Take the Heat
by Skye Warren
The ultimate bad boys, criminals capture our attention and awaken our darkest desires. Celebrate the illicit in this romantic suspense anthology, where handcuffs are used for more than play. These stories are shocking, sexy, and thought-provoking.
In New York Times Bestselling Author Skye Warren’s Magnolia Hotel, meet the heroine who pays her brother’s debt to a loan shark—who happens to be her childhood crush. Find out if the jury made the right decision in Acquitted by award-winning author Giselle Renarde. Explore a dark and sensual psychology with New York Times Bestselling Author Pam Godwin in Unlawful Seduction.
Ride the edge of desire and see if you can TAKE THE HEAT…
Skye Warren – Magnolia Hotel
Cynthia Richards – Captivated
Pam Godwin – Unlawful Seduction
Sheri Savill – Slipknot
Shoshanna Evers – This Might Hurt A Bit
Candy Quinn – The Bombshell
Tamsin Flowers – Playing with Fire
Elizabeth Coldwell – Disposing of Donnie
Audrey Lusk – Surprise Witness
Trent Evans – Last Day
Giselle Renarde – Acquitted
FROM “SLIPKNOT” BY SHERI SAVILL
Leather. Sexy and tight. Perfect. Yep, this is the one. This is the one I’m taking.
Mia took a deep breath and, in one smooth move, rolled and tucked the metal hanger—and the soft black leather miniskirt still clipped to it—into her black shoulder bag. Right over the open zipper and down into the gaping hole at the top of the purse, all without a hitch.
Thank God the fucking price tag didn’t catch on the zipper track.
Once it was all pushed down inside the darkness of her purse, she rested the crook of her elbow over the opening again, for extra camouflage, in case prying eyes should happen to look too closely as she left the shop. Four hundreds dollars’ worth? really? The tiny skirt was easy enough to conceal. It was an obscene price for a leather mini, anyway, she rationalized. Even for a skirt as sexy and well-made as this one, that was too much money. She could smell the richness of fine leather wafting from the other skirts still on the rack in front of her as she glanced sideways again. All quiet. Not a soul in the shop but her and the guy behind the counter. And he was still gone.
God, that was really just too easy.
She felt her lips pursing together a little in spite of herself, barely suppressing her self-satisfaction. Still, no reason to be cocky. She’d planned this carefully enough in advance. Stupid thieves were always being caught because they didn’t think things through, or they became too brazen, too greedy. The news was full of dumb criminal stories. She’d resolved not to be one of them.
Mia shifted her weight a little in her black heels and then took a few small steps down the aisle toward the ball gags, crops, hoods…glancing sideways again toward the cash register, now bathed in a soft greenish glow of a banker’s lamp on the counter. The dimmer-than-usual lighting meant that Flesh Factory—the largest kinky sex emporium and BDSM equipment supplier in the city—was empty, about to close for the night—which was exactly what she had counted on. But even as the last customer of the day, she’d taken no chances and sent the lone employee—friendly, handsome, ever-so-helpful “Michael”—on an errand to the stockroom to check for fence-net thigh-highs she knew he wouldn’t find. They didn’t even carry them anymore. She knew the stripper-wear section well and pretty much owned one of everything they sold by now.
She continued to pretend to browse, exhaling another slow breath. It was exciting, breaking the law. She’d done it. And now the leather skirt was hers. All that was left to do was make a hasty yet friendly exit shortly after Michael returned, apologetic and empty-handed, from the goose chase she’d sent him on.
The short, low-cut white dress she’d worn tonight—no bra, of course—had been extra insurance that she’d have his cooperation. The idea was to disengage his brain while engaging his cock and she noted earlier, with pleasure, that her chosen outfit had indeed done just that. The bulge in Michael’s jeans confirmed it more than once, even before she’d made a point of bending to examine sale items set on a low shelf. Oh, but men were so easily entranced, so easily guided. And she knew now that her bare pussy and the twin curves of her ass just peeking from under the tight white fabric of her dress had done the trick with Michael. Plus it just made her feel sexy and like a bad girl; the playful exhibitionist side of her submissive tendencies, she supposed, now helping her steal a skirt.
Her thoughts snapped back to the present. A voice. Michael’s.
“Sorry…Mia, was it? Looks like we don’t even carry those anymore. I can call the supplier tomorrow, if you want, and see if we can special order them. That could take a few weeks, though. You probably don’t want to wait ...” He shrugged and turned a key in the register, locking it for the night.
She smiled at him.
“Oh no…Michael. Sorry for the trouble. I just thought—”
He was still aroused, his erection huge and straining in his jeans, and he was making no effort to hide it now. He’d come around the counter and was looking her up and down, his dark eyes taking in her nipples, the corners of his mouth turning up, approving. His eyes then moved down to her long tanned legs in the black heels.
“Love the white dress.”
“Thanks. Look, it’s late and I’ve already kept you from closing up on time. I gotta get going. But thanks, again, for checking on the fence-net stockings.” Her elbow squeezed the shoulder bag in closer to her body as she turned toward the exit. Another rush of satisfaction flooded her. She’d just scored a premium leather miniskirt and was about to walk right out the door with it and leave a hunky guy with a huge hard-on.
“You have a good night, then” she heard his husky voice calling behind her. The red neon of the “open” sign in the front window flickered a little, buzzing, and then went black. Maybe he couldn’t wait to get her out of the store. Probably wants to jerk off.
Her hand closed around the doorknob when she sensed someone moving up quickly behind her. Before she could turn, a large hand encircled her throat as an arm clamped around her belly, pulling her backward. It happened so fast.
A deep male voice—not Michael’s—breathed into her ear.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romantic fiction. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.
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The author will be awarding a $15 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter between this tour and the Review Tour, here.