All rights reserved. Alteration, reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any informational storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Christine Calnin.

Formerly titled "Addicted to Sex", "The Seduction of Laurel" is an Amazon.com bestseller,
BookSense 76 nominee and book club favorite!


~ Seduction of Laurel ~
The Sisterhood Book 1

ISBN 1419604686
Copyright © 2004-05 Christine Calnin

~PROLOGUE~

You may think you know who you are.

Your past is filled with memories of wonderful times, sad and difficult times, love, hate, friendship and sorrow, but they are memories nonetheless.

I have two sets of memories. One of a perfect childhood, high school and college years with kind doting parents. Then, onto a storybook marriage.

But that was a lie.

Something happened one evening. Something that changed everything. It was the start of a downward spiral that was to be the end of life as I had known it - or thought it to be. My single indiscretion was the start of something so sinister, yet so very exciting that it would recreate my very existence, body and soul.

As the second ‘true’ set of memories emerged, I came to the conclusion that I must let my former self die to let who I truly was live.

My identity had been handed down through the centuries – refined and perfected.

In the end, I not only accepted who and what I was, I reveled in it.

But suddenly... things changed and there was no turning back.

Have you ever bathed in blood? It has the most amazing effect on the skin...



~ From CHAPTER TWO ~

"Laura, where have you been?" Mark asked me as I crawled into bed.  He reached for the clock.  "Geez, honey, it's almost 4:30 in the morning!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," I snuggled up behind him.  He was warm and solid and felt so strong and dependable.

"I went out for breakfast."

"Breakfast with Geri?" Mark asked.

"Uh, no.  Actually, I met a girl and, it's funny, she knows my cousin Ann.  They went to college together.  Geri was having a lot of fun and didn't want to leave, so we went out for breakfast."  How easy it was to lie.  He believed every word.

"Why is your hair wet?  Is it raining?"

"Oh, no I just took a quick shower.  You know, smoke, bar smell."  Little did Mark know I had been home for almost an hour, trying to wash every trace of Michael from my body and mind, but there he was; thoughts of him, us, and what we did.  His gaze was burned into my brain, his touch was branded on my breasts, belly, legs and everywhere in between.  Had Mark been a more perceptive man, he might have caught on, but trusting, dependable, boring Mark believed every word.

"Does she have a name or is she just 'the girl'?"

"Huh, what?" he caught me off guard.  My mind was going a million miles a minute.  It was all I could do to keep from shaking.

"The girl you met.  What's her name?" he asked and turned toward me.  He put his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead.

"Mary.  Her name's Mary."

"So, how were the male strippers?  Are you all excited now, Laura?  Watching those guys in their little G-strings, did you have the hots for any of them?" he kidded me.

"No, Mark, just you," I breathed, wishing it were true.  Mark ran his strong, soft hands over my body.  We made love and it was nice enough, but empty.  I felt dirty and excited at the same time knowing I had just had the best sex of my life and now, only a couple of hours later, was sleeping with a different man.  Even though this man happened to be my husband, my mind kept going back to room 19 and the passion within.  Thank God, Mark couldn't read my thoughts.  If he could have, he would have known I was making plans to find another man to have sex with.

The weeks passed and I took many lovers.  I never had the same man twice and was thankful, yet disappointed that I never saw Michael again.  I found my men in bars, hotel lobbies, music stores, supper clubs and, believe it or not, grocery stores; the stranger the place, the more challenging the prey.  Mark never questioned my whereabouts.  We were both in sales and traveled occasionally.  We both understood that sometimes one of us might have to go out at night to meet clients.  When I worked from home and took a lover in the daytime, Libby went to day care.

My men ranged from college students to doctors and lawyers.  Many of them did not divulge their names, professions or anything else.  Some told me far more than I wanted to know.  There were men with fetishes and weird fantasies and men who only wanted straight sex with me, doing nothing more than laying there motionless.  There were men who wanted me to scream, moan and claw at them and men who wanted to be punished, abused, spanked and demeaned.

