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Authors: Jana Mercy

Touched by a Thief

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedicated to McKenna Chase for all the laughter and fun she has brought to my life. Love you girl!

 

And to Little Finger and Big Toe--You know why!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TOUCHED BY A THIEF

By Jana Mercy

 

Copyright 2011 by Jana Mercy

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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. 

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OTHER WORKS BY JANA MERCY

 

 

Praise for SEDUCED BY A WOLF
(co-authored with McKenna Chase)
– previously titled HER BIG BAD WOLF
:

 


Her Big Bad Wolf
brings a new twist to a classic fairy tale. It has all the charm of the childhood story with a wickedly sexy turn. McKenna Chase & Jana Mercy do a fantastic job in this quirky, sinful, erotic read. I enjoyed it immensely and would recommend it to anyone who is looking for a humorous adult take on the Big Bad Wolf.”

~Pamela Denise, Romance Junkies
 

Her Big Bad Wolf
- “This is not your Mom’s fairy tale. The authors have taken a girl’s fairy tale and made it a woman’s hot dream. I found the story enchanting and consumed the story in one sitting. This is definitely one hot story that sizzles and has earned itself a place on my favorite’s bookshelf.”

~Delane, Coffee Time Romance

 

Praise for STRIP OR TREAT

Jana Mercy
holds nothing back in this spicy hot romance.
Strip or Treat
is action packed, and the sparks fly between Gray and Sophia.
Ms. Mercy
gives the readers a very passion filled story with enough heat to melt the winter blues away. Gray is a hunky hero to die for, and Sophia is a firecracker that makes him explode and a perfect heroine for Gray.
Strip or Treat
is an awesome read that should not be missed. I cannot wait to see what
Ms. Mercy
will come up with next.

~~Fallen Angels Reviews, 5 Angels rating

 

 

 

Praise for HER LAST FLING

 

This story is very rich in characterization, with the secondary characters just as compelling as the main ones, Katy and Noah. The scenes with Katy's best friends, Lindsey Boyd and Stacey Patterson, are so amusing they deserve their own stories, and at times they threatened to create one. Noah's mother and her best friends were the quaint little old busy bodies, so full of personality and irrepressible spirit you almost wanted to adopt them into your own family. My one hope is that while writing
Her Last Fling
, Ms. Mercy recognized the scope of her characters and taking pity on her readers will give us future books featuring each and every one of them. This book is a keeper: until the next installment comes out we can content ourselves with reading
Her Last Fling
again and again!

 

~~Simply Romance, A+ rating

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Touched by a Thief

 

Monty Sinclair pushed against the cold concrete prison floor, lifting her body in repetitious presses. Sweat drenched her thin tank, causing the cheap gray material to cling to her body. A loud clang echoed, but she didn’t glance up to see who approached. Probably just another guard. They came by the dozens, and she’d learned to tune out intruders to her solitary existence on her first day behind bars.

Tuning out the curious eyes was the only way she could stay sane in this hell hole.
Damn her stupidity for trusting Ian.
She worked alone. Always. Then Ian came along and…and now she lived twenty-four-seven in this rotten maximum security cell.
Damn him for what he’d done to her.
“Get over here, bitch,” she heard the warden call.
Monty ignored him and continued with her push-ups. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One-hundred.
Clang. Her cell door opened.
Footsteps. Not the warden’s, but male. Close to two-hundred pounds. Cologne, deep and musky, expensive. He came alone.
One-hundred-and-one. One-hundred-and-two.
She fought the urge to look, but didn’t give in. If nothing else inside this hell hole, her pride remained intact.
That and her anger at Ian’s betrayal, her thirst for vengeance.

A pair of fancy leather shoes came into her line of sight. Above the shoe rode the perfectly cut cuff of dark designer slacks.

One-hundred-and-three.

“I’d like to talk to you,” an unfamiliar voice said. Smooth and upper crust. Slick like that of a politician. A voice who wanted something from her.

“Talk.” One-hundred-and-four. She had no reason to make pleasantries with this man or any other. Never again. Not after the number Ian pulled on her. Why had she fallen for his cocky grin and bad boy charm? Why?

“Perhaps you could stand?” He sounded uncomfortable, a little irritated, unaccustomed to anyone not jumping to attention. Based on his expensive aura, he probably wasn’t. Money talked. Always had.

