Wow how time zips by. Shadow Magic is here!

 For fun, here’s an excerpt.

Excerpt from SHADOW MAGIC by Cheyenne McCray
© Copyright Cheyenne McCray, 2008.
All Rights Reserved, St. Martin’s Press

Paybacks are a bitch.

And Hannah Wentworth would see to it that Ceithlenn, a dark goddess from Underworld, paid. Big time.

Banshee, Hannah’s falcon familiar, made a soft cry and gripped her shirt tighter in his talons, reminding her of where she was and why she had come to this secluded pond deep in the forest.

Those . . . feelings she’d been having.

Ever since she’d been forced to leave San Francisco, Hannah’s instincts had told her things were about to get worse. Impossibly more dangerous.

Whatever was coming, Hannah wasn’t about to face it blind or unaware. She would find out what she could, or die trying.

Hannah knelt on the damp grass beside the pond and dropped the pack she held. She dug through the leather bag until she found her scrying mirror then drew it out and settled it on the grass in front of her.

Smells of moss and rich wet earth mingled with the scents of evergreens and wildflowers as she focused on the mirror. A breeze ruffled Banshee’s feathers, and stirred her dark hair and the shock of blond that swept down one side of her face. A night bird began its evening song, and Hannah thought she heard Fae voices joining in.

Her grandmother had given her the scrying instrument after Hannah left her socialite mother to live with her father. The strength of Hannah’s innate talent for alomancy, using the mirror and sea salt crystals to scry, had astonished the high priestess of her D’Anu Coven, and Hannah’s power over this form of divination as well as her connection to the Dragon Elementals grew greater as time passed.

The ornate ebony wood frame was a fashioned of two Dragons, each biting the tail of the other so that it was a never ending circle. Hannah rubbed her thumb over one of the intricate carvings. Ebony was the most powerful magical wood and was associated with all of the Elements—Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, and aided her in her communication with the Dragons.

They were her totem and always had been. Even her falcon familiar was the living embodiment of Dragons in her world.

Hannah tried not to grind her teeth at the thought that she and her Coven sisters had been forced to flee their homes in San Francisco for Otherworld, just days ago.

No time for that now. Deep breath. We are going to figure out how to toast that goddess-bitch.

She gripped the soft grass in her fingers as she looked over the mirror. Only Hannah could “see” in the black glass within the ebony frame when she scried.

Hannah pulled a vial of salt crystals from her pack and tugged out the cork before setting the cork aside. She leaned forward so that she looked directly over the mirror, her hair swinging forward at the sides of her face. The mirror didn’t show hers or Banshee’s reflections.

She concentrated with everything she had, pushing out all other thoughts to still her mind and prepare herself for the vision to come. Silently, she asked for the aid of the Dragon Elementals and the great Druid Ancestors, and she called on Banshee’s powers to strengthen her own.

The falcon’s magic joined hers as it flowed through her body.

Come on . . .

Her heart rate picked up as it always did before she scried something monumental. The world closed in on her until all that remained was her, Banshee and the mirror. The forest’s sounds and smells vanished and it was as if she floated outside her body.

Time slowed. She tilted the vial and studied the patterns of the salt crystals in the air as they spilled out of the vial and onto the mirror. The vial slipped from her fingers, dropped onto the grass, and rolled away as she braced her hands to either side of the mirror and analyzed those patterns, too.

The pounding of her heart grew even more rapid until it felt as if her entire body throbbed.

Images appeared in the mirror and she tumbled, tumbled into the vision, all five senses, body and mind and soul, as if the events she visioned were truly happening. As if she were truly there.

Her heart nearly stopped beating.

Rain pounded down so hard it soaked her to her skin, chilling her, and she had difficulty seeing. But through the downpour she made out humans fleeing from a San Francisco tourist pier. Their terror flooded Hannah so deeply she felt it in her bones. Blood and death and the acrid odor of fear mixed with the rotten fish stench.

Fomorii demons.

Magic sparked at her fingertips as she caught sight of malformed shapes attacking humans. A scream rose in her throat.

You can check out another excerpt at CheyenneMcCray.com and you can find Shadow Magic in all stores and also on Amazon.com. 

Hope you enjoyed the excerpt!

Chey

She fights.
Janie Parker’s a supernatural assassin—not by choice, but what’s a girl gonna do? The only thing standing between her and decapitation at the hands of her hellish boss is a magical artifact called The Eye. To get it, all Janie has to do is find a dark, broody vampire named Michael Quinn and take it. Easy, right? Except if Quinn keeps kissing her that way, she just might lose her head…in more ways than one.

He bites.
Former vampire hunter Michael Quinn is determined to become human again. If he grabs hold of The Eye and makes a wish—then boom, everything’s good with the world. But now Quinn has a sassy tagalong with a long, delectable neck and orders to stake him on sight. He just hopes his first bite won’t be Janie’s last moment on earth…

Here’s an excerpt…

“Do you realize that I already know what you taste like?” Quinn breathed against her neck. “Just by how you smell. Usually it’s so subtle I hardly notice it, but sometimes, like right now”—his lips grazed her throat—“it’s unbelievably overpowering.”

Then she felt the wet heat of his tongue slide along her neck, and something happened that she didn’t like at all—something that scared her more than anything else that night.

Her damn knees weakened.

She was crushed up against a wall by a hungry vampire, who apparently already knew what her blood would taste like, and it was turning her on.

How completely embarrassing.

“You want to bite me?”

He groaned. “Oh, yes.”

“I thought you said you’d never bitten anyone before.”

His shoulders stiffened. “I haven’t.”

“Do it.”

“What?”

“Bite me. Just . . . try not to take too much.”

His breathing became even more erratic. “What am I doing? What are you saying to me? This isn’t right. Go away, Janie. Just go away.” He pulled away from her. Her eyes had become adjusted enough that she could see the outline of him in the darkness.

And he thought she was stubborn?

She wasn’t going to let him die out of principle and misplaced morals.

She slipped off her jacket and pulled her tank top off over her head until she was standing there in the dark in her tight black jeans and lacy black bra, her neck and shoulders now completely exposed to the air. She closed the distance between them and grabbed his face, pulling it down to her neck.

“Bite me or I’m going to kick your ass,” she hissed.

“You’re such a sweet talker, Janie.”

For a moment she thought he was going to pull away again, and that would have been it. She would have realized what a crazy, dangerous thing it was she was doing and grabbed her shirt and run away to her own room. Figured out a plan B, as it were.

