Make Me Up Read online

  Murder, mayhem, and makeup…

  Former special ops-turned private-investigator Cam Hardy leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes. He’s all charm and sex appeal, and who can blame him for putting it to good use? Besides, it works damn well on the stunning and tough-as-nails makeup artist Drea Sanford. Only this time, Cam may be in over his head...

  Drea is trying to keep her naughty affair with Cam a secret. After all, he’s Harbor City’s version of a Casanova...if Casanova had a motorcycle. When Cam makes their hot little liaison known to the public, however, Drea vows never to have sex with him again. Then one of her clients turns up dead. Now Drea is suspect number one—and she needs Cam’s help. But sleeping with him is one thing...trusting him is quite another.

  Make Me Up

  a Killer Style novel

  Avery Flynn

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

  Copyright © 2015 by Avery Flynn. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Ignite is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stephen Morgan

  Cover design by Kelley York

  ISBN 978-1-63375-198-9

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition February 2015

  This one is going out to all my fellow makeup addicts and, of course, the people at Sephora who feed my addiction and the good people at Urban Decay who make the best eyeliner on the face of the earth.

  Chapter One

  “The most beautiful makeup on a woman is passion. But cosmetics are easier to buy.” - Yves Saint-Laurent

  Drea Sanford didn’t do the ‘burbs. She didn’t do backyard BBQs with screaming kids and romping dogs. And she most assuredly did not do Cam Hardy—at least not in public. In private? That boy was as hot in bed as his swagger promised, and as long as no one knew a damn thing about it, she’d keep riding him to happy town.

  At least that had been the plan.

  But here she was across the Harbor City Bridge in Waterburg, sitting on an outdoor swing with a paper plate filled with potato salad, chips, and a burnt-to-a-crisp hotdog on her lap. She held a red plastic cup full of cheap beer. And the oh-so-full-of-himself-James-Bond-wanna-be’s lips were locked onto hers in front of God and everyone like their friends-with-benefits agreement was common knowledge instead of one of her most guarded secrets.

  Cam had been sniffing after her since the day they’d met nearly a year ago, and she’d cut him off at the knees every time. But a sex positive girl like herself could only deny her own lust for the hotness that was Cam Hardy for so long…and she’d given in a few months ago—but only if he agreed to keep it just between them. No one needed to be in her business or realize that she’d fallen for the cocky super stud of Harbor City.

  But now he was kissing her in Sylvie’s backyard in front of everyone. There was no way around it. She had to cut off her secret lover—just as soon as she could find the willpower to end this kiss. Arrogant lothario or not, Cam knew how to kiss. Strong. Confident. Temping as all hell. He teased her just the way he knew she liked, making everything below her waist warm, wet, and tingly.

  The sound of laughter broke through the lusty haze surrounding them and brought her back to reality. As much as she liked his mouth and all the things he could do with it, he’d crossed the line by kissing her in public. She’d grown up with her personal business being everyone’s business, and she’d rather go makeup free forever than go through that again.

  Anyway, she didn’t do second chances.

  Life’s a bitch that way—and didn’t she know it from personal experience.

  She pushed against his chest—honed to a solid muscular mass by long hours in the gym and God knew what else—and got an inch of summer air between them.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” Cam rubbed light circles on her bare thigh just north of her knee.

  Poor boy didn’t have a clue. He’d made a promise, broken it, and she was done.

  She knocked his hand away from her skin. “If anyone saw that, I’m going to punch you in the nuts.”

  Drea did a quick sweep of Sylvie’s and Tony’s backyard. Even from their semi-secluded spot in the yard’s back corner, someone could have spotted them. The place was packed with people here to celebrate the couple’s engagement. Her best friend’s dads stood behind the fake Tiki bar, mixing sangria tasty enough to make people temporarily forget the fact that it was strong enough to strip paint. Tony manned the grill as various members of his family offered unsolicited advice on when to flip the burgers. Okay, maybe no one had seen the kiss.

  She could almost convince herself of it…except Sylvie and Ryder were giggling by the food table, never making eye contact with Drea. That was all she needed to know. Her besties hadn’t missed a damn second of her unexpected kiss with Cam. Her cheeks burned, and she downed the rest of her beer.

  “If anyone saw what?” Cam winked and snatched a chip off her plate. “Saw me kiss you, or saw you kiss me back?”

  “You knew the deal. No going public.”

  “Who cares if anyone sees us? Let’m talk.”

  The truth smacked her in the face. “Was that your plan all along—to make our little fling public?” She nearly threw the plate at him.

  “Babe.” He laughed loud enough that heads turned in their direction. “You know I don’t plan.”

  “You should, because this little harebrained scheme just cost you a chance at ever getting between my sweet thighs again.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Because you’re good in bed, but not good enough that I want to be known as just one more conquest for the man who accounted for most of Trojan’s business in Harbor City. My private business, is my business.”

