Santos, a Collection demon from Hell, finds himself drawn to a human. He doesn't want to corrupt Erin, he simply wants her, but he doesn't understand how humans interact. As he tries to blend in, his demon partner tricks Erin into bartering her soul.
When the time comes for Erin to regain her lost soul, Santos is chosen as her debt collector. He is bound by rules, yet he finagles options. One choice will corrupt her soul forever, but the other choice could spell her death.
Caught up in a situation neither wanted, Santos and Erin form a bond with one another, but will this be enough for them to survive and find love?
Praise for Party Girl
"In my opinion if Ayla Ruse only wrote menages or orgies I would be a very happy reader. PARTY GIRL is as hot as the place that Santos calls home..."
-- Barb Hicks, Bad Barb's Reviews
ExcerptSoul Debt: Party Girl
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Ayla Ruse
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Santos knocked on the door and tried to still his racing heart. He'd been invited to this party, sure, but he truly had no business coming here. Other than to see her.
When the door opened, Santos allowed a tight smile. Any more and he'd be afraid he'd give himself away. That, or she simply wouldn't notice, because the woman he longed to see stood just on the other side of the threshold.
"Welcome," the sexy, dark-haired woman greeted him, her eyes not quite meeting his. "Come on in. I'll take your coat and you can join the others down the hallway."
She spoke like a tourist guide, as she did at every party. Her name was Erin. He'd overheard that somewhere. He wanted to tuck his finger under her chin and lift it enough to see the sparkle in her eyes. Enough to have her smile back at him, genuinely, and not because he was another guest. He wanted to start a conversation, ask her to dance, maybe even take her home later if she'd let him.
But, as with every other time he'd seen her, the chance to do any of these things slipped away. As soon as the door had shut behind him, she'd scurried off with his coat. He hadn't followed because another woman had come up to link her arm through his.
He looked down at the woman -- he thought her name was Tammy -- and considered shaking her off to go after Erin, but his social skills weren't that great. Being a demon whose only interaction with the human world was to collect debts did not lend him time to study the more charming aspects of this race. Until he'd laid eyes on Erin, human interaction had been strictly business-related. If he had to approach Erin -- and he never wanted this to happen -- to say, "It's time to repay your debt," he'd have no problem talking to her. Otherwise, he stayed with the social women who talked too much so he didn't have to. He chalked up this time as learning experience.
In truth, there shouldn't be a reason for him to want to develop these skills, but ever since he'd laid eyes on Erin last month, he'd been able to think of little else but her. She practically glowed. The strength of her soul shone so bright he'd questioned her humanity at first. Could she be an Otherworlder? Most humans he had experience with had souls that clung to their potential with dirty, clawed fingers. Santos felt drawn to Erin. Not to destroy her soul, not to corrupt her, but for a selfish, fleeting chance to be near such energy.
The woman on his arm began to giggle and chatter, so Santos shook his head and turned his attention to her. He'd continue to observe these humans, and maybe one of these days he'd figure out exactly how to get close to the one he wanted.
* * *
The louder the party grew, the more Erin Carmichael shrank against the wall. The music pumped through speakers set in every corner of each room, the liquor flowed like water from creative dispensers on the countertops, and the food seemed to never run out. There weren't so many people in the penthouse that Erin felt crowded, but there prevailed an increasing sense of... over. Too much.
Which in itself was very strange as Erin loved parties. Ever since her first boy-girl dance in elementary school, she'd gravitated toward anything party-related. As a result, she could be counted on to always show up at someone's party. She could be counted on to show the way to the beer, the chips, the bathrooms, the bedrooms. She'd often been told people should hire her out. But did they? No. If someone planned a party, Erin would be the first guest called and the first guest to show up, at which point she would be shown the layout. When the "real" party guests came, the host or hostess would invariably direct all traffic to her. Once the party was well underway, however, people forgot about Erin.
No one ever mingled with Erin. She was the consummate go-to girl. Even now, sitting near the bay window on a decorative chaise longue, alone, a decorative paper plate in her lap with small finger foods she'd moved around, not one single person approached her.
She'd wondered if it was her looks. She supposed she was attractive enough. She had some height on her. At five foot ten, she could look most men in the eye, especially when she wore heels. She was slender and curved in all the right places. Her pitch-black, shoulder-length hair framed an oval face. She wore her make-up conservatively and had impeccable manners, but for reasons beyond her understanding, no one seemed to want to remain by her side.
Heck, she hadn't even had a date in over a year. She hadn't had sex in an even longer amount of time. Guys she found interest in would nod in her direction, but no one would approach her.
She looked with concealed longing around the sunken den. Furniture had been pushed to the sides to allow room for dancing. Men and women gyrated and wiggled and did a lot of bumping and grinding to the pulsating music, but was she in the mix? Would she ever be in the mix?
"I've never seen a longer face," said a tall, willowy woman who sat down to Erin's left.
"I'm sorry?" Erin stared for a moment, not placing the newcomer. Strange, since she greeted all the partygoers.
"The way you're staring at the dancers. You have an I-want-to-be-there look stamped all over your face."
"I do not." Erin straightened on the chaise and scooted over a few inches, trying to put distance between her and the woman.
The intruder laughed. It was a slow, deep, sexy chuckle that drew Erin's attention. "Do I know you? I don't remember seeing you come in."
"My name's Nirvana." She held out a long-fingered, perfectly manicured hand. Erin cautiously took the woman's hand, surprised at the firm grip. Their hands held moments too long, but the touch felt warm and made Erin's spine tingle. "I got here late. I'm a... friend of Santos. I've been watching you, and I think I can help you."