Heat

  Heat is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Jamie K. Schmidt

  Excerpt from Longing by Jamie K. Schmidt copyright © 2014 by Jamie K. Schmidt

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54976-1

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Longing by Jamie K. Schmidt. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  www.readloveswept.com

  Cover photo: © Geber86/Getty Images

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Longing

  Chapter One

  After two months of running, Mallory Bryant gave up. She was sick of vending machine food and waking up in terror every night wondering if the LSD-laced Ecstasy tab David shoved down her throat had done permanent damage.

  She was sick of crying during Dr. Phil. Sick of staring out the window, afraid that David was going to find her. And Mallory was terrified that when he did, this time he would not stop until she was as strung out as he was. But most of all, her mother had slapped down the ultimatum: Go to your sister or come back home to Nevada. The fact that her mother would even consider Colleen a viable source of responsibility showed how worried she really was.

  “David is concerned. You should talk to him. Make up your silly fight. Don’t make me come up there and hunt you down,” she said, not knowing that David was the reason why she ran away. The bruises faded after a few weeks—at least the ones on the outside.

  She was sick of being his victim.

  There was no way in hell she was getting on a plane to Nevada. Not only did David know where her parents lived, they probably would invite him down for a reunion. Every time Mallory tried to tell her mother about that awful night, she couldn’t find the words. She’d been lying to everyone for so long, saying how wonderful her life was, that Mallory couldn’t backtrack.

  “David is a drug addict.”

  Mallory practiced saying it aloud in the hotel room but flinched at the accusation behind those words.

  “David is addicted to drugs.”

  That sounded more sanitized. Less raw. She could hide the emotion behind that.

  “He beat me.”

  Mallory’s voice shook.

  “He hit me.” She tried to sound casual, but the fear tremored on the surface.

  “David has anger management issues. We’ve had problems. We’re taking a break from each other.”

  Those all sounded better. They sounded like she was in control. If she was in control, she could go to Colleen. It wasn’t as if she had much choice. Mallory was broke. Her credit cards were maxed. Her job probably wrote her off a month ago. She didn’t dare call to check. She was afraid of what story David had told to explain her absence.

  As she repacked her meager belongings into the battered duffel bag, Mallory wished she had taken the time to pack when she left home. But when she woke up after the hallucinations and the nightmares, she’d panicked. David had been passed out and she wanted out of there before he regained consciousness.

  “Let me introduce you to my friend, Molly,” he’d said, pouncing on her as she came in from working a double shift.

  Exhausted, she wasted precious escape time just looking at him in confusion. Did they have company? Who was Molly and what was she doing in their apartment at six in the morning? Then he kissed her. And for a moment, her heart lightened. They had been fighting for so long about everything: his hours working on court cases; her hours in the emergency room; his drug use; her nagging; his slapping her when she said she wasn’t happy and wanted to leave; his begging her to stay with the promise to get himself together. When he held her tight against him, she almost forgave him. It had been so nice to be hugged after a long shift.

  Then his tongue pushed the fizzy tab into her mouth and fought to keep it there.

  Molly.

  Stupid Mallory—you’re a doctor, for chrissakes.

  David had shoved an Ecstasy tab into her mouth. She fought him, but he was stronger. He slammed her into the wall when she tried to kick at him. Mallory cut her lip on his teeth trying to get away. It hadn’t taken long for the pill to dissolve.

  “You asshole!” she raged and tried to get to the bathroom to throw it up. Mallory fought him tooth and nail. He tossed her around the room, tackling her to keep her with him.

  “You need the energy. You’re dead tired. We never go out and do anything. Kids do this all the time. Let’s go to a rave! I feel ten years younger. I feel like I could fly.”

  But it wasn’t just MDMA in the tab. She could have told him that when you’re dealing with an illegal substance, the quality control isn’t there. The tabs he bought had been cut with some hallucinogen. David started dancing around their living room, slapping at the bugs he thought were crawling all over him.

  Mallory knew what was happening. She tried to hold on to the logical part of her brain that whispered, “This isn’t real.” But in the end, she hid under the bed to get away from the demon that was chasing her with a butcher knife and slashing the bedsheets and curtains to ribbons of blood.

  So yeah, the next morning, making sure she had seven pairs of clean underwear wasn’t high on her list. She wanted out before David woke up. For the next few weeks, Mallory went from motel to motel, at first only staying overnight before running to the next one. Then she stayed a week at a time, trying to figure out just what the heck she was going to do. She cried a lot, screamed into the pillow, and threw tantrums that would put a toddler to shame. She watched daytime television to the point where she learned more about DNA paternity tests than she had in eight years of college and med school. Two months was a long time to feel sorry for yourself. Mallory was ready to try and get her life back, even if that meant running to Colleen.

