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Wired: For the Billionaire's Pleasure - Luke & Claire, #1

Wired: For the Billionaire's Pleasure - Luke & Claire, #1

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Wired: For the Billionaire's Pleasure - Luke & Claire, #1

4.5/5 (16 evaluări)
213 pages
3 hours
Mar 23, 2015


Hot-as-hell billionaire, Luke Masters, built a life of money, power, and sex. He's used to making the world bend to his desires, and it’s been a long time since anyone told him no. When his sultry, smart electrical contractor, Claire English, doesn't bow to his every whim, it’s a challenge he can’t resist.

Comfortable competing in a male-dominated world, Claire doesn't intimidate easily. But the raw power and coiled energy of the sexy billionaire has her body resonating with a hard-wired need. The chemistry between them is a distraction--a distraction neither of them can afford. The only way to get their focus back is to let the sparks fly and surrender to the heat smoldering between them. But will igniting the passion lead to an explosive desire or will the fire consume them both?

WIRED is the first book in NYT and USA Today bestselling author, Evelyn Adams's sexy For the Billionaire's Pleasure series. The trilogy, WIRED, WANTON and WON, is complete and available now. 

Mar 23, 2015

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Wired - Evelyn Adams


CLAIRE LOOKED FROM THE PAGES spread out on the raw concrete floor to the steel I-beams overhead. The first time she’d seen a set of electrical plans it had been as a little girl peering over her daddy’s shoulder. Then the lines had just been squiggles and scratches. Now when she looked at the drawings, the flat page morphed into three dimensions, and she could see exactly the way the wires needed to snake through the building’s structure. She saw the fixture placement and sensed how the light would wash the finished space.

She glanced back at the plans just to confirm what she already knew. She could rough in for the fixtures the way the architect specified, but the client wouldn’t be happy with the result. Another contractor – hell, lots of other contractors – would do the install according to the drawings and then let the client pay to change it when they realized it wouldn’t work. Claire was tempted. God knew she needed the money. She was okay on this job, at least for now, but she was so overextended on the property she was flipping on the side. All it would take was for something big to go wrong and she could lose everything.

It didn’t matter. The craftsman in her wouldn’t let her do a job she knew wasn’t right. She wasn’t about to take money for someone else’s short sightedness or worse put her family name on a job with bad lighting because the client was too cheap to redo it.

She gathered the plans, shifted her hardhat so it stopped pushing on her pony tail and made her way through the forest of metal studs outside to the construction trailer.

Hey Sparks, she said, banging open the flimsy door. The architect fucked up the lighting plan for the restaurant. I’m going to fix it.

As soon as she was inside the tiny temporary building, Claire took off her hardhat and pulled the elastic out of her hair, shaking out the thick auburn mane. She had her arms above her head refastening her ponytail when she saw the pained expression on the gray-haired construction manager’s face and realized they weren’t alone.

I paid my architectural firm a great deal of money, Ms.?

English, Claire answered, taking in the staggeringly handsome man sitting in the corner of the trailer.

She didn’t know how she missed him. He was like a tiger, all coiled energy. Power. Danger.

His dark brown hair fell in careless waves, skimming the collar of a crisp white dress shirt so finely tailored she was sure it cost more than any single piece of clothing in her wardrobe. The polished cotton did nothing to hide the strong shoulders and a back more suited to physical labor than life behind a desk. But it was his eyes that stole her breath and held her pinned in place. Rich chocolate pools, intense and far too discerning. She was sure he could see right through her, and the small trailer suddenly felt even smaller.

As I was saying, Ms. English, I pay my architects a great deal of money to get things right. What in the world would lead you to believe that you know more than they do?

His voice was low and commanding, like rich caramel with a burnt sugar bite, and it washed over her, waking up parts of her body that had been dormant for a long time. Jesus. Then the meaning of his words hit her and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Because I do, she said with a shrug. I can light the room the way it’s drawn, but when it’s done instead of being vibrant and exciting, your restaurant will be flat. Dull. Nobody wants that.

Sparks stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray that constantly overflowed on his desk. Claire had no idea what his real name was or how he’d gotten his nickname, but she’d liked him from the first moment she’d met him. He reminded her of her daddy. Gruff and no nonsense, definitely not one to put up with any bullshit, but he treated her like one of the guys and never made her feel like she couldn’t do something because she was a woman. She already knew she and her crew were as good as any electrical contractor out there, but it was nice not to have to prove it all the time. Navigating her way through a predominantly male industry had set her teeth on edge on more than one occasion.

Show me, Sparks said, around the unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth.

