Sarah’s Comments (group member since Apr 26, 2016)

Sarah’s comments from the First Chapter group.

I loved it. It's a challenging read but a real 5 star.

An Adult Erotic Romantic Thriller - 99p/99c Read free with Kindle Unlimited.

viewbook.at/ILLICITPASSION

Prologue

Lisette Marsh took the chance to relax on one of the few sofas left scattered in a ballroom at The Westin overlooking Times Square. The premiere of the Broadway musical Night Magic had ended with a twenty minute standing ovation, and she’d been on her feet for over eight hours prior to the all-night party. Three of them had been a gruelling, unscheduled rehearsal caused by a malfunction in the mechanics of a swing that needed her, not a stand-in, to test it. The set manager had been overheard praying her understudy would never have to take over at short notice, between swearing at his unfortunate technicians.
Bart, one of her two bodyguards, winked and moved between her and the chattering groups. She smiled back and closed her eyes. It was March the eleventh already: less than two days to her twenty-first birthday, and Grant, and his wife, were laying on a party at Gramercy Park Hotel. He was still the centre of attention as Night Magic’s leading man, taking the pressure off her for a while. Grant was like that, generous: he never failed to acknowledge her, his leading lady in the second musical running,
‘Lisette, long time no see, darling.’
Her eyes shot open and she found herself staring into black ones she’d never expected to see again. Kevin Tyrone, the man so like her famous father, Michael Marsh, in looks, and his complete opposite in every way that mattered. ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in?’
‘My sister plays a minor role… Lisette, I came to apologise.’
‘Oh.’ Not the most brilliant of answers, but he’d astounded her. An apology over two years ago would have changed her life. He could have been an international star in the musical, Chains, which had launched her career, and they might well have been married.
He took her left hand in his and examined her bare ring finger as if he was thinking the same. ‘I embarrassed you, and I guess that was unforgivable.’
Bart was being tactful, keeping his back to her, though a call would bring him instantly.
Kevin persisted. ‘I understand how your father felt about me. I would, if anyone upset a daughter of mine.’
Embarrassing her was the least of it. Kevin Tyrone had mauled and bitten her under cover of rehearsing a scene where she was naked, discreetly in shadow. The lighting so discreet the director had noticed nothing.
He gripped her whole hand. ‘Don’t you think Clement Fynn was harsh? He didn’t just sack me, he made sure I never worked in Britain again. It’s different in America, Lisette. His work is known, but he’s one of many… and he’s dead.’
Clement had been more than the director of Chains. He’d been the multimillionaire producer who wrote all his own librettos… and a friend. More than a friend. He’d been like an uncle to her… and was that why he’d done his best the scupper Kevin’s showbiz career forever? ‘Maybe Clement was tough on you but he loved me, and I loved him.’
‘I didn’t realise that…’ He dropped her hand and shrugged. ‘I was hoping now you’re an established star in The States you’d put in a word for me. You must have contacts.’
She did, and Grant had more. A word to him and Kevin would be on his way. ‘You’d be starting at the bottom, and this time you’d have to work.’
