AN HEIRESS FOR HIS EMPIRE by Lucy Monroe

AN HEIRESS FOR HIS EMPIRE by Lucy Monroe

Ruthless Russians mini-series
Harlequin Presents #3274
October 2014 (09-16-14)

The story: Innocent debutante Madison Archer has hit the headlines for a scandal not of her making. Now, marriage to the unscrupulous Viktor Beck is the only way to save what’s left of her reputation!

The contract: Maddie has always featured in Viktor’s plans to take over her father’s company and expand his empire. The intense attraction between them only sweetens the deal he’s offered....

The secret: Though love doesn’t beat in Viktor’s heart, he’ll show Maddie just how hot their chemistry can be. But even this corporate shark is in for a shock—his wild socialite is still a virgin!



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Excerpt


CHAPTER ONE

MADISON ARCHER SET her morning coffee down, hot liquid spilling over the rim, as she read her Google alerts with growing horror.

Madcap Madison Looking for New Master?
Archer Heiress into Heavy Kink
San Francisco Bad Boy Dumps Very Bad Girl

The articles made lurid claims about a lifestyle and relationship between Maddie and Perry Timwater. A completely nonexistent relationship.

The fact that Perry was the source caused the coffee to sour in Maddie’s stomach.

His supposed exposé of their fictitious relationship claimed she was a submissive with a serious pain fetish and need for multiple partners. She gritted her teeth on the urge to swear as she read it was her inability to remain faithful that forced Perry to end things between them.

Maddie wouldn’t mind ending Perry right that minute. Betrayal choked her.

How could he have done this?

He was her friend.

They’d met their freshman year at university. He’d made her laugh when she’d thought nothing could. Not after her epic fail trying to get Viktor Beck’s attention. She’d started university with a broken heart and Perry had helped her paste over the cracks with friendship.

She’d helped him pass his accountancy courses. He’d played platonic escort for her and she’d provided him entrée to Jeremy Archer’s world—an echelon above his own.

But never, not once, had their friendship ever taken a turn toward something heavier.

Pounding sounded on her front door. “Maddie! It’s me, don’t freak.” Then barely a second later, the double snick of locks sliding back was followed by the door swinging wide.

Holding a bag from their favorite bakery aloft, her black bob swirling around her pixie face, Romi Grayson kicked the door shut behind her. “I come bearing the panacea for all ills.”

“I’m not sure even chocolate and flaky pastry can make this situation better.” Maddie slumped against the back of her chair.

Eyes the same vibrant blue as Maddie’s glittered with anger. “So, Perry’s lost his mind, right?”

“You saw the articles?”

“Only after reporters woke me from a dead sleep demanding my opinion of my best friend’s darker sexual proclivities.” Romi’s mouth twisted wryly. “Proclivities I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have even if you weren’t still a virgin.”

“You’ve got that right. I’ve never been able to trust one man enough to have sex, much less multiple partners.”

As ridiculous as that might seem at twenty-four, it wasn’t going to change anytime soon, either.

“If you ask me, it’s got less to do with trust and more to do with the fact you imprinted on Viktor Beck like a baby bird when you were a teenager and you’ve never gotten over him.”

“Romi!” Maddie was in no mood to hash out her unrequited feelings for her father’s dark-haired, dark-eyed, to-die-for-bodied golden boy.

“I’m just saying…”

“Nothing you haven’t said before.” Maddie’s stomach grew queasier by the second.

Along with the rest of the world, Vik would see the articles, but she couldn’t afford to think about that right now, or she really was going to lose it. “Father is going to kill me.”

This new scandal was bound to crack even the San Francisco tycoon’s icy demeanor. And not in the way Maddie had always craved.

He’d sent her away to boarding school months after her mother’s death and Maddie had courted media attention in the hopes of gaining his. It had worked for her mother, Helene Archer, née Madison, the original Madcap Madison, but Maddie had come to realize the strategy had backfired pretty spectacularly for her.

In the nine years since Helene’s death, Jeremy had developed a habit of thinking the worst of his daughter. When he wasn’t ignoring her existence all together.

“If he doesn’t die of a stress-related heart attack first.” Romi put a chocolate-filled croissant in front of Maddie.

“Don’t say that.”

The other woman grimaced. “Sorry. Stuff just comes out. You know what I’m like. Your dad is wound pretty tight, though.”

Maddie couldn’t argue that.

“I think this time, Perry’s diarrhea of the mouth has me beat anyway.” Romi chewed her pastry militantly. “What was he thinking?”

Morose, Maddie stared at her friend. “That he wanted the money the tabloid paid him for the story?”

She’d had no idea that turning down his latest request for a loan would result in her utter humiliation. How could she? Friends didn’t do that to each other.

“Jerk.”

Maddie usually played peacemaker between her two closest friends, but she wasn’t about to stand up for Perry this time. “What am I going to do?”

“You could threaten to sue and demand a retraction.”

“Based on my word against his?”

Romi made a sound very close to a growl. “You two have never even kissed with tongue.”

“But we have kissed, for the cameras.” Perry had always made a joke of it.

He had been Maddie’s go-to escort for years and more than one article speculating on their relationship had been run, often quoting anonymous sources and always accompanied by the joke kissing pictures.

“Do you think he’s done this before?”

“Sold confidential details of your supposed relationship?” Romi asked.

“Yes.”

“You know what I think.”

Maddie sighed. “That he’s a leech.”

“Always has been.”

“He was a good friend.” Maddie couldn’t make herself claim he still was.

Romi just gave Maddie a disbelieving look, no words necessary.

Ignoring it, Maddie said, “I probably can’t prove we never had a relationship, but I can sue them for libel in the details.”

“His word against yours.”

“But he’s lying.”

“This is something new for the tabloids?”

Feeling hopeless, Maddie pushed her croissant away.

“You could always sic your dad’s dogs on Perry. That media fixer of his could be cast in Shark Week on the Discovery Channel.”

“I should.” Even supposing her dad cared enough to assign his media fixer’s precious time to helping Maddie.

Romi’s expression turned knowing. “But you won’t. Perry was your friend.”

Maddie opened her mouth, but Romi put her hand up, forestalling words. “Don’t you dare say he still is.”

