Barely Undercover: Legal Heat, Book 2

by Sarah Castille

  After one last sweep of the alley, James resumed his march, his long legs eating up the cobblestones until he reached the black metal door inset in the brick wall. He pulled a card from his pocket and ran it through the card reader. The door buzzed open.

  “You girls coming or are you just skanking around the alley?” He looked back over his shoulder and grinned.

  Damn. Caught. Her surveillance skills were getting rusty. She would need to pick up a few new cases. Motorcycles weren’t cheap and with everyone and their dog now joining the Rogue Riders, she didn’t want to get left behind.

  Jackie cleared her throat and swanned across the alley. “For your information, we were not skanking. We happened to be coming up the alley at the same time as you, and I’m meeting Viking Dan here, just in case you were wondering.” She pushed past James and stepped into the stairwell.

  Lana made a move to follow her but James held her back.

  “You were supposed to be waiting for me.”

  Undaunted by his sharp tone, Lana winked. “I have a surprise for you under my dress.”

  “What surprise?”

  She shrugged off the trench coat she had worn to hide her risqué outfit and spun around.

  Silence.

  “James?”

  “I like it.”

  Lana rolled her eyes. “Not the outfit. What’s…or what’s not…underneath.” She flipped up her skirt, giving James a good view of her ass, a lacy black thong and a very bandaged but tattoo-free lower back.

  “Christ,” he muttered as he ran his hand gently over the bandage. “What if someone sees you?”

  “They’ll think I’m just a normal girl who hurt her back.”

  “You’re not a normal girl. Not with that ass.” He ran his hand over her cheek and gave it a squeeze.

  “You looking at my ass, Officer Hunter?” She gave him a wiggle and smiled over her shoulder.

  “I’m looking,” he said. “And I’m liking what I see.” He slid an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. Lana melted into his warmth and the comfort of his embrace.

  “I’m glad it’s gone,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “After I knew what it was, every time I saw it, I wanted to pound on someone.”

  “How sweet.”

  “Nothing sweet about wanting to rip off a man’s head and stuff his hands down his throat.”

  “You keep talking dirty like that and we might not make it down to the club.”

  “You keep talking to me in that sexy voice and I promise I’ll have you down in the private members’ area so fast those fuck-me boots won’t even touch the floor.”

  Lana bit her lip to repress a giggle. “I thought our plans tonight already didn’t involve my boots touching the floor.”

  “Babe?”

  “Yeah, James?”

  He swept her into his arms and kicked open the door. “They don’t.”

  About the Author

  Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them. Visit Sarah at www.sarahcastille.com

  Look for these titles by Sarah Castille

  Now Available:

  Legal Heat

  Legal Heat

  Passion this hot should be illegal.

  Legal Heat

  © 2013 Sarah Castille

  Legal Heat, Book 1

  Katy Sinclair made it to the brink of partnership at her high-powered law firm with hard work, dogged determination, and the ruthless self-discipline to cultivate a conservative public image. But when she follows an evasive witness into a sex club, she can’t deny herself a red-hot sexual encounter with the seductive bartender who sets her body on fire. She’s sure no one will ever know about her indiscretion —until she walks into the courtroom to find her dirty little secret is the opposing counsel in the most important case of her career.

  As the managing partner in a struggling law firm, hot-shot attorney Mark Richards can’t afford any mistakes that might cost him his biggest client. Like getting involved with his beautiful, determined opponent—the mystery woman he hasn’t been able to forget. But when Katy’s quest for justice leads to death threats, Mark will sacrifice everything to protect her.

  Now they’re risking their hearts…and their lives…in a race to catch a killer. Little do they know, the greatest danger lies closer to home.

  Warning: This book contains explicit sex, light bondage, violence, murder, steamy shenanigans in the courtroom, naughty sexytimes in the boardroom, and an exceptionally hot hero with a versatile tie. Any objections will be overruled.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Legal Heat:

  “What about you?” He folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you come here with a secret agenda?”

  “No secret agenda. When Valerie told me she worked at the club, I was curious so I agreed to meet her here instead of at my office.”

  “Brave girl,” he murmured.

  Katy cocked an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. She hadn’t been called a girl since she turned eighteen. “That was slightly condescending.”

  His eyes crinkled and a smile played at the corners of his broad, sensuous mouth. “The correct response to a compliment is thank you.”

  She walked over to another part of the collection and pulled out a dusty bottle. “I hardly think that was—”

  “I’m waiting.”

  Surprised by his warning tone, she turned to face him.

  He sat back in his chair, long, muscular legs spread, corded forearms crossed, dark eyes calm and focused. But despite his casual manner, she sensed power and tension coiled in his lean body, like a cobra ready to spring.

  A thrill of fear raced through her, followed by a sharp spike of arousal. She tempered it quickly. No way would she be pushed around even if secretly his commanding tone turned her on. She replaced the bottle in the rack. “I think we’d better get back upstairs.”

  His voice softened. “Why are you running away?”

