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Stone Cold ISBN #978-0-85715-875-8 ©Copyright Fleur T Reid 2012 Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2012 Edited by Laura Hulley Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2. This story contains 46 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 8 pages.
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Heart Attack
STONE COLD Fleur T Reid
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Trouble walked into his office on six-inch heels… Harry Stone is a hard-bitten private detective, and when Vanessa Bouvier sashays into his office, a broad in trouble, the money she’s offering him to take her case is only part of a hot package. Her two-timing rat of a husband has scammed her out of a valuable diamond necklace, and she’ll do whatever it takes to make Harry take the case. But soon Harry realises Vanessa isn’t in trouble—she is trouble. The necklace was never hers to begin with, and she’s sweet-talked Harry right into the middle of a hustle. There are three things Harry can’t resist—whisky, women and trouble. And while he usually works with the good guys, this time his gut tells him to go with the girl. Can Harry get his hands on the million-dollar ice and thaw the heart of the stone-cold dame who’s stolen his?
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Dedication For Brett, film noir fan and stand-up guy, for helping a dame out.
Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: De Beers: De Beers LV Ltd Zippo: ZippMark, Inc.
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STONE COLD
Fleur T Reid
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Chapter One
Harry Stone put his feet on his ancient, battle-scarred desk and tilted back his chair. He tossed down the glass of cheap whisky and stared at the words ‘Harry Stone, Private Detective’ written backwards on the frosted glass of his office door. It was a small, ugly office in a cheap, nasty part of town, and though Harry’s services didn’t come cheap, they sure were nasty sometimes. Poking cameras through open bedroom windows to get shots of some married man doing his secretary. Collecting on debts in a city where scumbags prospered and hard-working everyday Joes were given the shaft. Sometimes he got big cases—some broad who’d been slipping rat poison into her sugardaddy’s nightcap while he was slipping his dick to her, or a crooked politician who’d been running shady deals on the taxpayer’s dime. But most of what he got was proof that this city—his city—was full of crooks and dupes, and if you weren’t the first, you’d end up being the second. He didn’t like the work anymore, didn’t like the ugly truths it shoved into his face day after day. But he was a few bucks away from the bailiffs coming knocking, and even the cheap bootleg whisky he drank didn’t come for free. So when someone rapped at his door, he sat up straight, slammed the empty whisky glass away in a drawer, and studied the paper on his desk with a frown he hoped made him look all business. The note was an inside tip he’d got on a horse race from a tout who owed him a favour, but the client didn’t need to know that. And the tip hadn’t panned out anyway—he’d blown his last fifty bucks on a nag that should have been boiled down for glue. When the door opened and Marco Fenelli walked in, Harry balled the paper up in his fist and tossed it towards the trash can. He missed. “Marco,” he said. “What’s the word on the street?” Marco took the chair on the other side of the desk, puffing for breath, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead from the three-storey climb to Harry’s office. The swarthy, running-to-fat Italian was a buddy from the days when Harry had been firmly on the side of www.total-e-bound.com
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the angels. They’d been rookie cops together before Harry had taken a bullet for Marco—a bullet that had put him on the breadline before he’d decided to use his knowledge of the city’s criminal underclass to become a private eye. It was a different world he lived in now, a world where things weren’t as black and white. Harry’s stock-in-trade was shades of grey. “Nothing much,” said his former partner. “Nothing much.” Harry was disappointed. Marco was a man who knew about loyalty, and although he was still on the force and Harry was a gumshoe working for money, not for justice, Marco still consulted him about cases he thought Harry could help with. It didn’t pay, but it kept Harry’s stock up with the people who dealt in black and white, and it made him feel like he was still one of the good guys. Marco caught the glass of liquor Harry slid across the table to him, took a sip and grimaced. “Jesus, Harry. This stuff makes me wish they’d bring back prohibition.” Harry took a gulp of his own drink. “Whaddya want, Marco? A martini with a cocktail umbrella in it? High-class liquor’s like high-class hookers. If you can’t afford it, you’ll settle for anything wet.” Marco sat back in his chair. It creaked as it accepted his weight. “You don’t think much of women, do you?” “Dames are nothing but trouble. Trust me—I see enough of them two-timing their husbands, then talking their way out of it by batting their baby-blues. Guy last week hired me to find out if his wife was doing the dirty on him. I spent three hours outside a seedy motel snapping pictures, and when he showed them to her she spun him a line and he swallowed it like the sap he was. He didn’t pay me a dime.” “Linda isn’t trouble,” Marco objected mildly. Linda was Marco’s wife, a plain-faced, pleasant woman with thick ankles. Marco looked at her like she was Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth rolled into one. “Yeah, well, Linda’s different,” Harry grumbled. His old partner’s marriage worked, but every day he saw marriages that were broken. “You gotta get that guy to pay you,” Marco said. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have to put up with this swill.” He held his glass out for Harry to refill it. “How’s business, anyway?” “Lousy.” Harry’s mood had taken a dive recently, and part of his problem was that he was bored—bored with the same old cases, the same old faces, bored with the sordid sewer of a world he lived in. www.total-e-bound.com
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“Work’s slow?” Harry knew Marco felt guilty about the bullet that had ended his career as a cop; wanted Harry to make a success of his business. But he wasn’t going to lie. “Slow? Try dead. I had some little old lady in here yesterday wanting me to find her cat, and that’s the first sniff of a job I’ve had all week.” “You take the case?” Harry eyeballed Marco. “I’ve still got my pride.” “Pride don’t pay the bills.” Marco was right. Professional pride wouldn’t fill Harry’s pockets. And he’d taken enough sleazy cases that the moral high ground could become a slippery slope. But he’d be damned if he’d spend the rest of his days skulking around alleyways with a can of tuna fish shouting for Mr Tibbles. He just grunted. “Something will come up. It always does.” Marco turned his glass round and round, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “Do you need a loan? I could—” “No.” Harry shut him down cold. They’d had that conversation before. “You’ve got three kids to feed. And I ain’t no charity case.” “Jesus, Harry. It’s not charity. You took—” “Took a bullet for you. Yeah, yeah. I was gonna use your fat ass as a human shield, and I jumped the wrong way.” He hated being treated like a hero. When he’d seen the scumbag with the revolver, instinct had taken over—the instinct to protect his partner. Marco held his hands up. “Okay, okay. But come over for dinner one night. You can’t live on whisky. Linda’ll make her meatloaf and maybe a pie or something. You’re getting too skinny.” “You sound like my mother.” “I’m prettier than your mother.” “Screw you.” “Thursday night?” “Can’t say no to Linda’s meatloaf.” The banter had made Harry feel a little better.
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When Marco had drained the last of his whisky and left, heading back to a brightly lit home with a loving wife and laughing children, Harry loosened his tie and slumped back in his chair. He was tired, but the idea of sleeping on the threadbare couch on the other side of the office again depressed him. He’d given up his apartment months ago—the rent was skyrocketing and he couldn’t afford a place to live as well as this run-down, poorly lit office in the bad part of town. He was brooding into his empty liquor glass when there was a knock at his door and it swung open. He didn’t look up. “Go home to your wife, Marco. Eat left-over meatloaf. Make another kid.” The voice that replied was innocent, as sweet as molasses, with an edge of amusement. “Is that how you greet all your clients, Mr Stone?”
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Chapter Two
Harry looked up. The dame standing in his doorway was a knockout. Gams that went on forever; curves that wouldn’t quit. Harry felt his jaw drop as he took in the smooth, curled red hair, the wide, innocent eyes, the six-inch heels. He got to his feet. Harry surreptitiously redid his tie, standing a little straighter. She was a classy woman—he could see that from the clothes she wore. Gems sparkled on her fingers and in her earlobes, and he would have bet her stockings were silk. She oozed class. He wondered if she might be a big spender. Maybe his luck was turning. “Can I help you?” “I hope so.” She sighed, and for a moment she looked helpless, like a little-girl-lost. Then she took a deep breath and shimmied her shoulders, working the tension from her muscles. Harry’s dick stood to attention and he quickly sat down again. It was bad-mannered, but not as bad-mannered as letting her see his obvious excitement. Jesus, but she was a doll. He gestured to the chair Marco had been sitting in, and she sat down with a whisper of silk as she crossed her legs. “You’re a private detective?” she said. “That’s what it says on the door.” “Then you’re the man I’m looking for. I’m Vanessa Bouvier. I need your help.” Harry smiled a cynical smile. She was a pretty gal, but she was turning on the charm, and maybe that meant she didn’t have the green to hire his services. He ought to let her know up-front that he was nobody’s sucker. “Cut to the chase, lady. Whaddya got? Lost cat? Lousy husband? Someone owe you money? What?” She lowered her thick lashes over her big, brown eyes and gave another sigh. Her breasts rose and fell in a way that made Harry’s dick throb, and she leant forward, giving him a good view of the lush valley of her cleavage. His eyes lingered there before he snapped them back up to her face. “Mr Stone, you need to know that I married my husband for love, not for money.”
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“Uh-huh.” Then a couple of tumblers clicked into place in Harry’s head and he sat up straighter in his chair. “Bouvier? As in Frank Bouvier, the industrialist?” She nodded, a shadow flickering across that gorgeous face. Harry whistled. “That’s a lot of money not to marry someone for.” Bouvier was known for being reclusive, ruthless…and loaded. “Yes,” she replied. “My husband is a very rich man. Successful, well-respected…and a no-good, two-timing louse with the morals of a cockroach.” Harry snorted. “Don’t hold back, lady. Tell me what you really think.” She leant forward even further, giving Harry an eyeful of the upper swells of her creamy breasts. Her breath hitched and he thought she might start to cry—but although tears brimmed in her eyes she dashed them away. “We’ve been married for six years, Mr Stone. I was nineteen when we met. A naïve country girl, fresh from Hicksville. He romanced me. Took me out to fancy restaurants, to movie premieres; dazzled me with his charm. He was handsome, and witty, and kind. I fell in love with him, and I thought he loved me, too.” Harry forced himself to look at her face as she told him her story, nodding in the right places, but his gaze soon drifted to her mouth as she licked her lower lip with a quick, pink tongue before continuing. “On our wedding night he gave me a diamond necklace worth half a million dollars.” Harry whistled again. “That’s some chunk of ice.” “That didn’t matter. What mattered was that he gave it to me. He said he’d bought it because it was the second most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.” Her voice trembled. Harry felt an unexpected pang in his heart. She’d been very young when she’d married, was still young now. Young in a way that made Harry feel a hundred years old—worldweary and jaded. He knew what was coming next. “It wasn’t long before he started stepping out on me. Turned out I was a trophy wife— someone to hang off his arm and look decorative. No more important to him than his car, or his flashy suits, or his diamond tie-pin.” Harry knew the type, but he had to wonder what kind of dummy would two-time a doll like Vanessa Bouvier. “So, what? You want me to find evidence he’s slipping it to some broad on the side?” It was harsh, but life was harsh, and the sooner she learnt that the better. If she’d figured it out before, she might not have been burnt in the first place. www.total-e-bound.com
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Vanessa shook her head. “I have all the evidence I need.” She took a deep breath. “I’m leaving him, the rat. But he’s got my necklace, and I just know he’ll give it to the first two-bit tramp who gives him the glad-eye. I can’t bear that, Mr Stone. I can’t bear for him to turn something beautiful into something ugly. I want you to help me get my necklace back.”
