Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  “Hmm. It was you, earlier. Cookies. You smell good enough to eat.”

  His warm breath fanned her ear as he spoke. Another thousand watts bolted along her spine. Breasts crushed to his rigid chest, her nipples pebbled. His palms slid down her waist, molded her bottom, and squeezed.

  His erection pushed against her stomach. She gasped and drew back. “Cruz?”

  Surprise flitted across his handsome face. He chuckled. The deep resonance rumbled, and her sex clenched. Damn. That wonderfully erotic sound was as good as foreplay. If she had that sexy chuckle recorded, she could play the sound over and over again... Sex deprivation sucked.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. His gaze narrowed, following the motion. Intent burned in the grey depths, changing the color from smoke to molten silver.

  His head lowered. Her heart sprinted against her ribcage. The knowledge he was going to kiss her sent waves of exhilaration to her gut, heating her core. Her mouth parted in sweet expectation.

  Firm lips pressed against hers. Gently at first, then teasing, coaxing hers apart. His tongue slid inside and she sighed. The masculine scent of leather and musk spiked her heightened senses. She reveled in the taste of him.

  “Roxanne?”

  From behind, the sound of her name registered and broke the spell. The owner of that voice seemed a bit too familiar.

  Damn. Just when things were getting good.

  She sighed again and rotated a fraction within the circle of his arms. Her gaze locked on an identical pair of grey eyes. With a frown, her head swiveled back and forth between the duo.

  ‘Cruz’ number one held her tight, a sheepish expression on his face. ‘Cruz’ number two stood scrutinizing his double. In Dr. Seuss’s version, Thing One and Thing Two were equally matched in their naughtiness. In her scenario, Cruz One was clearly the bad boy. Cruz Two, with his clean-shaven jaw, polo shirt and khaki slacks, appeared familiar to her. He stared at the man holding her, his mouth tightened and irritation burned in his eyes. He studied her once more, a clear apology written all over his face.

  Cruz Two was obviously the real Doctor Avery.

  “Whoa!” She jerked out of One’s grasp. “What the hell is going on here?” She glared at them. Disappointment and sexual frustration clashed. She clenched her hands. “There are two of you?”

  “Roxanne, meet my brother, Jett,” number two said. “He recently transferred from Tucson. He’s a fireman and filled a position at Firehouse #54. We’ll probably be seeing him when he’s on paramedic duty.”

  “I knew you had a brother,” she said. “But twins?” Her voice carried the shock that thrummed through her body. “Having a good time at my expense, boys?” She placed a fist on each hip.

  Cruz stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Yes. No.” His gaze landed on his brother. “This was just a joke. He planned to tease you with the song. I had no idea he’d pretend to be me.” Anger colored his voice. “Or, that he would go so far.”

  “I was getting around to introducing myself,” Jett said easily. He flicked a thumb in Cruz’s direction. “You assumed I was him.”

  She swept her gaze over both men. The sculpted black T-shirt Jett wore with the suggestive logo and hip hugging jeans, his only accessory a dangerous smile. Versus the understated, clean-cut boy next-door appearance, Cruz always presented. Which from his title as the “heartthrob” of the ER, worked well for him.

  Same gorgeous looks, but obviously separate styles. Would that go for their taste in women, too? How would they treat a woman when dating her? Wine and dine or fast and furious? She suppressed a laugh.

  Twins. Hmm. The chance to have a set of twins studied and placed within her Manifesto was tempting. Very tempting.

  “Well boys, the fun is over for the night. One thing is sure, work will definitely be interesting tomorrow.” She reached across the short distance between her and Jett and wiped her lipstick off his mouth, ignoring the flame sizzling in her fingers. “Nice to have met you. See you around.” She spun on her heel and waded through the crowd.

  Back at their table, she grabbed her purse and sweater from the worn vinyl seat. Ambra leaned against the jukebox engrossed in a conversation with some guy Roxanne didn’t recognize. She sent her a nod, indicating she was leaving. Ambra acknowledged with a wink. She’d call her later.

  Outside, the cool night air smacked her in the face. Completely sober, she jammed her arms into her sweater.

