by Mary Wine
He swore under his breath. “So, I’m already down one sweater, a shower curtain, and God knows what else you’ve dragged under the bed. I should just let you hang there all tangled up. At least I know where you are.”
However, given that the tiny thing had already had one pretty big fright that day, he sighed, shut off the hot, life-giving spray, and very carefully reached out for a towel. After a quick rubdown, he wrapped the towel around his hips, eased out from the other end of the shower, and grabbed a hand towel. “We’ll probably be adding this to my tab, as well.” He doubted Kirby’s guests would appreciate a bath towel that had doubled as a kitty straitjacket.
“Come on,” he said, doing pretty much the same thing he’d done when the kitten had been attached to the front of Kirby. “I know you’re not happy about it,” he told the now squalling cat. “I’m not all that amped up, either.” He looked at the shredded curtain once he’d de-pronged the demon from the front of it and shuddered to think of just how much damage it had done to the front of Kirby.
“Question is…what do I do with you now?”
Just then a light tap came on the door. “Mr. Hennessey?”
“Brett,” he called back.
“I…Brett. Right. I called. But there was no answer, so—”
“Oh, shower. Sorry.” He walked over to the door, juggled the kitty bundle, and cracked the door open.
Her gaze fixed on his chest and then scooted down to the squirming towel bundle, right back up to his chest, briefly to his face, then away all together. “I’m—sorry. I just, you said…and dinner is—anyway—” She frowned. “You didn’t take the cat, you know, into—” She nodded toward the room behind him. “Did something happen?”
“I was in the shower. Shredder here decided to climb the curtain because apparently she’s not happy unless she’s trying to find new ways to terrify people.”
He glanced from the kitten to Kirby’s face in time to see her almost laugh and then compose herself. “I’m sorry, really. I shouldn’t have let you keep her in the first place. I mean, not that you can’t, but you obviously didn’t come here to rescue a kitten. I should—we should—just leave you alone.” She reached out to take the squirmy bundle from him.
“Does that mean I don’t get dinner?”
“What?” She looked up, got caught somewhere about chest height, then finally looked at his face. “I mean, no, no, not at all. I just—I hope you didn’t have your heart set on pot roast. There were a few…kitchen issues. Minor, really, but—”
“I’m not picky,” he reassured her. What he was, he realized, was starving. And not just for dinner. If she kept looking at him like that…well, it was making him want to feed an entirely different kind of appetite. In fact…He shut that mental path down. His life, such as it was, didn’t have room for further complications. And she’d be one. Hell, she already was. “I shouldn’t have gotten you to cook anyway. You’ve had quite a day, and given what The Claw here did to your—my—shower curtain—I’ll pay for a new one—I can only imagine that you must need more medical attention than I realized.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’m fine. Here,” she said, reaching out for the wriggling towel bundle. “Why don’t I go ahead and take her off your hands. I can put her out on the back porch for a bit, let you get, uh, dressed.”
Really, she had to stop looking at him like that. Like he was a…a pot roast or something. With gravy. And potatoes. Damn he was really hungry. Voraciously so. Did she have any idea how long he’d been on the road? With only himself and the sound of the wind for company? Actually, it had been far longer than that, but he really didn’t need to acknowledge that right about now.
Then she was reaching for him, and he was right at that point where he was going to say the hell with it and drag her into the room and the hell with dinner, too…only she wasn’t reaching for him. She was reaching for the damn kitten. He sort of shoved it into her hands, then shifted so a little more of the door was between them…and a little less of a view of the front of his towel. Which was in a rather revealing situation at the moment.
“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it. I’ll go down—be down—in just a few minutes.” He really needed to shut this door. Before he made her nervous. Or worse. I mean, sure, she was looking at him like he was her last supper, but that didn’t mean she was open to being ogled in return by a paying guest. Especially when he was the only paying guest in residence. Even if that did mean they had the house to themselves. And privacy. Lots and lots of privacy. “Five minutes,” he blurted, and all but slammed the door in her face.
Crap, if Dan could see him at the moment, he’d be laughing his damn ass off. As would most of Vegas. Not only did Brett happen to play high stakes poker pretty well, but the supporters and promoters seemed to think he was also a draw because of his looks. And no, he wasn’t blind, he knew he’d been relatively blessed, genetically speaking, for which he was grateful. No one would choose to be ugly. A least he wouldn’t think so.
But while the looks had come naturally, that whole bad boy, cocky attitude vibe that was supposed to go with it had not. Not that he was shy. Exactly.
He was confident in his abilities, what they were, and what they weren’t. But confidence was one thing. Arrogance another. And just because women threw themselves at him didn’t mean he was comfortable catching them. Mostly due to the fact that he was well aware that women weren’t throwing themselves at him because of who he was. But because of what he was. Some kind of quasi-poker rock star. They were batting eyelashes, thrusting cleavage, and passing phone numbers and room keys because of his fame, his fortune, his ability to score freebies from hotels and sponsors, and somewhere on that list, probably his looks weren’t hurting him, either.