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Chapter Three
It was a tall order. They were talking about one of the richest men in the country. Harry was savvy and connected, but rich men had goons, and goons had a bad habit of spoiling Harry’s day. He hesitated. “I can pay you, Mr Stone. I can pay you well.” Tears welled in her eyes again and her voice fell to a smoky whisper. “Please—please help me.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He didn’t doubt that she had the dough to make the case more than worth his while. She wasn’t short of money—not if she was married to Frank Bouvier. And she kinda touched a place in his heart—a place he’d thought was cold and dead. She seemed so vulnerable and so sad. Still, he’d be messing with some powerful people… “You know that taking your case could get me into trouble, lady? Big trouble. Dead-inan-alley trouble.” She lowered her lush lashes again. “I know,” she said quietly. “But I don’t know where else to turn. And anyway, you’re a hero. I read all about it in the paper, about how you took a bullet for your partner and then couldn’t work for the Force anymore. Please, Mr Stone. I need your help.” Jesus, she was appealing. Fresh-faced and wide-eyed, with the looks of an angel and a body made for sin. “You’d better call me Harry.” That was the moment he knew he was going to take the case—when he knew he’d never be able to resist the double-whammy of her pocketbook and her pout. Even if he hadn’t been hurting for money, he’d always been a sucker for a sobstory. He could be tough enough when he was dealing with small-time gangsters or crooked cops, but show him a pretty face and he turned into a sap. The dame was in trouble, and Harry couldn’t just walk away. “I’ll help you, doll. But it’s going to cost.” She jumped to her feet and clapped her hands. “Oh, thank you, Harry, thank you! You don’t know how much this means to me.”
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He kinda thought he did. All the tension had gone out of her, and her face was radiant. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. Ah, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to screw her. But he’d never mixed business and pleasure, and Frank Bouvier’s old lady sure as hell wasn’t the place to start. He stood. “Listen, lady, it’s late. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay?” She smiled. Then she walked around to his side of the desk and took his face between her hands. A shock of pure lust went through Harry’s body and he froze, his heart pumping, his dick as hard as diamond. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, and her voice was suddenly sultry, curling into the air like cigarette smoke. Harry was uncomfortable. She smelt like some kind of expensive perfume, and her palms were cool and smooth against his stubbled cheeks. In her six-inch heels she was almost the same height as him, so all she had to do was tilt her head back… The jolt of desire made him lose his mind. He took her upper arms in his hands and bent into her, claiming her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. She tasted of peppermint. A little voice in his head told him he was being played, that classy broads like her didn’t fall for no-hopers like him. But Jesus, he couldn’t stop himself. He so desperately wanted to let his hands roam to her ass, to stroke and explore her tight, high buttocks, but instead he increased his grip on her arms. He told himself she was just grateful. Really grateful. If he hurt her, bruised her, she didn’t let it show. Instead she pulled away from him, gently drawing his bottom lip between her teeth as she stepped back. Then she shoved him, hard, in the chest, and he fell onto his chair—stunned and so turned on it hurt. “Jesus, lady…” “Vanessa,” she whispered, and she straddled his lap, her skirt riding up, pressing her pussy against his crotch. He could feel the heat of her through her panties. “I want you to know how grateful I am,” she said, her voice husky. She tugged on his tie as Harry ran his hands up over the nip of her waist and her narrow ribcage, stopping short of her breasts.
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She leaned towards him again, her sweet breath hot on his face, and she kissed him like he was the only man in the world. He closed his eyes and let it sweep over him. Her lips were soft and warm, and she coaxed his mouth open so she could slip her tongue inside. She clamped her thighs around his, pushed her pussy against his cock, riding him—as close as they could get to fucking with their clothes on. He knew it wasn’t right, but his libido had mugged his morals and left them in a dark alley. Her body felt so good against his. She used his tie to get leverage as she pulled him closer, and he grasped her hips, thrusting up against her… Then she pushed herself away from him, stepped back, adjusting her skirt as though she’d just climbed out of a car and got a little rumpled along the way. He gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Vanessa…” he breathed. “Harry.” Her voice was a purr, but her expression was like a girl fresh from Sunday School. She’s in over her head, he thought. The kid couldn’t spot a conman from fifty yards, and now she’s clinging on to the first man who comes along—the first man she thinks she can trust. That thought made him feel like a dog. Because he could be trusted—could be trusted to spend his days on shady cases for any low-life who flashed the cash; could be trusted to blow everything he made on liquor and lose the rest at the betting shop; could be trusted to be a sell-out. He could be trusted to take advantage of a confused kid who’d come to him for help. He wanted to apologise. He should have stood and seen her out like a gentleman. But his cock was aching and he knew she’d be able to see it pressing against his fly, a physical sign that he was a dirtbag. He didn’t want her to think of him that way, even though he knew he didn’t deserve any better. So he stayed in his seat as she sashayed to the door, trying and failing to keep his eyes off her tight little ass. She turned and blew him a kiss, pursing her red lips and blowing gently across her palm in a way that made his dick twitch. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then she was gone. Harry was left sitting there in the flickering neon light from the busted sign across from his window, tie askew, lipstick on his mouth, wondering if he was in the biggest trouble of his life.
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Chapter Four
Most days Harry didn’t make it off his couch before noon. Some days he’d been out all night following dud leads. Some days he was hungover. Some days he just couldn’t face it. But that morning he’d been up with the birds. Actually, in this city, he’d been up with the sirens, in time to see the hookers heading home after turning tricks from dusk until dawn. It had been two days since Vanessa had sashayed into his life, and they’d been together a lot since then, cooking up a scheme to get their hands on her necklace. He’d told her what he’d need to set their plan in motion—moolah, and plenty of it—and she’d handed it over without batting a beautiful eyelid. The caper was set for the next day, and that meant Harry had to move fast if he was gonna get the things they needed. Harry had kept his paws to himself, but he didn’t feel good about it. He was so horny it hurt, and he knew if Vanessa made a move, he’d be putty in her hands. He slouched along with his fedora pulled low over his eyes to shade them. The unforgiving sun revealed the streets as being run-down and tawdry. He turned down an alleyway, glancing around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then rapped hard on a door. No answer. “Slim! Hey, Slim!” he hissed, trying to get the guy to hear without yelling. The business he was there on wasn’t strictly legit and he was trying to keep a low profile. But Slim was probably passed out in his fleapit of a workshop, so he gave up and hammered on the door, hollering, “Hey, Slim!” Slim Pickins was a small-time crook who owed Harry a couple of favours. Sometimes those favours were paid out in running errands or keeping his eye on a mark for a day or two; sometimes they were paid out in information. And to make sure the favours kept on coming, Harry slipped Slim a few notes when he was feeling flush—bought him a few drinks and played a few hands of low-stakes poker with him once in a while, turned a blind eye when he was running some new scam. There was never any malice in Slim’s scams, and anyway, they never worked out. Even Marco thought the guy was more use on the ground feeding them the dope on the crooks www.total-e-bound.com
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who really screwed people over than he would be at the bottom of the pecking order in prison. Besides, there was something likeable about the guy, and Harry wasn’t the only one who thought so. Everyone liked Slim Pickins—even stone-cold killers liked Slim Pickins. And that meant he had contacts. You needed to get in touch with someone, Slim could get a message to them. You needed the low-down on someone, Slim had it. You needed something getting, say, something you might not want the law to know about, Slim could get it for you. That’s why Harry was banging on his door and bawling. He stopped when the door opened a crack and a bulbous, watery blue eye peered out at him. After a quick assessment, the door swung wide and Harry was ushered inside. A ratty, stained mattress in one corner was the only piece of real furniture in the abandoned warehouse. Everything else was made out of boxes and packing crates, and most of it was covered in a thick layer of dust. Harry heard a rat snuffling and skittering behind a makeshift wall Slim had made from battered cardboard and wadded-up newspaper to section off his living space and keep out some of the cold from the cavernous concrete room beyond. “Harry,” said Slim. “What’s all the noise about? Don’t you know what time it is? Slim needs his beauty sleep.” Slim was a skinny, pale kid in his twenties who affected a tough-guy façade that didn’t fool anyone. He’d taken the time to grab his hat and put it on before he came to the door. He was a sharp dresser, but the effect was spoilt by his dishevelled sandy hair and his overlarge, watery blue eyes. The kid always looked rumpled, even in an expensive suit. He had an annoying habit of talking about himself in the third person, like he was narrating a movie in which he was the star. Slim Pickins was never gonna be a star. “I need a favour, kid.” Slim held out his hands as if to demonstrate he was at Harry’s service. “Whaddya need, Harry? Slim can get it for you.” Harry thumbed through a short stack of green—the money Vanessa had coughed up without a murmur—and handed it over. The kid made it disappear like some kind of stage magician—now you see it, now you don’t.
