MidnightInk-epub

by MI

  You can visit Mari’s website at www.MariCarr.com.

  She is also on Facebook and Twitter.

  She blogs at International Heat,

  and hangs out on the Heat Wave Readers Yahoo Group.

  Excerpt: Pick Your Pleasure

  Jayne Rylon

  What were the odds? Two men. Both of whom she had compelling—if completely opposite—chemistry with.

  Hot damn.

  Linley licked her lips.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Chase’s smooth baritone made her blink twice before she deciphered his offer.

  “Yes, please.” She studied his expert handling of the bottle, impressed with how he poured the crisp liquid without spilling a single bubbly drop. When she reached for the stemware he proffered, he surprised her by clasping her fingers in a gentle yet sure hold then dusting the back of her hand with his lips.

  A tantalizing appetizer.

  Before she could dig in, he slipped the glass into her hand and wrapped her fingers around the delicate crystal.

  “What century are you from?” Ryder growled as he ignored his rival to focus on her. “Either way, you’ll be ancient before you get to the good shit with him.”

  The rebel’s fingers hadn’t moved from her leg. Well, maybe they had. Higher.

  Instead of creeping her out, his deft massage encouraged Linley to sink into the tufted velvet, allowing her thighs to relax and part. Just a bit.

  “You didn’t come here tonight to be bored, did you?” Ryder reached across her to cup her cheek in his broad, slightly callused hand while the other continued to mesmerize her with his intuitive knowledge of her erogenous zones. Nudging her chin up, he forced her to meet his gaze. His fingers curled around her nape, and he leaned forward until his lips nearly collided with hers. “Pick me. I’ll make sure you never forget the night you decided to be a bad girl.”

  When she nearly succumbed to the promise of his slightly rough cheek to steal a kiss, he retreated, though his skilled fingers continued their insidious assault.

  “I hardly call romance dull.” Chase sipped from his glass, reminding her of the treat fizzing away before her.

  Linley downed a swallow or two. Moisture gathered at the corner of her mouth. Before she could reach for her napkin, Chase swiped a droplet from her lips with his thumb then sampled the mingled flavor of the alcohol and her skin.

  “Delicious.” He savored the taste and looked like he might go for another.

  She wished he would. Instead he withheld the pleasure, making her yearn for more.

  A glint from Ryder’s direction had her glancing away in time to see him chug his drink then pour another round. The powerful flex of his throat—primal and strong—inspired her. In her mind, she could picture nibbling the cords there as he rode her. With him, she wouldn’t have to beg for what she wanted.

  He wouldn’t make her take.

  So many times, she had to be the aggressor. In meetings. In dating. Handing over the reins would be a welcome relief. This man would afford her that luxury.

  When he was down to the last sip of the second round, he held it in his mouth and set his glass on the table with a clunk. This time he didn’t stop when he swooped in. His lips landed on hers without apology.

  Ryder proved that though he might lack stealth, he had finesse in abundance. His mouth turned hers pliant as he shared the rich drink and a taste of what a night with him would be like. He sucked on her tongue, using the slightest edge of his teeth to awaken nerves gone drowsy with an intoxicating blend of allures.

  When he withdrew, he bit her lip lightly, letting the subtle sting remind her of the things he’d done to her body without effort. Her nipples rubbed against the padding of her bra. She attempted to cross her legs to appease the part of her that screamed for pressure right where she needed it most.

  To her surprise, it was Chase who prevented her from trapping Ryder’s palm between her thighs. “No, love. Don’t hide. You didn’t come here tonight for that.”

  “And what if I’ve changed my mind?” Having two men bracketing her, promising her their own brand of sexy fun, overwhelmed her. For a moment, she wondered if she could handle it. Or would she disappoint them? It wasn’t like she had a ton of experience.

  “Then let me take you home.” Chase’s solution seemed genuine. “That’s not code for anything, by the way. I’ll drop you at your door, safe and sound, if you’d prefer.”

  “No one’s forcing her.” Ryder seemed offended. “But I won’t let you lie to yourself, wildcat. You came hunting for this. You’re soaked. My finger isn’t sliding around on its own down there. I’ll make it easy for you, give you things you never dreamed you needed.”

  Linley’s head thunked against the seat as she dropped it backward. “Too bad I can’t have you both.”

  Ryder laughed. The easy, boisterous sound made it clear he did it often. With gusto. “In my world, that’s an option. Here we’re Underground. The next level below us is called Downstairs. I hang out a bit deeper. The Basement of the club offers the possibility of ménage, among other more daring pursuits. Chase doesn’t sink that low, though.”

  She peeked up in time to catch the other man’s tiny frown.

  “That’s true,” Chase confirmed. “I prefer to stick to Downstairs. And I fly solo. I assure you, you won’t need other men when you have my full attention. For dipping your toe in, I recommend the first level of the club. Perfect for wading.”

  “Screw that. Jump into the deep end.” Ryder lifted his palm from her saturated thigh, licked his finger, and then held out his hand. “I won’t let you drown.”

  “Neither will I.” Chase extended one of his as well.

  “So, who will it be, Linley?” She didn’t have time to wonder how they knew her name.

