by Jasmine Hill
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
The King of Infierno
ISBN # 978-1-78430-633-5
©Copyright Jasmine Hill 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2015
Edited by Faith Bicknell-Brown
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 3.
Totally Five Star: Madrid
THE KING OF INFIERNO
Jasmine Hill
The King always gets what he wants—and he wants Makayla.
Makayla Carrington is innocent and inexperienced…until she meets Donovan King. When the King decides that he wants Makayla, he whisks her away to the Totally Five Star Hotel in Madrid, and he’ll do anything to protect her from his clandestine BDSM activities.
All too soon, Makayla discovers Donovan’s secret, then Makayla decides that she wants something too—to be Donovan’s submissive.
A rivalry arises when an ex of Donovan’s decides that she wants him back and the woman will stop at nothing to fulfill her aim. But Donovan will do anything to protect his relationship with Makayla, and time is of the essence if he wants to keep her.
Dedication
To my husband.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Canal+: Groupe Canal+
Commodore: General Motors
Lexus: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha
Google: Google, Inc.
Bollinger Champagne: Societe Bollinger and Co.
Jimmy Choo: J. Choo Limited
iPod: Apple, Inc.
Sacrifice: Aghast
Armani’s, Aqua Di Gio
Mercedes: Daimler AG
Batman: DC Comics
Cat Woman: DC Comics
GPS: The United States Government
BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft
Mezzanine: Massive Attack and Virgin Records
Calvin Klein: Calvin Klein Trademark Trust
Zippo: Zippmark, Inc.
Prada: Prada S.A.
Luis Vuitton: Louis Vuitton Malletier S.A.
Vans: A VF Company
Chapter One
Donovan King had never before laid eyes on such a beautiful creature. She looked like an angel. Her golden hair tumbled in careless waves past her shoulders. Her plump, cherry red lips looked lush and full. But it was her eyes that mesmerized him. Even behind those thick, black-rimmed glasses, her eyes were the first feature he noticed. A color that he’d heard about but had never actually seen on someone in the flesh—violet eyes. There were purple smudges under them, the only thing marring her lovely features, indicating a weariness that someone so young should never have to endure.
A threadbare, baggy jumper and a long floral skirt hid most of her figure, but he could tell, even under her shapeless clothing, that she was slender, too slender. Her wrist that poked out of one floppy sleeve was so pale and delicate that he imagined the simplest flick of his fingers could snap it in two—the thought sent a cold jolt through him.
He peered out of the window of the service station and studied the cars, his gaze alighting on a beat-up old Commodore that had definitely seen better days. He’d bet his left arm that the car was hers. Anger suffused him. How could anyone allow this young woman to drive such a deathtrap? Didn’t she have anyone looking out for her interests? He shuddered to think what could happen to her if she ever broke down alone and at night.
Donovan snapped his gaze back to the woman, her increasingly frantic movements drawing his attention once more. She looked panicked and had ducked her head to rummage through a shabby handbag.
He looked past her to the service station attendant who kept drumming his fingers impatiently. Donovan lowered his gaze to a crumpled five-dollar note and a few coins scattered on the counter.
The angel looked up, her face flushed, hands shaking. “I know I have it. Just a moment.”
Her sexy voice, husky and low, hit him like a sledgehammer. It was deeper than he’d expected and sent hot desire unfurling in his belly.
A gruff cough from farther back in the growing line spurred Donovan into action. One long stride brought him level with the counter. “How much?” he snarled at the attendant.
“Ten bucks.”
Donovan threw a ten-dollar note onto the counter and scooped up the money the woman had already deposited there. He grasped one of her delicate hands in his and tugged her gently away from the other customers.
He realized just how petite she was when he drew her close. She stared up at him, her violet eyes wide behind those ugly glasses. The flush on her cheeks intensified as she visibly struggled to regain her composure.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she murmured in that husky voice.
Fuck! Did she just call me sir? His testosterone levels flew into hyperdrive.
“I know I have the money in here somewhere.” She opened her handbag and recommenced rummaging through it.
Donovan placed a hand on her arm, stilling her frantic movements.
“Don’t apologize. Plea
se, I was happy to help.” He thrust the money he’d reclaimed from the attendant into her hand.