  Max Spencer was observing the married couple as they practiced their newly taught skills. The wife was tied up in Max’s best Kinbaku rig and he admired how the white rope accentuated the swell of the woman’s breasts and the curves of her hips and legs. She hung from a harness on the ceiling and her husband rotated her, striking a blow with a thin cane on a juicy piece of exposed flesh. Max’s eyes narrowed, but the cut didn’t draw blood. The husband was being careful.

  Clint entered the room silently so as to not disturb the scene. “Colleen needs you,” he whispered. “I’ll take over here.”

  Max nodded and with a last reluctant look at the p
retty wife, went to see what his boss wanted. Her office was on the vanilla side of Couture, hiding the secret members-only playground she was fronting using a fashion haven for the rich and useless. He made sure to close the door so it was seamless with the wall, just in case some of the giggling models and tortured artists stumbled into the wrong hallway.

  Colleen’s administrative assistant wasn’t at her desk, so he walked through her office and knocked on the boss’s double doors.

  “Come in.”

  Max liked her office. It was full of sexual and beautiful things. None were as beautiful as the woman who signed his paychecks, though. Blond, stacked, and richer than Croesus, Colleen oozed a predatory sexuality that most men found intimidating. Max didn’t have the inclination to be a notch in her Prada belt, but he still liked to look. She had the phone to her ear and rolled her eyes at him.

  “Sit down.” She motioned to the seat across from her desk with a jab of her pen.

  He could hear she was getting an earful on the other end.

  “I will take care of it,” she said. “There’s no need for you to come out here. If you called me sooner I could have stepped in. No, I’m not blaming you. Of course I’ll call you when she gets here. Goodbye.”

  “That sounded pleasant,” Max said.

  “You have family?”

  Max wasn’t sure how that fit into the conversation, but he didn’t have a problem answering. “I got a brother down in Texas and a sister in California.” He didn’t mention his dad in the convalescent home. He didn’t talk about him with anyone.

  “You’re spread out all over the place. Do you get to see each other often?”

  He shook his head. “Christmas or Thanksgiving. Why?”

  Colleen rubbed her temple. “My sister is coming to visit.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “My estranged sister.”

  “Oh. Why, what’s up?”

  “I don’t know. She left an incoherent message on my voice mail early this morning and when I called my mother—which was a big mistake—I found out that she’s been AWOL for two months.”

  “She’s in the army?”

  “Not exactly. She’s an ER doctor. Or was until she vanished without a trace. I’d call her fiancé, but he’s about as useless as tits on a bull and is probably behind this whole mess.”

  “No offense, boss, but what’s this got to do with me?” Max crossed his legs. He was a martial arts trainer on the fashion side and a Dom on the members-only side. He definitely didn’t want to get involved in a family matter.

  “I think Mallory is running scared. I need you to be her bodyguard while she’s staying here.”

  Babysitting. Great.

  “What about …”

  “Clint is going to take over your classes.”

  “He has his own to do.” Besides, if Max wanted to get his own secret project up and running, he was going to need the cash flow the grateful patrons tipped him. The convalescent home was draining him several thousand dollars a month. It was a good thing his job at Couture included room and board or he’d be in serious trouble. As it was, the bills were racking up.

  “She doesn’t know about the dungeon.” Colleen eyed her manicure with a moue of distaste.

  “I didn’t think she did. Club Inferno is a well-kept secret.”

  “I haven’t decided if I’m going to tell her or not. She’s high-strung about these things normally. I’m not even sure what her state of mind is now.”

  Max shifted in his seat. “I’m not good at keeping secrets.”

  “Fine. Business as usual, but can you at least escort her around to a few events?”

  “Which side of the club?” Max grinned. “What does she look like?”

  “Like my baby sister.”

  Max held his hands up in surrender. “All right, no need to get all mama tiger on me.”

  “If I think she can handle the truth, I’ll let her know about the sex club. But I need you to keep your eye on her and report back to me if there’s something weird going on.”

  “You want me to spy for you?”

  “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “For the right price I won’t.”

  They negotiated terms and a fat bonus check that would buy him the fabric he needed to get a sample of his clothing line put together, as well as pay some of his dad’s bills.

  Chapter Two

  The long dirt driveway was hell on her suspension. Mallory almost cracked a tooth going over that last rut. What was her glamorous older sister thinking, building her empire in the sticks of Connecticut? Mallory wouldn’t have been surprised if she hit a moose next. But after her beat-up Chevy crested the last loose gravel hill, her jaw nearly hit the steering wheel. There was a freaking palace in the woods.

  How much money did Alfie leave Colleen anyway?

