Moon Fever Read online
Praise for Four Fantastic
“Ladies of The Night”
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
SUSAN SIZEMORE
“…enraptures readers.”
—Romantic Times
“…passion, betrayal, and fast-paced action.”
—Library Journal
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author MAGGIE SHAYNE
“…[is] rich, sensual, and bewitching.”
—Publishers Weekly
“…is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.”
—Suzanne Forster
USA Today bestselling author
LORI HANDELAND
“…is an exciting voice in paranormal suspense.”
—Sherrilyn Kenyon
CARIDAD PIÑEIRO
“…provides an enthralling supernatural romance.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“…unique paranormal elements…[and] intense in-depth characters.”
—Romantic Times
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Primal Heat
Master of Darkness
I Hunger for You
I Thirst for You
I Burn for You
Also by Maggie Shayne
Dangerous Lover
Prince of Twilight
Darker Than Midnight
Colder Than Ice
Edge of Twilight
Thicker Than Water
Also by Lori Handeland
Hidden Moon
Rising Moon
Midnight Moon
Blue Moon
Also by Caridad Piñeiro
South Beach Chicas Catch Their Man
Sex and the South Beach Chicas
Pocket Books
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New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Tempting Fate copyright © 2007 by Susan Sizemore
The Darkness Within copyright © 2007 by Margaret Benson
Cobwebs Over the Moon copyright © 2007 by Lori Handeland
Crazy for the Cat copyright © 2007 by Caridad Piñeiro Scordato
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
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ISBN-10: 1-4165-6842-5
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-6842-1
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Tempting Fate
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
The Darkness Within
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Cobwebs Over the Moon
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Crazy for The Cat
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Tempting
Fate
Susan Sizemore
Chapter 1
September, ten years from now
D esiree Gill didn’t recall how she’d gotten there, seated in a dark corner, across a small round table from one of the most famous men in the world. She had vague memories of sitting in the back of a limo and talking for hours and hours. Of lips brushing sensually across her wrist, sending an arc of desire through her. A moment later, the slightest pinprick of pain sent her soaring with fiery pleasure. Her responses had been so intense she’d finally blacked out from sheer bliss.
She knew exactly where they were now: under the green-and-white–striped outdoor awning of her favorite café on the edge of the French Quarter. A sign on the shop proclaimed that it closed only for Christmas and some hurricanes. It had closed briefly for one a few years back but had quickly reopened. The Quarter had refused to bend to the will of Katrina, even if the rest of the city was still a little ragged around the edges a full decade later.
“You were here then,” he said.
It was not a question. And something in his voice took her back to struggling through waist-high water on a street full of the stench of harsh chemicals and garbage, where an abandoned dog barked inside a ruined building and something darker than the night followed close behind her. But she didn’t want those memories right now. All she wanted was to be in this moment forever.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll let it go.”
The aromas of warm grease and sugar filled the air; powdered sugar dusted the tabletop, spilled off a tall pile of beignets on the paper plates between them. A few fat, sleepy pigeons wandered across the floor, trolling for crumbs. Rain poured down in an almost solid curtain beyond the shelter of the canopy. Despite the late hour, there was still plenty of traffic moving slowly, almost swimming through the water in the street. It was a September night in New Orleans, and she had no idea how she’d ended up there after the concert, seated across from the singer she’d had a crush on since she was fourteen. A big fan of the dinosaur stadium rock band Coyote, she cherished the CDs her mom had collected as a teenager as much as she did her downloads of the band’s recent work. One of the things she liked best about Coyote was that they were always relevant. They were survivors.
Also, Jon Coyote was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and the most confident. She loved the way he could walk out onto a stage in a sold-out stadium, announce to the screaming audience, “For the next two hours, you belong to me,” and completely make good on that boast. In another age, he would have given Alexander the Great a run for his money as a charismatic world conqueror. In this day and age, he took all that god-king charisma on the road. There was something heroic about him.
Jon Coyote looked into her eyes and said, “Welcome to my world.”
“This isn’t your world,” she said. “You’re from New Jersey.”
“I’ve got family here.” He gestured toward a shadowed far corner. “There’s a bunch of my cousins sitting right over there.”
She looked and saw several pairs of eyes staring at her out of the darkness. Those eyes were glowing, red, gold, and green.
“Don’t pay any attention,” Coyote said. “They’re just showing off.”
