Sexpionage

by Lesley E. Hal

  Dear Reader:

  Lesley E. Hal’s Sexpionage is sure to thrill readers as it lives up to its title: intrigue, suspense and plenty of sex. It’s a steamy mix of erotica and ecstasy with the plot of a detective novel.

  Voluptuous Bianca Brooks finds herself in a compromising situation once she wakes up in a Dallas hotel room with a dead man, later revealed as a criminal mastermind. Not only is the man a stranger, but her last recollection was that she was in Paris. The scene leads her to become a storyteller to the FBI whose top mission is to find Bianca’s lover, Jordan Lei aka The Tarantula, wanted for serious crimes all over the world. Known to use women to accomplish his illegal activities, it appears Bianca also falls into his trap as he knocks her off her feet and whom she finds irresistible. She can’t seem to get enough of him, so she stays in his web, becoming entangled in a world of crime and secret missions covering the globe. No matter where Jordan’s next move leads to, Bianca is compelled to accompany him while simultaneously trying to keep her fledgling events planning company, Pleasure Principles, afloat. This novel with international appeal, daring adventures and shady characters is full of twists and turns, and loaded with surprises that will keep you guessing.

  As always, thanks for supporting myself and the Strebor Books family. We strive to bring you the most cutting-edge, out-of-the-box material on the market. You can find me on Facebook @AuthorZane or you can email me at zane@eroticanoir.com.

  Blessings,

  Publisher

  Strebor Books

  www.simonandschuster.com

  Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

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  Credit of this accomplishment goes to my beautiful beloved mother, Dora L. Hal, who is now my angel. It’s been a hard few years, but I think I’m ready to get back to living and making you even more proud of me. I’ll miss, love and cherish you always.

  Prologue

  When I woke up, my head ached as if I were having open brain surgery without any anesthesia. My hand instinctively went to the back of my head, causing me to wince when I came in contact with a big, nasty lump. Disoriented, and reeking of alcohol, I found it difficult to remember what had taken place the previous night. The pain intensified as my eyes acclimated to the sunlight that flooded into the room. A quick peek under the crisp, white linens revealed that I was completely naked. As I investigated my surroundings, the Dallas skyline loomed outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was then that I realized that I wasn’t in Paris anymore . . . nor was I in bed alone.

  Headache notwithstanding, and suddenly filled with excitement, I shook Jordan’s shoulder to get him to wake up. I must’ve been drunk out of my mind not to remember the earth-shattering, sex-filled night that I knew we’d had. Playtime for us was always filled with so much passion and necessary roughness which hopefully, would explain the bump on the back of my head. I was so busy trying to wake him that I didn’t notice that his skin felt cold and clammy. As I rolled him onto his back ready to straddle him, it was then that I looked into his face and saw that his glossy eyes were wide open and his pupils dilated. My eyes doubled in size as I gaped at the gruesome discovery. The man in my bed wasn’t Jordan. I wanted to scream, but it felt as if my vocal cords had been paralyzed.

  Somehow I managed to get out of the bed and really take in my surroundings. I was in a hotel room—that much I’d gathered from the insignia on the comforter. What I didn’t understand was how I had gotten here when the last place I remembered being was in Paris. The room had been destroyed as if there had been a struggle. Upon closer inspection of my not-so guest of honor, there was no denying the single gunshot entry that left a small hole in the middle of his forehead. Blood blanketed the left side of his pillow and had leaked down the side of the bed. A few droplets had made it onto the floor. I couldn’t bear to look at him or the crimson-soaked pillow as he stared into nothingness with those haunting, vacant eyes. Panic gripped me as I frantically tried to figure out what the hell was going on. None of this made any sense. I had to get dressed and get the hell out of dodge. Unfortunately, no sooner than I had that thought, the doors to the suite flew open. The room was immediately filled with the Dallas SWAT, FBI and police.

  “Get on the floor now!” shouted a big, burly chick who sounded and looked like a man.

  “But I didn’t do anything!” I protested as I was manhandled and thrown face-first onto the floor.

  Someone put their knee in the small of my back. “Ouch! Is this even necessary?”

  My arms were pinned tightly behind me as another person roughly slapped the handcuffs on. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Can’t you see that I’m being framed?” My pleas fell on deaf ears as I was yanked back onto my feet.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you,” the big bitch that screamed for me to drop to the floor stated as she Mirandized me. Her eyes gleamed approval as she discreetly licked her chapped lips while taking in my bare breasts and then the rest of my nakedness.

  “Wanda!” a black male with mesmerizing gray eyes called out.

  Man-chick stopped her gawking long enough to give him her attention. “What is it now, Agent Carter?” She rolled her eyes not bothering to hide her annoyance.

  He handed her my discarded clothing. “Don’t you think you should have her to get dressed first?”

  She signaled for the assisting officer to uncuff me and shoved my clothing into my hands. “Here! Put these on.”

  As I was being led out of the suite flanked by Agent Carter and another officer, a familiar face appeared within the crowd of spectating hotel guests and staff. Her show-stopping beauty and confidence caused them to stop leading me to where-the-hell-ever as she introduced herself to them as my attorney.