But that wouldn’t be necessary.

The scent of her bare skin was enough to do it. She felt him press against her, aroused now with more than simple blood lust. He slid the bra strap off her left shoulder, then his hands traveled down the bare skin of her back. He pulled her closer against the hard length of his body, flattening her breasts against his chest. Just as she was adjusting to how surprisingly good he felt against her, she felt his fangs pierce her skin.

She knew that it took five minutes until the toxins exuded from a vampire’s fangs were enough to offset the balance of human blood and infect that human with vampirism. Janie counted, trying to concentrate, deciding to hold on and let him feed for three full minutes. That should be enough. Then she would make him stop any way she could.

—

If you’d like to read the first three chapters they’re available on my website… :-)

Seduced by Magic (available now–Amazon Link)

(BTW, Zephyr is Copper’s honeybee familiar!)

San Francisco

The wand was warm in her hand from the magic that filled it. The golden glow it cast looked like early morning sunlight sparkling upon the water’s less than calm surface. It was time to cast her circle and perform the moon ritual. In the ritual she would ask the goddess for aid in whatever evils were coming their way, and to show her a vision of what they were about to face. Copper was not a seer, she could only dream-vision as her divination talent. But sometimes—well, rarely, but still—the goddess would show her visions when she performed a moon ritual.

Copper breathed deeply, allowing all the night smells to fill her. There was definitely a difference between night and day scents, as if the moon cast its own delicate perfume over the world, even when it was shrouded. Zeph crawled along the top of her ear as she prepared to cast the circle. Already she felt his magic mingling with hers. But she also sensed distress coming from the familiar.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, wishing he could speak aloud. But she could only feel his agitation, as if he were worried about something.

Refocusing her attention, she let the earth-brown robe slide down her shoulders and arms to land around her feet in a satiny mass, leaving her bare body to be buffeted by the wind. Sand trickled between her toes as she widened her stance to shoulder-width apart. Her shoulder-length hair teased the nape of her neck and she shivered from the combined sensations.

Copper raised her wand to start casting her circle when a sensation of dark power trailed down her spine; Zeph grew frantic, his wings buzzing. The scent of wolfsbane was strong this time, so very strong.

A presence behind her.

Someone… someone watching her.

Zephyr gave a buzz of warning. Copper gripped her wand tighter. Should she quickly attempt to cast the circle to keep evil away from her, or should she face whatever was behind her?

She was certain she didn’t have time to close the circle. She whirled and raised her wand so that its light might blind whatever being had crept up on her, and to use the wand’s magic if need be.

Copper’s pulse began racing. Perhaps ten feet away from her stood a man. A breathtakingly handsome man with eyes as black as his hair, high cheekbones, and a cleft in his square chin. Around his neck, on a thick chain, hung a stone eye that glittered in Copper’s wand light and glowed a deep red. The sight of it caused her stomach to churn before the red faded away.

What captured her attention the most was the controlled power emanating from the man. A power so intense and dark that Copper nearly recoiled. But she stood her ground. With a tilt of her chin, she narrowed her eyes and faced what she was certain to be a ruthless, incredibly powerful warlock.

“Leave,” Copper said, shoring up her magic at the same time. “This place is sacred. You don’t belong here.”

The warlock smiled, a smile as sensual as it was sinister. “Finally…a witch worthy of my time and my training.” He paused and brought his hand to the stone at his neck, the red glow returning and bleeding through his fingers. He gave a slow nod, as if in response to some communication from the eye. “Yes. There is another—you have a sister whose power is as great as yours, and she rides the line of gray magic just as you do. Only she is more… vulnerable.”

At the mention of her sister, a chill went through Copper and she straightened her spine. “Who are you?” She tried to ignore the bite of the wind as she stared the warlock down.

This was the evil she had dream-visioned about. This was what… no, who she was to battle to save everything she loved. She had to be rid of him before he destroyed what was good and pure. But how?

Zephyr gave an angry buzz and she sensed his desire to sting the man in front of her.

“No,” she murmured. “Stay.”

The man raised his hand and beckoned to her. She felt the power of his touch on her naked body. It was as if his bare hand were stroking her, touching every intimate part of her. He took a step forward. “I am Darkwolf.”

“Well, Darkwolf,” she said as the glow intensified from the pointed end of her wand tip. “Stop right there or I’ll make you wish you’d stayed in the sewer you crawled out of.”

“I think not.” He moved closer and raised his hand so that his palm faced her. She was certain she knew exactly what the goddess wanted her to do to keep them all safe. In a rush, Copper chanted.

Goddess give me power this night

Send the moon’s strength to help me fight.

Ancestors bless this wand and make it a sword

To send this evil to Otherworld!

Light blazed from Copper’s wand, so bright that it blinded even her. Power flooded her, power of the Ancestors, the goddess. But she needed more—the gray magic she held always at the ready. She poured her gray magic into the spell with all that she had.

In the next moment something shimmered before her. Something alien. Something that couldn’t have been just from the warlock.

From the eye?

Her spell struck the magical shield that was so strong her witchcraft rebounded. The spell shot straight back at her. Before she had time to form a spellshield, her own magic slammed into her and flung her high, into the air…

She was falling…falling…falling…

Into sunlight. Into the breath of spring.

She landed facedown, her bare skin upon the softest grass she had ever felt. The rich scent of it and dark loam filled her senses, along with the perfume of rose petals. Vaguely she heard the sound of Zephyr buzzing and the faintest music…Faerie song.

She tried to raise her head, but the Faerie music grew ever fainter. Light faded. Darkness came and swept her away on swift wings.

Some have asked me how the “Magic” series came about. In the summer of 2004, an editor from St. Martin’s Press emailed me to say she was a fan of my work. She had read a couple of books by the e-pub I used to write for. She asked me if I would be interested in talking with her. St. Martin’s had been my dream publisher, but I’d never submitted anything to them. She asked for a contemporary romantic suspense proposal and for a paranormal proposal.

When she asked for an urban paranormal romance, an idea came to me that I didn’t think had been done. I’d been doing research on Paganism for a young adult series, and I thought how cool it would be to have a Coven of witches in  San Francisco who fought off a paranormal threat. I researched Celtic mythology and used it to create a world where magic met danger.

Now for a little taste of  FORBIDDEN MAGIC

Chapter One

 October 23

San Francisco

Silver Ashcroft slipped through night and shadows, heart pounding and rage simmering. Although she belonged to a D’Anu Coven that practiced white witchcraft, there was no doubt in her mind this situation required a good dose of gray magic.

