* * *

Chapter One

Long Island, New York

Christofalo Montecito stared at his father in astonishment. He couldn’t be taking Christo’s news this easily. Nuh-uh, no way. “Dad, you understand what I’m telling you?”

Fogliano Montecito gazed back at his son with the same brilliant green eyes he had bestowed on his only child. “Christo, do I look like an idiot? You want out of my business, that’s the crux of the matter, right?”

Christo hesitated. “Right. Look, Dad, it’s not as if I haven’t mentioned this before, and I’m almost forty now, and it’s time. I’ve given you the last seventeen years, all my time after college.”

“College that my business paid for.”

Here we go. “Yes, Dad, and I’m grateful for it, don’t get me wrong. But I need to make my own way…and some aspects of the family business don’t sit easily with me.”

Fogliano held up his hands. “Enough. Christo, you must do what you think is right, what is appropriate.” He sighed and pushed back from his desk, standing and clapping his son on the back. “Now, you’ll still be coming to the meal tonight?”

Christo, still stunned, nodded. “Sure, Dad.”

“Good. Now, I have to get back to work. You can see yourself out?”

“Of course. See you later.”

Christo nodded to his father’s personal assistant, Mandy, who simpered at him. Christo tried not to roll his eyes and instead gave her a polite smile. At thirty-eight, with his father’s Italian good looks and devastating smile, Christofalo Montecito had turned heads since he was a teenager. Wild dark curls, long, long legs and a body to die for meant that Christo had the pick of any women he wanted. And he took full advantage.

Lately, though, the constant stream of ready women was tiresome. Where was the challenge, where was the fight? Christo was feeling jaded by his entire lifestyle. Rich beyond imagination, he had begun to crave a simpler life, with a partner he could settle down with. Someone who would challenge him hold her own against the shattering weight of his family’s reputation.

The Montecitos were well known in New York as one of the biggest family businesses – and that business was crime. Corruption, drugs, murder – Fogliano Montecito’s reputation was feared by everyone, even his son. Christo had lost his mother to Fogliano’s devotion to his corporation. Ornella Montecito had leaped to her death from the roof of the family’s eighteen million dollar home in Sands Point, Long Island when Christo was seven years old, leaving her only son bewildered and broken. Christo had become an expert at shutting off his feelings after that, and after graduating summa cum laude from Harvard Law, he had passively gone straight to work for his father.

Over the years, Christo had told himself that at least he, personally, was on the right side of the law, that he himself never oversaw anything that was technically illegal…but as he’d reached his late thirties, his conscience began to nag at him.

And there was something else. Christo, like his mother, had an artist’s soul, and the more mired he got into practicing law, the more that side of him – and therefore his connection to his mother – faded. For the last couple of years he had been living a double life, and now that other life was the one he wanted to live. Hence the conversation with his father this morning.

Christo took the glass elevator from the top of his father’s building down to the basement parking garage, and then slid into his Mercedes. He sighed, blowing out his cheeks, and dialed his best friend’s number.

Bertie Franklin-Hart answered on the first ring. “Hey, dude, how’d it go?”

“It went…well.” Christo knew Bertie would hear the astonishment in his voice, and by Bertie’s silence, he knew Bertie was feeling it too.

“Well?” Total disbelief. Christo’s mouth hitched up in a smile.

“Yup. Can you believe it?”

Bertie let out a long breath. “Well, no, to be honest. What’s his game?”

Bertie, who had been Christo’s roommate at Harvard, had no time for Christo’s father or his associates, and was the only one of Christo’s friends to say as much to his face. Bertie came from old money, older and even more powerful than the infamous Five Families and their successors. Bertie’s money dated all the way back to the signing of the Declaration of Independence – and no one fucked with Bertie’s family. No one.

Bertie sighed. “Well, I guess you’re clear. Just, for me, take Fogliano’s word at face value for now, but don’t trust him, Christo.”

“I know. But it’s the first step.”

“I know you, Christo. You’ve got a glimpse of freedom, and you’ll run at it full tilt. I love that about you, brother, but as your best friend…well…I got your back.”

“Don’t trust to hope.” Christo’s smile faded, although he knew Bertie was right. Fogliano wasn’t someone people left behind without consequence, not even his own son.

“That’s what I’m saying, but at the same time, go for it.”

Christo mulled over his words. “Okay. Look, the dinner tonight?”

“I’ll come, of course I’ll come. I don’t suppose there will be any chance of some beautiful women to distract us?”

Christo laughed. “No, it’s one of Dad’s sausage parties. But after…drinks at La Forge?”

“Deal.”

New York City

Anoushka ‘Noosh’ Taylor shifted in her chair nervously as her boss, Allison, read through her proposal. Yes, it was her first big story, and yes, it was out there – even for a late-night radio talk show known for tackling dangerous subjects – but in her bones, Noosh knew Ally would go for it. It was the kind of story Allison Monroe had built her fearsome reputation on; a look into the BDSM clubs of New York’s subculture. Noosh had spent months researching and talking to people who worked the clubs, and now she had put together a fifteen-minute segment for the show – her first chance to be on air.

Noosh had come to New York from London a year ago, straight from a doctorate in creative writing, and now she had cultivated an honest and friendly working relationship with one of New York’s major radio stars.

Allison Monroe was known for her exacting methods, razor-sharp intellect, and her ability to convey her natural warmth and vivacity with her interviewees. She set the proposal down now and looked at Noosh over her spectacles. Noosh’s heart was pounding hard against her ribs; she couldn’t read her boss’s expression.

Allison studied her young friend for a minute then took her spectacles off, laying them gently down on her desk. “Noosh…how old are you again?”

Noosh felt her face redden. “Twenty-four.”

“And I’m assuming you’re not a virgin?”

The blush deepened. “No.”

Allison sighed. “Sweetheart, while this proposal is well-written, obviously researched, and full of good intentions, it sounds like it was written by a virgin.”

Noosh felt a lump settle on her chest. “Oh.”

Allison smiled kindly at her. “I don’t mean to be rude, darling, but here’s my thing – there’s a sense of ‘Gosh, golly’ about it. And by that, I mean you’re painting this world as some kind of otherworldly experience that ordinary people don’t subscribe to. The people you’ve interviewed here – hookers, security guards, club owners…what about the clientele? And I have one more major question which overrides all that.”

“Which is?” Noosh tried to stop her voice from croaking with distress but failed, and Allison got up and came to sit on the desk in front of her.

“Noosh…did you actually go to the clubs?”

“Yes, of course,” Noosh said defiantly. Don’t sulk, you’re not a teenager.

Allison smiled. “I mean, at night, as a client?”

Noosh was horrified. “No, of course not.”

“See? How on earth can you expect to convince our listeners you’re an expert on this subject if you yourself have no experience with the places? And Noosh, just so you know, BDSM is no longer a dirty little secret. With safety in mind, it can be a thrilling experience if that’s where your particular peccadillos find their home.” She sat back down behind her desk. “I’m not saying you have to go out and fuck a ton of men or get spanked by them, I’m just saying you should go, sit at the bar, have a drink and see what happens. Watch the interactions between people, talk to them. But don’t tell them you’re a journalist, for fuck’s sake. Pretend you’re the clientele for the night. You might surprise yourself.”

Noosh’s face was burning. “So…”

“So…keep working on it. There’s promise, but it’s not quite there yet.” Allison handed the proposal back to Noosh. “Darling, it’s coming along. I just think you need to go the extra mile. I’m pushing you because I believe in you. I believe you could be a rising star. I just want your debut to be as perfect as it should be.”

Noosh was still thinking about Allison’s words as she took the train home to her studio apartment in Queens. The 7 train was crowded and sweaty, and by the time she opened the door and dropped her bag on her floor, Noosh was exhausted. Coming from London, she was used to the hassle and annoyance of the Tube, so the actual train journey didn’t bother her, just the amount of people. Then why did you move to one of the most crowded cities in the world?

