Forbidden Fruit 1 and 2 -The Forbidden Fruit Series Part 1 and Part 2: Forbidden Fruit

By Melanie Brooks

This book contanins two novellas of approximately 20,000 words each. 

Part One and Part Two of the Forbidden Fruit Series 

When young ambitious FBI agent Nikki Archer gets her first big break - a chance to hunt down the notorious New York gangsters Eduardo and Carlos Pesci - she expects danger. What she doesn't expect is to meet the most beautiful man she’s ever seen, wealthy sculptor Jon Selleck. 
After a night of incredible sex with Jon Nikki’s dream turns into a nightmare when she discovers that Jon has a dark secret. He is intimately involved with the New York criminal underworld. Despite her best efforts Nikki is drawn into Jon’s dark world. But if she wants to catch Eduardo and Carlos Pesci she will have to decide between her passion for Jon and her career. 
But Nikki also a secret. Since childhood she’s had an alter-ego, another personality that takes over her body. The doctors call it multiple personality disorder. All Nikki knows is that every so often she blacks out and wakes up days later with hazy memories of rampant sex and all night parties. Her other self it turns out has very different tastes to Nikki. She likes her sex rough. She likes to be dominated and she’s found the perfect man to do it. 


 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Brooks
• Release date: Mar 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507082133

Book preview

Chapter 1

Nikki

I was sitting in business class on the 0645 flight from New York to Hong Kong, kicking back with my eyes closed, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and the chatter of the stewardesses. I couldn’t believe my luck. After five years as an FBI agent I’d finally got assigned to a high-profile case. The Eduardo Pesci file. For ten years Eduardo and his brother Carlos had led New York’s most ruthless crime gang then five years ago they disappeared off the face of the Earth. Despite spending millions the FBI had never been able to find Eduardo or Carlos but now we had a lead in Hong Kong of all places, and I was part of the team assigned to follow it up. 

My station chief, Frank Stark, had called me into his office two weeks ago and said he needed my help. Frank had been wired with excitement at the thought of catching the Pescis but told me we didn’t have much time. Our source said Eduardo was planning revenge on the other crime families who’d taken over the New York crime scene after he and Carlos left. Frank didn’t know the details but he knew the deaths wouldn’t be limited to criminals. Eduardo had never cared about collateral damage so whatever he was planning would also mean scores of civilian deaths. And it was happening soon—in weeks. So if we were going to stop Eduardo we’d have to move fast.

He couldn’t tell me any more then but he’d said I shouldn’t feel nervous. I’d earned the right to be in on this.

I smiled, feeling proud and excited.

Damn right I had earned it. I’d worked my butt off on crappy low-level assignments for so long I’d forgotten why I joined the FBI. But it was for this. A chance to work on a real case that mattered. 

After our meeting Frank flew to Hong Kong. He said he’d send for me when the time was right. I’d asked him who else was involved. All he’d say was there’d be some familiar faces from our department there but he wouldn’t tell me who. 

Frank badly wanted to catch Eduardo. Back in the day he’d headed up the Pesci investigation. He’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars and staked his reputation on bringing them in but they disappeared before he could. Frank’s pride had been hit hard and it didn’t help that the day Eduardo disappeared he’d sent Frank a present. A five-tiered cake with Better Luck Next Time written in icing across the top.  Frank never recovered from the embarrassment; in fact he nearly quit the Bureau. And now that Eduardo was back I knew Frank would be desperate to catch him and prove the Pescis hadn’t beaten him.

I pulled my seat upright and drew the seat belt tight then glanced out of the window. My face was reflected back in the darkness outside. I started slightly, the way you do when you see yourself unexpectedly. I had a pretty face. Light blue eyes, good cheekbones, nice full lips and blond hair pulled back. And I had a good figure, slim but with bumps in all the right places. At least that’s what the last guy I’d slept with had said. 

I turned away from the window, watching passengers push through into coach. Business was still relatively empty—just a couple of pinstriped city types and an extremely tall, athletic African American guy. I blew out a long breath, stretching my legs and enjoying the feel of the extra eight inches of space between seats. Of course the Bureau would never pay for business class. I’d lucked out and got an upgrade when someone canceled at the last minute but I wasn’t complaining.

I closed my eyes again, letting my mind wander.

It wasn’t only Frank that had a lot riding on this. The Eduardo Pesci case was my big chance to make it. Frank wanted to prove he wasn’t a schmuck and I wanted to prove that I wasn’t just a pretty blonde. That I had a brain and I could use it. Plus I had other reasons for wanting to get out of New York for a while, personal reasons to do with a psychiatric condition I had. A condition I’d thought I’d got under control which had recently begun to affect me again. I hoped a change of scene would help. 

I let out another long breath.

Excuse me, said a deep, smooth voice.

Huh?

Frowning, I looked up, a little annoyed that someone was disturbing my moment of peace.

Then my jaw dropped. Above me was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. He was about six foot two, broad and athletic, wearing an expensive tailored suit. His face was...beautiful was the only word for it. He had deep blue eyes, a strong jaw with a few hours of dark stubble and a deep dimple right in the middle of his chin. The only imperfections were a fine white scar over his right brow and that his skin was a little pale, like he’d spent a lot of time away from the sunlight.

I stared at him, hypnotized.

Miss? he said, a slight frown forming on his forehead.

