Ellora's Cavemen: Tales From the Temple IV

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Excerpts From: ELLORA’S CAVEMEN: TALES FROM THE TEMPLE IV

An Excerpt From: NIGHT SCREAM

© Copyright DENISE AGNEW, 2004.

Thunder broke into Evelyn’s unconsciousness and she flinched as a loud boom echoed in the room. Weak as a day-old kitten, she tried to formulate one coherent thought.

Sensation came before lucidity. Something soft but cold cradled her body and the familiar scent of leather gave a clue to her location. She must be lying on the sofa in Mac’s office. Dim light penetrated her eyelids. She tried opening her eyes and couldn’t, a strange weakness kept her immobile.

What’s happening to me?

Fear threatened, but new feelings stopped all thoughts in their tracks.

Gently and slowly, strong hands touched her ankle. She would have twitched at the delicate touch, but her body didn’t seem to be cooperating other than breathing. Her right pump fell off her foot and onto the floor with a thud. Then a hot, big hand traveled up the side of her calf.

Whoa. Oh. Oh, yes.

The hot touch caressed like a lover’s, tender and possessing certainty, as if the man had touched her like this before. As her muscles shivered in reaction, pleasure sluiced hot and soothing through her body. Befuddled, she didn’t give a token protest. Excitement danced inside her, moist heat gathered between her legs. Her breasts felt fuller, nipples hard and begging for the soft stroke of a tongue or persistent suckling.

She couldn’t control wanton need as it washed over her from head to toe. Dizzy, she waited for his next move.

Seconds later he reached up under her skirt and skated over her right thigh. Hot and intimate, the contact didn’t pretend to be anything—it screamed intention. The man had decided to cop a feel. She wanted to be offended. She wanted to kick the intruder’s ass. Instead she couldn’t move a muscle to ward off the touchy-feely.

Oh, boy.

The man hovered over her now, and she heard his heavy breathing. So she’d given him a run for his money. Gratification warred with fear. What should she do now? Lie here like a beached whale? Attempt to get away?

Warm breath touched her neck. The heat from his body felt comforting and arousing all at once.

“God, you’re pretty,” he whispered, his voice husky with excitement and maybe awe. The voice sounded familiar. “What the hell were you trying to do, honey?”

She wanted to speak, to refute his assessment and tell him to keep his paws off. Despite fury at her inability to defend herself, she wanted with aching certainty to discover what he’d do next.

“Damn it,” he growled softly. He drew in a deep breath, as if inhaling her scent. “I can’t resist you.”

An Excerpt From: BODY CHEMISTRY

© Copyright TAWNY TAYLOR, 2004.

She was positively gorgeous, that Allie Larson. And she’d spoken to him, shown a genuine interest in what he was saying…until he’d gotten to the part about the rats.

Why did he always do that? Talk about such utter nonsense, it literally chased the women away?

He shrugged into his lab coat. A little playing with that new compound, the one he’d lovingly named Candy, would raise his spirits, not that they weren’t already somewhere up in the stratosphere.

She’d noticed him. She’d spoken to him.

If only there was a pill he could take to make him the smoothest talking charmer of the company! He pulled the test tube rack from the refrigerator and set it on the counter, then turned to light the Bunsen burner under the hood, but as he spun around again to grab a tube from the rack, he knocked the whole thing to the floor. It landed with an earsplitting crash.

Damn it all!

He went to the sink and pulled some paper towels from the dispenser then knelt on the floor to mop up the broken glass and the chemical compound that had him up late at night trying to discover its secrets.

Too damn bad! Now he’d have to wait until the next run of the weight loss compound before he’d get any more.

Now, with nothing to do, he took off his lab coat, returned it to its hook, tossed the last of the paper towel mess in the garbage, and headed toward the door. As he gripped the knob in his hand and pulled, John—the one guy at Case who seemed to understand him—shoved open the door.

“Are you leavin’?”

“Yeah. I just dropped the last of Candy on the floor.”