  Once inside the car, Roxanne leaned against the seat, closing her eyes. Well, that was an experience. She’d been caught in a sizzling embrace with Cruz’s brother. She’d lip-locked with a complete stranger right in the middle of the dance floor. What a kiss! Her cheeks flamed, and liquid magma fired her abdomen. She fought the foreign sensations churning her gut as she twisted the key in the ignition and pressed the button for the automatic window to slide down. The cool breezed fanned her heated face.

  Despite Ambra’s encouragement, one-night-stands weren’t Roxanne’s forte. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. What she needed was to focus on the next date, and continue gathering data for The Manifesto. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her pocket calendar. With a pen, she crossed off last night’s disastrous E-date. She’d stick to her agenda and focus her energy on the several rounds of speed dating planned at Nozzleheads Bar and Grill.

  In control once more, she eased the car into gear and navigated the parking lot. Lip between teeth, she wondered how the twins could fit into The Manifesto. No immediate blueprint leapt to mind. Roxanne sighed, realizing there’d be the buzz of the ER’s gossips to be dealt with in the morning.

  “REAL SMOOTH, JETT. She’s probably pissed at me. I told you I worked with her,” Cruz said once they were back at their table. “What the hell were you thinking? You were only supposed to sing. Not grope and kiss her!”

  Jett stared at Cruz. He wasn’t sorry he’d pressed his body against hers. He could still feel all those luscious curves. The smell of cookies clung to his clothes. “So? Why else would I go to all the trouble?” Annoyance flared in his gut. He shrugged. “I needed her in my bed tonight, damn it!”

  Cruz gaped at him. “You can’t sleep with Roxanne! I work with her! She’s a nice girl.”

  Jett slapped a palm on the table. “What the hell does that have to do with you screwing with my plans for the night?”

  He scratched his chin. With Roxanne in his arms, familiar sensations had zipped through his body—sensations that made him forget and eased his guilt. She’d walked to the exit about ten minutes ago, curves swaying seductively in her wisp of a dress. He’d chased her outside but was too late. His gaze moved toward the entrance, hoping she’d come back. Roxanne had to be the answer to the ever-lasting nightmares.

  “It just does, damn it!” Cruz shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  Jett narrowed his gaze. “You like her as in like her.”

  Cruz shrugged. “She’s a good nurse. A wonderful person—.”

  “And sexy as hell,” Jett interrupted.

  Cruz frowned. “This isn’t about me, Jett. So, listen up. I’ve known Roxanne for over a year and we’re really good friends. She’s cool as a cucumber, and yes, sexy as hell. I have my reasons for not dating her—yet. So don’t mess this up for me.”

  “Thinking of something a little more permanent?” Jett mocked.

  Marriage and children might be okay for a doctor, but not for him. No, way. Firefighters had no business with a family. The chance of dying, like his best friend Dan, was too great a risk to take.

  A vision of Dan’s widow filled his mind. His heart tightened. Jett had seen her earlier in the week and had been shocked by how thin and drawn she’d looked. He’d stopped by to check on her and the boys. Although he’d loved Dan like a brother, Jett had never understood why his friend had married. There were no happy endings for guys like them. The job was too dangerous, often leaving families shattered by death and tragedy.

  A young couple entered the bar from
a side door. Wood smoke from the patio fire pit wafted inside. All of a sudden, Jett’s sight blurred...

  The smokey, flame-filled warehouse came into focus. Jett searched the blackness. Where was Dan? He’d been right behind him. His knees quavered and he keeled over while thick black smoke whirled around him. Fear filled his gut. He stumbled over something in his path. Embers from burning debris scorched his skin where his protective equipment didn’t cover completely.

  “What the hell, Jett? Jett!”

  Cruz’s hard grip on Jett’s shoulder plunged him from his own private hell.

  “What?” His breath came in short pants.

  “What’s up with you?” Cruz asked, releasing him.