Behind her, Paranormal Special Forces Captain Jake Macgregor walked as soundlessly as she did despite the fact he was tall, big and muscular, and had to weigh a good two-twenty. “Are you sure, Silver?” the handsome dark-haired man asked in his deep, penetrating voice through the transmitter attached to her ear.

She paused only long enough to toss him a glare over her shoulder. “Have I ever been wrong?”

Jake answered with a wink and she shook her head as she reached the fire escape. It was one of the older boarding houses on the southern side of San Francisco, and it showed its age with its cracked and peeling paint, rusted drain pipes, and weed-choked yard.

Without waiting for Jake, Silver grabbed a rail and swung up onto the fire escape. The paint-chipped metal felt rough beneath her palms and she caught the smell of rust and age. She landed soundlessly on the mesh floor of the fire escape.

Below her Jake swore under his breath, but she heard it over the communication device. She knew he hated for her to be involved in the actual bust, but when she led them to illegal paranormal activities she insisted on taking part. She often made the take-down easier, but knew the officer still didn’t like her putting herself in danger.

Smells of garbage, dirt and weeds met her nose as she grasped the metal bars that would take her to the next story. She’d have to be careful the creaking fire escape didn’t catch the attention of the occupants in the third story apartment.

When she was at the second story, she whispered into the transmitter, “Make sure your team is ready.” In the next moment she ran her hand down in the air before her face, drawing a glamour around herself and disappearing from human sight.

Everything around her took on a gray hue with blurred edges. Her aura emanated from her in a steady shade of silver.

Below she saw the auras of the PSF officers. The hues varied as their moods changed, and the colors depended on what kind of job they were taking on. But each was one that spoke of truth and justice. None of them would have gotten through her to work with Jake if she hadn’t taken a look at their auras. She could only examine one when she pulled a glamour, which sometimes made it damn inconvenient.

Jake murmured to his team into the communicator on his jacket as Silver continued her climb. Chill air penetrated her black gloves, jeans, and jacket, and her nose was so cold it was nearly numb. She heard the Captain swing up and onto the fire escape to begin his quiet climb. He would stay one floor below her, knowing she needed her space to perform her magic.

PSF team members eased from the shadows and waited below, their guns trained on the third story window. She knew more officers blocked all escape routes and some had already slipped into the boarding house to await Jake’s orders.

When Silver finally crept onto the third floor fire escape, she crouched near the dingy window closest to her. She peered through a pair of frayed white curtains parted just enough for her to see into the room. With her glamour she had no fear of being seen, but she always took care just in case she ran into something that could actually see an invisible witch.

Even with her glamour-induced slightly-blurred vision, she had no problem seeing. Her gaze took in the sparsely furnished room. She caught the odor of cigarettes, and that musty smell of old buildings, along with the odor of something more bitter—calamus root and dragon’s blood. Countless black candles flickered for attention, giving the room enough light to see by.

As sharp and hot as a desert wind, heat flooded her at the sight of the inverted pentagram burned into the frayed carpet, a lidless eye at its center. It was identical to the others they’d found near dead witches and warlocks.

For a moment she didn’t see anyone through the window, but then a form in a black robe appeared, slipping into the candlelit room from another part of the house. The hood dropped back away from the woman’s face. She was blonde and beautiful by societal standards.

Silver would never have taken her for a Balorite warlock.

But her aura—pure black.

From what Silver had scried in her mirror and by using her golden cauldron, she had learned that Balorites used blood-magic—the spilling of blood to draw on energies and beings far outside the warlock’s own ability, for personal gain and power, for the purpose of or without regard to hurting other living things. When attempting to become a Balorite, most witches or warlocks would be instantly swallowed up or quickly wasted, ruined, and eventually enslaved by the dark things they released or touched. So, only the strongest, strongest human witches and warlocks could be Balorites.

Silver attempted to shake off the feeling of evil emanating from being in the mere vicinity of obvious preparations for a Balorite ritual. But she could feel it creeping down her spine, making her squirm in revulsion.

The Balorite Clan was a clandestine group of male and female warlocks who sought to rule the underground magic world, and had no doubt summoned the Fomorii for that purpose. Like members of the D’Anu, by day many of the Balorites served in high positions in the government, in major corporations. Positions of power.

But by night, many of the Balorite Clan—or their minions—wreaked havoc that the D’Anu worked to overcome with white magic.

Except for me. Gray magic was what she practiced, unbeknownst to her Coven.

“Are you all right?” Jake’s voice crackled in her ear from the transmitter.

Even though she knew he couldn’t see her because of the cloak of magic she wore, she nodded and responded with a “Shhh,” as she moved to the next window. She squinted, trying to peer through another set of curtains, but they were shut tight. With her gloved hands, she attempted to lift up the window only to find it locked.

Biting her lower lip in concentration, Silver flicked her finger in the air, sending her white magic to do her bidding. In the next second she heard the rusty scrape of metal against wood as the latch unfastened.

She held her breath, hoping the warlock hadn’t heard.

After pausing two heartbeats, Silver gripped the bottom of the window and her muscles tightened as she slowly pushed it up. Wood scratched wood like fingernails across a chalkboard as she eased it high enough that even a grown man could crawl through. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness when she parted the stained green curtains, but then her heart thumped in her throat.

It was just like the scene she’d witnessed in her scrying mirror earlier that same evening. The missing child was curled up in a ball in an exhausted sleep, her cheeks grubby and tearstained, her hands bound in front of her with cloth strips biting into her small wrists. The child’s aura was a deep purple ringed with yellow, telling Silver how hopeless the little girl felt, yet also of the spirit that still remained within her.

Silver’s blood boiled even hotter. This girl had been kidnapped for unspeakable things that made Silver ill to think about.

Blood magic. The blackest of all black magic.

Remaining in a crouch, Silver moved back to the first window and saw that the woman had been joined by two men, all wearing black robes. One man was only slightly turned to where she could barely make out his profile. The second man had pierced ears, shaggy brown hair, and a day’s growth of stubble. He was speaking to the other Balorite warlocks. Silver caught the words “Darkwolf,” “initiates,” and “ritual.”

Silver tamped down fury that threatened to overcome her, that threatened to make these warlocks pay in a way that would make them wish they’d never been born to this world. But that would be black magic, and she walked the fine line of gray and white. Never black.