To disappear…

Noosh pushed the thought away and stripped off her clothes. She thanked God she didn’t have to wear a suit to work, that her usual uniform of blue jeans, t-shirt and Chuck Taylor’s was accepted office attire. She didn’t own anything that could be described as formal wear, except for the ruby-red dress she had worn for her graduation. She loved that dress. It had been a gift from her parents – her parents who had loved and supported her throughout her education, cheered her on, and scraped together their money to buy the designer dress for her. Noosh had worked and paid for her degrees with loans and grants – her parents would never have been able to afford to pay for it themselves.

Noosh had been born into a working-class family and had been brought up without wanting anything other than the food they provided and the love that they shared. In a modest two-up, two-down house out in the suburbs, both her parents worked as bank clerks and made sure that, even without the material things some of her classmates had, Noosh wanted for nothing.

To their credit, she had grown up with a strong work ethic, and their pride in their daughter knew no bounds as they watched her graduate with top honors from one of London’s most prestigious universities.

Then it had all come crashing down. Noosh had been targeted by a powerful man who had set out to make her his – whether she wanted him or not. It had almost destroyed her. Now, she could hardly stand to think his name.

Noosh stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, enjoying the feel of the spray cleansing her tired skin. Her whole life now was work. Maybe Allison was right – maybe she should get out there, experience a little more of what this beautiful, vibrant city had to offer.

Supper was a bowl of cereal and then she fell asleep on the couch, not bothering to pull a blanket over herself. It was early fall in New York, still stifling hot on some days and Noosh wriggled uncomfortably in her sleep until she awoke at three a.m., sitting bolt upright. The thin drape at her window was billowing in. She’d left the window open. God, she never did that…ever. Not since…

Noosh skittered over to the window and slammed it shut, forgetting about the hour. She sent a silent apology to her neighbors upstairs. If only this studio weren’t on the first floor, but the rent had been perfect for her budget and beggars couldn’t be choosers. And baking in the heat of the non-air-conditioned apartment was a small price to pay for her safety.

After moving to her bed she found she couldn’t sleep. She tried to read but by four had given up on that and was cleaning the apartment – again. She called it her ‘Monica time’ after the character from Friends – cleaning relaxed her, gave her time to think, to try and order her life a little better.

She thought back to what Allison had said. She should check out one of those clubs. The thought both scared and excited her. Next week, she told herself. Next week, I’ll go and see what gives in those places. She blew out her cheeks. Yep, it would take a week to get her courage up, but she was determined to do it now. Finally, as the city began to wake, she fell asleep again and slept in until mid-morning.

Senator Destry Papps always woke at 5 a.m. sharp to begin his day. A six-mile run was followed by a shower then a breakfast of oatmeal and a protein shake, and then he was down in his office by 7.30 a.m. It had been his routine for at least a decade now, waking up in his Georgetown townhouse, a block from his office.

At fifty-three, Destry, a native of New York, had lived his entire life in politics. Following in his father’s footsteps, he had become the senator for the District at thirty-eight and had remained in office for nearly two decades. He’d carefully planned his ascension through the party ranks and now he was, at last, going for the big job.

There was nothing Destry wanted more than to become President of the United States, and for the last couple of years he had been clearing house, ironing out anything that could stop him from realizing his goal. People were paid off, offered roles in his cabinet. His lovers, of which there had been many, had been vetted, and even his ex-wife, Telly, had been paid off to keep their dirty laundry private. Destry had no doubt that one day Telly would come to him with something more that she wanted from him, and it would be understood that whatever it was, Destry would provide it. But that was fine with him.

He checked his reflection out now. Tall, stately, with dark hair shot through with silver at the temples, he knew his handsome face was his ticket to getting what he wanted and had always used it. His patented ‘aw-shucks’ charm worked on the voting public as well as it did with his bed partners.

There was only one part of his life – as yet, a private part – that he reflected on with anger and resentment. The time in London, the time he’d seen her and felt his whole world shift. That dark, thick wavy hair, those large chocolate-brown eyes, that full mouth. Destry Papps had pursued Anoushka Taylor with the subtlety of a wrecking ball, and even his closest advisors had been scared by his passion for the girl. She was thirty years the Senator’s junior, a grad student, and an unknown quantity.

What Destry knew and no one else did was that Anoushka – his Noosh – had resisted his charms at first, had expressed doubts over their relationship. At least, she did until he wore her down, first by love-bombing her, promising her that he would give it all up for her, and then when she showed signs of independence from him, he’d shown her in an entirely different way that had nothing to do with love.

She’d escaped him, finally, disappearing from London entirely. He’d tracked her down, though, to a cottage in the north of England. Destry had made sure Noosh knew how angry he was.

He thought of her now, how she’d cringed away from his rage, and he smiled. He could still feel her skin under his fingertips, her mouth on his as he took her. He’d told her then, “If you ever leave me again, I’ll kill you.” And he had meant it.

Then Noosh did the unthinkable and tried to commit suicide. Her parents, those seemingly weak fools, had spirited her away from the hospital in the middle of the night, and Noosh had disappeared – for real, this time. But she was there, out in the world somewhere and ready to use his behavior against him at the most critical moment. That couldn’t be happen, obviously.

Which is why he had sent his best men out to scour the globe for her. There had been sightings – in London, in Mumbai, where her mother hailed from, in Sydney. Destry’s gut instinct told him that she was somewhere in plain sight, but it frustrated him that she was so well hidden.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Destry closed the door to his office and flicked on his computer. He ignored the hundreds of emails and instead clicked on his private folder. Photo after photo of her, always with that haunted look in her eyes. Broken. Beautiful. He traced the outline of her face and sighed. “I can’t let you live, my darling. Not without me. Never without me.” He closed his eyes, imagining his hands around her throat, squeezing, or driving a knife deep into her gut as she begged for her life. His dick hardened, and he wondered if he could risk jerking off before his assistant got into the office. He heard someone moving in the outer office and sighed, closing the folder. “Another time, my love.”

He picked up the phone and called his Head of Security. “Any news?”

“No, Destry. We haven’t found anything on where she might be,”

“Jesus…she’s just one woman, for fuck’s sake. How hard can it be?”

His employee apologized. “I promise we’ll find her, it just may take some time.”

“I’m announcing my candidacy in two weeks. I don’t want anything spoiling that moment. Find her. That’s all I ask of you. When you do, I’ll take care of her.”

“Boss, if I find her, I’ll end her. There’s no need for you…”

“No,” Destry said, interrupting him. “I’ll be the one to kill Anoushka. Me. Just tell me where to find her.”

He hung up the phone and smiled to himself. He could hardly wait.

Chapter Two

Christo pushed his food around his plate, not hungry. He was all too aware of the brooding figure of his father at the end of the dining table. His father’s business associates, some of Christo’s uncles and cousins, and Bertie too, were all there as well, but Christo could feel his father’s scrutiny. He met his father’s gaze with a question in his eyes. Fogliano had been quiet all throughout the meal, but now he tapped his fork on his glass, asking for their attention.

“Friends, family, thank you for coming this evening, on what, to my surprise, is quite an auspicious night.”

Christo’s back stiffened, and Bertie shot him a warning look. Let your father say his piece. Christo sighed. He had no idea what his father would tell the others and so had no defense prepared.

Fogliano smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “My son, my only child, came to me today and told me he didn’t want my business.”

“And here we go,” breathed Bertie under his breath. Christo’s gaze never left his father’s.

“Now,” Fogliano continued, “I have always been proud of my son, proud of what he has achieved, of how much he has given me, and so the fact he wants to make his own way in the world is pleasing to me.”

Christo’s eyes widened slightly, and he relaxed a little. Fogliano smiled a little. “And do you know what my son, my Harvard-educated lawyer son, wants to do with his life now that he no longer wishes to be part of our working life?”

Christo’s hope faded. Nope, this wasn’t going to be a rousing speech singing his praises. He knew the look in his father’s eyes – he was about to be roasted, broiled alive, mocked mercilessly. Well, bring it, Pa. I can handle it.

