Work in Progress

        What F.B. I. Special Agent Angel Nicholas sees spotlighted in the center of the vast chamber they dragged her to was frankly impossible....and is without a doubt the most magnificent specimen of masculine beauty that she had ever seen in her life. He was absolutely, stunningly gorgeous.

Tall, he had to top at least six foot six, give or take an inch or two or three, and every single one of those marvelous inches was beautifully muscled, the firm curves of those muscles gleaming as if they had been oiled. His chest and shoulders were broad, the pecs deeply curved, his stomach giving a new definition to washboard abs. His waist and hips were narrow, every muscle of them—including his obliques—sharply defined. Even his legs were gorgeous.

Hair as dark and as glossy as a raven’s wing streamed as smooth and straight as a ruler to his broad shoulders, framing a face that might have been carved by a master sculptor. Every line of it was clean, perfect, from his broad forehead to his high cheekbones with their deep hollows beneath, his finely bridged nose to the defined line of his square jaw. His mouth was a thing of beauty, firm, neither too thin nor too lush. There would be dimples in those cheeks if he smiled.

And he was completely naked from the top of his horned head to the bottom of his  feet. It was impossible for her to miss any part of him…including those short curved horns and the sinuous tail that twined like a cat’s around that incredible body. The motion of that tail was oddly hypnotic, twining and swaying. A pair of partly folded wings arched up from his back.

His skin was a deep rich red. Not copper but red , a dark scarlet, like the guy from that movie, and yet not—with odd patterns of black that shifted and flowed beneath the surface like the skin of a chameleon, constantly changing, except that unlike a chameleon’s his skin appeared to be as smooth as silk. The shifting colors seemed to reflect his agitation—none of which showed on his impassive face, but was echoed in every line of his incredible body.

Beautiful long-lashed eyes the color of rubies touched with molten gold met hers, reflecting both a kindness and an ancient wisdom. The patterns of red and gold within those eyes shifted and whirled entrancingly, enticingly.

He had fangs, the white tips indenting his lower lip.

Both hands and feet bore claws the color of polished jet. His hands were huge, the fingers long but strong.

Iron bracelets encircled his wrists. Something about them said that they were not decoration.

Despite the circumstances, just looking at him, at all the magnificent masculine glory of him, had Angel hot and wet, yearning to touch all of that gorgeous gleaming skin, no matter what color it was. She wanted to run her fingers through that silken ebony hair, to feel those long, strong, clawed hands on her flesh, that sinuous tail twining around her body as it now twined around his.

He is Asmosdeus, Prince of the Daemonae, called the Demon of Lust, and he is just as much a captive as she is.

     Physics Professor Miri Reynolds has a secret. No stranger to the worlds of both physics and metaphysics, it's still a shock to learn that the extraordinarily handsome man standing at the back of the hall during her lecture is a Demon, and a sexy one at that. 

     Specifically, the Daemonae Ashtoreth.

     He has come to her to learn if it's possible to retrieve the Book of Demons from the ethereal planes. It has resided there since FBI Special Agent Angel Nicolas - now mate to Astoreth's Prince Asmodeus - tossed it there in desperation during their escape from the hands of millionaire financier Gordon Templeton.

     The fate of Ash's people rests in the hands of pretty Miri Reynolds, because Templeton is also searching for the Book.

     Unfortunately, Gordon Templeton has learned Miri's secret, and more than the Daemonae might be at risk.

Federal Prosecutor L. C. (Dynamite) Mackay is trying one of the biggest drug cases in the country.

Ba'al watched his father die, horribly, at the hands of men, a victim of their prejudice. As did his friend, Mal - Moloch - like Ba'al, one of the Daemonae. So he has no use for the race as a whole.

Until he meets Rhiannon Cassidy, on the run from a nameless, faceless corporation that seems to want her for some purpose she doesn't understand. Her only friend, her only defender, is her boss, Tara Donahue, who carries her own scars. Unlike Ba'al's, hers, though, are on the outside, great slashes that ravaged her lovely face.

The Book of Demons has a purpose in summoning him but Ba'al won't face this battle alone. He and Mal have fought side by side for centuries. 

Mal never sees the scars on Tara's face, he sees only the courage and strength in her blue eyes.

The four will face their worst fears, and the Daemonae's worst enemy, together.

At one time or another all of us have dreamed of our favorite actor or actress, imagine them, fantasized about them. 

When Mikaela Bradford dreams night after night of handsome Travis Donovan, she passes it off as just a delightful dream.

What she doesn't know is that he's dreaming about her, too. 

In this, fate just might have taken a hand.

Burned out doesn't begin to describe FBI Agent Jack Parker. Six years ago a case against a New York mobster nearly went disastrously wrong and almost cost the life of confidential informant. 

Now, after threatening revenge, the mobster is out and Jack is determined not to let the same thing happen again.