  Jett’s hands shook. He gazed into his brother’s concerned face. He clenched his fists, placed them in his lap far away from Cruz’s keen examination. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Liar.” Resignation rested in Cruz’s eyes. “You can’t lie to me, but I won’t push you, for now. Maybe you should see a doctor and get checked out.”

  “Whatever.” Jett stood and threw some cash on the table. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” He turned away from Cruz’s calculating stare.

  “Jett?”

  “What?”

  “Stay away from Roxanne.”

  .

  Chapter Three

  ROXANNE ENTERED EXAM room three. The stench of stale cigarettes and booze assaulted her. She wrinkled her nose, and tried to breathe through her mouth. The source of the unpleasant menagerie rested on the gurney in the corner of the small space.

  Ralph Hankle lay sprawled on his back, snoring, mouth open, and with drool seeping down the side of his unkempt beard. A white sheet stretched along the bottom edge of the cart and trailed the linoleum floor, putting his hairy legs on display. He wore only a thin, faded blue hospital gown. Dirty white socks completed the disheveled picture.

  Not again. This was the third time in two weeks. She sighed and approached the unconscious man, grasped his shoulder and shook. “Ralph? Ralph wake up!”

  Ralph snorted and exhaled. He shifted his massive weight, smacking his cracked lips together. More saliva oozed from the crook of his mouth.

  Ewww! As a seasoned nurse, she could handle a lot of disgusting stuff, and had seen a lot of revolting images. But drool? Yuck! She wrinkled a brow. Come to think of it, there were one or two other things to add to the list of disgusting bodily fluids. Sputum—a putrid, thick, mucous expectorated from the lungs, along with draining wounds came to mind. And the smells! Okay, that was another file all together.

  She chuckled and turned to the cardiac monitor, which hung on the wall above the gurney. Ralph’s blood alcohol level hadn’t been too high this time. He’d come out of his Jim Beam induced sleep soon. She wrote down the results of his vital signs, noting the higher blood pressure and rapid heart rate.

  Her job had many positives, though. She eased pain and suffering. After fighting to bring life back into a still body, she could palpate an elusive pulse, and new hope surfaced. The emotional highs and lows sustained her.

  Too bad her job wasn’t enough to fulfill her entire life. She longed to be whisked off to Vegas for an adventurous weekend. Or, taken for dinner at the top of Camelback Mountain to watch the beautiful desert sunsets with a sexy, stimulating companion. One who wouldn’t leave his wallet at home. She was tired of spending all her time off in her condo, bored out of her ever-lovin’ mind. She was weary of dates that were as stale and moldy as last week’s bread. There were plenty of friends to pal around with, but only so many concerts, movies, and bars.

  Life had become stagnant. She needed something fresh and exciting to liven things. That was why The Manifesto research was so important. She just knew the results would yield the type of man she should be spending time with. Not the men who flocked to her, which generated constant disappointment and disillusionment. Gathering data for The Manifesto presented an interesting challenge and brightened her spirits. Now, she was in charge of her destiny. A girl had to be choosy. Otherwise, she could end up dating men like old Ralph, here.

  A slight smile curved her lips. She shouldn’t even joke about something like that. She sighed, set her clipboard on the counter next to the sink, and pulled on a pair of latex-free gloves. She stuffed the soft prongs of her stethoscope in her ears and bent over Ralph to listen to his heart and lungs. Air wheezed through his clogged alveoli with each exhalation. He had what she called smoker’s lungs. The tar so thick, oxygen squeaked in and out of the fragile sacs within.

  His heartbeat was steady and strong, but faster than she’d like. An accelerated heart rate, combined with his elevated blood pressure, put him at risk for alcohol withdrawal. She’d need to check with Cruz about initiating the detox protocol before sending him to ICU. She removed her stethoscope, draped the flexible tubing around her neck, and straightened.

  Cruz had slunk into the ER this morning apologizing for last night’s prank. He’d also come to her defense when a couple of the EMT’s started singing that horrible Police song. Afterwards, no one dared tease her. He’d been so sincere and sweet. Besides, she couldn’t really be angry even though Jett had conveniently led her to believe he was Cruz. She was a big girl and knew exactly what he’d wanted when he’d taken her in his arms on that dance floor last night. Roxanne didn’t regret a single minute of the exhilaration she’d experienced.

