The Pleasure Master
CRITICS RAVE ABOUT NINA BANGS!
THE PLEASURE MASTER
“Plenty of laugh-out-loud moments . . . if you’re looking for fun and fantasy, you’ll find it here!”
—Romantic Times
“Sizzling! Very highly recommended. . . . Witty eroticism reaches new heights . . . A remarkable blend of extremes, including charming, endearing, and exciting, The Pleasure Master lends a new definition to the word ‘tease’ as it titillates the reader.”
—WordWeaving
“The Pleasure Master is an irreverent, sexy, and hilarious romp through 1542 Scotland.”
—Writers Write
NIGHT BITES
“Cosmic chaos and laughs abound in the latest wild romp from the always wonderful Bangs. Sexy and sizzling, this is paranormal fun with lots of spice.”
—RT BOOKclub
“Nina Bangs can be depended upon to give her readers a good laugh.”
—The Eternal Night
MASTER OF ECSTASY
“[Bangs] mixes in several different paranormal elements and equal measures of passion and humor to create her latest wonderfully creative, utterly unique romance.”
—Booklist
“If you’re looking for a book to heat up [those] cold winter nights, I highly recommend Master of Ecstasy.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“When it comes to combining sexy situations and humor, Bangs has it nailed. This sensuous and funny tale of time travel and vampires brims with excitement, making it a true winner!”
—Romantic Times
MORE PRAISE FOR NINA BANGS!
FROM BOADWALK WITH LOVE
“Be prepared for loads of laughs in this truly hilarious and sexy book.”
—RT BOOKclub
NIGHT GAMES
“A sensual time travel that at once titillates and satisfies . . . a tempestuous fantasy with scintillating details . . . very highly recommended.”
—The Midwest Book Review
“Nina Bangs has to be the imagination queen of amusing sexual romances, for who else could come up with such a plot? . . . Night Games is a humorous satire poking fun at the games people play.”
—Harriet Klausner
AN ORIGINAL SIN
“Nina bangs has come up with a completely new and unique twist on the time travel theme and has delivered a story that is both humorous and captivating. No one is exactly what they appear in this clever tale.”
—Romantic Times
“If you’re looking for a funny, heart-wrenching and truly lovely romance to read, try this one. You won’t be disappointed.”
—All About Romance
AN IMPORTANT LESSON
“Heed me, Kathy of Hair. A woman’s need and fulfillment start here.” He placed only his index finger against her forehead, yet she felt the connection all the way to her toes.
“Not here.” He ran his finger down the side of her jaw, her neck, then stopped as he touched the tip of her nipple.
Could’ve fooled me. She sucked in her breath at the sizzle of sensation that spread like honey on a hot day. Why couldn’t she move away, break the connection? Why didn’t she want to?
“Nor here.” He drew his finger between her breasts, down over her stomach, then laid his palm flat against her skirt, and her thighs clenched as though no material separated his flesh from hers, as though she could hold his touch warm between her legs.
“No!” With her last ragged shred of willpower, she rolled away from him.
He let her go.
“Pleasure Master, my foot. You’re just like my ex. You’re nothing but a womanizer with a fancy title. I bet you never met a woman you didn’t love.”
He leaned back and stared at her. He seemed truly puzzled. “’Tis not about love. lass. ’Tis about joining with another for pleasure. I teach women how to take a man’s body and enjoy the taking.”
Other books by Nina Bangs:
NIGHT BITES
MASTER OF ECSTASY
FROM BOARDWALK WITH LOVE
NIGHT GAMES
UNWRAPPED (Anthology)
SEDUCTION BY CHOCOLATE (Anthology)
AN ORIGINAL SIN
PARADISE (Anthology)
NINA
BANGS
The
Pleasure
Master
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
DORCHESTER PUBLISHING
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2001 by Nina Bangs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Trade ISBN: 13: 978-1-4285-1653-3
E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-0366-3
First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: June 2001
The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit us online at www.dorchesterpub.com.
To my parents, who instilled in me
a lifelong love of reading.
Thanks.
The
Pleasure
Master
Prologue
Men. Cars. Great form, no function, and they both overheated at the wrong time. Who needed them?
Kathy Bartlett glanced in her rearview mirror hoping to spot her hero of the moment, Rod’s Reliable Tow Service. Nothing.
Okay, so she’d lied. She needed her car, but she needed it functional.
“Speaking of function . . .” She glanced at the shiny hourglass-shaped toy perched on the seat beside her. “What the heck do you do?” She picked up the toy, turned it over, tapped the amber lights on top of its head, then plunked it back onto the seat.
“The strong silent type, huh? Hate to break this to you, but young America likes toys that do something. Loudly. That’s why you were left on the shelf, kiddo.” She stared out her sleet-blurred windshield at the passing New York traffic. Great Christmas Eve. “You know, you sort of remind me of my ex-husband, Peter Matthew Stone. Looks hot, does squat. A major PMS moment in my life. Mind if I call you Peter?”
