Naked Disclosure
Authors: Michele Bardsley
A Quick Recommendation
Dear Reader,
Naked Disclosure
is technically Broken Heart #11, but it takes place in Broken Arrow, Oregon (with plenty of interference from Broken Heart citizens). I highly recommend you read
Some Lycan Hot
before you begin this tale of small-town love gone awry. By the way, Broken Heart’s first introduction to Cupid AKA Eros is in
Valentine’s Day Suck
s
(which is also available in the print and e-book collection called
Broken Heart: Visitor’s Pass
).
Happy Reading!
~Michele
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Naked Disclosure
Broken Heart #11
By Michele Bardsley
Copyright 2014 by Michele Bardsley
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Cover art design is courtesy of the talented
Renee George
, who is also a wonderful editor and a kick-ass writer.
Prologue
THE SILVER NET sparkled and then went liquid, covering the goddess of wrath in mere seconds. As soon as Nemesis was fully enrobed, the net returned to its original state—a thin chain mail that was both beautiful and unbreakable.
Nemesis fought against the net, punching and kicking to no avail. No being, mortal or immortal, could escape the magicked metal created by Hephaestus himself.
“What the fuck!” she screamed.
Aphrodite appeared next to the imprisoned immortal. “Oh, I wouldn’t cuss if I were you,” she said sweetly. “I hear the goddess of wrath is a real bitch.”
“Let me out,” screamed Nemesis. “Now!”
“Oh, I’ll let you out. In a hundred years or so.” Aphrodite pointed a well-manicured finger at Nemesis. “Unless … you want to tell me where the apple is?”
“I buried it,” Nemesis said, her voice thick with malice. “This little piece of Oregon will soon have a few love problems.”
“You cursed all of Broken Arrow?” Aphrodite leaned close to Nemesis’s face. “Why would punish an entire town?”
“Why not?” Nemesis’s eyes held bitterness so dark and deep no compassion would ever reach it. “Everywhere I look I see injustice and pain and immorality, especially in the hearts of humans. Why do they deserve true love?”
“Everyone deserves true love,” said Aphrodite softly. “Are you not also the goddess of justice? Where is your mercy?”
“I have none.”
“Tell me where you buried the apple.” Aphrodite leaned close, cupping Nemesis’s heart-shaped face. The silver netting formed a mask around Nemesis’s porcelain skin. Then goddess of love offered the goddess of wrath the kindness she denied the humans she judged too easily. “I will free you, sister.”
“Free me?” Nemesis choked out a laugh. “Sure, you will. And zap me right into the presence of Zeus, I’m sure. It’s so like you to tattle on me. Daddy always takes your side.”
“Oh, he does not,” snapped Aphrodite. “You really do need a time-out.” She straightened. “One last chance, Nem. The apple’s location for your freedom.”
Nemesis stared at Aphrodite, saying nothing. Her pouty lips quivered into a malicious smile. “Never.”
“Fine! Enjoy your new residence, sister dear. I hear Tartarus is hotter than Hades this time of century.”
“Aphrodite!”
The goddess of love shook her head at both the plea and threat in her sister’s tone. Nemesis was a lost cause. She was far too mired in own miseries to find the lenity she once held for humans.
Aphrodite snapped her fingers, and Nemesis disappeared.
LATER, APHRODITE AND Daphne took a stroll in downtown Broken Arrow. They stopped on the sidewalk in front of the Manzana Café.
“We need to find the apple,” Aphrodite said. “Before its curse overcomes the entire town.”
“How do we do that?”
Aphrodite shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ll have to call in a few favors, I suppose. Until we find the damned apple, we’ll have to stick around.”
“Really?” asked Daphne. The nymph looked around. “It’s not exactly a hopping locale.”
“We’ll manage.” She put her hand on her friend and executive assistant’s shoulder. “Until we locate the apple and nullify its effects, we’ll have to fix broken hearts and mend relationships here. A romantic triage, if you will.”
“Gotta go old school, huh? We’ll need the whole crew. Eros, Psyche, the Graces,” said Daphne. “I’ll start looking for office space.”
Aphrodite spread out her arms. “Welcome to Broken Arrow, Oregon. Our new home.”
Chapter 1
New Year’s Eve
DAPHNE AND APHRODITE (yes, that Aphrodite) were crouched behind a large cluster of mahonia aquifolium, otherwise known as the Oregon grape. Despite its name, the bush didn’t actually have grapes, but tart, dark berries. Its leaves were like those of a holly bush—waxy, pointy, and currently poking Daphne in the face. It didn’t help that it had snowed last night and they were crouched in at least four inches of the stuff. Earth weather was kinda sucky.
“I’m getting a cold,” whispered Daphne. She wiggled her nose as though trying to prevent a sneeze.
“You can’t get colds, Daphne. You’re immortal.”
“I got tree rot once.”
Aphrodite turned toward her and lifted one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Do I look like Demeter? Save your plant disease talk for her. She loves conversing about tree rot and acidic content of soil and the perfidies of Kudzu. Ugh.” She studied her friend and executive assistant’s black leather tank top, yellow neon skirt, and those gorgeous wedge high heels. “It’s not like you’re dressed for Oregon weather anyway. You know it’s winter, right?”
“That’s no reason to let a good outfit go to waste. Have you seen my awesome shoes?”
Aphrodite nodded. “They are quite spectacular.”
“Right?” Daphne took a second to admire the wedges. “So. Anyway. Speaking of plant diseases … how long are we going to hide in the bushes? I thought we were searching for the apple.”
