NATASHA TANNER & MOLLY THORNE
A VOTE FOR LUST
A BAD BOY political ROMANCE
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also includes:
BOUGHT (the Goldenhearts series / book one)
&
SOLD (the Goldenhearts series / book two)
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© 2016 Natasha Tanner, Molly Thorne
Eros Shrugged Publishing, October 2016
Kindle Edition
Cover design by Kasmit Covers
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the authors’ imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
The persons depicted in the photo are models and are not related to the events narrated in this story, which are fictional.
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NOTE: As part of the promotional effort for its launch, this version of the A Vote for Lust ebook also includes two bonus stories. Because of this, you’ll find that the story ends somewhere in the middle of the ebook, and the rest is dedicated to the others. In the following page you’ll find a table of contents so that you can jump to the story you want to read. (Or you can read them all in succession; however you prefer.)
The bonus stories are Bought and Sold, the first two in the Goldenhearts trilogy. The third volume in the series, Owned, co-written by Molly Thorne and H.W. Flamelle, will hit Amazon in the following months. You can subscribe to Molly’s mailing list to get notified when it’s published.
If you pay attention, you’ll see a couple of characters from Sold popping up in A Vote for Lust even though they are part of different series! But don’t worry, you’re not missing anything if you only read one of the stories. That’s just the authors having fun.
Enjoy!
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A VOTE FOR LUST
BOUGHT (the Goldenhearts series / book one)
SOLD (the Goldenhearts series / book two)
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SIX
Just one more job. One more kill. And then I’ll be free from this life.
Did it have to be the guy who could become president?
I knew I shouldn’t have taken the job. And now I’m stuck. Because right when I was about to do it... I saw her.
I wasn’t going to let her be raped, that’s sure. Even a hitman has morals. But now I have to decide what to do. Should I follow my best instincts and get rid of her? Or should I keep her safe, even if it means they will be after me forever?
I may have made the biggest mistake of my life.
SADIE
He was supposed to kill me. But he saved me instead.
Now, we’re both on the run.
I am afraid of this man. He’s a cold-blooded assassin with a hard edge. But I’m also undeniably attracted to him...
He took a single shot, and he torn my life to pieces. As election day approaches, I see my political aspirations go out in a puff of smoke.
I’m a lawyer, a young promise with a great future. I’m not supposed to even be near this guy. But damn if I’m not aching to go down on him in more than one way.
I guess I have my dark side too.
This is a romantic novel with no cliffhangers and a happy ending. And action. And sex. And plot twists.
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A VOTE FOR LUST
Babe I’ll take the fast train
They’ll be waiting in the black rain
Only thing to kill for is me and you
—Tove Styrke: Decay
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. THE DAY I STOPPED BELIEVING
2. FAST TRACK OUT
3. HIT THE ROAD, SIX
4. OUT OF SCOPE
5. THE YOUNG PROMISE
6. A BULLET WITH MY NAME
7. TOGETHERNESS
8. GAME OVER, PLAY AGAIN?
9. SEVEN SINS
10. EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES
11. GOING SOFT
12. THE TALL WOMAN
13. A HOUSE IN GREY GARDENS
14. BUILDING MATERIALS
15. LEAPS OF FAITH
16. RESIGNATION NOTICE
17. A WALK WITH FOUR
18. A TEMPTING OFFER
19. THE HAND CLOSES
20. HOW TO VOID A CONTRACT
21. THE BOGUS BUYER
22. A STITCH IN TIME
23. AS SEEN ON TV
24. ELECTION DAY
25. THE LIVES OF A CAT
26. THE DAY I STARTED BELIEVING
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THE HITMAN’S CODE
1. Only the assignment exists.
2. The target will die.
3. No witnesses. No loose threads.
4. No payment, no job.
5. Never turn your back on the buyer.
6. One job at a time.
7. A hitman is invisible.
8. A hitman has no heart.
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THE DAY I STOPPED BELIEVING
SADIE
Present day
The first thing I saw were his eyes. Clear, sharp, luminous green eyes; all around them, the world was darkness.
The last thing I saw of him were his eyes, too. As he gave me a quick kiss and told me to wish him luck, he looked at me as if it was the last time. Maybe it is. I’m waiting for him to come back, but he might not make it.
If anyone would have told me, just three months ago, that I would end up falling in love with such a man, I would have laughed in their face. I was not made for this. I’m not the kind of girl who falls for a ruthless killer. I was an aide to a powerful man, and I was on the fast track to become a powerful woman myself; a political operator, or maybe even a representative. How would I even meet an assassin? I lived in a completely different world.
