Lady Be Bad (27 page)

Bridget Lawson’s style was dramatic and
affected, her sexuality so pouty and overt that she came off as a
comic-strip cutie rather than a sensual woman. Sensual woman. Once
again, Thor found himself drawn to Cam Stirling. She was earthy,
natural, strong, and slightly cocky. He liked that. Liked that a
little too damn much!

Nate moved to his boss’s side. “So, you’re
the star, are ya’,” he eyed Bridget’s buxom form. “You look healthy
enough. Why ain’t you doin’ your own runnin’?”

Bridget inspected the lanky foreman with all
the discipline of a scientist examining a laboratory animal. She
mentally deemed his appearance as slovenly and pronounced him
unimportant. Her manner became icy. “Insurance. I’m just too
valuable to the production company. They use stunt people for the
more physical tasks. They can be replaced. If I’m injured, this
picture shuts down and people are out of work.”

The foreman’s only comment was to jettison
yellow-brown tobacco juice at a nearby scrub bush.

“Really!” Bridget moved a step behind Jack
and stage whispered, “Perhaps we should pick and choose who gets to
stay. As I remember I do have the final say, and I say this is a
closed set.”

“I’m not sure
I’ll
allow any of you to
stay,” came Thor’s equally caustic response.

“You’ll allow! What the hell do you mean
you’ll allow?” Jack pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket
of his plaid Bermuda shorts. “Listen, buddy, you’d better put in a
call to your supervisor. We’re cleared and approved. I’ve got all
the necessary permits needed to shoot a movie on federal government
property.”

Thor reached for the paper, crumbled it in
his massive fist, and threw it on the ground.

“Hey!” Jack yelped. “You can’t do that! You
can’t –“

“The hell I can’t. This is not United States
Forest Service property. This is Devlin land.”

An excerpt from Calculated Risk

She launched her verbal attack before the
door latch clicked in the lock. “Let me make one thing perfectly
clear, Mr. Ward. I do not now have, nor have I ever had, sexual –“
millions of shivers bubbled over her skin “—designs on your son. In
fact, until late today, I wasn’t even aware that Robert Ward
existed. He is just another invisible mail clerk in my
building.”

Her bold affront continued. “I think the kid
is just starved for female affection.” She paced back and forth in
front of Quintin’s military-like stance. “Although why he didn’t
pick a high school cheerleader, I don’t know. Maybe he’s shy with
girls his own age.

“My office staff is like an extension of my
family.” The metallic skirt rustled around her ankles. “We laugh,
we joke, and the atmosphere is very informal.” Stevie stopped
pacing to view his stoic features. “Bobby has misinterpreted my
every smile, my every statement. He thinks all those freebee
promotionals were personal gifts.”

Her raised palm stopped his forthcoming
interruption. “Mr. Ward, you have my word. Monday I will sit Bobby
down, explain the facts of life to him and if push comes to shove,
I’ll just have to terminate his employment.” Stevie favored him
with an encouraging smile. “Will that make you happy?”

“So you weren’t even aware of Rob?” Quintin
arched a disbelieving brow. “Then why turn up on our doorstep all
dressed for a party, or is this –“ his finger flicked a ruffle
“—your usual evening attire?”

Stevie emitted a low growl. “I was on my way
to a concert at the Opry. I made the time to come to straighten out
this misunderstanding.”

“Really?” His head nodded cockily. “And did I
misunderstand that little tryst upstairs?”

“Tryst!” Her hands curled into impotent fists
that punched the air. “Haven’t you heard a word I said? Damn, but
you are a stubborn, bullheaded, totally –“

“I saw you kissing my son.”

“Kissing!” Her head reeled back in shock.

“I know what I saw, Miss Brandt.”

“I was not kissing your son,” Stevie hissed.
She stood on her toes; her face was nose-to-nose with Quintin’s.
“You son gave me a peck on the cheek.” Noting his disbelieving
look, her hazel eyes turned dangerous. “This, Mr. Ward, is what I
call a kiss!”

