Isabel's Seduction

by Jillian Eaton

  Isabel’s

  Seduction

  AN INVITATION TO SIN

  BOOK TWO

  BY

  JILLIAN EATON

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Copyright © 2015 by Jillian Eaton

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Isabel’s Seduction is a full length novel broken into four separate books that average 60-75 pages in length. These books are not meant to be read as standalones, but rather in order as a complete series. Each one ranges in price from $FREE to $2.99 and contains explicit sexual content.

  PROLOGUE

  16th Century

  Romania

  Isolde let three nights pass before she returned to the castle of the cruel prince who had so heartlessly cast her aside. Three nights spent shivering in the cold snow with only a small fire to warm her bones. Three nights spent questioning her resolve and wondering if she was strong enough to go through with what needed to be done.

  When doubt befell her, she had only to summon the memory of her dear friend…and the hideous purple bruises that had covered her creamy white flesh when she returned to their camp, her eyes glassy with terror and her thighs stained with the blood of her innocence.

  When the fourth night dawned and darkness stretched across the sky as far as the eye could see, Isolde struck out for the castle yet again.

  Her steps were measured.

  Her shoulders drawn back.

  The last time she had begged the prince for a place to stay and a bit of food, he had all but laughed in her face before he sent her away.

  Be gone with you crone, he’d said, his shadowed face twisted with arrogance and power. You have nothing I could ever want.

  This time…this time Isolde would not resort to begging.

  But by the end of it all, the prince would.

  The sounds of waves crashing against jagged rocks roared in Isolde’s ears as she approached the castle. It twisted up into the sky, a macabre monument to power hungry men who had more wealth than they knew what to do with…and kept it all for themselves while those around them starved to death in the frigid Romanian winter.

  Her own clan had moved on weeks ago. Only she had remained, determined to see justice carried out once and for all. The prince had harmed his last innocent, and in doing so had sealed his fate and the fate of those who would come after him.

  For one thousand years her curse would stand; such was the strength of the gypsy blood pumping through her veins. For one thousand years the prince’s son and his son and his son after him would suffer as the prince’s victims had suffered. As her friend had suffered. As she had suffered, alone in the dark, trembling with cold and aching with hunger.

  If the prince had shown her an ounce of compassion…if he’d given her any hint of mercy…but no. Disguised as she was as an old crone, he had thought she had nothing to offer him, and so he had refused to so much as let her spend the night on his floor.

  It was a mistake he would soon come to regret a thousand times over.

  “As I will it,” Isolde whispered as she drew back the sleeve of her heavy cloak and let her fist fall against the heavy wooden door that guarded the castle’s entrance, “so mote it be.”

  Some thought the chant belonged to the witches, and in truth Isolde had some of their blood as well, but all that was magic and all that was mystical came first from the gypsies. A dying breed scattered across the four corners of the earth, their kind would not be long for this world. Cast out by those who did not understand them, persecuted by those who did, the once great Letea Clan was gasping its last breath.

  Isolde knew it.

  So did her mother and her beloved bunică.

  It was why they’d left the familiar forests of Romania and ventured west towards Hungary where it was rumored they were not yet being hunted to the brink of extinction. Many among them had thought it a fool’s dream, but with nothing else to hold onto they had gathered their meager possessions and left behind everything and everyone they knew for a vague, shifting promise of a better life.

  Only time would tell whether Isolde rejoined them...or followed the prince down into hell.

  Much as it had the first time she had struck her cold fist against the thickly knotted wood, the door was opened by a thin, haggard faced servant. This one was different from the last, but no less welcoming.

  “Be gone with you,” he spat, blood-colored saliva oozing between his yellow teeth as he glared down at her. “Your kind is not welcome here, gypsy.”

  Lifting her small hands to her hood, Isolde slowly pushed it back, revealing a tumble of long silky curls the color of sunset.

  In her natural form she was breathtakingly beautiful with a flawless roses and cream complexion, arching brows, defined cheekbones, a slender nose, and a full, lush mouth. The cord holding her cloak tugged at her slender throat, drawing attention to her generously sized breasts. They swelled up and out of the simple dress she wore, drawing the servant’s eye as his tongue darted lewdly across his dry, chapped lips.

  “I have come to see the prince,” she said in a soft, velvety voice.

  The servant immediately bobbed his head and stepped to the side.

  “Why did ye not say so to begin with,” he said, thin face contorting and stretching into a gleeful smile. The door opened, sweeping soundlessly across the stone floor. Lifting the hem of her skirt, Isolde sauntered inside, her chin as high and her bearing as proud as any queen’s for tonight she was not a frightened girl or an old crone. Tonight she was a warrior with the royal blood of the Romany people running through her veins. Tonight she was a temptress.