“He wants to make furniture!” Fogliano spat triumphantly. “Furniture! Like some damn hipster fool in the Village, can you believe it? I’m so glad I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on your education, son, so that you can prance around with your bespoke hand-crafted side tables and rocking chairs. Such a privilege to be able to say that my son, who I raised as my heir to the business I have given my life to create…wants nothing to do with it. How is it I have raised such an ungrateful child?”

The room was silent, the atmosphere thick and unsettling as Fogliano got up and moved down the table to his son. Christo gritted his teeth. This was going to be one of Fogliano’s rants, clearly. I should have known, Christo thought, I should have known he wouldn’t take it well, that he was waiting to humiliate me in front of everyone. He caught Bertie’s eyes. Bertie’s expression was angry but watchful. Christo shook his head – he knew Bertie would stand up to his father in defense of his friend, but Christo felt numb. So be it, he thought, bring it on, Dad. Do your worst.

The anger that had been building inside him for years now was almost at its peak. As Fogliano bore down on his son, Christo got to his feet. “What’s up, Dad? Can’t bear the thought of someone making an honest buck for a change?”

Fogliano stopped. “An honest buck? I’ve had just about enough of your moralizing, boy. My money was good enough to feed you, clothe you, put you through college and now you’re too good for it?”

Christo squared up to his father. “No, Pa. I’m not good. I’ll never be good, but I can try to redress the balance. For Mom, as well as myself.”

He knew mentioning Ornella would set his father off, but Christo didn’t care. He wanted to push Fogliano, wanted that fight to happen so he could feel good about making the break. He didn’t have to wait long. Fogliano cold-cocked him, and he slammed into the table, crashing against the plates and cutlery. The men around the table shot to their feet as Fogliano hauled his son up and hit him again. Bertie lunged forward, but Christo shouted for him to stop. Fogliano beat his son again until Christo’s nose poured with blood. The room was silent as Fogliano let Christo go, his own breath ragged.

“Get out of my house,” he growled, his face a mask of pure rage. Christo got unsteadily to his feet and looked his father in the eyes.

“My fucking pleasure.”

He let Bertie steer him out of the mansion and into Bertie’s car. Christo gazed up at the house as Bertie drove him away from it, knowing he would never see it again. He was free.

“Dude, let’s get to the club,” he said, wiping the blood from his face. “I need a drink…or seven.”

It wasn’t until, very drunk, he went home to his apartment that night, that Christo let himself break.

Two weeks later and Noosh still hadn’t summoned the courage to go to the sex club. She had quietly pushed her story aside and helped out with Allison’s punishing schedule, hoping her boss would simply forget about it, but then, one Thursday night as they shared pizza late in the evening, Allison studied her. “So?”

Noosh feigned ignorance. “So, what?”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Noosh.”

Noosh sighed. “So…it’s on hold.”

“Until?”

“Until I can persuade myself to go to the club. I mean, you’re right. I need to experience it, it’s just…I’m not sure BDSM is my thing.”

“Do you suppose journalists who go to war-torn countries like what they have to see? The story’s the thing, not your personal preferences. Besides, I never said you had to try out any of that stuff.” Allison shoved a piece of pizza into her mouth and studied Noosh. “When was the last time you got laid, anyway?”

Noosh laughed, half-shocked, although it was exactly the kind of thing Allison would come out with. “A while,” Noosh answered honestly, then grinned at her boss. “And you?”

“Last night. A delectable lawyer from mid-town. Nice guy. Big cock.”

Noosh almost spat her soda out, laughing. She shook her head at her boss. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And satisfied. God, Noosh, have you looked in the mirror? You could have any man you wanted, you know that, right?”

Noosh felt the cold hand close over her heart – the way it had ever since him. “I don’t want a man. I’m fine the way I am.”

Allison harrumphed, unconvinced, but was distracted by her phone beeping. “Oh, here we go. Senator Papps has announced. Thought that might be coming.”

Noosh wondered if her shock was visible on her face. “Destry Papps?”

“Yup. Mr. Smooth is running for President, and the way I hear it, he has a pretty good shot.”

Noosh felt sick but covered her distress by tidying up their dinner things. “That’s not something we’ll cover though, right? I mean, politics isn’t really in our remit.”

Allison brushed crumbs off her pants. “Not directly, but Papps is popular with women. Good-looking guy.”

Noosh felt her face burn. “Not my type.”

Allison, missing Noosh’s red face, chuckled. “Well, he’s a bit too polished for my taste too, but each to their own. Hey, are you okay?”

Finally, she had noticed that Noosh was looking sick. Noosh nodded. “Just tired.”

“Well, let’s get you a cab – god, it’s way past eleven, Noosh, why didn’t you say? You must think me a real taskmaster.” She smiled at her young friend. “Sweetheart, take tomorrow off, and Monday. Have a long weekend, and get some rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much work you put in here – it is very much appreciated. I don’t often say this, but these last few months you really have made me excited about this job again.”

As she sat in the backseat of her cab on the way to her apartment, Noosh concentrated on Allison’s compliments. It felt so good to hear her heroine, her idol, her mentor say those things to her, but still, the evening had been tarnished by the thought of Destry.

God…

Noosh felt like throwing up, imagining him as President. Of course, if anyone could stop that, it would be her. She could tell a thousand stories of his hateful, vicious personality. His violence…his threats to kill her.

But even if anyone actually believed her, going to the press or the police would be as good as signing her own death warrant.

As she trudged into her apartment, making sure the deadbolt was on, she realized a hard truth. If Destry ever found her…she had no doubt she would be dead. Why the hell had she come to America? To his home? Was it spite? Was it to hide in plain sight?

No. Fuck him. It was to pursue her dream of being a radio journalist – to work with Allison – to have something for herself. She had already lost so much because of him… Seeing her parents, for one. She missed them so much and lived for the phone calls to the burner phones she replaced every week. Her friends back in London, her extended family in Mumbai. All of them were out of bounds now, because of the chance Destry might use them to find her. Even at work she used a pseudonym for her writing credits – Sarah Marsh. Something completely unconnected with her real name.

Noosh lay on her bed, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling. To live under a death threat was still unreal and yet all too real to her. It made her angry, and full of sorrow.

She rolled onto her side. You know what? I will go the club, and maybe I will fuck some random guy there…because I can Destry. It’ll be my choice. Screw you and your political ambitions. If I hear one – just one story – of you treating another woman like me, I’ll go public, and hang the consequences.

I will bring your house of cards down, even if it costs me my own life.

Chapter Three

Bertie glanced over at his friend. Christo was drinking steadily now, his handsome face set in anger. He had been like this ever since that terrible night at his father’s house, and Bertie was worried. Christo had never been a big drinker, and to see him throw back expensive whiskey as if it were soda was wrong somehow. Between the two of them, Christo was usually the down-to-earth one, the one who would prop up Bertie after a night out, the one who would stop drinking before the hangover set in.

Now, though, his friend was on a knife’s edge, and Bertie didn’t know how the hell to pull him back from it. He sat up as Christo lurched from the bar stool and staggered towards the door. “Dude, where the hell are you going?”

“To get laid.” Christo shot back darkly, and Bertie sighed. That was the other thing. Endless women – a different one every night for the last few weeks. Christo waking up in a stranger’s house every time, from which Bertie had to pick him up.

“Christo, I’m flying to LA in the morning. I won’t be there to pick you up.”

Christo stopped at the door, turning to gave his friend a sad smile. “You’ve been picking me up too many times, my friend. It’s time you let me fall where I need to, even if it’s the gutter.”

Bertie was surprised at how lucid, if depressed, his friend sounded. He got up and went to him. “Come on, Christo, let me take you home instead. Get some rest.”

Christo considered but then shook his head. “It’s okay, Bertie. I’ll go to my club…they know how to put me in a cab. I need to fuck, Bertie. I need to get this rage out somehow, and fucking is the least destructive way I can think of.”

