LENGTH: Full Novel

SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
Retail: $12.99
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DALILA'S CHOICE:

Dalila Theron arrives in orbit around Enyo with orders to conquer the hostile warriors by any means necessary. But, warriors shoot first and ask no questions. Blasted out the sky, her damaged ship plunges into a stormy sea. Rescued by intimidating twin brothers, she is stranded on a remote island. Her weapon training, hand-to-hand combat skills, and sketchy mind control instructions didn’t prepare her for dealing with the overwhelmingly male warriors. In desperation, she wields a dangerous new weapon, sex appeal.

Rating: Carnal.

JOON'S TEMPTATION:

Banished from Enyo, after being unfairly accused of using witchcraft, Joon is ordered back to Earth. Two fierce warriors are assigned to ensure that she gets there. But, before they've made the jump to hyper-light speed, their vessel is captured by Maldorean's and towed to enormous space station, gearing for a devastating surprise attack on an unsuspecting Enyo.

Warning their home planet is the triad's first objective. Their only hope of accomplishing this impossible task is to combine their talents. As they work together to save the warrior's world, the attraction between them grows stronger. But, their years of service and their mating bond changes nothing, their love is still forbidden.

Rating: Carnal.

LENGTH:Novella
SENSUALITY:Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-394-9
Download $3.50
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From the first glance, Desiree is drawn to Eduardo. The man is the stuff of dreams--rich, powerful, and smoldering with sexuality. His dedication to the foundation’s mission, his fierce protection of his family, and even his wicked connection to the underworld only adds the cache of impossibility to his potent charms. Watching him is her job and a private thrill. But, she’s much too sensible to act on her crush, risking her job, to say nothing of her heart. Then, he reaches out to her. The invitation is impossible to resist and everything changes.

Eduardo has many secrets, and some aren’t his own, but he’s sworn to keep them. Since Desiree works for the enemy, indulging his passion with her is recklessly insane. However, it’s even more impossible to leave her alone. As the attraction between them burns hotter, something more than simple desire glows to life. Caught between the love of a lifetime and promises he must honor, he can never have anything with her--except for a few stolen moments.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Romantic Suspense.

 WICKED BUSINESS

By

 Evanne Lorraine

© copyright by Evanne Lorraine, December 2009

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, December 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-394-9

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

DJ went by her initials because she flat out hated her name. Desiree Joy made her sound like some kind of party girl. Dangerous Justice would've been a much better fit for her initials. At least in her dreams.

She was all about serving her country, fighting the war on drugs, and making a difference. Maybe, her reasons were more personal than noble. If so, it was totally her business. The only snag was that she was still waiting for a chance to prove she could handle an important assignment.

Her determination had nothing to do with a superhero complex and she wasn't a bleeding-heart do-gooder. Not even in the same area code. She still lived in the rundown flat where she'd been raised--on one of the meanest street in New York.

A talent for languages had gotten her foot in the door with DIE, Domestic Intelligence Emphasis, the hardcore homeland branch of the CIA. Recruited by the agency right out of college, she'd sailed through training with excellent evaluations.

Fast-forward three years, she was still translating phone conversations, emails, and occasionally an honest-to-God document.

For added thrills, now and then she got loaned to the forensic accounting team when the financial records were in Portuguese, Spanish, or French. Her lowly role provided a steady stream of dull with some boring tossed in to keep things from getting too predictable.

The reality, at least for her part, of the spy biz was zero glamour and less excitement. Sure, the work was important, but it was still a hell of long ways from kicking dangerous criminal butt.

She'd never risked anything more than eyestrain, paper cuts, and a spreading ass from pouring over transcripts and sitting in staff meetings. Stubbornly, she worked on her field craft skills, hoping someday she'd get out of the office.

When she'd first started at the agency's local branch, she'd fully expected hot sex to be part of her exciting new life. Somehow, three years had vanished without a single dangerous lover.

Not that she'd expected to get to be super-spy-girl right away. Still, more of the same was getting old. Worse, the rut was starting to look like a permanent career--an endless track of never going to be anything special.

Finally, she'd been sent to the field. The assignment was not exactly exciting. She worked second shift on a standard surveillance op, viewing live video of a suspected drug dealer and money laundering low-life.

Nothing had really changed, except the scenery.

The scenery was excellent. Too excellent. Now, she had new problems.

With her nose pressed to a virtual window, she ached for a man she shouldn't want, and could never have. Crushing on criminal was beyond stupid. Career killing choice came to mind. Crazy fit so well she was getting edgy about her own sanity.

Just watching seemed safe enough. Fat chance she'd get to do anything else. Her boss had flat out told her the only reason she'd been assigned to the case was because she was one of only a handful of agency employees, who spoke Portuguese.

Still, spying on Eduardo was totally a step up from paper pushing. Watching him was definitely not a hardship. The man was all prime male flesh, muscle, and bone. To her disappointment, during the week that she'd been viewing the live feeds of his apartment and office, nothing exciting happened.

Agency scuttlebutt said the man's dirty deeds and criminal actions happened off-camera at a private club. None of the DIE hotshot field agents had succeeded in breaching the club's security. Not for lack of trying.

The laptop's screen glowed to life, switching off her wandering thoughts. The motion activated video cam, turned on when the subject returned to his office. DJ sat straighter, focusing on the laptop's display as he shrugged out of his jacket. She fought for professional detachment, but illicit excitement bubbled through her veins as she watched him roll up his sleeves.

Come on, big guy loosen that tie. Let's get comfy. Everyone else has left for the day and it's just you and me.

She smothered a sigh of disappointment when the tie stayed right where it belonged. Dutifully, she watched for another two hours as he continue to work, fully dressed. Finally, he rolled down his shirtsleeves, straightened his tie, and then shrugged into his jacket.

The man was never going to strip in his office. Hope wasn't completely dead. He might take it all off at home.

Purely to stave off terminal boredom, she narrated his nightly exit routine under her breath. "Don't forget the cell phone. Drop it into the right jacket pocket. There you go. Slip the laptop into its case. Okay, call for your car."

Senor Torres followed the script flawlessly. It was just plain wrong for a man so mouth wateringly gorgeous to be so predictable.

She sighed. She shouldn't be thinking of the subject as desirable, but hell, she wasn't a machine. Any sane woman, forced to watch him hour after hour, would've been attracted to the man.

The occasional burst of profanity aside, he could've passed for a saint. Everyday, she worried the agency would figure out they were watching the wrong guy. Then she'd miss out on her one chance to actually do something, before getting sent back to the office--chained to her desk forever.

She sighed again and stretched, working out the kinks that had settled in her back and shoulders from sitting in the same position for too long.

The evening commute took him fifteen to twenty minutes. Plenty of time for her to make a cup of peppermint tea, check her messages, and settle in for another five hours of scenic, but mind-numbing dullness before her relief came on duty.

A few moments later, DJ blew gently across the top of the still scalding tea. When the subject breezed through the apartment's entry, she checked the time, exactly seventeen minutes after leaving the office.

Then, something new happened.

Carefully, she sat down her tea and leaned forward.

Once home, he always used his landline to make and take calls. This evening, he was talking on his cell phone. Mostly grunts she had no way to interpret. The call ended abruptly when he closed his phone, turned it off, and then pitched the blameless bit of technology across the spacious living room. She had no trouble understanding the stream of profanity that followed.

Fortunately, the surveillance equipment was activated by sound or motion, automatically tracking an angry Eduardo as he crossed to his bedroom. The suit jacket sailed across the room, rapidly followed by shoes, socks, and shirt.

DJ's fingers trembled as she corrected the camera angle away from the flying clothes back to Eduardo. Her conscience whined about invasion of privacy, but she shushed it, telling herself it was her duty to keep the subject under observation.

The body, which had looked lean and stylish in his expensive suit, stunned her with sleek bronzed skin molded over carved muscles. His broad shoulders were strictly natural, not the work of a clever tailor. His chest wide, well defined, and decorated with a provocative diamond of black hair. A trail of the dark body hair arrowed downward, bisecting rigid abs and making her mouth water with anticipation.

No way was drooling one of her job requirements. She shut her mouth firmly and swallowed hard as he impatiently unbuckled his belt.

Trying her best to act professional did nothing to stop her body's responses. Her heart accelerated, her breathing grew shallow, and her insides heated to the melting point.

For a week, she'd dutifully watched him from three PM till eleven PM when Delaney came on duty. Never once had Eduardo removed more than his coat and tie before disappearing into the master bathroom. When he emerged, his luscious body was covered by a terry robe. Invariably, he killed the lights, presumably losing the robe, before slipping into bed.

She'd bitten her tongue to keep from quizzing Delaney about what Eduardo wore when he got out of bed in morning. Even if she could figure out a legitimate reason for asking, confirmation he slept in the nude wasn't going to help her.

After countless hours, her curiosity was going to be satisfied. She uncrossed her legs, and then immediately crossed them again, reversing the leg on top to the bottom.

Two seconds later, she'd shifted back to her original pose.

The belt was history. Eduardo flicked open the waistband's fastening, moving on to the fly's inner button. The waist gaped open, revealing another, lower waistband.

She leaned closer to the monitor, wishing it were a gigantic widescreen display instead of a seventeen-inch laptop. Her mind leaped ahead of the strip show--did he wear boxers or briefs?

Her chest constricted, making her all but pant just to breathe.

The assignment, professional detachment, and even the agency dropped off her radar as she stared at the widening gap of his slacks.

The phone rang and she jumped, jostling the card table. She made a grab for the sliding laptop. Saved it. But, her tea sloshed, wetting the table, her, and the carpet.

She raced for paper towels to mop up the spill. Cheeks heating, she realized the ringing phone had been Eduardo's-- not hers.

Good thing no one was watching her.

With a ragged breath, she discarded the soggy paper towels and refocused on the screen. Too late.

His trousers lay puddled on the floor.

The crucial question of boxers or briefs remained unanswered. The door to the master bath shut with an irritated slam.

Eduardo had left the camera's coverage range.

The master bath was the only part of the penthouse not under surveillance.

Desiree whimpered aloud with disappointment.

When he reemerged, he was freshly shaved and fully dressed in an evening suit.

Of course, the evening clothes would come off eventually. On Delaney's shift, or at some lucky woman's place, or maybe at Vito's, the private club he allegedly visited.

A twinge of envy pinched her at the thought. Despite the inappropriate jealousy--dear God, she didn't even know the man--honesty forced her to admit she'd love to have seen a little more of Eduardo.

She was a voyeur.

The realization hit hard. Had she always been this way? And simply not realized it? Maybe, she'd chosen to work for the agency because of her latent perversion and not for the reasons she'd believed.

Or maybe, it was just Eduardo watching that was so addictive.

* * * *

Eduardo retrieved his cell phone, thumbing through the menus until he found the photo Miguel had sent earlier in the week. A grin quirked the corners of his mouth. His fishing expedition had paid a lovely dividend.

The investigation he'd authorized, seeking proof that would convict his father's killer, had revealed unexpected details of the agency's surveillance. The newest team member, Desiree Joy Tyler, was inexperienced. In fact, this was her first field assignment. She'd been included for her language skills. Something he needed to remember. With her listening, there was no need for a translator. And no delay.

He studied Desiree's already familiar features. She was exquisite. Every time he looked at her, he had to remind himself sternly she was the enemy.

And yet, no less an authority than, the great General Sun Tzu had said, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Excellent advice.

She was one enemy he absolutely wanted to keep close. His lips straightened while he reluctantly turned off the display, and then pocketed the phone.

As his evening unfolded, staring at the government's spy turned out to have been the highpoint.

It had started with his brother-in-law's call for help with his wife. Eduardo's sister, Elena constantly added fresh complications to everyone's life. Julian sounded more fed up than worried, although it made no difference. If his family needed him, Eduardo went.

And then he'd still have to placate his mother. Determined to take her place among the snobby grande dames of NY society, she'd demanded his presence at a charity gala she'd arranged.

The day had already been long. The business that supported his family's luxurious life style required hours of his attention. However, honoring his beloved grandfather's dream of a Torres foundation took even more time than the legitimate Torres investments.

No matter how many hours he'd already worked, his family still came first.

As the oldest capable male, he was the head of family. And the point man for every crisis. It was what he'd been born to do. Even if he could have, he wouldn't have shirked a single responsibility.

Although, it would be nice if Elena stabilized. He'd hoped her marriage to Julian would help temper her wild behavior and erratic moods. Hell, if she'd simply take her meds and stay away from the alcohol. Not. Yet.

And now, he had a new worry. How much longer would his brother-in-law wait patiently for Elena to get her act together?

Desiree's image flickered in his mind, reminding him how long it had been since he'd had a chance to do anything wild.

He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his clothes, which gave him his answer. Too long. Much too long.

Impulsively, he pulled out his phone and dialed. "Midnight, my usual room. She must be slim with dark hair and green eyes."

Vito chuckled. "Of course, it is my honor, Senor--"

"No names," Eduardo cut him off sharply.

"Never," Vito assured him, his tone slightly offended.

"Midnight."

"It is my pleasure," Vita chuckled, back to his normal amiable host mode.

Eduardo ended the call, irritated by Vito's oily fawning, and more irritated with his own weakness. However, he was too smart to keep fighting a hopeless battle with the hunger the little agent had stirred in him. Better to take the edge off before dealing directly with such a dangerous temptation.

A few minutes later, Miguel pulled the limo to a stop close to the side entrance of the luxurious Conquistador Hotel. Rapidly moving through the access corridor to the bank of elevators, Eduardo stepped into a waiting car and punched in the floor Julian had given him. The ride went quickly, seconds later he rapped quietly on the suite's door.

Julian opened the door cautious crack, and then flung it wide when his features eased in recognition. "Thank God."

Scanning the room, Eduardo asked, "Where is she?"

Disgust twisted his brother-in-law's mouth. "In the bathroom."

Elena was sprawled on the tile floor, snoring softly. The side of her head resting in a puddle of her own making. The combination of vomit and gin assaulted Eduardo's nose and made his stomach roil. He swallowed hard, conquering an urge to worsen the reeking mess.

"I'm leaving," Julian said not bothering to disguise his revulsion.

Ignoring, his brother-in-law's announcement, Eduardo shrugged out of his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and snagged a towel from the rack, dampening it with warm water. "How did you find her?"

"She got scared and called me," Julian said sullenly.

Swabbing his sister's face, he nodded grimly. "This is good."

His brother in law raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Eduardo continued evenly, "She reached out to you. A sign she wants to live."

Shrugging, Julian turned away. "She's used up her chances with me."

"I'll take care of her," Eduardo said calmly.

After cleaning her and the bathroom, he called Miguel, and then carried his sister to the car, tucking her in carefully before seating himself. "The clinic, please, Miguel." He smoothed damp curls away from his sister's too pale face, before dialing her doctor.

He was going to be late for the gala, which meant disappointing his mother. Inwardly, he cringed at the coming scene.

However, a glance at his sister firmed his resolve. If Elena were herself, she would never hurt their mother. So, he would keep his sister's secrets and take the blame for being an inconsiderate son. This was a far better answer than stealing his mother's peace of mind by telling her that her daughter had tried to kill herself again.

Once his sister had been checked in to the private clinic and he was satisfied that she was resting comfortably, Eduardo returned to the car. Miguel held the door, handing him a fresh shirt without comment.

The remainder of the trip to the gala was spent changing shirts, retying the requisite black bowtie, and shrugging back into his evening jacket.

He slid into place next to his mother, during the orchestra's break. "Can I get you something from the bar?"

Isabel turned toward him stiffly, narrowing her eyes. Then, she forced her features to relax and smiled pleasantly for the benefit of the crowd milling around the ballroom. "Where have you been?" She didn't give him a chance to reply before continuing, in a low, cold voice at complete odds with her gracious expression. "How could you embarrass me like this? What a cruel and ungrateful son you are. I don't know what I did to deserve such treatment."

Marrying his father came to mind. When she paused for breath, he only said, "I'm sorry mother. A work matter came up--one that could not be postponed." Close enough to the truth, protecting the family was always job one.

Too often, it felt like an impossible assignment.

His grandfather's failing health hadn't softened his insistence that every dollar Carlos, had made illegally must be returned to the people he'd stolen from. The Torres foundation had been established to facilitate the enormous redistribution of wealth. The sheer size of the undertaking took Eduardo many hours from each day.

His mother was determined to secure him and his sister a place in society. Her charm and beauty were only exceeded by her stubbornness, perhaps she would succeed despite Elena's self-destructive choices, and his own lack enthusiasm for what passed as amusements among the set his mother was determined to join.

His sister's bi-polar disorder was exacerbated by both alcohol and recreational drugs, facts she understood well. However, she'd been unable to control her addictions.

And his father's death hadn't put an end to the government's investigation, which pried into every facet of their lives, making his tasks more difficult and stealing his peace of mind and privacy.

Fortunately, Eduardo liked a challenge.

"Miranda, dear," his mother purred, pinching his sleeve to hold him in place. "My son, Eduardo."

"So nice to meet you," he said politely.

A tall brunette met his eyes with laughter sparkling in hers. "It's certainly nice for me to finally meet the elusive Eduardo. Your mother always sings your praises."

"Hardly elusive," he said, trying to imagine his mother complimenting him.

"Oh, but you are most certainly elusive," Miranda disagreed, laughing up at him. "Last week, your mother promised you'd attend the symphony opener. You have no idea how many women were depressed by your failure to materialize, and then the week before that…"

While Miranda recounted his sins of omission, the orchestra returned.

"Please excuse me, I need to rest," his mother said with a small smile, already stepping away from them.

He followed her. "I'll escort you."

"No, don't be silly." She turned, addressing Miranda, "Such a considerate son. You can tell a great deal about a man by the way he treats his mother. Now, go on and dance you two--that's what parties are for."

Dancing with Miranda was more comfortable than he'd expected. She followed his lead flawlessly. Better, she didn't pester him with small talk.

While they moved around the ballroom, a part of his mind automatically evaluated her as a potential wife. Attractive, confident, and agreeable--the woman possessed many of the qualities he wanted in a mate, including his mother's approval.

There was no spark, but he was far from a callow romantic. He had little time for courtship or games. However, he was a cautious man. He had to be. And he would need to assure himself that her suitability was more than an appealing façade.

The song ended, he took her elbow, steering her back toward his mother with a brief apology. "Please forgive me, I have another engagement."

His mother frowned for a second, caught herself, and then smoothed her features into a pleasant expression.

Miranda stepped forward, taking his arm. "I'll walk out with you." She didn't speak again until they were well away from his mother. "Are you running from your mother or from me?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she said with a small laugh.

"Neither, I have another appointment."

"At eleven?" She arched an eyebrow in unflattering disbelief.

"My business doesn't keep conventional hours," he said stiffly.

She stopped moving.

To his annoyance, he followed suit, allowing the light hand on his sleeve to slow his steps.

"She must be very beautiful."

"I wouldn't know, it's a first meeting," he said with uncharacteristic candor.

Something suspiciously like relief softened Miranda's posture. "I see."

Her easy acceptance of the situation almost won her an invitation to dinner. However, an image of his tempting little watcher flashed in his mind's eye and the invitation expired before it was issued.

Miranda's posture stiffened, however she held out her hand and her mouth curved. "I won't be waiting for your call then. Though, you are an intriguing man, everything your mother boasted, and more. You might've been fun. It was lovely meeting you, Eduardo."

A frisson of regret flitted through him--a different time and place. The feeling faded quickly. The gracious, amusing Miranda would find someone else. She'd made the smart choice. She would have been unhappy with him. No matter what she said, she would have wanted more than he could ever give. And she absolutely would not have wanted what he had to offer a woman.

* * * *

DJ checked her watch for the sixth time in as many minutes. Half an hour till midnight. Where was Delaney? He'd never been this late before. This time of night, traffic couldn't be blamed. Though, maybe he'd been in an accident. She glanced at the vehicles crawling along the street below. The cliché was true, the city never slept.

The live feeds from the Torres apartment and office had both been black and silent since the cleaning crew had finished with his office more than three hours ago. She'd tried Delaney's cell three times. Maybe, she should call the agency. She hesitated, not wanting to cause trouble if he'd just been delayed.

It wasn't like she had a hot date. She could wait awhile.

The monitor flickered to life.

Instantly, all thoughts of Delaney no-show left. She stared intently at the display as Eduardo's front door opened.

He was perfectly decent, not even a little disheveled. As she watched, he loosened his tie and undid the top button on his immaculate white shirt. Immediately, her heart sped up and there was no way she could pretend her excitement was anything other than good old-fashioned lust.

Her cell rang, which was totally lousy timing on Delaney's part. She answered it without even glancing at the display. "Where are you?"

"Ah, wrong question, kitten."

Eduardo's deep chuckle reverberated through her whole body, sweetened by the endearment. She licked lips gone suddenly parched.

LENGTH: Novella
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Kat Richards 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-364-1
Download $3.50
(s&h not included in price)

What starts out as a naughty diversion becomes the ultimate high risk game for two strangers in the night. Ryder trusts only himself and that's the way it has to stay for this undercover operative. Zara craves a man who can dominate her submissive spirit . . . but the sexy pirate seems intent on driving her crazy with sizzling desire while withholding the release she craves.

Zara yearns for domination to release her passion. Ryder was born to dominate and a sex slave who serves him with sensual pleasure is his kinkiest dream. They are the perfect couple -a made for each other match. Except Ryder insists on having clear consent before their erotic game moves to the next level. Zara needs all control stripped from her writhing,
wanton body.

