WRECKED by Shiloh Walker

WRECKED by Shiloh Walker

“Friends make the best lovers and soul mates in WRECKED. A beautiful look into true and enduring love…” Carly Phillips, NYT Bestselling Author

In the nineties, Abigale Applegate and Zach Barnes were the most beloved sitcom child stars in the world. Then they grew up and left Hollywood behind…

Whatever happened to Abigale Applegate?

She’s been wondering the same thing.

With her Hollywood dreams long gone, Abigale now has a nice, neat, uncomplicated life—until the day her perfect fiancé needs to talk. Dumped, a little more than shattered, and totally confused, Abigale turns to Zach, her best friend since forever, to help her pick up the pieces. He does it with a gift—a copy of Wreck This Journal. She can vent her frustrations, and sketch out a new plan. Zach just hopes he’s part of it. Because he’s been in love with Abigale his entire life.

When the journal falls into Zach’s hands, he discovers Abigale wants a new man. And fast. Nothing more than a hot distraction. Zach has a strategy, too. He’s going to be that man. It’s his last chance. Abigale might be out to shake up her life, but Zach’s out to reinvent it. Now, all he has to do is convince Abigale that life can go as planned.

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~Excerpt~

"I don't get it," she said softly, some of the confusion and pain breaking free. "I mean... I thought he loved me. How could he love me and walk away like that? Over the life I used to have? That's what it's all about. I used to be an actress. I'm not anymore--I haven't been for years and I'm happy with that. How can he not see that? If he loved me, wouldn't he be able to see that I don't want to act anymore?"

Zach didn't answer.

Turning her head, she peered over her shoulder at him.

He had his head bowed, the gold-streaked strands falling down and hiding his features from her.

"Zach?"

He sighed. "Do you really want to hear what I have to say about this right now, sugar?"

"I always want to hear what you have to say."

"Okay." He used the cloth again on her back and then bent down, staring at her skin like there was nothing else in the world but her back and the design he was inking onto her flesh. "He never loved you."

It was a strike, square to her heart.

She closed her eyes.

"If he loved you, he wouldn't treat you the way he did. When you walked into a room, it would have showed on his face...if he really loved you. Either he'd been so busy staring at you because he just had to see you, or he would have been looking away so nobody could see it. Except he was going to marry you-you were his and he had every right to let the world see how he felt." Zach dabbed at her back again, still focused on the work.

She was almost glad of the pain now, because it was easier to think about how much it hurt than to think about what he had to say.

"But when you walked into a room, that f'ing prick was too busy either messing with his damned gadgets or looking at everybody else to see what they thought about you. He was in love with the idea of having Kate the cutie on his arm. But he never loved you."

He paused what he doing and for a brief second, the world fell away as he looked up and met her eyes. "He never loved you, and the son of a bitch sure as hell didn't deserve you, sugar."

Her heart slammed against her ribs as his blue gaze held hers.

And then, as it felt like all the oxygen in the room had dwindled away, he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

It felt like he was flaying the flesh from her bones. And she decided that was just fine, because now she needed that distraction.

Was he right, she wondered? Had Roger ever loved her at all?

And more importantly...had she loved him?





"Okay, here are the important things," Zach said as he studied the design. It was cute, sexy as hell and if he found out another guy was the one who got to press his lips to that dragonfly as where it curved low over the flare of her left hip, he thought he just might go insane. "I'll send you home with some instructions on how to care for it, but you need to make sure you keep it clean. No scrubbing at it or anything-you need to be gentle when you wash it, but keep it clean. I've got some ointment I'll send home with you and I'll go into detail about using that, too."

She was still staring at it over her shoulder in the mirror. Worrying her lower lip with her teeth and eying the dragonfly like she expected it to take flight or something.

"I need to get the bandage on," he said softly.

"What? Oh."

She continued to stand there and he reached up, pressed his hand between her shoulder blades. "Lean forward a little."

Hunger screamed, jerking on the leash inside him as he eased the waistband of her skirt just a little lower so he could get the bandage in place. Bent over the table like that, he could so easily imagine pulling the hem of the skirt up. Slipping his hand between her thighs. Would she sigh? Moan?

No. This was Abby and she'd freak the hell out and then she'd run away and he'd lose her-

A soft, shaky sigh caught his attention as he smoothed the bandage down. Keeping his head bowed, he checked the mirror from under his lashes and his knees almost buckled.

Abby was staring at their reflection and her face was flushed.

What. The. Hell.

Abruptly, he stepped back and moved away. If he didn't move away immediately, he was going to grab her and do things he never should do to his best friend. The woman he loved. That was the problem. He'd loved her for too long and he was misreading the signals and-

"Do you really think all that's true? About Roger?"

Hearing that shithead's name on her lips snapped his temper. He turned around and glared at her. "If I didn't think that was the case, Abs, I wouldn't have said it. He's an egotistical, arrogant piece of work and he never loved you. You deserved a hell of a lot better and I knew it all along. But he was what you wanted so who in the hell was I to say any different?"

"You're my best friend," she said quietly.