“Oh, thank you, but I can’t possibly accept,” she said.
“You can and you will,” he stated bluntly. “No arguments.”
She gazed at him, indecision clouding her beautiful eyes. She grasped the hem of her jumper and twisted the fabric between her hands as she nibbled on her bottom lip. She was younger than he’d first thought, definitely early twenties, and her whole doe-eyed, breathy-voiced demeanor was sending his protective instincts into overdrive. The power of the unfamiliar emotion was so strong he had to force himself to refrain from picking her up and striding to his car with her safely in his arms. He shoved a hand through his hair in agitation.
She seemed to come to a decision and thrust a hand out in his direction. “My name’s Makayla Carrington. Thank you, sir, for helping me. It was very kind of you.”
Fierce desire swept through him. There’s that word again. He struggled to maintain his composure as he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “Makayla, I’m Donovan King. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
A frisson like an electric shot hit him when he touched her. It was an odd thing for him to do, kiss a woman’s hand. He couldn’t remember ever having done it before. He was definitely not a man given to romantic gestures. His proclivities ran deeper and darker than that.
She blushed prettily, lowered her eyes and grasped her bag to her chest in a defensive gesture. “Well, I need to go. Thank you again for your kindness.”
Panic overtook him at the thought that he might never see her again. But before he could think of something to keep her from leaving, she’d turned and was walking toward the door. He followed and made his way to his Lexus, sliding into the car quickly, his intention of purchasing a bottle of water suddenly forgotten. He watched as she strode to the beat-up old Commodore and slipped into the driver’s seat.
She hadn’t looked around, hadn’t appeared remotely curious about him, but seemed to have forgotten his existence almost the moment he was out of her sight. The thought that she could be so unaffected by him was infuriating.
He studied his drab surroundings and questioned how he’d found himself in such a part of Sydney. He was glad that he’d stopped, however, if for no other reason than encountering the captivating creature named Makayla.
He didn’t even think about what he was doing—he was operating on autopilot, the need to see her again was his only concern.
He sat quietly and waited for her to start her car. She fiddled around and looked to be checking her mobile phone. Finally, she started the ignition and pulled out of the service station.
Donovan started his engine and followed behind her. His car’s windows were tinted and as it was dusk, he had no concerns that she would see him. And, after all, she hadn’t even been curious enough to look around for him or his car. He had no other choice, he had to follow her—it was his only hope of finding her again.
Chapter Two
Makayla was distracted and tired. Beyond tired, in fact, and hitting the realms of exhaustion. She’d had a busy few days and was relieved to have finally delivered her last basket of mending to its owner. Her mother’s mental state hadn’t helped. Josephine had had a bad week and had required almost constant supervision. That, added to the mending that Makayla took on to augment their meager income, meant that she’d managed little sleep. She huffed in frustration. Obviously, her mother’s new meds weren’t working, and she’d have to make another doctor’s appointment.
Her mind wandered to Donovan King, the gentleman at the service station. Initially, she’d been struck dumb by his appearance. He was extremely handsome and tall. She guessed at least six foot two, so he towered over her petite, four-foot-five frame. He’d been dressed in a bespoke suit, the fabric so fine that she’d found herself wanting to reach out and stroke it. His dark hair fell in unruly waves to just below his ears and his cinnamon-colored eyes seemed to bore right through her. He had a hard jaw, described as chiseled in the books she read. His movie star good looks had been enough to make her tongue-tied, but he also had an intimidating presence, which was enhanced by his powerful physique. It had taken her a moment to gather her composure and an odd butterfly effect had settled in her belly.