Claire unrolled the plans and laid them on top of the papers piled over his desk. She felt the man – it had to be Luke Masters, the developer, who else would pay the architects – come up behind her. He radiated heat, and she fought the urge to lean back into all that warmth. What was wrong with her? He’d acted like an arrogant prick, and she sure as hell didn’t let herself get attracted to the client. But her body didn’t seem up to speed with that concept, and her stomach clenched as she sensed more than felt him stepping closer.

See here, she said with a mouth gone suddenly dry. This is where the bearing columns are, and this is the logical place for a partition wall, but the way the fixture layout’s drawn, this area is going to be flooded. No one’s going to want to sit there. And over here, it’s so dark, your patrons will be lucky to see their fifty dollar chicken.

Sparks nodded, and she knew he got it, but the guy behind her stayed quiet.

I can show you what I mean in the space if you want, but trust me, you don’t want to do this. She rolled up the plans and shoved the hardhat back on her head.

Without waiting for an answer, she put her hand on the knob and pushed the door open. She glanced over her shoulder at the bare-headed man following her. I suggest you put on a hardhat Mr. Masters. Unless you like paying OSHA fines.


SHE WAS RIGHT about everything. Standing in the empty space lined with bare metal studs, he watched her move around, gesturing to his construction manager about the ceiling, and he started to see what she did. He’d give her permission to make the changes she wanted to make, but from the flash of green in her hazel eyes, he doubted she was waiting for his approval. He sensed that if he turned his attention away, she’d do what she wanted without giving him time to come around and prove she was right with the finished product. She was five foot four inches of lush curves and barely contained energy, and he wanted her more than he’d wanted a woman in as long as he could remember.

He wanted her tied to his bed, naked, flushed and breathless with pleasure, begging for his permission to come.

Fuck, where had that image come from? She had him so distracted; he’d almost walked out of the trailer without a hardhat. He’d been around job sites for two decades, since he started working construction to put himself through college. Wearing a hardhat was second nature, and he’d nearly gone out onto his own site without one. He had to regain control of the situation and then he was going to get to know the fiery auburn-haired vixen a lot better – like with her on her knees while he fucked her pretty little mouth.

Very well, Ms. English. You’ve made your point. And you’ve probably saved me a great deal of money. Tell your boss I need you for a few hours. He laced his voice with heat and the command that usually had people jumping to do his bidding. We’ll discuss your plans over lunch.

He realized his mistake when her eyes flashed, and Sparks took a step away from him to lay a restraining hand on her shoulder.

I don’t have a boss, Mr. Masters. It is Mr. Masters, isn’t it? Heat radiated off of her in angry waves. I have a crew upstairs and a client in front of me. She spat the words at him in a way that let him know exactly what she thought of that client. I am the boss.

Well fuck. Apparently the C. in C. E. English Electrical Contractors stood for Claire. She glared at him like she wanted to eat him alive. All it did was pour gas on what was quickly becoming an all-consuming fire of want and hunger for her.

First, he was going to get her to agree to lunch and then he’d figure out how to get her naked and writhing with pleasure underneath him. He always got what he wanted. It was what made him such a formidable businessman and let him build a billion dollar empire from almost nothing.

This time what he wanted was her – and when he wanted something, he made damn sure he got his way.

All the more reason to join me, he said, deliberately avoiding apologizing for his mistake. Saying sorry to a woman like Claire English seemed as likely to earn him a dagger between the ribs as forgiveness. And he intended to keep the power in this relationship. Bring your plans and we can go over the rest of the public spaces during lunch. He nodded to Sparks and made his way toward the outside with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be obeyed. Oh, and Ms. English, he threw back over his shoulder. I may not be your boss, but I do sign your checks, which in many ways is a much better position to be in.

He saw her hands fist and her jaw clench and watched as she fought an internal battle he was sure she’d rather be having with him. Sparks glanced between the two of them obviously caught in the middle and not liking it. Luke waited until he saw her almost imperceptible nod and then he walked off to wait for her at his car, certain of her obedience and relishing it even more because he could tell she rarely gave it.


OF ALL THE asinine, infuriating, rich, prick bastards. Claire had never been a violent person, but Luke Masters could easily drive her to murder. And that voice, rich as melted chocolate with a command that let her know he expected everyone around him to just jump and do what he said. What was even worse, it had worked. She’d checked on her crew working on the rough-in on four, told them she’d be MIA for a couple of hours, and shoved the plans into her black tube. She slung the tube over her shoulder and went to the construction trailer to meet the arrogant man just like he’d told her to.

A Bugatti Veyron worth more than she’d probably make in a lifetime idled in front of the trailer. Pretentious car for a pretentious asshole. As she approached, Luke climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door. An old Dave Matthews song wove its way out of the open door. So his taste in music wasn’t as obnoxious as he was. She doubted that would be enough to help her get through lunch.