“No.” Maddie swallowed back emotion. “No, it’s pretty clear he’s not my friend and maybe he never was.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Romi came around the table to hug her.

Maddie fought down stress-induced nausea. “I thought he was real.”

“Instead, he turned out to be just another one of the plastic people.” Romi’s tone reflected her own experience with that. “All looks and no substance.”

Maddie choked out a morbid laugh. “Yeah.”

A bugler’s reverie sounded from her smartphone.

With a snicker, Romi moved back to her seat. “Daddy’s PA?”

“I thought it was appropriate.” Maddie clicked into her text messages, unsurprised to see that there were dozens.

While she checked her phone periodically throughout the day, Maddie only had sound alerts set for certain people: Romi, Perry—who was going off the list today—Maddie’s father, his personal assistant. Viktor Beck.

Not that her father’s business heir apparent contacted Maddie these days. But still, if he did…she’d get an audible alert.

Ignoring the numerous messages from friends, acquaintances and the media jackals, Maddie clicked into the one from her father’s PA.

Mtg w Mr. Archer @ 10:45—confrm 2.

Mr. Archer. Not Mr. A, even though the PA had used text speak for the rest of the message. Not your father. That might have been too personal.

“He wants to meet this morning.” Maddie bit her lip, considering what she’d have to change to make that happen.

Romi nodded. “Are you going to go?”

Maddie considered putting off her morning plans for the meeting with her father.

“No.” It wasn’t as if her showing up when he called was going to make Jeremy any less angry.

She shot a quick text back to the PA offering to come anytime after noon-thirty.

Fifteen minutes later, Romi was gone after a final pep talk when the strains of Michael Bublé’s “Call Me Irresponsible” sounded from Maddie’s smartphone.

Her father was calling her. Personally. Not texting.

Any other time, she would be thrilled. But right now? The crooner’s smooth voice was as ominous as the sepulcher tones of a Halloween horror flick’s soundtrack.

Maddie put the phone to her ear. “Hello, Father.”

“Ten-forty-five, Madison. You will not be late.”

“You know I have a standing morning appointment.” Not that he knew what it was.

Maddie had tried to tell him once, but Jeremy had mocked the very idea of his flighty daughter doing anything worthwhile. Worse, he’d made it clear how useless he thought it was to spend time volunteering at an underfunded public school predominantly populated by the children of poverty-level families.

Since then, Maddie had kept her two lives completely separate. Maddie Grace, nondescript twentysomething who loved children and volunteered a good chunk of her time, had nothing in common—not even hair and eye color—with Madison Archer, notorious socialite and heiress.

“Cancel.” No give. No explanation. Just demand.

Typical.

“It’s important.”

“No. It is not.” His tone was so cold it sent shivers along her extremities.

“It is to me.” She wished she could be as unaffected by his displeasure as he was by hers. “Please.”

“Ten-forty-five, Madison.” Then he hung up.

She knew because the call dropped.

*****

Wearing the armor of her socialite Madison Archer persona, Maddie got off the elevator at the twenty-ninth floor of her father’s building in San Francisco’s financial district.

None of the nerves wreaking havoc with her insides showed on her smooth face.

Makeup applied to highlight, not compete with, the blue of her eyes and gentle bow of her lips, she’d styled her chin-length red hair in perfectly placed curls around her oval face so like her mother’s. No highlights had ever been necessary for the natural copper tones.

Her three-quarter-length-sleeved Valentino black-and-white suit wasn’t this year’s collection, but it was one of her favorites and fit the image she intended to convey. The wide black banded hem of the straight skirt brushed a proper two inches above her knees and the Jackie-O-style jacket with a statement bow was a galaxy away from slutty.

She’d opted for classic closed-toe black Jimmy Choo pumps that added a mere two inches to her five-foot-six-inch height. Maddie carried a simple leather Chanel bag, her accessories limited to her mother’s favorite Cartier watch and diamond stud earrings.

Maddie didn’t look anything like the woman described by Perry in his “breakup interview” with the press.

She walked into Conference Room Two without knocking, stopping for a strategic pause in the doorway to allow the other occupants a moment to look their fill.

She wasn’t going to scurry in like a mouse trying to avoid the cat’s attention.

The brief moment had the added benefit of allowing her to take her own lay of the land.

Seven people sat around the eight-person conference table. As to be expected, her father occupied one end. Maddie was equal parts relieved and worried to see his media fixer at the other end, but not happy at all to see the man seated to the right of her father.

Romi was right that Maddie had had a crush on the gorgeous Viktor Beck since he started working for Jeremy Archer ten years ago. The unrequited feelings had evolved from schoolgirl infatuation to something more, something that made it impossible for other men to measure up.

That first year, Maddie had still had her mother and Helene would tease Maddie for her blushes in the tycoon-in-the-making’s presence.

Maddie had learned to control her blushes, but not the feelings the handsome third-generation Russian engendered in her.

Having him here to witness her humiliation tightened the knot of tension inside her until she wasn’t sure it would ever come undone.

Less understandable, but not nearly as upsetting, was the presence of two of her father’s other high-level managers in the remaining chairs on that side of the table. Her father’s PA sat to his left, with an empty chair beside her.

The final man at the table had a powerful presence and a familiar face, but in her current state of highly guarded stress, Maddie couldn’t place him.

Everyone had a stack of papers in front of them. It took only the briefest glance to see what they were: printed-out copies of the news stories Maddie had seen earlier on her smartphone. Underneath them was an individual copy for each person in the room of the actual tabloid the original story had run in.

Vik’s pile was different. It had what looked like a contract on top. Looking around the table, Maddie realized everyone else had a copy of that as well, but on the bottom of their pile—the stapled corner was the only thing visible in the other piles.

She looked at her father and gave him the sardonic expression she’d been using for years to mask her vulnerability. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to discuss this with me privately before bringing in a think tank.”

“Sit down, Madison.” He didn’t even bother to respond to her comment.

Which should neither surprise, nor hurt. So why did it do both?

She waited a count of three before obeying his brusque order, deliberately ignoring the stack of papers in front of her. “I assume we’ve already drafted a letter demanding a retraction?”

