Sinful Rewards 2: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella

By Cynthia Sax

Belinda "Bee" Carter isn't quite sure what she's gotten herself into. She's been receiving mysterious messages from a secret admirer who is sending her more and more erotic dares. Each time she fulfills his desires, she gets rewarded. She's convinced that her mystery texter is one of two super-hot men—Nicolas, the handsome billionaire, or Hawke, the sexy biker—but she can't tell which one it is. And she's coming to realize that beneath her peaches-and-cream exterior beats a heart that longs to play out all of her most secret fantasies.

As the stakes are raised again, will Bee succumb to the sensual allure of this latest dare?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Aug 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9780062354129

Cynthia Sax

Cynthia Sax lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever. Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.

Book preview

Chapter One

GOOD GIRLS EARN rewards.

That’s what Friendly, my mysterious texter, vowed last night, and he certainly delivered on his promise. I kneel on the hardwood floor, cradling the purse of my dreams in my lap, unable to believe it belongs to me. To me, Belinda Carter, daughter of a minimum-wage-earning waitress, product of a one-night stand, rider of public buses, and unfortunate wearer of designer knockoffs.

Thank God, Cyndi, my crazy roommate and best friend in the whole wide world, knocked down my curtains. If she hadn’t gotten drunk out of her mind and ripped the curtain rod off the brackets, I wouldn’t have been rewarded, wouldn’t have been sent this beautiful Salvatore Ferragamo purse, and that would have been a tragedy. I stroke the red leather, petting it as I would a cat.

A gorgeous limited-edition designer cat. I lower my face and inhale, breathing in the delicious new-purse scent. Nicolas Rainer must be Friendly, my texter. Who else, other than a billionaire, could afford to send a near stranger such a costly piece of functional art?

Is Nicolas thinking of me, replaying scenes from this morning in his mind, savoring every forbidden moment? I stood in front of the window, my body illuminated by the bright sun. My threadbare camisole and worn-thin boy shorts must have appeared almost transparent.

My billionaire would have seen how the cool condo air tightened my pink nipples, noted how the cotton of my top clung to the gentle curves of my breasts, discerned the outline of my skimpy G-string panties under my boy shorts, the delicate fabric barely covering my mons.

Nicolas wasn’t my sole voyeur. Hawke, my tattooed bad boy, had his binoculars trained on me, brazenly watching me, wanting me, perusing every inch of my slender form with a pussy-moistening thoroughness. I shiver with delight, aroused by this memory.

My military man told me yesterday that I made him hard. His finely honed muscles rippled for me. I owned the bead of precum glistening on the tip of his long, thick cock. It was all mine.

I drag my fingertips back and forth, back and forth, over my purse, imagining the red leather is his flat stomach, defined abs. It should be Nicolas’s body I’m envisioning, but I’ve never seen my billionaire without clothing.

He doesn’t strut around his balcony nude as Hawke does, the sun’s rays stroking his shoulders, deepening his tan, inked wings stretching across his collarbone, letters etched over his left pec, a barbed wire tattooed around his bulging right bicep. I nuzzle my chin into my purse as I wish to burrow my cold nose into Hawke’s warm chest, inhaling his unique scent, licking the salt off his skin.

Can I touch it now? Cyndi asks, her bubbly voice interrupting my erotic reverie, the feminine tones out of place in my male-dominated daydream.

I blink at her, confused, my brain foggy with lust. What?

I’d forgotten she was in the room, forgotten I hadn’t been alone. My cheeks heat. Had she read my perverted thoughts, seen my sexual yearnings displayed on my face?

Is that a yes? Cyndi’s lush body vibrates with excitement, her generous breasts jiggling. I can touch your purse?

The purse. Right, the purse. The last lingering images of a certain tattooed biker dissipate. No. I hunch over my reward, protecting it from my hyperactive friend. She’s wealthy. She doesn’t understand how precious this gift is. I shouldn’t even touch it.

Of course, you should touch it. Cyndi pads across the living-kitchen-everything-else room, her bare feet smacking against the hardwood floor, her toenails painted bright yellow.

The white fluffy bath towel she’s wearing barely covers her overflowing curves. My best friend is beautiful and stacked, yet both Nicolas and Hawke prefer to watch me. My spine straightens, fused by newfound confidence.

