Spice Box - AC James

Transcription

SPICE BOX
Sample
Cherry Girl © Raine Miller Romance
All rights reserved.
Torn Between Two Brothers © Cathryn Fox
Blood Avenged © Gabrielle Bisset
The Invitation © Erika Wilde
Arouse © Nina Lane
Eternal Ever After © A.C. James
The Bequest © Christina Thacher
Wrong Room © Geri Foster
The Demon’s Deception © Lisa Adler
Sex With The Ex © Jan Springer
The Witch Who Cried Wolf © Sarah Mäkelä
The Kraken’s Mirror © Maureen O. Betita
Fifty Shades of Fifty Shades of Grey © Riley J. Ford
Blood Slave © Travis Luedke
The Kraken’s Mirror © Maureen O. Betita
Red Tape © Kathy Kulig
Table of Contents
Cherry Girl By Raine Miller
Torn Between Two Brothers by Cathryn Fox
Blood Avenged by Gabrielle Bisset
The Invitation By Erika Wilde
Arouse by Nina Lane
Eternal Ever After by A.C. James
The Bequest by Christina Thacher
His To Keep by Stephanie Julian
Wrong Room by Geri Foster
The Demon’s Deception by Lisa Adler
Sex With The Ex by Jan Springer
The Witch Who Cried Wolf by Sarah Mäkelä
The Kraken’s Mirror by Maureen O. Betita
Fifty Shades of Fifty Shades of Grey by Riley J. Ford
Blood Slave by Travis Luedke
Red Tape by Kathy Kulig
Cherry Girl By Raine Miller
This is a Full length / Standalone / Blackstone Affair Spin-Off~
Childhood crush... Lifetime love... Never letting go...
Elaina Morrison has loved Neil McManus her whole life. She doesn’t remember a time when she didn’t love him.
Through heartbreaking tragedy and years of separation, her love holds true...until life stomps all over her heart, shattering
her perfect dream, teaching her how hard it is to let go.
Real life doesn’t have anything on romantic dreams though, as these two have learned over and over again. It sucks
big time, leaving painful scars in its wake.
But Neil isn’t giving up. He’s a soldier who has endured years of longing and sacrifice to wait for his girl. He’s
fought his way through battles before, and this is one he can’t afford to lose, on any level. Neil has a plan. He’s going in
fighting, to make Elaina see what he already knows...That she will forever be his Cherry Girl...
Turn the page to read a sampler of Cherry Girl by New York Times bestselling author Raine Miller or return to the
Table of Contents.
PART ONE
Elaina
People who are meant to be together
will find their way back to each other.
There may be detours along the way,
but they are never truly lost.
--- Author Unknown~
CHAPTER 1
I remember the very first time I ever saw him. That first moment our paths crossed. The memory is branded into
my head with indelible clarity. As clear as fine crystal with bright, sunlight shining through it.
I was ten years old when my brother, Ian, brought him home for dinner. He sat across from me at our family table. I
probably looked like a total idiot gawking at him, but he didn’t seem to mind my staring. Good thing, because even then
I couldn’t take my eyes away. Neil was beautiful to me when I laid my child’s eyes upon him for the first time. Purely
and simply beautiful.
It didn’t matter that he was seven years older and totally uninterested in a gangly little girl with braces on her teeth
who was definitely not anything close to beautiful.
He winked at me when he caught me sneaking a peek over a bite of Mum’s delicious buns. I remember that gesture
of his made me feel strange inside, like everything was squished together and turned to mush. Feeling shy and selfconscious, I tried to come to grips with the knowledge that I had met the boy I had every intention of marrying someday.
Yes, it’s true. I fell in love with Neil McManus when I was a child. I am sure of how I felt, just as I am sure the
feelings didn’t go both ways. I watched him go through plenty of girlfriends over the years, too. What I don’t remember
is if he said anything to me that very first time we met. I do know he looked my mother in the eye with respect, and
thanked her for the delicious dinner. That impressed me, even then. Even in my ten-year-old mind, I could read in him
the deep appreciation he had for what Mum had easily offered to a guest in our home. I could tell that Neil was not
accustomed to cozy dinners at the family table. He appreciated something I took for granted every day. He was just a
young friend my brother had dragged home from God knows where, and from whatever trouble they’d been deep into,
but he became something more than that from the very beginning. At least, for me he did.
Neil showed up for dinner quite often after that first meeting. Some days it felt like he was my new brother who’d
just moved in with us. Other times, he’d show up after a few weeks’ absence, wearing a hollow look in his dark, dark
eyes. His home life was shit, apparently. No mum, just a dad of some sort who didn’t care about him. My dad wasn’t
around a great deal either, but it wasn’t because he didn’t want us, it was because he travelled a lot for his job. I missed
my father, of course, so I suppose it was natural for me to connect with an older male figure who was always nice to me,
and didn’t act like I carried the plague.
Neil called me Cherry Girl due to the colour of my hair. I’d have to agree with him on that. My hair was pretty much
the colour of one of those dark cherries—nearly black with an undertone of deep red running through it. Neil told me
my hair was very beautiful, and that small gesture was enough for my self-confidence to blossom. I took his compliment
and ran with it.
I remember when he touched my hair for the first time, too. The memory is as perfect as the day it happened and I
couldn’t forget if I wanted to. Because it was also the first time he rescued me…
The cricket field stretched out to meet the forest edge a fair distance back. When I was eleven, on a summery Sunday
afternoon, I had been sitting on the fence watching the local team play cricket. Neil and Ian were there too. I’d seen them
strolling through talking to girls and other friends they knew. I was content to watch the match from my perch on the
fence and blend into the background. The warm day brought out the crowd and space had become a premium, I guess.
When a noisy, obnoxious group came through, being so small, I just got swallowed up in the melee that resulted.
A disputed call by the official started the ruckus. Then a fight broke out in front of me with two blokes pounding
into each other, with no regard for who they might include with their misfires. I didn’t duck out of the way fast enough,
and was shanked by a fist that relieved me of my front-row fence spot. And right onto my left forearm, which managed
to find a large rock to land on. Lucky me.
I heard the crack of bone, felt the pain, saw the brutal blows of the two brawlers, and smelled the beer that’d been
sprayed about when the first punch was thrown.
I clutched my arm and tried to breathe, crying through the pain, sure that nobody would ever see me, let alone help
me out.
I was wrong, though.
The sweetest sound was Neil’s voice in my ear saying, “I’ve got you, Cherry Girl, and you’re going to be just fine.”
“My arm hurts,” I told him through the tears.
“I know, darlin’.”
“I heard a noise…like something snapped. Does that mean it’s broken?” I wailed.
He picked me up and shouted something to my brother, the anger in his expression darkening his eyes to a frightening
black as he eyeballed the two who’d caused my injury. I wouldn’t want to be either one of those idiot blokes, confirmed
by what I found out a day later.
Neil stroked my hair and sat with me until the doctor could cast my arm. And then, when he actually set the bone.
The bone setting hurt, but the gentle reassurance and soft touch of Neil’s hand on my hair almost made it cancel out.
“Look at me, Cherry. Keep your eyes on me,” he’d said with a smile, his hand moving slowly down my head over and
over.
The next day, Neil brought some visitors by my house. Armed with humility and the telltale evidence of a second
round of beatings, courtesy of Ian and Neil, the two fools responsible for my broken arm arrived with flowers and
apologies for me and my panicked mum. My dad had a go ’round as well with them when he returned home from his
business trip. Poor bastards didn’t stand a chance, and it was safe to say they were scared straight onto a much more
righteous path after that.
Neil’s actions with me, in my time of need, cemented his place in our family for good. He basically became a second
son to my parents and everyone seemed to understand and settle into this knowledge. I had to accept that Mum and Dad
loved Neil too…which meant I had to share him with everyone in my family.
I wouldn’t even let my best friend sign my cast until Neil did first. My knight in shining armor.
Back then.
When I was fourteen, and he was twenty-one, he joined the army and went away to fight for Britain. Mum and Dad
had a goodbye party for him, and I remember how it seemed totally normal that we threw the going-away celebration for
him and not his own family. Not that they had ever shown an ounce of interest that we’d seen expressed. It made me sad
to realize that I could not recall even a single conversation where Neil ever spoke about anything personal in all the time
he was around our family. The information I did know about him had always come from my brother, Ian.
The Morrison family had claimed Neil McManus for their own, and that was simply the way it was going to be.
When it was time to say our goodbyes I got shy, struggling with the words I wanted to say, but knew didn’t have
a snowball’s chance in hell of forming on my lips. I didn’t want Neil to leave without a proper send-off, but I was also
totally self-conscious like any young girl would be with an adult man she adored and thought walked on water. I also
waited until his girlfriend Cora had gone to the loo. I didn’t care for Cora much at all and surely wouldn’t have her
fouling up my coveted goodbye to Neil. I wasn’t stupid, just at a disadvantage.
“So, Cherry Girl, don’t go falling off any fences or getting into the middle of a bunch of sodding idiots brawling
while I’m away, all right?” His dark eyes twinkled with teasing so that I couldn’t help but return a smile as they
swallowed me up.
“I won’t.”
“I’ll have a hard time cracking heads all the way here from over in Afghanistan.”
I looked at the floor and gulped down the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. “Nobody will bother with
me. They never do,” I said.
He dipped his head to find my eyes, waiting for me to look up. “I think that’s about to change, Cherry. You’re
growing far too pretty for your own good. The blokes are going to be all over you and they’d better be nice. Ian’s got
strict instructions to keep the crowds of arseholes at bay and make sure I’m regularly updated.”
I blushed to the roots of my hair and gathered the courage to give him my gift. “I made you something.” I handed
the small packet to him and waited while he opened it, his big hands moving the tissue paper carefully aside. “It’s a
bracelet,” I blurted, “for luck…to keep you safe.” I held up my own wrist. “I made one for me, too. It has the infinity
symbol and two good luck owls…I’ll say a prayer for you every day and this will help me to remember,” I trailed off,
feeling shy again. “Be really careful over there, Neil, I want you to come back.”
He brushed over the black-braided leather with the charms I’d added and smiled before looking up at me. “I will,”
he said in a whisper. The expression Neil wore was different this time. Something I’d never seen from him before, at
least not directed at me personally. His eyes seemed like they could be a little watery too. We were definitely having a
moment.
He brought a hand up to my cheek and held it there for a moment. “Thank you.” He slipped the bracelet onto his
wrist and tightened it. “I’m going to miss you very much, Cherry…and I’ll wear this, and be the luckiest bloke in the
British Army.” He held his wrist up to show my bracelet before wrapping me into a hug with his big arms.
“I’m going to miss you too, Neil.” And, I love you. I breathed in the smell of him and held onto it, hoping he would
return safely someday, that the war would not take him away from us forever.
I felt his soft lips against the side of my temple and got the squishy feeling in my insides again. I didn’t want to pull
away, but the awkwardness of my young emotions bouncing all over the place made me self-conscious.
“Don’t you ever change, Cherry Girl. Stay just how you are right now. You’re utterly perfect.”
Those were Neil’s final words to me before he left to be a soldier.
Torn Between Two Brothers by Cathryn Fox
A case of mistaken identity unveils seductive truths and exposes hidden desires.
Lauren Gray loves everything about Adam Wilson, everything from his zest for life to his roguish good looks and
his wild, wicked ways in bed. She can’t, however, deny that his absence during the week poses a problem for her, but as a
commercial pilot, he spends his weekdays flying. Nor can she deny that while she loves their frantic lovemaking sessions,
there are times when she’d like to shift things into slow gear.
When she discovers Adam home during the weekday, draped in darkness and asleep in his bed, she isn’t about
to question her good fortune. She slips between the sheets with him and attributes his achingly gentle touch and soft,
sensuous kisses to his mellow state. Except come morning she realizes that it wasn’t Adam who was searing her body
with his slow, sultry lovemaking, it was his brother Garret--a race car driver who, unlike Adam, is home during the week
and uses a gentle hand in the bedroom.
Lauren can’t help but think that separately the brothers are amazing, but a combination of the two makes the perfect
package. And when this good girl realizes she’s torn between two brothers it has her thinking about breaking all the rules...
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Torn Between Two Brothers by New York Tines bestselling author Cathryn
Fox or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
“I think you should dump his sorry ass.”
Lauren Gray groaned inwardly and took a much-needed sip of her apple martini before saying, “Come on, Shi, how
many times do I have to tell you that I like him? I really, really like him.”
Lauren’s best friend, Dr. Shiloh Foster, gestured for the bartender and Lauren took that time to glance around the
cozy piano bar. She perused the low lighting, the romantic ambiance and the other patrons scattered throughout, many of
whom were her colleagues—men and women coming together for a little after-hours mingling, their clandestine affairs
masked by the lounge’s darkness.
Since the bar was conveniently located only a block from her work, it regularly filled with doctors, nurses and other
hospital staff, most searching for a way to wind down after a hard night on the floor. She stole a glance at the piano player
who was crooning a soft ballad in the far corner. Even though his soothing voice drowned the hushed conversations
around them, Lauren leaned toward her friend and spoke in whispered words, wanting to keep her private life, well…
private.
“Adam’s thoughtful, kind, funny, exciting, and completely uninhibited in bed.”
Shiloh arched a challenging brow. “Yeah, when he’s there.”
Lauren drew a long breath and let it out slowly. Okay, so Shiloh was right and that was the problem. She’d been
dating Adam Wilson for a little over eight months now and while she liked everything about him, from his playful
demeanor to his zest for life, his roguish good looks, and his wild antics in bed, she couldn’t deny that his absence during
the weekdays posed a real problem for her.
Still, he was a man with integrity and values, so unlike the other men she’d dated in the past, and he treated her with
kindness and respect. As much as she hated being alone throughout the week, she wasn’t about to dump his sorry ass
because his job took him out of province.
When Adam was home he showered her with attention and affection and put her needs and desires first. He was
always fun and spontaneous and kept their relationship fresh and exciting by whisking her away to exotic locales where
he’d spend the weekend catering to her every need and bringing her wildest fantasies to life.
As the erotic slideshow played out in her mind’s eye, her body warmed in response. The man was anything but
boring. Need moved through her just thinking about all the erotic ways he made love to her, especially the scintillating
way he liked to take her up against the wall. He’d drive into her hard and fast with such fevered passion it rattled her right
to her core. Her skin broke out in a fever and her sex clenched with want, leaving her feeling hot and achy. Over the years
she’d come to learn that few men were as creative or deft with their hands, their fingers, their tongue…
Truthfully, she loved everything about Adam, and while she enjoyed every minute in his arms and in his bed, what
she didn’t like was being alone all week. Unfortunately, the luxury of working close to home was out of his control.
As a pilot for one of the big commercial carriers, he spent his weekdays flying across the country. He returned home
on Friday evening only to leave again early Monday morning. But who was she to complain about his career? As an
emergency ward doctor she knew all about odd hours and crazy work schedules. But she couldn’t deny that she wanted
companionship through the week too. Someone to snuggle up with at night, someone to watch mind-numbing reality TV
shows with, someone to wake up with and someone to give a goodbye kiss to in the mornings before she headed off to
work.
Damn…
“You know I’m all about Adam,” Shiloh said, cutting into her thoughts as the bartender replenished their drinks.
“Hell, I’d give my eye teeth for a guy like that. But you’re not like me, Lauren,” she pressed, her green eyes moving over
Lauren’s face with genuine concern. “I’d totally be content to have him around only on weekends—Lord knows I like my
space—but I know you want more out of a relationship and you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”
“It’s just that…”
“Come on, Lauren. It’s hump day, and you’re sitting at a bar having cocktails with me.” She paused, gave a sassy
wink, then added, “Instead of having…cocktails, with him.”
Lauren took a big gulp of her drink, and when her head wobbled slightly—the alcohol hitting her hard since she
hadn’t stopped working long enough to grab dinner—she decided it was time to call it a night. But before she made
her way to the train, she needed to walk the three blocks to Adam’s place and take care of Nate, the mischievous feline
that Adam’s brother, Garret, had left in his care while he was away racing. Adam planned to kennel the cat during the
weekdays, but Lauren didn’t mind seeing to his needs every few days and suspected Garret would prefer it that way too.
As she thought about Garret, she found it hard to believe that she’d been dating Adam for eight months and had yet to
meet his brother, especially seeing how close the two guys were. Adam talked about his brother so much, Lauren felt as
if she already knew him.
The door behind them banged open and they both turned in time to see Blake Canyon, the hospital’s newest intern—a
guy who had all the single girls, and some of the not-so-single girls, tripping over their tongues. He entered and looked
around, his sexy glance brushing over Shiloh, the heat in his eyes enough to melt her surgical equipment.
“Speaking of hump day,” Shi said, her eyes returning his smoldering gaze with interest.
Chuckling and deciding she’d had enough, Lauren slid her glass along the mahogany bar top, dropped a few bills
onto the counter and grabbed her coat from the back of her stool.
“Coming?” she asked as she shrugged into her knee-length wool jacket and wrapped her knitted scarf around her
neck.
“Soon, I hope,” Shi said with a grin and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to know the subject had once again dipped
south. On that cue, Lauren grabbed her purse and briefcase and made her way outdoors while Shiloh picked up her drink
and disappeared into the crowd.
The cool wind wrapped around Lauren’s body and she tightened her scarf around her neck as the winter’s first snow
began to dust the city’s sidewalks. Large flakes danced under the streetlamps and glided silently to the ground. Lauren
slowed her steps and absorbed her surroundings, taking in the beauty of the night as well as all the couples who were out
for a romantic, evening walk. As she inhaled the crisp air, she felt a pang of loneliness inside her, and wished Adam were
by her side, there to hold her hand, touch her intimately and enjoy the gorgeous night with her.
She blinked a fat snowflake from her lashes and hustled down the sidewalk, not wanting to dwell on those disheartening
thoughts any longer. A few minutes later she pushed open the door to Adam’s condo, and nearly tripped over a purring
Nate as he wrapped himself around her legs.
“Hey boy.” Lauren dropped her briefcase on the floor, patted the furry feline and asked, “Hungry?”
Nate purred louder and when she glanced up and noticed the shredded newspaper strewn across the hardwood floors
she laughed and tapped his nose. “I think we need to get you a friend of the opposite sex to keep you entertained during
the weekdays.” Lauren couldn’t help but think she could use the same thing.
At that scandalous thought she flicked the hall light on and went straight to the kitchen. She dropped her purse
onto the counter and prepared his food. After refilling his bowl and refreshing his water, she wandered around the quiet
apartment and cleaned up Nate’s mess. She picked a sofa pillow up off the floor and pressed it to her nose. The warm,
earthy scent of Adam impregnated the fabric and raised her hunger for him. Her nipples tightened almost painfully and
her body shuddered, her entire being longing to be in his arms tonight.
When Nate finished eating, he jumped onto the windowsill and scratched at the glass pane.
“What is it, boy?” Leaving the pillow behind, she stepped up beside Nate and laughed when he continued to swat at
the falling flakes as they melted on the warm pane. As she stared at the street, it occurred to her just how big the flakes
were and just how quickly they were accumulating on the ground below. She was dressed in her high heels, having
changed at the hospital before going to the lounge, and she wasn’t prepared for snow—the weatherman certainly missed
his mark this time. Thoughts of going back out in the cold made her cringe. Adam certainly wouldn’t mind if she stayed
over, and since she did have an extra pair of scrubs at the hospital…
She rubbed Nate. “What do you think, boy? Would you like the company?” When Nate purred and licked his paw,
she took that as a yes. As she warmed to the idea of spending the night in Adam’s bed, albeit alone, she decided a hot,
sudsy shower to wash away the busy day and help her relax was in order first.
Lauren stripped off her clothes and left a trail in the hall as she made her way to the bathroom, turned on the shower,
and climbed in. As the warm spray fell over her body, she grabbed Adam’s body wash and squeezed a generous amount
onto her hand. She rubbed it over her damp flesh and as the fresh, familiar scent fragranced the air her body grew needy
for him. She ran her hands over her breasts, stopping to pluck at her nipples, while she widened her legs to let the hot
stream spray her bare pubic area and caress her swollen clit.
She moaned without censure, then removed the handle so she could center the nozzle on the spot that needed it most.
As desire twisted inside her, her passion grew, and her body began tingling all over. Stroking herself, she envisioned
Adam between her legs, tonguing her cunt, lapping at her cream, dipping a finger inside her.
“Oh God,” she cried out.
Slowly, methodically, she controlled the pace, taking her time to build her orgasm as she worked the spray over
her inflamed clit. Okay, so she couldn’t deny that while she liked Adam’s wild, frantic lovemaking sessions, there were
times, like now, when she wanted a soft touch, to shift things into slow gear. But as a pilot who found his career boring,
he craved excitement and made up for his mundane work week by going all out on his weekends—with her.
She couldn’t fault him for that.
Turning her focus to the intense pleasure rising in her, her breathing grew a little shallow, a little unstable. She let
loose a low moan, her chest rising and falling as she felt an orgasm pulling at her. As a sweet mixture of her tangy arousal
mingled with Adam’s spicy soap, pleasure forked through her bringing her to the edge.
Her pulse raced, her body burned. Hot flames licked up her thighs and in that instant she let herself go, let herself fall
over the precipice. Giving into her basic elemental needs, her pussy clenched and pulsed, her muscles squeezing together
in euphoric bliss.
She remained under the hot spray a moment longer, letting her breathing return to normal. Once stable, she turned off
the water, climbed from the shower stall and grabbed a big, fluffy towel. Not bothering with clothes, she flicked the light
off and felt a little melancholy as she made her way down the hall to the bedroom. Even though she’d just climaxed, and
it had temporarily sated her physically, it left her feeling a little empty inside and in need of Adam even more.
As she pushed open the bedroom door and dropped her towel, light from the hallway filtered in and fell over the
unmade bed—an unmade bed with a naked body sprawled across it! Gasping in surprise, she clutched her bare breasts
and peered into the dark. As she took in the silhouette of Adam’s lean torso, thick muscular chest, long legs and firm
thighs, her heart leapt, her libido roared to life and her mind filled with deliciously erotic ideas.
She had no idea why he was home on a Wednesday night and decided that instead of questioning her good fortune,
she was damn well going to take advantage of it.
Blood Avenged by Gabrielle Bisset
I am everything you desire. I am vampire.
Powerful and manipulative, Vasilije does as he pleases. A vampire beholden to no one, he takes what he desires,
drinking deeply the pleasures this life has to offer. When one of his own is staked, Vasilije must travel to New Orleans to exact his revenge. There he meets Sasa,
a beautiful woman who arouses him like no other has for centuries. Vasilije’s need for vengeance is equaled only by his
passion for her, but what he finds in his revenge is just the beginning... Dark urban fantasy. Contains adult sexual situations and language. #1 in the Sons of Navarus series
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Blood Avenged by New York Times bestselling author K.M. Scott
writing as Gabrielle Bisset or return to the Table of Contents.
I am everything you desire.
I am everything you fear.
I am lust and appetite.
I am vampire.
CHAPTER 1
The beat of the music slammed into his body like crushing blows from an angry attacker, each note reverberating
in his bones. He sat perfectly still and let the beat thrum through him as he picked up the seductive scent wafting across
the crowded room, carried by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. Undetected by all but him, its subtle sweetness teased his
nose with a promise of what was to come.
Scanning the room, he watched like a bird tracking its prey. All of humanity seemed to file past him. Desperate,
drunk, and powerless, the crowd was a smorgasbord laid out especially for him. With no effort at all, he could have any of
them. The brunette dancing between two men, her movements telegraphing that her sex was needy for what they offered.
If he chose, in seconds, they’d be gone and she’d be his for the taking. The tanned, muscular male eyeing him from three
tables away, who he sensed preferred what hung between his legs to what the brunette offered. The barely legal blonde,
whose wide green eyes betrayed just how much of life she hadn’t experienced despite the lies her body told.
He could have any of them.
Vasilije watched his victim at the bar. Every bat of an eyelash he felt. Every clank of the ice against the glass he
heard as if he were there himself. The distance between them meant nothing.
Through the tightly packed crowd, he saw the woman next to his target lean over, obscuring his view. He watched
as she pressed her body next to the man’s, a not-so-subtle hint to her interest.
The sweet scent remained, and Vasilije closed his eyes to enjoy it, not interested in the woman or her pathetic
attempt to seduce his prey away.
He had no idea the vampire waited patiently for his moment. Vasilije liked the idea that ignorance was bliss. For
now. In a few short minutes, another bliss would take them both over, and he’d have what he’d eyed for days.
The man made a move toward the door and every cell in Vasilije’s body came alive. Two steps and he was in the
thick of the crowd, their bodies pressing up against his as he brushed by them. He weaved through the group like a dark
secret whispered from one person to another.
At the exit, he inhaled deeply, his sense of smell filtering out the putrid mixture of exhaust, perfume, and stale
alcohol that hovered at the entrance to the street. Only his prey’s scent remained, imprinted on him.
He was nearby.
Closing his eyes, Vasilije let his other senses take over. The sound of the man’s shoes hitting the pavement echoed
in his ears. The feel of his prey’s blood pumping through his body throbbed against Vasilije’s cool skin, matching his
heartbeat.
So healthy. So alive.
He’d tracked him for days, his desire growing with each passing moment. It had taken little time for him to decide
he would make him one of his kind. He stirred something inside that hadn’t been touched for years.
Such a soul would be a perfect addition to his world.
He moved away from the noise of the club into the streets of London as he gained ground on his target. Now in
his view, the man moved much faster. Did he sense the danger that lurked nearby? But it was no use. He would surrender
this night.
Vasilije walked calmly, never losing sight of the man. He sensed his fear and took it into himself, relishing the
sensation. How long had it been since he’d felt fear—true fear that stole one’s breath away and paralyzed the limbs?
A quick left onto a darkened street and his prey broke into a full run, his fear morphing into pure terror that surged
through Vasilije’s veins. In his ears, he heard the man’s heart pound faster and faster, his body reacting to his mind’s
screams.
Into the night air, he whispered, “Come to me,” and waited for the man to make his way back to him. With each
step, Vasilije moved closer, but the man remained out of reach.
Something or someone was helping him escape.
Quickly, Vasilije scanned the area, his eyes darting left and right in the darkness. Was there another of his kind
close? He sensed no one, but someone was interrupting his pursuit.
Reluctantly, he accepted the situation and disappeared into thin air, reappearing just mere feet in front of the man.
Stunned, he skidded to a stop against Vasilije’s chest.
“No more running.”
His hand moved to the man’s chin and gently held him. Eyes filled with a fear he’d seen a thousand times before
stared back at him, pleading for mercy from a being that possessed none.
His voice a deep timbre now, Vasilije began to hypnotize the man. “I’ve waited long enough for you.”
To his surprise, the trick didn’t work. The man’s eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to speak, but only weak
cries came out. Why was he able to resist?
“Who are you?”
“Alex,” he said, his voice almost a whimper.
“Alex, I want you to look into my eyes. Listen to my voice.”
“Please don’t kill me.”
Vasilije stroked the man’s cheek and leaned in next to his ear. “I’m going to give you a life you’ve never dreamed
of, Alex.”
“Please! Take all my money. Just let me go. I have a girlfriend. Tatiana. I don’t want to die!”
Vasilije thought back to the only Tatiana he’d ever known in his over four hundred year existence. Grimacing, he
returned his focus to Alex’s eyes and pushed his memory of the past out of his mind.
“Well, maybe I’ll let you have her.”
“Please don’t do this!” the man begged, his blue eyes filling with tears.
Cradling his face in his hands, Vasilije concentrated on Alex, and slowly whatever had been protecting him
slipped away. His lids became heavy, obscuring his eyes, and the fear left his mind and body.
“Alex.” Vasilije let the name rest on his tongue as he hissed out the last syllable. “Mine.”
The muscles in Alex’s body gave in to his power and all fight evaporated from him. He slumped against the
vampire’s body as his mind finally succumbed to his persuasion.
Vasilije guided him to a building just a few steps away and leaned him against a stone wall. For a moment, he
stilled to look at this human who had so captivated him, more than any other creature in years. His shoulder length blond
hair shone like it had been touched each day by the sun. Vasilije gingerly touched the ends with his fingertips, feeling the
sun’s long forgotten warmth against his fingers.
His eyes moved over Alex’s face, past his mouth and cheekbones to eyes hooded by slack lids. Within those slits
were blue eyes that stared out passively at him. Eyes that saw what Vasilije commanded as he silently inserted ideas into
the man’s mind.
Nothing about Alex was unique individually, and despite admiring his beauty, Vasilije couldn’t say that was what
had drawn him to the human. It was something else, something about him that created the impression of the forbidden.
But now he would be his.
Vasilije’s fangs slid seductively into his mouth as he eyed the gentle throbbing in Alex’s neck. In just a few
moments, they would sink into his skin and sweet blood would fill him. The thought of it made his mouth water.
Unlike the rest of his fellow vampires, he wasn’t forced to live under the restrictions of vampire law and obtain
permission to turn a human. His sire had been taken from the Earth years ago, and without her, he was free to sire anyone
he pleased.