She knew she’d never see him again and the thought saddened her. Odd, as she’d just met him and the meeting was only an exchange of names, nothing concrete. But something about him had stirred feelings deep inside her. Of course, she’d more than appreciated his paying for her fuel. That episode had been embarrassing to say the least. There was nothing more mortifying than being caught short of funds—particularly as she could hardly siphon the fuel back out of her tank. But it was more than his kindness to her. She’d felt an irresistible pull toward him, an intense attraction that she hadn’t ever felt before. She’d been so tied in knots that she hadn’t even thought to ask for his number so she could do something to return his kindness—that would have been a perfect excuse to see him again. But then, why would such an obviously successful and handsome man be interested in her? She was plain and awkward and definitely not a woman in the league of someone so sophisticated and sure of himself. She was his polar opposite—inexperienced, ordinary and gawky. She had few friends, no social life and hadn’t ever even had a boyfriend. It wasn’t because she didn’t want those things. It was just her way of life. For as long as she could remember, she’d been caring for her mother. She’d only managed to go to school because their neighbor, Mrs. Young, would stay with Josephine during the day. In return, Makayla would cook and clean for the elderly lady. It was an arrangement that had suited them all for a time.
Then Josephine’s behavior had started to become more erratic, to the point where Makayla had only been one month into her diploma in fashion design and textiles before she’d had to withdraw from the course. When she’d received five frantic phone calls from Mrs. Young in one week, it had been glaringly obvious that she’d be unable to continue with her studies. Instead, she stayed home with her mother and took on sewing and mending work to supplement her mother’s disability pension and her small caregiver’s allowance. She’d only managed to get her driver’s license because the retired schoolteacher across the road had taught her to drive in exchange for casseroles and cakes. She was grateful for the goodwill of her neighbors, which meant that she’d been able to keep her mother at home, and it had kept Makayla out of the foster care system.
Her mother’s mental instability had been growing worse and her doctor was becoming increasingly concerned, reiterating that he was only treating the symptoms but not the cause, and that her mother’s mental state needed to be analyzed by specialists. He was now talking about a long-term care facility to provide intensive therapy. That had sounded like a solution until Makayla had visited some of the state-run institutions and decided there and then that there was no way she could commit her mother to such a place. While there was nothing outwardly wrong with them, it was painfully obvious that they were underfunded and understaffed and she doubted that her mother would receive the intensive care and therapy that she required. No, as far as Makayla was concerned, the current situation was the best that they could hope for. She managed each day by not thinking of the future. She enjoyed cooking and sewing and found solace in those relaxing activities.
She couldn’t go out at night and leave her mother alone, so she’d never attended a party. Her few friends from school had virtually drifted away and stopped asking her to movies and clubs. Makayla supposed that she could have managed a night out here and there, but if she was honest with herself, she didn’t go for fear of having too much fun. She was scared that if she got a taste of the social life, a taste of everything she‘d been missing, then she’d be unhappy and resentful of her current state of affairs. So she stayed at home.
Her one vice was the erotic romance novels she read at night. Only then could she allow herself to dream. Tucked up in bed, knowing her mother
was safely installed in the next room, meant that Makayla could relax and immerse herself in the stories of love and romance. She lived vicariously through the heroes and heroines, experienced love and turmoil, sex and heartache via the pages of her books. At the age of twenty-two, she was still, embarrassingly, very much a virgin. If she’d had the energy and the appropriate outgoing personality, she would have rectified the situation before now. But as she was not the type to instigate or enjoy a one-night stand, and her chance of meeting a man and entering into a relationship seemed hopeless, she supposed that she’d live with the condition indefinitely. She’d experienced her fair share of making out and heavy petting with a boy from school, but when she’d found herself ready to take the next sexual step, she hadn’t been in a personal situation to do so. Her erotic novels and some heavy petting of her own managed to satisfy, albeit mildly unsatisfactorily, any sexual urges that she had.
She pulled up outside the modest home she shared with her mother. Her internal monolog and musings seeming to have switched another part of her brain into autopilot, and she couldn’t remember the drive home from the service station.
She gathered her handbag and belongings and made her way up to the house. Lights glowed and the television flickered behind the closed curtains of the lounge, all of which gave her a warm, comforting feeling. It meant that everything inside was as it should be.
Makayla let herself into the house and found Mrs. Young knitting and watching a soap opera on TV. Her mother sat in a dressing gown, asleep in an armchair.
“Hello, dear,” Grace Young greeted her cheerfully. “Josephine has had a shower and a sandwich for dinner. I had to give her a mild sedative. She started to become rather anxious, talking about your father and plans for the weekend. I couldn’t get her to settle down and I was worried that she was preparing for a disappearing act.”
