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TAMING THE MADAM by Anna J. Evans
Jacob Forester, Heliosian vampire, heads west in 1864 when gold is discovered in Virginia City, Montana. After a life of hardship and poverty, this is his chance to overcome a legacy of subservience. A truly Dominant man--in the bedroom and out--Jacob vows the next person to stand in his way will pay dearly for their mistake. Amelia Bouchette, a land walking Siren, runs the most decadent bordello in Virginia City--or she did until Jacob moved into town. Now business is off and she at risk of losing control of her coterie. She decides Jacob and his vampires must go, and she's exactly the woman to convince him to leave. Jacob and Amelia take their battle to the sheets and soon find neither of them is inclined to continue waging war. They are a perfect match, a Dom and sub who seem destined to be together. But soon, an evil from Jacob's past threatens their new found happiness, and Amelia's life, convincing Jacob he must risk anything to keep her safe. |
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EXCERPT
What were the others going to think? How could she ever show her face to her sisters once they knew what she'd done? There now, you'll be able to breathe easier. The last strings holding her corset together slipped through their guides. Whalebone and lace fell forward into his hands. The truth comes more easily with a nice, deep breath. She shuddered, her nipples tightening to aching points for reasons that had nothing to do with the chill air, and everything to do with the dark eyes of the man in front of her. Heat pooled in her belly and she fought to keep her breath from growing fast and shallow, from allowing her body to give him any other sign that being his captive drove her mad with lust. Simply mad. Now tell me, what were you looking for? Just hold on, Amelia, she told herself. Don't tell him anything. He'll tire of this game and no one will have to know you were so easily caught, so easily tamed. Oh but, gods, they would know. There was no doubt of it. His possession of her--body and soul--would be readily apparent to any sister who took the time to give her a hard look. They would all know that she'd been mastered, and what's worse…they would know she'd loved every minute of it. Hadn't they already suspected her weakness? Wasn't that why she was here in the first place? Tell me, sweet. His large, warm hands were on her again, smoothing up her ribs, stopping just short of her breasts. Her nipples beaded even further, to the point of pain, and the tension spiraling low in belly grew so fierce she actually whimpered. She. Amelia Bouchette. New head of the Sisterhood of the American Frontier, whimpered. She'd never work west of the Mississippi again. Hell, she'd be lucky if she could slink back to Europe, back to that diseased little Paris bordello she'd fled nearly seventy years ago. She'd be ruined, completely and utterly and-- Stop hiding from me. Lift your face. Let me see your eyes. Amelia moaned as she obeyed, no longer sure if she were awake or asleep. Every time she met his dark, nearly black gaze, she was immediately beside herself, outside herself, adrift on the promise of pleasure etched on the hard planes of his face. But the drunken, lost feeling was more than worth it. For every time she acquiesced to his commands, he gave her just a bit more of what the weak, twisted part of her soul ached for. Their eyes met and held and her breath slowed to a dead stop. The world spun dizzyingly around her as he deliberately reached out to where she stood--strapped to his wall, arms above her head, legs spread, as completely at his mercy as any man in the grip of a Siren's song. This time he rewarded her obedience by tugging at the ribbon at the top of her chemise. Breath whooshed into her lungs again as the fabric loosened, and the heated swells of her breasts tumbled out, now bare to the cool air. If he looked down, he'd be able to see how she ached for him. Her nipples stung with the need to be touched. Her body hummed with desire and just the thought that he might brush one of those long, elegant fingers across her puckered, aching flesh was enough to make her tremble and another desperate sound escape her throat. But he didn't look down, once again giving no sign that her desire was even apparent, let alone of interest. Gods. Damn. Him. He was a bastard and she was going to do more than ruin his business as planned. She was going to wreck his life, reduce him to a quivering, quaking wreck of a man, bring him as low as he'd brought her…as soon as she managed to free herself from his spell. Anna J. Evans writes very, very naughty things for Ellora's Cave, Samhain and NAL Heat. Learn more at her website: annajevans.com. |
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