The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (48 page)

“Just don’t make us live to regret it,” Jazz said.

“You won’t.”

When he walked away, Donatti raised an eyebrow. “This guy’s a little nuts,” he said. “You really think he’ll lay off the sabotage racket?”

“Probably. And like you said, we’ll be watching him.” She shivered and glanced across the room, where Seth was inspecting the trunk, grabbing loose items and tossing them in one of their bags. “I would’ve killed him,” she whispered. “If I had the magic, he’d be dead. But you were right. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Hold on. Did you just say I was right?”

“Congratulations.” She shook her head, smirking. Maybe a little of his optimism was rubbing off on her. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. There was room for second chances – for Seth, for her and Donatti. Starting now. “So, this wasn’t the vacation I expected,” she said.

Donatti’s shoulders sagged like somebody just laid the weight of the world on them. “Some getaway,” he muttered. “Well, babe, I guess I’ll take us home. You ready?”

“Home?”

“Yeah. You’re exhausted, you’re worried about Cy, and . . . well, you never really wanted to come out here with me, anyway. I know you’re not big on romance.” He gave her a smile so forced, he might as well have had a gun at his back. “So I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“Good. Because I want to go to a semi-secluded cabin on scenic Wolf Pond, for one remaining romantic night with the man I love.”

If his jaw fell any further, he’d have to reattach it.

She smiled. “Get me to a bed, Donatti. We’ll make all the magic you want.”

Sherri Browning Erwin

When her life’s usual chaos had suddenly balanced into a sense of order so perfect that it bordered on the supernatural, Eve Daniels should have seen it for what it was: a sign that things were about to go drastically wrong. Eve didn’t do perfect. And yet . . .

Almost without effort, she’d finally lost that pesky twenty pounds she’d carted around since college. Her lingerie designs had caught the notice of some leading fashion magazines, drawing an elite crowd to her tiny Brooklyn boutique, leading to her dream move to trendier digs on Fifth Avenue. And at last, she’d met her tall, dark and handsome, (and rich) Mr Right, married him after a whirlwind courtship, and moved into his upper east-side penthouse apartment.

And then.

She came home one day to find Mr Right adjusting his personal antenna in front of his webcam, to the obvious delight of his latest chatroulette buddy on flagrant display through the twenty-six-inch flat screen monitor. Gay. She should have known.

“Not gay,” her husband countered, reaching out for her. “Bi-curious, baby. You know you’re the one for me. This is something we can explore together.”

“Put your pants on,” she said, not bothering to hide her outrage. “And we can explore our legal options. I want a divorce.”

And then.

One of her high profile clients, sexy starlet Natalie Grant, claimed that the underwire in her Mighty Aphrodite Goddess bra (one of Eve’s most consistent bestsellers) broke through the silk to puncture her left breast implant – and cost Natalie a lead role in Quentin Tarantino’s latest blockbuster action film.

Natalie planned to sue Eve and Heavenly Body Lingerie, the tabloids said – “Millions in lost wages!” After two weeks and no word from Natalie’s lawyers, no summons served, Eve realized Natalie was simply using her bra as a smokescreen to cover for the fact that she probably wasn’t even considered for the role in the first place. But the damage was done. Word was out. Eve’s expert workmanship was suddenly considered second-rate. Heavenly Body bras were potentially dangerous, and not in a “beware: deadly curves” kind of way. Business declined at an alarming rate and Eve was forced to close her doors.

And then.

The stress of losing her marriage, her sweet address and her livelihood caused her to turn to Ben and Jerry for comfort. A steady diet of Chunky Monkey with a Cherry Garcia chaser put the twenty pounds back on her five-foot-six frame in no time. Plus an additional ten.

And now.

It was a big relief, and a respite from staying on her best friend’s couch, when her Aunt Mae called to say she needed someone to come watch her place while she went on vacation to Italy with her church group. Mae’s “place” happened to be a bed and breakfast on Moody Beach in Wells, Maine. It was April, still off-season with no reservations on the books, so Eve imagined a quiet two weeks by the sea to regroup and find her bearings. So far, so good.