He was truly a being beholden to no one.
Alex would join the hundreds of others scattered across the globe who counted him as their sire. Inside, he knew
where each one was at any given moment, like a piece of himself inside another. When he desired to have them around,
they were. And when he preferred a life of solitude, the choice of many vampires, he sent them away.
But they were never truly gone.
He would keep Alex with him until he’d completed his initiation period. To do any less would be cruel. A newly
turned vampire needed his sire for virtually everything to survive. His blood would nourish him, like no other’s could.
A human might give him what he needed for a short time, but it could never be what his sire’s was. And his knowledge
would help Alex learn how to be a vampire and how to grow accustomed to the new life he’d given him.
Vasilije softly pressed his mouth to his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin against his lips. Alex turned his head
in response, and Vasilije lifted his head. Staring deeply into his eyes, he silently instructed him to turn his head.
His mouth returned to Alex’s neck. As he watched the rhythmic pulse just under his skin, he slid his tongue over
his fangs, enjoying the feel of their sharp points.
“Alex, from this moment on, I’m your sire. You belong to me.”
Without moving his head, Alex moaned his unneeded agreement. For a long moment, the world around them
stood still, as Vasilije pressed his fangs slowly into the tender skin. His canines pierced a vein and blood began to flood
over his tongue. Its thickness oozed back toward his throat, the tangy taste sliding over his taste buds, exciting them.
How wonderful he tasted! As Alex’s life flowed down Vasilije’s throat, he fastened his mouth on his neck and
pulled at the vein, careful to take only as much as he should. He’d bring Alex to the point of no return and then, as he
lingered between life and death, he’d give him the first of many gifts a sire could provide.
Still human for the moment, Alex struggled against Vasilije’s hold, but it was no use. A vampire for centuries, he
had the strength of a bull and reflexes of a wild cat. At the first sign of resistance, he tightened his hold on the man’s jaw
and flung his leg over him, trapping his body between the wall and his own.
“It’s futile to struggle,” Vasilije whispered low in his ear. “Let it take you.”
“Please...” Alex’s voice faded to a groan as Vasilije’s mouth tugged at his vein with more vigor.
“I want nothing else,” Vasilije chuckled as he closed the holes he’d made in Alex’s neck.
He carefully laid him on the ground, and as Alex fought to hold on to the last shred of his human life, Vasilije
wiped the corners of his mouth. Licking the blood from his fingertips, he savored the taste as he knelt down beside the
man who was to be his newest vampire.
Vasilije stroked the blond hair that would never again be touched by the warmth or light of the sun. His fingers
glided over the sun kissed skin on Alex’s face, which in moments would be reduced to a pallor common to those of the
night. Even now, the warmth that had been present in his skin was gone.
Lifting his wrist to his mouth, Vasilije sunk his fangs into his skin to open a vein. Blood ran freely in a stream
from his wrist, and he pulled Alex to him to begin the transition from human to vampire. Near death, his head had to be
held to Vasilije’s wrist, but as if it were his true nature, Alex began drinking seconds after tasting his sire’s blood, eagerly
sucking the liquid into his mouth.
For Vasilije, this was the part he enjoyed. To feed from the neck of a human could sustain him for a short time,
but to take from another like him and give in return was a far more satisfying experience.
Alex’s mouth sucked greedily at his wrist, drinking his sire’s blood as readily as he’d drunk any liquid as a
human. Vasilije watched the sensual scene, enjoying every moment. Blood stained lips pressed against his skin drew from
him the most important gift a sire provided. As Alex swallowed every drop that spilled into his mouth, Vasilije watched
his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. When he neared the end of the first feeding, Alex instinctively looked
up to his sire to guide him.
Pulling his arm away, Vasilije let the ache in his wrist touch him inside, loving the sweet pain that accompanied
feeding one of his own. Alex wiped his mouth and sat up next to him, unsure as all new vampires were.
“Come, Alex. I want to give you something.”
Completely under his spell, his newest vampire followed him back to the club. Vasilije saw the brunette he’d
admired earlier, without the two men she’d had before. Remembering how her body had felt against his as he’d pressed
through the crowd, he approached her and with little effort, he had her nearly begging to leave with them.
By the time they arrived at his house, she had her hands all over Vasilije, but she wasn’t for him.
Turning to Alex, he smiled. “She’s yours for the night.”
He eagerly took his gift to the couch and began undressing her. Vasilije sat back in his chair and in the dim light
of the parlor, he saw his vampire bend her over and ram into her until she screamed out her orgasm. Unsatisfied, Alex
pulled her head to his still hard cock and fucked her again as she eagerly swallowed everything he gave her.
Vasilije heard the familiar click of a vampire’s teeth dropping as Alex came and in a flash was standing over him.
“No,” he said in a deep voice like a growl.
“I’m hungry, and I know it would feel incredible to taste her now. You said she was mine.”
“A vampire drinks from his sire whenever possible.”
Before he could answer, Vasilije touched his wrist to Alex’s mouth and the new vampire began feeding again. The
brunette watched with eyes full of fear.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let him drink from you.”
Vasilije watched the fear leave her eyes, replaced with their earlier lustful stare, now fastened on his own cock.
Leaving Alex to feed, she crawled up to Vasilije and began rubbing the front of his pants. With little encouragement, she
freed his cock and slid the engorged head between her lips. As her hand cupped and squeezed his balls, her mouth sucked
his cock while Alex sucked excitedly at his wrist.
Looking down, Vasilije saw this was clearly not the first time this woman had sucked cock. Her tongue expertly
slid under the crown, teasing the most sensitive part before she pushed her lips to gently clamp down on the base of his
cock as her throat closed in around the head. The effect was incredible. Fighting the urge to come, he yanked her head
off him and pulled her to her feet.
He’d said she was Alex’s for the night, but now as his young vampire finished feeding for the second time in just
a few hours, Alex grew sleepy and his head fell back against the couch. The brunette looked at Alex and then back to
Vasilije before she went back to work on his cock, stroking him toward completion as she softly moaned next to his lips.
“Come,” he whispered.
Following him to the floor, she pulled at his clothes before he removed them with a mere thought. He ran his
hands over her body slowly and then ordered, “Get on your hands and knees.”
She willingly did as he commanded, and in seconds she offered him whatever he wanted. Tonight he’d take
simply fucking over anything else.
Vasilije placed his hands on her hips and held her tightly in place. His cock found her drenched cunt and he
slammed into her, his balls smacking off her skin. She fought against his hold, backing up to meet his hard thrusts.
Fuck, she was eager!
No matter how hard he pounded into her, she met his body’s movement equally with one as wanton of her own.
Vasilije slid his finger and then a second one into her ass and began fucking her in both places, and she bucked against
him like she wanted more.
Roughly, he pulled her up to his chest and continued fucking her cunt. His fangs slammed into his mouth as he
ran his lips over her neck.
Alex may not be able to taste her, but there was no reason he shouldn’t.
He bit into her and her moaning grew louder with each pull on her vein. The sounds of their fucking filled the
room, and as he drew closer to coming, Vasilije slid his fingers down to her clit and began stroking her. His eyes closed,
his mind focused on his cock filling her, his fingers teasing her, and the taste of her blood draining down his throat.
She cried out some words before she came, but he was too focused on the feel of her squeezing his cock to
understand or care. Over and over, her body milked him until he filled her with his cum and she filled him with her blood.
When he finally slid out of her, she fell to the floor, her body exhausted from how he’d treated her. Hours later,
after he’d fucked her until she begged to become his, a vampire like Alex, he dissolved her memory of everything she’d
done and sent her home in a cab.
As dawn approached, Vasilije made sure Alex was safe from daylight in his own bedroom designed to be secure
from the sun and crawled into bed for the day. He’d had a productive night, and as he laid his head on the pillow, he smiled
at how good it was to be a vampire.
The Invitation By Erika Wilde
THE INVITATION . . .
After months of indulging in some of the hottest sex of his married life, Dean Noble intends to give Jillian a very
special gift for their twentieth anniversary . . . an invitation that will take them beyond their wildest, most erotic fantasies.
THE PLAYERS CLUB . . .
Jillian is more than willing to accept her husband’s invitation, and together they enter a provocative world where
boundaries are pushed to the limit, pleasure is the ultimate goal, and Dean is able to embrace those darker desires he’s
kept a tight rein on all these years. But when Dean’s alpha tendencies extend outside of the bedroom, a battle of wills
ensues, and it’s up to Jillian to show her husband that she’s all for submission games in the playroom, but when it comes
to her needs outside the bedroom he’ll have to learn to compromise.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of The Invitation by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
Janelle Denison writing as Erika Wilde or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
“I can’t believe you’re getting a drink with me instead of going home to your wife. Don’t even tell me that there’s
trouble in paradise.”
Dean grinned at his best friend, Brent “Mac” MacMillan, who sat on a bar stool beside him at a local joint they
frequented after work to relax and unwind. Though, admittedly, ever since Jillian had shown up at Dean’s office weeks
ago and propositioned him with spicing up their sex lives, he’d spent a helluva lot more time at home with his wife, than
hanging out with the guys.
“Trust me, the only reason I’m sitting here with you instead of being at home with Jillian is because I have a huge
favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Mac said sincerely. “Just ask and it’s yours.”
Dean knew he spoke the truth because they’d always had each other’s backs. They’d met in the Navy and served
in the same SEAL platoon and were now business partners at Noble and Associates, the security firm that Dean and Mac
had established when they’d retired from the military a few years ago. The two of them had started the company doing
oddball security gigs, but with their training and experience they’d quickly become a prominent, multi-million dollar firm
specializing in executive protection and corporate threat management.
Becoming a successful, viable corporation had taken a lot of time and dedication on both their parts, but all the
blood, sweat, and leaner times had been well worth the sacrifice. Dean couldn’t imagine any other partner than Mac. He
was the brother Dean never had, and the one person he trusted implicitly.
Dean took a drink from his bottle of beer before getting to the point of the conversation. “Remember a few years
ago when you asked if I was interested in an invitation to The Players Club?” The Players Club, a huge, massive estate
located outside of San Diego in the hills of Fallbrook, was an exclusive, members-only society that catered to the erotic
and forbidden. The only way to get inside the private, elite mansion was by invitation only by a current member, which
Mac was.
“Yeah, I remember,” Mac replied, a hint of curiosity tingeing his drawl. “And I distinctly recall you turning down
the offer saying it wasn’t Jillian’s thing. Has that changed?”
“Possibly.” He’d never brought up the subject of The Players Club to his wife, but considering how open-minded
Jillian had become, he figured it was a good time to introduce yet another fantasy he’d entertained for years. And with
their twentieth anniversary coming up, it seemed like the perfect gift, for the both of them.
Mac studied Dean for a moment before realization dawned. “Does this have anything to do with that day when
Jillian dropped by your office, the two of you spent some time alone, and she left with a big smile on her face and looking
a bit disheveled?”
“Noticed that, did you?”
A knowing smirk curved the corner of Mac’s lips. “Along with the fact that you couldn’t concentrate on shit after
she walked out.”
Dean laughed, unable to deny his friend’s claim. He had very fond memories of that day in his office — the day that
changed so much between him and his wife, for the better. “Jillian has decided that with both the boys grown and out of
the house, it’s time to focus on us and making our sex life more interesting and daring.”
“And how’s that working out?” Mac asked before finishing off his beer.
“Fucking fantastic.” Dean grinned. He wasn’t one to share details, but he had to admit that even beyond the
phenomenal sex, they’d become closer as a couple. Their relationship was more intimate, their interaction on a daily
basis more fun and flirty.
“Lucky bastard,” Mac muttered begrudgingly.
“What are you complaining about?” Dean asked, amused by his friend’s envious statement. “You always have some
hot bombshell ready and willing to warm your bed.”
“Not the same thing.” Mac sighed as he absently wiped away the condensation on his beer bottle with his fingers.
“You’re lucky because your marriage has lasted nearly twenty years and you still seem to be enjoying a smokin’ hot sex
life. Do you know how rare that is?”
Realizing which road they were suddenly traveling, Dean grew serious. “You tried really hard to make your marriage
work, Mac. You just rescued the wrong woman, and you never should have married her.”
Mac’s lips thinned, as they always did whenever they talked about the one woman who’d ripped his heart out and
stomped on it for good measure. “I’m done rescuing. Period. It’s not worth the fucking hassle or emotional turmoil.”
Dean didn’t argue, and just hoped that the right woman came along to change Mac’s mind someday. But at the age
of thirty-six, Mac was set in his ways and certain he was better off a bachelor who kept things simple and temporary. And
being a member of The Players Club offered him easy, uncomplicated sex with a woman who enjoyed the same level of
kink that he did.
“So, do you think Jillian is ready for a place like The Players Club?” Mac asked, effectively changing the subject off
him and his failed marriage.
“I think she could be, yes,” Dean replied. “She’s become more adventurous lately, so I’d like to give her the option
of accepting the invitation, or not, though I’m not interested in swinging or sharing.” As he’d already learned that night
she’d taken him to a night club, that point was absolutely non-negotiable.
“Trust me, there’s something for everyone at The Players Club,” Mac said, obviously speaking from his own personal
experience. “And there are certain basic rules, and everyone abides by them or they’re immediately banned. Nobody’s
going to touch Jillian.”
“Not if they value their lives,” Dean said, meaning it.
Mac chuckled and pushed his empty beer bottle across the bar. “Are you sure she’ll be okay?” he asked, concern
lacing his voice. “And I’m not referring to just the sexual atmosphere, but the fact that she’ll know people there. Like
me, and a lot of our other guys.”
Dean had already thought about that. “You’ve already assured me that there is a confidentiality clause in the contract
that everyone signs, so I’m assuming that whatever happens at the club, stays at the club?”
Mac nodded. “Yes, and for those clients who don’t know you, there are no last names exchanged to protect your
privacy, as well.”
Which was all very reassuring to Dean. “Then it’s up to Jillian and how comfortable she is with everything.” She
would be the deciding factor, because he wasn’t going to put his wife in situation that made her uneasy.
“Fair enough,” Mac said in understanding. “I’ll make a call and you should have the invitation in a few days.”
“Perfect.” Just in time for their twentieth anniversary. “I appreciate it.”
***
Jillian walked into Sugar and Spice, an upscale adult boutique that specialized in selling fun, sexy toys, gorgeous
lingerie, and other erotic novelty items. Located in a cluster of other specialty type businesses that catered to a sophisticated
clientele, Sugar and Spice had become one of her favorite places to shop lately, and had provided her and Dean with
plenty of sensual ideas to help fulfill many of their fantasies.
Ultimately, this store had helped to revive her marriage, had increased her confidence as a woman, and had given
her husband the permission to truly embrace that dominant alpha male in the bedroom. Or rather, their newly designed
playroom, which was now filled with all sorts of provocative toys and gadgets.
“Hey, Jillian,” a familiar female voice greeted her.
“Hi, Raina,” Jillian returned, smiling at the beautiful blonde haired woman who owned the boutique, and who had
also become a good friend.
It was early afternoon, and the store was quiet. Other than Aaron – a good looking, muscular guy who doubled as a
bodyguard for Raina, and as a sales person when needed – there wasn’t anyone else in the place. From across the store
in the video section, Aaron acknowledged her with a friendly nod before returning to stocking the shelves.
Raina came around the front counter, wearing a pair of white denim jeans, a pink top, and a pair of high heels that
accentuated her long legs. The woman had a body of a centerfold, and Jillian had seen many male customers stare at her
with obvious lust, but she never returned their interest or flirtatious, persuasive come-ons. Raina had once told Jillian
that she never mixed business with pleasure, and considering she owned an adult boutique, dating men always came with
certain expectations she had no intentions of fulfilling.
“What
brings
you
in
today?”
Raina
asked,
always
eager
to
help.
“I’m looking for some sexy lingerie to wear,” Jillian said.
“I thought I heard Jillian’s voice!” Another woman appeared from the back of the store carrying a few hangers
displaying her gorgeous, one-of-a-kind corset creations that she sold at Sugar and Spice, and commissioned for customers.
“A lady can never have enough sexy lingerie, that’s for sure.”
Jillian grinned at Paige, a red-head with voluptuous curves who wasn’t afraid to flaunt them, and an outrageous
personality that always amused Jillian. “So true.”
Raina looped her arm through Jillian’s and guided her toward the lingerie section. “Did you have something
particular in mind?”
“Maybe another corset?” Paige piped in, lifting one of the satin-lined hangers to reveal a stunning bustier made with
emerald satin, pearls, and feathers. “I just finished this one this morning, and I have to admit I’m having a hard time
putting it on display, instead of keeping it for myself.”
Jillian could understand why. The corset was exotic and seductive, yet fun, too. “My husband loved the red leather
corset you custom made for me,” she said, thinking back to when she’d played the dominatrix to her husband’s slave in
the playroom a few weeks ago. “But I think I want something more elegant.”
Raina raised a curious brow. “Special occasion coming up?”
“Yes, my twentieth anniversary,” she said as she looked through a rack of baby doll nighties – all pretty and sexy,
but nothing that wowed her.
Paige’s green eyes rounded in shock. “Oh my God, did Dean rob the cradle with you?”
“You don’t look old enough to be married twenty years!” Raina added, equally stunned.
Jillian laughed. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m thirty-eight.”
Paige arranged one of her corsets on a display mannequin. “So, you were eighteen when you got married?” she
asked, obviously having done the quick math in her head. “And you’re still married?”
“Yes, and yes,” Jillian said in answer to each question. “Happily so.”
“And clearly, Dean is still crazy about you,” Raina said, a soft, wistful sigh escaping her. “Whenever he comes in
here and mentions your name, he always gets this crazy-sexy grin on his face.”
Yes, she was very fortunate to have a husband who still adored her.
“What do you think of this?” Raina asked, holding up a sheer red chemise trimmed in black lace for her to see.
“Too short and revealing,” Jillian said with a shake of her head, knowing if Dean saw that on her he’d be way too
distracted. She wanted to tease him, not turn him into the uncontrollable sexy beast he became whenever he saw her
naked. That outfit would be like waving a red flag in front of a perpetual horny bull, she thought in amusement. “I’d like
something sexy, yet subtle and romantic,” she told Raina.
“Gotcha. You want to leave a little to the imagination.”
Jillian grinned. “Exactly.”
Raina nodded in understanding and headed toward a rack displaying more luxurious, high end lingerie. “So, what
made you get married so young?” she asked curiously as she looked through the selection of rich silks, clearly looking
for something specific.
“I got knocked up,” Jillian replied.
A startled look transformed Raina’s expression, and embarrassment pinkened her cheeks. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry .
. . I didn’t mean to be nosey . . . it really isn’t any of my business.”
Jillian chuckled at Raina’s flustered composure. “It’s not a big deal. I was young, in love, and it was hard to resist
Dean’s bad boy charm,” she said honestly, though it had been more than just his tough, sexy image and cajoling ways that
had led her to give Dean her virginity at the age of seventeen.
She could clearly recall that fateful night, when she’d seen such agony in his eyes and discovered just how wounded
he was on the inside, that beneath his rough, I’m-a-rebel personality was a boy who was scarred by a father’s verbal
and physical abuse. And despite being a good girl who always followed her parent’s strict rules, she’d ignored their
disapproval of Dean and followed her heart.
That dark, stormy night, his pain had become her own and all she’d wanted was to let him know that he was loved,
so she’d replaced his torment with the deepest, most intimate thing she could give him. Her body and innocence.
Getting pregnant certainly hadn’t been part of the plan, but twenty years later she could look back and know that it
all happened the way it was supposed to. Dean was her soul-mate and there wasn’t anything up to this point that she’d
change about her life.
But now that the kids were grown and gone, a part of her was starting to feel restless and sometimes even bored
—– not with her marriage, but her daily routine. There was nothing to fill her time while Dean was at work, nothing that
gave her a reason to wake up excited in the morning or left her with a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. Her
entire world had revolved around her husband and boys for nearly twenty years, and now that she had too much time on
her hands she was beginning to crave something for herself.
Even if she did have an idea in mind, she wasn’t sure how Dean would react to her taking a job when he was a man
who’d made it very clear that he would take care of his wife and family — in all the ways his father never had. Dean had
always been determined that she’d never have to work and prided himself on being the sole provider. For her, it wasn’t
about the money, but she wasn’t sure that he could differentiate the two in his mind, considering the emotionally painful
dynamics between his own mother and father.
Jillian shook those thoughts from her head, and redirected her mind to the conversation at hand between herself,
Raina, and Paige. “I know getting pregnant wasn’t an ideal situation for a teenager in high school,” Jillian admitted. “But
I have two great boys and a husband who is-”
“Hotter and more sinful than the devil himself,” Paige interrupted with her own interpretation of Dean.
“Paige!” Raina said, scolding her friend for her candid outburst.
“What, it’s the truth,” Paige replied unapologetically, her hands on her curvy hips. “That man is sex on a stick and
there is nothing wrong with me visually appreciating that fine body of his. Isn’t that right, Jillian?”
Jillian couldn’t argue with Paige’s logic. “Hey, the ‘you can look but don’t touch’ rule certainly works for me.”
Actually, she found Paige’s description of Dean flattering. It was nice to know that other women were envious, and Jillian
was secure enough in her relationship and marriage to feel no threat whatsoever.
“Ah, here it is,” Raina announced as she pulled a hanger from the rack. “I think this is exactly what you’re looking
for. Subtly sexy, but soft and romantic.”
Jillian took one look at the negligee and knew it was the one. “I’d love to try it on.”
A few minutes later she was in the dressing room, her heart rate speeding up in excitement as she stared at her
reflection in the three way mirror. The long gown was made of cool black silk that draped seductively across her body
and hinted at her curves. Thin straps gave way to a loose bodice that caressed her breasts, rather than molding to them.
The right side had a thigh-high slit to show a flash of bare leg when she walked, or sat down, and where that ended ribbons
laced up the rest of the negligee, adding a little temptation to the otherwise demure gown and giving the illusion that with
one little tug of the bow it would all unravel and fall away.
When she walked out of the room, Raina was waiting nearby for her.
“Well?” her friend asked expectantly. “What did you think?”
“It’s perfect. I’ll take it.”
“And look what else I found.” Grinning, Raina held up a pair of men’s black silk pajama pants for Dean.
While Dean preferred wearing his old, worn cotton sweat pants around the house, Jillian loved the idea of them
wearing a matching set for their anniversary and adding a little sensual luxury to the special night. “I’ll take those, too.”
Jillian handed Raina the negligee and followed the other woman up to the front counter.
“So, do you have big plans for your milestone anniversary?” Raina asked as she clipped the tags from the gown and
wrapped up Jillian’s purchases in pretty pink tissue paper.
“Just a nice, quiet, romantic dinner for two at home.” It’s what Jillian wanted, even though Dean had given her the
choice to go out to a fancy restaurant. She had the entire meal planned and was looking forward to a more intimate setting
with her husband, just the two of them.
“Sounds lovely.” Raina rang up the transaction and swiped Jillian’s credit card. “And I’m sure he’s going to love
the gift you had done for him.”
“I think so, too. I can’t wait to give it to him.” Her gift wasn’t a traditional anniversary present, but there was no
doubt in her mind that Dean was going to thoroughly enjoy the surprise — and she had Raina to thank for the fantastic
idea. “Thanks again for the recommendation.”
“I’m happy to help,” Raina said, waving away her gratitude. “And it helps my friends, too. Kendall told me that
the pictures turned out amazing.”
“Oh, they did,” Jillian assured her with a smile.
“Here you go.” Raina handed her a pink Sugar and Spice bag with her new lingerie and Dean’s silk pajama pants.
“I hope you have a wonderful anniversary. Dean is one lucky man.”
Jillian truly believed that she was the fortune one, in so many ways. “Well, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s
going to get lucky,” she said, and left the shop with Raina’s laughter trailing behind her.
Arouse by Nina Lane
“Give me a kiss, beauty,” he says.
He is Professor Dean West, a sexy, brilliant scholar of medieval history and the love of my life. He is my white
knight, my lover, my best friend, the keeper of my dark secrets. He taught me the meaning of both love and erotic
pleasure. He has slayed monsters for me and alongside me. He knows he has all of me.
And then...I discover that I don’t have all of him.
BOOK ONE in USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane’s sexy, passionate SPIRAL OF BLISS series. This
contemporary erotic romance about professor Dean West, a protective alpha male, and his cherished beauty Olivia will
melt your heart, turn you on, and enchant you with the power of a love to end all loves.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Arouse by USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane or return to the
Table of Contents.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
—Pablo Neruda
Part I
CHAPTER 1
Olivia
He didn’t touch me. He could have—he had the perfect reason to—but he didn’t. Instead he bent to collect my
papers before the breeze could whisk them away. Instead he picked up my satchel from the sidewalk and asked if I was
okay. Instead he stood between me and the busy street while I brushed the dirt from my palms and tried to swallow the
knot of frustration stuck in my throat.
Instead he just waited. I had the strange thought that he would wait forever.
***
August 7
Adhesive sandcastles, flip-flops, and smiling suns cover the windows of the shops lining Avalon Street. The
bed-and-breakfasts are filled with guests, and boats dot Mirror Lake like stars in the sky. University students crowd the
coffeehouses, and both tourists and locals stroll through downtown with ice-cream cones or sodas in hand. Children, skin
browned from the sun, scurry along the paths leading to the shore.
“Sorry, miss.” The shaggy-haired fellow at the outdoor drink stand gives me a smile of apology. “We’re out of
lemonade.”
Of course they are.
I push a damp tendril of hair away from my forehead and look at the chalkboard menu again.
The sun has started to set, but it’s still roasting out. My pantyhose are shrink-wrapped to my body, and the elastic
band is gouging my waist. My toes ache from being crammed into heels all day. And though I refuse to look, I’m quite
certain there are sweat stains under the arms of my silk blouse.
“Okay. An iced tea, then.” I push two dollars at the guy and take the plastic cup, poking a straw into the hole. I
don’t much like iced tea, but the cup is cold and wet, and the liquid feels good going down my dry throat.
I scan for an outdoor table, but they’re all filled with clusters of people enjoying their drinks.
I grab my paper bag of groceries, pull up my satchel strap, and trudge down the sun-baked street, feeling like
a bone-weary schoolmarm amidst the happy, relaxed summer crowd. My ponytail slips farther from the loose clasp,
welding more strands of hair to my neck.
Home. Our small, two-bedroom apartment sits above a row of shops overlooking Avalon Street. The sight of the
wrought-iron balcony, laden with plants in fat, colorful pots, elicits a welcome sense of relief.
I increase my pace despite the blister forming on my heel. The minute I step into the building foyer, I drop the
bag, kick off my shoes, and sink onto the bottom step of the stairs. I suck in another mouthful of iced tea. Sweat trickles
down my spine.
“Hey, beauty.”
The deep, masculine voice resounds inside me. I look up at the top of the stairs where Dean is standing. His dark
hair is messy from him dragging his hand through it, his shirt is wrinkled, and the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows.
His tie is unknotted and loose, the buttons of his collar unfastened to expose the tanned V of his throat.
Warmth, both spicy and sweet, curls through me at the sight of him. Dean’s seamless combination of Brilliant
Professor and Hot Hunk never fails to quicken my blood.
“Hi.” I duck my head and sip the iced tea.
“Thought you were working late.” He descends the stairs to where I’m sitting and picks up my satchel.
“Yeah, well.” A lump forms in my throat. “I got fired.”
Jesus, Liv. Don’t cry.
“Fired?” Dean drops the satchel and sits beside me on the step. He reaches out to brush my hair away from my
sticky neck. “What happened?”
“A screw-up with the printer for tonight’s opening. They got the names of a couple of the big donors wrong, even
though I emailed them the information twice and sent a hard copy. Mr. Hammond blamed me anyway.”
I hate sounding like a victim, even if that is the truth.
“That’s not right, Liv. Wrongful termination is—”
I wave my hand to stop him. “Forget it, Dean. It wasn’t that great a job. Hammond was always complaining that
I made too many mistakes. Which I did not.”
“Want me to go beat him up?”
“Kind of.” My white knight…
“C’mere.” He slides an arm around me and pulls me closer.
Even though I’m hot and gross and probably smelly, I burrow against him with a sigh. Just the feel of his strong
chest beneath my cheek is soothing.
When he eases the clasp out of my long hair and finger-combs the tangles, then moves his hand up to knead the
muscles of my nape, I think I could quite happily sit there for the next hour or three.
“I offered to try and fix the problem, but he told me to pack up and go,” I say.
“Their loss.” He brushes his lips against my temple. A tingle sweeps clear down to my toes. “Besides you said
the artwork was crap anyway.”
“It was.” I take another sip of tea. “Bunch of junk glued onto canvases. I could make us a fortune doing that. Hell,
maybe I will. Olivia West, the Dumpster-diving artist.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Ah, well. Mr. Hammond was kind of a creep anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Tension ripples through Dean’s solid frame. “Did he—?”
“No, no. I mean creep as in oily. Groveling to the customers, you know, like a medieval surfer.”
