Moments In Time Read online

  Contents

  Blurb

  Prologue

  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

  Want More Camp Bexley?

  Dear Reader,

  Over the Moon Excerpt

  More K.K. Allen Books

  Acknowledgments

  About K.K. Allen

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by K.K. Allen

  Cover Design: Qamber Designs

  Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Editing / Proofreading: Red Adept Editing

  Formatting: K.K. Allen

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Contact [email protected] with questions.

  Blurb

  Jamison Bexley is the one who got away.

  If only I hadn’t pushed him.

  Seven years ago, he was my everything.

  My confidant.

  My safe haven.

  My best friend.

  However, dating him was never an option.

  Not when his eyes gravitated toward every girl in town but me.

  That is, until the curse of bad timing found us both… and struck.

  All it took was one night.

  One big mistake.

  Altering everything we could ever be.

  I’m still paying for my sins all these years later.

  Life has been downright cruel.

  I’m working countless hours trying to hold on to the pieces of my shattered dreams.

  Determined that nothing will keep me from my end goal.

  Until Jamison struts back into our small town and gets a firsthand glimpse of my life.

  Suddenly, he wants to be my knight in shining armor.

  But I don’t need a savior.

  Those moments in time are long gone.

  And he’s about to realize why.

  To Renee, for your endless encouragement, support, and love! Love you so much, my friend.

  Prologue

  JAMISON

  TWO MONTHS AGO

  She’s just a figure in the shadows at the end of the hallway. A curvy silhouette with her focus set on the floor-length mirror in front of her. A stranger. Yet she’s all I see.

  Slow and steady breaths move her chest, like she’s working up the nerve for something big. Even from several yards away, my gaze lingers on the parts of her I can make out—her long dark hair that falls in sleek waves down her back and her downturned mouth that carries a set of full pouty lips. She stands with an almost-defensive stance, reminding me of a fighter pepping themselves up for a knockout match.

  As I continue down the darkened passage from the bathroom toward her, the pulsing beat from the main room of the party adds to the adrenaline already running its course through my veins. With each passing second, my curiosity gets the better of me. Call it intuition, but a kick in my gut—a mysterious drive—tells me to check on her. To see if she’s okay. So that’s what I intend to do.

  I’m several feet away from her when a tall, beefy security guard comes out of nowhere and steps in the threshold, blocking my view of the woman I was set on approaching. “Party’s that way.” The man points in the direction of the main ballroom. “This room is for dancers only. Can’t you read?”

  My eyes snap to the sign on the wall beside the door, confirming what he says is true. I completely missed that before, but there it is, in thick black ink.

  Dancers Only

  Enter At Your Own Risk

  Looking back at the sharpening eyes of the guard, I adopt the charm that has become second nature.

  “I assure you, I’m not here to trespass. I didn’t see the sign. Just her.” I’m yelling over the music while I shake my head, realizing how creepy that sounded. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine,” the man answers gruffly. “Now move along.”

  With a quick dip into my pocket, I pull out a business card and hand it to the man. “See? I’m not the trouble you think I am.”

  The man wrinkles his nose. “What the fuck is this?”

  I point to my name on the card. Jamison Bexley, Bexley Financial Services. “That’s me. I’m the one who hired your girls for tonight.”

  The man rolls his eyes and pushes the card back to me. “Doesn’t give you an all-access pass to their dressing room. Now back the fuck up. This is your last warning.”

  He grips my shoulder and starts to physically move me, but I’m too stubborn to go anywhere by force. I shake him off and take a step back. “I can see myself out.” I start to turn but not before I catch movement over the man’s shoulder. The woman’s head bows, she slips on a mask over her eyes, and then she looks back up. The mask is bunny shaped and made of rose-gold sequins. But it’s the wide, panic-stricken dark eyes staring back at me in the mirror’s reflection that steals my breath.

  “Move,” booms the security guard again, this time louder, the threat in his voice crystal clear.

  “Jesus, okay.” I tear my gaze away from the woman’s eyes and leave the guard with a cold, hard stare. I need a fucking drink.

  Beams of color bounce off every inch of the ballroom, casting a blanket of mystery on our night of bad decisions. It’s just another wild adventure with another set of corporate clients at yet another lakefront mansion on San Juan Island. Only this time, I find myself anxious, unsettled, being that I’m closer to my hometown than I’ve been in years. Seven years, to be exact. And nothing good comes with the familiarity of the one place I swore to never return to again.

