Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (43 page)

Epilogue

A week later, Max stood with Sayd
on the balcony of the palace of Ramadi for the first time. Or maybe the ten thousandth.
She didn't know. But she was beginning to accept.

After Sayd was out of danger, she'd
spoken to her parents and her sister. They'd all shown her wedding photos.
There were invitations. News stories. YouTube clips.

In the palace, she saw a room filled
with her own stuff, including the quilt her grandma had made so long ago. The
people of Ramadi had waved to her in the streets as if they knew her. The whole
country had thrilled to the news that the leaders of the Crimson Hand had been
arrested in the U.S. After being a threat for so long, they couldn't hurt
anyone now.

She still remembered none of the
last two years. Not the first time she'd made love with Sayd, not their
wedding, not anything about their daily lives—which seemed the saddest part, the
little every day moments erased from her brain.

They could only guess that the
Crimson Hand had kidnapped her and intended some more elaborate scheme, but
she'd escaped before they could implement it. With her brain missing two years,
her subconscious had coped by starting where she left off. She'd gone back to
the Dominican to reboot the machine.

The doctors, and there were a lot
of them, shook their heads at her. They explained that there was no injury, no
residual drugs in her system. They could do nothing short of opening up her
skull to have a look, and Sayd wouldn't permit that. Her memory loss could end
tomorrow or endure forever.

Throughout all of it, Sayd had held
her hands. Even when he wasn't shackled to them.

He held them now, entwining his strong,
dark fingers with hers, lending her his strength as he stood at her back.
Together, they looked over the capital city with its mix of steel office towers
and its mud brick homes. A warm wind swirled with the scents of exotic spices.

Another doctor had just told them
there was nothing she could do.

"What if I never get it back,
Sayd? Two years of our lives. Just gone."

He tightened his embrace. "It's
not so very bad. I'll have the pleasure of making you fall in love with me all
over again."

She sighed. "I'm halfway there
already."

His scowl was instant. "Halfway?
Three-quarters at least."

"Are we going to argue about
fractions?" But she smiled. "Maybe sixty percent."

He wrapped his arms around her
again. "I'll accept sixty-five, but I promise to work harder. Once my
chest heals fully and I can make love to you again."

She held the warm promise of it to
her heart and knew he would find making her fall for him an easy job. As if he
understood what she was thinking, he kissed her thoroughly. She pressed her
hand to the golden sphere he wore on his chest all the time now, reassuring
herself the last week had all really happened.

He turned her and pressed his
forehead to hers in the gesture she now knew so well. "
Hayati
, I don't
know how to tell you this. I'd hoped you'd remember, but I don't want to keep
it from you any longer. You know my heart does not beat without you, but I also
love another. And you do as well."

Fear wrung her chest. "No."
She shoved at him, the betrayal of it lighting a fire inside her. He had
another wife. She should have known no happiness could be so perfect. "I
won't listen to this."

"Be calm, Max." Sayd
whipped out his phone, typed in her middle name and pressed it into her hands.
When she held it, he tapped the screen.

A glorious photo appeared.
Bittersweet love and loss and not a moment to lose in the future—even if she
never remembered a single moment. Tears streamed from her eyes. She tasted them
on her smiling lips. The date in the corner was three months earlier. There she
was, looking exhausted and elated in a paper-thin hospital gown, propped up on
pillows. Sayd, one arm raised to take the skewed photo, the other wrapped
protectively around her shoulders, beamed his pride as if for the moment the
Earth had been made for him. Cradled against her breast, she held a wrinkly red
body, tiny fists raised in the air in protest against the world.

"
Hayati
,"
he said. "Would you like to meet our son?"

# # #

Know a friend
who’d love to be handcuffed to a sheikh? You can send them a free copy! For
more info, click
here
. 
Or if you want to find more books by Teresa Morgan you can visit her website by
clicking
here
.

To skip directly to the next
story,
click here
.

