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SECRETS VOLUME 20
SURRENDER TO PLEASURE


Copyright © Amber Green, Charlotte Featherstone, Dominique Sinclair, Leigh Wyndfield, 2006
All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

A WOMAN'S PLEASURE BY CHARLOTTE FEATHERSTONE EXCERPT

Inside the Sultan’s palace, Isabella, Lady Langdon is celebrating her birthday…
“Behold, my dear,” George said with immense pomp and self importance. “Your gift.”
Clutching the brocade, Julian pulled it to the side, slowly revealing the gold cage that was a miniature of the Blue Mosque Isabella was so enamored of. A collected gasp was heard from the room as the ornately jeweled and gilt cage glinted in the candlelight. Inside were two magnificent peacocks. Julian dared a look at Isabella and saw that her expression was not one of rapture. Instead, it bore a sort of sadness that he had seen far too many times since she had come to Constantinople.
“What do you think, my dear?” George drawled. “Are they not stunning? The green one on the left is as rare as they come. Found in the jungles of Burma he was, cost me a packet.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured in a sad, little voice. “You are far too generous.”
“True, true,” George puffed with pride.
“Come,” Abdul ordered, before clapping his hands. “Let us return to the room where our supper awaits. Lady Langdon, you will converse with Julian bey and inform him where you would like your present. Perhaps you would care to have them brought into the salon where you could watch them through supper.”
She smiled again, but Julian could discern no happiness in it, only duty. Her husband and the sultan, along with the other guests departed, leaving them alone once again.
“Caged,” she said in a soft, bitter voice. “Such beautiful creatures housed in a gilded prison; to be an object of beauty, to be looked at when it pleases, and ignored when it does not.”
Tossing the brocade to the ground, Julian walked to her, catching her about the shoulders and tilting her chin up with his thumb.
“It is a terrible life to be kept behind bars.” Her voice trembled and her eyes were glistening with tears, tears he knew were embittered. “What life is it to live in such a lovely home, to have nothing to do but fan your colors, waiting for someone to notice you?”
“Tell me, Isabella what sort of life is it?”
“Lonely,” she said so softly and brokenly that his heart squeezed in his chest. “Incomplete. What point is life if we are to be caged, imprisoned, never knowing what it is to be free?”
“Do you want to be set free?” he asked, desperation filling his voice. She looked away, back to the cage where the peacocks stood motionless in their gold prison.
“If you were mine I would never ignore you—I couldn’t. If you were mine,” he said again, fanning his thumbs along her cheeks. “I would make love to you every day, every night. I would make you shudder as I fill you. I would make you scream and call my name as I bring you to orgasm.”
Her lashes lowered, concealing her eyes. “You mustn’t say such things, Julian.”
“What things? That my body aches to be inside you? That I can no longer stand skulking in the shadows watching you bathe, wishing I could reveal myself to you. Wishing I could be the one to cover your body with scented perfumes and oils.”
“You have watched me,” she gasped and he saw the flicker of awareness turn her eyes a warm amber.
“Yes, I’ve seen you and I’ve dreamt of you. God, you have no idea how incredibly arousing it is to watch you bathe. I want you, Isabella and that means beneath me, your body filled with me. I ache. I burn.”
“I can’t…I must not do this. I am married, Julian, you must leave me be.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? I should not covet another man’s wife, but I cannot get you out of my thoughts. I see you every night in my dreams. I cannot let you be, no matter how much I’ve struggled to do so. Why do you think I never allowed myself to come near you? Why do you think that in six months, you’ve never seen me in the palace? I kept my distance from you because I knew I could not resist you.” He gazed down at her, and brushed his thumb across her full bottom lip that felt as supple as a rose petal dipped in cream. “I know how you ache, Isabella and I want so desperately to ease that ache.”
“I cannot be the woman you need.”
“You are the woman I want.”
“I would hate myself if I allowed you such liberties. I cannot betray my vows.”
“I would have you any way you allow.”
“Please, you mustn’t do this. You mustn’t…tempt me like this.”
“Do you want to be free?” This time he murmured the question in her ear, allowing his breath to pass over her bare shoulder. She shuddered and pressed herself against him, her soft breaths rasping against his jaw.
“You need a man to show you what you can be, a creature of beauty and mystery. I want to be that man, Isabella.” She said nothing but tilted her head, giving him more access to her alabaster throat. “I would never keep you caged. I would never refuse your advances or belittle you for desiring passion—for craving my touch—for needing me to show you how a woman ought to be worshipped.”
He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her curved waist, crushing her breasts, which were enticingly full, against his velvet evening coat.
This passion that was erupting between them was forbidden. She was a proper English lady—a married lady, and therefore not for him. He wanted to shout at the injustice of it as he pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck and fisted his fingers in the heavy folds of her skirts so that his hands would not wander beneath her gown to discover how her wet, hairless quim would feel beneath his fingers.
With a whimper of surrender, she raked her hand through his hair and he moved his mouth along her décolletage, breathing hot puffs of breath along her flesh until he could feel the gooseflesh erupting along her skin. He heard her breaths, panting and urgent and he lifted his head and gazed at her. Slowly her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him with such a trusting, honest expression that he could do nothing but press forward to meet her mouth.
“I wanted you today—on the boat,” She gazed up at him, her beautiful eyes warm with desire. “I’ve thought of things I want you to do to my body—to me. I…in my dreams—my fantasies—I was always with you.”
“I will live out your every fantasy. I swear it.”
She watched him and her lips parted, and he knew that this was going to be a kiss like no other he had ever received, or ever given. Angling his head, he felt her breath caress his lips, felt every nerve in his body tense and tighten as he lowered his mouth to hers. In silence, he allowed his mouth to hover atop hers.
“Do you want to be set free, Isabella?”
“Yes.” But then as he was set to touch her lips with his, she looked away, biting her lip. “But I never shall.”
“If you were-”
She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “I am not free, Julian, nor will I ever.”
“What if you were? Would you come to me if you were? Would you let me show you what it is to be a woman? Would you share your body with me?”
She traced his face with her fingertip, then slowly she pressed her lips to his mouth in a soft whisper of lips and breath. “Yes. I would come to you.”

