The Wallflower Page 9

  “Will Simon’s bite heal Becky’s wounds?” Emma asked as they slowly walked away from the weeping woman huddled on the ground behind them.

  “For the most part. She’ll bear some scars, most likely on her neck where Livia bit her, but otherwise she’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure Simon will take care of that quickly.”

  “Hmm. What do you think Livia will do?” Emma tucked her hand in the crook of Max’s arm and leaned on him. Her feet were beginning to hurt in the damn boots he’d bought her.

  “Move, preferably far, far away.” Max picked up Emma’s hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “You, by the way, were magnificent, my Curana.”

  Emma grinned up at him. “You think so?”

  “I saw your performance in the house, and part of it out here.” Max stopped and pulled her into his arms, his mouth brushing against his mark on her neck. “Watching you put all those assholes in their place really got me hot.”

  Emma giggled and wriggled her hips against him. “I thought I rocked.”

  Max purred slightly as he nipped the mark on her neck. “Simon told me I should take you home and start making kits. What do you think?” Max looked down at her, love and lust glowing equally in his brilliant smile.

  She leaned into him as they began walking back to the house, Livia forgotten behind them. Her hand rubbed his chest absently, her ring gleaming in the moonlight. “Max?”

  “What?” His tone was wary; he’d come to expect the unexpected when she used that particular tone of voice.

  “Will I give birth to a baby or a litter?”

  “Emma,” he groaned.

  “I mean, will we be feeding them baby formula or Kitten Chow?”

  “Emma!”

  “If they get stuck in a tree, who do we call? Does the fire department do kitten rescues anymore? This is important stuff to know, Lion-O!”

  “God save me.” She could tell from the way his chest rumbled under her hand that he was holding back a laugh.

  “Too late. Oh, and we’re not naming any kids Richard. I mean, Dick Cannon? Almost as bad as Max Cannon. Has anyone ever mentioned you have a name like a porn star? I mean, not that you don’t have the equipment to live up to it.”

  “Emma!”

  Emma giggled.

  Life was good.

  About the Author

  To learn more about Dana Marie Bell, please visit www.danamariebell.com. Send an email to Dana at danamariebell@gmail.com or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Dana! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/danamariebellschat.

  Look for these titles by Dana Marie Bell

  Coming Soon:

  Sweet Dreams

  Cat of a Different Color

  Is Emma ready for a bite?

  The Wallflower

  © 2008 Dana Marie Bell

  A Hunting Love story

  Halle Puma Series Book 1

  Emma Carter has been in love with Max Cannon since high school, but he barely knew she existed. Now she runs her own unique curio shop, and she’s finally come out her shell and into her own.

  When Max returns to his small home town to take up his duties as the Halle Pride’s Alpha, he finds that shy little Emma has grown up. That small spark of something he’d always felt around the teenager has blossomed into something more—his mate!

  Taking her “out for a bite” ensures that the luscious Emma will be permanently his.

  But Max’s ex has plans of her own. Plans that don’t include Emma being around to interfere. To keep her Alpha, Emma must prove to the Pride that she has what it takes to be Max’s mate.

  Warning: This title contains explicit sex, graphic language, loads of giggles and a hot, blond Alpha male.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Wallflower:

  Emma realized Max had stopped moving. Looking up at him, she found him staring down at her with a quizzical look. “Well?”

  Emma blushed. She’d been rubbernecking in Max’s house, trying to take in everything at once. “It’s incredible.”

  He smiled with satisfaction. “If there’s anything you want to change, you’ll have to let me know.” Gently he placed her on the quilt. “This is now as much your house as mine.”

  Emma’s mouth fell open as he toed off his shoes and socks. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Max began unbuttoning his shirt, diverting her attention from his whole “Mi casa es su casa” attitude. “I was in Simon’s shop when you called about the Madonna, you know.”