  A Month Later

  I sat in a dull and gloomy interrogation room filled with nothing but married, sex-deprived-ass men who all wore badges. The only other woman present was my attorney, Aliyah S. Talal. Having her on my side meant a distraction for various reasons. Men were mesmerized and distracted by the hourglass-shaped Arabian goddess with sparkling emerald eyes. They overlooked that the shrewd, ruthless vixen knew her way around the law among other things. When it came to beautiful women, men couldn’t care less about her fancy degrees or the intelligence she harbored. All that interested them was getting to sample a taste of what was between her legs.

  But today, all eyes were on me and with good reason. I was caught in a hotel room with a corpse who was later identified as Sherman Val Easterman, a known mastermind who was wanted in twelve states for various crimes. All evidence found against me was circumstantial, of course. There was never a weapon recovered. I’d never had a run-in with the law, but they were wrong. As far as they knew, I had no reason to harm the deceased. No motive whatsoever, but I couldn’t afford the bad press that this could bring. That would mean allowing Pleasure Principles, my premier event planning company, and all of the hard work of creating it, go down the drain. My staff depended on me for their livelihoods. They shouldn’t have been made to suffer because of my extracurricular activities.

  The reason I was even being incorporated into this mess was because I was linked to a man who had committed some serious crimes against banks and
other fine establishments all over the world. Per my attorney, I was to dress to tease for the occasion. I wore a gray, pinstriped, mid-thigh-length skirt suit with a split that gave a tantalizing view of my sexy legs. To soften it up, I’d added a pink ruffled blouse that showcased my cleavage beautifully along with a white gold chain and diamond, heart-shaped pendant. Without much effort, the pendant found its resting place between my luscious double-Ds whenever I moved. Then back to hard and killing it with the finale: a pair of the fiercest stilettos to ever walk the earth. My makeup as always was flawless, as well as the God-given tresses that flowed nicely down my back. I slowly licked my luscious lips with the intention of toying with FBI Special Agent in Charge Garza and his crew. I gave the horny bastards a seductive toss of my honey-highlighted hair, a movement that displayed a little extra cleavage as intended. The necklace did its job superbly by nestling itself between my breasts. Without even having to look in the mirror, I knew it was a beautiful sight from the way they were all salivating. I repositioned myself in the chair and slowly crossed my shapely legs. In doing so, the men all received a bird’s-eye view of heaven.

  This wasn’t lost on Special Agent Garza as he gathered his composure to start his so-called interview that was really an interrogation. “Ms. Brooks, I’m not playing any games with you. You’re lucky that we’re even giving you this opportunity after being caught in the predicament that you were. Now unless you talk, you may as well kiss your fucking freedom goodbye.”

  “You mean a predicament where everything is circumstantial, don’t you, Agent Garza? My client was drug tested and it was discovered that she was under the influence of Rohypnol and other substances, which are used to impair a person’s memory and render them unconscious. Not to mention that no weapon was ever recovered proving that Ms. Brooks wasn’t the one that caused Mr. Easterman’s demise,” Aliyah spoke out of turn.

  He ignored her and looked at me trying to put on the persona of a bad cop. “Now are you going to talk or what, Ms. Brooks?”

  His tough-guy bravado didn’t scare me one bit. Instead of quivering in fear, I took advantage of the situation using my best God-given weapon . . . feminine wiles.

  “Did you say my . . . fucking freedom?” I leaned back a little further and crossed my legs to the other side. “Oh my goodness, the injustice of it all.”

  The Special Agent in Charge turned beet red. “I’m going to ignore that last remark, Ms. Brooks, but let me tell you a thing or two about your so-called knight in shining armor. The NSA has listed him as one of the most dangerous hackers in America and it doesn’t stop there. The FBI has placed him on the most wanted list for a shit load of other federal crimes he’s committed. Jordan Lei aka The Tarantula uses people, mainly naïve women who are foolish enough to think that he gives a rat’s ass about them to do his dirty work.” Agent Garza got in my face. “I bet you thought you were the exception, didn’t ya? You’re nothing to him but a—”

  My lawyer banged her fist down on the table. “You will refrain from insulting or threatening my client, or this meeting is over. Take what you can get because my client sure as hell is taking the full immunity granted in return for her cooperation. So you decide, agent, how do you want this to play out?”

  Agent Garza glared at my attorney. If looks could kill, well, let’s just say that at that moment, she would’ve been drawing her last breath. “I’m going to press record on this video recorder . . .” he said, ignoring Aliyah, “which makes this official and on the books, Ms. Brooks.”

  “Of course, but first, I’d like a glass of iced water. And when I say glass, Agent Garza . . . that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “This is not Club Med for crying out loud! From the way I see it, you’re gonna have to settle for either a Styrofoam cup or a bottled water.”

  Aliyah stopped him again. “Given how big of a deal this is and not to mention the risks my client is taking, I don’t think a glass of water would be too much trouble for one of your agents here to handle.”

  I could tell by the way he gritted his teeth that Agent Garza was trying his best not to lose his temper as he gave the order to grant my request.

