Copyright Information
Hurricane
Copyright © 2008 Moira Rogers
http://www.moirarogers.com
Smashwords edition.
Originally published by Changeling Press in 2008. Reissued by the author in 2012.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Hurricane
Sneak Peek
The Last Call Series
About the Author
HURRICANE
Contents under magical pressure. Experience required.
Fiona took one last look at the printed menu in her hand and grimaced at her friend. “I don’t need a drink. I need help.”
“Honey, this place is chock full of hot wizards.” Jenn snatched the menu out of Fiona’s hands and studied the back of it. “And this menu’s the key. We just have to decode it. Maybe they have a drink for, ‘My castrated jackass of an ex cursed me to a life free of orgasms, contents under pressure.’ Like… oh shit, you can get in on a vampire/werewolf threesome? Hot.”
Leave it to Jenn to focus on the more salacious aspects of Last Call’s offerings. “I like my blood where it is, werewolves are notoriously possessive, and a supernatural hookup is not on the agenda. Remember what happened when I kissed that councilman at your gallery opening last fall?” Fiona shuddered at the memory. “That poor cater-waiter lost his eyebrows, and the sprinklers destroyed your mixed-media.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why you need a supernatural hookup. Maybe there’s someone in here powerful enough to survive the curse. Hell, maybe there’s someone who can break it.” Jenn clutched the menu in one hand and grabbed Fiona’s arm in the other. “Come on, let’s go ask the bartender.”
She knew who could break it. Someone who could lay wards so powerful they’d keep garden-variety humans off of a property without any question or concern. Someone who could maintain peace and order when vampires and witches were partying with demons and faeries.
She needed the owner of Last Call.
Fiona grabbed the menu from Jenn and scanned the back, then slammed the paper down on the bar. One way or another, the curse ended tonight.
The bartender walked over, his movements easy in spite of the churning energy in the club, one eyebrow raised and a grin on his dark, handsome face. “Can I help you ladies?”
Fiona took a deep breath. “I need to speak to Benito D’Cruze.”
“No, she doesn’t!” Jenn reclaimed the menu and held it up. “She needs… a hurricane.”
“A hurricane?” The bartender glanced at Jenn before bringing his gaze back to Fiona. “Hurricane’s for inexperienced witches and wizards. People who are liable to blow the place up without proper handling.” Unspoken was the implication that she didn’t look particularly inexperienced.
Fiona gritted her teeth. “Can I see Mr. D’Cruze or not?”
“Sorry, miss. The owner’s not available. You could call his office and arrange an appointment during business hours, though.”
“Okay.” She drew in another breath and nodded. “Then I’ll need that hurricane, please.”
One dark eyebrow curved up into a perfect arch. “You sure?”
Jenn, who had already indulged in a number of the bar’s more mundane drinks, leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “She’s got a big bad curse on her. Things blow up when she gets turned on. She may not be an inexperienced witch, but she still needs proper handling.”
“Uh-huh.” Fiona grinned. She could just make out with the ones who thought they could handle the curse. Sooner or later, doddering old Benny D’Cruze would make his way down from his lavish office to inspect the damage. “Hope the property insurance is paid up. Rum makes me horny.”
Ben knew there was something wrong in his club long before the bartender called his office. The spells he’d wrapped around Last Call were some of the finest magic in New York City -- hell, in the state -- and very little happened in his bar without him finding out about it, sooner or later.
His wards had alerted him the minute she’d crossed the threshold, of course. Black magic wasn’t allowed in the building, but people who were cursed weren’t necessarily practitioners of the darker magics. So he watched them and made sure they didn’t cause trouble.
A row of video screens covered a desk on the side of his office, but Ben wasn’t watching them. The cameras on the dance floor were static, inefficient at following one person. Instead he stared down into his scrying bowl and watched as the pretty little blonde ground against a man on the dance floor, her ass rubbing his crotch as she moved with the music. The wizard looked thrilled to death.
Ben didn’t blame him. Hell, his cock was hard just from watching her move. Of course, it wasn’t just her body, lush as it was, that fueled his arousal. The scrying spell painted her aura in bright colors he could almost taste, even as the curse clenched tight around her. Sensuality, sexuality… and a deep, deep need that eclipsed desire and even lust. She needed to be taken, claimed and fulfilled.
She was hungry. And he saw why as the wizard’s hand drifted around her body. His fingers brushed her breast, and the curse flared so brightly that the rest of the scene in his scrying dish faded. Power tore through the building, powerful enough that he felt the ripples even in his office, three floors above her.
A second later the phone rang. Ben didn’t take his eyes from the scrying dish as he reached out to pick it up. “What happened?” Something had to have happened. That much power, released recklessly…
“Half the bottles of booze at my bar just shattered.” It was Bernie’s voice, deep and slightly annoyed. “I think it’s the lady who just ordered the hurricane. Every time a guy gets near her, the lights flicker or the music skips.”
