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  “That’s it, little one,” he said softly. “Close your eyes and sleep.”

  He watched as the covers rose and fell with her breathing. When they’d first met, Sage had slept in a bra, tank top, and boy shorts. That pencil pusher who occasionally shared her bed hadn’t been much on romance and had the stamina of a weakened old man on his death bed. One and done Derek, he called him. He’d barely play with Sage before rolling on top of her or letting her get on top. A couple of thrusts and Derek would come, pulling out and snoring shortly thereafter. Sage only managed to achieve a climax when she took charge and was on top or when she finished herself.

  If and when, no… when, he admonished himself, when he managed to break out, she wouldn’t be allowed to wear anything in bed. She would be available to him so he could pull her underneath him anytime he woke and wanted her. He would also forbid her from trying to pleasure herself. He would be in charge of all things sexual, and she would never be allowed on top. Sage had a bad habit, if given the slightest bit of rein, of taking the bit in her teeth and running. No, better to never allow her any sexual position, which in any way, shape, or form, allowed her to forget who was doing the fucking and who was being fucked.

  He loved the way the bed covering outlined and emphasized her shape. Sage was not petite. She was tall with an hour-glass figure. She had hips a man could hold on to when he fucked her, and her ass was a thing of perfection. She was, quite simply, the sexiest woman he’d ever seen or that she’d ever created with her writing. He couldn’t understand why all the women in her novels were skinny brats. No doubt that was the reason Roark didn’t stay with them.

  He pushed on the veil between them and felt it give way. She was exhausted, which meant he could get to her. He knew it might only be for a very little while, so he meant to make the most of it. Someday, he would break free forever and spend time with her outside of their bed, but for now, he’d take care of her the best way he knew how.

  He smiled when he thought of it. On the online applications for the clubs she frequented, Sage identified as a submissive, and she was, but she wasn’t ready to admit that out loud to anyone… including herself. She would try to top from the bottom and would end up face down over his knee, getting her bottom spanked bright red for her trouble. They would spend their lives in an eternal dance for power… one they would both enjoy.

  Roark was free. He was naked and hard as he crawled into bed with her. She was lying on her side, hugging a body pillow. Sometimes, depending on her need, he would spoon her and allow her to sleep in his arms, although his cock never agreed with that decision. It wanted to be in her at all times—her mouth, her ass, but mostly her cunt. She had the sweetest pussy. It produced copious amounts of honey for him to make a meal out of and allowed his cock to breach her easily, sliding in and out smoothly.

  Tonight was not a night for cuddling. Tonight, she needed to be fucked, and he needed to fuck her… desperately. He loosened her hold on the pillow and pushed it onto the floor as he tipped her onto her back. Her thighs parted in invitation without his having to do anything. She needed him, and her body instinctively knew he was there to take care of her. Splayed on her back like the proverbial sacrificial virgin, she was ripe and ready for his use. Inhaling deeply, he smiled. She was deeply aroused, which made sense since she’d written several sex scenes, although she hadn’t completed them. His cock was aching with need.

  He rolled over her, parting her legs and hooking her knees over his elbows. Lifting her hips, he exposed the beautiful, shaved petals of her sex, glistening with her arousal. He ran his tongue over his lips. If she’d finished any of those damn scenes, he might have taken the time to make her come from his tongue before fucking her, but he needed to be inside her. He swirled his cock in her juices to ensure he was well lubricated before slowly, relentlessly, pressing the head of his cock past her entrance into the deepest part of her core.

  God, it was all he could do not to come like a first-time schoolboy in short pants. Her pussy was hot and tight as it surrounded his cock, pulsing in harmonic rhythm to the throbbing of his dick. Moaning, she shook her head and writhed as he sank his shaft into her wet heat, pushing forward until he was completely enveloped in her. She moaned again, and he could feel it in his balls. He reveled in the feel of her as he closed his eyes.