Her fingers grasped the lapels on his evening
jacket, crushing the expensive fabric into her palms. She leaned
against him; the force of her body bent him backward over his desk.
Her mouth slanted over his half-parted lips, effectively smothering
his astonishment. Her tongue made a quick intimate taunt, finding
enjoyment in the subtle taste of scotch.

When she realized what she was doing, Stevie
pushed herself free. “Now you know the difference.” Her eyes
radiated an intoxicated glow. “I don’t need to seduce boys, Quintin
Ward.” With a swish of her skirt, she turned and disappeared out of
the door.

Quintin stared at the white-knuckled hands
that still gripped the edges of the desk. He was at a loss to
understand what had happened. He had been in control. He had been
so positive. And then … His forefinger smoothed his lips. He had
never encountered a woman like Stephanie Brandt before, but he’d
certainly like to again.

Excerpt: Thief of Souls

by Cynthia Wicklund

Nick climbed in his car and leaned his
forehead against the steering wheel. He had parked the Mercedes in
the all night parking lot on the other side of the hospital, which
was his habit when he wanted to keep the car hidden. He sighed,
weary of the subterfuge.

Straightening, he slammed the wheel with his
fists, gritting his teeth until he heard his jaw crack. He wanted
her back, the Regina who had attracted him in a way no woman had in
endless, desolate centuries. He wanted the woman with the beautiful
face and lush body who thought herself ordinary, the woman who
wanted to help people as a doctor, not because of the prestige or
the money, but because compassion moved her. He wanted the woman
who loved a young boy, mourning the loss of potential—the woman
who, despite being sensitive to his perverted nature, loved him
anyway. And part of Regina loved him. She must. Else he wanted to
end it now, this farce of an existence.

Nick jammed the key in the ignition, turning
on the car, and pulled out of the parking lot. He was only putting
off the inevitable. He couldn't stay away. The Magic wouldn't let
him. However—and that was the part that mystified him most—the
Magic hated her. He could feel the antipathy throbbing around him
whenever he was with her. And the scar…the scar on his cheek ached
with the hate. Strangely, the Magic goaded him to act swiftly,
rather than retreat, almost as if it feared leaving Regina's soul
intact for too long would give her power. What kind of power? he
wondered, and was the power ultimately within her or him? The Magic
did not enlighten Nick, and he had no way of knowing.

She had called him Nicky like the mindless
thing Cheryl had become. That more than anything had stressed the
alteration in Regina. She suffered because of his sloppy excesses,
which was inexcusable.

How had it happened so quickly? Right now
the change should be minimal, undetectable. Her transformation
should be taking place slowly, Regina not perceiving what was
happening to her until the very end. Had he lost his ability to
pace himself, or was he simply unable to pace himself with her?
Again, he sensed the answer lay in the Magic.

The old woman had been to see Regina after
he left this morning, just as he suspected she would. He had made
himself scarce for that very reason, not wanting to embarrass
Regina by being there when Mariann finally came. He wasn't
surprised her grandmother had acted immediately. Mariann thought
him a monster, endangering her grandchild. She was right.

Midnight found Nick in the South Waterfront
Business District and he parked the car, wandering out on a small
public pier, deserted at that time of night. One inadequate street
lamp lit the wood and cement structure, but it didn't matter. The
solitary gloom suited him.

Standing at the farthest edge of the pier,
he stared out where the ocean met the sky, the impenetrable
blackness hiding exactly where that meeting was. The tang of salt
water and dead fish assaulted his nose with the shifting breeze,
while inky swells lapped against the pilings, creating a suction
sound below his feet. The air was cold, bracing, but he wasn't
uncomfortable. Regina's spirit kept him warm. That knowledge gave
him no pleasure.

The isolated peace of his surroundings
reminded Nick of how alone he was, what lay between him and the
rest of humanity. Regina was his sole link to that humanity, and
soon he would be headed back to her, perhaps to sever that link for
good…

He grabbed the railing, holding on tight to
keep from tossing himself into the murky soup foaming under the
pier. Why should he hold himself back? he wondered. Perhaps this
was his way out. Perhaps the sea would haul him under, trapping him
in its watery fist, dashing him against the rocks, keeping him
there until he rotted beneath the deadly waves. And perhaps, just
perhaps, while he was saving himself he could save Regina as
well.

