In the Spirit

by Shannon Stacey

  Wade started to take off his cowboy hat, but Angie said, “No. Keep it on.”

  His chuckle was deep and sexy. “You want a cowboy, darlin’?”

  “Oh yeah. I want both of you.”

  Wade reached in his duffle bag and extracted a piece of rope and a small remnant of material that look like velvet.

  “Lock your fingers together and raise your arms above your head,” Ryan directed.

  When her fingers folded together, her heart crashed against her chest. She was really going through with this?

  Wade wrapped the soft velvet around her wrists before he looped the rope over it and fastened it to the headboard of the bed. She felt the strain of the muscles in her arms. A quiver slithered up her backbone releasing a flood of moisture between her thighs. Her breasts felt heavy, aching to be touched.

  The bed moaned beneath their weight as both men sat on the edge, one on each side of the bed, and began to remove their shoes and socks.

  What they did next, she didn’t expect.

  Each man cradled one of her feet, slipping off her heels, which they tossed over their shoulders. The shoes made a thud when they hit the floor. Their warm hands cupped her feet, taking away the chill. As if they had done this a million times, in unison they smoothed their palms over each foot from the toes up around her ankles and then back. Carefully, they stretched each joint, sliding them from base to tip between their thumb and index finger. Their touch through her silky stockings was wicked. When they pressed gently all over the soles of her feet she moaned softly. With feathered strokes they drew their fingers over her feet toward her toes then back up to focus on her ankles and calves.

  She felt like a decadent piece of chocolate beneath the sun, slowly melting into their touch. Every muscle relaxed beneath their ministrations.

  Each garter made a snapping sound as they disengaged them from her stockings. Then smoothly the two men drew her hose down her thighs, until the silky material slipped from her feet. Without a word, they used her stockings to secure each of her ankles to a bedpost at the foot of the bed. Spread eagle, her arousal flushed across her body as two sets of male eyes scanned her splayed body.

  Desire flared in Ryan’s eyes. “Looks like we have a problem.”

  With a knuckle, Wade inched his Stetson higher. His eyes reflected the same heat of passion. “What’s that, partner?”

  “Our woman still has her thong on, and with her legs tied we can’t remove it.”

  Wade dug in his pants pocket and extracted a folding knife. It made a sharp click as he opened it. “Looks like we’ll have to cut it off.”

  Angie’s breathing elevated. The way they looked at her and the smooth cadence of their voices made her pussy clench. They were unbelievably sexy. She squirmed, pulling against her restraints. She needed to be fucked now.

  The scent of sandalwood filled her nostrils as Wade drew closer. His fingers dipped beneath one side of her thong. The material snapped, giving way to the sharp blade that slid across the material. He did the same thing to the other side, then peeled her thong from her heated body. Cool air touched her moist center.

  Wade placed the knife next to her garter belt when Ryan spoke. “Leave it. I like how it frames that beautiful patch of hair between her thighs.” Leaning forward, he placed a kiss upon her mound.

  “Would you like to see what this lacy bra is hiding?” Wade asked Ryan as he slipped his knife back into his jeans.

  “Oh yeah. Take it off.”

  Alex Rossi leads a double life, and it may cost Grace Nolan her son.

  72 Hours

  © 2006 Shannon Stacey

  Available Now from Samhain Publishing

  The Devlin Group: A privately-owned rogue agency unhindered by red tape and jurisdiction.

  Grace Nolan walked away from the Devlin Group carrying Alex Rossi's child in her womb and his bullet in her shoulder. But a ghost from the past has kidnapped her son, Danny. The ransom—Alex Rossi. To get her son back, Grace will have to step back into the life she'd left behind and reveal her secret to Alex.

  With vengeance for his mother's murder nearly at hand and a deadly substance on the loose, the last thing Alex Rossi needs is to find himself at the business end of Grace's gun. Now the clock is ticking as they race to save a child and stop a madman bent on destruction.

  But Alex has a secret of his own, and it may be the ultimate betrayal.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for 72 Hours:

  Grace bounced gently on the balls of her feet, clenching and unclenching her fists at her side. In brand-new khaki cargo pants and a tight-fitting, long-sleeved black T-shirt, with her favorite Nike crosstrainers on her feet, she was ready. To use a phrase from her youth, she was pumped.

  And the waiting sucked. They were at rest on the far side of a neighboring island, waiting for the go signal. Carmen was monitoring and feeding Gallagher live satellite feed, and some of the finest agents in the world were now on standby, waiting for her eight-year-old son to have to take a leak.

  The outhouse was a modern blue plastic job, and they’d watched the footage closely. When he went in, the indicator moved, showing he’d locked the door. Then the two guys guarding him would relax, wander away and share a smoke. That lock would hopefully buy them the few precious seconds they needed.

  She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders, keeping her muscles warm and limber for the mission ahead. And yet again she visualized Gallagher’s plan, walking mentally through the steps necessary to safely remove their extraction target.

