Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Ashley Jennifer

  He stilled himself and kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth, exploring, prodding, coaxing. She could taste herself on him, and her inner muscles began to soften even more.

  “Ah, yes, that’s it. Just a little farther.” His hand went to her breast and he rolled the peaked nipple between his finger and thumb. She felt a new surge of wetness. “Mmmm.” He’d felt it too.

  He withdrew a few inches, then pushed in again. Withdrew and pushed in, each time sinking a little deeper. The man was persistent and the friction was incredible.

  “There we go,” he said into her hair. God, his voice was so sexy. Without being able to see him, she felt him everywhere. He was consuming her. Pressure was building in every corner of her body, her release just a heartbeat away.

  He adjusted her legs, grabbed her hips, and with one hard thrust, he pushed in all the way to the hilt. The pleasure and pain were almost too much as her inner muscles tightened around him.

  “You okay, Liv?”

  “Yes,” she managed to say.

  Suddenly her blindfold was gone. She blinked a few times as her pupils adjusted to the dim light. A few thin braids were dangling in his gorgeous face, making him look more like the wild barbarian she imaged he was.

  Using long, powerful strokes, he thrust into her, all of his earlier caution gone. He felt so. Damn. Good. She slid her hands over his butt, felt his muscles working beneath her palms, and dug her nails in deeper.

  Her world began to spin. “Oh my God, Asher.”

  Another orgasm came crashing through her, this one much stronger than the last…if that was even possible.

  He moaned with deep satisfaction and continued those same fluid movements, driving her to the brink of insanity. She clung to him as her muscles spasmed around his steel length, the stars and moon colliding into an ocean of sparks behind her eyelids.

  He sucked in a sharp breath and his shaft pulsed. He was coming, too. Throwing back his head, he cried out his release and they rode out their waves of pleasure together.

  He lay on top of her for a while, neither saying a word as they spiraled back to reality. One of his braids stretched across her face but she had no energy left to move it away. Her arms and legs were boneless. She just lay there beneath him, breathing in his musky scent as her heart rate slowed and he gradually softened inside her.

  “Are you for real, Liv? Or are you my wildest fantasy?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he rolled off her. “Because that was fucking incredible.”

  Her whole body shivered involuntarily at his words. He was a skilled and practiced lover and had obviously been with a number of women, so for him to say that was surprising. She was no saint by any stretch of the imagination, but she’d never felt particularly skilled when it came to the bedroom. However, Asher made it sound as if she’d totally rocked his world. And that made her feel pretty damn awesome.

  “I should be asking you that,” she replied.

  A few minutes later, he cradled her in his arms and was soon fast asleep. Tears stung her eyes, so she was glad he couldn’t see them. Overwhelmed by the intensity of their lovemaking, she didn’t want him to think he had hurt her. It was just that she’d never been with anyone who knew all her secrets and still cherished her as if she were someone special.

  CHAPTER 8

  Asher and Olivia got to the Animal Control offices almost an hour before they opened.

  “Bloody hell,” he said, trying the door anyway but finding it locked. They could hear the dogs barking from outside. “What kind of a place opens at noon? They should’ve opened hours ago.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “We can wait.”

  “I just want to get my damn dog back.” Asher paced back and forth, his boots stomping loudly on the concrete, the chain that hung from his belt loop to his pocket swaying with each step. “He’s been locked up long enough.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It sucks that he was in there all night.”

  In a move she hadn’t been expecting, he yanked her close and buried his nose in her hair. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  With her ear pressed to his chest, she could hear the steady thump thump of his heart as if it were her own. She liked that this incredibly powerful and sexy man found her presence comforting. “Me too.”

  “God, you smell good.”

  She lifted her chin and smiled up into his gray eyes. “It’s your soap and your shampoo, silly.”

  “Yeah, it smells like you have me all over you.”

  A shiver of delight raced through her. Before they got too carried away in public, she kissed him quickly and grabbed his hand. “Let’s see if we can spot him through a window.”

  They walked around the side of the cement-block building. Even though Asher was tall, the windows were set too high for him to see inside.

  “Boost me up,” she said.

  She placed a foot into his threaded fingers and grabbed his shoulder. In one effortless move, he lifted her to the windowsill a few feet above them.

  “See?” she called down to him. “Aren’t you glad I accidentally healed you last night? Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

  “You meant to heal me, Liv,” he growled.

  If he wanted to hang onto that claim because it served his purpose, it was perfectly fine with her. She was more than happy with this little sham.

  She grasped the narrow overhang. The window was filthy and the way the sun was angled made it even harder to see inside. Squinting, she could make out a few shapes in the kennels but nothing in great detail.

  “Can you see him?” Asher asked.

  “The window’s too dirty.” She rubbed the glass to clean off the grime, but it didn’t help, so she told him to bring her down.

  The disappointment etched on his face mirrored her own. She looked around for other options, wanting to go the extra mile for something he really cared about. Sure, she could follow him back to the car, where they could wait around for an hour, but it felt better to be doing something about it.

  She noticed that one of the other windows was cracked open. “Look,” she said, grabbing his arm and pointing.

