The Naughty Corner
Praise for the novels of
Jasmine Haynes
“Deliciously erotic and completely captivating.”
—Susan Johnson, New York Times bestselling author
“An erotic, emotional adventure of discovery you don’t want to miss.”
—Lora Leigh, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“So incredibly hot that I’m trying to find the right words to describe it without having to be edited for content . . . Extremely stimulating from the first page to the last! Of course, that means that I loved it! . . . One of the hottest, sexiest erotic books I have read so far.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“Sexy.”
—Sensual Romance Reviews
“Delightfully torrid.”
—Midwest Book Review
“More than a fast-paced erotic romance, this is a story of family, filled with memorable characters who will keep you engaged in the plot and the great sex. A good read to warm a winter’s night.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Bursting with sensuality and eroticism.”
—In the Library Reviews
“The passion is intense, hot, and purely erotic . . . Recommended for any reader who likes their stories realistic, hot, captivating, and very, very well written.”
—Road to Romance
“Not your typical romance. This one’s going to remain one of my favorites.”
—The Romance Studio
“Jasmine Haynes keeps the plot moving and the love scenes very hot.”
—Just Erotic Romance Reviews
“A wonderful novel . . . Try this one—you won’t be sorry.”
—The Best Reviews
Berkley titles by Jasmine Haynes
THE NAUGHTY CORNER
THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE
WHAT HAPPENS AFTER DARK
PAST MIDNIGHT
MINE UNTIL MORNING
HERS FOR THE EVENING
YOURS FOR THE NIGHT
FAIR GAME
LACED WITH DESIRE
(with Jaci Burton, Joey W. Hill, and Denise Rossetti)
UNLACED
(with Jaci Burton, Joey W. Hill, and Denise Rossetti)
SHOW AND TELL
THE FORTUNE HUNTER
OPEN INVITATION
TWIN PEAKS
(with Susan Johnson)
SOMEBODY’S LOVER
Specials
LA PETITE MORT
UNDONE
THE NAUGHTY CORNER
Jasmine Haynes
HEAT
New York
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Skullestad.
Excerpt from Teach Me a Lesson by Jasmine Haynes copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Skullestad.
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) LLC.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61577-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Haynes, Jasmine.
The naughty corner / Jasmine Haynes.—Heat Trade paperback edition.
pages cm.
ISBN 978-0-425-26623-6
I. Title.
PS3608.A936N38 2013
813'.6—dc23
2013002894
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Heat trade paperback edition / October 2013
Cover photograph: Tied Hands © Boyan1971 / Shutterstock.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
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.
Contents
Praise
Berkley titles by Jasmine Haynes
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Special Excerpt from Teach Me A Lesson
About the Author
To my husband, Ole,
for standing behind me 100 percent in everything I do
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my special network of friends who support me, brainstorm with me, and encourage me: Bella Andre, Shelley Bates, Jenny Andersen, Jackie Yau, Ellen Higuchi, Kathy Coatney, Pamela Fryer, Rosemary Gunn, and Laurel Jacobson. Thanks also to my editor, Wendy McCurdy, and my agent, Lucienne Diver.
1
“NOW THAT IS ONE HOT MALE ANIMAL.” FROM HER PERCH IN THE bleachers, Lola Cook pointed with a small flick of her finger at the football field below as the coach strutted in front of his line of players, counting out their jumping jacks.
Coach Gray Barnett was a hell of a fine specimen.
“He’s old.” Charlotte Moore, Lola’s best friend since they’d attended this very same high school, made a face. “He must be close to forty-five.”
Lola laughed. “That’s only seven years older than we are.” Which made him an excellent match for Lola. She preferred seasoned men who wanted good sex without entanglements. Just the way she liked it. At least she did when she found time to date, which certainly hadn’t been much in the last few months.
Charlotte, on the other hand, with her curly red hair, emerald green eyes, and petite buxom frame, took her pick of buff, outdoorsy younger men, her favorite kind. “I mean, he’s good-looking and all . . .” She trailed off, leaving the but unsaid.
Lola studied him. At this distance, his dark hair almost seemed to gleam in the morning sun. He was tall and broad-shouldered, had the calf muscles of a runner, and his butt in those shorts was definitely squeezable. “So he’s some big CEO?” Not a full-time coach.
“Yeah. A global manufacturing company headquartered in Mountain View.” Close to Google and a bunch of the other Silicon Valley giants. “This is his way of giving back to the community. It’s his fourth year coaching the football camp.”
In addition to being a psychologist with a list of private patients, Charlotte was also a guidance counselor at the high school, and she’d given Lola a heads-up to enroll her two nephews. Without the camp, Lola hadn’t a clue what she would have done
with the boys for the summer.