  Right now wasn’t the time to be messing around with hunky firemen. If any of the men on her dating list knew about The Manifesto, she’d never get another date. Secrecy was of the utmost importance.

  Deftly, she plucked the flashlight off the shelf under the heart monitor. She trained the brightness of the bulb on Ralph’s face. She lifted one eyelid, then the other, satisfied when his pupils contracted briskly and were equal in size. He stirred from the interaction and mumbled unintelligible words.

  Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t be long now before old Ralph woke.

  Replacing the flashlight, she grasped the ends of her stethoscope and yawned. A six-foot tall, dark haired, hunky fireman had invaded her dreams, making sleep impossible. She’d finally given up, slipping out of bed two hours before her alarm and baked another batch of chocolate chip cookies to bring to work.

  The memory resurfaced of her locked in the heat of Jett’s embrace. He’d buried his face in her neck and inhaled. The recollection so vivid, goose bumps broke out across her flesh. Had he said something about cookies? Lost amidst the onslaught of sensations, she couldn’t be sure. How could he have known she’d whipped up a couple dozen before meeting Ambra at the bar?

  Everything about Jett Avery screamed testosterone. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Bad boys were definitely one of the categories of The Manifesto she had yet to explore. What made them so damn appealing?

  Unyielding hands yanked her onto the gurney, her arms pinned between her body and Ralph’s chest.

  Her expelled breath exploded in a muffled “oommf”. With wide eyes, she stared down into Ralph’s lecherous face. He was definitely awake, and a lot stronger than she would’ve imagined.

  “Ralph. Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to breathe through her mouth so she wouldn’t hurl.

  “Sure sugar, after you give me a little kiss.” His words slurred and his fetid breath fanned her face as he spoke. Dry cracked lips puckered while he levered his head toward hers.

  She reared back as far as possible within his firm grasp, and twisted her head. His sticky kiss met her neck. Revulsion clawed her skin. Dodging his torpedo tongue by rotating her head back and forth, she called for help. Ralph was still drunk. Experience with drunks in the ER had taught her he wouldn’t listen to her commands while still under the influence.

  Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, keeping one arm around her middle, his free hand stroked down her back and rested on her butt.

  “Now, Ralph, you need to let me go. You’ve had too much to drink and are in the emergency room. I’m trying to help
you.”

  God, how could I have been so stupid as to let my mind wander off my work?

  He squeezed her bottom.

  “Oh!” Crap! She needed a new plan—-and fast.

  “Can I be of assistance?” A familiar baritone drawled.

  Another swoop of Ralph’s mouth had her on the defensive before she could glance at the doorway. “What do you think?” she snapped. “Could you hurry?”

  “Well, I’d be happy to come to your rescue. But what’s in it for me?”

  Shock infused her system. Her head veered toward the cool voice filled with laughter. She stiffened. Jett leaned against the door jam. Helmet under his arm and face smeared with soot, he must have had a recent battle with a fire, but his deep grey eyes danced with mischief.

  This was her savior? Lord help her!

  Diverted by the sight of Jett, Ralph licked a trail of slime from the side of her neck to her ear. She shuddered even as bile rose. Roxanne swallowed—-hard.

  Yuck! This was all Jett’s fault. If she hadn’t been distracted by him in the first place, her attention wouldn’t have strayed from her work.

  “Listen,” she said through clenched teeth. “Isn’t it your job to serve and protect? Get over here and get me off him, or call someone who will.”

  “That’d be the police, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “The motto of the PFD is Survive, Prevent Harm and Be Nice. I might be persuaded to be nice and get you out of your dilemma on one condition,” he said in his slow, lazy drawl. “Have dinner with me.”

  “What?” She dodged another amorous advance of Ralph’s lips, and twisted again to glare at Jett. He’d moved from the doorway and slowly advanced toward them. Hope flared.

  “A woman in your position can’t be too choosey in your choice of rescuers. Take me babe, or leave me. Isn’t one dinner worth the price of your freedom?”