Playing Pirate and Captive may be the hottest hours of her life or it may be a dangerous gamble with her heart. When, cautious, Zara asks about the rules of game, she learns that her new master only plays one way--Pirate Rules.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance.

 Pirate Rules

By

Evanne Lorraine

© copyright by Evenne Lorraine, September 2009

Cover Art by Kat Richards, September 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-364-1

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Dedication:

For all the pirate lovers.

Chapter One

Ryder eyed Heather’s lush body with thinly disguised boredom.

“It’s great you stopped by, baby. But I’ve got a ton of work due.” He seated himself firmly at the desk. Then pushed back, flashing a crooked grin. “Why don’t you go shopping, buy yourself something sexy? I’ll let you make it up to me next weekend.”

“Come on, don’t be so cold.” She climbed across his lap. “Feel that, honey? I’m sooo wet for you,” she whispered as she stretched close to his ear. “I’m not wearing panties.”

Yeah, he’d noticed. So had his cock. But he really did have a shit load of homework he needed to tackle and an early practice tomorrow morning.

He moved her off his lap, keeping his manner regretful. “You’re hot stuff, baby. Give me a break here. I need to study.”

Then Heather reached into her backpack and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. His cock leapt to full attention.

“What’s this?” he said, working to sound cool as she handed him the key to the cuffs.

“I’ve disappointed you. I need to be punished.” Heather fastened one cuff, and then held out her wrists, keeping her head bowed.

Ryder snapped the other cuff in place then slapped the key on his desk. “On your knees, slut,” he barked.

Shit, she’d gotten to him. Again.

Carefully he eased his zipper down, freeing his eager cock. “Open your mouth.”

Heather complied instantly, licking him enthusiastically.

He held her head, guiding her and setting a pace he liked while she sucked strongly, bringing him closer to climax. His thoughts drifted to Friday’s game and his orgasm receded.

Frantically, Heather suckled more strongly, ramming her face harder into his crotch.

He grasped her head more firmly, forcing her to stop. Since, she had been bad, he wasn’t ready to reward her. Plus, he knew how much she got off on being bossed around. “Go over to the window, bend over, and hold on to the sill.”

She lurched to her feet and hurried to obey his demand. Her large breasts bounced as she ran, quivering inside her shirt when she bent forward from the waist.

Because she tried hard to please him, he spoke harshly to her. “You forgot your bra again, you little slut. How many guys did you fuck before you got here?”

“None, Master. I swear I only fuck you,” she panted, licking her lips and wriggling, making her big tits jiggle.

Ryder figured she was ready to cream from the verbal abuse alone.

He rammed two fingers into her dripping cunt, and then slowly withdrew them, sniffing his wet hand. “No spunk, but the bastards could’ve worn rubbers. Tell me the truth, you horny bitch. How many guys did you fuck today?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, ramming his hard cock into her wet pussy, and making her tits bounce again.

“None, Master. I swear.” She ground her round ass against his groin, meeting his thrusts and sobbing. “Please fuck me harder.”

Reaching around her hips, he found her engorged clit and began rubbing it lazily in time with his strokes.

She creamed instantly, crying his name.

Then he pounded into her until he was ready for release, giving the spoiled cunt a second climax while he was at it. Pulling out of her grasping pussy, he grabbed her by the ears, and then turned her around. He slammed his cock down her throat, forcing her to suck his cum like a good slave should.

To her credit, Heather tried harder and harder to please him. But, the problem wasn’t anything she could fix. He was bored with her.

When she’d licked the last of his cum from his softening cock, he tucked himself into his jeans. He didn’t waste any time retrieving the key or releasing the cuffs. Dropped them and the key into her backpack, he handed the carryall to her.

“Christmas isn’t that far away,” she said tentatively.

Ryder resented the vulnerability in her tone and the hint. Her folks had more money than God, while he attended college on a scholarship.

“I’m on kind of a tight budget,” he said stiffly.

Horrified eyes met his. “Oh no, I didn’t mean, that is..., I wasn’t asking for a present.” She studied the floor while her words stumbled out of her mouth. “It’s just that I thought the Christmas party would be a nice time to announce our engagement.”

Fuck! Ryder wanted to bang his head off the desk. He should have seen that coming. Was she knocked up? Was it his? He was royally fucked. Shit, he’d have to marry her.

“Are you pregnant?” The words came out too harsh and she looked at him funny.

Heather giggled nervously. “How would I get pregnant? You never come except in my mouth.” She averted her eyes, talking even faster. “Besides I’m on the pill, remember?”

Genuinely perplexed, he asked. “Then why do you want to get married?”

“That’s what is supposed to happen now.” She stared bleakly at a patch of wall over his left shoulder. Gradually, her voice took on new confidence as she explained things to the poor kid from the shitty neighborhood. “You fall in love with me and we get married. You go to work for Daddy. We get a nice house. Then later on, you know, we have a couple of kids. It’s the way it works.” She darted a glance at him.

“I don’t love you.” Ryder pointed out what he considered to be the fatal flaw in her plan for the rest of their lives.

Heather gaped at him. “But you have to love me. I do everything you want. You love to fuck me.”

“We’ve had a great time, Heather,” he exaggerated tactfully. “But, I don’t love you,” He moved closer to the door. Hell, he’d never said anything about love and if she loved him, it was the first time he’d heard about it.

She pleaded. “You have to marry me.”

“No, I don’t.” He opened the door. “Time for you to leave.”

Heather swayed toward him. “You’ll be sorry. You’ll beg me to marry you.” Her hand flew toward his face, long nails poised to rake.

He caught her wrist. “Threats, Heather?”

She tugged on her arm, twisting away from his grip.

Once he’d released her, she hung her head in penitence.

“I’m sorry–,” she wheedled.

Her mercurial mood shifts and the situation were ludicrous. His laughter erupted, cutting off whatever apology she intended to offer.

“You’ll pay for that,” she snapped at him before bouncing out of the room.

Her skirt was caught up in back, exposing her bare ass. Ryder started to call a warning. But, she’d disappeared down the stairs before the words formed on his lips.

He leaned against the doorway, staring at the spot where Heather had vanished. He replayed their conversation for a few minutes then shook his head. Pushing all thoughts of Heather aside, he returned to his studies. That was what he was at Duke for, even greater than the thrill of playing championship basketball, was the priceless gift of a first-class education.

* * * * *

Twelve years later

Zara rose from the warm deck of the restored schooner. After four days in the Caribbean, her base tan was decent. Even so, she didn’t want to overdo it. The cooling breeze made it hard to judge the sun’s intensity. A burn would only add new injury to an already disappointing trip.

The impulsive decision to seek her inner vixen on a singles cruise sounded good, in theory. Reality turned out, not so great. Not that she took the mistake personally. Well, not too much. Stubbornly, she still hoped to find and free her inner wild thing.

Her mission wasn’t going well. How could she have known the women on these cruises outnumbered the men by four to one? Or paraphrasing the situation into Carefree Cruise lingo--the wenches to rogue ratio was a bit wench-heavy. The other wenches, uh women connected fine with their party-animal side, leaving her feeling like the ugly cousin at a cool kids’ party.

The all-male crew did their best to fill in, especially the Captain. But that was another problem. Captain Smiley took her polite refusals as signs she needed more forceful persuasion. Privately, she renamed him, Slimy because of her skin-crawling reaction to him.

Although, the captain was attractive enough in his own oily way. He just didn’t do it for her. The more she saw him, the less she liked him. Besides, he was shorter than she was, by a good two inches. Call her shallow--but she liked wearing heels while looking up at her dates.

The more she demurred--the more aggressively Slimy advanced. Worse, he was turning her into a coward. To avoid another confrontation with the way too enthusiastic Captain, she’d risked sunburn by deliberately waiting until the rest of the passengers, and all but a skeleton crew, went ashore before going below deck.

Slimy ambushed her in the dimly lit narrow passageway when she was still half a dozen steps from her cabin.

Saying nothing, he eyed her appreciatively, closer to leering, actually.

Her already daring bikini seemed to shrink further under his gaze, making her increasingly uncomfortable.

He planted his cuffed suede boots wider apart and flashed his too-good-to-be-natural smile. Finally, he said, “Aren’t you coming ashore for the treasure hunt?”

“Perhaps later. If you’ll excuse me.” She gestured vaguely toward her quarters.

He waggled a finger in warning. “You’ll miss your chance to be kidnapped by a handsome rogue.”

The stuffed parrot on his shoulder lurched as the ship shifted.

Smiley braced his arms on the brass handrail, blocking her way.

She almost took a step away from him. But then, her temper flared. He wasn’t going to ruin her vacation. Instead, she pushed herself deliberately closer. Inches from Slimy’s pointy nose she stopped--drawing her imaginary line on the deck.

“Intimidation and kidnapping just don’t do it for me. Go ahead, color me inhibited. Now, please get out of my way,” she said icily, pretending the hot color on her cheeks was from too much sun.

“Hey, take it easy,” he protested, taking a long step away from her. “Excuse me all to hell for trying to do my job and make sure every spoiled, stuck-up, scrawny cock tease has some fun on this trip.”

Zara glared at him. “What an amazing humanitarian. Consider your work here done. All I wanted was a chance to get away from the office and catch a little sun before tax season.”

“Your loss, bitch,” he grumbled loud enough for her to hear as he walked away.

After the captain’s departure, her surge of temper ebbed. She sagged against the smooth teak, feeling sick--a delayed reaction to the confrontation.

This time the Captain had backed down. Like most bullies, he retreated when she’d turned the tables on him and had gotten assertive. But, his resentment would fester and next time he wouldn’t be as easily intimidated.

For men like him, the word ‘no’ acted like an aphrodisiac. Pushing him wasn’t smart--there was much too great a chance he would see her as an irresistible challenge. She needed to avoid alone time with him.

There was another factor included in her resentment, Slimy’s words had hit too close to the truth. She’d booked this trip hoping to jump-start her sex life after finding out her ex-lover was married, with children.

She wanted a hot distraction from the humiliation, loneliness, and pain. Preferably, in the form of an exciting and wildly romantic affair. She wanted reassurance that she was desirable.

Even more humiliating, something she would never admit to anyone in a hundred years--she did have a secret pirate fantasy. Her personal preferences had definitely influenced her choice of Carefree Cruises. Their romantic tall ships and their ads stressing sexy pirate escapades had hooked her good.

Now, faced with the reality of the Captain’s leering and his sagging, stuffed parrot--Zara couldn’t go there.

The disappointment and fresh humiliation of Slimy’s insults had left her more depressed than ever. And worse, ashamed of her silly wishful thinking.

She scurried back to her room to cower behind the covers of her favorite book, an erotic pirate fantasy. An escape made all the more pitiful, since she’d paid good money to cower in her quarters. Though, she was locked inside the tiny cabin, not even her most reliable sexy romance held her attention.

Taking stock of the situation did nothing to cheer her. She’d lost weight after breaking up with Jason. Now, she was skirting skinny rather than slim. The day spa she’d splurged on before the cruise had been a total waste.

What good were smooth legs, a groomed bush, and polished toes if she was the only one who noticed them?

With only three days of vacation left, she needed to climb out of her comfort zone, eat something decent, and snag herself a rogue. Preferably in that order.

Her small wardrobe held nothing suitably wench-like. No broomsticks skirts, no peasant blouses, and of course, no flattering laced vests. The red tube dress would have to do. The top was tight enough that she could get by without a bra. She pulled on a red lace thong, the perfect choice for a wild woman’s undies.

Perhaps she was a little inhibited. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to dress the part.

The delicate diamond heart Jason gave her for Christmas winked at her from the lingerie drawer. Gathering up the fine chain, she opened the porthole window and tossed the necklace into the Caribbean.

The splash was barely audible.

The tiny act of rebellion felt like a giant leap of independence. No more punishing herself over the stupidity of falling for a liar and cheat. She made an understandable mistake. Jason was attentive, romantic, and oh-so charming. She’d never looked past his excuses for why he couldn’t see her on weekends or holidays.

Trustingly, she’d accepted his explanation that his OB-GYN practice kept him too busy. She’d believed every lie. Right up until the Beautiful Homes spread featuring the country estate of Dr. and Mrs. Jason La Noir and their two lovely daughters hit her mother’s mailbox.

She shook off the memory. Enough crying, enough regretting, and enough wasting her time on a man who didn’t deserve her devotion.

Zara scuffled into strappy bronze sandals that highlighted her delicious-apple-red pedicure. Flirty gold hoop earrings played well against her dark brown hair. She put extra effort into getting the eyeliner and taupe tinted shadow smudged just right to highlight her best feature-green eyes. A transparent coat of honey-flavored gloss gave her too wide mouth extra shine. A final spritz of Submission added fragrant allure to her arsenal.

The small vanity mirror reflected her results--nothing there to worry a beauty queen, but she’d done her best. She looked as hot as possible given her basic equipment. Now, she needed to relax and enjoy the rest of her vacation.

* * * * *

The Beach Hut jumped with a reggae band, the buzz from booze-fueled games, and the happy hormones whistling for company. The nightspot was tightly packed with locals as well as the cruise ship passengers.

Zara studied the crowd for lone men, spotting an intriguing player in pirate dress decorating the bar. Working her way through the crowd, she avoided eye contact--in order not to spook her target.

Instead of focusing on the hunk at the bar, she perused the rest of the scenery. The hut’s rustic structure was suitably picturesque with a thatched roof supported by eight massive poles, which in turn were securely bolted to a concrete pad. A single wall acted as a windbreak and backing for the bar, which dominated one end of the building. A panoramic view of the sun moving toward the horizon with great pomp and drama lit the western sky.

Boldly, she climbed onto a padded bar stool close to where she’d last seen the rugged pirate. She scanned the crowd with eager interest, hoping to catch another glimpse of the smoldering hottie. Aware her odds of success decreased in direct ratio to the rogue’s hunk factor, she optimistically searched for her dream man anyway.

Why not try for the best?

But, her screening of the bodies crowding the bar confirmed the bad news, no loose hunky pirate. Everyone seemed paired off already. No one’s fault but hers for letting Smiley’s intimidation keep her from playing the Treasure Hunt game earlier. Her rumbling stomach reminded her she missed out on the crab feed too.

A rapidly moving waitress disappeared into the crowd with a full tray of gaily-colored cocktails with lime wedges, cherries, and miniature umbrellas. The pretty drinks made Zara thirsty as well as hungry.

“What’s your pleasure, Miss?” the bartender asked with a friendly smile.

“What kind of drinks were in those hurricane glasses over there?” She waved toward the decorated cocktails.

“Those are Caribbean Cruises, Miss. They’re very popular with the ladies.”

Zara hesitated for a bare second. “I’ll have one of those, please.”

“Do you want to run a tab? Or--.”

While she was considering her options, the smoldering hottie she noticed earlier wedged in next to her, claiming a previously nonexistent space. Then he gave her a thorough going over from her well-groomed hair to her cute sandals.

Apparently, she’d passed inspection because he tipped his head toward her in a brief nod of approval.

“Add it to my bill and bring us a plate of coconut shrimp too, and another Long neck brew, thanks pal.” The intriguing pirate placed his order with an engagingly crooked grin.

“Thank you,” she said, swiveling toward her benefactor.

A seductive pair of dark eyes met hers, making the lively bar scene fade into oblivion.

This close, the man intoxicated her senses. He was so near a faint trace of bleach from his shirt mingled with scents of sandalwood and clean man. The heat emanating from all those hard muscles warmed her skin.

She tried to swallow, but found her mouth suddenly too dry.

The bartender placed her pastel drink neatly in front of her and she leaned in for a fortifying sip.

Casually, she checked out the hunk through lowered lashes. Like Smiley, the man with the sinful voice was dressed as a pirate. But on him, the costume worked. Her smile spread a little wider with relief as she realized the costume meant he had to work for the cruise line. Maybe, he was one of the cooks, since she was positive she hadn’t seen him on deck. She would have remembered.

A good head taller than her lanky five eight frame, and much broader, he made her feel positively dainty--a novel but pleasing experience. His open-necked white shirt framed a nicely rippled chest with a good sprinkling of curling black hair. Well-worn pants disappeared into supple leather boots. His waist was bound by a faded red silk wrap, complete with a wickedly authentic looking knife, tucked into the fabric. Dark curls swirled to his shoulders, providing the perfect frame for heartbreaker-eyes and the devil’s own mouth. At least one day’s growth of beard darkened his jaw. A rap-star sized diamond winked from his left ear.

“Razor Brinks,” he said, holding out a hand.

She accepted the offer to shake, darn near forgetting who she was as his warm grip engulfed her.

“Zara Sterling,” she managed to say her name. Then, because her tongue was faster than her brain, she asked. “What kind of name is Razor Brinks?”

“Mine, Sweetheart,” he drawled, taking her hand and brushing a thrilling kiss across her knuckles, and then rubbing the spot that continued tingling long after his mouth had departed.

LENGTH: Novella
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-362-8
Download $3.50
(s&h not included in price)

Banished from Enyo, after being unfairly accused of using witchcraft, Joon is ordered back to Earth. Two fierce warriors are assigned to ensure that she gets there. But, before they've made the jump to hyper-light speed, their vessel is captured by Maldorean's and towed to enormous space station, gearing for a devastating surprise attack on an unsuspecting Enyo.

Warning their home planet is the triad's first objective. Their only hope of accomplishing this impossible task is to combine their talents. As they work together to save the warrior's world, the attraction between them grows stronger. But, their years of service and their mating bond changes nothing, their love is still forbidden.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Futuristic Romance.

 Joon’s Temptation

By

Evanne Lorraine

© copyright by Evanne Lorraine, September 2009

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, September 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-362-8

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Belle Amity Compound, Earth 2356 post apocalypse

In the past decade, the Belle Amity Sisterhood had made great technological advances. Thanks to their trade agreements with the warriors of Enyo their breeding program flourished.

Mother Marian folded her hands, seeking guidance from the Goddess. For the sisterhood faced a new crisis.

Their ambassador to Enyo’s Council of Elders was accused of interfering with internal politics. A warrant for her detention would be issued soon. If it hadn’t already happened. She refused to believe that Joon would have been so clumsy as to be caught manipulating the Enyo elders. But, the seductive planet’s warrior had a strange effect on young women and even her loyal Commander might not be immune.

The Holy Mother needed every skill she possessed to negotiate the delicate balance between supporting her officer and protecting the sisterhood’s treaty with Enyo.

Quieting her mind, she composed herself to do the Goddess’s bidding and opened the communication link with Commander Joon.

* * * *

Ten years earlier

Two millennia after the Great War, civilization still teetered perilously close to the edge of destruction. Most of those who had survived the nuclear and biologic disasters fell during the subsequent centuries of pillaging, plagues, and famine. Human and animal populations had not recovered from the devastation. Along with so many deaths, much of mankind’s accomplishments had been lost.

In the first of Earth’s darkest hours, the warriors, strongest of all the males, seized every viable spacecraft, escaping from the doomed planet with their mates.

The ever-dwindling numbers of humans left behind were largely sterile. As the years passed, those rare men, still capable of viable sperm production, fathered only female offspring. There had been no reports of a male birth in more than century.

Small bands of women toiled to carve out a meager existence, some formed nomadic tribes, and others roamed the land alone or in loose groups where the only law was survival.

One group of females, known as the Society of Belle Amity, quietly worked--protecting and advancing the knowledge of their sisterhood.

Even now, the skies stayed dark much of time, the winds fierce, and the temperatures bitterly cold. Though conditions on most of Earth remained harsh, through rigorous training and ruthless discipline, the sisters of Belle Amity progressed and even prospered. Their giant hydroponic conservatories, powered by harnessing the fierce winds, yielded an oxygen-rich atmosphere for the compound, in addition to growing nutrient-dense produce. Their clever scientists synthesized what they could neither cultivate nor manufacture.

Except for sperm.

Their bank of frozen semen declined steadily. This critical shortage forced them to first restrict allocation to only those members of the collective, who had high breeding scores. And then they were forced to limit impregnation to proven breeders.

When the last men on the planet died, the sperm supply continued to fall with no hope of replenishment. With less than a dozen specimens remaining, the sisters of Belle Amity faced their own extinction.

Having run out of options, they planned a hazardous gambit, seeking the warriors, who’d abandoned Earth two millennia earlier, in a last desperate bid to re-supply the sperm bank.

The twelve-year intergalactic trip meant a risky transition into stasis, and an even more risky reanimation procedure, for the pilot. This hazardous feat was in addition to all the dangers inherent in any space flight. Despite the long odds for success, and the many challenges to be overcome, the sisters of Belle Amity proceeded. With the survival of their kind on the line, they carefully honed their most elegant weapon, Dalila Theron, for this critical mission.

As soon as was possible, a company of Belle Amity sisters followed Dalila’s path. Under the Command of Joon d’Magique, the sisterhood arrived en mass on Enyo.

After a tense start, Commander Joon negotiated favorable terms for ongoing relations between the two worlds, becoming the sisterhood’s first ambassador. .

* * * *

Enyo, 2392 post exodus

Joon set aside the ancient e-text on the extinct Centurions, which always gave her comfort, and folded her hands. With small adjustments of her dress, she composed herself to wait in the correct posture for Mother Marian’s holo-conference to begin.

She never wondered why she waited. Waiting was part of what every member of the sisterhood did, a part of what a commander did, and certainly, a large part of what an ambassador did. She’d learned these things first hand. Since, her duty required her to fulfill all of these roles.

What she wondered about was whether or not she was still a woman.

She shifted, almost imperceptibly. Still, such restlessness was unacceptable in any Belle Amity disciple. She swallowed a sigh.