When her father didn’t answer, she stared pointedly at his media fixer.

“Is it likely your ex-lover will recant his commentary?” the fixer asked in a flat tone.

“First, he was never my lover. Second, he doesn’t have to recant his lies for us to sue the tabloid for libel.” Though her chances of winning the suit weren’t high without Perry’s honesty.

“I am not in the habit of wasting time or resources on a hopeless endeavor,” her father said.

“The story is out there and that can’t be changed,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean we leave Perry’s lies unchallenged.”

Her father’s eyes were chips of blue ice. “If you wish to challenge your ex-lover’s lies, you may do so, but that is not my concern.”

“You don’t believe the stories?” she asked with a pained incredulity she couldn’t quite hide.

“What I believe is not the issue at hand.”

“It is for me.” There were only two people in that room whose opinion Maddie cared about.

Her father’s and Viktor Beck’s, no matter how much she might wish that wasn’t the case.

Her gaze shifted to Vik, but nothing from the stern set of his square jaw to the obscure depths of his espresso-brown eyes revealed his thoughts.

There had been a time when he might have tried to encourage her with a half smile or even a wink, but those days were gone. There’d been no softening in his demeanor toward her since her first trip home after going away to university.

And while that might be her own fault, she didn’t have to like it.

Her father cleared his throat. “Those tawdry stories may have precipitated this meeting, but they are not the reason for it.”

Maddie’s attention snapped back to her only remaining family. “What do you mean?”

“The issue we are here to address is your unacceptable notoriety, Madison. I will not sit by while you attempt to rival other heiresses for worldwide infamy.”

“I don’t.” Even when Maddie had tried to court her father’s attention by gaining that of the media, she hadn’t gone that far.

Okay, so she and Romi were known for their participation in political rallies of the liberal variety, which included a well-publicized sit-in protesting cuts in local school funding. That Maddie had gone further, bungee jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge with five others and unfurling a giant banner that read Go Green or Go Home, was beside the point.

There were videos online of her bungee jumping in less politically motivated and slightly more risky circumstances. The snowboarding had been a total failure, but she’d always loved downhill skiing and learning to jump had been fantastic. Of course, only her tumbles made it into the media.

But she hadn’t done a thing to get herself in the papers in over six months. Not since hitting the headlines with a nighttime adventure in skydiving that had resulted in her hospitalization with a hairline fracture to her pelvis.

Her father had not only ignored her exploit, but he’d also ignored Maddie’s injury. And not only had he refused to take her phone calls from the hospital, but he'd also made it clear, through his PA, that Maddie was not welcome at the family mansion for her recovery.

She’d been forced to hire a nurse to help during the weeks of her limited mobility. Romi had offered to stay with her, but Maddie refused to take advantage.

“Am I to understand you didn’t read Madison in on the contents of this contract?” Vik asked, unexpected disapproval edging his deep tone. “Do you actually expect her to agree?”

“She’ll agree.” Her father gave her a stern glare. “Or I will cut her out of my life completely.”

The words were painful enough to hear, but the absolute conviction in her father’s voice stabbed straight through Maddie’s carefully cultivated facade to the genuine and all-too-vulnerable emotions underneath.

“Over this?” she demanded, waving her hand toward the printed articles. “It’s not true!”

“You will not continue to drag my name and that of my company through the mud, Madison.”

“I don’t do that.” While she’d managed a certain level of media notoriety, it had never before been because of anything even remotely like the lies Perry had spewed to the tabloids.

Her father began reading the headlines out loud and weak tears burned the back of her eyes. Maddie refused to give in to them, wishing she could be as genuinely emotionless as the steel-gray-haired man flaying her with other people’s words.

“I told you, he lied.”

“Why would he?” the media fixer asked, sounding interested in an almost clinical way.

“For money. For revenge.” Because she’d turned him down one too many times and compounded that by refusing his latest request for a loan. “I don’t know, but he lied.”

How many times did she have to say it?

“It is time for definitive measures to be taken,” Jeremy said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“On that at least, we can agree, beginning with the demand for a retraction. I can do my own interview.” Even though she hated that kind of direct contact with the media.

She considered offering the ultimate sacrifice of integrating her Maddie Grace life with that of socialite Madison Archer in order to combat the negative image that clearly concerned her father.

Jeremy dismissed her offer with a slicing gesture. “I believe I’ve made it clear that the current scandal is not my primary concern.”

“What is your concern?” she asked, confused.

“The capricious lifestyle that has resulted in your unacceptable and notorious reputation.”

“You want me to come work for AIH?” she asked with zero enthusiasm and even less belief.

The last time the issue of Archer International Holdings had come up, her father had made it clear he no longer harbored dreams of her one day taking over.

His harsh bark of laughter was all the answer she needed. “Absolutely not.”

“You want me to get a job somewhere else?” She could do that.

She preferred using her education as a volunteer teacher’s aide, but if it would help her relationship with her father, she would get a paying job—which hopefully wouldn’t conflict with her volunteering schedule.

More derisive laughter fell from her father’s lips. “Do you really think any reputable charity or business would hire you right now?”

Heat climbed up her neck, ending in a very rare blush. She’d become adept at hiding her emotions, even suppressing her blushes of embarrassment a long time ago.

But suddenly, she realized that if it did become known that Madison Archer was Maddie Grace, the school might be forced to disallow Maddie’s volunteering. All because a man she’d thought was a friend had turned out to be a lying, manipulative, opportunistic user.

“He wants you to get married,” Vik informed her, no indication in his tone or demeanor that he was joking.

Her father did not jump in with a denial, either.

For the first time, she looked around the room to see how the other occupants were reacting. Her father’s media fixer and PA were both busy on their tablets, ignoring the conversation now, or giving a pretty good pretense of doing so.

One of his managers was looking at her with the type of speculation that left Madison feeling dirty, but the fact he had the articles about her spread out in front of him could have something to do with that, too.

The other manager was reading through the paperwork and the man who Maddie did not know was looking at her father, his expression assessing.

Vik’s expression was enigmatic as always.

She met her father’s gaze again, finding nothing there but implacable resolve. “You want me to get married.”

