The Red Shoe Chronicles : A Fantasy Romance Anthology

by N. R. Larry

  “Are you safe? Where are you now?” Jenna asked.

  “Safe enough. In a hotel, about as far from the French Quarter as I can get and still be in New Orleans.” She paused. “Wait a minute. Did you threaten to go back in there and tell Corvin everything? Where is ‘in there’? Where are you?”

  “Apparently staying with a criminal. Right where you left me.”

  “Oh, no. I did not leave you with Corvin Lejeune. I left you at a bar in the French Quarter. You were supposed to have a drink, go find a room, maybe flirt a little.”

  “Oh, we flirted,” Jenna said dryly.

  “You didn’t.” Angelina breathed out the words and tried to sound horrified, but Jenna could tell she was more than a little impressed. “Seriously? I’ve never been able to get him to give me a second look.”

  Jenna leaned back against the porch railing and hooked one foot around a wooden slat, admiring the red heels she still wore. Part of her couldn’t help but feel pleased, but she didn’t have time to indulge the feeling right now. “I’ll tell you all about it later. First you need to get me up to speed. How much of your life do I have to try to cover while you’re extricating yourself from this situation?”

  “How much can you cover?”

  She took a breath to tell her sister exactly what she thought of the secret-switching plan, but Angelina interrupted her. “I know, I know. It’s a terrible idea, we’re going to get caught, blah, blah, blah. We have never been tripped up before. And with your help, I can get the information I need to run my story.”

  “And stay safe in the meantime?”

  “Something like it, anyway. As a reporter, that’s as close as I’m likely to get.”

  Jenna heard water running again, but this time it wasn’t coming through the phone. “Crap. Corvin’s up. You need to catch me up on last night fast.”

  Wishing she had a notebook and pen, Jenna closed her eyes and tried to visualize everything her sister told her.

  “Slow down. Say that swamp name again.”

  Angelina sounded it out for her.

  “Got it.”

  “Angelina?” Corvin’s voice echoed from inside.

  “That’ll have to do,” Jenna whispered. “I’ll call back later. Gotta go.”

  Angelina was saying something urgently as Jenna clicked out of the call and hiked herself up onto the railing just as Corvin pushed open the screen door, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama bottoms that hugged his hips.

  Jenna’s gaze was drawn to the muscular torso above the waistband, then down. A blush stained her cheeks and she focused on making eye contact with him.

  “I thought maybe you’d left,” he said, smiling at the sight of her reddened cheeks. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just checking the weather.” She glanced up at the cloudless sky and waggled the weather-app image on her phone screen. “I thought maybe I’d go to the French Quarter today.”

  He frowned at her as if she were crazy and scratched the unshaven scruff along one side of his jaw line. “During Mardi Gras? I try to avoid the Quarter when I can.” He shrugged. “But you’re not from New Orleans, are you?” He ran the words together so the city name was barely two syllables, the “r” sound sliding into something more like a “w” and the rest of it elongating into European vowels.

  “Not even close,” she said with a smile.

  He tilted his head back into the apartment. “Come on in. I’ll make breakfast for us. Then maybe I can work it out with Luis and Jorge to meet up with them later so I can go with you.”

  “Even though you usually avoid it during Mardi Gras?” As she slid past him through the door, the heated scent of him, still warm from the bed, hit her, and seemed to arrow straight through to her stomach. She could barely stop herself from turning and pressing her body up against his.

  A perfect image of standing on her tiptoes to kiss him, right here in this doorway, right now, hit her with the force of a New Orleans hurricane, and it stopped her in her tracks. “You okay?” he asked, tilting his head down to peer into her eyes.

  When she turned her gaze up to his, the hiss of his indrawn breath only strengthened the desire washing through her.

  If he hadn’t felt it before, he certainly felt something now—and he knew she did, too.

  So why bother stopping myself? It’s not like I’m somehow saving my virtue.

  Not after last night.

  “I vote we skip breakfast, instead,” she whispered. Slipping her arms around his neck, she pressed her heated lips against his, even as she acknowledged the perhaps less-than-perfectly honest reason she was following through with the impulse.

  Maybe this way I can avoid any discussion about Angelina’s escapades at all.

  And if not? Well, at least I know it will be fun.

  The feel of Angelina’s hot mouth against his lips destroyed the last of Corvin’s willpower. He had fully intended to grill her over breakfast.

  Not drill her instead of breakfast, a wry internal voice noted.

  But the sight of her in his t-shirt, her bare legs stretching down the porch railing, her delicate feet balancing her in those ridiculous heels as she flipped through her phone—all of it made his head swim so much that he almost forgot his plan to find out what she was doing at the warehouse meeting the night before.

  Instead, he had instantly offered to accompany her to the French Quarter.

  Corvin didn’t merely avoid the Quarter during Mardi Gras. He hated it. Loathed it. Mardi Gras in the Quarter made him doubt his belief in the existence of basic decency in humanity—what little he had left after his years as a cop.

  Angelina Riggs, however, seemed determined to bring that belief back.

