Cat Marsters
Mad, Bad Dangerous
To all at the Romantic Novelists Association, for actually believing I know what I’m talking about (even when I don’t). For the wine. For the shoe compliments. And for not thinking it’s weird to hear those voices in my head. I’m picking out shoes for next year’s conference already.
And to Lexxie Couper, for writing really kickass heroines and for loving this book even when it was about a snarky bitch and a feckless psychopath. Oh, wait…
Prologue
About twenty years ago
“Look,” said Chalia Vance, “just come and meet him. He’s your father. He’ll want to know you exist.”
Kett, who had spent most of her sixteen years with people who wished she didn’t exist, didn’t believe this for a second.
“If he wanted to know whether I existed or not,” she said, “he should have thought about it before he tumbled my mother.”
Chalia rolled her eyes. “Thinking ahead isn’t really his strong suit. I know he can be a bit of an arse. Nevertheless, he is your father. You…belong to each other. You even have his eyes,” she added, peering at Kett’s silvery irises.
“Well, then he can have ’em back,” Kett scowled.
“Just come and say hello,” said Chalia. “You don’t even need to tell him who you are.”
And yet…
She shrugged her shoulders and said carelessly to the older woman, “Okay, whatever.”
Chalia’s face lit up and she grabbed Kett’s hand, towing her forward. They approached the door of one of the palace’s many salons, and heard the voice of a man talking into his scryer.
“That’s him! That’s your father,” Chalia said, clutching Kett’s hand excitedly.
“Whoop-di-fucking-do,” said Kett with all the ennui she could muster. But inside, hope was beating an excited tattoo on her heart.
“Striker said he would call and tell him you were coming,” Chalia whispered. “We’ll just wait until they’ve…”
But her voice faded out as Kett tuned her keen hearing to the conversation. She recognized Striker’s voice filtered through the tinny quality of the scryer, which must mean her father was on the other side of the door. Her actual father.
“…don’t lay any claim to her, Striker.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Look,” said her father. “When women think I’m a highwayman or a mercenary or a fucking army deserter or whatever, all they want’s a quick tumble, and that’s fine by me, because you know what? As soon as they find out my daddy’s an earl and I’m actually the Honorable Tyrnan of Emreland, they suddenly discover all these poor relations who need sponsoring and you’d be amazed at how many of them suddenly come up with kids who just have to be mine. I’ve heard it all before, Striker. If a quarter of those women were telling the truth, I’d be setting some sort of paternal record. The kid is no more my daughter than you are.”
“Believe me, mate, she’s your kid,” said the tinny voice. “I’ve met her. She’s just like you.”
Tyrnan of Emreland laughed. “Then gods help her,” he said.
She felt it like a punch in the stomach.
Kett turned to the silent woman beside her. Chalia’s pretty face looked fixed and uncomfortable, but she attempted a smile.
“I’m sure-” she began, but Kett cut her off with a sneer that came far too easily.
“He’ll want to know I exist, huh?” she asked, and walked away, her footsteps getting faster as the tears began to flow.
Chapter One
About twenty years later
Kett’s rational brain knew there was no way in hell she was waking up chained to a naked hottie, hanging from the roof of a cave by her wrist. Her rational brain told her it must be a dream.
Her rational brain was usually wrong.
“Hey.” The hottie’s voice sounded very close to her ear. “Wake up.”
She decided not to. His body was all warm and hard. And naked. And hot. And naked. All in all, a pretty nice dream, apart from the screaming pain in her right arm. She’d have to work on getting rid of that.
“Wake up,” he insisted, his voice all warm and husky. Then he paused. “Are you even alive?”
“I’m asleep,” she mumbled, snuggling a little closer. The bedclothes were trapping her other arm behind her back. “G’way.”
“You know, I’d love to,” he said, his voice rough, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. “Sadly that’s not an option.” He moved, and there was a jangling sound.
Dread stole through Kett as her rational brain gave up the fight and the possibility occurred to her that she wasn’t actually dreaming at all. She peeled open one eye.
“Hi,” he said. He had green eyes and shaggy dark hair and he was still all warm and hard and naked.
“Mmm,” Kett sighed. And then she blushed. Which she hadn’t done since…ever.
He grinned, which made him a little more delicious. “Nice of you to join us.” His smile faded a little. “Are you all right?”
She took stock. The entire front of her body was pressed tight against his-shoulder to shoulder, breasts to chest, crotch to crotch. They were both completely naked. Even the feet that brushed against hers were bare.
Kett shifted against him, and it was an entirely pleasant thing to do.
A chain bound them together at the waist. Her right arm stretched way above her head, supporting her full weight from the chain that was suspended from the roof of what she suspected to be a cave. Her new friend’s arm was bound to hers, wrist to wrist, and while the chain that held their weight was of the heavy regular kind, the one that bound them together about their waists appeared to be silver.
There was a trickle of blood between their bound wrists.
Kett began to get a really bad feeling.
“Five by five,” she murmured, rattling the chains experimentally. Her left arm was twisted behind her back by the waist chain-not by bedclothes, dammit-and caught tight enough that she couldn’t move it. From the looks of her handsome although irritatingly calm friend, his was too.
