by Zoe Blake
“I still find it hard to believe The Syndicate was actually involved in that mess. Makes sense now why they sent you to basically gather any evidence of their involvement.”
“Told you I didn’t start the coup,” joked Mirage.
Paine smiled, leaning over to push an errant, glossy black curl behind her ear as he always liked to do before returning to the computer.
Mirage stretched and tilted her head back to catch the warmth from the sun. Her thoughts wandered over the whirlwind events of the last three months. They were barely out of Antwerp before The Syndicate reached out to them. Mirage informed them that in the event of the death of either her or Paine, the flash drives would immediately be distributed to every major government head and corporation around the globe. The Syndicate would be completely exposed. Ruined.
The Syndicate immediately changed their tune, apologizing for the miscommunication regarding the kill contract. Stating it was the ill-advised, over-zealous efforts of a low level employee. Whether they were a mastermind criminal organization or a big public corporation, companies were all the same. Pass the buck and deflect blame.
Once the threat of a bullet to the head was gone, Mirage went about fixing the damage she had wrought. Since they were already in Belgium, the first thing they did was break into the museum in Brussels and steal back the fake Vermeer. She then arranged to have the original stolen one, which she had tucked away in one of her flats in London, returned to Paine’s client. After that, the rest was just a matter of a well-placed word here and little money there and Paine’s reputation was restored.
Curiously, Mirage was surprised how much she enjoyed working with Paine. She’d always thought she had to work alone to stay in complete control. Through Paine she was learning to loosen the reins a bit, that life was more fun when you let in a little chaos. Oh, she still pushed his buttons. Still loved to make him angry. She was addicted to the adrenaline rush of pleasure and pain that came from making him chase her. The feel of his hands when he forced her down on the bed, ruthlessly pushing her legs open wide so he could drive into her. Oh yes, that part of their relationship would never change.
The harsh ring of Paine’s cell interrupted her seductive train of thought.
“Hey, Stephen.”
“Hello, Stephen,” chimed in Mirage.
“Mirage says hello.”
“Tell the black widow I say hello back,” offered Stephen.
“What’s up?”
“Well, they’ve doubled their offer. They’re willing to split the take fifty-fifty if you and Mirage agree to do the job together.”
The Syndicate had been contacting them endlessly over the last few months. There were few thieves who had Paine’s special set of skills or Mirage’s abilities, and they were having a hard time filling the void. As with most things, money forgave all ills. The Syndicate wanted them back in the field. In an amusingly ironic way, the fact that they had successfully broken into one of the most secure vaults in the world, actually put them in higher esteem with The Syndicate, despite the fact that it was their vault Paine and Mirage had robbed.
Mirage sat up and started to nod her head. Their time at the pretty, yellow stucco villa in the hills of Istanbul had been lovely, but she was anxious to get back to the excitement of planning their next heist.
Paine laughed. “Well, it looks like the answer is yes. We’ll head back to London by the end of next week.”
“Now that business is out of the way, I heard you popped the question to the black widow. Did you get down on one knee like a gentleman?” asked an amused Stephen.
“No. I told her she was mine, and I wanted to make it official,” responded Paine gruffly as he tried to turn his shoulders away from Mirage so she wouldn’t hear his response.
She heard.
Mirage hopped up. “That’s not at all the way it happened!”
Snatching the phone from Paine’s grasp, she said, “Stephen? He’s lying to you. He got down on one knee. There were tears in his eyes when he told me how much he loved me!”
Her speech came in excited gasps as she was running around the pool trying to avoid Paine’s clutches. Mirage stuck her tongue out at him as she tossed the phone in the air and then jumped in the pool right as he was about to catch her.
Snatching the phone out of midair, Paine said an abrupt, “Gotta go. I have to teach a bad kitten a lesson.” He hung up the phone and tossed it aside before diving into the pool after her.
Mirage gave out a shout of frightened excitement as she tried to swim away.
Paine grabbed her around the waist, forcing her legs to straddle him as they floated in the clear, blue water.
Mirage leaned back and tried to splash him. “Let me go, you villain!” she said with dramatic flourish.
“Never.” His mouth descended, capturing her lips for his own.
How the proposal really happened…
Mirage awoke to a warm breeze floating over her bare skin. The breeze ruffled the white gauze curtains which led to the balcony overlooking the Arno River in Florence. She stretched her arms above her head, smiling when she saw the crimson silk tie still wrapped around her wrist from the night before. Shifting her hips, she grimaced slightly at the soreness between her legs. No doubt she had bruises on her hips too from where his strong hands held her down while he thrust into her from behind. She loved the ruthless violence of his lovemaking. It was so unrestrained and passionate, so unlike the rigid control of her former, now forgotten existence.
As she moved, she felt something shift between her breasts. Sitting up, she lifted the gorgeous, princess cut pink diamond which now dangled from a silver chain around her neck. As she did so, she noticed a matching large pink diamond on her ring finger.
“Do you like them, kitten?”
