Going the Distance

by Mandy M. Roth

  Conell tugged at the back of her hair, forcing her body to arch into him. Her diamond-like nipples scraped over his chest, the very action caused her pussy to cream. She rocked on his lap, the distended flesh between his legs pushed against her clit, making a beg hover on her lips.

  Moans from the dancers onstage mixed with her own and Kiwi sucked on Conell’s tongue. He yanked her shirt free of her pants and slid his hands under it. As his fingers found her nipples, she tensed, remembering they weren’t alone.

  “B-Ballou,” she panted. “Anyone could see us.”

  Nodding, he continued to kiss at her neck while tweaking her nipples, making her protests fade away. She put her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance as she tipped her head back, enjoying his touch. Cool air hit her breasts and it took Kiwi a second to realize he’d hiked her shirt up. His warm lips enveloped her nipple and pleasure centered in the pit of her stomach, desperate to break free. She writhed on him, grinding her mound to his clothed cock.

  He paid equal attention to her other nipple and she dug her fingers into his shoulder. He pulled off and stared at her, his gaze hungry. “Turn around.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “I said—” he lifted her and faced her the other way as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, “—turn around.”

  Mafia hit man. Vampire. The criminal underworld just got a whole lot darker.

  Blood Vice

  © 2009 Keith Melton

  The Nightfall Syndicate, Book 1

  Business has never been better for hit man Karl Vance. Boston is awash in mafia blood, and Vance has a certain fondness for blood. He’s a master vampire—one of the most powerful of his kind. Having sworn to never again feed on the blood of innocents, Karl preys instead on Boston’s criminal underworld. Which makes him a valuable asset to those who deal in death.

  Maria Ricardi intends to use that asset to its full extent in order to gain power within her patriarchal crime family. Vance thinks he’s been hired to keep track of the family’s princess, but she’s got a plan to get her hands dirty and earn the respect she deserves. And she’s not above using their instant attraction to get what she wants.

  That driving ambition draws the attention of a rival clan’s newest and most dangerous “consultant”, Alejandro Delgado, Vance’s centuries-old nemesis. Delgado zeroes in on the one chink in Vance’s armor—his fondness for the headstrong Maria.

  When she becomes enslaved by Delgado’s unnatural kiss, only one thing is certain. Vance has to decide which he wants more. To settle the score—or rescue her soul.

  Warning: Intense, graphic mafia-related violence, profanity, gangster slang, assassinations, fang punctures, explicit vampire sex, betrayal, greed, murder, gangland warfare, pervasive supernatural mayhem, large-scale explosions, and extremely expensive Italian suits.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Blood Vice:

  Maria sipped her wine. Chateau Margaux, 1995. The color was almost black, but the taste was smooth and vibrant. She’d just slipped below the froth of suds in the tub, and the water jets pulsed against her skin. A single maroon candle burned on a gold plate near her feet, with rose petals strewn about the rim. Beyond the penthouse windows, Boston reclined in a glittering spread of lights, the ring of lights atop the Prudential Center glowing like a halo over downtown.

  She laid her head back and closed her eyes.

  Another long day.

  An image of Karl Vance floated into her mind. That cool Northern European gaze. Eyes that would be frightening on the other side of a gun sight. Dangerous. She liked that.

  Of course, the prick hadn’t returned any of her messages so far, which made her want to punch him in one of those cool Northern European eyes. Bastard.

  Maybe he’d lost his phone. Maybe he was dead. Not likely, given his reputation, and besides, that wasn’t a possibility she really wanted to consider. She had to reserve judgment until she had the facts. If she were ever going to lead, she had to learn to keep her head. Especially when dealing with the egos of dangerous men.

  Normally Daddy didn’t let her play with the dangerous toys, but since her brother had been killed, her father had been a little more permissive. John Passerini had accused her of blackmailing her way in, but that was hardly true. Daddy had agreed only when she’d shown him what she could do with money, and right away he’d set her to work on the books—hide the money from the feds, create dummy corporations, incorporate, dissolve, merge, buy, sell, shelter, launder, and always—always—turn a profit.