  Cam toyed with the purple strap of her tank top. “What’s wrong, your ego can’t take everyone finding out I’ve finally caught you?”

  He leaned back against the back of the faded double swing, his six-foot, five-inch frame thick with muscles—the better to hold up his massive ego—taking up most of the space. The damn thing was so big that even after a year of knowing each other, he still didn’t understand that presenting an impenetrable, no-one-can-hurt-me facade to the world was the biggest rule in her life. Really, it was her only rule. And letting everyone know that she’d almost fallen for a playboy like Cam, who left hearts shattered in his wake on a daily basis, broke shattered that image to smithereens.

  He chuckled and relaxed back in the seat until his thigh lined up against hers, as if he had every right to jangle her nerves so thoroughly.

  She got out of the seat and turned around to face him, but she was lost for words when she realized standing up had just given him a better view. His green-eyed gaze took in her entire body. Then he grinned, pissing her off and drenching her panties at the same damn time.

  If anyone could carry off absolutely wicked and totally charismatic at the same time, it was Cam. She itched to run her fingers through his thick mass of tousled honey blond hair. His murky green eyes were full of dark promise, the kind she knew he could deliver.

  And then there was his body. She could eat Jell-O off of his tanned washboard abs and the gelatin wouldn’t have the courage to jiggle. Being near him was like standing at the edge of the subway platform a
s the train whooshed by—exhilarating, dangerous, and addicting on a completely visceral level.

  But he’d broken her rule. The one thing she’d asked him not to do—and he’d gone and done it anyway. She wasn’t sure whether knowing he’d done it without thinking made the situation worse or just sad. But she couldn’t keep seeing him if she couldn’t trust him to keep this a secret. Hell, after that kiss, there was no secret. Cover blown. Everyone knew.

  Time to cut her losses. Breaking it off now was the smart plan.

  “I know what it is.” He stood up and closed the distance between them. “You’re embarrassed because you think someone saw your tongue push its way into my mouth—accidentally, I’m sure. And heard that sweet, soft moan of pleasure—”

  She pushed her hand against his chest and forced him back. “Get over yourself, pretty boy.”

  He didn’t even blink at the insult. “You want me. I want you. The sex is amazing. Why are you fighting so damn hard against letting people know we’re together?”

  “Because we’re not.” She had no plans to trod down the well-worn path to Cam Hardy’s bed again. “You knew the rules when this thing started.”

  “No going public.” His gaze pinned her to the spot, and he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. “Look, babe, give me another chance.”

  It made her mouth go dry and other places get wet. They’d had one hell of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am twisting of the sheets, but they’d known from the start this was temporary. She’d known it. He’d known it. They’d agreed to keep it secret.

  So why was he acting like it meant anything to him? She’d needed a little stress relief, preferably in the form of a hot guy who’d given her three—okay, four—orgasms in one night. Cam was hot, talented, and not into commitments. But he had just hung her dirty laundry out for the world to see. She’d sworn she’d never go through that again.

  And she wouldn’t.

  Time to end this little charade and get back to Harbor City and the bitch of a client she had to deal with before the arts gala tonight. Natasha Orton wasn’t the worst beauty client she’d ever had to dust with setting power from her makeup kit of wonders, but she was damn close.

  “It’s over.” Drea took a single step away from him.

  He moved lightning fast to get in front of her, his bulk blocking her view of the rest of the group. “Don’t go away mad, babe. Let me make it up to you. Tonight. My place. No one has to know.”

  She tossed her cup and plate into the trashcan. “Charming.”

  He threw up his hands in frustration. “Around most people, I am.”

  “And I’m not most people.” Pushing her point home, she traced a finger across his broad, sinewy shoulders and used the softest hint of pressure to nudge him out of her way so she could march across the grass to say goodbye to her best friends. “You should remember that.”

  “As if I could ever forget.” He finally stood to the side, letting her pass.

  Her step faltered, but she kept moving forward. She knew better than to show even the slightest weakness.

  Cam Hardy watched slack-jawed as Drea strutted away as hot and untouchable as the sun. His standard operating procedure was to be the one making a quick escape without a second look back. Drea had shredded that SOP with her hot pink fingernails.

  He was damned lucky she hadn’t used those talons on him—on second thought, he always enjoyed it when she did. What he’d give to feel her nails scrapping down his chest, her dark brown skin pressed against him. Everything south of his belt buckle went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

  He sank his hand into the nearby cooler. The ice cooled down his hand, but the rest of him remained hot and ready. What the fuck was he doing wrong? He hadn’t been this clueless since he’d first realized there was a difference between boys and girls. Sweet talking women had always been easy, a skill that had served him well in his early years on his own when he needed a place to stay for the night…or an alibi. As a kid on the street up to no good, he’d usually needed both.

  “Dude, she just sank your battleship.” Alex Lee, one of two new hires at Maltese Security, stopped at Cam’s side but kept his gaze locked on Drea as she said her goodbyes. “That was like watching the Titanic go down, but without that annoying song.”

