Tamara's Conquest

  Berkley Heat titles by Marissa Day

  The Seduction of Miranda Prosper

  The Surrender of Lady Jane

  Fascinated

  Tamara’s Conquest

  Marissa Day

  Heat Books, New York

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  TAMARA’S CONQUEST

  A Berkley Heat eSpecial / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2012 by Marissa Day.

  Excerpt from Fascinated by Marissa Day copyright © 2012 by Sarah Zettel.

  Excerpt from The Surrender of Lady Jane by Marissa Day copyright © by Sarah Zettel.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Heat eSpecial / February 2012

  ISBN: 978-1-101-54021-3

  Contents

  Also By Marissa Day

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Tamara’s Conquest

  Special Preview of Fascinated

  Special Excerpt from The Surrender of Lady Jane

  Tamara’s Conquest

  Brendan MachCaninch stood in the salsa club’s threshold. Patrons stepped around him, oblivious to his presence. The fairy glamour that rendered him invisible guided them away from him and allowed him to observe the woman his king had ordered him to seduce.

  Her name was Tamara Cohan. Unlike some of the women here who seemed to be survivors of some dread famine, she had a full, curvaceous figure. The neckline of her blouse plunged down to show luscious breasts. They would overflow his hands when he caressed them. Were her nipples large or small? She was fair-skinned; probably they were fresh and pink on those white breasts. He could already imagine what the texture of them would be when he rolled their tips between his fingers. What would that confident, freckled face look like lost in erotic abandon? Would her amber eyes darken when he sucked on her? Would she scream? She wore her straight, auburn hair long and loose. It would tumble about those breasts as she rode him, grasping him between the round thighs her slim black skirt accentuated so pleasantly . . .

  His cock pressed against his trouser buttons. The pain reminded Brendan that it was not only his king who had gone a long time without a woman.

  King Oberon’s silver eyes had glowed as they’d walked down the stone canyons of this new, soaring city. Now that there is peace between us and the Dark Court, Brendan, it is time we sampled the latest delights of the mortal world.

  By “delights,” His Majesty meant women. Much had changed while Oberon and his court had been occupied in their long war with the unseelie fae, the fabled Dark Court, but nothing had been as dramatic as the change to women. They dressed as men to work beside men. They displayed their long limbs and shapely breasts to the whole of the world, and still walked free and unmolested down the streets and made their own way in the world. It was mind-boggling.

  Brendan had to admit it excited him. He explored the streets unseen and eavesdropped on conversations to learn the rhythms of their language and glean from open minds the understanding he needed to pass as a modern man. What would it be like to talk with one of these women? To match wits with fire and passion that had never convoluted itself to manipulate a man without his knowledge?

  What would it be like to make love to a woman who had no feeling of shame for her body and her experience? Who might even freely relish the chance to please a man, and be pleased by him?

  His cock throbbed, informing him it was ready for the experiment.

  This final question had also greatly intrigued King Oberon. Yes, I think we must have one of these new women show us what their freedoms have taught them.

  But, of course, powerful king of the fae could not be expected to abduct his own courtesans. For six hundred years, Brendan had served Oberon. It amused him to send Brendan, a man who had been a king in his own country to seduce women.

  Brendan clenched his fist around the silver ring he wore on his right hand. He had made his bargain. It was too late to regret it now. It was no evil he did. This Tamara Cohan was clearly looking for something more than she had. He could feel her restless longing even through the fog of emotions that filled the club. She wanted more. That was what he came to bring her.

  This was Brendan’s usual rationale for these missions, but this time it didn’t soothe him. An ache settled in his gut, and Brendan suddenly felt painfully old. He shook his head. He had to move, to act. He couldn’t go backward. The only way open to him was forward.

  Toward Tamara.

  * * *

  Tamara, one day you’re going to go home with the wrong guy.

  Tamara sipped her seltzer and sighed. Her roommate, Allysa, had been in full flow tonight. She simply could not understand Tamara’s weekend cruises.

  Tamara liked men, and she liked sex. To get them, she had to go out and find them.

  She sat at her table in the back of Club Caliente. She preferred a table to the bar. If a guy did want to make an approach, it took a little more nerve and finesse than just “Is this seat taken?”

  Tamara took another swallow of seltzer. She did not drink when she was seriously cruising. It helped keep her nights out affordable, but more important, it kept her head clear when she was making her choice. It also disconcerted men who thought about taking that classic shortcut to getting laid. Contrary to Allysa’s belief, Tamara was careful, and made her choices thoughtfully.

