Nauti Seductress

by Lora Leigh

  Praise for the Nauti Boys series

  “The Nauti series is one that absolutely no one should miss. The characters are brilliant, sexy, and real, while the high-octane action and soul-gripping plots have you on the edge of your seat. I loved it!”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Completely blown away by this surprising story. I could not put [it] down . . . and before I knew it, I had read this entire novel in one sitting. Lora Leigh has spun a smoldering hot tale of secret passion and erotic deceptions.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Wild and thrilling.”

  —The Romance Studio

  “The sex scenes are, as always with Leigh’s books, absolutely sizzling.”

  —Errant Dreams Reviews

  “Heated romantic suspense.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  More praise for

  Lora Leigh

  and her novels

  “Leigh draws readers into her stories and takes them on a sensual roller coaster.”

  —Love Romances & More

  “Will have you glued to the edge of your seat.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  “Blistering sexuality and eroticism . . . Bursting with passion and drama . . . Enthralls and excites from beginning to end.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “A scorcher with sex scenes that blister the pages.”

  —A Romance Review

  “A perfect blend of sexual tension and suspense.”

  —Sensual Romance Reviews

  “Hot sex, snappy dialogue, and kick-butt action add up to outstanding entertainment.”

  —RT Book Reviews (Top Pick)

  “The writing of Lora Leigh continues to amaze me . . . Electrically charged, erotic, and just a sinfully good read!”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  “Wow! . . . The lovemaking is scorching.”

  —Just Erotic Romance Reviews

  Berkley titles by Lora Leigh

  The Breeds

  RULE BREAKER

  STYGIAN’S HONOR

  LAWE’S JUSTICE

  NAVARRO’S PROMISE

  STYX’S STORM

  LION’S HEAT

  BENGAL’S HEART

  COYOTE’S MATE

  MERCURY’S WAR

  DAWN’S AWAKENING

  TANNER’S SCHEME

  HARMONY’S WAY

  MEGAN’S MARK

  The Nauti Boys

  NAUTI SEDUCTRESS

  NAUTI ENCHANTRESS

  NAUTI TEMPTRESS

  NAUTI DECEPTIONS

  NAUTI INTENTIONS

  NAUTI DREAMS

  NAUTI NIGHTS

  NAUTI BOY

  Anthologies

  ENTHRALLED

  (with Alyssa Day, Meljean Brook, and Lucy Monroe)

  NAUTIER AND WILDER

  (with Jaci Burton)

  TIED WITH A BOW

  (with Virginia Kantra, Eileen Wilks, and Kimberly Frost)

  PRIMAL

  (with Michelle Rowen, Jory Strong, and Ava Gray)

  NAUTI AND WILD

  (with Jaci Burton)

  HOT FOR THE HOLIDAYS

  (with Angela Knight, Anya Bast, and Allyson James)

  THE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS CAT

  (with Erin McCarthy, Nalini Singh, and Linda Winstead Jones)

  SHIFTER

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  NAUTI SEDUCTRESS

  Copyright © 2015 by Lora Leigh.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information visit penguin.com.

  An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-19448-9

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley trade paperback edition / November 2015

  Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

  Cover photo by Radius / Superstock.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise for Lora Leigh

  Berkley titles by Lora Leigh

  Title Page

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Something was wrong. It oozed through her senses like an oily presence, determined to overwhelm her, to overtake her. Dark, invisible chains held her in that place between sleep and conscious awareness. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push past the restraints tightening around her.

  Panic raced through her. She knew she had to fight, knew she had to find a way to open her eyes, to force herself to fight. She had to. If she didn’t, then she could die there.

  She had to open her eyes. She had to see who was doing this, had to remember. . . . But she couldn’t force them open, she couldn’t move or fight. With each second the sense of danger grew, wrapping around her with razor-tipped bonds.

  Hurting her.

  Her blood began heating, almost boiling through her veins with so much pain, such agony. It began in her arm, and inch by inch worked along her body until even her brain was on fire.

  She couldn’t scream. Her voice didn’t work, the screams and the pleas couldn’t find a path to emit the tortured sounds reverberating through her head.

  Icy terror ricocheted through her.

  All I have to do is accept it’s real. Just accept it isn’t a dream and the pain will go away. I just have to accept it. It’s not a dream. Accept it, and the pain will stop.

  Just accept it.

  Accept it and I won’t hurt anymore.

  That wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t her thoughts.

  What else could it be? If it wasn’t hers, then what could it be?

  Oh God, the pain!

  It was real. It was really happening. It was real.

  The pain eased marginally. Boiling, lava-hot agony no longer ripped at her senses but the pain was still intense, excruciating.

  She just wanted it to go away.

  —

  The whispers moved around her, voices in her head, or were they in the room with her? Demands that she accept it was real.

  She was accepting. God, yeah, it was real. Every agonizing second of it was real.

