The Sweet Thief

by Temple Madison

  He’s every woman’s fantasy—the sweet thief who will steal your heart—a charming rogue whose mere touch offers ecstasy. Who is he? A determined young man with a black soul we will soon call—president!

  He’s a presidential bad boy who makes executive decisions by day and indulges in illicit sex by night. He lives in a cloak-and-dagger world where he roams the neon-splashed streets and sinfully lit bedrooms to be with a brazen beauty whose only desire is to knock him off his throne. By the time he finds out she is a powerful femme fatale, he is caught in her web. She has a talent for naughty sex, and with her red, moist lips and lush curves, she lures the president into her powdered boudoir, but the president isn’t stupid. When he realizes this beauty is the bait for a spy ring that is stealing government secrets from under his sexy nose, he gets serious. Now he is forced to put all his bad-boy antics behind him and make another executive decision—is he a president or a playboy?

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  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.

  The Sweet Thief

  Copyright © 2016 Temple Madison

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-0868-8

  Cover art by Valerie Tibbs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

  Look for us online at:

  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  Smashwords Edition

  The Sweet Thief

  By

  Temple Madison

  Chapter One

  The rich flash of her hair caught his eye.

  Keeping himself hidden, the boy crawled over and looked out between the vertical rods of the banister and saw his daddy’s black convertible inching up the driveway. He saw a woman with him. A woman he didn’t know. A slice of moonlight touched the woman’s hair, making it blaze like a roaring fire in the nighttime shadows. He’d never seen anything like it, and the picture dug deep into the boy’s impressionable mind. Somehow, he knew she was bad—the way she sat close to his daddy, nibbling his ear and touching him. Her hair was too red, her lips too red, and she looked bad. He didn’t like her. She was the kind of woman he saw in magazines with almost no clothes on. From deep in the shadows of the balcony, he heard the distant sound of voices as they spoke to each other.

  “I’ll throw a few things in a bag and be right back, Ruby.”

  “Hurry, Sky. I’m anxious to put this miserable town behind us and never look back.”

  “Just make sure you keep your motor runnin’.”

  As his dad walked up to the house, the woman climbed up on the back of the seat, where her hair blew in the wind, her long, tanned legs exposed. Ruby. He called her Ruby. Red hair, red lips—and a name that actually burned his lips as he said it. He frowned in displeasure. Like the women in those magazines, he knew she would be considered beautiful, but if she’d had horns, a pointed tail, and a pitchfork, she couldn’t have looked any uglier to him. It was as if she had climbed right up out of the bowels of hell just to tempt his father. He’d heard about jezebels in Sunday school. They all wore red. Red hair. Red lips. It was a color he hated, and he would until the day he died.

  He jerked his head around when he heard raised voices. It was his mother and father. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but he knew they were arguing. He ran over to his door and peeked through. From where he sat, he could see his dad hurrying down the hall with a suitcase in his hand, his mother trailing behind him. He watched only long enough for them to get to the front door, then ran back out on his small balcony to watch.

  * * * *

  “My god, you’re leaving with that—that—roadhouse tramp?” Edith cried out.

  “You heard me, Edith. I’ve had enough of this town. Day and night, it’s the same thing.”

  “Skylar, don’t leave like this,” she pleaded. “Whatever it is, we can work it out.”

  “I can’t get a job in this town, Edith. Nobody will hire me.”

  “Then we’ll move. We’ll go somewhere else. Anywhere.”

  “It’s too damned late. Don’t you see that? You never understood me, Edith. Everything is for that damned kid of yours. Nothing for me.”

  “Griff? But, Sky, he’s just a baby. He needs me now.”

  “Baby? My god, he’s seven years old. You pamper him too much, Edith. You keep it up, and he’ll grow up to be a sissy.”

  “Sky, a child takes a lot of time and effort. I can’t just ignore him.”

  “I never asked you to do that, but you seem to forget that I have needs, too. Ruby understands that. She wants what I want. We think alike, Edith. You and me—well, once maybe, but it all changed when that kid was born. Everything was for him. It took me a while, but I finally got the message.” He looked down, saw her hand on his arm, and looked back up at her. “Quit hangin’ on, Edith. I been tryin’ to tell you this for a long time, but you just won’t take the hint.”

  “All right, so you want to leave, I understand that. But in leaving me, you’re also leaving Griff. He’s your son, too. Don’t you love him?”

  “My son, huh? Well, maybe I ain’t as sure of that as you are.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth grew slack. “My god, what are you sayin’?”

  “How the hell do I know if he’s really my son? I ain’t seen no proof of it.”

  “No proof? Sky, he looks just like you. You can’t deny that dark hair, those blue eyes. Everything about him is you all over.”

  “Hell, Edith, I could show you any number of guys that look enough like him to be his old man.”

  “Sky. Who’s put these ideas in your head? That tramp out there? You listenin’ to her now instead of your own wife? If you’d just take one good look at Griff, you’d know he was yours, but no, you’d rather listen to that slut who lets you roll all over her.” She jerked on his arm, turning him toward her. “Have you done it with her yet, Sky? Have you?”