  And that’s what Danny was now. An extraction target. His picture was folded up in one of her pockets and the image of his scared eyes was seared across her heart. He was her baby, but now he was her mission.

  She felt the adrenaline building and closed her eyes, welcoming the flow through her bloodstream. It had always been her drug of choice and for years she’d been a junkie. Waiting for the juice, riding the high. Coming down, usually on the waves of a shattering orgasm as Alex took her against the wall or a door or whatever hard surface was handy in an adrenaline-fueled frenzy.

  But London had been her epiphany, motherhood her recovery program. Every day she denied herself that hit and buried the Grace she’d been just a little deeper inside.

  When another mom made noises about volunteering with the drug prevention program, Grace didn’t tell her she’d once shot a Columbian drug lord between the eyes from a distance the woman probably couldn’t even see. She let Danny hang Mission: Impossible posters in his room and pretend to be Tom Cruise without ever letting on she could have kicked that Ethan character’s ass.

  She’d hung up her action-adventure gun belt and strapped on an apron. It didn’t quite fit—in fact it chafed like hell—but it had seemed like the right outfit for the job.

  Now Grace let the rush come. It was better than chocolate. Better than a good sneeze. It was like the moments before an orgasm, when the brain and the body are screaming come on and let’s do this!

  She felt Alex’s gaze on her and turned, giving him a little smile and a saucy wink, just like she always had.

  “I’ve missed you, babe.”

  Not enough to come after me, she thought, but she simply put out her fist. He touched his to hers—part of their pre-mission ritual—and said, “Ready to ride this river?”

  “Yippe-ki-yea.”

  Alex gave her a crooked smile and went back to his own rituals, which always included humming the Stones, much to her annoyance.

  Nostalgia stung her for a second. Their pattern had been set after their first mission together. She had been untried in the field and he hadn’t wanted to take her, but the job had called for a female sidekick and she’d been the only one available.

  When the job was over and her natural instincts and excellent reflexes had saved his ass, he’d told her she’d do to ride the river with. It was a phrase straight from his favorite movie genre—old westerns—and she had responded with a favorite movie quote of her own. It stuck.r />
  With her blood already pumping and her skin tingling from the rush, Grace couldn’t help but wonder just how true to form this job would run. Would Alex seek her out when it was time to come down? She hadn’t been a nun for the last eight years, but it had been a long time. Way too long.

  And nobody had ever rocked her world as completely as Alex Rossi had. As good as they were in the field together, their best work had always taken place in the bedroom. Or wherever else they happened to be.

  He was watching her again now, and she wondered if he was remembering their incredible stress-busting sex as well, or if he was still questioning her ability to see this through.

  She opened her mouth to ask him, but Gallagher beat her to the microphone. “Showtime.”

  They were in the air within seconds, skimming along almost silently, just over the water. Grace did a final check of her gear—gun, harness, D-ring and rope—then stepped out onto the skid while Alex did the same on the other side.

  Training. Planning. Balance. Above all, timing. The adrenaline settled into a steady beat through her veins, like bass reverberating through a cheaply-constructed apartment building. The Aussies knew how to do it right—face first, meeting the enemy head on with guns blazing.

  There was a constant, low chatter on the headset as Gallagher and Carmen monitored the live feed. The angle was vital—they had to keep the toilet out of the line of fire. The hope was that if the orders to take Rossi alive were overridden by the survival instinct, they’d shoot high, aiming for the helicopter which wouldn’t be there but a few seconds.

  Mere moments later, the visualization was over and the real thing began. Gallagher brought them in low and fast.

  “Go!”

  The night before Christmas, a deadly blizzard traps a lawman and a madam with a price on her head in a deserted town with a sadistic outlaw hell-bent on revenge.

  Christmas Showdown

  © 2006 Janette Kenny

  High-class madam, Katherine Winter, caters to wealthy men and vows nobody in her Kansas bordello will suffer the abuse she endured in the horrific marriage she’d escaped. She can choose her lovers, but longs for one who can match her in bed and out. Her senses tell her Daniel Creed is the man she's longed for—a man with a dark secret like herself, a man who'd do anything to protect what’s his. But he's a lawman, and dallying with him is playing with fire.

  Sheriff Daniel Creed has known Katherine Winter is the husband-killer on the wanted poster since she came to his town. The reward he'd get for turning her in would make him rich, but something about the aloof beauty stirs longing inside him. But there's no future for a half-breed gunslinger hiding behind a badge and a wanted woman except life on the run. So he keeps his mouth shut, figuring the most he can ever hope for is to love the lady from afar—and protect her.

  He never banked on the bounty hunter from his past hunting down Katherine, then setting the town ablaze to force Daniel into a fiery showdown.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Christmas Showdown:

  “This is the first time you’ve visited me,” she said. “Why is that?”

  Daniel met her gaze, respecting her too much to feed her lies. “None of your ladies appealed to me, and I never could afford you.”

