Cat Scratch Fever (18 page)

A kiss is exactly what she gets, followed by a consuming hunger that breaks down all heavenly and earthly barriers…and leaves Sam saddled with the one thing he never wanted, a
conscience
, and a connection to Marabella that puts her soul on the line.

Warning: This book contains torturous use of disco music, one sinfully sexy demon who revels in being bad, a virgin witch whose innocence runs more than skin deep, and plenty of wicked, forbidden sex with explosive side effects—literally.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Getting Familiar With Your Demon:

I can’t believe I’m going through with this.
Even if she really wasn’t. But in the end, she still had to endure an evening with a demon who possessed a caveman mentality and a one-track mind. A demon she just happened to have a raging case of horniness for.

Yeah, this couldn’t end badly. Not at all.

Dragging in a shaky breath, Marabella pulled into the parking garage down from Bella’s Boutique and cut the engine. She removed the keys from the ignition and prayed Sam wouldn’t comment on the constant jingling the keys made as they dangled from her trembling fingers. He joined her outside the vehicle, and after crossing the deserted boulevard, they walked the short distance to her storefront.

She attempted to jam the key into the lock, but her overworked nerves made the task impossible. Without saying a word, Sam gently nudged her aside and freed the bolt. She didn’t fail to notice the sardonic tilt of his mouth as she muttered a “Thanks” and pushed past him. The tumblers clicked, announcing Sam had secured the lock. She reached for the light switch, but he took her hand and led her away from the door. Her heart beating a chaotic mambo, she trailed along, trying not to focus on the fact he seemed to have a definite destination in mind. They pulled to a stop in the entry leading to the French Bohemian bedroom tableau, and her pulse ratcheted up several notches. She stared at the daybed before jerking her gaze to Sam. Immense heat simmered in his sin-filled eyes.

She blurted the first thing that popped into her mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of her more intelligent responses. “The bed is only for display.”

Another flash of sardonic humor flickered across Sam’s face. “What kind of saleswoman would you be if you didn’t test out the merchandise?”

“I…” Ah damn. Her tongue-tied state increased a thousandfold when Sam’s hands planted on either side of her head, effectively boxing her against the wall. The way he was looking at her—as if he were mentally devouring her—caused her pulse to stutter. Sure, there’d been plenty of men who’d gazed at her with lust before the curse ultimately knocked them on their asses. Even so, those occasions didn’t hold a candle to the barely restrained hunger riding Sam’s gorgeous features.

She licked her lips and watched his pupils dilate as he tracked the motion of her tongue. “I—I don’t know.” She winced at her breathless stammer, feeling worse than a gawky moron.

Sam’s head descended until they were practically nose to nose. She stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the intensity in their depths. His irises were so dark, she’d at first assumed they were completely black, but up close, she saw they were actually a deep midnight blue.

“We can’t have you selling a bed you haven’t stamped a personal testimony on. What if the springs squeak?” His whiskey-smooth voice held an unmistakable hint of tease.

Before her brain produced a not entirely idiotic response, Sam’s mouth claimed hers. The same electric jolt of desire and apprehension she’d experienced in the ballroom slammed into her with renewed force. A moan slipped free before she could cage it. The sound must have encouraged Sam, because he re-angled his approach, his tongue delving past her lips as if it had every right to do so. She truly wished with every fiber in her being that it didn’t, but the heady pleasure Sam was delivering told a different story.

As if her arms possessed a will of their own, they circled his neck, her fingers threading through the thick softness of his hair. A part of her screamed in warning, reminding her she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. It was one thing to convince Sam she wanted to rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him. She wasn’t supposed to actually
want
to do it.

It proved nearly impossible to keep that thought on track as Sam’s tongue glided along hers. Retreating slightly, he explored the edges of her teeth before he sucked on her bottom lip and started his lush oral treatment all over again. By the time he pulled back, her mouth felt swollen and thoroughly ravished. Her breath puffed in shallow, staccato bursts, and the soaked crotch of her panties clung to her throbbing flesh in damning proof of her insatiable desire for him.