About Teresa Morgan

Teresa Morgan is the author of
Cinderella and the Sheikh, Handcuffed to the Sheikh, and Sheikh with Benefits,
all available wherever hot contemporary romance eBooks are sold. By day, she's
a mild-mannered technical writer, but by night (and lunch hours, and weekends)
she's a digital Sheherezade, weaving tales of sexy Sheikhs and the
strong-willed heroines who love them. Her latest sheikh novella, Sheikh with
Benefits, is the story of a straight-laced Persian Prince and the mousy best
friend he would never seduce.

Teresa is fascinated by the Middle
East and has been to Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and Morocco. Sometimes her
adventures end up in her books.

"Sheikhs
break all the rules," Teresa says. "Including 'i before e.' After
three books, I still have to concentrate every time I spell it."

Other Books by Teresa Morgan

Cinderella and
the Sheikh

She's about to get charmed...

Libby
Fay's safe little life as a waitress at a posh New York boutique hotel implodes
when Sheikh Rasyn Al Jabar, black-eyed and seductive, crashes into her world
and swears that he loves her. Unfortunately for Libby, a Cinderella is the last
thing this Prince Charming wants.

Buy
Cinderella And The Sheikh today from your favorite eBookstore.

No Sleep for
the Sheikh

Three novellas to remind you it’s hotter in the desert

HANDCUFFED TO THE SHEIKH

Best.
Abduction. Ever.

When she opened her front door, the
last thing Maxine Foss expected was a hot stranger with a set of handcuffs. Now
she's shackled to a sexy, but crazy, person who claims he's an Arabian
prince—and her lover. No way. If she had ever gotten naked with a guy this
delicious, she would never forget.

Insanity is catching...

Alone
in a secluded cabin, Sayd offers his body for her pleasure. But the price for
giving in to his temptation could be her sanity, not to mention her freedom...
and just maybe, her life.

SHEIKH WITH BENEFITS

What's a
little seduction between friends?

Arya Mokri, the ultimate
wallflower, has to stop dreaming of His Royal Highness, Sheikh Javad Shirin, or
she's going to lose her mind. She's been crushing on him for months and it's
time to move on. If he won't have her, she'll find someone who will...

A consummate diplomat, Sheikh Javad
would never dream of sleeping with the woman whose friendship he values so
much. But when she arrives at an event in a dress showing too much skin and even
more poor judgment, he finds himself wondering what it would look like on his
bedroom floor. Worse, his suddenly sexy friend plans an affair with his own
brother.

Tonight,
he vows, her plans will change. Whether she wants them to or not.

VEGAS VALENTINE GIGOLO SHEIKH

Tall, Dark,
and Paid For...

Paper-pushing cubicle jockey Stacia
Keating has never had problems with guys or relationships. Only sex. Fueled by
public humiliation from her useless ex-boyfriend and three too many mojitos at
a rehearsal dinner for her best friend's Vegas wedding, she decides it's time
to put herself in expert hands. But when reason—and sobriety—returns, she
realizes her bonehead mistake. Only problem is that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Paid
For seems hell-bent on fulfilling his end of the deal.

Never
before in his regimented, predictable life has Prince Zaqwan el Behar of Ittar
been mistaken for a male escort. But when the intriguing blonde maid of honor
at his friend's wedding offers him money for his sexual services, he can't help
but play along. And the more he finds out about her, the more he begins to
think that her pleasure is his business...

Buy No
Sleep for the Sheikh from your favorite eBookstore today!

More Hot Sheikh Romances from Teresa
Morgan

Sheikh with
Benefits

Valentine Vegas
Gigolo Sheikh

# # #

Fast and Mine

Sharon Page

College student Claire
gets lessons in seduction from sexy, hot street bike racer, Sawyer. But when
she’s kidnapped by his psychotic sponsor to force him to race, can Sawyer save
her and win her heart?