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“I need some papers. Solid papers. They’ve got to be good enough to get me into a safe deposit vault. Good enough to get me past security without anyone getting a sniff of the scam.” “Sure, Harry, sure. Slim can get you papers that would get you past your own mother. When d’you need ‘em by?” “That’s the hitch,” Harry said. “I need ’em by tomorrow.” He didn’t want to risk Vanessa’s dirtbag husband passing her necklace on to some cheap floozy before he’d had the chance to swipe it. Slim gave a long, low whistle. “Tall order, Harry.” He cast his eyes up for a moment, like he was running through a list of contacts in his head, running complicated calculations about backs scratched and favours owed. “I can do it,” he said finally. “You can pick ‘em up tomorrow, first thing. And by first thing, Harry, I mean at a civilised hour. Say, noon. Slim is not an early riser.” Harry slapped the kid on the back. Slim could do with a square meal—Harry could feel his ribs and spine through the fabric of his suit. He’d have to remember to take him for a burger and a shake sometime. “What’s the name?” Slim asked, flicking through one of three brick-thick stacks of cards he kept on a desk made of crates. “The name?” “What name d’ya want on the papers?” Slim didn’t look at him, intent on his hunt through his web of contacts. Harry hesitated. Even though Slim traded in information, he didn’t rat out his friends. And he needed the name if he was gonna get the ID. “Frank Bouvier.” Slim jerked and knocked the cards off the desk, scattering them in their dozens across the floor. “Frank Bouvier? Have you gone off your nut? The guy’s loaded. Everybody knows what he looks like.” Harry kicked a few cards towards Slim, where he was scrabbling on the floor to pick them up and shuffle them back into order. “Do you know what he looks like?” The kid cast his eyes up again, searching his memory. “No,” he finally admitted. “But he’s always at movie premieres and stuff, right? Eating out at those restaurants where you can’t get a reservation unless your mother made it before you were born and the soup costs more than I pull in in a month.” www.total-e-bound.com
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“Right,” said Harry. “He does. But so do movie stars and big-shot politicians. You really think the press are gonna waste their film on some mook who made it big in manufacturing when they could be snapping pictures of a sexy little starlet instead?” Slim considered this. “I guess not. So people see him, but they kinda…don’t see him at the same time.” “You got it, kid. The people he runs across can’t see his face for the dollar signs in their eyes. I’ll have to be lucky, but chances are the guys at the bank won’t know his mug any better than you do.” Slim had retrieved all his contacts from the floor and was shuffling them like playing cards with quick, fidgety fingers. He stopped once in a while to smooth down a folded-over corner. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll get the papers. But you get caught, I never heard of you, and I never heard nothin’ about no Frank Bouvier.” “Goes without saying.”
**** The kid delivered. Harry didn’t know how the hell he managed it—that was the kind of question you didn’t ask. But the kid always delivered. Not long after noon, Harry was standing with Vanessa outside the bank, wearing a borrowed suit, an over-starched shirt and a jewelled tie pin Vanessa had brought along and that had probably cost more money than Harry had ever had in his hand. He guessed he looked the part—he scrubbed up okay when he’d had a shave, and smelt of cologne rather than cheap whisky. Vanessa looked like a million bucks. She was wearing a conservative skirt and blouse that were respectable while doing nothing to disguise her knockout figure. Her heels were lower than the six-inch stilettos she’d been wearing when she’d walked into his office that night, but were still high enough to make her legs look like they went on forever. That glorious red hair was up in some kind of sleek roll that showed off the slender length of her white throat. Harry wanted to nibble on that delicate expanse of skin. He pulled himself together. He wasn’t going to be able to pull this off if he walked in there with the horn and his eyes out on stalks.
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“You ready?” he said to Vanessa, and she nodded and gave him a brief, shy smile that made Harry’s jaded heart go pitter-pat and made his cock twitch in his pants. “I’m ready,” she said in a quiet, steady voice. Harry could see she was nervous, though. There was a pink flush on those incredible cheekbones, and he could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. “Stay cool, okay?” He reached out and squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, surprising him with the strength of her slim fingers. “I’m cool, Harry.” She smiled. “I’m stone cold.” He released her hand and squared his shoulders. “Then let’s do this thing.”
Harry had been right. The deputy manager of the bank was a little, fussy man who seemed overawed by the name ‘Frank Bouvier’, but barely glanced at Harry’s face. Might have been because he couldn’t take his eyes off Vanessa’s legs. He did scrutinise Harry’s fake credentials carefully, putting on a pair of spectacles that hung on a cord around his neck and peering at the paperwork for a few minutes—minutes that seemed excruciatingly long. Harry could hear the ticking of the big clock above the counter, felt as though the world had frozen like a movie still. The back of his neck prickled with sweat. Everything shrank down to the little guy with the highly shone shoes and the egg stain on his tie that he hadn’t quite managed to sponge off before work. Then the man nodded and gestured to one of the gorillas in a suit who flanked the heavy door to the vault. The big plug-ugly gave a grunt and walked over, taking a bunch of keys off his belt and clutching them in his huge hand like they were a knuckle-duster. Harry felt something unclench in his gut, and let go of a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The deputy manager gestured with his hand, inviting Vanessa and Harry to walk ahead of him. The gorilla opened the massive vault door and held it wide while his opposite number glared across the lobby with his bulging arms folded across his enormous chest. The heavy didn’t follow them—looked like if you made it this far, they assumed you were legit. The deputy manager used a key to open a little door maybe a foot square, drew out the box inside. He placed it on a table in the middle of the room and stepped back. Harry couldn’t help thinking about all the cash and bonds in the boxes that lined the walls floor-to-
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ceiling on all sides. In this room, there was more money than he’d ever see in his life. More money than anyone would ever see in his life—even Frank Bouvier. He brought his mind back to the matter at hand. The deputy manager laid out some papers next to the box. “Mr Bouvier,” he said in a clipped, fussy accent that matched his clipped, fussy manner, “could I ask for your signature here…and here…” Forgery wasn’t Harry’s strong suit. Harry’s strong suit was staking out sleazy lovenests and taking back-handers to look the other way when something was going down. But Frank Bouvier’s signature wasn’t much more than a scrawl, and Harry had practiced it maybe a hundred times that morning. Practiced it while he and Vanessa went over the details of their plan, while they watched the clock and waited for noon, when Slim Pickins would have the papers. He scribbled the signature like it was his own. His heart jumped in his chest. To him, it looked obviously fake—it was like it was flashing on and off in garish neon. Fake…fake…fake… But the little guy with the egg on his tie glanced at the signatures, nodded and hummed to himself, and used another key to open the box. It was full of papers—deeds and bonds, Harry guessed, but they weren’t part of the game plan. He had no interest in robbing the guy—he just wanted to get Vanessa’s ice, get the dough she’d promised him for his part in the scam, then get the hell out of there. On top of the papers lay a long, black velvet box. Harry reached in and took it, feeling all the time like as soon as he picked it up the bank guy would point an accusing finger and unmask him as an imposter. But nothing happened. The box sat in his palm, surprisingly heavy. The guy from the bank goggled as Harry opened it. Strings of diamonds lay one above the other, each stone glittering in the bright, sterile lighting of the vault. Harry put the box on the table and took the necklace out, turning to hold it up to the light. It was like holding a handful of stars. At its centre, scintillating in its icy splendour, hung a single, large diamond in the shape of a tear. That’s one helluva rock. Harry just managed to stop himself saying it out loud. As far as the guy from the bank was concerned, it was his necklace. He’d never seen anything like it before, but he’d better keep his mouth shut about that if he didn’t want to blow his cover. He www.total-e-bound.com
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nodded as though in casual approval, and turned back to the table to replace the priceless stones in their velvet case. He slipped it into his inside pocket. Vanessa had closed the safe deposit box and the deputy bank manager locked it and slid it back into place among its buddies. And they walked out. That was it. The little guy muttered some sort of meaningless pleasantry about being of service to Mr Bouvier. The poor sap didn’t realise he’d been just the opposite. The gorilla in a suit gave a terse nod as they emerged from the vaults. Nobody tried to stop them. Nobody yelled for the cops. They walked out of the bank and away up the street as cool as you please. As they turned the corner, a bum held out a filthy hand and said, “Buddy, can you spare a dime?” Harry gawped at him for a moment. Spare a dime? He’d got a half-million dollar string of stones in his inside pocket. He drew out a bundle of ones and pressed them into the bum’s hand. “Go get yourself a square meal, fella. Drink yourself silly. Go nuts!” The bum looked too stunned to reply, and when Harry looked across at Vanessa her lip was wobbling as she tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He returned her smile as they walked on. Then a snort of laughter escaped him, and Vanessa responded with a musical gurgle of joy. Then they were both laughing like loons, euphoria and relief bubbling up in them at the knowledge that they’d got away with it, free and clear. Harry took Vanessa’s hand and they walked more briskly before breaking into a run. Running for the sheer joy of it. Running and laughing, Vanessa with a broad grin on her beautiful face, Harry with a pocket full of stars.
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Chapter Five
Harry and Vanessa tumbled through the door of his office, breathless with laughter and flushed from their run through town. Harry grinned at Vanessa, then felt his smile fade as her expression became serious, intense, and her pupils dilated, swallowing the brown irises of her eyes. The scent of her skin, warm and perfumed, seemed to fill the whole world. Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He couldn’t think—couldn’t think about anything but how good Vanessa smelt and how hard his cock was. He was desperate to shove himself inside her, fuck her hard and fast against the dingy wall of his run-down office. But she deserved better than that—deserved better than him. He shuddered when she placed her hand directly in the centre of his chest, where his heart was banging away fit to bust. He didn’t move away—he knew he should, but he couldn’t. He gasped for breath as she trailed her slim fingers down his belly and stroked the rock-hard bulge in the front of his pants. She curled her fingers around his dick, and he twitched in her palm, a low groan escaping him. He opened his eyes. Vanessa’s gaze was locked onto her hand where she was squeezing and stroking him. Her eyes were half-lidded and glittering. She brought up her free hand to the back of his neck, and he shuddered as she gently twisted her fingers in the short hairs at his nape. Then she leant forward and gently pressed her lips to his. Harry’s rigid self-control snapped. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly, almost roughly, against him, crushing her breasts to his chest, thrusting his tongue into her welcoming mouth. She sighed and opened up to him, flicking her quick, clever tongue against his palate. She lifted her knee and stroked her calf up the outside of his leg, clinging to his shoulders so she could balance on one heel. He pressed her closer, and when she put her foot back on the floor he bent her backwards, circling his hips against her and creating a tight, hot friction that almost made him lose his mind.