  It was a hell of a thing getting a leg up only because her brother Paul slammed his car into a concrete pylon. Asshole. She still missed him, even after all this time. Now there was no trueborn Ricardi male to head the family after her father.

  She was only a girl.

  Never mind that she had plans to make Boston rival New York for syndicate incomes. Never-fucking-mind that. She was only a girl. Good for screwing and raising kids. Little else. Except maybe clearing the table and serving Sambuca. Well, fuck them.

  Her cell phone rang. “Witch” by Cold for her ring tone this time. A surge of adrenaline shot through her like some endocrine lightning bolt. She snatched the phone up and flipped it open.

  “It’s done,” that deep, almost lazy, voice said from the other end. It sent a thrill of desire through her that started at the bottom of her spine and rode its way up.

  “Took long enough.” It was a fight to keep the excitement out of her voice.

  She let the silence spin out until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look, I’m glad it’s done. Good work. Why didn’t you return my calls?”

  “I’m returning them now,” he said. “You sounded as if you wanted updates. There’s no better update than success.”

  “Do me a favor and answer next time, so I don’t think you’re dead in a trunk somewhere, okay?” She really just wanted to get up and dance on the edge of the tub. Imagine the look on the capos’ faces when she brought in word of her success. Leverage against John Passerini and anyone else who thought her involvement a worthless eccentricity of her father’s—priceless.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “Excellent work, but we can’t stand around slapping each other’s backs all day. There’s a lot more to do, and we’re on a tight schedule.”

  “No rest for the wicked.” Now he sounded amused.

  “I want you to meet me here.” She found herself speaking before she’d even realized it, as if her body had reached up and wrenched control of her tongue away from her mind. “You know where I live?”

  There was another very long pause.

  “No,” he said finally. “Tell me.”

  She quickly gave him the address. After she hung up, she called the front desk to let the doorman know that someone would be coming by to see her. Then she lay back in her bath to enjoy a few last minutes of peace.

  He arrived sooner than she expected—she’d barely dressed herself when his knock sounded at the door. The smell of soap and perfume scented the air. She hoped he liked it.

  You’d better know what you’re doing.

  Of course she did.

  She considered lighting a few strategically placed candles and then decided that was three steps way too overboard. No need to come across as desperate.

  When she checked the door’s peephole she found Karl Vance standing outside in a perfectly cut, dark Caraceni suit and pale yellow silk tie, hands in his pockets, and staring right back at her, as though he were aware of her presence behind the door. That rattled her a bit. She couldn’t exactly say why.

  She let him in and told him to make himself comfortable on the couches, but instead of sitting, he followed her to the bar area where she poured them each a glass of wine. He moved with the grace of some predatory animal, wolf or panther maybe, and his feet made no whisper on the carpet—a strange thing for her to notice, but notice it she did.

  “So what are these ideas you’re so eager to share?” he asked, sipping the wine a
nd then nodding as if he approved of the taste.

  “All we ever talk about is business.”

  A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “I thought that’s why you asked me here.”

  “It was. But now that you’re here, I want to discuss something more interesting.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “So tell me about yourself, Mr. Vance.”

  “Is this a belated job interview?”

  “Let’s just say it’s professional courtesy.”

  That intense blue-eyed gaze fixed on her. She thought about all the people whose last sight had been those eyes and she had to suppress a shudder. And damned if she wasn’t getting turned on.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked softly.

  “Everything. I learn by listening, and if there’s one thing a good leader needs, it’s the ability to listen.”

  “And the ability to judge the truth of what she hears.”

  “Who wants truth? I’ll settle for clever flattery.”

  He smiled, took another sip from his glass and moved over to one of the windows. The shades were open to the glittering city below, and he glanced back at her. “A beautiful view. I always love looking down on a night-covered city.”