If she’d been Janis Arrowsmith or any older member of the D’Anu Coven, they would simply have let the PSF officers take over once they directed the cops to the house where the child was held. Rhiannon, Mackenzie, and Sydney often helped Jake, too, but as far as she knew, they used only white witchcraft.

Not Silver. She would ensure these warlocks wouldn’t escape the justice due them.

The barest of thumps on the fire escape startled Silver so badly she nearly cried out. At the same time she cut her gaze toward the sound, she flipped out a short, thin, and extremely sharp stiletto dagger from her boot.

A man was mere inches from her, and from her crouched position she had to look up—way, way up—to fully see him. His massive arms were folded across his powerful chest, his stance wide, shoulder-length ebony hair whipping in the breeze. He wore all black, a snug sleeveless shirt and tight leather pants with a sword sheathed to one side of his lean hips, a dagger at his other. A fierce expression crossed his rough features, and his jaw tightened as if with anger.

He was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen.

A man who shouldn’t have been able to get past Jake.

Yet he had the most unusual aura she’d ever seen. It sparkled in different colors instead of radiating in a solid tone. That alone told her.

 He’s Other. Definitely Other. 

Silver clenched her jaw and gripped her knife tighter, but the man held his fingers to his lips in a “shush” motion.

 Quiet, came a voice with a strong Irish brogue in her mind. We must get the child to safety before you attempt to finish your assignment. 

Silver went speechless. He’d spoken in her mind and he had seen through her glamour.

Before she could react, he leaned in through the now open window, his longer body and sheer strength giving him an advantage she didn’t have. In mere seconds he reappeared with the sleeping child in his large embrace. He held her tenderly, as if she were a precious treasure and might break if he wasn’t careful. He stroked a strand of the girl’s matted brown curls from her face. “A leanbh,” he murmured aloud, his amber eyes focused on the girl, a look of compassion on his strong features. “You are safe now.”

 He looked to Silver and his features hardened, and again he spoke in her mind, The warlocks. Stop them. 

Silver’s gaze shot back to the room where the three black magicians were placing flickering black candles around the inverted pentagram.

When she glanced back to the man and the child—

They were gone.

I’m excited to announce that my romantic suspense novel, MOVING TARGET is in stores today! It’s been reviewed by the Romantic Times and received an awesome review:

4 ½ Stars!

“The sex sizzles and the danger crackles in McCray’s hot new tale. Staying one step ahead is the name of the game in this dynamic story that races cross country and tests the loyalty and character of all involved. No matter what the genre, McCray is hot!”

~Romantic Times BOOK reviews

Here’s the contest:

***Everyone who posts today will go into a drawing for a set of the first three of my “Magic” series books!

This novel was quite a journey. Here’s a snapshot:

COMING OUT OF THE DARK
Ani King left her entire life behind when the Russian Mafia brutally murdered her family. The Witness Security Program has kept her safe for two years, but with one simple phone call her cover is destroyed—and there is only one man left who can save her.   
 

AND IN FOR THE KILL…
Protecting the brave, beautiful Ani became more than just a job a long time ago for Deputy Marshal Daniel Parker. And now, just days before the trial where she’s slated to give a damning testimony, the criminals who want her dead are on her trail. To keep Ani safe, Daniel has to keep her close—and her enemies closer. Because soon there’s nowhere for Ani to hide…but in his arms.
 

And here’s an excerpt for you:

Daniel came out of the bathroom with a distracted expression. Ani barely held back a groan of appreciation at how delicious he looked. He was wearing Wranglers, a plain black T-shirt, and blue overshirt. His hair was damp from his shower and his eyes filled with concern.

“Listen, Ani?” He braced one hand against the doorframe to the bathroom and glanced down at his booted feet. He raised his head and his gaze met hers. “I’m sorry about this morning. I don’t know how it happened.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ani was sitting on the side of the bed and she gripped the sheets in her fists. “It’s okay, really.”

He raked his hand through his wet hair. “No, it’s not okay. I’ll need to get another Marshal assigned to your case as soon as possible.”

Panic rose like a geyser in her chest. She pushed herself from the bed and walked up to him. “No. Don’t leave me, please. You’re the only one I trust.”

Daniel placed his hands on her shoulders and the heat of his touch went straight through her. Her head was tipped back as she looked at him.

He was close enough to kiss. “I shouldn’t have called you so much this past year, Ani.”

“I needed you,” she whispered. “I looked forward to every single call.”

A serious expression crossed his face as he rubbed her shoulders. His jaw tightened “Goddamnit, I can’t do my job like this.”

She felt him slipping away from her and tears stung at the backs of her eyes. “I mean it. Don’t leave me, okay? I still need you.”

Daniel brought her roughly to him in a tight hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. He smelled of spice and male, just like the T-shirt she still wore. She heard his heartbeat and felt the comfort of his embrace.

He buried his nose in her hair. “I can’t do this. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Just give it some time, please?” She didn’t care if she sounded like she was begging. “I don’t know if I can go through this without you. Testifying against the Russian Mafia, seeing Dmitry Borenko . . .”

“I’ll take care of you, I promise.” Daniel’s deep inhale was audible. His voice lowered and he squeezed her tighter. “No way in hell is anything happening to you.”

He ran his palms up her arms then drew her away from him. She tilted her head up and saw him looking at her mouth. He looked hungry and the thrill it sent through her belly made her want to reach up and kiss him.

But no, she didn’t want to lose him.

Any Way You Want It is available now.  I think.  And to celebrate my exciting new release (in limited theaters).  I’m going to post an excerpt…

     “So are you having fun in the Big Easy?” he asked, his voice a little husky yet smooth, reminding her of the lowest chords on a violin.  A soothing sound, as if he was aware of her anxiety and trying to calm her. 

      Almost against her own volition, she did relax in her chair, leaning against the back.  Calm like that created by the cheap wine, weakened her limbs.  Although she had to admit, his voice was much nicer than the wine.

     “Are you doing the usual tourist stuff?” he asked again, his smile curling up slightly in one corner as if he knew she’d already forgotten he’d asked a question.

     Maggie quickly swallowed the drink she’d just taken, nodding as she did.  “Yes.  We’re having a great time.”

     “What have you done?”

     “We went to Café Du Monde,” she slowly trying to recall something she’d done.  It wasn’t easy with his eyes so intent on her.  “And we went on a cemetery tour.”

     She paused to think about what else she’d done.  Why did everything suddenly seem discombobulated?  As if her thoughts, and the room for that matter, had become strangely scattered.