Eve, on her beach chair with her toes in the sand, looked out at the crashing waves. Mae told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but Eve knew that she would be taking up valuable space once Memorial Day came around. True, her aunt would never ask her to leave. But how could she stay once ocean view digs started commanding premium prices? Eve would have to head back to the city and look for a new apartment.

Of course, she couldn’t afford a new apartment until she found a new job. She refused to take Alexander’s money, no matter how generous he wanted to be to buy her silence. At last, she knew why he’d married her. True love? Ha! He’d wanted a beard to keep his secrets safe from his ultra conservative boss at Lerman and Schmidt Holdings.

Love
. How could Eve have been so blind? So ignorant? One good-looking guy whispered sweet nothings in her ear and she let herself be swept away. Disappointed as she was in his transgressions, she couldn’t judge him. She, too, had been living a lie. She’d never loved him, either. She loved his look. She loved his lifestyle. She was head over heels for the penthouse. But Alexander? Her first week out of the apartment, she missed Alexander’s multiple jet bodyspray shower more than she’d given any thought to missing her husband.

Sure, tall, dark and handsome (and rich), had its advantages. But Eve had always preferred blonds. Big, burly blonds. Daniel Craig’s head on the body of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Matthew McConaughey on steroids. Dolph Lundgren as He-Man, Master of the Universe.

She stood up, picked a stray stick off the beach, and started drawing in the sand, a rough sketch of her perfect man. Very rough. It probably would have gone better had she not downed an entire six pack of Corona Light on her own, but what the hell. This was vacation. At least, if she called it vacation, it felt less like what it was: major life fail. She got one thing right, at least. Her sandman had one very obvious perk. If she was going to design her dream man in the sand, he might as well be well-endowed.

And blond.

With a six-pack.

Blue eyes that shone like a beacon through the heavens.

Solid pecs and knotty biceps.

Thighs as thick as tree trunks.

Did she mention that outrageous bulging . . . Oh. She felt dizzy. She lost focus. She thought she was going to throw up, but . . . everything went black instead.

Eve Daniels struggled to catch her breath and find her balance but she fell, splayed-out, to the sand.

Cold wet foam tickled her toes, waking her. She drew her feet up, curled them under her bottom and stretched her arms, not ready to open her eyes to the haze of the setting sun. She draped herself over the warm body at her side. Body? She ran her hands over the solid planes of a male chest. A man!

She bolted upright. A completely naked man filled the space on the sand next to her, right over the spot where she’d drawn the image of her dream guy. He was wet, as if recently coughed up by the ocean. But – she watched his chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. He was breathing. He was alive! Who –
what
– was he?

Her gaze involuntarily dropped to his – ahem. Yep. He fit the design brief, all right. With her eyes, she traced the trail of blond curls up to his navel, well-defined abs, nearly hairless broad chest, square jaw. She guessed his eyes were blue. Of course, she couldn’t draw blue eyes and blond hair in the sand, but she’d said aloud that it was what she wanted. And here he was. Could it be?

No.
As if
the ocean just washed her fantasy man up at her feet? Ha!

She knelt at his side and shook him gently. “Wake up! Are you all right?”

No answer. She shook again, a little firmer this time.

“Sir?” She was prepared to perform mouth-to-mouth, just in case.

But suddenly, he rolled to his side, away from her, and coughed. The coughing lasted for several seconds. She began to wonder if he hacked up anything significant but she didn’t want to look. She stroked his back instead. “That’s it. Let it out.”

At last, he turned to face her and her breath caught in her throat. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Gold-tipped lashes framed stunning blue eyes, one slightly half-closed with a scar across the lid. A break in the perfection. But it somehow made him more intriguing. A tad menacing. He was big. The most rugged, most manly of men.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice a velvet husk. “I don’t seem to know – I mean, I – I’m at a loss.”