I remember one such man or perhaps I should say boy.  I doubt he was more than eighteen – if that.  We met on a street corner.  He was waiting for a city bus and I was on my way to a lunch with Geri.  I had planned to do some shopping first, but after seeing this young man wearing jeans perfectly suited to his form and a t-shirt that left little to the imagination, I decided my shopping could wait.

I sidled up next to him.

"Hello," I said and gave him a smile.  I felt a rush of excitement that came with men I knew would be special.  That rush would have me intimately ready for them in a matter of seconds.  Not all men had the luxury of instant turn on.  Some of them had to work at it.

"Hi!"  He smiled back and looked away, then looked back at me.  Some men just know.  I could tell he was a bit nervous and his lack of experience with women showed, but some men know a golden opportunity when they see one, and I was shining brightly at the moment.

"Are you famous?"  I asked him.  He blushed sweetly, his cheeks reddening as he took a healthy look at my breasts.

"No," he laughed a little.  "But some girls say I look a little like a certain movie star," he shrugged and blushed some more.

"Ah, that's it.  Yes, I know who you mean," I lied, winking and flirting by squeezing his biceps.  "Wow," I said with wide eyes.

"I work out," he told me proudly and flexed for me.  "I work out hard."

"Hard?"

"Very hard," he said slowly, his blue eyes penetrated mine.  I took the cue I was waiting for.

"It's naughty to flirt with an older woman, movie star," I egged him on by running my hand down his arm.

"Well, maybe I'm just a naughty boy.  Maybe I should show you how naughty," he teased and I pegged him right away for a Mama's boy who wanted to be dominated.  This just might be even more memorable than I had thought.

"Yes, you should, movie star.  Show me how naughty you are and I'll show you what Mommy does to a bad boy," I cooed seductively and moved closer to him, reaching down to feel how hard he was.

No disappointment there.

I took his hand and pulled him down a walkway between two buildings.

"Where are we going? he asked.

"Mommy's going to spank you," I told him simply.


~ From CHAPTER FOURTEEN ~

While under hypnosis, Laurel travels back in time and finds herself with the very first of the Sisterhood, the beautiful and deadly Bridget Seton.

As if I were a voyeur in the shadows, I watched the scenes lay out before me.

Young Bridget, exquisitely beautiful and perhaps all of eighteen years old knelt before her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the First.  The lovely Queen with porcelain skin and scarlet hair put her hand on Bridget's auburn locks, which fell gracefully to the floor.  She fingered a soft curl and tipped Bridget's chin up to look into her fascinating eyes.  She smiled softly as a mother to a child.

"My dear Queen," Bridget said, brilliant green eyes pooling with tears.  "I can not kill a man."

Queen Elizabeth's look hardened.  "What have I not done for you child?  Tell me so that I might know how you can turn against me in my time of need?"

"Please forgive me, Majesty.  I cannot repay you for you many selfless gifts.  I am but an orphan who..."

"Say that again, Bridget and then refuse my plea for help."  The Queen sat back in her favorite chair.  Not a throne, but a simple armchair in her personal quarters, where she often sought comfort and solace.  Queen Elizabeth waited for a reply from her favorite lady in waiting, the young woman whom she often called daughter.

Over time the Queen had heard much complaining about the favor she had bestowed on a young girl left in the kitchens of the castle with nothing but a scrawled note that simply said "Bridget", and misspelled, at that.

Bridget, no last name, no heritage, and wrapped only in a filthy cloth had fast become the Queen's pet.  Elizabeth could not have asked for a finer child to come into her life.  Dear departed Jacques, a favorite chef for the Queen, was the one to find the infant and only those two people knew the truth about her mysterious past, although many had heard rumors of the "kitchen brat".

Elizabeth bestowed the fine last name of Seton on the child and declared her, Lady Bridget Seton, orphaned daughter of dear friends.  Of course, no one had ever heard of the elusive Setons, but who would be so bold as to question the Queen in such a "trivial" matter as an orphaned child.

As a little girl, Bridget was often found in the stables and lurking around the palace in peasant clothes, boy's clothes, no less, riding horses and milling about, visiting with the lower classes and helping all she could with food she had misappropriated from the kitchens, to baubles for those in dire need, to sell.

