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  THE UNBLOCKED COLLECTION:

  INCLUDES UNBLOCKED EPISODES 1-5

  MARNI MANN

  Seattle, WA 2015

  COPYRIGHT 2015 MARNI MANN

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [email protected]

  Cover Design by Teri Smitsky

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0381-7

  Table of Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 1

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 1 COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ONE.

  TWO.

  THREE.

  FOUR.

  FIVE.

  SIX.

  SEVEN.

  EIGHT.

  NINE.

  TEN.

  ELEVEN.

  TWELVE.

  THIRTEEN.

  FOURTEEN.

  FIFTEEN.

  SIXTEEN.

  SEVENTEEN.

  EIGHTEEN.

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 2

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 2 COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ONE.

  TWO.

  THREE.

  FOUR.

  FIVE.

  SIX.

  SEVEN.

  EIGHT.

  NINE.

  TEN.

  ELEVEN.

  TWELVE.

  THIRTEEN.

  FOURTEEN.

  FIFTEEN.

  SIXTEEN.

  SEVENTEEN.

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 3

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 3 COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ONE.

  TWO.

  THREE.

  FOUR.

  FIVE.

  SIX.

  SEVEN.

  EIGHT.

  NINE.

  TEN.

  ELEVEN.

  TWELVE.

  THIRTEEN.

  FOURTEEN.

  FIFTEEN.

  SIXTEEN.

  SEVENTEEN.

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 4

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 4 COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ONE.

  TWO.

  THREE.

  FOUR.

  FIVE.

  SIX.

  SEVEN.

  EIGHT.

  NINE.

  TEN.

  ELEVEN.

  TWELVE.

  THIRTEEN.

  FOURTEEN.

  FIFTEEN.

  UNBLOCKED: EPISODE 5

  UNBLOCKED EPISODE 5 COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ONE.

  TWO.

  THREE.

  FOUR.

  FIVE.

  SIX.

  SEVEN.

  EIGHT.

  NINE.

  TEN.

  ELEVEN.

  TWELVE.

  THIRTEEN.

  FOURTEEN.

  EPILOGUE.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY MARNI MANN

  MORE GREAT READS FROM ENTICE BY BOOKTROPE

  UNBLOCKED:

  EPISODE 1

  MARNI MANN

  Seattle, WA 2015

  COPYRIGHT 2015 MARNI MANN

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [email protected]

  Edited by Steven Luna

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-690-2

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-701-5

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015901878

  To Jesse James, my wonder twin, for being everything, always.

  ONE.

  FRANKIE

  HIS MOUTH CARESSED the skin across my navel as my back arched off the bed. My nails dug into the mattress; a long, drawn-out moan escaped from my lips. His kisses quickly turned to licks. The tip of his tongue changed to a point during the upstroke, traveling as high as my nipples, and went flat during the downstroke where he paused at my folds. My legs spread, waiting for that pointed wetness to flap against my clit.

  Nothing but air swished over me. His breath. Exhales that triggered the throbbing to pulse even faster.

  “Please,” I begged. “Please make me come.”

  A tease. That’s what this was.

  I couldn’t remember a time when I had craved a man’s tongue this deeply. I hadn’t begged him with just my words, but with my hands, too, drawing his face even closer. I combed his soft locks as I drove the back of my head into the bed, anticipating the feeling that would shoot through me when he eventually gave me the pressure I needed.

  His breathing continued, his mouth hovering over my sex while his hands moved to my nipples. He squeezed with a fierce intensity. My stomach shuddered from the ripple of pleasure.

  “Please,” I repeated. “I need your tongue.”

  “If I give you my tongue…” His voice startled me. Up until that point, I hadn’t heard him speak. I hadn’t seen his face, either, now that I thought about it. “You’ll be moaning too loud to answer your phone.”

  My back straightened, and I glanced between my spread legs and bent knees. The night’s darkness casted a shadow over half his face hiding everything but his parted lips and wide tongue. Both dove forward and traced the inside of my folds, flicking across the middle and sucking slowly.

  “Screw my phone,” I grunted.

  Lick, suck…breathe. Lick, suck…breathe.

  My hips bowed to his pattern, his rhythm. The wetness he created mixed with my own arousal and it began to drip down my thighs and onto the sheet. The pressure he was using wasn’t strong enough to give me an orgasm. He was gentle—too gentle. That was all I’d ever had…I needed more now.

