by
Stacy Dawn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Love Her Like the Devil
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Stacy Dawn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-
Halloween Anthology 2014
Published in the United States of America
Halloween sure brings out the characters, don’t it?
Luke Santana chuckled at the group of college kids clamoring past him to get into the Double Deuce Honky Tonk. Half of them wore ridiculous outfits he couldn’t even begin to understand and the other half traditional fairs of caped crusaders, masked phantoms, zombies and sexy maids. He quite enjoyed the latter.
As he moved to the bar, his gaze caught on one particular blonde in a baby blue corset tight enough to overfill the small cups. The lights behind the bar glistened off Bo Peep’s pale breasts, and he instantly became hard. Luke grinned. This was his rare night away from the family-run business…and he planned to enjoy himself.
He adjusted his Stetson and sidled up to the bar, tossing a leg over the stool next to the buxom beauty. A heady breeze of cheap perfume plumed around him as she turned and graced him with a perfectly wicked smile.
Looks like my lucky nigh—
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Luke glanced over his shoulder to find a pair of deep brown, long lashed eyes laughing at him beneath a smooth raised brow.
“You’re the sixth guy she’s hit on since I’ve been sitting here.”
He frowned and turned back to the blonde he’d had his sights on…except her sights were now on a Captain Jack Sparrow wannabe.
“Thanks a lot,” he grumbled, swiveling to face the bar.
“You’re very welcome.”
An empty wine glass came to rest near his hand as a deep-throated chuckle reached his ears. A little intoxicated by its melody, he turned his head toward the sound to take in its owner. A mass of chestnut hair fell around a pretty, heart-shaped face marred only by the smug smile. But even then, the scarlet lips captured his full attention.
“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
He couldn’t help the quirk of his own lips. “We’ll see.”
Luke let his gaze roam over the black, sleeveless blouse with a V-line dipping low into cleavage not quite as voluptuous as Bo Peep, but definitely worthwhile. A short, black-denim skirt rode high over long legs, one doing a casual swing and pendulumed by a red cowboy boot. By all the intricate detailing on the sides, the footwear had to be custom made.
“Nice boots.”
“Thank you.” A sparkle danced in those dark orbs as she held up a hand to signal the bartender. When she turned her attention back to Luke, one brow rose in a sleek arch. “You’re not one of those cowboys that won’t let a woman buy him a drink, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” His smile widened as a beer and another glass of red wine slid in front of them. “But I am one of those cowboys that like to know who I’m drinkin’ with.”
Her laughter rang out like a favorite song he hadn’t heard in a very long time.
“Well then, I guess I better introduce myself.” She held a slim hand toward him. “I’m Helen.”
“Luke.” Soft skin formed into his palm as he clasped the delicate-looking fingers. There sure was nothing delicate about the warm, commanding grip.
“Nice to meet you, Luke.”
She pulled her hand away, albeit reluctantly if the small graze against his skin was any indication.
“So, Helen, what brings you out to an old honky tonk like this on Halloween night?”
The luscious lady pushed her little, black purse to the side and replied, “I’ve been working like blazes lately, and I guess I’m looking for a little...rejuvenation so to speak.”
Her gaze stroked him from his boots to his brows, and, damn, every inch of him burned as if branded.
“I know exactly what you mean.” He pushed the wine toward her and lifted his bottle. “To rejuvenation and...new acquaintances.”
After a clink of her glass to his, she tipped the wine to her mouth. Her shiny, plump lips enclosed the rim, and he couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. Imagining what those lips would feel like rimming his body was enough to overheat his senses, and he couldn’t wait to show her what his version of getting acquainted meant.
Her gaze met his, and he watched in fascination as her irises grew darker with desire. A warm hand snaked out to caress the hair on his knuckles. “And what brings you here tonight, Luke? Are you a real ropin’, ridin’ cowboy?”
Hell yes!
“Yes, ma’am. I work with my family, herding and corralling the roughriders.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “And I do a hell of a two-step if you’d care to take a spin.” Sure of the answer, he slid off his seat and extended his hand.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Luke helped Helen from the tall stool until the stiletto heels of her hot little cowboy boots clicked onto the old hardwood floor. He didn’t care how many other cowfolk or crazy creatures in fake masks danced around them, all he wanted was to get this sexy woman in his arms.
The song from the jukebox slowed as she slid into his arms easily, completely, lining up her ample curves against his chest, his hips, his thighs. Damn. It’d been so long since he held a woman this way.
He let the music guide them; the spicy scent of cinnamon enveloped his senses as he bent his cheek against her hair and wrapped an arm around her back. His muscles sizzled as her hand glided across his shoulder blades and down to the middle of his back, her warm palm almost burning a hole through his shirt. And damn it felt good.
Pulling her closer, he swayed them in a slow, sultry circle as the song warned about not kissing like this unless you meant it like that. Well, he sure meant it like that.