  “Oh. Really?” she replied absently. She could barely speak as Max unveiled the finest chest it had ever been her privilege to see. It was lightly sprinkled with light brown hairs, trailing down his stomach to point directly into his pants. Dark brown nipples peeped out from the hair, tempting her into some very sinful thoughts.

  “Yes, I was. And you know what?”

  Emma didn’t know her own name; Max was unbuttoning his jeans. “Um, nope.”

  “You live up to your voice,” Max purred as he slipped his jeans down his legs.

  “Urgh,” Emma choked, “naked.” She could feel her eyes bugging out of her head. Max went commando. A sinful buffet of man-flesh was laid out before her in one single sweep of his hands. She didn’t know whether to sigh or to sob.

  “Yes, I am.” Max laughed huskily. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Emma bit her lip, a sudden attack of shyness nearly paralyzing her. Max didn’t know it yet, but he’d be her first, and from the look on his face she’d better tell him soon.

  “Max?” Emma sat there, her hands clenched in her lap, her gaze riveted to his cock. The thing looked huge, all veined and red, and pointed straight at her. A small drop of liquid seeped from the slit. It twitched a salute to her rapt attention.

  “Yes, Emma?”

  Her gaze lifted to his; unknown to her, they’d turned pure, molten gold. “You remember the talk of other men?”

  He growled low in his throat and crawled onto the bed.

  “Eep,” she whispered, lying down as he prowled up her body.

  “You were saying?” he whispered huskily as he settled his naked body between her thighs. He brushed against her cheek with his lips, a caress so soft she barely felt it. It sent a shiver down her spine. Those same lips continued their incredible journey, trailing down the side of her neck to settle on the bite he’d given her outside the restaurant. Goose bumps raced up and down her arms as he moved his hips in a sinuous motion, brushing his naked cock against her mound.

  “Um, there weren’t,” she squeaked, unconsciously arching up into his body as he scrapped his teeth along his mark.

  “Weren’t what?” he muttered, one hand moving up to start sliding her camisole up her stomach. He paused long enough to caress her there, trailing fire in his wake.

  “Any other men.”

  His hand stopped.

  His mouth stopped.

  His hips stopped. She was really sad when his hips stopped.

  “You’re a virgin?” His voice sounded oddly strangled.

  “It’s not a crime to be one, you know. I’m not the Oldest Living Virgin, or anything. It’s not like I’m in the Guinness Book of World Records,” she babbled. “Besides, I’ve done other things…oh!” His hands had started moving again, with a swiftness that startled her. Her camisole was toast as he ripped it literally from her body, his claws barely scrapping her skin, sending shivers of need once again down her spine.

  Claws?

  Emma had barely registered the fact that Max had used his claws to ruin her favorite shirt when he started working on her jeans. “No! Bad kitty!” She slapped him on the top of his head, determined to save at least some of her wardrobe.

  He lifted his head, his eyes golden and burning, a rumbling sound emanating from his throat as he pinned her hands above her head. Emma thought about struggling, but something about the way he looked had her lying passively. “You’re a virgin.”

  Emma blinked, unsure how to respond. “Duh.” />
  Max stared down at her, his eyes narrowing as he studied her features as if seeing her for the very first time. “No man has ever touched you.”

  She thought about telling him about the make-out sessions her one and only boyfriend had talked her into, the oral sex they’d indulged in a few times, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Jimmy was a nice guy, and deserved to live. “Again. Duh.”

  “No man will ever touch you again.”

  Emma studied granite-like features above her. “Even you?” The growl deepened. She sighed, inexplicably happy to hear that sound. “Okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Duh.” She grinned. “By the way, Lion-O, that was my favorite shirt.”

  He looked down. “Damn, Emma.”

  “What?” She looked down, expecting to see something odd, like very dried alfredo sauce decorating one boob or something. Instead she saw the pale pink lace bra she’d put on that morning, the one that was completely see-through. It helped give her confidence to feel the sexy lingerie against her skin, so much so she’d replaced all of her old undies with the lacy stuff.