  She spun around to face him. “I’m not running away. I…I’ve seen the wine cellar so I thought—”

  “You’re afraid.”

  Katy folded her arms. “Not at all.”

  “Your body says otherwise.”

  She froze and then sucked in a breath. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Body language. You’re flushed, trembling. Your breathing rate has increased. Your eyes are wide. Your hands are clenched into fists. Your tongue…” He paused and his voice lowered to a husky growl. “Your tongue keeps darting out to lick your lips. If that isn’t fear, sugar, what could it be?”

  Arousal, fierce and unfamiliar, shot through her like an electric current, flaming her body, burning a path to her core. Sweat broke out on her heated skin. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

  Mark’s lips curled into a slow, sensual smile. “Come here, Katy-who-isn’t-afraid.” The sound of his voice, hard and low, sent a chill down her spine.

  No, not a chill. A heat wave. A fever. Maybe she was ill. Maybe that’s why her cheeks burned and sweat trickled between her breasts.

  But that didn’t explain the deep yearning that had risen up within her. Oh, she wanted to go to him, tear his clothes off, climb onto his lap, run her hands over his broad chest and then lower. It was as if she had been starving for years and he was a banquet waiting to be tasted.

  Maybe that was the truth of it.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she willed the sensation to go away. What the hell was going on? Was she seriously contemplating having sex with a stranger in the basement of a fetish club?

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you want the Meursault?”

  Katy nodded and her pulse kicked up a notch.

  “Third row down, second bottle from the le
ft.” He pointed above his head.

  Katy raised an eyebrow. “A gentleman would get it for me.”

  “I’m not feeling like a gentleman right now. Especially after your stirring performance upstairs and the way you’re looking at me now—like you want to devour me.” The heat in his eyes matched his voice, dark and sinful, like a rich Amarone. How long had it been since a man had gazed at her with such desire? After Justin’s birth, Steven had never once looked at her with anything more than mild interest.

  Katy lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…”

  He cut her off. “Katy.”

  She looked up into amused brown eyes and then drank in the sight of his hard, muscular body sprawled across the chair; his long legs open and inviting.

  Craving, deep and delicious, flooded her veins.

  “Come here, sugar. I won’t bite.”

  “It’s not the biting I’m worried about.” Nor was it him. Her gut told her he wouldn’t hurt her. If he had wanted to try anything, he wouldn’t have waited this long. No, it was her. She had lost control of herself and she had no idea what this new, lust-driven Katy Sinclair was about to do.

  Still, his soft, cajoling voice drew her forward. Although she wanted the wine, she wanted him more. But after ten years on the bench, she didn’t remember how to play the game.

  Her heels clicked on the flagstone floor as she closed the distance between them, stopping only a foot away. Even seated, he intimidated her. But God was he sexy. Her pulse raced and her throat turned dry.

  He studied her for a long moment, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m beginning to wonder if we haven’t met before.”

  Katy shook her head. “We haven’t. I’m sure of it. You’re not someone I would ever forget.” Or ever will. She stepped closer, her body now only inches from his. She caught the scent of his spicy aftershave and something raw and purely masculine. A quiver of fear ran through her followed again by the fierce rush of arousal.

  “Good girl.”

  “I’m hardly a girl.”

  He reached out and put his hands on her hips, drawing her close, until she could feel the heat of his breath on her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt. She bit her lip to stifle a moan.

  “Most definitely not,” he murmured.

  Inexplicable desires wracked Katy’s body. She wanted to thread her fingers through his hair, straddle his body and press her breasts against his full, sensuous lips.

  Her briefcase dropped, unbidden, to the floor. She ran a tentative finger along the square line of his jaw, rough with stubble, but pulled away at his sharp intake of breath.

  “Put it back.” He lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek, trapping it with his own. His skin was warm, firm. So sexy. She felt the slip of arousal between her thighs and drew in a ragged breath.

  Get a grip, Katy. This isn’t you.

  She eased herself out of his grasp. “You’re going to have to move. I’m not reaching over you.”

  “Shame.” He stood with the grace of a man half his size and pulled the chair out of her way.

  Katy reached for the bottle. Too high. She looked over her shoulder. Mark’s gaze was fixed firmly on her…ass. She snorted a laugh. “When you’re done, maybe you could give me a hand.”

  Mark grinned and walked toward her, stopping so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body across every inch of her back. He put one arm around her waist and pulled her into his broad chest.

  “Where do you want it, sugar?” he whispered, his breath warm and moist in her ear.

  Red, hot flames of need licked through her body. “Want what?”

  “My hand.”

  She could think of several places she wanted his hand. Places Steven had rarely touched. Emboldened by his obvious interest, and her own simmering arousal, she let her head fall back on his shoulder and looked up at him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  His body shook with laughter. “What kind of girl?”

  “The kind of girl who tells a man where she wants his hand.”

  He stroked the curve of her waist and brushed his lips over her ear. “You don’t have to tell me, sugar. I know.”