  “Harder,” I said. As soon as the word left my mouth, he stopped touching me. I wanted him back and even closer. I reached for his hair, but there was nothing. The tongue that teased me so delicately was gone, and the fingers that had squeezed my nipples. Darkness filled the space where he had been.

  “What the…” My voice trailed off when I heard the ringing.

  You’ll be moaning too loud to answer your phone.

  The ringtone was a siren, a sound that wouldn’t blend into background noise, and one I had specifically chosen for my father so I would never miss his calls.

  Where the hell had this man disappeared to? How could his tongue and fingers simply vanish in seconds?

&
nbsp; I sat up and pushed my back against the headboard, a movement that made me gasp. My eyelids popped open.

  My eyes…hadn’t been open before?

  I scanned the room for evidence of this mysterious man who had pleased me in the middle of the night. From what I could see, nothing looked out of place and there weren’t any clothes on the floor. My blanket and sheet were still on the bed, and I was wearing my pajamas. I turned toward my nightstand and felt the wetness…a small spot on the bottom of my cotton shorts and a dampness between my thighs. I knew if I smelled my fingers, my scent would be all over them...

  And it was.

  He was just a dream.

  I lifted my phone and cleared my throat. “Isn’t it a little early to be calling?”

  “Business doesn’t sleep, therefore neither do I. You know this about me, probably better than anyone else.” I said nothing. “Technically, it’s quarter to five.”

  “This had better be an emergency, then.”

  “Call it what you’d like. Be at the office in an hour, Frankie.”

  “Wait…” I needed caffeine and a scalding shower—and for the wetness that still clung to my sex to be completely dry—before my brain would really start to work. He would hang up before I had time for any of that, so I forced myself to recount yesterday’s hot items. Everything had been settled prior to me leaving the office from what I recalled. Why else would he call? It was too early to open escrow on any of our accounts as none of the lenders were open yet, and funds only processed during banking hours. Emails could wait. It had to be a meeting with one of our international clients. Their trips to the States tended to be so short, they didn’t bother getting acclimated to our time zone so this wasn’t uncommon. I was just surprised by the short notice. “Who’s the appointment with? Giovanni? Hamad?”

  “On your way in, why don’t you grab me a bagel with the veggie cream cheese I like. And a latte, extra hot, with that foam stuff on top and real sugar, none of that artificial crap. Oh, and Frankie, don’t be late.”

  He disconnected the call before I had a chance to repeat my question or say good-bye. That didn’t matter. He knew I’d be there within the next forty-five minutes with his bagel and coffee exactly the way he had requested it. That was how he had raised me to act, and that was one of the reasons he would soon be handing me his company.

  ***

  “Take a look at those papers,” my father said, pointing to the folder at the end of his desk. His peppered hair was longer than usual, swept back and sprayed, almost like a headband that framed his crown—a suggestion from his most recent fling, I suspected.

  I set his bagel and coffee in front of him and sat in one of the chairs. I opened the folder to find Block Development printed at the top of the first sheet, the words encircled with long, sleek, winding branches that added warmth to the contemporary logo. Derek Block was known for using wood and naturalistic aspects in all his architectural designs. His overstated earthy elements were what set his work apart. Under the logo was a press release that highlighted his most recent venture: an apartment conversion in the Back Bay where he was renovating one hundred and eighty-one units. The development, listed as Timber Towers, was an exclusive, state-of-the-art green building with an array of amenities that included underground parking. This was his first project in Boston; his prior build-outs had been in intimate beach towns throughout New England. Thanks to the connections I had at the building division office, I’d been notified over a year ago that Block had filed permit applications and that the city had awarded them. I only lived a few blocks from the site, and I’d been watching its progress.

  “So?” my father said, wiping a glob of cream cheese from the corner of his lip.

  “My research shows he employs a full-time agent and handles all sales in-house,” I answered. “It’s a dead-end.”

  “Your research is correct, except for this building.”

  The papers dropped from my hand, and a smile spread over my face. “He’s shopping for an agent?”

  “Not just any agent, my dear. He wants the best agent in Boston…and she just so happens to be my daughter.”

  I felt my cheeks turn red. My father was a hard and often ruthless businessman, and his compliments were rare. When they came, I cherished them.

  “I certainly can’t be the only candidate. There must be others vying for the job?”

