Behind the Curtain Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF BETH KERY,

  WINNER OF THE ALL ABOUT ROMANCE READER POLL

  FOR BEST EROTICA

  “An intensely sexual love story.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Addictive, delectable reading.”

  —USA Today

  “Wicked good storytelling.”

  —Jaci Burton, New York Times bestselling author

  “Holy hell HAWT.”

  —Under the Covers Book Blog

  “Suspenseful . . . hella sexy and hot. [The hero and heroine’s] erotic relationship is good enough to make one’s toes curl.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “One of the sexiest, most erotic love stories that I have read in a long time.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “A sleek, sexy thrill ride.”

  —Jo Davis, national bestselling author

  “One of the best erotic romances I’ve ever read.”

  —All About Romance

  “Nearly singed my eyebrows.”

  —Dear Author

  “Fabulous, sizzling hot.”

  —Julie James, New York Times bestselling author

  Titles by Beth Kery

  WICKED BURN

  DARING TIME

  SWEET RESTRAINT

  PARADISE RULES

  RELEASE

  EXPLOSIVE

  THE AFFAIR

  (also available in serial format)

  GLIMMER

  GLOW

  MAKE ME

  (also available in serial format)

  BEHIND THE CURTAIN

  Because You Are Mine Series

  BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

  (also available in serial format)

  WHEN I’M WITH YOU

  (also available in serial format)

  BECAUSE WE BELONG

  SINCE I SAW YOU

  One Night of Passion Series

  ADDICTED TO YOU

  (writing as Bethany Kane)

  EXPOSED TO YOU

  ONLY FOR YOU

  One Night of Passion Specials

  BOUND TO YOU

  CAPTURED BY YOU

  BERKLEY

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Beth Kery

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Kery, Beth, author.

  Title: Behind the curtain / Beth Kery.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Sensation, 2017.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016057222 (print) | LCCN 2017004279 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780399583711 (softcover) | ISBN 9780399583728 (eBook)

  Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | FICTION / Contemporary

  Women. | FICTION / Romance / General. | GSAFD: Erotic fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3611.E79 B44 2017 (print) | LCC PS3611.E79 (ebook) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016057222

  First Edition: May 2017

  Photo of woman behind the curtain © Yanki Sivrikoz / 500 px

  Cover design by Sarah Oberrender

  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.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise for the Novels of Beth Kery

  Titles by Beth Kery

  Title Page

  Copyright

  PART ONE 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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  PART TWO Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My deepest gratitude to Hasna for giving me such invaluable insight into Moroccan culture. And thank you, wonderful reader, for taking these romantic trips with me throughout the years.

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Asher’s longtime friend Jimmy Rothschild wore an amused expression as he watched the waitress walk away.

  “That look might rock it in Aleppo or Cairo, my friend, but you’re scaring the locals in the good old U.S. of A.,” Jimmy joked quietly, nodding at the back of the retreating waitress, and then Asher’s face. Asher knew Jimmy referred to his full beard and rough appearance. Or possibly he’d been frowning as he ordered from the blonde, thinking more about the meeting with his parents tomorrow morning than being civil and pleasant in front of a pretty woman.

  Or maybe everyone really did notice how out of place he felt in the city he’d once called home.

  Rudy Fattore, his other friend, snorted. “The waitress wasn’t afraid of him,” Rudy told Jimmy with a wise air. “She was thinking about where to start in on him. With that beard and tan, Ash reeks of the desert and intrigue. Trust me, women love the smell of danger. He’s giving off that most-interesting-man-alive cachet. It’s concentrated testosterone, I’m telling you.” He ran his fingers across his own clean-shaven jaw. “I may not be up for a Pulitzer Prize or a job as the Gazette’s new European bureau chief, but I’m still an award-winning photojournalist, aren’t I? Maybe I’ll give a beard a spin.”

  “You’d only be overcompensating for the lack of hair on your head,” Jimmy said. He smiled calmly at Rudy’s glare.

  “You tried to grow a beard in college and it sprouted in patches,” Asher reminded Rudy.

  “Things are different now,” Rudy insisted. “I’ve got eleven years on that patchy kid.”

  Asher grinned despite his bad mood. Rudy was always good for a laugh. Well, most of the time, anyway.

  He slumped in the uncomfortable, sleek chair, searching the upscale Lincoln Park French bistro. It took him a moment to realize he was scanning for a potential threat among the loud, carefree crowd of diners. He halted the instinctive reaction with effort. He, along with a lot of other Western reporters, had been banned from entering Syria s
everal years ago. It was his time spent in Syria that had given him an edginess he couldn’t seem to shake. It was weird being back in the States after spending most of the last eight years in various parts of the Middle East.

