Disguised Enchantment Read online

  Disguised Enchantment

  S. Quinn McAfee

  Published 2004

  ISBN 1-59578-009-2

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright © 2004, S. Quinn McAfee. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com

  Email:

  [email protected]

  Cover Art

  by Donette Smock

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Impatience deepened the scowl on Shannon McAllister's face as she stood awaiting the arrival of someone the receptionist would only refer to as the Marquis. The Marquis! How absurd! she thought as her fingers closed around the business card in the pocket of her turquoise chemise that Donna, her obnoxious co-worker, had presented to her just that afternoon.

  Good old Donna, Shannon smirked to herself. She'd been working with her at the Tapestry Boutique, a needlecraft shop in the Westover Shopping Mall in downtown Los Angeles, ever since she moved here a little over three months ago. During that time, hardly a day had gone by that she hadn't nagged her about "never having a date" or "a man in her life." Now this card was supposed to be the perfect solution to her "lonely nights."

  Establishing the personal side of her life, however, was not one of Shannon's priorities. She had come to Los Angeles from Muncy, a small farming community in north central Virginia. With a degree in Fine Arts from the Institute of Art in Atlanta, she had soon discovered there were few demands for a decorative artist in her hometown. Los Angeles, on the other hand, was a large, thriving city and she had been certain some craft manufacturer there was just waiting to snatch up her talent for designing counted thread work. Yet things hadn't turned out as she hoped. Starting a career in a strange city was far more difficult than she expected. None of the resumés she had submitted to the needlecraft manufacturers listed in the Los Angeles phone directory had netted any results. Even the local representative of the Hobby Industries of America had been less than enthusiastic, telling her it was, "extremely difficult for an unknown artist to get noticed, let alone hired to design for a major craft company."

  Her only real break was landing the job at the Boutique, but even that had its drawbacks--like putting up with Donna. Still, it was work in the needlecraft field and the salary she earned enabled her to move out of the cramped rooming house she had been living in to a small, rented house in a safe neighborhood. At long last, her life was beginning to show some solid signs of normality.

  "That is, until now." Shannon grimaced, running her fingers over the tattered edges of the card. When Donna had given it to her, along with her super sales pitch, as to why this certain establishment was the "best dating service in town," Shannon all but ignored it. As the day wore on, however, Donna's enticing words and the card in her pocket had piqued her innate curiosity. Now, standing here, she wished she'd thrown it away with the Dandy Burger she purchased for a quick dinner at a popular fast-food chain.

  The place looked nothing like a dating service. Donna explained that it had the fancy French name, The Chateau L'Kost, because of its location in Beverly Hills. Even so, she expected an office or some kind of building resembling a business. Instead, it resembled a town house right out of 18th century France. On the outside, the huge house, built of solid, white marble, stood behind a monumental iron gate that opened into a large, spacious courtyard. An enormous marble fountain with cherubs pouring water from pails into a pool below guarded several pathways that led to formal flower gardens at the rear of the mansion.

  The parlor, to which she was directed, was designed exclusively in the Rococo or "Louis XV" style. Although small, the room was alive and bright with color. Deep gold and royal blue velvet draperies adorned the windows and the upholstered furniture patterned with ribbons, scrolls and flower motifs was done in matching brocade. The pale yellow walls were spotless and glowed softly in the light of several burning candles. Even under present circumstances, Shannon had to admit the place was quite a treat for someone such as herself with an eye for artistic beauty. However, she wasn't there for a study of 18th century French design, and the two-hundred-dollar fee she had paid the receptionist was an exorbitant reminder of just what she was there for.

  Quickly tiring of the waiting game, Shannon grabbed her purse from the small table beside her and was about to make a hasty exit from the room when she caught a glimpse of something long and black as it whizzed over her head and settled coldly around the front of her neck. Panic-stricken, her hands instinctively flew to her throat as she whirled around and came face to face with her assailant--the most unimaginable being she had ever laid eyes on.

  Garbed only in tight fitting, black leather breeches and knee-high boots, his upper body was naked except for wide, black leather and silver-studded straps that crisscrossed his thickly muscled chest. A length of the same kind of strap also bound each of his wrists, accentuating the bulging muscles that rippled up and down the length of his arms. Yet the most alarming aspect of his provocative attire was the black silk mask-like hood covering his head and the top half of his face. Sitting flush against his face, the silky mask was fashioned to tie behind his head, revealing only his intense violet-blue eyes, part of his nose and the fullness of his mouth. The longer, looser portions of the hood fell loosely over the sides of his face. The cold, slithery thing around her neck was a long, black whip, the two ends of which he held securely, one in each hand, encircling her like a captured animal.

  "Shannon, I presume?" he grinned wickedly. Startled by the rich, velvety sound of his voice, she nodded mechanically but never took her astonished eyes off him.

  Stepping forward, he let go of the lash end of the whip and withdrew it from around her neck, deliberately manipulating the sharp tip so that it playfully nipped the hollow at the base of her throat. "I'm the Marquis," he informed her with a seductive wink. "Your most eager companion for the next hour. Shall we ... ah ... retire to my chamber?"