Desi didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. All she could figure was that she was dreaming. Dreaming of being with Jonathan Coyote was the best fantasy she could imagine, so she relaxed and went along with
the whole thing.
“What are they?” she asked. “Werewolves?”
“Nah.” He took a sip of chicory-laced coffee. “We’re vampires.”
“Oh.” She looked at the bite mark on her wrist. “That explains it.”
So, she was dreaming that Jon Coyote was a vampire. Seeing that this was New Orleans, that almost made sense. Except that it seemed more like the sort of thing a tourist would dream about happening in her dark and mysterious city, rather than a native like her. She might be embarrassed about what her subconscious was pulling up if she was awake.
He took her hand and stroked a finger, slowly, suggestively, across her bruised wrist. The touch sent hot shivers through her. “I’ll give you a diamond bracelet to cover this, if you’d like.”
She had no use for diamonds, even in a dream. She shook her head.
“What would you like?” His voice was silken, with a dark edge that hinted at danger and ecstasy.
She held up her other hand, the wrist turned toward him. “More of the same, please.”
He smiled his famous knowing grin; his sapphire eyes took on a blue-neon glow. “Oh, honey. I’m gonna give you better than that.”
He carried her into a bedroom more luxurious than anyplace she’d ever dreamed of. The city glittered below the wide windows, brighter than the diamonds he’d promised her. He set her down on a deep carpet of indigo blue patterned with stars. A domed ceiling arched overhead, painted with the night sky. The huge bed was framed with twisting, gilded pillars and hung with blue velvet. She wondered if she could tone down all this lavishness but didn’t have the faintest idea how to manipulate a dream.
“Just relax and enjoy the ride,” Jon advised. His hands slipped under the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. “Actually, I have no intention of letting you relax.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” she said, and did the same with his shirt. His chest was sculpted and nicely fuzzy. She pressed her cheek against it and breathed in his scent, losing herself in the slow, slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat. It seemed too slow. She glanced up at him worriedly. “You don’t have any condition I need to worry about, do you?”
He laughed and ran his fingers through her short, curly hair. “I may be older than I look, but I’m healthy enough for what we have in mind.” He picked her up again and carried her to the bed. “As for my condition…” He sat down with her on his lap and nuzzled and licked her cleavage. “You’ll find the symptoms very pleasurable.”
Desi barely paid attention to his words. His touch burned her, and she liked it. She arched her back to offer easier access to her breast. “More, please.”
“Gladly.”
His mouth came down on her hot skin once again. This time, his lips covered an already hard nipple, and his tongue swirled wickedly around the peak while he gently suckled. She felt the nip of sharp teeth when he moved on to her other nipple. Pleasure burst through her.
Jon’s sexy laugh sent deep shivers through her, but the sound also brought her back from the edge of pleasure. She grabbed his head and brought it up for a kiss. The feel and taste of him were incredibly, deliciously male, and he very much liked being in control. His tongue delved into her mouth. His hands slid over her skin. Each touch sent all her nerve endings into overload.
She very nearly melted into the bed from all the pleasure he was giving her. Then it occurred to her that she wasn’t holding up her end of this mutual pleasure fest. This was her dream, and there was an unending number of things she wanted to do with Jon Coyote, so there was no time like this unreal present to check a few erotic things off her list.
It took her a while to get his attention. In fact, he seemed to like it when she resorted to burying her nails in his shoulders. She soon got the hang of scratching and biting, and for a while they engaged in the sort of rough play she had never imagined could be fun.
“Up for a bit of bondage?” he asked when he had her pinned beneath him, her hands held over her head. His bright eyes twinkled with mischief. “I could pull down the curtain cords and—”
“I don’t think so,” she blurted out. She giggled. “Maybe next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“You’re holding me right now.”
“So I am.”
He easily held her wrists immobile with one hand and caressed her with the other. His fingers traced and teased from the side of her throat all the way to the curve of her hip. Then they glided slowly across her thigh and moved to the damp heat between her legs.
She moaned when a fingertip pressed against her swollen clitoris. She grew feverish and frantic as he stroked and caressed her inside and out. The pleasure coiled and grew until a white-hot bolt of release shot through all her senses.
His mouth covered hers as she came, and their souls met in that moment. His kiss was a completion, yet it wasn’t enough. She arched against the hard length of his body, needing more, needing all of him.
He came inside her in one swift thrust. He filled her; she surrounded him. For one long, perfect, silent moment, they were one. Their gazes met, sharing fire.
