Temptation's Heat

  TEMPTATION’S HEAT

  Book One in the Shadowguard Series

  Michelle Zink

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges mention of the following trademarked products that are the sole property of their respective owners, and used fictitiously in the text: Audi R8.

  Copyright © 2012 by Michelle Zink.

  Temptation’s Heat by Michelle Zink

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance.

  Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Month9Books, LLC.

  No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Edited by Georgia McBride

  Cover design by Su Kopil

  Cover art copyright©: Swoon Romance 2012

  eBook formatting by Studio 22 Productions

  One

  Rowen Black leaned against the brick wall, taking in the formidable building across the street.

  Shadowguard Security Services, LLC.

  The sign hung on a massive Gothic mansion that had somehow been restored to its former grandeur without drawing attention to itself. Typical. Even in an old railroad town like Clifton, the Shadowguard was carefully under the radar.

  Established in the 1980s, Shadowguard Security Services had grown to over two hundred offices worldwide, all of them populated with angelic descendants tasked with addressing potential threats from the demons of the Legion.

  Sure, the Treaty was in effect, but that didn’t mean they could afford to be lazy.

  To the outside world, Shadowguard was a profitable, privately held firm specializing in physical and digital security, counter-measures, and surveillance. To the descendants of the Alliance and the demons of the Legion, it was ground zero for enforcement of a Treaty that had insured a balance between the forces of good and evil for eons—and the war for the souls of humanity that would start if it wasn’t honored.

  It was also home to Ambrose Montgomery, head of the Shadowguard and Rowen’s newest babysitter, thanks to his most recent run-in with the London police.

  It was one hell of a last resort. He’d expected to be kicked out of the Corp of Assassins, not promoted to Ambrose’s elite Shadowguard. But even that bizarre turn of events couldn’t mask the truth; the Alliance was out of patience. If Rowen didn’t get a handle on his notorious temper, he’d be kicked out for good.

  He pushed off the wall, one hand on the glaive at his waist, the pendant that channeled his ability to work the weapon snug beneath his shirt. He hardly noticed the women who turned to stare as he stalked across the street. It was nothing new. Women—mortal, descendants, and even the occasional member of the Legion were drawn to him like bees to honey, despite his frigid demeanor. Too bad they only interested him as a release for his insatiable sexual urges. He’d accepted the truth a long time ago; he was broken, defective, completely lacking the gene that required love and companionship.

  Fine with him. Life was simpler when you were loyal only to yourself.

  Crossing the street, he turned his attention to the building in front of him. His eyes roamed the exterior, marking the points on the roof and under the eaves where cameras were likely. Hell, they’d probably been watching him the whole time.

  The idea made him square his shoulders. Don’t be a pussy, Rowen.

  He took the porch steps two at a time, black jeans straining against his muscular thighs, his body taut with anticipation. He’d never met Ambrose’s men, but they served the same cause, united in their mission to hold the demons of the Legion accountable for any and all breaches of the Treaty. And while none of them had wings or the other accouterments that literature and art attributed to angels, they shared DNA that could be traced back to mankind’s earliest angelic ancestors.

  The door knocker was bronze, twisted into a familiar symbol: the Flower of Life, hallmark of the descendants and the Akashic records—a recording of all earthly events; past, present and future that they protected.

  He hit the heavy knocker against the plate and waited.

  A moment later the door opened to reveal a delicate blonde, her eyes so light green they resembled the sea foam that gathered in the shallow water back home in Scotland. She smiled, and for a moment, Rowen had the impression she was actually happy to see him.

  “May I help you?” she asked softly.

  “I’m Rowen Black.” He unconsciously lowered his voice. The little blonde seemed fragile, as if a harsh word might knock her backward.

  She stepped forward, crushing him in a spontaneous embrace. He stood there awkwardly, pressed against the silk of her coral blouse, wondering who the strange creature had mistaken him for.

  Finally, she stepped, back, smiling into his eyes. “We’ve been expecting you.” She held out a tiny hand. “I’m Lily Montgomery.”

  “Lily … Montgomery,” he repeated.

  She nodded. “Ambrose’s youngest daughter. Please come in.”

  He stepped inside, his gaze taking in the massive entry, the mahogany staircase, its treads covered in rich Persian carpeting, winding to a second floor. A phone rang somewhere in the distance, the soft rattle of typing a backdrop to the muffled voices coming from the rear of the house.

  Her gaze dropped to his empty hands. “Where are your things?”

  Rowen touched his hand to the glaive. It was standard issue, along with the sickle, for all members of the Corp. “I have what I need. Anything else, I usually pick up along the way.”

  “All right then. Follow me.”

  Two

  “This is bullshit. That kill was mine.”

  Scarlet watched with annoyance as her brother, Ivan, paced the floor. The rant was nothing new. No matter how much she tiptoed around him, he saw everything as an attack on his position in the Guard and the Montgomery family. Scarlet had made excuses for him after their mother had died. They had been close. But it was no use. Ivan’s biological father had disappeared when he was an infant, and although Ambrose Montgomery had adopted Ivan and raised the boy as his own, Ivan could never shake the feeling that he was less than his half-sisters, Scarlet and Lily. That his place in the family, and as a possible successor to Ambrose, was somehow compromised by his biological bloodline.

