Authors: Tina Donahue
Tags: #paranormal creatures;reaper;good angel;demons;fairy;genie;erotic paranormal;romantic comedy;witch;spells;potions;magic;voodoo priestess;makeover service for paranormals;BDSM;bondage;voyeurism;m/f
Thank heaven for babes who like to raise hell.
Taming the Beast
, Book 5
Wynona relishes her job as a reaper. Some jerkwad pisses her off? He’s toast. Any douchebag who mistreats a woman better watch out. Lately, she’s been enjoying it a little too much—and Heaven is not amused.
Wings temporarily clipped, she’s doing time working as an enforcer at From Crud to Stud. The body count isn’t what she’s used to, but at least the scenery—that is, her celestial parole officer—is tall, dark, and deliciously hot.
Rafael can’t take his eyes off Wynona. No, really. She’s a 24/7, one-on-one job. No matter how hard this angel rides her, she begs for more. Finding a way to bring out her best side is turning out to be the greatest challenge of his career.
She’s sassy and sexy, and she’s brought out a side of
he never knew existed—an inner Dom that is only too willing to follow her down the garden path of unrestrained indulgence. And once they set foot on that slippery slope, there’s no turning back.
Warning: Virtue has met its match. Celebrates bondage, discipline, voyeurism, and crazy good sex in an office setting, fetish club, and everywhere else. The faint of heart are advised to turn back now.
Disciplining the Beast
To Tina’s Romance Rebels, my street team. Ladies, you have been simply awesome. I couldn’t have done this without you.
Wynona glanced up from her stupid paperwork and sniffed.
A vulnerable soul. The fragrance was a mixture of fragile life, everlasting death, sweet innocence, and decadent sin, each an aphrodisiac to a reaper.
She gripped her desk to stay put rather than snatching the lovely spirit. She’d been a bad girl and was paying big time for that now. The powers that be had banished her to this godforsaken place—From Crud to Stud, a makeover service for supernatural beings.
Weres howled, vamps hissed, zombies moaned.
The scent beckoned once more, tempting her beyond restraint. Damn. Maybe if she simply looked at the potential victim but didn’t touch, everything would be all right.
She stalked down the hall.
A female staff member ground to a quick halt, pivoted, and hurried into a treatment room. Other doors closed before Wynona could pass, telling her what she’d already known. No one liked reapers, not even otherworldly beings who didn’t have souls to lose. Given that she couldn’t hurt them, they could have at least tried to be cordial and said hi or shot the breeze, made her feel like a team member rather than a pariah.
Another door closed. More than a few inside threw the locks.
Ignoring their snubs, she focused on Heather, the receptionist. Her blindingly white dress matched her pale hair and skin. As a good fairy, she healed those in pain and radiated kindness sorely needed by the lonely. Her soul was pure as a baby’s first breath and definitely off-limits.
Rather than look at her computer, Heather smiled sweetly at someone Wynona couldn’t see.
She drew closer. At her approach, the lights suddenly flickered.
Heather turned to the hall. Wynona arched one eyebrow in greeting.
The fairy’s lovely face grew even ashier. She fumbled in her desk drawer, yanked out a crucifix, and held it out, hands shaking. “I’m sorry. This is rude, I know, but—I’m sorry.”
Wynona wasn’t certain whether to laugh, groan, or skulk back to her office and hide there until someone needed her.
The soul fragrance pulled her closer. “No offense taken.”
“Please stay where you are.”
She couldn’t, picking up speed.
Constance came around the corner. Wynona reared back.
So did Constance. Her silky gown swished around her ample curves, the hot-pink color complementing her ebony complexion. She glanced from Heather to Wynona and back.
“Put that down.” Constance jabbed her thumb at the cross. “That’s for vamps, not reapers, unless you want to whack her on the head to get her to back off.”
Wynona lifted her chin. “From doing what? I was merely walking down the hall.”
“Uh-huh.” Constance gave her a knowing look. “Say the word and I can make you forget everything you were about to do.”
Big talk. However, Constance was a damn good voodoo priestess with a talent for removing memories. Once her bejeweled fingers touched anyone’s skull, poof, the past was history. “How about you touch me and I touch you in return?”
“Wynona.” Heather’s cheeks pinked up. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”
Strange advice from a fairy who had a threesome going with a lusty former satyr and a nympho genie. “I wasn’t taking about sex, hon.”
Heather went into a full-body blush.
Constance sniffed. “No reaping here, got it? Especially staff members’ souls.”
“What about ones from clients who are still alive?” She glanced past Constance for the source of the delicious fragrance but still couldn’t see much of the reception area.