“Again? Last week, we had to close the lab for a whole day because of the mercury spill.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Come on, let’s go get a beer on the suits. They’re paying.”

“Nah. That party isn’t my thing.”

“Oh, come on. I owe you a beer.”

“For what?”

“For covering for me yesterday. Thanks again.”

“Not a problem.”

John tipped his head toward the banquet-room-slash-meeting-room where the partiers were getting louder by the minute. “Sounds like the beer’s flowin’.” He pushed open the door and walked in.

Lukas followed, brushing past Judy, the company’s receptionist, on his way to the bar.

“Well, hello there!” she cooed, catching his hand and giving it a solid yank. “Where have you been, handsome?” She tucked a stray silver lock of hair behind her ear, put on her glasses, which hung from a chain around her neck, and studied him top to toe.

“Who? Me?” Lukas looked behind him. He looked over his right shoulder. No one. He looked over his left shoulder. Still no one. He looked back at Judy.

She licked her chops and fanned herself with a hand. “Yeah, you. My goodness, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was having a hot flash. I haven’t felt like this since menopause.”

“Maybe you should go outside and get some cool air.” He tried to back away, but she wouldn’t let him go.

Instead, she draped herself over his arm like an afghan. “I’ll go anywhere you say, honey. Just lead the way. I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

An Excerpt From: EARTHWORK

© Copyright ANNIE WINDSOR, 2004.

“It goes poorly on the Volcanic Rim.” Kiko Lesia quickened her stride toward the Council chamber as the sun sank behind the capitol city of the former North American continent, now called Northwestland.

Dram Wolfel easily kept up with Council Chair Lesia. Kik was a small woman, but her speed and fluid grace were legendary, like her skills with the bow and blade. Her intelligence and foresight impressed the leaders of coven and tribe alike, and there was talk of Southwestland asking for her leadership as well. Wytch-Native hybrids were rare, but Kik had a powerful Wiccan mother and an equally formidable father from the central tribes. Just like Dram Wolfel. Just like most of the Warriors of Áis, who led the defeat of the Technocrats in the last uprising.

“The Northeastlanders can’t take care of this?” he asked respectfully but forcefully. “Or the Southeastlanders?”

Kik shook her head, her long black hair falling loose about her shoulders. “The Rim is too remote, and too well-fortified. There’s something unusual about the facility there. Akaroa is a military compound, I’m certain, much like the others we’ve destroyed, but this one…”

She trailed off, leaving Wolfel with distinct unease. He waited, still matching her stride without effort, a feat most could not accomplish. Finally she took a breath and continued. “There’s an energy to it. I’ve tried to scan it with my mind. Hell, we’ve even tried as a group. The shamans, the high priests and priestesses—from a distance or right up close—we can’t break through.”

Now Wolfel felt the familiar cold pain in his gut.

Dark magik. There was no other explanation. No amount of science could stand against the energies of the Earth and the combined talents of the Earthworkers. The Rim had to be infested with a perversion of the natural, headed by a shaman or priest familiar with the twisted workings of disease and necromancy.

The scars crisscrossing Wolfel’s chest and back began to throb.

Not again. But he knew he would be called to go. And he would go, without question or hesitation. Gods. Goddess. Please, not again.

His jaw clenched against the pain even as Kik said, almost conversationally, “Of course we need you. We need all the Warriors, but I think we need something more, too.”

Wolfel’s unease increased tenfold even as his over-alert mind guessed at her next words.

“We need the woman, I think. Keli Dunkirk. She is very powerful.”

“She isn’t trained in fighting.” Wolfel stiffened, realizing he was talking through his teeth, unable to relax enough to stop it. “She’s a healer by nature.”

“She’s powerful. Far beyond anything we’ve dealt with before.” Kik stopped short in front of the wooden Council chamber door. “If the two of you were bonded, if you could work as a unit—”

“Don’t ask me to bed her just to use her, Kik.” Gods, but his jaws hurt now. His temples throbbed in time with his scars.

