Devil's Angel (43 page)
Authors: Mallery Malone
“I hope we have not intruded on your territory,” Keavy was saying. “My friends and I simply could not stay in any longer on a day such as this, the first day to bring a little of the warmth and sunlight of spring with it.” She smiled. “You seem to have felt the same way.”
The bird drew himself up and ruffled his feathers, never taking his fierce gaze from her. Keavy took one last step forward. “I want to remember this,” she said, lifting one hand a little, as though she longed to reach out for him but dared not. “Already this was a special day, and now it is even more so…”
Then Keavy did raise her hand, slowly and cautiously, clearly hoping to touch his soft golden-brown feathers. Yet she did not have to reach far. The eagle raised himself up and stretched out, extending the tip of one great wing straight toward Keavy’s face.
She closed her eyes as the smooth dark gold feathers brushed gently over her cheek and the surface of her hair. Then the bird settled back onto his branch, still watching her.
Keavy could not speak for a moment. She could only gaze back with a look of wonder in her green eyes, clearly understanding that she stood in the presence of something magical. “All my life I have heard the tales of such things as this,” she whispered. “Tales of those who had the power to change their shape if they chose—into a hunting wolf or a leaping salmon or even a great golden eagle. I can only believe that this must be what you are.”
The bird ruffled his feathers again and opened and closed his sharp, curving beak, though he made no sound. “And if you have power enough to take the form of one so magnificent as the eagle, you must be a great druid—or maybe even a king.”
The bird gave a short cry and cocked his head.
“Always I will remember this,” Keavy said, her eyes shining, and took a step back.
The eagle raised his wings as though ready to take flight; but instead he carefully preened the feathers of his right wing and then dropped one golden-brown feather to the fresh new grass below the birch tree. As Keavy watched, entranced, the eagle did the same with his left wing, and a second gold-brown feather fell to earth. At last the great bird ducked his head and ran his curving black beak through the plumage over his heart, and dropped a third and final feather to the grass.
Then, with a loud cry, the eagle leaped up from his branch and climbed into the air on great strokes of his powerful wings. Keavy swung her head to follow his flight, her pale hair heavy as it swept behind her. The eagle circled overhead, waiting until she picked up the three feathers from the grass; and then, with a last cry of farewell, he soared away on the currents of the sky until he was lost from sight.
Summertime…and the living is steamy in Hotlanta.
Lady Sings the Blues
© 2008 Mallery Malone
A
Red-Hot Summer
Story
Alina Gabriel has hit on the perfect formula to make her club, The Scarlet Lady, the hot spot in Atlanta’s night life. Men flock to see her alter ego, retired exotic dancer Miss Scarlet; and women line up to see Joshua Hanover and his blues band steam up the stage.
Alina herself isn’t immune to the blind guitarist’s sensual songs and musical dexterity, but she refuses to be just another notch in his groupie belt.
That is, until Joshua debuts a new song, “Red-Letter Woman”, to entice Miss Scarlet to dance. The song and dance leave them both hot and bothered, and when Alina retreats to her office for personal relief, Joshua joins her and offers to strum her desire.
But Joshua wants more than a one-night stand. He’s pushing for an encore, and Alina wonders if it’s her he’s after—or her exotic persona.
Warning: This title contains sensuous solos, decadent duets, dirty dancing, and a man who’s really good with his hands.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Lady Sings the Blues:
Hotlanta was earning its nickname tonight.
Alina Gabriel surveyed the crowd packing the lower level of her club, The Scarlet Lady. Ladies’ night always brought out a good crowd of hot bodies wanting to see and be seen. She’d made sure the beer tubs and bars were well stocked, knowing that scantily clad women would be rushing the nearest bartender to order shots, beers and fruity drinks.
The anticipated rush had nothing to do with the ninety-degree temperature outside. She had Joshua Hanover to thank for that.
Brilliant blue eyes, somewhere on the spectrum between turquoise and teal, mesmerized the crowd through luscious dark lashes. His hair called to mind a luxurious mink coat, sleek, rich, begging to be touched. Generous lips almost always caught in a secret smile softened the strength of his features, the determined chin and proud nose.
Still, Alina knew it wasn’t just his looks that had women packing The Scarlet Lady three nights a week. No, she also had his guitar to thank.
For Joshua, his guitar was muse, lover, friend. It was bitch, goddess, mistress. He loved it as much as he needed it. He could make it cry and sing and moan. Every woman who flocked to his performances wanted to be his guitar.
Night after night Alina would watch as his fingers, long and strong and callused at the tips, danced over each string, stroking, pressing, plucking. Every woman in the audience felt an answering chord strum deep in the channel of her sex. If they didn’t, they were dead.
