Tempt Me

Table of Contents

 

 

 

“Clever and unique world building . . . R. G. Alexander is an author who can write the heck out of a book.”

—Lauren Dane, national bestselling author of
Never Enough

 

“
Three Sinful Wishes
made me laugh, made me cry, made me reach for the nearest fan—the perfect erotic romance!”

—Eve Berlin, author of
Desire’s Edge

 

“It is rare to find an author who draws you into sensual new worlds with characters who tug at your heartstrings. R. G. Alexander offers up paranormal romance at its finest!”

—Crystal Jordan, author of
Embrace the Night

 

 

 

“Lush and sensual. Pure magic!”

—Eden Bradley

 

“You will be fascinated by the spellbinding and magical imagination of author R. G. Alexander.”

—
The Romance Studio

 

“Sultry days in the Big Easy get a lot steamier with three novellas wrapped around the legend of a voodoo spirit who can fulfill every darkest fantasy. All of these dovetailing stories are fun, hot, and romantic.”

—
RT Book Reviews

 

“
Possess Me
is a hot and sexy read that took me to places I didn’t know I wanted to go . . . R. G. Alexander is an author I love to read and
Possess Me
is no different. I am enraptured by her world and her characters and wouldn’t mind seeing more of her New Orleans.”

—
Joyfully Reviewed

 

“This erotic novel was smoking hot—a perfect summer read set in my favorite city, New Orleans . . . I honestly couldn’t put this book down. It was wonderful to read something so delightfully different and deliciously magical. Sensual, seductive, and filled with sexy—if you like paranormal erotica, this book’s for you.”

—
Fangtastic Books
(4.5 fangs)

 

“As this was my first time reading R. G. Alexander, I am happy to report I look forward to more of her work in the future!”

—
Night Owl Reviews

 

“
Possess Me
is erotic with a capital O. And so sweet and vivid! Steamy sex and true emotion? So rare. So lovely. So addictive!... I haven’t been this enamored of a book since I began Kresley Cole’s Immortals After Dark series. You can be assured I’ll be stocking up with R. G. Alexander’s backlist and rereading
Possess Me
anytime I need a little heat to keep me warm at night.”

—
Bitten by Books

 

“
Possess Me
. . . takes you on a sultry trip, laced with mystical and otherworldly touches, through the heart of New Orleans. I’ve long been a fan of R. G. Alexander’s work . . . [and she] brings her brilliant storytelling and her knack for the wickedly sexy to the table.”

—
Romance Junkies

POSSESS ME
THREE SINFUL WISHES
TEMPT ME

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2011 by R. G. Alexander.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Heat trade paperback edition / November 2011

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Alexander, R. G., (date)-

Tempt me / R. G. Alexander.—Heat trade paperback ed. p. cm.

ISBN : 978-1-101-54573-7

1. Twins—Fiction. 2. Reconciliation—Fiction. 3. Loa (Spirits)—Fiction. 4. Voodooism—Fiction.

5. New Orleans (La.)—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3601.L3545T46 2011

813’.6—dc22

2011028160

 

 

For Cookie: Love is the reason. To the best agent in the known universe, Roberta, and my amazing editor, Kate, who both believed in me and the world Bone Daddy made enough that they let me return to play in it. To my Smutketeers, my dearest friends, the glorious Eden Bradley and Robin L. Rotham, for their red pens and hand holding. To the talented Bryan W. for having mad RPG knowledge and giving me a name to fit Gabriel’s ability. A huge and heartfelt dedication to the real Ive and Kelly ... yes, you ... for being fantastic and for campaigning so enthusiastically for a Bone Daddy Hunt that you became my inspiration.

Finally, again and always, to New Orleans, Louisiana—you are so much more than just a party girl throwing beads. The more I know you, the deeper in love I fall.

Gabriel nodded at the bartender, ignoring the blatant invitation in her eyes.

Angel
. His smile was rich with self-mockery. If he’d ever been one, he’d fallen long ago.

The sexy blonde turned to refill his glass with amber ale, and the sight of his own reflection in the beveled mirrors made him wince. It had been a while since he’d seen himself. Too long, apparently. The first description that sprang to mind when he did was
pathetic drunk
.

Was this who he really was, then? Gabriel Toussaint Giodarno—just another lost soul?

Whoever it was he was glaring at needed a shave. Rough shadows framed a sharp jaw, accentuating cheeks that had hollowed out in the last year. A diet of beer, scotch, and shame would do that to a man.

His dark hair curled around his ears and along the nape of his neck—the first time he’d let it grow out since he was sent to Catholic school at the tender age of nine. His heavy-lidded green eyes were bleary with exhaustion, and—his gaze narrowed—the skin above his left cheek was still tinged with yellow and blue from his encounter with that angry biker last week in a Tupelo bar.

Nearly all traces of his old reflection were gone.
He
was gone.

“You look like hell, Gabe. As usual.”

Shit. He knew he was drunk, but he hadn’t realized he’d had enough to start hallucinating again. He pushed his beer away and tapped on the glossy wooden counter. “Any coffee in this place?” Or, even better, some holy water?

The man beside him sighed. “I was hoping you’d head to Mambo Toussaint’s or Michelle’s instead of the nearest tavern. Why you keep gravitating to these shadow-filled places, I’ll never know.”

“Look, guy, I told you—those shadows aren’t real,” Gabriel muttered, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his voice down so the bartender wouldn’t think he’d gone off the deep end. “
You
aren’t real. Not a man. Not a ghost. Remember?
I
don’t do that particular parlor trick. All the woo-woo genes went to my sister. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”

He lowered his head tiredly and shoved his hands through his hair. “Shit, why couldn’t my broken brain concoct a hot, breathy blonde to follow me around instead of a chatty, grungy man-child like you?” He sent said man-child a sideways glance. “I did what you wanted. I’m in New Orleans. Nothing has changed. Now, run along, shut the hell up, and leave me in peace.”

He looked up and noticed the bartender was watching him and no longer smiling suggestively. She slid a cup of coffee in his direction, the suspicious look in her eyes clearly retracting any invitation they might have issued earlier. Then she hurried toward the other end of the bar and the safety of her regular customers.

Gabriel smirked. He’d run, too, if he could. Hell, he’d tried. But he couldn’t escape the guilt that had kept him up nights, the inner demons stalking him. He’d even started seeing shadows where there should be none. Watching those shadows notice him. Follow him. Press on his heavy heart and twist his thoughts until there were only three avenues of escape: fighting, fucking, or getting blackout-drunk. Sometimes it took all three for him to feel human again. To regain control.

Four months ago the game had changed, and his mind brought out the big guns. His new buddy here. His walking, talking, invisible conscience. There could be no doubt now that he had truly gone around the bend.

Gabriel grimaced at the first rich taste of chicory, and glanced at his imaginary friend. He had no idea where he’d dreamed this guy up. A man in his twenties, with black hair that fell to his shoulders and blue eyes that were startling, framed by dark brows and a swarthy complexion. He wore a long dark trench coat, dirty khaki pants, and torn-up boots, looking like one of those disaffected adolescents Gabriel had silently scorned. Back when he’d been a globe-trotting, self-important businessman.