  Their father sat calmly at his desk, no sign of emotion on his weary face as Ivan paced the office. A swell of anger moved through Scarlet’s body. Ivan shouldn’t bother their father with something so minor. Not when his health was failing so rapidly.

  “You were struggling with the wraith,” she explained, trying to diffuse the situation. “I was only trying to help.”

  He barked out a harsh laugh and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. It was longer than regulation, but everyone picked their battles with Ivan. Not because they were afraid of him, but because he was such a pain in the ass that no one wanted to bother.

  “Only trying to help … Right,” he sneered. “That’s a good one. More like trying to make me look weak in front of Braden and Kane.”

  I don’t need to make you look weak, Scarlet thought. You do that all by yourself.

  She bit back the response.

  Their father spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “Familial relationship aside, it is incumbent upon your Guard brothers and sisters to aid you in battle when necessary.”

  “But I—”

  Their father held up a hand. “It is sometimes difficult to gauge whether one is in control in
battle. Perhaps you should give your sister the benefit of the doubt.”

  Scarlet tucked a piece of long, dark hair behind one ear. “Look, I’m sorry if I stepped in when I shouldn’t have. Braden and Kane had doubled down on the other wraith. It seemed stupid to stand there when I could help.”

  Ivan scowled at her. “I guess this is the part where you imply that you were the first one to make a kill?”

  Scarlet stifled her frustration. Ivan saw everything she said, everything she did, as a maneuver to make him look bad. It had gotten worse since their father’s illness, the possibility that a successor would have to be named—from family, as was tradition—looming in the back of both their minds. And while Scarlet couldn’t deny that she had a certain aptitude with the sickle and glaive, Ivan was just as likely to be considered for leadership. This despite the chip on his shoulder made it difficult for the other members of the Guard to like or respect him.

  She turned her attention back to the conversation. “The specter I had was an easy kill. Yours was probably a lot tougher.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “So now you’re patronizing me?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Scarlet threw up her hands and faced the window.

  Three

  Rowen followed Lily upstairs and down a series of long hallways. She came to a stop at a set of carved double doors. A voice, male and obviously angry, rose from inside. Rowen only had a second to wonder if it was Ambrose Montgomery before Lily placed her hand on the doorknob.

  Rowen reached out to stop her. “Maybe we should wait.”

  She laughed softly. “If we wait for them to stop arguing, we’ll be here all night.”

  Before he could say anything else, she opened the door, reached back for his arm, and pulled him into the room.

  The ranting continued. Rowen followed the sound of the tirade to a man pacing the hardwood floor that was covered with an array of exotic rugs.

  “Go ahead and play innocent,” the man railed. “But it can’t be coincidence that it’s always you who steps in when we’re fighting.”

  On closer inspection, the guy wasn’t any older than Rowen. Tall and wiry, he had the kind of lean muscle that could be deceiving on a man. You might even mistake him for scrawny. That would be a mistake. Guys like that always had something to prove.

  This was definitely not Ambrose Montgomery. Too young, for one thing, his face unlined, his hair thick and blond.

  Rowen glanced around the rest of the room, looking for the object of the man’s ire. He thought he’d found it in an elderly gentleman, sitting serenely behind an enormous desk. His hands formed a steeple in front of him, his eyes watchful of the younger man still pacing and ranting.

  But then someone else came into view. A woman, standing at the window with her back to the room, framed by the lush draperies on either side. All Rowen could see was a tangle of glossy, chestnut hair falling in waves to a pronounced waist above a tight, shapely ass.

  The woman turned around. “Maybe it’s because no one else cares whether you make it out alive,” she snapped. “Ever think of that?”

  Her bone structure was aristocratic, her delicate features almost eclipsed by a full mouth and eyes that flashed like emerald fire. Her skin was as smooth as alabaster under the heat of the anger flushing her cheeks. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty, her body tight and toned under form-fitting black pants, the swell of her breasts visible in the neckline of her white t-shirt. Desire rushed through his body like a wildfire in the moment before she set her eyes on him.

  Her expression hardened. “You must be Rowen Black. Don’t they knock in London?”

  Four

  The words were out before Scarlet could stop them. Everything else froze in her brain as she took in the man standing in the doorway next to her sister.

  The guy was huge. His jeans strained against massive thighs. Dark blue ink trailed across biceps that bulged under a short-sleeve t-shirt, and his black hair was cut close to the scalp, making his strong features seem chiseled from stone. There was something dark and watchful in his brown eyes that went beyond the training they’d all endured as part of the Shadowguard. Despite his size, Scarlet had the sense that he could be in motion in under a second.

  “Don’t mind her,” Lily said, breaking the spell of silence. “She’s still working on her manners.”

  Rowen Black—and Scarlet was sure this was Rowen Black, they’d been expecting him—pulled his gaze from hers. His eyes skimmed over Ivan and landed on her father.

