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Authors: Lori Brighton

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #historical romance paranormal romance paranormal historical romance kiss me kill me wild heart wild desire

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BOOK: Wild Passion
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Unease raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
The man following was edging closer. She glanced through her lashes
at the numbered buildings, urging her legs to move faster. 19, 20,
21. She paused, there at the iron gate of townhome number 21. The
brick building was well kept and clean. The man who resided here
was a lover of antiquities. He knew nothing about the powers of the
statue and she hoped it would stay that way. The fact that he was
oblivious eased her guilt. She knew if he bought the piece, he
would cherish it until he died… and that would be a week from now.
After, the statue would be boxed up and placed in some attic until
the myth of its power would be forgotten.

She rested her hand on the cold iron fence, her
breath a foggy cloud that hung suspended in the night. And as she
paused, she felt the man following also pause. Downstairs, the
front room was lit, indicating the buyer was waiting for
her…waiting for his treasure. Silly old man who valued objects more
than life. But who was she to judge. God would do that a week from
now.

Keeping her calm, she shifted the knapsack she held
and closed her eyes, quieting her mind, using the soft night, void
of life, for her backdrop. A picture flashed to mind…

A dark shadow stepping forward, a pistol in hand.
The man taking her knapsack, taking the statue.

Outrage coursed through her being. Damn him! He would
ruin everything! As quickly as her anger had come, she squashed the
feeling. There was nothing to be done. She couldn’t outrun the
thief, especially not with the weight of the statue in her
knapsack. She could only go forward and let the future unwind as it
would.

She pushed the iron fence wide, hinges squeaking, and
slowly made her way up the brick path to the wide, shallow steps.
It was here where she’d try to sell the statue. And it was here
where he’d steal it from her.
Merde,
how she despised him, a
man she didn’t know. A man who would ruin her future. Of course her
life had never been easy, she didn’t know why this should be. But
then again she had something on her side he didn’t…the gift.

With a grin, she lifted her fist and knocked only
once. The sound echoed down the streets, so loud in the quiet
night. Adelaide glanced up at the full moon. The sun would peek its
brilliant head above the horizon in only an hour or two; she’d best
be home before the city came to life. The door opened slowly, beady
eyes in a weathered, narrow face stared warily at her.

“You got it?” the man asked.


Oui
, it’s here.”

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze almost swallowed under
his bushy white eyebrows. “Let me see.”

She clucked her tongue, not in the least intimidated.
She’d been through hell and back, nothing frightened her anymore.
Well, nothing but the thought of losing the damn statue. “Now, now,
money first.” She resisted the urge to look behind her, wondering
how close the thief was. Hurry, old man! She wanted to shout.

The old man’s lips lifted into a growl, his yellowed
teeth revolting. “You listen…” His gaze shifted to the area beyond
her.

Adelaide felt the intruder’s presence like a
whispered warning from the heavens. Her fingers shifted around her
knapsack, her stomach clenching with fear and anger. There was
nothing to do now but play along. The old man in front of her had
gone pale and for a moment she worried he would faint.

“Drop it,” a deep male voice demanded from behind
her. An Englishman? It figured.

The old man slammed the door shut. The distinct sound
of a bolt being thrown hissed through the night. She glared at the
closed door. The man would leave her to the wolves.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she said in her best male
accent.

“Then hand over the statue.” He was so close his warm
breath whispered across the back of her neck, sending shivers over
her skin. So close, he was, that his hips pressed to her bottom. He
smelled like mint and spice, not unwashed body as most thieves.

“Of course.” She shifted the weight of the object and
started to turn. At the same time she reached for her own pistol
tucked in the waistband of her trousers. Before she could even wrap
her fingers around the weapon, she suddenly found herself slammed
up against the door.

“I thought you were going to play nice?”

She dared to look up into the face of the man who
very well might ruin her life. Stern, dark eyes, a square jaw
shadowed with scruff. He shifted, his hard body pressed indecently
to hers, holding her pinned to the door. Lord, she could feel every
inch of him, from that chest, to his hips. Adelaide sucked in a
sharp breath, too stunned to move. Gorgeous. Simply put. He looked
like the statue of David come to life. She hadn’t known…she hadn’t
expected to be stunned speechless.

