Hell Lord Eligos has been tossed out of Hell, all because of a meddling mage. Now he has to rely on the same mage to try and get himself back home where the smell of sulfur is the smell of happiness. There is only one problem with his idea.
Stracey…
The mage’s sister is someone he can’t seem to get out of his mind.
On a mission to find Galen, Stracey keeps butting her way into his mind.
How is a Hell Lord supposed to stay evil with such an angel of a woman around?
He tasted so good—summer and honey. She’d been right in her guess, and there was a bit of naughty in there, too. A wickedness that made her knees weak.
Stracey tangled her tongue with his and knew she was in deep trouble. He raised his hands and gripped her upper arms, and his grip was tight.
He can grip me all day and pull me even closer.
No, wait. She had to get control of herself and this kiss.
As the thought hit her, he deepened his probing, the heat of the kiss ratcheting up.
Eligos slid his hand down her left arm and ran it over her stomach, then started inching up.
If he palmed her breast, she would be helpless to stop this little dance from going where it was obviously going.
Stracey panicked. She reached to the small of her back and pulled free the dagger she always kept sheathed there—a six inch long, razor sharp dirk.
She turned her wrist and put the blade between them, the point low, just under his testicles.
She broke the kiss just as his hand cupped her breast and she had to fight with herself to get words past the desire she was boiling in.
“I thought my brother told you I’m on a no go list.” Was that her voice sounding so husky and wanton?
“Rule number fifty. Rules are made to be broken.” His voice was just as husky, and she wanted to carry on with that kiss, but when he dipped his head to capture her lips again, she pushed the blade against his thigh.
“No I don’t think so,” she warned him. What he said hadn’t even made sense, or maybe she was so swept up in what he was making her feel she couldn’t think straight.
Eligos went tense, not moving a muscle.
“Do you have a blade pressed against my jewels?”
His voice was ice cold. The British accent that so intrigued her was more pronounced.
How quickly he switched from lothario to demon. She should have known it would be like that.
She felt the smile that curved her lips and knew her expression must be a little evil.
“That would be a yes,” she admitted.
“Why are you threatening my favorite appendage with a blade?”