  “My apologies, sir, for interrupting.”

  Scarlet caught the hint of accent. Not British, as she’d expected, but something else. Irish, or maybe Scottish?

  “It’s my fault, Father,” Lily said. “I insisted. I thought you’d want to meet Rowen before we get him settled.”

  Her father pushed his chair back from the desk. Scarlet hurried to his side, taking his hand to help him rise. She had to swallow a pang of sadness. She could still see him, young and virile, sparring against the Guard as Scarlet, armed with a miniature training sickle and glaive of her own, watched with envy, determined that she, too, would one day fight alongside the men her father trained, the fiercest of the Corp’s warriors.

  “Please, come in,” her father said to Rowen, still standing in the doorway. “Don’t mind my Scarlet. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but she bit back a smart-ass retort. She couldn’t care less about Rowen Black, but she wouldn’t disrespect her father.

  The air seemed to change as Rowen stepped forward, charging the atmosphere with something so powerful, so male, it made it difficult to breathe.

  His body was poetry in motion, his movements imbued with a catlike grace that made Scarlet think of a panther moving through the jungle. He exuded menace, and Scarlet had to stifle a powerful pang of attraction.

  She forced her eyes away. Desire wasn’t something she allowed herself to feel often. At twenty-one, she was no virgin, but she’d learned the hard way that men were a complication she couldn’t afford. Especially the men of the Guard.

  Rowen extended one hand while keeping the other one on his glaive. “Rowen Black. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  Scarlet’s father shook his hand. “The honor is all mine.”

  Rowen’s laugh was a bark. “I doubt that.”

  To Scarlet’s surprise, her father chuckled. “It’s true that you have a … reputation. But somehow, I don’t think that tells the whole story about you, Rowen Black.” Rowen’s face registered surprise in the moment before the wall dropped over his face again, rendering his expression inscrutable. “I see you’ve already met Lily.” He turned to Scarlet. “This is my oldest daughter, Scarlet.”

  Rowen’s eyes darkened as they met hers. “Scarlet.”

  Her name was a caress on his lips. Or maybe she was only imagining it. Imagining the languorous way his mouth formed the word, as if he wanted to savor it.

  She tried to smile benignly despite the lust rushing through her bloodstream.

  “And this is my son, Ivan.”

  Ivan’s face was tight, his eyes appraising, as he shook Rowen’s hand.

  “Well, then,” her father said. “I’m sure you are tired. I’ll have Lily show you to your quarters—”

  “Actually, I have something in the oven. Perhaps Scarlet can …”

  Their father nodded. “All right, then. Scarlet, please show Rowen to his quarters. I believe we have him set up on the third floor, down the hall from your own rooms, in fact.”

  Perfect, Scarlet thought. All she wanted was to get as far away from Rowen Black as she could. To cool off her overheating body and remind herself why she didn’t date members of the Guard.

  Scarlet shot Lily a dirty look as she left the room.

  Five

  Rowen followed Scarlet up a staircase to the third floor. Electricity crackled under his skin at the view of her luscious ass ascending in front of him, the black pants
showcasing her sculpted thighs. Heat rushed outward from his abdomen, a fine sheen of sweat slicking his brow.

  He was no stranger to the heat. But the sweat? That was new.

  No woman had ever made him sweat. Hell, no woman had ever made him think twice once he’d left her bed. So why was this female fucking with his head when they’d hardly exchanged two words? Sure, she was hot. But the world was full of hot women.

  It was something else. A contradiction between the lush body—soft enough to make him want to run his hands over the curve of her waist, her hips—and the fire in her eyes.

  He was suddenly aware that she was talking.

  “… breakfast at seven and training at nine, unless you’re on assignment,” she said as they stepped onto the third floor landing.

  “How will I know if I’m on assignment?”

  Her answer was curt. “You’ll know.”

  Rowen slowed when he noticed a line of portraits marching down the wall. His gaze was drawn to one of a dark-haired man with a brooding gaze, a strong jaw jutting out from a high-collared shirt, defiantly untied at the neck.

  Rowen dropped his eyes to the brass plate at the bottom of the frame: Raum Baranova.

  “My great-great-grandfather,” Scarlet said softly from his side.

  He looked down at her, catching a whiff of old-fashioned roses, like the kind his grandmother had grown. Under the scent was something muskier and sensual that he couldn’t place.

  “He founded the Alliance,” Rowen said, almost choking on the desire moving through his veins.

  “Actually, that’s not entirely true,” Scarlet refuted.

  “It’s a historical fact of the Alliance,” Rowen said tightly, although the correction didn’t dampen his lust. “One we all learn in Modern History of Peripheral Organizations.”

  “Yes, well, Raum was my great-great-grandfather. And I know for a fact that the Alliance was already in existence when he joined. He did, however, found the Shadowguard. It’s because of him that the Alliance finally put a premium on fighting the Legion at all.” He caught the pride in her voice. “Before he came to New York, the descendants were content to sit back and wait for the Legion to violate the Treaty. We were all defense before Raum.”