Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)
Cherise Sinclair
Acknowledgments
As always, my gratitude to Fiona Archer, Monette Michaels, and Bianca Sommerland, my crit partners. mwah!
A big shout-out this time goes to my News & Discussion peeps (AKA the Shadowkittens) who’ve had their little paws in quite a bit of this book, from finding Anne’s pictures to baby name suggestions. And the fun with Master Z and Jessica’s scenes? Oh, yes, my kittens, you were definitely of use.
My readers on Facebook helped out with suggestions for sensuous music while I write—so if you find the sex scenes even hotter this time, pat yourselves on the back.
A huge thank you to Liz Berry and M.J. Rose from Evil Eye Concepts for taking charge of the publishing details and, even more, for getting the word out about this book. Y’all are awesome.
Finally, when I got stuck on some of the military details, Kennedy Layne, author of the wonderfully action-packed CSA Case Files and Red Star series, lent me her Marine. Top Griz, thank you so, so much for helping out with this book.
This book’s title, Servicing the Target, is a military term, used in the past to denote bombing the enemy, but is now occasionally used by snipers. To our people serving in the military, past and present, I am humbled by your courage. May the burden of your memories lie lightly on your shoulders, and may happiness and peace walk with you on your journey.
Author’s Note
To my readers,
The books I write are fiction, not reality, and as in most romantic fiction, the romance is compressed into a very, very short time period.
You, my darlings, live in the real world, and I want you to take a little more time in your relationships. Good Doms don’t grow on trees, and there are some strange people out there. So while you’re looking for that special Dom, please, be careful.
When you find him, realize he can’t read your mind. Yes, frightening as it might be, you’re going to have to open up and talk to him. And you listen to him, in return. Share your hopes and fears, what you want from him, what scares you spitless. Okay, he may try to push your boundaries a little—he’s a Dom, after all—but you will have your safe word. You will have a safe word, am I clear? Use protection. Have a backup person. Communicate.
Remember: safe, sane, and consensual.
Know that I’m hoping you find that special, loving person who will understand your needs and hold you close.
And while you’re looking or even if you have already found your dearheart, come and hang out with the Masters of the Shadowlands.
Love,
Cherise
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Table of Contents
Book Description
Also from Cherise Sinclair
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Also From 1001 Dark Nights
About Cherise Sinclair
An excerpt from Master of the Mountain by Cherise Sinclair
Special Thanks
Chapter One
Bloody hell, she hurt.
Anne patted the wrought iron doorknocker on its snarling lion nose and pushed the door open. Damn thing seemed a lot heavier tonight.
She stalked into the foyer of the Shadowlands BDSM club—well, she tried to stalk—a Mistress had her pride, after all, but the limp must have destroyed the effect.
Damn her cousin anyway. Grandstanding plays belonged on the baseball diamond, not during an operation with armed felons.
As the door closed behind her, the Shadowlands security guard looked up. Scowled. He rounded the desk. A good six feet five, shoulders as wide as a football field, the goliath could have taken Schwarzenegger’s role in the Terminator. “What the hell happened to you?” he barked.
Huh? She hadn’t known he could raise his voice. He seemed such a sweetheart that, until recently, she’d wondered why Z had hired him for security. Then again, he looked rather like a Rottweiler—big-boned, oversized, and battered—and maybe he’d never needed to put his skills to the test.
He loomed over her, brows pulling together. “Are you all right?” His faded New York accent thickened, turning the all right to ahrite.