Circle of Deception (36 page)

Just as she heard his zipper go down, a loud blast shook the walls. Dust sprinkled onto her face. She blinked her eyes. The room looked smoky, choked with plaster powder.

“What the hell?” The man ran toward the stairs as he struggled to pull up his pants. One foot on the bottom step, he stopped, staring at the door.

A smaller blast was followed by shouting and heavy footsteps running across the floor above. Whoever had come a-knocking were making their way through the house.

“Well, babe, you’re on your own. I hope they appreciate the gift I’m leaving them.” He laughed and disappeared beneath the stairs into a black void.

Her eyelids felt so heavy. Tingling travelling across her torso rushed down her legs and arms, and then a feeling of lightness and floating followed. A strong breeze brushed her naked body. Someone had found the basement. A wave of dizziness pushed her under and she closed her eyes, unable to lift them even when she felt someone fighting with the chains holding her down.

“Damn it, Marie. You better be alive,” a deep voice growled.

She smiled. Deep inside, she knew he’d come for her.

About the Author

CARLA SWAFFORD lives in Alabama and is married to her high school sweetheart. A third-generation storyteller, she loves every shade of romance and the many paths taken to find that happily ever after.

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By Carla Swafford

Circle of Desire

Circle of Danger

Circle of Deception

An Excerpt from

T
HE
E
THER
C
HRONICLES

by Nico Rosso

Return to The Ether Chronicles, where rival bounty hunters Anna Blue and Jack Hawkins join forces to find a mysterious fugitive, only to get so much more than they bargained for. The skies above the American West are about to get wilder than ever . . .

T
ake his hand? Or walk down the broken stairs to chase a cold trail. Anna’s body was still buffeted by waves of sensation. The meal was an adventure she shared with Jack. Nearly falling from the stairs, only to be brought close to his body, had been a rush. The hissing of the lodge was the last bit of danger, but it had passed.

The wet heat of that simple room was inviting. Her joints and bones ached for comfort. Deeper down, she yearned for Jack. They’d been circling each other for years. The closer she got—hearing his voice, touching his skin, learning his history—the more the hunger increased. She didn’t know where it would lead her, but she had to find out. All she had to do was take his hand.

Anna slid her palm against his. Curled her fingers around him. He held her hand, staring into her eyes. She’d thought she knew the man behind the legend and the metal and the guns, yet now she understood there were miles of territory within him she had yet to discover.

Their grips tightened. They drew closer. He leaned down to her. She pressed against his chest. In the sunlight, they kissed. Neither hid their hunger. She understood his need. His lips on hers were strong, devouring. And she understood her yearning. Probing forward with her tongue, she led him into her.

And it wasn’t enough. Their first kiss could’ve taken them too far and she’d had to stop. Now, with Jack pressed against her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his lips against hers, too far seemed like the perfect place to go.

They pulled apart and, each still gripping the other’s hand, walked back into the lodge room. Sheets of steam curled up the walls and filled the space, bringing out the scent of the redwood paneling. The room seemed alive, breathing with her.

Jack cracked a small smile. “This guy, Song, I like his style. Lot of inventors are drunk on tetrol. Half-baked ideas that don’t work right.” He held up his half-mechanical hand. “People wind up getting hurt.”

“Song knows his business,” she agreed. “So why the bounty?”

He leveled his gaze at her. It seemed the steam came from him, his intensity. “You want a cold trail or a hot bath?”

She took off her hat, holding his look and not backing down. “Hot. Bath.”

Burbling invitingly like a secluded brook, the tub waited in the corner. The steam softened its edges and obscured the walls around it. As if the room went on forever.

With the toe of his boot, Jack swung the front door closed. Only the small lights in the ceiling glowed. Warm night clouds now surrounded her. A gentle storm. And Jack was the lightning. Still gripping her hand, he walked her toward the tub, chuckling a little to himself.

“My last bath was at a lonely little stage stop hotel in Camarillo.”

The buckle on her gun belt was hot from the steam. “I’m overdue.” She undid it and held the rig in her hand.

“I’m guessing you picked up Malone’s trail sometime after the Sierras, so it’s been a few hundred miles for you, too.”

It took her a second to track her path backward. “Beatty, Nevada.”

“Rough town.” He let go of her hand so he could undo the straps and belts that held his own weapons.

She hung her gun belt on a wooden peg on the wall next to the tub. Easy to reach if she had to. “A little less rough after I left.”

His pistols and quad shotgun took their place next to her weapons. He was unarmed. But still deadly. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs. Dark, blazing eyes. And the smallest smile.

They came together again, this time without the clang of gunmetal. The heat of the room had soaked through her clothes, bringing a light sweat across her skin. She felt every fold of fabric, and every ridge of his muscles. Her hands ran over the cords of his neck, pulling him to her mouth for another kiss.

Nerves yearned for sensation. Dust storms had chafed her flesh. Ice-cold rivers had woken her up, and she’d slept in the rain while waiting out a fugitive. She needed pleasure. And Jack was the only man strong enough to bring it to her.

An Excerpt from

by Allison Dobell

When journalist and notorious womanizer Flynn O’Grady publicly mocks Alice Mitchell’s erotic luxury goods website, the game is on. They soon find themselves locked in a sensual battle where Alice must step up the spice night after night as, one by one, Flynn’s defenses crumble.

AN AVON RED NOVELLA

F
lynn O’Grady had gone too far this time. It was bad enough that Sydney Daily’s resident male blogger continued to push his low opinions about women into the community (he seemed to have an ongoing problem with shoes and shopping), but this time he’d mentioned her business by name.

