“I could be looking forward to a night of much-needed, no-strings-attached raunchy sex.” She sniffled. “Hell, I could be having raunchy sex, right now.”
Instead, she was a miserable lump, crying because her deadbeat ex-boyfriend had finally picked up their son for an overdue weekend visit. It was pitiful and slightly deranged, but she couldn’t get over it.
Sinking deeper into her best friend’s sofa, Stacey looked around the condo and was grateful to be house-sitting for her boss, Lyssa Bates. She didn’t know how she would have managed being at her own home without Justin there. It would be too lonely. At least Lyssa had fish and a cat, though Jelly Bean was the meanest cat ever. A grumpy, hissing, tail-flicking beast who was presently sitting on the arm of the couch giving her the evil eye. Still, even his unpleasant company was better than being alone.
Of course, Stacey was realizing exactly how lonely she really was. At some point she’d stopped seeing herself as an individual woman and started herself only as “Justin’s mom,” which wasn’t healthy, as her reaction this morning so aptly proved. She had no idea what to do with herself. How sad was that?
You have a right to be mad, the devil on her shoulder said.
She worked her ass off to make ends meet without a dime of child support and Tommy was the one who got to take Justin skiing for his first time. Tommy got to be “cool.” Tommy got the privilege of seeing Justin’s face light up with joy and wonder. All because he’d had a twenty-dollar bill burning a hole in his pocket in Reno a year ago. A twenty he’d promptly put down as a bet that the Colts would go to the Super Bowl.
“A twenty he should have paid me,” she bitched, “so I could put gas in the car to get to work and support our child.”
It was so unfair. She had been saving up for a getaway to Big Bear for almost two years and Tommy ripped it out from under her in two minutes. Just like her life had been ripped out from under her when she’d gotten pregnant in college. You can always abort, he’d said blithely. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us and years of school. You can’t have a baby.
“Asshole,” she griped. She’d had to drop out of school and get government assistance. Tommy had said it was her choice and good luck. See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya. He’d gone on to graduate and became a struggling screenwriter who had enough money to party, but not for child support. She’d gone on to a series of temp jobs until she finally found steady, good-paying, nondemeaning work at the vet hospital with Lyssa.
Stacey yanked a tissue from the box next to her and blew her nose. It was petty and small of her to begrudge Justin a much-wanted trip just because she wasn’t the one to take him. She knew it and acknowledged it, but doing so didn’t make her feel any better.
The doorbell rang and Stacey turned her head to scowl in the direction of the foyer. If she’d been at home, she would have ignored it, but she was watching Lyssa’s house and pets while the boss was on a mini-vacation with her fiancé in Mexico, so that meant watching out for Lyssa’s packages, too.
Grumbling under her breath, Stacey stood and crossed the soothing beige carpeted living room to the marble-lined entrance hall. JB hissed and followed her, rumbling his demon cat’s warning. He hated visitors. Well, he hated everybody pretty much, but especially total strangers.
The bell rang again, impatiently, and she called out, “Hang on! I’m getting there.”
Stacey turned the knob and pulled the door open. “You gotta give a girl a minute to get—”
A Viking stood on Lyssa’s porch.
And he was devastatingly gorgeous.
Chapter 3
JB’s bitching halted mid-rumble, just as Stacey’s speech had.
Gaping, she took a long, hard look at the blond giant who filled every inch of the doorway. He was at least six foot four, with a sword hilt peeking over his left shoulder and a brawny chest that would make Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson jealous. His arms were massive, ripped with taut muscles that stretched the golden skin covering them. He wore a straight black, sleeveless v-neck tunic that looked painted on and pants that clung to lean hips before flowing into loose pants legs. On his feet he sported wicked-looking combat boots.
“Wowza,” she murmured, duly impressed. The man was hot, hot, hot. Even in a costume. Chiseled jaw, a sinner’s mouth, arrogantly slashed brows, and a perfect nose. In fact all of him was perfect. At least the parts that she could see. Gorgeous in a way that was hard to define. There was something different about him, a physical charisma or perhaps a foreign appeal? She couldn’t put her finger on what it was that was so unique; she knew only that she’d never seen a more beautiful man, ever.