"Shit." He went to pass a hand over his face and stopped. He still had his gloves on. Stripping them off, he tossed them into the red trash can near the door and headed over start cleaning up. "Yes. I am. You asked me what I thought and I told you. But I can't tell you what is in that prick's head. You can always ask him when you call him to tell him off, although I doubt he'll tell you the truth. He doesn't even see the truth anyway."

"Have you ever been in love?"

In the middle of gathering up his supplies, he paused. Zach closed his eyes and started to mouth every single foul, nasty curse he could think of. He had four brothers. He could think of a lot of cuss words. Half way through one that involved anatomical improbabilities and a goat, a hand touched his shoulder.

"Zach?"

Damn it, he couldn't do this. Moving away, he started grabbing shit at random. Dumping trash, slamming the tools here, there. Being careless with them, but he couldn't look at her yet. If he did, she might see-

He went to dump the trash and turned around.

Abby was right there, dark brown eyes locked on his face, her shirt still knotted just under her breasts, leaving her belly bare.

"What is this?" she teased. "You make me play twenty questions all the time."

Edging around her, he focused on cleaning up. "I'm thirty-two years old, Abby. Yeah. I've been in love," he said, keeping his voice flat and his eyes on the task at hand. "It didn't work out."

"Why not?"

"She never seemed to notice that I was staring at her when she walked into the room."

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DRAGON'S MOON by Lucy Monroe

DRAGON'S MOON by Lucy Monroe

Children of the Moon Book Four

Bestselling author Lucy Monroe returns to her “stunningly sexy” paranormal world where one woman has but one choice for her people’s salvation—her sworn enemy...

 

When Eirik, the only living dragon shifter, and prince of the Ean, killed her brother, Ciara was left alone to face her prophetic dreams. Now, in order to find the wolves’ sacred stone and save all the Chrechte from destruction, she needs her enemy’s help.

 

Eirik was only protecting the children of his people, but that day in the forest left a mark on him as well. Controlling his dragon’s fire is the most difficult thing he’s ever done—until he and Ciara are forced to face not only their shared tumultuous past, but a hallowed bond stronger than they realize. As avowed enemies and predestined mates, their quest ushers them into a world of great danger, and a passion hotter than the dragon’s fire.

 