  He dragged his cock back, her cunt sucking at him, trying to keep him inside. He surged forward with strength and speed. There were times he could hold out, fucking her for hours, but tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He hammered her, raw and ferocious in his need. Her hips undulated in his hands as he held her steady. Nothing had ever felt as good as fucking Sage. Nothing.

  He changed the angle of his thrusting so he caught her clit every time he surged forward. Sage cried out as she came, but he held back, wanting to give her at least two orgasms before spending himself in her. He pounded her pussy, grinning as her body stiffened in anticipation of being pushed over the edge into another climax. Her eyes flew open as she came hard a second time, her pussy clamping down on him.

  Again and again, he drove into her, hitting the end of her sheath with each thrust. His nerves fired all along his spine as his semen rushed up from his balls and down the length of his cock, spilling into her with the force of a fire hose. He pulled her hard against him, holding her tight as he ground himself against her. Her pussy spasmed, milking his cock for every drop of his seed.

  Sage reached for him, and he felt the connection between them vanish in an instant. Once again, he was trapped, naked and alone.

  The next morning, Sage woke, feeling for him beside her but finding nothing. Her phantom lover always left her inordinately satisfied and happy, but with a tinge of bitterness that he wasn’t real, and worse than that, she couldn’t even conjure him up in her fantasies or dreams. He came to her unbidden when she needed him most or when she was at her most relaxed. They were strange dreams. She could hear the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, hear the sounds of his grunts and groans as he thrust his hard cock into her over and over, and her own moans… but never had a word passed between them, and she couldn’t see his face.

  She stepped into the shower, getting out just as her breakfast arrived. The waiter entered and set up her breakfast.

  “Good morning, Ms. Matthews. I have your breakfast, messages, and mail. Felix…”

  “Who’s Felix?”

  “The head concierge…”

  Sage hid her look of shock. The last time she’d checked with the Savoy, the head concierge’s name was Richard, who had been with them for years. Felix was the head concierge in the Roark Samuels’ novels. Roark lived at the Savoy.

  “He had them countermand your publisher’s order and sent one of our specialties. Our Arnold Bennett Omelet, as well as the lemon ricotta pancakes, which are extraordinarily delicious, and hash browns with a rasher of bacon, along with a large, freshly squeezed orange juice and Irish breakfast tea.”

  “That sounds amazing. Way too much and far too many calories, but I’ll stab you with a fork if you try to take any of it. I usually don’t want much, but this morning, I’m famished.”

  “Very good, Miss.”

  Sage rifled through her messages as she ate. When she’d finished, she went through her mail, leaving the manilla envelope, with only her name and room number, printed by hand, for last.

  “Hmm,” she said, downing the last of the juice.

  She slid the knife under the flap, opening it, and pulled out the thick paper—blank on one side. Sage turned it over and inhaled sharply. The other side was the cover of her yet to be released Roark Samuels’ novel. She had revealed it on her private reader page, to the PR firm, and in her newsletter. The picture had been manipulated so her heroine had a gaping slash across her throat, and the hero was holding a bloody knife.

  Sage put the picture down on the bed and called down to the front desk, asking them to send someone from security up to her room, then placed a call to Gail.

  “Please don�
�t tell me the driver didn’t show up,” she said.

  “No, Gail. The front desk sent up messages and mail with my breakfast. Someone took the cover for Stack of Corpses and manipulated it…”

  “Manipulated it how?”

  “Put a bloody knife in Roark’s hand and made it look like he slit the heroine’s throat.”

  “I’m on my way…”

  “No. You handle everyone on that end. Give them my apologies and let the event organizer know what’s going on. I’ve asked the desk to send up someone from security. As soon as they’re done with me, I’ll head to you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

  “I am, but thanks, Gail. Someone’s at the door…”

  “Make sure you check their ID. Call me before you leave.”

  Gail could be a real pain in the ass, but she did care, and for all her meddling ways, she always made sure Sage was taken care of.