Normally, she excelled at waiting. Lately, it had been hard to school her mind to quiet and to maintain the rigid posture protocol dictated. As the peak of her fertility cycle grew closer, the waiting got even harder. It seemed that the older she got the more violently her body protested her barren state.

Last quarter, she’d been confined to bed for a miserable week. Here on Enyo the weeks were only seventy-two hours long, but even a three-day week was much too long when she was wracked with pain.

She concentrated on loosening her neck muscles, trying to forestall the headache that threatened to make her discomfort worse. Her cycles had never been like this back on Earth.

Since her arrival on Enyo, her hormones had gone from mild rebellion to no-holds-barred guerilla warfare. She wasn’t sure whether it was the abundance of testosterone exuding warriors, or the shocking encounter with Dalila, which was to blame. Either way, the misery was Enyo related and she couldn’t help wishing that her tour here would end.

To distract herself from the uncomfortable vigil, she let her thoughts wander back to the last time she’d see Dalila.

The disciple had been desperate to know the truth of her mate’s secret hearts. But, she’d controlled herself well, hiding the need from anyone other than another sister.

Joon had studied her openly. “There was another factor influencing my decision to persuade the councilman, do you wish to hear of it?”

Plainly, not all that sure, Dalila had said, “Please.”

“Very well. You have a rare portion of courage, disciple. I would see your genes carried to future generations.” Joon had smiled, pleased to share a positive assessment. Then she’d started to make the sign of the Goddess over the other woman, signaling the end of their conversation.

Dalila halted her with another question. “Kelvar and Dexon, did you….did you influence them also?”

“It wasn’t necessary,” Joon said with as much reassurance as the words could hold. “When I examined them, I read their hearts. You have no reason to doubt your mates’ love.”

“Thank you,” Dalila said, bowing deeply. “I need to find them.”

Joon had returned the bow. “The sisters and I will be leaving for New Eden, the capitol of Enyo, in a few minutes. I take my farewell of you now, disciple. May the Goddess keep you until we meet again.”

“And you, Commander Joon.”

And then she made the sign of the Goddess over Dalila, giving the sisterhood’s blessing to Dalila’s unusual union with the warriors.

When Joon had proceeded toward her craft, the deep growl of warrior voices halted her journey. Her steps slowed, she turned her head, glancing back at the lovers. Needing to reassure herself that all was well with the disciple and her mates.

The Enyo men had caged Dalila between them, speaking to her in their rough manner. She had nuzzled each man in turn, reassuring both warriors of her love.

Certain that all was well, Joon had tried to make herself leave. But, the three lovers had captured her curiosity and her gaze remained locked on the trio.

One of the twin warriors had untangled himself from the embrace, taking a stride away from them, and then he’d paused to say something to the man still holding Dalila.

Unconsciously, Joon had put her fist to her mouth, stifling a cry of loss. The strength of her reaction surprised her. It was an unconventional breeding arrangement. And yet, she’d sensed that the three of them belonged together.

Perhaps, Joon had tapped into Dalila’s feelings, because the small disciple spoke to the man leaving, plainly displeased about something. Soon the scolded warrior was kissing his mate. As the kiss continued, big hands cupped the small woman’s bottom, pulling her flush against the warrior’s hard body.

Though the evening had cooled, Joon had grown warm. Her breasts had tightened and the channel between her legs had grown liquid with wanting while deep inside her belly an even more fundamental need had unfurled.

Twisting in his arms, Dalila had captured the other man and pulled him closer. She’d kissed him thoroughly. He’d returned her caress with so much enthusiasm that Joon had found herself licking her own lips. And then he’d covered Dalila’s breasts with his hands.

Joon hadn’t been able to keep from noticing that Dalila’s breasts were small, certainly no larger than her own. Shamefully, she’d continued to stare even as she projected an image of herself on board the departing craft, unable to tear herself away from the erotic scene, taking place in the privacy of the jungle.

The spaceship’s engine roared to life. And still, Joon watched the lovers, straining her capacity for illusion by cloaking her presence among the lush tropical plants in order to move closer.

Dalila’s warriors had worked together to strip off her uniform, and then theirs. At last, there had been no layers left between them. One man kissed the side of the disciple’s neck, stroking from between her woman’s slit to her back passage.

As the other man lifted Dalila, she’d wrapped her legs around the other’s lean hips, opening her secrets to both warriors. Unable to resist, Joon edged closer, confident that her cloaking would protect her from discovery.

“Now, sweet Dalila?” One warrior growled against her mouth.

The man’s deep voice made Joon’s lips itch.

“Yes,” Dalila whimpered, wriggling between the two incredible male bodies with their intimidating breeding shafts fully aroused--hard, long, and thick.

Joon’s sex had fluttered hopefully, her gaze riveted on the scene.

And then they’d both plunged into Dalila’s fragile body.

Joon had been frozen in terror.

Amazingly, the tiny disciple had not been ripped apart by the warriors’ savage possession. Her cries had been those of unmistakable pleasure.

When Dalila had screamed in satisfaction. Joon had stuffed her fist into her mouth to muffle the moan of envy that rose from her throat, hungering for what she could never have--the magic connection between the disciple and her warriors.

The lovers’ sounds, which had carried in the still of the night, pierced Joon’s heart with a craving she’d been unable deny.

Even now, three years later, simply remembering the scene made her hot, itchy, and restless. Recently, her misery had been exacerbated by a hormonal imbalance, which she attributed to her imminent period of fertility.

If it weren’t for the expected holo-cast from the Holy Mother, she would have put herself in a deep trance for the next few days until her breeding season had passed.

Reluctantly, Joon dragged her thoughts back to reality. The air above the holo-port shivered, warning her of an approaching communiqué. Carefully, she schooled her features to reveal nothing of the storm that raged deep inside her very core.

* * * *

Since leaving the dying planet of Earth for the verdant tropical lushness of Enyo, the warriors had not grown soft. They continued to build on their strengths, developing a race of super-men. They’d made great technological advances and raised their collective standard of living to new heights. Importing rescued slaves to augment their ranks.

Only one problem resisted their researchers’ efforts. The men of Enyo continued to produce male sperm--almost exclusively. Each year since their arrival on Enyo, the number of women born declined. After two millennia of predominately male births, the gender imbalance had grown critical.

Extensive exploration of their new galaxy yielded no viable female human life forms. Intergalactic travel remained extremely hazardous. In their most recent effort to increase the number of female births, the council of elders, who governed Enyo, had instituted a mandatory testing of all unchosen men.

Now, only those warriors producing significant quantities of X gametes were eligible to be chosen as a mate by a breeding woman.

The men ineligible for breeding grew restless and unruly. Children of either sex had become a pampered and indulged rarity. The few women, capable of reproduction, were both worshipped and closely guarded.

The ineligible males burned off their aggression by participating in war games, by playing extreme sports, and by indulging their carnal appetites with the ladies of light.

The ladies of light were unreal women, or if a warrior preferred--a lord of light, designed to match a man’s fantasies. They existed only for the life of a single session in a holo-arcade unit. In theory, a warrior could indulge in the holo-world of sensual delights during his free time as long as no other patrons waited and his work credit balance remained positive. In practice, the waiting lines for the pleasure units were long. And warriors were always limited to one fifteen minute session.

With the influx of the Earth women, the breeding pool had been restored to a sustainable level. In exchange, the breeding eligible warriors of Enyo generously donated sperm to be shipped back to the Belle Amity compound on Earth.

Though the number of breeders had increased dramatically, the shortage of women remained acute. Warriors were still evaluated and rated as acceptable mating partners based on rigid standards of merit--physical, mental, and conduct.

* * * *

Mythos stripped out of his uniform. Stepping into the sanitizer he let the hot water, and then the warm air, remove the sweat and tension from his most recent mission. Before sleep, he closed and locked the entrance to his room to prevent interruption. The details of his sparsely furnished quarters hardly registered in his awareness. A clean sleeping couch and privacy were all he needed. An oversized seat with easy access to the enviro controls beckoned him to take his ease.

He ignored the promise of comfort until he’d assured his privacy. Only then did he allow his tired muscles to relax into the ease of the customized chair built to handle his oversized body. He tilted back before activating his personal reader. Rapidly, he skimmed the headline news, moving on to his recorded articles.

Quickly scanning the sharp display, he eagerly absorbed every account the recorder had accumulated for him about the Earthling witch. Pausing the rapid scroll, he studied an image of the female magic wielder. Aware that he’d become obsessed with the alien woman, he still couldn’t stop absorbing every scrap of information about her.

His obsession was illogical. The time he’d spent as a sex slave controlled by a Maldorean witch continued to fuel his nightmares. He rubbed the slave collar portal just under the skin on the back of his neck. As far as he could tell, it still carried the witch’s ward. Though the woman was long dead, carrying her mark was hateful. A permanent reminder that he’d been too weak for prevent what was done to him.

So, what was it about the Earth witch that haunted him?

On Enyo, all women were rare. As an alien, he was ineligible for mating. And his treatment aboard the slaver had eliminated all pleasure from sex, leaving only a passion for revenge. Therefore, females were less than nothing to him. Except for this one strange Earth woman.

Maybe, that was part of the secret of the witch’s appeal. She looked nothing like a Maldorean female. The magic wielder had the face of a fierce angel and there was an ethereal purity to her slim form. On the rare holo-casts he’d seen of her, she’d moved with impossible grace.

Her voice was a siren’s song. Listening to her, he felt something, stirring deep inside. It was as if she spoke to him alone. A whisper of desire snaked past his defenses, and slipped into his system, making him shiver erotically.

For a second, he thought his cock had stirred. Then the usual nausea rose, threatening to choke him. Sickened by his fascination, and uneasy with the vague longing for a true connection like he’d never known, he finally turned off the recordings.

A dream fragment--flickered just outside of his conscious awareness. He never remembered dreams, except for the nightmares from his years in captivity. But, there were times when he awoke sticky from his own release. Those times had occurred after studying the Earth witch.

Clearly, she was dangerous.

* * * *

Killing time, Helax logged in to check his credit balance. In theory, he could overspend. But, in reality, he’d have to work on it. The Enyo Space Corps fed and clothed him. He got to fly the latest ships and he didn’t have worry about how competitive the mating standards were. His nonexistent sperm count disqualified him from even the hope of consideration. His rating, a big fat F, was available to anyone with access to military records. The exact same information could be read--by anyone with a clue--with a glance at his personal tat.

It could have been worse.

No one knew why he was out of the breeding pool. Except for the lab tech, who’d run his fertility test. And even then, there’d been nothing to identify him other than a numeric code. His shameful secret was safe.

He sure as fuck wasn’t going to volunteer the humiliating fact to anyone. On a planet obsessed with breeding, it was bad enough being disqualified. If it got out that he was shooting blanks, he would be fighting to defend his warrior status every day for the rest of his miserable life.

“You ready to head out, man?” Mythos’s baritone was a welcome interruption of Helax’s gloomy thoughts.

They’d been friends ever since the big guy had entered Helax’s cadet class. Something inexplicable, but powerful had drawn him to the feral youngling. Amazingly, Mythos had accepted his tentative offer of friendship. They’d been together ever since. It was almost enough to make him believe in destiny.

“More than, bud--more than.” He grinned at his friend and logged off the banking system, grabbing his shades on the way out.

He shook off the last traces of his serious mood, admiring his friend. Too bad the ladies of light were totally undiscriminating. Mythos would have impressed the hell out of a living, breathing woman.

As a non-native, his friend had the same F rating worked into his tat. But, it was a safe bet that the rippling mass of muscle wasn’t shooting blanks out of his cock.

To make up for his totally fucked-up case of envy, Helax clapped the big guy’s broad back. “I’ll buy your first session.”

His impulsive gesture yanked the big warrior’s head around. “What’s up--did you win the triple moon shot lottery?”

“Nah, I just like your ugly ass.”

Mythos stiffened.

Ah shit, incredibly bad choice of words.

Helax knew how touchy his man was--shit, anyone who’d done time on a slaver had a right to his issues. The big guy never talked about that part of his life. He didn’t need to--even an idiot knew what happened to slaves of both genders aboard the Maldorean mining ships.

He took a shot at fixing the damage he’d done. “Don’t go getting twisted on me. I’m talking like in a totally hetro way, you big jerk.”

A sorry excuse for a grin split his friend’s wicked lips. But, he teased back gamely. “Sure, you keep to telling yourself that.”

Helax laughed, but he hadn’t missed the fact that his man had sidestepped the offer. As far as he knew, the big guy had never visited the ladies of light, which was just plain sad. He wondered if the big guy knew that holo-hos came in both genders.

Never mind, he clamped down on the stray thought. That was so not a conversation that he wanted to have with his touchy friend. Not in this lifetime. Heading for the exit, he called over his shoulder, “Coming?”

“No, I’ve got some business I need to take of,” the big guy said.

Right, ‘cause that’s what horny warriors always did with their leave. But, all Helax said was, “Gotcha, catch you later.”

It only took a few seconds of mirror time to convince Helax it was smart to stick with craggy and natural. Unless he wanted to sign up for A total makeover, his situation was hopeless. Why bother to shave? The ladies of light didn’t care and there was no one else to impress.

Heading out of the unit, he was less than a meter from the exit when his com-link chirped to life. A glance at the call identifier raised his eyebrows and straightened his backbone. He’d almost made a clean getaway.

* * * *

“Banishment,” Joon echoed, unable to completely control a brief flinch of pain at the ugly word.

Mother Marian’s neck bowed in sympathy. “I am sorry my child. The Council of Elders refuses to reconsider.” She made a small sound of irritated pity. “Male egos.”

Joon’s thoughts raced, trying to imagine what she’d been accused of doing. Inevitably, she thought of the most recent addition to the Council. “Was it Cornish?”

“Yes, my child--we believe so. My sources say the newly seated elder is severely hearing impaired. Apparently, he’s quite skilled in the ancient art of reading lips so much so that few are aware of his disability. His deafness rendered him immune to your voice. How he accused you without revealing his own flaw, I know not. Though it matters little. You have been accused of manipulating the Council by means of witchcraft. The warriors have no appeal process.”

Before Joon had formed a sensible question, the holy mother continued. “There’s precious little time. You must hurry, my child. Even now, it may be too late. Go as quickly as possible to the sisterhood’s shuttle. The ship is an inviolate sanctuary. You’ll be hidden until you are transported to the next craft leaving for Earth.” The holy woman tilted her head as if she’d heard something. “May the Goddess protect you and keep you safe in her embrace.” Hastily, she made the sign of the Goddess over Joon. The holo-cast ended before she’d finished the gesture.

For a heartbeat, Joon stared at the ambassadorial quarters she’d been assigned. The unit had come with top-of-the-line conveniences, and comfortable furnishings. Though the unit was luxurious by Enyo standards, there was nothing of personal significance in the rooms.

Magic wielders did not permit themselves personal attachments or even feelings. To do so would interfere with their discipline. This made the yearnings she’d felt since arriving on Enyo all the more frightening. She willed away the fear that would only hinder what she needed to do.

LENGTH: Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-334-5
Download $5.99
Trade Paperback ISBN: 1-58608-724-x
Retail price $11.99
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For five long years, Sam has lived for the chance to avenge the murders of his entire family. When his enemy comes to Jamaica , it’s finally time for him to exact justice. His troubles have only begun. Along with the arrival of his mortal enemy comes the only woman who can heal his wounded soul. While he worries about endangering his love, what Sam doesn’t know may kill him. Because, the love of his life is his worst nightmare—his enemy’s daughter.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Romantic Suspense.

 DANGEROUS SECRETS

By

 Evanne Lorraine

© Copyright by Evanne Lorraine, July 2009

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, July 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-334-5

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Dedication:

For the bad boys and the women who love them, God help us all.

Prologue

Five years ago, outside Montego Bay, Jamaica

At least, she was next to Pop. Maybe, it would be okay.

She’d told him that’s what she wanted when he’d arranged to bury his father. Patsy said she didn’t give a fig about the casket or flowers—all she wanted was to lie beside Tony for the rest of eternity.

He’d never guessed how soon he would be repeating the same gut-wrenching funeral decisions for his mother that he’d been required to make for his father.

He’d picked a light gray casket, because Patsy liked simple things. He’d ordered lots of her favorite yellow daisies. He’d asked the organist to play her favorite hymn,Amazing Grace. But no matter how he tried to fix everything, the whole thing was wrong—so very wrong that it felt like nothing would ever be right again.

There’d been so little time to mourn Pop, and then, less than a week later, his mom. Both of them so dead—so fast—permanently gone. He hadn’t been able to save either one.

Hell, he couldn’t even cry for them.

He made the trip home with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Yet, he was definitely home, standing at the foot of the main stairs, dry-eyed, not feeling a damn thing, except irritated. He was as itchy, as if an earwig was crawling along the back of his neck.

It was the music, coming from upstairs, the wrong music, a happy pop song that made him want to scream and smash things.

It was Caroline’s boom box playing. She hadn’t felt up to going to the funeral. He’d said he understood, but he’d lied. She was pregnant. What the hell did he know about pregnant women? Still, the music was wrong. She should’ve come to the funeral with him out of respect for his mother. Out of respect for him.

She didn’t respect him. That wasn’t news.

Hell, right now, he didn’t think much of himself.

The singer warbled on from upstairs, the music rasping on Sam’s already rotten mood. He took the stairs two at a time, storming into the master suite.

The music was loud, but Caroline heard him.

She didn’t open her eyes, simply smiled a wicked, taunting grin when she spoke. “Is it too much to ask for you to knock?”

“Hell yes, it’s too much to ask. This is my house.”

She shifted, groaned softly, and spread her legs wider for whoever was licking her pussy. “I guess. Though, you couldn’t prove it by me. You’re hardly ever here.”

“You aren’t making this about me. Get the hell out of my bed,” he yelled, yanking the plug on the boom box.

Stopping the music had been a mistake. Now, the room was filled with her breathing and lapping noises and his own pulse thundering.

Caroline shoved herself more upright, pouting prettily. “You’re being mean to me.” The sheet slipped, artfully revealing her full tits. “I was so horny for you. Don’t be mad, ‘kay? Be a good boy, come on over here and give me some of what I need.”

Still mad as hell, he wasn’t interested in helping some other guy fuck her brains out. But his cock didn’t seem to be on board with his decision about not sharing. It was already half-hard. “He has to leave and then we’ll talk.”

“I wouldn’t cheat on you,” she said with wide-eyed innocence.

Except every chance she got. “Of course not,” he said dryly.

The saddest part of the whole sick scene was that her behavior no longer shocked him.

She flipped the sheet off the bed with a giggle. “There’s no other man.”

For once Caroline had been honest. The second set of legs were slim and attached to a round, little tush. The limbs were a dark golden brown and they definitely didn’t belong to Caroline. Neither did the dusky rose vulva, swollen and wet, peeking at him.

His cock stiffened to full attention, instantly ready to fuck the new cunt.

Maybe the girl felt vulnerable, because she turned over, exposing high, pointed, breasts with dark chocolate nipples.

His cock obviously didn’t miss the rear view too much—it grew even harder.

Caroline plucked at one of the new girl’s dark tips, provocatively. “Maya’s never been fucked by a man. I told her that you have a beautiful cock. Why don’t you show it to her?”

He wanted to. Hell, he wanted to show her how it felt, stretching her tight little pussy. But then, he made the mistake of looking at her face.

Her big brown eyes were wide with fear.

Clearly, the girl was terrified. His erection sank and slunk away like a stray dog getting pelted by rocks.

Caroline had used sex to manipulate him from day one. The woman didn’t have any moral boundaries. He’d never considered himself a prude, but compared to her maybe he was, forcing a woman—hell, girl—was not something he would ever do.

Temper surged, fogging his vision. He silently said a brief prayer. Holy mother of God, grant me one second of grace. For a few minutes, the anger left him.

He liked sex as much as anyone did. Hell, he loved sex. But this, whatever this sick game between him and Caroline was, it wasn’t about sex—not any more. It was about messing with his head and stealing pieces of his soul until he wouldn’t be fit to call himself a man.

Caroline got off on pushing his buttons. He understood that. But apparently, he still had limits because her latest stunt sickened him. He’d had it with her outrageous behavior and with her. The games ended now.

His anger had ebbed back in, making him speak with low deliberation. “I’m leaving. When I get back, I don’t want to find any trace you ever existed.”

She studied him through narrowed eyes as if gauging how serious he was.

“Do you understand me?” he asked her flatly.

“Yes,” she spat at him.

“That goes for your playmate too.”

The girl actually looked relieved as she scrambled out of the bed, and began retrieving her scattered clothes.

Caroline bounced to her feet, fists planted on her spreading hips. “You’re a fool. I’ve made every fantasy you ever had come true, and you’re throwin’ it all away just because you’re too much of a pussy to admit you’re dying to get fucked by two women at the same time.”

“Shut up and go before things get ugly,” he said.

“You can’t just throw me out of here, like I was garbage. I’m your wife.”

“Don’t be here when I get back,” he flung the words over his shoulder on his way out of the room. Afraid that if he stayed there another minute, he might lose it and hit her because deep in his dark heart he knew there was some truth in her words.

If the girl had been willing ...

Caroline hadn’t forced him to fuck her brains out—he’d wanted to prove something to himself—had wanted to dominate her. There was no demanding obedience from her, because she pushed faster and harder, stealing his passion along with his self-respect.

He’d been crazy to tolerate her shit for this long. The more he’d let her behavior slide, the wilder she got. They’d been rolling straight downhill from the start.

