Wicked Exposure

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 0:

Living on the edge…

Cassandra Walters has always followed the rules…until now. Introduced to the erotic pleasures of total submission, she spends her nights in the company of her master, doing as she’s told and surrendering to exquisite ecstasy. But indulging in her newly discovered passion is a problem for Cass. She’s caught in a drug smuggling ring with no way out and nowhere to turn. Cass is not just running scared. She’s running for her life…

Release date: May 1, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 296

Sample

Leaves crunched as Jess Walters dropped her bags to the ground before the bright pink door. Pink. Her least favorite color ever. She groaned, looking up at the three-story home. What had Cass been thinking, buying this atrocity of a house? Sure, it reminded Jess of the house they had grown up in together—in a cracked-out Barbie-meets-suburbia sort of way.

Jess rooted around inside her bottomless purse until she felt the familiar chilled metal of jagged keys. Placing a hand to her camera bag, she inhaled deeply. The feel of the soft leather beneath her palm was calming. The camera was as much a part of her as her own hand. The key slid into the lock easily and with a click the deadbolt turned. After a steely breath, she gave the door a gentle push and, gathering her bags, walked across the threshold. Light flooded the entryway and spilled into the living room. Tears choked the back of her throat, but Jess quickly swallowed them down.

Nothing was out of place—typical of Cass. There were no books strewn about like in Jess’s own home in Brooklyn. No piles of dirty laundry and bras flung over the couch. Jess dropped her bags by the stairs, closing the door behind her. The foyer had a vase filled with pinecones and some sort of branch-like plant sprouting out the top.

The dining room opened into a quaint kitchen and Jess dragged her hand across the polished dining room table as she wandered through the first floor. Again—spotless. Except for one almost empty coffee cup which sat uncleaned in the sink. Red lipstick rimmed the edge.

Red? Jess thought as a jagged breath expelled through trembling lips. The lip color was so unlike Cass. Jess lifted the glass, grasping it in two hands. God, she would have hated that this dirty cup was left here for a couple of weeks, Jess thought as the tiniest smile tugged on her lips.

Leaning against the counter, Jess fumbled for her cell, dialing her Kings County precinct. It rang twice before a nasally accented voice answered. “NYPD, Seventy-sixth precinct, how may I help you?”

Jess recognized Deb’s voice almost immediately. “Deb, hey, it’s Jess. I just wanted to make sure you had my temporary address to mail my most recent paychecks.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Jess . . . ?”

A heavy sigh stifled in Jess’s chest and she caught it before she let it escape into the phone. “Yes. Jessica Walters . . . Seventy-sixth precinct’s forensic photographer?”

Silence hummed on the other end but then Jess heard the click of computer keys.

“Jesus Christ, Deb, we’ve worked together for four years. I talked to you last week—remember? I’m in Portland for a few weeks to get my sister’s—”

“Oh, right, right, Jessica!” And yet, despite the exclamation, there was still a vacancy in Deb’s voice. That lack of warmth, of connection. Yeah, sure, NYPD was a huge department, but come on. “Where should I send your check to?”

Jess gave Deb her sister’s address and hung up quickly; the familiar hollow feeling carved out into her chest as she looked around the three-story home. Lifting the coffee cup in her hands once more, she turned it over, examining it. The porcelain was smooth and the edging was gilded with a pewter design.

Never in her life had she felt so alone. Their parents died when Jess was a freshman in high school—a car crash. A fucking hit and run, to be exact. One that left her parents caged under their crumpled car. A shiver tumbled down her spine. She was alone now. Totally and completely alone. She had no grandparents, no cousins, no aunts, no uncles. Her sister was the only family she’d had left. It was depressing how quickly Jess had been able to pack up her belongings and come to Maine. There was no one she needed to call; no one she needed to check in with.

For a while, that had seemed freeing, having zero ties to any place. Being able to pick up and travel whenever she wanted. But now? Now it just felt damn lonely.