“Yes.”

“Who?” she asked, unhappily certain she already had an inkling.

“One of these four men.” Her father indicated Vik, the two other managers and the man she did not know. “You know Viktor, of course, and I am sure you remember Steven Whitley.” Jeremy nodded toward a manager she was fairly certain had been divorced once already and was nearly twice her age.

Maddie found herself acknowledging both men with a tip of her own head in some bizarre ritual of polite behavior. Or maybe it was just the situation that was so bizarre.

He indicated the manager whose look had given her the willies. “Brian Jones.”

His expression was benign now, almost pitying.

“I thought you were engaged,” she said, her voice almost as tight as her throat. But that couldn’t be helped.

Hadn’t Maddie met his fiancée at the last Christmas party?

“Are you?” her father asked, annoyance clear in his tone. “Miss Priest?”

His PA looked up from her tablet with a frown. “Yes, sir?”

“Jones is engaged.”

“Is he?” Miss Priest didn’t sound concerned. “He is not married.”

“But I will be.” Brian stood. “I don’t believe I’ll be needed for the rest of this meeting, if you’ll excuse me, sir?”

“Did you read the contract?” her father demanded.

“I did.”

“And you are still leaving?”

“Yes, sir.”

A measure of respect shone in her father’s eyes even as he frowned. “Then go.” He nodded toward the stranger on the other side of Maddie as if the introductions had not been interrupted by the defection of one of his candidates. “Maxwell Black, CEO of BIT.”

Maxwell smiled at her, magnetism that might actually rival Vik’s exuding from him. “Hello, Madison. It’s good to see you again.”

He wasn’t overtly sexual, but there was a vibe to him that made Maddie wrap her arms protectively around herself. This man carried power around him the same way Vik did, but with a predatory edge she hadn’t experienced from her father’s heir apparent.

Then, she’d never been his business rival.

“I don’t believe we’ve met?” She forced her arms to fall to her sides.

“I saw you at the Red Ball last February.”

She remembered going to the charity event that raised money for research into heart disease, but she didn’t remember seeing him.

“I would have remembered.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so.” His teeth flashed in a blinding white smile. “But I meant what I said. I saw you there. We were not introduced.”

“Oh.”

Her father cleared his throat in that disapproving way he had, but if he expected Maddie to say it was a pleasure to meet the man—under these circumstances—he didn’t know her very well.

But then that had been her problem most of her life, hadn’t it?

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MIRANDA'S MATE by Ann Gimpel

MIRANDA'S MATE by Ann Gimpel 

The Company Store Series Book One

As an agent for an international security firm, Miranda has her hands full. Between secretly lusting after her boss, Garen, and making sure the dirty little secret about her double life as a wolf shifter remains hidden, she’s still a virgin at nearly thirty.

Sent to eliminate the head of a human trafficking organization in Amsterdam, she barely escapes with her life. Injured, frightened, and under attack the second her private jet lands in the U.S., she doesn’t know where to turn.

Garen’s been watching Miranda just as surreptitiously as she’s been eying him. Unfortunately, the fact that she works for him is a showstopper. Plus, Garen has a few secrets of his own that have kept him single. He’s frantic once he discovers his oldest friend is besotted with Miranda too. When she insists on heading up a covert operation, he’s worried sick but can’t come up with a plausible reason to stop her.

Miranda’s life is on the line. Will Garen risk exposure to save her?

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 Chapter 1

The Gulfstream G280 shuddered as it banked hard right. Miranda Miller pushed one of the window blinds aside; it was black as pitch outside the aircraft. She felt like warmed-over crap. Her mouth tasted sour; her eyes were hot and gritty. She rubbed them and tallied how long it had been since she’d slept. At least two days. She reached for a Styrofoam cup in its no-spill metal holder, sloshed cold coffee around her mouth, and swallowed.

Her headset hummed. “Wakey, wakey, fraulein,” a heavily accented German voice rumbled. “We land at JFK as soon as the tower clears us.”

“What?” Fear sliced through her fatigue. “I told you we needed a smaller airport.”

“Sorry, fraulein. This one was closest. We are below recommended minimums on fuel.”

She considered asking the pilot why he hadn’t planned better but decided not to antagonize him. It was bad enough they were flying without a copilot—probably against FAA regulations. She had a dummied-up commercial pilot’s license tucked in her wallet under one of her many assumed names. Hopefully it matched the one on her phony passport. She hadn’t had time to check. If it came down to it, she’d been instructed to tell the tower she’d copiloted the flight.

“I need you to move into the cockpit, fraulein.”

“Alrighty. Give me a minute.”

“You do not have much more than that. I do not wish further difficulties with the U.S. authorities.”

Miranda wondered just what other problems the pilot might be referring to. She almost asked him, and then decided she didn’t really care. Her international security company engaged professionals. Most of them came from either the military or law enforcement and had checkered pasts. She unbuckled her seat belt and stumbled to her feet. Her crumpled, black pantsuit stank, but maybe only to her lycan senses. She hoped humans wouldn’t be able to smell stale blood and sweat. Her body ached, especially her ribs where her target had slammed a lead pipe into her. She fingered her side and wondered if anything was broken. Not much you could do for ribs. They had to mend on their own.

A few steps took her to the tiny head in the rear of the aircraft. She splashed cold water on her face and winced when she took a good look at her scraped knuckles. Her target in Amsterdam—head of a worldwide human trafficking organization—had been much harder to eliminate than she’d expected. She’d needed her supernatural speed and strength—and her wolf form. One more face-dunking in cold water and she grabbed a towel to dry herself.

“Now, fraulein.” The jet shuddered again as its landing gear clicked into place.

The pilot sounded so panicked she rushed down the aisle and pulled open the cockpit door. He grabbed her arm and nearly threw her into the empty seat. “Watch it!” she snapped; her upper lip pulled into a snarl. Claws pressed against the ends of her fingertips. Miranda struggled for control. Her wolf wanted to kill the human who’d manhandled her.

“Sorry.” The pilot’s voice was mild. She recognized compulsion beneath his words and wondered just what he was. “I do not wish to draw anyone’s attention,” he went on smoothly. “The rules regarding business-class jets are in constant flux.” He glanced at her with gray eyes that didn’t miss much. “Are you hurt?”

