Enjoy!
BLURB:
Dagney Night, a
sought-after succubus, is no stranger to blazing hot sex. But as Valentine’s
Day approaches, she longs for something more. When oddly erotic paintings
arrive for display at her art gallery, arousing everyone who views them, she
wonders about the mysterious artist who created the works.
Maxwell Raines, a
fire-sex demon, lives a life of solitude and seclusion behind the walls of his
compound at Sleepy Hollow, channeling his lustful impulses into his art—until
his muse deserts him and his temperature rises past the danger point. He needs
sex. Now.
When Madame
Evangeline arranges a torrid Valentine’s 1Night Stand for them, will the flames
of their encounter be too hot to handle?
EXCERPT:
Dagney followed her sister’s
glance, and her heart flipped like a gymnast unable to nail a vault. Darkness
swathed the gallery with the exception of the lights above or below each of
the paintings. The large man emerging from the shadows held her rapt. Waves
of pure, unadulterated lust smacked her with such force she didn’t even see
Lily and Campbell leave. The blast of raw desire crumpled her to the floor.
Her gaze remained riveted on the tall hunk of ferocious male stalking toward
her, radiating undiluted carnality. He set something carefully on the floor
and grasped her by the elbows, his touch surprisingly gentle when he lifted
her to her feet.
“I’m Maxwell Raines.”
Yeah.
No kidding. Who
else could a guy so hot, so studly,
possibly be?
She told herself not to swoon.
Ordered herself not to swoon. But, Goddess, that rumbling voice. More potent
than a train barreling over the tracks. And he smelled so good. Sinfully
masculine. A bit of musk, a bite of pine, an essence of dark, smoky nights.
Sexy scents. Reminiscent of tangled satin sheets that had been given a good
work-out.
Her legs turned to rubber, and
she doubted they’d support her on their own. She’d be mortified if he’d have
to scrape her puddled body up again. But he hadn’t yet relaxed his grip.
Could she bullshit her way through the meeting without collapsing? “You’re
late,” she said.
“I’m never late.”
“Well, the party’s over, Mr.
Raines.” She waved a hand around the empty room.
“Depends on your perspective.”
“You’re big on perspective, are
you?”
“I’m a painter.” A brief shrug
accompanied his blunt words. “Obvious connection.”
“Right. But as you can see,
everyone’s left.”
“You haven’t.” He gazed down at
her, a black brow flaring. “And you’re what I’m here for.”
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