Jess sighed and turned the water on, soaping up a sponge. “When I get home, I need to get a dog or something,” she muttered to herself. “Something that will miss me when I’m gone.”

“Dogs are a lot of work, you know,” a voice behind her said.

Jess screamed, spinning to find a man standing there. The soapy mug slipped through her wet fingers, shattering across the linoleum floor with a deafening crash.

The man eyed the broken cup for all of a moment before bending to clean up the pieces of shattered ceramic.

“Wh-who are you? Why are you in Cass’s house?” Jess trembled, pressing herself against the counter and feeling behind her for a weapon. Her fingers grazed a knife’s handle and she wrapped her palm around it, sliding it behind her.

The man looked up at her from his crouched position. He had light brown hair and striking blue eyes. The smallest hint of an amused grin flashed across his face as he stretched to a standing position, dropping the broken glass into the trash can. “I’m sorry.” He brushed his palms on his jeans and extended a hand. “I’m Dane.”

Jess eyed his outstretched hand, still clutching the knife behind her. “Hello, Dane” she said, and paused. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He gave a light chuckle and dropped his hand back to his sides. “Well, since your first question was ‘who are you?’ I actually did answer you. And you—wait a minute.” His eyes narrowed and scanned her face before the smirk spread to a full-on grin. “You’re Jess, right? Cass’s sister?”

Jess relaxed her shoulders, giving a little nod, but didn’t let go of the knife yet.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And yet, I still know nothing about you and why you’re here.” Fear trembled at the base of her belly. The guy seemed okay; nice, even. But that didn’t change the fact that he was a stranger lurking in her sister’s home.

“Cass set up an appointment for me to have a look at some leaky pipes upstairs.”

“She must’ve done it weeks ago.” Jess narrowed her eyes, studying the man up and down.

“Yeah, it was a couple weeks ago. I was called out of town for a job in Boston and Cass didn’t seem to mind the extra wait.”

He walked over to the far right cabinet, grabbed a pint glass from the top shelf, and filled it with water. Her eyes wandered over his shoulder to the thin bookshelf on the other side of the room. A framed photograph of her sister and this man—Dane—rested on the top shelf. The two of them in front of Cass’s bright pink house, each holding a hammer and grinning from ear to ear.

“You seem awfully comfortable in her home.” It was an observation as well as a question. Jess loosened her grip on the knife and slid her hand away from it. She took a few kickboxing classes at her gym. In a worst-case scenario, she could deposit a quick kick to the groin and run like hell.

“Ayuh,” he said, his Maine accent becoming more and more prominent as Jess spoke to him. “Cass and I have been friends since she bought this place. Needed quite a bit of work at first.” He looked around as though remembering an old friend. “Wouldn’t be able to tell it now, huh?”

“Yeah. Except for that awful color outside.”

Dane laughed. “Now, that’s true. Cass was never about to change that, though. It was one of the reasons she bought the damn place to begin with.”

“So, you and Cass were . . . friends?”

Dane nodded. “Absolutely. I taught her how to boil a lob-stah.”

Jess snorted. Her sister damn well knew how to boil lobster. They were raised here in Portland. Which meant Cass used the excuse as a way of getting closer to this guy. The thought brought a warmth in Jess’s chest. “Well, how hard can it be to throw a lobster in a pot?”

“You’d be surprised. It’s more humane to kill them first, anyway.” From his pocket, he pulled a little orange bottle and tossed a pill into his mouth, swallowing. He drank the rest of the water with a glug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jess wasn’t sure exactly why she was warming up to the guy, especially considering the hellish week she’d had—but she was nonetheless. And her instincts were usually spot-on.

“So, where’s Cass, anyway?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “Still at work probably, huh?”

Sorrow frosted over in her gut. “Oh God,” Jess whispered, covering her mouth. “You don’t know.”

Dane tilted his head. “Know what?” His chest hitched. “Is Cass okay?”

Jess inhaled slowly through her nose. She’d had to make a few of these calls already and they ripped her heart out every time.