  The knock on the door sounded again. She put the night latch on and opened the door a crack.

  “Can I see your ID, please?”

  “Of course, Ms. Matthews,” said a gruff voice as he slipped his hotel security identification through the opening. “I’m Gabriel Waverly—Gabe—Head of Security here at the Savoy. I have Felix, the head concierge, with me. May we come in? The front desk said you asked for me.”

  Shutting the door and releasing the night latch, she opened the door, inviting them in. Sage was faced with her second shock of the morning. Felix, the head concierge, stared back at her. A part of her had expected him to look like the character she had described in the book, often being mistaken for Hercule Poirot, but he looked nothing like that. This Felix was a tall man, sleek, lean, but powerfully built, with a small, vertical scar by his left eye, deep brown eyes, sensual mouth, and chestnut brown hair—a far cry from a short, round man with an egg-shaped head and cat-green eyes.

  “My dear Ms. Matthews, you look as though someone walked over your grave,” Felix said, reaching out for her and leading her to one of the armchairs.

  The Roark she had described in her novels was a muscle-bound hunk and contrasted with the soft, round Felix. But here in the real world there was a grace and power to Felix she could feel through his impeccably tailored suit.

  “You’re Felix.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sage reached out and touched his face to assure herself he was real. “Would you like me to call a doctor?”

  Sage shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her brain.

  “On the bed. It came up with my breakfast… which was delicious. Thank you, Felix.”

  The Savoy’s head of security—a tall man, heavily muscled with the air of someone who could handle himself and any situation that came at him—move toward the bed. He had shortish blond hair he wore slicked back and icy blue eyes, which somehow seemed warm, set in a face that seemed sculpted from stone.

  “I take it the knife and the slashed throat were not part of your original cover art?” Gabe asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  “I can see why you would find this disturbing. Is this the first time you’ve received something like this?”

  “No, back in the States, I have a stalker. It seems he or she has followed me across the Pond.”

  “How perfectly dreadful for you,” Felix sympathized.

  “It came in this envelope?” Gabe asked.

  Sage nodded again. “You look worried, Mr. Waverly.”

  “Gabe, please. I am. Someone following you across the Atlantic to London isn’t a fly-by-night, run-of-the-mill stalker. I’d like to get Scotland Yard involved. Felix and I were part of a Special Ops unit and have a friend there. I’ll call him unofficially.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In the meantime. I’d like to run a check on your driver before you get in a car with him. I assume you’re still going to attend the tour event. I’d prefer to take you in my car and give the Four Seasons…”

  “How do you know my event is at the Four Seasons?” she asked, beginning to be a bit unnerved by the events of the morning.

  “Your publisher, Ms. Vincent, gave Felix a copy of your itinerary and schedule, which Felix gave to his staff and mine. We pride ourselves on the care we give our guests here at the Savoy—especially those with a high profile, who got waylaid by the paparazzi when she arrived at the airport.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re just trying to take care of me, and I’m not being overly helpful,” Sage said.

  “Gabe and I understand,” Felix said, standing. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “None whatsoever,” Gabe added. “When you’re ready to come back, I’ll have the Four Seasons call me and I’ll come get you.”

  “Thank you. I would appreciate that. If you give me half an hour, I’ll be ready.”

  “I’ll be downstairs.” Sage watched Felix exit her room and start down the hall. “Gabe?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “How long has Felix been with the Savoy?”

  “Quite some time. He’s been here longer than I have. Is there a problem? I can assure you he would never have anything to do with something like this.”

  “Okay, thank you. I’ll be down as quick as I can.”

  “You take all the time you need.” Gabe smiled at her. “I’m at your disposal. I give you my word, you’re safe here at the Savoy. Put the night latch on when I leave. Would you prefer I wait for you?”