Soft strands of her chestnut hair caught in the stubble of his chin as he rubbed against her. He thought he felt a purr vibrate through his shirt to his chest, and it started his blood boiling. He’d never had a woman affect him so easily, so fast. Usually, he was the one to start a seduction—but he was finding this turn-about a major turn on. He held her closer, letting her know with his body that he was with her all the way.
Helen turned her head, the trail of her hair puffing out cinnamon delight against his cheek. Dark, desire-filled eyes gazed up, focusing on his lips and then his eyes. The tip up of her chin gave him all the permission he needed to tilt his down and take the inviting, scarlet lips.
Like instant combustion, stars exploded behind his eyes, a burning blaze of fire threatening to disintegrate him.
Her tongue flicked out, sparking a dance with his. Hot. Fire. Passion. All burning into him, and he gripped her tighter, smoothing his hand from her waist down to fill his palm with her succulent ass.
She pulled back first, a wicked smile tilting the red lips. Her tongue darted out to wet their swollen surface. “I think I was wrong.”
Luke frowned and drew back, but only slightly. He couldn’t think of one wrong thing about that kiss.
“I think I’m the one that will be thanking you...if that was any indication where this night could take us.”
He let a slow smile pull his cheeks as he ducked his head and stole another taste of her. “There’s
a lot more where that came from if you’re game.”
“Oh, I’m game all right.”
She took his hand and led him back to their stools at the bar. After she took a good mouthful of her wine, she placed a hand on his chest as if branding him to the spot.
“Give me a minute to freshen up, then how about we take this somewhere a little more...private.”
He tipped his Stetson. “Yes, ma’am.”
She went up on tiptoes, leaned into him, and granted another taste of the fire she promised before skirting around him toward the restrooms at the back of the honky tonk.
Luke blew out a long, slow breath, sat on his stool, and wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling like a freakin’ greenhorn. Damn, that woman was hot with a capital H.
With the taste of her red wine still on his lips, he fiddled with his beer bottle. A sudden round of loud, rambunctious hoots and hollers from the table behind him drew his attention. From over his shoulder, he watched the young group of costumed college kids pushing and shoving one another good-naturedly.
“You’re full of shit,” the one in a really bad zombie costume bellowed to what Luke figured was a pasty-face, new-age vampire.
“No, man, I swear it’s true. She comes out every Halloween.”
“Who? What are you talking about?” a cute little kitty asked, her big blue eyes wide with curiosity and auburn curls bobbing innocently back and forth between the men.
The vampire wanna-be leaned close to her but addressed the whole table. “Legend of the town has it that a devil walks the earth every Halloween night, picking an innocent victim to seduce and lure to their death. The hellion takes the form of a sexy woman with long, dark hair and black clothes.”
The kitty pushed against his chest. “That’s half the people in here, you idiot.”
“Yeah, but how many of them are wearing red cowboy boots? That’s how you can tell. She walks the honky tonks searching for a lone cowboy. She’ll tell him everything he wants to hear, seduces him with her smile and her kisses, gives him the best sex of his life...and then WACK. She takes it, sucking out his life-force so she can reign in hell another year.”
The kitty had jumped at the dramatics, looking like she just lost one of her nine lives. Luke chuckled, but he couldn’t help glancing to the restrooms. He shook his head. Kids and their stories.
“You are a jerk, Dwayne!”
Kitty’s voice pulled his attention back. The group verbally rough-housed the kid for a minute until, one by one, they silenced, their engrossed stares aimed toward the back.
Luke turned in the same direction to find Helen smiling at him as she made her way back to their stools. The bar lights glimmered off her dark, chestnut hair as the crunch of peanut shells could be heard beneath her red cowboy boots.
He quirked a lip. Bet the kids are shittin’ themselves ’bout now. Good thing he didn’t believe everything he heard.
He played into it, though, putting his arm around her as she neared and planted her with a steamy kiss until they were both breathless.
She leaned back and patted his chest. “As much as I enjoyed that, what’s with the audience,” she asked, nodding her head toward the college table.
Luke laughed and placed a hand on her back. “Apparently, there is a legend around this town,” he began as he guided her toward the double doors and relayed the rest of the story he’d heard.
She adjusted her purse. “And they think it’s me?” she practically laughed out as they left the bar.
The cooler, quieter outdoor air breathed around them as he steered her toward his truck. “That would be my guess.”
Her laughter tickled his ears as she put a hand to her chest. “Well, I can assure you, I’m no devil, hellion, or whatever.”
Luke sighed and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. “I know.”
As she leaned into him, her foot must have caught on something for she began to fall forward. He caught her easily as the thunk of her purse hit his boot.
