Dangerously Broken

PRAISE FOR
DANGEROUSLY BROKEN

“With kink, sensuality, emotional depth and passion that flies off the page, Eden Bradley has a winner in
Dangerously Broken
. Loved it!”

—J. Kenner,
New York Times
bestselling author

“
Dangerously Broken
is dark and sexy, romantic and edgy—this book will keep you up all night.”

—Lexi Blake,
New York Times
bestselling author

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF EDEN BRADLEY

“Intelligent, haunting and sexy as hell . . . For you people who like story and heart with your erotica, I’d definitely recommend any of Eden’s books.”

—Maya Banks,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Honest, tender and totally sexy—a feast for the senses and the heart.”

—Shayla Black,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Brilliant, seductive and dangerous. All of my favorite things.”

—R. G. Alexander, author of
Possess Me

“A hot and steamy ride to the climactic end . . . This story will steam up your glasses.”

—
Library Journal

“An exciting, erotic page-turner that does not disappoint . . . Ms. Bradley’s wonderful storytelling ability [and] knack for description . . . transports you right into the story and holds you there until the very last page.”

—Night Owl Reviews

“Graphic, loving and incredibly well-written, the sex scenes ratchet up the drama with unbelievable intensity . . . Sexual desire intertwines with emotional intensity, resulting in a book you won’t want to put down.”

—Romance Junkies

“Bradley delivers the goods. There is intense intimacy and heart-wrenching emotions . . . This is delicious and delightful from the first page until the conclusion.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Eden Bradley is an incredible author who writes scorching-hot love scenes with characters who are very memorable and so very well written.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

“Eden Bradley knows how to heat up the pages in a hurry. She creates sexual tension and love scenes that will get your heart racing. But she also creates characters that are realistic and fun to read.”

—Fiction Vixen

“Eden Bradley has a knack for penning extraordinary erotic romances.”

—
Wild on Books

“Dark and seductive; it left me breathless and eager for more. I loved it!”

—My Secret Romance Reviews

“Highly erotic and sensual.”

—
Under the Covers Book Blog

Titles by Eden Bradley

DANGEROUSLY BOUND

DANGEROUSLY BROKEN

Writing as Eve Berlin

PLEASURE’S EDGE

DESIRE’S EDGE

TEMPTATION’S EDGE

Anthologies

EXCLUSIVE

(with Jaci Burton and Lisa Renee Jones)

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of Penguin Random House LLC.

Copyright © 2015 by Eden Bradley.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices,
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For more information, visit
penguin.com
.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63821-7

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bradley, Eden.

Dangerously broken / Eden Bradley. — Berkley Trade paperback edition.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-425-26999-2

I. Title.

PS3602.R34266D35 2015

813'.6—dc23

2015018450

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley trade paperback edition / October 2015

Cover photograph: “lock and chain” © PIER / Getty Images;
“wrought iron” © Purestock / Getty Images.

Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To the beautifully haunting city of New Orleans—you are always pure magic to me.

I want to thank my dear friend author Erin Simone for exploring New Orleans at midnight with me. Our quiet walks through the dark French Quarter, breathing the city in, glorying in the architecture, sharing my longing for the place, inspired me in ways I will never quite be able to put into words. Someday we will go there with our little dogs and hole up in an apartment for a month, writing all day, walking the city after dark, creating new stories together. Promise.

I must also thank the real Dennie, beta reader and one of the sweetest people I know, for letting me use her sassy personality and the strength of the friendship she offers as a model for Summer Grace’s best friend. Thank you, doll!

T
HE
SOUND
OF
leather hitting naked flesh reverberated like a low hum in his veins as Jamie entered the main play space of The Bastille. Bodies writhed beneath the dim red and pale gold lights, seemingly in time with the trancelike ambient music. Everywhere were the scents familiar at any BDSM club. Leather. Desire. And very faintly, a little perfume. But the leather—floggers, cuffs, whips—was only one element of kink to whet his appetite. It was always the primeval glint and clank of chains that really did it for him.

A small frisson of heat shivered over his skin, creeping up the back of his neck as he paused to admire a giant web of chain attached to the sleek, black-lacquered wall. It was one of his favorite play stations at the club. The Bastille was his home club, infamous among the kink folk in New Orleans and all over the country. The club was as decadent as the city itself, as sensual as New Orleans’s sultry air. With its dramatic black and red décor, the spectacular equipment, the subs and slaves blindfolded and bound into the wall nooks where one would normally set a tall vase of flowers or a statue, it was the kind of place one only ever read about. But these beautifully still people were as decorative as a vase of flowers, in his mind. And this place was far from “normal.” Tonight The Bastille, this wicked den of far-from-normal appetites, would serve him well—as soon as he chose a play partner from among the many gorgeous submissive women available.

They were scattered throughout the club, seated on the plush red velvet settees and chairs in the front lounge area, or watching the activity on the main floor. They were easy enough to spot whether or not they wore the club’s white collar of protection and availability. It was in the furtive glances they cast at him, lashes down, hands clasped in front of them, posture perfect in their rigid corsets. And then there were those who dared to stare boldly at him, lashes batting, a smile on their pretty lips. These were the ones who interested him most, although they always proved to be the most trouble in the end. But he liked a feisty submissive. He liked the challenge.

