by Bonnie Dee
Perfecting Amanda
The Valentine Effect
Coming Soon:
The Final Act
Empath
The camera took one last photo, one last still frame of a woman in the throes of abandon. And then it was silent, all its frames exposed, all of her secrets contained within one deceptively small, simple black box.
Captured
© 2007 Anna J. Evans
The year is 1897, and twenty-three-year-old Lillian Thomas possesses one of the first Kodak cameras. Despite Boston society’s belief that women should be seen and not heard—and certainly never photographed in the nude—she is determined to proceed with a series of erotic self-portraits. Portraits that she hopes will lure the object of her darkest fantasies to her bed, and scandal to her name.
Alexander Darian can scarcely believe the girl he once knew has become a woman capable of such abandon. He knows the instant he lays eyes on the photographs of Lillian that he must have her, in every wicked way he imagines. No matter that her father has done his best to ruin Alexander, or that memories of their childhood romance have haunted him for longer than he cares to admit.
But passion isn’t as easily manipulated as either lover assumes, and soon they begin to wonder—who is casting the net of seduction and who will find themselves captured?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Captured:
“Let the sheet slide off your other shoulder, expose the other breast now.” Alexander’s voice was muffled by the camera he stood behind, but Lillian had no trouble hearing his directive. She did, however, have a great deal of trouble resisting the urge to tell the bastard exactly what he could do with his overbearing attitude.
“Of course.” Her voice was remarkably calm, considering the mix of rage and maddening desire that thrummed through her body as she obeyed his command.
“Not so much. Try to tease, not simply bare yourself.” Alexander sighed, but snapped a picture all the same. “We’re looking to seduce the viewer, Lillian, not merely give him a refresher course on the female anatomy.”
She wanted to kill him. No, on second thought, she wanted to lay him naked on a hill of fire ants, let them sting his flesh for hours, and then kill him. Instead she forced a seductive smile.
“He might also be a she, Zander. We women do enjoy erotic photographs, as well.” Lillian shifted slightly on the settee and tried to think sensual thoughts rather than homicidal ones. She rearranged the sheet until only the barest hint of each nipple was showing and her long braid hung down over one shoulder, nearly covering the aureole of her left breast.
“Better.” He said the words begrudgingly and turned to rearrange several of the dozen electric lamps. Amazingly they hadn’t blown a fuse as yet, but it was only a matter of time. Zander had a specially made light as large as a street lamp running, as well as the smaller lamps. They were surely only minutes from an overload.
Then they would be sitting in darkness together, alone in the business district after all the other shopkeepers had run home. There would be no one to hear the man scream when she pounced upon him like a wild animal and—
And what?
She’d brought this on herself by pretending she wanted something other than her true desire. How could she fault Zander for giving her exactly what she’d asked for? Deception was most assuredly a sin that cut both ways.
“Focus, Lillian. If you want to have a sufficient portfolio to send to Paris by the end of the month, you can’t drift away each time I stop to rearrange the lights.”
Or maybe she could fault him, the bastard. He’d kissed her on the beach, touched her intimately and given the clear impression that they would be doing more tonight than merely playing photographer and subject. Damn it, the man had even mentioned something about “lessons”, bringing to mind all those deliciously naughty tales of schoolgirls turned over their tutor’s knee.
She’d moved heaven and earth to sneak out of the house and down to his studio tonight, not to mention spent a good chunk of pocket money bribing the scullery maid. He would do more than take her picture tonight. Her plan to make the man wait had been out the window hours ago. She would lose her virginity tonight, and Zander would be the man to permanently rid her of the last of her innocence.
“I’m sorry, Zander,” Lillian said, an idea sparking in her fertile imagination. “Perhaps I’m having trouble because I don’t know what I should be thinking about.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve never been with a man in that way. How would I know how to go about seducing him with my eyes, or anything else for that matter?” Lillian arranged her face in her most innocent expression, even as one hand idly fingered the edge of the sheet near her tightened nipple.
Feeling his eyes on her, knowing she was nude for the first time in front of a man—this man—had kept her in a state of dizzying arousal for hours. It was likely near midnight, and her muscles ached from posing for him, but her wicked lust only grew more vicious. She desperately needed relief, and was determined that he would be the one to give it to her.