Feathery ferns and potted plants overran the cozy space, making it a veritable forest. Faux gas fixtures graced the coral walls. Coming in here was like stepping back in time to old New Orleans, the dated, romantic feel a cover for what really went on. Moonlight therapy for weres. Treatments to tame bloodsucking vamps. Speech and personality programs for zombies. Potions for every purpose so supernatural beings could move among the unsuspecting and get it on with mortal babes.
Constance squared her shoulders. “We don’t bite the hands that feed us. Behave yourself and get back to work.”
“Wait.” Heather stood. “There’s someone here to see you, Wynona.”
Oh, yeah? Hold on. No one ever willingly approached her except another reaper who had nothing to lose. Just once, she’d like to browbeat a shifter into a treatment room. Take out her frustration on him rather than her own kind. “Who? Or rather what?”
Heather bit her lower lip.
Great. Another reaper. Possibly one she’d dated only to have him dump her so he could tame his beast here and give a mortal woman his best. Louse.
She passed Constance but didn’t get far. Her legs refused to work.
The guy on the sofa pushed to his feet.
His scent washed over her, snatching her breath. If goodness and starshine had an odor, that would be his, the fragrance of an unsullied soul. Definitely not a reaper. Not a mortal either.
All of that should have had her bolting down the hall.
His outstanding looks kept her rooted to the spot. He was a large man, six-three or more, with shoulders that went from here to tomorrow. His broad chest, flat belly, and powerful thighs were the stuff of Greek myths wrapped in fashionable duds straight from
. Charcoal-colored pants and a midnight-blue shirt. Both garments draped his form beautifully, including the impressive bulge behind his fly.
Apollo had nothing on this dude.
As far as she could tell, he was hung better than most gods and mortals. In human years, he seemed early to mid-thirties. He’d tied back his long raven hair, though a few silky strands had escaped to graze his forehead and firm jaw.
Her knees went watery.
Dark stubble dusted his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. His complexion was a healthy bronze, eyes lushly lashed, their color a deeper blue than sapphires, his gaze deliciously intense.
Give him cuffs and a whip along with free rein and he’d rock a BDSM chamber any day.
Of course, the goodness rolling off him was a problem. He couldn’t be here for a makeover. There was nowhere to go from perfect, unless…
Could be he wanted to release his beast, the same as Eric had done a few years back. As a direct descendant of Cupid, Eric had wanted to ditch his courtly demeanor and become a bad boy to snag the babes. After he’d met Becca, the half-witch who owned this joint, he’d changed his mind about other women, hooking up with her for life.
A sweet dream Wynona didn’t expect for herself. However, if this guy wanted someone to corrupt him and had heard about her hardcore ways, how could she say no?
She sashayed across the room, stopping close enough for them to kiss. He didn’t back up or take off. Nice. Gave her a chance to indulge.
His full mouth had probably fueled countless female wet dreams, the cleft in his chin was definitely lickable, the interest in his gaze the best of all. He searched her eyes the way a mortal does when wanting to touch another person’s soul.
If she’d had one, she wouldn’t have let him look inside. Being defenseless only led to more sorrow and hurt. No thank you. She’d had an eternity of that crap. “Hey there, I’m Wynona.”
She would have offered to shake his hand, but one touch from a reaper and anyone alive was toast, except for select supernatural beings. Generally, those whose powers were equal to or greater than hers.
She wanted to ask what he was but waited, hoping skin-to-skin contact wouldn’t be verboten for them.
“Wynona.” He inclined his head slightly. A lock of hair fell past his ear and skimmed his cheek.
Her mouth watered.
Indeed he was. A killer name for a sexy man. “And what brings you here tonight, Rafael?”
Good answer. “So you’ve heard of me, huh?”
“Repeatedly and at length.” His cheeks darkened.
She flushed with excitement too. “What kind of makeover did you want?”
“I don’t. That is, none.”
He glanced past her to Heather and Constance. Heather pretended to work again rather than obviously eavesdrop. Constance didn’t budge, all eyes and ears. Stefin, one of the demon enforcers, had joined her.
Wynona glared at him.
He glowered right back, the flames in his eyes blazing.
She turned to Rafael. “None? You mean, as in no taming your beast. So you’re here to free your wayward urges, right?”
His forehead turned red but desire flashed in his eyes. “No. I actually need to rein yours in.”
Her hope soared a thousand percent. “You’re into BDSM too?” She smiled slyly. “You like being a Master?”
Heather made a strangled sound. Constance offered a throaty moan.
Rafael seemed to have stopped breathing. He finally pulled in some air. “I’m your parole officer.”
Wynona went colder than a vamp, then hotter than a menopausal woman. “What? Wait. I know what my parole officer looks like. Little dude with a face only a blind mother could love and a personality on a par with overcooked spaghetti.” Her gesture took in all of Rafael. “Definitely not you.”