Bertie sighed. “The women are okay with that?”

“They just want to fuck too.” Christo, his green eyes sad, looked away from his friend’s scrutiny. “Let me go, Bert. I need to do this my way. I’ll come out of it, I promise.”

Bertie watched helplessly as Christo walked out of the bar and hailed a cab. Christo was right – the only person who could pull him out of this slump was himself. Bertie almost couldn’t believe this was the result of Christo finally freeing himself from his father. He was so sure that his friend would be celebratory, not depressed. He’d gotten what he wanted, right? So why was he so self-destructive? Had his father’s beating really fucked with his head that much?

Bertie shook his head and went back to collect his jacket. One thing he knew for sure was this: Christo was right – Bertie had to let him fall before he could begin to help him get back on his feet.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

Noosh was debating whether to walk into the club confidently, or to simply just throw up. She shivered in the night air despite it being very warm, and then smoothed her dress down for the fourteenth time. “Option one,” she told herself, and lifted her chin, stepping into the club’s entrance. The security man at the door nodded politely to her and opened the door. Noosh thanked him, making sure her voice didn’t shake before walking in.

A wash of music came over her, and as she walked into the bar area, a thousand different thoughts invaded her mind. Her vision was bombarded by the sights to her left, where a small stage showed people writhing and dancing, all naked and sweaty.

Okay, she told herself, you expected this. Don’t freak out. Don’t look like a rookie.

She walked steadily to the bar and sat down. The bartender greeted her – everyone was so polite – and she ordered a cosmopolitan. Sipping her drink, she took her time to look around.

At a table in the corner, a woman dressed entirely in latex was blindfolding a man, who was stripped down to his jeans. When he couldn’t see, the woman picked up a candle and dripped hot wax onto his chest – slowly – smiling as he groaned. Other people watched them, but the connection between the two of them was so palpable that Noosh couldn’t look away. The dominatrix caught her eye and smiled. Noosh smiled back.

The atmosphere of the club surprised her. Unlike the sweaty, handsy feel of the usual Friday night clubs, here was a relaxed, open atmosphere that astonished her. After an hour, she was even enjoying watching what was going, which seemed to be okay by everyone, even if she didn’t join in.

Noosh had to admit that the overtly open atmosphere was erotic, and when a beautiful woman came up to order a drink at the bar and turned to her, surprising her with a soft kiss on the mouth, Noosh went with it.

“You’re beautiful,” the woman said, stroking her hands up Noosh’s thighs, “but overdressed. First time?”

Noosh nodded shyly. The woman, a gorgeous, voluptuous blonde, nodded her head towards the opposite side of the bar, grinning. “There’s a man who has been gazing at you and you alone for an hour. He’s sensational. Go, enjoy.”

Noosh looked over to where the blonde nodded, and her stomach gave a strange lurch of pure desire. ‘Sensational’ didn’t begin to cover it.

The man met her gaze. His eyes were bright green, contrasting to great effect with his dark hair and beard, and they burned into Noosh’s. Her body reacted to him immediately; her nipples hardened almost painfully, and her cunt flooded with arousal.

She couldn’t catch her breath. The man slid from his seat and walked towards her, and Noosh couldn’t move. He was tall, at least a foot taller than her five-five, and as he reached her, he stared down at her, not speaking. For a moment they just gazed at each other, then he bent his head, and his mouth met hers.

The kiss was soft at first, but as Noosh gave into it, his lips became hungry against hers. Finally, breaking away only because she ran out of oxygen, Noosh felt her entire body tremble uncontrollably. Who was this man?

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, taking her hand and leading her deeper into the club. Noosh went with him because not doing so was unthinkable. They walked for what seemed like miles, until they reached a locked door. Her companion unlocked it and drew her inside. He didn’t pause as he locked the door before sliding his hands around her waist, kissing her again, pressing his body against hers.

Noosh tangled her hands in his hair, pulling on the dark curls as she kissed him back, her mind swirling with delirious pleasure. She could feel the hot length of his cock through his pants, pressing against her belly. She moaned slightly at the thought of what they were about to do.

Her moan seemed to set something off in him, and he tugged down the straps of her dress, exposing her breasts to his mouth. His lips fixed themselves on her nipple, making her gasp. She could feel an orgasm already beginning to build, but she wanted to prolong this pleasure as long as she could.

Tentatively, she snaked her hand down to his fly, unzipping his pants and sliding her hand in, feeling his cock harden against her hand. God, he was huge…

He was pushing up her skirt then tearing at her underwear, and Noosh felt a desperate need to have him inside her. Her lover rolled a condom quickly down the length of his ram-rod hard cock and then, with a confident thrust, he entered her.

Noosh gave a shaky gasp as they began to fuck, clawing at each other, kissing as if they wanted to devour each other. He pressed her up against the wall and took her, his arms easily holding her up, his cock driving deeper and deeper into her with every stroke. His eyes never left hers.

Noosh moaned as he thrust harder, deeper, and for the first time she saw in his eyes anger, rage, and something else…pain. She kissed him fiercely, wanting to take that pain – whatever it was – away.

But then her eyes were rolling back in her head, and she cried out as her orgasm hit her hard. His free hand was stroking her clit, his mouth on hers…he knew exactly what he was doing.

With a groan he came too, and they tumbled to the floor. Noosh caught her breath, enjoying the feel of his weight on her. After a moment he sat up, breathing hard. Noosh pulled her dress up and sat by him.

After a long moment, when she thought he would never say anything, he turned to her. God, he was so beautiful… As he opened his mouth to speak, Noosh couldn’t help but touch his face. It seemed to take him by surprise. She cupped his cheek in her hand, stroking her thumb gently over his skin, taking in every detail of his face. If she never saw him again, she wanted to remember everything.

The atmosphere changed between them then. No longer did he look like a glowering, dangerously sexual man, but someone vulnerable, tired…sad. He closed his eyes as she stroked his face, leaning into her touch.

Then he pulled away, pain creasing his handsome face. “Don’t.”

Stung, Noosh withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“We’re here to fuck. Fucking is all I do now.”

His voice was hard, and he no longer looked at her.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Jesus.” He hissed out the word. “Look, I’m not into schooling newbies. I come here to fuck and be fucked, not to deal with some virgin.”

He got up and Noosh scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding. How had things turned so quickly? “I’m no virgin,” she managed to say, her voice only slightly shaking.

She glanced around the room and saw a cabinet of paddles, ropes, leather crops, and other toys. She swallowed hard and looked back at him. He was watching her again, glowering from beneath his long, thick lashes. She lifted her chin and deliberately dropped the shoulder straps of her dress, exposing her breasts. “Fuck me again and I’ll show you just how far from a virgin I really am.”

“No.”

God, that hurt. She wouldn’t beg this man, this glorious man, whose pain she could see etched across his gorgeous face. But she didn’t want the memory of their coupling sullied by this…whatever this was. What had she done wrong? She pulled the straps of her dress up, taking a deep breath in. She stepped towards him, saw he didn’t back away. “What is it?” She asked him gently. “Why are you in so much pain?”

“I think you should go. You don’t belong here.”

“Neither do you.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Please, just go.”

With her thighs still aching from the fucking her gave her, Noosh stood her ground. No. She would not walk away. There had been something here, something worth exploring. She knew he felt it too.

Her lover shook his head. “Get out. Please, just go, I can’t bear this.”

Her heart gave a sickening lurch. “No. I won’t go.”

“Please.”

She stepped forward and reached out to him, but he backed away, his hands curling into tight fists by his side. “Get out…now. While you still can.”

A thrill of danger went through her. “No.”

A silence, then he stalked across the room and dragged her to the door. Noosh laid her hands on his chest as she put her back against the door. “No, you don’t get to throw me away like that. Not after that… That was incredible…”

He closed his eyes. “Please, I’m begging you. Go. Go.”

“But…”

“Go!”