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He hauled her upright again and they broke apart, both breathing heavily, gazes locked together. The high-octane atmosphere would have ignited with a single spark. Vanessa sauntered around Harry, as cool as a cucumber. He watched her ass swaying provocatively as she strolled towards his ancient, beaten-up desk. The one he’d been sitting behind when she’d breezed into his life such a short time before. All her trembling innocence had disappeared in a moment. She moved with assurance, unfastening her skirt as she walked and allowing it to slip to the floor to puddle around her high-heeled shoes when she leant forward and placed both hands flat on the desk. She kicked her skirt away and stood with her long legs slightly parted, her perky ass presented to him like she was a cat in heat. He took in her stockings and suspenders, the way they framed her pale ass, covered only by the triangular scrap of her panties. She looked over her shoulder at him, and her expression, too, was like the cat that got the canary. Placid, self-satisfied and inviting. He was across the room in a couple of strides and running his hands over the soft flesh of her buttocks. He couldn’t have stopped himself for all the gold in Fort Knox. Her skin was warm and yielding under his fingers, and she pressed back into his touch, offering herself up to him. Harry wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her upright, trailing his fingers over her delicate collarbone and allowing them to dip briefly beneath her neckline to stroke the silky fabric of her brassiere. Her nipple pebbled against the delicate material and he pinched it, harder than he meant to in his excitement. She gasped and wriggled in a way that left him in no doubt that the sensation turned her on. The friction of her ass against his engorged cock just about drove him crazy. “Vanessa,” he murmured. “I want to…” “Harry.” Her voice was husky with desire, as thick and sweet as molasses. Just the sound of it made his dick twitch against her buttocks. “Harry,” she said again. “Do it to me, baby.” Harry closed his eyes for a minute, trying to regain some self-control. The wide-eyed innocent, the little-girl-lost, was gone. In her place was a hot armful of wanton womanhood. One hell of a dame who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. He’d have to be some kind of dummy not to give it to her. www.total-e-bound.com
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He trailed his fingers down to the little pearlised buttons of her blouse and popped them open, one by one. Then he peeled it from her body and dropped it onto the floor beside her discarded skirt. The multiple hooks on her brassiere took a bit longer. Harry was wound up like a clock spring, and that made him clumsy. Eventually he managed to wrestle the thing off her. She didn’t help, just purred and cooed and wriggled as he undressed her, making the whole thing more difficult…and maddeningly exciting. When he stepped back she leant forward and braced herself on her hands again. Harry started to shrug off his jacket, then hesitated and reached into the inside pocket. He flipped open the lid of the long black box and stared at the necklace inside. It glittered and twinkled even in the patchy sunlight that slanted into his office, swirling with dust motes. He tipped the gems into his hands and dropped the box onto the floor, on top of Vanessa’s clothes. He brushed the heavy red silk of her hair to one side, baring her neck. Then he leaned over her and draped the jewels around her throat. She gasped as the ice touched her fever-hot skin, and moaned when Harry’s fingers brushed her nape. “Harry…” She was lounged on his desk, her skin pale and perfect in contrast to the battered wooden surface, her ass uptilted. The diamonds twinkled and coruscated, an erotic contrast to the languid, heated sprawl of her. Points of hard light against the soft luminescence of her long, elegant spine. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t think about anything but being inside her. He whipped her panties down and shucked his pants, popping the buttons off his fly. He ran his hand up between her thighs. Her pussy was hot and wet, yielding eagerly to his fingers. He took his dick in his hand, a grunt of arousal escaping him at that simple touch, and guided himself to her greedy cunt, pushing himself inside her in a single, hard thrust. She was so hot and tight around him, grasping him like a fist. He froze, sure he was gonna blow right then, sure he wouldn’t be able to hold out for more than a few seconds. Then the feeling eased off, just a little. His heart was thundering, and his eyes were screwed shut. He couldn’t think about anything but the squeezing, throbbing motions of her pussy muscles around his cock. He didn’t think he’d ever been bigger or harder.
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He started to move, thrusting inside her with short, rapid jerks of his hips, and she responded like liquid fire, writhing and moaning, urging him on, pushing back onto his cock as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He slid his hands around her torso, the scarred wood of the desk grazing his knuckles, her breasts soft, warm weights in his palms. He leaned his forehead against the smooth, sweat-slicked skin of her back and pushed himself inside her as deep and as hard as he could go. He let out a heartfelt groan, crying out at how good it felt, how right she felt, and that seemed to be enough to send her over the edge. Her spine flexed and her cunt spasmed hard enough to take his breath away. He kept thrusting as she twisted in his arms and clawed at the desk, gritting his teeth to keep himself on the very cusp of spilling himself. Her cries became gasps of pleasure; the muscular contractions of her cunt became a gentle fluttering. Harry pulled out, groaning at the slippery friction even as he withdrew. The air felt cool on his cock after the tight, wet heat of her body, and he gave himself a moment to get back in control. Vanessa remained bent over the desk, the dusky folds of her pussy glistening, wet and inviting. Her pale thighs were trembling just a little. She turned and boosted herself onto the desk-top, watching him with a lazy, sated expression and half-lidded eyes that held just a trace of amusement. “You didn’t even take your hat off,” she said. Harry laughed and skimmed his fedora towards the couch on the other side of the room, then struggled out of his shirt. He put his hands on her inner thighs and pushed them apart, allowing the underside of his dick to rub against her damp slit, watching her eyes fall closed and her lips part as the sensation shuddered through her body. “Do me, Harry,” she murmured and pushed her hips demandingly against him. He wondered again where that wide-eyed kid had gone, the one who’d walked into his office desperate, vulnerable and in deep trouble. He grasped her hips with both hands and rammed his cock into her, hard, almost punishingly hard. She mewled her approval and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. It
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should have hurt, but it just heightened his excitement, made his dick impossibly rigid as he pounded into her. He was lost in himself, lost in the sensations that made his balls draw up tight and throbbing against his body, made bolts of electricity shoot down his spine and up the length of his cock. So at first he thought he’d misheard her when she guided one of his hands to the diamond necklace around her throat and said, “Choke me, Harry.” He froze, his fingers tracing the gems where they lay cool against her fever-hot skin. “Vanessa?” “Choke me, Harry. I’ve been a bad girl. I need to be punished.” She tugged on the necklace to demonstrate, and he watched, riveted, as the chain dug into her pale, tender flesh and a delicate flush rose on her cheekbones. Her eyes sparkled more brilliantly than the jewels. “I can’t,” Harry said. “Vanessa… Doll… I don’t want to hurt you.” She looped the slack of the chain around his fingers and tugged at his wrist, pulling the necklace tight. “You won’t hurt me, Harry. I want it. I deserve it.” “But…” “Please, Harry. I trust you.” She was so warm and wet and willing. How could he say no to her? He would have done anything she asked him to. So he began to thrust into her again, with a gentle, rapid rocking of his hips at first, then slower and deeper, gingerly twisting the priceless necklace between his fingers so it was taut against her pretty throat. Her breath came in shallow pants, and she locked her ankles around his hips, pleading with her eyes for him to pull harder on the chain around her neck, to fuck her harder. Her skin was flushed. He applied more pressure, and she mouthed silent encouragement as her chest heaved and her lips parted. Just as he couldn’t bear it anymore, just as he was about to release his hold on the necklace, her body began to shudder and tremble. She gasped for a shallow, barely-there breath, and Harry held the necklace tight against her throat and came in an intense rush that had him shouting out his release over and over again, the necklace dropping from his nerveless fingers.
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Vanessa came around him like she was never going to stop, drawing huge breaths into her air-starved lungs and releasing them again in hoarse, wild half-screams. Just the sound of it—the sound of her utter loss of control—made him spend and spend again in an orgasm he thought would never end, an orgasm that he thought might kill him. And, Jesus, what a way to go. Eventually their breathing slowed, and the shabby office came back into focus. Vanessa lay limp and spent, practically purring with satisfaction, the sleek waves of her hair in disarray. Harry clutched the edge of the desk with one hand, not sure his wobbly legs would hold him up. With the other, he helped Vanessa to sit up, and she clung gratefully to his neck, all pliant and warm and smelling of woman and sex. “Thank you, Harry,” she murmured against his shoulder. He just held her close and wondered how a schmuck like him had got so lucky. She leaned her head back to look into his eyes, and he wondered for a moment why she looked so sad. But then his gaze fell on the red marks circling the delicate white flesh of her throat and he winced. He raised his fingers to tenderly stroke the emerging bruises and began to say he was sorry, but she put her finger against his lips to silence him. “Thank you, Harry,” she said firmly. She slid from the desk and raised her hands to the back of her neck, unclasping the diamonds. “This necklace is beautiful,” she said. Then she touched her fingers to the darkening band around her throat. “But I like this one better.”
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Chapter Six
When the knock on the door came that evening, Harry was sure it would be her— Vanessa Bouvier, that heartbreaking bundle of contradictions—innocence, determination and raw sex, all wrapped up in a knockout package. Marco was definitely second-best in the looks department, but Harry was happy to see him anyway. Business was business and friends were friends, even if his mind was on Vanessa’s body. Marco tossed a paper bag onto the table. “Help yourself,” he said, taking his usual seat. Harry rummaged in the bag and pulled out a pastrami on rye. He took a huge bite and chewed and swallowed before addressing his old buddy. “Thanks. What’s the word on the street?” “Good news, Harry. Got a case we could use your help on, and the department’s told me to pull out all the stops. Back-handers to snitches, greasing the wheels…the whole nine yards. Could be a fair bit of dough in it for you if you play your cards right.” Harry took another bite of his sandwich and spoke around a mouthful of food. “Sounds good. Gimme the scoop.” “Okay, so there’s this big-shot industrialist type, right? And he’s borrowed this necklace from De Beers—this diamond necklace, right? For his lady to wear to a movie premiere.” Harry stopped chewing, the pastrami on rye suddenly like ashes in his mouth. This couldn’t be going where he thought it was going. Could it? He swallowed. “Why?” he croaked. Marco shrugged. “I guess it’s one of those ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ things, y’know? His gal gets to swank around wearing half a million dollars worth of ice for a night; they get to show off their goods. Everyone’s a winner.” Harry’s heart dropped into his boots. “Except…” He’d been going to say, ‘Except me’, but Marco went on, oblivious to the fact that his buddy’s world had just shattered into a million pieces. Which was just as well. He was going to have to think about this. Think about it, keep his mouth shut, and find out where Vanessa was with the diamond necklace in her purse and a necklace of bruises—bruises he’d made—around her pretty little neck. www.total-e-bound.com
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“Except a couple of slick characters pulled off a hustle at the bank. He had forged credentials, she turned on the charm, and pow! They’re out of there with the diamonds and a fortune in stocks and bonds. The guy from the bank is in the biggest dutch of his life, Frank Bouvier is pitching a fit, and everyone from the Chief to the Mayor is breathing down my neck to solve the case.” “Stocks and bonds?” “Right—you know, papers and stuff. We don’t even know what it all adds up to yet, but it’s a bundle.” When had she taken the papers? When had he turned his back? And the necklace—the one he’d twisted around her throat that afternoon as she’d shuddered in his arms—it wasn’t hers. It had never been hers. He’d fallen for her sob story like the worst kind of sap. Harry had been had.
