French Blue (28 page)

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Dark Blue

The hottest lessons require the strictest discipline…

Dark Blue

© 2013 Natasha Bond

Study in Seduction, Book 1

Five years after losing her husband, Carla Jonas has finally decided to go for her dreams—
all
her dreams, from studying literature at Oxford to exploring a secret desire to be dominated and disciplined. A desire she never knew she had until six months ago, when a mysterious masked man pleasured her at a fetish party.

She’s stunned when she meets her new college professor. Not only is the gorgeous French academic, Alex Lemaitre, notoriously strict, this isn’t the first time they’ve met. She’d know that exotic accent anywhere—he’s her masked lover. Except he won’t even admit he was there that night.

There’s no mistaking the sexual attraction smoldering between them, and when he issues her a challenge, she’s more than up for it. Even when his unique tutoring methods drag her far beyond her comfort zone.

But as he leads her on a journey of sensual discovery, she’s not sure if any degree of submission will find its way into his guarded heart, or if she’ll end up with her own heart broken.

Warning: Contains an intense relationship between a hot French professor and a smart woman who knows what she wants from him. Also features desktop discipline, fantasies fulfilled, secrets revealed, and motorbike sex.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Dark Blue:

Carla Jonas set one foot in the drawing room of the swanky Victorian terrace and knew she’d made a huge mistake. She’d promised herself she would give the party a good hour before she decided whether to stay or not.

She’d given it five minutes and was ready to bail out.

Despite the magnificent chandelier suspended from the ceiling, the room was lit only by candlelight. Nonetheless, Carla could see all she ever wanted to.

On a satin couch, a chubby man in hot pants and a dog collar was feeding grapes to a woman in a latex catsuit. Over by the fireplace, a bearded nun flicked a rubber flogger at the rear of a matronly lady, and the tangle of limbs in a dark corner told her that at least three people, all naked except for their masks, were getting to know each other very well indeed.

Carla hiked up the front of her velvet basque for the umpteenth time. She’d worked hard to keep her figure, but the leather trousers that were comfortable a decade ago required a shoehorn to get into and out of. Her heels, an impulse sale purchase from a shop aimed at girls half her age, were killing her. As for the silver mask, a relic from a New Year’s Eve do, it had cut her peripheral vision to almost zero.

Which was why she felt rather than heard the bald man who’d appeared at her side. Mainly because he’d greeted her with a heavy slap across her behind.

“Ow!”

Two eyes peered out from a Dracula mask, and he swished a black cape that Carla suspected had come from his kids’ Halloween box.

“Well, hello,
you
. Are you ready to play?” His attempt at a sexy growl sounded more like indigestion.

“Um…I’m not sure.”

Dracula grasped her butt cheek. “Of course you are.”

“Ow!” Carla shot backwards out of reach. “I’d really rather you didn’t do that.”

“Oh, we
are
a skittish little thing, aren’t we? This is a fetish party, love. What did you expect? Look around you.”

She had. Too much. Glancing at the panting, giggling mass of people of all ages, shapes and sizes in various states of fancy dress and fancy undress, she just felt ridiculous.

Dracula clamped his fingers round her wrist, and Carla wrenched her arm away. This party might have been some people’s wildest dreams come true.
Fine
. She now knew it wasn’t hers.

“Actually, I was just on my way out. I really don’t think this is me.”

He waggled eyebrows that reminded Carla of caterpillars. “Then why are you here, you naughty little minx?”

Carla gagged as he ran a fat finger down her cleavage. In any other situation, she’d have kicked him in the nuts and called for help. Not in here. Hitting Dracula in the balls might save her from getting pawed again, but there was no way she wanted to draw any attention to herself. A dignified exit was the best she could hope for now.

“You know, I don’t really know why I’m here, and I’m not sure I should be. In fact, this has probably been one of the biggest mistakes of my life.”

Dracula’s pudgy claw clamped down on her wrist.

“
Stop right there.
”

Another man appeared in Carla’s vision. She had to crane her neck to take in all of him, and what she did see was dressed from head to toe in black—boots, jeans and silk shirt. His thick, dark hair was slicked back from a tanned forehead, his eyes obscured by a black silk mask.

Dracula squared up to the new man. “What’s it got to do with you, pal?”

“A lot. The lady is with me.”

That accent… It was perfect English with a hint of something more exotic. An image slid into her mind and made her want to giggle. He was the man in the mask. Zorro.

“So why don’t you just leave us to it, Dracula?”

Carla made to protest, then clamped her lips together. While Zorro and Dracula beat the crap out of each other, she could quietly slip away.

“You don’t bring your own food to this kind of party, mate, and even if you do, it’s share and share alike around here,” said Dracula.

“Firstly, I’m not your mate, and second, I never share.” Zorro sneered and very beautifully, Carla decided, transfixed by his full, sensual lips. He hadn’t resorted to silly gear either, just what he’d found in his closet, by the look of it.
Wow
. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted this kind of scene either and was exploring or curious like her.

Dracula stepped closer until he was face-to-chest with Zorro. “Then you shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t and neither should my girlfriend. We’re both leaving.”

Carla turned her back and headed for the door. Before she knew it, Zorro’s arm was at her elbow, propelling her out onto the landing. She shook off his arm. Shit. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. But
what
a fire, her wicked side whispered. Although he made no attempt to touch her again, his footsteps followed her as she hobbled down the marble staircase that led to the foyer.

“Please don’t come after me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” she said, making it into the foyer without breaking her ankle.

“I’m sure you are. My question is, what on earth are you doing here?”

