Now my uncle is holding my full college ride over my head, as collateral to get what he wants. As if I only have it because of him.
He might be right. He did give me a home when I would have been placed in the system. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.
Deep pockets earned you deeper connections in the messed-up world, and unlucky for me, William has all the right strings at his disposal if I screw this up. A tug here and a pull there and my whole future would crumble around my feet.
For the second time.
Resolve thickens around my spine and I lift my chin. I can do this. I have to if I want to finally be free of the man that has controlled every aspect of my life for the past six years.
The plan I’m supposed to follow goes like this: Get in, flash some skin—well more skin than I already am—and snap some compromising pictures with my uncle’s boss.
Easy in theory.
Why, you ask? Well my uncle, the rat bastard that he is, has his eye on the CEO position of Savage Ink—Chicago’s finest marketing firm worth billions.
Bigger paycheck, higher connections, and more power all sit at the top of William’s Christmas wish list.
He always wanted what wasn’t his.
He’s convinced a little game of holiday blackmail is all it will take to land him at the top with the current CEO, who happens to also be the owner, out on his ass.
If it was up to me, I would fire my uncle from his already lucrative, well-paying job as Savage Ink’s chief financial officer. Frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet since I know for a fact he’s suspected of skimming money from Chicago’s wealthiest man and owner of Savage Ink.
My dirty little secret? I happen to know the truth behind those suspicions and have the proof to back it up.
I find it hard to believe what I’m about to do and tingles of anxiety travel up my arms. I prefer a quiet room and a book to crowds. I shouldn’t be here and I know it. I shouldn’t have put on this ridiculous outfit or cute, frilly mask and I sure the hell don’t belong standing in the middle of a lavish ballroom clutching a shawl that costs more than my whole wardrobe put together like it’s a life-line. To what I have no clue. Retreating isn’t an option and I can’t go forward when everything I fought and worked so hard for could be stripped from my future if tonight doesn’t go as my uncle expertly planned as if he and his elite friends are some Ocean’s Eleven crew.
While my uncle may be loaded, I, on the other hand, live off whatever he deems fit to provide. And believe me, he's not a very giving person.
I run my fingers along the embroidered napkin the blonde handed over with the flute of champagne and trace the golden initials M.S.
Mason Savage.
William’s boss.
Even the name strikes fear and makes my heart quiver. Not to mention the stories I’ve heard. Don’t ever be fooled into thinking the rich aren’t filthy and underhanded. Money doesn’t buy class, honor, or morals.
Whispers among my uncle’s closest confidants and friends have my stomach rolling from the unknown. The walls were not as thick as my uncle would like to believe and I hear the underhanded schemes he and his flunkies cook up over a bottle of whiskey twice a month like clockwork.
Savage’s name is akin to the Reaper’s in the Shade household. Never said above a whisper and always feared as if were the devil himself. I have no idea who the elusive man is beyond that, but it’s safe to say the reputation that precedes him is a blackened one and I guess you could say as fierce as his name’s sake.
I wish there was another way, but with a friendship base drier than the Sahara and the idea of a warm, welcoming, and safe home to call my own no more than a fantasy, well, let’s just say I’m low on options.
I tighten the shawl around my shoulders and offer a small smile to a handsome couple dressed as a sexy version of Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Not terribly original, but I had to give them props at the added whip in his hand and the studded leash that leads to her slender queen-like neck. Someone was going to have a very nice Christmas tied down.
All I wanted was my freedom.
But didn’t that always come with a price?
I paid for my mother’s sins every day I drew breath and today I was paying not with coinage or anything measurable to many. I was paying the ultimate price, my virginity.
My heart races and every cell in my body tingles with a mixture of fear and anxiety. And for the unknown.
Though I’m legally not supposed to have the drink in my hand it’s the least of my current problems. I swallow the contents of my champagne and place the empty flute on a side table filled with more food than this crowd could possibly eat in one night. Starlets and socialites didn’t eat more than a rabbit’s share of food anyway, always watching their trim waists.
I didn’t have that problem, but food was the last thing on my mind.
Debt has me placing one foot in front of the other as I slip beneath an arched exit and find myself standing at the base of a wide marble staircase that leads to my fate. Whatever that may be.
But there’s a catch. And isn’t there always some way failure creeps in? You see, in a little under an hour I’m officially eighteen. In order for my uncle’s blackmailing plan to work, and for me to keep my scholarship, I’ll have to pull this whole scheme off before the clock tolls midnight.
I have no idea what to expect as I take the first step and then the other, my skirt riding high on my thighs.
Mason Savage, I repeat to myself. Bursts of sudden adrenaline spike through me at the allure of elegance and masculine strength in the name. Cool shivers danced the length of my spine and I falter in my step as I climb despite the warmth of his decadent home.
