Her Royal Master

by Renee Rose

  I stroked her cheek, all my last reservations washed away.

  “I always thought I’d lose myself with a man. I was so afraid.” She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “But after I left Ibiza, I realized I was more myself with you than anyone else. Maybe that’s what scared me. You saw—see—the real me. You know the real me. You may not have known my name, but you had my number from the very beginning. So I clung to the one thing I could keep from you—my identity. The one separation. I was so terrified to stay with you and lose myself. Or worse—that you wouldn’t want to keep me after that week.”

  “I wanted to keep you from the moment I saw you, baby. You’re this crazy blend of innocence and sophistication, of youth and maturity, intelligence and naiveté.” I cleared my throat, fighting the lump in it. “I’ve been a disappointment to everyone in my life, but you… made me into a hero.”

  “You are a hero,” she whispered, bringing her bound hands to my face.

  I unwound her bra from her wrists.

  “To me, to Kaspar, to Madison, even though she didn’t deserve it. To everyone around you. How many times have you taken the fall for someone else? You’ve probably been doing it your whole life, haven’t you?”

  I blinked, shocked by how bright she made my existence appear.

  She gripped my face between her two hands. “I’m not going to let you do it anymore. I’m your official biographer and I’m going to show you who you are.”

  I went still. “Does that mean you’ll come?”

  She nibbled her lower lip. “What will I be to you, if I do?” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  I knew this was serious, but I couldn’t help myself. I pushed her onto her back and straddled her waist, slipping a finger under the cord that served as her collar. “You’ll be my slave, baby. My duchess. Whatever the hell you want to be.” I caressed her cheek, dropping the dominance. “I need you in my life. In my bed. I need you on that jet by morning, Chelsea. Will you come?”

  Her smile lit the entire room. “Yes.” She blinked back tears. “I’d love to be your slave. Maybe duchess, too. Can we see how it goes?”

  I quirked a wry smile. “We can try. You’ve seen how possessive I am. I’m going to want to push you into every kind of commitment I can get, but I’ll try to give you space.”

  She shook her head and reached for me, pulling my mouth down to hers. “No space. Just you. That’s all I need.”

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  Want More? A Taster of Theirs to Punish

  It had to be a trap. Skye’s raw elbows scraped on the cold, dirty metal as she slid on her belly through the air duct above the penthouse suite of Casino Magnifico.

  This was crazy. She should have stolen her stepmother’s necklace first then hit the other Hollywood stars and socialites’ rooms. Her plan had been to distract any particular attention from Savannah Duke as a target—and therefore herself as a suspect—by burgling a few other rooms.

  Now, though, after her first two successful heists, the Jamison twins, owners of the Magnifico, had taken precautions, offering to store any valuables brought for their grand Valentine’s Ball in Joe Jamison’s personal safe. The fact that they didn’t choose to put them in the hotel/casino safe, which would’ve been impossible for her to crack, meant they wanted her to show up. And that should’ve made her run for the hills.

  But she had no need for the other loot she’d stolen—she didn’t have the billions her stepmother inherited, but she did have millions left in the trust from her father. The sole purpose of the Casino Magnifico heist had been to get the necklace back from Savannah, her stepmonster. So she crawled onward, toward her probable demise.

  She reached the vent in what she guessed would be the main living area and backed the screws out. The room appeared dark and no sound came from below. She eased the vent out and caught it before it went clattering to the plush-carpeted floor. Counting to five with her breath held, she listened.

  Nothing.

  She lowered her bag of equipment with a rope, not that it would’ve made much sound if she’d simply dropped it. Her watch showed thirty seconds until the video surveillance feed would freeze. Despite that precaution, she pulled a black ski mask over her face.

  Ten seconds after the freeze, she slid her legs through the opening and eased her body down. A piece of metal scraped the length of her side, catching her thin black nylon shirt and hiking it up to her armpit. Oww...fuck. Good thing she’d had her tetanus shot. She gritted her teeth against the pain and tried to swing her weight to one hand to free the other to unhook the shirt. Instead, she lost her balance and her full weight dangled by the fabric for two seconds before it ripped and she plummeted through the air.

  She twisted in the air and softened her ankle and knee joints, managing to land in a crouch. She had her judo masters to thank for that feat. Now, to find the safe. The suite was luxuriously appointed, like every room in the Magnifico, but with more unique touches. The honey-colored carpet sprawled out, thick and plush, art by genuine masters—Degas and Picasso—hung on the walls, and the couches were brick-red suede. While it looked as though an interior decorator had designed it, the place seemed lived in and comfortable. She wondered if both brothers lived here or just Joe.

  She scanned the place, looking for likely locations of a safe. Usually they were hidden behind paintings or in the floor of a closet. The metal detector flicked to life and she lifted it to the walls to scan. Nothing in the living room, nor in the hallway.

  She pushed open the door to a bedroom. A large king-size bed dominated in the center with a beautiful silk print bedspread. The closet doors were mirrored and eye hooks were drilled into the ceiling.

  Kinky much?