Mirage looked up to see Paine leaning against the balcony door. He was dressed in only a pair of blue silk pajama bottoms. His muscular chest with the black swirls of hair on full, enticing display. So were the crescent moon bite marks she had left on his shoulder.
“The Raj Pink diamond?”
Paine stepped into the room to sit on the edge of the bed. With the back of one knuckle, he traced the slope of her breast before picking up the diamond pendant. “There was no way I was going to sell it. I decided to have it cut into a ring and necklace for you.”
Mirage held up her left hand, shifting it to and fro to catch the early morning sunlight, sending rainbows of crystal color dancing across the ring. She bit her lip. “Does this mean you…”
Paine placed a finger under her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. “You’re mine, Miranda. If I have to chase you around the world proving that fact to you, then I will, but I would much prefer to prove it to you here in bed.”
Paine pulled on her hips till she was lying flat, then placed the warm weight of his body over hers. Digging his fingers into her hair, he brushed his lips against her. “Say it, baby. Say you’re mine.”
Placing a hand along the rough stubble of his jaw, she said, “I’m yours, Paine.”
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“I do,” she responded without hesitation.
“Good. Remember those two little words because you will be saying them again soon,” he teased as he nibbled and licked the smooth skin of her neck.
“I don’t remember you actually asking me to marry you.” Mirage’s eyes sparkled with humor. She loved bantering with him.
Paine lifted up to straddle her hips. Grabbing her wrists, he stretched them above her head. Using the tie which was still around her left wrist, he secured them both to the headboard before running his hands over her breasts and down her stomach. Then placing his hands on either side of her head, he leaned down to darkly rasp against her lips, “I’m a thief. I never ask. I take what I want.”
Mirage moaned as she tilted her hips upward. “Take me, Paine.” Then, with a seductive twist to her lips, she whispered, “Make it hurt.”
The End
About Zoe Blake
>
USA Today and International Bestselling Author
in Dark Romance
We are all attracted to the forbidden. Addicted to the rush we get from reading something naughty...something kinky. We love to lose ourselves in the fantasy. The powerful lord who sweeps the lady away to his remote estate to ravish her. The cowboy who takes the sassy city girl over his knee to teach her a lesson. The devilishly charming pirate who seduces his beautiful captive. I write those dark fantasies.
Dark Romance Historical Titles
The Submission of Little Emmie
Disciplining the Maid
Penelope’s Punishment
Chosen to be His Little Angeline
The Duke’s Possession
Captive
Papa’s Little Pain Princess
His Dark Obsession
Papa’s Prey
Snow & the Seven Huntsmen (with Alta Hensley)
Contemporary Titles
Worth Fighting For
Daddy’s Home
Defying Him
Ride Hard Historical Western Series
The Cowboy’s Revenge, Book One
The Gunfighter’s Pursuit, Book Two
The Rebel’s Secret, Book Three
Box Sets
A Little Submission
The Dark Forest Anthology
Check out Zoe’s Website at www.zblakebooks.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/zblakebooks
Twitter: @ZBlakebooks
Instagram: ZBlakebooks
Pinterest: ZBlakebooks
www.zblakebooks.com
Sneak Peek of Snow & the Seven Huntsmen
Chapter One
It was barely a sound.
The soft scrape of a boot on the floor. The rub of a shoulder against the stone wall. A muffled cough.
I was awake in an instant. Something was different. There was tension in the air.
Throwing my covers aside, I shivered when my feet touched the icy flagstone floor. Creeping over to the high-arched windows, I pushed the brocade curtains aside and peeked out. All was quiet and still. The newly fallen snow lay undisturbed, glistening and sparkling in the moonlight.
Perhaps I had imagined it?
Another sound.
This one just beyond my bedroom door.
A horrible calm settled over me, as if a long anticipated storm had finally broke. I had been waiting for this day. Dreading it.
My step-mother had finally sent someone to kill me.
With my only escape route now blocked, I had to think fast. Using both hands, I pushed open the heavy curtains. Placing my hand on the black ebony frame, I once again looked over the snow-covered scene below. The peace of a winter’s eve now shattered. My bedroom was far too high to risk a jump, but perhaps I could climb out onto the sill and make my way to the stone balustrade of the room next door.
There was the screech of metal against metal. The scrape of a key. They were unlocking my door.
Running across the room, I picked up the small wooden spindle chair by the perpetually cold fireplace. It was one of the few pieces of furniture I was allowed in my sparse, would-be prison. Hefting it high, I raced back to the window.
I hesitated.
The moment I broke this window, there would be no turning back. I would have to run and keep running. I squeezed my eyes shut and smashed the chair against the glass with all my might. It shattered, sending sharp shards scattering across the floor. Grabbing the blanket off my bed, I placed it over the jagged pieces. Stepping up to the window, I tossed the remnants of the bedcovers over the sill, cutting my finger in the process. I watched in horrid fascination as three warm crimson spots of blood fell upon the snow, melting it.
As I gingerly stepped onto the sill, the bedroom door opened. Looking over my shoulder, I saw three men enter. The brawn and bulk of their size belied their almost silent entry.