  “You bet I have. And I’ll tell you this, Edith, Ruby knows how to make a man happy.”

  “She does, does she? What a goddamned, fuckin’ shame.”

  He stopped at the implications in her voice. “What the hell are you sayin’?”

  “I’m sayin’ that there’s no way you’re leavin’ here tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he snickered. “And how’re you gonna stop me?” He looked down at her hand hidden beneath her apron. “What’s that you got there, Edith? A rolling pin, maybe? I know. It’s one of them heavy-duty skillets, right?” With that, the mocking smile dropped from his face, and he said, “Look, I’m tired. I’m leavin’ and there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.” He turned and slammed out the door.

  * * * *

  “No,” she cried out as she lunged through the screen door after him. The word had just escaped her lips when the sight of that tramp sitting up on the back of the car seat hit her like a slap in the face. She gasped. The slut looked like a q
ueen on her throne—like a page out of a book she’d seen hundreds of times. Then it had been only a picture—a flat, two-dimensional paper doll, a nameless stranger, a picture that could be ripped up, burned, or sent out with the garbage. But this time, she was real. Now she saw the bigger-than-life glossy red hair, the tanned legs, and the large, round breasts, and she became every picture in her husband’s girlie magazines. But there was only one difference—her husband had been in bed with this slut. He had touched her, had rammed his cock so deep inside her that Edith was sure the woman must have screamed. The hurt she felt was like a knife in her heart. Realizing by now that she’d lost him, she slowly pulled a gun from beneath her apron and yelled, “Stop, Sky.”

  * * * *

  Sky begrudgingly turned at the sound of his name—and saw the gun. All at once his eyes widened. He dropped the bag he was carrying and put his hands up.

  “Does this look like a rolling pin, Sky?” Edith’s words were soft and threatening, her eyes, glittering with dementia. “I begged you to stay, you bastard. I swallowed my pride, ate dirt, and suffered every humiliation you heaped upon me, but this is too much. How could you bring that slut to my house? How could you wave that bottle-red hair in front of my eyes? My god, I would have given you anything, but now it’s too late, and the only place you and your little slut are goin’ tonight is hell.”

  “Edith,” he said, his voice soft, careful. “What in hell do you think you’re doin’? Give me that thing before it goes off.”

  “I finally got your attention, didn’t I, Sky? I guess it’s hard to ignore a woman with a gun, huh? Well, I figure it this way. You want to go. Go. I’ve done all I can to make you happy. Now it’s up to this little beauty in my hand.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, and I don’t think you do either. Now, I told you once, and I ain’t gonna tell you again, give me that thing before it blows us all to Kingdom Come.”

  With her head bowed slightly, and with a look of madness in her eyes, she glared at him. “Still think you’re the boss, huh, Sky? Do this, Edith, do that, Edith. Well, I’m tired of it. Tired of your constant put-downs. If it ain’t my hair, it’s my clothes. I never could look as good to you as those naked bitches in the magazines, could I, Sky? Well, now I don’t have to worry about it. I’ve had all I can take, you bastard, and I don’t intend to take anymore.”

  Sky watched as she advanced toward him, the gun still pointed. On her face was a calculating look he had never seen before, and it made him nervous. He didn’t know her anymore. She’d changed from the easy-going Edith that he could slap around, insult and belittle to the monster that was looking at him with death in her eyes. Just then, Sky turned his eyes upward, and did a double take when he saw a small face wedged between the bars of a balcony.

  “Edith,” he whispered. “In back of you, there. It’s Griff. He’s watchin’. God, Edith, for his sake, don’t do this.”

  Edith gave a derisive chuckle. “You’ll do anything, won’t you, Sky? Griff’s asleep. I put him to bed an hour ago.”

  “Edith, for god’s sake, turn around and look,” he urged, his gaze darting from Edith to the balcony. “All right. You want me to admit it? He’s my son, Edith. He’s my son. I knew it all along. Please, don’t make him watch this. It’ll do something to him. To his mind.”

  * * * *

  Thinking he wanted to get her off balance so he could grab the gun, Edith ignored his pleading words. Hell, no, she thought. She wouldn’t be distracted. Not being this close. It was the moment she’d been waiting for. They were close together now, him and his little bitch, and her trigger finger was getting mighty itchy. Slowly her other hand came up, and with both, she squeezed the handle of the gun as she placed the gun sight right between the redhead’s breasts. Edith’s head was filled with the sound of a thumping heartbeat—the redhead’s heartbeat. She wanted nothing more than to stop that constant thumping—the thrashing of her blood—the god-awful sound that gave her life.

  “Goodbye, slut,” she muttered in the dark silent night—just before five explosions sounded, one after the other.

