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base of the dildo in her right hand and nudged the bulbous head between the swollen lips. Pushed inside, bit by bit, until the fake cock was buried in her needy cunt.
    “Oh, yes,” she hissed. As she pumped it slowly, a face formed in her mind. A gorgeous face taut with ecstasy and surrounded by long auburn hair, muscles flexing as he drove into her depths, unable to get enough of her. “Jude . . . God, yes, fuck me.”
    And in her fantasy, he did, cock shiny and thick, owning every part of her. Then her lusty daydream shifted and she imagined him doing the same to Tamara tonight, perhaps while Lily watched. Or even joined in the fun . . .
    Helpless against the onslaught of sizzling images, she hurtled over the edge, hips bucking as she cried out. Orgasm slammed her with a series of jolts that fried her nerve endings, spun her out of control.
    Gradually, they tapered off and she lay boneless, satisfaction sinking her into the bed. Damn, she’d needed that, and it was good.
    But the real thing would far surpass the experience.
    With a contented sigh, she removed the dildo and slid off the bed, heading for the bathroom to freshen up. As she stepped inside, it occurred to her that she hadn’t exactly been quiet. Jude might’ve heard, and the idea caused her to flush with rare embarrassment. And longing.
    If he had heard, would he comment? Would he even care?
    Shaking her head ruefully, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and paused, taking in her appearance. Her small, fine-boned face was pink from exertion, brown eyes large and surrounded by a fringe of dark lashes. Disheveled black hair tumbled in a glossy mess almost to her waist.
    She was cynical and practical about her looks—she knew men found her attractive, and her appearance served a purpose. It had always been the best weapon in her possession.
    Except for now, when it counted the most.
    Why wasn’t she sorry about that?
    Because for once, I want to be a woman, not a weapon. I want to forget why I’m here. I want a man to see beneath the surface, and like what he finds.
    Then she thought of her father, cold in the ground, never again to know joy or sorrow.
    Because of a traitor like Jude St. Laurent.
    “Suck it up,” she told her reflection. “That destiny was never meant to be yours.”
    Armor firmly in place, she reached for a washcloth and set about wiping away the traces of her weakness.
    If only cleansing her soul were so simple.

Three
    J ude stood frozen near his bed, listening to the husky cries drifting from the adjoining room.
    “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. His cock lifted in appreciation of the extracurricular activity taking place next door, a scant few yards away.
    Apparently, Lily was quite affected by her introduction to his household.
    With a grunt of frustration, he adjusted his crotch. Hell, he wasn’t twenty-one anymore; if he were, he might be able to coax his semiawake cock to revive. But he’d come such a short time ago, he’d need longer to recover.
    The chirping of the cell phone in the front pocket of his jeans stopped his morbid thoughts on aging before they could run rampant. Digging the slim device from his jeans, he found his bed and sat on the edge before answering.
    “Hello?”
    “Jude, how the hell are you?”
    “Dev! It’s good to hear your voice, man.” He smiled. Nobody could sustain an irritable mood around Devon Sinclair or his pistol of a wife. “I’m fine, just bored as shit. Or I was until my new PA started today.”
    “Yeah? Do tell, my friend.” He could picture Dev waggling his blond brows.
    “I don’t know much about her yet,” he said, hedging some.
    “How much do you know? Come on, don’t leave me hanging!”
    “Well, her name is Lily Vale. She’s petite and has a killer whiskey voice. Smarter than me, according to her references.”
    “Like that would be a stretch,” he joked. “And?”
    “She’s . . . sexually open. By her admission.”
    Dev spluttered. “How the fuck did you