“Dane, I’m so sorry . . . Cass died.”

Dane’s face drained of all color and he set the empty water glass onto the counter with a thunk. “What?” The words were barely a whisper. “She’s . . . she’s dead?” His grip on the counter was so strong that the tips of his fingers were white. He pushed off, shaking his head and clamping those hands onto his hips instead. “No. No, she can’t be. I was gone for only a little over a week! How . . . ?” The question choked on his tongue and he dropped his head, his mouth pressing into a firm line as though a thought flashed into his mind.

Jess swallowed the lump that had taken up residency at the base of her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know many of her friends to call . . . I-I sort of relied on her local friends and colleagues to spread the word.”

He nodded, bringing his gaze back up and swiping a hand across one escaped tear. “How? When?” he whispered again.

“The police said they suspect it was a robbery gone bad. She was down by the water, on Wright’s Wharf. Shot and thrown in. We were lucky that there was a fisherman checking his lobster traps; he saw the whole thing. Otherwise, she may have disappeared and we never would have known. . . .” Jess faded off, letting the silence settle in between them. Lucky. Right. It was laughable to use that word to describe this situation. Even as she recounted the story, it sounded off in her head. For starters, what the hell was her sister doing down by the wharf at one in the morning? “Were you two . . . well, were you more than just friends?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Yeah . . . no . . . I-I . . .” Dane shook his head as though trying to clear out the fog. “No,” he answered sharply. “We were just friends.” His gaze seared Jess and she shivered as he stared at her. “But good friends,” he emphasized, the muscles around his throat tightening.

Jess nodded. “Why didn’t any of her other friends call you? Or tell me to call you?”

Dane’s jaw jumped at the question. “That’s a damn good question.”

He pushed off the counter, hands balled into fists, and paced the kitchen, growing angrier with each step. “Your sister’s a private person. I’ve never seen a person compartmentalize so many facets of their life before. She had work friends, college friends, family friends . . . and she was careful that the different paths never crossed.” He met Jess’s eyes with a sad smile. “It’s why I’m not surprised that she never mentioned me to you. But still—there was one or two people that could have called me—” His voice broke. “I’m surprised they didn’t.”

Jess also knew that Cass didn’t have many friends in the first place. A couple from college who had moved on and now lived in other parts of the country. A few colleagues Jess had heard about here and there from happy hour outings after a long day. But that was pretty much it. But for a girl who never talked about having friends or boyfriends, there were a ton of people Jess had never seen before at Cass’s funeral.

Why Cass hadn’t actually been dating Dane was a mystery . . . he was clearly crazy about her. And Jess could totally see why Cass would be into him, too. He was a large man with bulging muscles and a kind smile. The kind of man who could cook you a soufflé with one hand and bench-press you with the other.

“So, did I miss . . . did I miss the funeral?” His eyes pinched at the corners and his mouth tightened into a firm line.

All Jess could do was nod. After a moment, she cleared her throat and choked out, “It was two days ago. I can take you to her grave if you want.”

Dane muttered a curse and dropped his head, shaking it back and forth. “I just arrived back into town yesterday. Maybe, if I had gotten here sooner—” He tilted his head, meeting Jess’s eyes. “Sorry. I’d appreciate that. Knowing where her grave is, I mean. Some other time, though?”

“Of course.”

He carried the pint glass to the sink, turning the water on and starting to clean it. “I can do that,” Jess said, gently reaching for the glass.

“I’ve got it,” Dane responded gruffly. Then he added with a small smile, “Can’t have you breaking any more dishes.” After another moment of painful silence, he dried his hands on the dish towel. “If the funeral was a couple days ago, why weren’t you staying here before?”

Good question, Jess thought. It seemed too pathetic to say she couldn’t bear the thought of staying here while her sister sat on ice at the morgue. Between the investigation and the autopsy, it took longer than usual to arrange the funeral. Even though she had only been in the water for a few hours, her body was bloated and beyond recognition. Jess couldn’t even recognize her face. She had to be confirmed using dental records. “Legalities,” she finally managed. “The will just came through this morning and this is now all mine.” She glanced around with a heavy sigh.