The ferocity of the roar coming from this man, this dangerous man who towered above her, finally broke her resolve. Noosh fumbled for the door handle and opened the door, skittering down the hallway, hearing him slam the door behind her. She raced through the club, not bothering to look at anything else as she took the stairs to the doorway.

It was only when she stepped – barefoot – out onto the streets of New York City that she realized she was crying.

The man sat in the car parked opposite the club and smiled to himself. He wondered if he should go over, say hello, help her get home…but that wasn’t why he was here. He had been tasked with finding Anoushka Taylor, and after a tip, he had finally found where she lived. He had to confirm the address was right before he contacted the boss, however, and after seeing her at the club, he’d followed her here. Who knew the girl was into kink? It made his dick hard to think of her like that, but now, seeing her in tears, he realized she must be new to the scene.

He snickered to himself and pulled out his cell phone. Destry Papps answered on the first ring.

The man in the car watched Anoushka Taylor hail a cab and smiled into the phone. “Yeah, it’s me. I found her.”

Chapter Four

After she’d gone, Christo slumped to the floor, breathing deeply. God, what had he become? Screaming at that girl, that sweet, kind, beautiful girl? And yet, it was her sweetness that had made him react like that. He didn’t deserve her. The way she had touched his face, the way she had seen him…

“Fuck. Fuck.” He cursed quietly, his head in his hands. Go after her, apologize, beg her to come back. But he knew he couldn’t. The moment he saw her earlier, something had twisted inside him. She was so lovely, her big brown eyes warm and kind, and she looked so lost. He’d wanted to take her in his arms, protect her from the seediness around them, but as soon as he kissed her, something animal had taken over. Making love to her was exhilarating – her voluptuous body curving against his, his cock driving deep into her velvety cunt…it had been an awakening to him. He’d never felt that way with any woman…and it terrified him.

He tried to stop the sobs that were constricting his chest, but they burst out anyway. What the fuck was happening to him? Bertie was right; he’d gotten what he wanted – away from his father. So why was he so goddamn miserable?

He let himself cry it out then snagged his phone from his pocket and dialed Bertie. When his friend answered, he just said “Rock bottom.”

Bertie understood immediately. “Where are you?”

Christo told him, and Bertie told him to stay there. “I’m coming to get you.”

In an hour, Christo was on a plane to Arizona where Bertie booked him into rehab.

Noosh buried herself in her work after that strange, wonderful, terrible night. She’d told Allison she was dropping the story about the BDSM clubs, and although Allison had questioned her about what had happened, Noosh kept it to herself. She felt wrecked by the experience, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mercurial lover. Who was he? In moments of weakness, she closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his hands on her body, his mouth against hers, his cock thrusting deep inside her. She shivered, the pleasure all still too real for her. But then afterward…

Stop thinking about him, she told herself now. It’s been a month. You’ll never see him again. She dragged her attention back to the meeting. They were brainstorming ideas for the next year’s stories and so far, Noosh hadn’t heard a thing.

She blinked and focused on what Allison was saying. “Something I was thinking about was the next generation of New York’s crime families. A lot of them are eschewing the old life and branching out on their own with legitimate businesses. I’ve heard the reaction from the old timers has been…mixed, to say the least. I’d like to focus in on three or four of the heirs who have broken free.”

“Any ideas on who and how?” Seth, one of the station’s head honchos, looked interested.

Allison nodded, her grey eyes serious. “A four-part series. I interview each of them, ask them the hard questions about how they feel about their family mob connections and why they chose to break free. Hang on, I have a list here.” She dug around in her notebook. “Richard Viera, Dominick Octavo, Christofalo Montecito, and Helena De Vito. Those are the names I came up with through very basic research.”

Seth nodded, and Noosh wrote down the names, glad of something else to concentrate on. “I like your thinking, Ally,” Seth said and nodded at Noosh. “You’ll work together with Allison on this?”

Noosh smiled gratefully. “Love to.”

Allison winked at her. “And then, we can’t ignore that it’s election year next year. With any luck, we’ll get the candidates in for an interview.”

“Will they want to be associated with such a cutting-edge show as yours?” Felix, a snide show runner who loathed Allison and her talent, interjected, but Seth waved his hand.

“We’ll get the ones who have enough guts, the ones who willingly go on Colbert. They’re the ones we want. Harper, Seagram, Papps – they’re the ones we want – or don’t want, in the case of some of them.”

“Destry Papps would be a get.” Allison conceded, and Noosh’s heart sank. God, no. She knew instantly she’d be calling in sick the day Destry came into the station. She found that her fingernails were digging into her palm, leaving deep welts, and flexed her fingers.

After the meeting, she hunkered back down in her cubicle and worked her way through the paperwork, immersing herself in admin work. It was only when Allison came by her desk that she looked at the clock and realized it was past eight p.m.

“Hey, kiddo, time you went home. But before you do, I’ve been thinking. You know, this mob-heir thing – this could be the thing you take the lead on, and I’ll tell you why it could be interesting. You’re not from New York or even the States. Your perspective as an outsider could be the thing that makes them open up to you. What do you say?”

Noosh gaped at her boss. To be asked to lead such a huge story was incredible. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Allison grinned, then her smile faded. “Noosh, you deserve this, and there’s something else... I don’t know what happened to you at that club, but I know something did, and I feel bad. I encouraged you to go, and whatever happened – “

“Whatever happened, happened,” Noosh interrupted her. “It’s not your fault.”

There was a long silence. “Who was he?”

Noosh struggled for a moment to find the words, and decided the truth was the only way to go. “The most incredible man I’ve ever met. And the most damaged. Not a good combination.”

Allison patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ve known men like that. They’re instantly addictive, like sugar or heroin, but so, so bad for you.”

Noosh nodded but looked away from her boss’s gaze. “I agree.”

“Anyway, sweetheart, go home and we’ll talk more about this in the morning. The mob stories, I mean, although you know you can talk to me about anything.”

Noosh smiled at her. “I know. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On the subway home, Noosh indulged in another fantasy about her mysterious lover, imagining him turning up at her apartment door, begging for her forgiveness. Would she make him beg? Noosh smirked to herself. Probably not – one look at those green eyes of his and she would cave. Pathetic, she told herself, but still visualized pulling him into her apartment, tearing off his clothes and fucking him until they were both exhausted.

At home, she took a long soak in the bathtub, indulging the fantasy some more, her hand between her legs, caressing her clit, imagining it was his tongue on her. She shivered through a mellow orgasm before pushing thoughts of him away.

Maybe some people were just meant to be experienced once in a lifetime, she told herself, as she pulled the comforter over her shoulders and settled down to watch the television.

Noosh never knew what woke her. Whether it was the sound of the television, which was still on, or the sense of someone being in the room with her. Noosh opened her eyes and froze. A dark figure was standing next to her sofa bed. She barely had time to try and make out his or her features before whoever it was shot her, the flash of the muzzle lighting up the room as he pumped three bullets into Noosh’s belly, the sound muffled by a silencer.

Noosh gasped, stunned. The pain hit her full force she knew one thing for sure as she lay bleeding out.

Destry had found her.

Chapter Five

Six months later…

The physiotherapist gave her a long stare. “Noosh, you’re pushing yourself too hard. I told you this would take time.”

Noosh, balancing herself between the bars, shook her head. “Doc, it’s been too long. I’m going stir-crazy in this hospital. I want to go back to work.”

The doctor, a tired-looking woman in her thirties named Beth, rolled her eyes. “And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been working from your room. Rest is anathema to you, isn’t it?”

“I had plenty of rest when I was brought in.” Noosh propelled herself painfully along the treadmill. One good thing about having a bullet in the spine, it sure helped your upper body strength when you tried to learn to walk again, she thought, as she puffed her way along the walkway.

“For the record, a coma isn’t rest, Noosh. Come on, that’s it for today.” Beth helped Noosh back into her chair. Noosh gave a frustrated sigh.

“Come on, Beth, do a girl a solid and let me out of here.”