He liked having a reason to punish them.

Ah, and there she was—the tall brunette who’d made a point of introducing herself the last time or two he’d visited the club. What was her name? She was smiling at him, and there was little coyness in her glance. He smiled back, started to move across the room toward her when his attention was caught by a scene to his left. Maîtresse Renee, an attractive Domme. Like him, she was a regular at The Bastille. She was paddling a petite woman bent over a spanking bench. The girl had a truly spectacular ass that was pinking nicely. It was perfect, really—a perfect heart shape. And she had long, silky blonde hair that hung down almost to the floor, obscuring her face. But there was something familiar about her small frame . . .

Maîtresse Renee grabbed the girl’s hair and pulled her upright and his groin tightened as her flawless, small breasts came into view, tipped with pale pink nipples. He’d love to get his hands on her, loved a woman with that build—slight and athletic, yet still utterly feminine. And she had a gorgeous tattoo of a phoenix on her side in brilliant color. He loved tattoos on a woman, especially one of this size and exquisite detail. Beautiful. Who was she? Someone new, that was for sure. He stepped closer, something about the tiny blonde drawing him.

The Domme pulled her head farther back, elongating her throat, and he caught sight of the girl’s profile.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Summer Grace Rae.

His hands fisted at his sides, all thought of the brunette gone in the wake of discovering his best friend’s little sister in the club. The girl he’d sworn to protect as her brother Brandon lay on his deathbed twelve years ago. The same little sister he’d lusted after since she was fourteen years old, although he’d never admit that to anyone. The same girl he was lusting after now, even as anger suffused him.

He took a few hard strides toward them before managing to stop himself just short of invading their scene space—stopping so fast it rocked him back on his heavy, booted heels. His head felt like it was about to explode.

What the hell was Summer Grace doing at the club?
His
club! The fucking
kink
club! And even worse, under someone else’s hands, Goddamn it.

He couldn’t stand to watch, yet he couldn’t look away as Maîtresse Renee pulled her hair harder, Summer Grace’s back arching. When her entire slender frame was elongated, the Domme started to use a small leather paddle on the front of her delicate body.

He shook his head, his blood boiling. He had two choices. He could barge in on their scene and risk getting himself banned from the club in the process and ruining his reputation as a Dominant, or he could get the fuck out of there and deal with this later, after he’d had some time to get his head back on straight.

As if.

He knew damn well he should leave, but he couldn’t resist circling the scene until he stood in front of Summer Grace—and knew how utterly stupid he’d been when she glanced up and caught his gaze.

Jesus fuck!

It was like a punch in the gut, even from a good eight or ten feet away: those sky-blue eyes, the shock there, and on her lips as they made a small
O
. The raw
zing
of desire and the knot of emotion. And he was damn irresponsible. He stepped back, his own sense of shock threatening to paralyze him. Blowing out a breath, he took another step back, then forced himself to turn away and head for the front door. He’d almost made it when a hand on his arm stopped his momentum.

“Jamie? You okay?”

It was another beautiful brunette—Allie, Mick’s girlfriend. They were two of his closest friends, and they’d all known each other since they were kids—Allie and Mick. Brandon and Summer Grace.

So damn hot, naked on that spanking bench, the tattoo down her ribs, just beneath those perfect breasts . . .

Jesus, he did not want to talk to Allie right now. He was too fucked up. Over seeing Summer Grace. Over his behavior—looking right at her during a scene when he should have walked the hell away.

“Fine. I’m just . . . I’m taking off.”

“Like a cat with its tail on fire. What’s going on?”

He didn’t want to talk about this. “Where’s Mick?”

“He’s out of town, working, which I’m pretty sure you already knew. And you’re deflecting why?” Allie smiled, undaunted by his gruff demeanor.

He ran a hand over his buzz cut as if that would clear his brain. “Allie, look . . . I just saw someone in there and . . . Wait. Did you know she was here? You and Summer Grace have been hanging out since you got back to town. Shit, Allie, did you know about this?”

“Don’t be so accusatory, Jamie. Yes, I know she’s here. I’m the one who brought her. I was just getting something out of my locker—”

“You fucking
brought her
here?” he exploded, then sucked in a breath and tried to calm himself. He’d gotten too close, and she’d
seen
him. And God knew what it had done to her head space. Unforgivable. He knew better. “Hell. Fuck. I’m sorry. But you should have told me. Warned me. Jesus, who thought this was a good idea?”

He needed to calm the hell down. Allie wasn’t looking too pleased with him right now. But damn it, this was Brandon’s little sister. In his club. Fuck.

“Actually, she asked me not to discuss it with you, Jamie. She wanted to do this on her own.”

Of course Summer Grace had asked Allie not to tell him. He would never have allowed it.

“And you let her? She sure as hell hasn’t been in here before or I would have known about it. Do you know if she’s been to other clubs? Played with someone else before tonight? Before showing up here and bending over a spanking bench, for fuck’s sake. How new to the kink life is she? Jesus, Allie, is anyone watching out for her?”