  Across the water, several miles away, sits a family-owned campground in Orcas Island, where I grew up. It’s just a blip on a map as far as most are concerned, but once upon a time it was my whole world—my past, my present, my future. I never considered the idea of walking away and pursuing a corporate career in Seattle, but that’s exactly what I did after a series of unfortunate events—events I work hard to drown out every single day, impossible as that may be.

  Accepting a full tumbler of bourbon from the passing waitress, I take in the lively crowd. We’re not celebrating the usual birthday, engagement, or new business deal. No. We’re here to celebrate my client’s divorce. A petty cause for a party if anyone were to ask me, but my role as financial advisor to some of the wealthiest men and women in Seattle leaves no room for my judgment. I’m a people pleaser and nothing less. If the owner of the fastest booming recreational outlet chain wants to celebrate his newly single life, then I’m bringing the entertainment. Hence the lineup of exotic dancers snaking their way through the flashy crowd—a worthwhile business expense if my client’s mood says anything.

  “Where’d you find these bombshells?” My most senior—and youngest—employee, Jared Whitman, yells over the blaring rock music.

  I shrug, my eyes skipping over a pair of topless women gyrating over the hard dicks of two more men. “A friend of a friend of a client runs a gentlemen’s club and bar on San Juan Island. He’s got this adult entertainment company on the side. They hire out masked dancers and bartenders for private parties, so I figured what better occasion than this?”

  With a chuckle, Jared nods toward our newly divorced client, Randall Gentry, who’s being pressed against the wall by a dancer. His hooded stare is aimed down at her while she slithers up and down his body. “You sure know how to make your clients happy.”

  “Take notes. This will be you one day.”

  Jared’s eyes are still glued to Randall. “I think I want to be him one day.”

  “That’s quite the career change.”

  His mouth tips up at one corner. “Willing to take the leap if I have a chance with her.”

  I have to stifle my laugh at the immaturity that comes with Jared’s age. To him, all women are equal in beauty as long as they have an ass and a pair of tits. It doesn’t even phase him that the dancers working tonight are cloaked by glittery masks, shielding their identities from hornballs like him. According to the owner of the entertainment company, the masquerade ensemble is what makes his private events stand out from any other. The fact that there’s a semblance of a shield between dancer and client is by far the most exotic thing about them. Seeing it all in action, I happen to agree.

  I slap a hundred-dollar bill across Jared’s chest and take a step forward. “Go live out your fantasies with a lap dance.” His eyes snap to mine, and I win
k. “This one’s on me.” I jab a finger in the air toward him when he starts to walk away. “Don’t get too fucked up tonight. You’re covering the office for me tomorrow.”

  He grins. “Got it, boss.”

  Long strides carry me to the bar, where I down two shots of bourbon. I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t my kind of scene, even if I did have a role in providing the entertainment. My preference would be to celebrate Randall’s new relationship status at a private dinner at the top of the Space Needle. Anything but a wild party in a mansion far too close to home.

  Turning around, I lean my back against the bar and watch as all the strobe lights begin moving in time with the seductive music. One strobe in particular aims at an empty chair in the center of the room. But it’s the neon-purple light a short distance away that catches my attention. Mostly because a woman in a rose-gold bunny mask steps directly into the spotlight.

  My heart jolts in my chest before my mind even makes the connection. I almost forgot about the mysterious woman in the mirror—bunny mask, striking dark eyes, sultry profile and all—but there’s no forgetting about her now. In fact, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her. No one can.

  She moves forward, and the light follows her toward the illuminated chair. One foot in front of the other, each one perfectly timed with the beat of the song. Within seconds, she’s the focus of the room, thanks to the beams of purple lighting that follow her every move. Greedy eyes, including mine, take her in. From the black-velvet vest that exposes a generous amount of cleavage to her short black skirt that sits low on her curvy hips, her intoxicatingly thick thighs, and tall rose-gold heels—every inch of her screams that she’s the star of the show. At least for this song.

  Something about the way she moves from one beat to the next, with long, fluid body rolls, and a slow, seductive sway of her hips, holds my gaze prisoner. But while her style is effortless, I can’t stop thinking about her panic-stricken eyes when they met mine in that mirror.

  A slender hand grabs mine, causing my head to snap toward the dancer staring flirtatiously back at me. “Hi, honey. What’s your name?”

  “Jamison,” I yell over the music, debating if it would be rude to turn back to the dancer in the middle of the room.

  The woman doesn’t give me a chance. She smiles and presses her chest to mine while weaving my tie between her long, manicured fingers. “How about a dance, handsome?”