Your secret admirer sent the purse to you. Cyndi grabs the toasted bagel topped with strawberries and cream cheese and takes a big bite out of the breakfast I prepared for her. It’s yours to use, silly.

Is it truly mine? I hold the purse to my chest, hugging it gingerly, not wishing to crush the form or wrinkle the leather. I don’t want to go to work, I confess, an embarrassing whine edging my voice. I want to spend the day with my purse.

Then take the purse to work. What’s the big deal? Cyndi rolls her big green eyes. Vibrant hues surround her. She lounges over the red countertop, her blonde curls bouncing against her face, her bare ass in the air. The blue enamel appliances behind her are customized for the small kitchen. The entire condo is decorated in bright primary colors, the childlike shades appropriate for my friend, the heir to a candy company.

I can’t take my purse to work. Though I want to, desperately, the thought of physically parting with my reward is painful. It’ll get dirty.

It’s a purse. It’s supposed to get dirty. Cyndi opens a drawer and rummages through the carefully organized contents. I cringe, forcing myself to remain still, to not right the chaos she’s creating.

Here. She balls up a plastic freezer bag and throws it at me, the clear material unfurling as it soars. Put your junk in this.

I scrunch the plastic bag in my hand, thinking of a certain unsuitable man and another type of junk. I shouldn’t.

If you don’t use the purse, I will. Cyndi meets my gaze, her eyes glittering with intent. I’ll take it to the factory with me and set it on one of the coloring station tables.

You wouldn’t. I gasp, outraged. The dyes from a coloring station table would soak into the red leather, damaging it, destroying it. I hug the purse closer to my chest.

I would. Cyndi juts her jaw, not backing down, my usually carefree friend appearing abnormally stubborn this morning. And I’ll choose the station for E133, berry blue.

Oh, God. Berry blue would stain my purse beyond repair. I study Cyndi, considering my next move. She might be bluffing, but I can’t risk it. My new purse is too precious, too gorgeous to endanger.

Okay, I’m taking it to work. I remove my ratty old purse, relieved not to have that eyesore hanging across my body. But if it gets dirty, I’m blaming you. I transfer my brush, makeup, wallet, and other essentials into the plastic bag and place that sealed bag carefully inside my new purse. It fits perfectly, the lines of the leather flawless.

It’s beautiful. I stand and pose with my feet braced apart, holding the purse in front of me, feeling as wonderful as my reward looks. Absolutely exquisite. I hang the fashion accessory on my right shoulder and pivot on my heels, mimicking the supermodels I’ve watched on TV. And it’s mine. I slide the handles into the crook of one elbow and grin at Cyndi, giddy with happiness.

It’s yours, you crazy girl. She grins back, nodding her approval. She doesn’t have to say anything more. I know I appear sophisticated. Any woman would with the Salvatore Ferragamo purse on her arm. Go to work.

Yes, work. My smile wavers. I’d planned to arrive at the office early. Now I’ll be there at my usual time. I’m going. I open the door, ready to take on the big, bad world.

Don’t forget to ask Rainer about getting us on the guest list, Cyndi reminds me. I don’t want to miss Cole again.

I won’t forget. If I forget, Cyndi will slice and dice me into itty-bitty pieces, toss my parts out of the window, make it rain Bee Carter.

My best friend is obsessed with Cole Travers, the movie star, and has her heart set on getting into R, the club he was spotted at last night. She feels persecuted because Nicolas refuses to put her name on the guest list and was hurt that I hadn’t already asked him.

I’ll ask Nicolas today when he gives me a ride home from work. Putting our names on a guest list won’t cost my enigmatic billionaire anything. Cyndi will be happy, our relationship will return to normal, and my already great day will become even greater.

I swagger out of the condo, putting an extra wiggle into my walk. The heels of my imitation Louboutins sink into the hallway’s lush carpet. Vanilla scents the air. Warm lights illuminate the beige walls. Luxury and wealth surround me.

And today, I fit in. I belong. I press the button for the elevator and admire my reflection in the silver metallic doors. My red leather purse pops against my charcoal gray sleeveless sheath dress. I should buy matching nail

Reviews for Sinful Rewards 2

[blsfan68 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Love these books. Cynthia leaves you wondering who is the mysterious man rewarding Bee, just as Bee herself is left wondering. I can't wait for the next installment to see what will happen next.