  Hell, Katherine’s price was too high for most men in these parts. She was the queen of her castle, and Daniel was nothing more than a lowly servant. Even her piano player Fin was a step above him, sharing a familiarity with Katherine that most men could only dream of.

  Katherine sashayed toward him, and Daniel held his breath. The light from the fire gilded her hair a vibrant red and kissed the creamy bosom that swelled above a black lace corset. God help him if she touched him—

  “Ah, but I’m no longer in business and it is Christmas Eve. Stay, Sheriff, and we’ll celebrate together.”

  Daniel couldn’t recall ever taking part in Christmas, and the making merry he’d dreamed of doing with Katherine sure as hell didn’t include the piano man. “I don’t know.”

  “I made stew,” Fin said, as if the promise of a hearty meal would tip the scales in Katherine’s favor.

  Daniel didn’t need any more encouragement on that score. But they were right, and there were three people in this house. Wasn’t like Katherine was aiming to get cozy with him.

  The town was deserted, and Katherine was offering food, shelter and company. He’d be a fool to turn that down in favor of scorched beans.

  He nodded once. “Much obliged for the invite, then.”

  “Excellent. Now let’s get you out of those wet clothes. Fin can hang them by the fire to dry.”

  “Don’t aim to sit here in my drawers, ma’am.” Though there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the parlor.

  She laughed and motioned to Fin who scampered off. “As if I haven’t seen my share of naked men. But as you wish, Sheriff. Hang your coat to dry and join me upstairs where it’s warmer.”

  “Daniel.” He blurted his name out as he hooked his sopping wet coat on a peg and propped his rifle by the door.

  “Daniel.” She smiled, and the oddest jolt of satisfaction shot through him. “Please, call me Katie.”

  “Katie,” he said, testing it. “I like it.” It didn’t fit a painted lady, or a murderer.

  “My pa called me that when I was young.”

  He nodded, wondering if the nickname took her back to a time when her life had been good. If thinking of herself that way took away what she’d endured with Dowd.

  Whatever the reasons, the way he saw it, the only thing against Mary Kaye Dowd was a price on her head. The bounty he’d get from turning her in would make him a rich man. Maybe even make him a hero.

  Yep, if Daniel had believed Katie was as cold-blooded as that wanted poster claimed, he’d have locked her up years ago. But he hadn’t, so he’d done the only thing he could do these past two years—protect her.

  Daniel mounted the steps behind Katie, aching to step into the circle of light cast by her lone candle and knowing he had no right. But it didn’t stop the longing. The wondering how it’d feel to love a fine woman like her.

  She glided into her room with unhurried grace to the small table and chairs set up by the cast iron stove. He broke out in a sweat the second he stepped over the threshold, and it had nothing to do with the warmth radiating from the fire.

  Nope, Katie heated him in ways nothing else could. Being alone with her just put more thoughts in his head, ideas that centered around that big bed with her and him in it. Damn, what was keeping Fin?

  “Do join me, Daniel.” She took his hat and hung it on the bedpost, bringing another dream to life for him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a dinner with a gentleman caller.”

  That dredged a laugh from him. “Don’t recall my name ever being tied with gentleman before, and don’t reckon I’ll hear it again.”

  “You do yourself a disservice.” She sat at the chair nearest the stove, which was fine by him since he was smoldering inside.

  “I know my place.”

  “As in the social ladder? Women of my repute reside at the bottom rung, perhaps lower.” She adjusted the shawl around her, and he envied it wrapping around those silken shoulders and grazing her ripe bosom. “Would you look at the crystal doilies the wind has crocheted on my windows?”

  He tore his gaze from her. “Can’t see out.” Or in.

  Like being caught in a silky web, and that got him thinking about black widows. Dammit, why couldn’t he forget that wanted poster?

  “It’s as if Mother Nature is burying Campaign under a blanket of white while the wind mourns its death.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  “Do you suppose folks will settle here eventually?”

  “Don’t know. You thinking of staying?”

  “No, it’s time for me to move on. I liked Campaign, and I believe we could have weathered Prohibition, but the day they stopped driving cattle through here to the railhead in Abilene is the day this town
started to die. Tell me, Daniel, what will you do now?”

  Damn if he knew, which was why he was still here. Like her, Campaign had been a haven for him, too.

  “Head west, I ‘spect. What about you? Where are you going?”

  “California. I’ve heard it’s warm there year-round.”

  “Long way off.” From here, and the past hanging over her head in Illinois. He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Is that where your girls are headed?”

  “I don’t know their plans. Some will find a new house to ply their trade, some will marry, and some will do like me and quietly retire.”

  “You got someone special waiting for you in California?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “Don’t you have any family?” Like the little boy she’d run off with after she’d killed her husband.

  She slid him a sad smile, and this time he knew he wasn’t imagining grief flickering in her eyes. “No.”

  Damn, had the child died? Or had he been wrong about her and she’d killed her son as well?

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