Before Marco left, with no idea he’d just ripped Harry’s heart out of his chest and stomped on it, Harry had promised to keep his nose to the ground. That wouldn’t be hard— he felt like he’d never hold his head up again anyway. Vanessa wasn’t in trouble—she was trouble. And she’d grabbed Harry by the dick and led him exactly where she wanted him to go. The bitch had manipulated him with her hardluck story and her big, brown eyes, playing the innocent—and he’d fallen for it. Hell, he’d fallen for her. Hard. The thing that really chafed was that he still wanted her. The memory of pounding into her from behind while she moaned and clawed at the desktop had him stiffening in his pants. He threw himself down on the couch, hands behind his head, and stared moodily up at the ceiling. The fizzling, sputtering neon light from the broken sign outside his window illuminated the office in occasional flashes of pink. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the overhead light. What was the point? It wasn’t like there was anything in this dump he wanted to look at. He closed his eyes and thought about Vanessa. The memory came effortlessly—the wide-eyed ingénue who’d strolled into his life, bringing chaos in her wake. The take-charge dame who’d draped herself over his desk, offering herself up shamelessly to his eyes, and his hands, and his cock. The ice-cold bitch who’d seduced him right into the middle of a millionwww.total-e-bound.com
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dollar hustle. One and the same woman, if only he’d had the sense to see it sooner. There was no doubt about it—she’d made a sucker out of him, all right. He undid his trousers and released his aching erection. Damn the woman—even knowing she’d betrayed him, taken him in like a complete dupe, he still burned at the memory of her soft curves, the glitter of her eyes as she’d come apart in his arms. He pumped roughly at his cock, straining towards a release that he knew was only moments away. He thought about the swollen, dark-pink lips of her pussy as she bent over the desk, her broken mews of impassioned approval as he worked his cock inside her greedy cunt, the little shudders and spasms that had told him she was approaching orgasm. He came hard and fast, with a ragged shout. He didn’t care if anyone heard. It must have sounded like someone was being murdered that afternoon when he screwed Vanessa. His neighbours were the kind of people who were deaf and blind to anything that sounded like trouble. He could probably let off a bomb in his office and they’d turn a blind eye, as long as he didn’t step into their business. His cock continued to pulse as his cum cooled on his belly, but the orgasm had felt hollow, unsatisfying. Just a physical thing—not like the soul-shattering climax Vanessa had coaxed from him earlier. He swiped at the mess on his stomach, flicking thick gobs of the stuff onto the threadbare carpet, then fastening his trousers over his sticky skin. What did he care? Who gave a damn, anyway? It wasn’t until the next morning, after a night of restless, erotic, neon-tinted dreams, that he noticed the envelope that had been pushed under his door. Several hundred dollars in cash and a note that simply said, ‘I’m sorry, Harry. And thank you. Vanessa.’
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Chapter Seven
Harry wasn’t a private eye for nothing. Vanessa was a cool customer, but she wasn’t a professional. And she didn’t know Harry had worked a case the year before at the Palladium, a place where, usually, Harry wouldn’t have been able to afford to tip the bellhop, but hadn’t been above hiring him to find out who’d been dipping their fingers into the hotel safe. The Palladium had monogrammed towels, mints on the pillows, toilet paper folded into a point at the end…and expensive, embossed stationery for the guests. Vanessa had torn off the hotel’s information, of course. But Harry recognised the textured, cream, heavy bond paper. So Vanessa was at the Palladium. And the guy with the sticky fingers had turned out to be the front desk clerk. He’d been canned and there’d be a new guy, one who didn’t know Harry—chances were he could talk his way in without being recognised. With Frank Bouvier’s papers still in his pocket, the whole thing would be a cinch.
The new kid on the front desk was absorbed in a magazine as Harry walked across the lobby, and from what he saw as he stuffed it under the counter and tried to look professional, it was probably girly pics. He didn’t begrudge the kid, not when he’d just made such a fool of himself over a woman. Besides, it meant that when he asked for Vanessa’s room number and flashed his shady credentials, the clerk was so eager to get rid of him that he just nodded and ‘Yes, sir’ed, sliding the key over the desk to him. There was a rustle of magazine pages as Harry reached the elevator and he smiled to himself. He composed himself on the ride up to the third floor. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to say to her. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep the money. He couldn’t be involved in this. He’d done some shady business in his time. He’d turned a blind eye, greased a few palms. But he wasn’t a crook. He didn’t take things that didn’t belong to him. Stealing from someone who’d worked for his money, who, for all he knew, was a stand-up guy? That wasn’t him. That wasn’t Harry Stone. www.total-e-bound.com
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He used the key as quietly as possible, then threw the door open, hoping to catch the dame by surprise. She was lying on top of the coverlet, looking pensive and twisting her fingers together on her stomach. When the door banged against the wall she sat bold upright and scrambled off the bed. Harry didn’t register the radiant, disbelieving smile on her face—he just strode across the room and grabbed her wrists in a bruising, punishing grip. “Harry?” Her voice was plaintive, questioning. But Harry wasn’t going to be taken in by her innocent act. Not this time. “You bitch,” he said. “Why me? What did I ever do to you, huh?” He gave her a little shake then felt like a heel as her eyes filled with tears. “It had to be you, Harry,” she whispered. “It had to be somebody I could trust.” Harry released her, watching as she took a step back, keeping an eye on her in case she decided to bolt. “Lady, you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘trust’.” Her jaw set and he saw that ice come back into her—that steel in her spine that changed her from a soft and vulnerable kid into a bombshell—sleek, well-engineered and utterly destructive. She’d blown his life to bits without a thought. She narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders as if she was preparing for battle— then she sighed and slumped, like the fight had gone out of her. “I know I can’t trust Frank,” she said, and though Harry listened hard for the ring of deception in her voice, he couldn’t hear it. “Uh-huh,” said Harry. “The no-good, cheating love-rat, right?” Vanessa turned her face away from him, an expression of wretched misery marring her exquisite features. She sank back onto the bed and sat looking up at him, her face pale and perfect and frozen. “If that was all, I could have lived with it. Two-timing me with cheap tramps. But he wanted to whore me out to his no-good friends—almost as rich as him and nearly as nasty. Guys who’ve never had to work for a thing in their lives, and think they’re entitled to everything they want. When I said no, he beat me, Mr Stone…Harry.” Harry reached out to touch the ring of violet marks circling her throat. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t bear the thought he’d hurt her. She shook her head. “It’s not the same thing at all. What you did gave me pleasure. I wanted it…I asked for it. What my husband did only ever caused me pain.” www.total-e-bound.com
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Harry watched her carefully. She wasn’t lying. He was sure of it. “Why didn’t you go to the cops?” She gave an inelegant snort. “My husband is Frank Bouvier. He’s a powerful man, Harry. Do you know which cops are crooked and which cops are straight? ’Cause I sure don’t.” She shook her head. “He would have found out, and he would have taken it out of my hide.” Harry thought about it. He had a pretty shrewd idea which were the good guys and which were the bad guys down at the precinct. But even he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure. And the kind of money Frank Bouvier had gave a man a lot of clout in this city. Perhaps she saw his thoughts in his face, because she pressed her point. “I had nowhere to go. Nobody to turn to. All I could hope for was enough money to get far away, away from this rotten city and its dirty cops. Away from Frank and his goons. And now all I can hope is that you won’t turn me in. Won’t try to stop me. Because if I don’t get away, Harry… If I don’t get away, one day Frank will kill me.” There was no mistaking the flat horror in her voice, and Harry realised the steely determination with which she’d carried off her scam wasn’t because she was hard, or grasping, or bad. Her strength had come from a place of fear. God help him, he was back in that world—the one that was all shades of grey, no black and white. No right and wrong, just the lesser of two evils. And all he knew was that he couldn’t turn this woman over to some high-handed son-of-a-bitch who didn’t know what he’d got because she didn’t come with a dollar sign stamped on her ass. He couldn’t turn this kid over to a man who’d pimp her out and beat her and maybe worse. He couldn’t betray Vanessa. “Jesus, doll,” he sighed. “Why didn’t you just come clean at the start?” She looked down at her hands, where she twisted them nervously in her lap. “I should have. I’m sorry, Harry. I was scared. I thought you were a good man. Needed to believe you were a good man. I needed to think there were men in the world who weren’t like Frank— were nothing like Frank. I was scared that if I told you the truth, I’d find out I was wrong. Then what would there be left to hope for in this world?” The quiver in her voice just about broke his heart. “Where will you go?” he asked. She shrugged. It was a helpless little movement, but some of the tension had gone out of her shoulders. “Anywhere. Away from here. Harry…” www.total-e-bound.com
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She looked up, and he could have wept at what he saw in her face. A sweet kid who’d had to be strong, who’d had to cheat and lie, all because of a city where sweet things like her were eaten alive, or thrown away like trash. A woman who’d learnt too much too young, and had some of the joy beaten out of her. He smiled his forgiveness at her, and she returned it with a spark of the joie de vivre he’d seen in her after their con at the bank had run like clockwork. “You could come with me, Harry,” she said. “We could—” She broke off with a gasp and started to rise from the edge of the bed. “Frank! What are you—?” Before Harry could turn, before he could do anything to defend himself, the lights went out.