He wasn’t beautiful in the “pretty” sense. He was beautiful in the rocky moors sense, or the Serengeti sense. Harsh and untamed. Awe-inspiring in a wholly intimidating way. And because she was intimidated, Stacey did what she excelled at.
She got spunky.
Cocking her hip to lean into the door edge, she flashed a bright smile. “Hi.”
Bright, azure eyes widened, then narrowed.
“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded, his voice rumbling with a burr that was charming and delicious, even though his attitude wasn’t.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“You’re not Lyssa Bates,” he rumbled.
“Damn. What gave me away? The short hair? The big butt?” She snapped her fingers. “I got it! I’m not drop-dead gorgeous and built like a brickhouse.”
The corner of his luscious mouth twitched. He tried to hide it, but she saw it. “Honey, you’re gorgeous and built, but you’re not Lyssa Bates.”
Stacey touched her nose, knowing that she had to be looking like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and sporting bloodshot eyes to boot. Some women looked great when they cried. She wasn’t one of them. And built? Ha! She’d had a kid. Nothing was where it used to be and she’d never dropped the last ten pounds from her pregnancy. Unable to think of a witty comeback because her brain was fried by his maybe-a-compliment, maybe-a-joke, she said, “Lyssa’s out of town. I’m watching things for her while she’s gone.”
“Is Cross here?” He looked easily over her head and into the condo.
“Who?”
He looked back down at her, frowning. “Aidan Cross. He lives here.”
“Uh, yeah. But if you think he’d let Lyssa go anywhere without him, you’re nuts.”
“True.” Something passed through his eyes as he looked at her.
Jeez, she had to go on vacation to wherever the hell Aidan was from. Obviously Hunkalicious on the porch was from there, too. Same brogue. Same sword fetish. Same hotness level.
“I’m going to stay here until they get back,” he pronounced, taking a step forward.
Stacey didn’t budge. “No way.”
He crossed his arms. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m not in the mood to play games. I feel like shit. I need to crash for a while.”
“Listen, babe,” she retorted, mimicking his pose. “I’m not playing. Sorry you feel like crap, but my day sucks, too. Go crash somewhere else.”
She watched his jaw tighten. “Aidan wouldn’t want me staying anywhere else.”
“Oh yeah? He didn’t say anything to me about anyone coming by. I don’t know you from Adam.”
“Connor Bruce.” He thrust a massive hand at her. She hesitated a moment, then took it. The heat of his palm burned her skin and spread tingles up her arm. She blinked.
“Stacey Daniels.”
“Hi, Stacey.” He tugged her into his chest, lifted her feet from the tile, and stepped into the condo, kicking the door shut behind them.
“Hey!” she protested, trying to ignore how delicious he smelled. Musky and exotic. Male. Sexual male. Dominant male. It made her want to bury her face in his powerful neck and breathe him in. Wrap her legs around his hips and rub up against him. Absolutely bizarre considering how pissed off at him she was.
“It stinks outside,” he complained. “I’m not standing out there anymore.”
&nbs
p; “You can’t just barge in here!”
“Sure, I can.”
“Okay, you can. That doesn’t mean you should.”
Connor paused in the living room and looked around. Then he set her down, lifted his sword-holder-thingy over his head, and leaned it against the wall near the door.
“I’m going to bed.” He stretched his arms and back in a pose that made her mouth water.
“It’s still morning!”
“So? Don’t touch that.” He pointed to his sword, then turned toward the stairs.
“Fuck you.” Stacey set her hands on her hips and glared.
He paused with one booted foot on the lower step. His gaze dropped to her bare feet, then rose slowly and hotly all the way back up, stopping at the juncture between her legs, then her breasts, before lingering over her lips and meeting her eyes. She’d never been stripped bare like that before in her life. She swore he’d looked right through her low-slung jeans and tank top to the skin below. Her breasts swelled, her nipples hardened. Without a bra—hey, she wasn’t expecting company—it was obvious his perusal had turned her on.