The Queen often scolded her, telling her she should behave as a fine lady, for as one brought up by the Queen, she indeed was!  But Bridget, always honest and real, answered the Queen in her philosophical way.  "You have helped me, Majesty.  Is it not right to help others?  Surely that will come back to us all by the Grace of God!"

How could the Queen argue?

Even as Bridget grew from tomboy to the stately, charming woman of unchallenged beauty that she now was, she held to her beliefs.  Although Bridget matured in her femininity and dressed in the Queen's gifts of the finest silk and jewels, she was still the kind-hearted peasant girl who often stole away to the stables and lower recesses of the castle to commune with those she felt were 'her own'.  A wonderful gift, Elizabeth had always thought – to be able to become one of any class or orientation and yet remain the same honest individual.

Elizabeth had insisted on an education for her favorite charge and was rewarded with an intelligent and hungry mind.  Bridget was fluent in a number of languages and often humiliated her male counterparts in intelligent debate.  As hawking and hunting was a favorite sport of the Queen, so it became Bridget's and she often accompanied they royal party in sport – another bit to stick in the craw of many a gentleman.  Bridget had indeed grown to be an accomplished and tremendously well-rounded woman and for all of her "peasantries" and playful insubordination, she was the Queen's child through and through – God fearing and loyal to a fault – which was where her dilemma now lie.

"My Queen, I do not argue that you have gone above and beyond in your kindness to me, but..."

Elizabeth smiled again.  "Dispense with these formalities child, for when, other than in public have you referred to me as Majesty?  Let us speak as we always have in private."

"Yes, Mum," Bridget deferred to her.

"Now tell me that you will do my bidding.  I have given you nothing but love, stood by while you donated your jewels and fine clothes to those poor souls your heart went out to, and denounced those who would question you and your heritage, or lack of..."

"But," Bridget tried to argue."

"But nothing, Mistress!  Do not dare to defy me," her color rose again and Bridget and I both felt her anger.  "I cannot tell you what your loyalty and deference to me means.  I will never marry, nor will I ever have a child, yet for all His wisdom, God has blessed me with you – as close to the fruit of my womb as ever a child will be.  It is not as a Mother that I beseech you, but as your Queen that I order you."  Elizabeth's face reddened yet even in her agitation, her heart cried out to the young woman who would be forced not only to kill for her, but sacrifice her virginity and morals.

Bridget stood with her head held high but I could relate to her crisis.  She did not want to back down to the Queen, but still, she knew what Bess was capable of even if it meant death to those closest to her.  There were many examples.  I stood beside her and wanted nothing more than to comfort this young woman, whose blood ran through my veins.  I reached out to touch her shoulder and felt that although she could not see me, she could feel me.  She raised her head.

"What is it?" the Queen asked.  Bridget thought for a second and suddenly laughed through her tears.

"A ghost, Mum.  A ghost touched my shoulder."  She reached up and laid her hand on mine.  It was warm, soft, and so alive!

Elizabeth laughed out loud – the sound was strong but warmed both our spirits for we were in the company of a most extraordinary woman.

I felt more than a simple kinship or "Sisterhood", if you will.  I felt centuries of women and one, single purpose coursing through my veins.  It was electrifying and I and already felt healed, physically and spiritually.  I would stand by Bridget, no matter the nature of the deed she was to commit for it was no doubt in the best interest of mankind.  We both knew it and I could feel that my presence enveloped hers as hers did mine.

We were one and I had a sudden understanding of my purpose.

"A touch from the past, or perhaps ... the future, my love," the Queen said.  Bridget wiped her tears and stood up defiantly in front of her Queen and surrogate Mother.

"And what shall come of me if I refuse, Good Queen?" she said, her shoulders back and head held high.

"I will give you the kindness of choosing the manner of your death, daughter," she lied.

"Then let us plot his demise," Bridget said boldly.

"James!" she called and the door opened.  A breathtakingly handsome man in his early twenties entered and bowed before the Queen.  Bridget had never encountered him before but I certainly had.

"Administer the brand and we shall continue in the morning," she said.  And then, as if it were an afterthought, "My apologies, Bridget.  Please meet Sir Jamison Treader – Jamie, as I am fond of calling him.  He is to be your mentor.  He will guide you, and teach you and his word is as mine."