“We were. We are. But I have to stick around until I figure out why I have the Tingle.” Aphrodite snuggled more deeply into her Burberry coat, flipping up the collar to provide some warmth to her cold cheeks.
“I wish your love buzzer worked for the apple. Three months, Di. We got nothing. Nada. Zip.”
“I know. I know. We have couples breaking up and divorcing all over the place. That’s why I financed that little … project.”
“The sex club?”
Aphrodite grimaced. “You make it sound tawdry.”
“No, I make it sound fun. The seeeeex club.”
“We all know that getting humans into sexual frenzy is the fastest way to increase the love mojo in Broken Arrow. Remember the orgies I used to throw back in the day?”
“Oh, I remember.” Daphne grinned. “Penises and vaginas everywhere.”
“Thank you for the visual. The important part, however, was the love and marriage and babies that came afterward. I’m using the same concept—with less public orgy, of course—for the Cupid Club.”
“I’m sure Eros was thrilled with your name choice.”
“He doesn’t like to be called Cupid, so it hardly matters.” Aphrodite stilled. Then she pushed down the Oregon grape’s leaves, dislodging the snow onto Daphne’s bare legs.
“Jeez! Really?”
Aphrodite ignored the nymph’s grousing. Her gaze riveted on the house just a few yards away. “Hush, you. The couple who’re causing the Tingle are about to meet.”
ADAM REDMONT STUMBLED out of the warm, cinnamon-scented house owned by Roger and Cindy Morrison. Behind him, the melodic voice of Patsy Cline followed him onto the porch. The bittersweet song had morphed the loud and raucous party into a lovey-dovey-kissey-wissey affair. Blech. The partygoers had split into slow-dancing couples and made him all too aware that he wasn’t part of a twosome or threesome or anysome. And he hadn’t been for a long, long time. Adam stopped short of the stairs, unintentionally swaying to the music as he tried to gather what was left of his wits.
Shit. He’d left open the front door, but wasn’t sure he had enough motor control to turn around and shut it. Before he could attempt what might a life-threatening turn, he heard the door slam, immediately muting the sounds of the Patsy Cline and the New Year’s Eve party.
He was leaving before midnight. Sad, really. Even without a steady girl to smooch on, chances were good he could’ve found someone to lock lips with at midnight. Oh well. It was about a mile’s walk to his house and he needed the time and the cold air slapping at his face to sober him up. Besides, if he didn’t go home soon, his Great Dane, Marvin, would get impatient and started peeing on furniture. Then the damned dog would eat it. The couch had never recovered from the last bout of the Dane’s separation anxiety.
Adam managed the three steps off the porch. He weaved right...weaved left...and fell face-first into the double D chest of a lingerie-clad snow-woman. Oh. Right. Roger had jokingly made Snowarella and Cindy had retaliated by creating Prince Snow.
Laughing, Adam sucked a lungful of snow, and the stupidity of doing that made him laugh harder. He extracted himself from the icy breasts—the purple lace bra clutched in a triumphant fist—and fell ass-first into the snow-blanketed front yard.
“I’ll give you points if you did that clasp one-handed,” said a melodic female voice.
Blinking away the buzz gained by a mere two glasses of eggnog so potent people were getting drunk just smelling it—Adam looked up and saw a beautiful blonde angel.
She smiled. “You had the eggnog, too, eh?”
Adam held up two fingers and she chuckled. “I had one,” she admitted. “I’ve been seeing double ever since.”
She extended her hand and he grabbed it, attempting to pull himself up. Instead, she was thrown forward, on top of him. Delighted with this turn of events, he wrapped his arms around her. “Angel,” he muttered.
From the house, a cheer went up. Then Adam recognized the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.”
“Midnight,” he said. “Happy New Year!”
“Whoa, sugar. What are you—?”
His lips took hers in a gentle caress. Her mouth was so cherry-hot he found himself unable to stop lip-locking her. She didn’t protest…so he kissed her until the snow melted around them.
Finally, reluctantly, he let go of her lips to explore the shell of her ear. Such a delicate, pretty ear. Like a butterfly’s wing.
“We’re sorta inebriated,” she whispered.
Nuzzling under her turtle neck, he said, “Uh-huh.”
Oh God. She smelled like honeysuckle and tasted like freshly baked bread. She was warm and wiggly and holy shit he really wanted to see what was under that parka that hid her body from him.
“It’s probably unwise to think about continuing this fun somewhere less cold,” she said.
“Definitely unwise. But I’m sure we can find an unlocked car.”
“You’re such a romantic,” she said with a laugh.
They rose on unsteady legs. She held onto his arm and he to her waist and just as they decided to move forward, they fell into a heap all over again.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said breathlessly.
“Eggnog and the fates are against us. Give me your number. Your name. Your zip code. We’ll have a New Year’s Day brunch...in bed.”
“Tell you what,” she said. She unclasped her purse, withdrew a pink notepad that had a tiny pencil attached to it. “You meet me here tomorrow night—” she scribbled on the paper, ripped it from the pad, and handed it to him—“and we’ll see what happens.”
He peered at the paper. It was so pink. “The Cupid Club?” He blinked, his foggy mind clutching at the words. “Wait. That’s a real thing? In Broken Arrow?”
“It’s real. Go about a mile past Beautiful Beaux. There’s an apple farm sign—make a left there.”
“You mean the dirt road that goes to Gutson’s old place? There’s nothing out there. I mean, the apple trees are still there. But the only building left is—oh. The barn.”
“Yes. The barn.” She leaned forward and kissed his throat. “Eight p.m. Ask for T.”
