Aaron Crews gave his name to the leather hooded man at the front door and waited patiently while his identity and right to be at the exclusive party were verified. After a quick glance at the clipboard he held and a brief call, the doorman permitted Aaron to be ushered inside. Aaron didn’t breathe a sigh of relief when he crossed the threshold, however.

Getting the invitation was the easy part.

He didn't bother to hide his appreciation from the man approaching him, though. It went with his cover. The place was huge, even by Palm Beach's standards, and rumored to have been built as an exact replica of the owner's Mediterranean villa.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

"It is." Aaron extended his hand. "Aaron Crews." A calculated risk using his real name and occupation to gain entrance to the house, but it appealed to his adrenalin-junkie nature. He felt a spike of excitement. The chase was on.

"Todd Jacobs." He jerked his head to the side as he turned. "Come join the party."

Aaron coolly studied the man as they walked down the long center hall that led to music in the distance. Tall, lean, and distinguished looking, he looked more like a Wall Street mogul than the owner of one of the world's largest collections of Victorian erotica. Aaron guessed his age to be around sixty.

The corridor ended in a big room, the opposite wall of glass doors open to reveal a lighted pool, patio, and band. Standard south Florida fare. And that’s where the standard began and ended. He arched an eyebrow as he looked around then schooled his expression when he caught Jacobs grinning at him. The other man glanced at his watch.

"Look around. Enjoy yourself."

Aaron barely paid attention, his interest caught by a threesome in various states of undress and arousal. The woman was on her hands and knees, and one man fucked her from behind while alternating sharp slaps of a belt on her ass cheeks. The second man fucked her mouth, head thrown back in pleasure as he gripped her head. Aaron didn’t care much about the men, except he wouldn’t mind much switching positions with one of them. The idea made him instantly, painfully hard. He looked around the room wondering if there was an available and willing woman around.

"The tour won’t start until midnight," Jacobs continued.

Shit. The tour of his collection. Aaron tried to force his cock back under control, reminding himself of why he was there, but a sexy woman in a red hot dress approached, hips swaying in that age old siren's call, and the appendage refused to cooperate.

She stopped at Jacobs' side, setting her palm on the crook of his arm and pecking him softly on the cheek in greeting. Then she turned to him, her pale blue eyes frank and assessing. And very, very interested. A curiosity he definitely reciprocated. Hell, he was here to do a job, but he might as well have some fun while he was at it, right?

"Aaron Crews, this is Eden Scott." Arching an eyebrow, Jacobs looked back and forth between the two of them. Did he sense the sparking attraction between his two guests? He chuckled and spoke softly, "Given half a chance, I’m sure she'll take very good care of you."

There was something about Jacobs' tone of voice that put Aaron's guard up, but before he could question it the man was gone and the woman was closer, setting her fingertips on his right shoulder and trailing them across his upper back as she circled him. Knowledge coalesced in his brain. Eden Scott. Holy shit.

"You run SPEL." The Society for the Preservation of Erotica Literature. Fuck a duck. Her lips turned up in a sexy half smile.

"I’m the one."