Zoltan, the ruler of the Demons of Fear, makes a final attempt at destroying the Stealth Guardians once and for all. This time, he will stop at nothing, and—in disguise— he seduces Enya, the Stealth Guardian female he’s been lusting after for a long time. However, to his shock, he must realize that even a demon as powerful as Zoltan can be brought to his knees by a woman.
But can there be a future for a love between two mortal enemies?
Totally unedited excerpt
Enya drew from the straw and savored the feeling of the refreshing cocktail cooling her heated body, until the glass was empty but for the ice cubes that hadn’t had a chance to melt. She’d needed this. Lately, life at the compound she shared with her fellow Stealth Guardians wasn’t the same. All five males were now bonded to their respective mates, and physical affection was being displayed everywhere and at all hours. It was positively sickening—particularly since she had nobody.
Not that she wanted anybody. She did fine on her own. Perfectly fine. She didn’t want a mate, didn’t want to be shackled to an overbearing man who would probably curtail her freedom under the guise of wanting to protect her. Bullshit! No way was she going to tie herself to anybody. Sure, she occasionally had an itch to scratch, but that was what one-night stands were for. And bars such as the one she was currently visiting. The bartender, Drew, knew her, though she’d never divulged more than her first name and her preferred drink—a Pimm’s with ginger ale.
“How about another one?”
The question didn’t come from Drew behind the bar, but from somebody who’d taken a seat on one of the barstools close to her. Enya turned her head a few inches to the right and scrutinized the man. It took her only ten seconds to assess him. By the looks of it, the guy spent way too much time on his physical appearance. His hair was sleek, his clothes Euro-trash fashionable, his fingernails better manicured than her own. And judging by the glassy look in his eyes, he was inebriated. Most likely, he wouldn’t even be able to get it up. And she was in no mood to coax a wilting cock into action.
“I’ll get my own, thanks,” she said, and turned her head back to the bartender. “Drew?” She pointed to her glass, and he nodded.
“Hey, come on, lady,” the pretty boy continued. He motioned to the other customers sitting at the tables. “It’s not like there’s anybody else here who’s even remotely in your league.”
She cast him a sideways look. “If that’s meant to be a compliment, you’re not doing it right.”
Enya glanced at Drew, who was busy mixing her drink.
“Come on, you know what kind of bar this is. No woman comes in here to drink by herself.” He motioned to her outfit. “Particularly not in that kind of getup.”
Enya felt annoyance crawl up her spine. She knew she was wearing provocative clothing: a black bustier, a short leather skirt of the same color, and high heels. Her leather jacket hung on a hook underneath the bar. “Maybe I’m waiting for someone.”
“You’ve found him.” Pretty boy grinned and made a welcoming gesture with his arms.
“Trust me, you look nothing like him.” The kind of man she was looking for tonight was somebody a little less polished, a little more rugged, and way less civilized. She was in the mood for wild sex and not the tepid action this half-drunk would provide.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Drew reach for her empty glass and at the same time set the new drink in front of her. She turned back to him, a thank you already on her lips, when the guy next to her put his hand on her forearm. She whirled her face to him, ready to slap him. She didn’t get the chance.
“Take your hand off my girlfriend’s arm, or I’ll break your wrist.” The deep, menacing voice coming from behind her sent a tantalizing shiver down her spine, and fear into the drunk’s eyes. As if burned, he withdrew his hand.
“Maybe you should leave,” her rescuer added.
The drunk fumbled for something in his pocket—his wallet, as it turned out—and tossed a few bills on the bar. Even faster, he jumped off the barstool and hurried toward the door. Slowly, Enya started to turn toward the man whose voice had sent that delicious sensation through her body. If a voice could make her come, it was this one. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up. She’d heard many a radio DJ’s voice and imagined him to be a hot hunk, only to be disappointed when she saw a picture.
“Thank you, though it wasn’t necessary. I could have handled him myself,” she said automatically when she was fully turned toward him—and stared at his chest. She had to tilt her head back to see his face, because her rescuer didn’t only have a deep voice, he was also much taller than she’d expected.
“I’m sure you could have.”
Enya barely heard his reply, her eyes drinking in the man’s features. Hunk didn’t exactly describe him. No, he was more than that. He was Jason Momoa, Cary Grant, and Jensen Ackles rolled into one. One perfect male specimen with olive skin, brown eyes, dark hair, and a goatee surrounding his full lips, behind which white teeth gleamed invitingly. His shoulders were broad, and the business suit he wore couldn’t disguise his muscular build. The top button of his shirt was open, hinting at the dark hair on his broad chest.
Enya swallowed, suddenly parched.
“Well, he’s gone now. Enjoy your drink.” He motioned to her glass and took a seat a few places farther down the long wooden bar, leaving three empty barstools between them. Stunned, she watched the bartender approach him. Quickly, she glanced at her rescuer’s fingers. No wedding ring. So why had he not taken the seat next to hers after so gallantly rescuing her?
“What’s your poison?” Drew asked.
“Scotch, neat, please.”
“Coming right up.”
As Drew turned to pull an expensive bottle off one of the upper shelves, Enya called out to him, “Drew, put the scotch on my tab.”
Drew looked over his shoulder. “You sure?”
“Chivalry should be rewarded.” She turned back to the stranger, who now looked at her, a hesitant smile on his face.
“I only did what any guy would have done. No need to buy me a drink, ma’am.”
At the formal salutation, she cringed. She didn’t want to be called ma’am. It sounded like she was a shriveled-up spinster. “My name’s Enya.”
She hopped off her barstool and took a seat on the empty place next to him. He appeared surprised.
“Eric, Eric Vaughn,” he said. “I had the impression earlier that you weren’t looking for company. Please don’t feel obligated to talk to me just because I made that ass leave.”
Drew slid her glass in front of her and placed a scotch in front of Eric. “Cheers.”
“Don’t worry, I never do anything I don’t want to do,” Enya replied. “But if you’d rather enjoy your drink by yourself, I’ll move back to my original seat.”
He lifted his glass. “Please don’t. I would enjoy a good conversation tonight that doesn’t involve investment strategies or risk assessment.”
He shook his head. “Investment manager. Private equity. Boring as hell.”
Enya took her glass and clinked it to his. “Then how about we don’t talk about investments tonight?”
“That’s a great idea.” Eric took a sip from his scotch.
“I have lots of great ideas.” One of them was to rip Eric’s clothes off and jump his bones. But, of course, she couldn’t do this right here. Instead, she let her gaze linger on his hands and imagined what they would feel like on her skin. Was he the kind of guy who talked dirty during sex? With a voice like his, he wouldn’t have to do much else to bring her to an earth-shattering orgasm.
She ripped her gaze from his hands. “Yes?”
“I asked if you live in Baltimore or whether you’re just here for business.”
“I live here.” She tried to make her response sound smooth, when in reality she was flustered and behaving like a ditsy blonde. A ditsy blonde who’d unexpectedly been handed the keys to a Maserati. And she wouldn’t return this car before she’d taken it for a spin.