Of course, he had a ton of excuses for why he’d tolerated her excesses. At first, he’d been shocked, but curious. Hell, he’d been flattered, in a way, by her openness to anything. Then he’d been up to his ass in funeral arrangements. But the truth was he’d also been avoiding her. Bringing her home had been one of his stupidest impulses. He’d married her knowing that they were headed straight into a bottomless hell of degradation.

Yet, with her being pregnant, even though she’d admitted the baby wasn’t his, he’d wanted to make their relationship work. She was lovely when she wasn’t acting like a slut and the kid sure as hell deserved a break.

Then the nightmare of his father’s brutal murder had begun. He’d gotten through the investigation, the funeral, and the wake. He’d wanted to bring his mom home to live with him. But he’d been uncomfortable with the idea of introducing her to Caroline, so he’d let things slide. If he’d been tougher—or even better if he’d thought things through before he acted—then maybe his mother would still be alive.

He’d live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

The memory solidified his decision. He dug a roll of bills out of his pocket, leaving it on the foyer’s table where Caroline would be sure to find it.

* * * *

Later that same night, in Kingston, Jamaica

“What are you doing here?” O’Brien snapped at the appealingly rounded Caroline.

She didn’t answer, waiting contritely in the doorway with her chin quivering effectively.

However, he had no heartstrings for her to tug.

“Well?” he demanded.

“He threw me out.” She kept her eyes on the ground as she mumbled. “Can I come in?”

After scanning the poorly lit parking lot, he stepped aside, giving her tacit permission to enter his temporary abode.

She ambled into the room with no sign of the waddling gait, which he associated with pregnant women. Maybe that came later in the process. Though, her belly was already noticeably pronounced, serving as certain proof that he child swelling inside her was not Sam’s.

Whatever else Sam was, stupid was not on the list. By now, he had to have known she was pregnant by someone else. Yet, he had chosen to shelter her, letting her live with him—a lucky break—one which he wouldn’t have relied upon in million years.

Then the silly bitch fucked it up. He didn’t know how. However, he was absolutely positive she had, otherwise she wouldn’t be here.

She sank into the only comfortable chair with an irritating ease of entitlement and propped her feet on the edge of the bed. “The heat makes them swell,” she said in a half-hearted attempt at an excuse.

“What happened?”

“With Sam?” she asked, widening her eyes innocently.

Scraping together a thin layer of patience, he kept his voice even. “Yes, I want to know what happened with Sam. Why did he throw you out?”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

I’m already as mad as a cat caught in a downpour, he thought. “No, of course not. After all, taking on such a difficult assignment—it can’t have been an easy thing, considering your delicate condition. You really should have told me that you were enceinte.”

She frowned prettily. “Huh?”

“Pregnant,” he elucidated.

“Oh that.” She dismissed her deception with a half shrug as if a whole one would be too much effort. “I needed the money. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Sam was like, super nice about it. He wasn’t bent out of shape about the baby like some guys might have been. You know, I think he kinda liked the idea. Probably, at least half of why he married me.”

“And yet, something went wrong,” he prompted.

“He was gone for days,” she whined.

“Arranging his mother’s funeral.”

“Yeah, I guess he said something about that. But he should have taken me with him instead of leaving me home. I got really bored and lonely.”

He closed his eyes, gripping his patience. “You slept with another man.”

“No! I didn't—see, that’s the thing—I figured he’d be sore if I screwed around with another guy. There’ve been some really hot boys hanging out at his place too,” she pouted.

“So what did happen?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” she protested weakly. “I never did anything, ‘cept look ... not so much as a kiss, honest. Then I bumped into Maya, who was so hot and totally cool with guys or chicks.” She paused to gnaw on a troublesome cuticle. “She was uber-fine—the kind of body that makes men horny just looking, you know?” She licked at the now bleeding finger.

“I stand corrected. You did not make the mistake of screwing around with another man. No, of course not—you picked another woman to fuck.” He moved behind her, massaging the delicate muscles of her shoulders.

“It was more like just warming her up for Sam. I thought she’d be a nice surprise. To like you know, kinda take his mind off his troubles.”

“Ah, now I understand the problem. There’s where you went wrong, thinking is abso-fucking-lutely not your strong suit, sweet cheeks,” he said softly, circling her neck with his hands and massaging the fine beads at the top of her spine.

And then he snapped her neck.

He offered a silent prayer for the soul of the unborn child, who had died with her. The baby was far better off on its instant return to heaven than it would have been left to Caroline’s non-existent maternal instincts.

He might as well have flushed his money for all the good she’d done him. To make matters worse, her corpse already was making the shabby motel room truly disgusting. Hastily, he finished the packing she’d interrupted—he needed to move the body before rigor mortis made the chore more difficult.

What was he going to do with the body? Strip her and leave her in some alley, or perhaps there was one last service that the recently deceased woman might perform.

* * * *

4:30AM the next morning in Montego Bay, Jamaica

Sam was good and drunk when he got home. He’d lost track of how many drinks he’d had. But the alcohol hadn’t numbed the pain—he still felt like a sack of leftover shit. Closing the entryway door with exaggerated care, he walked softly so as not to wake Caroline.

Even wasted, he noticed the house was unusually quiet.

Then he remembered, he’d told Caroline to be gone when he got back. Apparently, she’d taken him seriously. Good thing, ‘cause he’d been serious as hell.

He’d been livid. He’d never been that angry with another person—had never wanted to hit a woman before. A faint echo of the rage washed through him, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth—harsh and dangerous.

The girl with Caroline had been very young and terrified by his tirade. While at first, Caroline had been surprised by his ultimatum, and then mad as hell. Apparently, she’d truly believed he would be thrilled to share her with someone else—even another woman. Hell, especially another woman.

He shook his muzzy head, aggravating an already pounding headache. Why had she triggered his temper?

It wasn’t as if he had any illusions about her total lack of sexual mores. She was entirely hedonistic—a pleasure seeker without boundaries. If he were honest with himself, her wildness had been part of her appeal.

He sat on the stairs and frowned. An examination of his conscience eventually found the source of his anger. Part of him had been tempted and that part was so far from the kind of man that he wanted to be that he’d erupted, taking his self-loathing out on Caroline.

Not that she was all that perfect. But at least, she wasn’t a hypocrite.

The master bedroom held zero appeal. He wished he could erase the last five hours. Hell, the last few months. The empty pit inside him had deepened into a bottomless chasm since his mother’s death. Right this minute, he felt like it would swallow him whole.

Maybe, that would be a good thing.

He must have nodded off for a minute, because the next thing he noticed was Todd shaking his shoulder lightly. “What you’re doing? Sleeping on the stairs, bud?”

“Not sleepin,” Sam muttered in protest. “How’d you get in?”

“Door was open.”

“Oh.” He slumped back to the step where he’d been resting before his friend decided to pay him a visit.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Can’t do it,” Sam shook his head. “Hafta change the sheets.”

“Right.”

Sam recognized his friend’s patronizing tone, but he couldn’t summon enough energy to resent it. All he wanted was to be left alone.

“Look, bud. I’m sure Caroline hasn’t ripped up the sheets.” Todd dropped his voice to an undertone, “Not too much anyway. I’ll check it out for you. Lucky for you that I decided to follow you home.”

“I can take care of myself,” Sam slurred. But his friend had disappeared, which was fine. He was tired of talking.

Two seconds later, when the spinning room had slowed a little bit, Todd clattered down the stairs making enough noise to wake the deaf.

“Let’s get some coffee into you, bud. I need you tell me what happened with Caroline.”

“I yelled at her. I’m a bastard,” he said solemnly.

Todd propelled Sam into the kitchen, wedging him into the corner of the breakfast counter. Then he got busy making coffee. “The two of you had a fight. What time?”

“Fight with Caroline?” Sam asked.

The coffee started dripping, Todd set out two mugs. “That’s right. What time was the fight, bud?”

Todd’s patient tone told Sam that he must be more shit-faced than he’d realized. He shrugged, slipped sideways, and then carefully re-centered his butt on the wooden stool. Yeah, he was completely wasted. “Dunno. Whenever I got home. Wha’s the difference?”

“You’ve got big problems.” His friend poured the first mug of coffee adding a generous heap of sugar and stirred. “Drink up. The cops are on the way.”

Sam choked on the hot coffee. “Why cops?”

“Because I called them,” Todd said evenly, setting down his mug and moving closer to put a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder.

He wasn’t that drunk. His butt was planted on the seat, for God’s sake. Turning to confirm that assumption, he wobbled. Okay, maybe he was that wasted, but still no reason for his friend and partner to get shitty. “Don’t like cops.”

Todd crossed his arms. “Tough. Caroline is upstairs in your bedroom, very dead. I’m a licensed private investigator. I have to report murders.”

Sam tried to make sense of Todd’s words, but his brain refused to make the necessary interface. He straightened, swayed, and then overcompensated, catching himself with a queasy lurch. He shook his head, speaking with great care. “You’re wrong. That’s not possible. Caroline is fine. She’s as healthy as poison ivy and twice as tough. I didn’t even hurt her feelings.”

“I believe you.” Todd unfolded his arms and picked up his mug. “But you would be the number one suspect even if you hadn’t argued. You know how the system works.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam said stiffly.Every time law enforcement steps into the picture, I get royally fucked. A crooked cop had murdered both of his folks. There was no way he’d ever trust anyone in law enforcement.

“Let’s get the timeline nailed down. It can’t hurt, and it might save your ass.”

“Right.” Sam gulped the rest of the coffee, scalding his throat. Then took a minute to run cold water over his hands and splash it on his face and neck. “I need a fresh shirt, and I need to see her.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Sam grumbled, “Suit yourself. By the way, I left the cemetery around four, the service ended a little after three and there were plenty of witnesses—like you. That puts me here no earlier than a quarter to five—probably more like five.”

“When you left, was Caroline alone?”

“No.”

“Well, who was here?”

Sam’s feet felt like they were encased in cement. He forced himself to take a careful step, then another, and then more. “One of her friends.”

“Name?”

“Maya,” Sam reluctantly pulled the name out of the too-vivid memory of Caroline with the girl. The same sick feelings gripped him, tightening his gut with a mixture of disgust and desire and anger.

Holy mother of God, was it possible he’d lost control and hurt her? Panic shut down his mind for a few seconds.

Then he remembered the surprised round shape of her lips when he left—as if she might start whistling. The woman simply had no clue why he was angry.

Sam made it up the rest of the steps. His eyes went straight to the bed. Then he let out a breath of relief.

Todd was wrong. Caroline was in bed, sleeping. The air conditioner was running full blast, ruffling her silky brown hair across the pillow. She had the covers pulled half over her face—the way she always liked them. Moving closer, he hesitated.

Something wasn’t right.

Carefully, he lifted the bedding away from her face. There was something wrong with the angle of her neck, and then he saw the note. Plain white paper, generic inkjet printing, threaded onto the simple gold cross she always wore.

“Got your message, consider this my answer.”

The gagging started immediately—he barely made it to the bathroom.

When he quit retching, Todd handed him a glass of water and a cold washcloth.

He cleaned himself up with slow mechanical movements, shrugging into a clean shirt with no recollection of where the garment had come from.

There’d been no signature. But, Sam knew the note had been from O’Brien. It was a blunt answer to the personal ad he’d placed after his father’s murder, offering to return club receipts found in Seattle.

“Does the note make sense to you?” Todd asked.

Sam hesitated before saying, “Yeah.”

“Cops are going to want to know …”

“In that case, I don’t have a clue.”

“Your call.” Todd shrugged. Tell me more about the friend that was with her the last time you saw her.”

“I don’t know Maya’s last name. I’d never seen her before. She and Caroline were—they were—being intimate.”

“You mean ... ?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

Todd pinched the bridge of his nose. “So that’s why you got mad.”

Sam studied the bathroom’s tile floor, unable to face his friend. “She invited me to join them. Hell of it was that I’m such a bastard that part of me wanted to. Part of me was disgusted. Yet, another part got furious. Anger won. I screamed at her like an outraged prude at an orgy.”

Todd cuffed his shoulder in sympathy. “Holy shit, bud. That was completely rotten timing—springing a three-way on you after your mom’s funeral.”

A horrified chuckle emerged from Sam’s throat. And then the chortle morphed into a choked sob. Finally, he got enough control over his voice to talk. “Hell, I was looking for an excuse to get out of here and get good and drunk.”

His friend’s expression was full of worry. “I hear you. But that still leaves us with a big problem. She didn’t hop into bed with a broken neck. Somebody killed her. You’re going to be the prime suspect. Time of death may rule you out, but it won’t eliminate the possibility you hired it done.”

Everything Todd said registered with him. But he simply didn’t give a damn. Whether he lived or died didn’t much matter.

The only thing Sam cared about was extracting vengeance for his parents—for Caroline and the baby. O’Brien had killed all of them.

Sam vowed that the rotten bastard would pay for his crimes with his life. If he couldn’t avenge his family, then he deserved to die, too. Meting out justice was the only reason he had left to live.

The doorbell chimed. The cops. Perfect.

Chapter One

Present day, Thursday evening on Fisher Island, Florida, five years later

The doorbell rang while Karina was squeezing lemon juice into the olive oil. Two slippery seeds popped out, polluting the delicate salad dressing.

Damn. Why had she felt compelled to make everything from scratch? She hadn’t even clarified the butter. The entire menu had been a mistake. It was way too ambitious for her beginner-level cooking skills.

She’d wanted tonight to be special. It was their one-month anniversary of living together, and Lenny had been so sweet lately that she’d hoped …

The chimes pealed again, interrupting her thoughts. It might be Lenny, home early with his arms too full of champagne and roses to manage his key. The image was so unlikely that it made her smile. He was more a skim-milk-and-toilet-paper kind of guy—practical, reliable, and steady. All of which made him the perfect man—for her.

When she opened the door, she found Kat waiting impatiently.

Typically, her mother had arrived unannounced and unexpected.

Karina’s irritation level rose as predictably as the thermometer in summer. She hadn’t seen or heard from Kat in over a year. The last time she had heard from her—it had been because she needed money. The time before that had been the same, and the time before that, too.

Karina knew her mother must be broke again. Why else would she show up here? And yet, her foolish heart always hoped that it was because she’d remembered she had a daughter.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” her mother asked with a winning smile.

Knowing she should say no, Karina saw beneath the calculated smile to something vulnerable and bruised in Kat’s eyes. And she just couldn’t slam the door in her face.

She stepped back, giving way. “Certainly, come in.”

A tear escaped from Kat’s big blue eyes. “Thank you, I couldn’t stand being alone for another minute.”

You never can, she thought, feeling instantly ashamed of the criticism.

Neither she nor her mother could change the past. So there was no point in resenting a less than perfect childhood. She was working on being grateful that she was an adult and able to make her own choices.

When she and Lenny had children, they would have a stable home and they would know that they were loved. She was going to make sure of it.

“What happened?” she asked warily.

A second pretty tear traveled the same route as the first. Kat waved her hands frantically in front of her face—a sure sign that she was truly distressed.

“Harold died.”

All the air seemed to leave the room and Karina sank, landing safely on the comfortable sofa. No wonder her mother was upset. Harold had been the one decent guy in her life.

Clutching a velvet pillow for security, she asked, “When?”

“I don’t know.” Her mother sniffled. “I got a copy of the will when I stopped to pick up my mail.”

Kat fished through her designer bag, extracted the problem document, and then thrust it at Karina, demanding, “Just read it!”

She accepted her father’s will with trembling hands, trying to sort out the jumbled feelings flying through her mind. Shock, disbelief, and denial held the front slots. Then she thought about her brother, Todd. Why hadn’t he told her?

But she knew why. He would be isolating, which was how he always handled pain. Losing his dad must have devastated him.

Harold Chadwick had been Kat’s third husband. He’d been a demanding, but fair, parent to his son by his first wife—Todd. Unfortunately, he’d never been comfortable with Karina. In fact, he’d avoided contact whenever possible.

Perhaps it was because she was a girl, and he didn’t know how to relate to females. Growing up, she’d learned to act as if she didn’t mind his aloofness. But of course, she minded dreadfully. Eventually, she’d accepted that his lack of interest in her would never change. There had been no other choice.

“Hurry up and read the damn thing,” her mother snapped.

She met Kat’s gaze. “Just tell me what it is that is making you so upset.”

“Just read the will.”

Her mother’s sharp tone only increased her feeling of dread, making her even more reluctant to read the ominous document.

But then she looked at Kat, seeing the softening of her mother’s jaw line that tension didn’t erase. Empathy for her mother’s fears made her set aside her own misgivings. She smoothed the folded pages and began reading the preamble.

Getting through the will took awhile. Several times, she had to back up and reread a section. Tears welled and she blinked them away. This explained so much. No wonder Harold had shunned her. She wasn’t his daughter. Yet, he’d left her a substantial bequest. She’d instantly decided to donate the money to the Street Angels, a terrific organization that worked with at-risk teens. Thankfully, she didn’t need his gift of pity.

Then she got to the section where he mentioned Kat. He’d left her mother the grand sum of one dollar. Finally, she understood Kat’s distress. Her mother was perpetually broke. More so when she was between husbands.

“You’ve been married four times since Harold,” Karina gently pointed out what she thought were mitigating circumstances.

“Thank you very much for that helpful reminder,” Kat sniped “I was married to him for ten years. And, I was the love of his life.”

Karina tried to keep a neutral expression but her face must have morphed into doubt.

“Well, he never remarried,” her mother added defensively.

“No, he never did,” she agreed mildly.

Marriage to Kat had probably soured him on women permanently. She kept that unkind and unhelpful thought to herself.

Her mother looked like a slightly older version of every man’s dream girl—Miss Scandinavia, which, of course, was exactly who she was.

Kat had always been the star. No amount of conversation would dent her ego. She truly didn’t know any better. She’d been adored since birth. Even her ex-husbands, other than Harold, maintained an indulgent fondness for Kat.

Her own appearance, a great deal like her mother’s, was a mixed blessing. People always reacted to her looks—not to her. Worse, simply because of the way she was formed, men expected her to be fun, adventurous, and passionate.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. She was disappointingly conservative, cautious, and inhibited.

Her mother’s gorgeous sulk reminded her how lucky she was that Lenny was easy-going, responsible, and undemanding. At twenty-three, she’d already had more than enough drama to last a lifetime.

She glanced at the clock. Damn. She’d intended to have everything ready by the time he got home. Suddenly, she wanted her mother out of there.

And she knew exactly how to do it. The money would have to come out of the savings she’d hoped to use for a dream wedding. But Lenny hadn’t even proposed yet. Anyway, a small intimate affair would probably suit both of them far better than an extravagant fairytale blowout event.

“Let me write you a check to tide you over, until you’re feeling better,” she said briskly, crossing to the desk where she kept her checkbook.

Kat didn’t miss a beat. “Can you make it for fifteen thousand? I had my boobs done again, and I still owe the doc.”

Karina flinched, mentally moving the mythical wedding to the judge’s chambers while silently promising herself, for the umpteenth time, that this was the last check she would ever write Kat.

Maybe, she wouldn’t have to give up on a pretty wedding. Fortunately, she hadn’t called Rick back about the Tantastic shoot. The pay was undeniably great. She’d hoped to get away from modeling, which only worsened her self-esteem issues. But the money would go a long way toward restoring her savings account.

She tore off the check, blowing softly to dry the ink, and then moved to where Kat posed, automatically angled to show her best side. Stopping far enough back to force her mother to stand, she waited.

Kat rose, accepting the check, but made no move to leave.

“I need to get back to the kitchen.” Karina waved vaguely toward the back of the condo.

“Don’t you want to know who your real daddy is?” her mother asked slyly.

She almost said no. Knowing, just from Kat’s expression, that she wouldn’t like the story. But then her natural curiosity got the better of her. “Yes.”

A smile flickered through her mother’s eyes so fast that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Let’s talk in the kitchen. What are you fixing?”

“Salad dressing,” she muttered.

“And?” her mother prompted.

“Lobster, corn on the cob, clarified butter, rolls, and brownies—” she cut herself off.

Lenny would be home any minute. Nothing was ready. Suddenly, she was painfully aware of how far behind schedule she’d fallen. She raced to marshal her ingredients and get dinner started.

Her mother perched her well-toned rump on a kitchen stool. Her body language made it clear that she did not intend to leave anytime soon.

Taking a deep calming breath, Karina considered stopping payment on the check as she washed and dried her hands before flicking the lemon seeds out of the salad dressing. Quickly, she moved on, washing the lettuce and patting it dry. “Would you like to clean the corn?”

“Oh no. I’d only be in your way. I know how organized you are.” Kat extracted a nail file from her handbag.

She didn’t pursue it. Cooking was not one of her mother’s talents. “You were telling me about my father.”

“Right.” Her mother brightened, restored to the spotlight. “It was a gorgeous spring evening I was wearing a white halter top sundress. He pulled me over as I was driving up Canyon. I was hardly even speeding.”

“My father is a cop?”

Kat frowned slightly at the interruption. “How should I know? I haven’t seen him in twenty-four years.”

Tearing the lettuce into bite-sized pieces with unnecessary force, Karina didn’t look at her mother when she spoke, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “So it was a brief affair?”

Kat laughed. “More an encounter …”

Biting her lip to keep from either yelling in frustration, or worse, crying in misery, she set aside the bruised lettuce and began stripping the husks from the ears of corn.

When she was sure that she could control her voice, she asked her next question. Again she made her tone as even as possible because she wanted the information very much and Kat was the only person who knew it. “Do you remember his name?”

“Because of you, I do.” Her mother paused dramatically, holding Karina’s gaze.

Whatever she’d seen in Karina’s expression convinced her to move rapidly for full disclosure. “His name was Jake O’Brien. He was a State Patrol officer.”