“Serf.” Dean tweaks my nose.
“I know.” I grin at him and push to standing.
Dean picks up my satchel and the wrinkled grocery bag. I grab my shoes and trudge after him into our apartment.
My anxiety settles a little more as soon as I close the door behind us.
The windows are shut and the air conditioner is running, so it’s cool and quiet inside. When we first moved in,
I put pale blue curtains on the windows, which complement the navy sofa and striped pillows. With the cream-colored
walls, blue-and-white quilts, and wood trim, our apartment has the feel of an open, airy beach house.
I toss my shoes in the front closet and go into the bedroom to peel off my clothes. I take a quick and lovely cool
shower, then dress in yoga pants and a T-shirt.
The knots in my shoulders loosen. Being at home always makes me feel better. I love our pillowy bed with the
thick, flowered comforter, the tiny kitchen with the white wooden table I sanded and repainted myself, the living-room
shelves stuffed with books, the curved balcony overlooking Avalon Street.
I towel-dry my hair and grab a brush to work out the tangles. My hair is straight as straw, but long, thick, and
a deep brown that matches my eyes (“the color of coffee with cream,” Dean told me during one of his more poetic
moments). I don’t bother drying it further, but leave it loose because I know that’s the way he likes it.
After heading to the kitchen, I lean against the doorjamb and watch Dean set out plates for dinner. He’s changed
into jeans that hug his long legs and a T-shirt emblazoned with a San Francisco Giants logo.
My husband is a handsome man, built like an athlete rather than a scholar. Nine years older than I am, he’s tall
with hard muscles and broad shoulders, his dark brown hair threaded with a few distinguished strands of gray.
He has beautiful eyes, chocolate-brown and framed with thick lashes that offset the strength of his cheekbones
and jaw. He also has a great deal of self-confidence and dignity, which show in his straight posture and in the measured
way he speaks.
No wonder, considering the man’s impressive pedigree. Bachelor’s degree from Yale, PhD from Harvard, postdocs
at the University of Wisconsin and UPenn, fellowship at the Getty Institute, guest lectures at European universities.
Two years ago he was offered a tenure-track position at King’s University, a private, prestigious university in
Mirror Lake. He’s spearheading a new Medieval Studies program, which is the reason King’s enticed him to their faculty
with a top-level salary and promises of project funding.
I wasn’t remotely surprised by how much they wanted him.
Dean glances up and smiles. My heart gives a pleasant thump. When he looks at me like that, his eyes creased
with warmth, all his illustrious distinctions fall away and he’s only the man who loves and wants me.
“How was your day, professor?” I ask, moving in for a proper hug. “Did you finish your paper on the medieval
sins of passion?”
He kisses the top of my head. “Excavation and archeology of a town originated by a castle of the Teutonic Order.”
Of course.
I tighten my arms around his waist. “Mmm. Dirty talk.”
“Urban hierarchy.” He slides a big hand down to squeeze my rear. He could say anything in that deep voice of his
and I’d go all fluttery inside. “Vernacular architecture. Topographical analysis. Flexible growth.”
He bends to nuzzle my throat, his stubble scraping my skin rather deliciously, then slides his mouth up to capture
my lips.
Ah, good. His kisses are always so good. He cups a hand behind my neck to angle my head so he can fit his mouth
across mine. Arousal blooms inside me swift and hard, banishing my earlier frustration as I part my lips underneath his
and accept the hot sweep of his tongue.
With a mutter of pleasure, he slides his other hand to the small of my back and pulls me closer. I press my palm
against his flat belly, easing my fingers into the waistband of his jeans. When I start to explore farther down, he catches
my wrist and gives a husky laugh.
“Watch what you start, beauty,” he murmurs.
“I intend to.” But I’m also hungry for dinner, so I reach up to kiss his chin and then ease away. “So what else did
you do today?”
“Worked on a conference presentation and summer lectures.”
“What conference?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” He frowns. “Atlanta. October. I’ll be gone for three or four days.”
He reaches up to take a glass from the cupboard. The material of his T-shirt stretches over his upper arm. I slide
my gaze to where the shirt rises slightly to reveal his muscular lower back.
“Sorry, Liv,” he says. “Thought I told you.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
It doesn’t, except that we’re not apart often, save a couple of times a year when he goes to a conference or on a
research trip. Neither of us likes the short separations, but they’re good for us—gives me a chance to be alone, gives Dean
a chance to learn what else is going on in the field. If you’re into Visigothic Iberia and Old Norse poetry.
Which he is.
“What’re you talking about at the conference?” I ask.
“Visual culture in the Crusades. I’m thinking of constructing a course around the topic.”
I turn to open the containers of Chinese take-out he must have picked up on the way home. He’s still talking, and
while I like the sound of his baritone voice—as, I’m quite certain, his female undergrads do—I don’t understand much of
what he’s saying since I’ve never taken a medieval history course.
Still, Dean has said before that talking helps clarify his thoughts and ideas. So I’m happy to let him ramble, and
he’s happy to have an audience.
We sit down to eat sesame chicken and fried rice, and I give him a play-by-play of the events that ended up with
me getting fired. When he starts in with the whole “wrongful termination” thing again, I lean across the table to kiss him
and stop his tirade.
“We have better things to do with our time,” I say before shooing him out of the kitchen so I can clean up.
After putting away the leftover food and doing the dishes, I head into the living room. Dean has taken over the
second bedroom as his office, so my own narrow desk sits at the living room window and looks out over the rooftops to
the mountains and clear expanse of the lake.
I power up my laptop and scan a few job sites. Web designer. No. Paralegal. No. Real-estate agent. No. Spanish
teacher. No. Welder. Lord, no.
“What about the library over at SciTech?” Dean suggests. He’s lying on the sofa, an intricate web of string like a
cat’s cradle pulled taut between his palms.
“Already applied. They turned me down because I don’t know whatever database system they use.”
“I can ask about job openings around the university.” Dean tucks his forefingers into the string to create another
pattern.
“No.” I rest my chin on my hand and click another job site. “I’ll find something.”
Sales associate. Cashier. Stock clerk.
I’ve been hoping for more than retail, a job that will start me on a path toward something, but my lack of work
experience makes that a daunting prospect.
“There’s that bookstore over on Emerald Street,” I say, injecting a breezy it’ll be fine tone into my voice. “I’ll
stop by tomorrow and see if they could use some help. And I can pick up a few more volunteer hours at the Historical
Museum.”
“With all the work you’re doing for the museum, you’ll be their first pick when a job opens up,” Dean says.
“Same with the public library.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. And remember that college kids have most of the summer jobs now. You’ll have more options when
the fall semester starts.”
Maybe. Feeling sort of down again, I close the laptop and push away from the desk. Dean unravels the string
from his fingers and tosses it onto the coffee table.
“Come here, beauty,” he says. “You need to be kissed.”
I go to the sofa and sprawl out on top of him with a sigh. He feels so damn good. He has a gorgeous body—he’s
all lean, tensile strength with a solid chest that makes me want to stretch against him like a cat in the sun. He puts his hand
on the back of my neck and brings my mouth down to his.
The disappointment drains from me. He’s right. I need to be kissed, and he’s the one who needs to kiss me.
His lips are warm and firm against mine, and shivers race over my skin as his hands slide down to grasp my hips.
I part my lips on a sigh and let our tongues tangle together. He closes his teeth gently on my lower lip, eliciting a delicious
little twinge that shortens my breath.
I wiggle around, rubbing my breasts against his chest. He tightens his grip on my hips before moving his hands
to the waistband of my pants. With a smooth stroke, he delves inside and spreads his palms over my bottom, pressing his
fingers into the crevice. An ache pools through my lower body.
“I think…” I lift myself to look down at him, my blood heating at the sight of the lust brewing in his eyes. “I
think I need to be more than kissed.”
“Yes, you do.” Dean pushes his hands underneath my T-shirt and opens the clasp of my bra with one twist, then
rubs a hot, friction-laced path over my naked back. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you will.” I sink against him and lower my mouth to his again.
Our kiss grows urgent, Dean’s body tightening beneath mine. He eases a hand between us to work the buttons of
his jeans. I uncoil to sit back on his thighs and watch the quick movements of his fingers. My heart hammers at the sight
of the bulge pressing against his jeans, especially since I know well what’s underneath.
“You’ve been waiting for me, huh?” I ask breathlessly.
“Always.”
I move off him to tug the jeans over his long legs. His erection tents his boxers, and I palm the hot, heavy length.
Sparks fly through me with the anticipation of his tight flesh embedded inside me, stroking and pulsing.
I inhale sharply and look up at Dean. His eyes are glazed with lust, his chest heaving with the force of his breath.
He gestures toward my breasts.
I grasp the hem of my T-shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it on the sofa along with my bra. His gaze rakes
over me, and my nipples harden in delicious response. In one movement, Dean grabs me around the waist and brings us
both to the floor.
Even better than lying on top of him is the sensation of his weight on me, strong and powerful. He splays his
hands over my breasts, rubbing his thumbs across my nipples before he bends to capture one in his mouth.
I gasp and clench my fingers into his hair. Heat cascades through me, centering in the core of my body. I twist
beneath him until he tugs at my pants and lowers them over my hips along with my underwear.
“Ah fuck, Liv, you’re so ready.”
His fingers brush against my damp sex, his cock pressing against my thigh. A flush sweeps me from head to toe
when he kneels between my spread legs and pulls off his shirt, then shoves his boxers down.
His erection is beautiful—long and thick, the heavy sac pulled tight. He opens a drawer of the end-table and takes
out a foil packet. My pulse pounds as I watch him roll on the condom.
He glances up at me, his eyes tracking over my naked breasts to my face. He puts his hand against me again,
dipping one finger into the slick opening of my body.
“Dean.” I push upward to deepen his immersion.
A slight smile curves his mouth as he explores farther. His thumb swirls around my clit, his forefinger moving
up one side and down the other. He knows exactly how to touch me, and within seconds I’m panting and gasping as the
spool of bliss winds tighter.
“Dean, I’m…”
“What, beauty?” A teasing note underlies the lust in his voice.
“So close…” I breathe.
He lowers himself over me, his mouth coming down on mine, his tongue sliding across my lips. I grip his biceps
and arch against him, craving that explosion of pleasure dangling just beyond my grasp. One press of his fingers and I
come with a cry, my inner flesh tightening around him.
With trembles still coursing through me, I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him closer. He thrusts into me
hard and deep, his groan rumbling against my neck.
“Oh!” I clutch his back and lift my thighs, swimming in the heat and sensation of him driving into me.
I fall, swirling, swept into the exquisite pleasure of us rocking together, his flesh slamming against mine, the
push-and-pull cadence of his hard plunges. My arousal spikes again, the friction lighting my nerves as his thrusts slow
into the rhythm of his impending release.
I edge my hand between our bodies to rub myself to another sharp orgasm, then glide my fingertips against his
pulsing shaft. Our eyes meet with a sizzle in the instant before he slides out of me, rolling the condom off before grasping
his cock.
I’m hot all over watching the slick, easy movement of his hand, the tensing of his muscles and the way his thumb
brushes the damp head of his cock. To ratchet up his urgency, I squeeze my breasts together and twist my nipples, then
writhe around with shameless little movements that I know will send him over the edge.
He groans deep, thrusting heavily into his fist as he comes long and hard over my belly. Panting, I push to my
elbows to watch him finish himself off. After riding the final pulses, he braces his hands on either side of me and leans in
to press his lips to mine.
“You were right,” I murmur against his mouth. “I needed to be kissed.”
“Very glad to help.”
He lowers us both to the floor again, our mouths still locked together, then eases to the side so I can fold myself
against him. A lovely, warm feeling like melted honey slides through me—a feeling I have only ever experienced with
this man of mine.
Once upon a time I didn’t know people like Professor Dean West existed. There had been no one like him in the
tangled woods where I once lived, a place in which night fell too early and ogres lurked behind skeletal trees.
He pulls me closer, his arm around my shoulders. His body is enveloping, protective. I fit perfectly, as always,
into the space against his side.
Eternal Ever After by A.C. James
His past holds a secret...
Arie Cush has a secret that he thought he’d left behind. When his past follows him to Chicago he must protect someone
that reminds him of all the painful memories he’s tried so hard to forget. But when every touch from her sets his heart and
body on fire--he finds it hard to maintain his aloof façade.
that becomes her nightmare.
Holly Ellis has secrets of her own. An encounter with the handsome stranger who frequents her coffee shop reveals
a vampire with baggage. Even though it might be more than she bargained for, she can’t resist the one person who
understands her. But her life is in danger and a supernatural threat could reveal the underground world of vampires to
humankind in this Gothic Cinderella re-telling.
Turn the page to read the preface and first chapter of Eternal Ever After by A.C. James or return to the Table of
Contents.
PREFACE
I never guessed that I would die with a sea of faces surrounding me, all cheering for my death. A woman wearing
a jacket dress made of brocade only laughed louder when blood splattered her low, square neckline. Where is Arie? I
scanned the crowded club, but all I could see were pale faces, some half-covered by masks.
My time had come, and I prayed she would finish me off quickly. The warm trickle of blood ran down my neck and
chest, saturating the corset bustier of my gown. It seemed like a shame to ruin such a pretty dress. Strangely, I felt relieved
the bodice was black and not a light color that would show a stain.
The fear of dying, or more accurately the fear of not existing, scared me stiff. Perhaps if I had satisfied this existential
anxiety with faith I wouldn’t jump from panic to ambivalence. I should be angry at everyone who simply watched. They
must think the gruesome display was part of the entertainment for tonight. After the bloody burlesque show, I could
hardly blame them.
-Holly, I gave you the chance to leave.- The telepathic transference hardly seemed relevant at this point. I knew if
I’d never gone to the Hellfire Club, I wouldn’t be facing death now. Still, if my death meant the killings would stop, it
seemed justifiable.
“No!” I could barely hear Arie scream above the cheering voices clamoring for attention. The constant drone defied
my effort to form coherent thoughts. I looked up and could see him on the balcony. When I blinked, he’d disappeared into
the throng. I could feel the blood continue to trickle down my neck as she drained me. Dizziness threatened to pull me
under. The audience applauded her brutality as I crumpled at her feet, looking up at her paper-thin smile.
Blood. So much blood. My blood.
I didn’t want this to be the story of my death, but this part was only a fragment of a narrative as old as time. Its
voices filled the shadows with whispers of legend. We are told that the damned cease to exist, and those absolved from
sin are given eternal life. The damned can never be saved. They walk the earth in an eternal hell. I fear it will be my curse
if death doesn’t claim me instead.
CHAPTER 1
Chicago
Three Months Prior
I wanted to ask the man gawking at me from behind the counter what the hell his problem was. But I didn’t dare
tell off a customer when my boss, Marshall, had been such a hard-ass since his wife died. The tongue-lashing from him
wouldn’t be worth the momentary satisfaction I’d get from reprimanding the man for staring at me. Nice to look at or not,
it was just plain rude. It made me uncomfortable, yet tied my stomach into knots at the same time. God, I bet he could
make my toes curl. I let out a sigh. It had been way too long since someone had ground my hips into a mattress.
I’m not bad-looking—maybe a little mousey, with wide brown eyes. But I make up for it with a narrow waist and
decent cheekbones. And I usually wear my hair piled on top of my head, held in place with two pencils. Wiping my
clammy hands on my apron, I glanced over at the man.
Damn.
His gray eyes watched my every move, and the coffee cup in front of him looked almost empty. I tried to plaster on
a smile to cover my annoyance as I waited on him. Part of me was dying to talk to him, but another part wanted him to
approach me instead. He’d been coming in here for a few weeks, and it annoyed me that I got these ridiculous butterflies
in my stomach every time he looked at me. There was no way to avoid waiting on him, and nervous excitement bubbled
inside me as I approached him. Images of him pressing me against a counter and his mouth tasting every inch of me didn’t
make it any easier.
I took a deep breath. “Can I get you some more coffee? You take it black, right?” He smiled in a way that twisted my
stomach and made me nervous, but in a good way. “Sure. You’re observant. I like that.”
“Well, you’ve been in here almost every day.” Although I usually ducked away and let Trina wait on him instead.
Feeling tongue-tied when he was around was out of character for me. Usually I’d talk to anyone as long as they weren’t
an asshole.
“What can I say? I like the coffee.”
I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks from his flirtatious tone. “Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s why this
place is so packed. Because I make a mean cup of coffee.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Holly.”
“Just Holly?”
“Holly Ellis.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Ellis.”
The formal way he addressed me and the cadence of his speech were strange, but charming. He folded his hands on
top of the counter and I saw a ‘V’ followed by a small dot tattooed on the back of his hand. I bit my lower lip and looked
away. Get a grip. He was really hot, and there was something mysterious about him that totally turned me on.
A hefty man who had been reading a newspaper in a nearby booth rose and approached the cash register. Glad for
the distraction, I walked over to the customer, pushed a few buttons, the till slid open and I took his money.
As soon as my fingers brushed his hand, unwanted images flashed through my mind. I’ve always had the misfortune
of seeing things that normal people don’t see. An image of the hefty man opening a door to a dimly lit bedroom flooded
my mind. A woman and another man ground together on the bed, fucking their brains out. The woman looked up in
surprise, grabbing at the sheet to cover herself. The man with the newspaper dropped both the paper and the briefcase
that he carried.
“Miss, could I have my change please?”
I looked up at the man at the register, wordlessly handing him his change. Shaking his head, he turned for the door.
“Sir…”
The man stopped in his tracks. “Yes?”
“Um…have a nice day,” I said weakly.
What else could I possibly say? ‘Don’t go home, your wife is fucking someone else?’ Years of experience had taught
me that people tend not to believe what they can’t see. He’d probably only cause a big scene in front of the mysterious
man sitting at the counter. Having the Sight wasn’t a gift—it kept everyone at a distance.
I pushed my ill-fitting glasses up the bridge of my nose. The unnerving stranger had been watching the interaction
with a curious expression. God, he must think I’m completely mental. With his short dark hair curled around the collar
of his leather jacket, he looked breathtaking. Our eyes met and he flashed a pearly smile before I jaunted down the hall,
past the bathroom, and popped my head around the corner. The smell of recirculating cigar smoke marinating Marshall’s
office made me wrinkle my nose.
“Hey, I’m heading out. I helped the last customer and my shift ended fifteen minutes ago.” He didn’t even look up
from the slips on his desk and acknowledged me only with a grunt.
I hurried out before he added ‘one last thing.’ Otherwise I’d be working for nothing again. Marshall had a habit of
asking me to do things right before the end of my shift, or even after, but he never paid me for my time. By twenty-two I
figured I’d be doing more than working at the Coffee Grind.
The dirty slush of melting snow lining the sidewalk and the brisk winter evening greeted me. My breath puffed out
in white vapor that lingered in the air, and I hoisted my army satchel onto my shoulder. I couldn’t help thinking about the
man with the steely eyes back at the Coffee Grind. It had been a long time since I’d been out with anyone. Not that guys
didn’t hit on me, just none that I found appealing. Although my standards aren’t high, it helps if you have a job, sound
reasonably intelligent, and don’t cornball me with a cheesy pick-up line.
Mist began to spiral around my legs. I walked along the sidewalk toward my rusted blue Beetle. A dense cloud cover
quickly rolled across the gray sky above. -Leave here.- A menacing whisper filled my mind and fear jogged me from my
thoughts. My heartbeat quickened as I looked around for the source of the whispering. Its hissed threat made me wonder
if I’d really heard it at all. A faded set of hate-filled eyes shaped the clouds that loomed above. I’d never seen clouds do
that. They took on the appearance of menacing, feminine-shaped eyes. Across the street a woman walking her dog looked
up at the sky, a frightened expression on her face. Okay, it’s not just my imagination playing tricks on me. Clearly, the
clouds had morphed into vengeful eyes, and I wasn’t the only one freaked out by the impossibility of it.
Wind whipped trash down the street and a stray paper blew into my face. My hair fell free from the pencil that held
it in place and became a tangled chestnut mass that wrapped around my body. -Leave here.- The words were louder and
I covered my ears to block them out. Thunder rolled and a streak of lightening lit the sky while the wind pressed against
my back, propelling me down the sidewalk.
I heard the bell above the door of the coffee shop chime behind me. I picked up my pace, running instead of walking
to the safe confines of my car. The air outside had suddenly turned arctic. Shit. The front left wheel of my car drooped
like a deflated balloon against the pavement.
I felt a hand grab my shoulder from behind.
“Looks like we’re in for a storm.”
Reaching for the pepper spray in my satchel, I turned toward the voice. Pale gray eyes, the color of a stormy sky,
looked down at me with concern. I sagged against my car, relief washing over me as the stranger from the coffee shop
stood in front of me.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s some storm.” But something in my gut told me it was more
than just a storm brewing.
“Can I help you with that?”
“No, it’s okay. I know how to fix a flat.”
“Really?” He took a step toward me and I felt a little dizzy. “Impressive, but let me…do it anyway.”
I wasn’t sure whether we were still talking about the tire or something else entirely. It felt like fog was wrapping
around my muddled brain when he looked at me. I found it difficult to concentrate, but the sensation seemed like more
than just the desire I felt for him influencing my ability to think straight. “Er… Sure. I mean, thanks.”
Internally cursing myself for the lack of confidence I heard in my voice, I popped open the hood and he removed the
spare, with its wheel kit in the center. His pale fingers deftly jacked up the car while I stood shivering. I wonder what else
those fingers would be good at. He quickly loosened the lug nuts and took off the flat, his eyes narrowing as he inspected
it. His head popped up like a jack-in-the-box and he looked around as if he’d heard something, but only the bitter gust of
cold air howled through the street.
He placed the flat tire aside. I hauled it to the compartment where the spare was kept, heaving it inside. When I
slammed the hood, he already had the new tire in place and made quick work of tightening all the lug nuts. With the grace
of a panther he rose from his crouched position on the concrete.
“That should about do it.”
“You’re fast.”
His grin flashed ultra-white teeth in the fading light. “Yeah, I’ve done it more than once.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Arie. Arie Cush.”
Suddenly, I felt like a silly school girl with a crush and looked away. Better stop before my gums start flapping and
I sound like a blabbing idiot. Taking deep breaths to regain my composure, I looked up.
“Thank you…”
But my words fell on empty air. As I stood alone, a chill ran the length of my spine.
The Bequest by Christina Thacher
Sara leads a double life: CFO by day, sexual submissive at night. When her Master dies suddenly, Sara discovers
his will leaves her to his nephew, as though she’s a valuable piece of furniture. She’s ready to move into a hotel when
she gets her first sight of the new owner, gorgeous six-foot-five Cal. Sara has a sudden desire to kneel at his feet. Only
problem, he’s not a Dom.
Cal, a gifted but impoverished composer, barely knew his uncle. So it’s a shock to inherit Bruno’s fortune ... and his
sexual submissive. Under the terms of the will, they’ll have to live as roommates before Cal can deed the house to her.
Smart, lovely and graceful, Sara drives Cal crazy with desire. Only problem, he’s not a Dom.
Cal is used to directing an orchestra to create the performance he wants, but he has to visit The Club to understand
why his uncle left him The Bequest.
Turn the page to read the first chapter to The Bequest by Christina Thacher or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
Sara might obey a master at home, but at the office she expected people to give her what she needed.
She had no trouble conveying this to the investment analyst on the phone. “I need those numbers on my desk. Not
in your laptop, not in a snazzy-looking report, not in an express mail envelope you swear is en route.”
As she listened to some lame excuses, Sara spotted her assistant hovering near the door. Sara grinned at Becky but
kept her voice steady. She didn’t want to let these idiots off the hook. “Fax them to me. Don’t make them pretty, just make
sure I can read them.”
She hung up and turned to Becky. “What is it?”
“Mackenzie Lyon called. He said it was important.”
Sara froze. The Lawyer? She barely knew him. She saw him at The Club, sure, but never to talk to—subs didn’t talk
to Doms, for one thing, and especially not to Mac Lyon. He’d negotiated her agreement with Bruno… Oh, God.
Her Master.
“Call him back.” She must have looked stricken because Becky froze, her anxiety plain to read in her face. Sara
sighed. She held her hand out. “Please. It may be urgent.”
Becky left and Sara turned to stare out the window. A gorgeous D.C. spring—sunny, with picture-postcard clouds
against a perfect blue sky. A few miles away, tourists would be jostling to take photos of the cherry blossoms. And Sara
was waiting for a call that would probably ruin her life.
The speaker buzzed. “Mac Lyon on two.”
Deep breath. She picked up the phone and connected to the second line. “Sir.”
“Sara.” His deep voice, quiet but intensely powerful, made her ear vibrate. “I’m so sorry to bring you this news.
Bruno has had a heart attack. He died in the ambulance on the way to the emergency room.”
“No—” Master? He wasn’t old. Just fifty-six. “He went to the doctor last month. A stress test said he’s in great
shape.”
“As his attorney, the hospital will tell me what happened. I just don’t have the details yet.” There was a pause, then
that deep, slow voice. “Sara, I’m so sorry about all this, but I’m the executor of his will. I need to meet you at the house.
I’ll have more information then.”
Sara’s head felt like a steel band was squeezing it too tight for her to think, too tight to focus on anything. Master
was dead? “I have a Pension Committee meeting tomorrow.” That’s why she needed those numbers from the investment
advisers. She couldn’t leave the office. Master couldn’t be dead…
“Sara. You’ll need to tell Yvonne you’re taking some time off.”
Her brain lurched forward. Yvonne DeAngelos, Sara’s boss. Yvonne was extremely busy managing one of the
largest charitable foundations on the East Coast. Losing her CFO—even briefly—was unthinkable. “I can’t. We have a
fundraiser next month, a Finance Committee meeting next week, and the executive staff meeting this afternoon.”
Mac didn’t speak. When the gap grew heavy and dense, Sara knew Bruno Donatella had actually died. Because that
pause—the icy silence that told a sub her behavior was unacceptable—froze her blood.
Another look out the window at the perfect spring day. “Yes, Sir. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” she said.
***
Calder Raynes was struggling with a tricky passage in the slow movement of his concerto when the phone rang.
Could be his landlord, asking where the check was. Tempting to let it go to voice mail. Then Cal remembered it could be
his agent with news of Cal’s latest grant application.
“Yes?” He kept looking at his computer, trying to see just how to make the strings do what he wanted.
“Calder Jacob Raynes?”
Not his landlord or his agent. The guy didn’t sound like a collection agency, either. Someone from the foundation,
perhaps—? Hope closed Cal’s throat for a moment. Then he said, “This is he,” trying not to sound like a slacker composer
who needed to get a real job.
“My name is Mackenzie Lyon. I’m an attorney hired by your uncle, Bruno Donatella.”
“Uncle Bruno? What does he want? I barely know him.”
“I’m sorry to break the news this way, over the phone. Your uncle died last week. You’re a beneficiary under his will.
I’ll need to meet with you to discuss the bequest.”
“Wow. Uncle Bruno and I met maybe three times in the past ten years.” Cal was picturing a large guy with grizzled
hair and a low, sly chuckle. “I’m amazed he was aware I existed.”
The lawyer’s voice smiled. “He called you C.J. He followed your career with interest.”
“What there is of it,” Cal said.
“Yes, well, it was Bruno’s intention that his bequest make a difference in your life, and your music.”
“Wow.” Even a few thousand dollars would pay the rent and keep the lights on. Guess Bruno really was a nice guy,
even in death. “How did he die?”
“Heart attack.”
Shit. “But he couldn’t have been very old. He was Mom’s younger brother and she would have been…” Cal did the
math. “She would have turned fifty-nine this year.”
“He was fifty-six.” The lawyer sighed. He sounded tired, like this was only one of the difficult phone calls he needed
to make. “Mr. Raynes, I have a lot of things to discuss with you. When can you come to Washington?”
Never. “Uh, Mr. Lyon, I don’t have a car.” And plane fare wasn’t in his budget.
“The estate will pay all your travel expenses. When can you leave?”
Hell. If “never” wasn’t an option, then the only other answer was… “Whenever suits you,” Cal said. As long as Cal
had power for his computer, Yamaha keyboard and headphones, he could compose anywhere.
“Wonderful. I’ll have my assistant make the arrangements and contact you with the details.”
With that, the mysterious Mr. Lyon said goodbye.
A few thousand dollars as a bequest from his uncle, plus a trip to the nation’s capital? Good thing Cal had answered
the phone.
Two days later, Cal took the train to D.C., traveling in style on an Acela. He grabbed a cab and gave the driver the
street address for Lyon and Associates. The cab stopped in front of an elegant townhouse with a discreet brass plaque.
Not a huge corporate law firm, then. Lyon and Associates had to be a boutique law firm rich enough to afford such a ritzy
address.
He’d looked Mackenzie Lyon up on the Internet. One of the youngest graduates of Yale Law School, after which
he’d gotten a prestigious clerkship on the Supreme Court. Lyon had argued a landmark voting rights case before the Court
at the unprecedented age of twenty-nine. Still quite young—mid-thirties?—Lyon was considered one of the premier
appellate lawyers in the country.