She nodded. “My, um, assignment ran into unexpected snags.”

“Will you require medical attention before you proceed to the West Coast?”

She snorted. What a subtle way of asking if she’d been shot or stabbed. Lars Kinsvogel—or whatever his name really was—had obviously dealt with people like her before. Something he said caught her attention. “Won’t you be my pilot?”

He shook his head. “Someone fresh will relieve me.”

“Will I be able to stay aboard?”

He shot her an odd look. “Of course not. You must go through customs.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s why I wanted to land somewhere inland.”

His gray eyes narrowed. “All flights from foreign destinations are subject to customs, no matter what the airport. Is this your first international assignment?”

Heat rose to her face. “No.” She was damned if she’d say anything else. She didn’t know him from Adam.

The radio crackled. The pilot responded in pilotese and banked the plane. “Flights from Europe are cleared to land at certain airports. With the fuel we have left, we could have landed in Philadelphia or Newark, but I have a feeling those two destinations would not meet your needs, either. What are you afraid of?”

Miranda wasn’t certain what she could tell him. Company policy was clear. Talk to no one. “Never mind.”

She thought about Garen, her boss and chairman for The Company. She’d been half in love with his razor-sharp mind, lithe build, salt-and-pepper hair, and sky-blue eyes for years, but he didn’t see her as anything but a junior-grade agent. Rumor had it he scarcely acknowledged employees until they’d become full-fledged operatives. If her fellows were any indication, she had a way to go. At least a few more assignments. And then there was the problem of her being a lycan. She sighed; fantasies of Garen went up in smoke like they always did. It was nice to dream, but Miranda steered clear of men. Between her wolf side and her somewhat unorthodox career, intimate relationships carried too much risk of discovery. She relied on her fingers, a vibrator, and the occasional one-night stand to take the edge off her needs.

The jet banked yet again and dropped lower. Its wheels made contact, and the pilot hit the brakes. Because she wasn’t belted in, Miranda nearly plunged into the instrument cluster. Lars made an aggravated clucking sound, but he didn’t say anything. They taxied off the runway.

“Since I have to get off, I need to get my things together.”

“Wait until the aircraft comes to a complete stop, fraulein.”

He sounded so much like a bot, she stifled a laugh. The plane moved smoothly into an enclosed hangar. Once it rolled to a halt, she pushed out of her seat, returned to the passenger compartment, and unhooked her small duffel from the wall. Lars’ breath hissed against her ear. “Where are your weapons?”

“On me and in my bag.”

“Put everything in your bag. Clips separate.”

“I’m not that stupid.” She pulled a 9mm semiautomatic from its shoulder holster and punched the button to discharge its clip. She drew back the slide, extracted the chambered bullet, and stuffed it into the clip. Next came a snub-nosed .38 revolver and two knives. She spun the chamber to make certain all the bullets were out and then placed everything in locked gun cases in her carry-on.

Lars still stood practically on top of her. She met his gaze, noticing they were about the same height, which meant he was five feet eleven. “Yes?” She quirked a tired brow.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” His hands settled on her shoulders. She smelled his arousal and knew he had a hard-on without even looking.

“Christ! Not now.” She spun from beneath his grip. “Let’s just get through customs and allow whoever’s knocking on the cabin door to search the plane.”

“We will have some downtime in the terminal. At least an hour.” He sounded hopeful.

Miranda looked at him. Really looked at him. Lars was attractive in a Teutonic sort of way with ice-blond hair and gray eyes. His trim body suggested he worked out. Interest flickered but then died. She shook her head. “I haven’t slept for forty-eight hours. I’m dead on my feet.”

“Why did you not sleep during the flight? The air was smooth.”

Good question. She’d wondered the same thing. “I did, just not much. Too keyed up.”

He shouted something in German to whoever was pounding on the cabin door and took her arm. “I will watch over you until you are safely back in the plane.”

She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but something in his face stopped her. In that moment, she understood he was a trained operative just like her. His role this time around happened to be pilot, but she was certain he’d stood in her shoes before. “Which branch of the military trained you?”

He shook his head and let go of her arm. “It does not matter. Follow me, fraulein.”

She shouldered her duffel and walked to the rear cabin door. Lars had just sprung the locks. He spoke soothingly in German to an obviously agitated customs officer. The agent’s beady, black eyes settled on her. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes. Is there a problem, sir? It’s been a long flight, and both of us are tired. It took me a while to get my bag together.”

The agent, nostrils flared, looked intently at her and then waved them down the jet’s steps. “Customs is the last door at the north end of the hangar,” he barked. “Don’t even think of running. This hangar is locked and fully alarmed.”

Lars placed a hand beneath her elbow and guided her across a concrete floor. “It is best if we do not deviate from a straight line,” he muttered.

“Holy crap,” she said. “Why are they so uptight?”

He shrugged. “As you Americans say, it goes with the territory.” He grinned, displaying very white, very even teeth. “Everything we do and say between here and the customs area is filmed and recorded.”

* * * *

Despite interested glances and furrowed foreheads, her munitions-heavy duffle had passed inspection since her fake identification pegged her as an undercover agent for the Chicago Police Department. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief once they’d scanned her passport and released her. Even though Garen told his operatives each of their alternate credentials were fully covered at all ends, she’d never exactly believed Jayne Powers existed on the Chicago PD payroll.

They settled in a private lounge specifically for business-class jet crews and their passengers. At least an hour passed. Lars handed her a cup of coffee. He pulled a silver flask from an inner jacket pocket and waved it at her. Miranda shrugged. “Sure. I’ve never made a habit of drinking in the morning, but what the hell. What time is it, anyway?”

“Around five-thirty. It will be light soon.”

She sipped the coffee, delighted to find he’d poured Irish whiskey into it. The liquor burned a path to her empty stomach. “Do I have time to grab some food?”

He frowned. “Probably. I do not understand why the relief pilot has not met us.” He pulled a cell phone from his jacket and powered it on.