Nowhere on the list, however, did it appear that getting to know the guy behind the deck of cards and the stacks of chips was of any remote interest.
And there lay the irony.
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Jude stood in the doorway of a shotgun cottage that looked as if it had fallen out of the pages of a fairytale. He half-expected children in lederhosen to answer the door.
But instead of Hansel or Gretel, the door was jerked open by a tall man, fit and tough enough to be a bodyguard himself.
“Jude Anthony?”
Jude nodded. “Yes.”
The man extended his hand. “Maksim Kostova. I’m the one who contacted you on behalf of my sister.”
Jude guessed as much. He accepted the man’s hand, giving a brief, firm shake. As he released it, he fought the urge to wipe his hand on his pants as if there was something thick and slimy clinging to his fingers.
Demon. That particular preternatural aura affected him more than some others. The energy from Maksim was strong and heavy, coating Jude’s palm and fingers, creeping up his arm like a living thing. The Blob from horror movie legend.
Damn, he hated that sensation. He flexed his fingers, trying to subtly shake the sensation off.
Maksim raised an eyebrow, obviously aware that Jude had had some reaction to him, but he didn’t inquire. Instead he stepped back, opening the door wider.
“Come in.”
Jude moved past him, keeping a good distance between them. This male was clearly a powerful, high ranking demon. Jude could even feel his aura just in passing.
Jude steeled himself to the sensation, but was pleased to step into a fair-sized sitting room. More space was always better.
He could do this. Just a few more jobs, and he’d be done with this life. No more paranormal creatures. No more of this existence. He would reinvent himself.
With renewed determination, he turned his focus away from the demon and to the room they’d just entered. His impression again was that of being in a fairy tale world. Lavender walls, gold brocade furniture, and beaded lamps gave the room a feeling of a princess’s private parlor.
But the woman who entered the room was no fairyt
ale character. Not unless fairytales had changed greatly since he’d last read one. She was hugely pregnant, making her hard to miss. Her belly protruded, almost comically large when compared to her slight frame. Then his gaze moved to the tall, dark-haired woman followed the waddling pregnant one.
She was stunning. Definitely princess material here…except instead of a flowing gown she wore a faded concert t-shirt which clung to her small, pert breasts and slender midriff.
Dark washed jeans encased her long legs, accentuating the flare of her hips and cupping what he had no doubt was a great ass—not that he could see that, but he just knew. Pale bare feet with her toes painted cherry red peeped out from under the cuffs of her jeans.
Jude’s body tensed at the sight of her, very aware—of her.
Just an observation, he told himself. What he was paid to do. Notice—things. But his body told him it was more than a detached opinion. He reacted. Instantly. Viscerally.
Don’t let this be Ellina Kostova. Please don’t let this be her.
He tried to ignore his response, relieved when Maksim spoke. “Jude, this is my wife, Jo,” Maksim said, gesturing to the very pregnant woman, drawing Jude’s attention away from the beauty.
His wife stepped forward and offered her hand. The briefest touch revealed she was human. A welcome sensation after making contact with her husband. No supernatural residue there.
But of course, Maksim redirected him back to the other woman. “And this is Ellina, my sister. The one you will be protecting.”
Shit. He’d been hoping this wasn’t her. She certainly didn’t fit his image of Ellina Kostova, the recluse, the eccentric author who preferred to stay in her world of demons, monsters and other things that went bump in the night.
He hadn’t expected her to be so young…or so lovely. She had an almost ethereal quality to her features. Full lips, large pale eyes, creamy skin.
She moved closer and offered a hand to him. Her fingers were slender, elegant. A beautiful hand.
But she was paranormal, he reminded himself. So really, would she be anything less than perfection? On the outside, at least. That was the way of preternaturals.
He reached for her hand, waiting for the same clinging, distasteful aura to encompass him. The aura that would remind him that not all things were as beautiful on the inside as they were on the outside. He knew from the information her brother had given him that she was only half-demon, but half was all it would take for his preternatural awareness to kick in.
But instead of that sickening, clinging, creeping sensation, her touch sent tingles up his arm. Tangible, electric pulses. Pulses that were anything but unpleasant.
As if in utter synch, they released each other, both stepping back from one another.
But unlike him, Ellina didn’t show any outward reaction to the touch. Her lovely face was as serene as a mannequin. Certainly she didn’t show any indication she’d felt the same shockwaves passing between them. Instead her pale eyes roamed over him, taking very obvious inventory, although her expression revealed nothing of her thoughts. Just an assessment. Testing his musculature, his strength. Like appraising a horse about to be purchased.
Except he was no stoic equine. His body tightened further. His mind imaging what her fingers would feel like moving over him. Those tiny pulses radiating from her fingers into him.
His spine straightened, and he forced his attention, and his reaction, away from the woman who’d managed to affect him more with one fleeting brush of her fingers than hundreds of paranormals before her.