“I think you’re doing a fairly good job.” A smile quirked at the edge of his lips, but his eyes were dark and humorless as he snapped another picture.
“I am? Are you speaking as a man, or as a photographer?” Lillian held his gaze, nearly losing the ability to draw breath as those brown eyes seemed to stare straight through her, past the boundaries of her skin to the secrets of her very soul.
“Very well, Lillian.” His voice was frighteningly soft as he fetched the lens cap for his camera and slipped it into place. “I was going to wait until I felt we’d taken at least a dozen appropriate photographs, but if you are so eager to advance to the payment portion of the evening, I’m willing to oblige.”
“Payment?” What in the world was he up to? Surely he didn’t mean to blackmail her for money? The Zander she had known would never do such a thing, and this older, harder version of that boy had no need for money from the look of his home and studio. Perhaps he’d merely forgotten that she couldn’t afford to pay him. “But I told you, Zander, I don’t have—”
“Lesson number one. Nothing in the world is given freely, Lillian. This is something you must learn before you strike out alone. There are many out there who would lure you in with promises of friendship, only to pull out a marker later and demand all that you own. Never sign anything, never take a loan of money or service without consulting a lawyer or trusted advisor first.” As he walked toward her, he slowly slipped off his coat and then moved his fingers to the buttons on the vest beneath.
Tess Starling is willing to risk everything—and offer anything—to avenge her father’s death.
Carnal Deceptions
© 2007 Scottie Barrett
Available now at Samhain Publishing
Upon leaving her father’s gravesite, Tess spies creditors confiscating the finery of her first London Season. But her gowns will do little to satisfy her father’s debts. Fleet Prison awaits her. Tess dons a homely disguise, cloaking herself in mourning weeds. She is determined to evade the authorities until she brings to justice the swindler who ruined her father. Resolute in her quest, she will transform anew, reinventing herself as a temptress to seduce the villain. She only wants for hands-on training, but the man who volunteers proves too much of a distraction. Everything about Tallon Hawkes, the Earl of Marcliffe, fascinates, including the battle scars marking his body. A motivated pupil, Tess yields eagerly to his sexual demands.
Long before he discovers the sensuous female beneath the layers of black crepe…long before he discovers the brilliant copper-colored tresses hidden by the ratty wig…long before he tastes the sweetness of her skin, Tallon Hawkes’ heart has been hooked. Tallon plays along with Tess’s scheme, but he is distrustful and jealous of her obsession with their shared enemy. Tallon is determined to bring her dangerous game to an end. But will his arrogant maneuver lose him any chance with Tess?
Enjoy the following excerpt
for Carnal Deceptions:
The next morning, Tess woke to find herself tangled in her blankets. She’d been dreaming of satin and silk and erotic couplings. The explicit pictures that Miss Midwinter had shown her were branded on her brain. A woman bound with ropes, lifting her bottom in offering as she waited for the man to plunge into her. A woman servicing three men at once. Miss Midwinter had added her own narrative, describing the sexual acts depicted so graphically Tess had been forced to open the window to the chill morning air to cool her cheeks. All her lessons lacked were practice. Her dreams had revealed a deep hunger for that real experience. Unfortunately, in every dream Lord Marcliffe was the man she explored with her mouth and hands and body. She’d slid satin over the smooth skin of his chest until it snagged on the rough scars of his shoulder. More shockingly, she’d followed the trail of the fabric with her open mouth, her tongue tracing every ridge.
Frustrated, she threw her bedclothes aside. She stepped naked out of bed and bathed herself at the washstand. After patting herself dry, she opened the wardrobe and peered into a dark and empty hole. Not even her chemise hung there. She searched the floor, shook out the bedclothes, got on her knees to peer under the bed and found nothing, not a stitch. Even the flannel gown she’d thrown off in the night was gone. She wrapped herself in a blanket. Opening the door a crack, she called for help. No one answered. Her pleas seemed to echo off the walls.