  Instead she searched inside and uttered her preference for tonight.

  If Linley said Chase click here or search for Linley picked Chase

  If Linley said Ryder click here or search for Linley picked Ryder

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  Excerpt: Bayou Bound 2 - Duty Bound

  Sidney Bristol

  Coming in 2014

  Officer Mathieu Mouton sat at one of the four top tables along the windows of Cafe Du Monde and gazed out at the darkening city, an unsettled sense of foreboding deep in his gut. The glitz and glitter of New Orleans stared back at him, like a young woman hungry for her beau. If it weren’t for his sister, Mathieu would have been at home flipping through the channels, trying to put another week behind him.

  Instead, he checked his phone again.

  She needs your help, Mathieu.

  He grimaced at the echo of his sister’s words as she’d cornered him in their mamma’s kitchen after Sunday dinner. Damsels in distress were a dime a dozen in New Orleans, and getting entangled in a charity project was not on his list of good ideas. But no one said no to Lola. Not even grandmère. If Lola weren’t poised to take over the Assistant District Attorney spot opening in the spring, grandmère would have made Lola a Voodoo queen.

  The coffee in his cup was cold, the beignet untouched.

  If this broad didn’t show up in the next—

  The café door opened and a bell chimed. A woman wearing a cherry red coat that covered her from knee to chin stepped in and shook the chill from her body. She carried a backpack that was stuffed until the seams strained.

  She was the only person who’d entered the café in the last fifteen minutes.

  Mathieu sat forward, propping his elbows on the table as he studied the patron.

  She turned, honey blonde hair streaked with golden brown hair flipping over her shoulder as she surveyed the room. Her eyes snagged on him immediately and he sucked in a deep breath.

  “C'est sa couillion.” He was a raving lunatic.

  No wonder Lola hadn’t told him the name of the woman he was meeting. She started towards him. Mathieu could feel the cosmic pull between their two bodies. It’s what had drawn him to her all those yea
rs ago.

  “Mathieu—”

  “Lisette Babineaux, haven’t seen you in a minute,” he drawled, rising to shake her hand.

  Tricky, Lola. Real tricky.

  Lisette’s gaze flicked from his hand to his face before she put her small palm against his. Her skin was still soft, nails chipped, but painted with a pale pink polish. Despite the good quality of her clothing, it was dirty and worn. That didn’t make sense. The Babineaux family was well off, and their little princess had never wanted for anything. But a lot changed in the ten or so years since he’d left her.

  She’d always been delicate, refined, as if she’d stepped out of a painting from some debutant ball. Too fragile for a man with his tastes, but he’d hungered for her regardless. In his inexperience he’d thought he could be a different man for her, one who didn’t crave bondage with his women. He’d been wrong.

  A handful of years hadn’t changed her all that much. Her hair was shorter, her eyes just as green and the smattering of freckles preserved the air of youth about her, but there was a wariness to her that was new.

  “I know. It’s good to see you.” She unbuttoned her coat and draped it over the back of her chair.

  Was it?

  “Have a seat, please.” Mathieu didn’t know what to make of the woman settling in across from him. They’d been something to each other once. “Lola tells me you’re in a spot of trouble.”

  Lisette chuckled, a deep, husky sound that was music to his ears. “That’s it? Tell me all your problems? No hello? Hi? How you been?”

  Mathieu studied her, or more accurately, the woman she’d become. The long sleeve, black knit shirt, jeans and knee high boots spoke of someone trying to blend in, and yet she chose to wear a come-get-me-red coat. Lisette was in trouble, and didn’t know how to handle it. If Mathieu listened to his cock, he’d take her home under the false premise of protecting her from whatever evil had her running. And then she would run from him. If he listened to his brain, he’d leave now.

  This meeting was a bad idea.

  Excerpt: FrankenDom

  By Robin L. Rotham

  Was this a test Julian had set up for me? I didn’t know and I was terrified of getting caught, but I couldn’t not test the limits. I needed to know how this kind of relationship really worked and if I was strong enough to deal with it.

  My gurgling stomach reminded me of the meal awaiting me on the cart, and I gazed at it longingly for a moment before steeling myself to go hungry a little longer. Lili might be back to lock the door any minute—I had to seize this chance while it was available.

  Taking a deep breath, I slipped into the dim corridor, leaving my door slightly ajar in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat. Adrenaline made my hands shake and my heart pound in my throat. Where in the hell was I going? To my right, seemingly an eternity away, was the tower with the elevator I’d come up in. Across from my room was a closed door. To my left, two more closed doors on the same side as mine before the corridor made an abrupt right turn I couldn’t see around. What was down there?

  Decision made, I alternately crept and made panicked leaps down the corridor, flattening myself inside doorframes when I heard any sort of noise—as if my protruding boobs wouldn’t give me away.

  Or my noisy stomach. I gave it a reproving pat and whispered, “Hush, you.”

  From my vantage point in the final doorframe on the left, I craned my neck to peer down the adjoining corridor but saw nothing. I heard something, though—several somethings that sent ice water trickling down my spine.

  I listened as if my life depended on it.

