Table of Contents
Praise for the
Sons of the Zodiac Series
“An action-packed and emotionally charged good time.”
—The Romance Dish
“Will delight paranormal romance lovers . . . Fox weaves mythology and romance into a fun-filled adventure.”
“Sexy immortal warriors . . . powerful love stories.”
“Fox debuts with a strong start to the Sons of the Zodiac series . . . [a] powerful romance.”
“This new series puts a delightful twist [on] the Greek gods and the myths surrounding them. Each character has [his or her] own depth and talents that will keep you turning the pages and begging for more. A great start to a promising paranormal series!”
“This book was a blast to read; combining paranormal romance, enjoyable heroes and heroines, and globe-traveling intrigue kept me turning the pages.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
“Promise[s] plenty of action, treachery, and romance!”
Also by Addison Fox
THE SONS OF THE ZODIAC SERIES
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, November 2011
Copyright © Frances Karkosak, 2011
All rights reserved
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ISBN : 978-1-101-54549-2
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For Kerry Donovan
I only thought I was excited to work on this book—and then I was lucky enough to work on it with you.
New York City
The Sunday after Thanksgiving
ane Austen had it wrong, Sloan McKinley thought miserably as the black Lincoln Town Car drove her ever closer to the bright lights of the George Washington Bridge and the Manhattan streets she called home. A man in possession of a good fortune only wanted to get laid.
Of course, she thought reflectively, that made rich men really no different from the poor ones.
Despite the fact that dear old Jane was being cheeky in her pronouncements on the proclivities of wealthy young bachelors, Sloan knew her point was valid all the same.
What she didn’t know was why her mother thought an endless parade of Scarsdale’s finest was going to be the answer to her daughter’s walk down the aisle.
She’d known these men since birth—had played Little League soccer with them, dissected frogs in science class as lab partners and attended the prom together. She knew who had been a bad loser, who had stuffed frog parts inside the principal’s tote bag and who had puked outside their limo after the prom.
these guys. None of them had developed any mind-blowing, irresistible qualities as they matured. Sloan hadn’t wanted any of them at fifteen and not much had changed.
Case in point: one Trevor Stuart Kincaid the Fourth—Trent to all who knew and loved him. If the asshole stuck his hand on her knee and allowed his pinky finger to creep up her inner thigh one more time, she was likely to go all Terminator on his Armani-covered ass.
And to think she had actually been looking forward to seeing him.
“I’m glad your mother suggested this. It’s a far more enjoyable drive back to the city with company.”
“She’s full of ideas.” Sloan shifted yet again, firmly pushing his fingers away as his other hand inched closer on the backseat. “So tell me about what you’ve been working on. That hotel you designed in Seattle is absolutely magnificent.”
“The Dahlia?” His bloodshot eyes sparkled for a moment under the reflected lights of the streetlamps and a surge of hope filled her. She’d visited the hotel shortly after it had opened and had been impressed that it was designed by someone she’d known since childhood.
It had been that spark—that innate belief that who you were at fifteen
dictate who you were forever—that she’d been desperately searching for since Trent had arrived at her parents’ for dinner.
“It’s a sweet gig. They’re paying me to design a sister hotel in Malaysia, so I can’t complain. Speaking of sweet gigs”—he let the words hang there for a moment before leaning closer—“why haven’t we ever gone out, you and me?”
Perhaps because Mitzi Goodby shared with our entire class at our fifteen-year reunion just how shitty you were in bed, how you enjoy the occasional cocaine bender and that you are a bad tipper.
But Sloan said none of that and instead opted for, “I think we’ve likely just been in different places in our lives.”
“It looks like we’re in the same place now.”
“We’re probably not as close as you think.”
“We can easily fix that.”
Sloan caught the driver’s raised eyebrows in the rear-view mirror and shot him a glare. While she knew she wasn’t in any danger—Trent was a world-class jerk with opportunistic hands, but that was about it—she also knew most people saw only what they wanted to see when they looked at her. Blond hair, all-American blue eyes and a slender five-foot-eight-inch frame had a way of doing that to a person.
The gangly, ugly duckling Trent must remember from high school—which was one of the many reasons they never
been in the same place—had been replaced on the surface by a swan.
But it was the duckling that Sloan couldn’t seem to shake loose.
People thought they were so discreet, but Sloan knew how she was discussed in her family’s social circle. The only daughter of Forrest and Winifred McKinley had been
, according to the wealthy matrons of Westchester, by the overpowering influence of genetics. The gawky teenager had long ago been replaced by a grown woman with poise, intelligence and flawless skin, a fact for which her mother would be forever grateful.