“A loss?”

“I don’t know.” One large hand flew up to tangle in his gold locks. “I can’t seem to remember anything, not even who I am or how I got here.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Not so menacing after all.

“You don’t say.” She had drawn him in the sand, and here he was. Her sandman.

“I just said.” His brow furrowed.

“No.” She laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I—” She spied a crowd of teenagers strolling up the beach. “Let’s get you inside before anyone sees you. Here.” She stood, stripped off her wind-breaker, and handed it to him. “Put this, er, you know.”

“I think I do.” He draped it over his bottom half.

“Can you stand? Are you hurt?” She reached for his hand.

“I don’t seem to be injured.” He moved and flexed everything in sight, took her hand and got to his feet, letting the wind-breaker fall back to the sand.

Eve lost her breath all over again. She reached for the jacket and handed it back, careful to avoid lingering eye contact. He took a step and faltered.

“So weak.” He seemed surprised by it.

“Who knows what you’ve been through, you poor man. Here.” She looped her arm around his waist and encouraged him to lean on her. “I’ll help you.”

Somehow, they’d made it up the beach, into the house and to one of the ground floor rooms on the oceanfront side of the house. He’d practically fallen into the bed. She left him there while she went to run him a bath. By the time she returned, he was under the covers, sound asleep.

Should she wake him? Call someone? An ambulance? The police? What if he had a head injury? Amnesia was a sign of something not quite right. But instinct warned her to keep him to herself, for now, and just to keep an eye on him. She watched him as he slept. Before long, the Corona buzz took over and she was asleep in the chair at his bedside.

She woke again, a strong briny stench invading her senses. The sea? Nope. The smell of the sea on him. She should have insisted on that bath first. One look at the window revealed an ink-black, star-dotted sky. Night. How long had they slept? A glance at the clock told her they’d been out for three hours at least. She’d found him at sunset. It was now nearly eleven, but letting him sleep through the night was no option with that smell. Besides, she needed to wake him to make a health assessment.

“Adam,” she said, the name an instinctive choice. “We need to get you cleaned up.” She brushed a hand across his forehead, no fever, and swept sticky blond locks off his face.

He stirred, reaching for her with strong arms. It was impossible to resist him as he pulled her atop him on the bed.

“Ah, Hades, you’ve done it again.” His eyes opened slightly, lids heavy over the shocking blue irises. He raised the scarred brow and tugged at the sleeve of the cambric shirt she’d layered over her tank top. It had been warm on the beach for April, but not bathing suit warm. “Still dressed, lass? This will never do.”

“Hades?”

“Hm,” he murmured, intent on his purpose of taking the shirt off her. She let him. He seemed skilled enough at the art of undressing a female, and she still had her tank top and khaki capris besides. “Mount Olympus is all well and good, but Hades keeps the best serving girls. You can’t beat the Underworld for hospitality.”

She sat up over him, straddling him. It was unavoidable that she could feel his erection under her, but at least she was in the position of power now. He seemed healthy enough, physically. As to his mental state, she had her doubts. “Look, dude, I’m not your serving girl and you’re not in the Underworld.”

With one powerful hand, he urged her off him to the mattress and rolled atop her. “My compliments to Zeus, then. He’s finally upped his standards.”

“I—uh,” she began to protest, to try to explain, but he lowered his head to hers and crushed her mouth in a kiss. A mind-numbing, breath-stealing, toe-curling kiss. She forgot to protest, to worry about her beer breath and just gave in to the moment, taking his tongue between her lips and urging him on.

He laced fingers with hers, stretching her arms up over her head, leaving her body exposed to his whims. He broke contact from her mouth, blazing a trail down her chin and neck to her breasts. With his teeth, he grazed a nipple through her shirt. She moaned eagerly, but he stopped and shot up suddenly.