But Twyla had a problem. Meiers Corners’s local economy was too local; the city was in danger of going bankrupt. The solution? Tourism. The single benefit of straitjacket insularity is that we’re steeped in local flavor. We have Quaint Local Shoppes coming out Ye Olde Sphincter.
So tourism seemed a natural fit, and was indeed working great, except for getting the word out. After all, tourism without tourists was, um…
Which was where Ric Holiday came in. Holiday Buzz International was the
So Twyla, wearing her city admin hat, called Holiday. But he said no.
So the mayor called him. Holiday said no. Our chief of police called him. Holiday said no. The mayor’s secretary Heidi called, cracking her whip. Holiday said something unprintable that translated to no. Then our top lawyer and prime negotiator Julian Emerson called.
Holiday wouldn’t even speak to him.
Twyla said
Time, Twyla said, to confront the lion in his den.
If she’d met lithe, tawny, forceful Ric Holiday in person, she couldn’t have gotten that any more right.
I fingered the expensive material of his suit coat. There was something untamed about him, sinewy strength barely civilized by suit and tie.
A bolt of lust sheared through me, so long and hard that I shuddered.
Which was of course when the French doors behind me opened.
“Here you are. Escaping the heat? I knew you were beautiful, but now I see you’re smart too.”
I spun to behold the owner of that deep voice. He’d changed into another suit, this one a charcoal gray that contrasted sharply with his azure eyes. In even those few moments I’d forgotten how handsome he was—so gorgeous he made my eyes hurt, my only excuse for blurting, “Did you know that seeing a good-looking person of the opposite sex makes the brain release dopamine which triggers pupil dilation?”
I slammed my stupid dopamine-dilated eyes shut. This was my
He glided closer. “The smartest move of all. Not your fault and yet effective, since you’re here to ask a favor. Visual aids are always useful in negotiations.” His eyes, sparkling with sensual intent, dipped to where his coat covered my cleavage. A smile, full of promise, curved his lips.
That wicked smile was a pilot light to the broiler of my body, igniting every cell,
But my brain wasn’t all that charmed. “Visual aids? Implying I should use sex to negotiate? That was beneath you.”
His smile pursed. “The bra isn’t a Temptress Siren Special? Retail $199. A thirty-six D unless I miss my guess, but a bit too small for you.” His eyebrows rose. “It’s not yours, is it?”
“I find it disturbing that you observed all that in a glance.” I’d thought his gaze had been on my face in the lobby.
“Good peripheral vision.” He quirked a grin. Devastatingly handsome morphed to boyishly attractive, actually even more devastating.
I squashed a groan. “Then what were you suggesting with the ‘visual aids’ crack?”
“My dear Synnove, I wasn’t suggesting anything. Merely observing.” He handed me a champagne flute. “Housekeeping is bringing you another blouse.”
I clamped the coat with one hand to accept the cut crystal with the other.
“And in observing, I find myself curious.” He sipped his champagne. “A beautiful woman from out of state attends my third annual Christmas-in-July house party, bearing a gift no less, but not because she wants something? I’m not sure I quite believe that.”
I sipped champagne too, ended up with my lips in my esophagus. The stuff was dry. “You invited me.” The words rasped like sandpaper. I coughed and tried again. “Do you always invite strangers to your house party?” Better.
“I’m in advertising. Even the people I know are strangers. But in this case, my admin handled the invites.”
Which reminded me that, though we were strangers, he’d named me on sight. I again opened my mouth to ask how the hell he knew, when he hit me with those startlingly blue eyes and drilled both question and oxygen from me.
He wedged his own question into the gap. “Why go to so much trouble to see me?”
It took a few quick breaths to pump up air for an incautious answer. “You’re a hard man to see.”
“We? I’m disappointed. I was so hoping this was about
Our eyes collided. His sparkled with intelligence and confidence and a sexuality so blistering I couldn’t breathe. My body flooded with begging-for-sex estrogen. “M…me?”
“Yes. Your partners have sent the perfect leverage. The perfect female.” His voice deepened, husky. “You.”
“I’m…I’m not…” I cleared my throat.
He bent closer until his mouth hovered over mine. “You’re not perfect?” His breath heated my lips.
Desire arrowed straight through me, sudden and splashing and hot.
Nearly two decades ago, Prometheus sold his beating heart to a devil in exchange for epic power. That contract is about to expire—and so is he. There’s only one woman with the power to help him see his next birthday. And he’s willing to use every manipulation in his arsenal to pry that power from the ice queen’s grip.
Karma, who values order above all else, has had enough of the unscrupulous warlock’s pranks endangering her people. But when she confronts the wily trickster to demand a cease-fire, his terms throw her for a loop. The bastard wants her to save his life—and he wants her in his bed.
Clinging to her hard-won control is the only way Karma knows to keep her abilities from overwhelming her. If anyone can tempt her to embrace the chaos of her magic, it’s Prometheus.
One kiss brings her defenses crashing down. But can she trust Prometheus…or has she lost her own heart to a warlock with a hidden agenda?
Warning: This book contains scheming, manipulation, bargains-with-the-devil, and meddling consultants. All’s fair in love and magic.