  Not a lot had changed in the old Lincoln Park neighborhood. Even Petit Poulet, the French bistro, looked unchanged. Yet everything looked strangely gray and muted to him, like he was a sleepwalker in a dreamworld of the past that had remained strangely congealed in time while he—Asher—had transformed into something alien that didn’t fit into the scene anymore. Of course he’d been back in the States several times since becoming a foreign correspondent years ago. Maybe it was being in the familiar restaurant with his childhood friends that made things especially surreal. He hadn’t been out with both of them in years. Jimmy still lived and worked here in Chicago, but Rudy had moved to L.A.

  In fact, the three of them hadn’t been together in eight years. Not since those bittersweet days in Crescent Bay that had been, in many ways, the last, elusive hours of his youth.

  “Are you actually going to meet Madeline in the morning wearing that beard?” Asher forced his mind out of his nostalgic musings at his friend’s question.

  Jimmy was right to question his grooming choice. Jimmy Rothschild had known Asher’s mother, Madeline Gaites-Granville, almost as long as Asher had. Their mothers had been friends forever, hobnobbing in their exclusive social circles and either bragging or complaining about their sons. His mom would probably have a stroke, seeing her only son’s swarthy skin and thick beard.

  Maybe he’d shave before showing up for the dreaded brunch in Winnetka tomorrow. His full beard and one of his mom’s silver-and-crystal-gilded brunches definitely wouldn’t mix. Asher resented that it mattered, but what else was new?

  “If what you told me is true,” Asher said to Jimmy as he lifted his glass of Chivas, “Mom’s going to have more to worry about than my beard.”

  “What’s that mean?” Rudy demanded. When Asher remained brooding and silent, Rudy turned to Jimmy. “What’s going on?”

  Jimmy exhaled slowly. “I told Asher earlier that according to my mother, Asher’s parents are under the impression that the prodigal son has returned home to Chicago to do his filial duty and finally take over the helm of the Gaites-Granville media empire,” Jimmy replied with attempted levity. Still, his dark eyes looked worried as he examined Asher. Asher frowned, trying unsuccessfully to tamp down his ever-present mixture of annoyance and guilt when it came to the topic of his parents.

  “I didn’t have a clue that’s why they thought I was coming to Chicago. I have some rare time off between jobs, and I owe them a visit after being away for over two years. That’s all. It was purely coincidental, me being here close to my birthday,” Asher said.

  “It’s not surprising that Clark and Madeline jumped to that conclusion, though. You know it’s the moment they’ve waited for now for thirty years,” Jimmy pointed out fairly.

  Asher slouched his large body further down in the uncomfortable chair. Of course his mom and dad thought that was why he’d come to Chicago this autumn: to lay claim to the principal of his trust fund. How could he have been so stupid as to blunder into a hornet’s nest?

  If he accepted their money, he’d have to follow their plan for his life, wouldn’t he? Maybe that was never explicitly said, but it had certainly been the depressing implication Asher had gotten since he was nine years old.

  His parents couldn’t fathom that Asher had rarely thought about his inheritance for the past ten years. He willfully repressed the idea of that money, along with all the invisible strings attached to it. Strings? Try titanium chains. Those hundreds of millions of dollars had come to symbolize his parents’ hold on him. No, it better represented Asher’s refusal . . . no, his inability to give them what they wanted. What they needed: a suitable, polished, biddable Gaites-Granville heir.

  That inheritance, along with all the other privileges his parents offered, was the crown Asher cringed at the thought of accepting. But according to his parents, that symbolic crown was his privilege. His birthright.

  His duty.

  Bullshit.

  He grimaced at the snarling voice in his head. Asher had done whatever he wanted with his life, despite his parents’ rampant disapproval. Publicly, his mother and father had broadcast their disapproval of him with every glance and gesture. In private, they’d threatened dire consequences in regard to his choices. When he’d remained steadfast in his plans, they’d stiffened their backbones and pursed their lips against their anger with such silent forcefulness that sometimes Asher feared they’d shatter into a million pieces just from disappointment. And all the while, Grant and Madeline just waited for the day when Asher would return to toe the line.

  They believed that day had finally come.