  In one split second, the universe had changed, but the wind still soughed, and the cicadas still serenaded close by. She only blinked at the sprayed blood and torn flesh of the two dead bodies that lay sprawled before her. Now, with slow, precise movements, she turned the gun inward and pushed the barrel against her temple. With just a little pressure, the last bullet blasted into Edith Nyle’s head, leaving the world behind.

  The world—and her son, Griff.

  * * * *

  Griff jumped up and began screaming—a scream that gurgled and gasped as it tried to work itself through his tiny throat to find release.

  “Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!” he finally yelled out, over and over again until he felt a pair of strong hands on him. A man in jeans and a dark jacket gently picked Griff up and carried him out to his unmarked car, placing him in the back seat with a woman who had gentle hands. Once in the car, Griff scrambled to the window and continued to rake his gaze over the scene that was making an everlasting, indelible impression upon his young mind. His wide, tear-filled eyes found the redhead whose hair still glowed in the moonlight. The sight tore at something deep inside him. It was her fault his parents were lying on the ground dead—it was her fault. Just then, a pair of strong but gentle hands pulled him away from the awful sight, but he struggled until the car left the drive, and then he swung around to look out the back, where he got one last look at the long, flowing—red hair.

  “I hate you,” he sobbed out while his tearful eyes glared at her. “I hate your red hair and painted lips. You think you’re beautiful, but you’re ugly. As ugly as a swamp full of alligators.” He fought the hands that tried to pull him away from the window, continuing to cry out at the woman that lay limp and bloody across the back seat of the car. “I’ll hate you forever. I’ll hate you every day that I live. I’ll hate you even more than I hate spiders and snakes and—and—spinach.”

  The hateful, sobbing mantra continued as the car sped down the highway, and even into the early hours of the morning as he lay upon a strange bed. “I’ll hate you forever and ever,” he snuffled venomously, his voice tired and scratchy with tears. “Even if I grow up to be famous like Batman, or Superman, or Spider-Man, I’ll still hate you. And I’ll keep on hating you even if I become—president of the United States.”

  Chapter Two

  Nineteen years later—

  Griff Nyle watched the movement of the old senator’s lips as he preached, lectured, and moralized about the same things he’d heard a hundred times before. Sure, he wanted to be president someday, but not on the senator’s terms—terms that included that bratty, red-haired daughter of his. How could the senator even suggest he marry his daughter? Dear god, he was twenty-six years old. He’d been through college, law school, and had even held office while this little brat was still sucking her thumb. He glanced at her and frowned. He didn’t like her, and god, how he hated her hair. Her red hair. Sure, maybe she was pretty, but it didn’t matter. It also didn’t matter that she had eyes like a fox that were a glittering bronze color with darkly fringed lashes. And so what if she had full, ripe lips that looked red, even when she wasn’t wearing lipstick.

  Good circulation, Griff thought stupidly.

  She confused him. On one hand she had a soft, curving body that showed signs of maturity, and a hungry look that could get any man excited. But on the other, she had a sweet pixie face, so pure and innocent, a young nymph, always fresh, always glowing. She seemed to be at the starting gate of life, eager for someone to come along and teach her how to make love. The thought lingered with him until she lifted her wild, foxlike eyes and met his gaze with that hungry look.

  Caught off guard, Griff quickly turned his head and looked away.

  “Are you payin’ any attention to me?”

  “Oh... yes, sir,” Griff said, trying to remember what the senator had said.

  “
Like I was sayin’, you do what I say, boy, and you’ll occupy that Oval Office someday. And if I can ever bring Lorelei here out of her fantasy world, she’ll be right there by your side as your First Lady.”

  His last remark raised Griff’s hackles. “What the hell makes her such a great First Lady? Look at her. She’s not a Grace Kelly type. I need someone that’s angelic, sweet, and gentle.” He looked back over at the senator. “She’s brash, bold, and a redhead. I hate redheads.”

  “She’s right because she’s my daughter, you nincompoop.”

  “She’s nothing but a baby. She probably still sucks her thumb.”

  Lorelei’s eyes widened at the remark, and she quickly pulled her hand down from her face and pushed it under the edge of her thigh.

  “Hell’s bells, Griff, she won’t be a kid forever. She’ll grow up, you know, and it’s up to me what she grows up into.”

  “I hope to hell you know what you’re doin’.”

  Senator Bliss took a deep breath and got up from his chair and began pacing. As he scratched his head, he turned to Griff and looked at him as if he were trying to find the right words.

  “Look, I know Lorelei isn’t exactly the picture someone would conjure up when they think of a First Lady, but hell, Griff, give her time. This won’t happen for at least ten years. You’ve got a splendid education, but now you’ve gotta rub elbows with the right people, get to know those who can help you. Gain their confidence. When you’ve got a firm foundation beneath you, then you’ll start your grooming period. By that time, you’ll be eligible, and if I know you and politics, the city of Washington won’t know what hit it.” He paused then, and with a thoughtful look on his face, he frowned slightly. “It’s just too damned bad I don’t have a son to give to my party, but...” Shifting his eyes to his only daughter, he sighed. “A man does the best he can.”