“I’m tempted, darling.” His brogue was thick and warm. “But I’m in no condition to do you justice right now. Ask me again when I wake up.”
Her foot tapped on the carpet. “I’m not your honey, sweetheart, or darling. And if you go upstairs, I’m calling the police.”
Connor grinned, which transformed his features from too-hot-to-handle to absolutely divine. “Sure thing. Make sure they bring handcuffs…and leave them behind.”
“They won’t be leaving you behind!” How in hell could the man make her hot and bothered and hot under the collar at the same time?
“Call Aidan,” he suggested, climbing the stairs. “Or Lyssa. Tell them Connor’s here. See ya later.”
Running over to the stairs, Stacey prepared to yell up at him. Instead she found herself admiring his perfect ass. Her mouth snapped shut. She hustled to the kitchen and picked up the phone. A minute later, the odd phone-ringing-in-a-bucket sound told her the call was connecting to the hotel in Rosarito Beach, Mexico.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Doc.” Climbing on to one of the barstools, Stacey snatched a pen out of the pen holder and began to doodle on the drawing pad by the cordless phone’s base. She had to flip past several flawless renderings of Aidan in order to find a blank page. Most doctors had the worst handwriting. Lyssa was a veterinarian, but she had an amazing talent for drawing.
“Hey, Stace,” Lyssa greeted, sounding relieved.
Stacey still hadn’t figured out what it was that had Lyssa so stressed out. After years of looking run down and emotionally bereft, Lyssa had blossomed after reuniting with Aidan. She’d put on much needed weight and seemed more rested. But she also seemed anxious in a way that concerned Stacey no small amount. She worried that it might have something to do with Aidan. Maybe the fear that he wouldn’t stick around? After all, the man had left Lyssa at some point and then come back for her.
“Are you okay, Doc?”
“Yes. Great. It’s beautiful here.”
Hearing the wary tone fade into dreamy, Stacey set aside her concern for her friend and returned her thoughts to her own dilemma. “Awesome. Hey, I’ve got a problem. Do you know a guy named Connor?”
“Connor?”
“Yeah, Connor. Big, blond, bad attitude?”
“Oh my god…. How do you know what he looks like?”
Stacey sighed. “So you do know him. I don’t know if I’m relieved or bummed.”
“Stacey. How do you know what Connor looks like?” Lyssa’s voice now sounded the way it did when she had to explain a terminal illness to a patient’s owner.
“He’s here, Doc. Showed up about ten minutes ago and made himself at home. I told him to find another place to shack up, but—”
“No! Don’t let him out of your sight!”
Jerking back from the handset, Stacey scowled down at the receiver, listening to the conversation from a safe distance since Lyssa was now shouting excitedly.
“He’s Aidan’s best friend…might get lost…don’t let him leave…Stacey, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied, lifting the phone back up to her ear with a harsh exhale. “You know, the guy is hot as hell, but he’s a real pain in the ass. Bossy and arrogant. Rude. JB is tough enough to live with, but two jerks at once?”
“I’ll give you a raise,” Lyssa cajoled.
“Right. I’m making more money than you now, I think.” Not really, but they both knew she was overpaid. Lyssa was way too generous. “Seriously, I can handle him.” I want to handle him, all over. That was part of the problem. She was always attracted to the wrong sort of guys. Always had been.
“Don’t take it personally. They’re all kind of…abrupt where Aidan comes from,” Lyssa said.
“Which is where exactly?” Stacey had been trying to pin down a location for months.
“Somewhere by Scotland, I think.”
“You still haven’t asked him?”
“It’s not important,” Lyssa dismissed. “Aidan ran up to the liquor store for a six-pack, but when he gets back, he’ll call and talk to Connor. I’ll ask him to speak to him about proper politeness, okay?”
“Yeah, I can see that working.” Stacey shook her head. “Connor’s taking a nap now. Said he felt like shit or something. He showed up in some getup with a sword, looks like he came from a Star Wars convention or something.”
“Oh. Crap.” There was a long pause. “He’s going to be sick for a bit, Stacey. Not long, several hours or overnight. He’ll run a fever, get the chills.”