     “How was the cemetery tour?” Ren asked.

     Maggie focused on him, thankful that she could. 

     “That’s one place I’ve never been,” he added, and Maggie noticed wryness in his tone that she didn’t understand.

     “It was interesting,” she said, relieved that she wasn’t feeling quite so dizzy.  “I even made a wish at Marie Laveau’s tomb.”

     Ren raised an eyebrow.  “Did you?  What did you wish for?”

     “A wild fling,” she said, then snapped her mouth shut.  Oh dear, had she really announced that to him.

     Judging from the slow unfurling of his Cheshire cat smile, she had indeed.

     “That’s a good wish,” he said.  His knee bumped hers again under the table, and the brief contact shot need through her body as if he’d run his hand up her thigh.  What would she do if he did?  Holy…

     She took another sip of her drink.  She needed to get this situation back on less–obvious terms.   

     “Have you enjoyed the band?” he asked, before her fuzzy mind could find a new topic.

     She nodded.  “Yes, you are all so good.  Do you like playing with them?”

     Ren seemed to consider that for a moment.  “I guess. And it pays the bills and keeps me fed.”     

     Maggie frowned, surprised by his words.  He was such an obvious showman and so good at working the crowd, encouraging them to have a good time, she just assumed he’d have to love it to be so at ease up there.  But he words didn’t reveal that.

     “I’ve been playing a long time,” he said in way of explanation.  “So I guess I’m a little burnt out.”

    “Well, it doesn’t show.”

    “That’s good, I guess.”

     She looked at him, realizing he was the one who was now uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.  She tried to think of something neutral for both of them.

     “I had a woman read my tea leaves today, too.”  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that wasn’t it. 

     And unfortunately, Ren’s interest was piqued.

     “Oh yeah.  And what did you find out?  Something about having a wild fling with a long-haired, white-eyelashed musician?”

     From her violent blush, Ren realized his flirtatious joke had been dead on.  Well damn.  He had to find that tea leaf reader and give her a big kiss.

Her heart may be in the right place…
but her soul belongs to Satan.

Being Satan’s most infamous minion is the only life Becca Gibbs has ever known. But now she’s restless, sick and tired of stealing souls, and ready to break free on her own. Unfortunately, this gig isn’t like any other job. Its first rule is: Walk out on the Devil—and kiss your life good-bye.

He’s a man with a mission. Too bad it’s impossible.

Nick Rawlings is the last of the Markku, a race of fighters that broke from Hell to pull for the good. When his sister goes missing, and her ransom is the death of Satan, Nick’s more than willing to take on the fight. The first step? Getting the devil’s sexy right-hand helper on his side. The second? Well, if he can take his eyes—and hands—off of her, he’s sure he’ll think of it…

Excerpt: 

Becca slapped her hand over Paige’s mouth as a chill shot up Becca’s spine. He was here.

She shoved Paige aside, spun toward the room, keeping the wall at their backs.

“Boss—”

“Quiet.” She scanned the room, searching. It was dark. So many bodies. So many scents. But she could definitely sense the man who’d nearly killed her two weeks ago when she’d tried to harvest his black soul. He’d convinced her he was human until the last instant, and her idiocy had almost gotten her killed. She’d been searching for him for the last two weeks, and now, he was at the club. Watching her. If she could find him, persuade him to tell her who’d hired him, and then kill them both, she’d feel so much better about the fact she was still tied to Satan and would have no future if he succeeded in taking her out.

She could feel him. But where?

“Omigod.” Paige clutched her arm. “You see someone. What? Who?”

“Go to the bar and wait for me there.” She had to get the kid away from the danger. Now.

“Right. I’m gone.” Paige sprinted away, dodging entwined couples and groping men as she headed toward the bar and safety.

Becca found him on her second pass.

He was leaning against the other end of the bar, wearing faded jeans, well-worn hiking boots, a dark T shirt and a leather jacket that looked like it had been through a few battles. His face was angular and sharp, his whiskers too long to be called five-clock shadow, but too short to be called a beard. His eyes were hooded under the rim of a black baseball cap, but his fingers were resting loosely around a martini glass. Tan hands, leading into forearms that were strong and sinewy, arms that had spent time working outdoors at something far more strenuous than golf or sailing.

He gave her a deliberate nod that was so stereotypically manly-man that she wanted to shoot him with a fireball just to make him take her seriously. But if she killed him first, she wouldn’t find out who’d hired him.

Patience was a sometimes a bitch.

Mr. Rugged He-Man shoved back his bar stool, stood up and headed toward her, and her belly actually coiled up in anticipation of his approach. He wasn’t even looking at her breasts like all the lechers in the place were, but he was brimming with sexual energy and an overall sense of potency that made her blood thud as it raced through her body.

She watched him approach and suddenly realized she’d been wrong. He wasn’t the man who’d stabbed her in the side two weeks ago. This guy was quite a bit taller than her original assailant. Close to six five, with shoulders that would knock down a brick wall.

But he had the same aura. Same energy. Whatever the first man had been, this guy was the same. But this guy was deadlier. She could tell just by the way the air parted in front of him. He was different. He was more .

He stopped in front of her and stared down at her, and she wanted to lean into the wall of potent energy that he carried. Sex, but more than sex. Passion. Heat. Fire. Rage. Joy. Love. Grief. Violence. All of it twisted up into one pulsating web of heated emotion. Every emotion she had to deny about herself in order to stay sane.

I want him.

She blinked in surprise at the thought, then realized it was completely true. But she didn’t just want him as a man. She wanted him for all the rumbling emotions brewing inside him. She wanted to wrap herself around his boiling inner core and see what it was like to be alive like that.

Whoa, girl. That would seriously screw her up if she touched him like that and then had to return to her own delightful life of being bitter, cynical and alone. Paige might have been born without a shred of self-preservation instincts, but Becca had them.

Which meant this bubbling cauldron of maleness was going home alone tonight.

Or without her, at least.

And she was perfectly okay with that. Really.

I have received some of the most amazing early reviews:

Romantic Times BOOKreviews gave CHOSEN PREY 4 1/2 stars along with this fabulous review. “Bestseller McCray takes her blistering hot writing style into a new arena with her first romantic thriller. The danger of indoctrination into cults makes a dark and scary backdrop for this electrifying and suspenseful novel. McCray’s versatility and talent make her a star in any genre she chooses.”

Cherry Adair, New York Times bestselling author, calls CHOSEN PREY “Suspenseful, edgy and red-hot sexy.”