Copyright 2014 Sharon Page

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About
The Author

Go to next book

Go to previous book

Go to Table of
Contents

Chapter
One

Frat parties.

I’ve always dreamed of going to one
but I never thought I would. In high school, I never got invited to the cool
parties. I was known as ‘Claire Thomas: math whiz, brain, complete geek.’ I was
the female version of the Big Bang guys.

At the start of high school, I was
flat-chested, which had not helped my popularity in junior high. By the end of
tenth grade, I had much bigger breasts. Awkwardly bigger breasts. And while I’d
dreamed about having boobs since I was twelve, I was then too shy to do
anything but hide them. I grew into my nose, got contacts, and looked much
prettier, but strangely that didn’t help my confidence. I’d learned to be quiet
and reserved and I stayed that way.

But now I’m in college—Yardley
College in New Hampshire. And I am actually at a frat party. My dorm roommate,
Abby Potter brought me, as she was invited and allowed to bring a guest. She
also chose my wardrobe for the night, so I’m wearing skinny jeans and one of
her T-shirts, which has a low, scooped neck. If I look down I can see inside
the neckline to my bra.

I brought a zip-up hoodie, which is
now covering the T-shirt and is zipped up to my neck. I stand in a corner,
holding a beer that I have no intention of drinking.

I thought this would be thrilling.

I feel completely out of place.

The fraternity, Alpha Delta Phi,
has an enormous, century-old brick house just outside the Yardley campus. A
huge wooden porch wraps around the house, filled with people dancing and
laughing. And couples kissing. In the kitchen, guys chug beer. Tequila shots
are going around the living room.

I have the beer that someone handed
me even though I protested that I don’t drink. But since I put the first one
down earlier and got a second one shoved at me, I just keep carrying it.

I have to find Abby, so I can tell
her I’m going back to the Yardley campus. I feel like I don’t belong here. I
also have to call a cab.

I walk into the living room. A guy
dances like a wild man, throwing himself crazily around on the cleared floor
space. He crashes into me, his arms flailing. I stumble back and splash the
beer on my jeans.

I try to find my way to a bathroom
for a towel.

I find a door I’m sure leads to a
bathroom and open it.

Oh God. There’s a girl sitting on
the toilet lid with her skirt pushed up and a guy is on his knees in front of
her. Her high-heeled shoes rest on his shoulders. Her eyes are closed, she’s
moaning in pure pleasure, and his face is under her skirt.

I’m completely embarrassed, and I
stumble back, pulling the door shut. My heart races and I’m breathing fast
enough to hyperventilate. I don’t think they noticed me, so I don’t know why I
feel so tense and awkward.

Potentially because I never dated
in high school, I am still a virgin, and since I turned eighteen I’ve been
feeling more frustrated about that—

Then I see
him
.

There are some guys you never get
over and you never forget. That’s what Trey Madison is to me. He’s the crush I
had since I was in Grade Seven. Total and complete desire for him has burned in
my heart ever since. However, I was invisible to him.

It should be different now that I’m
no longer in high school. I should be able to go up to him. Say hi. Talk to
him.

But I can’t. My tongue actually
feels numb. There’s a huge pain in my chest. My heart feels as if nerves and
fear are smacking it like a stick against a piñata.

Trey staggers to the side and slams
into the wall. Then laughs and sucks back his beer.

He’s drunk.

Now I’m worried about Trey. As he
walks into the living room, I follow him. Just to watch out for him. He could
pass out.

He stops, leaning against the wall,
turns around and looks right at me. I should say something. Act surprised, as
if I just happened to be there and recognized him. But I just stare at his
beautiful grey-blue eyes helplessly.

"Hi," he says.

"Uh," is what comes out
of my mouth.

He walks away from me. Because who
wouldn’t after my scintillating attempt at conversation?

Trey heads for the stairs and I
stand by the wall, cursing myself.