Karina nodded. It was something—a place to start. Todd, her brother was a private investigator. He could help find him. Perhaps, one decent parent wasn’t too much to hope for. But then, she realized Todd wasn’t really her half-brother at all. They weren’t even related. The realization brought a sharper pang of loss than learning of Harold’s death. She’d given up on Harold long ago. Todd was one of the few people she counted on. Related or not, that wouldn’t change—it couldn’t because she wouldn’t be able to stand losing him.

Mechanically, she cleaned up the mess of cornhusks and silks, and then poked the lobster tails, trying to gauge if they were completely defrosted. That’s when it dawned on her—never mind her ruined plans for a romantic anniversary dinner for two—she had three people to feed and only two portions of lobster.

Lenny ambled into the kitchen, adorably rumpled. His jacket dangled from one finger. “Who’s your friend?”

Tension knotted Karina’s stomach, but she gave herself a firm mental shake. She would not go there. To do so would only be borrowing trouble and insulting her lover.

This was Lenny, a sensible, adult man, who had nothing in common with her old boyfriends. She had nothing to worry about—he would never fall under Kat’s siren spell. “Lenny, this is my mother, Katrina Chadwick.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Chadwick.”

“Call me Kat, everyone does.”

“Kat, then. Were we expecting you?” Lenny asked pleasantly.

Karina flashed him a warm smile of gratitude.

Her mother hesitated, lowering her lashes demurely. “No, I had some family news to share with Karina.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?”

Kat shrugged gracefully. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.”

Her mother was actually trying to be considerate. This was going so much better than Karina had dared to hope. “Honey, there’s wine in fridge. Could you get some for all of us?”

“Sure, babe.” Lenny gave her arm a little squeeze as he reached for the goblets.

“No, the flutes please,” Karina murmured.

Lenny cocked an eyebrow. But he got out the good crystal without a word of complaint.

Turning her back to her mother, she mouthed, anniversary.

He blinked from behind his glasses, obviously, not understanding.

Perhaps, champagne wasn’t the best choice. It would have to do. She had nothing else ready to serve and it went well with the lobster, which reminded her that she still needed to run to the store. For a second, she thought about sending Lenny. But she really, really needed a little time away from Kat if she was going to have a prayer of making it through the rest of evening without screaming.

She turned to tell Lenny where she was going, no Lenny and no Kat for that matter. Her stomach knotted again. But then, Kat’s rich full laugh and Lenny’s polite mutterings from the balcony reassured her that all was well.

“I’ve got to run to store. I’ll be back soon,” she said, hardly pausing while she snagged her purse and slipped out of the condo, guiltily avoiding Lenny’s gaze.

Halfway to the market she hit a red light and used the delay to check her purse for her Bonus Bucks Club card. Lenny had used it last night to get gas. Damn. She drove another block hesitating between shopping sans saving card or driving home to fetch it.

Going home had the added attraction of prolonging the time she was away from Kat. She drove another few blocks before she could make a legal u-turn.

When she let herself into the condo, the living room was deserted. Automatically, she scanned the balcony, where she’d left Kat and Lenny. The ocean view was one of the big reasons Lenny had bought this unit. The sea was a brilliant blue, the beach a pale sparkling border, and the palm trees graceful exclamation points. But the wide balcony with its comfortable wicker lounges was as empty as the living room.

Her mother’s rich throaty laugh chortled from the bedroom and Karina’s heart lurched painfully in her chest. She wanted to run, to pretend this wasn’t happening, to move the clock back twenty minutes and send Lenny to store.

Worst of all, she knew that she had no one to blame but herself. Of course, she’d let Kat stay for dinner. She’d volunteered to run to the store to get another lobster tail, leaving Lenny and Kat to get better acquainted. After all, Lenny was different. Lenny was sensible. Lenny loved her.

Bile rose in her throat, she swallowed hard.

Lenny was male and Kat was ... Kat.

Quietly, she walked toward the bedroom. The door stood open, Kat’s newly improved breasts bounced attractively as she rode Lenny like a rodeo queen.

He groaned. “Fuck me harder, babe.”

The bitterness filled her throat and Karina stumbled away, choking back the gall that threatened to gag her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t confront them. Maybe she should have. Maybe, if she’d forced herself to return to the lovers then the rift in her self-esteem could’ve been repaired.

The shock, the betrayal, and the rejection ripped her open and overwhelmed her. She gave in to the urge to run—reduced to the lonely little girl, who’d needed comfort and reassurance. Snagging her passport from the desk and her gym bag from hall closet, she crept out of Lenny’s condo and ordered a taxi.

She called her brother on the ride to airport. Getting his voice mail, she left a brief message. “Hi, it’s me. I’m coming down to see you—should get in tonight or maybe tomorrow. If you get a chance, see if you can locate a Jake O’Brien, he was a California state patrol cop twenty-five years ago. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. Love you. Bye.”

Then she caught the next available flight to Jamaica where she could weep on her big brother’s shoulder. Todd, the monster slayer, had always come through in the rough times.

She already knew what he’s say ... Lenny wasn’t worthy of her tears and Kat was a sex addict who couldn’t control her own impulses. But she still wanted to hear her brother tell her everything was going to be okay. Besides, she wanted to find out more about her biological father and the challenge of helping her might even be cathartic for Todd.

* * * *

Friday afternoon in Kingston, Jamaica

The ride to the airport, checking in, and passing through the security checkpoint all passed in a blessedly foggy blur. Or at least, she assumed she’d done all those things because she deplaned at Norman Manley International in Kingston with no recollection of the trip.

The heat hit her like stepping into a sauna. She welcomed the warmth. Jamaica was comfortingly familiar. For a minute, she expected to find Todd waiting for her. Then she remembered she hadn’t told him she when she was arriving. She soldiered on, hailing a taxi before slipping back into own thoughts.

She was certain about a couple of things—she was done with crying over that rat bastard Lenny and she was done being a good girl. It had never got her anywhere she wanted to be.

The cab driver’s lips curved in a gap-toothed grin revealing oversized startlingly white teeth. “Where to, Miss?”

His question snapped her back to reality and she automatically gave him the marina’s address. She’d call Todd as soon as she was settled.

The colorful patchwork of the central area slid past the taxi window as the driver wove through the normal snarls of traffic. After paying off the cab, she rolled her gym bag to the dock. The rusty tin roof covering the smaller boat slips shimmered with radiated late afternoon heat. She used her key to unlock the cyclone fence gate, which guarded the larger, open slips.

Ms. Behavior, her brother’s boat, bobbed genteelly like a well-preserved movie star from a different era slumming amid the locals. The elegant craft’s bright work gleamed, highlighting the classic lines of the antique teak hull.

Todd loved the old yacht and lavished it with the attention it required. Her brother had been a private investigator for ten years, ever since he left the service. He’d never talked much about his military career. But she knew he hadn’t been partying his way around the globe. She frowned, realizing just how little she really knew about her brother’s life.

She’d talked to him on the phone a couple of weeks ago. She tried to recall the specifics of what they’d discussed, but all that came to mind was laughing when he’d told stories about the antics of his martial arts students. She was sure that he hadn’t mentioned being involved with anyone. That didn’t rule out a girlfriend.

If there was someone aboard, then she would check in to a hotel. Since she’d stopped payment on her mother’s check and tossed her wedding dreams, she had plenty money for more worthy causes—like visiting her brother.

As she got closer, she could make out the sturdy lines, power cables, and utility hoses tethering Ms. Behavior to the slip. Well-used fenders protected her stern and sides from the rough planks and barnacled covered pilings of the wooden dock.

A cool breeze greeted her as she stepped aboard under the aft deck’s awning. The hum of the boat’s air-conditioning assured her that she would rest in comfort. She had the boat to herself. After a long shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and rested in the guest quarters—

loathe to get dressed in same clothes she’d worn.

Next time she ran away, she was definitely packing first. She leaned against the hull, letting the rocking motion of the boat soothe away her tension. In a moment, she’d call Todd and let him know she was here.

When she woke, it was almost dark. Her mouth was dry, her cheek creased from sleeping with her face mashed into the corded trim of the pillow sham, and she didn’t know where she was. Slowly, the memories of Lenny’s betrayal, her slamming out of the condo, and then arriving in Jamaica returned. She needed a drink of water, a clock, and a phone.

The soft shuffling of papers caught her attention, freezing her. Maybe Todd had come home, but she didn’t think so. Whoever was rifling through her brother’s things was being much too quiet to have any legitimate reason for being there.

Adrenalin rushed through her body, sharpening her senses. She strained to hear anything more from inside the main cabin as she felt for the release button to one of the hidden compartments, which Todd had showed her the first time he brought her aboard the boat. The mechanism clicked, allowing her to slide the secret panel soundlessly open. Her palm settled comfortably over the handgun’s scored rosewood grip.

Quietly she withdrew the weapon, closed the compartments, and checked the gun’s chambers. It was fully loaded—ready to fire. An unholy thrill raced through her veins.

She climbed the three steps to the salon. In the midst of the familiar space, a man sat with his back to her, making himself at home at her brother’s teak desk.

The intruder was completely engrossed in reading the familiar word-processing screen. She took advantage of his distraction to compare his arrogant sprawl with the immaculate cabin. The brass fixtures gleamed, the teak glowed, the navy and white upholstery of built in sectional was crisp yet inviting. A flat screen TV decorated one wall. Family pictures--mainly of her and Todd--had been lovingly framed in a shadowbox bolted to the paneling defined the other end of the room. Even the business corner, which held charts, paperwork, and a drop down desk for Todd’s laptop was orderly--unsullied--except for him.

Yesterday had been completely horrible. Today wasn’t looking much better, considering that it had started with someone breaking and entering.

Assuming the two-handed shooter’s stance her brother had drilled into her, she yelled at him. “Nice and slow now, put your hands on your head.”

He flinched, dropping the mouse, but complied with her order. “If you hold on a minute, I can explain.”

Ignoring his offer, she issued another demand. “Get up.”

Again, the man moved slowly, but he obeyed her orders. This was good, because she didn’t want to shoot him. A gunfight could damage the boat’s interior. “Start talking.”

“I’m a friend of Todd’s ... may I turn around?”

She thought about it for a moment. She wasn’t really dressed to entertain. But she wanted a look at him. “Okay, but real slowly.”

The stranger met her gaze with dark eyes that seemed to burn right through her skin to her very soul. She shivered with an awareness that raised goosebumps everywhere that his eyes caressed her body.

“I don’t know you,” she said flatly. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Sam Moreno, I’m a friend of Todd’s. He asked me to resolve a couple of system problems for him. That’s all I was doing.”

“I’ll bet,” she muttered rudely to mask her inexplicable reaction to him. “Do you always snoop through your friends’ emails while you’re helping them out?”

He ignored her question, lowering his hands without permission. “It’s your turn, who are you and what are you doing here?”

Briefly, she reconsidered shooting him somewhere on his body. A leg, maybe--some non-critical spot—as a warning. It would put a fast end to the seductive challenge in his eyes. She decided against it. Just possibly, he really was one of her brother’s friends. Besides, she would be the one stuck cleaning up the resulting mess and she was in no mood for swabbing the deck.

Her decision for leniency had nothing whatsoever to do with his broad shoulders or brooding glance. Even tired and cranky, she had still noticed his incredible eyes, black curls, sensual mouth, and powerful forearms dusted with black hair.

The loose fitting shirt and slacks only served to make her more aware of the hard body underneath the casual island clothes. This was so out of character for her she knew she must have passed tired and moved into delusional territory.

“Hands back on your head,” she snapped at him, more cross with herself for imagining him naked than truly upset with his failure to follow her directions. She waved the gun, emphasizing her point.

He complied much too reluctantly.

“I’m Todd’s sister, Karina,” she said crossly, finally answering his question. Then she tried to focus, growing crankier by the minute. “Did you find whatever you were looking for?”

“Not yet,” his voice was cool and controlled ... a deep male sound that called to feminine instincts she’d believed dormant or missing—his gaze raked over her barely covered body, sizzling with unmistakable lust.

It wasn’t as if he were the first guy to notice she was female. There was nothing unusual about his frank appraisal, except she’d responded in kind. Heat raced up her neck flushing her cheeks with rosy color, a band of excitement constricted her breathing, her heartbeat accelerated like she’d been working out, and her feminine parts surged to life.

Of course, her previously non-existent sex drive had picked the worst possible moment to wake up and smell the testosterone. Worse, she couldn’t control her arousal any more than she could command the tides. The ice princess had melted.

She stared at the stranger, who’d set fire to her body. What had he told her his name was? Sam. This was crazy. She was running on fumes and needed to lay down for another couple of hours. Attraction, or not—and she wasn’t kidding herself about the strength of the heat arcing between them.

But she wasn’t so far gone that she was ready to buy his story. So much for her plan to be a wild woman. “What’s on the screen?”

He swiveled back to check the computer before speaking. “A letter your brother was writing to you.”

“Print it out,” she said.

He moved the mouse to comply.

A deceptively soft pop exploded past her shoulder.

Her prisoner flinched.

“Holy mother of God, be careful where you’re pointing that thing.”

Then a series of pops, riddled the teak paneling with ragged holes.

“Get down! I’m not the one shooting.” Taking her own advice, she dropped to the floor.

He caught on fast, flattening himself on the deck, and then belly-crawling over to her. Hugging her tightly against his frame, he rolled both of them into the captain’s quarters.

Though her fatigue had vanished with the first shot, she didn’t waste any of the adrenalin-fueled energy struggling against him.

“Any ideas about who’s shooting at us?” he asked her in an only slightly harsher than usual tone.

Oddly, she didn’t resent his reference to them as anus. The shots fired had gone a long ways toward erasing her reservations about him. Ignoring the hard body lying on top of her and the erection pressed tantalizing close to where it could do some good, she tried hard to match his casual attitude,

“My guess is a homicidal maniac, other than that—not a clue,” she replied, proud of how normal her own voice sounded.

Sam grinned down at her. In spite of everything, she felt her heart lift a tiny bit. He had a great grin.

“Just Sam?” she asked.

The grin flattened. “Samson actually—But everyone calls me Sam.”

She nodded. A wasted gesture since his gaze had moved back to the doorway. She still wasn’t sure she could trust him. But Samson suited him. Plus, he was definitely not the one firing at them, a fact, which weighed heavily in his favor.

“Give me the gun,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

“Forget about it. The gun stays with me.” She scooted away from him, but stayed low. “I’m an excellent shot,” she added to soften the refusal.

He sighed. “Don’t make me take it from you.”

You and what army buddy?

Faster than she’d thought possible, Sam pinned her securely to the floor. The gun was between them, her hand still locked on the grip.

Obviously, arousal didn’t interfere with his reactions. For all she knew his erection was a normal threat response. It’s not like she’d had any actual close encounters with men, while they were involved in gunfights. “You might want to ease off me real gently. Otherwise I might accidentally shoot. Judging from the direction of the barrel, you have got a lot more to lose than I do.”

His tan got a little paler around the edges.

“Holy mother of God,” he muttered reverently as he carefully lifted himself.

“Are you swearing or praying?” she asked, needing a distraction from the loss of his body heat as much as being genuinely curious.

“A little of both,” he admitted with a ghost of his high-wattage grin.

“Okay then, just so we understand each other ... you want the gun? Then let me operate it. Think of us as a package deal.”

“Yeah, all right,” he agreed without any conviction in his tone.

He was taller by half a foot and probably had at least eighty pounds on her. For all his size, he was quick. Still, she wasn’t worried about him overpowering her. After all, she was an expert atTae kwon do, she was still quicker than him, and she had the gun.

He stood and raised a dark eyebrow at her. “Would you really have shot me?”

The sound of someone running down the dock faded into the distance.

She scrambled to her feet and stepped forward, impatiently. “You want to talk about this now, while the shooter is getting away?”

Sam’s jaw snapped together, his arms crossed, and his stance widened. He blocked the only exit. “I can’t let you go out there.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They couldn’t stand here all night. He probably was telling her the truth about being Todd’s friend. Nevertheless, she needed some kind of proof. “Show me the key Todd gave you. Come on, hurry up.”

He glared at her for a few more seconds, and then fished out a set of brass keys.

After examining them briefly, she handed the keys and the gun to Sam. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Yeah.” His response was short and to the point.

But it was a lot more answer than she’d expected to get once he had control of the gun. As he moved away, he reached a hand back to her in a gesture of reassurance. She grabbed it, squeezed, and then let him go.

“Stay here and stay low,” he warned, unnecessarily.

This time, she rolled her eyes. But he was already outside and missed it. She sat shivering in her towel—a delayed reaction to the danger.

Before she crept back to the guest cabin, she adjusted the air conditioning’s thermostat higher. Her travel outfit was a little wrinkled but it was either that or workout clothes or something from her brother’s wardrobe. Unless one of his girlfriends had left clothes—she rejected the idea of even looking. Wearing a strange woman’s garments was more disgusting than putting on her own previously worn things.

She grimaced and then unwound the towel, settling her breasts into the ice-blue lace bra, while eyeing the matching thong. She just couldn’t make herself wear it. Her sports panties were black—definitely unacceptable under the white slacks.

Quickly, she slipped on the white slacks and fastened them. No one could tell, she assured herself with a glance in the tiny head’s mirror. But she definitely knew. She did her best to ignore the sensuous friction of the pant’s seam on her intimate folds as she tugged on the tee shirt and retrieved her sandals.

Crab walking over to the computer station, she picked up the letter Sam had printed out before all the excitement.

Hi Pumpkin,

Most likely, this will be another letter I never send to you. I started writing these back when I was in the service, one before each mission.

If anything happens to me then I want you to get in touch with Sam Moreno, he’s young but he’s solid. He has worked with me for the past few years. He loves Ms. Behavior almost as much as I do. You can rely on him for help and advice. He’ll know how to get a hold of Doug Crawford, the attorney, who rents me one of his extra offices.

Don’t let appearances fool you, Doug is as smart as they come and he knows his way around the legal scene. He has copies of my last will and testament, a list of bank accounts, investments—everything you’ll need.

I love you, Pumpkin don’t ever forget it,

Todd aka the monster slayer.

Tears welled again and she blinked hard, remembering long ago when her big brother kept the monsters away. Carefully she folded the page and tucked it into her purse. Although, she was aware that her brother had never intended for her to read it, unless something had happened to him, she kept it anyway, touched by the evidence of his thoughtfulness.

Then it hit her. Todd had to be involved in something really dangerous. It was the only logical reason for him writing that kind of letter.

She told herself that her brother was smart, strong and one of biggest bad-asses around. But it didn’t help. Fear leached more of the heat from her skin and heightened her senses.

Rubbing at the goose bumps on her arms, she turned off the computer. While waiting for the operating system to shut down, she re-read Todd’s letter. Maybe she should trust Sam. Her brother knew him much better than she did. Still, he’d written the letter early that morning, long before the shooting.

No one had any reason to shoot at her. That made Sam the likely target, not exactly a great character reference. At best, he was one of her brother’s badass friends. At worst, he was a criminal. Either way, it would be foolish to give him blind trust.

She ducked back into the captain’s quarters. Her brother kept more than one weapon aboard. She retrieved his backup piece, a lightweight gun, from his weapons’ locker. After tucking the gun into her purse, she took a couple of extra moments to check both spare ammo clips before slipping them into her handbag.

On her way through the main cabin, she noticed that the printer’s ready light was still on. Reaching to turn it off, her fingers missed, bumping a small extra button. A tug and it came off in her hand. She examined the device curiously for a moment. Forgetting about it a few seconds later as she added more ammunition to the purse’s growing collection of hardware, the small magnet accidentally joined the bullets in her tote. She grabbed her gym bag, rapidly picking through Todd’s stash and adding weapons to her inventory.

If things went well, she’d put all of this stuff back. But if things went all to hell ... then she’d be grateful for the arsenal.

By the time Sam got to the dock, as he expected, the shooter was long gone. Aside from the bullet holes in Ms. Behavior, which Todd would weep over, the shots had been a good thing. The last thing he needed was to complicate his fucked-up life even more by getting involved with his best friend’s sister. Todd would beat him senseless if he had any idea about the kind of things he’d been thinking for the last half hour—let alone what would happen if he were stupid enough to act on any of those thoughts.

Todd wasn’t blameless. He could have had the decency to warn him about his sister. Nothing he’d said had prepared Sam for walking temptation. When his friend talked about his kid sister, he’d gotten the impression she was a youngster. He hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful it hurt to look at her. A woman, whose eyes scorched him with blue fire and whose body set off a whole different kind of blaze. She would have been a major distraction no matter what, but wearing nothing except a skimpy towel ... hell, any man with a heartbeat would have reacted the same way.

If it hadn’t been for the gunfire ....

Fortunately, the shots had been fired, yanking his attention away from those world-class curves and back to business. With any luck, she would have put some clothes on before he had to deal with her again. That would help. Then maybe he could remember that he was a civilized man and not some horny animal.

He didn’t hurry checking out the parking lot. He examined every inch of the hot pavement. The only evidence that he hadn’t imagined the incident was a discarded plastic soft drink bottle with its bottom blown out.

When he let himself back into the main cabin, he sighed with relief. Karina was wearing white pants and a blue tee shirt.

His relief was premature. As it turned out, dressed wasn’t that much of an improvement. The pants-hugged hips that still looked like they’d cradle him perfectly and the tee shirt fell several inches short of meeting the waistband, leaving a good three inches of soft, golden, bare woman on display. Peeking out of the top of the hip-huggers, below her bellybutton—was a tattoo. A bright blue point of ink poked out at him, revealing enough of the design to drive him crazy with the need to see the rest of it ... to trace the tattoo with his tongue.