From PNR Reviews, reviewer Janalee Ruschhaupt says, “Ms. McCray has written the best suspense of 2007 and is award-winning material.”

Talk about shocking and surprising!!!!

Here’s the back cover copy:

Cheyenne McCray has enchanted readers with her sensual paranormal romances. Now comes her first novel of steamy romantic suspense—a high-octane thriller about a woman running from her past and her own deepest desires.

Peril

Lyra Collins has made a life for herself in a sleepy artists’ community in Arizona. Having escaped from a cult five years ago, she keeps a low profile, making a living as an artist. But when a mysterious man with a dark, dangerous look appears on her doorstep, she knows it’s time to run again.

Passion

Former cop Dare Lancaster didn’t mean to lead a bunch of fanatical cult members straight to Lyra’s door. But now that he’s gotten her into this mess, he’s determined to get her out. The frantic heat their bodies generate whenever they’re together makes him want to save her…

Prophecy

Neal Barker’s grandfather was the first Prophet Jericho, and Neal now rules the Temple of Light commune unchecked. According to his visions, he and Lyra are destined to produce the new Messiah, so he will stop at nothing to make her his own. But soon Dare will discover just how far he’ll go to protect Lyra—and never let her go.

“Wildly erotic and dangerously sensual… One of the sexiest stories of the year.”—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Forbidden Magic

Here are the first couple of pages:

Chapter 1

They’d found her. After all these years they’d found her.

Lyra gripped the plastic grocery bag tight in one fist and swallowed hard as she stood in her doorway and slowly turned to face the tall man on her porch. She hadn’t even heard him following her until she’d opened her front door.

He’d called her by her real name. Only The People knew her real name.

“Lyra Collins?” the man repeated in a bass rumble that made her skin tingle. His eyes were shadowed by a Stetson pulled low over his forehead.

Her heart pounded as she took a step backward into her home. Adrenaline surged through her body and she fought a wild urge to run.

And run fast.

The man was frighteningly large, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist leading to lean hips. A black western shirt was tucked into black Wranglers molded to powerful thighs.

She ground her teeth at the thought of the bad guy from the Wild West, dressed all in black, coming to gun her down. Any other day, in any other situation, the whole scene might have been funny. Lyra saw no humor in it now. This handsome bastard was probably a Wild West bad guy, modern-religious style, and he might just have a six-gun hidden somewhere she couldn’t see.

The People were relentless.

She moved her free hand to the doorframe. She clenched it so tight her nails dug into the splintered wood. Over the stranger’s shoulder, she saw neighborhood children playing in the July sunshine-bright street, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the fear coursing her body. Behind the children was the side of the hill where a steep set of concrete steps led down to Main Street. If she had a chance she could make a run for it. Head someplace where she could disappear again.

The man frowned. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

Lyra raised her chin. She did her best to gather her composure, battling her fear and more tingles from the rich, deep sound of his voice. She cleared her throat, dismissing his almost hypnotic effect on her. “Who are you?”

“Dare Lancaster.” He touched the brim of his hat in a gentlemanly gesture that surprised her—but didn’t fool her. “One of your relatives has been trying to get a hold of you, and I thought I’d let you know. A man named Ryan came to my office and said a Neal Barker is trying to find you.”

Neal? Oh, my God. So I’m not being foolish or paranoid. I should have known this couldn’t last forever!

Blood drained from Lyra’s face. She could feel it seeping down her throat and trickling from her body to the stained carpet beneath her feet.

Neal. The Prophet of the Temple of Light.

Her hand crept from the doorframe to the canister she kept bracketed there.

“I-I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” She started to push the door shut, but the man stuck his booted foot between the door and the jam.

Terror ripped through Lyra like an ice cold wind. She dropped the grocery bag and vaguely heard glass shatter, and the thump of the bag of dry cat food hitting the carpet. In a movement so fast she surprised herself, Lyra yanked the can of pepper spray out of the holster beside the door and aimed it at the man.

She pressed down on the release as hard as she could and a fine mist sprayed him full in the face.

“Ah, hell.” Instead of dropping and writhing on the porch like she’d expected him to, the man merely pinched the bridge of his nose and moved his boot out of the doorway. “A simple no would’ve been better.”

I hope that if you get a chance to read CHOSEN PREY, you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Hugs,

Chey

The winner is Marilyn for her suggestion of Immortally Sexy!! Go Marilyn! My paranormal series will hereby be known as the Immortally Sexy series, basically in honor of Satan and his delusions of sexiness. Marilyn, please email me from my website with your snail mail address so we can talk prizes…

 But, wait, there’s more! There were so many great ideas that we ended up using one of the other suggestions as the title of my fourth book, the one that’s coming out in November 2007. And the winner is…. Ranurgis for her suggestion of Sex & the Immortal Bad Boy.  Ranugris, will you please email me from my website so we can talk prizes…

And for those of you who didn’t win, don’t give up hope! I have saved all your posts and we will likely be picking from the suggestions for future book titles. If you did make the same suggestion as one of the gals listed above and I didn’t name you, please let me know!

And, now, for more exciting news! MUST LOVE DRAGONS officially hit the shelves yesterday! It’s already getting great reviews (phew!)

Here’s an excerpt:

Less than forty-five minutes after the attempted assassination, Theresa was still shaking from the incident, from the realization that Lyman had found her. Her injured wrist was almost healed already, so she didn’t bother with wrapping it. Instead, she’d raided Becca’s closet for comfort clothes, and had just finished putting on a pair of pale blue sweats and a baby soft tee shirt when someone pounded on Becca’s front door. She yelped and dove behind an armchair, her heart thudding. Oh, God. Lyman?

Someone pounded again, and she realized what she was doing. Dragons didn’t hide, not even from other dragons who could kick their ass. Besides, it’s not like hiding behind a chair would save her from Lyman. Her only hope was to make him thing she was more of an opponent than she was.She forced herself to stand up, grabbed a nearby lamp, ripped the cord out of the wall and held it over her head. He would kick her ass, but heaven help her, she was going to do her best to damage him before she went down. Clenching the lamp, she eased toward the door, wishing Becca was back from harvesting souls. She could use a little fireball backup. She peeked through the spy hole, then the lamp fell from her fingers and she yanked the door open. “Zeke? What happened to you?”

He had a scratch on his left cheek and his beautiful shirt was torn and filthy. His hair was in total disarray, and he looked much more like the bad boy she’d imagined him to be. Delicious.

