Trouble

Table of Contents

“The writing is strong, the characterization is well drawn and likeable . . . and the sex is very well-done. This is
hot
!”

—Angela Knight, author of the Megaverse series

 

“Plenty of fun . . . mixes tense emotions and hot sex.”

 

“Packs a tremendous punch . . . stimulating, steamy, [and] scorching hot.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews

 

“Delightful and very thought-provoking.”

 

“Hot, fast-paced, and erotic.”
—Romance Divas

 

“Romance at its best!”
—Cupid’s Library Reviews

 

“Hot and explosive.”
—Just Erotic Romance Reviews

 

“Intensely sensual.”
—Romance Junkies

 

“Creates a carnal haze that envelops the readers, caresses their senses . . . deliciously decadent.”
—The Romance Studio

 

“Soul-grabbing, richly evocative, and unforgettable.”

—Suzanne McMinn, author of the PAX League series

 

“Sexy, raw, and intriguing.”—
The Road to Romance

BOUND
TROUBLE

 

 

Anthologies
KINK

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Africa

 

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2007 by Sabrina Ingram.

 

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

eISBN : 978-1-429-52424-7

I. Title.
PS3623.H57885T76 2007
813’.6—dc22 2007012750

 

 

 

 

I
t was easy for Samair Jones to stride past the crowd lined up outside the nightclub Risqué and through its front entrance. All it took was a sultry smile for the doorman and she was in.

Okay, so it was more than just the smile. It was the attitude behind the smile. And the happenings of the past few hours had given her just the kick in the ass she needed for an attitude adjustment.

For the past three years she’d been a good girl. She’d worked a “proper” job, had a “proper” relationship, and had a boring, uneventful life. Now it was time to remember how to
live.

Samair knew there were times when the image she showed to the world shifted and a certain energy emanated from her that made people sit up and take notice. It was something she used to hate.

The energy was from deep within, and one she hadn’t felt in way too long. It was the same energy that had made teachers single her out as the troublemaker in school, and had made her parents berate her for being too flamboyant. But tonight she’d decided to give it free rein.

To give
herself
free rein.

She looked out over the dimly lit dance floor. Friday night and the place was packed and the music was pumpin’. Bodies of all shapes, sizes, and sexes filled the club in varied levels of dress—or, in some cases, undress—undulating to the music. An almost forgotten spark of energy flowed through her. Risqué had a reputation as the classiest dance club in the city, and she could see why. The place was perfect.

Tension eased from between her shoulders as the steady throb of a heavy bass beat seeped into her through the floor, her pulse starting to pound in time with it. She turned from the railing and started for the stairs. Three steps from the top she spotted a good-looking stud on his way up. She smiled at him, held his heated gaze as they passed, and felt the thrill of the hunt shoot through her.

The time had come to stop kidding herself and embrace who, and what, people always told her she was.

Trouble.

 

 

V
alentine Ward noticed her as soon as she set foot in Risqué. From the vantage point behind the one-way-mirrored wall of his office, he could see everything that happened on the of his office, he could see everything that happened on the floor of his club. He liked it that way. He needed to know what was happening at all times.

He studied the contradiction of the pretty blonde. The sinuous way she moved had caught his attention. But the longer he gazed at her, the more a subtle air of innocence seemed to come through. “Val, are you listening?”

“Not really,” he murmured.

Karl Dawson came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. “Ah, now I see why. A playmate of yours?”

Val watched as she stepped to the side of the landing and surveyed the club from the top floor. She was less than fifteen feet from his office, so he got a good look at her.

Dressed in black slacks and a simple white blouse, she should’ve looked out of place in the nightclub. The clothes certainly weren’t anywhere near the type of party clothes most club-goers wore. They did nothing to hide nor accentuate her curvy figure, and he wondered if she always dressed like that. It looked wrong. Too plain . . . too strict for the raw sensuality she exuded.

Tousled dark blond hair that reached a couple of inches past her shoulders framed a face that housed delicately arched eyebrows, a straight nose, and sensuous lips. The lips were really something. Full and shiny, they formed a natural pout that gave him the urge to suck the bottom one into his mouth for a quick nibble.

He couldn’t help but stare, wishing she would look his way. He wanted to see her eyes. Instinct told him they held the key to her.

Val watched those tempting lips tilt in a predatory smile as she started for the steps, and he felt the long-forgotten pull of lust stir.

“Not yet,” he finally answered Karl. “But she will be.”

 

 

B
odies brushed against her as she walked, and Samair felt alive for the first time in way too long. Almost as if she were waking from a deep sleep.

She watched the couple behind the bar as they mixed drinks for the crowd. The male bartender was tall, slim, and clean cut, while the girl was the complete opposite with vivid purple streaks throughout her black hair, heavy eye makeup, and black lipstick. Despite being the odd couple, it was clear they got along as they moved in a synchronized dance behind the bar.

When she was up, Samair ordered her drink and decided to do things the easy way. “Is Joey Kent here tonight?”

“Joey’s here somewhere.” Purple and black curls bobbed as the bartender squeezed a lime into Samair’s drink. “If you can’t find her in the crowd, wait ten minutes and you’ll see her in one of the cages. She never breaks for long.”

That sounded like the Joey she knew. Full of fire and never far from a dance floor.

“Thanks.” Samair put a ten-dollar bill down and picked up her drink. “Keep the change.”

“Anytime, sweetness,” she replied with a wink and a grin completely at odds with her dark Goth look.

Glass in hand, Samair started the stroll around the club. A tingle of awareness danced up her spine and she looked over her shoulder but saw nothing unusual. She continued her walk around the club, heading for the dance floor, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her through the packed crowd.

Her blood hummed as it raced through her veins. Anger, determination, and excitement all combined to give her just the push she needed to take control of her life again.

For twenty-eight years she’d listened to her parents’ lectures and had done her best to live up to their expectations. She took business courses in college instead of art or creative design, and she worked crappy hours in a small boutique just so she could be near what she really loved: clothes. She’d been undemanding in the bedroom, and put up with lousy sex so she could have a steady boyfriend.