Miranda snapped upright from her slump against soft cushions. Deviations almost always meant trouble. She took one more slug of coffee and set her cup down. As tired as she was, she couldn’t risk any more whiskey—not until she found out if something was truly amiss. Lars punched in numbers, waited a few moments, and disconnected. He stood and held a hand to her. “We must go, fraulein.” She opened her mouth to frame a question, but he shook his head. “We have stayed here too long, I fear.”

She cocked her head at a restroom door near the rear of the private lounge. He nodded, obviously understanding her intent. If trouble was afoot, she needed to be armed. She went inside, ducked into a stall, and dug what she needed from her bag. The ammo clip slid into her 9mm with a satisfying thunk. She checked in a mirror to make certain her underarm holster was hidden. Her reflection shocked her. Gray circles etched beneath bloodshot blue eyes. Her dark hair hung in greasy strands. She wound it into a queue and shoved it behind her shoulders.

Lars met her right outside the ladies’ room. Miranda’s practiced eyes noted the swell of a gun beneath his woolen jacket. She blinked hard to clear her head. Were they going to have a full-on shootout in the middle of JFK Airport? He shook his head almost imperceptibly, gripped her elbow, and propelled her into the corridor. At least this wing of the airport wasn’t busy at this time of day. Only a few others strode meaningfully toward destinations.

He jerked his head sideways. A half-open door sat about fifty yards away. He bent so his mouth was right against her ear and whispered as they walked. “You will take the stairs all the way to the bottom. There is a door there. It opens into the main terminal. I will meet you if I can. If I do not, take a taxi. Put some miles between yourself and this airport.” He made a sound midway between a snort and a grunt. “Hell, if you can get the cabbie to drive you to the next state, do it.”

She wanted to ask about perhaps flying back to Seattle, but there wasn’t time. He gave her a push, and the door snicked shut behind her. She heard it lock and understood he must have jimmied it somehow. She padded down a spiral metal staircase, grateful for her flat-soled, practical boots. Lights flashed whenever she passed a landing. She worried about what to do if the door at the bottom was locked. She wasn’t bad at picking locks, but she didn’t have her pick set with her. She’d pretty much stopped carting it around because nearly every lock she’d run into in the last few years was electronic. Don’t borrow trouble. I’ll find out soon enough.

Adrenaline twisted her stomach into a sour knot. Her wolf wanted out. It took precious energy to keep it contained. The stairs ended, and she stared at a metal door. The same blinking light flashed overhead. Wary of alarms, she twisted the handle. It didn’t budge. Shit! She blew out a tense breath. Lars had managed to unlock the top one, so it couldn’t be impossible.

She bent to examine the lock. The easiest thing would be to screw the silencer onto her gun and blow it to bits. Yeah, right. Every cop in the joint will come on a dead run. The lock had a card hole, which meant it was electronic. Maybe her lycan magic could tease it into compliance. She hummed a note, and then another. Something whirred at the edges of her sensitive lycan hearing. The lock didn’t give, not quite, but hope slammed into her. This could work if she was patient.

Miranda let a hand hover over the mechanism and felt its resonance. She tried a couple of three-note combinations. Her fourth try worked. She tamped down elation as the door popped open. She hurried through and tried to look casual as she tugged it closed behind her. Anxious to put as much distance as she could between her and the door before some sort of siren sounded, she ran headlong into someone and muttered apologies before she realized it was Lars.

He pointed toward a glass revolving door. She stumbled after him. Questions bubbled around her tired brain, but she knew better than to talk on the cab ride. They got out in a neighborhood of stately old brownstones. Lars motioned her up several flights of steps and into an apartment furnished in Motel Six modern. He locked a series of deadbolts and turned to face her.

“Are we safe here?”

He nodded. “As safe as anywhere, fraulein, until I can get us out of the city tomorrow. I have made arrangements for a plane in Boston. We will fly to Seattle from there. Take the bedroom at the end of the hall. There is another bedroom, but I will sleep on the couch.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. He smirked. “It is closer to the door in case we have…unexpected company.”

Miranda was almost certain she knew the answer to her next question, but she asked anyway. “What happened to the other pilot?”

Lars’ lips curved into a sneer. “Dead. The bastard who killed him will be once I get my hands on him.”

Miranda walked down the hall and into the bedroom. She shut the door behind her, grateful Lars hadn’t asked who she’d taken care of in Amsterdam. Human trafficking was global, but such an instantaneous response to losing one of their own chilled her. From long habit, she checked the adjoining bath and closet. A shower would be welcome, but it could wait. She pitched face down on the bed and was asleep in seconds.
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THE HIGHEST BIDDER by Jenika Snow

THE HIGHEST BIDDER by Jenika Snow

The Virgin Auctions Book Three

When Kristoff St. Michaels sees Veronica Dubois, he knows he will own her. Being the highest bidder at the Virgin Auctions wasn't difficult, especially when he had never wanted something as much as he wanted her. With a scarred past, Kristoff hopes he can start a new life with his young, virgin bride.

Veronica knows that she must give herself to Kristoff, but she doesn't know is if her new husband will be gentle or cruel. But Veronica isn't Krostoff's first wife, and she fears she will forever be the shadow of a dead woman.

As their relationship grows, and the once virtual strangers find out the most intimate details of their lives, they both realize a future together doesn't seem unattainable.

But their happiness is short-lived when Kristoff's past and jealousy threaten to tear them apart for good. 

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Excerpt: 

Kristoff slammed the door shut with his foot and refused to relinquish Veronica's mouth.  Her hands were at the buttons of his shirt, slipping them free until he pushed the garment from his shoulders. The feel of her hands smoothing along his flesh had him all but ripping her dress off her body. When the offending material was in tatters on the floor he took a step back and admired the view. She stood before him, her body gloriously nude, and moonlight reflecting off her curves. He ran a hand over his mouth, all intelligent thought leaving him as he stared at her. Kristoff was going to ravish her.

"I plan on having you in every way tonight, baby." He took another step forward. "I want to go slow with you, take my time and savor every moment." When he stood right in front of her he slipped his hand behind the heavy fall of her hair and cupped her nape. Kristoff brought her close and dipped his head to pull her bottom lip between his teeth. She moaned and pressed her breasts to his chest. The tight points caused his shaft to twitch in response. Already he was harder than hell, and knowing Veronica was right in front of him, naked and responding to his touches, had him ready to spill his seed.