Cal climbed the shallow steps to the glossy black door—the building looked more like an embassy than law offices—
and pushed the tiny doorbell beneath the polished brass plaque. Why was someone like Mackenzie Lyon acting as
Uncle Bruno’s executor? Cal wasn’t entirely stupid about the legal world, having dated an associate at a top Wall Street
firm some years back. Lyon was an appellate litigation specialist, not your average trusts and estates lawyer handling
someone’s will as a favor.
Could it have something to do with the mysteries surrounding Uncle Bruno? Mom hadn’t talked about her younger
brother when Cal was growing up. Something about his lifestyle, which Cal took to mean Uncle Bruno was gay. Which
was weird because Mom had gay and lesbian friends. Plus, when Mom died, Uncle Bruno had come to the funeral with
a dark-haired woman. A very quiet woman. One of his dad’s cousins had whispered to Cal, “I can’t believe he brought
her here,” but hadn’t explained who the woman was or why having her there was a problem. Cal hadn’t bothered to ask,
especially after he’d had a short talk with Uncle Bruno and really liked him.
When Cal was buzzed in, he presented himself to the receptionist sitting behind a fancy desk that looked like it cost
a lot more than his annual rent.
“Of course, Mr. Raynes. Mr. Lyon is expecting you.”
She ushered Cal into a private office, offered him coffee or tea, then left him sitting in an antique chair. He hoped it
would take his weight.
A door to his right opened and a trim man entered. Cal rose to meet him.
“Mac Lyon.” He was a few inches shorter than Cal, dark-haired and with piercing blue eyes. The sort of eyes that
missed nothing.
“Cal Raynes.” They shook hands and Cal sat down again.
Mac Lyon didn’t retreat to the chair behind his desk. Instead, he sat opposite Cal in the other chair.
“My sympathies on your loss.”
Cal shrugged. “Hard to miss a man I barely knew. Although I remember thinking how smart and funny he was when
I saw him at my mother’s funeral.”
The man nodded, then looked away. The mood shifted—time for business. “Your uncle,” he began, “named you the
principal legatee in his will.”
“Okay.” No reason to get excited. Lawyers always made things sound fancier than they were. “Principal legatee”
didn’t necessarily mean more money, just fewer people to split it with.
The lawyer narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure how much you know about your uncle.”
“Virtually nothing. He and my mother disagreed about his lifestyle—which I took as code language for Bruno being
gay—and so I had very little contact with him.”
The other man paused. He seemed saddened to hear this, although Cal didn’t see why.
“Then I should explain a few things.” Lyon crossed his legs and folded his hands neatly on his knee. “Bruno was a
complicated man. He was an inventor, a loner, an entrepreneur, and—well, I’ll get to that later. A few of his inventions
were successful, earning him money in licensing fees. One in particular made him quite a lot of money. Apart from the
house here in Georgetown, there’s a vineyard in Napa Valley, a ranch in Colorado, and an island in the Caribbean. The
real estate alone is worth, conservatively, ten million dollars.”
Holy shit. Cal wished he’d asked what “principal legatee” meant.
“In addition, there’s a substantial portfolio of investments, which generates an annual income over two million. And,
of course, the continued revenue from the inventions, although that will diminish over time as the patents expire.”
“Of course.” Right. Like Cal had any clue what any of this meant.
Lyon looked at him. Assessing him in some way. Cal just looked back. Not a staring contest, precisely. More like a
test—a test Cal suspected he was passing.
The moment ended and the lawyer continued with his dry-as-dust explanation.
“There are other legatees, but those bequests are relatively small. I believe the largest is fifty thousand dollars.”
Relatively small? What exactly was this guy getting at?
Cal’s throat closed. In music, he’d know exactly what was coming next—a key change, a crescendo, a change in
tempo. The cue to the listener that said, “This is about to get really weird.”
Once again, they stared at each other. Finally, the lawyer said, “You inherit the rest.”
“Wait—the rest of what?”
“It was Bruno’s wish that you step into his life. His houses, his cars, his wealth, everything.”
“Oh.” It was impossible to comprehend what an uncle he barely knew had wanted. Plus, the music hadn’t shifted
yet. Cal braced himself.
Lyon looked down at his hands, which were large, with slender fingers. They made Cal’s hands look like ham fists.
Cal could feel the transition. He could hear it in his head.
“One more thing. Bruno left you Sara.”
Wait—what? “I don’t think—what did you say?’”
“Bruno was the master to a sexual submissive, Sara Braverman. I drew up the agreement between them. He’s left
her to you.”
“Can you leave someone to…uh, to someone else? Is that even legal?”
Mackenzie Lyon smiled, a wide curve of his lips. Cal’s question amused him. “Of course not. Bruno and Sara’s
arrangement was a fully consensual relationship that could have been terminated at any time by either party without legal
penalty. The Thirteenth Amendment of the Constitution has outlawed the ownership of human beings. Furthermore, it is
contrary to societal norms to enter into a master-slave relationship. Thus, their legal arrangement could not be enforced
in a court of law.”
“Why enter into it, then?” Cal was still struggling with the idea of a sexual submissive. His brain skittered away
from even the images it conjured up.
“Because they wanted a piece of paper that documented their agreement.” Lyon waited for Cal to say something.
“And Bruno expects—expected—me to do what with this woman?”
Lyon reached for a file folder on top of his desk. “That’s not specified in his will. I’ll read the relevant language. ‘I
further leave to my nephew, Calder Jacob Raynes, the slave known as Sara Braverman. Subject to Sara’s acceptance, it is
my intention that the agreement dated January twenty-fifth, two thousand eleven, be honored by both parties.’”
Sexual slavery. Holy shit. “That’s why my mother wouldn’t have anything to do with him,” Cal blurted out.
Lyon inclined his head in a neutral gesture.
Cal tried to drag his head around what he was hearing. “I’m inheriting a fortune…and a slave. A sex slave.”
“Roughly, yes.”
“But I don’t want her. I wouldn’t know what to do with a sex slave. And I can’t think—whoever she is—that she
wants to be handed over like the keys to a lightly used Maserati.”
Lyon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Cal. May I call you Cal?”
Cal nodded.
“Cal, here’s what the law says. You are going to own a great deal of property and liquid assets in a relatively short
period of time. As the executor, I can get the probate court to authorize the dispersal of sufficient funds to allow you to
live in the Georgetown house while probate is proceeding. I don’t anticipate probate taking more than a year, assuming
there are no other relatives to claim any rights to the estate.”
Cal shook his head. He certainly didn’t know of any other relatives.
“With regard to Ms. Braverman, she’s been living in that house for the past two years. It’s her home. As far as I know,
she doesn’t have any other place to live.”
“What about all the other property? Surely she can live in one of those places.”
Lyon shook his head. “The other properties are currently occupied. You will be able to evict the current tenants, but
not until probate clears.”
Oh. So much for the fantasy of living on a Caribbean island while finishing the concerto.
“Why didn’t Uncle Bruno leave everything to Ms.—” sex slave “Ms. Braverman?”
“He didn’t confide his reasons to me when he drew up this will.”
Cal tipped his head back and considered the crown moldings. “He left me his girlfriend, in effect.”
“No. That was not the nature of their relationship.”
“They slept together.”
“Actually, I don’t know that.”
Cal’s chin dropped. “Wait. She was his sex slave but they didn’t have sex?”
Lyon rubbed his chin slowly. “A master-slave relationship can take many forms. I observed your uncle and Ms.
Braverman at The Club, but I—”
“The club?”
“Your uncle was a member of The Club, as am I.”
Cal could hear Lyon’s stress on the words, as though the club was actually called “The Club.” “A kinky sex club?”
“A private club for adults who share an interest in BDSM.”
Cal’s mouth curved up on one side. “Like I said.” He glanced around the office. “Could I change my mind and have
that coffee now? I need to fiddle with something.”
“Of course.” Lyon went around to the desk, spoke into the phone, then returned to his chair by Cal. “It’s a lot to take
in.”
Cal’s fingers tapped the arm of his chair. “Yeah, you can say that again.”
Lyon’s secretary brought in the coffee tray, fussed with the cups and saucers, explained how the French press
worked, and left.
As soon as Cal had a spoon in his hand, he felt better. More in control. Not a conductor’s baton, but better than
having his hand free. He stirred his coffee with a lento rhythm.
“Okay. Let me see if I have this straight,” he said. “I’m suddenly rich, or will be after probate is completed.”
Lyon dipped his chin, an almost-nod.
“There are no restrictions on the bequest. No High Gothic language about my only getting the money if I agree to
live with this woman—Ms. Braverman—for a year or whatever.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“But it’s her home. Uncle Bruno would know I couldn’t just kick her out. Can I give her the house?”
“Technically, you’d have to sell it to her for a nominal sum, but yes, after probate, you could do that.”
“Why can’t she continue to live there and I—live somewhere else?”
Lyon’s gaze, cool and keen, held Cal’s for a long moment. “I’ve looked at your financial situation, so I know how
close to eviction you are. As the executor, it’s my job to ensure that Bruno’s wishes are respected. He wanted you in the
Georgetown house, preferably with Sara. You don’t have to move in, but as the executor, I don’t have to advance you any
funds in anticipation of probate.”
Probate. That was the sticking point. Cal was going to be rich, but he wasn’t rich yet.
“So until probate, I only get money if you deem it appropriate?”
“I have the sole power to advance funds within reason. For example, to maintain the Georgetown house. Say, twenty
thousand? Each month, that is.” Holy shit. That was more than Cal had made in the last year. “Of course, you only get
that as the occupant of the house. And I can’t advance funds to Ms. Braverman no matter where she’s living. If you aren’t
living in the house, she will have to vacate the premises.”
Crap. “Okay, so I can move in, and she wouldn’t have to move out, but if I don’t move in, she can’t stay.”
“That’s approximately the case, yes.”
“And she won’t think it odd that she’s been passed along to her former, uh, friend’s nephew.”
“I really can’t say what Ms. Braverman will think.”
“Were she and my uncle in love?”
Lyon shook his head slowly. He didn’t speak. No, they weren’t in love? Or, no, Lyon doesn’t know if they were. Cal
didn’t bother asking.
Finally, Cal shrugged. “Okay.”
The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll take Ms. Braverman along with the house and the rest of it. I figure we can be roommates for however
long it takes for probate to clear. Then I’ll decide whether to let her have the house. I mean, even if probate happened
tomorrow, I can’t decide that until I’ve gotten to know her. She could be an opportunist who was just in it for the money.”
“Not Sara,” Lyon started to say.
“Hey, you’ve met her. I haven’t.” Cal stood up. “When can I move in? I’ll have to go back to the Catskills and pack,
but you were right—I’m happy to have a rent-free place to live.”
“As soon as you like. I have the keys here, and I’ll transfer funds into your checking account as soon as you give
me the details.”
Just like that, all Cal’s money worries disappeared. He wasn’t getting evicted. He was moving south.
His To Keep by Stephanie Julian
Sexy romantic suspense
One phone call is all it takes to throw Nic DeMarco’s carefully controlled world into chaos. The woman he’s loved
for years has been threatened, and he’ll do anything to keep her safe... only, she’s not his to protect.
Annie Reed has been in love with her best friend’s brother since she first laid eyes on him, but he’s kept her at arm’s
length. When she takes a job at the DeMarco family private investigation firm, Annie tries to keep her emotions in check.
But Nic is too much to ignore.
Finally, Nic has Annie right where he wants her--in his bed. His to protect. But the price might be more than either
of them expected...
Turn the page to read the first chapter of His To Keep by Stephanie Julian or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
“Are you telling me you two took down twenty men? All by yourselves? You must be extremely good at what you
do.”
Andrea Reed’s voice, sultry and amused, carried perfectly down the first-floor hallway of DeMarco Investigations.
Straight into Dominic DeMarco’s office.
As his hands tightened on the grip of his Beretta, he imagined it was the smooth skin of her neck.
“We’re the best, honey.” A thick Southern accent coated the response. “If you’re ever in trouble, we’re the men to
get you out of it.”
Biting back a curse at the testosterone-induced stupidity of that statement, Nic reminded himself to consider the
source. Even though he couldn’t see the men in Annie’s office, he’d known them for years. Muscle-bound from their
crew-cut heads to their shiny black combat boots, the Idiot Twins were about to get a few more holes they didn’t need¾
Shit. Deep breath. Calm down.
They weren’t going to hurt her. They wouldn’t dare. He was overreacting, which was nothing new when it came to
this woman.
“That is just so amazing.” Annie’s smooth-as-velvet voice rippled through the air, wrapping around his libido and
heating his blood. “And where was this again?”
His knuckles creaked as his grip tightened. God damn it. She was reeling them in like a pro.
“South America, ’bout a year ago.”
Anger seethed, a hot ball of lead in his gut. That information wasn’t for public consumption and these two asses
knew that.
He couldn’t completely blame them, though. Annie was a menace to any man’s sanity. The second he got her alone,
he was going to throttle her.
“You must be extremely good shots.” Annie’s tone reeked with sexual interest that had to be faked. A Main Line
heiress, Annie didn’t date guys like TweedleDumb and TweedleDumbass. She had to be milking them for all they were
worth. Her next question confirmed it.
“So was Dominic with you on this little jaunt?”
No, he wasn’t going to throttle her. He was going to spank her. Put her over his knee and smack that gorgeous ass
that teased him day in and day out until she begged¾
He nearly ground his back teeth into dust at the image.
Damn it, why? Why this woman? Why did she tie him in so many damn knots he couldn’t see straight?
Why couldn’t he want the divorced shop owner down the street? She knew the score, had a great smile and a nice ass.
Annie… Annie was just plain out of his league.
“Nic, man, he was ruthless. Must’ve taken out eight or ten guys by himself. The man’s a machine.”
Okay, now they were really starting to piss him off. There had been nine guys total and he’d only taken down three.
Four at the most.
Fuck. He should’ve shut this down the second he realized what was going on.
He’d been waiting in his third-floor apartment, pissed off at her again for…something. Hell, he didn’t even remember
what the hell he’d been angry about.
Whatever it was, she’d lashed into him with the icy precision of her tongue and told him exactly what he could do to
cool down, which included a part of his anatomy that had no business being anywhere near a meat grinder.
Her anger, on top of the phone call he’d gotten earlier today, had forced him to find a hole to crawl into before he
said or did something totally stupid.
So he’d made a strategic retreat to his apartment, figuring it’d be safe to return downstairs to the offices around seven
o’clock, fifteen minutes before the Idiot Twins were set to arrive. Annie usually left the office by six. She never stayed
later than six-thirty.
At seven, he’d taken the back stairs to the first floor. He’d heard the men’s voices and cursed himself for not realizing
they’d try something stupid—like show up early. Then he’d cursed her for picking this one night to stay late.
Now she was trapped in a room with the type of man she despised—men exactly like him.
His first instinct had been to barge in and smack two redneck heads together. Annie shouldn’t have to deal their shit.
She was the office manager, not a goddamn babysitter for two assholes who should know better than to harass a woman
like her.
Instead, he’d hesitated, trying to wrestle down his inner caveman.
Rationally, he knew she wasn’t in any physical danger. The Idiot Twins might be idiots but they’d never hurt a
woman unless she was holding a knife to their balls. And even then, they’d go for the knock-out and not the kill shot.
And he knew if he barged in, Annie would be pissed off at him—again—for thinking she couldn’t take care of
herself.
He couldn’t win. Not with her. And he never would.
“So, what can I do for you gentlemen tonight?” she asked.
Bert snorted. “Honey, you’re one of the most beautiful women we’ve seen in ages and there are so many ways I
could answer that question but I have a feeling we wouldn’t leave here with all our appendages attached.”
Fuck. White-hot fury made every single one of Nic’s muscles tighten to the point of pain.
He was going to fucking kill them. Just as soon as he got them away from her.
Annie laughed but Nic heard tension creeping into her voice. “Thank you for the compliment but I have no idea why
you’d believe I’d have such bloodthirsty designs on your…appendages.”
Nic knew exactly why Bert had said that and, when he had these two guys alone, he was going to—
No. Damn it, just no.
Grabbing hold of his fast-fading control, Nic took a deep breath before easing through his office door, sticking his
gun in the back of his jeans where it wouldn’t be visible.
At least, Annie wouldn’t know he had it on him. The Idiot Twins knew different.
Closing the distance to Annie’s office, he stopped to the left of the door, still undetected. Then, reaching for as much
patience as he could muster, he put on his game face and walked into the room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, guys. My office is back here. Why don’t you two come on through?”
The men turned, smirks on their faces. Not at all surprised to see him. Of course, they’d known he was there all the
time. There was a reason Nic did business with them.
Of course, if they said another word, Nic was going to have to hurt them. And he didn’t want to do that in front of
Annie.
Then both guys broke out in baby-faced grins, looking so much like harmless, cornfed farm boys that Nic wanted
to roll his eyes. It helped that they’d been raised on farms before they’d joined the Army. Now they only pulled out that
look when it worked to their benefit.
And they’d been using it on Annie.
His gaze tangled with hers and, for a split-second, she looked happy to see him. Every ounce of testosterone in his
body flared like hot lava. And all of his blood wanted to rush south and show her exactly what he wanted to do with her.
“Dominic. There you are.” Her tone was light but now her smile held faint disdain. She’d perfected that look in the
past six weeks she’d been here. “Your friends were just telling me about one of their adventures. I understand you were
part of their little escapade.”
Nic’s head tilted back as he forced down a smile. Damn but he loved the sound of her voice, even when she was
putting him in his place. Beneath her shoe.
Bill, the goon nearest Annie, drew himself up to his full six-foot-six height. He towered over her not-inconsiderable
five-eleven in stiletto heels that made her legs look amazing.
“Hey, Nic, you up for some fun tonight? Maybe you could convince your pretty little secretary to come with us,
yeah?”
Nic’s gaze never left Annie. Pretty didn’t cut it. She was beautiful. And he didn’t just mean run-of-the-mill pretty.
He meant Grace-Kelly-perfect beautiful.
Her white-blond hair, normally constrained in a tight twist on the back of her head, hung around her shoulders in
loose waves tonight. It framed a face that, when taken in pieces, was just a little off: her mouth too wide, her eyes too
large, nose too straight. But when you put them all together, they equaled knockout.
And she had the pedigree to go along with the looks. Annie was an honest-to-God descendent of British royalty
whose family had settled in America about the same time as Ben Franklin. Her family had ties to Carnegies and duPonts
and Rockefellers and her grandfather had made his own fortune in real estate, most of which he’d left to Annie.
She was nearly ten years younger than he was and worth about two-hundred times what he could hope to make in
his lifetime. And he’d been trying to convince himself for years that he couldn’t think of Andrea Reed as anything other
than unattainable.
Leaning against the doorjamb, he ignored commonsense and let himself look, even though he knew it would piss her
off even more. “Looks like she’s got other plans.”
She’d changed sometime in the past two hours, and he was having a hard time keeping his tongue in his mouth.
Normally, she wore suits to work—suits with too-short skirts and little lacey things under the jackets. God forbid
she ever wear a real shirt.
Now, she wore a dancer’s black bodysuit, cut low over her small breasts and molded to every curve from shoulders
to knees, and a filmy, pale-pink skirt that didn’t hide an inch of her mile-long legs. And the pink, half sweater she’d tied
under her breasts emphasized instead of covering.
Was she still taking the ballet lessons that had been her passion in high school? He’d seen her dance once. At a recital
with his sister, Janey. She’d been eighteen and he swore he’d had a hard-on until he’d been shipped out to Afghanistan a
few weeks later.
“She looks pretty hot to me.” Bert leered, trying to straighten his height-restricted body to at least five-nine. And
failing by an inch. “You’re up for a good time, aren’t you, honey?”
With her gaze still holding his, Annie blinked once, and Nic swore he felt her shiver, even though he stood two yards
away.
She was furious but you had to know her to see the signs. To the other men, she appeared cool as ice—a thoroughbred
who should be attending some charity function instead of working in a private investigators’ office in center-city
Philadelphia. Instead, here she stood, nose stuck in the air, staring him down.
Furious he could handle. If she ever looked at him with anything resembling lust—
Hell, it would never happen.
Her smile nearly cracked her lips with the strain. “Thank you for such a kind offer but I really have to be going.”
“Yeah, you need to be in early tomorrow.” Nic couldn’t help but needle her. “Can’t be late again, sweetheart.”
His taunt had exactly the effect he’d intended. Her eyes widened at his challenge.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone in about…” She lifted a graceful arm to peer at the diamond-studded watch on her
wrist, “twenty minutes. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”
He frowned then quickly wiped it away. Janey had told him Annie was dating some attorney who worked in an old
family firm in Society Hill. Someone more suited to her position.
Jesus, the positions he’d like to put her in…
Asshole. Never gonna happen.
He knew he should keep his mouth shut. And lost the battle before it began.
“Especially not little rich boys with lots of money, hmm?”
Her lips curled just the slightest bit at the corners. “Especially those. They don’t get as cranky as old men when they
don’t get their way.”
Nic didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. Before he could do either, Bill took his life in his hands.
“Oh, honey, I think you know ole Dominic here pretty damn well. Seems he hasn’t changed much since the last time
we saw him.”
He knew he should take offense to that but Annie had started walking toward him. And he couldn’t see or hear
anything but her.
His breath froze in his lungs, his body tense at the mere thought that she was coming closer. She was so fucking
dangerous to his health but, Jesus, she was stunning. Had been since she’d turned eighteen and grown into that long, lean
body.
He hadn’t allowed himself to touch her then. Now, she’d rip out his eyes if he tried.
But damn, it might be worth it.
“I’ll just say goodnight then.”
Stopping mere inches away, she barely had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. With those heels, she was
only a couple of inches shorter than him. She never dropped his gaze and he didn’t have a clue what she was up to when
she leaned forward.
“Sleep on this, Dominic.”
Before he could move, she stretched up on her toes and whispered her lips across his.
The light touch lasted only a second and their bodies touched nowhere else.
But his lips burned from the heat of hers and his blood bubbled. Her scent, sexy and spicy and designed to drive
him mad, flooded his senses and made him want to grab her and flatten her against him so he could shove his nose in her
neck and breathe her in. And when he couldn’t hold onto his control any longer, he’d bend her back and kiss the living
hell out of her.
Instead, he stood still as stone.
Then she walked away, leaving him with a hissing roar in his ears.
Holy hell. She’d kissed him.
Annie hadn’t voluntarily touched him in at least seven years. Definitely not since she’d grown into the poised
woman who ran this office so efficiently, better even than his sister.
A long, low whistle from Bert drew him back to reality.
Clenching his hands at his sides, Nic willed away the sense of disorientation. He couldn’t afford it. Damn it, it should
take a hell of a lot more than a kiss from a woman to make his head spin.
The bang of the front door closing with more force than normal jolted through him.
Holy hell, she’d kissed him.
The desire he’d kept shoved in a dark hole in his gut for years began to bubble through his blood.
He wasn’t going to spank her. He didn’t trust himself to touch her because if he did, he didn’t think he’d ever let her
go.
No, he needed to scare the hell out of her so she wouldn’t come near him again.
But first…
He narrowed his gaze on the men in front of him. Bert and Bill got quiet so fast, it would’ve been comical if he’d
been in a laughing mood.
“Now,” he said. “We have business.”
***
“That man is a menace to society. I just want to smack him.”
Annie quelled the impulse to stomp her foot in frustration, settling instead for tossing her hair over her shoulders as
she held out her arms to her partner. “He just pushes and pushes and pushes until I break. He’s a Neanderthal.”
“Is this going to make sense soon? Or are you going to rant all night?”
Colin Travers smirked at her, laughter in his blue eyes as he swept her into a rumba. Perfectly matched for size, they
danced together as if they’d been made for each other but Annie couldn’t concentrate on the music throbbing through the
open space. She couldn’t find her rhythm because her head still reeled from that kiss.
Well, you couldn’t really call it a kiss. More like an almost-kiss. She hadn’t even meant to touch him. She’d only
meant to tease, show him what he was missing and what he’d never have.
Well, that backfired royally, didn’t it?
Why the hell had she done it? For the past seven years, she hadn’t laid so much as a finger on him. Tonight …
God, tonight she might have done something irrevocable.
Not that Nic cared, of course. He hadn’t felt a thing, she was sure.
“I am not ranting.” She sniffed. “Well, maybe a little. He just…makes me so angry.”
And that was dangerous. Anger meant he was getting to her and that was not an option. Never again.
Colin changed direction and did a spot turn into a samba. “Are you actually going to tell me why you’re so angry or
do I just have to guess?”
No way would she say anything about that kiss. “He met some friends at the office tonight.” She made an awkward
transition into a forward progressive walk and shook her head. “Some very distasteful friends.”
Colin’s left brow rose as they continued around the empty floor. The Broad Street dance studio was deserted by nine
on Wednesday nights, so they could practice in solitude.
“You mean women.”
Her teeth set with a click. “That wouldn’t have bothered me.” Liar. She spun on her toe and lay back. “No, these
were two men who should be relegated to a prison somewhere in the future. They reminded me of guys from that movie
you made me watch. You know, the one with Kurt Russell.”
“Escape From New York.”
“Yes.” She shook her hair back as he lifted her out of the dip. “They gave me the most incredible creeps.”
They’d stared at her like she’d been a meal spread out for their benefit and they were going to enjoy every last crumb.
But they hadn’t scared her. Not with Nic there. She knew Nic would never let anything happen to her.
And Nic didn’t scare her either. She refused to consider what she did feel for him—
Colin gave her the signal for another dip and she quickly positioned her feet before she fell.
“Jesus, Colin, are you trying to drop me on my ass tonight?”
Colin brought her upright and released her, giving her a look she knew so well. The look that made her want to
cringe. “You’re making it pretty easy tonight, doll.”
She bit back a response because, damn it, he was right. She was the one with the problem. One wrong move and she
could injure them both and they couldn’t afford that, not so close to the competition. “Sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m
sorry, my mind’s not on this tonight. I’m just so furious with him.”
“I think I got that the first time.” Colin grinned, taking her in his arms again and leading her effortlessly across the
floor in a series of intricate footwork. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up over a guy.” He slowed
to a waltz and stared at her until she looked away. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen you expend this much energy on
anyone. What does this guy look like, anyway? You’ve never told me.”
Like a Roman God. The sexiest man on the planet. The only man I’ve ever really wanted.
She bit back the words before they escaped. Colin would never let her live them down. And then he’d want her to
do something about it.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
Even if Nic was the most handsome man she’d ever met.
Broad, handsome features and intense navy-blue eyes that burned when he was angry. Like tonight. He’d been
pissed. But at her or his friends, she wasn’t sure.
He’d been trying to keep the anger from getting away from him but the faint scars on his forehead and cheek
whitened slightly when he suppressed his anger. Those scars didn’t detract from his appeal at all. They only added to it.
As did the raven-black hair that curled as it reached his shoulders. She wondered if it was as soft as she remembered
from the one and only time she’d kissed him before. The mustache and beard framing his lush mouth had rasped against
her skin, seductively rough, and she’d wanted to feel it brushing against her skin on other parts of her body.
For seven years after that kiss, she’d made a point to go out of her way to avoid him.
And tonight, she’d walked up to him and brushed her lips against his.
What the hell had possessed her?
She hadn’t meant to stay so late but, when she’d taken over as office manager of DeMarco Investigations, she’d
committed to doing the best job she could. She wouldn’t let the DeMarcos down. They were just as much her family as
her mother. Sometimes even more so—
“Earth to Annie.” Colin’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “Come in, space cadet. You zoned out on me there for a
few minutes.”
She realized they’d stopped, and her mouth twisted. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
“About Nic?”
“Yeah.”
With a dramatic sigh, Colin released her from the dancer’s hold to run a hand through expertly trimmed blond bangs
that made him much too handsome for his job as a city assistant district attorney.
“Come on, then. Take a break and tell me all about it. I have to admit I’m curious. Since you started working for the
DeMarcos, all you ever talk about is Nic, Nic, Nic.”
Annie paused mid-stride on her way to the water cooler then hurried after him. She took a swallow of water from the
paper cup he handed her in an attempt to regain some equilibrium before she answered. “I do not.”
Colin emitted a soft snort then took a drink. “You do realize you haven’t mentioned Brad once tonight. When you
two started dating, I thought he might be the one. Then you took the job with the DeMarcos and now all you talk about
is Nic. If I wasn’t afraid you’d bite my head off, I’d say you want him.”
She froze for a second before pulling a face. “Don’t even say that.” She turned to throw the empty cup in the
wastebasket, quickly schooling her expression. “That man has been the bane of my existence since I was twelve. And for
years, he wasn’t even around all that much because he was in the Army. But whenever he’d have leave, he’d come home
and torment Janey and me.”
Colin sat on one of the benches lining the outskirts of the parquet dance floor and motioned for her to sit next to him.
She did, resting her head on his shoulder as his arm came around her shoulders to draw her closer.
“You had a wicked crush on the guy back then, didn’t you?”
“Oh God, yes.”