STASIS BY LEIGH WYNDFIELD EXCERPT

“Okay, I’m cutting you out of this shirt. We’ll bathe half of you today and I’ll work on something tomorrow to make this easier on both of us.” She dropped her hand and met his gaze. “We need some basic communication here. So how about we stick with blinking once for yes, twice for no?”
He blinked once.
“You okay with what I’m about to do?”
He blinked once.
“Fantastic.” She flicked her right wrist, releasing her knife from the sheath hidden in the sleeve of her shirt. It slid into her hand in a move so practiced, she didn’t even think about it anymore.
Oz’s eyes widened at the display.
“You don’t think you know all my tricks, do you?” Over the course of working with Osborn Welty for the last six months, she’d figured out one thing and that was that she would never have to surprise Oz with her knife. He was the one male on this planet she wouldn’t need to defend herself against. His lack of attraction to her had been a welcome relief.
Sliding the blade along the seams, she tried to salvage the shirt as much as she could. Cloth was expensive as hell. She slipped the fabric from under his body.
She hesitated to actually wash him. Morgann had dealt with men all her life by ignoring them or fighting them off. Once or twice she’d let one get close to her, but it had always been a mistake.
This is just Oz, Morgann. He’s your friend, as much as you have one. Don’t leave him here like this because you’re a coward.
The pep talk helped. She squeezed out the sponge and ignored the tightening in her stomach.
Starting at his wrist, she began washing his right hand. It shouldn’t have been hard, but it was. His fingers were strong and scarred from setting up the Gatgun that was his specialty. He could have the large pulse-rifle up and running in seconds, but she’d noticed his hands bleeding more than once, the skin pinched in the process of assembling the seven heavy parts so quickly.
His hands were, she realized, the only part of him that had ever touched her, brief pats to get her attention on patrol when they couldn’t communicate out loud, and that had been infrequent at best. His skin was dark, streaked with white scars, and she had the oddest vision of his hand resting on her bare stomach.
Shivering, she scrubbed up his arm, blocking out the strange thoughts. Who would have known she was turned on by something so silly? Not her.
Wringing out her sponge, she went to work on his forearm, ignoring the developed muscle.
Pick up the pace or you’ll be here all day, Morgann! You idiot!

