The Beauty (MF)

Song of the Sirens 3

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 59,282
9 Ratings (4.2)

[Siren Classic: Erotic Romantic Suspense]

Alba Morel embarked on a career many would consider dangerous, even deadly. Her sisters have found love and happy-ever-after, but Alba knows that will never be for her. She’d already met the man of her dreams more than three years ago, and he left her without a backward glance.

Now she’s on the run, the unwitting scapegoat for an unscrupulous traitor. The last thing she expects is to be kidnapped by Patrick Jamieson, the man she never stopped loving and who, it turns out, isn’t simply the writer of fiction he portrayed himself to be.

Patrick is devastated to discover the woman he fell in love with is an assassin. Patrick devises a plan to uncover all Alba’s secrets. But things just aren’t adding up, and one thing defies logic: If this is the woman who murdered his best friend, how can he still be in love with her?

A Siren Erotic Romance

The Beauty (MF)
9 Ratings (4.2)

The Beauty (MF)

Song of the Sirens 3

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 59,282
9 Ratings (4.2)
In Wish List
Available formats
Cover Art by Jinger Heaston
Professional Reviews



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Having lived a solitary life, Alba had never experienced having two big, strong men surround her in cotton batting to keep her safe from harm.

She wasn’t enjoying it now that she was experiencing it, either. A woman used to doing for herself, to fighting her own battles, she found the inactivity unacceptable.

She’d worked for nearly a decade in a profession that drove some insane, and others to drink. She, however, maintained a healthy lifestyle, healthy relationships—well, except for that whole not-getting-over-Patrick thing—and a healthy balance of idealism and cynicism.

The fault for her current possession of bodyguards could be blamed on her genes, of course. Blessed with a slight frame and elfin-like features, she appeared harmless, bordering on helpless. How ironic the same visage that allowed her to go nearly anywhere at any time unchallenged should work against her now.

Her sisters had been no help in this regard. They, who knew her strengths and talents, stood behind their husbands’ protection scheme one hundred percent. Unfortunately, Alba needed to meet with one of her contacts. He might be able to get information for her, possibly the evidence that would prove her boss a traitor. But the man, very skittish by nature and one to skirt somewhat under the law at times, would suspect a trap if she showed up with either of her brothers-in-law in tow. Even if Dylan and Nick would listen to reason and allowed her to go on her own, they’d have her followed—and her contact would sure as breathing spot the tail.

So Alba arranged for the meeting without telling anyone.

She checked her watch. It was three a.m., the perfect time for skullduggery. She figured she’d be gone and back before her overprotective family became any the wiser.

She pulled her black t-shirt over her head and paused to glance at her reflection in the mirror. Light from the street cast her room in slight illumination, twinkling off the diamond studs in her ears.

She reached a hand up to remove them, then paused. These weren’t as eye-catching as the dangling ones Nick gave her in New York—but as tracking devices they would be just as powerful. She knew this part of the city, knew where she needed to go, and hadn’t been in England long enough for anyone to have tracked her here yet. So there really was no reason to leave them in.

But there was no reason to take them out, either. Besides, on the off chance her family did become aware of this little nighttime adventure, she could point to the earrings as being her lifeline.

She put her right leg on the settee in front of the vanity, and pulled up the leg of her jeans. She’d set her ankle holster out and made quick work now of securing it. This piece of equipment she referred to as her clutch piece. The Kel-Tec P32 fit into the holster easily. The weapon, about the size of a dollar bill, carried an eight shot magazine, .32ACP caliber, and in her hands, was deadly.

Her contact could be considered reliable, but not necessarily trustworthy.

She brought her leg down and shook it slightly, inspecting it to ensure no sign of the weapon could be seen.

Now all she had to do was get out of the house without being detected.

It took her a few more moments to disable the alarm system than she’d anticipated. Nicholas had fitted a nifty little backup device to it that certainly won her admiration.

No wonder his business continued to expand by leaps and bounds.

In a matter of minutes she’d slipped through the house and opened one of the kitchen windows without alerting anyone.

A medium-sized shrub grew just under and to the left of the window and she climbed through the opening and then slid down behind the shrub easily. Once on the ground, she scanned the area.

Two guards patrolled at the back of the house, and only one, she knew, in front. The fence between the Pierce’s house and the one next door had obviously been erected for decorative rather than security purposes. She waited until the guard in the rear and closest to her turned his head away. Her movements quick and lithe, she slid from behind the bush to the fence and was over it in seconds.

No guards watched this neighbor’s yard, but still she climbed a second fence, putting her two doors down from her brother-in-law’s house.

She pulled a watch cap out of her back pocket, slipped it on, then straightened. Taking on the bearing of a teenager with attitude she made her way around the house and out to the street. Alba never once looked toward Nicholas’ house, just reached the sidewalk, turned left and walked away.