  “Right, the big day is finally around the corner,” Rudy drawled presently, snapping his fingers in remembrance. “I’ve been waiting for you to turn thirty since we were at Stanford. I mean, you haven’t exactly been a pauper up until now, seeing as how your grandfather left you a nice little nest egg, and that’s more money than most of us will ever see in a lifetime. But that’s all petty cash compared to the big enchilada. It’s finally here: your thirtieth birthday and total control over your trust fund. Freedom, man. What are you going to buy first? Please say a racecar. You’ll have to get me one too, to have someone to practice against. Wait, no . . . a yacht. Hey, the three of us should plan a trip to climb Mt. Everest! Or what about a beach house like that one your parents have in Crescent Bay? The chicks love that. Damn, you’re going to get laid morning, noon and night—”

  “He’s not accepting it.” Jimmy interrupted Rudy’s fantasizing bluntly.

  Rudy blinked. “Not accepting what?” He studied first Jimmy’s, then Asher’s stony faces. His blank expression turned incredulous. “You’re not accepting control of your trust fund? Are you crazy?”

  “How can he accept Madeline and Clark’s money when he’s planning on leaving the country again? He’s going to London to become the New York Gazette’s European bureau chief. You know that,” Jimmy reminded Rudy.

  Rudy set down his highball glass with a loud clunk. He looked floored. Asher was thankful to Jimmy for backing him up. Jimmy knew what it was like better than Rudy to have that gilded cage hovering over you for most of your life, ready to crash down at any moment. Jimmy had finessed his parents a lot more gracefully than Asher ever had, though. He’d remained in Chicago after getting his law degree, and he’d quickly earned a reputation for being a brilliant criminal prosecutor. Rudy and Asher were two of the few people on the planet allowed to call him Jimmy. Most people in his professional and social circles knew him as James Rothschild, Esq. Elite local power brokers had already tagged him as a promising candidate for the state house of representatives. But despite all his career success, Jimmy had quietly but steadfastly defied his parents’ designs for his life and determinedly carved out his own path. He routinely ignored or denied his parents’ little fantasy scenarios among their social circle about him being the most desirable stud in Chicago.

  “Last I heard, money travels just fine overseas,” Rudy insisted heatedly. “There’s no stipulation on that trust fund that says Asher has to live in Chicago or Winnetka if he accepts his inheritance.”

  “There’re stipulations, all right,” Asher replied grimly.

  “But not legal ones,” Rudy protested, glancing over at Jimmy for assistance. “Clark can’t stop him from taking what’s his legally, can he, Jimmy? He can’t force Asher to become an executive at GGM and become a WASP clone of himself, for Christ’s sake. Take the money and run, Ash.”

  “I don’t want the money, Rudy,” Asher snarled.

  “But they’ll probably just give it to that traitor, pretty boy cousin of yours, Eric.” Rudy hissed the name as if he’d just said a dirty word. He referred to Eric Gaites-Granville, who hailed
from the New York faction of the family. Rudy had disliked Eric ever since they’d met eight years ago, in Crescent Bay. Because of Eric’s actions that summer, his dislike had quickly morphed to hate. Asher wasn’t in disagreement with Rudy’s assessment. Not in the slightest. He’d hated his cousin from the cradle.

  “They gave Eric the position you were supposed to have at GGM a couple years ago when you went to Cairo, after the Syrian government kicked all the Western reporters out. Your parents thought for sure you’d be returning home to Chicago after that, but you stayed in the Middle East. Why wouldn’t they give Eric your trust fund too, if you won’t take it now?” Rudy demanded.

  Asher shut his eyes and grasped for patience. Jimmy groaned and shifted in his seat.

  “Give it a rest, Rudy. It’s not up to you. If Ash doesn’t want to take his parents’ money, it’s his choice. Don’t you get it? That money may mean freedom to you, but it means the opposite to him.”

  “But—”

  “Can we please change the subject? I asked you guys out tonight for a little R and R before this meeting with my parents tomorrow. You didn’t come all the way from L.A. just to lecture me, did you?” he asked Rudy.

  Rudy opened his mouth to protest but then noticed Asher’s expression. Air puffed out of his mouth. He shook his head resignedly.

  “If only I could have your problems, Ash.”

  “I’d give them to you in a second if I could.”

  “Meaning you’d give me your parents?” Rudy asked wryly. “I doubt Clark and Madeline would ever claim me as a surrogate son. They’ve barely put up with me being your wild Italian friend from the East Bronx. They thought I was going to jump ’em the first time we met. The nerve of me, to get a scholarship to Stanford and be picked as their precious son’s roommate. But no worries, I’ve charmed my way into their shriveled little blue-blood hearts since then.”

  Asher laughed. Yeah, Rudy could be annoying at times, but there was no one truer. He hadn’t hesitated to say he’d fly into Chicago immediately when Asher told him he’d be in town, even though they hadn’t done anything but converse through e-mail for the last two years.