The toy was cool with that.
“What did I do to deserve this, Peter? I’m an okay person. I make women’s hair safe for America. When Alice asked me to pick up some toys for the shelter, I said sure. I didn’t hire a hit man to knock off old PMS because he’s suing me for mental anguish. And I never once laughed when he called a certain body
part his love gun. So why is this happening to me?”
Peter hadn’t a clue.
“This is all your fault, Peter.”
Peter didn’t think so.
“I get out of work late, then run to a few stores looking for toys. You know what’s left on Christmas Eve? Rejects. No offense.”
Peter handled it.
“Now I’m stuck on the side of the road with a sack of slightly weird toys in my trunk and one beside me. Fine. So I’m a pushover. I bought you because you were just sitting on the shelf. Admit it, though, you were feeling kind of lonely all by yourself. Hey, I understand what it’s like on the shelf. Besides, no one should be alone on Christmas.”
Kathy cast another look in her mirror, then sighed with relief when she saw the tow truck edging toward her out of the darkness on the shoulder of the highway.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. Sleet and frigid air hit her in the face. Yech. Shoving her cell phone into her purse, she grabbed her backpack full of hair supplies, climbed out, then went to retrieve her bag of toys from the trunk. Maybe she could convince the driver to swing past the shelter. She’d hate to think of kids without toys on Christmas morning.
Darn, she’d forgotten Peter. She’d just shove him into the sack with the other toys. Pulling open the passenger door, she watched blankly as he tumbled out of the car and landed on his face. At least she guessed it was his face. Sort of hard to tell.
Amazed, she stared at him. “Gee, look what shook loose. You’re now the proud owner of three sturdy legs.” Sighing, she picked him up and set him next to her. “You’ll make someone a great bedside table, pal, but you won’t fit in the bag with those legs sticking out.”
Staring into the darkness, she hunched her shoulders and tried to stop shivering. Damn, damn, and double damn.
“I hate this. I need a vacation, Peter. Somewhere warm, peaceful, with every modern convenience at my fingertips, and no stress. And I may as well throw in a man. Yeah, a man who’ll do everything I want, never argue, and won’t ever tell me to relax and enjoy it.”
A gust of wind blew sleet into her face.
“That’s it, Peter. I want warmth, peace, conveniences, and a subservient man. How’s that sound?”
Peter must’ve thought it sounded pretty good because his amber lights flashed, and he rose to his full height, which wasn’t too spectacular.
A sudden wave of dizziness drove away all thoughts of Peter. A kaleidoscope of whirling colors made her slightly nauseated. She knew she couldn’t be freezing to death because she could still feel her toes.
Please, don’t let me pass out. She couldn’t let Mrs. Tierney down tomorrow. The ninety-year-old woman would be waiting for her monthly cut, knock-em-dead blond coloring, and the latest issue of Cosmo. Mrs. Tierney’s cheapskate nephew had stopped paying Kathy years ago, but that didn’t matter. Mrs. Tierney called Kathy her hair princess. It felt good to be someone’s princess.
Kathy blinked, trying to clear her vision. Kick her if she skipped any more lunches trying to squeeze in frantic clients.
The whirling colors had become a long tunnel with Peter’s flashing amber lights at its end. A neardeath experience?
She sank to her knees still clutching her purse, backpack, and bag of toys. If the tow truck driver discovered her cold stiff body, she hoped he’d find Peter a good home.
And as the whirling colors took her, Peter spoke.
“Hasta la vista, baby!”
Chapter One
Arnold Schwarzenegger? Big bad voice for cute little toy? Poor marketing decision. No wonder good old Peter was left warming the shelf. What parents would want their kid to have a two-foot-high tin Terminator?
“Ye must prove yer worthiness, Ian. ’Tis the only fair way. What say ye, Neil?”
Kathy winced. Talking about big bad voices . . . The tow truck driver? She knelt on the ground, still clutching her things.
“Aye. Ye’re the eldest, Ian, but that doesna mean ye’re the best. Neil Ross has satisfied many a lass.”
Well, cheers for Neil Ross. At least satisfied customers meant he knew which end of her car to hook up to.
Letting everything slide from her grasp, Kathy held her head. Maybe if it would stop spinning she’d make a stab at opening her eyes.
“Ye must let us choose, Ian, if ’tis to be a true test. Do ye agree, Colin?”
What? What test? All they had to do was hook up her car and tow it to Mel’s, where for the nominal fee of her firstborn child, she could get it back in running order.
“Aye. We will find one wi’ a heart that canna be touched.”
Yep, that was Mel. Cash or credit card. No personal checks. Against her better judgment, she opened her eyes. She blinked.