Crazy was the right word.

She was Todd’s sister. The kind of woman who branded herself with ink wasn’t right for him—not even for sex. He’d had enough sick games with Caroline. When he’d found her with another woman, he’d lost control. Throwing her out of the house had put her squarely in O’Brien’s sights—two more deaths, since she’d been pregnant, had been added to his load of guilt. The unborn child hadn’t been his. But the technicality didn’t lighten his burden. The baby had been a complete innocent, deprived of life before it had ever drawn a single breath.

The shots reminded him what kinds of things happened when he was out of control. For a few minutes, Karina had made him forget everything. Except that he was a man and she was a woman. He couldn’t forget again, her life depended on it.

Until he could return her to Todd’s protection, he had to insure her safety. That meant keeping his hands away from those delectable curves and eliminating O’Brien.

Looking around for a distraction, he found the port window had a small round hole with a starburst of cracks. The wooden base of the salon sofa had been scarred. But both items were repairable. He shuddered. They’d been lucky.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” she asked.

“Did you notice something strange?”

“Aside from someone shooting at us?”

“Yeah,” he said keeping a straight face. Though he admired her courage. A woman, who gave him sass while still shaking like a leaf deserved respect.

“Like?”

He shot her hard look. “Like how quiet those shots were.”

“Silencer?” she asked.

“Exactly, I found it—strictly homemade—an empty soft drink bottle and some duct tape.” He paused, thinking hard.

“That really works?” she asked.

“Apparently.” He tucked the Colt into the back of his cotton slacks, letting his loose shirt cover the slight bulge. She stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. But he wasn’t ready for a real discussion with this woman—wasn’t ready to deal with her period. There was too much happening that he wasn’t sure about himself.

The letter Todd had written to his sister nagged at him. There had to have been a reason for him preparing that kind of goodbye. When he’d seen him last night, he’d said nothing about getting involved in anything hazardous.

And Todd would have said something—unless he’d been worried that Sam would insist on being in on the action.

Years ago, after his mom’s death, when he’d been half-crazy with grief and rage he’d begged Todd to help him find O’Brien. Within a few weeks, he’d come to his senses and regretted involving his friend. He’d apologized and told him to forget about it. Nothing disastrous had happened. He’d assumed that his friend had written off his request as the crazy ravings of a bereaved son.

After finding the two-liter soft drink bottle with the shredded bottom, he was no longer sure that Todd had dropped the idea of locating O’Brien.

He was overreacting. There was no proof that O’Brien had shot at them. Nothing—

except the lead weight sinking in his gut.

LENGTH: Novella
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-314-7
Download $3.50
(s&h not included in price)

Damien, the dominant masseur, is the answer to all of Rhianna's overheated fantasies, except that he’s fourteen years too young--barely legal. Ready, able, and willing to play sex games with Rhianna, the beautiful executive, Damien doesn’t disclose his agenda. To protect his mother, he needs leverage to expose Rhianna’s boss as a fortune hunter. Rhianna has the access to the proof he has to have, but, the rules of their game keep shifting.

Rating: Carnal/Erotica—bondage/domination, spanking.

Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance.

 WICKED GAMES

By

Evanne Lorraine

© Copyright Evanne Lorraine, May 2009

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, May 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-314-7

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

 Chapter One

“Talk to me,” Damien answered his cell.

Diego reported, “Hudson took the Boyd woman to the airport, but after he got her checked in he headed out. You want me to stay with him?”

“Forget about it. Pauli’s got him. Find out where Boyd is heading and text me.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Merde, another dead-end. If it weren’t for the feeling in his gut, he’d be ready to give up and accept Granville Hudson at face value. He’d kept the financer under surveillance for more than a month, finding nothing that would have made an angel blush. Same results with the forensic audit—a big fat nothing. His people were second to none—experts on finding the dirt. And yet, they’d come up empty.

Either the old bastard was clean or he was uncommonly careful.

Since Damien’s gut said Granville was dirty, he’d stayed on him. Now, with the wedding getting closer, he needed definitive answers.

His cell played a few notes, signaling an incoming text. He thumbed through it. A smile quirked his lips as he read. “Henri, pack me a weekend bag.”

The butler appeared silently from wherever he hovered, and then cleared his throat. “Very good sir, may I inquire as to your destination?”

“Some resort— Saint Valentine’s, it’s in the Bahamas,” Damien answered absent-mindedly. His attention trained on the cell as he composed and sent a text message to his pilot.

“An excellent choice, sir,” Henri murmured, gliding away.

Henri’s good opinion meant more to Damien than it should. But, Henri wasn’t an ordinary staff member. The old man had worked for his father. It had been a full year after he father’s death before the butler thawed toward Damien. He’d worked harder for Henri’s approval than he had on his law classes. He wasn’t about to tell the old boy the trip was about dirt hunting or that he was willing to do whatever it took to find it.

Of course, protecting his mother was more important than his butler’s opinion—if he had to choose. He intended to keep both Henri’s respect and his mother’s safety intact.

Damien tucked the slim phone into his pocket. He had a good feeling about this. If anyone had the lowdown on Granville Hudson, it was Rhianna Boyd. She’d worked side by side with the wily bastard for almost fifteen years, which was a whole lot longer than her marriage had lasted.

What a funfemme she must be. It didn’t matter. He needed information. She had it. And there was no one better at getting anything he wanted fromla femme. He an expert at delegating, but this was a job he was seeing to personally. No matter how tedious the assignment proved to be.

His jaw hardened with determination. He would damn well do whatever needed to be done to safeguard his mother. Granville was not getting his hands on a cent of her fortune and the wily bastard was not going to even hurt her feelings.

Taking care of his mother was just one of his responsibilities. Damien had been running the Kardimos family’s vast holdings since his father’s death three years ago. Most days, he felt as if he’d been born old and very alone no matter how many people surrounded him.

* * * *

“I’m glad you agreed to check out the resort. You deserve a weekend off,” Granville said with the same kind of sincerity he normally reserved to convince investors to hand over seven figure checks.

Rhianna nudged her bag a foot closer to the busy check-in counter, listening to her boss while she wondered what devious scheme he was plotting.

“You’re right, I do,” she said agreeably, bracing for whatever hook lay hidden in his offer of an all expense-paid holiday at the exclusive Saint Valentine’s Resort.

Granville held out an impatient hand for her luggage. “Here, give me that.”

Something was definitely up. Granville’s trick back--a condition he attributed to lugging the too hefty third Mrs. Hudson over the threshold--was notorious. He’d never offered to help with anything weighing more than five pounds.

“Listen, I want you to forget about work for the next three days. However, I’ll expect a full report on Monday morning. Go on--get moving. Don’t worry about checking your bag. I’ll handle it for you.”

“Be sure they know it’s fragile,” she tossed the cautionary words toward his already moving back.

He laughed at her. “Yeah, I know your laptop is in there.”

Rhianna grinned unapologetically. Her compulsive attention to detail was one of the reasons they worked well together and she knew Granville liked that about her.

Six hours later, she surveyed her lodgings. Her beach cabin was furnished impeccably in casual elegance, Caribbean style. Yet, there was something disturbingly seductive tugging at her senses. Perhaps the island itself was a sensual narcotic. The fragrance of sweet jasmine drifted through the air, mingling with the earthy smells of jungle flora, and the salty ocean. The wide-four poster bed with its mosquito netting and luxurious white linens beckoned invitingly.

A wave of loneliness washed over her—alone in such a romantic setting felt ten times worse than usual.

The choice of a career in the fast-paced world of mergers and acquisitions had rewarded her handsomely. She was one of a handful of women who were genuine dealmakers in the cut-throat arena of global finance. Hard work, a good education, and Granville Hudson’s sponsorship had all contributed to making her a success.

She consoled herself with all that she was grateful to have. Yet, at thirty-five, she wondered if she’d given up on love too soon.

Her marriage had been an unqualified disaster. But, not all men were like Frank—

obsessed with reproduction. She understood his attitude. Since he was an only son, from a wealthy family he had an obligation to carry on the family name. His family obligations did not excuse his abuse. Frank had never beaten her. Not with his fists. He’d lashed at her with his tongue. Why had she stood it for ten minutes—let alone three years?

Most of her divorce settlement had gone for counseling—self-esteem repair. The rest of money she’d invested in her condo, now leased, providing her with a steady supplementary income, which she’d invested conservatively.

Maybe, she’d run too far from men.

After Frank had divorced her to marry his main squeeze of the month, Rhianna had thrown herself into her career. Now, she had power, status, and a growing personal fortune. But along with all those assets came a steep downside.

Her personal life had been missing in action for so long it had been declared a career casualty. Even her friends, and what little family she had left, had all lost touch over the past few years while she’d focused exclusively on smashing through the glass ceiling of her profession. To be fair, her male peers didn’t find relationships all that easy either. Granville’s sixth wife had divorced him a year ago. But, relationships were even harder for the few women in the male-dominated field.

Her own romantic history was pathetic. Since Frank, she’d had two affairs. Nice enough men, but neither of them had really clicked. And neither relationship had survived more than a few months. Impossible schedules, work pressures, and geography had all contributed to the inevitable breakup. But, the real problem had always been the same—the job she’d chosen to put first. The men she’d known either weren’t willing or weren’t able to accept second billing.

Nowadays her love life was non-existent.

Big deal, she laughed at herself, shaking off the last of the pity party feelings—she had a ton of work to do. And first class accommodations.

For a few seconds, she drank in the brilliant blue of the sea, the sugar-coated beach, and the exotic flora. Turning away from the postcard perfect view, she opened her bag. She traveled light with one spare suit, a few classic accessories, two pairs of pantyhose, undies, a white tailored shirt, running shorts, a couple of silky tee-shirts, a minimal kit of grooming essentials, sandals and two out of character impulsive purchases. Everything fit into one modest sized piece of luggage she could easily handle—a necessity on some of her stops.

On this morning’s helicopter ride from the San Andros airport to the isolated island resort, passengers were held strictly to a one-bag limit. It could not exceed thirty-three pounds. She’d been unconcerned. Her suitcase, fully loaded, was less than twenty-five pounds and that included her laptop, its spare battery, and a converter.

It took only minutes to unpack the compact bag. After neatly hanging her other suit, subtly different from the one she had on and storing the rest of her belongings in a hi-boy dresser, she was ready to begin analyzing the Bernstein financial documents.

Once the shoe bag was removed from the bottom, her case was completely empty. The unpacking was done. Now, she had a new worrisome problem.

Her laptop, always stored in the bottom of her carryon, was missing.

The bed dipped as she sank onto it. Her stomach sank even faster than her bottom. She’d packed her case herself. At the Miami airport, her boss had offered to check her bag through to San Andros for her. He must have removed the laptop. Not only was she prevented from working, she couldn’t even read one of the books she’d downloaded for the weekend.

She was stuck in paradise with nothing to do.

Shaking her head, she laughed again at the absurdity of the situation. Her boss must have been much more serious about her taking a break than she’d realized. But his choice for enforced relaxation was downright cruel, especially for a man who’d always been so supportive of her. She sighed. Perhaps he hadn’t realized the island resort was a romantic paradise, which specialized in honeymoon packages.

Of course, he had. Granville was brilliant and challenging but ultimately self-centered. He certainly paid her enough not to mind. Usually. Stranding her for a whole weekend simply to check out possible honeymoon accommodations for him was a tad more inconsiderate than usual. And, way off the record, she did mind.

Rhianna worked hard to stay in shape, despite a warp-speed schedule that took her around the globe. Usually, she drew her share of admiring glances. She’d been here less than an hour and already it was plain that at this resort, she might as well have been colored invisible.

She was realistic about her appearance. Her body was well-toned, even though she was too pale and her complexion was beginning to show the effects of long hours.

Statistically, she was at her sexual peak. A reality she succeeded in ignoring most of the time. The youngest Vice President of Hudson Enterprises hadn’t had time for dating games for far too long.

How thoughtless of her boss to isolate her in a romantic setting combined with zero opportunities for an affair. Even if one of the attractive men, staying on the island, propositioned her—she wouldn’t have accepted. A man who was ready to cheat while on his honeymoon?

Even desperate women have standards.

All married men were ineligible in her book. Newlyweds definitely went beyond the pale. She shuddered.No thank you.

Whining wasn’t going to fix anything. So when life hands you lemons ... briskly, she mentally outlined a new agenda for her stay. This was an opportunity to step up her workout and pamper herself at the same time. First, a run on the pristine beach followed by a few laps in the cabin’s private pool, and then a massage. The combination of exercise and pummeling would dull the edge of her sexual frustration.

Later, she’d bring herself to climax. Not the ideal solution, but very familiar and the best she could manage.

She’d be a new woman by dinnertime. Healthy food, a few liters of bottled water, and the weekend would be like a spa treatment. Plenty of sleep, too—she’d make it an early night. Tomorrow she would repeat the same boring, virtuous schedule, and she’d be the epitome of relaxation by the time she met her boss in Miami on Monday. And she’d give him a hard time for depriving her of her reading material.

She grinned at her revised plans.

Granville had been right to confiscate her laptop. If her boss hadn’t hijacked her computer, she would be working. But, she would never admit it to him. It was seldom she managed to wrest an advantage from her cagy mentor.

Feeling better, she stripped out of the lightweight business suit and changed into a classic black bikini. The choice of swimwear was daring for a corporate Vice President. But, her beach house was so isolated that she could dive into the poolau naturel without shocking anyone.

After her run on the deserted beach and a smooth twenty laps in the pool, she made a call to the front desk.

“Hello, Miss Boyd, how may we be of service?” The hotel’s clerk inquired cordially.

She returned his greeting, “Hello, I want to schedule a massage for this afternoon and tomorrow afternoon, also.”

“I am most grievously sorry to inform you the masseur is an independent contractor. You must book your appointments with him directly. Shall I ring you through to him now?”

“Please,” she said.

Half a dozen unanswered rings later, she hung up and redialed the front desk.

After the ritual greetings were out of the way, she explained the problem. “Your masseur does not answer his phone. Would you please contact him and schedule for me?”

“I do apologize, Miss. I cannot oblige you. I have no way to know when he has openings. Most likely, he is giving a massage. Perhaps you could come over and wait to catch him when he’s completed the session. The lobby is most cool and comfortable.”

She felt the heat of irritation creep up her neck. “Isn’t there some other way?”

“You could try to call again. Maybe later on you will enjoy better luck catching him. I’m afraid his services are most popular.”

Damn it. She had promised herself a massage and she was going to have it, one way or the other. Why not drive the golf cart over to the main resort? It wasn’t as if she had any more pressing appointments.

“Thanks, I’ll be right over,” she said, re-cradling the phone.

* * * *

“She’s on her way over,” the clerk said, licking his lips nervously.

Damien, folded the hundred-dollar bill lengthwise, sat it on the counter, and then pushed it toward the clerk. “Send her to the waiting area and I’ll take it from there.”

The man nodded, still looking uncomfortable.

“If all goes well, there’s another hundred in it for you.”

With the mention of a larger bribe, the clerk cheered up—amazing.

Money solved so many problems, Damien thought cynically. He strolled toward the massage room.

He let himself into a room smaller than his closet in the Cambridge Townhouse. He assessed the accommodations quickly and found them unacceptable. Grabbing the do not disturb, massage in session, sign he hung it on the outer doorknob and got busy.

It felt good to do be doing anything other than studying, directing staff, and spending money. Ever since his father’s death he’d felt more and more like a walking checkbook. It made him feel invisible. Everyone, who wasn’t already on his payroll, had a hand out, looking for money. What had he expected? Money ruled.

Wouldn’t the supplicants be disappointed to know there were things money couldn’t buy? Not people though, he reminded himself, they all came with a price tag.

Ambling around the small room, he twisted the cap off one of bottle and sniffed the contents—jasmine. His thoughts returned to Rhianna. He’d spent most of the trip to the resort studying her file. She hadn’t looked as he’d expected her to. Her official photos were standard female executive, but the candid surveillance shots had revealed someone else entirely. A wide mobile mouth, dark intense eyes, and an elegant body made for sin.

His watch told him she should be waiting. He took off his shirt, applying coconut-scented oil to his chest. He took his time. The first thing she needed to learn was patience.

* * * *

A desk clerk, presumably the same one whom she’d spoken to on the phone, directed her to massage services. She thanked him for his help and headed in the right direction.

The door was closed. Its handle decorated by a sign announcing a massage was in session. It seemed rude to interrupt someone else’s treatment, so she perched on an upholstered wicker chair in the anteroom. Impatiently, she thumbed through an outdated fashion magazine, old enough to be a collectible. The stale periodical didn’t hold her attention for long.

Apparently, the massage area was well soundproofed because the only audible noise was the lazy whoosh of the ceiling fan. The soft breeze carried the scent of jasmine and coconut oil, teasing her with seductive images. Unfortunately none of the pictures evoked were realistic possibilities. Rather, they were all the kind of erotic daydreams, which never happened in her real life.

Soon, she promised herself, she would find time for an affair. She’d denied herself intimacy for too long. A deprivation, which left her body aching and her mind distracted. Sadly, her most recent affair was so far in her past that there were no possible men in her circle of acquaintances. Never mind the problems of time and location.

With her schedule, working sixty plus hours a week, in a different part of the globe more often than not, a liaison was hard to arrange. And once was definitely not enough.

Then to increase the difficulty factor to impossible, she had requirements. He must be single, successful, assured, close to her age, and attractive. Small wonder she was lonely.

The massage room’s door creaked open and she bolted to her feet. A young sex god, in all his bronzed glory, sauntered out of the room.

The masseur.

At the sight of him, she drew in a startled breath. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected and she wasn’t prepared for the effect of meeting him. He was bare from the waist up, his upper body gleamed, redolent with intoxicating oil. A white towel draped around his neck, highlighting his tan. A sprinkling of curly black hair decorated the sculpted muscles of a magnificent chest. A narrow trail of the same dark hair arrowed down washboard abs, disappearing into his cotton slacks.

When she was able to draw her gaze to his face, she found classic features, along with darker than sin eyes. He evaluated her with frank masculine appraisal. A wave of sensual longing swept through her, clenching feminine muscles and tightening her nipples. Thankfully, the white shirt she’d tossed on over her bikini obscured the direction of her thoughts.

He eyed her with an expression of faint amusement. “You wish to schedule a massage, for you and your husband?”

As if his face and body alone weren’t enough to send her hormones into lusty overdrive, his voice was deep, seductive, and the English words he spoke slightly accented by French.

“Just me,” she breathed.

He arched one eyebrow. “No husband?”

“No husband,” she said in a more normal tone, tilting her chin and daring him to make fun of her single status here in honeymoon heaven.

“Me neither,” he said, taking her elbow, and then walking her toward the main entrance.

More thrilled than was sensible by his easy touch, she teased him. “No husband?”

“No wife,” he grinned at her and a single dimple winked.

She swallowed a sigh of pure sexual yearning. Of course, there was no wife. He was too young and handsome.

“When?” he asked.

Right here, right now. Well, perhaps over there behind those lush plants, where no one would notice.

“When do I want the massage?” She asked coolly, ignoring the inappropriate clamor in her lust-soaked mind.

“Exactly,” he said with a smaller smile. One that didn’t include the dimple.

“Now?” She twisted toward the massage room.

“Non,” he said abruptly, and then, just as quickly, softened his tone. “Now is not good, in one hour at your cabin.Oui?”

“My cabin? Why not the massage room?” Faint tingles of alarm skittered along her spine. Yes, he was young, virile, and way too good-looking. But, he was also a powerfully built man—a stranger who could be hiding dangerous intentions.

Broad shoulders rippled with a too-casual shrug. “We could, some clients prefer their own quarters—a massage is very relaxing. Many prefer to take a nap afterwards. It is your choice,Mademoiselle.”

What was the worst thing that could happen? That this young sex god would ravish her. Wasn’t that exactly what she needed? Perhaps, but jumping into a sexual encounter ... was it smart? Was it safe? Was it sane?

No, times three.

Some strange brazen woman took control of her mouth, speaking coolly. “My cabin is number six. See you in an hour.”

She turned and hurried to her golf cart before she chickened out and cancelled the massage, which, she assured herself, was the only thing she’d arranged.

After taking five minutes to rinse off, daringly nude, in the outdoor shower, Rhianna squeezed the excess water out of her hair. The facilities were totally secluded, true. But still, showering outside was a definite departure from her usual conservative lifestyle. Still defiantly naked, she strolled out to the deck connected to the bedroom, enjoying the view. Beyond the azure pool, the ocean lapped against a pearly white beach framed by palm trees. She stretched out on one of the padded lounge chairs letting the filtered sun dry her with warm breezy kisses.

When had she become so stuffy? She’d never planned to be sexless. Negotiating in a male-dominated business environment, she’d played down her femininity. It had seemed like a smart move at the time. But what had started as a career strategy had gradually become an unintended lifestyle choice.

The only clothes she owned were business suits, business formal, and business casual. That was her sad excuse for a life—all business—all the time. The tiny bikini and a slip of a dress in basic black were the only sexy things she owned. She’d picked up both items last week in a Hong Kong boutique with a vague idea that she’d start dating again. Someday. Soon.

Tension fluttered in her stomach. Had she just made a mistake? Inviting a man to her cabin was not the action of the cool and sensible Rhianna. But underneath her usual staid business attire beat the heart of wild woman. Or, at the very least, one who yearned to be uninhibited. Definitely one who had ignored her perfectly natural desires for far too long.