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Excerpt

Her legs dangling over the stone edge, Ciara waited atop the lower bailey tower. One of two in the lower half of the wall surrounding the Sinclair fortress, it was the perfect vantage point for her first glimpse of the newcomers that would join her adopted clan. She was not supposed to be here, but it was a favored spot for her to find both privacy and peace. Most of the clan had gathered in the lower bailey both yesterday and today for the same purpose, but Ciara did not like the crush of so many around her. There was no crowd now. The humans and other Chrechte had gone home, disappointed once again when night fell with no sign of the newcomers. But Ciara waited as the moon rose, unable to return to the keep — her need to see these new clanspeople too strong to deny. As a member of the Faol, she had been told those coming were Chrechte; she strongly suspected they were Éan. Her dreams were not all nightmares and she had seen the birds in the sky shifting back to human form and donning the plaid of the Sinclair. Were these Chrechte refugees like her, looking for a new life among the Sinclair? Ciara hadn’t actually been looking toward anything when she came to live with Laird Talorc and his lady, Abigail. Numb with grief after her mother’s death so close on top of her dear brother Galen’s grisly demise, Ciara had simply done as she was told. Laird Barr had informed her she needed a new life without so many memories around her and Ciara had accepted his instruction in action, if not in her heart. She’d come to live among his former clan, the Sinclairs, without a single argument. What had there been to argue? Ciara had no family any longer, no loved ones to hold her among the Donegal. She had spent the past seven years doing her best to serve her new clan, though her old one would not recognize her. Gone was the stubborn girl who loved her family and people with every passionate fiber of her heart. Ciara did her best to feel as little as possible; she had no desire to love with a devotion that could so easily destroy her again. Laird Barr’s hope that she might forget painful memories more easily away from all that was familiar had proven fruitless, but she did not blame his plan. The memories were burned into Ciara’s mind with a dragon’s flame; it was impossible for her to ever forget or feel completely safe again. That fateful day in the forest and what followed lived inside her in a maelstrom of grief, awe, confusion, disbelief and sometimes utter terror. Not that she ever let these feelings come fully to the surface, but Ciara often woke in the night to her brother’s final scream, only to realize it had been her own. She dreamt of blood soaked walls and a waxen faced woman searching their cottage for son and husband that would never again be there. Ciara was grateful for the stone walls that kept her nightmares private, but she was even more thankful that far from forcing Ciara to marry when she came of age, Laird Talorc and his second, Niall, frightened off any prospective suitors. Chrechte and human alike. Laird Talorc and Abigail treated Ciara like a cherished member of the family, to be protected and watched over. She knew they thought she was broken. Too broken to be forced to mate. She did and said nothing to dissuade them of that belief. She wanted no true family to lose again; she had no desire to ever marry or have children that could be taken from her by that undefeatable enemy, death. She hoped she never met her mate, or that he was already committed to another. Helping to care for Abigail and Talorc’s twins, now in their fourth summer, was difficult enough. The boys did their best to worm their way into Ciara’s heart. It took all her stubborn resolve not to let herself love them. And deep inside, in a place she refused to acknowledge, she feared she already did...even more than she feared the dragon that had killed her brother. Shaking off her thoughts, she peered through the moonlit night, seeking out her first glimpse of the Éan soon to join their clan. She wasn’t supposed to know about the Éan at all. No one, but a select few were. And Ciara, better than most, understood why. However, it was not her fault she knew many things she should not. Even without the eavesdropping. Her dreams and visions had grown more frequent since she had seen the scarlet dragon breathing fire from the sky. And of late, the Faolchú Chridhe called to her even more insistently than her dead brother’s screams and mother’s spilled blood. Ciara rarely slept, and when she did sleep it was to dream, each dream growing more fraught with urgency than the last. She could not eat because that urgency followed her into wakefulness, making her stomach tight and filling her with dread she did not understand. Ciara did not know what to do. Perhaps it was time to tell another soul about the existence of the wolves’ stone. Would that knowledge be safer in Laird Talorc’s hands than it had been in Galen’s? Pain sliced through Ciara at the probability it would. Galen had wanted the power of the stone to destroy the Éan. Laird Talorc would want it to help them. In her silent, stealthy wanderings around the keep, Ciara had heard enough to know this to be true. She knew Talorc was aware of her presence. He was a wolf with a wolf’s senses, but he never scolded her. Maybe he knew she had no one to tell the secrets she overheard. The faint sounds of multiple horses had Ciara looking up and dismissing all thought of secrets and the Faolchú Chridhe for now. A group of perhaps twenty people riding on horseback came into view. She watched intently as they rode closer and closer to the fortress without being challenged. It had to be the Éan. They got close enough, that with her wolf’s eyesight, she could tell that some wore plaids, while others wore clothing made of tanned hides and fur. The huge warrior that led them wore what looked like a kilt made of leather, wide cuffs at his wrist of the same and a strap around his bicep that held a wicked looking knife. He wore his long sword in another scabbard on his back, the hilt sticking up over his left shoulder. The leather strap holding it in place bisected his otherwise naked chest — a chest devoid of hair but rippling with muscle. A medallion of some kind glinted in the moonlight, hanging from a leather cord around his neck. He wore no boots, but sandals that wrapped around and laced at his ankles. They almost looked like what the Roman soldiers of ancient times had worn. She’d seen drawings carved into cave walls in her search with her brother for the Faolchú Chridhe. Was this warrior Éan? He was bigger than those he rode with, at least a head taller than any of the other men. Giant, she would guess he stood even taller than the Laird’s second-in-command, Niall, and easily as broad. Ciara had not thought Éan warriors large like that. Certainly they were not in her dreams. The Éan were strong, but in her dreams they were smaller in build to the Faol. Her brother always claimed they were the smallest of the Chrechte peoples too. Galen had said it sneeringly, but being so much smaller than him herself, Ciara had wondered why he found the difference so worthy of disgust. This man was not undersized in any way and he had the regal bearing of a king. How would he tolerate Talorc’s leadership? Would the huge warrior challenge her laird, the man who considered himself her father? Anxiety spiked through her as the new Chrechte moved closer. Mere feet from the drawbridge that was still down on Laird Talorc’s order, the lead warrior’s features became distinct. And all the air in Ciara’s lungs escaped in one long exhale. This man who meant to become a Sinclair was breathtaking, though his expression was as fierce as the glint in his amber eyes. Eyes that glowed with Chrechte power, even in the moonlight. A jawbone that looked hewn from rock was set in stern lines, his neck and shoulders held in arrogant rigidity that warned danger for any who crossed him. Atavistic fear pressed against her solar plexus, making it hard to draw breath. The warrior lifted his head, a gaze even keener than her own honing in on Ciara with unerring accuracy. He should not be able to see her tucked up against the wall as she was, but she knew he did. He did not look away either. Nor could she. Never before had she felt such a connection with another. Her wolf whispered a word she refused to hear, her mind whirling with thoughts she was determined never to have. Unable to break gazes with the warrior and yet unwilling to remain as she was, Ciara surged to her feet. The nights without sleep, the days she had eaten less than enough to sustain a sparrow much les a wolf caught up with her in that one confusing moment. Swaying on her feet, she tilted forward. She jerked back, but overcompensated and one foot slipped out from beneath her. Suddenly, unbelievably, despite her wolf’s grace, she pitched forward. She tumbled into the night air, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the stone, one finger connecting. She tried to make it two, to get a better grip, but she could feel her fingertips giving way even as she did so. She refused to let the joints unbend, but she could feel blood welling around cuts in her fingers from the stone. The wetness proved her undoing. No amount of will could force her fingers to hold as the wet blood made them slip and she fell. Her wolf howled as she tried to shift, hoping against all to live. But it was not the hard ground that broke her fall. Sharp talons curled around her body, warm scales that felt like living chainmail pressed against her face and suddenly she was not falling, but flying upward. In the arms of a dragon. That was the last her tormented mind could take. Ciara welcomed the black oblivion as it came. LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK

A MERMAID'S RANSOM by Joey W. Hill

A MERMAID'S RANSOM by Joey W. Hill
Book III of Daughters of Arianne Series

Growing up the daughter of a famous mermaid and the second in command of the angelic legions can put a lot of pressure on a girl. Though she loves her parents, Alexis has chosen to live among humans as an ordinary college girl, but she can't hide the tranquil aura of angelic light and empathic ability that draws people to her. Unfortunately, while it draws men to her, none of them are willing to cross the line to find her true heart and soul – or even give her a decently passionate kiss. That is, until she begins to dream of a male trapped in fire and rage, who wants her so badly he'll tear the universe apart to have her. However, while all she can feel is his pain and suffering, and a yearning to heal him, Dante sees her as the way to his freedom. He thinks he's willing to destroy her to accomplish that, but once he kidnaps her into his world and is confronted with the girl who is the opposite of everything he's ever known, he starts to wonder if his freedom is as important as keeping her by his side.