“That is not your fate, Nicolae Antonescu,”
a spiteful voice whispered in his head, “for in your battered and
rotted state you will survive, your remains coughed up on the land
to become the same grotesque beast who was towed under…and Regina
will be waiting.”

Nick howled, a tormented sound, caught by
the wind and flung over the water. The cry curled back at him,
mournfully, and pain, exquisitely agonizing for its clarity, filled
him—the pain of his ineptitude, his weakness…of the inevitability
of his battle with greed. Never, not in four hundred and fifty
years had he wanted this badly to find himself, to cease being what
he had become. How did he exorcize the evil that invaded his pores,
permeated his blood, formed the very air he inhaled and
exhaled?

Tonight…tonight he felt close to the answer
despite his pessimism. Not that it was even somewhat clear to him;
it wasn't. It skittered just beyond his grasp, revealing only
enough to frustrate. But if the answer was there, merely needing to
be unearthed, then he had a reason to renew the fight. He ignored
the jeering voice that filled his head again, asking how he now
planned to discover what he'd spent centuries trying to discover
without success.

One thing he knew for certain—the solution
to his problem would not be coming to get him. He must continue to
seek his own salvation, for the Magic had no vested interest in
seeing him succeed. And now he had more reason than ever to want to
save himself.

It was Regina's only hope.

Thief of Souls by Cynthia Wicklund

Coming soon wherever eBooks are sold

Excerpt: In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4,
The Garden Series)

by Cynthia Wicklund

They rode for the next thirty minutes
without speaking. Amanda chanced a peek at James and found him
watching her moodily. There was an indolent quality to his posture,
arms folded casually over his chest, not reflected in his
penetrating blue eyes. Her stomach dropped. Secluded in a large
townhouse with her husband was one thing, alone with him in the
closed quarters of a traveling carriage was something else
entirely.

“Yes?” she managed after a moment.

“I find the silence hurts my ears.”

“It does? You are welcome to speak if that
is what you want. I hadn’t yet thought of anything to say.”

“I see. Am I the only one who feels we have
much to discuss? We’ve avoided what lies between us since the
wedding, Amanda. I think it’s time to brave it out.”

“Perhaps you would like to open the
discussion,” she said tightly, “since I haven’t a clue where to
begin.”

“What I would like,
really
like, is
to pretend nothing has happened, that Derrick did not fill your
mind with poison, and you do not believe the very worst of me. Is
that possible?”

“You ask too much.”

James sighed. “I ‘spose so.”

“But it seems that is what you believe I
ought to do.”

“It would be the practical course,” he
agreed.

“Really? What would you do in my place?”

For a moment he looked startled. “Touche,”
he said softly. “But I think you have pinpointed where we should
start.”

“I have?”

“Tell me my sins, with no holding back, and
I will address them to the best of my ability. Then I will tell you
what I would do in your place.”

“For heaven’s sake, you make it sound as if
we are striking a bargain. It’s not as if you aren’t biased. Can I
really expect a fair answer?”

“Think of it as a game then. If we solve
nothing, what have we lost?”

Amanda humphed, pulling at her skirts while
she thought. She had already decided what she wanted to do, how
she
was going to handle the situation. Just like a man to
take over and change the rules. Unfortunately, she was curious.

“Oh, all right. Only one sin, but it’s a
very bad one,” she said primly.

James leaned his head back, staring at her
through half-lidded eyes. “Go on.”

“You should have told me about your
straitened circumstances, and I should have been given the
opportunity to decide whether or not I wanted to be part of
resurrecting them.”

“True.”

Simple as that he agreed with her. With one
word he had taken the wind from her sails. Was he being honest or
merely humoring her?

“If you believe that—”

James came forward in his seat. “Archie
Campbell is a difficult man to say no to. Your father felt you
would turn me down. I should not have listened to him.”

“You know this makes you a fortune hunter,
don’t you?”

All the hurt she had felt came rushing back,
and Amanda had to clamp her teeth to control the quivering of the
muscles in her face. She hadn’t mentioned what hurt most of all.
She had thought he loved her. As she loved him. Realizing that
their marriage was essentially a sham was torment to bear.