  Before Shannon could utter a single word, she found herself being swiftly ushered out of the parlor and up a huge, heart-shaped staircase that looked like a giant Valentine rising from the center of the main hall. She could feel her legs moving, but she didn't know how they found the strength to do so. They were shaking so much she could barely remain upright for it was now clear to her that Donna had tricked her. This place was certainly not a dating service! What began as fear in the pit of Shannon's stomach had now turned into a tight, nauseous wad of despair, and she quite literally felt ill all over. What was she going to do? How was she going to get out of there before something terrible happened to her?

  At the top of the stairs, the Marquis led Shannon down a long corridor with a beautiful hardwood floor. His stride was urgent and unfaltering as he guided her past a seemingly endless row of huge, wooden doors that she feared were entrances to whatever hell the mansion concealed behind its façade of beauty and splendor. When he quickly escorted her into a room at the end of the corridor, Shannon realized the hell she envisioned behind the doors was indeed a reality and that it was now impossible for her to get away.

  The room looked and smelled like a dungeon straight out of the French Revolution. Large torches bu
rning in the sconces on the gray cement walls clearly illuminated the earthen-like floor where enormous concrete slabs stood awaiting whatever "pleasures" the Marquis cared to inflict on his victims. Other apparatus, such as chains, iron neck collars and whips, also occupied the room. Suddenly, the stark realization that she had just paid a small fortune to be sexually abused by this monstrous stranger became much more than she could bear.

  Scared and unnerved, she turned to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please," she pleaded in a small, shaky voice, "I've made a terrible mistake. I-I..." She tried to continue, but an iron-like heaviness in her legs and a roaring darkness in her head refused to let her do so and she slumped helplessly to the floor beneath her.

  When Shannon opened her eyes a few moments later, she didn't know where she was. Gone were the dungeon and its horrible equipment. She now lay on a king-size brass bed in a Rococo revival-style bedroom. Several large burning candles cast a shimmering glow from their spots on the mantel, bureau and bedside table revealing the beauty of the room's deep purple damask covered walls and matching draperies.

  As her bewildered eyes traveled around the room, her attention was abruptly drawn to the near side of the bed by a strange trickling sound. Turning her head in the direction of the noise, she saw the Marquis pouring water into a washbasin from a white porcelain pitcher. With renewed fear, she bolted into a sitting position and quickly slid to the opposite side of the bed. But like a huge cat with lightning reflexes and hearing to match, he spun around and caught her by the shoulders halting her escape.

  Frantically, she struck out at him with a flurry of pounding fists. "No! Let me go! Let me go!"

  For a moment he was caught off-guard by her spirited attack as her appearance suggested a much gentler disposition. She was petite in stature with long, wavy, raven-colored hair that fell over her shoulders like a cascade of shiny black satin. Her gracefully slender figure, delicate features, and gently curved mouth radiated an aura of softness and sensitivity. Yet it was her eyes that affected him the most. They were beautiful and the color of emerald gemstones, full of fire and brilliance as they flashed defiantly at him.

  Undaunted by her feeble attempt to dissuade him, he grasped her around the waist and hauled her against the hard expanse of his chest, holding her there until she realized fighting him was futile and ceased her useless thrashing. Shannon lifted her tear-streaked face to his masked visage and fearfully peered up into his eyes, hoping to find a shred of decency there.

  "W-what ... w-what are you going to do to me?" she asked in a trembling voice.

  He returned her gaze with a look of burning passion that made Shannon gasp, for it quickly dawned on her that he was about to kiss her. She tried again to pull out of his embrace, but he only held her tighter as he swiftly lowered his head and took her lips in a soft, persuasive caress, engulfing her in a heady scent of leather and spicy cologne. Surprised by the genuine tenderness of his kiss, she hung limp in his arms and didn't resist when his tongue gently parted her lips and thrust within. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that she might have enjoyed his hard muscular body against her and the kiss, if only the circumstances had been different.

  The Marquis stepped back and let her slide off the bed to her feet. His eyes blazed with newly rekindled flames as a roguish smile formed on his lips. Instantly, Shannon's hands flew to her still moist lips, and for a split second she stood staring at him before she realized the dress she had been wearing now lay in a heap about her ankles. How he managed to unzip and slide the garment off her shoulders without her knowledge completely eluded her, but she wasn't giving him another opportunity to practice his skill.

  Hurriedly, she bent to retrieve the chemise, but it was too late. His hands caught her by the shoulders and straightened her, and she was once again smothered in his arms. This time she fought, for now it was crystal clear to her just what he had in mind. Struggling with him, however, proved much to her disadvantage. His whole body seemed to be made of chiseled marble and the more she pushed against the smooth, hard surface of his chest the more exhausted she became. He was relentless in his pursuit of her lips and she was left breathless each time his mouth took hers in a fiery kiss.

