The Billionaire's Muse Series

Shocked by Malcolm's revelation, Sadie is determined to convince him not to go through with his plan and to strike back against the friend who wronged him. Malcolm is just as determined to complete his masterpiece before he bows off the world stage forever. Fleeing the long arm of the law, they turn to the sea. Alone together on Malcolm's boat, a curious duel begins as Malcolm searches for a meaning in his life and Sadie strives to show him one before time runs out--one way or another. His Obsession is a 21,000 word novelette and is book four of five in The Billionaire's Muse series. EXCERPT: I followed him to the bedroom, past a spiral staircase and down a tiny hallway. When he opened the door I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping in astonishment. He led me inside, then dropped my hand and stood back, allowing me to take it in. I stared at the room. Sumptuous. Decadent. Delicious. Rows of windows displaying the darkness outside. A desk on one side of the room, a couch on the other. A flat-screen TV at one end. And a four-poster bed at the other. "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely truthful when I said I didn't make any changes to the interior of the boat," Malcolm admitted from behind me. "The bed is my own personal touch." Really? A four-poster bed? On a yacht? Then it hit me. Of course he'd have a four-poster bed on his yacht, I realized. The better to tie you up, my dear. His hand alighted on my back. Hot and insistent, he guided me to the bed. "Stand here," he commanded. "I'm going to bind you." I stiffened, and he felt it. Gently, he turned me around and put his hands on my shoulders, meeting my eyes with his. He searched my face for a moment, looking for something, and I couldn't have said if he found it or not. "I've poured myself out to you, Sadie," he said finally. "Trust me. Give me this one last fling." Anger boiled up in me. One last fling? He was so selfish. But if he persisted in thinking that he was going to kick the bucket, then fine. I'd give him his fling. I'd fling him so hard he'd have to stay. Or... come back. Like a boomerang. Not the best metaphor, but it would have to do. "All right," I said, and the smile that broke over his features was beatific. He took his own sweet time setting things up. The ropes he used were stored in one of the dresser drawers, and I watched as he drew them out, long and sinuous. Black. Velvet. At least they weren't red. "Take off your clothes." Wordlessly, I did as he commanded. First my coat pooled to the floor. Then my top and my bra. My shoes next, and finally my skirt. I still wore no panties.  "Lie down. Spread your legs and arms," he instructed. His eyes on me were hot, not detached like they'd been when he'd been taking out the length of red ribbon in his own bedroom, and I felt an answering rush of heat as I obeyed. The comforter was down, cool and soft, and I found myself hoping, vaguely, that I didn't ruin it by being messy. Stretching my arms above my head and spreading my legs out, I stared at the ceiling and waited for him to begin...

Torn apart, Sadie tries to decipher Malcolm's final words to her. But when she finally seeks out the answers to her lingering questions, she comes face-to-face with the very man who threatens Malcolm's future--and her own. In a life or death struggle, can Sadie overcome her fears and save both Malcolm and herself? His Masterpiece is a 22,000 word novelette and is the final installment in The Billionaire's Muse series. EXCERPT: Exhausted, my eyes swollen from crying, I leaned into him, and he kissed me, so sweet and soft I thought I would shatter all over again. He carried me down the stairs, just as he did when I couldn't walk on my own, and when he washed me in the bath, this time he let his hands and fingers linger on me, in places I once thought he might never touch again. First, he ran warm water from the faucet and filled it part way before turning it off and setting me on my feet in the tub. “Kneel,” he commanded. I complied, turning my back to the faucet, my legs trembling. I bent my head in submission, giving him complete access to me, and I was rewarded with a warm gush of water over my back from a soft sponge. Gently Malcolm ran it in circles and spirals over my back, around my ribs, down over the flare of my hips. Then he abandoned the sponge entirely and used his hands. There was an urgency to his touch this time, a swift, anxious nervousness, as though he were trembling on the precipice of remembering something very important, as though words that could change his life stood at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said. His hands swirled down and around the round cheeks, slipping into the valley between them, gently massaging away the paint. Again he picked up the sponge and gushed warm water over me, this time over my shoulders, so that rivulets ran down my collarbone, trickled over my breasts and fell from my nipples like raindrops from branches. The whispery caress of water flowed through me and in me, and I shuddered with desire...