  From the look, and feel, of things, Max definitely approved.

  Max switched her wrists into one hand. The other trailed down her body to her jeans, undoing the snap and zipper with ease. “Lift your ass, Emma,” he commanded. She obeyed without thinking, shifting so he could ease her jeans down her legs.

  He hissed out a breath at the sight of the pale pink lace panties that matched the bra. Underneath, she was hairless. “A full Brazilian,” he sighed.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He moved his hand and began petting her over her panties, cupping her intimately. “Mine,” he sighed. His golden eyes bored into hers, a silent command in them. “Keep your hands where they are.”

  “Why?” Emma complied as Max moved his hand slowly from her wrists, trailing down her arm to the side of her breast.

  “Because I’m not ready for you to touch me yet. I want this first time to be yours.”

  “I’d rather it was ours.” She gasped as his hand gently embraced her breast. His thumb strummed gently over her nipple, causing it to peak under the pink bra.

  “Trust me, Curana. The pleasure will be ours.” Slowly, oh so slowly, Max lowered his head. His tongue snaked out and licked over her nipple through the lace, watching her reactions as she gasped softly. “I’m going to get you naked now, Emma.” He lifted his head from her breast. “Leave your hands where they are. Remember, Emma.”

  Max gently pulled the cups of her bra down, resting her breasts on the lowered cups until they looked like an offering laid out on pink lace. He bent and suckled one nipple into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue until she writhed against him, panting and moaning in need. He switched to the other nipple, suckling and nipping with such force it was nearly painful. Emma panted, damn near coming from the sensation.

  He pulled away from her. “Uh-uh, little Emma,” he purred. “No coming unless I’m in you, remember?”

  She groaned as he moved down her body. His hands went to her lacy panties, thumbs hooking under the band. With slow deliberation he pulled them from her body, slowly exposing her to his hot gaze. “You were right, Emma, to stop me before.” He looked up with a grin that made her moan. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is to play with my food.”

  And with that, Max began a sensuous torture that had her writhing with need.

  Can love tame a jaguar god?

  Treasure Hunting

  © 2008 Jenna McDonald

  A Hunting Love story.

  A good tromp through the jungle fending off giant bugs and hunting for long-lost ruins in South America is exactly Meg’s idea of a great vacation. She takes the sudden appearance of a wounded jaguar in stride, thinking it’ll make an interesting story. But when she wakes up to find a man in place of a cat, she wonders who’s going to believe it!

  Santiago has learned the hard way that he and human women just don’t mix. When you can change into an animal at will, it tends to upset people. But despite his best intentions, he finds himself falling hard for the little blonde who saved his life.

  It’ll take a leap of faith-and of love. Or this treasure will slip through his fingers.

  Warning: This work contains graphic m/f sex, bad language, and terrible humor.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Treasure Hunting:

  “How far is your camp?” Meg rubbed the back of her skull against the headrest, itching at the sweat trickling across her scalp. Santiago’s eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t resting. His muscles were tense, beads of sweat standing out against his chest, along his temples, making his black hair damp. She dragged her eyes back to the road, scolding herself half-heartedly that this really wasn’t the time to ogle him.

  But lordy, he had a nice chest. Simply not looking didn’t mean she couldn’t remember it; all angles and planes, hard muscles and very little hair—just enough to emphasize shadows on golden skin. She thought of his purr, and nearly purred herself. She sighed. The weight of a gaze pulled her eyes back around, and she saw Santiago peering at her sidelong, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth as if he knew exactly what thoughts ran through her mind.

  Clearing her throat, she shifted in her seat, suddenly warm. Okay, she’d been warm before, but now she was downright toasty. “Um. Your camp?”

  “It’ll be a while.” His voice was like rough velvet stroking down her flesh. “A few days.”

  “Oh.” Well, that was unexpected. Damn. “Maybe we should have lunch,” she suggested, and snuck another look at him. He’d grown quieter as the day crept on, lines of pain slowly etching into strong features.