The boys were now prone on the ground, obviously incapable of the push-ups Coach Barnett wanted out of them. He stood over them, coaxing. It was Tuesday, the first day of camp, and at a little before nine, the July sun was already warm on her head; the high school football field would be roasting by midday. Andrea would kill her if the twins got heatstroke, but barrels of iced sports drinks lined the benches, and a huge thermos, presumably filled with water, sat on a table along with baskets of fruit and power bars.
“So what did Andrea say when she heard what you did?”
Lola snorted. “She had a hissy fit. But I told her it was either football camp or I was shipping Heckle and Jeckle to her over in Europe.”
“Heckle and Jeckle.” Charlotte snorted a laugh in return.
“Oops.” Lola covered her mouth with her hand. That was her nickname for the twins, after the naughty magpies from the ancient cartoon. And that’s how she thought of her nephews, as naughty brats. “I mean Harry and William,” she said with a dramatic elongation.
On her best days, Lola wasn’t a kid person, but where the twins were concerned . . . she shuddered.
“They’re fifteen and a half years old,” Charlotte groused. “I don’t understand why Andrea has to have a nanny, for God’s sake.”
“Because my sister is a freak.” Which Charlotte knew well. Andrea was five years younger than Lola and so overprotective, it was pathetic. Though in a way, Lola couldn’t blame her. Andrea had suffered through four miscarriages before she conceived the twins. She thought she’d never have her own child. But honestly, the experience had warped her. She’d been terrified of coughs and colds, scrapes and bruises. She hadn’t even let the boys have bikes in case they were hit by a wayward car. What kid didn’t know how to ride a bike? Overprotective to the extreme, their mother had turned the twins into brats. Naming them Harry and William after the English princes said it all.
This summer Andrea had planned to take the boys on a whirlwind tour of Europe while her rich executive husband visited each branch of his company in every foreign country. What fun for them all. Until the nanny fell ill. Horrors. What was Andrea to do with the boys while she attended all the company functions and parties? After all, as the president’s wife, her presence was a requirement. Her big idea to solve the nanny debacle had been for Lola to go with them and squire the twins around Europe because, after all, Lola’s job was of no importance when compared to Andrea’s need. An all-expenses-paid trip through the best of Europe’s hotels did have a certain appeal. And they’d make a visit to the south of France where her parents had retired to three years ago. It all sounded great. Except that Lola would have to spend every waking hour with Heckle and Jeckle, oops, Harry and William. She’d rather clean toilets. Even more important, she had the Fletcher Cellular job to finish. It was the first major tech-writing project she’d had sole control of since she started her own business. No way was she screwing it up for her sister’s convenience. She was not going to Europe, and she wouldn’t have taken the boys at all if Andrea hadn’t started crying. And begging. And making Lola feel guilty. Not to mention Mom’s call from the south of France.
So thank goodness for Gray Barnett’s altruism and his football camp for high school boys, which was six weeks long, Tuesday through Saturday, eight in the morning until one. Lola had also enrolled the twins in a driving school, lessons on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Problem solved. She’d barely have to see the little magpies at all.
“Your sister needs therapy,” Charlotte said, ever the loyal best friend.
“She’s already in therapy.” Andrea wasn’t born rich, but after she’d married Ivy League Ethan Penfrey-Jones and given him the little princelings, she’d become the stereotypical rich society matron. “I used to like her once upon a time,” Lola mused. “She was a good kid.” Money had spoiled her the same way she’d spoiled the twins.
“She sure has your number. The twins for the whole summer.” Charlotte rolled her eyes.
The coach now had the boys running the track. Lola counted sixteen charges, none of whom appeared particularly athletic. Then again, the football camp wasn’t about training next year’s great players. She’d been diligent enough to read the mission statement on the website; the camp was about giving kids some self-esteem. Lola admired the coach for that.
And she certainly admired several other things about him. By the benches, he downed some water and snacked on a banana. Lola had a vision of the old commercial where the half-naked construction worker drank his diet soda. Watching Gray Barnett gave her the same heated sensation.
Charlotte might have been remembering the commercial when she said, “Well, I can’t sit here all day watching men get sweaty.”
Lola could, if the sweaty man was Gray Barnett. “Yeah, I gotta go, too.” She had a meeting with one of the engineers from Fletcher Cellular. She’d watched long enough to be able to assure Andrea that the boys were in capable hands.
She certainly wouldn’t mind spending six weeks in Coach Gray Barnett’s capable hands. But she had work to do.