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from those gyrating hips. “I’m coming down to take care of it.”
“You better hurry, boss. She’s starting to look like a challenge, and you know how that riles up the werewolves and demons.”
“I said I’d take care of it.” He slammed down the phone before Bernie could speak again, and waved his hand over the scrying dish. The image vanished, leaving a pool of dark water in its place.
He rose to his feet and glanced down at his worn jeans and battered T-shirt. Most days he enjoyed his casual clothing. He could walk among his clients and no one suspected they were in the presence of the mysterious and powerful Benito D’Cruze. The downside, of course, was that few people believed he was Benito D’Cruze without the trappings of wealth and money, which meant it might be wise to change into something a little more impressive before trying to deal with trouble.
Another trembling ripple of power from downstairs made the choice for him. He strode to the office door, determined to save his club from absolute destruction.
Fiona groaned as the fourth wizard shot off the dance floor, driven away by the strength of the curse that bound her. “God damn it all, anyway.”
A soft hiss behind her drew her attention, and she spun to find a handsome blond man watching her. A smile curled the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flashed red for a split second.
An incubus. Jesus Christ. His kind fed on sexual energy, and God knew she had it to spare. Fiona trembled as she considered it. A demon might be able to slip past the
curse, might be able to make her come without blowing Manhattan off the map. And if he gets greedy…
He could kill her. But she was getting desperate.
Fiona took a step toward him, still swaying to the pounding beat of the music. Then a strong, tattooed hand curled around her arm, stopping her, and she found herself looking up into a pair of dark, intense eyes.
He looked exotic, but the words he spoke were clipped, unaccented English. “A demon is not a good cure for a curse.”
“Oh yeah?” The power coursing off of the man intoxicated her even more than the expensive rum singing through her veins. Fiona stepped closer and stroked his chest through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. “The last time I tried to get myself off, it rained toads in my apartment.” She laughed and pressed her body to his. “That makes it one hell of a curse, baby.”
Strong hands skated down her back to cup her ass, and he dragged her up his body until her eyes were level with his. “You wanted my attention, sweetheart. Now you have it. What are you going to do with it?”
It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog in her brain. “Uh-uh. No way are you D’Cruze.”
“Really?” The rest of the bar faded away as power wrapped around her, making her entire body tingle. She felt his lips against her ear as his fingers tightened on her ass. “Then why can I do this without your curse blowing the hell out of my bar?” His teeth closed on her earlobe.
The knot of heat inside her burst into raging flame. Fiona couldn’t stop the low cry that slipped out of her, or the plea that followed it. “I need it,” she rasped. “Can you get past it without getting hurt? Can you fuck me?”
“Oh, yes. I can get past your curse.” He lowered her again, setting her down on unsteady feet. “Maybe, given time, I could even break it.” She caught a glimpse of a wicked smile before his fingers curled around her arms and tugged her away from the dance floor. “But first, we’re getting you away from my very, very expensive bar.”
She caught sight of Jenn at the edge of the floor and waved as they headed toward the back of the bar. “I’m Fiona.”
“Mmm.” A gigantic bouncer moved aside as they approached, opening a small door she hadn’t even realized was there. On the other side lay a short service hallway with a single elevator at the end. His hand dropped to her lower back in a possessive gesture as he urged her forward. “You can call me Ben.”
His warm fingers brushed the strip of exposed skin above her jeans, and she shivered. The fluorescent lighting in the hallway flickered. “Ben.” It was equally easy to imagine whispering it in his ear or screaming it into a pillow. “Nice to meet you, Ben.”
The elevator had no buttons, just a flat screen next to it. Ben laid his hand on it, and a moment later the doors slid open with a soft chime. “Who did you piss off, Fiona? Who did you make furious enough to curse you so viciously?”
“My ex-boyfriend,” she answered lightly as she stepped into the elevator and leaned against one wall. “Five years ago. I call him Robbie the Jackass. He thought he owned me, and I thought he was wrong. He took it badly.”
“So it seems.” The doors shut silently as he pressed his hand to a second screen on the inside. A tiny jolt was the only indication they’d started moving. “Robert Carmichael, was it?”
“That’s him.” Thinking about her ex squashed her buzz like a bug. “It was all very romantic, I suppose. Two artists in a Tribeca loft. Turns out, twenty-seven was a little long in the tooth for his tastes. I was supposed to look the other way while he explored greener, more supple pastures.” She looked away with a snort. “No, thanks.”
He studied her with a slightly amused look. “Five years without satisfaction, and before that you were wasting yourself on an old man. No wonder the curse took hold so strongly. It feeds on sexual frustration, you know… and I imagine he provided you with plenty of that.”
“So, if I hadn’t been so averse to stepping out on my boyfriend, I might not be in this mess?” Fiona laughed and stepped closer, eyeing him through the fringe of her expertly curled lashes. “I guess nice women really do finish last.”