  Tonight she would have her revenge.

  Candles flickered on the walls, revealing a dimly lit foyer with a vaulted ceiling devoid of any furniture or comfort save an enormous bear rug pinned to the far wall. The beast’s mouth was open as though trapped in a soundless roar, exposing its jagged fangs. Seeing such a magnificent creature reduced to little more than an elaborate ornament stirred pity inside Isolde, and only served to harden her resolve.

  Cel Fiară – as the villagers called him – was a cruel, heartless man who did not know kindness or compassion or pity. He knew only of war and blood and taking what he wanted by force. If Isolde had her way, by dawn’s light he would know something else…something he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

  The heels of her battered leather ankle boots echoed on the floor as she walked into the middle of the foyer and turned in a circle. Last time she’d stepped inside the castle the prince had greeted her himself, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is he?” she asked, emerald gaze darting to the four corners of the room before settling on the servant. “Where is the prince?”

  “The prince is otherwise, ah, occupied at the moment,” said the servant. No sooner had the words passed from his lips than a woman’s thin scream echoed from somewhere upstairs. The scream ended abruptly, causing the fine hairs on the nape of Isolde
’s neck to raise even as her countenance remained impassive to the torment being inflicted upon some poor, faceless young girl deep within the cavernous bowels of the castle.

  “I see,” she said, allowing a coy smile to curve her lips.

  “But when he’s finished I know he is going to have a fine time with ye,” said the servant, his beady eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. “The prince loves his redheads, he does.”

  “Oh,” Isolde purred as she walked to the foot of the grand master staircase and stared up into the shadows, “I am counting on it…”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What is this, some kind of sick joke?” Eden demanded.

  Rattling the blood red envelope I’d found on my doormat with one hand and the invitation that had been inside of it with the other, I stared incredulously at my best friend. “Does it look like I am joking to you?”

  Blinking groggily, Eden tucked a chunk of turquoise colored hair behind her ear and sat up in my bed, hugging a pillow against her chest. “Read it again.”

  “I’ve already read it three times.”

  “Well I wasn’t listening on account of the fact that I was sleeping. You know, like most people are doing right now?” Her gaze darted around the floor, but between our clothes, empty wine glasses, and leftover pizza her cell phone had vanished. “What time is it anyways?”

  “Half past eight.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You know I have to work tonight, right?”

  “Some billionaire I barely know wants me to be his sex slave for seven days and you’re worried about work? Bad friend,” I scolded, shaking the invitation at her. “Bad friend!”

  “For fuck’s sake, let me see it.” Yanking the invitation out of my hand, she flipped it around and began to read what I’d already memorized by heart. I could tell when she had gotten to the ‘complete and total obedience’ part because her blue eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed. “Holy shit, Is.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too,” I agreed. “What do you think it means?”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure it means Marcus Montgomery wants to screw your brains out for a week and pay you fifty thousand dollars to do it.” Scrambling off the edge of the mattress, she landed nimbly on the balls of her feet and tugged her skimpy white tank top down over her breasts. “Can I see it?”

  I may have been in shock, but I wasn’t stupid. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh come on! So I didn’t pay you back that one time-”

  “Twice.” I held up two fingers. “Twice, Eden. In fact, you owe me thirty bucks.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Sauntering across my apartment in nothing more than her tank top and a pair of black panties, she opened the fridge, peered inside, and wrinkled her nose. “You have no food.”

  “Check the cupboard. I think I have some cookies.” It wasn’t exactly the breakfast of champions, but they’d been buy-one-get-one at the local supermarket and who was I to be picky? The check I’d folded up and tucked inside my purse – the check with my name on it in the amount of fifty fucking thousand dollars – was the most money I’d ever seen in my entire life. I knew for most people the amount wouldn’t have been that impressive, but for someone like me who earned three bucks an hour plus bad tips?

  It was a fortune.

  But more than that – much more – it was a way out. A way out of my shitty apartment. A way out of a job I hated more than life itself. A way out of a town I despised every bit as much as my job. This money could take me anywhere. Chicago. New Orleans. Los Angeles. I could start over. Become someone new. Someone better. Someone who would never seriously contemplate selling her body to a man she hardly knew.

  “These cookies are stale,” Eden said even as she stuffed one into her mouth. Hopping up on the edge of my kitchen counter, she nestled her ass between a green cutting board and a rack of dirty dishes, shapely legs dangling down.

