At Your Service: Tammer

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At Your Service, Book One--Tammer

written by Lila Munro

 

 

 

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Cover Artist: Carl J. Franklin

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What critics and readers are saying about Lila and her work…

 

[Assumed Calling]
“Ms. Munro creates a world of realistic player and situations, which draw the reader through the lives of the players page by page until the end. With a true grasp on a life style that other authors simply play knowledge of, Munro guides readers through the sensual and intriguing world of master and submission in a roller coaster of emotion, which make for a truly amazing read!”—JL Oiler, Author

 

“Assumed Master
has many emotional layers. It’s not just a story about Dante and Julie. It’s a story about an unconventional but very loving functional family that adjusts to the introduction of a new member….how refreshing! [
Assumed Master]
has emotional depth, wonderfully ‘real’ characters, an intriguing plot and a very satisfying ending. I will definitely be making the time to read the other books in Ms. Munro’s Identity Series, because this one is a winner.”—Dark Haven Book Reviews

 

[Assumed Identity]
“I started reading this book because of previous positive reading experiences with this author and found it to be engaging and the kind of book one does not lay down after starting. Lots of surprises and the kind of twists and turns that keep the reader glued to each succeeding page. Lila Munro seldom disappoints and that is certainly not a problem here. It's a wonderful book and one that deserves to be read and appreciated.”—Dr. J, Bookstrand Reader

 

“Fabulous! That’s all I can say about True Identity. Once I started reading, I couldn’t stop. It felt so real, as if I was reading a true story and I was instantly invested in the characters. I felt their conflict, their pain, and their dreams. Munro’s
True Identity
is a true indulgence for a BDSM reader as her descriptive writing brings the story to life. ”—Guilty Indulgence Book Reviews

 

 

Chapter One

 

Glancing at the calendar on her desk and noting she’d not missed a stray appointment, Nina Prescott deduced the only person who could possibly be knocking on her door on a cloudy Thursday evening in February was a wayward Girl Scout pulling a red wagon full of cookies. Her stodgy neighbors were more than aware of her stringently scheduled life and dared not bother her unless the house was on fire around her and they believed she may have failed to notice the smoke and flames. She grabbed her tablet and scrolled through her personal planner determining that no, she wasn’t expecting a visit from anyone she may have overlooked and with her lips curled up to one side, she stood then sighed. Definitely a Girl Scout.

Carefully hitting
save
on the current speech sitting in queue, Nina made her way through the house to the front door. But apparently not quick enough for the little bugger waiting on the porch as she was now bearing down on the doorbell with vengeance.

“Try me, Tinkerbell, and I’ll send your cookie peddling butt packing without buying a single box of Thin Mints,” she growled, flipping on a light in the front room so the child would see she was trying to get there. “Even if they are my favorite.” Nina looked around and realized she’d failed to grab her purse from the bench in the back entry which served as the collection point for all things literally dropped at the door. “Shit,” she mumbled then raised her voice. “Hang on, I’m coming. Please stop with the ringing.”

Spinning on the ball of her socked foot, she sprinted on tiptoes back through the house. She thumbed through her wallet plucking a twenty from the bills then thinking again, traded it for a fifty. “While My Liege is away, kitten will play,” she said over a low laugh. “Surely I can work a few dozen cookies off before he returns.”

Nina made her way back toward the front of the house cussing like the marine wife she was the entire way as the bell continued to ring at regular intervals. Persistence was definitely not a virtue in this case. Composing her features into sappy sweetness and staying the stream of colorful variations of the word
fuck
flowing off her tongue, she swung the front door back and poked the fifty out.

“I’ll take as many boxes of Thin Mints as this will get me this…year.” It was at that point Nina actually looked at who stood at her door. Petite girl in green was absolutely not a fitting description.

“Nina Prescott?” the man standing there poised to knock again rumbled out in a honeyed baritone which plucked at a nerve or two as it skittered down Nina’s spine.

Nina looked up and up over hardened thighs beneath black denim, rugged abs seeping through skin tight cotton, and a chiseled olive chin dusted with just a smattering of dark five o’clock shadow. His piercing indigo eyes bled authority from beneath long, envy worthy lashes.

Almost every instinct in her yelled,
“Dom, kneel!”

Yet one urged,
“Stranger, caution.”

