A Master Trade
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : M. Garnet
Word Count :50100
Publication Date :2014-12-29
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 978-1-4874-0231-0
When a big rig truck goes missing from the large company Margaret works for, she never thinks she'll get caught covering a crime for her only living relative. How was she to know she would sign her life in trade to the Master?
Margaret lost everything and everyone in a terrible accident as a child, except for a younger cousin. She took care of this boy and does everything she can to protect him, including committing a crime that could put her in a Federal Pen.
Now the man who catches her—a man she knows and hates—owns her for five years. But she will do anything to protect her cousin, including joining a different world that circles around a blue whip.
Margaret hadn't even had time to unpack her suitcase, and it was time to wake up and go to work. She rolled over and looked at the clock with sleepy eyes. Usually she woke up early with no problem, but after the trip for work, she wished she'd asked for some time off. She'd been so sure she'd be able to get up and go in with no problem.
Sure, no problem, she thought as she slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Yuck. Maybe she should color her hair. It was brown—well, it did have a reddish brown look when freshly washed—so maybe she would take the time in the shower.
She really should cut it. It was too long, halfway down her back. But it was so easy to twist up into tight buns or twists on her head. Then she didn't have to touch it all day. She didn't care that her live-in cousin called her old-fashioned. He thought everything she did was old-fashioned.
Well, even though her eyes were sleepy, she at least got some tan from the sun in Venezuela. But she was glad she didn't have to go there again. It was getting really scary down there, too many young men in uniforms and automatic weapons at the airports and not being able to go out on the streets even in daytime.
Margaret was lucky that they flew to Valencia without going through Caracas, a city that was really becoming a dangerous place.
Then she heard the noise, a motorcycle out front of the small house she shared with her cousin Mike. She had a hunch, so with angry steps she marched down the hall and threw the door open to Mike's room. Sure enough, he was not there in the messy room with the unmade bed.
Her anger built as she stomped out to the front door. She stepped through it just in time to see Mike fall off the bike. She didn't look at the guy who sat on the big machine. She hated Mike's friends. She went over and stood looking down at the drunken kid who rolled over and looked up at her, smiling his beautiful smile.
"Don't call me Maggie, my name is Margaret and you are drunk and it is seven in the morning. Geez, Mike, what the hell am I going to do with you?" She stooped down and struggled to try to get him to his feet.
Stooped over at the waist with one of Mike's arms around her neck, she looked around at the man on the bike. She realized that she was only wearing her boxer shorts and the tee that she slept in and she was probably giving him quite a show of her rear with the shorts pulled up. She hesitated, but couldn't shift as Mike held on.
Margaret bent her knees to bring her butt down out of his sight and tried to get a better grip on the giggling Mike. When Mike sobered up she was going to skin him. She tried to get him to his feet and it was not working. Finally she let go, and leaning on her heels she turned and looked at the man on the bike.
He was giving her a smile that she did not like. He had not moved, but she had learned early on that Mike's friends weren't long on manners. She was a little shocked at his good looks. He could be one of those guys in the Ralph Lauren ads, too good looking in the face, hair a little too long, needing a shave on a very square jaw, and appraising dark eyes with a lot of heavy lashes that most women would pay to have.
He had on a leather jacket that was one of those old air-force types with the faded look at the seams. He wore it over a pair of dark jeans and of course the heavy high boots that bikers seemed to require. No helmet, no, Mike's friends were usually too strung out on booze or drugs to think to wear good protection, so what did she expect?
"You probably contributed to his condition, so you can just get your ass off that fancy bike and help me get him inside." She turned back to Mike, who was trying to go to sleep with the silly smile on his face.
The bike guy was reaching over her, pushing her away and picking Mike up. He put Mike over his shoulder and stood up, and she realized she was still down on her heels. From this vantage point he looked enormous. She jumped up and had to back up, as she was too close. He was still a very big guy.
Margaret was a tall woman, five foot eight inches, so she could look a lot of men in the eyes and she had gone out with a lot of guys who were six foot or more, but this guy was so tall she had to tilt her head back to look up into his eyes.
"You gonna' lead the way, or do I have to guess where you want me to put him?" This was said in a low voice with a trace of humor as he looked down at her. Then she saw his eyes travel down lower. She looked down and saw what he was examining. The tee she was wearing left no doubt she had no bra on, and the cool air had brought her nipples into tight buds that stood out in relief against the white cotton.