Dane nodded, his eyes drooping in a way that suggested he knew what she was going through. “If you need anything, call me anytime.” He handed her a card, picked up his toolbox, and headed for the door. “Hey, Jess,” he said over his shoulder.

She looked up in time to catch the glint of moisture in the corner of his eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he finished.

“You too, Dane,” she answered. And with that, he slipped out the door. “You too.” She sighed once more.

Unzipping her camera bag, Jess pulled out her Canon and wide-angle lens. She had no idea what to do with this house. On one hand, it was one of the few connections to her sister she had left. On the other, her life, her home was back in Brooklyn. It had been years since Jess had called Portland home . . . and she wasn’t about to start now.

Lifting the camera, she wrapped the strap several times around her wrist and climbed the stairs. No matter what she did with this home, she’d need photographs of it; whether selling, renting, or using it as a summer place, documentation of the space was a must. Besides, life seemed clearer to Jess when she was looking at it through the lens.

As with any real estate property, Jess began at the top floor, climbing the stairs into what was likely once an attic, but had been renovated into an office and an extra bedroom. Wood paneling adorned the room in a throwback to the seventies, but not nearly as cheap looking as some places Jess had seen. It had a rustic log cabin charm to it in that way New England was well-known for.

There wasn’t much to the top room—a beautiful skylight, a twin bed, a desk and chair. That was about it. Down on the second floor was another guest room, a bathroom, and the master bedroom. A tightness caught in Jess’s throat as she peeked into Cass’s bedroom. It held a cottage-style charm to it and Jess inhaled deeply; it even smelled like Cass in there. Her throat closed and there was a burning at the back of her eyes. One single tear escaped, gliding a salty path down the side of her nose and over her lips. She couldn’t go in there. Not yet. Not without a little alcohol and a lot more preparation.

Creeping back, she bumped into a table resting next to the entrance to the guest bedroom and gasped as the corner slammed into the small of her back.

The pain, though sharp, was exactly the distraction she needed. There was always time to photograph her sister’s bedroom later. So instead she ducked into the guest room, finishing quickly and moving down to the living room.

The design of the home was exquisite. Though she and Cass had completely different styles, her sister’s decor was simple and classic. The L-shaped leather sectional added sleekness to the otherwise historical home. Jess stepped back, pressing herself against the staircase in order to get the entire room into the frame.

Click.

She refocused onto the fireplace and snapped another shot. A glistening light caught her attention from under the couch and Jess paused, narrowing her gaze.

Setting the camera down, she knelt in front of the couch, and lifted a small mask with pearls sewn onto the edging. “What the hell?” She turned the weird mask over in her hands and pushed off her knees, moving to the ornate mirror in the foyer. It wasn’t the sort of mask you found in a shitty costume shop next to cheap Raggedy Ann wigs. No—this was the real deal. Heavy. Detailed. And ornate.

Jess swallowed hard as an icy chill descended down to her toes. Why the hell did a simple mask unsettle her so much? Tilting her head, she lifted it to her face, peering at her reflection in the mirror. Goose bumps surged down her arms, raising the hairs in sequence. Her nipples hardened and Jess turned, looking at herself from over her shoulder. She had to admit . . . she looked pretty sexy in a mask.

The sound of a door slamming came from below her feet and Jess froze. Was there even a basement in this house? She didn’t see a door down there from the outside, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in the back of the house. She tossed the mask onto the kitchen table, grabbing her camera out of instinct, and as she made her way carefully toward the basement door, the doorbell rang from the other end of the house.

Glancing between the two doors, Jess hiked the camera strap around a shoulder and yanked open the front door. Standing on her stoop was a short, curvy girl with dark hair that came just below her chin in a layered bob. Black plastic frames sat on the bridge of her dainty nose and scarlet lips turned up in a sad sort of smile. The girl held out a plate of something that smelled sugary and delicious.