  She just couldn’t figure out how it was real. No one should be able to get to her here, at her mother’s inn. Her suite was the safest place she could be. Her mother’s lover, Timothy, was a retired federal agent and revered security gadgets. He would never
allow anyone to hurt her like this. She had to wake up. She had to make it stop.

  Pain exploded through Zoey’s head with the force of a blow connecting with it, sending shards of white-hot agony tearing through it.

  This wasn’t a dream.

  “Fight, Zoey . . .” It was a hiss of sound more than an actual order. “You have to fight. Harley will kill you . . .”

  Harley?

  Why would Harley hurt her?

  “Look at him, Zoey.” That hissing demand was like static at her ear. “Look at him. See Harley. See who’s hurting you, Zoey.”

  Struggling to force her eyes open, she tried to cry out and couldn’t. Tried to deny it was happening.

  Harley was on the bed with her, smiling, his gentle green eyes filled with laughter like they always were. Except he was naked. Naked and aroused and he was pulling at the elastic waistband of her pajama shorts, ripping the side of them, determined to remove them.

  Dizzy, sick to her stomach with pain and confusion, she tried to fight, struggling against the harsh hands tearing at her clothes, ripping them from her and leaving her naked.

  The air surrounding her was icy, sinking through her skin to her bones as she bucked against the hands holding her down.

  Twisting beneath him, she managed to roll from the bed, scrambling to get to her feet, to get to the door of her suite and rush from the room. She had to get away. If she could just get Timothy’s attention, then he’d make Harley stop. He’d find out why her friend was trying to hurt her like this.

  Before she could get to her feet, he tripped her, throwing her to the floor. He flipped her to her back and came over her again. Smiling, always smiling at her.

  A flash of a darker expression, a darker face flickered across Harley’s features. A jagged scar across his eye, a mean, malicious gaze, and eyes that weren’t Harley’s.

  Terror raced through her mind. What was happening to her?

  She kicked, trying to cry, trying to scream . . .

  Oh God, what was happening to her? Why couldn’t she scream? Cry?

  It was like a dream where all sound becomes blocked, unable to struggle free. But it wasn’t a dream.

  Terror resounded in her mind, darkened her vision, and stole consciousness. A deep, black void yawned around her, threatening to pull her into it, to smother her. She was going to die here. If she didn’t fight, then she would die in the darkness.

  Awareness returned seconds later, voices whispering around her, evil, ugly voices.

  “Fight me, Zoey,” Harley demanded, his voice harder, rougher, unrecognizable as he stared down at her with a gentle green gaze despite the hate-filled sound of his voice. “Mackay bitch. Come on, fight me. Maybe I won’t make it hurt so bad. Come on, Zoey, if you don’t fight me I’m going to kill you. I’ll fuck you so deep, so hard, it will kill you.”

  She fought, hoarse, terrified sobs trapped inside her, given no voice but echoing through her head with such terror she felt strangled by it.

  “Come back here, you silly bitch . . .” She managed to kick out at him, struggling to get away from him.

  Why was he doing this? What was happening to him? To her? Why would he hurt her?

  What had she done? Why was he so angry?

  “Bitch. Humiliate me again,” he snarled in that voice so unlike his. “You humiliated me, Zoey.”

  She shook her head desperately, fighting the hands grabbing at her breasts, bruising her nipples as he pulled at them.

  “Bitch. You don’t question me,” he snarled.

  Fury exploded in her head. Fury, terror, and a determination to fight, to defy him. She was a Mackay. He might kill her, but she refused to make it easy for him.

  “No,” she wheezed, so desperate to scream, fighting for enough air to scream until her lungs burned with it. Curling her fingers, enraged growls left her throat as she fought to claw him, to dig her nails into his flesh and rip it open.

  He laughed at her.

  “You going to fight me, little whore? Mackay whore. I’ll make you my whore. You’ll beg me to hurt you, to show you who’s boss.”

  The hell he would. She would die first.

  She would kill him before she let him do something so vile to her.

  Hard hands snagged her ankles, jerking her legs apart again as Harley tried to slide between them.

  He was going to rape her just as he threatened, and no matter how hard she tried, how hard she fought, she couldn’t escape him.

  Harley . . . ?

  His features twisted, flashed from Harley’s face to something else. From Harley’s deep green eyes to cold, pale ice-blue eyes. From Harley’s youthful features, to a flash, so fast it made no sense, to harder, more mature features.

  She fought him, trying to slap him, hit him, fighting to find something, anything to protect herself. As she kicked out at him, her foot caught him high on the thigh, his hold loosening, allowing her to scramble away from him.

  “Fight, bitch,” he growled with such black malevolence it was terrifying. “Fight me. If you don’t fight I’ll just hurt you worse. Go ahead. Kick.”

  Oh God, why was he doing this to her? Harley wouldn’t do this.

