The Billionaire's Family Jewels: Flesh and Stone

by Spice Pendleton

  Nope. All the good ones were already claimed.

  With a sigh, I smoothed my hands over my hips and admired my blue pencil skirt. Yeah, it highlighted my butt a tad, but I loved the rich fabric. My new silk blouse? Wasn’t a fan.

  I eyed my pert nipples sourly. They stared back at me, lurking under the thin material like two missiles, ready for launch.

  Rebels.

  Another ‘Nipplegate’—that’s what it was. I’d read my share of romance-novel nipple descriptions over the years, ranging the whole gamut of berries, from nubs of delight to pebbles…I only wished mine were that small. No matter what I freaking did, they popped like two temperature probes at the slightest hint of air-conditioning—which was always on in Phoenix, Arizona. The padded-bra solution didn’t work for me, either. With my well-endowed breasts, the instant I added that extra inch…well, let’s just say I did like to see my feet on occasion.

  Sighing, I ran cold water over my hands, patting my cheeks and inspecting my face. Green eyes and a pert nose stared back at me, surrounded by long, straight auburn-tinged hair that fell to my waist—hair my mother never failed to harp on. “Business women just don’t look like you, Brittany. Cut the hair! And that figure?! IEeee!”

  “Whatever,” I snapped at the mirror, rolling my eyes and turning away.

  I had a dang job description to rewrite. After the hellish day I’d had, I figured only drowning myself in mimosas at my favorite Mexican restaurant could turn it around.

  Stalking to my desk, I plopped into my chair and yawning, hit the computer keyboard with my palm.

  No response.

  Well, that was just fricking great!

  I gave it a harder whack.

  The monitor stubbornly remained dark.

  “Fuck!” I swore, slamming my hands on the desk before crawling underneath and tracing the power cord to the outlet.

  Oh.

  Apparently, I’d unplugged the dang thing with my foot.

  Feeling sheepish, I jammed the plug into the outlet.

  Something zipped through me. I jerked back, thinking I’d been zapped, but the sizzling sensation only grew stronger. I saw it then, a ring, coming at me straight through the wall. It looked like a movie special effect, nearly invisible and perhaps made of water.

  It enveloped me so quickly that I didn’t have time to react.

  A Renaissance Fair Gone Rogue

  I felt weightless. Was I floating? Hanging suspended? Something covered my head. A sack? Sheets? Panicking, I clawed the soft fabric swathing my face as something above my head gave and crashed to the floor, taking me with it.

  “At ease! At ease!” a deep voice advised.

  A moment later, someone released me from my claustrophobic, velvety prison and I sat up, panting heavily.

  Whoa. Where was I?

  I sat on a flagstone floor of a small chamber. Daylight streamed through a window behind me, highlighting the lengths of crimson velvet pooled at my feet. Curtains. Yeah, I must’ve knocked that wooden drapery rod down, right next to that…naked foot?

  Startled, I glanced up to see someone standing over me: a man—unapologetically and magnificently naked. I caught the brief impression of long and strong thighs with lean, narrow hips and a well-defined six-pack topped off with broad shoulders…but my eyes pretty much zeroed in on his cock. I mean, really, with such a prominent thing on grand display, it was impossible to miss since it jutted practically into my face. And let’s be honest here, shall we? I’d never seen one so thick or hanging that far down before. Wowzers. He’d won the genetic lottery.

  “Allow me, my lady,” the cock’s owner rumbled in a deep baritone.

  As a strong hand entered my field of vision, effectively blocking my view of his splendid member, I came to my senses.

  Brushing his hand aside, I sprang to my feet. “Where the hell am I?” I asked, frowning.

  Strange. I couldn’t recall driving to the restaurant…or even leaving work. Hmm… That odd bubble under my desk was the last thing I could remember and—

  I gasped, realizing I stood almost naked, and it was freaking freezing. Had someone jammed the air-conditioner on somehow? I glanced down…wow, talk about Nipplegate. Forget berries. Mine stood out like bananas. They couldn’t have been more obvious—especially since I wore only a black lace bra with a matching thong.

  It struck me like a bolt of lightning then.

  I must’ve had a one-night stand.

  Whoa there, Brittany. Yeah, I’d fantasized about it often enough, but I’d never planned on actually doing such a thing. What had gotten into me? Clearly, I’d drowned my jaded sorrows with one mimosa too many.

  So…just what had I slept with?

  I eyed the superb, fascinatingly thick and semi-erect penis bobbing before me and experienced a sudden surge of regret. Frick. I’d had that and couldn’t remember a thing? Talk about freaking unfair.

  Wincing, I steeled myself, expecting to feel disappointment once I saw the rest of him. I mean, how could he live up to that incredibly splendid cock? No one was that lucky.

  Tearing my eyes away from his penis, I forced my vision up towards his face but the faint scars gracing his broad, muscular chest immediately distracted me. Most had faded into thin, silvered lines but one stood out: an angry, three-inch red gash. Ouch. What did this guy do for a living? He was obviously a daredevil. Yum! That sent a sensual shiver of excitement sizzling up my spine.

  From the neck down, my guy was A+ material here. Ripped and gorgeous. By far the best I’d ever snared. I dropped a quick, wistful gaze at his freaking, huge cock again before finally hazarding a glance at his face.

  My mouth dropped open.

  Apparently, some people win the lottery twice. This dude was awesomely handsome and in his prime with shoulder-length, brown hair—wet, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower—and a neatly trimmed beard covering a lean, hard jaw. I’d never been a beard gal, but on this guy…well, I was sold. His incredibly clear, ice-blue eyes watched me with a mixture of overt amusement and genuine confusion.

