The Charade

The Charade

EcstasyBook 2

Waking up naked with a dead man at her side and a bloody dagger in her hand was not what Ciarra Storm expected from a night on the town. When every bit of evidence points to her, she panics. In the year 2106, criminals are incarcerated on the Moon. She flees and takes on another person’s identity—an identity that forces her to travel to Ecstasy Island. Nothing can prepare her when she discovers the woman she is masquerading as has signed up for a two-week course in BDSM. Nor is she prepared for the man in charge of ensuring that she gets her money’s worth.

Shawn Thorenson enjoys pleasure and Ecstasy Island is his playground. But something is missing in his life. Until he meets the beautiful, strong-willed Ciarra—or Kitty as he knows her. She’s the “something”, the woman he’s been searching for.

But secrets have a way of coming out, and Shawn’s determination to uncover Kitty’s leads to a shocking revelation when a murderer strikes on Ecstasy Island—a deadly assassin whose name might turn out to be Ciarra Storm.

Note: This book contains a scene of female/female sexual interaction.


Note for Readers: You must be of legal age in your country of origin to read this excerpt.

Wrists bound to a St. Andrews Cross, she gasped as the man’s strong hands pried her legs apart at the ankles, spreading her wide, exposing her naked body to intense scrutiny. His dark gaze burned into her calf, slowly up her knee to her thigh, pausing at the small patch of curls that matched her flaming red hair.

“Excuse me.” She attempted to sound indignant, but came off somewhat feeble.

His pupils dilated.

A bottomless rumble surfaced from deep in his throat. For a moment the man sounded inhuman—wild, dangerous. When he pulled his gaze to hers, she swore his irises shimmered.

And oh, God, she was his bound prey. There was no escape, no freedom in sight.

Damn Tatiana for not explaining what was going to happen to her. The room had looked so innocent, clean with sky blue walls and a large X-shaped cross placed in the middle of the wooden floor. She hadn’t fought the woman when she bound Ciarra’s wrists to the crucifix, only asking why. Again the woman refused to answer. Soft steps echoed off the wooden floor as she’d moved away, pushing a button on the controller she held. The scraping of metal and wood sounded as the east wall rotated, revealing what looked strangely like an invitation into hell. Whips, chains, ropes, and other menacing-looking devices were hanging from the wall. Before Ciarra could speak, Tatiana disappeared, leaving her alone—that was, until the three Thorenson brothers entered.

Ciarra’s body reacted immediately to Master Shawn’s presence. Her nipples beaded into tight nubs, her pussy grew hot and wet. She needed him to touch her, take her into his safe embrace. Indifferent, he had stood like a statue, refusing to look her way.

The older of the brothers, Master Tor, had explained, “Per your request, Master Terrance will be your Master.” Who happened to be the hulking monster between her legs, she discovered with displeasure. “However, rest assured that all three of us will service you one way or another.” His grin was one of confidence and delight.

Now how was a girl supposed to take that?

Ciarra attempted to jerk her leg away, stop Master Terrace, but his iron grip never wavered.

Desperately, she tried to quell the tremors, the way her voice broke on each breath when he fastened her foot to the cool wood behind her. But damn it, she was scared. Way over her head. It was one thing to fantasize about bondage, another to actually take part in the flight of fancy.

As the final silk rope slithered across her ankle, Ciarra’s last free limb, a sliver of fear iced her veins. This latest misjudgment was minutes away from the biggest mistake of her lifetime. Or perhaps the second biggest mistake, the first being the event that delivered her to this point.

I never should have run. But would the outcome have been any better? No—no, surely it would not have. No one would have believed her innocent of murder. Hell, given the facts, she’d convict herself.

Ciarra pressed her eyelids tightly together. For a moment darkness embraced her. The warm sensation of being alone, of being miles away from this place, this man, surfaced. Then sharp lights splintered as visions of dark red blood, so much blood, and the dagger in her hand slipping slowly from her palm, falling and crashing to the floor. The loud clunk of metal against marble shook her.

Nausea struck with a vengeance. Acids churned, rolling like an angry sea. Her back arched, revolting against her bindings, forcing her eyes to pop open only to meet the predatory gleam of her captor.

Perfectly sculpted lips curled into a snarl revealing perfect white teeth just like his brothers’. A bright light flickered in his hungry eyes. He was enjoying her fear.

The knowledge was a cold shower shocking Ciarra’s system, awakening her anger, which reminded her who she was—or who she was supposed to be anyway.

She felt some of her bravado peek from beneath the curtain it had hightailed to when all this crap had begun. She was a high-powered copyeditor. She knew how to maneuver around shark-infested waters. She could handle these men. Her gaze darted to Master Shawn. His face was etched in stone, but her heart still jumped. There was something about him. Something her body recognized, but her mind refused to acknowledge.

No. There was no time for romantic entanglements. She was in a shitload of trouble and a man would only be a complication. She pushed thoughts of the gorgeous hunk across the room aside and focused on the one before her.

In fact, someone should tell these arrogant men that the little white skirt and sash of material thrown over one shoulder was outdated. If her memory served her it was called a toga. They weren’t in Rome and it was the twenty-second century after all. But damn if it didn’t give her a good look at their bronze chests, biceps and strong, powerfully built calves laced with brown leather from their toes to their knees.

Yeow! Another time, another place she would have loved to discover what was hidden beneath all that white and gold trim material. Now that was an idea that would merit blowing their skirts up.

“Release me, you son of a bitch!” she demand firmly, but her tone lacked conviction. Nevertheless, that is exactly how the rich-bitch from California would have reacted toward this man dressed like a Greek god from the pages of a history book. Not to mention Master Shawn and Master Tor stood across the dungeon, voyeurs and carbon copies of the man resting at her feet.

A bulging vein ticked in Master Terrance’s neck. Slowly, the blond Adonis rose to his feet. A thumb and forefinger stroked his chin once. His warm breath fanned Ciarra’s face. “You have earned your first punishment.” The low tenor of his voice promised retribution.

A gust of disbelief pushed from her tight lungs. “Punishment?” It was hard taking control of the situation naked, bound, spread-eagled, but she had to do something. “Have you forgotten who I am? Who is paying the bill? You work for me, buddy.”

Hey, that sounded pretty good. Confidence burst throughout Ciarra, raising her chin sharply. She would show this man who was boss. “I’ve had enough.” Her eyes narrowed and met his steely gaze. “This isn’t what I anticipated.”