  The salsa band was hot, and the dance floor was full. Tamara sighed. She loved to dance. The band finished their jazzed-up merengue to general applause and launched into a sexy tango. Tamara crossed her legs and let her gaze wander about the room. It was a good crowd with an easy vibe to it, but nothing she saw . . . intrigued her. Well, it was early and the music was good. She could just sit and unwind after a crazy week.
>
  A man’s silhouette descended the stairs. Tamara got a glimpse of fair hair, worn long and slicked back, and an impressive breadth of shoulder and chest.

  He paused in the arched doorway, and across the crowded dance floor, he looked directly at Tamara and smiled.

  She started. Then she smiled in answer, tilting her head. He was tall, over six feet, and built on a scale to match his height; broad, long-limbed and strong. His shirt was some dark material that shimmered in the club’s subdued lighting. Generous sleeves billowed loosely around his arms. His pants were tight, and even from this distance she could see they fit his narrow hips very nicely.

  For one of the few times in her life, Tamara felt fire spark at first sight. She rubbed her thighs together.

  He threaded his way confidently through the crowd without sparing a glance for the women at the bar who followed him with hungry eyes. Tamara settled back, not lowering her gaze. She was not afraid of a challenge or of directness. Let him look. She had, after all, dressed to be looked at tonight. Her electric blue poet’s shirt was silk, and so long she belted it at the waist over her black skirt that was slit up to her panty line. Like her man (whew, how had she come to think of him as her man? That was fast, even for her), she wore boots, but hers hugged her calves and were decorated with silver knot work.

  Another few steps and she could see that those eyes that watched her so enticingly were green and slanted beneath his wide forehead. His nose was strong and straight, and his full mouth smiled slightly as he reached the table. His shirt was plum silk. Her hands itched to run themselves up the fabric and discover the contours of his chest and arms.

  “Brendan McCaninch.” He held out his hand. His voice was deep and confidently masculine. Warmth pooled in Tamara’s center.

  “Tamara Cohan.” He did not hold her hand too long, or in an overly gentle touch that came across as limp. It was a nicely judged greeting. Another point in his favor. His palm was warm and dry, and slightly calloused. He worked with those hands.

  A musician? she wondered. He could be, in that outfit. Her eyes travelled up and down his form again.

  “Cohan?” he repeated her last name. “As in George M. Cohan, the old Broadway star?”

  “Very good.” She raised her glass. “Not many people know the name.”

  “I’m a theater buff.” He had a terrific smile. It lit his eyes in a way that made it very difficult to look away. “May I?” He gestured toward the empty chair.

  “Please.”

  He sat, and signaled the waitress. “Scotch for me, and Ms. Cohan will have . . .”

  “Seltzer and lime,” she said.

  He nodded and the waitress left. “Not here for the cocktails then?” Brendan’s voice had a lilt that Tamara recognized as a faded Irish accent.

  “No.” Tamara shook her head. “I never really got into the martini bar thing.”

  “For the music then?” He twisted toward the band, listening. It gave her a chance to study his profile. His high cheekbones emphasized those incredible green eyes. His lashes were astonishingly thick for a man, but the frame of his too-shaggy brows kept them from looking feminine. He was not young anymore. Pain and worry had etched faint lines around his expressive mouth and across his forehead. Curiosity sparked in Tamara. Something waited underneath that ready smile.

  The drinks came and Brendan sipped his scotch. “They are good.” He nodded toward the band.

  “Mmm, they are.” Tamara’s foot turned in restless circles as the warmth spread up from her toes. She liked the look of Brendan McCaninch. She liked the vibe he gave off. Maybe a little too much for her own good. Still, it was fun to feast her eyes on him, and feel desire spread through her. “And yes, they’re part of the reason I come here.”

  Brendan lifted his brows. “What’s the other part?”

  She smiled, giving him her best “mysterious woman” look. Brendan’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and she was willing to swear those eyes actually twinkled. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you might be looking for me?”

  Tamara’s foot clenched. Dear God. The man’s making my toes curl! She smiled over the rim of her glass. “Are you saying that this is some enchanted evening and I may have met a stranger across a crowded room?”

  He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that sent warm tingles down her spine. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Like what?”

  He pushed his chair back and stood, giving Tamara a fresh view of the hard-muscled body so nicely dressed in brushed silk and black denim. “Like a heterosexual, Caucasian man voluntarily asking a woman to dance.”

  Tamara laughed. “That’s only strange if he actually can dance.”

