Reawakened

Rachael Stewart adores conjuring up stories, from heartwarmingly romantic to wildly erotic. She’s been writing since she could put pen to paper—as the stacks of scrawled-on pages in her loft will attest to. A Welsh lass at heart, she now lives in Yorkshire, with her very own hero and three awesome kids—and if she’s not tapping out a story, she’s wrapped up in one or enjoying the great outdoors. Reach her on Facebook, Twitter (@rach_b52) or at rachaelstewartauthor.com.


If you liked Reawakened, why not try
Just One More Night by Caitlin Crews
Tempting the Enemy by JC Harroway
Fast Lane by Margot Radcliffe
Also by Rachael Stewart
Harlequin DARE
Mr. One-Night Stand
Mr. Temptation
Naughty or Nice
Getting Dirty
Losing Control
Unwrapping the Best Man
Our Little Secret
Harlequin Romance
Tempted by the Tycoon’s Proposal
Discover more at Harlequin.com


REAWAKENED
RACHAEL STEWART


For all the DAREdevils who loved DARE, this one is for you! It’s been a blast writing these superhot tales,and it’s time to go out with a BANG! Consider yourselves warned. ;-)
Much love,
Rachael xx


Contents
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from Just One More Night by Caitlin Crews


CHAPTER ONE
‘To live is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that is all.’
—Oscar Wilde
Olivia
HOW RIGHT CAN one man be?
Wilde would definitely lump me in with the ‘most’.
And do I care...?
I throw back a shot of vodka and wince into the mirror beyond the bar, my blue eyes sparking back at me as the answer burns with the alcohol.
I care.
And I’m doing what I can to make up for it. To make up for forty-five years of just existing. Of giving my all and coming out the other side, like this.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bitter... I’m not.
I’m angry.
I’m angry that my husband of twenty years has gone. Taken away from me without any warning. I’m angry that we spent our entire lives together dedicated to our work, to our charity, and we never found a balance.
I don’t resent the work we did. Especially the help we gave those who needed it. Those without homes, without money, without family or support. Those living lives that we could barely bring ourselves to imagine.
Just existing isn’t a choice for them; it’s all they can do.
I had a choice, and I chose badly.
So no, I’m not bitter. I’m angry. Angry with myself for not living. Angry that we ploughed so much time into everything else that we never hopped off the treadmill long enough to actually live. Never saw the world with our eyes wide open. Had fun. Adventure.
Cue me. Now.
Sitting alone. Propping up the bar of the exclusive DareDevils club. The sultry beat to the music pumping through my veins, the soft white lights mixing with the vibrant strobes that work through the crowd, deepening the mood and highlighting the suspended dance cages above. Women and men locked within, their lithe bodies twisting and turning in movements that scream sex.
The same kind of allure thrums off the bodies below. People hanging out in varying states of dress. Subs crawling on leashes, led by their latex-clad Doms. Others, much like me, wearing club gear designed to entice, to seduce, to have the elusive fun I am so desperate for...
Hedonistic. Wild. Abandoned.
‘Your room is ready for you, Sky.’
I swallow a surprised laugh at the young bartender before me. My pseudonym is something I came up with on the spot and having it repeated back to me triggers a little rush of embarrassment. I may be forty-five, yet something about this has me feeling childlike and foolish and way out of my comfort zone.
But then, isn’t that the point?
I palm the cool bar-top with both hands like it will somehow steady me and return the bartender’s smile that’s so perfect I can easily believe him a model by day, a successful tip-gainer by night.
‘Lead the way...’
Because, no matter how ridiculous or silly or foolish I feel, what lies in wait upstairs has not only the nerves but the anticipation clambering up my throat and I need this.
Another tick in the many, many boxes I have yet to fill...
Valentine
This bar is not my scene.
Not the mood, the people, the music...the blatant hunger.
It’s carnal, animalistic, and the walls pulse with it.
Only I have no interest. For four years, I’ve been celibate. Four years avoiding anything close.
Yet here I am, and all for her.
Olivia Carmel.
The woman I’m supposed to help.
The woman whose PR image is going down the pan and taking her brand with it. And when I say brand I mean her company, her charity, her. All three. She’s a celebrity entrepreneur, an icon, but since the death of her husband a year ago she’s steadily gone off the rails and I’ve been sent to rein her back in.
To bring the Olivia the nation loves back.
To fix her.
I stroke my jaw as I watch her, my frown building, my curiosity too. She’s all cool, suave and sophisticated against the seedy backdrop and I can’t marry the two together. Not the venue and her. Not the tabloid gossip and her.
She’s an enigma.
An enigma that’s steadily pulling me out of my comfort zone.
I roll my shoulders beneath my tailored jacket and run a finger under my shirt collar, cock my head side to side. She’s far, far from reach but her presence does something to me; it creeps beneath my skin, teasing, taunting, goading out the old me.
‘Can I offer you another?’
I turn to my left, to a scantily clad waitress who I’m sure is offering more than the drink on her tray, and smile. It’s tight and she backs up a step. Easy.
I’m six foot four and broad; a tight smile isn’t going to soften my look. Especially with the jagged scar through my eyebrow that looks like I spend too long inside a boxing ring when the truth is far simpler and comes with a dark tale of its own.
‘No.’ My voice is gravel thick, another side-effect of the