With a cry, I stepped onto the ledge, quickly turning to grasp the chilled stone. A bitter wind cut through the threadbare fabric of my nightgown as remnants of the broken window cut into my bare feet.
Morbid curiosity getting the better of me, I peered back into the pitch-black interior of my room. The three men approached. So similar they could be brothers, each were tall with broad shoulders and harsh angular faces. They wore animal skins and furs. Trophies of their past kills.
Huntsmen.
Spurred on by their fearsome look, I dug my fingernails into the stone facade and tried to slide my foot to the right. It slipped on the ice-covered ledge. My cry of alarm echoed across the still forest sending sleeping birds into flight.
“Well, the lass has spirit. I will give her that,” said one of the men happily, a note of appreciation in his dark voice.
“Good, this would be no fun if she didn’t have some fight to her,” said another while clapping the first man on the shoulder.
“There is no point in running. We will only hunt you down,” said the third to her.
“Why have you come?” I asked.
“You know why.”
I could feel all three men assessing me. No doubt the bright moonlight was shining through my gown, leaving little to their avarice imaginations. Was I to be used for their pleasure before they killed me? I cast a look over my shoulder to the drifts below. I could hear new voices outside, their conversation carrying across the hushed midnight landscape.
More men.
“Are you going to be a good girl and come along quietly?” asked the first. With his feet planted and his arms crossed over his massive chest, he made for a foreboding sight.
“I could scream,” I warned, the words coming out weak and trembling as my teeth had begun to chatter from the cold.
“And no one would come to your aid.”
The truth of their words sent the air rushing from my lungs. I was completely alone. The wretched irony was this conversation with my killers was the first a human being had spoken to me in years. My step-mother having ordered the servants and villagers to ignore my presence and never to speak to me almost from the moment my father and drawn his last breath. I had been wrapped in a blanket of silence and solitude for as long as I could remember.
I could feel the tears pool in my eyes. As they dropped, they froze on my chilled cheek. “You could let me go,” I whispered.
“No. We can’t. You are a prize we have fought long and hard to claim. You belong to us now,” explained the third man.
My brow wrinkled at his words. “You’re not here to kill me?”
A bark of laughter came from all three men.
The first one answered for the group. “You may trust us in this, lass. The very last thing we plan to do is kill you.”
“Enough talk,” ground out the second grumpily. “The others are waiting below.”
He stepped before me. Laying a hand on my chest, he pushed.
Flailing, my outstretched hands scrambled for some kind of purchase but only met with air. The sound of rushing wind tormented me as I fell backwards into nothingness. My scream lost. What was only an instant, felt like an eternity.
Then…instead of the cold embrace of death, I felt warmth.
I was held in a pair of strong arms. The feel of soft fur caressed my cheek. He smelled of pine and whiskey. I looked up into his bearded face, surprised when he gave me a wink.
“Well men. It looks like I have caught some falling Snow.”
I was surrounded by hearty laughter.
With a start, I craned my neck around. Three large burly men stared back at me with interest. Another four men.
Seven in total.
Seven huntsmen.
With a screech, I twisted and turned my body, trying to break free. The man who held me easily tossed me over his shoulder. I felt the heat of his large hand on the underside curve of my ass.
“You bastard!” I yelled. “Get your hands off me!”
I had a brief moment of satisfaction when I felt his hand move away. Then there was a burst of raw pain. His open palm
had struck my right buttock as prickling hot needles raced over my chilled skin.
Shock kept me immobile.
One of the other men circled round my captor’s back. Grabbing my dark, ebony hair, he forced my head up. I winced at the twinge of pain.
Addressing the assembled men, he said, “Oh, she’s a feisty one, I see. Let’s get our new prize home so we can really begin her punishment.”
I opened my mouth to scream, but he shoved a gag between my red lips, tying it tightly behind my head.
Once upon a time, I was a princess named Snow White…now I am the captive prize of seven huntsmen.
Sneak Peek of Papa’s Prey
Papa’s Prey
Chapter One
“He’s here.”
Corinne opened her sleep heavy eyes and gave a start at the figure looming over her bed. In the weak, sallow light of the tallow dip by her bedside, the shadowed form had harsh angular features with massive white horns protruding from the top of its skull.
“Do not look upon me slack-jawed, child. Arise. I tell you, he is here!” the shadowed form sharply reprimanded her.
Tossing off the last vestiges of sleep as she pushed aside her thin wool blanket, Corinne arose as commanded. She sucked in a sharp breath as her toes touched the ice cold flagstone floor, sending a chill up her spine. Clutching her arms about her middle in a feeble attempt to stop her trembling, Corinne stood. Her worn, rough linen nightgown offered no comfort in the frigid chamber.
“Yes, Mother Superior,” Corinne’s response was soft and low, a mere icy whisper of smoke.
The indistinct form had taken shape. It was the Abbess of L’etoile du Matin Abbey. She oversaw the cloister of French nuns at the abbey located deep in the Welsh countryside along the Irish Sea, an odd relic of the last invasion of Britain by the French in the 18th century. By this time, the crumbling abbey had been in existence for close to one hundred years.