THE SURRENDER BY DOMINIQUE SINCLAIR EXCERPT

“Lock it,” came his voice, low, commanding from somewhere in the room.
Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed the inch thick deadbolt across the door, sliding the rod into the iron eye. A single track light above her suddenly flicked on, disorienting her with a flood of bright white light. She whirled, searching the darkness of the room, unable to see beyond the halo of light into the black veil.
“Remove your clothes.”
Madeline looked in the direction his voice came from. She saw only darkness, but felt the heat of his gaze on her, watching. Testing.
Whittaker’s words came back to her, I won’t ask you to go over the line. To do anything but obey Sebastian would risk the entire operation, could put agents in jeopardy, their lives at stake. Her life at stake. If there was a chance she’d been made, if there was a chance Sebastian knew who she was, she needed to find out for sure.
Which meant she had to continue forward in this dangerous game. She had to proceed as if nothing were wrong, pray she’d find a way out before the stakes got too high.
Biting the corner of her lower lip, pulling her teeth slowly over the lobe, Madeline stepped into the role of seductress, tempest, her hand going to the top button of her damp blouse, fingers slipping the nubbin through the hole, moving down to the next until her shirt parted, revealing a slice of her from her throat to the waistband of her low riding jeans she’d changed into before boarding the train.
“Where are you,” she asked, her voice as low as his had been, nearly a whisper lost in the blackness.
“Shhh. Your clothes.”
She slipped a foot out of her high-heeled sandal, stepped onto the cool concrete floor and removed the other, all the while searching for him. Taking her time, she unsnapped her jeans, slid down the zipper and pushed the denim to the floor, hands trailing her legs, over her calves, one foot, then the other. Folding the jeans, she turned and set them on the table beside the door, the scoop hem of her shirt brushing the elastic band of her French cut panties.
She sensed him moving toward her before she heard the padding of his feet. She didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Her breath caught in her throat, expanding deep in her diaphragm. Would he wrap his hands around her throat again, this time choosing to take her life?
“I missed you today,” he said, his voice still low, his accent soft. He lifted her wet hair, settled it over her shoulder, slid his hands beneath the collar of her shirt, lowering it down her arms until it fell away. Lowering his head, he kissed the back of her neck, soft, gentle.
A shiver vibrated down her spine, nipples erecting beneath her lace bra. Madeline was unable to stop her body’s traitorous response, heightened by relief he meant her no harm. She’d worried for nothing, his driver just happened by as she waited for a taxi.
Sebastian linked his hand with hers. “Come, let’s get you dry.”
Following him out of the light, wearing nothing but her panties and bra, bare feet leaving the concrete floor to step on a thick, soft area rug, Madeline once again found herself being led into Sebastian’s sensual world where every word, every touch seemed a slow seduction.
Deep into the room he paused at the bar to light a votive and pour a glass of fragrant red wine, holding it out to her until her fingers wrapped around the stem, then held it still. She lifted her gaze to look at his face, the glow of candlelight accenting the hard set of his jaw, his assessing eyes.
Before she could determine his mood, he released his hold on the wine goblet, walked around her to disappear behind a room sized oriental screen and returned moments later with a thick terry robe, draping it over her shoulders. She took a sip of wine and inhaled the spice of his cologne lingering on the fabric of his wrap.
“Perhaps now that you are warm and dry, you care to tell me where you went today.”
Surely if he knew she was an undercover agent he would have called her out the moment she stepped into the room. Which meant the most he knew was she took a trip to D.C. The least, that she was outside the train station on a rainy night. Madeline would provide him no more and no less than necessary.
Cocking a brow, she drew her finger around the crystal rim of her glass. “After the way you left last night, I didn’t think you cared.”
He slanted his dark eyes. “Don’t try my patience.”
“Excuse me?” She feigned dignified disgust, slamming her glass on the bar top. “I’m the one you ran out on, again. Your phone rings and off you go, to heaven knows where. You won’t tell me a thing about yourself, won’t tell me where you go, who you see.”
Afraid to push him too far, to become a nagging lover he’d want to rid himself of, Madeline stopped animating her hands through the air, and stepped toward him, softening her expression as she ran her palm along the hard plane of his jaw, the tips of her fingers reaching into his soft wavy hair dusting his collarbone. Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his. “I can handle it, Sebastian,” she whispered. “I can handle it because I want to be near you. But I don’t have to like it.”
Sebastian stared down at her, his body rigid, unyielding. Madeline wondered as the moment stretched on if she laid it on too thick, not thick enough, or if he saw straight through her lies, her deceit.
“I do not allow people near me I can not trust,” he finally said, clasping her wrist and pulling her hand away.
The band of his fingers increased pressure, his thumb deep into her pulse. “You’re hurting me.” Madeline twisted her hand to free herself.
He spun her around, robe falling to the floor, and craned her arm behind her back like a beat cop would a punk kid selling dope on a street corner. “The thing about pain, it will eventually go away…”

