The Idea of You (31 page)

In the next sexy and suspenseful novel from Shelly Bell, an investigative reporter and an ex-military Dom witness a murder outside of the sex club, Benediction, and uncover a deadly political conspiracy while trying to clear their names . . .

An Avon Red Impulse Novel

 

P
uffing on his Cuban cigar, the Senator reclined in his chair, a tumbler of scotch on the rocks in front of him. He stared down the two men sitting on the other side of his desk, daring them to repeat the words that had just been uttered.

Sweating profusely, FBI Agent Seymour Fink tugged on his tie, his Adam's apple bobbing above the buttoned collar of his shirt.

For a moment, the Senator considered retrieving his gun from his desk drawer and shooting the agent in the head, but he couldn't risk getting blood or splatters of brain matter on his tuxedo. After all, he had an important dinner to attend in an hour and didn't want to disappoint his wife.

He downed the rest of his drink, then shook the ice in the glass the way he'd like to shake the mobster who was fucking with him. “Tell me what you're going to do to fix the problem,” he said calmly, unwilling to allow this minor bump in the road to waylay his plans.

“Do, sir?” Using the sleeve of his suit jacket, Agent Fink wiped the sweat from his brow, cigar smoke circling around his head like a boa constrictor. “I'm not certain we should do—”

“You listen to me, you little prick. There is nothing that will stand in my way.” The Senator hurled his tumbler against the wall above the fireplace, shattering the glass into a million tiny pieces. “Do you understand me? I've got your balls in a vise underneath my blade, so let's try this again. What are you going to do to fix the problem?”

Seymour swallowed convulsively. “No one was supposed to get hurt.”

“Don't pull that bullshit now. You knew when I approached you that lives would be lost for the greater good,” the Senator said. He handed off his cigar and nodded to the other agent, a bruiser of a man who he'd chosen not only for his twenty years of service to this country, but for his lack of empathy. Agent Richard Evans understood the risks involved in his job, the three bullets he'd taken in the chest a testament to that fact.

Evans pinched the fat cigar between his fingers and in a flash, locked his partner's head under his arm, pinning Fink's hands to the table and singeing the top of one with the foot of the cigar. Fink screamed, his smaller body thrashing wildly as he fruitlessly tried to escape from his partner and the pain he was inflicting.

The acrid scent of burnt flesh overpowered the cigar's sweet one, a smell he would forever more attribute to power.

By the time Evans released him, Fink's skin had turned pasty white, his shirt completely drenched from his sweat. He breathed heavily, nodding. “Consider the problem solved, sir. By this time tomorrow night, Rinaldi will be dead.”

The Senator leaned back in his chair and smiled.

God bless the USA.

T
ouring the dungeon located in the basement of a private mansion, Rachel Dawson ignored the decadent sights and sounds of sex going on all around her and kept her eye on the prize. After working her ass off to gain entrance into Benediction, the prestigious sex club owned by Cole DeMarco, she was finally here.

Although it was early in the evening and most of the upstairs fantasy rooms were still vacant, she'd gotten to play the role of voyeur as she'd observed two different scenes. The “teacher” bending the “schoolgirl” over his desk and smacking her with a ruler had titillated her, but Rachel had remained a removed observer, her body not engaged by the fantasy.

Then she remembered she wasn't at Benediction to fulfill her fantasies or to act as voyeur. She was there to do a story about BDSM and for that, she needed to go to the dungeon.

Unlike the fantasy rooms, the dungeon was packed. In here, the sights, smells, and sounds of passion and pain seduced her senses. The potent scents of leather, musk, and sweat teased her with the promise of sex. Everywhere Rachel looked, people indulged in their kinks without judgment or recrimination.

Her mouth grew dry at the sight of a naked woman suspended from the ceiling by rope and flowing white sheets, twirling as if she was an acrobat in a circus act.

Who had bound that woman? Was
he
here tonight?

Sometimes the worst mistakes turn out to be the best . . .

Smoke jumper Wilder Kane once reveled in the rush from putting out dangerous wildfires. But after a tragic accident, he's cut himself off from the world, refusing to leave his isolated cabin. When a headstrong beauty bursts in, Wilder finds himself craving the fire she ignites in him, but letting anyone near his darkness would be a mistake.

 

Q
uinn unzipped her jacket, pausing halfway. “You don't mind, do you? Seeing as I'm staying, at least for a while.”

“No.”
Yes.
Because the minute she slid out of that white, puffy coat, her breathtaking body was on full display. Those snug-fitting jeans weren't overtly sexy, but the way the denim contoured to the slight flare of her narrow thighs made him swallow. Hard.

It had been awhile since he'd been in the company of any woman who wasn't a medical professional or intimately involved with his brothers. Also, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had a type and this forward, strong-looking woman fit it right down to that thick wavy brown hair pulled back at the nape of her long, sexy neck.

Necks were underrated female geography. He loved how they tasted when he kissed them there, how they smelled as he nuzzled.

Equally fascinating was her lush mouth, how the corner remained quirked on one side despite the natural pout, as if in perpetual secret amusement.

This woman was bright, spunky, and happy, despite her father's miserable situation. His heart sank. He had nothing to offer someone like her, not when his whole world had burned to cinder.

He shook himself inwardly, not moving a muscle. No point succumbing to the ugly truth, however true. Maybe he could pretend to be a normal guy for the night. Normal except for the scars, the missing leg, and the fact that he hadn't spoken to a living soul since Sawyer dropped off his groceries six days ago, and was tongue-tied around strangers at the best of times.

Shit.

What would Archer do? His younger brother was good with people, especially the ladies. He'd navigate this situation like a pro.

She gave him a tentative smile, probably because he was staring at her like a loon.

Compliments. Women like compliments.

“Your teeth are real white,” Wilder blurted. God damn it, the words hung over them like a comic strip balloon. He wished for a string to grab on to, stuff the idiocy back into his mouth, swallow it down.

“Excuse me?” Her shoulders jerked as her lips clamped, clearly not anticipating the awkward flattery.

At least he hadn't said how much he liked her neck. Yet.

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Excerpt from
Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler
copyright © 2015 by Darlene Panzera.

Excerpt from
Blue Blooded
copyright © 2015 by Shelly Bell.

Excerpt from
I Need a Hero
copyright © 2015 by Codi Gary.

Excerpt from
Best Worst Mistake
copyright © 2015 by Lia Riley.

THE IDEA OF YOU
. Copyright © 2015 by Darcy Burke. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition NOVEMBER 2015 ISBN: 9780062443366

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062443373

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