  At twenty-four, she was technically still a virgin, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know about all the strange sex fetishes people engaged in. She pictured Joe whipping a naked woman strung up and dangling from hooks. Okay, that actually was sort of hot.

  Not that she would know.

  The metal detector beeped when she reached a large Warhol painting.

  Bingo.

  The painting had a trip alarm set, which took her a few minutes to disable. She pulled the canvas down and leaned it against the wall by her feet. Her safe-cracking equipment tumbled out of her bag and she unwound and attached the earpieces. The dial whirred and clicked. It took four tries to open—not bad, considering she’d only been studying safe-cracking for a year. Burglary and judo—two ninja skills every billionaire’s daughter should have. At least those set on revenge.

  She pulled open the heavy door and scanned the contents, looking for only one item: the sapphire and diamond necklace that had belonged to her mother. Her biological mother, not her Hollywood bimbo stepmom.

  She spotted the velvet case and opened it, satisfaction surging. The familiar gems glittered, even in the dark room. She remembered the night her father had placed them around her mother’s neck before they’d gone to a charity ball. Skye had been little—only five or six, and it seemed to her that her mother looked like a fairytale princess. It was one of her last memories of her mother. She brought the jewels to her lips and kissed them, then slid them into a pouch in her bag. “At last, back where you belong.”

  “Do they belong to you?” The deep, masculine voice rumbled directly behind her.

  Yep, a trap. She whirled and kicked in one smooth motion, aiming at chest level, assuming the speaker would be pointing a gun. Surprisingly, he wasn’t. The smartly-dressed man ducked and launched his body forward and up. His back connected with her crotch to throw her off her feet and toss her onto the bed. She rolled and sprang back up, her heart pounding.
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  Okay, so he knew martial arts. In addition to being a fine piece of eye candy. She watched him, side-stepping away from the bed to have enough room for an attack.

  “I need you to put that necklace back,” he said casually, obviously not exerted by their tussle.

  She swallowed. This must be one of the Jamison twins—either Joe or Alex. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to be so...capable. Or sexy. Piercing blue eyes followed her, set off by dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow on a square jaw. He seemed amused or invigorated rather than angry to find her there.

  She bolted for the living room, launching into the air to catch the rope still dangling from the ducts above.

  “Uh uh, ninja girl.” Before her hand had swung up to climb, his body connected with hers. Legs wrapped around her waist, his weight forcing her down. Without her gloves, the rope would’ve burned her hands as they slid down.

  Jamison ripped the mask off and her pale blonde hair spilled out. She ducked her head even though she doubted he would recognize her from the tabloids. Her name was famous, but not her face. If he didn’t, she might still have some small chance of getting out of this unscathed.

  Although that chance seemed to be slimming by the minute.

  She let go of the rope. Her weight pulled her out of his grasp as she dropped first to the floor. Doubting she could outrun him to the door, she crouched, prepared to fight. As soon as he dropped, she caught him in the gut with her right elbow. Then sent the left knuckles flying for his throat. He barely reacted to the first blow and deflected the second. She swept a foot behind his legs. He caught it and tossed her to her back. The wind left her in a whoosh before she made her body round and back somersaulted away.

  As she sprang to her feet, she had to work to slow her breath. The inside of her elbow was sticky with blood from the scrape on her side.

  Jamison feinted to the left then came under her again. He flipped her in the air, and she landed on her ass, one leg bent. Using a capoeira back handspring, she vaulted back to her feet. He had yet to throw a punch or a kick. All he’d done was disable her. Probably he held back because she was a woman. Either that or he was toying with her.

  Size and strength didn’t matter so much in martial arts, but his skill also outmatched hers. She suspected, if he’d wanted to end the sparring, he could have done so three moves ago. Which meant, if she didn’t want to go to jail, or, worse, have her famous name splattered across every tabloid in the country, she’d have to go in heavy. But inflicting serious or mortal injury wasn’t part of her repertoire. And even if it had been, she doubted her ability to take this man down.

  He advanced, and she kicked, aiming to destroy his knee by popping it from the side. The target moved before she connected with bone, and, apparently, he’d had enough because he abandoned martial arts and threw her to the ground in an old-fashioned tackle. His weight knocked the wind out of her, but the back of her head landed on something soft—the cradle of his palm.

  She wanted to sneer about his gentlemanly instincts, but before she had a chance to counter-move, he rolled her to her belly and fastened zip ties around her wrists.

  Alex watched the beautiful burglar wrench her hands against the zip ties.

  “Easy, love. Those will dig into your flesh if you struggle.”

  He would switch to bondage tape when he had a chance, but for the moment, he didn’t trust the little tigress until he had her immobilized. He flipped her to her back where her bound hands lifted her pelvis.

  Damn, that turned him on. She turned him on. Dressed in a skintight black catsuit, her long lean body just wouldn’t quit. Funny how when he’d thought the burglar was male he’d been ready to throttle him. Discovering this beautiful waif breaking into his brother’s safe, though… Well, he still wanted to punish her, but only in the most erotic way.

  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his brother Joe. “I caught her.”