Passion and fear warred inside her. She wanted—no,
craved
—the wet, slick rasp of Sam’s tongue on her everywhere. Her mouth, her breasts and painfully hard nipples. Her pussy. Oh goddess. She especially hungered to feel him there. And that was wrong. So very, very wrong.

Sam’s mouth abandoned hers and slid to the slope of her neck. His beard scruff tickled her skin, inciting a host of goose bumps. He scored his teeth along the pulse point beneath her ear before sucking the tender spot. A responding beat echoed in her clit, and she whimpered. Without warning he swept her into his arms. She clung to him, as much startled by the action as his obvious strength.

Before she even thought to protest, Sam strode the short distance to the daybed and tossed her into the middle of it. Decorative throw pillows tumbled to the ground as he stretched over her. Their bodies aligned in the most delicious way. She struggled to ignore that reality, but Sam seemed determined to prove exactly how traitorous her body could be. He cupped her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her Greek goddess gown, and she arched into him, her nipples obediently pebbling under his touch. His husky chuckle mocked her. Swirling his tongue in the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, he rolled his fingertips over her nipples. She nearly shot out of her skin.

“You’re incredibly responsive considering I haven’t even gotten you naked yet.” There was no mistaking the intent in his voice. Giving a low, sexy growl, he bunched the skirt of her costume in his hands and whisked it upward. Before she’d snapped to her senses, he’d tugged the dress completely off her, leaving her with only a skimpy G-string and matching bra to hide her from his hot, hungry gaze.

Milky moonlight poured through the window, revealing Sam’s unabashed stare as it roved her body, lingering everywhere, but especially on the faint shadow of her pubic hair beneath the sheer white mesh of her panties. Her hands automatically moved to cover her groin, and he used the opportunity to free the front clasp of her bra with a deft flick of his wrist. He separated the nylon cups and stared at her breasts.

Her heart hammered, making her dizzy. She’d never been this naked with a man. The realization was both exciting and scary. She attempted to shield her exposed flesh again, but Sam gripped her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head.

Straddling her thighs, he lifted onto his knees and reached for something overhead. She craned her neck to see what he was up to and frowned when he snagged one of the tasseled curtain tiebacks draped over the folding silk screen tucked behind the daybed. Recalling the imprisoned state of her wrists, her eyes widened. No. He wouldn’t.

The wicked sparkle in his eyes quickly shot a hole in that pathetic theory. She jerked against his hold, earning his devilish chuckle. He braced her hands on the daybed’s brass rail and looped the tieback’s velvet cord around her joined wrists, securing them to the cold metal bar as easily as if she’d been a steer at a roping contest. Not exactly the most flattering way to picture herself, to be sure. “S-Sam, let me out of this, damn it.”

“No.”

“Please?” Soon as she was free, she’d kick his ass for making her beg.

“I’m not spending all night fielding your coy hiding games. For shit’s sake, you act like you’re a damn virgin or something.”

She glared at him. “Maybe I am.”

“Yeah, likely story, baby.”

She opened her mouth in order to correct him of his misassumption, but the words dried in her throat as Sam stripped out of his shirt. She’d seen him bare-chested before. It made absolutely no sense why her nipples should still tingle at the close-up view of the sleek, sculpted contours of his muscular torso and chiseled six-pack. Swallowing with great difficulty, she watched his hand trail in a lazy fashion down his washboard abs, following the thin peppering of silky hair that arrowed toward the waistband of his jeans. He released the buckle on his belt and withdrew the leather strap from the loops. His motions deliberate and slightly menacing, he anchored the belt around the top rail of the daybed.

Catching her wary look, he offered a smile that’d make a crocodile nervous. “Might need it later.”

What the hell have I agreed to?

The only good Secret is a buried Secret.