  “See? That’s what I mean. That’s the kind of thing you can tell me about.”

  “If I weren’t mistaken, I’d think that inviting me here to discuss ‘business’ was just a cover.” He turned from the window and walked toward her. Had she commented on how gracefully he moved before? Oh, right. Several times.

  She lifted her chin toward him. “And what if it was just a cover?”

  He leaned in very close. She could feel the hunger in his gaze, searing across her skin like a striking match. “Then I’d have to ask why a cover was needed at all.”

  His lips touched hers, softly, almost teasingly. She tilted her head up farther and pressed closer to him. His lips and his skin were surprisingly cool to the touch, nearly cold, but she didn’t draw away. The kiss became more insistent, deeper. Desire, the same desire that had been an ember when she’d hung up the phone, now burned with new heat, and her skin felt shockingly warm against his, like fire meeting ice.

  Her cell phone rang.

  She pulled away from him. “Son of a bitch.” Breaking contact with Karl cleared her head a bit, and she was none too sure if that was what she wanted.

  “Ignore it,” Karl suggested.

  “It could be business.” She stopped and corrected herself. “It had better be business at this time of night.”

  She flipped open her phone. “This better be good.”

  “Oh, it’s good, you spoiled little bitch.”

  Roberto Pulani. Beautiful. Nothing else could simultaneously flood her with tension, murder the mood and drag back the shadow of mafia business like talking to Roberto. Her rival. Her personal affliction. Her bastard half brother.

  It was going to be a long night after all. Just not in the way she had hoped.

  To find her destiny, she must trust him with her life…and her heart.

  Crux

  © 2009 Moira Rogers

  Southern Arcana, Book 1

  Jackson Holt makes a decent living as a private investigator in New Orleans, home of one of the largest underground supernatural populations in the United States. He and his partners have never met a case they couldn’t crack…until a local bar owner asks him to do a little digging on her newest hire.

  New Orleans is the fourth destination in as many months for Mackenzie Brooks, a woman on the run from a deranged stalker. After all, any man who shows up on her doorstep claiming to be her destined lover has more than a few screws loose. But crazy doesn’t explain why he always finds her no matter how far she runs.

  When her well-meaning boss puts a PI on her case, Mackenzie comes face to face with the incredible truth: magic is real, and whatever spell has kept her hidden and separate from the paranormal world is rapidly deteriorating.

  With time running out, she has no choice but to trust Jackson as he struggles to uncover the truth of her past—and her destiny.

  Warning: This book contains devious schemes, epic battles, forbidden love between a shapeshifter and a spellcaster, nosy secondary characters, furniture-endangering sex and a woman fighting to choose her own destiny.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Crux:

  Mackenzie resisted the urge to change positions again. It didn’t help. Instead she wrapped her hands around the strap of her bag and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Jackson. Every time she did, the arousal that had been on low simmer all afternoon burst into full-on desire, and she could barely keep her hands to herself.

  Even thinking about touching him made primal satisfaction unfurl slowly inside her. She stubbornly headed it off. “Can you explain this to me again?” she asked in a low voice, wrapping her fingers more tightly around her bag. “Maybe thinking will help. Or distract me.”

  “Explain what?” His eyes didn’t leave the road. “The ants in your pants?”

  She let out a strangled laugh. “That’s one way to put it. You said Alec thinks it’s some…spell or something?”

  “Well, no. The spell would be what normally keeps you from getting this way.” He checked his mirror and signaled to pass. “It’s some sort of shapeshifter thing. The animal has to get out. When she doesn’t, you get restless.” He arched an eyebrow. “Sometimes really restless, I guess.”

  Mackenzie groaned as she slid lower in the seat and closed her eyes. Every instinct in her body screamed for action. Her vivid imagination provided endless scenarios for how she could soothe the hot need twisting her into knots. The scene unfolded behind her eyelids like an erotic movie—pulling off the road, finding someplace secluded… She could almost smell the clean scent of his skin, could imagine how it would feel under her lips when she slid into his lap and nuzzled her face into his neck.

