Isabelle is on the run in Paris from her violent Mafia cousin, Declan who is hell bent on keeping her by his side and in his bed. He won’t stop at anything to retrieve the inheritance she gained from her grandfather that should have been bequeathed to him.
Lucien Deschanel and Christian Dalban belong to two other Mafia families loyal to Isabelle’s own. Although the two men have always been rivals, they are prepared to put their differences aside to protect Isabelle who they have both fallen in love with.
But when Isabelle resists their protection to remain independent, they are forced to act and take her in hand before she gets herself killed. She finds herself disciplined over each man’s knee for a firm bare bottom until she capitulates to their rules and learns to accept their need to take care of her.
Christian Dalban stroked his fingertips over the woman’s bruised bare bottom as she lay asleep, naked, next to him in the bed. It was still burning hot from the solid spanking he had given her over his knee earlier that evening. He had a firm spanking hand, but his caress was always gentle, soothing, and protective after he had disciplined a woman.
Isabelle moaned and whimpered with small distress in her sleep, making him move closer to her in the bed. He brushed her hair with a kiss and slipped his fingers between her thighs to the outside of her pussy. They were met with dampness. He was surprised. Carefully and gently, he sank the soft pads of his fingertips in-between her plump lips and stroked them along with the small, moist bud. He whispered reassurances. She was safe. He would protect her.
She moaned in her sleep, parting her thighs, inviting a deeper caress. He was not to disappoint her. Moving his fingers to the entrance of her channel, he circled them teasingly around the small, fleshy hole, and then slipped one finger inside. He kissed her shoulder, moaning with the pleasurable feeling of wet velvet surrounding his finger. With care, he curled his finger upwards and found her g-spot. He pressed himself close to her, hearing her pant. Yet when she stirred briefly with wakefulness, he hushed her back to sleep. He pulsed his finger up inside her channel and against the wall of her vagina, stirring her passionate arousal. Still in sleep, she began to writhe and press down onto his fingers. She was close to coming.
Christian stepped up the speed of his finger thrust, unable to stop himself from kissing her shoulder and the soft sweetness of her neck. Within moments, the woman gave a small cry and came. Her silky muscles closed around his finger and trapped it there. Christian slowed the pace of his thrusts to expertly lengthen the moment of climax. She came sweetly, soothed by his gentle claiming of her body.
When she calmed, he held his finger still inside her. His deep, intimate hold of her body appeared to provide her with the comfort she needed. Her fearful whimpers and cries about the man who stalked her even in her dreams that had originally stirred her were silenced, and she was now content in her slumber.
Satisfied, Christian lay curved around her body, protectively sheltering her from anyone threatening to come through the door of the small hotel room, ready to take her from him. His mind drifted back to the beginning of the night when he first met her.
Christian took hold of the girl’s arm and pushed it up her back tightly. It was a painful hold and uncomfortable enough for her to feel the tingle of blood draining from her arm. But her struggles were fierce, telling him she was a fighter. He was too strong for her, but she still tried to get free. There was a sharp stab of pain when her nails scraped and dug along his wrist, drawing blood.
Instinctively he swore, violently pushing his hand hard into the small of her back, watching her fall onto the sparsely carpeted floor. She cried out, and a small part of him twisted with remorse. But he couldn’t take any chances; working in security to the famous and the stinking rich had gained him too many enemies that wanted to see him dead or disgraced and run out of Paris. He straddled her, holding both arms up her back, hurling French at her like there was no tomorrow. The girl answered back in fluent French with a slight English accent, straining to raise her head from the dirty yellow carpet he had her face squashed into. She was English like him.
“So, you are English; you might want to work on your accent,” he told her in English. “Now, maybe you would like to tell me what you are doing creeping into my room from the balcony in the middle of the damn night?”
“Let me go, please. I had no choice. I jumped balconies. A man forced his way into my room.”
She had a soft voice, gentle and feminine, yet he heard something hissing with controlled bitterness behind her words. The woman sounded afraid of him, as she should have been, but he wasn’t so sure. He sighed impatiently, determined to make her feel a little afraid so she would tell him the truth. Christian pulled harder on her arms until he heard her squeal. He’d met her type before: beautiful, elegant, fragile, but more deadly than any man could ever be.
“Try again, and tell me the truth.”
“It’s not as though I had a choice.”
This time he definitely heard a hiss behind her speech as she spat her words out. His brow creased with surprise.
