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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  “Sheila’s Passion” by Lora Leigh

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Deadly Dance” by Cheyenne McCray

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Caught” by Red Garnier

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Anthologies from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  Copyright

  SHEILA’S PASSION

  LORA LEIGH

  PROLOGUE

  Vengeance.

  It had been so long coming.

  So many years waiting, searching.

  Hating.

  Ah God, the hatred.

  It was like a wound festering deep within the soul, growing more tender by the year, refusing to release the acrid bitterness that filled it.

  And it all centered on one man. On a monster who had destroyed countless friends and family. Who had, with a single, thoughtless decision, caused centuries of traditions to be wiped out. Destroyed as though they had never been.

  And there had been no price extracted for the betrayal.

  There had been no punishment, no atonement; there hadn’t been so much as an “I’m sorry” or a sprig of flowers on the gravesites of those who had died because of the choices he had made.

  And many had died.

  A son had begun the slaughter as his father, the one so many followed, stood by, helpless, his loyalty centered on the daughter he had adored.

  The daughter’s life had meant more to that father than the traditions that had sustained a people for so long. That daughter had held his loyalty, his entire focus, rather than the people who trusted him with their lives.

  There was a reason why marriages were arranged within their world. A reason why children were fostered out to other families throughout the years. There was a reason why fathers were often separated from their daughters and sons from their mothers.

  To maintain the sanctity of tradition. To ensure that family love and loyalty never came ahead of the decisions which may not be in the child’s best interests.

  Giovanni Fredrico had broken the trust of his people in his attempts to save the daughter he had so cherished. The child conceived with the woman he had wed after the death of his first wife—Giovanni had broken tradition and married for love. In doing so he had begun the destruction of all that had been given into his safekeeping.

  Had the families known it was a love match rather than a marriage of tradition, as they and her family had sworn, it would have been dissolved with her death. She would have been killed by order of the other families immediately.

  Watching Giovanni now—Gio the Giant, they had always called him—regret welled, but it hadn’t paid Gio to teach his son that it was love that mattered rather than tradition. Gio, with his ready smile, his pocket of candies and coins, and his genuine love for children. He had been as treasured as any favored uncle by those who knew him. Those who lived beneath his rule gave him more loyalty than to their fathers, mothers, or kings.

  And there were many who knew him, many who depended on him.

  No child went hungry as long as Gio ruled the families.

  No child was abused as long as Gio’s punishment awaited the abuser. But in the end he had destroyed them.

  The world had changed since that fateful summer when Gio had betrayed them, though. Since the day Gio had followed his heart rather than the tradition of the families, and taught his son that the heart mattered more than the unwritten laws.

  The sanctity of family was no longer adhered to as it had once been. The innocence of a child mattered to no one. Abuse was rearing its ugly head, hunger was striking families who once knew prosperity, and crime was becoming an act of greed rather than a business.

  Because of Gio the Giant and the son who had followed his dreams rather than destiny.

  Gio had betrayed the families, the children, the wives, the fathers and brothers, sisters and mothers who had trusted in him, who had relied upon him. He had betrayed them all for the love of the child who had meant more to him and to his son than the responsibilities he had accepted when he had taken the reins of the Fredrico family and their vast holdings.

  But even with all his faults, the blame did not lie with Gio alone. He had only severed the final link in a chain that had been thoughtlessly weakened by another.

  The blame did not even lie with the fragile, delicate child he had betrayed them all for. The one who had suffered with her blood and with her shame as she was so carelessly used against her father, who loved her more than he loved the people.

  No, the blame lay with the son.

  It was the son who had set this nightmare in motion.

  It was the son, Beauregard Fredrico, named for the childhood friend Gio had so missed after his death and the brother of the woman he had given his heart to.

  The friend who had betrayed his own family as well.

  Had Gio cursed his son?

  Perhaps he had, for Beauregard Fredrico had followed the example of his father and his father’s friend when he had turned his back on the people who had already begun to depend upon him. He had betrayed all their honor and walked away from Italy as though the land and its people had not been burned into his soul.

  Eight years.

  This search had gone on for eight long, horrendous years, and finally, the end was near.

  Here, in this little town called Simsburg, Texas, the prey that had eluded fate for so long had finally been located.

  The selection had been narrowed to four men.

  There was no doubt, it had to be one of them.

  Only these four, who were a part of Gio and Serita Fredrico’s lives now, had no past to call their own.

  They had not existed before that fateful summer eight years ago. Before that summer when Beauregard Fredrico had supposedly died.