The knapsack was jerked from her hands, and she could
only stand there, barely breathing for fear the movements of her
lungs would send her body closer to his.

He grinned, and her heart did an odd little jump.
“Thank you kindly.”

Before she could blink, before she could even realize
his intentions, he pressed his lips to hers. Firm lips molding to
her mouth in a quick kiss that did odd things to the inside of her
body. The kiss was over as soon as it had begun. He stepped back,
jerking the cap from her head. Her long, dark braid fell down her
back. He winked and spun around, darting down the footpath.

Adelaide pressed her fingers to her tingling lips.
Lord, how could she be so stupid! He’d known all along she was a
woman. Anger spurred her forward. She stumbled down the steps and
raced after him, her pistol gripped tightly in her trembling hand.
Following his shadow, she skittered around the corner. The street
lay empty. She froze, listening. The only sound was her own harsh
breath. He was gone.


Merde!
” she snapped, her voice echoing down
the lane.

Just as soon as her anger had come, it was gone. A
slow smile spread across her lips. He thought he’d gotten the upper
hand. But he hadn’t a clue what she was truly capable of.

She’d find him again, she had no doubt. And when she
did, the bastard would pay.

 

Chapter 2

 

James whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way down
the hotel corridor to the room he’d rented for the night. To the
world he was a man at ease. But he was far from calm. He knew there
were two exits… a door behind him and a window to his left. He
could hear the man coming around the corner even before the man
appeared.

Not that he had the gift of sight, merely the gift of
years of experience. Experience watching his own back. Trusting no
one. As the fellow guest came around the corner, James nodded a
greeting, shifting the knapsack from his left shoulder, to his
right, further away from the man.

The bag was heavy, the statue heavier than he’d
thought. A priceless, yet ridiculous piece of religious art. He’d
heard the rumors, knew the statue had supposed powers and there
were those who would kill for it. Asinine, really. It looked like a
plain gold statue to him. The type he’d seen before. But if Lord
Emery wanted to pay him thousands for it, he’d oblige. In his
opinion an object that old was owned by no one, fair game. He’d
made his fortune finding forgotten treasure. And he always found
what he was looking for.

Yet, even as he scoffed at those who called him a
thief, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He’d never
stolen from a woman. She’d been as surprised as he’d been. And when
he’d pressed her to that door, he’d been even more surprised to
feel his body react to her lush curves, that long, rich hair, that
heart-shaped face and those heavenly blue eyes. So surprised, he
couldn’t resist pressing his mouth to hers in a quick kiss. She’d
tasted of scones…delicate and buttery and warm.

He quickly brushed the woman from his mind. She was
of no importance. He slipped the skeleton key into the lock. The
soft murmur of conversation and rumbled laughter floated from the
rooms on either side of him. The door opened under his touch, his
room was clean, plush and large. Only the finest. He expected
nothing less. After years of living in squalor, he would accept
nothing but the best. And why not? He could bloody afford it.

He closed the door with his heel and settled the
statue on a chair before moving to the hearth. The air was chill,
winter coming soon. God willing he’d be on a ship back home to
England before the weather turned. He didn’t care much for France.
The people were too…
French
. He knelt and began to stir the
dying embers when the ever so subtle rising of the fine hairs on
the back of his neck gave him pause. Someone was in the room.

He didn’t turn, but continued to stoke the fire until
the flames licked high and gave warmth to the cold room. Standing,
he pulled the knife from his boot, tucking the handle into his
shirt sleeve. He wasn’t afraid, more curious to know the identity
of the invader. With practiced movements, he turned toward the bed
and yawned, as if he was merely a gent in need of sleep. Inside,
his body and mind were preparing for battle.

From the corner of his eye he noticed the shadow. The
intruder sat on the far side of the room, not moving, yet not doing
much to hide. Odd indeed. Whistling, James made his way to his bed
and fluffed the pillow, searching for the pistol underneath.
Nothing.