“Tell me the truth. If you’d stop struggling, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Who are you? Maybe the police know who you are. Maybe I should call them.”
Christian felt a sudden tightness in her body. It was as if her blood had frozen or her heart had stopped. The woman’s body was cold to the touch, really cold. Her fear was so potent he could feel it tingling through him. For a moment, she was silent and then she began stuttering.
“A… A… All right, let me up, and I will tell you who I am and what I was doing.”
She sounded calm, calculated, and bitter. But he decided to take a chance that she wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t like the tight feeling in her body. Christian pulled her up sharply in one swift motion and marched her nearer the bed. Reaching over, he turned on the lamp sitting on the side table. It cast a dim light over the faded yellow bedspread that looked as if it hadn’t been changed in the last thirty years. He let go of her arms and watched her rub her wrists. She seemed afraid to look up at him, make eye contact. But then, he saw her chance it.
Now that the light was on and he wasn’t straining to look at her in the moonlight coming in through the shrouded French windows, he was able to get a better look at her. She was beautiful. Her eyes were green, the colour almost an exact match for emeralds, twinkling like jewels at him. More than tempting was her small, slim but sumptuously curved body, carved into an hourglass. He used his height to his advantage to intimidate her, leaning over her like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Once more, remorse stabbed at him, but he had to find out who she was, and the woman was reluctant to give anything away.
Christian gave her the once-over, studying her with scrutiny for signs that would give her game and identity away. She blushed and lowered her eyes to his chest. He followed them and suddenly realised his black shirt wasn’t buttoned up after he pulled it on in a hurry when she came through the French windows. Her look at his body was admiring as if she couldn’t help herself. His mouth automatically curved into a mocking smile. She had to be some high-class prostitute sent by his father to see him ruined. Next minute, the paparazzi would probably jump out and take a picture. Then, they would be plastered all over the French newspapers. He would never work again.
A flicker of embarrassed irritation flashed across her eyes at his smile. His grin widened. Christian didn’t know the woman. There was no history between them. So why did he get the feeling she hated him already?
“I think you have been in trouble with the police before?”
He picked his mobile up from the bed and started punching in the numbers of the Surete. It was time to call the pretty lady’s bluff.
“No, no, please, not the police.”
Now, she was frightened. Maybe he might start getting somewhere. He allowed another smile to light his face. This time, it was sadistic. She was trapped and cornered. Again, he saw irritation, bitterness and frustration clouding her eyes. A potent angry cocktail. As he watched her hands curl into fists at her sides, he decided to push it further. He knew she wanted to hit him and make a dash for it. She wouldn’t get far.
Putting his hands on his hips, he looked down at her. He swept his blue eyes questioningly over her face like a schoolmaster waiting for her to confess her wrongdoing and the reason for her bad behaviour.
“No, I haven’t been in trouble with them before.” There was a straining tension in her voice, as though she was trying to keep her temper again. He watched her mentally try to rein herself in, softening her voice. “I wasn’t trying to steal anything. What I have told you is true. If you don’t believe me, come back to my room, and I will show you. He will still be there.” Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she appeared to be fighting to hold them in check.
Christian shook his head, disbelieving her claim. He held his phone up and pressed redial. Her bottom lip trembled as they both listened to it ring. A frightened whimper escaped her lips when the tinny, disembodied voice on the other end of the phone answered the call. Time seemed to hang paralysed in the air.
“You will have to do better than that.”
“Please, look I will do anything you ask, anything, if you will just let me go.”
She was using that fragile voice again. Christian could see her search his face for some kind of sympathy, some gallant gesture. But he knew the steel armour he wore over his fair features these days was impenetrable. Her head bowed, and long, honey-coloured curls cascaded around her shoulders. He didn’t have to see to know she was trying to hide tears. She gave a small sniff, then slowly lifted her head.
Her cheeks were wet, but there was also a look of determined will on her face. He could throw what he liked at her, but she would still fight him. He couldn’t work her out. Jutting her pretty chin out at him, she held her head high, daring him to do it. She could take it. He ended the call abruptly.
Something was wrong. The woman was really frightened. Nothing was adding up about her. If he were honest, a part of him was enjoying the intrigue. No woman had interested him so much in a long time.
What is going on behind those pretty eyes? Who are you?
It was time to try another way. Give her a way for atoning for sneaking into his room. Perhaps after a sound, bare-bottom spanking, she would be more than ready to divulge information and her name.