She’d go two blocks, and then make a right, and she’d be in the busier neighborhood of Hyde Park. She hoped she didn’t have much trouble getting a cab this time of night, and shouldn’t because tourists flooded to this area. But she could always play tourist and have the concierge of one of the popular, nearby hotels call one for her, if necessary.

Of course, she’d rather not. The fewer people who saw her, the better. She checked her watch. Three twenty-four. Not bad.

“Going somewhere, darling?”

The voice blasted her with an echo from the past, set her senses reeling. Spinning around, she looked up into eyes that glittered bright blue in the face that haunted her dreams.


“I’m sorry, Alba. It’s for the best.”

Before his words fully registered, she felt the sting where his hand clapped her shoulder.

She pulled away from him, and stumbled. Understanding came instantly, surrounded by total disillusionment. She took one more step, faltered, and knew she’d have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.

“Don’t fight it. It will only hurt more if you do.”

His whispered words comforted her, but she knew that comfort to be a lie. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. For one instant she felt the oddly secure sensation of being lifted into Patrick Jamieson’s strong arms.

Then a loud buzzing swamped her brain and the lights went out.





The dream came again, sultry, sexy, taking over her body. Taking over her.

“Do you know what I want to do right now?”

The provocative question vibrated against the skin of Alba Morel’s neck. Patrick’s voracious lips and his smooth tenor wrapped in a sexy British accent coated her skin, tingling her nerve endings and shivering her belly. The sensitive flesh between her thighs moistened, and she clenched her inner muscles to hold the delicious arousal close.

“I have no idea. What do you want to do right now?”

They were alone on the yacht, a ship Patrick had rented for the duration of his vacation on Santa Maria, a small island in the Caribbean. They’d met by chance at a local market, two people from different sides of the Atlantic, vacationing on the same tropical paradise. They’d only been together for two weeks, but already Alba knew he was the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.

The boat swayed with the gentle rhythm of the ocean, the breeze light and refreshing. Alba used the fingers of her right hand to comb through her long black hair, pushing it back from her face. Her left hand was braced against the rail of the boat. Patrick put his arm around her, so she wasn’t at all concerned for her safety. His intense blue eyes shimmered with heat, and she knew whatever he wanted to do would be torture of the most exquisite kind.

“Here, let me show you instead of telling you. That is, after all, the hallmark of a good writer.”

Alba chuckled as he gently turned her around and placed both her hands on the rail. He held his body flush against hers as he raised her skirt between them. Strong fingers caressed her bottom, latched on to the tiny scrap of lace she wore over her sex.

She gasped when he tore the insubstantial undergarment from her body.

The sensation of his hand working the snap and zipper of his shorts played out against her naked ass. Following the progress of his hand on its downward trek, she licked her lips in anticipation.

She waited for the motion of his putting on the condom, but he shocked her by thrusting hard and deep into her.


“Darling, I’ve been hard since you came on board my boat. I put the rubber on a few minutes ago, below deck. Now, step back from the rail, spread your legs, bend over and let me just take you.”

She could do nothing else. The power of his thrusts, the incredible hunger of her body for his overwhelmed her. She’d never thought to be so free, so wanton, as she had been with Patrick Jamieson. She never believed she could be that way with any man.

“Your ass is scrumptious, so white and firm. Do you want to experiment, darling? There are so many things I would love to try with you.” She felt him lean closer, change the angle of his thrusts. Sharper, deeper, Alba felt completely full, completely dominated. His tongue tasted her ear. Then he whispered, “I would like to spank you. Will you let me do that one day?”

Oh, God.”

She would have sworn that the sound of a masculine chuckle, so smug and arrogant would have turned her off. Instead, she wanted only to submit to whatever he wanted to do to her.

“Come on my cock, baby. Come on me so I can drive you up again.”

Alba flew apart, the orgasm tearing through her, wave after delicious wave of rapture flooding her body, mind and soul. Nothing existed, nothing mattered but the explosive sizzle centered where his hard latex-covered cock slid and slammed inside her hot wet sheath. The head of his penis stroked her G spot and Alba wondered if this climax would kill her.

The rapture ebbed, and Patrick slowed his thrusts, giving her time to catch her breath. Firm, knowledgeable hands caressed her bottom, stroked up her back, pushing both skirt and shirt out of the way so they could touch naked flesh. Fingers snaked around until he palmed her breasts. Her nipples, rock hard with the last vestiges of climax, soaked up the attention, telling her pussy to get ready for more.

Alba wasn’t without her own moves.

Relaxing against the rail, she clenched the muscles of her perineum, a long slow embrace. Patrick hissed as he inhaled, and she felt his cock swell even more.

“Come with me this time,” she invited, then clenching and releasing inwardly, moved her hips back a fraction, tilting her pelvis, taking him deeper.

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