“Huh? How do you know?” Lyssa was good, but come on. No doctor could diagnose a patient she hadn’t seen or talked to.
“It’s some freaky acclimation thing when they get off the plane. You know…new world and all that.”
“New world?”
Lyssa cursed under her breath. “As in the-pilgrims-and-conquistador-type New World, not new world as in distant planets.”
“Sure, Doc.” Stacey tapped the pen against the tile countertop. “Whatever you say. Drink bottled water in Mexico, okay? I think they have nasty stuff in the taps down there.”
Laughing, Lyssa said, “No worries. I’m not stoned.”
“Uh huh. So, do you have a suggestion for the flu-like thing?”
“Tylenol, if he needs it. Otherwise, just let him sleep until he gets up on his own.”
“That’s easy enough.”
“Great. Thank you for being so understanding about this. You’re the best.”
Stacey said good-bye with a promise to keep the handset nearby in anticipation of Aidan’s phone call. Then she sat there for long moments, thinking back over her day, lingering over the moment she’d opened the front door and found Connor standing there. At least she wasn’t concentrating so heavily on Justin and Tommy, but she shouldn’t be thinking so hard about Connor either. She was hard up, that’s all. She was not reverting to her tried-and-true pattern of being sexually attracted to a bad boy who would totally screw up her life.
Pushing off the stool, Stacey moved to the nearby dining table where her textbooks were spread out. She had finally gone back to college. The first time, she’d planned to be a writer and had been taking English and creative writing courses. Now, thirteen years later, she was fulfilling the requirements to become a veterinary technician.
She was content with that decision and proud of herself for going back to school. Dreams had to grow up just like people did. Raising a child alone had changed the nexus of her life.
That’s where her focus should be. Not on the hunk in bed upstairs.
Easier said than done, of course.
The lushly curved redhead crossing the street wasn’t human.
If Aidan Cross hadn’t spent centuries killing Nightmares he might not have been observant enough to notice, and if he hadn’t been deeply in love, he might have been more interested in the woman’s body
than her boots. But he was observant and firmly on the shelf, so while it was her crimson hair that caught his eye—and the eye of every other man walking the street—it was her combat boots that held his attention. They were black, self-sealing, and made of a material that didn’t exist on Earth.
Aidan slowed his pace and adjusted his sunglasses to better shield his appearance. She was traversing the busy street at an angle, moving from the opposite sidewalk to the one he was walking on. He fell back, allowing more pedestrians to fill the space between them.
It was a gorgeous day in Rosarito Beach, Mexico. The sky was a pristine blue and dotted with pure white cottony clouds. Just beyond the shops to his left, the ocean kissed the shore in steady, rhythmic waves. The air was crisp and salty, the temperature warm, the breeze cool. The six-pack of Coronas he held in his hand were sweaty with condensation, and in the hotel room around the corner, his lover awaited him. Naked. Beautiful.
In danger.
He watched the Guardian—possibly an Elder—as she joined the light flow of foot traffic just a few feet ahead of him. Dressed in a short summer dress with thin straps and a flowered pattern on white, she might have looked innocent if not for the multiple tribal tattoos on her arms and the spiked leather bracelets.
Aidan rolled his shoulders back, limbering his body in preparation for battle. If the woman turned the upcoming corner and headed toward his hotel, he was ready to throw down.
Luckily for both of them, she didn’t.
His relief was minimal. Every bit of his training told him to follow her and see what she was after. His heart, however, urged him to head down the small side street to his room and keep Lyssa safe. The struggle within him was worse than the one he’d been gearing up for. He hated sparring with women, detested it, but that would be easier to deal with than risking Lyssa’s life.
Aidan began to cross the street that led to his hotel. He glanced to the side swiftly, scoping out the exterior of the building. Seeing nothing amiss, he clenched his jaw and kept going. He followed his quarry, ignoring the cramp in his gut that protested his decision. He couldn’t go to Lyssa straightaway, regardless. It took him an average of thirty minutes to make the five-minute trip to the liquor store because of the precautions he took to make certain he wasn’t followed.