He held up his hand for silence and leaned against the door jamb. “First of all, I owe you an apology. You were right about my client. I don’t know how it happened, but I screwed up.” At his confirmation, she had to grab the doorframe for balance as the room suddenly tilted. Lyman really was after her. He wanted to find her so badly that he’d hired Zeke to find her.

But how could Lyman still be alive? When she’d gone back to find him after escaping his clutches, everyone said he’d perished in a fire that had destroyed half the town. A fire that had wiped out her family’s holdings, the ones Lyman had usurped for himself.

How much worse had he become in the one hundred and eighty years since she’d last seen him? She pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

“T? I apologized.”

She dropped her hand, lifted her chin and gratefully focused on being angry at Zeke, instead of afraid of Lyman. “And what about lying to me? Any apologies for that?”

He rubbed his temples and gave a soft groan. “Part of the job. It’s what I do, but it’s over now.”

She scowled. “You don’t get forgiven just like that.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Don’t push me tonight, T. I’m on the edge.”

“Oh, and I’m not? In case you didn’t notice, someone tried to kill me tonight.”

The muscle ticked more fiercely. “I noticed.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She could practically feel him willing himself to calm down. He opened his eyes and fastened his deep brown gaze on her. “Who are you?”

She shook her head and started to shut the door. “Leave me alone.”

“No.” He shoved his way inside, a show of masculine stubbornness that made her want to grab his belt and yank him against her. “I’m extremely expensive, and someone paid me a lot of money to find you. Why?”

“Why should I tell you? So you can betray me to someone else?” She stepped back as he paced the living room, a tightly strung energy rolling off him. Energy that seemed vaguely alarming, but familiar as well.

He came to a stop in front of her. “The betrayal was an accident, and I’m here to fix it. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Hah!” She tried to shove past him, but he caught her upper arms and held her in front of him. Heat flared in her from his touch, and she had a sudden yearning to throw herself into his arms and beg him to ravage her. She tensed and tried to clear her mind. “Let go of me.”

He released her so quickly she stumbled, his face strained.

“For your information,” she announced. “I don’t make it a habit of trusting my secrets to men who lie to me and set me up to be killed. You lost your chance with me, Zeke, so leave me alone.”

He studied her for a long moment. “I can’t leave until I get the answer to one question.”

“Fine. What’s the question?”

“Are you a dragon?”

All her dragon senses flared into self-defense mode, and she eased back from him, her instincts suddenly reacting to him as a threat. “What’s it to you?”

He met her gaze for a moment, then her nose was flooded with the most amazing scent of burning pine, of fresh woods, of earth, of melting chocolate. She had just enough time to panic, and then her legs gave out and she collapsed in a puddle of ecstasy.

###

Zeke caught Theresa before she hit the ground, cradling her body against hers as he swept her up, adrenaline spiking through him as her hot skin burned through his shirt.     

“Oh my God,” she moaned as she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled the crook of his neck. “You’re a dragon slayer.”

“Ex-slayer.” He staggered as she ran her fingers through his hair and showered frantic kisses on his throat. Shit. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard with his scent. All he’d wanted was to see if she reacted, since he knew she’d never tell him the truth.

“This explains a lot,” she mumbled as she tried to unbutton his shirt. “I knew you couldn’t have been good enough at cybersex to make me monogamous. God, you’re an asshole.” She got his shirt open and pressed her face to his chest, inhaling deeply. “You smell so amazing. You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? Ooh…”

“No.” He made it to the couch and set her down. He tried to pull back, but she clutched at his shoulders, fighting to keep him near. Her eyes were closed, her body arching toward him. Old instincts swirled to the surface, and he had to look away from her exposed throat. “I’m an ex-slayer. Ex.” Remember, Zeke? Ex.

“You can’t be an ex-slayer. You are or you aren’t.” She tried to hit him, but she missed and nearly fell off the couch in a sluggish mound of female curves.

“Come on, T.” He pulled her back up and held her upright on the couch. “I didn’t release that much scent. Help me out here.”

“Help you?” She blinked at him, her eyes glazed as she swayed toward him. “Help you kill me?”

“No.” He stepped back, clutching his fists against the instincts pushing at him to do what he was born to do. “Help me resist.”

“Resist? Hah. You slayers don’t resist. You bring us down and kill us. It’s impossible for a slayer to change sides.” She slid off the couch and rolled onto her back, her fingers reaching for him as she ground her hips into the carpet. “I can’t believe you’re a slayer.” She moaned with distress and desire. “I can’t believe I want to have sex with you when I know you’re about to kill me!”

Zeke closed his eyes against the need raging through him, the primal urge to follow his destiny, to destroy. She’s just a dragon, Slayer. They all deserve to die. Kill her now. He cursed and shook his aching head. “I gotta go. I’ll be in touch.”

“Zeke!”

He sprinted for the door and slammed it shut behind him, his body pulsing with centuries old needs that he’d kept at bay for so long.

Stephanie

Annie came up off the bed with a gasp, one hand flying to her sweaty forehead, the other gripping the sheet beneath her. Not again. Not that same damn dream again. Her heart was pumping so hard and fast she could feel it, and a sheen of perspiration that wasn’t normal on such a cool morning covered her face and made her lightweight pajamas stick to her skin.
She left the bed quickly–as if she could escape the dream that way–peeling off her pajamas as she walked to the master bath to turn on the shower. Standing beneath the spray with her eyes closed, she tried to imagine the dream washing away and swirling down the drain. It didn’t, of course. It stayed with her much too vividly.

In the dream, a handsome man and a pretty dark-haired woman sat on a blue couch, happy for the moment. Obliviously, innocently happy and very much in love. They were bathed in a pink glow, as if their love surrounded and protected them. Their world was small, and sweet, and they saw nothing before them but years and years of love and togetherness.

All of a sudden he was there without warning, with a knife in his hand and an anger that colored the edges of the dream red. With that anger boiling and raging, he killed them.

Annie shampooed her short, blond hair and began to scrub as if she were washing away the blood she’d seen in her nightmare. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t cry. She’d had the dream four nights in a row, and she didn’t know what to do.

This wasn’t the first time she’d had dreams that were more than dreams, but it had been a long while. She’d been so sure the aberration was over–gone–finished, once and for all. Apparently this curse or ability she’d never wanted had just been pushed deep. Something had caused it to rise to the surface, and she’d do whatever she had to in order to make the dreams stop.