I started and flushed as I realized my mouth was hanging open.

Huh? I said for the second time.

I think this is my seat, he said, nodding at the seat next to me, which was blocked by my laptop.

Oh, right, sorry, I said, grabbing the laptop and getting up to put it in the overhead locker. As I did my hand brushed against his and I felt a rush of electricity shoot through me.

Yanking my hand back, I turned to face the overhead locker and shoved my laptop under my suitcase. Before I could shut the locker door he leaned forward and pulled it closed.

Thanks, I said, flushing again and feeling like an idiot.

What was going on? I was an FBI agent on my way to hunt down a notorious gangster. I wasn’t a damsel in distress who went weak at the knees over men, however amazing they looked.

I sat back down, picking up an in-flight magazine and pretending to read it. 

The guy took off his jacket, revealing an athletic body under an expensive fitted shirt. My eyes followed his movements as if they were magnetized.  I watched his biceps and the muscles over the top of his back flex powerfully as he lifted the jacket off. Then as he turned to put his bag in the overhead locker I found my eyes looking straight at his groin. Cursing myself, I snatched my eyes back to the magazine as he sat down beside me.

I was scared. I never got hot and bothered over guys. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t shy. I liked men and I liked sex. One-night stands, usually, but I needed to be in control and at that moment I was anything but. 

I scanned an article on Hong Kong shopping—not really my thing. After a few minutes I gave up and closed my eyes, trying not to think about the incredible man sitting next to me. I took a deep breath and smelt his cologne. It was rich and musky and gave me goose pimples.

A glass of champagne, miss?

Jerking my eyes open I saw the hostess holding a tray with two flutes of champagne.

Yes, I said quickly. I needed something to take the edge off.

Here, let me, said the guy, taking one flute and passing it to me.

I took it and immediately gulped back half the glass.

He held out his hand. I’m Jon Selleck. He was smiling. The smile went all the way up to his eyes, making the scar over his right brow crinkle up. Somehow it made him even more handsome. 

My cheeks flushing, I took his hand. It was strong and much larger than mine. It wasn’t a worker’s hand though. Not a hand that did heavy work anyway, but there were a few calluses near the base of the fingers which made me wonder what he did for a living. Relieved that at least I could still think and look at this man, I said, 

Hi, I’m Clarice Philips.

That wasn’t my real name, of course. I, like most FBI agents, had a cover name and back story I used when travelling. After a while it became automatic, like a reflex, to use the cover. 

Think I’ll join you, he said. The corner of his mouth was upturned in a half smile. He exuded confidence. I watched him as he took the champagne from the hostess, sat back and took a sip. He seemed to move at a slower pace than everyone else, as if he had twice as much time.

I realized I was staring at him again.

This is ridiculous, I thought. I’m not a teenager on a first date.

What takes you to Hong Kong? he said, interrupting my thoughts. He’d turned slightly to face me.

This time I resisted the draw of his deep blue eyes enough to answer.

I’m traveling on business to see a client, I said, slipping into my pre-prepared story. And you?

I live in Hong Kong. I work there.

If I couldn’t ignore my mystery man I might as well find out what I could about him.

What kind of work do you do?

He paused for a beat, seeming unsure for the first time, then said, I’m a sculptor.

What do you sculpt, people?

That’s right. 

Now I thought about it his name did ring a bell.

You know, I think I remember your name from somewhere, I said.

I doubt it. Most people haven’t heard of me outside of Hong Kong.

No, I’m sure. Suddenly I had it. I grabbed the magazine I’d been reading earlier and excitedly flicked through a few pages then stopped.

The article was titled,

Hong Kong Sculptor Goes Global. 

Hey, is this you? I said, grinning and waving the magazine page at him.

He did a double take then scanned the article for a long moment.

Funny there’s no photo, I said.

He didn’t answer. But his face turned black. 

My years as a cop had sharpened my instincts. You got pretty good at reading people, knowing when they were lying or hiding something or just plain worried. But I didn’t need any particular skill to know that I’d hit a nerve with Jon. He looked pissed as hell. His face said, you’re getting into dangerous territory. Stay out.

I need to take a leak, he said abruptly, getting up and heading down the aisle, his head down and his shoulders hunched. He didn’t look like he wanted to take a leak. He looked like he wanted to kill someone.

Suddenly I felt anxious, really anxious. My heart was racing and my throat had tightened up. I had a problem with anxiety. It was part of my psychiatric condition. Then I remembered I’d missed my meds that morning. I pulled a plastic pill bottle out of my pocket, flipped the lid and dry swallowed a capsule. I paused, then took another.

***

Miss?

Someone was shaking my shoulders. I pushed my eyes open and saw the face of the stewardess.

Huh? I said in a thick voice.

Miss, you were asleep, she said.

I hadn’t just been asleep, I’d been unconscious. It must have been the extra capsule I’d taken. I was still groggy as hell and my tongue felt big and swollen. I swallowed, then noticed the seat next to me was empty and the last of the passengers were getting off the plane.

Jon must have left without saying goodbye, that’s if he came back to his seat at all. I was disappointed but thought it was probably for the best. I was an FBI officer. A cop here for a reason, not a hormonal teenager with a crush. It was time to get a grip.

I got up, sighing.

I’d probably never see Jon again. 

***

Getting out of Hong Kong Airport and into the city had been easy. In thirty minutes I was climbing