Tess stepped into the hallway and raced down the stairs. There was a queer emptiness to the house. She shivered as her bare feet touched the cold tile floor of the entrance hall. With the heavy blanket dragging behind her, she entered the dining room. No weak tea or burnt toast awaited her. She pushed open the kitchen door expecting to see Mrs. Smith’s smiling face, only to find another vacant room. Afraid now, she hurried up the stairs to Lady Stadwell’s bedchamber. The door was ajar. She found the wardrobe empty as well as the bureau drawers.
She’d been deserted. She could not go into the yard naked, but she was certain what she would find there. No gardeners, no grooms, and the stable cleared of all horses.
Without question, she knew exactly who had executed this plan, who’d evacuated the house right under her nose. Trembling with fury, she returned to her chamber. Why not take advantage and luxuriate in bed for once? First she fluffed the pillow but then decided to give it a good pounding, until feathers burst from its seams. She settled back on the now flattened pillow, but finding rest in her agitated state proved impossible. With a scream of vexation, she kicked the covers to the floor then with a muttered oath stooped to retrieve the blanket. She had yet to explore Mrs. Smith’s room. Determined to thwart the fiendish earl, Tess lit a candle and ascended the servants’ stairs. The flame fluttered eerily in the narrow hallway. Muttering a plea for fortune to turn in her favor, she entered the low-ceilinged room. The doors on the small wardrobe were agape, and the barren interior that greeted her seemed a purposeful taunt. Not even a blasted apron remained.
Sparked by another idea, she raced downstairs to see if the mudroom that adjoined the kitchen held at least a rain cloak. The hooks were empty. The bastard had been ruthlessly thorough. If he wanted rid of her so badly, why hadn’t he left her some clothing? Clearly, he wished to see her completely humiliated.
She stomped through the empty house. In the parlor, she clutched at the faded damask drapery, thinking to yank the curtains from the wall, but the curtain rod was too heavy and well-seated. She would have to take scissors to the fabric. It was an inspiration with little chance of success. Her skills as a seamstress were negligible. Besides, it would take her forever to create a garment. She glanced out the window at the stables. Though the house was somewhat isolated, certain angles of the yard could be spied from the road, and Tess did not have the courage to go outside mantled only in a blanket. When night fell, she’d fetch the ladder from the barn. She would explore the attic for moth-eaten garments. Surely there had to be remnants of other generations stored. Unable to occupy her mind with reading or anything remotely productive, she curled up on the settee to wait for dusk.
The sky was just starting to gray, the gloomy veil of night dropping, when the front door slammed. Tess flew off the settee and raced into the entrance hall, her bare feet skidding on the slick marble, to find the devil himself, with the two huge mastiffs at his heels. He gave her a placid smile as he pulled off his leather gloves. What was he up to? She didn’t trust a hair on his black head.
“W-What is going on? Where is everyone?” she stammered, completely flustered by the idea of being alone with him.
“They left early, just before the sun. I had the cook accompany Lady Stadwell in the carriage so that people would think you’d left with her.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you do that?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch and he immediately pressed his fingers to his temples.
Though he appeared stone cold sober, he was suffering the aftereffects of a week of imbibing. His skin was paler than usual and in stark contrast to his black hair. “Because people talk. And since we are just beginning this venture, I felt there was no need to stir up rumors.”
Tess pulled the wool blanket tighter, scratching her bare skin. She had never felt so vulnerable. She blinked up in confusion at the most intimidating man she’d ever known. She was at his mercy. Lady Stadwell had abandoned her.
“Is there some reason—” With effort, she squelched the urge to rain curses down on him “—why I have nothing to wear?” Her voice vibrated with fury.
He shrugged. “The dressmaker will have some of your wardrobe completed by the week’s end. In the meantime, you won’t need any clothing.”
“I suppose I’m to lock myself in my room naked until she arrives?”
“No, I expect you to stay in my room naked for the week.”
She couldn’t have understood him correctly. “Pardon?”
“If I’m to hire you for my aunt’s dubious scheme, I’d like to see just how capable you are.”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“I intend to fuck you, Miss Calloway.”
Lord Marcliffe was studying her a little too carefully. She suspected he was expecting she’d lose her nerve. He casually combed back his windblown hair with his fingers. How on earth could someone be that handsome and that cruel? “I detest you!”
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