* * *
SHE WAS A LONG-LEGGED BEAUTY IN A DENIM SKIRT, WITH A SLENDER, almost boyish figure. The gentle breeze up on the bleachers ruffled her black hair. Gray liked long hair he could wrap around his hands.
Was she the mother of a boy on his team? She neither waved nor tried to catch the eye of any of the kids as she and her friend glided down the bleacher steps together and headed to the exit gate.
The rear view, a very shapely bottom, was equally impressive. And all that hair swishing across her back.
The two women had been the only adults in attendance. Most parents had simply dropped their kids at the curb.
The boys finished another lap. He started camp early to miss the heat of the day. Marshaling them to him with a wave of his arm, he kept one eye on the lady’s rear assets. Very nice.
“Line up,” he called out. She turned, watched him a moment, then preceded her friend through the gate. “All right, we’re going to do some lunges.”
“Come on, Dad, we just did laps—” Rafe started.
“Coach Barnett,” he corrected.
Rafe muttered and fell into line with everyone else. Gray couldn’t give his son special treatment. It wouldn’t be fair to the other kids. He was glad Rafe had signed up again, but he couldn’t fathom his reasons since he’d always seemed resentful of every moment spent on the field with his dad. Though Gray had started the football camp four years ago as a community service, he’d also done it with the idea of spending quality time with Rafe, but it hadn’t brought them any closer. Gray was hoping this year would be different. Rafe had just turned seventeen; he was almost a man. Maybe he could start to understand. If his mom gave him half a chance. Gray didn’t want to blame his ex-wife for the state of his relationship with Rafe—he’d caused the problem himself with too many hours at the office or traveling and not enough time with his son—but Bettina hadn’t lightened up in the five years since the divorce.
“Here’s what I want you to do.” He demonstrated a lunge. The boys, ranging in age from thirteen to seventeen, were not athletes by any stretch of the imagination. Most were out of shape, spending too much time with their iPods and computer games or in front of a TV. The whole point of the camp was to get them some exercise, teach them to be team players, and bolster their self-confidence and esteem. With only sixteen players, he didn’t have a full contingent to make two complete teams, but they could still accomplish a lot during the six weeks. If the boys finished the course, they were guaranteed a tryout for the football team. In the previous three years, nine of his boys had made it, and those who didn’t had still come away with a sense of accomplishment. Rafe, however, had never tried out.
“Three sets of ten,” he called out.
Amid grunts and groans of exertion, the boys lunged with varying degrees of agility. Up on the hill beyond the bleachers, a car remote beeped in the parking lot. The woman clim
bed into a bright blue hatchback.
He hoped she was the mom of one of his guys. Because Gray sure as hell wanted her back on his field again.
* * *
THE TWINS WEREN’T AT THE CURB WHEN LOLA PULLED UP behind a line of parental vehicles a little after one on Friday. She waited, tapping the steering wheel.
On Tuesday morning—because of the time difference, her sister talked to the twins in the morning, every morning—Andrea had emailed a list of instructions on what the boys could and couldn’t eat. Not should not but could not. Of course, what Harry and William wanted wasn’t on the approved list. And since half of what she ate wasn’t on the approved list either, Lola was damn near ready to chuck it. The twins didn’t have nut allergies. They didn’t have a gluten allergy or lactose intolerance. So why cut all that stuff out completely? And really, what was wrong with good old-fashioned iceberg lettuce? Her sister was a food Nazi. She was also a movie Nazi and a TV Nazi. Lola would have felt sorry for the princelings if they hadn’t been so annoying. What had come over Andrea? Was it Mr. Penfrey-Jones? Was he the real Nazi?
An overweight boy of about fifteen shuffled to a minivan, his stick-thin mother holding his arm in a vise-like grip. Her mouth was moving a mile a minute, and she shook her finger right up until he hauled himself dejectedly into the front seat. Through the minivan’s back window, Lola could see the finger-shaking continue once the woman climbed in beside him.
Lola’s was now the last vehicle at the curb. She wasn’t supposed to leave her car unattended in the pickup circle, but no one else was around so she shoved the gear into park and got out to see what was holding up the twins.
Harry and William were seated on the bench, the coach standing tall over them, a dark-haired boy watching the proceedings from nearby. He was the twin’s age, maybe a year or so older, and if they’d been standing next to him, he probably would have topped them by three or four inches. With their plain brown hair—worn very short per Andrea’s edict—and their undistinguished height, Harry and William took after the Penfrey-Jones side. Andrea’s husband was not a tall man. In fact, he was a bit Napoleonic in both stature and demeanor, in other words, a short dictator.