Uh-oh. No busy highway, no sexy car. No city. Only stark green hills and the morning mist rising from a small stream. Morning? What had happened to the night? And silence. A silence so intense it terrified her.
Had she passed out? No, she’d fainted once when old PMS had decided that aromatherapy would loosen her up. He’d said the scent was discovered in an ancient Egyptian tomb. She believed him. It smelled like Essense of Mummy. Anyway, she didn’t remember having any strange hallucinations then. She pulled her wool coat tightly around her, warding off the chill, an unspeakable fear tapping on her shoulder.
“I dinna know where we might find such a cold creature, Colin.”
Here. Here. She’d never felt so cold in her life, and the brisk wind numbing her ears had nothing to do with it. Still on her knees, she turned toward the welcome human voice. “Please, you’ve got to . . .” She stared.
Two male behinds stared back at her. Bare behinds. A Playgirl chorus line. She resisted the urge to rub her eyes. Two guys mooning her wouldn’t be that strange in New York. . . . New York? Where in New York?
“Mayhap we will find one in England, Neil. English lasses can freeze a man’s . . .”
England? Suddenly, she realized what they were wearing. The wool thingees, belted at the waist, didn’t quite reach their knees, and from what she could see, the question of boxers or briefs would never be a burning issue with these guys.
Kilts? She had to be dreaming. Nothing else made sense. Okay, dreams were symbolic, so she’d just figure this baby out. The empty landscape probably meant she needed some inner peace and tranquility, an escape from the frenzy her life had become. The bare buns? Easy. She thought of her ex as a butthead on a daily basis, so here he was in duplicate.
The rocks she knelt on dug into her knees through her long skirt, and she shifted uncomfortably. Funny, but she couldn’t remember feeling anything physical in dreams before.
“Aye, Colin. But even though an English lass may have a cold nature, it matters not to a Ross. ’Tis hot enough she’ll be in bed wi’ . . .”
She shivered as the chilly wind whipped around her and lifted the kilts of the leaning men. . . . Wait a minute. There was another man sitting on the ground, his back braced against a large boulder.
“Ye have reason to fear us, Ian. We will beat ye and take what we want.”
Beat? Ohmigod, a mugging. At last, something familiar. She couldn’t see enough of the man on the ground to know how badly he was injured, but she knew she had to do something to save him and probably herself because any second now the muggers were bound to notice her.
Her logical self reminded her this was a dream, so she didn’t have to do anything.
Her logical self could take a hike. She needed a weapon.
Reaching inside her purse, she fumbled around for something she could use. Nothing. No handy little gun, no pepper spray. Rats.
Her can of mousse? Right. That would certainly scare the pants off . . . Okay, no pants to worry about. Maybe if she wrapped both hands around the can she could bluff them into believing she had a can of Mace. She drew a deep breath. She had to go for it.
Pulling the mousse from her purse, she shook it, then climbed shakily to her feet. Her whole world seemed out of kilte
r, but she could only focus on one thing right now: saving the man on the ground.
She tried to clear her throat, but her voice still came out in a wavery croak. “Get lost, scumbags, before I Mace you. The cops are on their way.”
As one, the two men straightened, then swung to face her. She gulped. Large. Very large. And hairy. With dry split ends that would challenge even her expertise.
“A lass.” Translation: yum-yum.
Her heart pounded madly. The Three Little Pigs would’ve been laying bricks like crazy at the sound of that voice.
They moved toward her. Forget trying to hit them in the eyes. They were too tall. While she was jumping into the air trying to get one in the eyes, the other would tear her apart. She needed a lower target.
The wind whipped and swirled, lifting their kilts high enough to offer a more accessible body part. Without hesitation, she moussed each of their love guns with a defiant squirt. Hey, one patch of voluminous and shiny body hair was better than none.
Staring down in horror at the fluffy globs of mousse sticking to them, the men stumbled away from her.
Strange. Against all reason, Kathy had the feeling neither of them knew the mousse was harmless. Well, she recognized an advantage when she saw one. “Hmm. I wonder if they’ll fall off now or later.”
With wild bellows, the kilted giants turned and fled.
She watched them disappear as she let the mousse slip from her fingers.
The man on the ground. But by the time she turned back to him, the mist had closed in. A flowing sea of gray created shifting shapes of fear, twining like skeletal fingers around the dark silhouettes of trees and shrubs. Kathy could almost believe the mist was alive—feel it breathing, waiting.
She swallowed past throat muscles that refused to work, fighting the terror of knowing she was the only person on earth.
“Come to me.”
His voice. She could taste it. Hot chocolate, smooth brandy, and sex. She recognized it. All the forbidden things Mom had warned her against—going out in public without panties, talking to strangers who tempted you with pictures you’d never forget, touching yourself in the darkness of your room while you imagined unimaginable acts.