What was I doing? I was so
hopeless. I could have had what I’d dreamed of since I first hit puberty. I
could have talked to him. Maybe, maybe I could have even ended up kissing him.

If I were still the same person I
was in high school, I would retreat right now since I was super awkward and
shy.

But I’m eighteen, too old to be a
coward anymore. To be stymied by what people think or what they might say.

I set my beer down on the floor by
the wall and take off the hoodie. Gazing in the mirror in the downstairs hall,
I try fluffing my hair. I can’t manage a transformation like Jamie Curtis in
True
Lies
, where she rips the ruffles off her dress, slicks back her hair with
water from a vase, and is suddenly sexy. But I look better. Sort of hot. Abby’s
T-shirt clings to my breasts and makes me look very curvy.

I want to kiss Trey. I want to know
what it would be like. If I don’t go for it, I’ll never know. He goes up the
stairs but he stops on the landing halfway up. I catch up to him since I’m
almost running up the steps. He looks at me with surprise.

I start to give him an abbreviated
wave, then put my hand down at my side. I brush my hair back. "Hi Trey, I
remember you from high school. We went to the same one."

"Yeah? Don’t remember you."

"I’m Claire." I swallow
hard. Once I give him the full name, he will remember who I am and how much I
was teased. "Claire Thomas."

He still stares blankly. He has no
memory of me at all.

Yes, I was invisible. But that
gives me a clean slate.

I step close to him, look up at him
through my lashes. I have no idea how to flirt. "Uh—do you want to dance?
Downstairs?"

He looks at me like I asked him to
shave his head. "No."

Okay. So what do I do now? I have
no idea what to say to Trey. "Do you remember when you won the last
football game of the season?"

"Yeah."

I need more than a one word answer.
"What’s your major?"

"Economics."

He takes a step away.

"Wait." It comes out
before I think.

He stops.

I had nothing prepared to say.
Summoning all my courage, I lick my lips. I step forward and clasp his hand. "Uh…do
you want to kiss?"

I can’t believe I did that.

He grins. Then he backs me against
the wall on the stair landing. He’s still holding the beer. But with his other
hand he braces his hand on the wallpaper and leans close to me. My legs are
turning to jello. Trey Madison’s mouth is almost touching mine. This is my
fantasy position from seventh and eighth grades. I would close my eyes in math
class and imagine I had the desk beside Trey’s, and he would lean over to ask
me a question and our mouths would be almost touching. By the end of grade
eight, I began to fantasize about an actual kiss. I would dream that we got
overwhelmed with desire in the middle of math and he gave me this long,
sensual, open-mouthed kiss in front of everyone.

Almost every night for six years, I
dreamed of kissing Trey.

It could happen now.

All I have to do is go for it.

I tip my face up and go to kiss
him. Except he sways on his feet just as I lift on my toes. He moves a couple
of inches to the left and I hit my teeth against his. I purse my lips and try
to find his mouth. He’s moving unsteadily, which makes it hard to keep our
mouths connected. I try to put my arm around his neck and accidently hit him.

Desperate, I put my hands to his
jaw so I can keep him steady. Now I can kiss him. I soften my lips, open my
mouth, and try to use my tongue to tease his.

Trey tastes of alcohol and smoke
and I thought that combination would prove to be a lot sexier than it is.
Actually, it’s fairly disgusting.

I keep trying, hoping it’s going to
get better.

But he pulls back and straightens. "Thanks,
Kelly. See you around."

He’s goes up the steps, moving away
from me.

"It’s Claire," I call
after him.

"Yeah. See you later, Claire."

Gripping the banister, he hauls
upstairs. I don’t follow him.

My kiss has scared him away. He’s
drunk. But even blotto, he is not interested. I screwed up the kiss I always
dreamed of having.

He’s gone and my whole fantasy has
evaporated like smoke. Why couldn’t I do it? He didn’t know anything about
me—didn’t remember I was geeky in high school.