  How this asshat had made it through the pre-hire personality screening was a mystery. “Fuck you.”

  “My lip reading skills are off, but going by body language, I’d say that’s exactly what she told you.” Alex crossed his arms, his gaze still tracking Drea’s progress across the yard to the side gate that lead to the driveway.

  The other man didn’t leer exactly, but Cam didn’t have a bit of doubt about the thoughts playing out in Alex’s head right now. And that made him want to pound the other guy’s face until his eyes were swollen shut. Just because it was a fling didn’t mean he wasn’t possessive of Drea.

  Years ago, when he was still hanging on the bottom rung of a street crew, he would have let the other guy know as much. But this little puke stain wasn’t going to fuck things up for him now. He’d come home to the last city in the world he’d ever wanted to return to so he could pay an old debt. His teenage years had been a bitch, and if it hadn’t been for the judge, he’d either be dead or in jail. So when the old man had said he needed a favor, Cam had dropped everything and come home to Harbor City.

  “Is there a point to this chat?” He finished the last third of his beer in one long pull.

  Alex shrugged. “Just my enjoyment.”

  He crumbled the beer can and tossed the squashed aluminum ball into the recycling bin. “You’re a real son of a bitch that way.”

  “No doubt.” Alex took a swig of beer, his eyes never leaving Drea’s ass as she walked out of the gate. “Ever think you’re just not her type?”

  What a total tool. “And I suppose you are?”

  “Yeah. I am.” Alex turned and stepped into Cam’s personal space like a frat boy hungry for a fight. “Trust me, she can see through your bullshit from a mile away.”

  He didn’t give a millimeter. “Don’t hold back.”

  “I never do. Unlike you. I’ve been reading the old case files. You’re good, but you’re a loose cannon, and you don’t play well with others. It shows in your results.”

  A familiar coldness spread outward from his stomach. It used to be all he ever felt. They’d called him the Iceman for good reason, but this prick didn’t know any of that. “You don’t know jack shit about me.”

  “Ah yes, the mysterious pseudo-military organization you were with before Maltese?” Alex flipped his empty can into the trash, and the move brought him toe-to-toe with Cam. “Being a hired thug really doesn’t do much to build up a resume. Add to that your criminal record and I’m surprised you even got an investigator’s license. What did you do, sleep your way into the approval?”

  Everything froze. The air went from summer’s heat to the polar vortex’s frigidity in an instant. All of the BBQ’s noise faded into the background, and Cam was in the Iceman’s kill zone. “You’d better shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

  Alex puffed up his chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Hey, morons.” Ryder pushed her way between them, managing to stomp a foot down on both of their shoes and jam an elbow in each of their ribs. “May I remind you this is a family BBQ with kids and others who aren’t used to dealing with your daily bitch fits? Now, make nice before I throat punch both of you.”

  Cam rubbed the spot on his fourth rib where Ryder had elbowed him. He’d find a bruise there in the morning. If it had been anyone else Cam would have returned the favor, but aside from not wanting to ruin the BBQ for everyone, Ryder was one of the few women who’d rather try to kick his ass in the ring rather than kiss it outside of the ropes. “So much for making lovey-dovey cow eyes with Devin mellowing you out.”

  She cut him a don’t-fuck-with-me glare. “I’m serious. It’s not the time or the place for you two to m
easure dicks.”

  Alex held up his hands and took a step back. “You’re right. You’ve got nothing to worry about—when it comes to me.”

  Cam fisted his hands before the urge to knock that smarmy grin right off the asshole’s face took over.

  The other man smirked and let out a laugh before pivoting on his heel and sauntering off across the crowded backyard.

  Ryder leaned over. “You know his mom was a prosecutor—at least until some of Diamond Tommy’s people got to her. They found the body last year. Not surprisingly, he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. Once he gets to know you…”

  “He’ll still be an asshole.”

  She chuckled. “Probably.”

  But being a douchebag and being right weren’t mutually exclusive.

  “Do you think he’s on to something? When it comes to Drea?” He hated himself for being such a total wuss and even asking the question, but he had to know.

  Ryder sighed and tucked her short hair behind her ear. “It’s not my story to tell. Let’s just say the truth is always more complicated than it first appears.”

  Complicated women and complicated truths. He’d spent his life avoiding both, but Drea Sanford had him reconsidering, and wondering what it would be like if he were a different kind of man.

  Chapter Two

  “Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

  If the true sign of being rich was to never have to ask how much something cost, then Drea’s clients had never uttered those words in their entire lives. She was one of Harbor City’s most sought-after makeup artists, and it’s most expensive—but worth every penny.

  She walked up the stone steps to the five story brownstone that took up half a block of Harbor City’s most expensive real estate. The place looked so different from Tony and Sylvie’s Waterburg home. It wasn’t just the size, it was the whole atmosphere. Her client, Natasha Orton, kept the brownstone’s vibe as icy as the pale blue walls in each one of the twenty-something rooms.