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Excerpt:

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

A Mermaid's Ransom
© Copyright 2009 - All Rights Reserved



Brimstone. How on earth did she know what brimstone smelled like?

Maybe she remembered it from that time she’d ended up in the outer catacombs of Hell, looking for the caverns where her parents had first met. She’d been twelve, and fascinated by the story of how Anna had hidden Jonah there when he was hurt and being pursued by Dark Ones. Of course, Lex hadn’t been thrilled to run smack into Lucifer while on her romantic quest. She’d been told in no uncertain terms she would not be swimming down into his realm again, not if she knew what was good for her. She was twenty-one now, but the memory still made her shudder.

God, she loved her parents, but they had such scary friends. The Lord of the Underworld was her father’s best friend, while Anna’s was the seawitch Mina, a creature whose name no merperson would speak above a whisper.

But whether or not Alexis was smelling brimstone, this had to be a dream. Mainly because that part of the mind that kept things from being too frightening in dreams said so, even though there was a tenuous note that made it more hopeful suggestion than sure fact.

She was floating in fire. While she felt its heat, she wasn’t burned. It was licking at the fronds of her tail, another curiosity. Usually, she appeared in dreams in her human form, not her birth form, which was merangel—half-mermaid, half-angel, with tail, fins and wings.

As she started to turn to see what was behind her, a hand touched her wings. Strong, male fingers penetrated the thick layers of feathers, curling to grip, knuckles stroking the fragile network of bones beneath.

Ah, it was going to be that kind of dream. This might be worth the nasty brimstone smell, though a funny, fluttery feeling in the pit of her belly recommended she run, even as her body refused to move. The hand teased the feathers where they were attached to flesh, the most sensitive area, and she drew in a breath. Tipping her head back, she found a broad shoulder waiting to support it. It was attached to a very male body pressing against her back, his bare thigh against her hip. The intriguing, muscular plane of a stomach brushed her wings. Another hand parted them as if opening a garment and slid down her spine, making her shiver.

As his breath caressed the side of her throat, because it was a dream, her hair conveniently tumbled over her right shoulder to give him access. His mouth closed over her skin. It wasn’t a kiss. It was as if she was about to be eaten, her flesh savored. The fire was advancing up her body, making her wonder if it came from him, a creature of fire and hunger.

A fang scraped her, and she yelped as he punctured her beneath her delicate gill slit, bringing pain but pleasure as well. Because of that, she remained still, willing to give him blood. His hands made their torturous way to her hip bones, stimulating the tight overlapping scales below them. One hand drifted to the silver and diamond piercing through the thin skin of her navel. Oh, Goddess. She was so responsive there, almost as much as her neck. His lips moved on her, suckling, and she could hear the rush of her blood, eager to nourish him.

Her father had frowned when she got the navel piercing, but Alexis was enchanted by the way it sparkled. If she touched it with light fingers as she lay in bed at night, it sent frissons of sensual energy rippling out like tropical waves, making her imagine a lover’s hands.

She’d never had a lover. It was hard enough to be an empath, but then to have an angel’s energy on top of that? Men were attracted to her like insects to a bug light, but they didn’t come close enough to be zapped. When Lex was in her teens, Anna had pointed out this trait saved lives. Jonah would have had little patience for the hormonal missteps of young males when it came to his only child.

Would have pinched their heads off like ticks on a hound.

Not her mother’s words, of course. Alexis had a human friend, Clara, who’d been born in Georgia and who described her own daddy’s attitude about boys that way. Since it seemed to apply to Jonah, Alexis couldn’t help thinking of it when the issue came up.

But she wasn’t a child anymore. And this was definitely a very grown-up dream. A little more than she’d ever experienced, actually. It was the last coherent thought she had as both of his hands slid up her abdomen, teasing the piercing again before they kept going. She arched back into his body, holding her breath, wanting him to go exactly where he was going, her flesh aching.

There. She gasped, dream or not, as calloused palms closed over her bare breasts, for apparently that was the way her dream wanted them to be, and who was she to argue? She’d gone to sleep in an oversized nightshirt printed with a sardonic pink bunny over the caption It’s All About Me. It certainly wouldn’t have fit with this dream.

Raising her hands, she closed them on his forearms. He stilled, as if he hadn’t expected her to touch him. He was still drinking deep, making her dizzy, increasing the roar of her heartbeat. As she rocked with the motion of the fire, she brushed her backside against his groin. The hard evidence of his desire sent a thrill of apprehension and excitement through her. It was a little too real, a little intimidating.

“You will take the fear. Reach behind you and hold me in your hands.”