Allie drew herself up, fire sparking in her brown eyes. “Jamie Stewart-Greer, you need to change your tone right now. What do you take me for?
I
’
m
watching out for her. So is Rosie. I wouldn’t let
anyone
come into this without guidance, especially someone I’ve known most of my life. As for the rest, that’s her business to tell you, not mine. You should know that.” She reached for him again, her tone softening as she rubbed a soothing hand over his arm. “Come on, Jamie. Take a breath and think for a minute. You know I’d never be irresponsible with Summer.”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Okay. I know that. I’m just . . . I’m gonna go. I’m sorry I blew up at you. I wasn’t expecting to see her.”

Naked. Being spanked by someone else. Getting her hair pulled by someone else. Commanded . . .

Allie shrugged. “I can understand it. She’s always been everyone’s baby sister. But, Jamie? Baby sisters grow up.”

He nodded, not wanting to tell her that he’d never thought of Summer Grace as
his
baby sister. He didn’t want to tell her he’d spent years fantasizing about her—about doing those things to her himself. And just as many years knowing he never could because of the promise he’d made to her brother.

To see her with another Dominant, even a woman . . . It was more than he could stand.

He pulled Allie in and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “You’re right, as usual. I’m just gonna do everyone a favor and go.”

“That might be the best idea. Are we good, Jamie?” she asked, looking up at him.

“What? Yes. We’re good. Of course we are. This is all me.”

He tried to get himself to move but he had to get one last look. It was too crowded and he was too far away, but he thought he heard her crying out in pleasure or pain.

Summer Grace
.

Fuck.

She’d done this just to drive him crazy. She was good at that. Three years his junior, Summer Grace had been coming on to him all through her teen years and into her twenties. But in the last year it had stopped, and she seemed to be avoiding him. Not that he could blame her—he’d always rejected her blatant advances. Although seeing her now made him wonder how the hell he’d managed it. Summer Grace had been one hell of a sex kitten since she hit puberty.

Jesus. He was getting hard remembering her crawling into his sleeping bag on more than one of the camping trips he’d taken with the Rae family. Remembering what it felt like to wake up with her straddling him . . .

Allie squeezed his arm. “Jamie? You said you were going?”

“What? Yeah, I’m out of here. I’ll talk to you later.”

Allie raised one dark brow. “Drive carefully. You seem a little shaken up.”

You have no idea.

“I will.”

He got out of the club and to the parking lot on the side of the big converted warehouse that housed The Bastille. His auto shop’s white tow truck was parked there—he didn’t like to leave his vintage Corvette Stingray in the warehouse district. He swung open the door with the “SGR” insignia on the side a little too hard—“SGR” for Stewart-Greer and Rae. He and Brandon had planned to go into business together as soon as they got through the automotive technology program over in Lafayette. The least he could do was add Brandon’s name to the business. If only Brandon were there to run the shop with him . . .

If only Brandon were here, this night would never have happened. Summer Grace would never have been naked and submitting in one of the most notorious kink clubs in the country. And Jamie would never have been forced to resist the temptation she offered—not on this scale. Not on his home turf. Temptation he could never give in to. Not only because of the promise he’d made, but because he refused to bring her any closer. He was dangerous to people he cared about, whose lives intertwined with his.

Don’t think about that part.

But now he’d seen her naked, and temptation was brought to a whole new level. Temptation and ideas about the possibility of them being together that made his chest ache.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his head again.

He pressed his fingers against his temples and then his eyes, where a steady pressure was building.

That wasn’t the only place pressure was building.

How the hell could he be so damn mad and so turned on at the same time? He should be used to this by now—that was how things had always been with Summer Grace. He’d chased her out of his bed—his sleeping bag, his tent, off the Rae’s family room couch—at least a dozen times over the years. Every time he’d gotten angry. Every time he’d had to deal with the raging hard-on of his life. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that with her. Not
her
.

But now he knew she was exploring kink at
his
club. If this turned out to be more than a one-time thing he would see her there again and again. They’d run into each other and he’d be forced to watch other people have what he’d denied himself. Watch Summer Grace submit to someone else. See her naked body—her beautiful naked body and that perfect heart-shaped ass growing gorgeously pink as she was spanked, paddled.

He groaned, pressed his hand against the hard bulge in his jeans.

“Down boy,” he murmured, his throat raw with need.

He started the truck and pulled onto Magazine Street, gunning the engine, then braking for the summertime tourist traffic.

“Fuck.”

He needed to get the hell home. Needed to either get into his ’Vette and drive off this tension, or get into his bed or the shower or just inside the damn door of his flat so he could work it off properly—with a good, hard orgasm and then some good, hard drinking and swearing until he inevitably got hard again and the cycle repeated.

He came to a red light and waited impatiently, then switched on the radio.

All along it was a fever, a cold sweat hot-headed believer,
Rihanna sang.

He sure as hell had a fever. For
her
. If he’d ever tried to deny it before, it was impossible after tonight, when she’d stepped into his world and given herself over to it. Without him. He might have been strong enough to shrug off her youthful attempts at seduction, but whether she knew it or not, she’d just starred in his own personal forbidden fantasy.