Forbidden love is hell...
Confident and quirky, Jo Sanford thinks her boss is God's gift to women--and she couldn't be further from the truth. Devilishly handsome, Luc DeVille will stop at nothing to lure his administrative assistant right into his arms--and bed.
Over Rafe Goodman's dead body...
Rafe, Jo's best friend, refuses to sit by and watch as Luc tries to win the heart of the woman he's always protected. After all, Rafe is her guardian angel. Suddenly, Jo's caught in the middle of a battle between good and evil. But the closer she gets to the fire, the hotter it burns. Now, Jo's going to learn that when love battles lust, Heaven and Hell collide.
Excerpt
To my surprise, Mr. DeVille scratches Atticus behind the ears instead of pushing him away. “Since we’re stuck here, what should we do?” Finished with his sandwich, he wipes his mouth with his thumb. I’d have been more than willing to lick it clean for him.
A pounding on the door interrupts us. Dadgumit, just when things are about to get interesting with Mr., er, Luc. I scurry to the door, intent on getting rid of whoever it is. I find Rafe holding a bag of food and two cups of coffee.
“Hey, I figured your power was still out, so I brought you some coffee and breakfast.” His eyes scan my small apartment, narrowing when he spies Luc.
Mr. DeVille smirks. “What impeccable timing. Goodman, is it?” He casually swings his legs over the side of the bed and steps into his pants.
“Yes, sir.” Although polite, Rafe’s voice has an edge to it. The tension in the air snaps like an impending storm. “The roads are clear, although Mrs. Cabot called and said not to come to work today since schools are still closed and the power remains off for much of the area. Here included, I see.”
“How astute of you to notice. No wonder I pay you the big bucks. Of course Mrs. Cabot said to stay home. It isn’t her losing money, is it?”
Mr. DeVille pulls off my sweatshirt, revealing those cut abs. I stare unabashedly, and Rafe snaps his fingers in front of my face. Luc buttons his shirt, glaring at Rafe the entire time.
“Well, Friday. Thank you for the hospitality. I’m sure since Goodman
flew here on the icy roads to check on you, I’ll have no problems getting home. I suggest you take today to study for your classes, and remember I’ll be more than happy to help with your homework assignments.” His eyes flash with desire, and my cheeks heat.
Rafe snarls, looking positively feral.
“A-Are you sure the roads are okay? Would you like a cup of this coffee before you go?”
“I only brought two cups,” Rafe protests.
Shocked by his rudeness—and to our boss, no less—I quickly offer, “
Mr. DeVille can have my cup.”
What has gotten into him?
Ignoring Rafe, Mr. DeVille turns to me as he shrugs into his coat. “That’s quite all right. Thank you, Friday.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink and a smile.
Rafe, in comparison, receives a cool nod. The hair on my arms stands on end when Mr. DeVille stops and turns to face my friend. I must be having some sort of low blood sugar event because I swear it looks like the rims of his blue eyes have turned the color of a hot stove eye. I blink and find him glaring at Rafe, and the look is returned in kind. Good thing we aren’t living in a century past. If we were, I’m quite certain there would be a duel at fifty paces. He leaves without saying another word.
Rafe slams the door with a muttered, “Good riddance.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” He ignores my sarcasm.
I sigh and gratefully accept the warm to-go cup. I can’t stay mad at him for long; he’s my best friend.
And he has coffee.
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During the day, Nancee works as a nurse in the field of addiction to support her coffee and reading habit. Nights are spent writing paranormal and contemporary romances with a serrated edge. Authors are her rock stars, and she’s been known to stalk a few for an autograph, but not in a scary, Stephen King way. Her husband swears her To-Be-Read list on her e-reader qualifies her as a certifiable book hoarder. Always looking to try something new, she dreams of being an extra in a Bollywood film, or a tattoo artist. (Her lack of rhythm and artistic ability may put a damper on both of these dreams.)
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