“Hi . . . you’re Jess, right?”

Jess angled her chin and even though she had never considered herself tall, she stood several inches over the girl. “Yeah . . .”

The girl’s already fair skin paled of any remaining color, turning whiter than the stack of simple porcelain she gripped in her hands. Her smile wobbled and there, glistening in those dark brown eyes, was the thing Jess most hated . . . pity.

“My name is Zooey,” she finally said. “I worked with your sister. I just—I wanted to bring you some cookies.” Zooey swallowed hard, nibbling the inside of her cheek. “That’s what people do in situations like this, right? They bring food.”

Memories of a freezer stuffed full of prepared casseroles after her parents’ death flooded Jess’s mind. “Typically, yeah. That seems to be the standard.” Taking the plate, Jess lifted it to her nose, inhaling. “Oh my God, they smell amazing.”

Zooey stood a little taller with the compliment. “Thanks. They’re my grandmother’s recipe—the only thing she ever learned to bake, actually. She hardly ever stepped into a kitchen. That’s what the ‘help’ is for, she used to tell me.” She rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses higher onto her nose with her middle finger.

“Wow,” Jess chuckled. It felt good to smile. Really smile. And for the first time in almost two weeks, she could feel the tension melting from her shoulders. “You had ‘help’ growing up? Like, what? Butlers and shit?”

Zooey matched her chuckle, shaking her head. She shrugged with a good-natured eye roll. “Eh, something like that. We had a live-in nanny who also cooked. And my dad had an ‘assistant’ who was essentially a glorified butler.”

“Damn, you must be loaded!” Zooey’s smile faltered and heat burned across Jess’s cheeks. “Oh, shit. Sorry . . . that was a stupid thing to say. I just met you and already I’m sticking my foot in my mouth.” Jess swallowed hard. “If you couldn’t tell, Cass was the eloquent one in the family.”

Zooey waved the comment away with a shrug. “Nah, don’t worry about it. You probably don’t remember, but we met at the funeral, briefly.” The apples of her cheeks rose with a sad sort of smile, causing her glasses to prop up as well. “Cass actually trained me in my position at Holtz’s.” The crinkles around her eyes deepened as the cadence of her voice turned raspy within a fond memory Jess was not privy to.

Before Jess could answer, Zooey was flicking a finger beneath each eye, rolling them in spite of herself. “Sorry. The last thing you need is some stranger coming over and blubbering on your doorstep.”

“It’s okay.” In some ways, Zooey was probably closer to Cass than Jess had been. “Do you want to come in?”

“No, no, I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to introduce myself and offer any help while you’re in town. Even if it’s just to grab a drink or a coffee and . . . reminisce.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Her own friends in Brooklyn pooled together to send a bouquet of daisies, but yet, not one of them had offered to come to the funeral. What good were flowers, anyway? In a week, they were dead and you were reminded all over again how fleeting life was. And yet here was a woman she’d never met offering Jess the thing she most needed right now—a shoulder to lean on. The back of her throat swelled with that same familiar tightness she was growing to know so well.

“Anyway, here’s my card. Call me sometime.” Zooey backed down the steps with a little wave.

Closing the door behind her, Jess set the plate down, nibbling on the edge of a cookie. Flavor exploded on her tongue . . . vanilla and sugar and butter and gooey chocolate. Holy hell. That was a damn good cookie. Thank you, Zooey’s grandma.

Jess’s muscles bunched around her ears as another bump from the basement froze her midbite. “Dane?” she said quietly. But something in her gut told her it wasn’t Dane down there. She’d seen the guy leave. Watched as he got into his truck parked outside and drove away. Clutching her camera, she crept to the back of the kitchen where there were two doors—one leading outside to a small back courtyard and the other opening into a spiral staircase to a dark basement. The musty smell flooded her nose. Sh. . .