Damn, where was her composure tonight? Probably back at the office with Nic. Still, it felt good to talk about it.
“When I was twelve, he was the epitome of cool.” A small smile curved her lips, one she didn’t try to quell. “He was
an Army Ranger, so he had really short hair. He wears it long now, to his shoulders. And he always had a tan, because he
spent so much time outdoors. When I was sixteen, I thought the sun rose and set on him. When I was nineteen, I tried to
seduce him.”
“He didn’t take you up on your offer, huh?”
She sighed, her humiliation that day still enough to make her blush.
“Ding, ding, ding. You win the prize. He’d come to surprise Janey at college. She was in the library and, since we
were roommates, he found me. We had no idea he was coming. He loved to surprise her. And she was always so happy
to see him.”
She had been, too. When she’d opened the door, she remembered he’d smiled at her, probably because she’d looked
dumbstruck. Even back then, he’d barely ever smiled.
“Anyway,” she continued, “we were alone in the dorm room, and I decided I was tired of waiting for him to kiss me.
I figured hell would freeze over first.”
Actually, she wasn’t even sure he liked her but she was nineteen and in college and thought the world was hers for
the taking. And that Nic would eventually be hers.
“He’s nine years older than me, and I thought I was in love. He came in, we sat down. We actually had a conversation,
like adults. I don’t even know about what anymore. But I remember he seemed so tired. And I wanted to kiss him.”
She sighed, seeing every detail in her mind’s eye. “So I got up and walked over to him. He didn’t say anything, but
he tensed like he thought I might hit him. I remember looking at his hands and his knuckles had turned white. Then I bent
over and kissed him, flat out on the lips. I was only nineteen. What did I know about kissing back then, right?
“When I pulled away, he looked like I’d shot him. He just sat there for what felt like forever. Then he said, ‘Stick to
boys your own age, little girl. You don’t know what you’re asking for.’ He got up and walked out.”
She felt the blush burn under her skin. “He made sure we were never alone after that. But since Janey and I were
practically inseparable, it wasn’t like I could avoid him. I was so humiliated. I couldn’t look him in the eyes for months.”
Colin whistled low and soft. “Sounds like you had it bad for the guy.”
“I did. But that kiss brought me to my senses.”
Riiiight.
Damn it, she hated when she couldn’t even fool herself. She still felt such an overwhelming sense of loss when she
thought about that day.
Trying to shake it off, she sipped the rest of her water and shrugged. “He didn’t want me. So I gave up. Now, he
deliberately rubs me the wrong way any time he can. The only thing I feel for him now is indifference.”
She forced herself to look Colin straight in the eyes but knew he wasn’t having any of it.
He snorted. “Yeah, right. Tell me you wouldn’t jump him if he gave you the chance.”
In a heartbeat.
She shook her head, unsure if she was trying to convince herself or Colin. “Absolutely not. Anyway, he’s been
untouchable since he left the army. The man lives for work. He never dates, at least not that Janey knows about.
Besides, I’m seeing Brad.” She frowned when Colin rolled his eyes. “What? Don’t you like Brad?”
“Honey, if the man played for my team, I’d like him a hell of a lot. And I’m not so sure he doesn’t. But just the fact
that you think he’s The One worries me.”
Frowning, she glared at Colin. “Why? Brad’s a great guy. He’s considerate, thoughtful and he treats me like a queen.
He’s got a great job and a great body—”
“And you would know this from first-hand experience?” Colin’s voice dripped with undisguised doubt.
She roasted him with her eyes and gave him her best ice-queen stare. “Just because I don’t jump into bed with
every—”
“Honey, you don’t jump into bed with any of them.” Tom held up one hand when she would have interrupted him.
“None of them even come close to that sanctified fortress you call a home, do they? None of them measure up to your
rigid—” He broke off, eyes widening in understanding. “Ah.”
She frowned, really not liking his gloating expression. “‘Ah’ what?”
“They don’t measure up to him.”
Ice shot through her veins. No, absolutely not. That definitely was not it. “You’re wrong. Nic has nothing to do with
why I don’t sleep around.” A shudder rippled through her at the crude words. “I have to trust a man to sleep with him and
those are few and far between.”
Colin just stared back at her. “Do you ever think maybe you’re looking in the wrong places?”
Absolutely. “Every time another one breaks my heart. I guess I just never learn.”
Wrong Room by Geri Foster
Lexi Ryan wants her boyfriend to propose, so when his business sends him to Las Vegas, she follows. But the rat has
chosen to marry his ex. Dressed in a sexy teddy and carrying a half empty bottle of bubbly, Lexi manages to get locked
out of her room. In desperation she jumps into the first open door.
Jack Harrison is in Vegas with two friends celebrating his birthday. The guys promised him a great surprise. When
a beautiful woman dressed for sex knocks on his door, he mentally thanks his buddies.
What a present! He’s more than willing to enjoy his birthday gift with this beautiful woman.
Lexi and Jack learn sex between them is amazing. But can their relationship survive the light of day?
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Wrong Room by Geri Foster or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
Alexis Ryan opened the door to her Vegas hotel room and placed her luggage on the floor next to the dresser. The
suite smelled of air freshener and clean linen. She walked over, slid open the door, and stepped onto the balcony. July heat
threatened to melt any make-up left on her face after the trip.
Since she’d been in Dallas her entire life, Las Vegas heat didn’t bother her at all. Being born on July sixteenth, she’d
suffered through those raging Texas summers from day one.
Howard.
The reason for her surprise visit to Sin City.
Not wanting to completely wilt, Lexi went back inside and opened her small suitcase. A smile tugged at her mouth,
and her pulse thundered loud enough to silence an ocean.
Never before had she been this daring or this foolish. Depending on the outcome, she could succeed or make a
complete idiot of herself in one slick move.
Lexi pulled out a tiny red and black teddy and held it up for inspection—exactly the thing needed to tilt Howard over
the edge and right into a “will you marry me” frame of mind.
They’d been a couple for almost two years, and their relationship reminded her of a couple who’d been married
years. The catalyst for her decision had been when he started wearing his retainer to bed. Then, pajamas. Talk about a
turn off. Their sex life was as exciting as a snail race. However, life with Howard would be a no-brainer. Dull and boring,
but also secure and predictable.
Even though they claimed to love each other, Howard had yet to pop the question, and she’d grown impatient. By
all accounts, he should have asked for her hand when they’d celebrated her birthday.
The words never came.
Instead, they went for a quiet dinner and turned in early because Howard’s allergies were acting up. The letdown
made her feel insignificant and raised serious questions in her mind about their stale relationship.
While they kept their own places, often Howard would spend the night because of the shorter commute to his office.
It concerned her that Howard chose a home in the suburbs where the taxes were cheaper, but not as convenient to his job.
Claiming he liked to be practical didn’t remove her doubts. At times she feared her proximity to his job might be the only
reason he hung around.
A smile teased her lips, but she resisted the thought of how Howard would react to her surprise. Business brought
him to Vegas for the week, but she’d decided to follow him for the weekend to add a little pizzazz to their lives. If a
proposal didn’t happen, she’d take that as a sign to slowly back away and eventually end the relationship.
The naughty lingerie had her hands trembling. Their sex life could use a boost, and this little piece of red and black
lace and satin just might do the trick.
Laying the teddy aside, she picked up the phone and asked room service to bring up a bottle of their best bubbly. If
the liquor and the teddy didn’t do the trick, then she had a serious decision to make. At thirty, if she planned on a family,
she didn’t have a lot of time to waste.
***
Jack Harrison and two of his buddies were having the time of their lives. You didn’t turn thirty-five every day, and
that mile-marker called for a celebration. The three musketeers had sworn back in college if they made it out of their
twenties and all the way to thirty-five, they’d have beaten the odds of dying young. With Spencer’s birthday in January
and Roger’s in March, Jack was the last of the three to make the promised age.
Looking around the table, Jack realized Roger Banks and Spencer Adams had been with him most of his life. They’d
grown up in the same neighborhood and had gone through school, including college, together.
Roger had married his high school girlfriend right after graduation, and Spencer had met his wife Jennifer in their
junior year at Yale. Not that he’d planned it, but Jack had somehow managed to avoid the marriage trap. Wife and kids
weren’t out of the question in his life. It all came down to not meeting the right woman yet.
Shitfaced, Roger raised his glass for the umpteenth time. “Happy Birthday, little brother.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. Ironically, he stood two inches taller than Roger at six two and outweighed his buddy by a good
twenty pounds. Yet, Roger had continued referring to Jack as “little brother” for the last thirty years.
“Here, here,” Spencer added. “We’re all on the downslide now.”
A round of laughter echoed through the crowded room. They’d been partying for hours and decided to play it safe
and continue their revelry in their hotel bar.
“We have yet begun to live,” Roger shouted. “Here’s to great friends, good booze, and more good times ahead.”
They raised their glasses and spilled more liquor than they drank. Roger put his hand on Jack’s arm. “And you just
wait until you see our birthday surprise.” His friend tried to wink, but didn’t have the coordination to pull it off.
Spencer laughed. “You’re going to love our surprise. It’s just want you need.”
Shaking his head, Jack leaned back. “I appreciate it. I’m sure you put a lot of thought into this whole weekend. I’m
really happy your wives let you out of the house, so we could celebrate.”
Spencer and Roger were enjoying the hell out of their brief freedom. They’d been more excited about the trip to Las
Vegas than Jack had been. While he liked to party as much as the next guy, his security company was down two men.
When that happened, Jack usually picked up the slack, so his customers wouldn’t be left hanging.
To skip the weekend was out of the question. He simply didn’t have the heart to back out at the last minute, so here
he sat, hoping his staff had a quiet weekend in Dallas.
The bartender brought them two more rounds. Always the logical one, Jack knew he’d be smart to refuse, but how
could he? After all, it was his thirty-fifth birthday.
***
Lexi woke with a start. Glancing out of the sliding glass doors at the black sky tinged with the halo of a million lights
from the strip, she gasped. Afraid she’d overslept, she grabbed her phone and checked the time.
Surely, Howard would be in his room by now, but she wasn’t ready. Most of the ice in the container holding the
champagne had melted. At this hour, she’d hoped they’d be having dinner, and then she’d planned to bring him back to
her room and change into the sexy outfit.
Now, she had to hurry or Howard would be asleep before she had the chance to seduce him. Nervous, but eager, she
quickly went into the bathroom and threw on some make-up. No time to straighten her hair, but she could get by with just
piling it on top of her head.
Careful not to rip anything, Lexi slipped into the sexy little piece and adjusted the straps. Her eyes widened when
she turned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Never one to obsess about her looks, Lexi took a second glance and
muttered, “Holy moly.”
The skimpy teddy with rhinestone clasps and shaped underwire bra enhanced her breasts and narrowed her waist.
As she laced up the front of the garment with the thin satin ribbons, she felt sexier by the second. The Brazilian style cut
panties had a snap crotch.
She’d never worn anything this racy or small before. Yes, she had a bikini, but what she wore now sent a whole
different message and made her legs look long and lean as a Vegas showgirl’s. Swallowing, she picked up the full arm,
black satin gloves and slipped them on.
If this didn’t garner a wedding proposal, nothing would.
After blotting her lipstick, she grabbed her cell phone and speed-dialed Howard. Tension left her body when he
answered on the second ring. “Hello, Howard.”
“Hi, Alexis.”
Seductively, she licked her lips and ran her palm down the side of her silky outfit. Falling back on the bed, she
lowered her voice. “How’s Las Vegas?”
“Hum, okay, I guess. Hot.”
“Are you in your room?”
“Yes, we—I mean. I got in a couple of hours ago.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning…”
In her most sultry voice, she rolled on her stomach and purred, “I’m here, Howard. Right down the hall from you in
room 733.”
“What?”
“I flew in to surprise you. Now get dressed and meet me in my room. I’ve ordered champagne.”
“Why?”
“Why am I here or why the bubbly?”
“Both.” He didn’t sound happy to hear from her.
She wondered briefly if he was alone, but Howard wasn’t that kind of guy. “I just wanted to see you.”
“But, I can’t. I don’t want to.”
Lexi sat up and cut the sexy voice. “What the hell, Howard? Don’t you want to come to my room and be with me?”
“No, I can’t.”
That didn’t sound right. “Why can’t you?”
“I…well.” He swallowed. “Sandy met me here and we…”
Sandy? His ex-Sandy? The one Lexi helped him get over? “What’s she doing here?”
“Well, she called last week, and she’s really sorry for all she put me through and suggested I meet her here.”
“You’re in Las Vegas for a meet-up with your old girlfriend?” Anger sped through her veins quicker than poison.
“You lied to me? You friggin’ jerk.”
“Listen, Alexis. Don’t get so upset. You know I don’t like scenes. Try to be sensible.”
“No, you should have been honest and told me you were sneaking off to be with Sandy.”
“I didn’t want to do that until I found out if there was anything left between us.”
Furious, she tapped her toe against the carpeted floor; her other hand fisted tight enough to squish an ant. How had
she been played a fool by a stupid, lying bastard she now hated? “So, what did you find out?”
A long pause told her the news wasn’t going to be in her favor. “I’m sorry, Alexis. Sandy and I were married this
afternoon.”
The air swished from her lungs, and she gasped. “You what?”
“We’re married.”
Unable to hear anymore, she disconnected then threw the phone on the bed. Boiling anger made her want to hurt
someone for the first time in her life. Heat pumped her blood at an incredible rate. Lexi shook as rage rolled off of her
body.
The bottle of champagne set on the table, mocking her. Popping the cork, she took a big gulp. Icy water dripped
down her cleavage and brightened the red of her outfit. After a deep breath, she took another drink, then another before
she finally sat back down on the bed, realizing what a fool she’d been. Another drink of the liquor seemed to ease her
self-disgust, so she tipped the bottle and guzzled more booze.
When she thought of their pathetic relationship, she was stunned by how much she’d overlooked and excused. Tears
threatened to blur her vision. She was amazed at how sneaky Howard had been and how she’d missed every sign. A
scream erupted from her throat loud enough to shake the walls.
Perhaps she simply hadn’t bothered to look at the obvious. No, she simply hadn’t wanted to see the truth staring her
in the face. Better to live in a safe little world where everyone obeyed the rules.
What a fool.
The bottle of booze swinging from her hand felt much lighter now. To her surprise, she was feeling better by the
minute. She didn’t think a few more mouthfuls would hurt, until she stood and nearly face planted on the floor.
Holding up the bubbly, Lexi saw she’d drank more than she’d intended.
Setting the bottle down, she realized drinking herself into obliviousness wasn’t the answer. Certainly not because of
that coward Howard. Yeah, she liked that, Howard the Coward. The creep who’d lied through his teeth.
She plopped on the bed and tried not to visualize Sandy and Howard in a loving embrace. No matter what, she
couldn’t keep the images from flickering through her mind. Standing slowly, she decided Howard deserved to hear what
she had to say, and she was determined to do it before her common sense kicked in.
Yes, she had a few things to tell Mr. Rat Bastard and his bride. Stiffening her resolve, she made a decision.
Taking the keycard from her purse, she snatched up the bottle and headed for the door. She’d paid for the booze;
she’d damn sure drink it if she wanted.
Vengeful heat rolled off her body. Wound tight as her outfit, she stormed out the door and headed for Howard and
Sandy’s room. The carpeted hall muffled the sound of her red stiletto heels, and that annoyed her. She wanted a hard
surface that would announce her determination for the whole floor to hear.
Lexi stopped in the middle of the corridor. Shocked, she glanced down and saw she still wore her fuck me get-up.
Oh my, Howard the Coward would be horrified at that language. Her beautiful sexy outfit put her at a disadvantage. Death
would be easier to deal with than Howard and his new bride seeing her like this. And how serious would they take a jilted
woman dressed like a hooker?
Snarling, she’d turned back toward her room when the elevator dinged and the doors slowly slid open. Horrified
anyone would see her like this, she sprinted for her room. For what felt like hours, she fumbled with the plastic card only
to find her library card in her hand, instead of the room keycard.
With her left hand holding the bottle of bubbly across her chest and the other covering her crotch, she stared at the
opening elevator. Male laughter filled the air.
Oh my God, where to go now?
Desperately, she knocked on the door next to hers. Nothing. Then she slipped across the hall and tapped on the door
opposite hers. As people spilled out of the elevator, the room door opened, and Lexi dashed inside.
Once in the room, she turned and looked at the most handsome man she’d ever seen. “Ah, excuse me, I’m…”
The man reached over and pulled her against his chest. “Well, happy birthday to me.”
Oh my God, his smile went one step beyond dazzling, all the way to knock dead gorgeous. Wow! He looked like a
birthday present to her. Chest bared, he wore a tight pair of jeans and a smile sexy as hell. Tousled dark hair held a bit of
a curl, and his sky blue eyes brightened with desire. What a package.
“It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah,” he said in a deep voice that had her squirming. “And my lucky night.”
“Oh, did you hit the jackpot?”
With eyes as hungry as woman on a six-day cleanse, he smiled. “Oh, yes. I hit the jackpot all right.”
“Good for you.” She remembered the outfit she wore then looked at the bottle in her hand. Holding up the champagne,
she asked, “Want a drink?”
He took the bottle and downed the rest of the contents. Turning briefly, he put the bottle on the dresser then leaned
down and captured her lips in a kiss that sent her desire from maybe a ten to ten-thousand in warp speed. Nothing exciting
like that had ever happened to her before, and certainly she’d never been kissed so raunchily. Even her toes went all kinky.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Unable to help herself, she pressed closer against his warm muscular chest.
Yummy, he tasted of champagne. And sex, if sex had a flavor, it would be this tantalizing kiss that had her heart
zinging faster than a zip line and her head spinning like the rinse cycle in a washer. Or was that the liquor? His lips stroked
her in a slow torturous grind that had her panting. When he licked her mouth as if she was an ice cream cone and it was
August, she nearly melted.
Hands on her back, he pulled her closer. Long, strong arms had her completely wrapped in an embrace she didn’t
want to escape. Strong biceps flexed and tightened the hold. They were so close she felt his bulge against her stomach.
With his hot lips on hers, he stroked his way right into her mouth. Fire and wanton desire shot through her veins with
astonishing force. She groaned shamelessly and sent her own tongue deep into the recesses of his moist mouth.
This time he groaned, and she felt wonderful and light. She knew better than to make out with a stranger, but this
guy was so delicious, and he helped ease her pain of being tossed over the bridge by that loser Howard. Just the creep’s
name popping into her thoughts made her hungry for the stranger, who obviously knew his way around a woman. And it
was his birthday.
After he broke the kiss, he leaned back against the door, staring at her in the dim light. “Man, tomorrow I’m going
to kiss Roger and Spencer. They really outdid themselves.”
Hungry for his lips back on hers, she said, “You’re going to kiss two guys? Are you gay?”
Hand in hand, he led her to stand next to the bed. “I’ll let you decide that later.”
Lexi felt completely aroused as he slid his hands down the sides of the sexy teddy to playfully finger the black lace.
It would’ve been proper to tell him normally she’d never wear something this revealing, but the thought couldn’t make
it from her brain to her mouth.
Instead, she leaned her head back and allowed him to trail scorching kisses down her neck to her beasts. Chills
danced on her skin like snowflakes.
Fingers clutching his hair, she bit her bottom lip to keep from begging him to hurry and get to the good part before
she completely sobered up and darted from the room.
Right now, she didn’t want to do that. No, if she had her way, they’d be here for days. As impractical as it sounded,
Lexi loved the idea.
When his hands reached between her thighs and unsnapped the crotch, she gasped. “I don’t normally do this kind of
thing. I don’t know you, and I’m…”
He kissed her mouth so powerfully she grew wobbly, and they both fell back on the bed with a bounce.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he looked down at her, a predatory gaze in his blue eyes. “I don’t
normally either, but it is my birthday.” He raised a wicked brow and grinned.
Smiling, she said, “Yes, and everyone deserves a good birthday.”
The intimacy between their warm bodies quickened her breath. As if time meant nothing and they had all night, he
leaned down and slipped the strap off her shoulder while her gloved hands stroked his muscular back.
“I wouldn’t want to have a bad birthday.”
“Oh, no,” she said, kissing his strong jaw. “We can’t let that happen.” He smelled absolutely tantalizing, like a fresh
morning on a misty lake. Clean, wholesome with a hint of musk. In all her life, she’d never been with a man this way, and
much to her surprise and stunned belief system, she loved the wickedness of being with a stranger.
Warm lips glided hot across the top of her shoulders, and lightning soared through her body like a bolt of electricity.
Similar to that time she’d accidently stuck a fork in the toaster, but this was better. Much better.
Then he nibbled all the way to the top of her satin glove. “I like these.” He chuckled. “Damn, girl, you’re about to
drive me insane.”
This was a man all right, and his eyes teased her with a sexy promise of a night she’d long remember. No one had
ever said that to her before. Inwardly, she giggled like a sixteen-year-old, while quivering into a pool of heated flesh.
His hand came between them, and he slowly tugged at the satin ribbon holding the teddy together. The unraveling
made her heart pound. She shivered from pure anticipation as she glanced down between them. Her breasts sought relief
from their torturous bonds.
A pink-tipped nipple popped out, open to his scrutiny.
Lexi wrestled with the urge to cover up, but the alcohol she’d consumed earlier stoked her boldness. Not wanting to
fight the sensations, she stretched out and relaxed. With her thinking mired and pure mellow warmth engulfing her body,
she managed to wrangle her conscience to the ground.
The Demon’s Deception by Lisa Adler
Barbas, the Demon of Healing, has a secret. One he’d do anything to keep. Until the day that he meets his sworn
enemy and finds himself drawn into her world. Certainly a Demon strong enough to survive being chained for a millennium
beneath the Earth’s crust can resist one virginal princess when she demands his help. To reveal the truth would make him
a traitor to his people. So why does deceiving the princess make him feel like a traitor to his heart? Turn the page to read the prologue and first chapter of The Demon’s Deception by Lisa Adler or return to the Table
of Contents.
PROLOGUE
In the year 2015, after five years of debilitating earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, blizzards, sandstorms and mother
nature’s madness, a massive seismic event shook the entire planet.
Demons, who had been trapped beneath the earth’s crust for thousands of years, finally broke free of their magickal
prison and burst back to the surface. The electrical energy of all those Demon bodies disrupted the technological advances
of the last few hundred years, and plunged the world back into a pre-industrial age.
Humans, not only dealing with a complete change in their universe, have been caught in the middle, mined for the
power of their emotions by both Demon and Fae.
In the ten years since the Demons returned to the surface, the battle between Demons and Fae has raged with each
side gaining victories and suffering defeats. But lately the Demons have begun to gain power exponentially. While the
Fae are growing weaker.
But the Fae have plans to change their luck.
CHAPTER 1
“He’s dead.” Barbas, the Demon of Healing, leaned wearily against the frigid stone of the dungeon wall. The last
prisoner with a known tie to the Fae had succumbed to the effects of their torture, even with Barbas’s constant monitoring.
For the Gods’ sake, their goal had not been to kill him. They’d tried repeatedly to get him to reveal his knowledge,
his contact within the Fae, and his contact within the Castle. Anything. But in truth, he probably had been bespelled.
Damned, fucking Fae.
“This is not good.” Prince Gaap frowned at the body. The prisoner had been their final link to discovering the traitor
who lived amongst the Demons in the castle.
Both Barbas and Gaap held still in stunned disbelief.
Barbas wanted to kill the prisoner all over again for dying.
The stupid sod had been the final hope. Barbas knew what he had to do. But he’d been hoping that this last resort
wouldn’t be necessary.
Tasked with finding the Demon’s traitor, he had skulked, lingered, and listened to the gossip in the village. Mined
whispers for leads. He had had sex with humans from farms, taverns, the mines, all walks of life. He’d questioned those
who had been closest to the Fae--minions, humans bespelled by the Fae magick-- and he was no closer to identifying the
traitor than he had been a month ago.
Barbas did not like failure.
His stomach roiled as he proposed the only option left. “We need to approach this from another angle,” Barbas
declared. Reluctantly. Dammit, he did not want to do this, but he couldn’t fathom any other way.
“How?” Prince Gaap flicked a hand at the guards and they carried the human’s remains away.
Neither spoke as they contemplated what to do next. A muffled giggle penetrated the somber silence. A heated growl
and the clank of shackles as they hit the wall echoed in the dark chamber. The grunts and slap of energetic sex between
three people bounced around what should have been a dank, dark place. Moans, low and heated, permeated even the thick
stone walls. Soft feminine sighs and deep masculine groans filled the silent air. Zepar, Thalia, and Leraye were at it again.
Not one single inhabitant of the Demon Castle had missed the trio frolicking and sexing in some out of the way or
very surprising location. And this was not the first occasion that Barbas had caught them in the dungeons, shackled and
blindfolded.
He purposefully shut out the sounds of their love play and said baldly, “I want to infiltrate the Fae.”
Prince Gaap started to argue and Barbas squelched the need to accede to the Prince. He didn’t want to get anywhere
near the Fae. But it was unavoidable.
“How?” Prince Gaap bit out.
“I don’t know yet.” A lie. He could conceal his Demon side. Even if the thought of doing so made him break into a
sweat and long for the glow of the moon.
“But you believe you are capable of infiltrating our enemy?” Gaap asked slowly as he assessed Barbas with a
speculative look.
Gaap couldn’t possibly know his secret. He’d never told a single soul, Demon or otherwise, the truth. His deception
was absolute. But the way Gaap looked at him caused a bead of sweat to roll down the furrow of his spine and rest in the
small of his back. “I will need to leave and rid myself of the trappings of the Demons and the Castle. No contact.”
Gaap paced the stone floor, his steps quick and concise. “You know I trust you.”
“Yes.”
“I will allow it,” Gaap consented. “Under one condition.”
“Sire?”
“You must contact me as soon as you find your way in.”
Communication with the Castle. That he could do. They worked out the details of where Barbas would leave the
information in a dead drop. Gaap would have the location checked daily. “Consider it done.”
A few hours later, Barbas wandered into the clearing where Gaap had been attacked. Where Leraye had been frozen
by a blast of electricity so powerful he had been placed in a state of stasis until Thalia and Zepar were able to free him
from the supernatural hold.
Barbas shut down a pang of envy. The trio seemed supremely blissful. They fucked like bunnies around the Castle.
And while he was happy for them...he wished he didn’t have to watch or listen to them while they lustily enjoyed each
other. He had no wish to settle with any one Human or Demon woman. The last month had been...difficult.
It was a sad state of affairs, but he was damned sick of sex.
Sex With The Ex by Jan Springer
When Sex Squad Detective Sky Kelley informs her fiancé, Detective Jim O’Brien that she wants to wait until they’re
married before they have sex, he dumps her! Angry and defiant at his rejection, Sky undertakes a dangerous mission to
the dark sensual world of sex slave training on one of Saturn’s pleasure moons.
When Jim discovers Sky has volunteered for the mission, he’s enraged. She’s too pure and innocent for such a
naughty assignment and he has no choice but to follow her. However, Sky isn’t anybody’s damsel in distress and she’s
going to prove it in ways Jim has only dreamed about…
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Sex With The Ex by Jan Springer or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
Year 2100
Sex Squad Headquarters, Vermont, United States
“They call him Loverboy. He’s six feet three inches and a hundred and eighty pounds of pure sex magnet. No woman
can resist him.” Det. Jim McBride’s husky voice curled through the briefing room grabbing Detective Sky Kelley’s
attention.
The two male detectives sitting beside Sky nudged each other playfully and chuckled at Jim’s description.
Unfortunately, they weren’t taking this Loverboy fellow as seriously as they should be. At their interruption, a dark anger
crept into Jim’s gorgeous brown eyes. “You two giggly boys have something important to share with the rest of us?”
The two detectives frowned and shook their heads in embarrassment.
Jim nodded with satisfaction, then his intense gaze swooped onto Sky. His eyes softened a bit as he watched her, but
the normal laugh lines at the corners of his mouth remained tight.
Bruised shadows hung beneath his eyes. Eyes that used to sparkle with desire for her. Now they held nothing but
raw pain.
Hastily he looked away, leaving her with the impression she was being dismissed as if she were just another one of
his “giggly boy” detectives, instead of the woman he had planned to marry...up until a week ago.
Sky closed her eyes for a moment and tried to compose herself. Tears of regret burned at the back of her eyelids.
She should have said yes to Jim’s demands that they have sex. It would have been so easy to put out that persistent
need throbbing between her thighs. However, she wanted to wait until she was one hundred percent sure about their
relationship. Unfortunately, she had said no one time too many and now she was alone.
“Here is a little history on Loverboy.” Jim said. “Abandoned at birth, he was brought up in an orphanage by nuns.
He was groomed to become a preacher but decided to leave. For the past few years Loverboy has been living on Saturna,
the newly formed pleasure planet on one of Saturn’s moons.” A wave of excited murmurs echoed throughout the room.
Everyone knew about the sex outpost. Several of her friends had said they wouldn’t mind taking a trip out there to a
world where no one knew them and where they would simply lose themselves in a world of sex. Rumor had it people
who walked the streets could be tapped on the shoulder by complete strangers and they would be obligated to have sex
with them. Unbelievable.