  A moment later, he was boosting her up again. She tried to angle herself to see through the narrow opening, but this window wasn’t much better. A few of the dogs had either seen or heard her and started to bark.

  “Better?” he called from below. “Can you see anything?”

  She heard the hope in his voice.

  “Uhhh, there’s a standard poodle in the first kennel and…I think there’s a German shepherd in the next one.” She tried to pull the window wider, but the old hinges wouldn’t budge. “Damn. I can’t see him. Conry?” she called. “Are you there, boy?”

  She was about to tell Asher to lower her down, when a deep bark, separate from the rest, sounded from inside.

  “That’s him!” Asher cried, jostling her legs.

  She made a shriek that sounded like a sick duck on steroids and clutched at the windowsill to keep from falling. “Are you sure?” she asked, laughing.

  “Yes. Yes.” He whistled and the dog barked again. Asher let out a whoop of excitement and a huge sense of relief rushed through her.

  “Hey boy,” she said through the open window. “We’re coming for you soon, okay, so just hang in there.”

  The instant Olivia’s feet hit the ground, she did a fist pump and her version of the we’re-going-to-the-World-Games victory dance. Asher copied her with a goofy shake-your-booty dance of his own, then pulled her into his arms and twirled her around.

  “Thank the Fates, he’s here,” Asher said, breathlessly, setting her back down. “And it’s all because of you. I wouldn’t have been able to find him without you.”

  “Or St. Anthony, depending on how you look at it. Come on,” she said, pulling him toward the car. “I saw a little coffee shop down the street. Let’s hang out there until this place opens.”

  He made a
face. “I don’t drink coffee.”

  Other than the fact that she and Asher were extremely sexually compatible, she realized how little else she knew about him. And she only had six days to find out more.

  “What?” She swept the back of her hand to her forehead and adopted a deep fake-announcer’s voice. “How. Is. That. Possible?” Asher’s happiness was making her giddy and silly.

  He chuckled at her dramatic antics. Egged on by his response, she jumped onto his back, piggyback style. Hooking his arms under her knees, he jogged back to the car.

  Soon they were sitting in a corner table at Lou’s Coffee Shop, near the windows so that Asher could see out. Olivia was sipping on a double tall caramel macchiato with extra foam (that got an are you kidding me? stare from Asher) and he was drinking a cup of black tea with a splash of milk (to which she’d responded with a you’re so unimaginative roll of her eyes).

  Classical music played low in the background, but not loudly enough to drown out the sounds of the espresso machine. Because it was after the early rush, but before the caffeine addicts came in to get a second cup, the place was almost empty. Several college students sat engrossed near the gas fireplace, where one of them, a young man in a wheelchair, was showing them some sort of yarn project he was working on. A woman wearing trendy workout clothes and neon-pink running shoes stood at the counter and flirted with the barista, who was refilling the machine with espresso beans. On the opposite side of the door sat a humorless gray-haired woman who was clearly pissed off at her husband, a bald man with reading glasses low on his bulbous nose. She huffed a few times as she thumbed through one of those freebie papers that advertises garage sales and used cars.

  Without warning, Asher leaned over the table and gave Olivia a slow, delicious kiss. That drew a few stares from the older couple.

  “What was that for?” she asked when he sat down again.

  “Because I felt like it.”

  Who was she to argue with logic like that? All things considered, she should feel anything but carefree and happy right now. Her Talent had almost been revealed yesterday. She was jobless and careless and virtually homeless. But she was enjoying this adventure with Asher.

  Then she remembered Marco and her mood darkened. And the cute couple celebrating their anniversary. They’d sat at a table similar to this one, and the man had leaned over to kiss the woman. After the explosion, Olivia had never seen them again. She hoped they made it out okay.

  She stared into her cup at the heart pattern the barista had made in the foam. What was Asher’s part in all of this? She knew he didn’t have anything to do with the explosion, but he knew more than he had shared with her. As a Cascadian, what was he doing in New Seattle anyway? The portals were hidden, so how had he found one and crossed over? He’d mentioned fighting men and kilts. Were there more of his people here?

  Resting an arm on the chair beside him, Asher tapped his ring on the wooden seatback and scanned the parking lot. He was always on the lookout for trouble. Just like she was. Although he seemed much less frazzled now that they’d located Conry, he still had a hard edge about him—an edge that she unfortunately found attractive.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “On this side of the portal, I mean?”

  A muscle in his jaw tensed. “You as in me? Or you as in us in general?”

  Ah. So there were more of them here. She’d had a feeling Asher wasn’t just some rogue Cascadian who’d found a portal and slipped through on his own. “Both.”

  His long fingers dwarfed the ceramic cup he held. With his pinkie extended slightly—the one with the skull ring—he took a sip of his tea. He seemed to be mulling over exactly what, if anything, he was going to tell her. “It’s a long story,” he said finally.

