When ambitious journalist Quinn lands the scoop of a lifetime - an exclusive with the reclusive billionaire Lachlan McIntyre - she never imagines it will lead her into the eye of a storm... both literally and figuratively. Trapped on Lachlan's private island by a raging typhoon, Quinn finds herself drawn into the orbit of this magnetic older man. As the wind howls outside, Lachlan's carefully constructed walls begin to crumble, revealing dark secrets that could destroy everything he's built. With each passing day, the heat between them intensifies. Quinn knows she should keep things professional, but how can she resist when Lachlan looks at her like she's the answer to every question he's ever had? As Lachlan opens up, sharing his deepest thoughts and desires, Quinn realizes she's stumbled upon the story of a lifetime. But at what cost? The longer she stays, the harder it becomes to decide whether her feelings or career or more important. When the clouds finally part, Quinn faces an impossible choice: pursue the truth that could make her career, or protect the man who's captured her heart? Will Quinn choose ambition or love? Can Lachlan let her go once she knows it all?
View MoreThe air on the island felt different now, heavy and charged, as though the approaching storm wasn’t confined to the sky. The once serene paradise had become a pressure cooker, the weight of it pressing down on Quinn’s chest. She stood by the tall windows of the villa’s living room, the horizon marred by dark clouds rolling in from the sea. The wind had picked up, rustling the palm fronds outside and carrying the salty tang of the ocean through the slightly open windows.Behind her, Lachlan paced like a caged lion, his phone pressed to his ear as he issued crisp, controlled orders. Yet, even in his attempts to exude calm authority, Quinn could see the signs of strain—the way his fingers flexed open and closed at his side, the tension in his jaw as he ground his teeth. His shirt, usually perfectly pressed, was rumpled, and his hair stuck up in places from where he’d clawed his fingers through it repeatedly.“Double the security at the perimeter,” he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut
The study was steeped in shadows, the late afternoon sun filtering through heavy blinds and casting fractured light across the room. The scent of old books mingled with the faint tang of salt carried on the sea breeze, but the air inside was heavy, suffocating.Lachlan stood behind his imposing oak desk, a figure carved from granite, while Clara lingered by the window, her silhouette fragile and waif-like against the glow. Quinn hovered near the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her mind caught in a tangle of questions she couldn’t yet untangle.Lachlan’s voice cut through the silence, low and sharp. “Start at the beginning. How were you kept from me? Why didn’t I know you existed?”Clara turned from the window, her eyes soft but resolute. “You have to understand, Lachlan, our mother wasn’t like other mothers. She made choices—choices she believed were necessary. Choices that tore us apart.”“Necessary?” Lachlan’s voice rose, his composure cracking. His hands gripped t
Quinn"I'm here to see Lachlan," the woman announced, a musical lilt barely imperceptible in her soft voice.I stood there, rooted to the spot, as Sims' thin lips tightened into almost invisibility. We all stood like statues staring at each other for several breaths before Sims finally ushered the woman inside. She moved with a grace that belied her frail appearance, her eyes darting around the grand hallway as if she took in every detail. It didn't look like she was familiar with the place.I couldn't help but stare at her, my mind racing with questions. Who was she? how did she know where this place was? Did Sims know her or not? I couldn't tell. And why did she seem so familiar?Sims led the woman to the formal drawing room, instructing the maid who had been lurking in the doorway there with a tray and coffee, to fetch Lachlan. I followed despite the austere butler not inviting me, my curiosity piqued. The woman sat down on the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap
QuinnThe seaplane landed smoothly, the water spraying up like tiny crystals under the sunlight. I'd been surprised when Lachlan had shown me to the small plane as we watched the yacht turn into a small dot on the water the morning after the traumatic ritual I'd witnessed."I need to get home as soon as possible and I'm sure you want to get back to work." His answer had been taciturn and not at all fulfilling when I'd asked, but I'd let it go. At that point, all I wanted off this island as soon as possible and didn't really care what Lachlan's reasons were.Once back on Lachlan's home island, he helped me out of the plane, his hand lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary. As we walked in silence towards the grand house, the waves crashing against the shore the only sound accompanying the slide of our footsteps, I wasn't sure whether I should feel relief or trepidation in returning to the now familiar spaces. With as few words as possible, I retreated to the beautiful roo