‘You could do better than that, darling. Kia, my sister, says Grant Holmes’ understudy has health problems. The man who replaces him will take the lead when you and Grant go with the show to Los Angeles. Sure to.’
Kevin Tyrone was capable of taking the lead, and equally likely to rely on her name and not bother giving his best. ‘I’ll mention your name to a few people, and that’s all. It is different over here. You could make your own way if you tried. Kia is.’
His eyelids dropped, half-hiding a glitter of menace. ‘I never thought of Fynn as the father of your baby… and he wasn’t, was he?’
Her heart pounded and cold sweat soaked her dress. Harriet, the chubby toddler with Michael’s black curls and her emerald eyes, had been born in secret and safely hidden as one of her mother’s twins for almost two years, until now. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Kevin was guessing: he could prove nothing. ‘If you want my help, apologise. If you don’t my guards will escort you out, related to a bit-player or not.’
He moved closer until she could smell his sweat. ‘Gossip about the true relationship with your father was all over the press, until you conveniently disappeared for long enough to give birth to a brat. You’ll do as you’re told, darling.’
A brat… he could calculate dates but he had know way of knowing if her child was Harriet or Kit… and what difference did that make? She couldn’t risk danger to either of them, or to Lizzie who cared for Harriet like her own even though she knew Michael had been unfaithful to her with her eldest daughter.
‘You will obey me… you will do everything I say…’
The voice went on, almost unheard. Incest… a crime in the eyes of the law and the church. Tyrone could ruin the lives of everyone she loved. Gran, the doctor who’d delivered Harriet and supplied false papers… her brother… and the shock would kill Grandfather. He’d assumed Kevin was Harriet’s father, and with his weak heart…
‘Kevin, Grant’s understudy strained his leg. He’s having physio… he could act now if he had to. The most I can do is ask around, and what can I say? You took a minor part in one of Clement Fynn’s less successful musicals…’
‘You will do it, darling. In the meantime, I have to live.’ He produced a card from his pocket carrying the logo of one of New York’s top dress designers: below it Tamsin. An unknown trying to make her name? ‘From now on you will commission every gown for occasions like this… every costume for the concerts that promote your albums… from her.’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t have time for concerts for years. I’m contracted on Broadway for six months and then I’m going to Los Angeles with Night Magic. That could be another year, and I may be offered…’
‘Then you will buy gowns for the future, but you will buy them.’ He sneered, and memories of the real Kevin Tyrone flooded back. How he’d pretended to love her; she had influence with Clement… ‘I’m her new scout. It’s my job to persuade stars like you to buy from her, and I get fifty percent commission on every sale.’
Blackmail, and absolutely no way of proving she’d paid him a penny. Luckily he was still a fool: he’d found a way of extorting money, but so little compared to her earnings, and the income from Fynn Productions, the business she inherited from Clement and Michael ran for her, she could pay it and forget Kevin Tyrone.