Helen’s hands clasped his shirt as she regained her footing; their close proximity warmed his chin with her breath. The grateful smile she bestowed on him quickly turned sultry, and after raising on tiptoes for a hot, liquid kiss, she shimmied, slow, fiery, down his body, grazing her breasts along his thighs.
Her wicked gaze left his long enough to find her silk clutch near his boot, a boot made of carved hide so blood red, it was almost black.
There was the unmistakable quiver in her hand as she grabbed her purse, then a soft shake of her head; he could almost read her thoughts, talking herself out of the ridiculous possibility.
With a deep breath, Luke took off his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair. As she rose, the tentative grin on her face halted at his action. Slim brows frowned as her gaze took in his thick, dark waves then slid back down to his boots.
“Yeah, stories can get a little mixed up over the centuries.” Luke gave a regretful nod as he returned his hat to his head and rubbed a hand down her arm. It trembled where he touched.
He watched the questions battle across her features, the age-old war between reality and fantasy—or what the rest of the world perceived as fantasy. Her eyes began to widen, and he put a hand on the nape of her neck, rubbing the tense muscles. The pulse point near her chin raced a rapid staccato beneath the caress of his thumb.
To be honest, he never liked this moment, the moment of realization. But it was worse with Helen. She had something the others never had, something that moved him, branded him. Sadness tugged his lips down. He didn’t always like what he had to do to survive, but it was what it was. He was what he was.
Luke kissed Helen, long and thoroughly until the pulse of lust ran in time with the pulse of fear.
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said softly. “I promise, I will make this the best night of your life.”
Yes, it would be her last night, and tomorrow, rejuvenated by her sacrifice, he would go back to herding the wicked souls through the corrals of Hell. But tonight, for her last night, he’d sure as Hell pleasure her with everything he had, and love her like the devil...
…like the devil he was.
Caper Magic
by
Veronica Lynch
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Caper Magic
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Veronica Lynch
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Last Rose Of Summer Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-656-9
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Dylia, Ryan, Nakia, and Tanya.
Four barristas who make early mornings
that much better with bright smiles, caring ways
—and the best iced coffee in this world—or any.
Slainte, my friends.
Chapter One
Nick Forrester pulled his late model sedan into the only public parking lot offered by tiny Cape Brendan and sat for a few moments to enjoy the vivid golds and russets of the fall foliage. He needed time to think and collect his emotions before he faced his future—as well as the past.
Four blocks down on the right, Henri “Hank” Pierpont, the only person who’d loved Nick unconditionally, waited for him to arrive for Caper Madness, the town’s annual month-long celebration of all things Halloween. T
hough it meant putting aside a mounting caseload on his desk, Nick didn’t mind. Some fifty years ago, Hank and his wife Genevieve took Nick and his sister AnneMarie into their home after their parents took off for better pickings. Worked their fingers to the bone to give the two kids things their parents were too busy to provide: a stable home, three squares, clean clothes, decent educations...and love.
For that alone, Nick would gladly donate an organ to the man, though he knew the offer would be fruitless. Hank Pierpont’s heart and spirit had faithfully served his family, then the community of Cape Brendan for the better part of the last forty years. Likely this would be the old man’s last turn at bat in the role of manager of Caper Madness. He was dying. And there wasn’t a damn thing any medical professional on the planet could do to stall the process of a failing heart.
Hunkered down in the plush leather seat, Nick contemplated the slow hypnotic rhythm of the waves on Ontario, Queen of the Great Lakes, as they laved the shore of Cape Brendan. In, out. In, out. As natural as a heartbeat, or breathing.
“Can’t fight time; can’t fight Mother Nature,” he reminded himself and pushed out of the car. “Time to get it on.”
After locking the vehicle, Nick ambled down the main street, absorbing the changes since his last visit. Capers, as the locals called themselves, enjoyed a reputation for building quality ships that dated back to the fifteenth century after a group of Irish sailors ran aground on Ontario’s rocky shores. In thanks for their survival, they named their newly-discovered haven for Brendan, patron saint of mariners.
As the years went by, their descendants, no wimps in their own right, earned acclaim for their courage and ingenuity during three separate wars: French and Indian, Revolutionary, and later the War of 1812. Slowly the town gained fame for its ships as well as tasteful, sedate tourist attractions—until each October rolled around and madness descended.
Brendan House, the three-story cobblestone colonial housing the local historical society, captured Nick’s attention. Not for the bright red shutters on the sparkling glass windows, the lush chains of ivy creeping up the cobbled walls, nor the stately elms in the wide front yard. No sir. Nothing so mundane for a structure straight out of House Beautiful. It was the tuxedoed skeleton on the front stoop, derby hat cocked at a jaunty angle, holding a big-bosomed scarecrow, hot pink boa draped around its neck in a deep dip of the tango that made Nick laugh out loud.
Hauntings in the Garden, Volume Two Page 6
