Desert of the Damned

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Desert of the Damned

ISBN 9781419919527

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Desert of the Damned Copyright © 2008 Kathy Kulig

Edited by Helen Woodall.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

Electronic book Publication December 2008

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

DESERT OF THE DAMNED

Kathy Kulig

Dedication

For my enthusiastic and talented critique partners—Becky Bartlett, Kathleen Coddington and Karen Rose. And special thanks to Pattie Giordani, the grammar goddess, and Terri Prizzi, the brainstorming goddess.

Acknowledgements

Authors do research even when creating paranormal worlds. I’m grateful to the following—Georgia G. Colasante MS. SM (NRM), Microbiology Manager. Janice Curran and Mitzi Flyte for their cat expertise. And my sister Carol Nicholas, past National Park Service employee and Hot Shot firefighter.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction,

Cinderella: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Colt: New Colt Holding Corp.

Disney: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Frankenstein: Universal City Studios, Inc.

Jeep: DaimlerChrysler Corporation

Magnum: Smith & Wesson Inc.

Ziploc: S. C. Johnson Home Storage, Inc.

Desert of the Damned

Chapter One

The smell of smoke drew Amy Weston out of a deep sleep. As her mind fought through her grogginess, she stared at the orange shadows flickering across her stucco walls. The waving colors nearly hypnotized her back to sleep then logic shook her fully awake.

Fire.

She bolted upright in bed.

From the window on the opposite wall she could see that the fire was outside. A chorus of toads and crickets sang their night song as the desert breeze stirred her sheer curtains. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and inhaled deeply.

Not dreaming.

Hopping out of bed, she rushed to the window and peered out. The glow of a campfire shone behind the saguaro cactus and the mesquite bushes about fifty yards from her house.

The silhouette of a man stood beside the fire. Dante Akando was summoning her.

The digital clock read twelve a.m. The hour. She groaned as if complaining but between her legs the throb of her pussy gave away her desire. Thanks to all the subtle teasing at work and impromptu meetings in Dante’s office, where he’d described raw details of his sex games, her body hummed in anticipation.

He was good—very good—impossible to resist. And he was just what she needed right now—a man who had a taste for adventurous sex and was eager to explore the dark side of her passions. Like her, Dante didn’t want any emotional ties. She had been intrigued by his looks the day she was forced to transfer to the new division of Drake Diagnostic Labs and, since she didn’t plan to stay long, having a brief affair with her boss didn’t seem like a problem. The sexual chemistry had been immediate and bone deep. How could she say no? Someday she would find someone special and consider a more permanent arrangement but for the moment, she didn’t need the hassles.

As much as her body ached for Dante, she should resist him. She had to get up for work early and she was exhausted. Did she dare ignore his campfire call and curl back in her comfortable bed? Her hand reached beneath her silk chemise and slid over her breasts. Her nipples were raw and erect, sensitive to the touch. She squeezed them and imagined Dante’s hands on her then glided her hand down her flat belly, over the curly hair and patted her bud. In moments it was swollen and throbbing, aching for more.

Oh, she wanted him all right.
Damn him. I’ll never get back to sleep now.

What was the use? The dancing lights on her bedroom walls grew brighter, signaling his impatience.

5

Kathy Kulig

Tugging the thin chemise over her head, she tossed it on the floor, then yanked the Indian blanket from her bed. Why did he affect her this way? She walked back to the window but there was no sign of him—only the silhouettes of the saguaro cactus with its outstretched arms. Stepping into moccasins, she grabbed a flashlight, then strode out of her house.

The night air was cool and she pulled the red, black and orange blanket tightly around her. Dante had bought it for her at the flea market, not the trading post, so it probably was a Mexican blanket and not Indian but it was beautiful just the same and a thoughtful gift. Still, it was a puzzling gift considering Dante Akando said he was part Navajo. She would’ve thought he would only buy native crafts. As she followed the path off her property onto open land, the light of her flashlight and the campfire lit her way. The sky was dark, millions of brilliant stars glittered like shards of crystal.

Stepping around scrub pines and clumps of prickly pear cactus, she approached a large mesquite bush. On the other side of the spiny tree the campfire blazed.