“Kristoff—”

God, there was nothing better than hearing her say his name in the throes of pleasure. He used his body to move her toward the bed. When she went to sit down he gripped her waist and broke their kiss. Sliding his hands down and taking a handful of her succulent ass, he let himself savor the feel of her right before he turned her around. She fell to her belly on the mattress, her bottom popping up in invitation. She lifted her arms above her head and looked at him over her shoulder. The innocent look on her face could have stopped time, but he was too far gone. Her sweetness was so tangible it wrapped around him and drew him in. Looking at her was like gazing into the sun—blinding, encompassing, yet gorgeous and breathtaking.

"Kristoff…I ache for you." He groaned and smoothed his hands down her back. Settling his palms on the rounded curves of her ass, he sank to his knees at the same time he spread the cheeks apart. She was already so wet for him, so red and swollen. Burying his face between her spread thighs, he used his tongue to spread her lips.

Fuck!

The taste of her was like the fruit of the gods, and he wanted more. Keeping his hands on her bottom, he curved his fingers around her flesh and tightened his hold on her. She moaned and lifted her ass, causing her pussy to rub along his face. She smelled incredible, like fresh lemon, but tasted sweeter than any delicacy that had ever graced his tongue. He ate her out with a ferocity that startled even him. His hips, seeming to have a mind of their own, ground against the air, needing something more substantial, like the tight, wet confines of her pussy, to press against. He sucked on her clit. Veronica shook beneath his hands and he knew she was close to coming.

Renewing his efforts, he moved his tongue down to the opening of her body and speared into her. Her inner muscles clenched around his questing tongue, trying to draw him in deeper. He started rubbing her clit with his finger and that was all it took for her to climax all over his mouth. He drew out her pleasure, feeling his own heighten with every grind of her pussy and every soft moan that came from her. When he felt her body relax into the bed he stood and positioned his cock at her cunt. In one swift thrust he bottomed out inside of her. A gasp left her and then morphed into a groan. Gripping her hips, he started sinking in and out, faster and harder. He was close to exploding as it was, but when he came it wouldn't be in her pussy this time.

He lifted his eyes to her. Her head was turned to the side, her eyes closed and her mouth parted. Tendrils of sweat dampened hair clung to her face and caused a spear of lust right down his shaft. He let himself admire the beauty that was all: the gentle curve of her spine, already dotted with bead of perspiration, the generous mounds of her ass. He gathered her cream to coat the tight ring of muscles in the center of her ass. She tensed for a moment but he could tell by her increased breathing and the way she tightened her hands in the sheets that there was no fear, only anticipation.

"You want me here, baby?" He dipped his moisture slicked finger into her anus and watched her reaction. Her eyes opened, her teeth came out and bit at her bottom lip, and she pierced him with her aquamarine stare. "You want me to slide my cock in your ass?" His words were vulgar and filthy, but he could tell she liked it, the same as he. She didn't verbally respond, just licked her lips and nodded. He wanted to be gentle with her, needed to be gentle. All he wanted to do was push into her and get lost in the heat and tightening of her body around his. 

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TRUE by Erin McCarthy

TRUE by Erin McCarthy

 

“A New Adult winner for sure.” -Elissa Petruzzi, RT Book Reviews

 

Awkward girl meets scorching-hot boy…

 

When Rory Macintosh’s roommates find out that their studious and shy friend has never been with a guy, they decide that, as an act of kindness they’ll help her lose her virginity by hiring confident, tattooed bad boy Tyler Mann to do the job…unbeknownst to Rory.

 

Tyler knows he’s not good enough for Rory. She’s smart, doctor smart, while he’s barely scraping by at his EMT program, hoping to pull his younger brothers out of the hell their druggy mother has left them in. But he can’t resist taking up her roommates on an opportunity to get to know her better. There’s something about her honesty keeps him coming back when he knows he shouldn’t…

 

Torn between common sense and desire, the two find themselves caught up in a passionate relationship. But when Tyler’s broken family threatens to destroy his future, and hers, Rory will need to decide whether to cut her ties to his risky world or follow her heart, no matter what the cost…  

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~Excerpt~

That was when I realized that was why I’d always been slightly nervous around Tyler.  He was what people always accused me of being- there but not present.  Easy going, but distant.  Smiling, but intense.  Maybe it was the alcohol, my ears still buzzing, my insides hot but my skin cold and clammy, but for the first time I didn’t feel uncomfortable around him.

“So are you really a virgin?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.  “Or were you just saying that?”

No longer comfortable.  It went away faster than you could say Awkward Moment.

Why he thought I would want to talk about that made no sense to me at all.  I was drunk, but I wasn’t insane.  If I hadn’t even told my roommates until that night, why the hell would I sit in Tyler’s car and spill my guts?  I wasn’t the confessional type.  I never had been.

So I just looked at him.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

I wanted to tell him to mind his own goddamn business. To stop pressing a girl he didn’t know for intimate details about her sexual experience. That it was rude. But I remembered that he had in fact saved the very virginity he was questioning, so I didn’t want to be a bitch. I just shrugged. Really, what difference did it make? I was already a collegiate abnormality. Likes to study! Hates to Talk! Won’t go tanning! See this freak show exhibit in her natural dorm habitat…

But I actually surprised myself by opening my mouth and saying, “Yes, I am.”

My admission silenced him for a second, but then he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as he put the car in PARK in front of my dorm, which was a seventies built tower of glass and steel, the lamp post flooding into his car, showing even more clearly how dirty and ancient it was, a slot for a cassette player crammed full of what looked like parking tickets.

“Do you have a purity ring or whatever?”

Now that I was in, and the beer had loosened my lips, I said the first thing that came into my head.  “I prefer to call it my hymen.”

Tyler let out a laugh.  “No, I mean one of those rings you wear on your finger…”  He looked at me, understanding dawning.  “Oh, wait, you’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

Which made him laugh harder.  “Rory, you are an interesting chick.”

