by J. C. Wilder
“I had to borrow it from Sinjin.” He glanced down at the surprisingly somber Dolce and Gabbana suit.
“Well it’s still sexy.” She pushed out of his arms. “But I can think of something else it would look really fantastic on.”
“Really? What would that be?”
Looking over her shoulder, Maeve gave him a heated smile. “My bedroom floor.”
About the Author
J.C. Wilder left the world of big business to carry on conversations with the people who live in her mind—fictional characters, that is. In her past she has worked as a software tester and traveled with an alternative rock band, and she currently volunteers for her local police department as a photographer. She lives in Central Ohio with 6,000 books and an impressive collection of dust bunnies.
To learn more about J.C. Wilder, please visit www.jcwilder.com. Send an email to J.C. Wilder at [email protected].
Look for these titles by J.C. Wilder
Now Available:
Winter’s Daughter
In the Gloaming
Thief of Hearts
Stone Hearts, Paradox III
Deep Waters, Paradox II
Sacrifice, Paradox I
Shadow Dwellers: Tempt Not the Cat
What will happen when the hunter becomes the hunted…
Tempt Not the Cat
© 2009 J.C. Wilder
A woman whose chances for love were destroyed…
After surviving a brutal kidnapping, Erihn Spencer has spent the past eighteen years living in the shadows. Scarred both physically and mentally, she spends her days writing romance novels dealing with the type of relationship she’s avoided. The night before heading into the mountains to start her new novel, a stranger approaches and shakes her world with one perfect kiss.
A man who could be her savior…
From the moment Fayne kisses her, the desire to possess this shy beauty is irresistible. Thrown together in a secluded house in the mountains, he’s torn between his need for her and the secrets that are destined to force them apart. As Erihn struggles to break free from years of self- imposed isolation, he finds he is the one who is now trapped by his desires, his dark self.
Their worlds collide and old secrets lead a bitter enemy to their door.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Tempt Not the Cat:
She moved like a cat, dainty, her feet barely touching the floor.
Fayne leaned against the bar, his pint of Scottish ale forgotten. Through the wide arch leading into the coffeehouse, his gaze followed her as she wove her way through the tables filled with chatting patrons.
Her hair was long and loose, ending just below her backside. To most people, it would appear to be brown but his preternatural eyesight detected glints of red and gold in the long strands. Unbound, it obscured her profile reminding him of Cousin It from The Munsters. Okay, not exactly flattering but the resemblance was undeniable.
Dressed in a long skirt the color of dirt and an enveloping cream-colored shirt, she was as diametrically opposed to the other women in their barely-there summer dresses as chalk was to cheese. Covered from head to toe with her modest, slightly oversized clothes and long, shaggy hair, she looked as if she were trying to hide from something.
Maybe everything?
His chest tightened. He loved puzzles. Curiosity had certainly almost killed this cat a time or two, but that didn’t stop him from his favored pastime. Puzzles drove him mad and women were his favorite riddle. He reveled in their femininity, their scent and their innate sensuality. Basked in the hidden mysteries of their shapely limbs and secretive eyes. Overdosed on their voices and wrapped himself in their beauty while rejoicing in their strength.
In short, he loved women.
His eyes narrowed when the stranger stepped onto the stage. Reaching up to adjust the microphone, her slender fingers curled around the base as she raised it to the correct height. With one slim hand she pushed back her hair, allowing him a glimpse of her profile. Dark brows, a lovely cheekbone and a slightly snubbed nose, her skin was creamy pale and her mouth was lush.
He licked his lips.
The woman glanced to her left and smiled at her friends as they jostled for better viewing positions on the low-slung couch and chairs. A shy smile curved her mouth and a gentle blush swept her skin. She ducked her head as if embarrassed.
Even from here he could sense her nervousness. For some of the preternaturals, emotions could be detected by either taste or scent. With the room crowded with people, for most it would be difficult to pick up on any one person. But not him. Her scent was unique and it had already imprinted itself in his brain, becoming part of him.
Lemon.
Paper.
Flowers. Blue Lady roses to be exact.
And a healthy dose of warm feminine flesh.
Something dark stirred in him, gently nudging the leash of his willpower. The moon was waxing, and the urge to mate was growing stronger. It’d been over ten months since he’d last taken a woman, and the demands of the approaching full moon were taking a toll on his restraint.
After the debacle with the vampire Mikhail during winter solstice last year, Fayne’s pleasure-seeking life had been derailed by the unexpected inclusion of a six-year-old mortal child. He smiled at the thought of the boy he called son, Max. Few things were more important to a were-cat than physical gratification and their own creature comforts, but his son was his top priority. Max came first with him.
Period.
End of story.
Even though he loved Max and would sacrifice anything for his welfare, for the next few weeks Fayne was free to do as he pleased. Max was off with his friend Bliss in South America on an archeological dig and having the time of his life.