  “Thank you, Gabe. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  She closed the door and leaned back against it. Shaking off the feeling of unease, Sage put on her makeup, fixed her hair, and got dressed, then looked at the manuscript on her computer screen. Sitting down in the chair, she used the search feature to look for ‘Felix.’ The program came up with nothing. She was beginning to feel as though she’d fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole.

  Chapter 4

  Sage met Gabe in the lobby and allowed him to escort her out the rear exit, where he had a car waiting. Pulling into the Four Seasons private entrance and parking the SUV, he escorted her to the ballroom, where she was taking part in a panel discussion.

  “I’ll give the Four Seasons personnel a heads-up, but I would appreciate if you didn’t leave the hotel until I come for you. Stay in the area assigned to your event or in the lobby. Try not to go anywhere alone.”

  “Gabe, you’re starting to scare me,” Sage said, only half-joking.

  “If I’m only starting, either I’m not doing my job, or you aren’t paying attention. My friend at Scotland Yard wants to stop by in the morning if that would work for you.”

  “I can’t believe Scotland Yard is getting involved.”

  “It’s unofficial at this point.” Gabe flashed a smile that would melt the panties off most women. “Felix said Management at the Savoy is hoping to interest you in extending your stay and participating in the Writer in Residence Program.”

  “Me?” Sage laughed, inordinately pleased. “They do know what kind of novels I write, don’t they?”

  “They do. You know what they say, no publicity is bad publicity. Besides, your books are very popular, not only with our staff but with our guests as well. Felix tells me we can’t keep your paperbacks in stock, and folks come in all the time, wanting to see the place Roark lives, eats, swims, and… how do I put this…”

  “Fucks a lot of women?”

  Gabe laughed. “Yes, ma’am. I understand one of the elevators is quite popular with your fans.”

  “Thanks again, Gabe.”

  “You’re most welcome, Ms. Matthews.”

  “Gabe?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Sage, please.”

  “Sage it is. Have a good day and keep your eyes open. If you see anything suspicious or anyone makes you nervous, you head to the front desk or ask for security. Can I see your mobile?” Sage handed him her phone, and he punched in a series of numbers. “My contact info is in there, and I put myself as number five on your speed dial… dead center on your keypad. I
keep my phone within reach at all times.”

  “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

  “I’d rather you bother me a hundred times than fail to reach out when you’re uncomfortable.”

  “Thank you again, Gabe.”

  Gail breezed out of the ballroom. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Gail Vincent? This is Gabe Waverly, the Head of Security at the Savoy. He brought me over here and is going to pick me up at the end of the day.”

  “Thank you for taking care of my girl,” Gail purred.

  “Not a problem, Ms. Vincent. Sage, you remember what I said.”

  “Sage, darling, are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “Absolutely,” Sage replied brightly. “You know me… nothing lifts my spirits or makes me feel better than hanging out with my readers.”

  “That’s my girl. They rearranged the panel discussion so the one that was to follow goes first. Everyone is very concerned about you.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s go. I’ll see you this evening, Gabe.”

  The panel discussion was engaging, and not one question was asked about her stalker. She found herself forgetting about the mutilated cover during the various event sessions.

  That evening, Gabe picked her up and escorted her and Gail, who had insisted on coming back to the Savoy with her, back to the hotel and her room.

  “Felix took the liberty of ordering dinner for you, Sage. If you like, Ms. Vincent, I can have them bring something for you as well.”

  “Thank you. Did you like the Caesar Salad, Sage?”

  “I wasn’t in the mood for a salad. I had the Shepherd’s Pie, and it was excellent.”

  “Well, I hope they ordered you a salad of some kind for tonight. Sage, dear, you have to watch your weight. I’ll have the Caprese Salad,” Gail said dismissively.

  “Gabe?” Sage asked hopefully.

  “No, ma’am. The rib-eye steak, medium rare,” he said with a wink.

  “You tell Felix he’s a good man.”

  Gail looked at her askance. “Who is this Felix?”