Just as I felt Bridget's heart burst, so did mine as we looked into the eyes of the same man, born centuries apart.


~ From CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR ~
Laurel meets the enigmatic, charming and evil Gustav, the man she must assassinate, but first she must make him her lover...

"I have a gift for you, Majesty," I said with a smile.  He perked up.

"And when will I receive this gift?" he asked.  I pulled a small box from my bag and gave it to him.  He looked disappointed.  It was obvious what he was hoping for in the line of a gift.  He opened the box and pulled out four long, white silk ribbons.  His eyes jumped to mine and I recognized the light of revelation in them.

"You look spectacular in white," I told him.  "I see I chose the right color for you."  He smiled slyly and suddenly a spotlight shone on him.  I stepped back quickly to avoid the attention.  Gustav slipped the small box into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and raised his arms as if to hug the crowd.

"Welcome to my home!" he said to his guests.

"Happy birthday, Majesty!" someone from the crowd yelled and the room erupted into applause.  Gustav put his hands up to quiet the rowdy bunch.  He blushed beautifully and spoke humbly and modestly although I doubted such words had a place in Gustav's vocabulary.

"Thank you, my loyal subjects!" he shouted.  "And while it is my birthday and you are here to celebrate with me, I have an announcement to make."  A servant ran to him with a microphone and Gustav thanked him.  He clicked it on and the reverberation squealed throughout the ballroom.  He laughed at this and the guests followed suit.  If anything, Gustav was a superb actor.

"Testing!" he joked and then spoke in a very serious tone.  "I have listened to the conversations this evening and can not put into words how impressed and humbled I am by the brilliance evident in this room."  He stopped speaking and his "subjects" waited as if on the edge of something that would fall over if he did not commence.  "Your beauty," he continued and waved his free hand about the place to include all listeners.  "Is remarkable!  Handsome men and flawless women, all intelligent, all without equal – is this not the perfect world?" he shouted out the last.  The listeners punched their fists into the air.

"Yes!" they shouted in unison.

"Is this not what we seek for all of humankind?"

"Yes!" I shouted with them, feeling the horror of what he was saying run through my veins like ice water.  Play along!  I had to remind myself.

"The terminally ill, the elderly, those not productive ... no longer a drain on society!"  The people screamed in agreement.

"The retarded, inept, unintelligent ... no longer seeping into the pool of brilliance!"  The people cheered and started stomping their feet in unison.

Stomp.  Stomp.  Stomp.  Stomp.

The noise, louder than thunder, was deafening.  But Gustav continued.

"Purity!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Yes!" they screamed.

"The plan is in place!" he paused and the room was once again silent.  "To start the cleansing!"  And we screamed and stomped our feet and Gustav walked around the circle of the spotlight, punching his fist into the air, shouting.

"Purity!  Purity!  Purity!"  And the crowd continued shouting purity until the words morphed from that to something even more sinister.  The words boiled up from the bowels of the earth.

"Das Oberste!  Das Oberste!  Das Oberste!"  They screamed and he stood in the middle of the ring of light, glowing, shining in his white tuxedo like a brilliant demon of light.  His eyes were glazed over and stomping and shouting continued taking the crowd from crazed to what felt like an orgasmic frenzy and it was easy to see how one could be taken in and changed by Gustav.

Then he looked toward me, his blue eyes suddenly changing to a sinister violet shade.  He threw his hand up and the wild crowd hushed immediately.  It was as though he had flicked a switch.

"And one month from tonight," he said into the microphone, never taking his eyes from me.  "I shall take a wife!  A queen!  Your queen!"

"Yes!" they shouted one last time and Gustav left the spotlight.  They continued to shout as the music started once again.

I wanted to disappear.  I was shaking and felt ill.  Had they all seen him look at me when he announced his impending marriage?  I doubted it, but could not shake the feeling that every person in the room was looking, pointing, talking about me.

He raised his hands to the sky and looked up after them, jerking his head back.  Lightening struck far too close for comfort and he pushed his hands to the Gods once again and the lightening reached for him through the safety of the building.  I couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't summoned the heavens above or perhaps hell for this very effect...