  I can at least belief in her basic decency. I think.

  This morning she was the aggressor, sweeping her tongue through his mouth and pressing herself against his already-hard cock.

  And if not? Well, at least I know we’ll both enjoy it.

  At that thought, he slid his hands down along her sides, feeling her curves under his shirt. Then he slipped his hands to the small of her back and followed the path down to cup her ass cheeks. In one smooth movement, he lifted her up without breaking their kiss, carried her back into the house, and kicked the door closed behind them.

  His voice came out on a growl. “I think I should have you for breakfast.”

  “Oh. God. Yes, please,” Angelina whimpered, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

  And with that, he carried her into the bedroom.

  As he stretched her out on the bed and covered her body with his, an errant thought crossed his mind.

  I might be willing to follow this woman—or carry her—anywhere she wanted to go.

  Chapter 12

  Corvin’s interest in her—his willingness to take her in his bed twice, not to mention on his kitchen table again after that—couldn’t really have anything to do with the shoes. Could it?

  It was as if the moment she put on the red heels, every single one of her most passionate fantasies had come true. A steaming hot bad boy type had literally swept her off her feet.

  And fucked me senseless, Jenna admitted to herself. All while she wore the fuck-me pumps.

  She really should be tracking down her sister right now. And she should probably shower, too. But part of her was terrified that removing the shoes would bring this dream to an end.

  A knock on the door brought her thoughts to a skittering halt. She stared wide-eyed as Corvin came out of the bedroom where he’d been talking on the phone. He wore only a pair of low-slung jeans, and her breath caught in her throat at the sheer power of his body.

  I could do him all over again, she realized.

  As he moved to the door, he drew a gun out of the waistband of those jeans and held it behind his back.

  Jenna swallowed down the sudden spike of fear.

  But as he glanced out the peephole, he frowned, then slipped the gun back into his jeans. With an indecipherable
glance at her, he swung open the door to reveal Jenna’s twin.

  Angelina practically tumbled inside. “Oh, thank God. You’re both here.”

  Corvin’s expression grew hard and cold. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Jenna blinked at Angelina, wanting to ask the same question, but unwilling to say anything that might hurt Angelina.

  “Well…” Angelina drew the word out. “We have something we need to tell you.” Her assessing gaze took in Jenna’s state of semi-undress, enveloped as she was in Corvin’s t-shirt and still wearing the red pumps. “Oh, good. You still have the shoes. I’m going to need those back.”

  “Twins.” Corvin shook his head. “No wonder you seemed so different.”

  “I’m sorry I lied,” Jenna said for the third time. “I didn’t want Angelina to get hurt.”

  Ignoring her for the moment, Corvin turned to Angelina—who really was the same woman he’d known all along. “How did you find me?”

  “I’m a reporter.” She shrugged. “Once I figured out you weren’t a PI, it didn’t take long to move from there to cop. So I did a little digging.”

  Corvin dropped his head into his hands. He had to admit, he was glad he hadn’t actually fucked a reporter.

  Not that this is much better.

  But it did mean that he might have a chance at making Jenna his forever.

  “What’s up with the shoes?” he asked. “Why do you need them?”

  Angelina’s cheeks burned red. “I need to be able to tell Salas what to do.”

  Tell Salas what to do? With a sudden bark of laughter, he realized what she was saying. “You think these shoes have some kind of power?”

  Angelina shrugged. “That’s the story.”

  Giving Angelina a skeptical look, he gestured toward Jenna’s feet. “Take them off.”

  Without a word, Jenna slipped off the heels, one at a time, and handed them to her sister.

  Nope. I still want her as much as ever.

  “What are you planning?” Jenna’s voice came out as a whisper.

  “I’m supposed to meet Salas in an hour. I’ll get him to confess everything, Corvin.”

  “No way in hell are you going in there alone with nothing but ‘magic’ shoes to protect you,” Corvin replied, his tone as hard as his expression. “I’m going in as backup.”

  “No,” Jenna gasped. “It’s too dangerous—for both of you.”

  Corvin shot her a quelling glance. “Your sister is right about one thing. This is an excellent chance to get a confession out of Salas.” He turned to Angelina. “I’ll get you wired up. You go in alone first. I’ll be nearby; you’ll be safe.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Jenna sat in a plain white van next to Corvin, her hands sweating as she worried about Angelina, scheduled to arrive any minute. Next to her, Corvin adjusted his headphones and murmured to the technician sitting next to him.

  “I can’t believe you’re a cop,” Jenna muttered under her breath.

  “Says the woman who pretended to be her twin sister.” Corvin’s quick grin belied his words.

  “You’re not angry?” She couldn’t believe he had reacted so mildly to their deception.

  Corvin shrugged. “A little relieved, to be honest. I couldn’t figure out why Angelina was suddenly so attractive.”

  For the first time in her life, Jenna didn’t feel second-best to her outgoing, charming twin. She started to whisper something else to him—she didn’t even know what she was about to say, but wanted, more than anything, to tell him how amazing the last two days had been.

  But before she could speak, Corvin went utterly still. “Here we go.”