Beth couldn’t help but grin. “Just so you know, that expression coming from your English mouth sounds weird. And, okay then.”

Noosh was already geared up for an argument, so Beth’s agreement took her by surprise. “Really?”

“Really.” Beth nevertheless insisted on wheeling Noosh back to her room. “Tomorrow, and I mean it. Get some sleep tonight, and if your stats are good in the morning, you can go home. I’m not happy about you being alone, though.”

“I won’t be alone, for the most part.”

Noosh’s parents had been flown over by the radio station after Noosh had been shot, but when it had been clear their daughter would survive, they’d had to return to their lives in London, albeit Skyping Noosh every day. Allison, shaken to her core by the attempted murder, had sworn to them that she would take care of Noosh, and had insisted Noosh move in with her in her Upper East Side apartment.

“With security,” she’d emphasized when Noosh protested, and Noosh couldn’t argue. The man – she presumed it was a man – who had shot her was still out there, and the police had no leads. Noosh hadn’t told them of her suspicions – that Senator Destry Papps, candidate for the office of the President of the United States, was the one who had shot her mercilessly. Who the hell would believe that? Her mother and father had looked at her with pain in their eyes, and she knew they guessed the same. Would Destry try again?

Noosh hoped against hope that by not revealing him now, he would understand she wouldn’t go the press about him at all, but she knew that was a naïve hope. So the promise of being secure, at least at home, was appealing.

Allison had been to see her every day, and Noosh knew from the topics of conversation on her radio show that the shooting had affected her usually unflappable boss to the core. Allison had persuaded the station to run an anti-firearms campaign, and by sharing Noosh’s – or rather, ‘Sarah’s’ – story with her listeners, Allison had managed to both bring awareness to the subject and, Noosh hoped, to broadcast to the assailant that she was now going to be protected.

Noosh knew Destry had heard the program because the day after, a huge bouquet of red roses had arrived for her with the card just saying “Sarah…” on it. Funny how threatening just that one word could be, she mused as she’d dumped the flowers into the trash can.

Allison insisted on coming personally to pick her up from the hospital after Noosh was discharged, and she settled Noosh into the back seat of the limousine, fussing around her, making Noosh grin. “You really have gone full-on Momma-Bear, haven’t you?”

“Quiet, child,” Allison said, hiding her grin. “Now, your mom and dad packed all your things and sent them to me, so I took the liberty of unpacking some non-personal stuff, just to make your room feel like home.”

Noosh sighed. It had taken her months to find the apartment in Queens, and having to let it go was annoying. But you’re alive, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and buck up. Noosh smiled her thanks at Allison and changed the subject.

“How are the interviews going?” Noosh had missed the preparation and setting up of the Mobster Heirs series, and was sorry to have been out of action for it. From what Allison told her, it had been an eye-opening experience.

“Good so far, but we have one hold-out…at least, we did. Christofalo Montecito called the day after our firearms campaign - and your story - got coverage on the national news. Said he wanted to help out with that, and if he could, he would give us the interview we want.”

“That’s good news. What’s his story?”

“Hard to say. We know he’s broken away from his family’s business, but what he’s been doing, what he plans to do, is a mystery. Try researching someone who doesn’t want to be found. There are no photos, no gossip about the man at all. Unheard of these days, but the man’s a ghost.”

Noosh was surprised. “That is unheard of.”

Allison grinned at her. “I know what you’re thinking – that you can find something on the internet even if an old coot like me can’t, but…there’s nothing. The man’s a private guy. So, him coming in to see us…”

Noosh groaned. “Tell me I can be there! I’ve missed out on everything, Ally.”

Allison sighed. “Alright, you can be there, but – and I mean this – you are not to do anything but watch and say hello to the man.”

Noosh grumbled but agreed. “When is he coming in?”

“Thursday…and as part of the deal, until then, you rest.”

“Fine.”

“Grumpuss.”

“Shut up.”

Christo walked out of his bathroom to find Bartie waiting in his kitchen, helping himself to Christo’s coffee. He smiled at his friend. “How do I look?”

Bertie looked him up and down, snickering. “Ugly as sin, but smart enough.”

“Thanks, dude.” Christo laughed. He knew he looked good in the navy sweater and dark jeans, but he was nervous as hell. Bertie studied him.

“Dude, relax. This will be a breeze. All you have to do is talk about your new business.”

Christo rolled his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

Bertie grinned, unrepentant. “You got me. Look, just stick to the truth – it’s easier to remember. Mr. Montecito, did you ever knowingly participate in illegal activities?”

“No.”

“But you knew your father’s business was linked to organized crime?”

Christo sighed. “Yes.”

“Don’t sigh. Just say yes. Look, buddy, of course they’re going to ask you the hard questions. You knew this and agreed to the interview anyway.”

Christo nodded. “I listened to the other interviews.” He began to smile. “Helena really met her match, huh?”

Bertie clutched his heart dramatically. “Do not speak ill of the lovely Helena.”

Christo laughed. “Bert, you know what would actually make your fantasy real? Asking Helena out. Come on.”

He grabbed his keys and Bertie followed him out of the apartment. “That,” Bertie said sniffily, “would involve me speaking to her, which I am not.”

“Because she beat you at squash?”

Bertie grumbled under his breath and Christo snickered. “Dude, let it go. Trust me, Helena is a pussy cat.”

“God, you’ve fucked her, haven’t you?” As they got into Christo’s car, Bertie sounded half-angry, half-admiring. Christo shook his head.

“No, I promise you I haven’t. Not Helena, not knowing how you feel about her. I’m glad I didn’t sink that low.”

Bertie clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Good boy.” Bertie sat back as Christo pulled the car out into traffic. Christo had always insisted on driving himself, even when he worked for his father, and Bertie watched the streets flow by. After a while, he turned to his friend.

“So…”

“Yeah?”

“You still obsessing over the club girl?”

Christo shot him a look. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“But you’re still hung up?”

Christo sighed, then nodded. “I can’t get her out of my head, Bert. She was so lovely, and I treated her like crap. I would be damn lucky to find a girl like that, and I blew it. All I think about is finding her and apologizing.”

“One of your twelve steps?”

Christo grinned despite himself. “You’re such a douche bag.”

“True dat.”

They drove in companionable silence for a while, then Bertie cleared his throat. “How about putting a private detective on the case? See if he can find her?”

Christo rolled his eyes. “Yes, dude, because invading her privacy just so I can feel better is the way to go.”

“Fair point. Thought about going back to the club?”

Christo shook his head. “No. Look, can we change the subject?”

“Of course, brother.”

Ten minutes later they were pulling into the parking lot of the radio station, and Christo hesitated. Bertie waited until Christo nodded. “Let’s do this.”

They were greeted by a bubbly blonde intern, Liam, who was flirtatious and fun and made them relax a little. “Now, once you have your studio i.d., take the elevator to the third floor and follow the hallway around to Studio C. Noosh will look after you from there. You can’t miss her – gorgeous, sexy, and going hell for leather in a wheelchair at the moment.”

Christo and Bertie rode the elevator, and Christo blew out his cheeks. Bertie grinned at him. “Not too late to back out.”

Christo shook his head. “I’m good.”

They followed the hallway as directed and finally came to the door of Studio C. Christo, his mouth dry, stopped at the water cooler outside of the studio as Bertie knocked on the door, opening it to speak to the woman inside.

“Hey, are you Noosh? Hi, I’m Bertie, Mr. Montecito’s assistant.”

Christo heard a soft voice. “Oh, hey, nice to meet you, I’m Noosh Taylor. Come on in, Ally’s just setting up. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“Oh, hey, do you need a hand?”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just getting used to this thing. I don’t really need it, but Ally insists. Won’t be a moment.”

There was something familiar about the voice, and Christo stepped into the room just as the woman turned away from him. No. No way. His heart began to beat faster as he recognized the soft wavy hair falling down her back, the caramel skin, the curvy body, now sitting in a wheelchair. How? Why?