“Hold it.” Stefin strode to them, his long blond hair bobbing with each step. “She was in prison like me?”
During his mortal days, he’d been in the Russian mafia.
Rafael wrinkled his nose. Heather sprayed her baby powder scent. The fragrance did little to eliminate the sulfur stench emitted by Stefin and all demons.
Rafael backed away from him. “We’re trying to avoid prison for Wynona. The group sent me here to make certain she behaves.”
Stefin nodded enthusiastically. “What group is that?”
“Supernatural Authority in Charge of Souls, what else?” Wynona curled her upper lip. “SACS for short. They suck, just like you do.” She turned to Rafael. “What happened to the other guy?”
“Got kicked upstairs.”
“Because he made my existence so miserable?”
Stefin wedged himself between her and Rafael. “Tell me how to get rid of her…Wynona.” He made a gagging sound. “I’ll gladly do it for free. I could even pay you for the information. We have leather restraints here, manacles for the problem cases, rope too. Whatever we need. There are countless storage facilities around. We can tie her up and dump her in one of them. As long as we pay the fee, no one will ever know she’s there.”
Constance cleared her throat. “Wynona would.”
Stefin waved dismissively.
Heather tried to frown, not an easy thing for a good fairy. “No one should hurt her or anyone else. Maybe you guys should talk in her office where it’s private.”
“Good idea.” Stefin turned to lead the way.
Constance grabbed his arm. “Not you, Wynona and Rafael. Go on.” She flicked her hand. “We’ll give you guys all the time you need.”
Right. Now she wanted to be friendly.
Wynona tramped down the hall, teeth bared. A were halted just outside a treatment room and ducked back into it.
She would have followed and locked Rafael out if it would have done her any good.
Of all the rotten luck. She’d just gotten her last guy to back off, and now she had a new one to break in or break. Whatever it took. Even if Rafael smelled better than a squeaky-clean soul and was hotter than a romance cover model, he was still the enemy.
She stopped at her office and gestured him inside.
He backed into the snug space, gaze bored into hers, his expression a warning not to pull anything.
Commanding and hot. The whole enchilada.
She shivered and hated herself for it.
After locking the door, she gestured to the only chair in here. “Take it. I’m good.” She sat on her desk, crossed her legs, and leaned forward, giving him an eyeful. Her skintight top plumped her breasts. Unlike other reapers, who used fear to corner their prey, she employed seduction…snug leather outfits, along with her signature scent, a lavender and musk combo. When she hunted, the poor slobs didn’t know what had hit them.
Rafael dropped into his seat. The springs creaked. “About you stealing souls.”
Yes, that. She was supposed to wait for instructions from on high before swiping the things. Trouble was, when creeps crossed her path and made the mistake of hurting innocents or pissed her off, they weren’t long for this earth. “I’ve made a few mistakes.”
He looked heavenward and breathed deeply.
His prominent Adam’s apple was totally kickass the same as his rumbling voice. Each time he spoke, his baritone registered in her belly.
“We’ve heard of more than a few mishaps.” He pulled a smartphone from his pants pocket, reading glasses from his shirt pocket.
The specs made him look even more intelligent and sexier than sin. She gripped the desk so she wouldn’t fall into his lap. Later, maybe. When he loosened up some.
He scrolled down the phone’s display. “Jerome James. Remember him?”
“He was crossing the street in front of this place and dropped to the ground. Gone in a flash. He was twenty-three and in perfect health until that moment.” Rafael peered over his glasses. “Any idea what happened?”
There were green flecks in his eyes. Amazing. “Uh…”
“I’ll need more than that.”
If he was looking for a confession, he was out of luck. An apology wasn’t doable either. She’d been totally justified in taking Jerome down. The day he’d checked out, he’d been unbelievably rude, shoving past, stomping on her toes. Next, he’d knocked against an elderly woman who could barely totter even with a cane. She should have cracked his skull with the thing, but she’d been too busy trying to stay on her swollen feet. He hadn’t notice or cared. Rather than using an iPod with earbuds, he’d carried a boombox, the bass turned thunderously loud. His soul had stunk of entitlement and cruelty, especially to women. He’d asked for it. “Can we bring him back?”
“Already have. Different body.”
No shit. “A woman’s?”
Rafael frowned. “No, a male.”
Too bad. Jerome needed to see things from the other side. “How’s he doing? What’s his address? Phone number? Maybe I should apologize.”
He arched one dark eyebrow.
Luscious bastard. “If he’s having trouble adjusting, I could help him out.” Break his kneecaps too if he was still a jerk.
Rafael glanced at her leather boot, the tip perilously close to his leg. All she had to do was move a little more and she’d be able to touch him.