From the second-floor landing, I see a set of wooden doors ajar with a soft golden light spilling out. I take a tentative step forward and my mouth hangs open when I come to stand between the yawning slabs.
I can’t help myself for a moment. The room is dark all for a lamp in the far end and a welcoming fire in the other. Beyond the large desk half of the room is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows hugged by heavy red drapes that lend the room a warm, inviting tone. Through the cracks of the drapes Chicago’s sparkling skyline shines with a quiet beauty off in the far distance. The other half of the room where I stand are countless shelves housing every book I ever imagined reading and then some.
Original leather-bound copies of the Books of Knowledge, a mint condition of Alice Through the Looking Glass, the Iliad. Gold gilt trim shimmers in the soft lighting from the fire and I’m entranced like a dragon in front of priceless treasure.
I walk the shelves knowing I shouldn’t be in here. No one should.
“Oh!” Slowly, I take a copy of Little Women from the shelf, running my fingers over the soft, worn cover. Anyone who has this in their collection can’t be all bad.
“Here I wished for a Christmas of solitude and the Universe sends me an angel.”
I whirl at the sound of a deep, powerful voice and come face to face with a massive black-masked man. My hands tighten around the book as my eyes take in the wall of hardened muscle standing in front of me.
For whatever messed up reason, the first thought in my head was not a toad.
Not even a little.
Try something along the lines of gorgeously created to tempt a woman into submission with a single glance from his deep brown eyes that hold a haunting darkness.
Okay, I might be innocent and I might not yet be eighteen even. Give it a few minutes. But I was all woman and my rapid heartbeat let me know it.
Even in the black mask he channeled Harrison Ford with a charming smirk that peeled his smile into a sideways grin. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he was amused nonetheless. Every finely toned muscle south of that smirk chanted The Rock material with his sheer size and bless my throbbing clit everything else about him screamed Norse god.
Brown hair so dark it almost looked black, a jaw carved from marble, and shoulders like a train encase
d in black silk, of all things. A loose white tie hung around his neck and for a moment I wonder what it would be like to tug on the ends until he’s pressed against me.
“Let me guess, your costume is a billionaire playboy?” I teased, wavering on if I should smile back.
He prowled closer. His step slow and calculated. A tic in his jaw draws my eyes to the hard line covered in a dark stubble. A jawline that made all my fantasies of Zorro ravishing me come flooding through my mind. His jawline wasn’t the only thing with a hard edge.
Looking at him take a few steps from the shadows was like watching dark and dangerous be personified in every inch of his body.
I can’t lie. I liked it. And liked how sexy he looked in the half-faced mask which amped up the mystery level. A small part of me wondered if this was Mr. Savage at all. I almost didn’t care. But a voice inside my head whispered back the ugly reality of it all.
Each of his footsteps falls silently against the plush carpet as he prowls closer.
I scramble back until the hard wood of the shelves presses against my spine, the book clutched between my fingers like a shield. Against what, I have no idea.
A wild look takes hold in the stranger’s eyes and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me the tiniest bit of a thrill.
I’m not going to examine what that says about me as a person at the moment. I know one thing I took away from my mother, which I know she didn’t intentionally try to teach me and that was to never give up. She did and now she’s dead and gone. I refuse to end up like her. Who cares if I have to blackmail some billionaire? Not me.
So I keep telling myself.
“What will I ever do with such a gift?”
Standing in front of Chicago’s wealthiest man with my nipples peaked and pressing into the soft material of my costume makes the wealth of answers at my disposal dry up. I’m half willing to let my body do the talking the longer he looks at me like I’m some divine being.
“I...I...” Damn him. And damn him for scaring the life out of me.
I try again. “I’m sorry. I was looking for a quiet place to gather my thoughts away from all the people. I saw the library and couldn’t resist.”
“Whatever is there to be sorry about, angel? The way I look at it, you have perfect timing.”
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Red Hot Christmas Virgin
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Red Hot Dirty Rebel
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Unwrapping His Christmas Virgin
Guarding Their Valentine
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About the Author
Romance author Penelope Wylde is the naughty alter ego of a rebel southern belle who loves writing quick, extra dirty, over-the-top romances that are NSFW. She loves beach time, sunsets, and all the book boyfriends she can fantasize about.
Wylde readers like it naughty, a bit sweet and always with a wicked happily-ever-after and Penelope always delivers! No matter what you're in the mood for all her heroes are bad boy sinners at heart and will make you swoon for them on every steam page.
If you love your romance wet, wicked, and WYLDE, you're in the right place!
www.PenelopeWylde.com
Guarding Their Valentine Page 8