Everest Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Part I

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Also by S.L. SCOTT

  EVEREST

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Untitled

  Doc-Blocked

  The Resistance

  On a Personal Note

  Everest

  S.L. SCOTT

  S.L. SCOTT

  Copyright © 2017 by S.L. SCOTT

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Design: RBA Designs

  Photography by Scott Hoover Photography

  Cover Model: Lance Parker

  Editing:

  Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts

  Karen Lawson, The Proof Is in the Reading

  Marla Esposito, Proofing Style

  Kristen Johnson, Proofreader

  Reach For The Stars While Holding Kindness In Your Heart. May All Your Dreams Come True.

  Contents

  Also by S.L. SCOTT

  EVEREST

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Doc-Blocked

  I. The Resistance

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  On a Personal Note

  Also by S.L. SCOTT

  Also by S.L. SCOTT

  To keep up to date with her writing and more, her website is www.slscottauthor.com

  To receive the Scott Scoop about all of her publishing adventures, free books, giveaways, steals and more, sign up here: http://bit.ly/2TheScoop

  Join S.L.’s Facebook group here: S.L. Scott Books

  The Kingwood Duet

  SAVAGE

  SAVIOR

  SACRED

  SOLACE

  Hard to Resist Series

  The Resistance

  The Reckoning

  The Redemption

  The Revolution

  The Rebellion

  Talk to Me Duet

  Sweet Talk

  Dirty Talk

  Welcome to Paradise Series

  Good Vibrations

  Good Intentions

  Good Sensations

  Happy Endings

  Welcome to Paradise Series

  From the Inside Out Series

  Scorned

  Jealousy

  Dylan

  Austin

  From the Inside Out Compilation

  Stand Alone Books

  Everest

  Missing Grace

  Until I Met You

  Drunk on Love

  Naturally, Charlie

  A Prior Engagement

  Lost in Translation

  Sleeping with Mr. Sexy

  Morning Glory

  EVEREST

  Prologue

  Ethan Everest

  Every female here has eyed me up and down, even the ones with boyfriends. They don’t even try to hide it. They want me to see. They want me to know I can have them if I want them.

  Except her. Blue dress. Red lips. Hair the color of a golden sunset in winter.

  Several girls made themselves more than available. I was offered a fast fuck in the bathroom within fifteen minutes of arriving. Fantasies may be taking over, but there’s only one woman who catches my eyes—the demure beauty sitting on the couch.

  I want to stare at her.

  She’ll see me though.

  I want to sit next to her.

  There are no more spots on the small futon.

  I want to talk to her.

  What do I say when she makes all the blood rush from my brain and shoot straight to my dick? Damn, I want her.

  She’s given me no reason to think of her naked beneath me. No indication that I should have dirty thoughts about those delectable lips. Absolutely no sign that I could have the pleasure of stroking her bare back while I take her from behind.

  Fuck. Me.

  While images of her cloud my thoughts, I’m not sure I have a shot in hell of even taking up a minute of her time, much less a night. Nope, not one clue if I have a chance with this beauty.

  I’ll take the risk, something I’m adept at doing. More often than not I win in the end. She won’t be an easy target, but nothing worth having ever is. I’m determined to find out if her tongue is as seductive as her eyes.

  Although she brings out my instinctive side, this is not about sex and passing time. It’s about spending time with someone who challenges my mind while turning on my body.

  Nudging the guy who lives here, I signal across the room and ask, “What’s her name?”

  “Who?” He follows my gaze. “The hottie on the couch?”

  Heart-shaped face, flawless skin, ample tits, hourglass shape at her waist. She’s not built like a girl who doesn’t eat. She’s shaped like a woman I want to meet. “Yeah.”

  “Dariya Rostavik. She’s fucking hot.” He pats my shoulder. “And single. If my girlfriend wasn’t here, I’d be all over that.”

  “Cuz you’re an asshole.” Her name, Dariya, rolls around my mouth, spikey instead of rolling off the tongue naturally. The name doesn’t fit her.

  “Pretty much.” He laughs. “You gonna hit it, Everest?”

  “I don’t know.” I feign interest to him, lying to get his eyes off her. “Fuck, they scored again.” My diversion works, and his attention is back on the big screen.

