by Lydia Rowan
Table of Contents
Demon’s Plaything
Blurb
Playthings Series
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Thank You!
Two Weeks in Geneva: Book One Excerpt
Lydia’s Other Works:
Copyright
Demon’s Plaything
By
Lydia Rowan
Blurb
The things she’ll do for love…
Dr. Shayla Rodgers has dedicated her life to helping people, which is why she never expected to find herself skirting the edges of the law. But her sense of right and wrong is only eclipsed by her love for her family, so when her brother once again finds trouble, she’ll do whatever it takes to rescue him.
Demon is all for having a good time, and the money and excitement that came with the underground-fight scene used to be just that. But things are changing, and he’s willing to admit that the once-good times have gotten pretty stale. Yet when the lovely Dr. Rodgers arrives, his interest is sparked and he finds that the scene might not be quite so boring after all.
Though Shayla struggles to keep her distance, she’s pulled deeper into the darkness—and her desire for Demon—and as she tries to protect her brother, she finds that all she holds dear: her career, her family, and her heart, are at risk…
Playthings Series
Look for the first book in the Playthings series:
A dangerous man. A simple woman. A love neither ever expected.
They call him Devil, the name he was born to and one that he’s more than earned. Devil has no misconceptions about who he is and what he deserves. At least he didn’t until he met her…
Despite hardship, Julie Manchin has managed to make her way in the world, and while her life isn’t glamorous, she’s satisfied with her uncomplicated existence. But when she crosses paths with Devil one fateful night, her small, orderly universe is upended.
Swept up in a whirlwind of passion that she doesn’t quite know how to handle with a man she never imagined, can Julie break through his tough exterior and become something more than Devil’s plaything?
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Chapter One
This couldn’t be good.
The sinking feeling hit Shayla Rodgers like a shot in the gut as she watched her brother Ian walk toward her. His laid-back saunter, easy good looks, and bright, ever-present smile drew appreciative glances from the women gathered on the porches and sitting on the stoops that lined their grandmother’s street, his admirers ranging in age from twelve to eighty.
Too bad his attractive, appealing outside didn’t expose what Shayla knew, whether she’d acknowledge it or not, was really on the inside.
When he finally reached her, he turned the wattage on that smile to eleven and then leaned over and kissed their grandmother Ethel on the cheek. She beamed back, her smile almost as bright as Ian.
“Sorry I missed dinner, Nana,” he said, his voice at the syrupy-sweet pitch both Shayla and Ian knew their grandmother couldn’t resist.
“It’s okay, baby. Shay took me, and we had a lovely meal, even went to the store after.”
“I’m sure you did,” Ian said, his voice still that same smooth, soothing tone. But when he looked at Shayla, he threw a glinty glare her way that he quickly suppressed before Nana could see. Shayla felt her own face shift, and she was almost overcome with the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Never mind that they were both adults, her an emergency-room physician at a local hospital and Ian…well, whatever Ian was. Interacting with her brother was sometimes like a time warp, sending them both back to elementary school. She wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled her hair.
“Come on, kids. Sit a spell,” her grandmother said as she turned to the car Shayla had parked outside of the house. She reached into the backseat and started to gather her belongings, but Shayla placed a stilling hand on her shoulder.
“Sorry, Nana. I can’t stay, but we’ll help you get your groceries in,” Shayla said and then threw her own pointed look at Ian.
“Yeah, you go on to the house, Nana, and we’ll bring these right in.”
“Okay. Thank you, darlings.” Nana started toward the house.
Shayla watched her grandmother walk up the narrow front path to her door, and that earlier sinking feeling sharpened into a stronger and much more painful one, one she was in no mood to examine. Best to focus on Ian and whatever godforsaken trouble he’d gotten himself into this time.
When Nana was out of earshot, Shayla turned back to the car and began gathering the bags she’d loaded on the backseat.
“What do you want, Ian?” she asked without looking at him.
“Damn, Shay, maybe I just stopped by to say hello.”
“And maybe I’m the Queen of England. What do you want?”
“Nana complains that I don’t come around, and this is why. No matter what, you’re always accusing me of something.”
“That’s because you’re always up to something.”
“Sorry I can’t be perfect like you.”
The jolt of irritation that shot down her spine had her gripping the bag in her hands tighter. This was nothing new, yet Shayla couldn’t help her reaction. Even after all these years, all the times they’d had this conversation or some slight variation of it, she couldn’t stop Ian from getting to her. She waited a moment before she turned to him and said, “I never pretend to be perfect, and no one has asked you to be either. All we ask is that you take responsibility for yourself and your actions. Is that too much?”
Exasperation rang clear in her voice, but that didn’t stop Ian or even slow him down.
“That’s what I’m trying to do! I just need a little help from family. Is that too much?” He tossed her words back at her.