  Pain exploded against the side of her head. He hit her. His fist slamming against her skull, scattering her senses.

  Oh God, it hurt so bad.

  He struck her again. An open-handed slap to her face.

  Enraged, furious growls were all she could push past her throat as tears spilled from her eyes.

  “Fight, bitch.”

  She was fighting. Kicking, twisting beneath him, her nails digging furrows into his face, his shoulders.

  “Fight me or I’m going to fuck you, Zoey. Where’s your weapon? Find it, bitch.”

  Find her weapon? What weapon?

  A scream tore from her as he came over her again, moving between her legs, one hand gripping his penis, lining it up between her thighs.

  No, Harley, please. Please no. Sobbing, reaching behind her, she fought to find a weapon.

  “Did you find the knife, Zoey?” Insidious, malicious, that ugly voice whispered through her mind. “It’s right there. It’s right by your hand.”

  Her fingers closed over the hilt of the knife.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Harley snarled. “I’ll rape you until you die, Zoey, and then I’ll kill that fucking Dawg. And his prissy baby girl, Laken? I’ll rape her next. I’ll fuck her until she begs me . . .” His eyes jerked open wide.

  Rage beat at her head, hysteria lashed at her senses. Her fists were beating out at him, slamming against him. He made a gurgling sound, his eyes dimming, turning dull before he fell over to the floor.

  Then she saw the blood.

  So much blood.

  All over her. The knife in her hand, over her naked body, the floor and Harley’s body. It stained the wall, the furniture in her bedroom.

  “Ahh, ahh God . . .” she sobbed, the knife clattering to the floor, terror gouging at her, tearing through her mind, slamming into it with such force that agony resonated through her head and stole her consciousness.

  “You killed me, Zoey,” Harley whispered in that rough, unfamiliar voice, his green eyes lifeless, dull as he stared up at her. “You killed me with that knife. Don’t you ever forget you killed me, Zoey.”

  She stared at him, blood flowing around her like a stream, sticky and hot, washing over her feet, then her ankles as she watched it in horror.

  “Don’t you ever forget, Zoey. Don’t you forget, you killed me . . .”

  Run.

  Run. You have to escape here. Run to Lyrica. Run now. She’ll make sure you’re safe. Find Lyrica . . . Tell her to find Sam. Lyrica has to find Sam. Confess to Sam. Only Lyrica and Sam can save you . . .

  She had to find Lyrica.

  She was so cold and dizzy, her senses rocking, pitching her back and forth until she was throwing up, fighting to remain conscious.

  She couldn’t black out again.

  Not again.
<
br />   “You killed me, Zoey.” She felt something wet wiping over her face, the smell of vomit no longer assaulting her senses. “Why did you kill me, Zoey?”

  “You can’t tell Dawg, Zoey. You can’t tell him you killed me. You know he’ll tell Natches. Remember? Natches said he loved me like a son. I was his protégé. Remember how much Natches loves me, Zoey?”

  Natches did love Harley. They were always hunting and shooting, and Natches said Harley was his heir to . . . To what? She couldn’t remember now. What was he Natches’s heir to?

  The blackout came again, a vicious, agonizing explosion of pain that brought merciful blackness.

  “I’m Natches’s heir,” dark and grating, the voice reminded her again. “Natches will kill you, Zoey. Like he killed his cousin Johnny all those years ago. Natches will kill you. He’ll pop your little head like a grape . . .”

  “No,” she whispered, fighting to drag herself back to awareness. “No. Please . . .”

  “Natches will kill you. Like he killed Johnny when Johnny tried to hurt Christa and Dawg. Remember, Zoey? You heard about it. Cousin Johnny tried to hurt Dawg and Christa and Natches popped his little head with a bullet. You killed me. You killed me, Zoey. Natches will enjoy killing you.”

  Zoey forced her eyes open, blinking, pain raging through her head. She wasn’t in the suite she’d moved into at her mother’s Bed-and-Breakfast Inn any longer. The bedroom where she had killed Harley was gone. Instead, she was propped against the sliding patio door of her sister’s apartment just outside Somerset.

  Lyrica.

  Lyrica would help her. Her sister would help her, and maybe Natches wouldn’t kill her like he killed Johnny. She would find Sam, and she would tell Sam what happened. Sam would make sure Natches didn’t kill her.

  “Lyrie.” She tried to knock at the door her head rested against.

  The glass was cool against her temple but did nothing to help the pain. Her head felt scrambled, as if pieces had been rearranged inside it, leaving her with a feeling of disassociation and complete terror.

  “Lyrie, please help me . . .” She tried to knock again, her voice hoarse, weak as she lay at her sister’s doorstep.

  How had she gotten there?

  Her breath hitched as sobs tried to escape yet still lay trapped inside her. She couldn’t scream or cry. Her voice was so raw and she was so weak. She wanted a drink of water so bad, but her stomach was still pitching, threatening to be sick again.