  The truth is, I don’t know if I’m going to hookup with her. I’ve caught her looking at me when she thinks I don’t notice. But is she looking at me the way I’m looking at her?

  Was
I busted moving closer when she was talking to her friend? Did she see me eavesdropping to hear her voice? Did she notice when I joined a conversation behind her to be closer? Or that I stepped out of the way of the fridge when she wanted a bottle of water?

  I never get shot down by women. I’ve lived on easy street when it comes to my looks and, from what I’m told, my personality, attracting the most attractive. Something tells me I might be rejected by her.

  She’s not like the other girls here. Nothing about her fits in this environment—a party with a bunch of guys getting drunk while watching sports and yelling at the TV and girls dragged here by their boyfriends or convinced by their friends to stop by.

  She’s an innocent among sycophants. Everyone wants something from me, except her. Sexy and smart—speaks right to my heart.

  I catch her eyes on me again. This time I stare back until she looks away with a pretty pink coloring her cheeks.

  This game with her is much more interesting than the one on TV. I follow her with my eyes as she gets up and joins a group by the window. She seems to know the other girl, but not so much the two guys.

  Good, I inwardly growl.

  Keith hits me in the chest. “Who do you have your eyes on?”

  “The woman by the window.”

  My best friend shakes his head. “No. Check out eleven o’clock. She’s a model from Romania. Hot as fuck.”

  “Not interested. I want more than a fuck.”

  “I’m sorry. Have we met?” His sarcasm is as annoying as he’s been lately at the office.

  “I’m for real.”

  “So am I.”

  I exhale and shoot him a glare. “I really am. I can fuck anyone. I want to spend time with someone who interests me.”

  “You’re working too much. You’re so caught up in your head lately you’re missing what life is really about.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I indulge him. “And what is life really about?”

  “Doing everything in your power to get it while the gettin’s good.”

  “Are we talking about business or women?”

  “Both.”

  The model is hot, but I feel like I’ve been there done that. I don’t care what he wants. He can have shallow, meaningless relationships. They’re more hassle than they’re worth.

  Glancing toward the woman outside, an ease comes over me, releasing some of the pent-up pressure that’s been expanding lately. “You go for the model. I’ll go for Dariya.”

  “Dariya?” I’m knocked on the arm, and he points toward the couch. “That’s Dariya, man.”

  “The model?”

  “Yeah,” he says, laughing.

  Thank fuck I didn’t go outside and call the beauty by the wrong name. “I’ll be back.” I grab two cans and head toward the window. I stop briefly by the group she was talking to prior, but they’re buried deep into a conversation about American consumerism. I’m not interested in their philosophical views on finances. The only thing I’m interested in is the pretty woman sitting alone outside. The woman excuses herself and I ask, “Hey, you guys know her name?”

  They look outside. “Singer.”

  “She’s a singer?”

  “No,” he says, chuckling. “Her name is Singer. Singer Davis. She came here with her friend, Melanie, who just left.”

  I don’t hear most of what he says because I’m stuck on the woman with the red lips. Singer. Singer Davis. “Thanks.”

  Singer’s been sitting on that fire escape by herself long enough to not feel like I’m invading her space, like she’s taken over my thoughts. I seize the moment and climb out.

  This is where our story begins . . .

  1

  Singer Davis

  The first time I heard the name Ethan Everest I was at a party in the Bronx. I was sitting on a futon sandwiched between a blonde model from Romania and some girl who kept sighing out of boredom. The model exhaled and said, “One day I’m going to climb Everest.”

  I thought she was referring to the mountain.

  She wasn’t.

  She was referring to the man.

  Almost a year later, he’s sitting just three barstools down from mine. This is not the first time we’ve seen each other since that party. It’s just the first time he makes his way over since then.

  The memory of the first time I saw him comes back so readily.

  At six three with a presence to match, Ethan Everest is impossible to ignore. Wearing an Astros cap in the middle of Yankees country, a white smile livens full lips, and dynamic green eyes manage to instantly brighten the dingy Bronx apartment.

  Our eyes catch twice across the crowded living room and my palms begin to sweat. Ethan Everest doesn’t fit in with this crowd. He’s too happy, too content in his life, too much personality and has drawn the center of attention from both males and females. Yep. Impossible to ignore. No matter how much I try.