The voice was rough, as if scarred by searing clouds of smoke. It rumbled through her body like thunder, the kind that preceded heat lightning, not cooling draughts of rain. Perspiration gleamed on her skin now, heat increasing, and she looked down at his hands. The nails were long, almost like claws, the tips leaving thin red rivulets over her flesh, but the strength in his grip, the erotic kneading, balanced her apprehension. Plus, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of those hands on her breasts, the way they cupped and held her, so sure and powerful, the glide of thumb and forefinger together to capture the nipples, squeeze and roll them in a way that had her swallowing, hard.

“Grip me, now. I command it.”

Reaching behind her pushed her breasts further into his palms, and gave her the quaking sense of being bound, her arms pulled behind her back. Her fingertips slid along a muscular thigh, then over, grazing shyly over a heavy testicle sac to find the base of his shaft. His tongue flicked against her neck, and she gasped, her hand closing over him in spasmodic reaction.

Oh, great Goddess. This might be a dream, but it was difficult to believe it wasn’t something more, because she’d never had her hand on a man’s cock before. How could she register in such detail not just the thickness and velvet length, but the hard heat, the remarkable smoothness of the skin stretched over it, the crease and flare over the head? Viscous fluid made her fingers slippery, instinct motivating her to rub them down his length.

He growled and pushed himself into her hands more urgently. It was so marvelous, so breathtaking, she had to smile at the joy of it, press her temple into his jaw, a thanks for giving her the gift of his passion, his need.

All those hard muscles tensed as if he’d become a marble statue behind her. Her dream was ending. Reality was pulling her away from the fire, from him. Panicked, she twisted around to look up into his face, see who or what he was. What had she done wrong? Could she get him to change his mind, let her stay?

Dark hair tangled over his forehead and around insanely beautiful features. Since she was the daughter of an angel, the most breathtaking species in existence, that was saying something. Then she met his eyes.

Red, gold, orange. The pupils were a tunnel of darkness in the midst of fire. She fell into them, his loneliness and despair, rage and violence closing around her as if he’d clamped a fist around her body to hold her in this stasis of yearning agony.

She’d learned early to stay away from hospitals, slaughterhouses, prisons—wherever suffering of such magnitude existed that she couldn’t adhere to the lesson she’d finally learned and let the Goddess’s cycles take their natural course for those inflicting or suffering pain. She had to fix it or go mad with the agony.

His pain was all those places and more. A suicide’s dead despair, a killer’s rage, a victim’s uncomprehending pain. His sensual lips were curved in a permanent cruel sneer, her blood on his mouth. If he could, he’d drink all of her blood, tear the flesh away and gnaw on her bones, trying to get to the very soul of her. That was what he had to have, what he wanted.

The flame began to burn her flesh. An urgent force pulled at her, trying to take her away from him. Instead, she lifted her hand and laid it on his mouth. Fire exploded through her, igniting all her nerve endings, contorting her mouth with an involuntary scream, but before it all swirled away, she registered the shock in his eyes at her willing touch. Then she was alone, burning alive, screaming for help in a world where everything had disappeared, sucked into that pitiless void in his eyes.

* * * * *

Alexis erupted from her bed, sending T into a squalling leap for safety. The cat knocked over her Victorian hurricane lamp, though the glass bulb shade fortunately tumbled into the mountainous pile of stuffed animals that overflowed from the corner. She spun around.

“Whoa, whoa.” Clara danced back, holding up both hands. “Easy there, Lex. It’s me. You left your door unlocked again, you trusting idiot. I’ve been trying to wake you for five minutes. Goddess, you’re strobing like a disco ball.”

Clara was a clairvoyant. While Clara didn’t know that Alexis was a merangel, Lex was happy to have the closest thing possible to a normal friendship with her, because Clara could get past the vibrating light of Alexis’s aura to the girl beneath.

As she swayed, getting her bearings, Clara proved it by rubbing her hands along Lex’s arms, grounding her further. “Easy now. You’re here. You’re with us. That must have been one hell of a dream.”

Alexis choked on a wild chuckle. At Clara’s alarmed look, she panicked, thinking she might have shifted some portion of her anatomy. A glance toward the dresser mirror told her she looked like any human woman, with her curling brown hair to her waist, blue eyes—though right now they were giant marbles bugging out of her head—and completely human body. No wings materializing, no fins or tail dropping her like a clumsy trout on the carpet.

“I’m okay.” She sank down as Clara shoved her desk chair beneath her. “Just talk to me while I get it together.”

“Okay, hon, okay.” Clara pressed against the back of the chair, her hand in Lex’s hair, stroking. “I had about an hour before classes, and thought I’d stop in to see if you want to audit Greek Mythology with me. It’s being taught by a visiting Greek professor, and holy Gawd, is he hot. Talks with the accent and everything.”

“You want me to bait him for you.” Alexis tilted her head into Clara’s abdomen, gazing up the valley between two high, rounded breasts, probably sculpted by the latest in underwear engineering to show them off to best advantage. Her friend’s humor brought her feet back down to earth. Only she wasn’t sure if “up” wasn’t more accurate. The dream had seemed deep inside some strange planet, far from sky or water, or anything she’d ever known.