Another Indian blanket lay beside the fire. Dante was nowhere around. But she knew he had to be close, watching her.

“Dante? I’m here.” She pulled her blanket up to her chin. A breeze swirled around her and under, teasing her moist pussy. She felt a growing heat and moisture between her legs. Where was he? Every nerve simmered with anticipation. “Dante, come on. I’m here. We have to work tomorrow. I can’t stay long.”

She wasn’t afraid of the desert night. He said the fire would keep her safe from the night creatures. Recalling his game of seduction, she dropped her covering and stretched out naked on the blanket, her body raw, exposed, vulnerable.

The flames crackled and sent sprays of sparks into the air. Peering into the dark shadows surrounding the campfire, Amy tried to spot her mysterious lover but saw no sign of him. She was supposed to wait.

As she closed her eyes, a shiver that was a slightly panicked feeling mixed with desire rippled through her body. Ignoring his instructions, she opened her eyes again and scanned the area. Still no Dante.

Only a cool breeze brushed over her skin, tightening her nipples to hard points. As she stared into the fire, her vision blurred. How long had she been there? She chuckled to herself. What if she fell asleep when Dante returned? How would he react? She suspected his ego wouldn’t handle that well. Was this a test to see how long she’d wait?

Well, she wouldn’t wait for much longer. Damn, she forgot her watch. She had no idea how long she’d been out there.

Sighing heavily with impatience, she decided to go against his game and move. She stroked her breasts, drawing circles around her nipple with her fingertip. Maybe she could entice him. Her body sizzled with need, wanting his touch. He had promised to meet her. She wanted him on top of her now. She slid her hand across her breasts and squeezed each mound. Damn him, where was he?

6

Desert of the Damned

The turpentine scent of the mesquite bushes and pungent earth drifted on the breeze. Her fingers pinched her nipples until they were sensitive and erect, then she slid her hand down across her stomach to her mound. She spread her folds, dipping one finger inside for a moment, then rubbed her bud until it swelled. She sucked in a breath.

“Mmmm. That looks nice,” said a husky voice behind the massive saguaro cactus.

She jumped, removing her hand from her pussy and sat up. “Dante.”

He gave a low, sultry laugh. The fever of wanting sex penetrated her very soul.

Dante stood over her, bare-chested and wearing buckskin pants. He was playing his role, she thought, claiming his part-Navajo heritage. In the firelight, she could see his dark brown, almost black eyes glinting with mischief and sensuality. As he moved to the campfire and tossed on a couple of dried branches, she admired his gleaming, straight black hair brushing over his broad shoulders.

The firelight did amazing things to enhance every muscle in his back and arms. She suspected he was taking his time, teasing her because he knew his power over her—his voice alone could awaken her lust. Every inch of her body ached for him. Their friendship had quickly moved into a physical, seductive phase. In past encounters he’d pleasured her beyond her imagination with only one complaint—he never completely fucked her.

“You moved,” he said. “And your eyes are open.”

“What?”

“You moved. You’re supposed to wait with your arms over your head, your legs spread and your eyes closed. That’s the game. Those were my instructions.”

Tight-jawed, she sighed to herself and stared past him into the fire. He was good but was it worth it?

With the added wood, the bonfire blazed and the heat warmed her naked skin. She was mesmerized by the fingers of fire dancing above the logs. When she saw a small fur mound a few feet from the circle of stones she gasped, her hand cupping her mouth.

“What’s that?” She pointed.

Dante turned around. “Raccoon. A dead one.”

“I didn’t notice him when I first got here.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He smiled. “Not very observant, are you? Looks like he’s been dead awhile.”

She ignored his snide remark. “Poor thing. I wonder what happened.” Was she stalling? Why was she suddenly feeling self-conscious around him? Or just frustrated?

He shrugged. Leaning over her, his round black stone pendant swung on a leather cord inches from her face. The stone was shaped like a spiral with white specks, reminding her of a galaxy.

“What kind of stone is that?” She reached up to touch it but he pressed her hand back down over her head. He held up the stone between two fingers, rubbing his thumb over the swirling pattern in the center.

“It’s called a nebula stone.”

7

Kathy Kulig

“Is there a significance? Some stones are supposed to have certain New Age properties.”