The Slayer
Page 28
Her taut ass flexed and smoothed under the formfitting tight shorts women—God love them—seemed to favor. Long legs, tanned and straight, looked silky under the soft lights. Her waist was bare, and when she moved he thought he caught a glimpse of something flashing at her navel.
Holy hell, the woman had a belly-button piercing. When had she gotten the damn thing? He sure hadn’t noticed it the last time he’d seen her work out. His appreciative gaze tracked a path up her body, flowing past her curved hips to her uptilted breasts, up the smooth column of her throat. Despite her features being too austere for true beauty and marred only slightly by the iron determination in her square chin, she possessed a wildness he found fascinating.
Her auburn hair, woven into a tight braid, swayed back and forth as she moved. The glowing strands flickered with fire—filled with gold, rich coppers and hot reds.
Any adjective used to describe fire fit Marisol Asheni to a T. As in trouble.
His momma used to say hell hath no fury like a woman with red hair. What she didn’t say was that he’d be drawn to said woman as a moth is to light. Frighteningly tempted to reach out and touch the fire. Maybe that’s why he’d always gone for blondes. Safety in the cool, calm shades. Aw hell, might as well get this posse on the trail. They had a job to do. He and the demon.
Jackson strode over to Marisol. The closer he got, the more his groin tightened. He swallowed as a glistening bead of sweat traveled down the sensual lines of her neck, past the soft curves of her breasts to drop into the deep, shaded valley. His tongue ached to follow the path.
Before the mere thought of what he was doing crossed his mind, Jackson touched Mari on the shoulder. To get her attention. And that’s exactly what he got.
Like viewing a slow-motion train wreck, he watched her spin around, grab his wrist and haul him forward. Goddamn, he had barely time to think again—the woman was Conan the Barbarian strong.
She pulled him around, yanking him off his feet. He crashed to the floor in front of her. His back hit hard and his breath exploded from his lips. While Mari held his arm up, she knelt on his chest, further pushing air out of his lungs. Red eyes flared. Moist pink lips stretched into a snarl. Her eyeteeth, the honking long ones, peeked through.
He should be terrified. Hell, he wanted to be terrified. Ought to be quaking in his Ariat boots. Instead, his blasted body completely found his situation a turn-on. A cock-swelling, balls-tightening turn-on.
When those red eyes widened, he figured she’d noticed his body’s betraying reaction. A shadow of annoyance crossed her face. Then a low sound rumbled from her chest. Christ, was that a growl?
“Honey,” he drawled, “if you wanted to get me on my back, all you had to do was ask.”
This time, he not only heard the growl, he felt it purring through his body. Shit.
“Human, you play a dangerous game.” Her throaty voice also hummed through him.
Merciful saints. At this rate, he’d never be able to move.
“What are you doing?” she continued, the weight of her knee easing off his chest.
He inhaled deeply, at first thankful for the cool, fresh air. When the scent of female musk and heady spices teased his nostrils, he stopped breathing. At least he stopped breathing out of his nose.
Marisol’s freaky red eye color faded, replaced with the lovely amethyst shade she normally spelled her eyes to be. Only when she lost control of her emotions, let anger rule, did the red show. With her head tilted, she studied him.
Her grip on his arm changed from hard to soft, and she let go of his wrist. After slowly lowering his arm to his side, he froze as a slow smile curved her lips. His stomach did a leisurely roll. What was the hot-tempered fury planning now? He didn’t believe she’d harm him. She’d had ample opportunity many times before and hadn’t. But there were other things she could do to torture him. From the wicked glint in her eyes, he wondered if several such things had crossed her devious mind.
Her head bent and she leaned in closer, her heated scent increasing until every breath he took drew her in. As she neared, the pupils of her eyes—now dark violet—widened further. She licked her lips and bent to his neck.
Jackson stiffened and, again, stopped breathing. But he still didn’t move to throw her off. Shit, was this what the stories always said about vampires? Their ability to mesmerize their prey so they didn’t know what was happening until it was too late? Even though she’d said she was not a vampire, he imagined he’d feel the same confronted by one.
If so, what a way to go.
She inhaled deeply, swinging her nose up along the edge of his neck until just under his jawline. Her breath was warm and moist. The rasp of her nose against his skin made him shiver. By this time, her damp chest pressed against his, the fullness of her breasts making his fingers itch to cup their softness.
He drank in her nearness, entranced by the feelings her touch evoked. Afraid that any movement on his part would frighten her, send her bolting like an unbroken filly, he remained still. Silent. Waiting.
This was a side to the fiery demon he’d never expected. She pulled back, her eyes so wide and dark they filled her face. Jackson sucked in a breath, staring at her pink, full lips as she moved in.
A door slammed. He jerked at the sound. Above him, Mari stopped moving, her body rigid.
“Um, Mari? Jackson? You two okay?” Lexi’s smooth, velvet-edged voice cut in.
Ah hell.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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The Slayer
Copyright © 2015 by Brenda Huber
ISBN: 978-1-61922-573-2
Edited by Holly Atkinson
Cover by Gabrielle Prendergast
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2015
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