drive carefully, okay?”

Nicky winced, knowing that her reputation was well deserved. But she was building a career—didn’t they understand that? “I’m not always late. And I drive just fine.”

Susan’s inelegant snort blasted through the line. “You drive fine when you’re concentrating on it. When was the last time you tried to do one thing at a time?”

Nicky didn’t answer. She was too busy straightening out her car behind the gawd-awful bus. At least with it going slowly, she’d be able to check her e-mails as soon as she got off the phone. Her company manufactured plastic containers. It wasn’t rocket science, but they made a lot of containers. Unfortunately, the world was cutting back on its plastic consumption, which meant as regional head of five distribution nodes, Nicky had to find a way to scale back without firing hundreds of employees.

Part of her just wanted to throw in her resignation along with the layoffs. Shipping plastic parts around the country wasn’t exactly what she’d planned when she received her MBA. She’d dreamed of making green products, of earning her living while saving the planet. Plastic was as far from that as she could have gotten. But they’d offered her money and a fast track to the executive boardroom. She hadn’t counted on the hundred-hour workweek or the fact that she’d stall out in middle management while the economy took a serious downturn.

Fortunately her little sister, Tammy, knew a guy who specialized in shipping optimization. That’s who she was really meeting at amateur night. Nicky just prayed that Prof. Thompson could help her optimize without firing. But he’d have to look at the reports first, which had to be compiled from data from each division head, and then …

“Nicky? Are you still there?”

“Hmm?” She forcibly pulled her attention back to her sister. And the damn bus. And being late to see Prof. Thompson at some stupid amateur night, all before she looked at those figures from the East Coast factory. Her chest tightened further, and she had to force a deep breath. She would not have a panic attack here. Not while driving. No, no, no! She just needed a moment to breathe.

“Nicky?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” she said, still willing her breath to even out. “Still stuck. Stupid bus.”

There was a picture on the back of the bus of a tropical resort. Nicky stared at it a moment, her thoughts wandering to a sandy beach and a hot guy rubbing oil on her back. Wouldn’t that be heaven? She held on to the image for a moment, really savored it. It had been years since she’d been with a man. She’d been too busy, too focused, and too afraid of making another bad boyfriend choice. But in fantasy land, she could pretend anything. She could be on a hot beach with the absolute perfect man caressing her in the most intimate ways. It would be so good.

She held on to the thought, soaked it into her skin, and felt her breath lengthen. Moments later, her body relaxed enough for her to function. No panic attack. Life was good.

Except, of course, life wasn’t good. She still was nearly an hour late for her appointment, and even when she made it, she didn’t have all the figures together. She didn’t even see a time when she could take her island vacation. Not until the economy took a better turn. Not until …

“I’ve e-mailed you the dates …”

Nicky frowned. Dates for what? Oh yeah, her goddaughter’s christening. There was a meeting with the priest and then the actual event. She just couldn’t forget. “Thanks, Suz.”

“Five o’clock Thursday with the priest, okay?”

Nicky nodded, her thoughts still wandering toward the tropical island and a hot guy with body oil. “Does it have to be at five?” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d left work that early. Sun, sand, a man.

“You already said you could make it at five!”

“Okay, okay! Five o’clock Thursday.”

“You just can’t—”

“Can’t forget, I know, I got it!” An ache cramped her belly painfully. It was stress. Duh. Her breath was getting short again, so she continued ranting because it felt good. And because it staved off the panic attacks that were getting more frequent with every passing day. “I manage five nodes, supervise nearly two thousand employees, and everyone thinks I can’t remember a simple appointment with a priest!” She’d have to remember to put it in her phone calendar. With warnings three days in advance. But she couldn’t do that while driving and talking on the phone.

“Nicky, honey, it’s not that I don’t think you’re capable—”

“I know, I know. I gotta go. This bus is driving me nuts.” Then she clicked off before her sister could argue.