  Cameras positioned all around the elaborate uptown house fed visuals into the screens mounted inside the house. Angelina pulled up in her white Toyota and stepped out, her long legs encased in skintight jeans, the red stilettos on her feet.

  They really are sexy shoes. But were they somehow magical? Had they truly been the source of her shamelessness with Corvin?

  More importantly, were they the reason he’d been attracted to her?

  Would that attraction fade now that she had taken them off?

  Unable to hear what was happening inside, she avidly watched Corvin’s expression and body language as he tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again.

  The minutes stretched out into miniature eternities as she waited. But in reality, less than ten minutes passed before Corvin announced. “We have him. Go, go, go!”

  Jenna stayed in the van, watching on the screens as police officers jumped out from all their hiding places and swarmed the house, bashing in the door and disappearing inside.

  It had been years since she’d prayed, but she found herself sending up pleas for Angelina’s and Corvin’s safety.

  And the rest of the officers, she sent up as an afterthought.

  When Corvin came out of the house with a man in handcuffs, Angelina strolling behind them, Jenna jumped out of the van and ran to throw her arms around her sister.

  “Damn, girl,” Angelina said, “I think these shoes really do work.”

  Epilogue

  Twelve hours later, Corvin rubbed a hand over his tired eyes as he made his way to Café du Monde in the French Quarter.

  Under the covered outdoor dining area, Jenna and Angelina sat at a small bistro table, a pile of beignets covered in powdered sugar between them. He stood back for a moment to watch them.

  How had he ever believed that Jenna was Angelina? Everything about them was different. And now that he saw them together, it was obvious they were not at all alike, twins or no.

  Jenna bit into one of the fried pastries, and he shivered as her tongue flicked out to lick the sugar from her lip.

  It didn’t matter which twin wore the red shoes.

  Jenna was the one he wanted.

  And it doesn’t matter how tired I am, he thought as he strolled to their table and pulled out a chair to join them. “Hello, ladies.”

  “Oh, thank God you’re here.” Angelina threw her hands up in the air. “I have been playing tour guide all day long, and my feet are killing me.”

  Corvin glanced down at the red stilettos. “Why don’t you take those off, then?”

  “No way. These shoes come with some very definite rules. I have to keep them on, and I have—” she glanced at her phone, “—another thirty-four hours before their magic wears off.” She stood up and brushed powdered sugar from her jeans. “So if you two will excuse me, there is a certain someone I want to go meet up with.”

  “You don’t really believe those shoes are magic, do you?” Jenna shook her head in disbelief.

  “They worked on you two.”

  As Angelina moved away with a cheery wave, Corvin gave a low growl in the back of his throat. Jenna’s head whipped around and she gave him an anxious look. “I’m sorry I used the red shoes on you.”

  Corvin scooted his chair out and turned it to face Jenna’s. Then he grabbed the edges of her seat and pulled it toward him until she sat facing him, their chairs almost touching, his muscular legs on either side of her. “Listen to me carefully,” he growled.

  Eyes wide, Jenna nodded.

  “Those shoes have absolutely nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He leaned forward and licked away a little sugar she had missed on the corner of her mouth. “I’m positive.”

  A shiver rolled through Jenna’s body.

  “I’m also certain they have nothing to do with your reaction to me,” he whispered before leaning in to claim her mouth with his own.

  A long time later, he pulled away, staring down into her luminous eyes. “I’ve got the next week off work, and I plan to spend all of it proving to you exactly how much I want you—with or without any damned shoes.”

  “Okay.” Jenna smiled tremulously.

  “Starting as soon as we get back to my apartment.” Corvin stood up and held his hand out to her.

  “I have one reques
t,” Jenna said as she, too, stood.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t ever make me drive your motorcycle again.”

  With a wicked grin, he scooped her up into his arms. She squealed, and all around them, tourists began cheering and clapping.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he carried her out of the café. “From now on, I plan to do all the driving.”

  About the Authors

  Margo Bond Collins

  USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and New York Times bestselling author Margo Bond Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing romance novels instead. Sometimes her heroines kiss aliens (or in this case, undercover cops!), sometimes they kill monsters. But they always aim for the heart.

  You can learn more about her books at

  www.MargoBondCollins.net

  London Kingsley

  London Kingsley writes sexy contemporary romance with hot alpha heroes and instalove connections. This is her first publication.

  Love, Lust & Stilettos

  Gracen Miller

  LOVE, LUST & STILETTOS

  Once upon a time she craved the touch of her boss …

  Jed freaking Night. An effing dragon. And her boss. Arrogant and insufferable, and the man Rose desires most.

  Rose Jeffcoat is anything but a typical elf. She’s outspoken, without a shy demeanor. As an acquisitions curator of dark objects, she’s persistent in acquiring the pieces her boss wants.

  Jed Night knows what he wants. And it’s nothing a rational dragon should crave. But Rose is an enigma, different from the rest of her species. What started out as an experiment has developed into his personal hell. Rose is great at her job, but he wants more from her. A lot more. More than what is feasible.