He made an involuntary noise, and she looked up. Her face paled as she stared back at him with a mixture of horror and shock.

It was her. It was his sweet girl.

Chapter Six

Noosh stared at him, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. After a moment, she remembered where she was and cleared her throat. Unsmiling, she nodded to him and turned back to Bertie. “Ally will be out in a second. Can I get either of you some coffee?”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Christo Montecito said in that deep, sensual voice of his, and Noosh felt her belly quiver with desire. No. Nope, this wasn’t happening. She looked away from that intense green-eyed stare, the curiosity in them. She knew he was wondering about her wheelchair and felt a wash of embarrassment. She leveraged herself out of the chair, wobbling, and both Bertie and Christo stepped forward to help her. She waved them away, her face burning. “I’m fine.”

Ally opened the door at that particular moment – damn it – and made a frustrated noise. “Again, Noosh? What was our deal?”

Noosh’s face flamed even redder. “I was just practicing. Anyway, our guests are here.”

Ally immediately switched into her professional mode. “Bertie, how nice to see you again.”

Bertie winked at her. “You too, Ally, looking good. Can I introduce my friend, Christofalo Montecito?”

Ally shook Christo’s hand and Noosh could see her boss sizing him up. She risked another glance at the man. If it were possible, he was even more beautiful than she remembered, and he looked better, healthier than when she’d met him in the club. His olive skin was smooth, his beard neatly trimmed, his dark curls freshly washed and brushed neatly. Noosh longed to run her fingers through them.

Stop it. You’re hardly in any condition to think about sex. She realized Ally was speaking to her and dragged her attention back to her boss. Ally was hiding a smile, obviously having noticed her preoccupation. “Sorry, Ally, I missed that.”

“You’ll be sitting in on this interview today, Noosh.”

Oh, god damn it. She could barely stand the tension between them as it was, and to have to sit by him for the next couple of hours…

Even worse, once they got in the small studio, Ally managed to sit Noosh beside Christo, where she could feel his body heat, breath in his scent of fresh linen and spice. It drove her senses wild and she struggled to maintain her composure. Just before the interview began, Christo looked around at her, and she met his gaze, feeling something shift in the air. She could see he was nervous, and weirdly, she sensed he was looking to her for confidence. She gave him a small smile and a nod, and she saw his shoulders relax. It was such a small moment, but it made her feel… How did she feel? Flattered? Happy? She couldn’t tell.

Christo made for an honest, interesting interview. He told Ally about his plans to go into the bespoke furniture business, discussed the stark change of direction, and when Ally questioned him on his father’s business, he was honest and forthright.

“I don’t pretend that I don’t know what my father’s business is, and yes, for a long time I took his money and turned a blind eye. From now on…I’m going to try and make up for that. For a lot of things.”

Ally nodded. “Do you regret anything?”

Christo was silent for a long time. “Yes, one thing. One thing I regret very much…but it has nothing to do with my father.”

Noosh felt a jolt – he was obviously talking about their tryst now…but was he regretting making love to her, or what happened afterward?

Whether by accident or by design, Ally bore Bertie off to talk to him after the interview, and Christo was left alone with Noosh. God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was, how sweet. For a few minutes, they stared at each other then he smiled at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Her voice was wary but soft. He wanted to touch her so badly, stroke her face the way she had his, tell her he was sorry. Instead, he touched the arm of her wheelchair.

“What happened?”

Noosh looked away from his gaze. “An accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

Noosh gave a strange laugh. “Me too.”

Another long silence. “Noosh…that’s an unusual name.”

“It’s short for Anoushka.”

“I like it.”

She met his gaze, and all he wanted to do was kiss that sweet mouth of hers, hold her in his arms. Christo felt his blood pumping hard through his entire body, his cock twitching, reacting to her. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Noosh…”

“As I say, Bertie, I’d be most grateful if you would think about it.”

Christo dropped his hand as they heard Ally and Bertie return, and Noosh, her face red, looked away from him. Ally and Bertie finished talking about whatever they were talking about, and Christo was saying goodbye.

Noosh shook his hand and he bent down to kiss her cheek. So close to her he could barely stand it, but then goodbyes were said, and he was back in the car with Bertie, feeling bereft now that he was out of her company.

Bertie shot him an amused glance. “I see you were quite taken with the lovely Noosh.”

Christo said nothing but gave him a look. After a moment, Bertie’s mouth dropped open, having made the connection. “No. No way. That’s the girl from the club?”

Christo nodded. “She wasn’t in a wheelchair then…something happened to her. An accident she said, but…I had the feeling there was more to it.”

“But she’s the one?”

Christo sighed. “Yes, she’s the one.”

Ally didn’t mention Christo again until they were at home that evening scarfing down pizza. She studied Noosh, who could feel the questions looming. “So, I take it you’ve met Christofalo Montecito before?”

Noosh sighed. “I have.”

“When? Because it seems like, well, the tension between you was pretty smoldering. You sleep with him?”

“Ally.”

“Come on, give me details,” Ally was grinning. “The man is gorgeous and clearly into you. How come you’re not dating him?”

“Because how we met… It wasn’t like that – and he wasn’t the same man we met today. And besides, I have been occupied with other things. Like almost being murdered, for example.”

Ally’s smile faded. “Of course, darling, I didn’t forget.” She put down her slice of pizza. “Listen, Seth and I were talking…I’m sure our listeners would love to hear about how ‘Sarah’ is doing now.”

Noosh chewed her food thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be on the air,” she said slowly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the shooting. Maybe my future lies with being your researcher – your best researcher, obviously.” She grinned, but Ally didn’t smile.

“Anoushka Taylor, you were born for this job. Hell, I’ve been grooming you for my job since that first day. I’ve never met anyone with such raw talent, curiosity, and tenaciousness. Cards on the table, Noosh – you’re scared.”

Noosh swallowed her pizza. “Yes,” she said honestly. “I am. I’m scared as soon as I wake up in the morning that whoever tried to kill me will finish the job. I’m scared that everything I’ve ever worked for is out of reach because of it.”

Ally got up and wrapped her arms around her young friend. “Nothing is gone, baby girl. And we’ll keep on pushing the police to find out who hurt you. It’s okay to be scared, just don’t let it rule you.”

Noosh wondered if that went for how she felt about Christo Montecito as well. Later, when she was in bed, she couldn’t help recalling the way he looked at her, remember his body heat as he sat next to her, maddening her senses with his fresh, clean scent. The way he’d touched her face just before they’d been interrupted. There was an intimacy between them, it seemed, and Noosh wanted to hold on to it, cradle it because it seemed so fragile and yet so right.

Part of her wished she could call him right now and talk, that there was something more between them, that they actually knew each other better so she could reach out. She would give anything to be in his arms right now.

You’re being ridiculous, painting him as your knight in shining armor, especially after the way he treated you. But she indulged in the fantasy a little more anyway, thinking back to when his big, thick cock was inside her and his mouth, god, his sexy, soft lips, were on hers.

She groaned and rolled over, pushing away the thoughts. Her back throbbed with pain, and she used that to distract her from Christo, finally falling asleep just before midnight.

When she woke, all thoughts of Christo vanished when she heard the news that Destry Papps was now his party’s official Presidential candidate.

Chapter Seven

Destry walked off of the stage, the convention crowd still cheering wildly. He grinned to himself and then patted his assistant’s arm. “Gerry, they love me.”

“They certainly do, Senator.” Gervais ‘Gerry’ Noll grinned at his boss. Ambitious but kind, Gerry had been with the Senator for years, through everything, through the divorce, and Destry’s fling with Anoushka Taylor. Gerry and Noosh had become friends, but since the split – or rather, Anoushka’s escape – Destry knew Gerry hadn’t seen her.

He’d kept the bad stuff from Gerry all this time – he didn’t want his closet advisor and probable Chief of Staff, should Destry win the election, to know about his poor treatment of the young girl, or of the attempt on her life.