  A few short minutes later, the agent who went out to comply with my request returned. “I hope this will do, found this set in the break room.”

  I was given a crystal pitcher of iced water accompanied by a matching flute. After pouring a glass full, I gingerly took a much-needed sip, making sure to put on a show. After taking the glass away from my matted fire-engine-red painted lips, the room grew silent. I produced an ice cube from my mouth sucking it slowly and allowing the cold water to drip onto my exposed cleavage. I then used the same ice cube to caress my neck allowing a whimper of a moan to escape from between my lips. My lawyer was doing her best not to laugh at the drooling fools sitting around the table. From the looks on their loopy faces, I knew they envisioned me sucking their dicks with the same amount of passion.

  I took in a deep breath. “Umm . . . that was . . . so . . . satisfying. Thank you,” I whispered breathlessly.

  Agent Garza cleared his throat. “Ms. Brooks, enough with the shenanigans already.” He loosened his tie and turned on the recorder. “State your name and the relationship you have with The Tarantula.”

  Showtime! I uncrossed and crossed my legs again for good measure. “I’m Bianca Brooks, the girlfriend of Jordan Lei, whom you all refer to as The Tarantula,” I stated for the record.

  Agent Garza leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Umm . . . okay! I don’t know if it was love or the intoxicating sex that had me so caught up. The things this man would make me do to be rewarded with the most scrumptious dick I’d ever had the pleasure of knowing is—”

  “Ms. Brooks!” Agent Garza interrupted.

  “Umm . . . ahem . . . okay! Like, for example, I did something that wouldn’t make mama proud just to meet him in Aspen, Colorado for an unforgettable weekend at one of his friends’ lavish chalets in the mountains.” Then I abruptly stopped. “I want to make one thing clear before I go on. Do not, and I repeat, do not try and assassinate Jordan’s character. Trust me, when I say, that would be a lost cause. Please, understand that despite everything, I love the man I fell for. The fact that I’m about to reveal intimate details, should be proof enough that I’m more than willing to stick to my end of the bargain.” Once I saw that he caught my drift, I began telling an entire room filled with strangers about the most gratifying, yet tumultuous, eleven months of my life with the man they called The Tarantula.

  Chapter 1

  I’d met Jordan at a banker’s convention in Chicago. The chemistry between us that night would not be denied. When I saw him enter the room, I dropped my champagne flute, obviously due to being rendered speechless. As you can imagine, my mouth had other ideas as it hung shamelessly wide open. Vain as always, my friend Shelia placed a napkin under my chin to catch any runaway drool. Jordan was a mouthwatering, muscled-bound caramel god that stood a towering six foot seven inches. Needless to say, he took my breath away. His slanted brown eyes took precedence over his prominent Nubian King features and gave way to his Chinese lineage. His Caesar cut was an ocean of dark waves attached to sideburns that were anchored by a deep set of dimples that masked his devious intentions well.

  “Girl, are you okay?” Shelia shook me out of my daydream when she used the napkin to dab at the corners of my mouth.

  I licked my lips to make sure they were still glossy and captivating. “I am now.”

  Shelia followed my line of sight and soon become entranced in his magnificence herself. “Damn, girl, I was about to light into your ass about this champagne you spilled on my Choos, but I’mma let you make it, though. Oomph! Oomph! Oomph! They don’t make ’em like that anymore, do they?” She continued to stare dreamily.

  “No, they don’t.” I agreed without taking my eyes off of the man who had imprisoned my soul.

  We both stared at the object of our
affection as he made small talk with several of the bigwigs in the banking industry. Working the room like a smooth operator, he made it a point to shake each of their hands as he regaled them in conversation. His eye contact was on point as he wore a look of poise instead of intimidation. As if he’d put a spell on the entire ballroom, everyone seemed to be enthralled by his urbane good looks and air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Everyone, no matter their position, wanted to make his acquaintance, but none more so than me.

  I glanced over at my competition to size her up. Shelia was the woman to have if you preferred the trying-too-hard type. She was beyond gorgeous and had the most beautiful butterscotch skin that I’d ever seen on anyone without makeup. Her crowning glory, however, was her head full of bouncy cinnamon natural curls streaked with caramel-blond highlights. The hairstyle and color made her appear angelic-like until you got to know her. She stood five feet three inches with the Coke-bottle shape that celebrities paid thousands to have—but not Shelia; she got hers courtesy of her evil-ass mama. With all of those attributes going for her, the one drawback were her crooked-ass teeth, also inherited from her mama. Thankfully, Shelia was correcting that problem with braces, but problem with that was who wanted metal scraping up against their dick and skinning them alive? I guess she either never heard of, or was just too cheap to go with Invisalign. As usual, Shelia dressed like a woman on the prowl va-va-voom style and leaving very little to the imagination. Her butt looked like it was about to pop the seams of her form-fitted, black satin cocktail dress. As for me, I’m a natural born sex kitten. I don’t require all of the cosmetic bells and whistles that women are dying to have these days. You see, I ooze seduction—smooth, café au lait, blemish-free complexion; oval-shaped, chestnut-colored eyes, an hourglass figure, legs for days and ample bosom.