QuinnAfter our encounter on the island, we'd come back to the yacht and the gentle rocking of the ocean had lulled me into a state of drowsy contentment as I lay nestled in the plush bedding, the remnants of Lachlan's scent clinging to the sheets. The events of the past few hours swirled in my mind, a chaotic mix of horror, confusion, and a strange, unsettling arousal.The image of the woman on the altar, her lifeless eyes staring up at the moon, the blood dripping from the sacrificial dagger…it played on repeat in my memory, a macabre slideshow that continued to send shivers down my spine. Lachlan's explanation, his insistence that it was all a charade, a necessary deception to maintain control within the Order of the Serpent…it echoed in my ears, a desperate plea for understanding, for trust.And then there was the knife. He had shown me the prop dagger. I had held it in my hand and it had collapsed allowing it to seem to stab but not really. But it was still sharp. My skin pebbled
**Reader warning - This chapter involves consensual knife and blood play. If this is disturbing to you or not your yum, move on, you won't miss any major plot points. If you thinks it's hot, or if you're a little curious, read on dear reader! Don't yuck the yum before you read it! :) xoxo**Lachlan Quinn's body trembled under my hand but she nodded, her eyes never leaving the blade. I smiled to myself. "I need your words for this, my love." "Green, sir," she breathed, and relaxed against the cool wood making my cock jump in anticipation. Jesus, the surrender made me harder than the acacia wood I had her laid."Oh, mo chroi, what a good girl you are," I growled, trailed my free hand through her hair and down her bare back. "Now stay very still unless I tell you." I slipped my fingers under her loose pants followed by the sharp edge of the blade and a second later, they fell to the floor with her shirt leaving her perfect body bare before me spread over my desk. It was a sight I'd co
LachlanThe weight of Quinn's gaze bore into me, her mossy green eyes reflecting a tumultuous sea of doubt and fear. I could see the gears turning in her mind, the struggle between wanting to believe me and the horror she had witnessed. I knew I was asking a lot of her, perhaps too much. But I also knew that our bond, the connection that had grown between us, was stronger than the webs of deceit spun by the Order.I reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with my fingertips. Her skin was soft, warm, and slightly flushed from the emotional turmoil she was experiencing. She didn't pull away from my touch, but her eyes remained wary, questioning."Quinn," I murmured, my voice low, soothing. "I know this is hard for you. I know it's a lot to take in. But I need you to trust me. I need you to believe in us."She bit her bottom lip, a habit I found both endearing and arousing. "I want to, Lachlan. I just…I need something more. Something to hold onto, to prove that what you're saying is tru
QuinnLachlan’s grip felt warm and strong around mine, a stark contrast to the icy grip of fear that still clenched my heart. He led me back towards the villa, his steps measured and calm, as if we were returning me from a collapse at the edge of the sea after witnessing a horrific ritual sacrifice. I stumbled along beside him, my mind a maelstrom of confusion and terror. The image of the woman on the altar, her lifeless eyes staring up at the moon, blood dripping from her fingers was burned into my retinas.He led me back to a study, almost a duplicate of the one in his home on his personal island leaving no further question in my mind as to who this home belonged to."Sit, leannan," he said, depositing me on a small couch. He poured me a glass of amber liquid pressing it into my trembling hands. He sat opposite me in a dark teak armchair, his gaze intense, searching. "Quinn," he began, his voice low and soothing, “what you saw…it wasn’t real.”I stared at him, the brandy sloshing ove
QuinnBefore me lay a sight that would haunt my dreams forever.A sprawling, ancient-looking temple loomed in the center of the clearing, its walls adorned with twisted, serpentine carvings. The air was heavy with the stench of incense and something far more sinister. The chanting grew louder, a cacophony of voices that seemed to come from all directions. My mouth gaped open. I shut my eyes for a long moment, not able to believe what I was seeing. It was like I had dropped into that old movie Romancing the Stone. Surely once I opened my eyes again, it would all be gone.But when I dared to look again, my eyes locked on Lachlan standing at the top of the altar, his eyes closed, his face tilted upwards as if in supplication. He was dressed in a long, black robe, the hood thrown back, revealing the handsome, chiseled features I would know anywhere. Except this time, the face I'd grown to love was cast in dangerous looking shadows, the fire from what had to be hundreds of torches mimickin
QuinnThe email pinged into my inbox, the sound cutting through the din of the bustling newsroom. My heart skipped a beat as I read the subject line: Re: Interview Request - Lachlan McIntyre.With trembling fingers, I opened it, my eyes devouring the words hungrily. After months of persistent requests and dead ends, I finally had my chance - an exclusive interview with the notoriously reclusive billionaire, Lachlan McIntyre.A thrill shot through me, that electric tingle of a journalist on the verge of a huge scoop. This was the story that could make my career, if I played my cards right. Lachlan McIntyre was an enigma, shrouded in mystery and intrigue. A real-life Gatsby, his rise from obscurity to unimaginable wealth was the stuff of legend, his business dealings cloaked in secrecy.I had made it my mission to unravel the truth behind the myth. And now, I finally had a foot in the door.The email detailed the terms of the interview - it would take place at McIntyre's private island ...
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