He turned to Maksim.
“I’m sorry. I’m not the right man for this job.”
And be on the lookout for
INSTANT TEMPTATION by Jill Shalvis,
coming soon from Brava…
“I didn’t invite you in, T.J.”
He just smiled.
He was built as solid as the mountains that had shaped his life, and frankly had the attitude to go with it, the one that said he could take on whoever and whatever, and you could kiss his perfect ass while he did so. She’d seen him do it too, back in his hell-raising, misspent youth.
Not that she was going there, to the time when he could have given her a single look and she’d have melted into a puddle at his feet.
Had melted into a puddle at his feet. Not going there…
Unfortunately for Harley’s senses, he smelled like the wild Sierras; pine and fresh air, and something even better, something so innately male that her nose twitched for more, seeking out the heat and raw male energy that surrounded him and always had. Since it made her want to lean into him, she shoved in another bite of ice cream instead.
He smiled. “I saw on Oprah once that women use ice cream as a substitute for sex.”
She choked again, and he resumed gliding his big, warm hand up and down her back. “You watch Oprah?”
“No. Annie was, and I overheard her yelling at the TV that women should have plenty of both sex and ice cream.”
That sounded exactly like his Aunt Annie. “Well, I don’t need the substitute.”
“No?” he murmured, looking amused at her again.
“No!”
He hadn’t taken his hands off her, she couldn’t help but notice. He still had one rubbing up and down her back, the other low on her belly, holding her upright, which was ridiculous, so she smacked it away, doing her best to ignore the fluttering he’d caused and the odd need she had to grab him by the shirt, haul him close and have her merry way with him.
This was what happened to a woman whose last orgasm had come from a battery operated device instead of a man, a fact she’d admit, oh never. “I was expecting your brother.”
“Stone’s working on Emma’s ‘honey do’ list at the new medical clinic, so he sent me instead. Said to give you these.” He pulled some maps from his back pocket, maps she needed for a field expedition for her research. When she took them out of his hands, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his Levi’s. He wore a T-shirt layered with an opened button-down that said Wilder Adventures on the pec. His jeans were faded nearly white in the stress spots, of which there were many, nicely encasing his long, powerful legs and lovingly cupping a rather impressive package that was emphasized by the way his fingers dangled on his thighs.
Not that she was looking.
Okay, she was looking, but she couldn’t help it. The man oozed sexuality. Apparently some men were issued a handbook at birth on how to make a woman stupid with lust. And he’d had a lot of practice over the years.
She’d watched him do it.
Each of the three Wilder brothers had barely survived their youth, thanks in part to no mom and a mean, son-of-a-bitch father. But by some miracle, the three of them had come out of it alive and now channeled their energy into Wilder Adventures, where they guided clients on just about any outdoor adventure that could be imagined; heli-skiing, extreme mountain biking, kayaking, climbing, anything.
Though T.J. had matured and found success, he still gave off a don’t-mess-with-me vibe. Even now, at four in the afternoon, he looked big and bad and tousled enough that he might have just gotten out of bed and wouldn’t be averse to going back.
It irritated her. It confused her. And it turned her on, a fact that drove her bat-shit crazy because she was no longer interested in T.J. Wilder.
Nope.
It’d be suicide to still be interested. No one could sustain a crush for fifteen years.
No one.
Except, apparently, her. Because deep down, the unsettling truth was that if he so much as directed one of his sleepy, sexy looks her way, her clothes would fall right off.
Again.
And wasn’t that just her problem, the fact that once upon a time, a very long time ago, at the tail end of T.J.’s out-of-control youth, the two of them had spent a single night together being just about as intimate as a man and woman could get. Her first night with a guy. Definiitely not his first. Neither of them had been exactly legal at the tim
e, and only she’d been sober.
Which meant only she remembered.
Bedding the Enemy
MARY WINE
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Red Stone Castle, McQuade land, Scotland, Spring 1604
Laird…
He’d never courted the title. Never considered it something that might be his. Keir McQuade walked through the hallways he’d covered a thousand times in the last year alone but today it felt like he crossed the polished stones for the very first time.
Today he was Laird McQuade.
An uneasy peace had settled on his father’s land. One that Keir did not trust. Everyone was watching to see what the new season would bring. His father had wielded power ruthlessly and his two elder brothers followed their sire absolutely—moonlit raids on their neighbors that had resulted in his only sister being stolen away.
Keir snarled softly. Bronwyn was the only member of the family that he held dear. He missed her now that she was wed and that was no mistake. He did not lament the loss of his father or brothers, only the fact that they had been so filled with greed that they could not remain among the living.
He’d run his brother Sodac through with his own hand after he’d tried to help their eldest brother poison their sister.
And for what?
To deny her a dowry that her mother had settled on her long ago. Keir shook his head. Three months later, he was still slightly amazed when he opened his eyes in the morning and recalled the events that had left him to inherit the title of Laird McQuade.