Jim continued. “A couple of months ago a young woman went to the authorities on Saturna claiming she was
seduced by Loverboy and then kept at his villa against her will while being trained to be a slave. She managed to escape
but not before she discovered Loverboy was training men and women to become sex slaves.
As you all know, due to the government’s need for finding new forms of revenue they’ve invested heavily in Saturna
and it’s a cash cow. Sex drugs, prostitution and sex slaves have all been legalized on the planet. However, avoiding
payment of the income taxes obtained from such lucrative ventures is illegal. Loverboy has not filed any income tax
returns for his ventures on Saturna. If what our source said is true and Loverboy is training slaves, he is in serious trouble
for tax evasion, not to mention kidnapping.
The Chief wants two of our detectives to go in undercover as eyewitnesses. One will be a woman. A virgin. A virgin
is required because rumor has it Loverboy knows one when he sees one. He can’t resist them. And they can’t resist him.
Apparently, he is an exquisite lover. Once a woman has been with him she is hooked on sex. He then gives his victim
intensive training. He and one of his orphanage mates, Carmella, are the only instructors in his alleged training school,
which happens to be at a secluded farmhouse on the planet.”
The room was deathly quiet. Jim had captured everyone’s attention.
“Our source discovered that the slave is guaranteed one hundred percent employment at the end of his or her training
period. Payment to the slave is three hundred thousand dollars a year, with an option to continue the contract by either
party at the end of that year.”
“Get paid and get laid. Sounds like a hell of a good deal to me.” One of the “giggly boys” whispered low enough so
Jim couldn’t hear.
“Beats the pay in the Sex Squad and you can screw your brains out.” His companion eagerly whispered back.
Sky shook her head at the detective’s insensitive comments.
How could they joke about such things? Innocents sucked into a life of fast money without waiting to have sex until
they fell in love. Was she the only old-fashioned girl left on Earth?
“A thorough inspection of Loverboy’s personal villa on the planet showed nothing out of the ordinary going down.
We haven’t been able to locate the alleged farmhouse being used for the training. Unfortunately our source that was
allegedly kidnapped by him disappeared shortly after she reported the incident to the authorities.”
Regret whispered through Sky about the missing woman. Loverboy must have heard about her going to the law and
taken care of her in some horrid way.
“The victim is an only daughter of a high ranking government official on Saturna. The father has hired us to track
her down. The two people who accept the assignment will be given the identity of the woman along with an all expense
paid trip to Saturna.”
Enthusiastic gasps erupted from the crowd. Jim held up his hand for silence.
“Do you believe she’s still alive?” Sky asked.
Jim threw her a cold look and she shivered.
“She’s alive. Most likely being trained as we speak.”
“So, you believe she’s once again being held against her will?” she prodded.
“I mean she may have gone back on her own accord for more sex.”
“No man is that powerful over a woman.” Sky whispered.
“Loverboy is.” Jim stated.
He focused his attention back to to the crowd.
“The other person we need for this assignment is a male detective. He will go in undercover seeking employment as
a slave. He must also keep an eye on the female detective while both search for the government official’s daughter. Since
his villa has already been searched, he will be using the alleged farmhouse or possibly another place.”
“What if we can’t find the woman?” Sky asked.
“Then the undercover agents will wait and ask questions without drawing attention to their true identity. They must
be prepared to eagerly participate in the sex slave training. Without hesitation.”
Sky’s mouth dropped open in shock. She barely heard the excited whispers from the others shoot through the
Briefing room as Jim ripped his gaze away from her and continued speaking.
“The female detective will target Loverboy and the male detective will target Carmella. Your assignment is twofold.
Number One, get yourself invited into Loverboy’s life and find out if he is in fact training sex slaves. And number two.
Find the missing woman and bring her out.”
Jim’s voice faded into the background as Sky and examined Loverboy’s surveillance photo accompanying the notes
they’d all been given before the briefing had started.
She inhaled softly at Loverboy’s sharp blue eyes. They reminded her of a fierce storm. Brooding. Dark. Dangerous.
His short feathery blond hair framed a very masculine beach boy face. And those lush lips. So kissable.
A shiver of something quite erotic flickered up her spine. Arousal at simply looking at his picture? Maybe. Or
perhaps it was a need.
A need to meet this man and challenge his ability to turn innocent virgins into sex slaves. She wanted to be the one
to take Loverboy down…hopefully not on top of her.
***
“What the hell do you think you’re doing taking on the Loverboy assignment?” Jim yelled as he stormed into
the secluded conference room Sky was using to study the updated Loverboy brief the Chief had given her after she’d
accepted the assignment.
When she lifted her head and stared into his furious gaze, pure liquid-heat streamed through her. He stood so close
she smelled his spicy cologne and felt the tension radiating from his body. Stubble covered his cheeks and chin adding to
his sexiness. Suddenly she wished she’d given into his demands of making love to him.
An image of her cradled in his strong arms, of Jim’s powerful hands kneading her tingling breasts, of him asking her
if he could make love to her right then and there whispered through her memories. His question had frightened her and
she’d told him to stop. He had. And then he’d left. Right after telling her he couldn’t wait for her any longer.
“You’re not taking this assignment. Is that clear?” he snapped bringing Sky back to reality and back to the familiar
anger she’d been experiencing since he’d broken things off between them.
“Don’t tell me what to do Jim McBride! You lost that right when you cancelled our engagement.”
“Oh? And now you’d rather get fucked by Loverboy instead of making love to me?”
“Maybe he’ll show me a few tricks,” she teased.
His eyes darkened into dangerous slits. She loved it when he was mad. It gave him so much power over her. A power
to do anything he wanted…but he’d never had the balls to do it.
With a quick move that took Sky by surprise, Jim grabbed her around the waist and yanked her clear out of her seat.
He captured her startled cry in his mouth as his warm lips crushed over hers.
She could taste his fierce need as his thick tongue slipped into her mouth. Strong and demanding, he probed, pushed,
circled and finally mated with her tongue.
Blood roared in her ears. Her nipples tightened and tingled as they flattened against his hard chest.
Many times she’d been in his arms enjoying his tender kisses. She’d always wished he’d been more aggressive.
Today, she just might get her wish. Today, she may have pushed him a little too far. There was a sharp edge to this kiss.
A tinge of desperation. A hint of domination.
She liked this new Jim. She liked him a lot and her body melted against him, welcoming him.
Reaching up, she feathered her fingers through his dark brown hair and cupped the back of his head with her hands,
drawing him closer. His powerful masculine scent drugged her like a fine wine and his body heat zipped through her thin
blouse setting her flesh on fire.
His mouth tasted dark, dangerous and oh so delicious. So yummy she wanted to devour him. All of him.
She ached to taste his chest, suckle his pebble hard nipples and make love to his powerful penis as he thrust in and
out of her hungry mouth. The shocking thoughts made Sky shiver with a frenzied excitement. But she should make him
stop just like all the other times. This time though, she couldn’t. She wanted more from him. So much more.
Her nerves were short-circuiting. Every inch of her tingled. She ached to be touched. To be tasted. To be fucked.
What was happening to her? Oh, who cared? As long as he kept being aggressive.
A noise rumbled deep in her throat. It was a sensual sound she’d never heard before. Jim must have heard it too
because his kiss intensified. His lips became more demanding. Dominating. Intoxicating.
She tried to match his strength, but she couldn’t. He overpowered her senses and she became lost and mindless with
aching sensations she’d never experienced before.
His right hand left her waist and slipped beneath her blouse. In a flash, his fingers dove below the lace material of
her bra and headed straight for her left nipple.
He found it. The instant he touched her nipple, blazing pleasure whipped through her breast. Need exploded between
her thighs. He squeezed, a punishing pinch. Firm enough to cause a spectacular tenderness to replace the arousal.
Immediately his cruel touch melted into a semi rough caress as he rubbed and rolled her nipple between his thumb
and finger. She gasped at the unfamiliar sensations pulsing through her body. His other hand slid tighter around her waist,
pulling her closer to him.
She sucked in a breath when his hand left her breast and massaged her other nipple. In moments, both nipples were
hard and achy. He moved from her breasts, his hand blazing along her bare belly making her shiver with anticipation. His
fingers hooked her waistband. Cool air brushed her legs as he pulled down her pants and underwear.
He cupped her bare ass, lifted her up and plopped her onto the coldness of the table. In one quick sweep, he tugged
her pants and underwear off her legs. With one knee, he forced her legs apart and moved between them, pressing his
massive yet clothed erection against her exposed and aching pussy.
The size of his bulge frightened her. And it exhilarated her!
She inhaled sharply at the tremors rippling through her. Warm wetness trickled between her thighs, readying her for
him. His kiss deepened, tilting her world.
A callused finger skimmed along the inside of her thigh. She shuddered at his touch. It felt so good.
He ripped his mouth away from hers and whispered hoarsely into her ear.
“Don’t you realize what you’ve just volunteered for?”
His finger parted the swollen folds of her labia. He rubbed her clit and an electrifying current shot through her.
She let go of him, threw back her head and cried out from the intensity of his violent touch. She didn’t care who
heard. She was beyond caring. She’d entered a new world. A dangerous world of desire.
“Loverboy will take one peek at your sweet innocent girl next door looks and fuck you.”
Jim’s pressure on her nub increased. His touch became electric. Savage.
Sky cried as breathtaking spasms pulsed inside her pussy.
“Is this what you want him to do to you, Sky?”
“Yes!” She hissed.
Her legs trembled as another wave of ecstasy assaulted her. Her hips surged upward against his finger. Begging for
more.
She bucked on the table as a finger plunged inside her sopping vagina. White-hot splendor crashed around her.
Another burning finger plunged inside. And then another. And another.
He filled her aggressively. His masculine strength hammering in and out.
Faster.
Faster.
Until peak after shocking peak swept over her. They kept coming. Crashing into her. Around her. Waves of exploding
heat.
They frightened her.
Jim kept pumping. Her hips kept grinding. She couldn’t stop herself!
Something was coming! Something beautiful and scary and fierce. Unbearable pleasure took control.
Sky tightened her eyes. Her heart crashed and she panted.
Jim quickened his thrusts. Within seconds, a deep wrenching explosion ripped through her.
Sky screamed and shivered as convulsions wrapped around her.
“Go with it, Sky. Let yourself go with it.” Jim’s soft voice urged.
She reached out and clutched his strong shoulders, digging her fingernails deep into his thick muscles.
“Ride with it,” Jim whispered.
It was insane. Unbearable. Pleasure. Ecstasy.
Shudders swallowed her. Bright stars burst around her vision and she tumbled into joy. She didn’t know how long
the frenzy whipped through her, but finally the spasms ebbed. Jim’s breaths erupted hard and heavy in her ears. Her
vaginal muscles quivered around his fingers.
She was dazed. Wiped out. Satisfied. Wonderfully gratified.
Gosh! That was fantastic!
She held onto Jim’s massive shoulders until the erotic flush began to subside. Then she loosened her grip.
“I won’t ask if it was good. It’s written all over your face. You look like a woman who has been properly finger
fucked.” His voice was tender and sweet.
Finger fucked. Reality crashed into her. Oh gosh! What had she done?
She sat on a table in a conference room in the middle of Sex Squad Headquarters with a man’s fingers impaling her
vagina.
What if someone walked in on them? Having sex on the job was illegal. They’d be fired.
Despite her uneasiness, she wanted Jim’s warm fingers to stay inside her. It felt so nice. So filling. So natural.
“Sky, look at me.”
She opened her eyes and her breath caught at the dark desire.
“Loverboy will fuck you until you’re as mindless as you just were. Do you see how easy it is for an experienced man
to take down a sexually innocent woman like you? Do you?”
Concern marred Jim’s face and doubt filled her. Maybe he was right. Maybe this assignment was too dangerous.
Look what had just happened to her. She’d loved what he’d done. She wanted him to do it again.
She almost caved in and told him she would give up the assignment she’d volunteered for. Almost.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said tightly as she realized he’d wanted to teach her a lesson and not please
her.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he studied her. He truly seemed to care for her but she was a big girl. She could
handle Loverboy. He must have recognized that she wasn’t going to be persuaded into his way of thinking, for he swore
beneath his breath.
“Dammit, Sky. Don’t do this.”
“It’s done.”
A sucking sound shot through the air as he slid his fingers out of her drenched pussy.
“I guess I was wrong about you, Sky. I’m glad I finally came to my senses and left you. Good luck. You’re going to
need it.”
He turned and stomped toward the door.
Son of a bitch! If he opened that door people might see her like this!
Sky jumped off the table, her shaky legs almost crumbling as her feet landed on the floor.
Quickly she picked up her clothing and covered herself. She wanted to give in to Jim. Wanted him to fuck her and
take her back into the world of sexual need. Now!
“Jim! Please, don’t go!”
The door opened and he was gone, slamming the door shut behind his broad back.
Too late.
The tiny sliver of hope she’d been harboring about them getting back together walked out the door with him. Wiping
away the hot tears streaming down her face, she donned her damp underwear and stepped into her pants.
Gazing at the door, Sky squared her shoulders in defiance.
Jim McBride had just given her a lesson she wouldn’t easily forget. She’d be on her guard from here on out.
*****
Jim McBride hunched against the cold brick wall of the deserted men’s bathroom where he’d retreated after leaving
the conference room and Sky. His heart cracked like a machine gun and his breath escaped in shallow gasps.
Damn! What the hell did he think he was doing trying to change Sky’s mind? He should know by now she was one
stubborn woman. Once she made up her mind about something, there was no stopping her.
He shouldn’t worry about her. Being sexually inexperienced didn’t mean she wasn’t a good detective. In the line of
work she’d always been able to take care of herself. Uneasiness pricked through him. So, why was he apprehensive now?
Anything could go wrong, that’s why. She was a virgin. Sexually inexperienced. He would lose her if Loverboy got his
hands on her.
Jim had read the Loverboy file. The man targeted virgins. He wooed them. Seduced them. Fucked them until they
were hooked to his intense lovemaking and then they did whatever he asked. Obviously, he was great in bed if he could
turn an innocent woman into a willing slave. There was no way in hell Jim was going to let the woman he loved go down
that road.
In desperation, he’d stormed into the room Sky had been using and found her ogling Loverboy’s photo, her cheeks
rosy red, her big blue eyes wide with want.
She’d looked so desirable. He’d wanted her so bad, his cock ached. He’d craved her to be naked. Right there on the
desk. Squirming and moaning as he thrust his cock into her. His long fierce strokes plunging into her pussy, making her
scream from the pleasure.
He’d wanted to worship her. To brand her as his own. To remove that expression of interest brewing in her eyes for
Loverboy.
The burning anger and her comment about that stranger teaching her how to make love had overruled his usual
control to the point where he’d grabbed her and kissed her. Her sweet scent had drowned him and made him heady from
sexual need. He’d managed to thwart his own desires in order to please her and she’d melted under his onslaught.
He’d been surprised she’d let him touch her pussy at all. He’d grown bold slipping his fingers past her swollen lips
into her hot channel. She’d been tight, but wet with want and had accepted his other fingers with relative ease. He’d
begun thrusting into her. Over and over. He’d known the exact instant she’d lost control and given into the desire he was
offering. She’d spread her legs wider, grabbed a hold of him, digging her nails into his shoulders.
Jim grinned. He could still feel the sting of where her nails had dug into his skin.
Ravishing agony had scrunched up her pretty face and her guttural moans had urged him on. He’d pumped harder.
Faster. Finally, she’d screamed and climaxed, her pussy muscles contracting and spasming around his thrusting fingers.
He’d wanted her to get an idea of what she was missing. Of what she’d been denying him. He’d done the job of
pleasuring her quite well. He’d changed her attitude toward sex. Had recognized the magical sparkles of satisfaction in
her big blue eyes and the lovely blush of embarrassment on her face when she realized she’d lost control and given him
her trust.
Jim closed his eyes at the sweet memory and leaned his head against the cold brick wall behind him. His cock
continued to throb with the need for release.
He could still taste her sweet mouth on his lips when he’d kissed her. Could still remember the warmth of her flesh
burning into his palm and her warm, wet cream slick on his fingers.
He’d wanted more than anything to remove his fingers and slip his aching shaft into her. He’d been close to doing
it. So damn close, but it would have been a mistake.
From the start of their relationship, she’d made it perfectly clear she wouldn’t give herself to a man until she was
sure she loved him. Then when she’d finally told him she loved him, he’d been ready for sex. But last week she’d said
she wanted to wait to have sex until their wedding.
Christ! He’d waited so long to be with her and then she wanted an extension until they got married? She was
frustrating.
He craved to make her his wife. Wanted to see her flushed face and to hear those sexy little moans deep in her throat
every morning and every night as he made love to her.
He wanted to father her children. If he got his way they’d have lots of kids. There was no way he should let this
Loverboy assignment stop him from achieving his dreams. Jim swallowed as an idea hit him. Suddenly, he knew exactly
what he needed to do.
The Witch Who Cried Wolf by Sarah Mäkelä
Be careful what you wish for… A potion gone wrong: Mia Brooks is a reluctant witch, with powers that she tries to hold in check. But when her
magic gets mixed up, supernatural forces are unleashed and suddenly she’s being pursued by werewolves—that she
didn’t even realize existed… Hidden emotions: Ethan Parker, Mia’s brother’s best friend, is home from deployment for the holidays. Mia’s not
only hiding from werewolves, she’s trying to keep her feelings for Ethan secret; it would be a disaster if he knew she’s
been nursing a long-time crush… The power of love: things take a terrifying turn when Mia and Ethan are attacked by a werewolf. Ethan is amazed
when Mia reveals her paranormal prowess as she tries to shield them from danger. But can she really protect them from
the darkness that lurks? And how can he tell her that, for ages, he’s been denying what he really wants? Mia... Turn the page to read the first chapter of the The Witch Who Cried Wolf by Sarah Mäkelä or return to the Table
of Contents.
Chapter 1
Mia
Jessa’s New Age shop—Eternally Magick—was empty. Usually, Jessa was around. But, right now, she wasn’t. I
leaned against the front counter, resting my forehead against the cool glass. Athames, crystals, jewelry and really cute
dragon statues were locked in the case beneath my fingertips. While I enjoyed hanging out at the shop and seeing what
new potions were available, I wished Jessa had given me some kind of clue as to why she wanted me here. But she was
my best friend and mentor; the reason had to be important, if for nothing else to spend much needed time together.
I glanced over my shoulder at the wall of ingredients lining the shelves, ripe for the picking. It had been a while since
I’d made a new potion. Maybe if I could stock up on a few things...
“Not what you’re here for,” I whispered to myself. The urge to see what she had nearly drove me away from the
counter, but I held myself in check.
Making potions was one of my hobbies. I loved the creativity and excitement that went into building something from
nothing, and the brief connection with my power.
Tapping my fingers on the counter, I stared at the curtained-off backroom. Worry crept into my chest. Why wasn’t
Jessa here? She never stood me up. This wasn’t like her.
“Jessa?” Usually she came right out when the bells on the door chimed. Biting my lower lip, I considered going into
the back. Someone could steal things without her keeping an eye on the store.
“Coming,” Jessa called. The black-haired and blue-eyed beauty swept into the front of the store like a hurricane of
flowing skirts. She always looked like she’d just come from a Renaissance faire.
I loved the way she dressed, but I knew that style would never be my thing. My parents would think I’d flipped my
lid, and my older brother.... Shudder. Nolan would laugh at me, probably joking with his best friend—and my crush since
forever—Ethan Parker.
“Where have you been? I was getting concerned.” Stepping around the counter, I wrapped my arms around her and
she embraced me in a hug smelling of lavender and honey.
“Just in the back. I had to wrap up a call and I guess I didn’t hear you come in.” Jessa smiled, but something was up.
She appeared a bit too eager to pretend everything was fine.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I placed my hand on her shoulder, trying to be comforting.
The door chimed, and we turned in unison toward the shop’s new arrival.
I blinked in surprise.
The man towered in the doorway, over six feet of pure muscle. If his shirt were a little tighter, I probably would’ve
been able to see six-pack abs through it. What was he doing here?
He strode in as if he owned the place. There could be no doubt: ladies would drop their panties at his command. If I
didn’t have a boyfriend.... Stop it, Mia!
“I’m looking for the owner,” the man said, his deep voice as smooth and sinful as his looks. Yet beneath his delicious
exterior, something about him put me on edge. The hint of arrogance in his eyes and the sharp flare of power as he walked
in the room were instant triggers. This guy wasn’t a mere mortal. He was something else, but I couldn’t put my finger on
what. Aside from Jessa, I’d never met anyone else with this level of power.
Maybe I needed to get out more.
Jessa cleared her throat, as captivated by him as I was by the sound of it. “I’m the owner.” Her voice hit all the sultry
tones and she swayed her shoulders. “Can I help you?” I wished I could pull her aside and tell her my feelings, but that
would look way too awkward.
“We spoke over the phone. I’m interested in the potion.” He leaned his hip against the counter, standing only a
couple feet away. Too close for comfort.
Since Jessa had business to take care of, I sidestepped toward the wall of ingredients, but Jessa grabbed my wrist,
keeping me beside her. I cast her a dirty look, but she didn’t pay me any attention, focusing her gaze instead on Mr. WayToo-Sexy.
“Right, I don’t have any of that in right now, but this woman makes some of the best healing salves I’ve seen.” Jessa
nudged me forward, nearly throwing me into Mr. Sexy’s arms.
Glancing up his body to his eyes from so close strained my neck. My five-foot-six frame probably looked tiny beside
him. An overwhelming sense of lust and intimidation washed over me.
“Hi.” I fought against a shiver.
Mr. Sexy’s lips twitched. “The potion? Or...salve? Can you help me, or not?”
I looked behind me, noticing how Jessa was ‘busy’ tidying a few shelves that were perfectly fine. A small smirk
tugged at her lips.
“Sure, I can help. What exactly do you need?” Healing potions? This was great, just great. He didn’t even know
what he needed, nor did he know the differences between potions, salves or poultices. Not that many people outside of
the metaphysical community did, but that wasn’t my fault. Besides, there were plenty of ways to do them. It didn’t help
to say healing potion. I knew some concoctions that cured the flu, helped with burns, even eased migraines.
The man cocked an eyebrow at me as if I was stupid. “A...healing salve. Are you serious? I’ve told you what I need.”
Jessa placed her hand on my shoulder. “What she means is, what does it need to do?” She pursed her lips, running
her gaze over the man. “On the phone, you said that someone you know had some kind of...poisoning?”
While I enjoyed making potions and other healing remedies, I couldn’t help but wonder why this guy wasn’t taking
his friend to a hospital or doctor instead.
Mr. Sexy scratched the back of his neck, causing his shirt to lift. My gaze skimmed his navel and part of the defined
six-pack I’d known was hiding there. Somehow, knowing how hot he was under his shirt calmed my nerves a little.
Surely, he was fine.
Maybe it’d just been a long time since I’d met a nice looking guy who wasn’t a jerk, and didn’t just storm off to join
the military when I needed him. But...I was so not going to think about Ethan right now.
“Right. Not food poisoning. Lead poisoning.” Something flickered in his eyes. What was he hiding? “My friend was
injured when the metal got into his system, so if there’s something you could put in to help with that, too.”
Jessa nodded, a frown tugging at her lips. “We can help. Have you taken him to the hospital?”
Mr. Sexy narrowed his eyes first at her, then he slid his gaze to me. “He’s more into the holistic, alternative approach
to medicine. He’s assured me that if this doesn’t work, he’ll go to the doctor.” With another caress of his gaze over my
body, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Think you can handle it, princess?”
My jaw dropped. For a moment, I couldn’t believe he was both checking me out and kind of insulting me. “Yeah,
I know a recipe. I’ll just get the ingredients and head home. When do you need it by?” That was stupid question. He’d
just told me his friend was injured. There wasn’t time for me to mess around. “Sorry, I can drop it back by a little later.”
“Why can’t you do it here and now?” Irritation hardened the set of his jaw.
Jessa jumped in before I could say anything. “While we have the ingredients to make the salve, she would need her
supplies.” She waved her hand around the store. “I don’t have everything here. Usually—”
“That’s fine. I’ll be back before the store closes. That’s a couple hours from now, correct?” At Jessa’s nod, Mr. Sexy
turned on his heel and was gone before she could say anything, the bells chiming in his wake.
I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the door. Shock radiated through my chest. A man I didn’t know, with an
injured friend who he wasn’t forcing to go to the hospital, wanted a potion from me. Too much about this situation was
weird. And one person had set this all up.
Jessa widened her eyes. “Don’t look at me. I had no idea it would turn out as it had. Besides, you never really do
anything with your magic. I figured you would be happy to explore more of your power. That’s what you want, or else
you never would’ve sought me out.” She tapped her chin, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “I’ll share the profits with you,
fifty-fifty.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “I want your help with my power, but you threw me under the bus. You didn’t even ask
me if I wanted to do this or not! You decided for me.” This day could end whenever it felt like it. My bullshit limit was
rapidly approaching.
If things weren’t bad enough, I had a date with Greg tonight, on top of needing to make a healing salve. It would
take time to get right. If this guy’s friend really was in bad shape, then I needed the proper blend of herbs and supplies. If
I rushed this, I could end up doing more harm than good.
“What? Oh, come on, honey. Don’t be that way. You know I have the best of intentions.” Jessa sounded hurt, and I
couldn’t stay mad at my best friend. That would just make the whole situation worse.
“Fine. Your intentions were good, regardless of how it came across. Now help me get the ingredients. Ugh! I’ll have
to put this together quick. I’m so glad my date isn’t until late. If Greg had scheduled to pick me up when he gets off work,
I’d be majorly screwed.” I opened a jar of lavender, sniffing the relaxing scent, and felt a hundred times better.
Jessa placed a few jars in a tan tote bag with her store’s logo on it. “I can’t believe you’re still seeing him. Doesn’t
your brother hate his guts?” She glanced at me, a look of disapproval in her eyes.
“Geez...you as well? Can’t a girl have relationship bliss without even her best friend disapproving? Why does
everyone have to second-guess me and my decisions?”
“Honey, it’s not you we’re second-guessing.” She wrapped her arms around me, stroking my back gently. I rested
my head on her shoulder. “It’s your choice in men.”
I jerked away, not happy with the direction this was going. “That’s not fair! Everyone has their moments of.... Fine.
I’m not thrilled with dating Greg, but I won’t break his heart before Christmas. Besides, I don’t want to be alone for the
holidays. Sue me if I’d rather be in a lame relationship with a pushy guy, than with no one at all!” I tugged a jar of wolf’s
bane off the shelf and dropped it in the tote bag. “If you all have such a problem with me dating him, then why can’t I do
the deed after the New Year? It could be a resolution.”
Jessa opened her mouth to give me a piece of her mind, but my cell phone chimed a melodic dubstep tune. “I’ll ring
this up.”
Nodding, I mouthed a thank you. “Hey, Greg.”
“Sis, if you ever call me that again, we’re going to throw down, and you know I’d never hit a girl.” Nolan’s tone was
playful, but his voice resonated with a clear underlying anger at the mention of my boyfriend.
“Sorry, Nolan.” Hearing my brother’s name, Jessa glanced in my direction, and I walked a little farther away from
the counter. “What do you want?”
“Huh, why do you ask like that?” Mischief saturated his words, and I wished I hadn’t answered the phone. Nolan
was a great brother. However, behavior-wise, most people usually thought I was the older sibling instead of visa versa.
Wonder why.
“Now isn’t—”
“Ethan is arriving home tomorrow. I have to work late, so you don’t mind picking him up from the airport, do you?”
I sucked in a breath, surprised he was even asking me this. Should I turn him down? Make him find someone else
to handle this?
“Great. I’ll text you the flight info. Thanks, sis.”
“Nolan!” His words punched me in the gut. “Nolan?” Looking at the cell phone, I gritted my teeth, seeing he’d taken
the coward’s way by hanging up once he had what he wanted. When was I ever going to learn?
“Honey? What’s wrong?” Concern softened Jessa’s voice.
I shrugged, not wanting to get into this.
“No, you can talk to me. What did your brother do this time?”
I headed to the register, closing the space between us. “It’s just that I have so much going on, but Nolan delegated
the responsibility of picking Ethan up from the airport tomorrow to me. If I were him, I would have at least tried to get
off work, especially since he’s known about Ethan coming back home for the holidays.” Letting out a sigh, I grabbed the
tote bag’s handle, but Jessa held onto it.
“Call him back. Tell him you can’t.” She smiled at me. “Besides, Ethan is his best friend, so he should grow some
balls and deal with it himself.”
“I’ll do that.” Jessa’s smile turned into a glare, and I threw up my hands. “I’ll do that right now then.” Digging into
my pocket, I pulled out my phone and rang Nolan. The chime of a text came through in my ear. Ethan’s flight details. But
I only managed to get through to Nolan’s voicemail. “He’s not answering. Grrr....”