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STONE COLD
Fleur T Reid
36
Chapter Eight
He wasn’t out for long. He came round feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. His head was swimming, and Frank and Vanessa’s voices echoed in his ears as though he was underwater. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he’d bet it wasn’t anything good. He guessed Frank had hit him from behind with the butt of his revolver, the damn coward. Judging from the way Harry’s scalp was throbbing, the bastard had meant to put him down and out for the long haul—if not for good. Harry guessed he must have a thick skull. He closed his eyes and took stock. His wrists and ankles were tied securely behind his back—with strips torn from the bed sheets, from the feel of it—and secured to the slats of a chair. He could tip the chair over, but unless he could find some way to get his bonds loose, that would just leave him lying on the floor—maybe with a broken shoulder to add to the goose egg Frank had already given him. He felt around in his back pocket. He wasn’t surprised not to find his pen knife there— even if he’d remembered to transfer it from his other suit, Frank probably would’ve had the nous to take it off him. His cigarette lighter, a couple of sticks of gum, a betting slip from the bookies… He blinked a few times and his vision started to clear. The ringing in his ears was fading. Frank Bouvier—square-jawed, impeccably dressed, handsome in an anonymous kind of way—had Vanessa’s wrists caught in his hand and was holding her against his side while she thrashed and spat like a wild cat. In his other hand he held a gun—something small, expensive and nickel-plated. Flashy, like Bouvier, but deadly enough, and the sight of its muzzle pointing at Vanessa’s temple while she jerked in her husband’s grasp made Harry’s blood run cold. “Jesus, Vanessa, don’t fight him! You’ll get yourself shot!”
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Fleur T Reid
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Bouvier swung the gun towards Harry, but Vanessa stilled in her husband’s grasp, becoming limp and compliant. She locked eyes with Harry, silently telling him she was depending on him to come after her, to save her… She trusted him. “You made a mistake messing with me, Stone.” Bouvier’s voice was calm and cultured. His whole demeanour smacked of money and of control. This was a guy who was used to getting his own way. “I guess you didn’t know what you were getting into, huh? But you, sweetheart…” He shook Vanessa like a ragdoll. “You should have known better.” Then he was backing her towards the French windows with his gun against her temple again. She stumbled a little as he pulled her with him. The curtains flapped in the breeze. Harry heard cabs honking in the street below, the steady purr of traffic. Then Bouvier and Vanessa were gone except for the clatter of their feet on the cast-iron fire escape. Vanessa. Harry didn’t know where Bouvier was taking her, but he’d bet it wasn’t for a steak dinner and dancing. The fear in her voice when she’d talked about what the creep had done to her had been too real. And now Bouvier knew she’d betrayed him. He probably had hidey-holes in every damn state in the country. If he lost them now, he’d lose them for good…lose her for good. And it hit him like a punch to the gut that he didn’t want to live the rest of his life without her. He fished in his back pocket again and pulled out his Zippo. He was about to do a really, really dumb thing, but he had no other choice. He twisted his hands so they were one beneath the other, ignoring the chafing of the sheets against his wrists. Then he flicked the lighter open and struck the flint with his thumb. Immediately he felt a searing pain when the sheets binding his wrists and the cuffs of his jacket went up in flames. The smell of burning hair reached his nostrils as the fuzz on his arms frizzled in the heat, and he tugged on his bindings, panicking when they held for a moment…then gave. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and threw it, along with the burning bindings, as far away from him as he could. He leaned over and untied his ankles and stood on legs that were half asleep. He didn’t even take the time to stamp out the now-flaming jacket, but staggered unsteadily to the French windows and looked out, scanning the street anxiously for Bouvier and Vanessa. www.total-e-bound.com
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The skin on his wrists was red and angry, beginning to blister where it had been bound and then burnt. His head still throbbed and he wondered if he had a concussion. But he had no time to worry about that now. Where was she? His heart jumped when he caught sight of them. Bouvier had Vanessa in the driver’s seat of his car. She must have fought like hell despite the gun to her head, or they would have been out of there before Harry could get loose. He felt a surge of respect and love for her that threatened to choke him. Then Bouvier slammed the door and darted around to the passenger side, training the revolver on his wife again. He said something to her—Harry could see his lips moving—and gestured with the gun. The breeze from the French windows was fanning the flames behind him; now they were climbing the walls. The acrid stench clogged his throat, and as he registered the intensity of the heat at his back, he heard the car’s engine start. Galvanised into action, he ran down the spiral fire escape, ignoring his dizziness. If he didn’t act now, he’d lose his chance. People were starting to gather on the street below, gaping and pointing at the black smoke pluming from the hotel room’s window. He took advantage of their confusion to push through the crowd and, without hesitation, launched his fist through the window of a parked car, shattering the glass. It would never have worked if he hadn’t been driven by fear—fear for Vanessa and fear for himself, that she would be taken away from him. He opened the door from inside, jumped into the driver’s seat and fumbled for the ignition. “Hey, you! Whaddya think you’re doing?” The hotel doorman was muscling his way through the crowd and, in a diner on the opposite side of the street, Harry saw a waitress, a middle-aged woman in a frilly apron, talking rapidly and urgently into the receiver of a telephone. He’d have bet his bottom dollar she was calling the cops and the fire department. But right now, the doorman was his immediate problem. He pulled away from the kerb with a screech, fishtailing wildly until he got control of the car, then put the pedal to the metal, roaring around the corner Vanessa had taken at gunpoint.
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STONE COLD
Fleur T Reid
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He felt something warm and wet stinging his burnt skin, and glanced at his hand. He realised that ribbons of blood were running down his wrist from the shards of glass that had slashed his knuckles. He didn’t give a damn. All he cared about was getting Vanessa back. They’d pulled onto a long stretch of road now, lined with trees and the occasional lamp post. The houses in this affluent area were set well back from the street. That meant less chance of any casualties, which was some comfort. Harry didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he was pretty sure if anyone got between him and Vanessa, he wouldn’t take the time to go around them. Arson hadn’t given him pause. Nor had stealing a car. And nor did the sirens and blue lights that had now joined the chase behind him. But he did give a heartfelt groan and mutter, “Oh, Jesus Christ,” when the cop car drew closer and he saw that it was Marco with his partner—some guy called Jones or Johnson or whatever—in the driver’s seat. Marco leaned out of his window with a bullhorn in his hand. Even though it was amplified, his voice was almost whipped away by the air rushing past the window of the moving cop car. But Harry heard what he said clearly enough. “This is the police. For your own safety, please pull to the side of the road and remain in the vehicle. I repeat, please pull to the side of the road and remain in the vehicle.” The sirens continued to wail, and Harry glanced in his rear-view mirror to see Marco duck back inside the car and exchange a few words with his partner, who shook his head. Marco shot something back at the guy, then leaned out of the window again. “Come on, Harry. You know this ain’t gonna end well. For Christ’s sake pull over and let’s talk about this.” Harry glanced into the mirror again and saw Marco’s partner take one hand off the wheel to yank him back into the car. He gesticulated and Marco lowered his head and gave a one-shouldered shrug that Harry knew very well. “Okay, okay.” Marco leaned out of the window once more, but this time he was holding his service revolver. Harry swerved as Marco let off a shot. He knew Marco would be aiming for his tyres, trying to disable the car, and he knew that by swerving he was just upping the chances of his old partner hitting him instead of the vehicle. Maybe killing him. But he couldn’t let Bouvier get away with his gal.
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STONE COLD
Fleur T Reid
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He saw Vanessa twist around in her seat to meet his eyes, her face a pale oval even as the wheel juddered in his hands, and he realised Marco’s second shot had hit its mark. Time seemed to slow as the car span out of his control. He craned desperately to see Vanessa, to catch a last glimpse of her before she drove out of his life, maybe forever, his girl, taken away from him at the point of her son-of-a-bitch husband’s gun, and he saw her turn her steering wheel hard to the right. He braced himself for impact, and when his car came to a halt, painting rubber across the road as it skidded, the hood of Bouvier’s car was crumpled against a lamppost. Steam rose from the folded mass of metal. Everything seemed unnaturally silent as Jones—or Johnson, or whoever—killed the sirens and brought the cop car to a halt. But before either cop could move to leave their vehicle, Harry was out of his and running towards the wrecked car—towards Vanessa. As he reached it, his heart jumped into his throat. That bastard Bouvier was slumped over the passenger-side dashboard. His eyes were fluttering, it looked like his nose was broken, and Harry would bet his head hurt like a motherfucker. But he was clearly alive. Vanessa… Vanessa lay back in her seat, limp like a broken doll. There wasn’t a drop of blood on her, but her lips were white, her eyes closed. “No,” Harry moaned. “Please, no, no, no. Not her, not her…” He wrenched the door open and took her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, mindless of the glass in his hand or the burns on his arms. “Vanessa,” he pleaded. “Come on, doll. Wake up. Wake up for me…” Vanessa opened her eyes and smiled. Harry gave her a little shake, then held her close. “Never scare me like that again, doll. Never, never…”
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STONE COLD
Fleur T Reid
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Chapter Nine
By the time Marco had jogged over from the cop car, puffing and blowing with the effort, they were on their knees on the asphalt. Vanessa was tenderly binding Harry’s burnt wrist with a strip torn from the hem of her skirt. He was holding his bloody hand to her cheek, leaving little whorls of maroon on her skin. Marco, a romantic at heart but tested beyond the limits of his patience, hauled Harry roughly to his feet by his collar. “Cut out the Romeo and Juliet bullshit, Stone,” he growled, “and tell me what the hell is going on.” Vanessa stepped between them. “That son-of-a-bitch”—she jabbed her finger at Frank Bouvier, who was beginning to stir, groggily—“kidnapped me. He might have killed me if Harry hadn’t come after me.” She was so much the picture of outraged innocence that Marco took a step back. “But lady, that’s your husband. You’re not really suggesting we bring charges against Frank Bouvier for taking a drive with his own wife?” Harry took Vanessa’s hand and pulled her back, away from Marco and against his side. “He had a gun to her head, Marco. If the cops can’t protect her, who can? I guess that means it’s down to me.” “Hey, Marco! Are you going to cuff him or what?” It was Jones, or Johnson, leaning on the hood of the cop car with his arms folded across his broad chest. Marco flapped a hand at him, and he settled down. Harry didn’t know how Marco had persuaded his partner to stay put, but he figured it could only be to give him a chance to talk his way out of trouble. “Listen, Marco…” Harry slapped his buddy on the back and turned him around so they had their backs to Vanessa, so they could talk privately. Marco gave him an assessing look. “What’s with the Bonnie and Clyde act, Harry? You used to be better than this. You used to be one of the good guys.” “I still am one of the good guys. You have no idea how bad this son-of-a-bitch is. You remember all those domestics we used to get called to? The ones where the broad was crying, www.total-e-bound.com
