Seeing I put a teaser up for the Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance, I thought I'd put one here for my short in Hotter than Hell. This is the beginning of To Die For (which is not related in any way to any current story ):
The worst thing about working for an investigative agency specializing in paranormal and psychic events was the long, often irregular, hours.
My field of expertise might be missing persons rather than things that went bump in the night, but it still involved late nights and long shifts. Monsters mostly preferred the cover of darkness, it seemed.
But the second worst thing about working for the afore mentioned agency was having a boss who had no respect for the eight hours between shifts rule made law years ago.
So when Frank’s phone call woke me up after I’d barely been asleep for three hours, I was neither happy nor surprised.
“Rioli?” he said, his voice more gravelly than usual. Meaning he’d either been up all night or he’d hit the smokes again. “Need you in here ASAP.”
“Frank, I only just got home from the Harbor case-”
“This one’s important, Grace. Be here by seven.”
I glared blearily at the clock. He’d given me a whole thirty minutes. How generous of him. I hung up, dragged myself out of bed, and threw on some clothes. Luckily for us both, the traffic at that hour of a Sunday morning was practically non-existent, and I found a park right out the front of the Agency’s multi-story building.
It turns out I wasn’t the only investigator Frank had called in early. And when I heard the rapid tattoo of footsteps coming up behind me, I barely restrained a groan. There was only one man in this building who could make the mere act of walking sound so sexy, and I really wasn’t in the mood to cope with his banter this morning.
“Hey, Ravioli, wait up.”
“Ravioli is a food,” I said tartly, not breaking stride as I headed for the elevator. “And my name is Rioli. I’d appreciate it if you’d actually remember that.”
“Are you always this touchy in the mornings?” he asked, his voice so warm, so rich, that shivers of delight ran down my spine.
But then, I’d been super sensitive to this man’s presence from the moment he’d walked elegantly--and oh-so sexily--into the Preternatural Investigations offices eighteen months ago. Luckily for me, I was not alone in my admiration, and Ethan had wasted no time dipping into the pool, so to speak. The man was a werewolf who knew who to work both his aura and his lean, powerful body. He was sex on a stick, as one of my cubicle mates had noted. Right before she’d taken him home and enjoyed his stick.
Thankfully, I’d been spared the grittier details of their activities the following morning. I had imagination enough when it came to Ethan.
Which wasn’t to say I’d never been tempted to do more than imagine, but I often worked with the man on missing persons investigations. Unless you were very lucky, mixing business and pleasure always got messy.
Not that I’d actually mind a little of Ethan’s mess every now and again.