Then Jonathan Coyote laughed, threw back his head, and howled like a mad, happy version of his namesake, and his hips began to thrust while she rose to meet him. For the longest time after that, she belonged to him.
Chapter 2
D esi woke up to find her body sticky with sweat and the residue of sex. Great sex. Only she didn’t remember whom she’d had sex with—and that was just wrong. She was in her own bed. That bed was in a tiny apartment in a rickety old courtyard building in the Quarter. The place had a squeaky, termite-eaten staircase that she remembered climbing alone. She’d come in late, and she remembered that there’d been rain.
And there’d been great sex. But she couldn’t remember where or with whom.
Well, she thought it was with Jon Coyote, but that was just wishful thinking.
And music. Such beautiful, rousing, hot music. The night had been filled with music. And rain. Sweet, warm beignets with white sugar that melted on the tongue. And there’d been kisses, hot and strong as the black coffee that had gone down so smooth and rich. And hands on her, all over her, big, strong hands with a gentle, knowing touch. Hard thighs and wicked hips that had ground against her. And a wide, strong back she’d scratched and bit and held onto while each thrust took her higher and higher, over the edge and up again to yet another erotic peak.
Damn!
Desi sat up and looked at the alarm clock on the beat-up old table next to the narrow bed. She saw the time and blinked.
And remembered where she’d been last night. In the second row at the Coyote concert. She’d laughed and danced and sang along with all the songs—the old standards and the new ones—and Jon Coyote had smiled his dazzling smile at her and reached down and touched her hand for a brief, electric moment—
And the world had gone white-hot bright, and he’d called to her, and her soul had answered, and—
And he’d moved on to the next fan reaching up toward the stage, and the next song. It had been a wonderful show. The best Coyote concert she’d ever attended, and she’d been to every performance in New Orleans since she was fifteen.
And then she’d come home—and had a hell of a wet dream.
She blushed, a little embarrassed at her erotic fantasies. Then she smiled and laughed, because if she was going to have sex in a dream with anyone, Jonathan Coyote would always be her first choice.
Her body felt as if the lovemaking had been real, which meant it had been way too long since she’d had real sex. She shrugged off the stiff muscles as evidence that she’d stood for hours on a hard concrete floor holding her own to get a good view in the huge, shoving, pushing, happy crowd. Her ears still rang from the cranked-up amplifiers and the shouting audience. Her body quivered with reaction from the superhot dream.
“Sensory overload,” she told herself.
She sang in the shower while she covered herself with thick jasmine-
scented lather. She didn’t notice what the song was until a cold shiver ran through her: “Tempting Fate.” It was her favorite song in the whole world, but sometimes hearing it gave her the oddest feelings. Something niggled and nagged at the back of her mind like the echoing of a fist banging on a faraway door.
She closed her eyes and hummed “Tempting Fate” as the water poured down her body and she tried to capture something lost.
Her sense of smell had overloaded and shut down after the first couple of days, which was a good thing—with the humid heat and all the water in the streets, the stench wasn’t likely to go away soon. When the wind shifted, it blew in ash and smoke from the houses still burning in the Garden District and other parts of the city. There were plenty of dead bodies of humans and animals in the houses, and even some floaters in the water. It was the stuff of nightmares. The Ninth Ward was not a safe place to be, but she had promises to keep. So she’d waded into the waist-deep rivers that used to be streets once a day since she’d gotten back from Houston to see what she could find.
The first day, she’d almost gotten caught by some patrolling National Guards. If they’d seen her, they’d have evacuated her for her own good, and she’d have ended up camping out with the rest of her family back at the Astrodome—a place she’d left with her family’s permission after their first night there. Okay, not quite permission, but grudging agreement that Desi was the best person for the job during the meeting of friends and neighbors that managed to find each other. She’d left without anybody actually saying she should go. Getting back to and into the city hadn’t been all that hard, except for carrying the heavy backpack of supplies. Staying in New Orleans was proving harder.
The Quarter was safe enough. The people who hadn’t wanted to leave gathered there and took care of one another. The Quarter was home anyway, the base she came back to after each rescue foray. But outside the Quarter—well, it hadn’t been all that safe even before the storm hit, and the cops completely stopped trying. Gangs still roamed, and the echoes of gunshots filled the air much more than usual. She’d never been afraid of the city’s dangers, but then, she’d never been alone before. At least, she was always so tired after she made her way home that no distant noise could wake her.