Maybe I could have seduced him if I
knew what to do.

He did say, "See you later."
He didn’t say that he never wanted to set eyes on me again. Maybe, if I could
learn how to be seductive and enticing—learn how to kiss properly—I could have
Trey.

Just
like I dreamed.

* * *

At lunch on Monday, in the
residence cafeteria, I am brooding over my vegetarian pizza slice.

Logic tells me that if a guy likes
me, he’s going to enjoy how I kiss. And he should be patient enough to teach me
if he wants something different.

After all, would I kick a guy I
liked to the curb if he didn’t please me in bed? I assume—if I were ever in the
situation—I would see sex as something to work on together. If I like him, I’m
going to want to make love to him over and over, until we get it right.

I’m so frustrated that when my
roommate, Abby, asks me what’s wrong, I actually say, "Do you think it’s
possible to pay someone to teach you how to kiss and please a guy?"

There’s silence and she looks at me
over the rim of her coffee mug. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry. It’s nothing." At
least she and I are eating alone, and I haven’t embarrassed myself in front of
more people.

Abby looks sympathetic. "Did
someone dump you?"

"No, no one dumped me because
I’m not dating anyone." I sigh. I suppose I’ve dug enough of a hole that I
have to deal with it. I have to explain what I meant. "At the frat party
last night, I saw the guy of my dreams from high school. The guy I’ve adored
from afar since Grade Seven. He was drunk and I kissed him on the stairs."
I put my hand over my mouth. "It sounds terrible when I say it that way.
He was consenting. It wasn’t like he was passed out and I took advantage and
planted one on him."

Abby smiled. "I didn’t think
so. So who is this guy?"

 "Just a guy." I don’t
want to admit who, in case Abby knows Trey and laughs at me. I admitted to a
crush once in my life, in high school, and the amount of teasing I received was
mortifying.

"Claire, why would you want to
pay someone to kiss you?"

I blush. "I don’t have a lot
of kissing experience, and he didn’t seem too impressed."

"He was drunk. Probably his
main worry was staying conscious. Sadly, given how drunk most of the guys are
at frat parties, he probably doesn’t even remember you kissing him," Abby
points out.

That actually cheers me up. I would
love it if he didn’t remember. "I just wish I could learn how to be good
at things like that."

"You know, I really doubt
you’d have to pay a guy here to get him to kiss you."

I sip my coffee. "A business
arrangement would be easier."

Abby laughs at that and coffee
spurts onto the table. She mops it up quickly with a napkin. Abby is incredibly
pretty. Her hair is straight and fans over her shoulders in blue-black perfection.
She is half-Japanese and half-British, though she moved to the States at age
three.

Then Abby stops, holding a dripping
napkin over the table. She stares straight ahead, over my shoulder. Curious, I
turn around.

And see six-feet-four inches of
black leather.

No, that’s not accurate. The guy is
six-four, and the leather stops at the collar of his jacket. He’s wearing the
kind of leather pants you wear on a motorcycle, along with a black jacket with
heavy silver buckles. He carries his tray in his right hand and a helmet under
his left arm.

"How about Sawyer?" Abby
asks.

"Sawyer?" I don’t know
anyone by that name.

"Him." She nods toward
the tall, broad-shouldered guy in leather. "That’s Sawyer Tremaine."

I can’t help but stare. His legs
are the longest I’ve ever seen. His hair is golden blond. His eyes are violet—I
can see that even from our table, that’s how brilliant they are. Stubble covers
his sexy jaw and cheeks, below the well-defined cheekbones.

I thought Trey was gorgeous. This
guy cannot be real.

I swallow hard. "You mean, go
up to him and ask him to kiss me for money?" I know I’m pure red with
embarrassment. "I was thinking hypothetically. Like if there was an app
and I could upload my credit card number and have a guy delivered for kissing
lessons. I am not going to go up to
him
and offer payment, Abby."