Deep Dark Secret

© 2012 Sierra Dean

Secret McQueen, Book 3

Secret McQueen has hunted vampires, werewolves, and every conceivable supernatural menace-to-society. Seen it all? Not even close. When the queen of the were-ocelots comes to her for help finding a missing girl, the half-vampire/half-werewolf soon realizes how much she has to learn about the things that go bump in the night.

The case of the missing cat is one thing. Pile it up with her new duties as a Tribunal Leader, her tenuous position as mate to the king of the Eastern werewolves, and a slew of new (and unwelcome) supernatural abilities, and Secret is once again in familiar territory.
Way
over her head. But for this multitasking half-breed, it’s business as
un
usual.

What knocks her for a loop, though, isn’t her lover’s intoxicating kiss. It’s the missing memories rushing at her from out of nowhere, signaling a rapidly approaching fork in her destiny. Her choice will affect not only her life, but her love.

Warning this book contains a werewolf king with wandering hands, a creepy English professor with nefarious plans, and one hell of an unexpected gala evening at Columbia.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Deep Dark Secret:

One of the perks of dating a billionaire was access to the most unprecedented views of the city.

I love New York more than any place in the world. Everything from the dirty sidewalks of Chinatown to the clean white lines of the Museum of Modern Art warmed my heart and made me smile. It was a city I normally saw from the ground floor looking up, so when I got to look at it from eighty floors overhead, it was like being in heaven and gazing down at the earth.

Having never seen the city in daylight, I wondered if it could match the magic of a Manhattan night. With all the lights and the sinewy lines of white and red traffic, could it possibly look as beautiful in the sun?

Lucas’s reflection in the window gave away his approach, but I acted surprised when he came up behind me and handed me a glass of red wine.

“I love this room.” Since Lucas and I had begun dating last year, I’d had a chance to see every room in his three-story penthouse in Rain Hotel. The massive lounge on the third floor was by far my favorite. The couches were black microsuede, and there was a stocked bar on the back wall. But it was the view I liked best. A full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows provided a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city.

When the lights in the room were turned off, it was like nothing stood between us and the city.

Wait, when did he turn the lights off?

Warm breath puffed against my neck, reigniting the shivers I’d felt at dinner. His nose traced the line of my jaw, his mouth skimming against my throat making goose bumps explode all over my body. When Lucas looped his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him, the heat of his body was surprising. Since I was always an average temperature, the presence of a werewolf was like standing next to an open flame. I was used to Desmond, but Lucas felt different somehow.

He nipped my earlobe, and I took a big swallow of the wine he’d given me.

“This is great. Cabernet?” The moment I said it I knew I was babbling like an idiot. Of course it wasn’t a cabernet; I could have figured that out on my own just from the taste.

“Pinot noir,” he whispered against my skin. The name of a wine had never sounded so sensual.

Damn my fickle libido. A familiar hot tingle was stealing through me, turning to molten heat under the surface of my skin. Everywhere he touched me—and his hands were roaming now—felt like I was being burned. Only it wasn’t unpleasant. It was never unpleasant when Lucas touched me.

Which was why I tried to avoid it.

I understood perfectly well that my soul-bond with him made me respond to him as a mate. But I was living with Desmond, I
loved
Desmond, and where I came from it meant something to be in love. The problem with the bond was that my metaphysical connection to Lucas was actually stronger than my connection to Desmond. So although my emotional attachment to the wolf lieutenant was deeper, my bond to Lucas was almost overpowering. It had overshadowed the secondary bond altogether the first time I met the two of them.

When I was in close quarters with Lucas—with his hands all over me and his voice so intoxicating in my ear—the bond fought to squash reason.
Sure, you love Desmond
, it said,
but this is right too.

According to Lucas it
was
right for me to love them both. But I think he still wanted me to love him more. And I think it was driving him crazy knowing I was having sex with Desmond but still hadn’t shared that part of myself with him. Most men would be pretty frustrated waiting almost a year to bed their girlfriend. I can’t imagine it made it easier to know I was getting satisfaction somewhere else, while Lucas got none.

At least I hoped he wasn’t finding his satisfaction somewhere else.