Certain that his son was well taken care of, Fayne had other pressing matters to attend to. With only a few more days until the full moon, time was growing short and he had to act fast. He glanced at the women sitting with Shai and Jennifer.
To Shai’s right sat a stunning brunette with dark red claws. She was lovely, but there was something brittle about her. Across from her sat Melanie Reynolds, the movie actress. She wore a barely-there pink leather dress, and her breasts were in danger of escaping. Too overblown and very married—two things he avoided.
There was something to be said about subtlety. As he’d prowled through the years, Fayne realized that he appreciated the subtle woman. The one who lightly dabbed perfume on the back of her knees rather than bathing in it. She wore high-collared shirts and demure lace bras rather than crotchless panties and garter belts. A confident woman didn’t need to proclaim her femininity to everyone around her, it simply was what it was. The women most men would overlook intrigued him the most. The shy ones who didn’t command center stage and constantly play the ‘me me’ game. Women who glanced away rather than returning his gaze boldly. Of course they always looked back again, just in case they were mistaken and he hadn’t been looking at them. The subtle shyness, the faint blush of color on their cheeks when they realized it was them who held his attention. They all had their stories to tell—their darkness and their light.
He lived to ferret out their secrets.
Turning, his gaze landed on the woman standing on the stage. This beautiful little wren wasn’t so much understating her sexuality as being completely unaware of it. She’d buried her feminine curves beneath layers of ill-fitting clothing and long, heavy hair so that most men would overlook her.
But not him.
What did she look like with no clothing on? Did she prefer serviceable white cotton lingerie or was she the kind of woman who dressed like a schoolteacher on the outside while wearing miniscule thong panties?
His groin tightened.
Either worked for him as lingerie had a tendency to get torn off women’s bodies when he was around. Be it cotton or silk, the only thing he wanted to see it on was the floor.
Glancing over at Shai’s friends, he smiled. No, he’d found his mate. He s
miled as he turned his attentions back to the woman on the stage. She’d do perfectly.
It was time for the cat to prowl.
Her destiny—destroy the world. Whether she wants to or not.
Calling the Wild
© 2009 Lila Dubois
Moira doesn’t know who’s hunting her, but she knows why. In her youth she unleashed a deadly force that killed everything within range—a strange power she has vowed never to use again.
Needing protection, she risks a bit of the old magic to call for backup. She gets more than she asks for. A lot more. A proud, sexually magnetic, enraged centaur who’s far from a quiet, obedient servant.
Kiron at first tries to intimidate the witch into freeing him, but she possesses more backbone than the average human. When she’s attacked again, he realizes she’s not a real witch. In fact, she’s not even human. And the sparks flying between them have nothing to do with the magical shackles that bind them together.
Curiosity grows to admiration, then to a love that in the end may not be enough to protect her. Moira’s enemies are closing in, intending to harness her power to restore a dark kingdom that has lain dormant for a thousand years.
There’s only one, heart-wrenching way out—give herself over to the full extent of her powers hoping that her true destiny lies with Kiron, and not in fulfilling a prophecy of death…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Calling the Wild:
Kiron traced his fingers over the cut. “Who did this?”
“I did. I let it happen.”
“Why?”
“I needed information and paid in blood.”
“That is dangerous.”
“Everything about my life is dangerous.”
Kiron bent low to examine her, his thumb tracing over line of the cut. Within the confines of her corset, Moira’s nipple beaded.
“We need to leave,” she whispered.
Though it was true that they needed to get away from the club, Moira was using it as an excuse. Away from the pulsing lights and music, what they’d done seemed like a terrible idea. She didn’t know enough about centaurs to know if it has meant anything to him. She had some vague memories from Greek art and archaeology classes that the centaurs were known for their lust. Lust for drink, lust for battle and lust for women. If that meant that what had happened inside meant nothing to him, she would deal with it. What would be a problem, would be if she let what happened mean too much to her.
“Open the back,” he said, stepping away from her. Her breast felt cold without his fingers.
“Why? You can ride in the cab.”
“I will not wear this weak human form any longer.” He stood back and spread his arms, lips pulled back in a sneer. Moira looked him over. He was tall as a human, over six feet. His upper body had the same muscular build, and his legs were thickly muscled also. She knew they were, because she could see the muscle definition in his thighs through his pants. Speaking of his pants… Moira looked him up and down.
The hilarity of her mythical centaur dressed in black PVC pants and a poet shirt hit Moira.
“Where did you get that outfit?” she asked on a giggle.
“I watched a man come out of the club wearing this and replicated it. He also had on a long red coat, but it was too hot so I discarded it.”
“Too bad about the coat. I would have paid good money to see you in it.”
“I look stupid.”
“No, I’m sure all the other badass centaurs wear frilly shirts.”
“Are you laughing at me, witch?”
“Laugh or cry, those are the options.”
White sparks spilled over him, growing until he was concealed by a waterfall of white. The sparks dimmed and cleared, the few stragglers blown away by the breeze that danced through the parking lot.