  “And I’ve got six more days.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The RMI Group was located near the fishing terminal just north of downtown, but due to the heavy traffic this morning, it had taken a good thirty minutes to drive here from InnerBay Hospital. The region’s fastest growing digital image service was located in a two-story, glass and concrete building on Pier B. Various media outlets bought their photos and video clips to add visual realism to online content, but unlike paparazzi photo services, RMI was well respected in the industry. Which was why Carl Sanchez, known to many as the Fixer, had decided to start here.

  He entered the airy lobby through the revolving glass doors and adjusted his sunglasses.

  The receptionist’s desk lay straight ahead, in front of a half wall that sported a mini-waterfall and the company logo. On either side were two long corridors, their walls painted a variety of bright colors. Some designer probably said it would inspire worker productivity and workplace satisfaction, but to him, the wall made it look like a bunch of highly paid children worked here. The Ping Pong table, Nerf hoop, and what looked to be a wall of jellybeans in the atrium confirmed his suspicions.

  Rather than some washed-up security guard behind the desk monitoring the comings and goings, it was a plump young woman. He was going to enjoy this. He pulled off his knit cap and rubbed his bald head, but he left the dark glasses in place.

  “Thank you for calling Real Media Images. Can you hold, please?” She tapped her earpiece and looked up to greet him. “Welcome to—” Her canned smile faded into disbelief—then shock—then horror.

  Just as he expected.

  Her full cheeks reddened, almost to the color of the company polo shirt stretched tightly across her tits. She reminded him of an overripe tomato, where the touch of a knife point would make her skin burst wide open. He tried not to laugh, but she looked hilarious.

  “Uh…um…can I help you?” she stammered.

  He considered taking off the glasses and leaning in close to really give her something to stare at. He loved people’s reactions when they saw the entirety of his face for the first time. Long ago, he’d learned to use negativity as the fuel he needed to push himself further. Now, he fed off it, like a drug.

  But he’d wait a little longer. He might need the leverage later.

  “Andy Carroll. I need to speak to him.” He grabbed a hard candy from the crystal bowl on the counter and popped it into his mouth. Butterscotch. He spit it back into the wrapper and tossed it on the desk, where it lodged under her keyboard. “I fucking hate butterscotch.”

  Frowning, she blinked a few times and tried to collect herself, unsure how she should respond. Finally, she managed to ask, “Is he expecting you?”

  “No.”

  She turned her attention to a few colored sticky notes on her desk and pulled off a red one.

  Jesus. Even their office stationery looked like it belonged in an elementary school.

  “I…uh… I’m afraid he’s out on assignment right now.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “Probably tomorrow. He’s shooting footage again today. Would you like to make an appointment?”

  He didn’t make appointments. “Who’s the producer, then?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The editor,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. She looked at him with a blank expression that mirrored her intelligence. How dumbed down did he have to make this? “You know, whoever takes his images and video clips, cleans them up, and loads them onto your site in all the various sizes and formats for people to download. That’s who I want to talk to.”

  She visibly bristled, her cheeks reddening even more. “We don’t clean up our images, sir, or doctor them in any way. They’re on the site in their raw state, just as they appeared through the lens of a camera at the time they were taken.”

  He was beginning to lose patience. His bad hand started to ache like it always did when he wanted to resolve a situation with violence. If what the woman at the hospital told him was true, and he had no reason to doubt her, he needed to see all the footage taken at the scene of the explosion. The news blogs with the best pictures listed Andy Carroll from RMI in the photo credits. He wanted to see them all.


  “Let’s try this again,” he said in a singsong voice with exaggerated slowness. “Who hooks the fancy camera to the computer and presses the little button, so that, wow, all the pretty pictures go onto the web thingie?”

  Her eyes narrowed at his condescending tone. “Are you referring to the image processing manager or the director of digital systems?”

  He gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. His anger was never far away, but stupid people seemed to have a knack for bringing it out. He was done being nice. “I don’t care what the hell the job title is. I want to speak to the person who handled the fucking images that Andy shot yesterday.”

  The woman’s glare went even icier. “I don’t accept your speaking to me that way. Would you like me to call security or would you like to leave now?”

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew the documents from Institute. They gave him complete authority to use whatever means necessary, but he hadn’t wanted to use them because it meant he’d failed to persuade her on his own. However, he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. With a flick, he tossed them carelessly toward her. They skidded across the shiny surface of her desk.

  “What’s this?” She stared at the folded papers as if they contained the plague.

  “Go ahead. Look. I’ll wait.” He pulled a toothpick from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped the thing in his mouth.

  “I don’t care what that is,” she said. “Our director of digital systems is in the editing room and wouldn’t be able to meet with you anyway. You’ll have to come back another time or make an appointment. But next time, I suggest you bring your manners.”

  Editing room? Hadn’t she just told him they didn’t fuck with their images?

  God, he hated gatekeepers. He shouldn’t have to explain every little thing to some little twit who had no talent other than sitting in a chair and knowing how to use the phone. Each minute spent dancing around like this widened the gap between him and his quarry.

  Time to put an end to this. Glancing at the nameplate on her desk, he removed his handheld device and opened a note-taking app. Brenda, receptionist at RMI. When he had some free time, he’d be sure to pay her a little visit after she left work.