“Seems you have some reputation. The warden says I’m a fool for coming in here alone,” he continued, no doubt checking her out, wondering what all the fuss was about. She wasn’t a big woman, but at five eight she couldn’t be called petite either. After a few months of confinement, she undoubtedly looked wiry—she’d not seen a mirror in weeks--but certainly nothing about her physical appearance would intimidate a man of his obvious stature.

“Since I’m risking your badass reputation, the least you could do is stand so we can have a decent conversation.” He sounded annoyed. And leery.

Her reputation? Did he have her confused with someone else? She was a jewel thief, not a serial killer. Was the warden afraid she was going to take off with the cheap golden band he wore around his left fourth finger? The shiny metal didn’t faze her jewelry thief instincts, just as it didn’t faze the warden’s roving eyes and hands. She wasn’t the only person with a reputation around the women’s penitentiary and after being forced to watch the sick bastard have his way with two of the inmates—pretty young things with large breasts and tight asses who were probably working off a pack of cigarettes or a few bars of chocolate, she’d vowed not to give in to her own body’s tremendous sexual needs until she was free. She wouldn’t give the warden the thrill. No way. Although she had a ferocious sexual appetite she’d always been picky in her lovers. Always.

If one discounted Ian.

But then, one couldn’t discount Ian even if they tried. He’d been the king cock in the hen house and she’d fallen for him. Hard.

Just remembering how he’d felt stretching her, licking her, melting her with his heated touches, made the dampness between her legs rival the exercise-induced droplets trickling over her skin and soaking into her tank.

No, she would not think of Ian that way. The only way that back-stabbing bastard deserved to be thought of was with a knife slashing his throat and him begging for her mercy.

Hmmm, maybe she was more violent than she thought.

Definitely she’d never hesitated to kill during her military stints, but that had been different. As a civilian, even one who played on the wrong side of the law, she’d never entertained thoughts of harming anyone.

But thoughts of cutting off Ian’s nuts and force-feeding them to him for breakfast appealed enough to make her second guess herself. She wanted him to pay for his betrayal and to pay in a big way, so much so her blood boiled in her veins.

Enough thoughts of Ian.

“I hear you just fine,” she told the newcomer, not pausing in her work-out and determined not to let the thoughts of Ian cause her to lose her cool with Mr. Thousand Dollar Suit. She’d discovered long ago that giving people what they wanted rarely got you anywhere. By not giving what they wanted you ended up with all sorts of prizes because people wanted what they couldn’t have, or perceived they couldn’t have.

Was that why Ian plagued her? Because she’d bent all her own rules and in the end she’d been the one left wanting something she couldn’t have?

“I’ve come to offer freedom,” the staunch voice announced with the aplomb of an elephant tromping through a flower garden, calling her back to the present.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Freedom. Something she’d taken for granted the first thirty years of her life. For the past four months, a day hadn’t passed that she didn’t crave fresh air, adventure, a long hot bath.

One-hundred-and-seven. “I’m listening.”

“Gerard Kincaid.”

Gerard
? She looked up, met her visitor’s dull gray-green gaze for the first time. “What about him?”

“He took something we want back.”

Gerard had something of this man’s? Interesting. Gerard dealt with guns and weapons of war. Had he stolen some secret weapon? Not lined someone’s pockets he should have?

She pushed off the floor, flipping with the agility of a seasoned gymnast to stand face-to-face with the too smooth man who jumped back at her sudden movement. A guard rushed forward, rifle ready, but the fancy suit held up his hand, staying him.

Ignoring the guard, Monty regarded the suit. “Who is
we
?”

His expensive shoes shifted weight, but he didn’t back away. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

She shrugged and started to drop to the floor to resume her exercise. They sure weren’t allowing her to do anything else within this God-forsaken place—if you discounted being privy to watching the warden’s sexual escapades. Pushing herself physically helped her sanity. Her sleep. Her sexual frustration.

“Wait.” He grabbed her bare arm.

Her gaze lowered to where he held her and his hand fell away. Interesting. What had they told him?

“Technically, you’ll be working for the United States. However, if you get caught, no one will claim any knowledge of your existence.”

No one claimed knowledge of her existence anyway. She’d been a rogue for years. Until freaking Ian. The bastard.

Monty brushed the back of her hand across her forehead to keep sweat from dribbling into her eyes and watched the suit closely. “Why me?”

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