And yet... here I am, anguishing as I wait for him to come back to me. A few hours ago I didn’t even know his name. But his essence is tattooed all over my soul.
My life is in danger too, but I only care for him.
And I know that deep inside me, in its arcane world of liquid sleep, our baby cares too.
* * *
Three months ago
As I crossed the deserted parking lot, my watch denouncing the late hour, and pressed the button to call the elevator, I felt thrilled and puzzled in equal parts. It was the first time Mark called me so late to go over a proposal, and all kinds of thoughts ricocheted inside my head. Did he really want to talk about my proposal, or there was something else?
One thing was sure: I just couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to say no. Mark Cross was the man of the hour, and working for him was a blessing and a huge opportunity for a young lawyer like me. In j
ust a few months working for the state senator I had learned so much I could never even begin to repay him for that. Plus, his reelection was a sure thing, and all of us that were close to him were enthusiastic about the future: in just four more years, he could become the next President of the United States. Talk about blessings.
I’m so lucky that he even paid attention to me, I thought again, for the tenth time maybe, as the elevator pulled me upwards and the floor numbers changed quickly in the dotted display. Word was that Mark was very picky about who would be part of his group of close aides, and I had caught his eye with a proposal to eliminate formal barriers for the poor to access the court system and help them file complaints and get answers from the authorities. “Some of these people can’t even write, and those who can certainly don’t do it in legalese,” I explained to him, vehemently, as his blue eyes were fixated on mine, studying my expression, penetrating into my young, idealistic soul. He decided to hire me on the spot.
And now, he wanted to gloss over my latest and most ambitious proposal, something that could not only help him secure his reelection, but also put him in front of national audiences and pave his way to the White House. “This is fantastic,” he had said earlier that day, visibly impressed. “You’re fantastic. And soon you’ll be writing the laws directly, or my name is not Mark Cross.”
I had almost fainted at that. Me, a representative? He could put me on the list, of course; he could put anyone he wanted. In four years, his rising star could lift my own, and get me a spot in Congress as he got to the presidency. It was a wild dream, but I could feel it physically, almost touch it as the elevator door opened and I crossed the dark corridor to get into his office. He was sitting at his desk, poring over some papers, with only a small lamp throwing some light on them; the rest of the room was half dark. I recognized the papers as the proposal I’d handed him earlier. The vivid orange folder was sitting beside them, and resting on it, a bottle of expensive wine and two cups.
“Hey, hi,” Mark said, lifting his head to look at me. He sat up and shook my hand feverously. “Please.”
Outside, the moon was high and bright and round, sending a luminous lance through the wine bottle.
“Hi,” I said, sitting across the desk, expecting him to return to his seat. Instead, he reached for the bottle and cups, poured wine in both, and offered me one from behind, passing his hand over my shoulder.
“Here’s to you. The youngest and brightest star in my team,” Mark Cross said, raising his cup. I honored the toast and our cups collided with a clinking sound that seemed to awake some cheerful spirit. He was still standing behind me –I noticed that he had put his free hand on my shoulder as he sipped from his cup. A paternal gesture towards his young apprentice and ally, I thought.
I won’t lie. I’d had sort of a low-intensity crush on Mark a few months ago, when I first approached him. He symbolized all the hope I had in this country, all the possibilities, the clear vision and the strength and determination to make that vision true. At the time, I wouldn’t have objected to him putting his hand on my shoulder or even way below that, but that was just a fantasy: he was much older and far more married than me, so I resisted the crush and let it turn, again, into pure, sincere admiration.
Now, it was different.
“Are you OK?” Mark asked, spying some concern in my eyes.
To tell the truth, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable. He was too close and didn’t seem to want to go back to his seat to talk about the proposal. The papers were lying there and he was still standing behind me, touching my shoulder in what could be a less paternal gesture than it seemed.
I had thought that something like this could happen, but just as an aside, an extreme idea without real chances of happening. Now, I was alone with him, with presumably nobody else in the whole building, and it was late at night.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying not to sound too upset. Maybe I was imagining things, after all. “What did you think of my proposal?”
“Oh, the proposal is fantastic,” he said, squeezing my shoulder gently as his voice deepened, emphasizing the adjective. “Just as fantastic as you. Together, we can do so many wonderful things.”
I stood up and turned around, forcing him to remove his hand, and letting the chair remain between us. I raised my cup as I looked him in the eye.
“I’m sure of that. Each one from their own place, we can change this country,” I answered, and took a sip.