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split lip, black eye? Cops’ wives, sometimes. Some big-eyed kid looking at us like we were going to smack him silly, because that’s what they’d seen Daddy do and we were wearing the same damn uniform? You remember how there was nothing we could do?” They shared a silent, bitter memory. Marco shook his head. “There was this one time, this one kid…” He trailed off, but Harry knew the time he was talking about. Knew Marco still had nightmares about it, had to get out of bed and go and check his own children were safe and happy. “This time,” Harry urged, “this time there is something I can do. Something we can do, if you just…let us drive away.” Marco rubbed his eyes. He looked tired and unhappy. “Those broads hadn’t stolen a half-million dollar necklace, Harry. That little lady you seem so hooked on is a hustler.” “She was desperate. She had no choice.” “What’s she to you, Harry? What’s so special about her that you’d let her talk you into a con like that, then add arson and grand theft auto to your rap sheet?” Harry held his old friend’s gaze. “Marco, if I had to go down for murder to keep her safe, I’d do it. I love her.” Marco stared deeply into his eyes, and Harry held his breath. This was it—make or break. If Marco refused to cut them some slack, Harry didn’t know what he was going to do next. Eventually, Marco wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one sausagefingered hand and sighed. “You gotta give the necklace back. And the bonds and stuff. And Christ knows how I’m gonna get him to keep this quiet.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards his partner, where he was still leaning against the hood of the car, tapping his foot and looking increasingly impatient. Marco raised his voice. “Hey, lady! Come on over here for a minute.” Vanessa walked over, obviously wary and moving with a kind of tense poise, like she was ready to bolt at any minute if Marco suddenly tried to slap the cuffs on her. Marco looked her up and down—not checking her out, just weighing her up. Finally he nodded. “Mr Stone vouches for you,” he said. “He says you’ll hand over anything you might have on you that isn’t strictly yours. Any little trinkets, papers…that kind of thing.” www.total-e-bound.com
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Vanessa took his cue. She handed over a small bundle of stocks and bonds and the black jewel case without hesitation and without a word. Marco wasn’t some wet-behind-theears rookie. He snapped open the case and Harry saw his eyes widen before he nodded slightly and put it in his pocket along with the papers. He went on as though nothing had happened. “Says you’ll keep your nose clean. Says I’ll never see you—or him—back on my patch again.” Vanessa glanced at Harry, then nodded. “That’s right, Officer. We’re leaving the city, and we aren’t coming back.” Marco shifted on his feet. “Okay then. We blew a tyre in the chase, lost you. By the time we’ve called for backup, you could be over the state line.” To Marco’s obvious surprise, Vanessa threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. When she released him he was flustered but seemed happier with his decision. “Okay,” he said. “My partner and I are gonna take a walk. When we get back, you’re gonna be gone. We’ll take Mr Bouvier to the hospital, reunite him with his necklace.” “What if he—” Marco carried on as if Vanessa hadn’t interrupted. “If he even remembers what happened—and he might not, he’s had a hell of a knock on the head—I’m guessing he’d prefer to have his part in this…mix-up swept under the rug. A big-shot like him involved in a police chase? I don’t think he’ll want it to get out. No. He had a couple too many cocktails before driving home. Embarrassing, but nothing that’ll make him lose face in front of his cronies; make them think he’s a loose cannon.” “Thank you, Marco.” Harry held his hand out for it to be shaken. Marco just stared at it and gave him a sad, lop-sided smile. “Go on,” he said softly. “Get out of here.”
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STONE COLD
Fleur T Reid
44
Chapter Ten
A few hours later, they were driving into the sunset like lovers from an old story book, heading west. Harry had taken the wheel while Vanessa slept in the passenger seat, though he glanced across at her every so often, just to make sure she was still there, wasn’t some kind of crazy dream. He had no idea where they were going, or what they were going to live on when they got there, but he didn’t care. He’d milk cows or…or herd chickens or…do whatever you do with crops. As long as he had Vanessa to come home to, it didn’t matter. When Harry had sheepishly revealed that he had no idea how to change a tyre, Vanessa had set to with the jack and the wrench, smiling in a way that lit up her whole face when he looked on in quiet astonishment. “Hick from the sticks, remember? I can change the oil in a tractor as well, if you like.” “I think this will do for now,” Harry had replied. Then, “Jesus, doll, you’re amazing.” Now, as he glanced across at her again, her lashes fluttered, casting shadows on her high cheekbones in the orange-blue light of the oncoming dusk. She opened her eyes and stretched, throwing her arms wide and wriggling her torso in a way that made it pretty hard for Harry to keep his attention on the road. Then she gave a contented little sigh. “Harry, why don’t you pull over? I’ve got something to show you.” She bit her lip and cast her eyes up in thought. “Actually, I’ve got a couple of things to show you.” Harry coasted to a stop at the side of the deserted rural road and put on the parking brake. It was quiet out here…peaceful. Harry was a city boy, and he wondered if he’d ever get used to the quiet, the clean air. Then Vanessa took his hand and all his worries melted away. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Why? I like looking at you.” He leaned towards her for a kiss, but she evaded his lips. “Close your eyes,” she insisted. “I have something for you.”
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He closed his eyes. There was a rustling sound, and Vanessa pushed something into his hands, closed his fingers around it. “Now open your eyes,” she said. Harry opened his eyes, and found himself with a fistful of stocks and bonds, titles and deeds. “What…? How…?” Then he remembered Vanessa’s sleight of hand in the bank, when she’d taken the papers in the first place without him realising it. Remembered her throwing her arms around Marco, a gesture that had surprised them all and left Marco looking flushed but pleased. A pang of guilt and dismay ran through him, but Vanessa seemed to read his mind. “Your friend won’t get into any trouble,” she said. “Believe me, I know Frank. He’s got the necklace back, and that’s all he’ll care about. That and saving face, avoiding bad publicity. He’s got so much money he hardly even knows what he’s worth. He won’t come after us. He’ll probably even petition the mayor to give your friend a commendation.” She smiled bitterly. “He’d never miss a chance to get another cop on the payroll, owing him a favour.” Harry grinned. “He’ll be backing the wrong horse with Marco. Letting us go is the first thing I’ve ever seen him do that wasn’t by the book.” “Good,” said Vanessa decisively. “Maybe sooner or later he can bring the bastard down.” “If anyone can, Marco can,” Harry agreed. Then he stroked his fingers through her hair, still beautiful even when it was tangled and clumped with sweat from her gunpoint ordeal and the crash. Her skin was luminous in the dim light, even though Harry’s fingerprints still lingered on her cheek in blood. “Clever girl,” he murmured and took her lips in a soft, tender kiss that nevertheless sent the blood rushing to his groin. He sucked her plump lower lip into his mouth, then released her. “What was the other thing you wanted to show me?” Vanessa hiked her torn, dirty skirt up around her hips and drew her knees under her, swinging her leg across so she was straddling Harry where he sat in the driver’s seat. The gear stick gave her a bit of trouble, and there was a lot of wriggling and giggling, but eventually she was kneeling with one leg on either side of him, her breasts in his face. He put his hands on her waist and stroked the soft curves, running his hands up over her ribcage, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples through the fabric of her blouse and brassiere.
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“The other thing I want to show you,” she murmured, with a slight hitch in her voice, “is this.” She took one of his hands and guided it between her legs, so he could feel the sopping wet gusset of her panties, the heat of her inner thighs. So he could feel her desire for him. “Oh, Jesus.” Harry gave a soul-deep groan. “Oh, Vanessa.” She fumbled with his fly, and he hooked her sodden panties to one side so she could sink down onto his rigid cock. He slid into her with such slick ease that he gasped when he found himself balls-deep in her sweet pussy, bucking his hips upwards as he fought to get deeper and deeper still. Vanessa moaned and rolled her hips, working his cock in a figure-of-eight pattern that made him sure he was going to come right away. He didn’t want to come before she did. He wanted to give her pleasure—wanted to give her everything. He slipped his hand downwards again, working it between their bellies as she moved up and down on his cock, gasping and moaning incoherently, sounds that pushed Harry ever closer to the edge. He found the slippery little nub at the apex of her pussy and stroked it with his forefinger, then, when she caught a breath on a rising moan, rubbed her quickly with featherlight touches. She came almost at once, throwing her head back to expose the smooth expanse of her long throat, ringed with the little dark marks Harry had left there from their lovemaking the day before. He lowered his head and kissed them, lapped at them with his tongue, then buried his face in the hollow between her neck and her shoulder as, with rapid, erratic thrusts he spilled himself into her, letting out a low groan. They stayed locked together like that for long moments before disentangling themselves. Then, when darkness fully fell and the stars began to come out, they leant back in their seats, holding hands, gazing up at the sky in comfortable, sated silence. After a while Vanessa said, “The stars. Thousands of them up there. Millions. They’re all the diamonds we need, right Harry?” Harry looked up at the Milky Way, strewn across the sky like shards of ice, or slivers of broken glass. He turned his head to smile at Vanessa, and looked into her sparkling eyes. “All the diamonds we need,” he said.
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Coming Soon from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Forbidden Fire Jan Irving Released 27th February 2012
Excerpt Chapter One
The strange message I read on my lover’s door is now being called out over the rooftops. —Rumi Luke Cade knew Sian’s step, knew the sound of the exact stair that groaned under her feet as she sneaked into the house he shared with her. Tonight he found himself holding his breath, holding it almost like the sound of the world falling still. It was a moment when anything seemed possible, when stars could collide, when the sand below the posh beach house where they lived could be engulfed by flood waters that would rise and take back the palm trees, the sprinkler-fed grass… When she might walk into his darkened bedroom and lie down beside him on his lonely bed. Instead, she walked past his door. Of course she did. He let out a breath as the world realigned back to the same routine. It hurt, knowing she’d been out dancing with some guy. It always hurt so goddamned much. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he could endure another night, keep his secret. It would be worse if he didn’t have her at all.