Kik laughed, making Wolfel clench his jaws even harder. “I’m asking you to bed her because you want her. And then I’ll ask the two of you to go to the Rim.”

“She’s a student.”

“She’s a woman, and next moon, she’ll have completed her graduate studies.”

“Who says I want her?” he growled, hating the telltale husk in his voice—and his rapidly stiffening cock. Just the thought of Keli Dunkirk could do that to him, which made him almost as furious as Kik’s flippant attitude.

“Don’t make me laugh again.” Kik patted Wolfel’s shoulder like an older sister. “And don’t keep me waiting long. There’s something wicked on that Rim, something foul and dangerous. We need to put an end to it.”

And with that, Kik turned and headed into the Council chamber, leaving Dram Wolfel to grind his teeth.

An Excerpt From: GHOST OF A CHANCE

© Copyright SHILOH WALKER, 2004.

The journal belonged to a Katherine Greene, the daughter of a local pastor back in 1843. She had been sixteen when she had started this one, and CJ was completely enchanted.

Had they all been so guileless back then?

Turning the page, CJ read about the man Katherine was supposed to marry.

He is so handsome. Mama teases me how I blush every time he looks at me. My heart beats so fast, and I felt faint today when he took my hand to help me from the carriage.

We went for a ride today. It was a new carriage, riding so smooth and quiet. Not like Papa’s wagon. And we went by ourselves. Mama and Papa trust him.

Of course, we’ve been engaged since I was just a baby. Our grandpapas fought in the war together, and our papas came to Kentucky together.

I hope Collin Lucas truly does care for me. Collin Lucas, everybody calls him Collin Lucas. But he’s Lucas, my Lucas. He’s always quiet, always very polite. He is just so sophisticated. And I feel like such a silly child around him. He’s been to London and New York and Paris. Just last year, he brought me a parasol from Paris. I’m almost afraid to use it, it’s so pretty.

He kisses me, in ways I know he isn’t supposed to. I do not tell Mama. He has touched me before, on my breast, my hips, and then he stops and pulls away, laughing and telling me that I drive him to distraction.

That beautiful perfect man, and I can drive him to distraction.

Fancy that!

A year later there was another entry, on her eighteenth birthday.

Lucas made love to me today.

Oh…it was the sweetest thing. We went to the stream, our place. He laid me down under the oak tree. We went for a picnic, our own party. The ball is tomorrow. Today was ours.

He undressed me, so carefully, so gently—

CJ didn’t even realize she had started to daydream…

An Excerpt From: PAST RUNNING

Aeryn had seen the sheriff off and on over the next couple of months, but didn’t speak to him. One warm spring evening there was a dance that she couldn’t get out of serving on one of the committees. Her cousin Sara talked her into buying a new dress. She arrived early to help set up. When the dance was in full swing, Aeryn was feeling like she had worked a whole day.

Grabbing a glass of lemonade, she escaped through a side door of the large high school gymnasium. Tables and chairs were set up to enjoy the warm night, and Aeryn found one. It was small, with just two chairs, and secluded by a tree nearby. Sitting down, she slipped her shoes off. One long drink and she leaned her head back. Staring at the stars she let her eyelids drift closed. Her long hair, fighting confinement, drifted in loose tendrils and Aeryn felt like she could fall asleep, right here and now.

“Don’t tell me your dance card isn’t full?”

Aeryn opened her eyes and saw Sheriff McDonald standing in front of her. She shifted but didn’t straighten her position. “I’m not really in a dancing mood.”

Devlin looked at the beautiful woman sprawled in the chair in front of him. He’d fought his attraction to her since their first meeting. He’d managed to avoid her most of the time because any relationship with this woman would be bad news. Rumors about Craig Morelli and his jealousy circulated the area. The man was bound to get out of jail some time, and he would come here first. Gossip was that Morelli was against the divorce. Avoiding Aeryn Michaels was prudent. The last thing he needed in his career would be an angry ex-con show up looking for his ex-wife, and discover the new sheriff banging her!