Jessa shrugged. “If that’s the case, you’ll have to let it go. It’s Nolan’s problem. While you love your brother, you
can’t let yourself get caught up in his faults. Learn to say no.”
Easy for her to say now, when she’d basically done the exact same thing to me by telling me to come visit her shop
and then nearly forcing me into Mr. Way-Too-Sexy’s arms.
“Great advice. I’ll have to remember that next time something gets shoved down my throat.” Pushing the tote’s strap
onto my shoulder, I squeezed my hands into fists. “Sorry. I know you meant well. You’re my friend and mentor. You want
me to use my magic. Nolan, on the other hand, is just being lazy.”
While she looked a little hurt, she grimaced. Shame slumped forward her shoulders. “Chin up. It’s going to be okay.
Especially if you were to dump—”
“Jessa!” Weren’t people supposed to chill once I got out of college instead of being so...pushy? Argh! They didn’t
have any right to push their agendas into my decision making.
***
Most of my supplies were rather dusty. It’d been a while since I’d made a salve, even though Jessa probably
imagined that I made them every other day. I wish. If I’d had somewhere other than the house my grandparents had left
me, maybe I would have. But without that other option, I preferred this place maintained its pleasant scent. Some of the
potions I’d concocted smelled downright awful.
After wiping down everything, I put my dried herbs and infused oil into a saucepan to simmer. Being in the kitchen
and working on the salve freed my mind. The worries of the day no longer plagued me as much.
The lovely scent of herbs wafted through the kitchen. If I needed to make one batch for Mr. Sexy, I might as well
double the ingredients to make some for my own uses. It never hurt to have this stuff on hand.
The rattling of a hamster wheel drew my attention to Pat. The pet store hadn’t been sure whether he was a boy or girl,
so I’d opted for an androgynous name. I thought of him as a boy, but I couldn’t tell with his long hair. Besides, the one
time I had held him, he bit my finger. We kept a comfortable distance now, except for when I needed to clean the cage.
Since I was a witch, I guess that made Pat my hamster familiar. I smirked, shaking my head.
The herbs would need to sit for half an hour before I could do anything else. A mischievous thought snuck into my
head. Huh, since Ethan would be back in town, I could make a love potion. He could be on his knees declaring his love
and devotion while I basked in satisfaction and victory. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Knowing Jessa, she might
encourage me to do it, but I wasn’t about to risk my already shaky, non-existent relationship with Ethan.
The more I tried to shove the thought out of my mind, the more alluring making the love potion became. It had been
a while since I’d created one. Besides, I didn’t have to use it. I could sell it to Jessa for the store, or keep it aside in case
Greg became too much of a jerk this holiday season. Maybe if he showed me a little more love, he’d act better. Then
again, that might make him worse.
Magic could react unpredictably. The saying, ‘be careful what you wish for,’ strongly applied here.
I could work on two things at once. The love potion would be easier. It only required a few ingredients, an incantation,
and focusing my energy. The healing salve made me more nervous. More things could go wrong. If the love potion didn’t
turn out right, the person might be a jerk or not fall for it. If the healing salve went wrong, it could—
La, la, la.... Not thinking that way. I mixed the melted beeswax into a saucepan with the herbs and oil, forcing
my power into the patch to try to heighten the healing potency. Then I removed it from the heat and strained it through
cheesecloth into jars.
With the salve nearly done, I turned my attention to the love potion. Taking a few deep breaths, I cleared my mind of
the stress I’d felt crafting the healing salve and everything else that had gone on today. The idea of seeing Ethan tomorrow
frazzled me, but instead of letting it do that, I imagined what it’d be like to have a real relationship with him. When he
was with my brother, he laughed and joked around. His eyes sparkled, and his face lit up. They were more like siblings
than Nolan and I, and we were blood.
Clenching my fists, I forced the negativity away. Stop it. Calm down and breathe.
Taking another deep breath of the delightful herbs, I blew it out, redirecting my thoughts again to Ethan. He was the
last person I should be thinking about when doing a love potion.
I lit a pink candle made of beeswax, then set about mixing sultry herbs and spices. Cinnamon, rosemary, lavender,
cloves. I chanted the incantation I’d found in my grandmother’s grimoire. Within moments, the love potion was ready. I
just needed to pour it into a jar, then I’d be done.
Glancing at the clock, I grinned. This hadn’t taken quite as long as I’d thought, and my kitchen smelled amazing.
Maybe Jessa was right. I should flex my magical prowess more often.
I set the healing salves to one side, the jars still too warm for a lid. The pot in my hand, I carefully carried it over
to the final waiting jar for the love potion. My doorbell chiming made me jerk, and a splash of the love potion landed in
one of the salves.
I blinked at the mess.
Oh, my goodness. This was horrible. Now I couldn’t sell it to Jessa even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. But what if I
used my own potion and fell in love with someone? Though it wasn’t like I’d be taking it in close proximity to someone
else. If I was injured, I’d be holing up, not out on the town.
However, who the heck was at the door? No one should be here right now. If they found out I was a witch making
potions in my kitchen. Greg...oh no. That bastard couldn’t be here.
I poured the love potion into the waiting jar. Whoever it was would wait until I could hide everything. However, the
doorbell didn’t ring again. With the potion and salves tucked away in the cupboard, I cracked open the door. No one was
there.
On the porch, a dozen roses sat in a vase, and the rumbling of an engine drew my attention to a We Do Flowers
van driving away. Greg. Had to be. No one else would be this extravagant, and yet part of me couldn’t care less about
receiving a dozen roses. What I wanted was affection and someone to care about me, not someone always going out of
their way to impress me.
Maybe I should just be grateful. This Christmas season was my first with a boyfriend in my life. I picked up the vase,
sniffing the fragrant flowers. If these had only arrived a little sooner, I could’ve used some of the rose petals for the love
potion. I shook my head. That would be wrong on so many levels.
My cell phone’s alarm buzzed, and I set the roses on the kitchen counter. If I wanted to be at Jessa’s shop on time,
I’d need to get going.
The note from the roses dropped onto the counter.
Babe,
Something came up at the office. I’ll be here later than expected. Let’s reschedule for tomorrow.
Greg
Disappointment fluttered in my stomach, but maybe this was just as well. It wasn’t like I needed more on my plate
right now. But what if this was the beginning of our relationship’s downward spiral? Something came up at the office?
That had to be the ultimate I’m-having-an-affair excuse. At least, it was in the movies.
I grabbed the non-contaminated healing salve, tightened the lid on it, and headed to Jessa’s shop. When I got there,
Jessa was leaning against the counter, her perky boobs on display for Mr. Sexy as she talked with him. “Here she is now,”
Jessa said, her gaze sliding over Mr. Sexy’s chest, as he turned his attention to me.
I smiled and held up a paper bag. “Here’s the healing salve. I wrote out some instructions to go with it. They’re in
the bag. I hope your friend feels better soon. If he isn’t improving within a day or so, you should talk him into going to
the doctor.”
Mr. Sexy nodded, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he peeked into the bag and cocked an eyebrow. “That’s all of it?”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Jessa beat me to it. Yet again. If she’d wanted to be the star of the show,
she should’ve made the salve.
“With salves, you rub it on the wound and it acts as a protective layer. Your friend leaves it on, and it works its...
magic, if you will.” She glanced between him and me. Jessa had too much fun playing the role of the sexy witch out in
the open, but I didn’t really like that idea. If people knew our powers weren’t fake, what would they do to us? Would there
be a modern day Salem Witch Trials, like in ye olden times?
A shiver raced through me, and I turned my attention away from the man staring straight at me, curiosity burning in
his gaze.
“Got it. I’ll show him the instructions and tell him what you said. Can I have your number, in case he has any
questions?” Mr. Sexy flashed me his winning smile. There was no doubt in my mind that he wanted my number, not
Jessa’s, or Eternally Magick’s since he had to know what that was. Besides, a quick Google search could find it.
“Just call the shop, but I’m sure everything will be fine.” I waved at Jessa. “Gotta go. I’ll see you later.”
Mr. Sexy caught my wrist and pulled me toward him. It took everything inside me not to react. “You sure I can’t
have your number?”
My jaw dropped open, and I sputtered, unable to form any words. Being this close to him set my body on fine. Power
radiated down my arm from his touch, caressing my body. I groaned, unable to resist his musky wild masculinity.
The look of hurt in Jessa’s eyes snapped me back to reality.
“I have a boyfriend. Sorry.” Jerking free from his grip, I ran outside without looking back, afraid of what I’d see.
The Kraken’s Mirror by Maureen O. Betita
Captain Alan Silvestri is a man haunted by a strange curse. Good luck is his to command, but it comes at the cost
of a place to call home or people to reckon as family. Resigned to die and shunned by all, he is forced to sail every three
days, until he begins to experience sensual dreams of a special woman. Treated by our youth-oriented society as invisible and sexless, Emily Pawes is ready to move on. She attends a pirate
festival, hoping to recapture the make-believe magic she knew as a young woman. She wins an interesting bit of booty
at a brick-a-brac stand, and is transported by the Kraken’s mirror to a land of Hollywood piratitude. With little choice,
she embraces the madness. Playing pirate has to be safer than falling into the arms of handsome Captain Silvestri, right? When they meet, sparks fly, passion flares. He needs her to be free, but more than that, she will make him whole.
Setting sail and uncertain of who actually controls the wheel, they seek ways to defeat his curse of good luck and discover
the Kraken’s mirror has plans for them. Will Emily stay in this pirate haven to fight alongside him or will he lose her
because of his curse? Turn the page to read the prologue and first chapter of The Kraken’s Mirror by Maureen O. Betita or return to the
Table of Contents.
PROLOGUE
Silvestri could feel Mick at his back, watching. The card game progressed with little attempt at fair play. He kept
with it, biding his time as he lost again and again. The curse stepped in when he won his next hand and the next, no matter
how they cheated. The dealer glared at him and raised objection to the last hand.
At the same moment, the fire in the hearth flared from a simple bit of warmth to raging hell. It roared into the room.
The smell of burning hair rose to Silvestri’s nostrils, then the charring flesh. Mick’s hand gripped his shoulder to haul him
away from the table, already crackling as the fire spread merrily amidst the screaming and shouting.
He climbed to his feet, showing no panic, leaving Mick to gather the coins. With a sigh, he looked around the small
tavern, filling with smoke and death. A great crack sounded above him, and he turned to sweep Mick under his arm. A
beam slammed into the space Mick vacated.
Fucking curse. No discrimination.
“That was more than good luck,” Mick said, as they hurried away from the burning building. Nothing more was said
until they were back on the water. Mick took the oars, stepping casually to the bow. The candle lantern at the stern cast a
shadow, hiding his face. So like Mick to keep to the shadows when uncomfortable.
The stink still lingered in his nose. Burning flesh wasn’t something a man forgot easily. The lingering impressions
from the bar were hard to shake.
“All the idiot did was cheat,” Mick softly murmured.
Silvestri shifted on the stern bench, trying to see some light shine on Mick’s face. Was he smiling? Or grimacing?
Impossible to tell. “I told you it was getting worse. I thought it was just my imagination. I hoped your impression would
confirm that,” he said.
Mick chuckled. “He wasn’t even a good cheat. But why the whole tavern? Because of one card shark? Your curse
overreacted. Been doing that for how long?” The oars made barely a ripple as they struck the water. Mick knew how to
approach a ship without detection.
Silvestri topped his rowing. “I started keeping track ten years ago, when some idiot tried to start a fight with me and
ended up with a broken neck. When Glacious first set this curse on me, the fool would have suffered a simple fall in the
muck of the streets. I’d have laughed!”
Mick appeared to be listening, letting the cutter drift. Hard to tell with the younger man. For the last eight years,
Mick danced close enough to reap the benefits of Silvestri’s notorious good luck curse, but skated away before it managed
to steal his luck. Mick beat the curse with this waltz.
Too bad Silvestri couldn’t dance away from it.
Damn. He’d been an idiot when he was fifteen. But that magical bitch was incredibly beautiful. At that age, he hadn’t
looked beyond that allure and into her heart. “You know the story, Mick. Most don’t have a clue.”
“Aye. You told me. How she magicked you off your ship and offered you all the good luck in the world. Set you
back aboard, none the wiser. All you need do was come back at your birthday and visit with her. You still do that?” Mick’s
tone was low. Voices carried far on the water.
“Can’t help it. She anchored a deep compulsion in me.”
“I imagine it’s a cold celebration. Are you going to sail with my father? He needs someone to keep an eye on him.”
Mick’s voice lightened his worry. Silvestri snorted, noting he made no mention of the real reason Daniel wanted him
along. When the ship sailed carrying the bearer of a good luck curse, it guaranteed a safe voyage.
“What’s keeping you from going with him?” Silvestri raised an eyebrow.
“I met a new woman, and it’s at that delicate place. Don’t want to just disappear for months,” Mick answered,
looking away.
A woman? Well, about time. That’s why he needed Silvestri. Fine. He’d do it. Daniel was an idiot who needed a bit
of a keeper. Must be one hell of a woman. Shaking his head, he banished the fleeting thought of never having a woman
to call his. Glacious and this fucking curse would tear apart any woman he looked twice at.
They bumped up against the Immortal. Mick reached for the net at the side and paused. “What is that?”
Silvestri followed Mick’s glance to see a small Kraken caught in the net. He reached down carefully. “Help me.”
“Help you what? I ate already, before your luck saw the inn burn to the ground. What do you want with that?”
“You want some good luck of your own? Glacious hates the Kraken, all of them. She has a collection of frozen
ones at her palace. I figure if she hates them, aiding them helps me.” He cupped the little monster in his hand and lifted
it gingerly.
Mick snorted, but bent and lifted the net, holding it steady as Silvestri carefully unwound the tangle of line that
caught the beast. He flinched away as Silvestri carried the squirming bit of slime to the other side of the cutter and
lowered it back into the water.
Silvestri straightened and held Mick from climbing to the nets. “Mick, promise me. If you find Kraken in trouble,
you help them out. Tobias, the magic man in Barbados, told me to never eat them. They remember—you do them a good
turn, they’ll do you one. You want good luck? This costs less than making a black bargain with that ice-ridden bitch.”
Mick stared at him, cleared his throat, and then answered. His words were measured, slow, and steady. “I give you
my word. Savvy? I won’t eat them, won’t catch them…as long as I don’t have to touch one, I’ll be kindness itself to
them.” He turned and set a foot in the net, muttering to himself, “Now, if they’ll not eat me, we’ll be fine.”
Silvestri knew he was being patronized, but he didn’t care, as long as Mick gave his word.
Silvestri snickered, looked at his slimed hand, and wiped it on Mick’s boot as it rose past him.
He secured the cutter to the haul line and paused before boarding. Glancing down into the water, he considered the
balance he carried. Fifty-five years old. Forty years of reaping the benefits and drawbacks, of her curse. Release—all he
wanted was release.
Revenge wouldn’t be bad either.
CHAPTER 1
She handed the old woman a five-dollar bill and reached into the dark, fabric-lined barrel. Her arm went in past her
elbow and she fished around, trying to figure out what her fingers touched, what her money would surprise her with. One
finger stroked an interesting texture and with an oof, she pushed her arm in another few inches to snag the prize.
“Ye find yerself somethin’ sweet, lady?” The old woman grinned at her.
Emily held up her catch. A mirror? No, it held a photo.
“That be a nice piece a’ swag! Who be next ta plunge inta the depths a ‘Davy Jones’ bag and see what the sea might
release inta their grasp?” The woman hawked her wares to the busy crowd behind Emily.
Easing away from the pressing throng, Emily moved to an empty table near the food court to examine her find. It was
round, like a hand mirror with a handle, but instead of glass, a photo of a man gazing into the distance filled the frame.
“A Hollywood pirate.” Emily smiled. That seemed appropriate, here at the Northern California Pirate Festival. Older
than most buccaneers, she found him interesting. Leaning against a railing with one leg raised, he reminded her of the
Captain Morgan rum advertisement. His legs were encased in dark breeches and sported gleaming, black boots with the
cuff rolled down at the knee. A good-sized sword fell at his side, and two pistols were tucked securely into a sash across
his chest. Typical swashbuckler, though, definitely longer in the tooth than most movie rogues.
She stroked a finger over the weathered skin and creases at his temple. His hair flew free, fading blond to silver
against a blue-tinged sky. There was no clear view of his eyes, but she bet they were sharp and full of experience. A shiver
traveled up her spine at the thought. Probably extremely experienced.
She turned the frame over to examine the intricate pattern she’d felt there. It was fascinating, a bright white, like
bleached bone. Carved or molded, she wasn’t sure which, into a nest of tentacles. After a moment, she figured it out. A
great ocean monster wrapped about the frame. On the front, suckers lined the circlet. The backside was bumpy, an odd
combination of actual sea creatures, combining slick and smooth with texture. Touching it reminded her of stroking a
starfish at the aquarium.
Long tentacles wound down the handle, ending in a loop where a leather strip would easily attach. She turned the
dainty once more to notice that at the top were two shiny, black eyes, with a knob between them she assumed was a
forehead of sorts.
With a grin, she stroked the head. “You’re a Kraken, aren’t you? Caught a pirate in your maw, you clever thing!”
She dug into her leather sack for a slender strap. Usually, she carried a few—never knew when she might find
something to use one on. She secured the frame to her belt, quite pleased at her little five-dollar trinket.
Wandering the fair, her hand continually dropped to fondle her pet Kraken, It was so strange to be here by herself.
Last year, Tom was here with her. Laughing, holding her hand, examining the wares, trying to figure out how things were
made. Since he was an engineer, such things interested him. Her husband squatted and conversed with the tradesmen,
asking questions and taking notes, always intending to undertake these projects. She remembered how he’d planned to
carve a chair, assemble a faux cannon, and stitch a leather pouch. They had all the time in the world. Except they didn’t.
Damn, she missed him.
This weekend she paid tribute to her late husband and how much they’d loved attending events such as this one.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be up for another, now that he was gone. She’d raise a glass to his memory. He’d been gone
eleven months. A stupid accident, a drunk driver, and her world turned into a lonely place. It took him, the dog and the
cat. He’d made a trip to the kennel after a cruise vacation and been nearly home. She’d heard the crash, the sirens racing
down the road....
The trucking company settled a small fortune on her, since the driver lived long enough to reveal the company knew
he was a drunk when they put him on the road.
She’d received the settlement check a week ago. Not that it made up for anything.
A man nudged her. “You done looking at the books, ma’am?”
Ma’am. She was now a ma’am. Growing old was the pits.
“Yeah, sorry.” She moved back, without buying anything. Brought a ton of money and found nothing she wanted to
spend it on. Maybe she’d go look at the long, leather bodices.
The merry chatter of the crowd surrounded her as she wandered. The squawk of three parrots riding the perches
fastened to a handcart made her smile. She’d seen that show—they were amazing birds. And the old salt who trained them
did a great job at engaging the audience. Even now a trail of youngsters followed along, eyes on the bright plumage. She
bet they thought to snag a feather.
That would be a tricky thing to accomplish, seeing those bills and the sharp eyes of the birds. As if they knew what
was going on around them.
Maybe they did. She was a believing sort of woman, well aware there was more to the world than she would ever
understand.
She dodged the Scottish pirate on stilts, his furred legs going all the way to the teeny, tiny shoes he balanced on. This
time she kept her head down, not wanting to stir the stiltwalker’s ire. She’d giggled at his legs the first time she’d passed
him, and he’d stalked after her, asking her, “What was so funny?” A good bit of show, but she wasn’t one for drawing
that sort of attention to herself. He did an excellent job, staying in fierce character on his ridiculous stilts, wearing his kilt
and all.
When she reached the booth she sought, none of the fancy bodices appealed to her. Maybe she was getting too old
to imagine herself wearing copious amounts of leather? She didn’t even try one of them on. It was hard to get one of
the young salesclerks to meet her eyes, let alone answer questions about size. She wasn’t young, tall or slender—hence
she didn’t count. The festival was proving a depressing situation. True, the young and perfectly thin salesclerks always
ignored her, but today it compounded her blues.
She promised herself to stay for the concert, due to start in several hours. Shifting her small, black backpack to
one shoulder, she wandered over to the bone pin stand. At least no one thought it odd if she covered her bag with witty
sayings. Oh, she liked this one. Don’t Worry, It’s Not My Blood.
Good one.
What the hell—she liked her plain leather bodice, and it went well with the dark blue, checked shirt, black breeches
and Teva sandals. At fifty-three years of age, she was invisible to most of the young people working the booths. Someone
ought to clue them in on whose wallets were fat and whose were thin.
Sigh.
It was time to eat and drink. She reached down to touch her new frame and held it up to once more admire the pirate’s
picture. There was something compelling about….
“Fuck!”
A mother with two kids in tow glared at her for cursing.
She ignored the outrage. The photo was gone! She’d been right initially; a mirror reflected her face back at her. She
saw no signs of glue. She’d assumed it was secured, but it wasn’t. She scanned the ground at her feet. Her heart beating
with disappointment, she retraced her steps from the last few hours, scanning the ground as she went, but finding nothing.
By the time she gave up, she was thoroughly hungry. And angry. The photo was gone. She knew it was stupid to be
disappointed about losing a picture. Now she owned a lovely mirror. Still, a sense of loss ate at her. She needed chocolate.
And liquor. Maybe something salty and greasy.
She bought a passable rum punch—not great, but acceptable. Years spent as a bartender developed her drink palate
to a particular degree. She purchased a plate that included a corndog and a handful of fries. Ice cream would be next…
and maybe another punch.
Sitting at a table, she ate, one eye on the mirror set in front of her. It upset her to lose the image. Losing it shouldn’t
bother her so much. It was just a picture. A nice souvenir should be enough.
This trip wasn’t working out at all as she’d hoped. Coming to the pirate fair alone probably hadn’t been a good idea.
But it was the first stop on the way to her new life. House sold, possessions stored, new mini RV parked in the overnight
lot, waiting for her next adventure. Once the event was over, she’d head for the open road.
She pulled out her cell phone to check the time and looked at the posted schedule for the concert stage. Two more
hours, and she’d already seen everything that interested her: the merchants, the small shows, the food booths. But she
wanted to hear the Sea Dogs. She and Tom once joined in a small pirate cruise out of Sausalito, and the same group
entertained them for several hours. It was a good memory. Resigned to amusing herself, since her appetite for shopping
never materialized, she pulled out her new book.
The romance novel she’d begun the night before simply didn’t hold her attention—another young, thin virgin trying
to escape her fate. She was tired of the same plot and wanted something different. Closing the book, she left the table and
stood in line for another snack.
She strolled over to the harbor walk and settled down behind a wall of hay bales to enjoy her ice cream and punch,
finding some protection from the breeze blowing off the water. San Francisco wasn’t the tropics, no matter how the
festival liked to portray itself.
The ice cream tasted good, a rich mix of chocolate and peanut butter. The butterfat coated her tongue. Next, she
pulled out a small bottle of rum she’d smuggled into the fair and spiced up the beverage. She crossed her legs, dug into her
backpack, found a small booklet she’d picked up on women pirates and settled down to read, sipping her improved drink.
Falling asleep wasn’t part of the plan. Between the rum and the long drive to San Francisco the day before, exhaustion
overcame her. The few drops left from her cup spilled onto her new mirror, still secured to her belt. She’d clean it up later,
she sleepily thought. Was that a bit of fog creeping in? Pulling her skirt down to cover her legs, she let the drowsiness win.
She crossed over between one breath and the next.
***
One last thrust brought him some satisfaction. He collapsed, gasping, on the soft, white breasts of the working girl.
“You feeling better, Captain?” she giggled.
He hated women who stifled their laughter and seemed to consider a high-pitched titter an appropriate response.
He patted her shoulder, deciding not to attempt conversation with her. She’d served her purpose. Her services took the
edge off his hunger, though not by much. He rolled off her and tossed her a small bag of coins, dismissing her. His eyes
drooped and sleep beckoned.
But the moment his eyes closed, the stranger’s visage glowed on his eyelids. There she was again, still lodged in his
brain. The same place she’d been for the last eight hours—ever since he woke up that morning. Her face—eyes bright,
though weary—hinting at some loss. Nice shade of brown, like her short hair. Shorter than he’d ever seen most women
wear their hair. Hell, most men for that! A wild mix of brown and grays. She wouldn’t giggle.
He liked her lips. Hell, he loved them. The thought of that soft mouth against his set him on fire. A slight tilt at the
left side betrayed some humor. He wondered what she sounded like when she laughed.
When he opened his eyes, his cock swelled once more. It was no use. Sleep wasn’t on his agenda, and the whore was
gone, happy with her payment. He slid a hand down and stroked his prick. Damn, who was she, and how the hell was he
going to get her out of his head?
Fifty Shades of Fifty Shades of Grey by Riley J. Ford
What happens when you try 50 Shades in the REAL world?
When accountant Ben Weaver awakens after an erotic dream, he encounters a wife who is unwilling, uninterested,
and who once again has a headache. The unworldly but focused Ben decides he will do anything to rekindle his sex life,
including imitating the erotic techniques of billionaire Christian Grey from the Fifty Shades series. Unable to withstand
the pent-up ache radiating from his tender blue testicles, Ben decides to take Grey’s methods to a whole new level in order
to relieve the pressure on his . . . er, marriage.
Shocked by her husband’s unusual plan, Kate Weaver hesitates in giving him what he desires. But for all his trappings
of non-success--his ordinary accounting job where coworkers steal his sandwiches and brag about their sex lives, his
lack of wealth, his inability to seduce his own wife--Ben is a man with one saving talent: the driving determination to
reignite his sex life no matter what it takes. When the couple embarks on a daring and dangerous physical adventure, Kate
discovers her husband’s fanatical zeal to explore all of Christian Grey’s darkest desires, with calamitous results.
Erotic, hilarious, and highly disturbing, Fifty Shades of Fifty Shades of Grey is a spin-off that will titillate you,
amuse you, and stay with you until the next erotic romance crosses your e-reader.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Fifty Shades of Fifty Shades of Grey by Riley J. Ford or return to the Table
of Contents.
CHAPTER 1 - Mourning Wood
She sighed softly, her lips parted. He squeezed her full, luscious breasts, heat igniting in his groin. They lay naked
on a snow drift, just the two of them beneath the white-blue October sky. Puffs of clouds floated by, far above the whitecapped pine trees. She was stretched out on the wool blanket, her bare skin covered in goose bumps. Her long eyelashes
cast shadows against her flushed pink cheeks. Her breasts were soft, tantalizing mounds. Her pubic hair was trimmed into
a thin, sexy landing strip that just begged his plane to land.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She ran a tongue over her lips, trailing a finger down her belly. Heat
spread through his lower region. She looked so beautiful she took his breath away. He loved seeing her like this, spread
out on a blanket and waiting—begging—for him to enter her. So sexy, so inviting.
Her nipples stood erect in the cold morning air. He bent and sucked a pink tip, causing it to harden between his
lips. She gave a little cry and arched her back. He sucked the other nipple. She gasped again. He pressed his engorged
member against her inner thigh, parting her legs with his knees. She reached up and pulled him close. Her breath was
warm on his ear.
“Take me,” she whispered. “Take me now.”
With his fingers, he gently spread her apart. She gasped and writhed, pressing herself against him. He poised above
her, his manhood throbbing. Waiting, teasing her.
“Take me,” she begged again. He lowered himself onto her body. She let out a little cry, arching her hips up to meet
his. A groan escaped his throat. His loins pulsated with hunger. She was so warm, so tantalizing, so ready in every way . . .
Benjamin Weaver’s eyes snapped open. Wow, what a hot dream to wake up to. He was shivering. The bed comforter
had been pulled off again, but his penis was hard enough to cut diamonds. He should put this baby to good use. It was
the morning of his forty-fifth birthday, after all. If there was any time his wife would be inclined to give him sex, it was
today. He was due some good lovemaking. Overdue, was more like it.
He groped under the covers for her body. To his disappointment, she pulled away as usual, saying she had headache.
He wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. “But it’s my birthday, and I’m ready to celebrate.”
“Sorry, honey,” she murmured. “The only thing going inside me this morning is Tylenol.”
Ben’s precious morning wood drooped as swiftly as his spirits. He sighed and threw back the covers. If he couldn’t
get a little birthday action after twenty years of marriage, then their sex life—or lack thereof—was worse than he’d
thought.
Kate had started pulling away about two years ago, right after their daughter went away to college. Although the
empty nest was supposed to be the perfect time to rekindle a couple’s sex life, it had been the opposite for them. Kate
had started complaining of headaches, and soon their sexual activity had dwindled from weekly to monthly, dropping off
further from there.
Now a full year had passed since they’d made love, and Ben was at his wit’s end. There was only so much meatslapping in the shower a guy could do before he started to feel like a desperate weirdo. Not to mention he was chafed raw
from his wedding ring rubbing over his johnson every morning.
Something had to change.
Blood Slave by Travis Luedke
Her mother named her Esperanza Salvación – Hope for Salvation. But when a girl works as an escort for
Colombian cartel in the ghettos of Spanish Harlem...
...there wasn’t much hope, or salvation.