  “Her?”

  His lips stretched into a wolfish smile. His brother would enjoy this one as much as he did. “Mmm hmm. Cutest little cat burglar I’ve ever seen.”

  Her cheeks colored in an enchanting blush, and she brought her knees up to kick.

  Still holding the phone, he moved swiftly to straddle her, squeezing her legs together between his thighs. Her scent filled his nostrils—sweet, sensual, earthy. Delicious.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “We’ll be waiting.” He hit end and looked down at the struggling thief. “Enough.” He gave her face a light slap—not with any force, just enough to establish dominance.

  Her eyes widened in shock, and suddenly her body fought him in a different way, her hips arching, breasts thrusting toward the ceiling.

  Oh, hell yeah. She liked being his prisoner. The situation that had been a pain in his ass just became a lot more interesting.

  And da-yum, she didn’t appear to be wearing anything under her skintight black ninja clothes. Her nipples poked up under the thin fabric.

  It took all his self-control not to pinch them. He gave his head a quick shake to clear it. “What’s your name, ninja girl?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “How many of you are there?”

  She shook her head, but then her brow furrowed, as if she questioned the wisdom of admitting that.

  “No others?”

  Her eyes jumped around, pupils small. Yep, definitely worried. She must realize if he wanted to take matters into his own hands, no one would even know where to look for her. The dominant in him didn’t mind her afraid, but the gentleman balked a little.

  Still, she had stolen from their guests, threatening to ruin their elite Valentine’s Day ball/fundraiser and cause the Magnifico a world of bad publicity. The only way his brother Joe had been able to suppress the story, so far, was with his assurances to his guests that he’d recover their stolen property before the weekend was through.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  She licked her dry lips. “One of the Jamison twins, I presume.” Her voice sounded cultured, with a husky quality that reverberated throughout his body, particularly his cock.

  “I’m Alex. My brother and I are not happy you chose our casino for your heist.” He resisted the urge to brush the backs of his fingers along her cheek to see if her skin was as soft and smooth as it appeared.

  “It wasn’t personal.”

  He lifted his brows. “Wasn’t it? Maybe not with us, but you seemed to have a relationship with that necklace.” He unclipped the bag from her waist and emptied the contents on the carpet beside her.

  Anger and shame flitted across her face when he displayed the ridiculously expensive cascade of sapphires and diamonds.

  “What does this mean to you?”

  She turned her face to the side, looking away from him.

  He tucked the necklace back in its velvet pouch and slid it into his pocket.

  Her eyes followed the movement.

  “I need a little more cooperation from you than that, little thief. Joe is on his way up here, and he can be a real bastard when he’s crossed.”

  Wariness returned to her gaze. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “After you return the other jewels? We’ll negotiate an appropriate punishment.” He enunciated the word punishment, watching for her reaction.

  Her eyes dilated, and the glorious hip-thrust happened again.

  Oh hell, yes. He couldn’t believe this delicious little morsel had dropped into their laps. She responded to dominance, and her transgressions laid the groundwork for a perfect punishment/slave scenario. If she was into it, of course. He liked the illusion of non-consent, not actual.

  He climbed off and lifted her to stand, gripping her upper arms. They were slender but muscled, like her legs, which...yeah. He wanted those long limbs wrapped around his waist while he drove into her until she screamed.

  In the kitchen, he plunked her down on a wooden chair and zip-tied her ankles to the legs of the chair with h
er thighs spread wide. The bright light flicked on when he hit the switch. He returned to study her.

  She appeared young, no more than twenty-five, with a model-perfect face—peaches and cream skin and straight white teeth. She glared up at him, her baby blues defiant, but her nipples still protruded and the gusset of her skintight pants was wet. Yep, little ninja girl liked being manhandled.

  He pulled out his camera and took a picture of her face.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” She rocked the chair forward.

  “Documenting.” He pushed it back, placing his foot on the seat between her legs and leaving it there. Finding out her identity came first. They needed to know who they were dealing with. Did she have priors? Known accomplices?

  She certainly didn’t seem like any ordinary thief—but were thieves of her caliber ever ordinary? It took brains and talent to succeed at the heists she’d already completed. He texted the photo to Darryl, their security technician, to run with his face recognition software.

  She swallowed and rubbed her lips together.

  He made a show of rolling up his sleeves, as if he was about to get down and dirty with her. A smear of blood stained one of his cuffs. His gaze jerked back to his little cat burglar, sweeping over her body. Her shirt appeared ripped under her right arm.

  He frowned, drawing closer to examine her. Catching sight of blood, he grasped the edge and tore it open, rending the fabric all the way to the collar and across to the other sleeve.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, wrestling with her bonds. The shirt hung open like a jacket, exposing her breasts. Perfect, peach-tipped breasts.

  “Don’t worry, little ninja, Rape wasn’t part of my plan. I wanted to get a look at that cut of yours.” A long gash ran down her side, and fresh blood seeped from it.

  He crouched beside her, his hand fitted around her throat to prevent her from head-butting him. “I promise I won’t give you my cock until you beg for it.”