Annie’s psychic gift had been inherited from her grandmother on her mother’s side. Grams had told her long ago that if she didn’t exercise the ability it would eventually go away. It was no different than being naturally good at baseball but choosing not to play the game. Since being psychic hadn’t done Grams any good at all, deciding not to play had been easy for Annie. For the most part, it worked. Since she didn’t exercise the ability, it didn’t often surface. But now and then, she had the dreams….

Last time something like this had happened, Annie had been twenty-two years old and unbelievably naive. Grams, the only person who might truly understand, had been gone three years by that time. Unable to turn to her recently divorced parents, and unsure about how her friends would react, Annie made the worst mistake of her life. She went to the police.
That wasn’t a mistake she cared to repeat. Wrapped in a towel, her short hair towel-dried and the latest dream still too closely with her, Annie went to her computer. She needed help–serious help–and she wasn’t sure where to turn. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. It had been five years since the fiasco in Nashville, and she would not allow the heartbreak and embarrassment to be repeated. She liked it here in Mercerville, Tennessee, tucked into the mountains in what had to be one of the most naturally beautiful spots in the world. She had friends here, and her business was doing well. Tourists who came here for the serenity of the mountains found her one-of-a-kind hats and handbags intriguing. They told their friends, who called and placed orders by phone. One customer at a time, the business had grown. She had two small but prosperous shops in the area–one in Mercerville and another in Wears Valley–and was thinking of opening a third in Pigeon Forge. She had a life, a good life, and she wasn’t going to throw it away by confronting police officers who would just laugh at her.
But she had to do something. Someone had to stop this madman who’d killed two people simply because they were happy.

She keyed “private investigator” into the search engine, and scrolled down the first page, her fingers trembling. She’d be best off finding someone in the southeast, but not right in her backyard. When this was finished, she wouldn’t want the person who’d helped her to be too close.

Nothing jumped out at her right away so she continued, going to the next page and scanning the names. There were so many! Who could she trust with this? Who would take care of the matter without bringing her neat little world crashing down onto her head?

On the third page it happened. A name seemed to pop off the page, brighter than the rest. It drew her eye in an unnatural way, making her heart lurch. She read the first line, which told just a little bit about the company Web site. They were based in Alabama. Close, but not too close. In an instant Annie knew without doubt she’d found someone who could help her.

The Benning Agency.

*****

Lucky kicked his feet up on the desk in his home office, holding his ear to the phone and listening to it ring on the other end. One, two, three rings. He was wondering where Sadie could be so early on a Monday morning, and trying to decide if he wanted to leave a message on the machine or not, when someone answered.

“Helloooo.”

Great. Just what he needed. “Hi. Is your mommy–”

“My name’s Grant,” the overly enthusiastic young voice proclaimed. “Yes, I know. I–”

“I have a baby sister,” Grant said enthusiastically.
“She’s new. Her name is Reagan.”

“Yes, I–”

“I like her, but sometimes she stinks.”

There should be a law against three-year-olds answering the telephone. “This is Uncle Lucky,” he said quickly and precisely.

“Hey! You gave me a toy gun for my birthday!”

“Yes, I did. Can I–”

“Daddy only lets me play with my toy gun sometimes, not always. When I’m the Incredible Spiderman I don’t need a gun because I have my spidey powers.”

Lucky sighed, and gave up on his hopes of talking to Sadie anytime soon. “No, Spiderman doesn’t–”

“The Incredible Spiderman!” the kid corrected with enthusiasm. And then he started making what were probably supposed to be spidey sounds.

“Can I speak to your mother?” Lucky spoke loudly to be heard above the din.

“You didn’t say please.”

“Please.”

“She’s changing a diaper right now. I have a baby sister! Her name is Reagan. Sometimes she stinks.”

Grant could be amusing, but he was getting repetitive and that was never a good thing. “If you’ll take the phone to your mother, I’ll bring you some candy next time I visit.”

Grant paused for a split second. “M&M’s?”

“Whatever you want.”

Suddenly Grant’s voice was distant, as the kid held the portable phone away from his mouth and called, “Mommy! It’s Unca Lucky!”

A few moments later, Sadie uttered a breathless “Hello?”

Without responding to the greeting, Lucky said, “You let a kid who’s barely three years old answer the phone?”

His old partner laughed. Man, there were days when he missed that laugh more than he dared to admit. “He taught himself. What can I say?”

“You can start by telling him not to give his name over the phone until he knows who he’s talking to.”

Sadie sighed. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll take care of it. Nobody told me two kids would be ten times as much work as one. Twice as much I expected, that makes sense, but…I swear, Lucky, I have completely lost control.”

Sadie had lost control the minute she’d hooked up with Truman McCain, but that was an argument she didn’t want to hear. “I know the feeling. Heather left a couple of days ago.” Saturday afternoon, to be exact.

“Why?” Sadie managed to sound outraged, even though she had never liked Heather and hadn’t been shy about saying so.

“She said I’m commitment phobic.”

“Well,” Sadie said, less outrage in her voice, “you are. I mean, you and Heather were together for what, five months? That’s the longest I’ve ever known you to stay with one woman.”

“Siding with the enemy?”

“You didn’t love her, and I can tell you’re not all that upset that she’s gone.You’re just peeved because she left first. She wasn’t right for you, anyway. She was like all your other women–drop-dead gorgeous and shallow and temporary and not too smart. Maybe you should let me pick the next one.” There was more than a touch of humor in her voice as she made that ridiculous suggestion.

Lucky heard Grant’s insistent voice in the background. “You will not bring this child candy next time you visit,” Sadie declared, the tone of her voice changing dramatically. “Do you have any idea what Grant’s like when he ingests too much sugar?”

“Oh, yeah. I was at the birthday party, remember?” Lucky hadn’t missed any of Grant’s birthday parties. Sadie’s husband, Truman, who was now sheriff of the small county where they lived their chaotic and ideal life, had once been suspicious of Lucky’s motives where Sadie was concerned. In nearly four years Truman had come to accept that his wife and the man who had once been her partner were just friends. The best of friends, but still…just friends.

It was only on the bad days that Lucky acknowledged that he had once been a little bit in love with Sadie. On the worst of days, he wondered if he still was.

Linda Winstead Jones
Lucky’s Woman, September 2006 Intimate Moments
And coming next spring!
Prince of Magic, March 2007 Berkley Sensation
Prince of Fire, April 2007 Berkley Sensation
Prince of Swords, May 2007 Berkley Sensation