Hope’s telepathic ability keeps her a step ahead of ruin, but her unusual gift attracts the attention of a psychotic
vampire bitch. Trapped in a Manhattan penthouse with the psycho, she thought she was dead meat.
Her survival lies in the hands of Vampire Master Enrique. He seems to respect her, perhaps even care. As a measure
of protection, he makes her his personal Bloodslave. Helplessly addicted to his bite, Enrique rules her every moment. As
always, Hope must adapt to survive.
Swept into the decadent nightlife of Manhattan’s elite, she falls in love with Enrique and prays someday he may
grow to love her, too. But is it simply a relationship of convenience? Is she nothing more than a concubine desperate to
satisfy his nightly demands for blood and sex?
And forever in the background is the fear that one day the cartel boss she abandoned will hunt her down to collect
on old debts.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Blood Slave by Travis Luedke or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
May
The night I became a bloodslave started out like any other. I awoke to Conchita shaking my shoulder and yelling,
“Levántate!” Get up. Not once or twice, but over and over again – right in my ear.
She ripped open the curtains, blinding me in brilliant sunset. I yelled back. “English! How many times do I have
to tell you? We’re in America! Speak English.”
My bat-cave sanctuary of darkness ruined, I officially awoke for the evening. Conchita, my bubbly, obnoxious and
neurotic roommate, got by on five hours of sleep a day. Not me, I gotta get my eight to ten. Don’t wanna see what I’m
like if I don’t.
Conchita had been living in the Towers in Spanish Harlem since her arrival in New York five years ago. She spoke
English like she stepped off the plane from Colombia yesterday.
The wonderfully shitty Towers a.k.a. the ghetto – New York’s pathetic excuse for subsidized housing. Like most
residents here, I hate the place. I really hate the place.
Conchita chattered on, oblivious to the fact I wanted to sleep. “Levántate! Tiene que ser bonita para su pareja. Ella
viene ahorita!” Yes, I had to get ready. Yes, my date would be here soon, but soon is a relative term.
I looked at the clock. “It’s only seven. She won’t be here till ten. I could’ve slept at least two more hours.”
Most of my dates are late anyway. Few people are respectfully punctual when meeting a Colombian prostitute. Ooops – escort. Prostitute is not the politically correct terminology, and it also happens to be illegal. Escort is much more
PC, and fits nicely into the grey zone of New York state law.
That’s me, a twenty-two year old Colombian escort. My mother must have suspected what my life would be like. That’s the only reason I can think of why she named me Esperanza Salvación. Hope for Salvation. There’s been little
hope of that since the beginning of my illustrious career as an escort at the age of fourteen.
I have often thought I should change my name to something more fitting. ‘Damned for all eternity’ or ‘Swims in the
lake of fire’. I’ll have to think on that some more, find a way to condense it so it rolls off the tongue better.
“Sí, ella está aquí.” Yes, she’s here. Conchita assured someone on the other end of my cell phone. She handed me my cell, buzzing with voicemail messages from the calls I’d missed. She acts like my damn
secretary. “Hello.”
“Hola Esperanza, how’s my little lie detector?” Faustino keeping tabs on me, as usual.
“Hope. My name is Hope. Stop calling me Esperanza.”
“Que paso Esperanza? Por qué no me contesta?” What’s up? Why aren’t you answering me?
“Hope, cabron! And I was asleep. That asshole you sent yesterday had me up all night long, and then he didn’t want
to pay! I had to call Arana.”
“Okay Hope. I Hope you got my money ready. I’m coming over.”
“I have a date in a few minutes. You’ll have to wait till later.”
“Que bueno. I’ll expect a few more dollars.”
“Callate! I always pay you. I got two hundred, that’s all you get.”
“I’ll get more than that. I’ma get that ass. You better be wearing the perfume I bought you. And make sure you
shower good.”
“Whatever.” I cut the call off. I get so sick of him.
He acts like he’s my damn boyfriend, boss and father all rolled into one. Faustino Vasquez, a.k.a ‘El Tiburon’, The
Shark. He is my boss. He’s cartel. He prefers the term Patron. I call him Cabron.
Technically I don’t owe him anything. I’m pretty sure I paid my debt. But he’s got me cornered. Despite all my
arguments and other forms of persuasion – blow jobs with a mouthful of ice – he won’t let me apply to renew my Visa.
Asshole has me living on borrowed time with an expired visa. I read somewhere there are millions of Latinos in the
US with the same problem. Faustino thinks it’s a good way to maintain his control – keeping me here illegally.
I know because I read his mind. No way he’d ever admit the truth. Getting the truth out of him is like pulling teeth. He calls me his ‘little lie detector’ because he knows damn well people can’t lie to me. He doesn’t give a shit. He’ll
stand there and lie to me anyways.
When I pressure him he gives me excuses. “You can renew your visa when I get the rest of my money.”
By my calculations I paid him twice over. He won’t listen to that. He keeps insisting I pay him four hundred a week. Faustino retains the right to interpret my debt/interest balance at his discretion.
Here’s a piece of advice to the world: never put yourself in the position of owing money to a Colombian cartel
patron. He’ll end up owning your ass from here to eternity.
I laid in bed for a while, half-awake, lamenting over my fantastically shitty life. Conchita nagged in Spanish about
every fifteen minutes. Who needs an alarm clock when you’ve got your very own Conchita?
As usual, she’s right. I needed to get my sorry ass moving. A bath would definitely improve my mood. I love a hot
bath to relax and soak, forget all the problems with no solution. I had so hoped to be free by now, debt free to Faustino
and heading into college.
What I wouldn’t give to be a normal person with a normal job. To do that I need a college degree. As ridiculous as
my ambition sounds, I’d like to major in languages. I have a talent with languages. I learned English right away, and I
picked up a little Portuguese from some Brazilians I met in Bogotá in 2005.
I sat in the bath fantasizing about a college degree. I’m not foolish enough to think the escort business is a long term
career with opportunity for upward mobility. No matter how many wealthy executives I fuck, I’ll never work my way up
the corporate ladder without a college degree.
I have long spurned the cartel business. Traquetos – cartel members – are in for life. Their life expectancy is not
good. No retirement plan, no 401K, no pension, no social security, no medical, and a very high probability of a prison
sentence prior to a violent, untimely death. No thanks. Besides, they don’t respect women. We are trophies, good for
fun and popping out babies, but not so good for business. Colombian men haven’t really caught up with the feminist
movement yet, not the Traquetos.
Lucky for me, I’m not technically ‘in’ the cartel, but try explaining that to Faustino. He wanted me to get one of
those tramp stamp tattoos right above the crack of my ass with a bunch of Cartel symbolic crap. I told him “Hell no!”
and “NO fucking way!”
I guess I was a little overzealous in making my case to Faustino for staying in New York when I arrived four years
ago. Although I’m not exactly sure why he doesn’t let me go, he seems unwilling to admit it even to himself. The only
man who can lie to me is one who lies to himself. I’m not foolish enough to think he loves me, that’s not it. Lust? Sure,
plenty of that, but he has just as much lust for Conchita, maybe even more. He and Arana show her preference regularly. I think it’s the lie detector thing.
I can pick a man’s brain quite thoroughly the more time I spend with him, or underneath him. Skin on skin contact
heightens my telepathy. While he’s screwing me hard and fast, I’m sifting through his thoughts and memories. Seems
like an even trade, knowledge for sex, the money’s almost a bonus – almost.
I’d have been dead years ago if the Cartel boys knew how many of their secrets I picked up. I suppose I know
enough to blackmail somebody, but that’s not exactly a recipe for long life.
The bathwater turned cold and I’d started to prune up as I lay there daydreaming about college degrees, extracurricular
time with my professors to catch some extra credit, and escaping all the ghetto cartel drama of the Towers. Time to get
moving. I doused my body in scented oil. The women like it when I go the extra mile to be clean and perfumed. Men
rarely seem to notice, at least not the men in my bed.
Checking myself out in the full length mirror, I look damn good – sexy, yummy. I always have. I enjoy the sight of
my naked svelte body. I have a year-round tan. I hide from the sun in the summer, or I start looking like a morena – dark
brown. My hair is long, sleek, black as black. I wear it layered, cut just past my shoulders. Cost a hundred and fifty for
that cut. My eyes are so dark the difference between pupil and iris is barely noticeable. I have often thought of wearing
contacts, brown or green, just to get a little color. My face still has soft, girlish curves with a cute, button nose. I’m not
exactly bony, but my body isn’t really an hourglass. I’m too narrow in the hips. My breasts are small by most men’s
standards, but I’m happy with them. Big tits are sooo over-rated. And I can get away without a bra most of the time, as
long as my shirt isn’t see-through. I keep myself shaved clean, not one lick of hair between my legs. My dates prefer it. I’m not too tall, but not too short. Five foot seven seems just about right to me.
I actually like being naked. I prefer to spend my summer days off lounging around in the nude. Conchita got used to
it after the first couple times I sauntered through the apartment in my birthday suit. She even sleeps with me in the bed we
share, cuddled up on my naked back. We got frisky a couple times, but she’s not into girls, so it didn’t really go anywhere.
I prefer to be naked when I receive my in-call dates. ‘In-call’ is the escort industry term when the date arrives
on your doorstep, ‘out-call’, we meet somewhere else. I’ve found that answering the door nude seems to improve my
negotiations for getting the money up front.
I became accustomed to nudity at the ripe old age of fourteen. I guess that means I’m an exhibitionist, but really it’s
Rubin’s fault. Rubin was my first pimp-boss-cartel patron back in Bogotá. He purchased me from my father a couple
months after my fourteenth birthday. Believe it or not, in Bogotá Colombia, it is possible to buy and sell teenage girls, if
you’re high enough up in one of the Cartels. Rubin bought me for two thousand dollars. I don’t think he got a very good
bargain. My father was so angry with me he probably would’ve given me away.
Rubin forced me to sit around his house butt-ass naked for three weeks straight, twenty-four seven, to teach me a
lesson. His version of taming the shrew. You see Rubin liked anal sex. The first time I learned that the hard way, things
got messy. Back then I didn’t have the experience. I didn’t understand how intense anal can be, and Rubin didn’t prepare
me beforehand with an enema. Colombians aren’t known for advance planning and organizational skills. They’re
spontaneous. He paid the price for spontaneity. I shit all over him.
I sure learned my lesson. He wouldn’t let me wear a single article of clothing those three weeks. The asshole
brought all his friends, buddies, brothers and cousins over to torment me.
“Hey everyone, come look at the cute naked girl. You can take her in the back for a few minutes, free of charge, my
treat.”
I learned that lesson over and over. By the end of the three weeks I knew exactly what I was doing. I’d been broken
in.
Being nude doesn’t bother me anymore, but some of my dates tend to think it strange. For the sake of propriety, I
put on black thong panties and a matching black silk bathrobe. It’s a little less shocking that way.
I still had an hour to kill, and Conchita already left for her first date of the evening. I leafed through a book on
astrology, “The Birthday Almanac”, by Sophia Kendrick. The book had a page for every day of the year. Though
I’d read it twice, I turned to my birthday, July 24th, Leo. The Leo born on this day is summarized by three words: confident, attention-seeking, uninhibited. Some of the comments I identified with, “… you radiate sunny self-confidence
… occasionally outrageous, attention demanding behavior. Your positive polarity removes your inhibitions wherever
you’re surrounded by an admiring audience … while you may often get carried away, you rarely go too far.”
It seemed eerily accurate, which is why I kept rereading the page, searching for the hidden meaning. The book also
listed famous people born on the same day, such as Amelia Earhart – 1897 – and Jennifer Lopez – 1970. I didn’t know
much about Amelia, but I knew all about J-Lo. Being related to J-Lo via astrologic sisterhood seemed pretty cool. She’s
rich, sexy, has a totally yummy ass. Maybe we weren’t all that different, except for the part about being rich.
No matter how much I fantasize about it, I’ll never have an ass like J-Lo. My hips don’t have enough meat. I’m too
toned through my butt and thighs. Maybe that’s a result of having my legs in the air so often? Maybe I should focus on
other sexual positions, let my thighs get a little flabby? Probably a bad idea, most guys like missionary.
I aim to please, so I’m always anticipating what they like, and I just start doing it, as long as it’s not too freaky. I
hate swallowing, I refuse to do it. Don’t bother asking, it’s just plain gross.
A text message grabbed my attention, Maria Rivera at the escort service. She confirmed my date was en route. Shit,
she might even show up on time. That’d be a pleasant surprise.
I have three methods of acquiring dates: the escort service, a free classified ads website, and Francisco Lopez, a.k.a.
Arana – Spider, Faustino’s collector-handler. Arana keeps tabs on all the girls, Conchita and I included. The best dates
usually come from the escort service and internet. The ones Arana and Faustino send are Traquetos, and half the time
they want to fuck for free. I’ve had to send Arana after Faustino’s boys more times than I can count. Happened just last
night.
The only ones who get me for free are Faustino and Arana, and they usually prefer Conchita. She’s more bubbly,
smiles all the time. And she has more jiggle to play with.
Most of my dates are not ‘in-call’. But I don’t worry too much with the lesbians. Women are so much more
respectful. They aren’t prone to violent-creepy behavior like men. My dates with men are always ‘out-call’. Stalker
prevention.
I sometimes enjoy the lesbian dates better. Women tend to pay larger tips and are generally more affectionate and
considerate lovers. I have often thought I should go full on lesbo, but there’s just something about a virile passionate man
that a woman can’t replace, not even with a strap-on.
I hoped she wasn’t expecting me to actually have a strap-on or any other fancy toys. It’s not really my thing. I get
enough sex in the flesh. I don’t need dildos and stuff.
She was punctual, arrived at ten p.m. sharp. In hindsight, I should have known her punctuality would mean trouble. Who can get anywhere in New York in a timely manner?
From the other side of the door I began to catch a sense of her self-identity. Her thoughts reached me before I
answered her knock. Blended into her anticipation, I caught a few snatches of her essence. Vietnamese. Not a native of
the United States. But she had been here for many years. I caught a sense of someone mature, a woman of forty years
or more.
When I opened the door I stared into the face of a sexy twenty-something Asian American woman. Weird. She
looked severe in her conservative business-like skirt suit, but she radiated a sensuality I found instantly attractive.
As she stepped closer, the ‘signal’ of her thoughts strengthened, more easily readable. Proximity makes a huge
difference to the clarity and depth of my read. She liked me intensely. She liked my smell, my slim-trim body. And she
wanted to bite me really badly. I smelled yummy delicious, like a tasty meal.
Odd, for sure, but then many people have strange urges and desires they never act on. Propriety keeps our impulses
in check most of the time. I wasn’t too worried. She seemed like a nice little Asian woman. Perhaps a bit kinky but still
prim and proper by my standards. It turned out to be the worst judgment call I’ve ever made. She had me totally fooled.
I wondered if I should let her bite me. I’ve been bitten before, not too hard. If it’s done right, right time, right place,
it’s okay, as long as they don’t break the skin. I read somewhere one of the most dangerous bites in the world is that of
another person. Something about all the bacteria we carry in our mouths, fairly nasty stuff.
I shook her hand and invited her inside our modest one-bedroom apartment. We didn’t need more than one bedroom,
and certainly couldn’t afford anything more. Conchita and I always changed the sheets after an in-call date.
“Hello, my name is Lia.” Lia Nguyen – I plucked the full name right out of her head.
No sooner had she spoken than she was on me. I never even saw her move, she was that fast. She sniffed my throat,
right where I dabbed a touch of perfumed oil. Then she nuzzled her nose up and down my neck and jawline like a dog
huffing ass. I wondered if she’d lift her leg and pee on me to mark her territory.
She inhaled deeply, savoring my scent like a fine wine, and then she actually said the very thing she’d been thinking. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Red Tape by Kathy Kulig
Bondage in the White House. Hot passion explodes when two headstrong CIA agents and ex-lovers are hand-picked
for a secret organization that uses sex and scandal to manipulate a sadistic leader. Danger escalates when their target
discovers the plan and devises his own scheme. The mission and love affair spins out of control, forcing a decision
between love, loyalty or National Security.
Turn the page to read the first chapter from Red Tape by Kathy Kulig or return to the Table of Contents.
CHAPTER 1
Jason Merritt swung his racket hard, but missed another easy shot off the back wall. The racquetball bounced past
him. Fuck. Two points down, with an audience, and he was losing to a man twenty years older.
“Have you talked to Zoe yet?” his opponent asked.
“Not yet, and when she finds out I recommended her, she better not have a loaded gun.” Jason’s gut clenched as he
considered that conversation. He’d tried calling her two nights ago, right after she started her new job, but had gotten her
voice mail. His opponent hit a driving serve. Jason swung again and missed. “Fuck.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were letting me win.” The older man glanced sideways at Jason.
“Sorry, Mr. President.”
President Douglas Bryson laughed. “Not to worry. When do you plan to call her?”
Three Secret Service agents peered through the Plexiglas partition like frozen automatons. They couldn’t hear their
conversation, and no one else was in the swanky health club. Once a week, the president reserved the entire club for his
private use. The silence descended into a surreal Stephen King novel.
“I haven’t talked to her since our last mission more than six months ago. I thought I’d let her get settled into her
new position first.”
The president nodded. “Make it soon. We need her brought up to speed.”
He failed miserably in his attempt to smile. On the other side of the partition, the Secret Service guards held their
robot expressions.
The president patted Jason’s shoulder. “We already had her in mind. Zoe’s the perfect type. Blond, attractive,
physically fit, top-level clearance and trained for undercover work. We used you as a reference since you worked with
her at Langley. Tell her that.”
Jason nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Your past relationship won’t interfere with this project.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No, sir, Mr. President. We’ve worked on missions together before. She was trained for intelligence gathering, not
this.”
“I’m aware of your other missions. It’s a role like any other undercover work,” President Bryson added, locking eyes
with Jason. “Get her briefed. Celia was one fuck-up too many. This operation needs Zoe.”
If Bryson knew everything about their last mission, would he have selected her? Or was the organization that
desperate?
The president checked his watch. “One o’clock and I have an early meeting. Our games may have to be postponed
until after the peace talks. You have a busy day, too.”
“I’ll get on it.” He couldn’t afford another screw-up.
*****
Zoe Summers retied her scarf for the third time, then checked in the hand mirror she kept in her desk to make sure
it covered the scar. She had another hour of work to do and desperately needed coffee. As late as it was, there might be a
few White House staff left. She hated when people stared at her neck, hated it even more when she had to make up some
lie instead of explaining that a mission went horribly wrong. Pity she didn’t need. What she needed was to forget and end
the nightmares.
She dug an armful of manila folders out of the old, metal file cabinet and tossed them onto her desk. The last batch
before she’d head home. This was an honor, not Langley’s way to avoid outright firing her. Secret documents, archiving,
filing. This was not the drudgery that would crush the living soul out of her body and damn her to file-clerk hell.
She leaned back in the desk chair, gazing around at the dusty, basement office surrounded by a dozen filing cabinets.
There were always rumors and conspiracy theories by people who had too much time on their hands. She’d escaped one
lead-lined dungeon for another, but White House or not, suspicious activity or not, this felt like a demotion. She should
have been out in the field, interacting with terrorists, transporting sensitive documents, carrying a gun, not moving papers.
Rubbing her temples, Zoe glanced at the clock on her desk. Ten p.m. Coffee. The door to the hall was open a crack
to ensure the guard would check in on her during his rounds. It was best he get to know her since she planned on working
a lot of late nights. Maybe if she exceeded expectations and did a really good filing job, they’d move her on to bigger
projects.
Even for a basement, she was surprised by the amount of after-hours activity. A group of people came downstairs,
entered one of the rooms, then left after an hour or two. It had happened the night before, too. She was never able to see
who they were, but couldn’t help feeling paranoid after what the Big D had told her. He’d heard rumors and suspected
something was terribly wrong at the White House but gave no specifics. The lack of security cameras on her level seemed
odd when there were plenty on the upper levels.
Taking her cell phone out, she listened to Jason’s message again. The message was three days old. After several
playbacks, she still hadn’t decided whether to call him back.
She yanked open the drawer of her desk to lock the files away while she went upstairs. The drawer slipped off its
track and jammed.
Crap. Banging it with the heel of her hand, she pulled the drawer free and placed it on the floor. She checked inside
for papers that had fallen behind. Lying on the floor inside the desk was an employee ID badge with two keys attached
and another key ring with a set of five keys.
Turning the badge over in her hand, she examined a red piece of tape dangling off one of the keys like a one-inch
flag. Nothing was written on it. The photo on the badge was of a young blond woman in her late twenties with a pretty
smile. The woman could’ve been Zoe’s sister if she had one. Celia Aldridge, Researcher.
Had the previous worker lost the badge and keys or had they been left behind? She turned the badge over and studied
it closely. A six-digit number was scribbled in faded marker. Zoe pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. People who couldn’t
remember PINs or key codes sometimes wrote them in inappropriate places. Even intelligence agents, men mostly, were
known to use 36-24-36 as a pass code.
Did this woman get promoted? Transferred? Did she quit or get fired? Normally when an employee left, security
destroyed the ID badge. Who was she, and why had she left? Maybe she worked in another department and Zoe could
return the badge. Sitting at her computer, she typed in Celia Aldridge’s name to do a search, her finger hovering over the
ENTER key. She wasn’t at Langley. Anything she typed in on the White House computer could be traced by the IT guys.
Frank Phillips in security had warned her about unofficial use of the computers. She could be violating a confidentiality
rule. She deleted her entry.
“Zoe, you still here?”
Zoe cried out, palming the woman’s badge and slipping it into her blouse. As she rose, she tugged on her scarf. “God,
Melissa, I didn’t hear you come down.”
Melissa Tadeshi, assistant to the press secretary, stood in her doorway. “I was going to leave this under your door.
It’s tomorrow’s schedule.” Melissa held up an interoffice envelope. “You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”
“I had a little more work to do. I was going for coffee.” Zoe took the envelope, dropped it on her desk and gestured
Melissa inside. “I thought you left hours ago. Is Julia still here?”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “Long gone. What work? We finished our training today. Want to go for a drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m trying to make a dent and make this office livable. I guess housekeeping doesn’t clean this room.
It doesn’t look like it’s been dusted since the Kennedy administration.” Considering the late hour, Melissa still looked
gorgeous and professional, like an Asian Victoria’s Secret model in her early thirties. Although Zoe thought Melissa
pushed her professional attire to the limit for the White House. She’d wear heels a bit too high, skirts a little too short
and blouses cut way too low, but no one seemed to mind. Her long, black hair was fastened neatly with a simple clip, and
even her makeup looked fresh. Other than making sure her scarf covered her scar, Zoe hadn’t checked her appearance
in six hours. She hated to think what she looked like. “Besides delivering tomorrow’s schedule, why are you here late?”
“We finished up a few meetings over an hour ago. I was doing some prep work. The president’s meeting with a
number of foreign reps, so expect another crazy early morning.”
Zoe inched toward the door, expecting Melissa to follow.
Melissa looked inside the office and noticed the drawer on the floor. “Do you need help with that?”
Zoe hesitated for a second. “No, just cleaning out the desk.”
“How’s everything going?”
“Good. It’s not hard work. I’m surprised they just didn’t hire a college intern for this. My old boss said someone at
the White House recommended me for the position. Did you know about that?”
Melissa glanced at the stack of files on Zoe’s desk. “Probably because you had top-secret clearance working in the
CIA.”
“Any clerk can get a security clearance.” Zoe didn’t mean to sound so cynical.
“Security threats are always a concern. You of all people should know that,” Melissa said, very serious now.
The hairs went up on the back of Zoe’s neck. “You’re right.”
“Don’t ever let your guard down.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be here. But when I was hired, I expected it was for something more exciting
than filing.”
Melissa smiled, back to her pleasant mood. “Give it time. Trust me, working here is never dull. The White House
wouldn’t have hired you unless they had a reason and needed your expertise. They need people they can trust above all.”
“I can be trusted,” Zoe said, more to herself than Melissa. She stuffed the folders back into the file cabinet, got the
drawer back on its track, and then closed and locked it.
Melissa gave a small laugh. “Go home, girl. It’s late.”
Home. Where silence and four walls only reminded her how long it’d been since she was on a mission? If she hung
around, she could do an unsupervised tour. She held up her dust-smudged hands. “I need to wash up first.”
Melissa groaned. “Hurry it up. The guards get twitchy when we stay too late.”
“I won’t be long.” Zoe locked her office, but Melissa hadn’t moved to leave. “By the way, do you know who worked
in here before me?” Zoe watched Melissa’s expression.
Melissa’s mouth quirked slightly, a nervous gesture the average person wouldn’t notice. “I don’t know. She must’ve
left before I got here.”
“She?”
Melissa huffed. “She…he…whatever. I don’t know. This office has been empty for a while.”
“Does anyone else work down here? Meeting rooms?”
Melissa frowned and narrowed her eyes. “It’s a basement. Nothing more than storage rooms, space for electrical,
boiler, and mechanical equipment. Why?”
“Just asking.” Zoe wasn’t going to mention the late-night visitors until she gathered more information. She didn’t
want to sound like a paranoid idiot.
The atmosphere chilled between them. “Look, I’m sorry,” Zoe said. “It’s too quiet down here. See you at lunch
tomorrow?”
Melissa smiled. “Sure.” She checked her phone, punched a few keys with her thumbs, then headed for the stairs.
“See you tomorrow.”
Zoe used the restroom and scrubbed her hands. When she strode out of the ladies’ room, she stopped in the hallway
and contemplated the door at the end of the hall, holding Celia’s badge in her hand. The door had a key-swipe lock and
keypad. Could it be this easy?
*****
“Anything you need me to do before the presentation?” Jason asked Julia. He wanted out of there, wanted to get to
Zoe and tell her to resign before she learned anything about the program. At Langley, they may have parted on a sour note,
but she would trust him this time. By not trusting her partner, she’d compromised their last mission and much worse. If
he told her to leave, she would. Once she was briefed about Red Tape, it’d be too late.
“No, we’re ready.” Julia’s nails clicked on the computer keyboard with enough force he expected to hear them snap.
He shifted in the stiff Victorian chair in front of her desk. Waiting was torture. His cell buzzed at the exact moment Julia’s
buzzed. The target had just left the hotel. Fuck. Julia glanced at him with an anxious look. He hated when a mission was
starting off on the wrong foot. Already, this one was behind schedule, and everyone was on edge. Not good.
Julia swore. “Where the hell is Melissa?” The petite woman got up and paced the carpeted room. The razor-cut ends
of her red hair brushed the collar of her crisp business suit.
“I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.” That wasn’t happening. The text he got said Zoe hadn’t left yet but would soon.
Come on, Zoe. Just this once, leave something half-finished. Melissa couldn’t drag her out of there unless she hogtied her.
His schedule as one of the first lady’s Secret Service agents was hectic, and he suspected it was about to get insane.
Julia gave an impatient huff and checked her watch again for the hundredth time. “If she doesn’t come up soon…”
“She will.” Jason stood and walked to the window, watching for the black cars that would arrive at the back entrance.
If he had been in charge, it would never be going down like this.
“After this presentation, we’ll schedule Zoe’s training.” Julia sighed. “We’re pressed for time.”
“Zoe’s a professional. I won’t have a problem training her.”
Julia’s smile wasn’t a friendly one. Her green eyes flashed rage and worry. “What makes you think you’ll be training
her?” Her tone had a slight edge of condescension.
He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from clenching them. “For this program to work, wouldn’t she feel most
comfortable with someone she knows well?” He took a breath, attempting to keep the conversation from breaking down
into a shouting match.
She smiled again, and this time, Julia placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You mean someone she knew intimately,
Jason. Training doesn’t work that way.”
“How then?” Before he finished the sentence, reality slammed into him. “Who’ll be training her?” Heat rose in his
face, and he took a step closer to her. The idea of Zoe thrown into the most dangerous part of the mission, unprepared,
grabbed him by the throat.
“Now is not the time.” She checked her watch, standing a little straighter, which didn’t help her height but made a
point. “You know what’s involved.” She walked over to her desk and leaned on it.
He didn’t answer.
Three sharp raps on the door and Melissa barged into the office, giving both Jason and Julia a grim look. “Sorry I’m
late. She’s still here but should be on her way out.” Melissa crossed her arms over her chest. The tight business suit she
wore and low-cut blouse pressed the curves of her breasts higher. No wonder the first lady chose her for this particular
position.
Julia groaned, hands clasped together and held under her chin. “We need to make this count, people. There’s no room
for errors.”
“Zoe’s been working during the setup and practices this week. She wasn’t a problem then,” Melissa offered.
“No, I don’t want the chance of her running into our guest.” Julia’s voice rose to a level bordering on hysteria.
Jason checked his watch, then looked at Julia, who tapped her tiny, pointy shoe while glaring at Melissa. Four men
in business suits walked into the office, the first lady’s private security guards.
“The first lady is on her way down,” one of the men announced. “And the target will be here in ten.”
“We’re out of time,” Julia said to Jason. “Get her out of there.”
THE END
###
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