  Mallory sighed when she drove up on the flawless asphalt. Her car practically glided up to the gate. A high, stone wall stretched around the perimeter as far as she could see. The sign above the gate spelled out “Couture” in sparkly diamonds.

  They couldn’t be real diamonds. Not even Alfie had that much money.

  The guard walked out of the booth, touching his earpiece. He looked like a secret service agent instead of a rent-a-cop.

  Rolling down the window, she resisted the urge to give him her license and registration. She took a peek in her rearview mirror. No one had followed her.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, your license plate number isn’t on the approved guest list. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “My name is Mallory Bryant. I’m Colleen’s sister. I’ve been calling all day, but it goes right to voice mail. She either lost her phone and now it’s dead or it’s turned off at the bottom of her purse. I can show you my ID if you need me to.”

  When she went for her purse, she saw out of the corner of her eye that his hand had dropped to his sidearm. She put her hands up.

  “Whoa! I don’t have anything dangerous in here. Aside from my epi pen. And trust me, I need that more than I need to stab you with it.”

  The guard cocked his head at her. Mallory closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “Look, I’m in trouble and I need to see my sister.”

  “Take out your license, slowly.”

  She did what he asked and checked the rearview mirror again while he walked back to his guard booth. While she waited, one of the cameras on the gate swung toward her. She resisted the urge to give the peace sign and make duck lips at it. Instead she stared at the elegantly coiffured lawn sculptures. She blinked.

  Is that a penis?

  Shaking her head, Mallory rubbed the sore spots on her temples. She was definitely losing it. At the sound of the gate opening, she looked up to see the guard waving her through.

  “Drive up to the doors and give the valet your keys,” he said, handing her license back.

  Mallory looked askance at the fast-food wrappers and the pile of clothes strewn around her car. She had been meaning to clean it out. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was that she was safe, and David would have to get by the Man in Black out there if he wanted to hunt her down.

  OMG, that was a penis.

  Who has bushes shaped like penises on the front lawn of their palace?

  Pulling her car up to the marble arch, she flinched at the sudden figure by her driver’s side door.

  It’s only the valet, she told herself and unlocked the car. She tried to get out with as much grace as she could muster. The effect was spoiled somewhat when she kicked a soda can out onto the pristine blacktop. The valet didn’t even blink.

  A man in a crisp, black suit opened the ornate carved doors. They looked hand carved. She did a double take at one of them and nearly cracked her head on the door. Feeling like a klutz and a rube, she slunk into the grand atrium. She’d been on cruise ships that didn’t look this majestic.

  “Ms. Bryant will be right with you,” a woman dressed like Nefertiti said.

 
Mallory all but jumped out of her skin.

  How did I miss an Egyptian queen in the lobby?

  “Th-thanks,” Mallory stuttered.

  The woman gave her a serene smile and glided into the next room.

  Mallory sat down in an uncomfortable wrought-iron chair and jiggled her leg to keep from pacing. Before long, the rhythm of heels sauntering on the Italian marble floor announced the arrival of the owner of Couture. When Colleen entered the lobby, Mallory rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans.

  As usual, Colleen was glorious. Her long, blond hair was styled to look like that of a vintage movie star. Veronica Lake had been her sister’s idol ever since they found out Disney modeled Jessica Rabbit after her. In fact, Colleen resembled the cartoon more than she did the actress.

  They air-kissed each other and if Mallory clung a moment too long, Colleen didn’t comment on it.

  “I hope Istvahn didn’t give you too much trouble?” Colleen said, taking her by the arm and guiding her to a wall that showcased a collection of Erté prints.

  “Who’s Istvahn?”

  Colleen waved her hand over a glorious headdress in one of the giclées and a panel opened, revealing a hidden door.

  “Wow,” Mallory whispered when Colleen indicated with an incline of her head to follow her.

  “Istvahn let you in.”

  “Oh. No, he was fine. Very polite.”

  “I take my clients’ security very seriously,” Colleen said. “But he can be a bit unyielding.”

  “Are you stripping again?” Mallory said to her as they walked past several men and women in various costumes and stages of undress—the area they were in resembled the backstage of a burlesque musical—and then through another doorway that led into a normal-looking office hallway.

  Colleen Bryant arched a perfect eyebrow. Colleen was ten years older than Mallory, but didn’t look it. She still made Mallory feel like a teenager when she gave her that stare, instead of a woman who had braved medical school and survived residency.

  “This is a classic Chanel suit. It doesn’t have Velcro seams. Did you come all this way to be insulting?”

  “Well, the last time we hung out, I wound up in a jail cell,” Mallory snapped, then flushed with shame. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. I came here for help and I’m screwing this up because it’s easier to snipe at you than to think.”