Kiron stood before her, a centaur once more. He even had the sword on his back.
“Where did the sword go when you changed?”
“I brought it into me, made it a piece of me.”
“You can do that? How?”
“I will show you when we get back to that messy place.”
Moira swallowed her questions about his magic and moved to the back of the truck to open the door and pull down the ramp. Looking around nervously, she waited until the lot was clear and then waved him in.
Kiron thundered up the ramp, the ring of his hooves on the metal ramp as loud as gunshots. Wincing, Moira slid the ramp into place and grabbed the door.
Kiron had finished turning around, though this time she had no sympathy for his cramped posture as she knew he could make himself more comfortable.
“Food,” he said unexpectedly.
“What about it?” Moira jumped on the bumper to grab the door.
“I do not know how often humans need to eat, but I am hungry.”
“Oh, right. Do you like burgers? Do you know what they are?”
“Yes, I do like burgers. Order me four.”
“Four burgers. Check.”
Moira closed the other door and bolted it in place, before racing to the front of the van and hauling herself up into the cabin.
With a final look at the club, she put the van in gear and pulled away.
She holds the key to unlock his past—or unleash hell.
Love’s Alchemy
© 2009 Ciar Cullen
Sidra Patmos has the ability to see the real underbelly of lower Manhattan—a horrifying world where wraiths, demons and a few quirky mortals battle for supremacy. Desperate, she seeks out a paranormal researcher to tell her why her life is a waking nightmare.
Instead of answers, her meeting with the dark and irresistible Van Barlowe unleashes a chain of events far more dangerous than her blackest visions. And a desire she can barely manage to hold at arm’s length.
After three desperate centuries, Van has finally found the Alchemist. Sidra. Somewhere locked deep inside her lies the knowledge that will rescue his family from ruin. The only way to reawaken her abilities is to hold his enemies at bay long enough to convince her to step through the mists of time.
Redemption waits there, and a timeless bond ignited by the undeniable pull between them. The missing ingredient: Sidra’s willingness to risk that Van’s attraction runs deeper than sexual chemistry…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Love’s Alchemy:
Sidra sat on the bed and thought about the intense longing for Van that pulled at her, longing older and deeper than possible in the few days she’d known him. She rubbed her palm across the shades of brown silk artfully covering the enormous bed.
“I think he’s still in love with you, Van. I think part of me feels his pain, his fear, his excruciating need for you. I don’t think it died with his body.”
“You finally believe, then?”
Sidra nodded. Since her vision of the past, the evening before, tiny flickers of memory beckoned to her, but she’d been pushing them down. She lay back on the bed, closed her eyes, and with a quick prayer for protection, opened herself to the realization that she was really remembering another person’s life.
“Do you remember any more?”
“Bits and pieces. Nothing important, I’m afraid. The smell of wood burning, the sound of heavy glassware, the laughter of men. Utter exhaustion. The feel of a pen in my hand, my arm shaking from tiredness, my eyes burning from sleeplessness. I feel pangs of unfamiliar pain, emotional pain, as if life itself had become such a burden as to be intolerable. Right before I woke this morning I thought I saw men and women gathered around me as I lay in bed. They were crying.”
“That all makes sense to me.” His eyes looked strained, and Sidra wanted to ease his troubled heart.
“Do you want me to try to understand him, to reach out to him for you?”
Van sat by her side and squeezed her hand. “No, not now. I want you, Sidra. Whatever you might feel for me.”
Sidra opened her eyes. “You only have feelings for your Maker. This has nothing to do with me.”
/> “I can’t separate the two, love, I’m sorry. I only know that I haven’t felt this way before in my life, and that this is not what I felt for Isaac. I’m desperate for you, Sidra. I know I come with a heavy price tag for a woman who’s lost too much already. Maybe it’s not worth it to you? I can’t promise I won’t die, that we’ll figure this out.”
“We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
“Why?” Van leaned in and kissed her on the lips, moved to her neck, nibbling his way down her cleavage. “Tell me. Say it, Sidra.”
“Let this be enough, Van.”
“I need to hear it from you.”
Sidra fought to keep the last thread of resistance alive. “I’m sure enough women have told you they were in love with you.”
“Many. I wasn’t in love with them.”
“You’re not in love with me. You’re all caught up in your past.”
“Don’t deny me my own thoughts, Sidra. Isaac gave me life, but he also gave me free will. I’m asking for both from you. Tell me you love me back.”
“I love you back,” she muttered.
“You’re really annoying.”
Sidra pulled off her shirt and bra and stepped out of her shoes and jeans.
“Get back here,” he gasped through clenched teeth.
“You’re pretty impatient for a guy who’s been around a couple hundred years.”
“I feel like I’ve had this hard-on for a couple hundred years.”
“Let’s see what we can do about that, impatient one.” Sidra helped him out of his slacks and boxer shorts. Sidra ran her palm along the taut length of his shaft, tracing her fingers over the large veins pulsing with his life’s blood.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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