“Well, you are my friend, and what are friends for?” Clara curled a lock of Lex’s hair around her ring-bedecked fingers and tugged, though her eyes still showed worry. “We can do our usual thing. You spin the web that catches him and I’ll nail his cute, tight ass. Unless you want the honors for once?”

You will not let him touch you.

Alexis yelped, bolting out of the chair. She tripped, tumbling on her backside into the cushiony paws of an oversized teddy bear, nothing like the embrace of her dreams. Clara was still standing at the chair, staring at her. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still spooked. I just—”

“No, not that.” Clara knelt by her side, tentatively reached out and closed a hand on her forearm. “Okay, I’m losing my mind, but for a second there your skin got so hot I had to let you go. You okay?”

Alexis tried a nod and pulled off a circular motion that didn’t reassure Clara or herself. Clara sat down beside her, squashing an Eeyore and Pooh pairing, but clasped the Tigger that fell in her lap as she drew up her knees.

“If you drank, I’d say you’d had one too many last night at that Mexican place we tried. But other than your usual high-on-the-nectar-of-life great time, you didn’t drink.”

“Yeah. Great time. Every man in the place noticed me, but not one wanted to do anything more than dance. They even did that way outside my personal space perimeter.”

During adolescence, before she’d fully understood her powers—such that they were—she’d suspected Jonah had cast a magical chastity aura over his daughter at birth. In time, she’d realized all daughters of Arianne were born with special gifts, and this was hers. An exceptional intuition for emotional pain, combined with the tranquil angel power that emanated from her.

Initially, she’d followed her heart instead of her head, wanting to ease pain wherever it happened. She’d resisted her father’s warnings, and made some terrible mistakes. As was often the case, her mother’s words provided the gentle balm to accept Jonah’s painful wisdom.

Suffering is one of the important ways we grow, Lex. You must allow others to suffer. Use your understanding wisely, when it is truly needed, or when it will not derail someone from the path they need to walk. If you do not have that wisdom, it is best not to interfere.

Sometimes, she wondered why the Goddess had given her the gift at all, because the only way it seemed useful was to make people feel happy-fuzzy being around her. In short, she could give a moment’s breather to a girlfriend experiencing the blinding agony of being jilted by a guy, or stop someone from jumping off a building. Everything in between needed to be hands-off. Since she couldn’t switch off either ability, they drew people to her.

She didn’t really mind that. What was frustrating was that the same light that sent out a “come hither” feeling also had a “too good to touch” vibe when it came to males. Unconsciously, they remained at arm’s length, keeping their hands off.

Alexis scrubbed her face. “At least the guy in my dream was different, even if he was sort of a hellspawn, scary demon-vampire type.”

Clara slid an arm around her, a reassurance Alexis gratefully accepted, along with her friend’s cautious but teasing smile. “Tell all, girlfriend. Was he hung like a moose?”

“Oh, Goddess.” Alexis rolled her eyes. “Is that all a guy needs?”

“No, of course not. I expect intelligence, a sense of humor, an enormous bank account and a great body coupled with a decent but manly fashion sense. The well-hung component only becomes requisite if we get that far. But in dreams you can assume those things are given and jump ahead to the good parts. Literally.”

Alexis tried to laugh and instead drew a deep, shuddering breath, thinking of the man in her dream again. While she could feel his emotions, for the first time in her life, they’d been so overwhelming they were mostly incomprehensible. Maybe because it was a dream. Just a dream. When she pressed her face against Clara’s shoulder to stop the spinning, the girl closed both arms around her, rocking her.

“Take it easy, now,” she murmured. “I got you. You’re such a strange friend, Lex. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone more, because you love back like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and you have enough for everyone. But you also worry me. Sometimes you’re way too alone, even though everyone adores you. It’s as if you’re pulling away, toward a destiny that’s kind of scary. I don’t want to lose you.”

Okay, here was one of the reasons having a clairvoyant friend was not fun. Clara’s observations always held truth. Since Alexis had the same lingering feeling, her anxiety swelled, tempting her to tell Clara everything. But that was one of the rules that couldn’t be broken.

Over twenty years ago, a huge apocalyptic battle had happened. Humans had briefly seen angels in the sky, even fought beside some of them to push back the tide of Dark Ones unleashed through a rift. After that, for reasons known only to the Goddess, the angels had been commanded to disappear from human sight again, leaving humans to wonder whether they’d experienced a spiritual revelation, a visit from outer space, or some mass hallucinatory trip brought on by sunspots. Budgets to investigate extraterrestrial life had tripled in all developed nations. As accounts varied, life returned to normal again, angels and other paranormal creatures remaining speculative fantasy to all but the select few humans ready to handle truth.

So Alexis hugged her, straightened and pushed Clara’s straight red hair away from her forehead, touching the delicate diamond and gold ring she wore in the right nostril. “I already told you, you’re going to lose me one day. I’m going to run away with the circus. I’ll free all the lions, tigers and elephants, and take them back to Africa on a raft I make out of wishes.”

The shadows cleared from Clara’s gaze. “There you are. Doing that thing you do.”

“What?”

“Talking like a kindergarten teacher, while all of us eat it up like five-year-olds.”

Alexis made a face. “By the way, he was well-hung. I didn’t see it. I felt it.”