When Destry discovered Noosh had survived the shooting – barely – he’d panicked. Would she go to the police? There was no way she could prove it was him, after all. Was he stupid to have done the deed himself? No. There was no way anyone could prove it was him, and besides…he wouldn’t give up the memory of that night for anything.

Telling his staff he was headed for an early night, he’d instead sneaked out of his house and into the rental car his contact had procured for him. He’d driven the near four hours to get to her apartment, then broke in easily and waited. When she’d come home, he’d watched her for a while from inside her closet, then when she had fallen asleep, walked to her couch and gazed down at her.

So beautiful…with her long dark hair clouded around her head, her blankets kicked off in the late fall heat, and her top riding up to show the most delectable expanse of midriff. Destry had felt his cock harden. He couldn’t risk fucking her and leaving DNA…he’d said her name, hoping she would wake, hoping she would realize she was being murdered…

When she opened her eyes, he grinned to himself, leveling the gun at her belly and firing point blank at her. Noosh had gasped in shock, in agony as the bullet tore into her soft skin and blood began to gush from the wound. Her breathing quickly became labored, but Destry could not tear himself away just yet. He knew he should put a bullet in her pretty head, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, couldn’t ruin all that beauty. Instead, he pressed the muzzle against her navel and shot her twice more, her beautiful body jerking from the impact. So much blood. Noosh lost unconsciousness quickly, and Destry knew she couldn’t survive the terrible injuries he had inflicted on her.

As he left her to die, he bent down and kissed her mouth, just once, quickly. “I told you I’d kill you if you ever left me, Anoushka.”

But she had survived. Some nosy neighbor had seen him leave her apartment – thankfully, he had been masked – and called 911. As he drove back to Washington, he scanned the local news for any mention.

Only a few days later did he catch something on the internet. A news report buried in the pages of The New York Times.

A young British-Indian woman working in New York was shot by an intruder in her home in Queens Wednesday evening. The young woman, named locally as Sarah Marsh, was asleep at the time – police say there was no robbery involved and the victim remains in critical condition at a city hospital.

Sarah Marsh? So that’s the name you gave yourself to escape me, Destry thought, but it irked him that she had lived, even if she was in critical condition. This is what comes of not using a professional, of making it personal. He should have had his guy kill her, he knew, but then again…

Since the shooting, he had stayed far away from her. His star was rising in the political world, and any scandal was out of the question if he wanted the big job. That Noosh hadn’t told the police about him…well, he could see why she hadn’t. Who would believe her? Even her parents, who hated him with a passion and who must have guessed it had been him, had said nothing to the British press either, and Destry knew Noosh must have forbidden it.

Destry was deep in thought. When he was President – and he knew he would be, come November – then he could make sure she was silenced forever. But any whiff of controversy now…no. He’d let her think he wouldn’t try again. Let her think she was safe. Then he’d take it all away, like she’d done to him.

I’ll make you suffer, Anoushka. Make the most of the time you have left, my beautiful girl…

Noosh saw the note on her desk as she wheeled herself into the office the next morning. “It came with these,” Liam said, following her in. In his hand he held a vast bouquet of dusky pink peonies. Noosh took them from him.

“God, they’re beautiful.”

“Like yourself,” Liam said matter-of-factly. “If I weren’t totally gay, I would so turn for you, Nooshy.”

Noosh giggled. She and Liam had always flirted with each other, safe in the knowledge that both of them liked men. “You’re such a slut,” she teased him, and he grinned. He made no move to leave her alone.

“Come on, open the card, I want to know who they are from.”

Noosh rolled her eyes and picked up the envelope. It was expensive paper, heavy, the color of thick cream, and the writing was flowing and confident. Noosh…

She caught a faint hint of fresh linen coming off the paper, and her heart began to beat faster. She pulled out the letter inside.

Christo had written only a few words, but they made her head spin.

Lovely Noosh,

I cannot begin to tell you my happiness at seeing you again. I have wanted to apologize for my appalling behavior that night for months, and now it doesn’t seem enough to say I’m sorry.

My one regret in life is ever letting you go that night. Can you forgive me?

Please, if you would like, please call me.

For my part, I cannot stop thinking about you.

Yours always,

Christofalo Montecito

Her knees shook, her legs felt weak. He was so formal, almost old-fashioned. I cannot stop thinking about you. Nor I you, she thought and grinned to herself.

“Well?”

She had forgotten Liam was in the room. She smiled at him. “From Mr. Montecito, thanking me for looking after him and Mr. Franklin-Hart yesterday. That was sweet of him.”

Liam grinned. “I knew it. I knew some rich mukety-muck would take one look at you and want to sweep you off your feet. And he’s dreamy, too.”

“Dreamy?” Noosh hooted as Liam rolled his eyes. “What are you, six-years-old?”

“So cynical. Okay then, he’s very fuckable, is that better?”

“Much.”

Liam hopped onto her desk and studied her. “You should get on that.”

For a second, Noosh wondered how Liam would react if she told him she had already ‘gotten on that.’ No. That was her secret, hers and Christo’s.

“Did he ask you to call him? I bet he did.”

“Mind your own beeswax.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

After that, Noosh couldn’t concentrate on anything else. She kept re-reading the note, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the phone. What the hell would she say?

One decision she did make was to get rid of the wheelchair, no matter what Ally said. Noosh had brought her cane in with her today, and although her back was painful, it felt good to work her muscles, which were almost atrophying from lack of use. She made sure she walked everywhere today and told herself it wasn’t just because she felt like she needed to get things…going. Working. Just in case she needed to expend some extra energy…maybe…hopefully…

It was five p.m. when Liam called up from reception. “Honey, there’s a delivery for you, but the guy says you need to sign for it personally.”

“God, does he look like a process server?”

“No, sweets. Can you come down?”

“Be right there.”

Noosh took the elevator – she wasn’t confident enough with stairs yet – and hobbled out to the reception. Liam was nowhere to be seen. She glanced around then heard a voice behind her.

“I’m sorry, I made him say that.”

She turned to see Christo smiling at her. God, that smile – boyish and warm all at once. He stepped towards her. “I knew you wouldn’t call, you see, and so I thought I’d give you the option of telling me to leave you alone in person.”

He was close now, and Noosh gazed up at him. “Do you want me to leave you alone, Noosh?”

She shook her head, and he smiled. She wobbled, her legs shaking, and he slid his hands onto her waist, steadying her, pulling her into his hard body to balance her. He stroked her face. “I hate that you got hurt.”

“No biggie.” Her voice was gravelly, but all she could think of was how nice it was to be in his arms. She couldn’t stop staring at his handsome face, his eyes, so soft and full of sweetness. He’s looking at me like that, she marveled, and then a second later, as he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, she gave an involuntary moan of desire.

“That,” he said in a whisper, “that right there is how you make me feel.”

He kissed her again, his lips firmer this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to caress hers, his fingers tangling in her long hair. “God, Noosh…Noosh…”

She wanted him to touch her everywhere as he whispered her name over and over, but then she remembered they were still in the very public reception of her building. Ruefully, she broke away, smiling up at him. “Maybe we should go somewhere less, um, open.”

Christo grinned. “That sounds promising. How about I take you to dinner?”

“I would love that. Let me just get my bag.”

“No need.” Liam suddenly appeared out of nowhere, clearly having been spying on them. He grinned unashamedly at them and handed Noosh her bag. “Here you go, sweets, I thought you might need this. Ally says have a good night, by the way.”

Noosh gave him a mock-scowl. “All of this seems very…planned.”

Christo laughed. “Don’t blame Liam, blame me. I’m afraid I’ve had my spies out for a couple of days – and Liam is remarkably easy to bribe.”

Noosh gaped at them both for a moment, then laughed. Who the hell cared? “Well, then you’d better buy me a really good dinner, Montecito.”

“Warning, she can out-eat a water buffalo,” Liam ducked away from Noosh’s slap. Christo grinned and offered Noosh his hand.

“Shall we?”

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