She turned, one hand on the polished balustrade to steady herself. What was she doing here? It was a question she’d asked herself ever since she’d managed to get an invite to this fetish party. It had been on her list of Mad Things to Do since her husband, Stephen, had died four years previously, along with giving up her job and using Stephen’s inheritance to go to university. In fact, it was only in the past few weeks that she’d finally found the courage to embrace the desires she’d pushed into the darkest corners of her subconscious while her husband was alive—and that afterwards she’d been too crushed by grief and betrayal to even contemplate.

This party was meant to be her first step, a safe, toe-in-the-water adventure suggested by a friend of a former work colleague.

She fished in her bag for her mobile. “I have no idea, and right now I’m leaving.”

Zorro sighed deeply, causing Carla to look at him more closely. His eyes were darkest caramel, glinting in the flickering candlelight. “Yes. I’m guessing we both thought this was a good idea at the time,” he said.

Sparks flew between them, or at least they flew from her to him. Even with the mask obscuring the top half of his face, she could tell he was sinfully gorgeous, and as for that accent, it made her want to drool. She couldn’t place it, but, judging by the tanned hand, she guessed he was at least partly Mediterranean. Automatically, she checked out his ring finger. There was no pale band where a ring might have been, though that didn’t mean he was single. She just couldn’t bear to hook up with a man prepared to hurt his partner the way that Stephen had done to her.

Down here in the hall, the situation had started to edge back into her comfort zone, and she smiled. “A friend of a friend I used to work with mentioned this place to me; now I wish she hadn’t. What about you?”

“Something like that… I can see you don’t belong here. Neither of us does.”

Though he hadn’t so much as touched her, the intense look he gave her reached out and caressed her whole body. She felt as if she had been stripped naked by his words.
You don’t belong here. Neither of us does.
The party had been a disaster, but meeting this man might be fate. She’d never felt such a powerful and instant attraction to a man before, not even with Stephen. Was this the moment when she would finally dare to take a chance? With this exotic stranger?

He’s got her tied up, but she’s got him out of control.

Out of Control

© 2014 Teresa Noelle Roberts

Glass artist Jen Kessler has hit the jackpot—a cheap apartment in a charming Victorian house, complete with a sexy, intense, buttoned-down landlord…who may or may not have a riding crop in his bedroom.

She’s not looking for a lover, but when her innocent, impulsive hug sparks kisses as hot as molten glass, it leads to bondage, spankings, and more naughtiness that, up to now, she had only tasted.

His new tenant may have wild, dyed hair and an unconventional job, but Cornell math professor Drake Matthews admires the work ethic that got her out of debt. Then he’s stunned at how quickly she destroys decades of carefully cultivated self-control.

Soon their sexual and emotional passions push them to the edge—and beyond. But it’s not all good, dirty fun. As Drake takes more and more control of Jen in the bedroom, her deeply ingrained independent streak pushes back. And it’ll take more than a shared penchant for ropes, paddling, and coffee to overcome pasts that could unravel their relationship before it begins.

Warning: Contains kinky sex, molten glass, geeky higher mathematics, family secrets, and irresponsible consumption of coffee.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Out of Control:

“Do you need a hand with anything? More coffee maybe? Or should I leave you alone to unpack?” Drake stood in the doorway, and Jen couldn’t tell if he wanted her to ask him to stay or dismiss him. He was wearing his serious, professorial face, but there was something in his eyes, something in the way he watched her, something in the way he leaned on the doorframe, lazy as a cat, but like a cat sometimes was, active in his laziness, that suggested his thoughts might be more serious than fun. Naughty, even.

“I can think of a few things I could use a hand with.” She stifled laughter. She honestly hadn’t meant it to sound suggestive, but it came out that way.

“I imagine.” Drake came closer and suddenly the room seemed very warm. Or maybe that was just her panties. “What can I do for you?” The words could just refer to all the million things involved with getting settled in a new place, and on one level, probably did.

But Drake felt that tension too. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he carried himself. He was studying her like she was prey, or maybe an opponent in some kind of contest, trying to figure out his next move. Funny thing was, he probably thought he was being subtle, but he was obviously trying to decide whether he should jump in where they’d left off or pretend it had never happened and start their acquaintance fresh.

Still, he wasn’t as awkward as a lot of guys might be. He wasn’t slobbering like a puppy who thought she had a treat in her pocket, but wasn’t ignoring her either. More like he was waiting for a clear signal.

What the hell. She decided to give him one, an opening he could take in several ways. Otherwise, she’d never get anything done, and that would be bad, right?

She’d never been the type to wait demurely for a guy to make up his mind. That was like waiting for everything to fall into place so you could quit your horrible nine-to-five job and commit to art—a great way to be old and gray and still waiting. You had to
make
things fall into place, whether you were talking about work or relationships. Create opportunities. The worst that would happen in either case was you’d fall on your face. And then you got up, brushed yourself off and tried something different.

She stood up from the floor, where she’d been sorting through a box. “How about welcoming me to the house properly,” she said, her voice slipping to a sultry whisper almost despite herself, and held out her hand.

Drake took her hand, shook it in a friendly but businesslike way. “Glad to have you here.” God, his hands were big.

He stepped closer, not letting go of her hand, close enough she could feel the heat of his body. A shudder ran through her, made up of equal parts desire and confusion. She felt paralyzed. Jen’s normal impulse would be to kiss this man, who seemed like he wanted desperately to kiss her but was holding back. At least pull him into a hug, make it clear she was interested. Yet she couldn’t move, trapped by his serious gray eyes, the heat of his touch, the set of his mouth under that tidy beard.