God, she hated these talks with Ian. Sure, they bickered, a side effect of being born eleven months apart, she’d long ago decided, but they loved each other, had managed to keep a hold on their bond despite the distance that came with growing up. But there were times, times like this, where that bond was tested. She sighed and shook her head and then looked over at him, his face set in that expression that was both incredulous and pleading, his brown eyes so like her own, the only thing that marked them as siblings, in fact. She knew he was playing her, yet she felt powerless, knew that she was her brother’s keeper, as she always had been.
“What do you need?”
She didn’t even try to hide the note of defeat in her voice. Ian could always tell when he had her anyway.
“Eight o’clock tomorrow. Meet me at this address.” He handed her a scrap of paper. “Love you, Shay.”
He turned and bounced back down the street, his steps far more peppy than when he’d first arrived.
“Wait, aren’t you gonna help with the groceries?”
“Sorry, can’t. Tell Nana bye,” he called over his shoulder, his blinding smile making it clear he’d achieved his goal for the day and now had other, more important things to do. “See you tomorrow.”
Shaking her head, Shayla lifted the bags and headed into the house, mumbling under her breath as she entered the kitchen and placed the groceries on the table. Much as she had when they’d been younger, Nana keyed in on the curse words.
“Such filth. We taught you better than that, girl.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Even though they were familiar, the words still stung. Shayla had given up this fight, knowing she could never convince Nana that Shayla did not in fact have the power to control Ian, never convince her that Ian, and Ian alone, was responsible for his actions.
“No, he had to run. He said to tell you good-bye and he’d talk to you later.”
“Oh, he must be busy today. But it was nice of him to drop by. He’s always so sweet.”
“Not sweet enough to stick around and help,” she said before she realized the words had come out of her mouth.
Watching her grandmother’s brilliant smile morph into a censuring grimace almost broke Shayla’s heart, and she felt the pang of regret as the anger in Nana’s gaze gave her watery, faded brown eyes a sharpness Shayla hadn’t seen for years.
“He’s trying, Shayla. And I’ll not have you or anyone else talk about my grandson, so if you can’t say anything nice, perhaps you should leave.”
“But I’m putting up the groceries,” Shayla said, a slight whine now in her tone.
Nana shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Thank you for dinner.”
Nana closed down then, looked away and began rambling about the kitchen like Shayla wasn’t even there.
Damn it. She should have held her tongue, not that such a thing was possible. She’d tried to have this conversation before, explain to Nana in the gentlest possible way that Ian, as much as they loved him, was as poisonous as the mesothelioma that was eating her lungs, but to no end. Ethel Rodgers saw what she wanted to see, and with Ian, all she saw was the boy he’d once been. Not the man he’d become.
Shayla sighed, kissed Nana on the cheek, ignoring the way she stiffened at Shayla’s touch, and left the house and headed toward her car. She knew a losing battle when she saw one, could feel when a patient was slipping away, but she just wasn’t brave enough to lose Nana and Ian at the same time. It was foolish whimsy; she couldn’t save either of them, Nana from disease, Ian from himself, but she had to make the effort. She’d call Nana later, smooth things over. And as for Ian… She pulled out the scrap of paper he’d handed her and checked the address. As always, she’d do what he asked and hope that it didn’t destroy her.
Chapter Two
“Rip his ear off!” a diminutive woman draped in a hundred thousand dollars worth of diamonds yelled at the combatants, and Demon almost choked on the water he’d been drinking. These “events” attracted every manner of person, but Demon still got the occasional kick out of the disparate crowd. And he’d learned to expect the unexpected. People were rarely what they first appeared, as proven by the seemingly classy woman who looked the very picture of refinement but who displayed a bloodthirstiness that was unmatched by the rougher-looking people that surrounded her.
He finished his water and looked around, noting that the crowd seemed more lively than usual. And for good reason, he supposed. After the…unpleasantness between Devil and some of the members of the Steel Hearts Motorcycle Club, relatively new entrants on the city’s scene, the matches had stopped. Things had been hot and the powers that be had wanted a cooling-off period. Several months had passed since then, and things were getting back to some measure of normality. It wasn’t the same without Devil around though. The man was a machine, and the “audience” and especially the gamblers had loved his mercilessly efficient fighting style. But that was a thing of the past. Devil had retired, something that had taken Demon completely by surprise and that he almost still didn’t believe. And having met Devil’s wife Julie, a kind, sweet woman whose warmth and gentleness were a perfect counter to the darkness and isolation that had been his friend’s life before her, he understood. Demon hadn’t even known the woman existed until well after she’d recovered from an attack by the gang that was menacing the city, and hearing Devil talk about what had happened, having him explain how close he’d been to snapping, remained scary to contemplate. But he was glad things had worked out and Devil and Julie were enjoying a quiet life. His friend deserved to be happy, but damned if Demon didn’t miss him.