Damn. Had the weapon fallen to the ground? It was the
very reason he never allowed servants in his room. Fortunately he
was adapt at changing plans, one needed to be in his line of work.
His clothes lay scattered upon the bed. He reached out as if to
smooth the blanket back, but instead wrapped his fingers around the
tie he’d worn yesterday. Casually, he slipped the strip of material
into his pocket.

“You won’t find the pistol,” a soft feminine voice
called from the darkness.

Surprise flashed through him. The woman he’d stolen
the statue from. He’d recognize that husky voice anywhere. Damn.
How’d she find him? He always made sure to cover his tracks.
Surprise gave way to annoyance and something else…. Something that
felt oddly like excitement. He didn’t panic. He never panicked.
Instead, he faced her fully, no more pretense, and crossed his arms
over his chest, hiding the dagger.

“You don’t give up easily,” he said as he leaned
against the bed post like a man at ease.

“Is that a compliment or criticism?”

Her voice had the soft and husky lilt of a French
accent. It swirled through his body, warming his insides. Already
she was taunting him, damn it all, if he didn’t like it. “A
compliment, of course.”

“Lovely,” she said. Slowly, with ease, she stood,
tilting her head slightly back as if to get a better look at him.
She was small, coming to rest under his chin. But those curves,
damn it all, those curves could make a lesser man faint with lust.
Slowly, she raised her arm, pointing his pistol at his chest. “You
might as well hand it over now. I will get my statue back.”

“Yours? I thought it was the world’s statue.”

With a quick sweep of his hand, he knocked the gun
from her fingers. The woman gasped in outrage and James grinned,
scooping up the weapon. She was a novice, at weaponry, at least. He
paced toward the bed where a lamp rested on a small side table and
set the gun down. “Haven’t you heard the stories? A piece created
by the heavens of such power that humans will destroy each other in
hopes of finding it.” He lit the lamp, then turned to face her.
Lord, she was even more beautiful than he’d realized.

“Mythology.” She laughed, a husky chuckle. “Nonsense.
The only person who will be destroyed is you, if you don’t give me
back my statue.”

“And who will destroy me? You?” He raised a brow and
rubbed the stubble on his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Perhaps.
But you can’t doubt the statue is important if you would follow a
man and risk your life to get it back.”

She tossed her long black braid over her shoulder and
sashayed toward him, the gentle sway of her hips intoxicating.
“Surely you don’t believe the stories. Four statues with extreme
power. So powerful that when they’re brought together, the owners
may control the very world.” She laughed, that rich chuckle
vibrating through his very soul.

James clenched his jaw. He wasn’t sure whether he
should be lusting after the woman or annoyed with her. “Whether I
believe it or not, others do. Merely by having the statue in your
possession, you risk your life.”

He was a hardened thief, for God’s sake. He’d seen
women more beautiful, but he sure as hell hadn’t seen them more
sensual. She paused only a breath away, the scent of flowers and
soap swirling around him. She lowered her thick, dark lashes and
settled her hand on his chest. He couldn’t take much more. He
hadn’t had a woman in weeks, and she would certainly do well
enough.

She grinned, a wicked grin and trailed her fingers
down his bicep as if sensing the way of his thoughts. “Did you
enjoy kissing me,
mon Amour?
Did you enjoy the taste of my
mouth?” She stepped closer, inching her fingers up his arm and
around his neck. “Did you enjoy the feel of my body against yours?”
She leaned close. He dropped his arms to his side, letting her
press her soft breasts to his chest. Hell, he soaked in her warmth,
the feel of her lush body. She was small, but she had curves to
kill for. And when she stood on tiptoe, he let her. Oh, he wouldn’t
urge her onward, but he’d allow her to play her little games.

“You’re worried about me?” Those full, red lips
hovered near his, her breath warm on his mouth. “Do you think of
that kiss now?”

He didn’t respond, but his body did, hardening,
flaring with a heat that tormented him. She lowered her lashes and
leaned forward, sinking into him. Those soft lips molded to his.
Blood surged to his cock.

BOOK: Wild Passion
12.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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