  Just as his sister, Serita, and his father as well, were reported to have been killed by the remaining members of the families who eventually turned on them.

  Four men.

  Hardened, cold-eyed, so unlike the man Beauregard had been the last time he had been seen. Weak, uncertain of himself, angry with the world. That had been Beau as a young man.

  It was not the mature male he had become.

  He would be a challenge to identify and kill now, but vengeance was demanded.

  So many generations of families had been destroyed because of his selfishness. So many lives lost and destroyed because of his traitorous actions.

  So many lives had been wasted because of his choices.

  Entire families had been lost.

  And now, it was time to destroy Beauregard. No matter the new name he had taken, the man he had become, or the reasons for which he had made his choices. No ma
tter the arguments those left behind had made for his life. None of it mattered any longer.

  It was time to satisfy vengeance.

  And vengeance demanded blood.

  But blood demanded proof.

  And there was only one way to prove Fredrico blood.

  By threatening the one thing they held dearest.

  The only true weakness a Fredrico was ever known to have.

  The women they loved.

  Beauregard, unlike Gio, had not fulfilled his responsibilities first, though. Nor had he kept the woman he had loved as a mistress. No, Beau had left Italy. He had betrayed them all, and destroyed not just his own family, but those who followed the Fredrico family as well. And he had to pay.

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  ONE

  Sheila was stretched on a rack of such torturous pleasure she was certain she couldn’t survive it. There was no way she would come out on the other end intact.

  She always thought that at some point during the hours she spent in Nick Casey’s bed, however, that something other than her orgasm would be found.

  Each time, she swore she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced, and each time he touched her, each time that sensual dominance swirled in his dark chocolate eyes, she found herself seduced. Seduced. Ready. Willing. He mesmerized her with his kiss and made her more than willing to beg for more. To plead.

  Breathless. Devoured. Fucked until she was screaming mindlessly in a pleasure so intense she was certain she would die from it. That was how she felt. And the pleasure became the center of her universe.

  “Oh God, Casey.” She arched to him, her tone so rough and hoarse she didn’t recognize it as her own.

  But oh God, his touch was so good. Everything he did to her, every kiss, every stroke, every caress was ecstasy.

  Sheila spread her thighs wider, her heels digging into the mattress as she lifted for him, feeling his tongue sink into the tender flesh between the folds of her pussy.

  Broad, strong hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he licked at the sensitive flesh, then pushed inside the saturated entrance with a slow, destructive thrust.

  A long, low cry tore from her lips. Casey tasted her, his tongue moving inside her, possessing and enjoying her with exquisite pleasure. Rapture suffused her senses, washing over her and racing across her nerve endings with a wave of electric intensity.

  There was nothing quite like Casey’s touch or the addictive sensations that tore through her.

  His hard, calloused hands roved over her body and stroked every response she would have kept hidden. Awakening nerve endings and hungers better off ignored. From the depths of a sensuality she hadn’t known she possessed, he revealed desires she hadn’t known existed inside her.

  He had only to make her think he was going to touch her and her clit swelled. Her breasts became swollen, her nipples tight and hard. The very thought of the pleasure to come had her ready to explode.

  His tongue slid from her pussy, flickering over the entrance, licking gently and driving her crazy with its fiery touch. Inner muscles clenched as she fought to get closer while her clit ached in a desperate need to come.

  He was wicked with his touch. Diabolical.

  Teasing, deliberately seductive, the tip of his tongue eased up the narrow slit as his thick, heavy lashes lifted to stare back at her.

  Deliberately, with teasing, provocative licks, suckling kisses, and flickering strokes of his tongue, he began to make her insane with the lust beginning to pound through her. Heat flushed, sweat dampening her flesh and making her whole body slick.

  She couldn’t help but stare back at him, locked by the dark arousal in his eyes, suspended within the swirling, nearing ecstasy he was creating.

  It was exquisite.

  It was so incredibly ecstatic she could barely breathe.

  Fingers of powerful sensual heat raced around the swollen bud of her clit as he bestowed one of the hot suckling kisses to the sensitive nerve center.

  A moan whispered from her lips as sensation clenched her pussy with rapid-fire pulses of agonizing pleasure sizzling through her senses. Her hips jerked with involuntary movements, the need racing through her, demanding she get closer.

  “Casey.” She moaned his name as she felt the edge of orgasm nearing. “Oh God, Casey. It’s so good. So good and so hot.”