She was pretty sure her marine husband and Liege would have her trussed up for ignoring the second voice, but he’d gone off on mission again and disrupted her carefully plotted life. Again. Although she’d never entertain the idea of cheating on Joel because she sure wasn’t that kind of wife or sub, he hadn’t said no flirting as he reminded her of the rules on his way out the door.

“Who are you and what do you sell? Have any cookies in your bag?” she asked, eyeing the black leather duffle draped over one of his broad shoulders which bested her height by at least six inches. Her heart refused to stay still as she imagined what he just might be carrying with him.

“No cookies. I’m from the service,” he said, raking Nina with those smoldering eyes and sending heat to her extremities.

“Okay? Which branch?” Nina withdrew the fifty, tucked it behind her back, and stuck her head out the door noting the black Ford F-250 parked in front of her quarters.

“No. I’m
from
the service, not
in
it. You’re Nina Prescott, right?” The man pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Nina Prescott, wife of Master Sergeant Joel Prescott, lives at thirteen twenty-three Chadwick Street, play night Thursdays, political speech writer…”

Nina gasped and tried to slam the door in his face, her cookie money floating to the floor as she let go of it. Toy bag on his shoulder her ass, he was an assassin. Who the hell was Joel’s current assignment that they’d sent someone after her for payback? And where the hell was her cell? On the damned catch all in the back? The MPs…9-1-1… “I’m going to call the MPs, asshole,” she shouted, finally managing to get the door shut despite his best effort to keep it open before turning to bolt down the hall with her heart in her throat.

Much to what would be her Liege’s disappointment, she failed to lock the damn thing in her haste and heavy footfalls soon caught up with her just as she grabbed her phone and started to dial. When one large hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, albeit firmly but less roughly than she’d expect from a trained killer, the device flew across the floor and Nina opened her mouth and proceeded to scream as loud as she could muster for all of two seconds before another large hand came down on her lips and crushed the sound.

“Nina, I’m not here to hurt you. Calm down, sweetheart. Your husband acquired my services…” he said in a soothing voice right before she bit into his palm. “Shit! There was nothing in your file about your attitude.”

The chase was on again with Nina making the fatal mistake of darting up the stairs and running through her bedroom and into the bathroom before slamming the door and managing to lock it. “Great, now what, Nina,” she said, looking around the room. “Isn’t this the very thing you shout not to do at those dumbass women in those cheesy campy movies you hate to watch? You’ve backed yourself into a corner.”

“Nina,” the man said softly from the other side of the door. “Your husband told you about the surprise coming, didn’t he?”

“Why the fuck would he warn me he was having me killed?” she spat, wondering what she’d done to deserve Joel’s wrath in the form of a murderer. “You’re not a very smart gun for hire, are you?”

A low chuckle echoed from the other side of the door which threatened to warm her before she reminded herself the man it came from was a raving lunatic sent to off her. Then that rattling voice spoke again and just about undid her.

“Nina, sweetheart, there seems to be a bit of miscommunication. I’m not here to hurt you or kill you or sell you anything. Your husband booked me to take care of some of your needs while he’s away. I’m your service Top from At Your Service.”

Nina was completely aghast. Joel had hired a…not Joel. No. No. No. Not her
negotiations were permanent only to be toyed with at regular intervals and carefully laid out almost to the point of flow charts
Joel. He would
never
do something of this magnitude without first analyzing it and discussing it at length. Would he?

Wondering what the man standing in her bedroom was doing now as it had gone completely quiet, Nina squatted then lowered to the floor on her stomach and peeked through the crack at the bottom of the door.

His bag was set on the floor at the foot of the bed and he’d made himself at home on the end of it. Two black jump boots were spread about a foot apart and those enormous hands were laced between his knees. He was hunched forward and when she twisted her head to look up, those damn eyes of his met hers and a grin split his cheeks complete with two dimples at the corners of his mouth.

“Hi,” he said.

Nina’s eyes went wide and she shot up when she absorbed he could see her checking him out. Annoyed not only with Joel, but with the man who’d taken up residence on the end of her bed, she checked her watch. She was now off schedule by twenty-two minutes. Not only was this irritating, it was inconvenient as hell. Wondering what she should do next, she sat on the side of the tub, crossed her bare legs, pulled her socks up, and set one elbow on her knee placing her chin in her palm.

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