Alina wished she could be immune to his charms, but she wasn’t. After nearly three months of performances she still creamed her panties watching him make love with his guitar. Joshua had been very good for her bottom line, but he was hell on her hormones.
Not that Joshua noticed, she thought ruefully. He didn’t notice his hordes of adoring fans either, no matter how desperately they jockeyed for position during his shows, knowing he was single. When Joshua performed, he was in a world by himself, with his band, Blue Highway, there almost as window dressing.
Even if he would glance up from molding his guitar to his will to whip the audience into sonic bliss, he wouldn’t see the thinner, prettier and more desperate women clamoring for his attention. He wouldn’t see Alina standing at the glass wall of her second-floor office or prowling the bar top.
Joshua was blind.
Sometimes he wore tinted shades over those magnificent eyes, sometimes he didn’t. Having sat across from him in her office on more than one occasion, Alina was glad Joshua couldn’t see. Otherwise he’d realize just how hot and bothered he made her.
She bit her lip in sexual frustration. The need had been building all night. Blues music always made her horny—Joshua’s music intensified that desire. Joshua’s specialty: singing sensual songs about softly sexing someone.
God, he made her wet.
“You going down, Miss Scarlet? He’s playing your song.”
Alina looked up, surprised to see Bobby, one of her bouncers, standing a step below her. She surveyed the crowd and found a large portion of the male contingent turned her way, rhythmically clapping. Over the applause, she could hear the bluesy opening riffs of what they’d all come to think of as her song, “Red-Letter Woman”.
Alina smiled. As much as the women came to see Joshua, the men came to see her in her club persona as the Scarlet Lady. Miss Scarlet was known to dance atop the main bar with a riding crop in one hand and a bottle of Stoli in the other. She’d made her money by looking good, and knew she had exercise to thank as much as the genes passed down from her black father and Latina mother.
Tonight she had a different sort of exercise in mind, thanks to Joshua and his damned guitar. Since she had a while to go before she could sneak away to her private office, she’d have to get her kicks by dancing instead. The bar top wasn’t going to cut it, though. Joshua had gotten her hot. It was time to return the favor.
Joshua hid a smile as the applause grew louder, accompanied by whistles and catcalls. Miss Scarlet had obviously taken the bait and agreed to grace the club with a dance.
He didn’t need to see her. His band mates couldn’t talk about anything or anyone else since they’d started this gig. They debated whether she was black, white, Latina, or a combination of all three. Not that it mattered. A hot woman was a hot woman, his sax man said, and everyone agreed Miss Scarlet was definitely that.
Alina Gabriel, aka Miss Scarlet, wore a shade of red every day. Pete had gotten good at describing every outfit she wore and every move she made. Tonight, Miss Scarlet wore a pair of red leather boots with lacing up the back, a strip of black that would be a skirt on a first grader, a red corset and matching gloves up to her elbows.
Joshua hadn’t seen colors or much of anything else since he was twelve, but he remembered red. It was his favorite color.
No, he didn’t need to see her to know her. He knew the husky alto of her voice, the particular cadence of her words as they talked business and shows and receipts in her office. He knew her scent, a tantalizing combination of licorice and ginger and sometimes leather whenever she passed him. He knew that most days in her heels her chin topped his shoulder, which probably put her at five-seven in her bare feet. He knew she had a soft laugh that made things tighten low in his gut.
He knew he wanted her. Hell, every man in the club wanted her—and some of the women too. He also knew he didn’t have a chance. It wouldn’t stop him from trying, though.
Devil’s Angel
Mallery Malone
Love demands she lay down every last weapon…
Conor mac Ferghal wears his nickname, the Devil, like the visible scars on his face—and the invisible scars on his soul. The fearsome chieftain of Dunlough lives to protect his people, right down to the fishing village invaded by a marauding band of Viking mercenaries.
When he realizes the pale-haired warrior who almost bests him is a woman, his first instinct is to fling her unconscious body into a mud dungeon.
Erika Silverhair awakens, shocked to find herself and her men accused as the aggressors. She and her warriors have spent three years of Danish exile selling their skills for gold, defending the weak and the innocent. And no one, not even an intimidating giant like Conor, will take away the freedom that is her birthright.
There is only one way to settle matters—finish the duel begun on the battlefield. Before the dark passion drawing them closer and closer threatens their closely guarded hearts.
Warning: Contains a powerful Irish warrior, a daring Viking miss, and swords. Lots of swords. What’s a little swordplay between lovers?
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Devil’s Angel
Copyright © 2013 by Mallery Malone
ISBN: 978-1-61921-438-5
Edited by Jennifer Miller
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: April 2013
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