  His hands wandered to her back and began tugging at the thin straps of the pink lace teddy that was now the only article of clothing between him and her nakedness. As he slid the straps from her arms and lowered the garment to her waist, he began licking the smooth column of her neck. His teeth and lips nipped teasingly at the soft hollow of her throat before moving on to her shoulder and then to her breasts. He alternately suckled her, drawing the pink-crested nipples into his mouth, coaxing them to throbbing attention while his fingers slipped into the warm, wet folds beneath the lacy material of her crotch to tease her clitoris.

  With an astonished gasp, Shannon wrenched free of his ardent advances. Quickly pulling the bodice of her teddy back up over her breasts, she maneuvered herself into a standing position directly in front of him. Her breath was coming in short, erratic gulps as she tried to decide if the strange, electrifying sensations she was feeling were a result of his sensual exploration or just plain anger at his boldness. It had to be the anger, she told herself. There was just no way she would ever let herself find pleasure in the touch of a complete stranger, and she needed to make sure he knew it! Swiftly bringing her knee up between his legs, she intended to deliver a sharp, painful blow to his virility, but the Marquis was too clever. He'd already anticipated her course of action and quickly jumped away before she could inflict any damage.

  He came after her again, but this time Shannon was ready for him. With a frightened squeal, she stepped out of the dress and started to duck under his arm to flee him. But when he swiftly turned to block her path, she collided face-first with his Herculean shoulder. A stab of pain shot through Shannon's cheek and jaw, yet it failed to hinder her pace as she whirled away from him and ran around the room to the opposite side of the bed. The Marquis followed with a naughty gleam in his eyes and an impish, twisted smirk on his lips that foretold imminent danger.

  Shannon flattened herself against the front of a small chest of drawers while her hands searched the top of the wooden structure for something--anything--with which to defend herself. Finally, her fingers found their way to the edge of the washbasin and, without a second thought, she grabbed it and flung it with all her might at the rapidly advancing Marquis. The bowl struck him square on the shoulder dumping its contents over his chest and the front of his breeches and then crashed to the floor, breaking into several large pieces. Momentarily surprised by her spunk, he stood staring at her with distinct astonishment. Then, slowly, a wry grin formed on his lips.

  "If you wanted my pants off, you need only have said so," he chided.

  Horrified that her effort to thwart his advances had not fazed him one bit, she jumped away from the chest of drawers and made a mad dash for her clothes. She'd had quite enough of him and this reprieve, however brief, was just what she needed to attempt an escape. Finally locating her dress on the floor, she threw it on and, without bothering to close the back zipper, stepped into her shoes then grabbed up her purse. She fully expected him to come after her again, but only the sound of the Marquis' mocking laughter pursued her as she raced into the dungeon and through the door that led into the upstairs corridor. As she fled down the staircase to the first floor, she was so intent on getting out of the place, she nearly collided in the foyer with a buxom, red-haired woman attired in a beige overcoat. The woman eyed her curiously as Shannon mumbled a barely audible apology and hurried on toward the front door.

  Upstairs in his chamber, the Marquis stood by the window overlooking the grounds below. He watched as Shannon ran to her beat-up sedan and jumped inside. The engine coughed once then reluctantly roared to life before she shoved the gearshift into reverse and shot out of the parking space. He waited until she was out of his view, then, expelling a disgruntled sigh, set to the task of cleaning up the mess of
water and broken pieces of washbasin. Almost immediately, his eyes fell upon two small objects lying on the floor near the foot of the bed. Rising from his knees, he moved to the spot and picked them up. When he turned them over in his hand, he saw that one was a tattered business card touting the Chateau as the "best dating service in town," and the other an employee I. D. tag imprinted with Shannon's name. Crushing them in his fist, he walked back to the window and stared out at the darkness. Now he knew the truth. Someone had duped her into believing the Chateau was a dating service.

  "Damn!" he swore softly. No wonder she acted so frightened, and his brazen behavior had certainly contributed to her fear. He didn't know why, but suddenly he felt sick at heart and extremely angry with himself.

  Just then a knock at the bedroom door jolted him from his thoughts. "Who is it?" he asked in an irritated voice. Without a reply, the door opened and a large woman sashayed into the room.

  "Marsha," he scowled darkly. "What do you want?"

  "We had an appointment, remember?" She smiled seductively then noticed the water and broken basin on the floor. "My, my, what happened here? Don't tell me the grand Marquis had a dissatisfied customer?" She peered at him inquisitively. "Perhaps that little brunette I saw running out of here?"

  The Marquis hastily shoved the ID tag and the business card into the pocket of his breeches. "More like a misunderstanding--on my part," he groaned.

  Marsha lifted her brows, suddenly very interested in what had gone on before she arrived. "Oh? Do you want to tell me about it?"

  "Not particularly," he glared at her.

  "Come now, darling," she cooed sweetly. "You know I own this establishment. Everything that goes on here is my business. So how 'bout it?" She grasped him by the black leather straps spanning his chest and pulled him to her. "Why don't you tell me allll the juicy details."