“Yuck.” Clara giggled and shoved her away, throwing the Tigger so it bounced off Alexis’s shoulder. “I never imagined my kindergarten teacher wrapping her fingers around anything except a piece of chalk. Was he someone we know?”

“No.” Alexis sobered, picking up the stuffed animal and considering the foolish face, the broad nose, while her fingers flexed in the soft fur. “I don’t think so. It was kind of a crazy dream. Lots of fire, darkness.”

She raised her gaze to Clara. “He needed me, more than I think anyone has ever needed another. So strong, he’d shatter the universe to get me.”

“God, that’s romantic.”

Actually, it was pretty frightening. Because Alexis knew just how fragile the universe was.

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OUT OF THE LIGHT INTO THE SHADOW by Lori Foster and Erin McCarthy

The darkest hour is before the dawn... in this sinful new anthology where the dark and light sides of desire collide in four brand-new novellas by three of today's hottest authors.

New York Times Bestselling Author Lori Foster National Bestselling Authors L. L. Foster Erin McCarthy

Embrace the darkness and experience the light in this all-new anthology filled with touching stories of happily ever after alongside smoldering tales of irresistibly dangerous, otherworldly passion. From bewitching emotions and untamed desire to dazzling romance and tantalizing sensuality, these novellas explore the complex facets of the human heart - both the light side and the dark.

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Have Mercy by Lori Foster

CHAPTER ONE

They’d been together six months now. Not super long, but for Mercedes Jardine, it was long enough for her to irrevocably lose her heart to Wyatt Reyes. Since their first date she’d loved him and every day since then, the feeling had grown more powerful. When she was with him, she felt complete, fuller and happier and more like a woman.

Only with Wyatt did she move out of the shadow of her impressive big brother.Only with Wyatt did her insecurities melt away.

What she felt for him was forever.

Now she had to know how he felt.

The thought of declaring herself, of laying her heart on the line, gave her twinges of anxiety. But if she left it to Wyatt, she figured they’d be together for years before he took their romance to the next level.

Marriage.

It was what she wanted now. What she needed.

A lifetime with Wyatt would be so wonderful. He was the most amazing man, solid like her brother, responsible and caring. He worked hard, respected others. And for Mercedes, he was the sexiest man alive. Six feet, two inches of hard, labor-inspired muscle enhanced with dark blonde hair and clear green eyes - he epitomized the rugged man’s man, but he had the confidence and charisma to be a ladies’ man too.

The concrete construction company he owned had grown even in the months she’d know him. He put all his revenue into building it bigger and better, and he had a sound reputation for quality work. The last thing she’d ever wanted to do was interrupt his five year plan. But if he’d let her, she could help him with that.

Today, she’d start the conversation with that proposal - and then move on to another.

Taking a deep breath, Mercy got out of the fancy sports car her brother had bought for her birthday, and headed for the front door of Wyatt’s modest home. Though she had her own key, his truck was in the driveway, assuring he was home. She opened the unlocked door and stepped into warm air circulated by a fan.

Even though spring in Ohio was especially warm this year, Wyatt rarely used his air conditioning. Like her, he enjoyed the fresh air more, but unlike her, he was also conserving money wherever he could.

Sometimes the differences in their financial standings made her feel guilty. After all, he worked hard for his pay, but thanks to her brother, she hardly worked at all. Most wouldn’t label her artistic jewelry more than a hobby. She was good, and her custom pieces brought high-ticket sales. But she only worked when she felt like it, or when something inspired her.

As soon as she closed the door, she heard the shower running. Her confrontational plans faltered; knowing Wyatt was naked had the effect of obliterating her best intentions.

Biting her lip, Mercy considered things for only a moment before deciding first things first. Even though she’d carefully dressed for her objective today, she hurriedly stepped out of her strappy sandals and stripped away her ultra soft camisole tank as she went down the hallway to the bathroom. By the time she reached him, Mercy wore only her summer gauze skirt, panties and jewelry.

She stepped out of the skirt before opening the bathroom door.

“Wyatt?”

“Hey babe.” He pushed aside the shower curtain, saw her standing there, and his gaze did a slow, nearly tactile scrutiny of her body.

Without a word, he held the curtain wide for her to get in.

Showing ridiculous haste, Mercy pushed down her panties, removed her watch and earrings, and stepped into the narrow bath. As quick to urgency as her, Wyatt pulled her into a long, tongue twining kiss that curled her toes and had her locking her fingers in his wet hair.

“Until I saw you,” he whispered against her throat, “I was so exhausted, I just wanted to eat and sleep.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m fully alert, believe me.” He leaned back to see her face, and a roguish smile curled his sexy mouth. “A nap holds no interest, but eating...” He covered a breast with one hand, and with the other, he explored between her thighs. “I like that idea a lot.”

Her eyes closed, her head fell back, and her heart nearly punched out of her chest. With Wyatt, she stayed so sexually attuned that a mere look had her primed and ready. When he said things like that, when he implied what he’d do, it drove her wild.

Carefully, he pried her hands from his hair and folded them behind her. “Leave them, sweetheart.”

Oh God, she loved it when he took control like this. He’d torment her, make her crazy, but in the end, he always made it worthwhile. This time, however, she didn’t know if she could take it.

