Better Off Dead : A Lucy Hart, Deathdealer Novel (Book One)

  ~*~

  The road leading to Death Valley National Park was nearly clear of traffic, and Gabriel made good time. He refused to speed, though he came perilously close. He left his car at the base of the mountain, and then jogged swiftly up the steep incline. He side stepped boulders and then finally slowed when the ground pitched at too steep an angle to keep running. Now he would have to climb, and this he hated more than anything.

  But being with Delia was worth it. He took off his tie and dress shirt, throwing them over a dead, spindly tree. He scrambled easily up the first third of the climb, but then it began to rain. Nothing heavy, and there was no wind, but it made the earth and rock he clung to slippery, and that made his fear of falling all the more potent.

  By the time he made it to the topmost mesa he was soaked with rain and sweat, and his arms and legs were shaking from effort and fear. Breathing heavily he strode toward the edge of the cliff, to where he knew Delia would be awaiting him. A boulder shorn flat like a tabletop sat mere feet from the edge of the cliff. Gabriel gasped, his eyes widening with surprise and lust. Delia lounged naked on the stone tablet, the rain pattering off her ivory white flesh, her eyes closed, expression at peace.

  Gabriel approached, heat throbbing through his body, making his flesh burn. Delia turned her head and opened her eyes. A smile stole across her lips and her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  He stopped, towering over her naked form, mesmerized. He reached out a hand and stroked the cold flesh of her cheek, and then trailed his hand down her neck, over her supple breasts—she arched her back and moaned. As his hand moved even lower, gliding over her ribcage, and then down her smooth belly, Delia leaned up and kissed him, drawing his lips to hers.

  He gasped as she raked her nails over his shoulder, making him bleed.