Devlin pulled the chair next to her out and sat down. The lure of Aeryn Michaels tonight was irresistible. Her black, shiny hair was piled into a careless knot on top her head, strands caressing her bare shoulders. Her dress instantly caught his attention, and that of other males as well. It was a typical summer dress, the kind guys liked in bright sunlight. The skirt was full, ending above her knees. The waist was nipped in tight, and the bodice was low-cut and displayed her breasts magnificently.

Aeryn looked at the man seated beside her. She couldn’t fail to notice and appreciate the sheriff’s rugged good looks tonight, especially out here, in the soft and romantic moonlight. Fighting the need to know him better every time she saw him, there was no denying the attraction to him. No, Aeryn admitted, she wanted him. Lustful thoughts of him attacked her. She had tossed in bed, wondering what his hands felt like as they caressed her skin.

An Excerpt From: THE BECKONED

“Jack,” she breathed out. “What are you doing to me?”

Wai Ashley awoke on a gasp. In a cold sweat, her dark nipples stabbing against the wet silk of her nightgown, it took her a long moment to come to terms with the fact she had been dreaming.

This wasn’t the first time she’d had the vision. Indeed, she’d been abruptly awoken from the dream of the man who’d haunted her sleep on many an eve these past twenty-six years of her life.

Jack Elliot.

Who was he?

Where was he?

And what did he want with her?

She sighed. “You’re being ridiculous,” Wai murmured. He didn’t want anything from her because he wasn’t real. Jack Elliot didn’t exist.

She needed to get that fact through her thick skull once and for all. He wasn’t a real man. He was a nighttime hallucination—nothing more, nothing less.

A part of her wished that Jack was more than a passing mirage in a cold, lonely desert night. All these years of dreaming about him and she still knew little of him, though what she did know about her mythical lover more than made up for the parts she didn’t.

Strong. Tall. Tan. Solid muscles. Long, light brown hair with streaks of gold woven through it. Incredible body. And a really huge—

Wai frowned. He didn’t exist. There was no use in dwelling on the made-up physical attributes of a fictitious man. Jack, she had long ago decided, was a figment of her overactive imagination. Perhaps a make-believe friend she’d developed in her less than perfect, and oftentimes abusive, childhood.

The only problem with that theory was that Jack…well, he’d been there with Wai from the crib through womanhood. Warm, protective—almost paternal—from infancy through adolescence. He’d cradled her through all the tears, murmured soothing words to her she hadn’t understood, but that had somehow helped regardless…

Scared all the ghosts inside her away.

Jack Elliot had been her rock in the darkest hours of her childhood—her mental protector. Wai’s drunk of a father could beat her body, but he could never take her mind. Her mother could whip her into a bloody pulp, but she never managed to break Wai’s spirit.

All thanks to her loving, strong, invented protector.

When she’d hit puberty, though, Jack had changed somehow. He wasn’t less a hero—just more a man. A primal, arrogant male who demanded total attention—and absolute obedience. It was almost as if he’d waited for her to grow up so he could claim her as his possession.

More than once since she’d reached puberty, she’d awoken from a violent orgasm courtesy of mythical Jack—just like tonight. He’d leave her gasping and moaning, writhing beneath his knowing hands as she begged for his calloused touch.

She just wished she could stop dreaming about him altogether. Because of Jack and his nocturnal lovemaking in the world of slumber, no real man had ever been able to compare.

Lying back down, Wai pulled the covers tight around her. There was no time to ponder the mythical man her brain had named Jack Elliot. She needed sleep. Tomorrow was a big day. She had waited for this moment ever since she’d decided to go to college. If the ad agency hired her on, it would be a turning point in her career.

“Go away, Jack,” she whispered to the walls, to no one. She was always alone. How would she ever find happiness—completion with a real man—if her fantasy lover haunted her every night?

Wai blew out a tired, groggy breath of air. “Let me go.” She determinedly closed her eyes. “I’m not a scared little girl anymore. It’s time to let me go, Jack.”

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