How dare he suggest she was a charlatan, promising the world and delivering nothing! The women who came to Alice’s Wonderland were discerning, educated, and thoroughly in charge of their sexuality. They loved to play and knew the value in paying for quality. They knew the difference between her beautiful artisan-made, hand-carved, silver-handled spanking paddle (of which she’d moved over 500 units this past financial year, she might add) and a $79.95 mass-produced Taiwanese purple plastic dildo from hihosilver.com.

Still, while Alice didn’t agree with the raunch culture that prevailed at hihosilver, she’d defend (with one of their cheap dildos raised high) the right of any woman to take on a Tickler, Rabbit, or Climax Gem in the privacy of her own home. Where was it written that men had cornered the market for liking sex? O’Grady had clearly been under a rock for at least three decades.

Alice reached for the old-fashioned cream-and-gold telephone on her glass-topped desk and dialed. She knew what she needed to do to make a man like Flynn O’Grady understand where she was coming from. As the phone rang, she re-read the blog entry for the third time. Anger rose within her, but she pushed it down. She’d need her wits about her for this conversation.

“O’Grady.”

Alice took a deep breath before she began. “Mr. O’Grady, we haven’t met, but you seem to know all about me.”

A brief silence on the other end.

“I see,” came the answer. “Would you care to elaborate?” His voice was deep and husky around the edges. He should have been in radio, rather than in print.

“Alice Mitchell here. Purveyor of broken promises.”

Another pause.

“Ms. Mitchell, how . . . delightful.” His tone made it clear that it was anything but.

“I’m sure,” said Alice, raising one eyebrow slightly, allowing her smile to warm her words. “You’ve had quite a lot to say about my business today. I was wondering if we could meet. I think I deserve the right of reply.”

“I’m not sure what good that would do, Ms. Mitchell,” he replied, smoothly. “You’re more than welcome to respond via the comments section on my blog.”

She’d had the feeling he’d try that.

“I think this is more . . . personal than that,” Alice purred down the line. “I’d like to try to convince you of my . . . position.” She stifled a laugh, enjoying every second of this. She could easily imagine him squirming in his chair right now.

The silence that followed inched toward uncomfortable.

“Er, right. Well, I don’t have any time today, but I could see you on Wednesday,” he said.

It was Monday. Give him all day Tuesday to plan his defenses? Not likely.

“It would be great if you could make it today,” she said, a hint of steel entering her tone. “I’d hate to have to take this to your boss. I suspect there may be grounds for a defamation complaint, but I’m sure the two of us can work it out . . .” She left the idea dangling. The media was no place for job insecurity in the current climate, and she knew he was too smart not to know that. He needed to keep his boss happy.

“I could fit you in tonight, but it would need to be after 7.30,” he said, his voice carefully controlled.

‘ “Perfect,” she said, “I’ll come to your office.”

She put down the phone, allowing him no time to answer, then sat back in her chair. Now all she needed to do was select an item or two that would help her to convince Flynn he should change his mind.

Standing quickly, she prowled over to the open glass shelving that took up one wall of her domain. Although it might be of use in getting her point across, it was probably too soon for the geisha gag. She didn’t know him well enough to bring out the tooled leather slave-style handcuffs. Wait a minute! She almost spanked herself with the paddle that Flynn O’Grady had derided for overlooking the obvious.

Moving to a small glass cabinet in the corner, she opened the top drawer and inspected the silken blindfolds. She picked up a scarlet one and held it, delicate and cool to the touch, in her hand.

Perfect.

An Excerpt from

A
B
ACHELOR
F
IREMEN
N
OVELLA

by Jennifer Bernard

What happens when you mix together an absolutely gorgeous fireman, a beautiful but shy woman, her precocious kid, and a very mischievous little dog? Find out in Jennifer Bernard’s sizzling hot
One Fine Fireman
.

T
he door opened, and three firemen walked in. Maribel nearly dropped the Lazy Morning Specials in table six’s lap. Goodness, they were like hand grenades of testosterone rolling in the door, sucking all the air out of the room. They wore dark blue t-shirts tucked into their yellow firemen’s pants, thick suspenders holding up the trousers. They walked with rolling strides, probably because of their big boots. Individually they were handsome, but collectively they were devastating.

Maribel knew most of the San Gabriel firemen by name. The brown-haired one with eyes the color of a summer day was Ryan Blake. The big, bulky guy with the intimidating muscles was called Vader. She had no idea what his real name was, but apparently the nickname came from the way he loved to make spooky voices with his breathing apparatus. The third one trailed behind the others, and she couldn’t make out his identity. Then Ryan took a step forward, revealing the man behind him. She sucked in a breath.

Kirk was back
. For months she’d been wondering where he was and been too shy to ask. She’d worried that he’d transferred to another town, or decided to chuck it all and sail around the world. She’d been half afraid she’d never see him again. But here he was, in the flesh, just as mouthwatering as ever. Her face heated as she darted glance after glance at him, like a starving person just presented with prime rib. It was wrong, so wrong; she was engaged. But she couldn’t help it. She had to see if everything about him was as she remembered.

His silvery gray-green eyes, the exact color of the sagebrush that grew in the hills around San Gabriel, hadn’t changed, though he looked more tired than she remembered. His blond hair, which he’d cut drastically since she’d last seen him, picked up glints of sunshine through the plate glass window. His face looked thinner, maybe older, a little pale. But his mouth still had that secret humorous quirk. The rest of his face usually held a serious expression, but his mouth told a different story. It was as if he hid behind a quiet mask, but his mouth had chosen to rebel. Not especially tall, he had a powerful, quiet presence and a spectacular physique under his firefighter gear. She noticed that, unlike the others, he wore a long-sleeved shirt.