  Brendan held out his hand, his smile gone sly and sexy. “Care to find out, Tamara?”

  Tamara’s breath caught in her throat. He was so gorgeous, so masculine, and those eyes . . . She’d never seen eyes so bright a green. He didn’t look at her like he wanted to undress her. He looked at her like he already saw through her to the heat blossoming between her thighs. She laid her palm against his, and he closed his fingers around her hand, catching her up with his firm grip as he raised her to her feet. His hand was formed on the same scale as the rest of him. It absolutely engulfed hers, and she was anything but a delicate flower. She wondered what it would be like to be surrounded by his embrace, if his cock was as big, as fine to touch as his hand. A fresh burst of heat rushed through her. Brendan glanced at her in the same moment, and she blushed. She blushed! How was that possible? She hadn’t blushed in years. But this man with his amazing eyes, his so-pleasant touch could make her blush like a teenager.

  They reached the dance floor. Brendan lifted their clasped hands, and laid his free hand on her lower back. The band swung into a new number, and they began to dance. Brendan led with confidence, guiding her around the floor with signals that were subtle, but clear. He channeled the beat smoothly into the movement of his body. He didn’t strangle her, didn’t crowd her. He didn’t try fancy spins or dips. She could relax against his hands, and enjoy the melding of the music and the movement. Relaxation added a switch to her hips and a lightness to her step. When he wasn’t watching over her shoulder to keep them clear of the other couples, Brendan smiled down into her eyes. She couldn’t look away from him. His chest brushed up against her breasts, but irregularly. That random brush, the warmth of his hands, the enticing rhythm of their movement spun around inside of her, winding her tight. She wanted that lovely shirt gone, wanted to see him naked in front of her. Her step faltered.

  “Sorry,” murmured Brendan, squeezing her hand lightly to help bring her back into the dance’s rhythm.

  “No, my fault.” She took in a deep breath. Her nipples had bunched up under her bra, straining toward her partner to feel that next quick brush.

  Brendan glanced down quickly toward her cleavage, and up again to her eyes. His smile broadened. He knew what he was doing to her, and that knowledge made his eyes shine with a kind of cheerful greed. She might have resented it if another man looked at her like that, but from Brendan, it was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

  The set finished. Brendan released her to join the general applause. Tamara was out of breath. She wanted his hands holding her again. She wanted to feel them caressing her, wanted his kisses and the press of his body. She wanted to know if he was as hard as she was hot.

  He faced her again, his green eyes shining. Then, he leaned over and kissed her.

  This was no slight, introductory kiss. He kissed her wide open and deep. His tongue slid into her mouth between one breath and the next. Tamara stiffened, but only for a moment. She slipped her tongue along his, delighting in the tingling rush in her blood. His tongue swirled, exploring her unabashedly. His huge hands came up to cup her face and hold her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be. She wrapped her
arms around his shoulders, and they were as beautifully muscled as she had imagined they’d be. Her breasts pressed against him and seemed to swell from the strength of her longing.

  She finally had to pull away in order to breathe.

  “Are you hungry?” Brendan ran his thumb down her jawline.

  She shook her head.

  “Another drink?”

  Oh, that sexy smile, that delicious mouth. She wanted to wrap her legs around his tight ass. She wanted him to lay her down on the floor and fuck her until she stopped screaming. She shook her head again.

  He leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear. “Perhaps I should get us a cab.”

  * * *

  The cab dropped them in front of a stone building on the Upper West Side, a stately hold-over of the Gilded Age. As Brendan helped her out onto the sidewalk, she glanced from the building to him with raised brows and rubbed her fingers together, indicating serious cash in hand. He laughed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Not mine. There’s an apartment up top that belongs to my boss. He lets his people use it when they’re in town on business.”

  The doorman nodded as they passed the desk. The elevator door was open and waiting. Brendan swiped a key card and punched the button for the top floor. The doors closed, and he stood there, watching the number flicker across the strip along the top.

  Amused frustration quirked Tamara’s mouth up tightly. “You can kiss me if you want.”

  “No.” He didn’t take his eyes off the numbers.

  “Why not?”

  Then he did turn toward her, his gaze so intense she felt it rake down her as surely as if he’d caressed her with both hands.

  “I want you so badly, Tamara, that if I start now, I will not stop.”

  Tamara’s heart fluttered at the base of her throat. “Oh.”

  The elevator doors opened. Brendan bowed, gesturing for her to precede him. She did, but it was on slightly weakened ankles.