“Or maybe, you know, together,” he insisted, pushing the chair aside. He got closer to me, so uncomfortably closer that I had to press my body against the desk to avoid contact. He smelled good, of mint or something, but I felt a hint of nausea, as ideas collided inside my head. “Sadie March, you’re a beautiful thing, you know?”
The funny thing is that if this had happened differently, if he had given me such a basic line at another time, in another situation, he could have made me feel good. I never considered myself beautiful; I always saw myself as pretty average, despite knowing that a few men had been interested in me. Maybe I was actually not very beautiful or maybe I was too hard on myself, the fact is that it would have been nice of him to tell me that same thing a few days before, or even that same morning.
But now, everything had changed. My dreams of becoming his political partner instead of aide, and even reach a seat in Congress, had fled my mind, leaving only regret and fear in their place. I slid along the desk to escape from him, but I was forced to do it in the wrong direction, towards the big window instead of the open door. He was blocking the exit. On the other side of the glass there was only the moon, shining now menacingly in the dark night.
“Th-thank you,” I said, “but that’s not really–”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t know what this was about,” Mark insisted, and took a step forward, finally making contact. I felt my stomach turning as he pressed against me and sandwiched my body against the window. All I could see was his face, his undeniably handsome face that had earned him so many followers in the southern state he represented, but now I saw him as an ugly man, and his minty breath, that I would have found so nice in other circumstances, now almost made me retch as it found its way to my nostrils.
Also, in an irrational way, I felt guilty. He’s right, I should have known what this was about, but I’m so idealistic and silly, I thought as his face got closer to mine, all personal barriers forgotten and violated. I knew it was not my fault, but I felt guilty anyway, and I hated him so much for that.
“Come on, baby, you can do this,” he continued, planting a kiss on my forehead, making me shiver and turn my head aside. “You have future with me. You only have to let yourself go.” I heard something... a fumbling of hands, a brushing of expensive fabric against itself, as he started unbuttoning his impeccably neat trousers.
“Please,” I said, looking at the empty corridor through the open door, while he loomed over me, his body weighing on mine, now breathing more heavily as he anticipated the moment. “Please, don’t.” He paid no mind.
Then I saw him.
Not him. The other man.
The man who was crouching in the corridor, shrouded in blackness like some ninja in a movie. Only his eyes, his bright green eyes, put a note of color in the midst of all that darkness. He was wearing a black balaclava so his face was hidden. He wore a black sweater or jacket or whatever it was that I couldn’t distinguish in the gloomy corridor, black pants and boots, and black gloves. And he was holding something. Something black, too.
I didn’t hear the shot, but I heard the glass shattering around me. And I screamed.
* * *
Everything had changed. The whole world.
The eyes guided me from that point on. Those green, luminous eyes, lingering me for just a fraction of a second, doing a quick inspection of my whole body (and soul, or so I felt it) before looking elsewhere and sprinting into action. “Don’t worry, I got this,” they seemed to say in that eternal instant. And I stood f
rozen in place as I watched what happened next.
“What the f—” Mark started, turning around, as the window shattered and disintegrated in front of him and the cool air of the night rushed in, seemingly wanting to pull me out from behind. He flinched visibly as he let go of me. Before he could finish his turning, the man in black was already hitting him. A left punch broke Mark’s lower lip; the right arm hit not with the hand, but with the gun. The cold hard metal crushed the senator’s nose and knocked him down instantly.
Mark Cross didn’t even have a chance to defend himself. The fight was over before it started. The green-eyed man in the balaclava stood before me, his gaze drilling into my soul once more, making me feel naked. At the same time, I felt protected by him. He had just saved me from being raped. In those initial seconds, that was the only fact I knew.
“No!” I screamed when he extended his arm and pointed down at Mark’s head, ready to take the definitive shot. I jumped on his arm, trying to divert it from its target. My whole body was not enough to make it move more than an inch, though; the guy had a strong arm. I clashed into iron-hard muscle under the black leather jacket.
An external observer would have find it funny, perhaps: the guy clad in black frozen in place, unshaken, pointing down with his gun, and I, smaller, inoffensive in my elegant attire, practically hanging from his arm as I tried to sway it from course. It was pathetic.
But he didn’t take the shot.
I hadn’t processed what was happening yet, and his hand was already closing around my arm, guiding me out of the office, into the dark corridor, and then into the staircase. I barely registered the elevator when we rushed by it, but the door was open, blocked by something.
A Vote For Lust: A Bad Boy Political Romance Page 1