Submitting A MISCHIEF EROTICA COLLECTION A division of HarperCollinsPublishers This collection is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Mischief
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers The News Building 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF An eBook Original 2016 1 Tested © Rose de Fer Overruled © Lily Harlem Your Assignment © Sommer Marsden Two-faced © CeCe Marsh On Your Knees © Alegra Verde Doing It for Emmett © Justine Elyot Making Movies © Ludivine Bonneur A Bid for Her Heart © Kathleen Tudor The authors assert the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. EBook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008190231 Version 2016-05-19 Table of Contents
Your Assignment – Sommer Marsden
Doing It for Emmett – Justine Elyot
Making Movies – Ludivine Bonneur
A Bid for Her Heart – Kathleen Tudor
I feel like I’m on the deck of a ship in a storm. The floor pitches and twists, rolling with the ceaseless motion of crashing waves. It’s all I can do to keep my balance as I rise to my feet. Except I know it’s only me that’s moving. Everything around me is perfectly still. Terrifyingly still. And silent. I need a few moments to prepare myself, and it feels like a small lifetime. I take some deep breaths and the hammering of my heart finally begins to slow. My hands don’t entirely stop trembling, but at least I am able to respond when my name is called. Slowly I begin to make my way to the door at the end of the corridor. I may as well be crossing the ocean for all the time it takes me to cover the distance, reassuring myself along the way that the floor isn’t really undulating beneath me. My legs barely feel up to the task of supporting me, let alone carrying me any distance. I reach the end of the hallway all too quickly, however. And once there, I hesitate, trying to collect myself. I can’t put it off any longer. I grasp the door handle with a clammy palm. It doesn’t seem to want to turn and for a moment I am irrationally relieved, as though I might escape my fate after all. As though I might be spared. But no. The knob turns when I twist it in the other direction and the door opens with a little click. A tiny rush of air escapes, like an icy breath. The room beyond is dark, and it remains dark even once I pull the door open. Just enough to permit me to slip inside. I step across the threshold and feel the transition from hard floor to soft carpet beneath my shoes. This room will swallow my sounds. All my sounds. ‘Close the door.’ It might be the voice of the shadows themselves, for I can see nothing in the darkened chamber. It gathers all around me, swelling, a wall of imposing silence. I do as I am told, turning the knob as I push the door into the frame to keep it quiet. I don’t think I can bear to hear the click as it shuts. It would sound too serious, too final. My small task completed, I stand and await further instructions, my hands clasped behind my back. Time crawls by while I wait and every second makes my heart beat faster. I try to calm myself again, but this time I can’t seem to control my breathing. The silence builds, a vast, terrible emptiness that threatens to consume me. I could almost believe I am being erased, heartbeat by heartbeat. The darkness is unbearable and I close my eyes so I can pretend it’s my choice to stand here, lost in shadow, unseeing and unseen. No, not unseen. I know from the prickling of my skin that I am not alone, that I am being watched. That he is here with me. When the voice comes again, it makes me jump.