“If you hadn’t stayed with an asshole who couldn’t begin to satisfy you, you might not be in this mess.” He lifted a finger to trace along her jaw, then down the vulnerable line of her throat. “I don’t usually fuck the people who come to my bar, you know. Not even the ones who are so obviously in need of it.”
The slight but deliberate caress of his fingertip over her skin kick started her libido again, and she let her head fall back with a quiet moan. “So why didn’t you tell me to get lost?”
“You were tearing my bar apart.” The touch moved lower, skating over her collarbone. “And none of those wizards were going to stop you.”
He’d been watching her. She rose up on the toes of her boots and brushed her lips across his throat. “But you are.” It wasn’t a question.
He chuckled, a low sound that shot straight through her. “Five.”
Fiona leaned back and arched an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Five,” he repeated. His hand snuck around the back of her neck and curled in her hair. “That’s how many times I’ll have to make you come before the curse is weak enough to break, I think.”
At that point, begging started to seem like a valid option. She settled for melting against him with a throaty moan. “Why would you break it? As a favor? Or something else?”
His fingers tightened painfully and he wrenched her head back. “Is that the sort of man you prefer? A man who would barter your sanity for sexual servitude?”
She should have been alarmed. Instead, she licked her lips and wiggled closer. “Nothing personal. I just think some questions should be asked -- and answered -- up front. That way no one gets confused.”
“I’ll break the curse because it’s wrong.” He didn’t release her hair, but his other hand slid down the front of her body and inched its way beneath her pants, then into her panties. “And I’ll make you come because you want it.”
“I want it.” It was an unbelievable understatement, but Fiona could think of nothing else to say as his fingers slipped over her pussy, delving into the wetness his touch had elicited from her body. She eased her head up until she could stare into his eyes. “I want you.” The truth of the words shocked her. She wanted to believe he could have been anyone, and she’d have reacted the same way in her need to have someone fuck her. But she wanted him.
His fingers slid over her clit in a slippery circle as lust flooded his eyes. It filled the space between them, and she felt that familiar pressure, the one that tightened painfully and burst just before everything went to hell. The light overhead exploded in a shower of sparks and glass and the elevator ground to a screeching halt.
He bent over her to shield her from the falling shards. They both cursed, and she rested her forehead against his chest and laughed mirthlessly. “Welcome to the last five years of my life, Ben.”
“Poor thing.” He slipped his hand free and wrapped both arms around her. “I suppose we’ll have to do this the other way.”
“The… other way?”
“Close your eyes.”
She smiled and did as he asked, another shiver running through her. “Promise me you won’t let me blow up your apartment.”
He whispered something against her hair, low and impossible to understand. For one endless second she felt as if she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. Magical energy tore through her, setting every nerve ablaze in something that could have been pain or pleasure -- it was impossible to tell which.
Just as quickly it was over. Ben released her and she opened her eyes to find herself in a large, luxuriously-appointed bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed. “That’s better.”
Everything had been decorated in warm, dark colors, from the furniture to the artwork that hung on the walls. Fiona was surprised to recognize several of the paintings as museum-quality pieces. “Did you pick these out yourself?”
“You have a good eye.”
He stepped behind her, pressing his chest to her back as his hands came around to slide under her shirt and across her stomach. “You said you’re an artist?”
She leaned her head back on his shoulder and covered his hands with hers. “I’m a sculptor.” She urged his hands a bit higher and shuddered. “How is this going to work?”
He caught her hands and guided them up until her fingers were locked around the back of his neck. “First I find out how strong the curse is.” His hands tickled the inside of her arms as he traced back down. He cupped her breasts and laughed low in his throat. “I might have to… provoke you a little.”
“Or a lot.” Her nipples hardened under the lace and silk she wore. She arched her back, captivated by the heat of his body wrapped around hers, by the musky, masculine scent of him. The pressure built along with her arousal, and Fiona groaned. “It’s starting, Ben --”
One hand left her body and twisted in the air in front of her. A moment later the walls started to glow, as if the entire room had been painted in a thin sheen of power. Behind her, Ben hissed in a sharp breath and curled his hand into a fist. “My God, this curse is strong.”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she made a frustrated noise. “‘Dark’ is usually what I hear.” Dark and unbreakable. If the legendary Benito D’Cruze couldn’t defeat it… “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.” His breath tickled her neck, and he opened his hand again. Power gathered around them so fast she felt it against her skin, like a soft, warm breeze. Her hair tickled at her cheeks as the invisible strands of magic swirled around them. This time when he closed his fist, the walls burst into incandescent light, a wall of sheer magical energy.
Ben’s hand returned to her stomach, still warm from the power he’d gathered. “There. Nothing that happens will leave this room, and your curse isn’t strong enough to hurt me.”
Hurricane (Last Call #2) Page 1