  The earlier fantasies of long, hot lovemaking vanished. The frantic need inside her would be satisfied by nothing less than equally frantic sex. She wanted his hands and mouth on her skin, wanted to feel him writhing helplessly beneath her as she moved above him, driving them both into limp exhaustion.

  A tiny whimper escaped as she fought back the image of his face, eyes hazy with pleasure and lips forming her name as she rode him to completion in the front seat of the car. “Oh, God. You have no idea how restless.”

  He shot her a sharp look. “I suppose I… Hey, how about some music?” He cranked up the volume on the radio, and a song with a low, throbbing beat spilled out of the speakers. He stared straight ahead as he stabbed a button with his finger, changing the station to one featuring talk radio.

  Mackenzie stared out the window into the night and took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you—I mean, it’s a bit of an odd proposition, but would you consider—” She snarled. “The sexual frustration is going to kill me.”

  Jackson reached for his phone, hit a button and slapped it to his ear. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, it’s me. Look, about what you said… Yeah, what can she do about that? You know, that won’t—” He paused, obviously listening. “Yeah. Oh no, uh-uh. Okay, yeah. Later.” He snapped the phone closed. “Sorry, no sex. The bottom line is that you could die, and that would suck. You also can’t take care of it yourself, because you could weaken the spell even further.”

  A tiny part of her curled in on itself in embarrassment when she realized Jackson and Alec had just had a discussion about whether or not she could masturbate. The rest of her just wondered if she could talk Jackson into taking the chance that she might not die.

  “Jesus Christ.” She closed her eyes again. “Can we pull over at the next town, maybe get some food? The close quarters aren’t helping.”

  “Absolutely,” he said immediately. “I think food is a great idea. We can walk around and stretch our legs too. Terrific idea, Mackenzie.”

  “Terrific idea,” she agreed faintly. Except we’re not even halfway there and I’m already losing my mind. It
was going to be a very long night.

  The diner was small and cozy, and looked to cater mostly to truckers. Their waitress showed them to a booth without a word, setting two menus down before returning unprompted with a pot of coffee.

  Mackenzie glanced at it, but caffeine wasn’t something she needed to add to her system. “Have you got any milkshakes?” she asked hopefully.

  “Sure, honey. Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Vanilla, please.” She glanced across the booth at Jackson. “You drinking coffee?”

  “Yeah. Got a lot of driving to do if we want to make it to Boca anytime soon.” He favored the waitress with a smile as he turned over his mug. “Fill ’er up, darlin’, and I’ll have an omelet as big as my head, with bacon, peppers and cheese, please.”

  The waitress’s bored expression melted into an answering smile as she filled Jackson’s cup, Mackenzie apparently forgotten. She seemed terribly impressed by Jackson’s easy smile, and set aside the coffee pot as she jotted down his order. “Anything else with that, sweetheart? Sausage? Pancakes? We got some of the best muffins in the state here, if I do say so myself. Bake ’em fresh every night.”

  “He said he wants an omelet.” At first, Mackenzie didn’t even realize she’d spoken. Her voice barely sounded like her own, low and dangerous with a hint of menace. Color flooded her cheeks, and she avoided Jackson’s eyes, wishing she could sink into the booth and disappear.

  Jackson choked on his coffee, but recovered quickly enough to throw his head back with a laugh. “Now, now, sweet tart, I’ll stick to my low-carb diet, but the nice lady’s just doing her job.” His smile turned sheepish. “That’s what I get for marrying a health nut, I guess.”

  The woman turned back to Mackenzie, her expression cool. “And what would you like with your milkshake, ma’am?”

  The urge to snarl at her again was so overwhelming Mackenzie dug her teeth into her lip and flashed Jackson a pleading look.

  “She’ll have a couple of those muffins,” he said quickly. “Damn hypocrite’s what she is, huh?”