  I turn away abruptly, not sure if I’m ready to talk to him.

  We almost kissed last year. His lips were almost pressed to mine . . . and then they weren’t and he was gone. A sharp elbow to the ribs causes me to flinch. “Ouch.” After fifteen years of friendship, my best friend and I still haven’t perfected our non-verbal skills, so I ask, “What are you doing?”

  Her lips twist to the side and she rolls her eyes. “Behind you.”

  For a brief moment I convince myself he’s going to walk by and go to the restroom or order a drink. He doesn’t. I turn, and there he is in all his majestic glory—Ethan Everest.

  The Man.

  The Myth.

  The Mountain.

  He bites his lip as shyness shadows his light eyes. Then he smiles. “It’s good to see you again, Singer.”

  The hum, the electricity, all that I felt on that fire escape, returns as my name rolls off his tongue in a purr, reminding me of what almost was.

  His body folds to ease out the window, and he sits on the small staircase several steps down from mine. His presence consumes the small space high above an alley. It doesn’t feel like an invasion of my personal space, but more like a coup, considering the many women inside vying for his attention.

  With a charming smile aimed at me, he casually says, “Avoid the discussion inside.” Enticing enough to let down my guard, his tone is easygoing, his voice deep and soothing. “They’re arguing that freedom is the illusion of the American consumer.” The small southern cadence to his words is something I could listen to all day.

  What he said isn’t funny, but I laugh anyway, a nervous reaction to the hot-blooded masculinity rolling off him in waves. With movie star good looks, I can’t turn away. “What do you think?”

  He chuckles. “I think I prefer being out here with you.”

  I don’t remember blushing in a while, but with the weight of his gaze heavy on me, my cheeks are hot even if the weather isn’t.

  Ethan Everest is rugged with his unshaven jaw and casual clothes, yet refined in his mannerisms as he offers me a beer. “I brought you a beer if you’d like it.”

  “I would. Thank you.” I reach for it and our hands wrap around the can, the tips of our fingers weaving together. I hold on just long enough to look up and see the intensity of his eyes. On me. Sitting on the fire escape, I’m suddenly a girl who’s stumbled onto an Adonis and knows what she’s discovered—a male masterpiece made up of muscles and a hard body.

  Add in that boy-next-door charm, and I’m caught in his gravitational pull. The female population of New York doesn’t stand a chance against the allure of this man, much less me when he cracks a smile.

  When he releases the beer, he opens one for himself. “Cheers.” He taps his can against mine and my whole body awakens.

  “Cheers.”

  His eyes remain on mine as he tips the beer back and the lager flows into his mouth. My gaze dips to his throat where I become mesmerized by his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

  Good Lord.

  Watching him swallow has to be one of the mos
t erotic sights I’ve ever seen.

  My chin is lifted, and my eyes meet his. “Hey,” he says with a deep chuckle. “Up here.”

  Holy mother of all things humiliating. Was I staring at his throat? I glance back down. Yep, I was. He interrupts my fantasy involving the five o’clock scruff shadowing the hard lines of his jaw and his throat. I squeeze my eyes closed and then look at his eyes that are fully amused it seems at my expense.

  Licking his lips he says, “I was thinking we could hang out sometime.”

  The suggestion comes as a surprise. “Really?” It’s been a lot of this cat and mouse, flirting not flirting, have we met or are we strangers keeping our distance game. I’m confused why he crossed enemy lines tonight.

  “Really,” he replies easily.

  When my words don’t come quick enough, Melanie steps in. “She’d love to. When did you have in mind?” Ethan and I both look at Melanie sitting next to me in her eagerness to make this happen, whatever this is.

  I’m just about to respond, but she presses on, “Singer’s free all weekend.”

  Wow. Did that just happen? It did. No, I don’t feel pathetic at all . . . Nope, I feel totally humiliated. I may not have any plans, but she could have lightened the blow to my ego. “Geez, thanks,” I mutter under my breath.

  Ethan glances to me but responds to Melanie. “Let her know I’ll see her at MacDougall’s on Sunday. The game starts at three.”