  Talk about the ultimate unfairness. I’d slept with that and couldn’t remember one second of it? I couldn’t resist stealing another peek at his plus-sized cock.

  Way to go, Brittany!

  “There’s no sense of justice in the world,” I sighed under my breath.

  “Justice, my lady?” the man queried in soft, deep tones. “Please, tell me how I may come to your aid?”

  Was that a British accent? A fucking British accent? My sense of injustice doubled.

  “Uh,” I began, but promptly drew a blank. His name? Geez! Just how plastered had I been? Sheepish, I cleared my throat and admitted, “I’m…uh…sorry…but I can’t recall your name? Must’ve been quite a night, huh?”

  Amusement still reflected from the depths of his blue irises, along with something else. Concern, maybe? Concern? Over what?

  With an almost courtly bow, he replied, “I am called William the Marshal and I serve Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. Tell me, fair maid, how shall I address you?”

  Uhhhh…what? He didn’t know my name, either? Had we just hightailed it to the nearest hotel and fucked like bunnies all night? It was so unlike me—but then, with the British specimen splayed out before my eyes, I could see just why I’d jumped his bones. Truth be told, I’d do it again.

  But then, his words finally sank in and just how he’d said them.

  “Wait, what?” I frowned. “Eleanor of…Aquitaine?”

  I’d only heard that name once before—well, read it, actually. She’d been the medieval queen in an erotic romance novella I’d picked up on my kindle as a free promo. A very minor character and a bit of a sour bitch as I recalled. She’d only stuck in my head because she’d given birth to Richard the Lionheart, the English king of the Third Crusades. And I’d only remembered that little tidbit from watching a Robin Hood movie with a particularly sexy actor playing the ‘Good King Richard’.

  As Will’s—yeah, I was going
to call him that because it sounded as freaking sexy as he looked—voice droned in the background, I found my attention suddenly snagged by my surroundings.

  Weird place. The scent of lavender hung heavy in the freezing air. And the room? What kind of hotel décor was this? Tiny. A decided lack of amenities. No TV, fridge, or electrical outlet in sight. Just a bed with rough linen sheets, a black iron candelabra, and a wooden bathtub draped with linens falling to the floor and halfway filled with hot, steaming water—the source of the lavender. Wow. I couldn’t recall ever seeing such an ugly hotel room.

  And why did they keep the place so freakishly cold? Rubbing my arms, I let my eyes wander back to the belongings piled on the bed. Swords? Two of them, along with what appeared to be a chainmail hauberk tossed over a leather saddlebag…

  Huh?

  The lightbulb in my brain flicked on. “Is this one of those Renaissance fairs?” I asked, astonished. I’d never been into that. But after eyeing the fabulously naked, muscled man standing in front of me, I saw that had obviously been a major error on my part. Clearly, I should’ve been checking out those Renaissance dudes far, far, faaaaaar sooner.

  “A fair, my lady?” Will repeated, this time appearing downright bewildered. “Nay, not here. Mayhap in Paris, but ‘tis many leagues away.”

  Yeah, no kidding. And leagues? I arched a brow. So, he liked role-playing? Well, it worked for him. I found it strangely arousing, but according to the sunlight filtering through the window, I didn’t have time for Part Deux. I was late for work.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Time to face reality. Oh. He’d asked for my name. “Brittany,” I said, looking around for my clothes. “Brittany Livingstone.”

  “Brittany?” he repeated, slightly astonished. “’Tis far for such a fair lady. What befell your escort?”

  I wasn’t listening. I’d moved to the bed. Nope. No silk blouse or blue skirt there. And yeah, that really was chainmail. I wondered if I’d had him parade around in it, sans pants. Surely, I must’ve. Where was my cell phone? Had I taken pictures?

  “And what do you seek, Lady of Brittany?” the handsome Will was still speaking, the tone of his voice sounding increasingly perplexed.

  “Just Brittany,” I said, bending over to peek under the bed. “And I’m looking for my clothes. Kinda need them now, you know.”

  “I know naught of your clothing, fair maid,” he answered in a gruff, strangled kind of voice.

  His tone made me glance over my shoulder, and I caught him eyeing my butt. His expression? Like he wanted to eat me alive. His cock had perked up, too. I felt flattered. I almost purred…

  To be continued in “The Marshal’s Way”

  About the Author(s) and Other Books

  Spice Pendleton embodies a group of authors from various parts of the US, including Washington, Pennsylvania, and California. We’re all about fun and enjoying the spice of life. And while we represent a diverse range from college students to middle-aged, award-winning authors, we share much in common, such as: a love of coffee, dogs, and pounding on our keyboards in the dead of night, wickedly cackling over our next ‘spicy’ novella.

  You can reach Spice Pendleton at RoddickAndPrice@outlook.com or become friends at http://www.facebook.com/RoddickAndPrice.

  Spice Pendleton has more “Family Jewels” books and others on the way, such as:

  The Billionaire’s Family Jewels

  Available: Flesh and Stone

  Coming: Fire and Ice

  The Scottish Highlander Bad Boys Quench Incidents

  Available: MacLeod’s Rapture

  The English Knight Quench Incidents

  Available: The Marshal’s Way

  The Norsemen Quench Incidents

  Coming: The Norseman’s Hammer

  The VSI (Vampire Scene Investigators)

  Coming later this year: Affinity

  And more!