  She felt as though she were burning inside and out. The flames whipped over her body, searing through her flesh straight to her womb.

  Her thighs tightened at his shoulders as she slid her hands from the mattress where she clutched the sheets to the heavy silk of his hair. Threading her fingers through the strands, Sheila gripped at it in desperation.

  She loved his hair.

  It was like silk, heated and soft to the touch.

  She loved his tongue.

  It rolled over her clit, licked along the slit of her pussy, fucked inside the tight clenching muscles and had her begging for release.

  She loved his touch.

  She loved, loved the way he made her feel. The sensuality, the intense attention he paid to ensuring her pleasure.

  “Casey!” she cried out as the pleasure built, sensation washing through her as it began to tingle over her entire body.

  Her nipples swelled tighter, becoming so sensitive that she slid one hand from his hair to use her fingers to ease the need for touch against them. Gripping, tugging at the thick strands, Sheila fought to ease the need for sensation that throbbed in them.

  It wasn’t enough.

  It was never enough.

  She couldn’t get enough of each caress. She couldn’t get enough sensation or ease the needs tearing through her.

  The need for him, for every touch, for a deeper pleasure, for that something that drove her insane every time Casey touched her. Every time she even thought of him taking her. Moaning, she moved her fingers to the opposite nipple, desperate for the sensation that would push her over the edge of release.

  His hands followed hers. Rather than only one breast, one nipple tightening in agony for that “sensual” touch. That sensation that only came for the briefest moment, for such a shatteringly short amount of time, yet for that moment, for that flash of eternity, she was complete.

  She was pure energy, pure power, and Casey was there with her, not just inside her. Not just bringing her pleasure, but bringing her such a sense of completion that she felt lost within it.

  She reached for it again, desperately seeking it, willing to run headlong into complete chaos for it. Nothing else mattered.

  She was becoming an addict and she freely admitted it.

  Casey’s addict. And she feared she could end up living only for these few precious moments.

  “Please!” A broken cry left her throat, flowing around her as she lifted her hips, writhed beneath his kiss, his licks, against every luscious stroke of burgeoning ecstasy bestowed upon her.

  His fingers played with her nipples, gripping and tugging, sensitizing them further when she hadn’t believed they could become more sensitive. Sending pleasure streaking through them, tearing along neural pathways she had never felt before.

  Casey’s touch.

  Each wicked little white-hot sensation detonated in her womb, clenching it, almost, just almost sending her hurtling into rapture. Just almost shooting her into the brilliant center of whatever sensation it was that had her aching every moment for one more chance to experience it again. His hands palmed her breasts, thumbs and forefingers gripped her nipples, tugged, sent fiery arcs of electrifying sensation traveling through her body and building the addiction for more.

  She was grinding her pussy tighter against his lips as they surrounded her clit and sucked it inside his mouth, began to lash at it with the heat of his tongue.

  “Casey—oh God, it’s good. So good.” Long, drawn-out, the fractured moan that left her lips and filled
the air around them as she felt herself tightening, felt the pleasure whipping through her, building, threatening, pushing her to the very edge of pure, complete satisfaction.

  Her hands tightened in his hair as his fingers tugged at her nipples, sending her rushing toward release.

  Then he drew back.

  He pulled her back from that edge. From the impending ecstasy.

  “No!” Her eyes flared open, desperation and bemusement filling her cry as he came to his knees.

  “You’ll come around my dick first,” he growled, moving over her, his hand gripping the hard shaft of his cock as he slid it against the wet folds between her thighs.

  Her clit throbbed.

  Sheila could feel her sex clenching, tightening, the muscles flexing instinctively as the broad, flared crest of his erection pressed against the entrance.

  Fiery, throbbing, the heavy width began to stretch her flesh, forcing its way inside the slick, nerve-laden tissue as it stimulated and excited every cell that clasped it.

  Sheila’s back arched as she lifted her knees to clasp his hips, moving beneath him, lifting to him as the short, surging strokes thrust him further inside her, penetrating her deeper and creating flames that seared her nerve endings and intoxicated her senses. It was like being immersed in a sensual storm. In a wave of such intense pleasure she was helpless against it.

  She felt drunk on his touch. The inebriation was like being enfolded in a world so rich with color and sensation that she never wanted to leave it.

  Each inward impalement burned and excited to the point that she was certain more pleasure would destroy her. Each time he pulled back she was certain she would die from the desertion. That she couldn’t bear being separated from him for even a second longer.