Sadly, one too cowardly to proposition a man, even an incredibly tempting man.

The realization made her feel badly, so she brushed it aside. Too little sex, too much tension, and too much work, these were her problems. And the perfectly reasonable explanation for her over-the-top reaction to the handsome masseur.

Her solution was simple and depressingly familiar—more solo-sex. At least, now she had new fantasy material. She allowed her eyes to drift shut as she imagined the bronzed sex-god from the hotel caressing her breasts. His strong fingers tweaked her nipples firmly, but gently, as he whispered naughty, erotic, and lovingly obscene words in her ear. Then he suckled her aroused nipples with his wicked mouth as his fingers teased her jellied center without mercy. All the while, he grew harder and more passionate until he stroked the wet velvet tip of his cock over her clit, telling her of his insatiable hunger for her body.

At the edge of a climax in record time, she slowed, wanting to enjoy the fantasy and build the tension higher before tumbling into the nothingness of release. Languidly, she moved her own slim fingers away from the throbbing center of her craving.

The whir of a cart’s electric motor approached without disturbing her concentration. When the noise ceased, the significance of the sound rammed home. She stumbled from the lounge chair, and then made a mad dash for the bathroom. Once there, she grabbed a generous bath towel, quickly covering herself. She tucked the corner tightly between her breasts, catching sight of her telltale-flushed face and wide eyes in the bathroom mirror.

Why was she racing to cover a body, which no one but her had seen or touched in more than three years?

The answer was more depressing than solo sex. She was a coward.

LENGTH: Novella
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-289-9
Download $3.99
(s&h not included in price)

Dalila Theron arrives in orbit around Enyo with orders to conquer the hostile warriors by any means necessary. But, warriors shoot first and ask no questions. Blasted out the sky, her damaged ship plunges into a stormy sea. Rescued by intimidating twin brothers, she is stranded on a remote island. Her weapon training, hand-to-hand combat skills, and sketchy mind control instructions didn’t prepare her for dealing with the overwhelmingly male warriors. In desperation, she wields a dangerous new weapon, sex appeal.

Rating: Carnal.

DALILA'S CHOICE

By

Evanne Lorraine

© copyright by Evanne Lorraine, March 2009

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, March 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-289-9

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Dedication:

For David, he would have loved this story.

Prologue

Earth, 2346 post apocalypse

Two millennia after the Great War, civilization still teetered perilously close to the edge of destruction. Most of those who had survived the nuclear and biologic disasters fell during the subsequent centuries of pillaging, plagues, and famine. Human and animal populations had not recovered from the devastation. Along with so many deaths, much of mankind’s accomplishments had been lost.

In the first of Earth’s darkest hours, the warriors, strongest of all the males, seized every viable space-craft , escaping from the doomed planet with their mates.

The ever dwindling numbers of humans left behind were largely sterile. As the years passed, those rare men, still capable of viable sperm production, fathered only female offspring. There had been no reports of a male birth in more than century.

Some women toiled to carve out a meager agrigarian existence, some formed nomadic tribes, and others roamed the land alone or in loose groups where the only law was survival.

One small band of females, known as the Society of Belle Amity, quietly worked, protecting and advancing the knowledge of mankind.

Even now the skies stayed dark much of time, the winds fierce, and the temperatures bitterly cold. Though conditions on most of Earth remained harsh, through rigorous training and ruthless discipline, the sisters of Belle Amity progressed and even prospered. Their giant hydroponic conservatories, powered by harnessing the wind, yielded an oxygen-rich atmosphere for the compound, in addition to growing nutrient-dense produce. Their clever scientists synthesized what they could neither cultivate nor manufacture.

Except for sperm.

Their bank of frozen semen declined steadily. This critical shortage forced them to first restrict allocation to only those members of the collective, who had high breeding scores. And then they were forced to limit impregnation to proven breeders.

When the last men on the planet died, the sperm supply continued to fall with no hope of replenishment. With less than a dozen specimens remaining, the sisters of Belle Amity faced their own extinction.

Having run out of options, they planned a hazardous gambit, seeking the warriors, who’d abandoned Earth two millennia earlier, in a last desperate bid to re-supply the sperm bank.

The twelve-year intergalactic trip meant a risky transition into stasis, and an even more risky reanimation procedure, for the pilot. This hazardous feat was in addition to all the dangers inherent in any space flight. Despite the long odds for success, and the many challenges to be overcome, the sisters of Belle Amity proceeded. With the survival of their kind on the line, they carefully honed their most elegant weapon, Dalila Theron, for this critical mission.

Artificially conceived, fostered by the sisterhood, trained in weapons, self-defense, and hastily instructed in the secret art of mind control, the disciple, Dalila accepted her sacred quest. She was launched into space with instructions to invade and conquer the warriors of Enyo by any means necessary.

Enyo, 2386 post exodus

Since leaving the dying planet of Earth for the verdant tropical lushness of Enyo, the warriors had not grown soft. They continued to build on their strengths, developing a race of super-men. They’d made great technological advances and raised their collective standard of living to new heights.

Only one problem resisted their researchers’ efforts. The men of Enyo continued to produce male sperm--almost exclusively. Each year since their arrival on Enyo, the number of women born declined. After two millennia of predominately male births, the gender imbalance had grown critical.

Extensive exploration of their new galaxy yielded no human life forms. Intergalactic travel remained extremely hazardous. In their most recent effort to increase the number of female births, the council of elders, who governed Enyo, had instituted a mandatory testing of all unchosen men.

Now, only those warriors producing significant quantities of X gametes were eligible to be chosen as a mate by a breeding woman.

The men ineligible for breeding grew restless and unruly. Children of either sex had become a pampered and indulged rarity. The few women, capable of reproduction, were worshipped and closely guarded.

The ineligible males burned off their aggression by participating in war games, by playing extreme sports, and by indulging their carnal appetites with the ladies of light.

The ladies of light were unreal women, designed to a man’s fantasies. They existed only for the life of a single session in a holo-arcade unit. A man was free to indulge the holo-world of sensual delights during his free time as long as no other patrons waited and his work credit balance remained positive.

In practice, the waiting lines for the pleasure units were long. And the warriors were always limited to one fifteen minute session.

* * * *

The timer immediately grated on Kelvar’s frayed nerves as he slipped into a sanitized but still warm pleasure unit. Passing his access card quickly over the scanner, he waited impatiently for the transaction approved message so he could begin his session.

As usual he told himself to select a standard model, eliminating the time spent programming a custom lady of the light. But, when the first menu flashed, his fingers selected customized woman. Rapidly, he toggled through the selection screens until she was complete. Small, slim, dark hair, dark eyes, and his. There were less than five minutes left on the merciless clock, when she spoke.

“What’s your pleasure, warrior?”

“I want to watch you climax,” he said.

The level of his arousal made his voice rougher than usual. But, the lady of light didn’t complain. Moving sensuously, she allowed her head to loll back, exposing her throat and thrusting her breasts forward. Delicately, she plucked at the harden tips before slipping her slender fingers into her slit.

“Widen your legs,” he growled at her. And she complied.

Her dusky pink folds glistened with the evidence of her excitement. He glanced resentfully at the session timer before releasing his cock. Less than one minute left.

“Suck my cock,” he ordered.

Immediately, the light creature abandoned her quest for personal fulfillment and swallowed his erect shaft. Her artificial mouth suckled him for the remaining seconds. The fragments of light, which formed the lady turned off in relays. Until the last sparkle winked, leaving his shaft spurting into the too frequently sanitized air.

While the door slid open, he tucked his semi-hard cock into his uniform. Waiting his turn, Dexon, his twin brother, grinned at him.

“Your session has timed out. Please clear the unit for sanitation for the safety of other patrons,” the computerized voice was low and sultry--audio sex.

He finished adjusting his uniform. “Ready to head out after this?”

Dexon sketched a salute. “Yes sir.” Then dropped his exaggerated pose of respect. “I’m looking forward to getting away from the city and anything to do with work. My last tour was one long torture session.”

Pulling a face of mock sympathy, Kelvar pretended to commiserate with him. “You sky jocks do suffer. What happened? Did your aviator shades get scratched?”

“Thanks for being so understanding. At least, we sky jocks aren’t complete space cadets,” his twin quipped.

Then Dexon disappeared into the recently cleaned pleasure unit before he had a chance to retaliate. He settled comfortably against an idle shooter game to wait. His neck and shoulders relaxed. The power of the muscular body, he took for granted, held loosely at the moment. The lady of the light already dismissed from his thoughts.

Mentally, he ticked off a vacation checklist. The hovercraft had been serviced and waited for them at the west side airfield. Their island was uninhabited, but had everything a man could want. Abundant fish and game, wild fruit, and vegetables, fresh water, and a sandy beach front. Their own piece of paradise and their application for ownership had been approved. He and Dexon had been studying the building plans for years. The tools and materials had been dropped off a week ago--he’d gotten proof of delivery.

For the first time in half a decade, they each had three months of leave that coincided. There would never be a better time to build their beach house. Hell, maybe someday they’d add a private pleasure unit. The holo-simulators were expensive, but they were both due for promotions. In a few years, who knew what might happen. Anything was possible.

Chapter One

Belle Amity Compound, Earth 2346 post apocalypse

“Wait child, I would speak to you before you depart,” Mother Marian called.

The petite elder hurried toward Dalila, with her deep blue cloak flapping like restless wings behind her.

Standing on the narrow ladder, which led into the passenger compartment, only Dalila’s head was still visible. She reversed direction, climbing to the outer deck, and then jumping lightly to the ground.

Mother Marian never spoke idly, so Dalila was eager to hear her words of wisdom.

When Dalila drew close she was shocked by the leader’s appearance. Dark shadows rimmed her pale blue eyes. Smudges marred the normally pristine white collar of her long dress. Her familiar lined face seemed to have grown thinner in just the few days since she’d seen the holy woman.

Mother Marion headed the team of scientists, synthesizers, and magic-wielders, who had been working around the clock to ready her ship for the journey.

As Dalila bowed before the collective’s leader, she made the sign of the Goddess over her head, muttering a ritual blessing. Then the diminutive holy woman tugged her impatiently away from the vessel, which was already humming with an excitement that matched Dalila’s own.

She found a warm smile for the elder. “What is it, mother?”

“I fear for your safety, my child.”

Dalila’s smile faded. But, she spoke lightly. “I understand the hazards of space travel, Mother. Indeed, isn’t that why I was chosen? I am unfit for breeding and therefore expendable.”

Mother Marian peered up at her, fixing her with piercing blue eyes. The power of her gaze had not been dimmed by age. “You understand nothing, disciple. The stasis process is far from perfect. Our most recent tests have only a forty percent successful reanimation rate.”

“May the Goddess smile upon this mission,” Dalila murmured, doing her best to hide the fear that the holy woman’s word had fueled.

“Nothing more I can do about the craft. Listen well, my child. For I have scant time to teach you about the ways of warriors.”

“The old ones, who abandoned Earth?”

“Yes. Now, hold your questions and open your mind or you will arrive on Enyo as empty headed as the newest babe.”

Mother Marian muttered under her breath. “Then precious little good will you be at expressing warrior semen.”

Dalila was so shocked, she was certain she’d misunderstood. But a glance at the holy woman’s face convinced her that she’d heard correctly. A wild mixture of dread, fear, and excitement increased her tension.

She’d known she was on a sacred quest to gather the precious seeds of life for the sisterhood. But, this was the first anyone had mentioned harvesting sperm from warriors.

The men who’d fled ancient Earth were legendary figures of evil and aggression. Warriors only respected brute strength. The rumors of life on their new planet were tales used to frighten naughty children.

With a wrenching effort of will, she forced her mind to calm, listening intently to Mother Marian’s instructions.

“Some of the warrior factions of old Earth were blindly aggressive, this much is true. But there were also intelligent men who were both strong and honorable. Without the male scientists contributions we would not have a spacecraft to launch. The sisterhood has merely refined previous designs, adding features, and downsizing the craft.” The holy woman paced as she spoke. Moving so rapidly that her feet no longer connected with the ground.

“There is more, so much more, that you should know, but our time is short. Do not underestimate the men you seek. They were never the clumsy ogres of myth. It’s been more than two millennia since an Earth woman had congress with a Warrior. They may have learned a thing or two. Trust your instincts. They, along with your training, are your best weapons.”

“Yes, Mother,” Dalila said, wishing there was time for even a few of the thousands of questions crowding her thoughts.

The elder beckoned her closer. She bowed, leaning nearer, and then the holy woman’s gnarled hands smoothed Dalila’s temples, forcing her eyes closed. A kaleidoscope of images poured from Mother Marion into Dalila’s mind, etching whole new banks of data faster than she could process any of it. The rate kept increasing until her conscious mind shut down-- unable to handle the information overload.

Her last coherent awareness was stunned disbelief at the image of a woman pleasuring a man’s sexual organs with her mouth.

Entering orbit of Enyo, 2358 post apocalypse

Dalila roused from her artificially induced state of suspended animation, to her great relief, she felt no different than if she’d had a restful night’s sleep.

Since she’d been facing an honorable, but dull, life of service as a sentry for the Belle Amity compound, she’d been both thrilled and terrified to be chosen to make the perilous journey to Enyo. Carrying out the critical mission for the sisterhood was a high honor.

Now, actually in orbit around the beautiful planet, she was as excited as a child before feast days. Studying the green and white orb, which was currently projected on her viewing screen, she was awed by its beauty and eager to discover its secrets. After completing her mission, Goddess willing, and with a bit of luck, there would be time for her to explore the lush new world. Enyo was so very different from the barren expanses of Earth, where only the shelter of the compound provided a safe haven.

Switching to an alternate view, which showed the thermal heat patterns indicative of population density. She noted Enyo had only a few areas showing either signs of industrialization or human habitation. There was only one probable urban center. Most of the planet remained virgin territory.

She began charting a course for the outskirts of the densest population center, reasoning that it would contain the government officials she needed to meet in order to establish a working relationship and open negotiations. Landing slightly away from the urban center would give her a chance to do some reconnaissance before actual contact with the dangerous men of Enyo.

By all accounts, warriors were not friendly or even peaceful. Mother Marian had held different views and she was indisputably wise. Still, none of the sisters had any recent knowledge of the patriarchal civilization and much could change over a few millennia.

Dalila vowed to keep an open mind and watch her back.

Straightening her spine, she reminded herself that she was disciple of the Belle Amity Sisterhood with much to offer another culture. Surely, even the if the warriors of Enyo were aggressive they would be intelligent enough to value the collective’s gifts.

“Artificial satellite approaching on our present course collision will occur in five minutes,” the ship’s computer announced in its calm mechanical voice.

“Correct course to widen gap,” she replied and smiled to herself at the confirmation she’d just received of intelligent life on the planet below. No doubt, she would soon be contacted to identify herself.

A ship-killing blast hit her small craft without warning.

So much for dealing with reasonable, rational, and intelligent men. Before she’d even picked herself up off the deck, the computer began droning on about system failures.

Alarms sounded, small electric fires sprang to life. There was hissing, sparking, and more smoke than was good for an oxygen breather made the cabin atmosphere increasingly hazardous.

Wielding a fire suppressor one-handed, Dalila frantically over-rode the course she’d plotted earlier, heading for the least populous area of the planet she could find.

Hastily, she strapped herself into her pilot’s seat as the ship entered Enyo’s atmosphere. For a few moments, the shuttle tumbled wildly. She tried to correct the orientation with a light touch on the sluggish thruster engines.

With each attempt at halting the dangerous spinning, her tension increased until her hand trembled on the thruster control lever and sweat rolled down her spine.

When she’d finally managed to right the craft, a sigh of relief escaped.

Without the reinforced base deflecting the extreme heat of entry the ship would’ve disintegrated prior to touch down. Even with the heat shields on, the outer skin reached dangerous temperatures.

The heat passed the structure’s tolerance level, setting off new alarms as the small vessel hurtled toward the planet’s surface with frightening speed.

The damaged thrusters slowed the craft marginally. Then they refused to respond no matter how she coaxed or pushed them. Dropping through the atmosphere at a stomach knotting velocity, the shuttle splashed down.

The liquid pressing against the shuttle’s viewers, confirmed the wet entry.

Dalila told herself a water landing was best considering the freefall descent. But, no amount of rationalizing could erase her fear of the sea. There was no telling how far she was from land. The height of the waves eliminated any view of the surrounding area.

The ships computer chanted, “Fatal error, immediate system restore required.” The warning sounded over and over again.

The artificial intelligence unit no longer responded to any command. She hoped the computer’s sub-systems weren’t tracking her requests because they’d moved to priority only functions to deal with the extensive damage. Scanning through her internal database for more information on Enyo, she found little in the way of reliable intelligence on the terrain, or anything else, beyond the planet’s suitability for human habitat.

Apparently, the warriors never bothered to write home. Dryly, she made a mental note to update the computer’s file for transmission to the collective at the first opportunity, having already ascertained the planet boasted at least one sea and a hostile population. Considering that the warriors shot first and asked questions later, she prudently assumed the last couple of millennia had not civilized the legendary aggressors.

She would worry about dealing with angry men later. Right now her first priority was to move the ship to land. She had every confidence in the sisterhood’s technology. But, she’d never been near a large body of water before, let alone in one. All the malevolent, unpredictable wetness made her edgy. Very, very edgy.

Full out panic was only a heartbeat away.

Gently she coaxed the shuttle’s manual override controls to lift her craft out of the water. A move which should at least enable her to take bearings. The sky was already darkening, whether from the storm or approaching nightfall she couldn’t tell. Either way, she needed to find safe harbor.

The shuttle jerked and hovered for a few seconds before sinking back into the waves. She’d had a glimpse of something that looked like a solid mass. But, she couldn’t be sure of anything she’d seen.

Vainly, she tried to restart the craft. The waves tossed the shuttle more violently, and the steering mechanism responded only sullenly. A dark shape loomed ahead. The ship’s power controls refused to answer to greater pressure. Still, she pitted her full body weight hard to port urging the craft to turn in an effort to avoid the rocky outcrop.

Another wave slapped the small ship sideways. Her viewer was distorted by a blooming starburst crack. She depressed the pressure seal immediately. But, seawater had already trickled in, shorting out even the manual command modules.

More crackles, sparks and hisses warned of expanding disaster.

Anger infused her, had she come all this way only to have her mission scrubbed by an inconvenient rock? No, by the Goddess and all her handmaidens!

Death by drowning might be an improvement over suffocating in the cabin. Outside there was at least a chance of survival.

Consigning her soul to the Goddess with a quick prayer, she gathered her gear bag, and then depressed the emergency exit launcher.

Once out of the craft, she saw land but the shoreline was a daunting distance from her current position. Desperation prodded her to try. Quickly, she mapped a mental course to solid ground. The seat was a floatation device so all she had to do was hang on and steer herself toward shore. Surely, Goddess willing, the waves would carry her there. They’d better. She didn’t know how to swim.

The pilot’s seat hit the water with horrifying force. Immediately, plunging her deep into the roiling sea. Instinctively, Dalila held her breath. Cold panic gripped her hard for a few paralyzing seconds.

Then her clumsy fingers struggled to undo the safety harness. A few bubbles of expelled air escaped from her lips. Soon, she would have to breathe. As the last fastener released, she looked toward the surface. It seemed a light year away. She tried to recall emergency landing instructions, which might be of some use. But, she couldn’t think of anything except the desperate need for oxygen.

With her lungs already starving for air, she scissored her legs frantically. The upward progress was agonizingly slow, but miraculously she was moving toward the surface. She broke free of the water and gasped in a deep breath of life-giving oxygen. The ejection seat bobbed to the surface a few feet away. She lunged for it.

Instantly plummeting herself back beneath the murky depths. Again, she kicked fiercely, regaining the surface. But somehow she’d gotten turned around. The waves undulated all around her, moving her against her will no matter how hard she kicked. Periodically, the incoming tide doused her, causing too many painful inhalations of saltwater. Much more worrisome, each new watery buffeting robbed her of strength she couldn’t afford to lose.

Her naïve plan to allow the waves to carry her to safety while she clung to the shuttle seat had failed to allow for several important factors. The seat and her gear bag were gone and she worked desperately just to keep her nose above water--roughly half of the time. There was no way for her to ascertain if she was moving in the right direction.

Her teeth chattered and she couldn’t make them stop

While her mind scrambled for a way to safety, another rogue wave hit from behind, pulling her under the briny water.

Disoriented, she kicked and twisted, trying to find the surface. Her lungs burned. Escaping tiny bubbles warned her that she was running out of time.

Suddenly, something propelled her in what seemed like the wrong direction. She was too weak to put up more than a token fight against the inexorable force.

To her amazement, she breeched the surface, gasping in deep gulps of delicious air.

Before she had a chance to get her bearings, an iron band grasped her neck. When she tucked her chin to examine the rescue gear, the ‘hook’ turned out to be a brawny, deeply tanned, and intricately tattooed arm.

Since orbiting Enyo, she’d been battered, bruised, shot at, and nearly drowned. Despite all that, the overwhelming feeling of safety in this warrior’s unyielding grip dangerously weakened her defenses.

Right now all she wanted to do was sleep, trusting him to take care of her. It was completely insane to trust a warrior. Though, when she viewed her precarious situation, she had no choice.

Enyo, 2386 post exodus

Kelvar swam for shore towing the miniature invader. She had ceased struggling, which worried him. Wishing he could examine her to reassure himself she was alive, he pushed himself harder against the heavy storm driven swells.

His initial assessment for injuries had been rapid, yet his hands still retained the feel of slight curves so different from his own hard planes. So unforgettable. So tempting.

