Excerpt: He Loves Me, He Loves Me Hot

Excerpt: He Loves Me, He Loves Me Hot

Book 3: Immortally Sexy

Becca slapped her hand over Paige’s mouth as a chill shot up Becca’s spine. He was here.

She shoved Paige aside, spun toward the room, keeping the wall at their backs.


“Quiet.” She scanned the room, searching. It was dark. So many bodies. So many scents. But she could definitely sense the man who’d nearly killed her two weeks ago when she’d tried to harvest his black soul. He’d convinced her he was human until the last instant, and her idiocy had almost gotten her killed. She’d been searching for him for the last two weeks, and now, he was at the club. Watching her. If she could find him, persuade him to tell her who’d hired him, and then kill them both, she’d feel so much better about the fact she was still tied to Satan and would have no future if he succeeded in taking her out.

She could feel him. But where?

“Omigod.” Paige clutched her arm. “You see someone. What? Who?”

“Go to the bar and wait for me there.” She had to get the kid away from the danger. Now.

“Right. I’m gone.” Paige sprinted away, dodging entwined couples and groping men as she headed toward the bar and safety.

Becca found him on her second pass.

He was leaning against the other end of the bar, wearing faded jeans, well-worn hiking boots, a dark T shirt and a leather jacket that looked like it had been through a few battles. His face was angular and sharp, his whiskers too long to be called five-clock shadow, but too short to be called a beard. His eyes were hooded under the rim of a black baseball cap, but his fingers were resting loosely around a martini glass. Tan hands, leading into forearms that were strong and sinewy, arms that had spent time working outdoors at something far more strenuous than golf or sailing.

He gave her a deliberate nod that was so stereotypically manly-man that she wanted to shoot him with a fireball just to make him take her seriously. But if she killed him first, she wouldn’t find out who’d hired him.

Patience was a sometimes a bitch.

Mr. Rugged He-Man shoved back his bar stool, stood up and headed toward her, and her belly actually coiled up in anticipation of his approach. He wasn’t even looking at her breasts like all the lechers in the place were, but he was brimming with sexual energy and an overall sense of potency that made her blood thud as it raced through her body.

She watched him approach and suddenly realized she’d been wrong. He wasn’t the man who’d stabbed her in the side two weeks ago. This guy was quite a bit taller than her original assailant. Close to six five, with shoulders that would knock down a brick wall.

But he had the same aura. Same energy. Whatever the first man had been, this guy was the same. But this guy was deadlier. She could tell just by the way the air parted in front of him. He was different. He was more.

He stopped in front of her and stared down at her, and she wanted to lean into the wall of potent energy that he carried. Sex, but more than sex. Passion. Heat. Fire. Rage. Joy. Love. Grief. Violence. All of it twisted up into one pulsating web of heated emotion. Every emotion she had to deny about herself in order to stay sane.

I want him.

She blinked in surprise at the thought, then realized it was completely true. But she didn’t just want him as a man. She wanted him for all the rumbling emotions brewing inside him. She wanted to wrap herself around his boiling inner core and see what it was like to be alive like that.

Whoa, girl . That would seriously screw her up if she touched him like that and then had to return to her own delightful life of being bitter, cynical and alone. Paige might have been born without a shred of self-preservation instincts, but Becca had them.

Which meant this bubbling cauldron of maleness was going home alone tonight.

Or without her, at least.

And she was perfectly okay with that. Really.

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