  Looking at her, I couldn’t help but wonder why Marcus had gone for me instead of someone like Eden. Sure, I was pretty enough in an unconventional, red hair all over the place and big blue eyes sort of way, but my best friend was pure sex appeal in a tight, tidy package. If I was a guy and I wanted to screw someone’s brains out for a week – as Eden had so poetically put it – I knew which one of us I would have chosen.

  And it wouldn’t have been me.

  So why – and how – had the invitation wound up on my doorstep?

  Sure, Marcus and I had already fucked once. And yeah, we’d gone at it more like animals than people and I hadn’t been able to sit down for two days afterwards, but this was Marcus Montgomery we were talking about.

  Billionaire.

  Hollywood Playboy.

  Sex God Extraordinaire.

  He could have had anyone he wanted…for free. And he was paying me – little miss nobody waitress – to be his sex slave for a week?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  While Eden munched on stale cookies, I belly flopped onto my bed and reread the invitation. It had been handwritten in a thick, choppy scrawl and when I pressed it to my face I could catch a faint whiff of Marcus’ expensive Italian cologne. At least I thought it was Italian, but what did I know?

  As it was turning out, not much.

  What do you really want from me? I wondered as I turned the invitation over. Aside from half of a red wax seal – the kind I’d only ever seen in old fashioned movies – it was blank. There no hints as to his true intentions. No clues. Nothing but a date, a time…and an address.

  “Three-hundred Galloway Road,” I mused aloud. “Do you know where that is, Eden?”

  “There’s Galloway Orchards out past the old airstrip field. We went there to get pumpkins last year, remember? Maybe it’s somewhere around there.”

  My lips curved as I recalled traipsing through a massive pumpkin patch in high heels. Not exactly the best attire, but I’d just had a really shitty day and I had wanted to do something normal for once. Something other twenty-four-year-olds got to do. So I’d texted Eden and we’d waded out in between the happy families and snuggling couples to get our pumpkins.

  One snarky stripper and a waitress who paid for her rent in hand-jobs.

  Just living the American dream.

  On our way back to my place we’d stopped and picked up two bottles of wine and the pumpkins ended up being squirrel food out on the balcony, but I liked to think it was the thought that counted.

  “Are you meeting him at his house?” Eden asked.

  I skimmed the invitation again. “It doesn’t say, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t live in Northridge.”

  “Then what the hell has he been doing here?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I murmured as I folded up the invitation and tucked it back inside the envelope. People didn’t exactly flock to our shitty town because of the fantastic shopping and the great food. They either lived here because they’d been born here, ended up here because they couldn’t afford to live anywhere else – like Eden and I – or were just passing through.

  “Well you have to go and meet him.”

  I shot her an annoyed glance. “I don’t have to do anything.”

  “For fifty thousand?” She lifted a brow. “Uh, you sort of do.” Jumping down off the counter, she tossed the cookie container in the trash and started collecting her clothes. Finding her shirt under the kitchen table, she yanked it over her head, her voice coming out muffled as she said, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Uh…he could tie me up to his bed and make me have anal for seven days straight?”

  Popping her head out of the shirt, she swept her hair into place and rolled her eyes. “I said the worst, not the best.”

  “I think you and I have different definitions about what the word ‘best’ means.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.” Shimmying into a pair of lace shorts, she plucked her p
urse up from the floor and swung it over her shoulder before hurrying over to the bed and kissing my cheek. “Gotta run, doll. The pole waits for no woman. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  “And that rules out what, exactly?” I called after her as she sashayed – Eden never walked anywhere – out the door. A few seconds later I heard her car sputter to life and then she was gone, leaving me alone with a fifty thousand dollar check…and an invitation to sin.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What do you want from me?” Standing silhouetted in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing more than a black silk robe that slithered down her body as though it had been painted onto her creamy white flesh, Isabel shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other, toes sliding sinuously along the curve of her calf as she lifted her ankle.

  “It’s not what I want from you that matters,” Marcus growled as he emerged from the shadows. “It’s what I plan on doing to you.” His naked body gleamed in the flickering candlelight and he had the distinct pleasure of seeing Isabel’s eyes widen and hearing her breath catch as her gaze darted down to his hard, engorged cock.

  It was already pulsing, the slit glistening with a milky white drop of pre-cum.

  For her.

  It was always meant for her.

  “Let down your hair,” he ordered softly, knowing she would have no choice but to obey. At his sides his large hands curled into fists as she slowly reached up to the nape of her neck, exposing her breasts as her robe fell open. Like his cock, her nipples were already swollen with need and dark with desire. He yearned to draw them into his mouth…to lick and nibble and taste until she arched beneath him and cried out his name.

  A hiss of appreciation escaped his lips as Isabel’s hair tumbled in a cascading wave of shimmering copper onto her shoulders and down her back.