“Wyatt -”

“Shh. No talking. But feel free to moan.”

Shaking all over, she put her hands to his shoulders to stall him. “Wait.”

“No.” With a chastising look, he caught her wrists and held her hands behind her with one loose fist. “You’re only making it harder on yourself, Mercy. You came in here naked, full of invitation.” He treated her to a deep kiss to emphasize his control. “Now be still, and let me do what we both want.”

The long, shuddering moan escaped without her permission.

As he turned her with her back against the tile wall, he bent to her left breast. He licked, held her nipple captive between his teeth and tongued her roughly before sucking hard.

Mercy arched her body, and he accepted the temptation, pushing his free hand between her thighs. But he only cupped her, giving her the heat of his palm, a slight pressure, without any real stimulation.

“Wyatt...”

His teeth nipped, making her jump and sending a jolt of pleasure curling in her womb. She bit her lip to remain quiet.

He licked his way to the other nipple, circled with his tongue, and then sucked lightly, a direct contrast to what she’d expected. She couldn’t predict what he’d do next, or how he’d do it, and the unknown kept her on a razor’s edge of need. She tried grinding her mound against his palm, but he laughed and eased the pressure.

In no way did he seem exhausted to her.

She opened her legs more, a silent request for him to explore, to touch her, to penetrate.

“You want my fingers in you?”

Because he’d told her not to speak, she nodded.

He came up to kiss her ear, her throat. She felt his erection against her, long and solid, and she felt his smile against her throat. “Soon.”

He enjoyed this game even more than she did. If she could ever keep her head about her, she’d one day pay him back in kind.

And thinking that nearly pushed her into a climax.

“Now, Mercy?” As if he sensed her readiness, he stroked between her legs, parted her lips, and began pushing two fingers into her. It was a tight fit, and she squirmed in mixed pleasure and urgency as he worked them deep - and then again, stopped moving.

She felt herself contracting around him, needing him, and she saw him smile. He was such a dominant personality - but he only applied that dominance to her in bed. Outside of the bedroom, he was so courteous and deferential that she felt like a princess.

He went back to her breasts, alternately licking and sucking her nipples, sometimes tugging with his teeth until she cried out, then lathing gently. She couldn’t take much more, and he seemed to know that too.

“You are so damned hot, Mercy. I love playing with you.”

Love. God how she hoped that word had real meaning to him.

Those thought obliterated when he brought his thumb up to her clitoris and lightly stroked.

She gasped, stiffened.

“You’re all swollen and ripe,” he said against her temple, nuzzling her ear, her throat. He teased her clit more, and her legs started to tremble. “So close already. But Mercy...” He stilled the movements and leaned back to look at her.

Noooo. She needed release so badly she was ready to plea with him, but he touched her lips with his fingertips, quieting her.

And he explained, “I want you in my mouth when you come.”

Oh God.

He released her hands, sank down to his knees, and cupped her derriere in both big palms. “I love how you taste, Mercy.”

Love again. The dual assault of what he said and what he did proved too much. The second his mouth closed over her, her tremors started. She covered her own aching breasts and closed her eyes against the pleasure of his tongue languidly moving over, in and out of, her most sensitive flesh. He licked once, twice, then he closed his lips around her and sucked.

Just that easily, she exploded.

Holding her upright with his grip on her bottom, he kept her pressed tight to his mouth, relentless in his assault, dragging out her climax until she did beg, until she was totally spent.

“Stop, please.”

In a heartbeat he was before her again, one arm around her waist, the other shutting off the water.

“Hold on to the towel bar.”

She managed to do that, just barely. He watched her with burning green eyes while he dried himself, and then quickly dried her, too. When the soft terrycloth towel touched between her legs, she gasped, still too sensitive to bear it - and that seemed to turn him on too.

Now he was the urgent one, and they were both still damp when he lifted her in his arms and strode out of the bathroom to his bedroom.

At five feet, nine inches, she wasn’t a dainty woman, but Wyatt carried her as if she weighed nothing. Along the way, he kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth. Her back barely settled on the unmade bed when he pushed her legs wide, settled over her, and entered her with one powerful thrust.

They groaned together.

At the feel of him inside her, Mercy’s body reignited and she was ready for round two. After all, with Wyatt, there was always a round two, and sometimes a round three or four. He was such an amazing lover, ensuring her pleasure before ever taking his own.

Eyes closed, head back, Wyatt stilled for several heartbeats. After two deep breaths that seemed to compose him, he looked down at her. High on his cheekbones, dark color showed the level of his arousal. The green of his eyes darkened, grew more intense. His jaw clenched tight.

Slowly, his gaze locked with hers, he pulled out, and sank back in again. He took interested note of her sharp inhalation, studied the signs of pleasure on her face. “Damn Mercy, it feels incredible being inside you.”

To her, too. She loved feeling him, and only him. After they’d been together three months, they’d given up condoms. She’d been on the pill awhile, and they knew each other well enough to trust on all health issues.

Little did she know how easy it was to render the pill ineffective.

Read the excerpt from the L.L. Foster novella, Total Control.
Read the excerpt from the Erin McCarthy novella, Deal or No Deal

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