  “Correct again.” He sifted through several sheets until he found the one he was looking for and rattled off the names of my competitors. I wasn’t surprised by the agents Block had chosen to interview; they were all competent—one with more experience than me, another who was known for sleeping with her clients. None had Jordan International, a forty-year-old agency backing them, or the mentorship and knowledge of my father, Garrett Jordan, the man who’d built the company from the ground up—or the connections we had secured over the years, or our database of buyers. Our reputation in this city was flawless, all of which Block undoubtedly knew.

  “When’s the meeting?”

  “At seven.”

  My steel and yellow gold Rolex showed I had a little time to prepare. The watch was five years old; I’d bought it right out of college after closing my first large sale. My father always said that in order to successfully sell luxury real estate, you had to experience fine luxury for yourself. Our agency didn’t represent knock-offs, and our clients weren’t looking to buy them, either.

  “I’m going to go prep,” I said.

  He nodded silently, his eyes moving to his computer screen. “Frankie,” he said as I reached the door to his office.

  I turned around, gripping the framed arch. “Yes, Dad?”

  “Land this one.”

  I nodded back, mirroring him.

  Flipping on the lights in my office, I sat behind my desk and booted up my computer. Several emails had come in from my assistant, Brea, providing even more information on Block Development. While I read through the first article, she called my cell.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said. I could hear traffic in the background. I pictured her walking to the subway. “Did you get the emails I sent?”

  “I’m reading it all right now.”

  “All I could find was info on Mr. Block’s company, but nothing on him personally.”

  “I’m sure what you found will be perfect.” The clock on the wall chimed. It was now six o’clock. “It’s too early for you to be on your way here.”

  “I want to dig around a little more and see if I can get you some key talking points.”

  She was the most dedicated assistant I’d ever had. I didn’t doubt this was a reason she was coming in, but I knew it wasn’t the only one.

  “Brea…”

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  I moved over to the window, looking down at Faneuil Hall and Government Center. The city was so gentle at this hour. “Are you?”

  “I’m having a hard time sleeping, that’s all.” There was honking in the background. “You don’t sound so rested, either.”

  “It’s early. That’s all.”

  “No…it’s more. Let me guess: the dreams are back?”

  I turned and rested my back against the window to let the icy glass cool me off. Just the mention of those dreams had me sweating. “I can’t believe I told you about those.”

  “Girl, you’ve got just as much dirt on me.” It now sounded like she was running—and probably in heels. “So they’ve returned just as powerful as before, I take it?”

  “They’ve most definitely returned.” Despite it being a dream and a man who never showed his face, his tongue had felt so real. Too real. I pushed off the window and walked back over to my desk. “If we start going down this road, I won’t get any studying done.”

  She laughed. “See ya in a minute.”

  I smiled as I hung up and skimmed through the article that filled my screen. I was really so lucky to have her.

  TWO.

  DEREK

  “T
HE FIRST AGENT will be here in about forty-five minutes,” my coordinator, Will, said from the doorway of my office.

  After I checked the time on my computer screen, I looked at his face to make sure he wasn’t joking. At a quarter past six, I wouldn’t put anything past him. “You reached them this early?”

  “Her assistant responded immediately. So did her father, the owner of the company, who I copied on the email.”

  “Always plugged in. I like that.”

  “I knew you would.” He reached into the hallway, grabbing the two mugs that our assistant handed to him. He placed one on my desk. “She’s not the only one. You’ll be meeting a few others over the next few days. All of them are top agents in the city.”

  “Where does this one fall?”

  “First in the state. First in New England, too.”

  The old man was the owner, and she was top in the state. I had a feeling I knew who it was. “Frankie Jordan?”

  He grinned slyly. “Sure is.” It was the same grin he’d given me before I’d interviewed the agent who now worked out of my Portsmouth office. It told me Frankie was attractive and probably had one hell of a body. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been told that.

  “Good,” I said. “I need someone like her for this project. Someone hungry and aggressive.”

  He pushed off the side of the doorframe and hung his free hand on the top molding. “She’s plenty of both and has an impressive résumé for a twenty-seven-year-old. Rumor has it her father’s getting ready to retire. This deal could be the perfect way to show Daddy how much she can really handle.”

  I had a feeling she’d already shown her old man exactly how much she could handle. From what I’d read, Frankie started working at his office when she was a kid, cleaning toilets, and slowly moved her way up. I liked that. When I was a kid, I’d done the same until I went off on my own.