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Sian Blaine was his stepsister. She could never be his girlfriend. She could never see herself as his lover. She was ten years older than he was and she thought of him as her little brother. It didn’t matter that he was in his mid-twenties now and they’d lived in this house alone together since their parents had passed away. During the day, he worked at San Diego Fire Station 57 and she worked behind the counter of Coffee Dreams near Solana Beach. He often went in for coffee. They practically spent twenty-four-seven together unless Sian had one of her dates. So here was another Friday night and he was lying in a bed that might as well be a twin for all the action it saw and she was walking past his bedroom door. Yay! Suddenly he erupted from that bed, stalking across the darkened room in his boxers, swinging open the door so he could glare down the empty hallway. Weirdly, she was just standing there, looking over her bare shoulder at him, as if she’d somehow known he would appear. “Can you help?” Sian asked, solemn grey eyes on his face, her brown hair caught up above her neck. He told himself she was too skinny, the ‘bird bones’ she’d been called in high school, but her long arms seemed perfect as she tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress. And he knew why she was having trouble. This wasn’t some kind of come-on, despite how his body immediately reacted. Sian’s left hand was curled like a withered leaf. She automatically tried to hide it in the folds of her dress, which pissed him off. She didn’t need to goddamn hide from him. Not ever. “Yeah, all right,” he grumbled, as if his heart wasn’t racing at the thought of touching her intimately. He’d have to pretend she didn’t move him, but her skin would be under his hands… He couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Not that she needed to. She had small, delicate breasts. He knew when they were growing up she’d lamented her slight figure, but he liked everything about her—from the way she smelt to the way she walked. “I think it’s busted,” he said, after pulling her zipper up and down, trying to get it to unfasten. www.total-e-bound.com
“Probably my slip got caught in it. Can you check?” He looked up and some of her hair slid free of its clasp. The slinky bit of brown curled between them, caressing his neck. He caught his breath. Sian stared at him and then jerked her gaze from his. Just what had she seen in his eyes? He swallowed around a dry throat. “What colour is this dress anyway?” “Why do you ask?” Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. “Going to splurge on one on Valentine’s Day for Maggie?” Maggie. Luke had to search his brain to remember who that was while he was peeling cloth away from Sian’s back, his fingers actually—Christ!—touching bare skin. She had a mole just above her ass that he’d always wanted to kiss whenever he’d seen her in a bikini. Just put his mouth to it and suck until she laughed and turned around and he could put his mouth somewhere else… “The receptionist in the building next to the station, right,” he said. “She’s seeing someone.” “Oh. I thought you had a thing for her.” Irritated, he said, “No. And if I did, why would I give her a dress?” The idea baffled him. Sian laughed. “Because you actually asked me the colour of mine. I thought you liked it.” “I like it because it’s yours and tiny.” Oh, shit. Way to be subtle. But he was kneeling at her feet and if she turned around his boxers weren’t going to hide just how much he liked her dress. She was quiet until he cursed. “What?” “This is not caught on anything! It’s broken, Sian.” He pulled away and had to let his hands drop. He balled them into fists so he didn’t just give into temptation and yank the thing off her like a wild man. Sian liked charming men, he knew. Men who were smooth and educated. Nothing like Luke, who had always been so physical, so rough-hewn. www.total-e-bound.com
“Okay, thanks.” She paused, looking down at him. “I saw you’re Mr February this year.” His cheeks heated. “Yeah. I’m also Mr April.” He’d posed with his surfboard and nothing else. “I didn’t know you’d seen it.” “Are you kidding? It’s up in the kitchen at work.” Sian’s cheeks were also flushed now, he noticed. “Since we’re all gals, we’re shamelessly exploiting hot young men in our calendar art.” Hot young men? Wait, forget the young part, she thought he was hot? “Well, sorry I woke you up,” she said. “I’ll try to be quieter next time.” “You didn’t wake me up. I wasn’t sleeping.” Her body swayed as if she were on the verge of heading into her own room, closing the door and leaving him on the outside again. Tonight he just couldn’t let it happen. “Luke—” “I’m not the street kid who moved in when your dad married my mom,” he said. “I’m…” He spread his fingers, wanting her to see him. He was an adult now. He’d made something of himself. He helped people. And some part of him knew it had been for her. He’d worked so hard, wanted to be someone she’d respect. For her, all for her. “If I were in one of your favourite Jane Austen books, I’d be a man of substance, like Edmund Bertram, the parson in Mansfield Park.” “I’ve always seen you more like Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights.” “Because of my working class background? But I don’t brood as much as he did.” “Yes, you do. Sometimes…you’re so quiet, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I wish you’d take me to see where you come from. You never talk about it, but I know you think about it.” He could have told her, but then she’d run from him and lock her door. The dirty things he wanted to do to her… “I’m proud to work with the guys at Station 57.” Her eyes widened and she knelt beside him, reaching out to grip his hand. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Luke… You’ve come so far. You broke my heart, even my Dad’s heart. We both wanted you to have opportunities.” She studied him, her gaze running over his www.total-e-bound.com
shoulders, his chest. He hoped like hell she liked what she saw since he worked out like a maniac. “Now you’re a hero.” He blinked. “Did you just call me a hero?” A crooked smile touched her lips. “I’m so going to pay for being sappy, huh?” “You totally are.” He liked the hint of green in her eyes. They were large in her small face and her mouth was a little off-centre, the top lip fuller than the bottom. He liked it, he wanted to kiss it. “It feels like forever since we really talked,” she said. “Why is that?” “Maybe because you’re always out with some guy. Who was it this time? The architect or the gym owner?” “Luke—” “Don’t tell me it’s none of my business, Sian. We’re all we’ve got.” “No, I don’t accept that.” She climbed to her feet, her dress sagging like a sail without any wind, putting her back on display. Firm skin, small bones, strong. Strong like the way she’d been when his mom had had cancer—holding him, letting him know with her body against his that he would never be alone. “Then why do you still live here? Why are we both living under the same roof?” Fuck it, he was pushing things, he was probably ruining things, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He was on his feet, hands on his hips, looming over her. “It’s just easier—” “That’s bullshit. It’s not easy for me,” he said. “I still live here because I need to be close to you.” She shook her head. He crowded her against the wall, waiting, watching her to see if she wanted free of him. When she only stared up at him he leant down and put his mouth over hers, claiming her. Sian made a small sound in her throat and then her fingers were digging into his arms. She tasted like coffee and crème caramel, and annoyance slashed him when he thought about how she’d shared that dessert with another man. When his tongue touched hers she jerked in his arms, her body fully pressed against his now. She felt amazing, better than anything he’d ever felt. He tore his mouth from hers and yanked his boxers down, wanting them to be skin to skin. www.total-e-bound.com
Her eyes looked shocky as he also tugged down her dress, leaving her wearing only her panties. One of his fingers curled under the top of her underwear, moving back and forth, letting her know he wanted in. “You’re what I want.” He reached up and cupped one of her breasts and she groaned, her eyes closing tightly. Closing him out? Fuck, he didn’t care. Now he was in a heat to mate and he didn’t care if she didn’t want to acknowledge that she was finally letting her little stepbrother have her. They kissed again, man to woman, her lips pressing against his, her tongue shyly touching his as he took command of her mouth. He growled and she made another soft sound and his hand moved down to grind against her mound, finding her damp through the cloth. He knew he should slow down, but this might be the only time she ever let him have her. After all these years, he was desperate. He broke away. “You’re on something, right?” “Uh, what?” Dazed, heavy eyes met his. “I’m clean, but I need to know if you’re on something.” He wouldn’t mind making her pregnant, but telling her that would probably have her running for her bedroom. “Yes.” She blushed again. He pulled down her underwear so it fell to her ankles and cupped her, holding her gaze as his fingers touched her slick folds, then delved deeper. She made a growling sound of her own now, gripping him tight. Close, he was so close, ready to be touched into an explosion. “Hold on to me, baby,” he whispered, lifting her high against the wall. Her legs wrapped around him. He was shaking as he took himself in hand, one arm supporting her weight as he positioned his penis and thrust into her. It was… Oh, God… But Sian’s fingernails stabbed into his shoulders, so he looked into her indignant eyes and guessed he had been clumsy. Oh, shit. His woman in his arms at last and he— “How does that feel?” he made himself ask. “Big. It feels big.” “Oh.” He held her suspended, not hammering into her the way he wanted to. “How long before it doesn’t feel ‘big’,” he whispered. “Sian, please, baby.” “Uh…” www.total-e-bound.com
He reached between them, his arm burning from taking all of her weight, but he found her clit and her eyes flared wide. He wished he was on his knees, that it was his mouth touching her. He loved to do this for her, loved to see her shudder as he touched her. “Big is bad,” he whispered in her ear. She laughed and he grinned back at her. “Big is a lot to, ah, accommodate,” she said. But as he continued to play, she shivered again, and it was like her body was holding tight, living for every touch he gave her. She squirmed, pushing down her body so she was seated more solidly. Oh, yeah. “You’re my woman now,” he said. “Luke, we can’t—” Her tone was meant to put him in his place. Luke the kid, Luke who is misguided. Fuck that. A bead of sweat ran down from his hairline. He needed her to shatter for him. He needed her soft and wet and compliant and not telling him he couldn’t, they couldn’t… When she was in pieces, he could finally get into her bed. He wouldn’t nail her as dirty and raw as he liked it, but only because he knew she’d never had it that way. His princess was relatively innocent. She ground herself against him when he thrust, every second ticking with an almost audible impact, her eyes wide, the bead of sweat running down his cheek, crystallised like slow amber. It lit him off so suddenly he began pounding into her while she left a line of scratches on his back. He grunted, hands digging into her hips. She’d have bruises in the morning, like he would wear her scratches. She might want to put this aside, but her body would remember him. “Can’t!” “Oh, yeah, you can.” Relentless. This was a storm that came in from the sea, that all you could do was live through. Just their bodies sliding down the wall as he pressed his fingers against the top of her sex, tapping like relentless rain, her eyes going dark, swallowing his reflection as she climaxed. He felt her contracting around him, brought down, brought down to his level, to his hands stained with engine grease, to the kinky things he hungered to do to her. He came in a scalding rush, marking her, wishing he could inscribe a symbol on her soul, on her skin. Mine. www.total-e-bound.com
He held her, feeling every part of her was his. But then while he still trembled, arms burning, Sian stiffened, vibrating horror. He could almost hear her thoughts—what had she done? He was her little stepbrother and she had let him fuck her. And more than that, he had made her come. “Sian—” She scrambled off him. He caught her, held her gaze. “It’ll only happen again.” “No, it won’t.” “Yes.” He let her go, watched her snatch up her dress. Her door slammed a second later. He guessed he wasn’t going to be invited into her bed. Not tonight anyway.
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About the Author Fleur T Reid is a romantic at heart, who thinks what the world needs is more whimsy. She lives partly in England but mostly in Cyberspace. She enjoys dreadful puns and naughty MF and ménage stories, and believes the best way to have a good time is by being bad. Email:
[email protected] Fleur loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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