Get in, Ms. English, he said in that voice that told her he had no doubt she’d do exactly that.

Claire slid into the buttery soft leather seat and took off her hardhat. Luke took it and the tube from her, putting them behind the seat with a finality that had her rethinking this whole working lunch thing.


LUKE PULLED THE car in front of Comme Ci and Claire clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping open. People waited months to get a table at the exclusive restaurant. She’d wanted to try it for years but it had always seemed just out of reach and here he was dropping in for an impromptu lunch. Claire glanced down at her faded jeans and work boots and cringed. She was not dressed for Comme Ci and as much as she was dying for a chance to try Chef Auxtre’s food, she hated not being prepared.

He must have picked up on her apprehension because he reached over to stroke her cheek. Don’t worry. You are going to be the most beautiful woman in there, and I’ve got us a private table away from the other diners. It will just be you and me.

Her mind wanted her to bite the fingers that played along her face, but her body melted into his touch. There was something about this man that made it impossible to deny him anything, and she had a flash of panic at what else he might ask of her. She turned away before she could embarrass herself by rubbing her cheek against him like a cat. Pulling the elastic from her hair, she gave her thick auburn mane a quick fluff. It was the only concession she could make to her appearance given the circumstances.

He handed the keys to the valet who gawked at the car with real appreciation. Claire hurried to climb out the passenger’s side before Luke had a chance to make it to her door. They both needed to remember this was business, not a date. Although with her grubby work boots, it might not be as much of a challenge as she thought. She bent over the seat to retrieve the plans, freezing when she felt a firm hand on the small of her back. The heat of his touch radiated through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, and she had to force herself to keep moving.

Let me take those, he said when she stood, clutching the tube.

I’ve got them. She held them to her like a safety blanket, the three foot long black plastic tube her only weapon in a war to keep him at a safe distance.

It didn’t work. He let his hand rest, warm and solid, on the small of her back, his touch sending ribbons of heat through her, making it impossible for her to ignore her body’s response to being close to him. He guided her through the open door into the cool blue sanctuary of Chef Auxtre’s world renowned restaurant.

Good afternoon, Mr. Masters, said the pretty young woman, giving him a sultry smile while she waited for them at the entrance to the dining room.

She wore a classic black sheath dress and four inch heels. Claire set her jaw and refused to look down at her worn jeans. This was a working lunch. She was working, and it hadn’t been her choice to show up at Comme Ci in her steel toe boots. If the young woman thought her appearance was odd, she didn’t let on. She simply nodded and smiled.

We’ve got your table ready for you.

Thank you, Abigail, said Luke with a familiarity that rankled Claire.

Why the hell should she care how well he knew the hostess?

The pretty young woman led them across the dining room and through a door beside the open kitchen. Claire could see Chef Auxtre’s staff working their magic at the grill and wood fired oven, but it was the private dining room that held her attention. A wooden farm table polished smooth by years of use sat in the middle of a room with a wooden floor stained ebony and rich persimmon colored walls. If the main dining room was cool elegance, this room was layered heat.

The colors and textures combined in an authenticity of materials that stole Claire’s breath.  A Murano glass pendant light cast a warm glow over the table and artfully spaced recessed lights washed the salmon-orange walls. The table which looked like it could easily seat eight or more had been set for two with thick white ceramic plates and hand blown glass goblets that managed to be delicate and earthy at the same time.

It’s beautiful, said Claire, sucking in a breath. She didn’t care if it made her sound like she didn’t belong there. A place that gorgeous, that well designed, deserved notice.

It is, isn’t it? said the hostess with a genuine smile. Make yourself at home. Rachel will be taking care of you today, and Chef said to tell you he’d stop out to see you as soon as he was able.

Luke held out a chair for her and Claire had no choice but to set the plans on the floor beside her and sit. He took the seat next to her at the head of the table, and before he was settled, another pretty young woman, this time in a white shirt and simple black skirt with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, came to stand opposite them.

Good afternoon, Mr. Masters. Miss. My name is Rachel, and I will be taking care of you. Chef wanted to offer you his tasting menu unless there was something else you’d prefer.

Luke watched Claire with his far

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  • (4/5)
    Having the same problem. More times you have to wait a whole month to read the next series in the book. It gets me so up set .
  • (5/5)

    2 people found this helpful

    Can't wait to read the other 2 books of the series, but scribd are not being very fair with subscribers. Limiting what we can read now in a month. I am an avid reader and will probably unsubscribe and get my money back. Very disappointed I have been a subscriber to scribd for 3 years but no longer. Now fed up.

    2 people found this helpful