  One night in Bangkok changes all the rules.

  Black Knight, White Queen

  © 2013 Jackie Ashenden

  Professional chess player Aleksandr Shastin never lets emotions rule his life, or his game. Not even the unexpected death of his mentor shakes his icy control—at least that’s what he thinks. Until he meets a woman in a Bangkok rooftop bar, a woman whose raw sexuality and emotional honesty find every invisible crack…and pries them wide open.

  Graphic artist Izzy Cornwall fled to Thailand to escape suffocating grief and guilt after her sister’s suicide. As she locks gazes with Aleks, their instant attraction sets her on fire. And the way he looks at her makes her feel what she hasn’t felt in months: that she actually exists.

  In the heat of a Bangkok rainstorm, their chemistry steams up what was supposed to be one night of pain-numbing passion. Neither expected that a single encounter would change all the rules, making Aleks the novice, and Izzy the grandmaster. But if Izzy wants his heart, she’ll have to show him that in order to win, sometimes you have to lose.

  Warning: Contains one hot, controlling Russian chess master, a heroine who’s more than capable of taking him on in a game of strip chess, and a checkmate to make Kasparov proud.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Black Knight, White Queen:

  The man, an Australian tourist, moved his bishop and looked smug. “Check.”

  Aleks wasn’t bothered. He’d set up the trap and the Australian had fallen right into it. Reaching out, he moved his knight. “Checkmate.”

  The Australian frowned. “Shit. No way.”

  Aleks said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say. The evidence was right there on the chessboard.

  The guy cursed a bit in the way Australians often did, then reached over the board to shake hands, gracious in defeat.

  A few people had gathered around them while they’d been playing, the magnificent view of Bangkok from the hotel’s famous outdoor rooftop bar apparently far less interesting than a chess game. As the Australian vacated his seat, a couple of them looked as though they wanted to play too, but Aleks shook his head and began packing up his board. Playing tourists wasn’t much of a challenge and it did nothing for his game. He’d be playing real opponents in the tournament in a couple of days anyway.

  As the crowd drifted away, he gestured to the barman again, and the man poured him another shot of vodka. Good Russian vodka. Viktor’s favourite.

  He downed it, but the alcohol did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest at the thought of the old man.

  Grief. It’s called grief.

  Was it? It had been so long since he’d felt anything he couldn’t be sure. Then again, perhaps it was. Grief was, after all, the usual emotion after someone had died.

  Aleks gripped the shot glass then pushed it over the bar for another hit, puzzled with himself.

  In order to feel grief one had to care. And Aleks wasn’t sure that he did. After all, Viktor had been just another old man playing chess in Moscow’s Timiryazevsky Park. A man who’d been kind to him on a few occasions when Aleks had been young, but no one that special.

  The barman filled up the glass again, and Aleks drank it down, rubbing his chest. But even the third vodka didn’t make a difference to the odd tight feeling. He may as well have been drinking water.

  The wind picked up, replacing the scent of exotic flowers, sewage and the hot oil smell of a big city with the heavy, thick scent of rain. Distant thunder rumbled, a warning that perhaps an open-air rooftop bar in the middle of tropical Bangkok was not the best place to be in the rainy season.

  Bar staff began to usher people through the tables of the outdoor restaurant situated near the bar, toward the steep, beautifully lit glass staircase that led up from the terrace to the domed elevator entrance.

>   Aleks pushed away the shot glass and stood.

  Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting up the rooftop. This high up, the flash against the clouds was magnificent and prompted a startled gasp from the patrons waiting for the elevators.

  Aleks didn’t look. Lightning was lightning. He’d seen it before. Moving toward the staircase, he began threading his way through the now empty tables of the restaurant area.

  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” a woman said in a husky, awestruck voice. “So beautiful.”

  Something in the sound of that voice whispered along his nerve endings like the brush of cat’s tail. It made him stop. Made him look.

  She stood near the glass balustrade that bounded the roof, staring up at the clouds as if mesmerised. Lightning flashed again like a magnesium flare, illuminating delicate features and an incredible mass of pale silver-gilt hair held back by a purple scarf. Her eyes were wide and in that flash of light, he saw they were blue. A startling electric blue.

  He stared, unable to help himself, slowly taking in the rest of her. She wore typical backpacker gear, blue tie-dyed loose trousers and a tight little black singlet that revealed a slender, womanly figure. Clothes that wouldn’t have passed muster with the hotel’s draconian dress code that was for sure. How did she get up here? She was extraordinary. He’d never seen anything like her.

  The first heavy, fat drops of rain began to fall, heralding the start of a tropical downpour.

  “You should get undercover,” he said. “You’re going to get wet.”

  She turned, those incredible eyes a flash of blue through pale, silvery lashes. “Thanks. But I’m okay.” Her mouth curved and he couldn’t help noticing the shape of it. Full, pouty. Beautiful. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

  There was a warmth to her smile. A warmth he found inexplicably fascinating. “Are you sure? The rain can get heavy here.”