She had to survive.

In the normal course of events, the tropical storm would not have presented a problem. But, a nasty weather front had blown in from the south, swelling the waves and whipping the winds to near hurricane force.

When he’d spotted the tiny small craft with its outer skin glowing from heat of entry, he’d been angry with the thoughtless abuse of a one-of-kind space ship, or a damn fine replica. The vessel was sleek and elegant. A rare and exquisite example of millennia old technology.

His assumption, that such beauty had been carelessly abused by an irresponsible youngling, had rankled against his sense of justice. The current crop of young ones had been so indulged from birth that they had no respect for possessions or rules. Still, on Enyo even spoiled children were precious. He hadn’t hesitated to swim to the brat’s rescue.

A wave crashed over them and he felt her cough more than heard it. It was a watery sound. At least, she still lived. But, the weakness of her response terrified him.

He needed to clear her lungs of seawater. The only way to accomplish that was to get her to land. As he fought to keep her head above water, new and unfamiliar feelings assaulted him. He was much too aware of soft breasts pressing against the underside of his forearm. The small mounds radiated heat, igniting hungers unlike any he’d ever experienced.

While towing the woman to safety, he speculated about her. Her craft, her clothes, and her gender all argued that she was an extra-terrestrial.

Against all odds, she’d arrived from another galaxy and fallen into his arms.

Would he be allowed to keep her? He shoved the negative thoughts away, knowing the probable loss would devastate him.

Only the possible extent of her injuries kept his breeding urge in check.

The strength of his desire for her was almost uncontrollable. This was his first close encounter with a woman and although she was nothing like the women of Enyo, the attraction was instant and compelling. Even stronger was a fierce need to protect her.

The knowledge that he might not be able to guard her, burned inside his veins.

It was impossible to enter Enyo’s sector without detection. The council would know of her ship’s arrival. Might know of her. Had she responded to their warnings? Too many questions hammered at him--most with answers he knew that he wouldn’t like.

His muscles strained against the storm-tossed waves. If not for the danger to her then he would have relished the challenge.

By the Gods, he had found her. He would save her. He wanted her.

She was his.

Her rejection of him as mate was the only way he would release his claim on her.

Even then, he would demand an extended period of time to convince her of his suitability. The strength of his attachment to her had been damn near instant, undeniable, and more than a little frightening.

Already, he contemplated acts of treason and high crimes against his government with more consideration for the odds of success than for any loyalty to his people. A harshly honest and welcome realization.

For the past five years, the breeding urge had grown, unrelieved, and that unmet need added undeniable strength to the bond still forming between him and the woman.

Kelvar was forced to acknowledge the wisdom of laws strictly proscribing all interactions with women for the first time. With a ratio of thousands of breeding age men to one fertile female--any contact was incendiary. He’d always believed he was strong enough to handle any temptation--he’d been wrong.

How would his twin handle exposure to the woman?

His toes brushed sand, interrupting his speculation. He pulled harder for the last few yards. Finally, he found firm footing and swung her into his arms. While climbing toward the smooth beach, he glanced around, automatically taking note of their position. The storm had swept them off course. He recognized the sheltered cove, which was more than a mile from the isolated beach house Dexon and he had built on this remote island.

Selfishly, he rejoiced in the privacy even as he laid her carefully on the sand, positioning her arms at her sides, and turning her head to facilitate expelling the saltwater from her lungs. He placed his hands firmly on her upper back and pressed on her in the steady rhythm of relaxed breathing, willing her to absorb some of his life force. As much as she needed. When she stopped heaving up watery bile that told him she hadn’t eaten recently, he cleansed her mouth with his fingers.

She sucked on him like a babe. The sensation shot straight to his cock, stiffening it into painful readiness. Reluctantly, he eased away from the unsuspected delights of her mouth, carrying her further inland away from the wind and saltwater spray. This time a slender arm curled around his neck and she snuggled into the shelter of his body, deepening his protective urges, and at the same time, stoking his need to mate.

Carrying her was like lifting a small pile of dry sticks. Yet, she was nothing like a stick. True, she was little and light. But, she was supple, and curved with breath-stealing softness. Every aspect of her rich with feminine charms he longed to explore in detail and at leisure. She was so finely made, so perfect, that she deserved a skillful lover. He cursed his lack of education in the pleasure arts. He’d heard things but, who knew how reliable such talk was?

On Enyo only men with high breeding scores were taught the secrets of pleasing women. He and Dexon both produced eighty percent Y chromosome sperm. Like the vast majority of the planet’s men. Therefore, they had no chance of becoming breeders. Unfortunately, lack of opportunity, didn’t lessen desire.

Holding the woman inflamed this primal hunger. A constant need always present in breeding age males. Until encountering this small alien, he’d prided himself on his ability to control his mating urge as he controlled everything else that might interfere with acting according to the warrior’s code.

Now, he burned to strip off her strange garments and spend himself in her soft body.

A rapidly swelling bruise, frighteningly close to her vulnerable temple, her shivers from shock, and most of all the trusting way she snuggled into his chest kept him from violating the fragile trust she’d extended.

After reaching the crude shelter of some long ago deposited driftwood, he set her down. Her breathing was still too fast and shallow. He frowned and ground his back teeth together as he examined her for broken bones or any sign of internal injury. Slowly, he ran his hands over every part of her tight little form. She was all softness, finely honed muscles, and elegant bones.

Assured that she suffered from no serious injury, he forced his hands away from her tempting curves. Rocking back on his heels to study her face.

Dark eyes glittered at him from between thick-lashed, barely open lids. For a space of time he lost himself as he stared at her with helpless wonder.

She sat up in a quick smooth movement, snapping the strange spell, which drained his will. “Is this Enyo?”

Her voice was as low and as sweetly feminine as the rest of her. Though, her accent was strange and it took him a few seconds to understand her question.

“Yes, Enyo,” he said in the rough guttural speech of his world.

She blinked, and then nodded. Indicating herself with a graceful gesture toward her breasts she spoke again, slowly and distinctly, in her seductive melodic voice. “Dalila Theron, disciple of Belle Amity Sisterhood and the pilot of the luckless shuttle craft.”

Scanning the sea before she turned her attention back to him, she sapped his strength and scorched his bones with the intensity of her scrutiny.

Kelvar tasted her name, Dalila, savoring the sound, and then grunted to signal he’d understood her. “Kelvar Virlo, warrior.”

He held proclamations of devotion in abeyance--as was proper until she indicated her acceptance of him as her mate.

“Did you find him?” Dexon called, interrupting the sexual tension and giving Kelvar a few face-saving seconds of warning before his twin invaded their intimate conversation.

Dalila scooted behind him at the sound of his twin’s approach, positioning herself between him and the driftwood logs. She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself as small as possible.

His heart lifted with pride. Not an official declaration of her preference. A good sign though. A very good sign.

* * * *

Instantly, Dexon spied the small person hidden behind his brother. Crouching down to show a less threatening presence, he tried to project reassurance. How big and rough they must seem to something so small and fine. Peering around his brother’s stalwart torso he scanned the alien’s heart-shaped face, large eyes, smooth skin, and telltale swell of hip and breast.

“Gods be praised, it’s a woman,” Dexon huffed. His expression stretching into what must look like a caricature of surprise.

“Dalila,” Kelvar growled, correcting him.

Ignoring his brother’s bristling attitude, Dexon repeated her name, softening his pitch as much as possible. “Dalila, Dalila, Dalila delightful Dalila.”

“My younger brother, Dexon.” Kelvar said with a strong and wholly unnecessary emphasis on the word younger.

Dexon grinned at her, his most charming boyish smile, flashing the dimple on one cheek.

“His identical twin brother. Though after birth we became different. A small heart defect slowed my development until it was corrected. Of course, I’m much more fun,” he explained, doing his best to keep his tone gentle and his posture welcoming.

Cautiously, the woman emerged from behind his brother. He simply stared at her in wonder for several seconds.

Then he remembered to ask Kelvar if he’d handled the protocol. “Did you report her?”

Kelvar shifted, moving more fully in front of her. “Not yet.”

Logically, Dexon knew there’d been no opportunity. However, a lapse of this magnitude was so unlike his rigid twin that he couldn’t hide his shock.

“You have to! It is mandatory to report any unattended woman immediately. Any contact with an unclaimed woman is forbidden,” Dexon spoke urgently in a pitch intended only for his brother’s ears.

Stunningly, Kelvar grunted in disagreement. “She’s not of Enyo. Our laws don’t apply.”

Dexon shook his head sadly, knowing he wasn’t getting through to his twin. “She is a woman. The edicts are clear. You’re risking your life by not reporting this breeder.”

While the women in question watched him warily, she kept one hand glued to Kelvar’s wrist. Whether the gesture was for comfort or support he couldn’t tell. Either way, it was obvious she was already forming a bond with his brother.

As he looked into her dark eyes, he felt the force of her siren’s call. For the moment, his foolish concerns about legality were swept aside by the power of her attraction. He reasoned that she hadn’t officially chosen his brother for mate. If she had then Kelvar would be a great deal less tense. There was still hope for him.

A slim hope. However, a warrior could dream. Even in birth, Kelvar had been first. The precedent held with each milestone. Kelvar smiled, walked, and talked first. Throughout school Kelvar got the best grades, the highest scores, the most wins.

However, they’d failed the breeder testing equally. Along with thousands of Enyo’s finest young warriors. The number of men, sharing their lot hadn’t diminished the aching need to mate.

“Do you want to choose one of us to breed with?” he asked impulsively.

“You mean mating--as in sexual intercourse?” she asked, her pretty voice rising higher in unflattering amazement.

“How else would we breed?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

LENGTH: Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2008
ISBN: 978-1-60394-243-0
Download $5.99
Trade Paperback ISBN: 1-58608-
Retail price $11.99
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Regan Longstreet’s mission was simple--play princess, get the terrorists, and get out alive. Falling in love wasn’t part of her plan but, Ian McKnight was simply irresistible. When they’d worked together as cops, she’d fallen hard for him. But, knowing she would never fit into his world, she kept her desire secret. Now, he’s the only man she can trust.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Romantic Suspense.

 DANGEROUS RESCUE

By

Evanne Lorraine

© copyright by Evanne Lorraine, November 2008

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, November 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-243-0

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Dedication:

There were three women, who contributed to immeasurably to making this story better, Missy, Sheila and Tobi. I owe them all for many hours of reading, commenting, and handholding.

Chapter One

Seattle, Washington April 29^th6:00 PM local time

Had anyone ever died of horniness? Ian wondered, thinking grumpily that he certainly didn't want to be the first. How had he wound up celibate in Seattle? This was not him. This was not what he'd wanted. This was absolutely not what he'd planned. He'd loved sex--what he remembered about it. He frowned at the irritating patch of blue sky visible through the clouds from his office. Working on the seventh floor meant the sky usually looked dark, from being in the shadow of the taller buildings, which surrounded theJustice Center.

His phone played the opening notes from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. He reached for it, checking the caller ID. "Hey bud, it's great to hear from you," Ian grinned for no particular reason, other than hearing Clyde's voice.

"You still at work?"

"Damn, you caught me at it again," Ian said with mock chagrin. "So what's going on with you?"

"Headed your way."

"Coming my way from where?" Ian asked.

"SeaTac."

"You're in town?"

"Got in a half hour ago," Clyde said. "Got your computer on?"

"Always, though it's not like you ever email me."

"First time for everything, Romeo. Check your inbox. I'll wait."

"Okay, bud." Ian cradled the phone against his shoulder, clicking on the email from C. Jefferson, which had miraculously appeared in his inbox. "It's blank, Clyde. See, the whole idea of email is actually writing the other person a note. But since you're techno-challenged, and we're already talking, you could always tell me about it."

"Very funny. Isn't there an attachment?"

"Matter of fact there is, but I can't open it because I don't have the right program or maybe the right clearance? What the hell are you sending me, bud?"

Swiveling around, Ian eyed the silver of blue sky still gleaming hopefully, the days were getting longer. Spring was coming, even the rain felt warmer.

"Okay, I faxed it. Did you get it?" his friend asked impatiently.

Turning back to his desk, Ian observed that sure enough the fax machine was slowly pushing out an ink-heavy page. He plucked it, still damp, from the tray, and then dropped it as fast as if it were tainted evidence. "Yeah, the picture of Regan came through fine. Is this your idea of a joke, Clyde? Because if it is ...," he growled, letting the threat trail off harmlessly.

Laughing, Clyde reassured him. "No joke Romeo. And that's not Regan, that's the one and only infamous Princess Halle."

"Who the hell is this princess? Regan's long lost twin?"

"What's the matter, don't you folks get the tabloids out there on the West Coast?"

"I'm sure we do. But I don't read them," Ian said dryly, getting his emotions back under his usual firm control. "Why don't you fill me in?"

Clyde chuckled. "Maybe I should."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You really don't know about Princess Halle--the pampered daughter of Qsani's royal family? When she became engaged to Svensberg's heir to the throne, every detail of their courtship is front-page stuff on the gossip sheets.

"Am I bad, for not keeping up with the Daily Tattler," Ian muttered.

"If you had then you would know the Princess is coming to Seattle."

"The Princess is coming here?" Ian sat straighter, keeping his back to the rapidly darkening sky, as he scowled at the phone.

"I'll talk to you about it when I see you--should be in about ten minutes," Clyde said with another deep chuckle.

After hanging up the phone, Ian rummaged through his wastebasket, retrieving the discarded fax. Aside from the fancy hairstyle and the tiara, he could have been looking at a bad picture of Regan, his ex-partner--easily the most stubborn, infuriating, and seductive woman he'd ever met.

Thinking about her, even now, after eighteen months, made him feel like someone was tightening an iron band around his chest. There was nothing more pathetic than a case of unrequited puppy love. He crammed a lid on humiliating and painful memories, which were best left alone. It was all ancient history, nothing to do with him now. He'd moved on. Gotten over her. Way over.

But his hungry eyes moved toward the faxed image, hoping for one more glance of her beautiful face. Even in a grainy black and white photo the richness of her dark hair, the sparkle in those lovely eyes, and her remote smile gleamed at him infuriatingly. The loss still aching after all this time. And it wasn't even her.

The crack in his control was unacceptable. He was not about to waste his time regretting the past or mooning over any woman. He was a man of action. A man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

He had always known what he wanted--a worthwhile life. Not all the falderal, which meant so much to his grandmother and certainly not the irresponsible gypsy existence his parents led.

After finishing college, taking a couple of detours, and finally moving back to Seattle, he'd hired on with the Police Department and he'd bought a house. The place was too big for a single man, but he'd never intended to be a bachelor for long. He'd even bought a summer place at the beach. It was past time for him to get married and start filling up those houses with kids.

Regan loved kids. He knew this for a fact. He'd seen evidence of it time and again when they worked patrol together. In some ways, he knew her, knew her better than he'd ever known any woman. Yet, when it came to really understanding what made her tick, he still didn't have a clue.

He stood, and then paced the length of his office. It was past time to put her out of his mind and move on for real. He'd been alone far too long. Julia, the woman he'd been seeing for a few months, was certainly willing to take care of his needs and he was certainly horny.

But involvement with Julia came with expectations. She shared many of his dreams. She was attractive. Yet he hesitated, was the attraction he felt for sweet Julia enough? It would be if he managed to get past Regan's rejection. A little payback would help--then he'd have real closure. And that was sick. He wasn't a revenge kind of guy. Maybe that was his real problem. Too much nice guy and not enough ruthless bastard.

Damn, he needed to find a way to evict Regan from his head. The idea of having sex with one woman while thinking about another didn't sit well and he was damn tired of not having sex.

Clyde was right, though he'd eat ground glass before he'd admit it. If he had slept with Regan back when they were together then she'd be nothing but a hot memory by now. His pride had gotten in the way, wounded by her refusal of his marriage proposal. Time had cooled his anger but the damn woman stayed lodged in his thoughts, like an itch he couldn't scratch.

It had been his own damn fault. Regan had offered an affair--like sex was a consolation prize-- after she'd turned down his offer of marriage.

He'd showed her. He'd refused, walking out of her life for good. He'd been miserable ever since.

Stupidly, he'd fallen in love with Regan. Much worse than that original mistake--he'd made an utter jerk of himself. When she'd countered his proposal by suggesting they love making instead, he'd been so stunned by her refusal that he'd barely heard what she'd said.

With his ears still stinging from her flat-out ‘no', he'd lashed out at her. He'd said things he wished he'd never thought, let alone voiced. Thanks to his own temper, he'd ruined any chance for them to remain friends.

He wasn't excusing his mistakes. He'd been guilty of poor judgment, poor timing, and plain idiocy.

It was beyond cruel that the first female to turn him down was a heartless ice-queen bitch--one he'd wanted more than he wanted any other woman. He nursed his resentment, keeping it alive with the memory of Regan's cold refusal of his love, unwilling to let the pain go.

Fortunately, his grandmother wielded considerable influence in local political circles. He'd humbled himself enough to ask for her help and she'd been delighted to get him out of patrol and into a high visibility position as the mayor's liaison.

But neither wealth nor power had healed the wounds Regan had carved into his heart. Only by getting even would he ever be able to make it right. He needed to heal his wounded pride before he would ever be able to move on to someone else.

The Princess's uncanny resemblance to Regan had been exactly the wake up call he'd needed to stop moping and take charge.

He'd been going about this all wrong, avoiding Regan when he should have been seducing her. Sex was definitely the answer to everything that ailed him. Then, finally, he would be able to walk away and forget her.

By the time Clyde arrived, the sky had turned gray and sullen--the lovely spring day as over as the final note of an aria.

His friend cuffed Ian's shoulder affectionately. "It's good to see you, Romeo."

Hearing his college nickname made him wince inwardly, painfully aware how undeserved it was lately. "It's nice to see you too, bud. You look great."

A little overwhelming, but then that was Clyde. Memory always normalized him. Seeing him again carried an element of shock. Over seven feet high, more than three hundred pounds and not an ounce of it flab, everything about Clyde was bigger than life. Underneath the daunting exterior was a loyal friend and one of the best men Ian had ever met. Not that he'd ever embarrass either of them by mentioning his admiration.

"I hope we're still friends when this operation is over," Clyde mumbled.

Ian reassured him automatically. "Certainly we'll be. Hell, we've been friends since I found your sorry ass struggling with freshman calculus and threw you a lifeline."

"Yeah, well I taught you about jazz and how to dunk."

"Skills every modern man needs."

Clyde's answering grin was brief, and then he got down to business. "You've heard of theSons of Allah?"

"The terrorist group that claimed credit for the drinking water disaster in Washington DC--the ones that make Al-Qaeda look moderate?"

"Correct. Our sources tell us they want Princess Halle and they're coming to Seattle to get her."

"And you want to get them." It was an easy conclusion. But already Ian felt distinctly uneasy.

"That's what I love about you, Romeo. You catch on quickly."

"Princess Halle is the perfect bait to capture this nasty bunch of bad guys. However, there's one teensy little problem with that excellent plan. The Qsani royal family might be mad as hell at their little girl, but she's still their princess. The Jaeger royal family likewise, while less than thrilled with Prince Peder's betrothed, would still be outraged if anything happens to their future daughter-in-law while she's under our protection. Factor in our need for the oil fields in Qsan, and Svensberg's controlling interest in the North Sea drilling operation, both of which we need a whole helluva lot more than anything they need from us, and you begin to see the problems with using Princess Halle as terrorist bait."

Ian absorbed Clyde's summary, knowing what was coming next and already hating it without bothering to analyze why. While he wanted to torture Regan and make her regret rejecting him--he didn't want her dead. He reached for the remote that controlled the table lamps and turned them on. The electric lights helped chase the gloomy shadows from the room but they did nothing to brighten his mood.

"Aside from all the diplomatic bullshit," Clyde continued with disarming candor. "I've already spent two hours with the Princess and that was way too long."

"When is this royal visit scheduled?" Ian asked, forcing the words through the tensed muscles of his throat.

"Two weeks. I gotta tell you I'm really glad you're going to be my liaison--nice to share the heat. Lots of egos involved, more brass, and plenty of opportunities for royal snits and every form of cluster fuck you can imagine. Fortunately, the bad guys seem to be strictly an amateur-hour act. I don't think they've ever been within sight of the realSons of Allah. But there's always the chance they're the real deal." Clyde grinned cheerfully.

"Lucky me, it must be all my clean living," Ian commented with painful honesty. "Lay it on me. What's the plan?"

* * * *

Officer Regan Longstreet closed the chief's door, and then glared at the innocent blond wood. She would have slammed it, except it would've been noisy and would've revealed her bad attitude. She wasn't going to let a fit of temper ruin her dream. She was in line to run the new Teen advocacy department. Not just in line, but so close she could smell the imitation leather chair, metal desk and fresh paint of a new unit head's office.

Chief Logan stuck his head out and called after her. "Passport up to date?"

Regan took a moment to study her future boss. It was hard to believe that this man who looked like a kiddy train conductor was really a tough-minded cop and master of all the political games necessary to run the high-visibility police department. His expression was unreadable.

"Yes sir," she said crisply.

"Good." Logan stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him and lowering his voice. "Then stop looking like I asked you to do something dirty. It is two weeks of playing princess--not a torture session. Then you're everyone's hero and your terrible teens get a new advocate."

She'd kept a tight rein on her smart mouth, holding back the angry words that would get her into big trouble. But judging by the chief's expression, she'd failed at keeping disappointment off her face. She sought for something to say that wouldn't make him regret recommending her for the position that she wanted so much.

"It was a let-down," she said honestly. "But you know you can count on me to do