  “Yes,” he rumbled. “That might be good.”

  The nice thing about the jungle, despite bugs the size of small airplanes and heat like a volcano, was that you didn’t have to look for parking when you decided you were ready to stop. Meg stopped, stomped on the emergency break, and declared them parked.

  “Do you need help?” She glanced over at the man beside her.

  Lips pursed, eyes staring straight ahead, he nodded once.

  Concern threaded through her. In her experience, men didn’t admit to needing any kind of help. He must have been hurting.

  “Hang on.” Unpeeling herself from the vinyl, she slid out of the car. He hadn’t moved by the time she got around to the other side, and she spent a moment wondering if he expected her to lift him out. Things could get awkward in that case. She supposed she’d at least cushion his landing…

  Squashed under a hunka hunka burnin’ love. There were worse ways to go.

  Then he twisted carefully, a warm hand settling on her shoulder for balance as he climbed from the Jeep. She didn’t move, trying to be as rock-steady as he might need. When his feet landed on the ground and he was no longer swaying, she came eye-to-pectoral with an utterly perfect torso. Sweat inched down the crease between his muscles, sped over the ridge above his abs, and slid helter-skelter down the center of a six-pack. Maybe even a twelve pack. It hit a snag in his belly button, worked its way out, and dropped past a flat abdomen before soaking into the blanket, which sagged low on his hips.

  Meg swallowed.

  Nope, she still felt utterly incapable of thought.

  She licked her lips.

  It didn’t help.

  She even cleared her throat.

  She could still taste what she imagined he’d be like. Oh, God. She could smell him, all male and musk and something a little wild.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes to break the spell. That worked. A little, anyway. Taking a deep breath she opened her eyes and met his gaze, her gut clenching in expectation. Her last boyfriend had hated it when she’d stared like that. Then she looked up—way, way up—into Santiago’s face.

  Full lips curved, black eyes warm, the sharp planes of his face softened by amusement.

  Meg grinned and relaxed. “How’s it feel to be a sex god?” she asked before she reali
zed what was in her head. She blanched, then heard her words and knew someone was looking out for her. She’d spoken in English.

  He lifted a single black eyebrow questioningly.

  “Never mind,” she said in Spanish, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “Lunch?” This time, she managed to stop any more sexual remarks before they left her mouth.

  He could smell her, sweat and jungle and that indefinable female smell. Even worse, the very definable smell of lust. His shoulder hurt, and he somehow doubted he could do anything about the lust-smell, and yet it hovered in the damp air between them like some sort of drug.

  On the other hand, at least he knew she was attracted, too.

  Santiago sat, uninjured shoulder braced against a tree trunk, and watched her move from the Jeep to the spot they’d chosen. Her clothes brushed against her like a lover’s hands, hiding and revealing with every step. He shifted his legs and tried to think about something less sexual. Trees. Trees were completely and totally nonsexual.

  He’d had sex in a tree, once.

  He cursed under his breath and finally moved, rubbing his injury against bark. That got his mind off the woman.

  “You okay?” she asked in Spanish, frowning as she dropped a duffel bag of food on the jungle floor. “You look pale. Let me see your bandage.”

  “It’s fine.” His words were quick; he was half afraid that if she touched him it’d be more than he could stand. He knew she’d have soft skin, the hands of someone who spent most of their time indoors. Gentle fingers would glide over his shoulder and back, stroking down his spine as if he wouldn’t notice—

  Damn it. She hadn’t even touched him and he’d lost the battle. Santiago shifted his legs, and the blanket with them, into a slightly more concealing pose.

  “Don’t be dumb,” Meg said, apparently unaware of his dilemma. “Let me see.” She’d already kneeled behind him, wedging herself between the tree and his skin, one leg tucked up against his ribs. He imagined her flesh beneath her clothes, soft and pale, muscles defined but not bulging. Delicate hands swept his hair out of the way, then skimmed down his shoulder to the medical tape.