  Which it very well might, if what I heard was any indication—guttural male cries, low-pitched chuckles and the murmur of male voices. They were all muted by an electronic hum that made the door under my right hand vibrate slightly. And there was a persistent crackling and snapping that sounded like radio static.

  Or something more sinister.

  Every muscle in my body tensed for flight. It took several deep breaths and a searing lecture on the evils of cowardice from my inner bad girl before I was calm enough to forge ahead.

  Another glance back the way I’d come and then I darted onto uncharted carpet. It was a relatively short corridor with only two doors, one on my left, which I flattened myself into right away, and one in the terminal wall.

  Terminal. I swallowed hard at the irony. Unlike all the other doors, which were traditional six-panel models painted pristine white, this one was round on top, made of lightly stained wood planks and held together by heavy black hardware—two flat metal pieces that formed a reinforcing X were riveted to the door just below the curve, and two more pieces anchored it across the top and bottom. The handle was nothing more than a thick leather strap doubled over and bolted to the wood.

  The primitive door was open. Not much—only enough to see a sliver of darkness and almost continuous flashes of watery light—but it was open.

  I bit my knuckle. Nothing said “Go away!” like a big black X on the door.

  But it was open. An open door was an invitation…right?

  The temptation to creep closer and try to see something clashed fiercely with the desire to scurry back to my room and reassess my priorities.

  The sounds were more distinct now, and I swallowed hard when I recognized the distinctive buzz and snap of some kind of powerful electrical device discharging. It was a relief to realize the human sounds seemed unrelated to the snaps and flashes of light. During one of my ER rotations, I’d seen an electrical burn from electrostimulation gone wrong and I never wanted to see it again, much less experience it for myself.

  But those throaty, masculine chuckles and amused murmurs were definitely a reaction to pained grunts and groans. Someone was being tortured in there. And someone else was enjoying it.

  A sharp yelp made me gasp, and I slapped one trembling hand over my mouth while the other flattened on my stomach. That could be me in there, being tortured for someone else’s amusement.

  Okay, maybe I should have taken this a little slower. My heart was about to batter its way right out of my rib cage, and I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or terror.

  Time to get my ass back to my room. I didn’t have to travel the entire road to self-discovery in a single day.

  Before I could flee, a loud, stuttering groan rang out, followed by, “Jesus, please, Sir! Ah! Motherfucker…fuckfuckFUUUUCK!”

  My eyes widened. That was Colin.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered against my bloodless fingers. They were torturing Colin? He was a bottom?

  I took a shaky step toward the door, and then another. What was happening to him?

  Was it something that would happen to me if I stuck around?

  Did I want to find out?

  A heartbeat later, the choice was no longer mine. My wrists were seized from behind and I was hauled against a hard masculine body with my arms crossed over my chest. I was too breathless with terror to even squeak when he put his mouth against my ear.

  “Gotcha, Dr. McBride!”

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  Excerpt: Finders Keepers

  by PG Forte (Loose Id LLC)

  Detective Aldo Nash could almost hear his brain humming as it worked to categorize the myriad scents tingeing the cool night air: cedar and sea spray, dry asphalt, cooling car engine, and most potent of all, the warm, aroused flesh of the man Aldo had pinned beneath him.

  Aldo slid practiced hands over the slim, partially clad form, and the man moaned softly in response, his whole body writhing instinctively closer as he arched into Aldo’s touch. Aldo pulled in another heady lungful and smiled in contentment. On nights like these, he purely loved his job.

  He couldn’t say working undercover for the Oakland PD had exactly been a lifelong dream, but Aldo’s brief stint in the army had left him uniquely qualified for it all the same, and largely unqualified for anything else. When the USA was formally dissolved following the economic collapse of the 2010s and what was left of
the military was fully privatized, the idea of patriotism lost its meaning. Losing Kyle on top of that had left Aldo with no clear idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

  After giving college a try, Aldo had signed up for the police academy on a whim. Unexpectedly, he found his niche. Now he derived a lot of satisfaction from knowing he was working to prevent future crimes from happening, not just solving those that had already occurred. He got to be proactive, stay one step ahead of the bad guys rather than the other way around. But the bottom line was proficiency. He was damned good at what he did.

  Not to take away from any natural ability to dissemble he might have inherited from his late actress mother, but most of his success was due, in no small part, to all the experimental drugs he’d been given by the military. His consciousness had been purposely and methodically expanded, and his brain reconfigured to the point where he could easily exert control over his brain waves and sympathetic nervous system.

  In a world where just about every criminal, from the capo dei capi of large, multinational drug cartels to the lowliest of hood-grown thugs, had their own psi-ops tech on speed dial, that kind of advantage was a definite point in Aldo’s favor. No matter how skillful said techs might be at worming their way into other people’s minds and tunneling through their thoughts, with him they could only read what he wanted them to read.

  Of course, there were also things about his job he didn’t like. The hours were murder since, apparently, crime rarely slept and when it did, its schedule was crap. The regular debriefings with their in-no-way-optional mind-scrubs were a major headache. Literally. Worst of all, the company he was forced to keep generally sucked, and not in that good kind of way.