ILLICIT PASSION by SARAH STUART Erotic Romantic Thriller Adults only, please. viewbook.at/ILLICITPASSION

Prologue

Lisette Marsh took the chance to relax on one of the few sofas left scattered in a ballroom at The Westin overlooking Times Square. The premiere of the Broadway musical Night Magic had ended with a twenty minute standing ovation, and she’d been on her feet for over eight hours prior to the all-night party. Three of them had been a gruelling, unscheduled rehearsal caused by a malfunction in the mechanics of a swing that needed her, not a stand-in, to test it. The set manager had been overheard praying her understudy would never have to take over at short notice, between swearing at his unfortunate technicians.
Bart, one of her two bodyguards, winked and moved between her and the chattering groups. She smiled back and closed her eyes. It was March the eleventh already: less than two days to her twenty-first birthday, and Grant, and his wife, were laying on a party at Gramercy Park Hotel. He was still the centre of attention as Night Magic’s leading man, taking the pressure off her for a while. Grant was like that, generous: he never failed to acknowledge her, his leading lady in the second musical running,
‘Lisette, long time no see, darling.’
Her eyes shot open and she found herself staring into black ones she’d never expected to see again. Kevin Tyrone, the man so like her famous father, Michael Marsh, in looks, and his complete opposite in every way that mattered. ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in?’
‘My sister plays a minor role… Lisette, I came to apologise.’
‘Oh.’ Not the most brilliant of answers, but he’d astounded her. An apology over two years ago would have changed her life. He could have been an international star in the musical, Chains, which had launched her career, and they might well have been married.
He took her left hand in his and examined her bare ring finger as if he was thinking the same. ‘I embarrassed you, and I guess that was unforgivable.’
Bart was being tactful, keeping his back to her, though a call would bring him instantly.
Kevin persisted. ‘I understand how your father felt about me. I would, if anyone upset a daughter of mine.’
Embarrassing her was the least of it. Kevin Tyrone had mauled and bitten her under cover of rehearsing a scene where she was naked, discreetly in shadow. The lighting so discreet the director had noticed nothing.
He gripped her whole hand. ‘Don’t you think Clement Fynn was harsh? He didn’t just sack me, he made sure I never worked in Britain again. It’s different in America, Lisette. His work is known, but he’s one of many… and he’s dead.’
Clement had been more than the director of Chains. He’d been the multimillionaire producer who wrote all his own librettos… and a friend. More than a friend. He’d been like an uncle to her… and was that why he’d done his best the scupper Kevin’s showbiz career forever? ‘Maybe Clement was tough on you but he loved me, and I loved him.’
‘I didn’t realise that…’ He dropped her hand and shrugged. ‘I was hoping now you’re an established star in The States you’d put in a word for me. You must have contacts.’
She did, and Grant had more. A word to him and Kevin would be on his way. ‘You’d be starting at the bottom, and this time you’d have to work.’
‘You could do better than that, darling. Kia, my sister, says Grant Holmes’ understudy has health problems. The man who replaces him will take the lead when you and Grant go with the show to Los Angeles. Sure to.’
Kevin Tyrone was capable of taking the lead, and equally likely to rely on her name and not bother giving his best. ‘I’ll mention your name to a few people, and that’s all. It is different over here. You could make your own way if you tried. Kia is.’
His eyelids dropped, half-hiding a glitter of menace. ‘I never thought of Fynn as the father of your baby… and he wasn’t, was he?’
Her heart pounded and cold sweat soaked her dress. Harriet, the chubby toddler with Michael’s black curls and her emerald eyes, had been born in secret and safely hidden as one of her mother’s twins for almost two years, until now. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Kevin was guessing: he could prove nothing. ‘If you want my help, apologise. If you don’t my guards will escort you out, related to a bit-player or not.’
He moved closer until she could smell his sweat. ‘Gossip about the true relationship with your father was all over the press, until you conveniently disappeared for long enough to give birth to a brat. You’ll do as you’re told, darling.’
A brat… he could calculate dates but he had know way of knowing if her child was Harriet or Kit… and what difference did that make? She couldn’t risk danger to either of them, or to Lizzie who cared for Harriet like her own even though she knew Michael had been unfaithful to her with her eldest daughter.
‘You will obey me… you will do everything I say…’
The voice went on, almost unheard. Incest… a crime in the eyes of the law and the church. Tyrone could ruin the lives of everyone she loved. Gran, the doctor who’d delivered Harriet and supplied false papers… her brother… and the shock would kill Grandfather. He’d assumed Kevin was Harriet’s father, and with his weak heart…
‘Kevin, Grant’s understudy strained his leg. He’s having physio… he could act now if he had to. The most I can do is ask around, and what can I say? You took a minor part in one of Clement Fynn’s less successful musicals…’
‘You will do it, darling. In the meantime, I have to live.’ He produced a card from his pocket carrying the logo of one of New York’s top dress designers: below it Tamsin. An unknown trying to make her name? ‘From now on you will commission every gown for occasions like this… every costume for the concerts that promote your albums… from her.’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t have time for concerts for years. I’m contracted on Broadway for six months and then I’m going to Los Angeles with Night Magic. That could be another year, and I may be offered…’
‘Then you will buy gowns for the future, but you will buy them.’ He sneered, and memories of the real Kevin Tyrone flooded back. How he’d pretended to love her; she had influence with Clement… ‘I’m her new scout. It’s my job to persuade stars like you to buy from her, and I get fifty percent commission on every sale.’
Blackmail, and absolutely no way of proving she’d paid him a penny. Luckily he was still a fool: he’d found a way of extorting money, but so little compared to her earnings, and the income from Fynn Productions, the business she inherited from Clement and Michael ran for her, she could pay it and forget Kevin Tyrone.