THE SUBJECT BY AMBER GREEN EXCERPT

The earthquake struck at midnight, lifting the streets of West Memphis and dropping them with enough force to break car axles and set off whooping, beeping, blaring alarms. Debris banged against Esau’s truck, shooting white spiderweb cracks across the glass. He swerved to stay on more level asphalt.
Help! David’s mental scream seared through him. He was close—even absolute panic couldn't make his nephew's cry so clear, unless he was very close.
Vehicles clogged the next intersection, lit by headlights at all angles, but the four-story white building a block ahead should be the lab. David and his young mate Gabie had left a note that this place experimented on involuntary human subjects. They said they wanted to sneak in, get photos to send to the media. They’d been caught.
Another shock slung the truck like a carnival ride, and a flash threw stark shadows on the buildings ahead. Esau braced against the dash.
Another mental scream brought details: David crouched in the dark, shivering against a glass wall. The ceiling came down, and the link broke.
Thrown back into his own head, Esau watched the white building ahead flatten, floor dropping on floor in slow motion. His heart stopped. David! His nephew didn’t answer. “David!”
Dust rose in a cloud, reflecting a dull red from the riverfront fires. Screams, alarms and sirens made a cold stew of meaningless sound.
A subsonic wumpf, more felt than heard, brought him back to his senses. That would be the fuel storage tanks at the riverfront, four miles behind. He left the truck and ran, pausing at a fallen billboard to shed his clothes. The fires rimming the horizon stained the gibbous moon like an eclipse, but he hadn’t needed moonlight to shift since his teens.
With faint creaks and a burning cramp, his bones shortened and flesh flowed to the four-legged shape he knew best. His wolf nose would find a miracle, if any existed.
Minutes later he found the miracle: David’s scent. He squelched the flare of hope. He’d put David on his first bike, led him through his first shift. If David was alive, I'd know it. But Gabie?
He lost the scent in a nauseating mélange of spilled gasoline and ruptured sewer lines. Circling a half-buried fire truck, he heard bulkily dressed humans yelling about whether to go to the riverfront on foot. They need to help right here. Nothing short of the Mississippi would put out that fire tonight.
Past the truck, he recaptured David’s scent. He sniffed madly among shuffled slabs of cement and asphalt to follow it.
At the edge of the lab’s rubble, he found a naked woman prying open the door of a car that would never run again. She wore David’s scent, and others, in a haze of sex and blood. The moonlight showed numbers and letters painted on her back.
Esau shifted to human and called out.
She scrambled away, but fell on a pile of broken cinderblocks. He pounced without thinking, and pinned her there.
She moaned. Her horror-stricken eyes did not fix on his face or track his waving hand.
The musk and dust-caked blood on her skin, and the dizzying mix of fumes on her breath, tangled his instincts. She was soft, feminine, ripe for breeding, and his skin heated as she struggled under him. But she had been bred; David and two other shifters had left plenty of scent on her.
Gabie would have David’s balls for that. If she lived.
Thick lashes fluttered. “Run,” the woman breathed. “Got to run.”
A different tremor, like a rumble of distant thunder, shook the earth. As Esau looked up, the ruddy fire-stain vanished from the clouds. The rumble continued. The Mississippi.
Four miles. A safe distance? What was four miles to the Mighty Mississip?
If he left her to search for his packmates—for the bodies of his packmates—she could drown. Forced to a decision, Esau scooped her up and ran to his truck.

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