Interesting wasn’t exactly a riveting compliment, but he hadn’t called me a freak, which was how I felt sometimes.  Like I had been assembled in a different way altogether than everyone around me, and while I liked the end result, everyone else was confused as to how to interpret my very existence.
They watched me, suspicious, as if I were a Transformer and they were waiting for metal arms to spring out from my chest cavity.

I didn’t think that I’d ever seen him laugh before, or maybe I had just never noticed, my attention focused on Grant, who I had thought was more likely to fall in with my plan of exploring human mating and relationships.  But then again, Jessica and Kylie tended to dominate all conversation in a group setting, so maybe their own perfectly affected laughter had drowned out Tyler’s.

But for some stupid reason, I liked to think that he was laughing just for me.

Which was when I knew I was even more drunk than I realized and I needed to get away from him before I sat there blinking at him like a baby owl indefinitely.  Before I put some sort of hero worship onto him that he might deserve, but which didn’t mean a damn thing.  Before I substituted one pointless crush out for another. 

 

I shoved open the door, half falling out, clinging to the handle and the remnants of my dignity, like he could hear my stupid thoughts.  “Thanks,” I said over my shoulder, barely glancing back as I exited the car, clutching my bag.

There was no response and when I struggled to slam the heavy door, which seemed to weigh a million pounds and required more coordination than my icy fingers had, I realized that he was just staring at me.  There was a cigarette in his mouth, and he was lifting the car lighter up to it, his hand guiding it to his destination without thought.  As he sucked on it to catch the paper and tobacco on fire, his eyes never left mine.

The smile was gone.  There was nothing but a cool scrutiny.

I shivered.

Then I walked as fast as I could to my dorm, digging in my bag for my swipe card.

Once inside, I paused at the front desk to check in and I glanced out the front doors.

His car was still there, and I could see the shadow of his outline, the tiny red glow of his cigarette.

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VIRGIN UNDER GROUND by Kate Richards

VIRGIN UNDER GROUND by Kate Richards

A 1Night Stand Story and Prepper Romance

The Virgin Series

Doctorate in hand, Jane Ann Summers is ready to return to the South Seas paradise of her youth, when the director of the institute—her mother—drops a bomb. She cannot return until she experiences more of life...a social life.

Determined to waste no time, Jane searches for a shortcut and discovers the 1Night Stand dating service. A single night with geologist Dr. Lukas Gerard, and she can go home and get on with her fascinating study of world weather trends. The only question is whether to have sex with him…after all, it would be her first, and maybe only, time.

Lukas’s own field of study has shown him some alarming trends. He believes a killer earthquake may rattle the western half of the United States in the near future. In preparation, he converts an abandoned gold mine to a secret bunker, loaded with supplies and all the comforts of home. Only thing he needs now is company in his hideaway. Unsure how to find the right companion, he turns to 1Night Stand, but neither he nor Jane are prepared for the sudden impact of one of Madame Eve’s connections.

One night teaches them there is more to life than science…for both of them.

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~Excerpt~

“I need to ask you something first.”

His brow furrowed, but he shrugged. “Okay.”

“Does Madame Eve know the location of your secret place?” Out there in the dark, with the sprinkle of stars to light the black velvet night, the reality of proceeding blindfolded into the desert with a stranger, no matter how attractive, seemed dangerous. If the answer was no, she would ask him to turn the car around and hope she wasn’t already too late.

“Yes,” he said, in a low voice. “She insisted.” When she still clutched his arm, he smiled. “I understand caution, let me show you something.” Lukas reached over her to the center console. So close, his warmth and the clean scent of soap went to her head. Hang on, Jane. Even if he is the cutest guy you’ve ever met, and smells so good.

He retrieved his cell phone and clicked to a text message. “Look at this.”

I have confirmed the location of your date and we can schedule your evening. I hope you understand the safety of my clients is paramount, yours as well as Ms. Summers. Thank you for your cooperation. M.E.

Reassured, Jane faced away from him. “Do it, then.” She closed her eyes and tried not to flinch as the soft cloth covered her face. It tightened and then his hands dropped to her shoulders.

“Okay?” His fingers rested on her collarbones, inches from her breasts. Her eyes strained, but the several folds prevented the least bit of starlight from entering.

“I can’t see a thing.” But she could still feel his touch moving down her arms, past her short sleeves, and onto bare skin. The desert wind soughed; her heart thumped in her ears. Hyperaware of the man behind her, she waited to see what he would do next.

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ARRESTED BY HER SHEIK by Honey Jans

ARRESTED BY HER SHEIK - Part 3 by Honey Jans

Sheik! Sheik! Arrest Me!

Trapped and arrested on an island with a sexy Arab-Greek Sheik, are you up to see what happens next?

Mix one quiet librarian looking for a good time. A sexy Arab-Greek sheik in cops clothing signing on to teach her all about sex. And criminals who will stop at nothing to get what they want...namely her dead. And you have Arrested by her Sheik. I hope you’ll come along on this thrill ride of adventure as Mandy Wilson finds out what it’s like to be Arrested by her Sheik.

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Excerpt:

Nick held his sexy prisoner against him like the precious treasure he now believed that she was. When had he come to believe her? When she’d been so stunned to be shot at? Or when she’d gotten excited about the possibility that he’d blindfold her? He hadn’t missed the flash of innocent excitement in her eyes. Or maybe it was when she’d begged him to fuck her? No it’s been when she’d turned out to be a virgin, and her reaction that she’d expected him to reject her. In that moment he vowed to protect her at all cost. And that meant he had to let her be and go to work. Think like a cop for pities sake and not like a love struck fool.

He reluctantly let her go and rolled out of bed. He wryly looked down at his disheveled state. Since when had he let a woman lead him by his cock in the bedroom and fuck her in a rush like a teenager on a hot date? Since he’d met sexy Mandy Wilson. With a wry shake of his head he put himself to rights then crossed the room to his sat phone. It couldn’t be traced like a cell phone could and something told him the gang chasing them had that kind of expertise. He strode out to the front porch, just to make sure that they hadn’t been followed. He’d been too sex-drunk before to pay much attention to security. Another reason to treat her like a prisoner until this was over.

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