And there was the not so small matter of what he was going to do with himself, a question that had become more pressing in recent months. In the past, he’d promoted Devil and a couple other fighters, handling the money, checking out the venues, making sure there was at least some veneer of professionalism to things. But, when he was being honest with himself, he’d been a little restless for a while, felt like he wasn’t progressing, and, much to his surprise, found that he was more interested in the metal-recycling facility that also doubled as a training gym than anything having to do with the fights. Add that the fact that he hadn’t even made an effort to pick up new promotions since the matches had restarted and that he’d directed the other guys elsewhere, and something was seriously amiss. He hadn’t examined the thought too deeply, but he had to concede that maybe Devil was onto something.
The scene was getting old.
He scanned the crowd again, searching for something to distract his mind as he idly wondered what, other than years of habit, had brought him here tonight, and his gaze snagged on a woman standing near the entrance. The stance she held was unique, making her seem both tentative and confident, simultaneously a part of the crowd and completely separate from it. She was dressed somewhat conservatively in dark wash jeans that molded her full hips and thighs, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and charcoal-gray leather jacket. The cut of the jacket emphasized her narrow waist and drew his gaze down to her curvy bottom. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that made her appear incongruously young, though he’d peg her in her late twenties or early thirties. Rounded cheekbones led to a strong but feminine jawline, and he noted her pouty lips, though they were thinned with a tightness that marred them. She was attractive enough, he supposed, but not someone he’d usually look at twice, particularly given the more ostentatious women on display. Still, he found himself pulled in by her.
As he continued to watch her, she looked over the crowd and then at the fight, but her reaction was one he couldn’t recall seeing before. New attendees, as she so clearly was, generally fell into two categories: horrified or excited. This woman was neither. She didn’t appear turned on by the violence, nor did she shrink from it. Her gaze was cool, assessing, like she was analyzing what was happening and formulating a response. Interesting. Maybe these events weren’t so boring after all.
Then she glanced in his direction, and for a moment, their gazes connected. Her dark, dark eyes were cool, but they glittered, even in the low light of the warehouse. She seemed to be taking his measure, sizing him up as she’d sized up the fight, and he found himself lifting a corner of his mouth and nodding in her direction.
She frowned, almost a scowl really, and then quickly looked away, breaking the connection. A moment later, a tall man walked up behind her and casually put an arm around her shoulder. He recognized the guy, a semiregular who liked to place big bets on fights, bets that he sometimes couldn’t pay. Too bad for her.
Unfortunate for him, too. He suspected she would have been fun to get to know better. Oh well. He shrugged. There was no accounting for taste.
••••
Shayla stood next to a post on the outskirts of the raucous crowd. Ian had walked her in, and except for his brief checkin a few minutes ago, he’d left her to her own devices, and she was two seconds away from getting the hell out of here. Putting aside the fighting, which seemed to be the main attraction, she was uneasy with her surroundings. There didn’t appear to be much alcohol, but Shayla knew that was only the surface. With the amount of money being casually tossed around, she knew that alcohol and drugs couldn’t be far behind. She’d seen enough in the ER to know that one could rarely be separated from the others.
Everything about this place made her nervous, and she kept scanning the room, waiting for trouble to strike. The crowd was boisterous, yet seemingly well behaved, and there was more security here than she’d s
een at the hottest nightclubs. Still, she kept imagining a full-scale riot breaking out, or, even worse for her if she was being selfish, which she was, a whole contingent of SWAT-outfitted police busting in and hauling everyone off in paddy wagons like in those old TV shows.
Do they even use paddy wagons anymore? she wondered and then shook off the thought.
The specifics weren’t important. What mattered was the uneasy dread that was slicing through her belly now, the fight-or-flight response that screamed, Flee!
Not one to ignore her instincts, she turned to leave.
And ran into a solid wall of chiseled human flesh, instantly enveloped in a warm cocoon that smelled of clean, woodsy male. The instincts that had been urging her to leave took a hard U-turn and were now suggesting she should stay, snuggle up to this human wall, and take a couple nice, deep lungfuls of its amazing sent.
Instead, reason prevailed and she took a step back, but was immediately thwarted by the heavy arm she hadn’t even realized was around her waist.
“Whoa there. Be careful,” the human wall said, its arm steadying her.
She hadn’t yet looked up from the chest centered in her line of sight, but the amazingly deep voice that floated down from somewhere above her head drew her gaze. She was immediately struck by a glimpse of moss-green eyes that practically shone with friendliness and mirth. Her gaze took in the rest of his face. He was the most classically handsome man she’d ever seen, from the strong cut of his jaw covered with a five-o’clock shadow that managed to look appealing instead of off-putting, and his aquiline nose, to the nicely shaped lips curved into a teasing smile. Even the slicked-back brown hair, something that she was not typically fond of, worked for this man. A quick glance down showed that his large frame looked as strong as it felt.
“Umm, uh, thanks,” she said a moment later as she stepped back, the arm releasing her. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