  I chuckle and gently push her hand from my tie. “You’re a beautiful woman, but I’m going to have to pass tonight.”

  The woman’s eyes sharpen. She’s clearly offended. “I wasn’t talking about me, sweetheart. You’re not my type.” She nods toward the woman in the bunny mask who’s performing a choreographed dance in the center of the room. “She’s looking for a volunteer, and she handpicked you.”

  “Me?”

  The woman curls her lips up into a slow smile. “That’s right, baby. It’s your lucky night. You interested?”

  There’s not even an ounce of hesitation. Lap dances from strange women aren’t my thing, but from her—I won’t say no. “I am.”

  She slips her hand into mine. “Come with me.”

  We’re winding through the crowd, making our way to the center of the room, when she calls out to me. “You know the rules, handsome?”

  It takes me a second to realize the woman is speaking to me. “No.”

  The woman’s throaty laugh is as condescending as it is sexy. “She can touch you, but you can’t touch her. A single misstep will get your ass tossed. Got it?”

  Remembering the guard from earlier, I nod. “Got it.”

  “Good. And don’t forget to tip.”

  The next second, I’m planted in the chair, and the surrounding guests are hooting and hollering in anticipation. I wave them off with a cocky grin while my eyes remain on the woman strutting around the chair.

  She stops behind me, her hands wrapping over my shoulders before a set of palms slide down my chest. Long, curly black hair drops down the front of my shirt. Somehow, I know it’s a wig, but that doesn’t make her any less beautiful. Neither do the obscenely long eyelashes that flutter against the tops of her cheeks when she closes her eyes.

  Jesus, how am I already getting hard? I adjust my position in the chair, but nothing can stop my erection from growing by the damn second with this vixen dancing around me.

  Her palms are all over my abs while her cheek skims against mine. She’s so close I can’t help but catch her lavender scent as it blows across my skin. The moment she lifts her body to stand upright, I’m aching for more. It’s like she knows my deepest desires because she’s walking back around me until she’s right in front of me.

  I can get a good look at her now that she’s illuminated under the purple light and not cloaked in the darkness of the hallway. She’s swaying her hips, her eyes closed, but I still remember the jolt that went through me when her gaze latched on to mine for that brief second earlier. My reaction to the woman has been so visceral, and I don’t know why.

  She’s more than a mystery now. She’s real, and that might be worse.

  She steps between my legs and turns so fast that her skirt blows up enough for me to catch sight of her bare ass cheeks around a razor-thin thong. My cock jumps when I think about what her skin would feel like in my greedy palms.

  Not a second later, that same ass comes down on my front, gliding against me, rubbing me, and successfully bringing my cock fully to life in a way that’s almost painful—in the sense that the relief that normally comes with the rise of the beast is an impossible feat in this situation.

  I can watch but not touch.

  Get hard but feel no relief.

  Fuck this.

  I’m a prisoner at the mercy of the bunny stroking me between her ass cheeks like she has every intention of finishing me off. But just as I feared, she rises at the precise moment I begin to lose myself to the hope of a release. She only makes it worse by ripping off her skirt and flinging it across the floor.

  Cheers boom from the onlookers who are watching with sinful eyes, probably getting as hard as I am from watching the sexy woman tease me to near death. A hint of a smile tugs at her lips as she turns back around to face me. She steps over my legs, each step as fluid as the last, precise and timed perfectly to the beat.

  There’s no denying that the woman is a beautiful dancer. Hypnotizing, even. But only one other dancer in my life has ever been able to completely stun me in such an intoxicating way.

  Violet Hart was my best friend growing up. She loved to dance so much that she studied it in college, knowing it would be practically impossible to make a decent career out of dance unless she moved to LA. Still, that didn’t stop her from breathing in the knowledge from wherever she could get it. I still remember the effortless way she glided across the floor like she was floating. And how she was able to bend her body into impressive shapes.

  Not even a sexy woman in a glittery bunny mask can chase away that haunting memory.

  Not now, not ever.

  The recruiting dancer who pulled me into the spotlight walks by, eyes raised in warning. “You’ll have to tip her if you want more, honey.”

  Shit. I forgot. I scramble for my pocket, which is quite an effort to get into with my hard dick taking up all the extra space. Pulling out the first bill I feel, I cringe internally when I realize it’s a hundred.

  The woman doesn’t even flinch as she leans in until she’s brushing my ear with her lips. “Mind tucking that into my leggings for me?”