The Tarczal Alliance
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by J. Paulette Forshey
Description: Logan Kincaid was trying to find the spy in his company when she walked in, - long blond hair, longer legs, and intelligent green eyes - damn, all his weaknesses rolled into one. He'd lived for 445 yrs. believing the Blood Witches and T'yhiéls of his vampiric childhood were nothing but myths until one walked into his life and all hell broke loose.
Allyson Weston needed a scholarship to continue her career, and she wanted her abusive ex out of her life. Allyson got both and more when she found out the benefactor of the scholarship's bite was worse than his bark and her ex was found dead in her driveway.
eBook Publisher: Whispers Publishing, 2011
eBookwise Release Date: January 2011
5 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [300 KB]
Reading time: 182-255 min.
"Refreshingly hot stuff with a twist." Elaine Bergstrom, author of the Austra series, and Mina
"You disagree the painting is showy?" He turned the subject back to the painting, and with practiced ease, he returned what he surmised was a compliment from the flush blooming on her cheeks. He indulged himself by allowing his gaze to rake over her. A whine like a mosquito's settled in his ears.
"The artist captured Kandinsky's style completely," she sputtered. Logan didn't give a damn about the painting or the artist. He wondered if the large, dark purple sweater that hung mid-thigh on her was an attempt to hide her body. If that was her goal, the tight black stretch pants, and thigh-high ebony suede boots were a poor choice. Any movement pulled the sweater tight like a second skin over her compact, lithe body.
"Absolutely. He copied a style. You wouldn't have, Ms?" She fidgeted, and the movement caused the sweater to pull snug over her breasts making them stand out like ripened fruit and accented her flat stomach. Nice. Bet that stomach quivers when a tongue is run over it. Wonder what she'd do with a tongue in her belly button? She's probably a giggler. He licked his lips. And a squirmer. It was apparent she had no idea what she did to him. He didn't mind. Several parts of his anatomy were already stirring in response. Her front equaled the heart-shaped derriere he'd seen earlier while she browsed the competition.
"Weston. Allyson Weston. How did you know I paint?" The tiny frown across her brow made him want to laugh. So this was the estranged wife of his latest hire, Michael Weston. During the job interview Michael had constantly moaned and bitched about his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Guess Michael didn't grasp he'd let go of an extraordinary woman. Logan let his gaze travel down to her legs, dancer's legs, long and well-defined. Legs any man would enjoy wrapped around him.
Smoothly, Logan reached down, slipping his hand under hers bringing both up to eye level. "You have paint under your nails." His thumb brushed the skin of her knuckles.
Quickly, she withdrew her hand from his. Next, she folded her arms across her mid-section, lifting the orbs and tucking her hands safely under her arms.
Logan's smile widened. "Do you have family in town?" His attention wandered back to the boots she wore. The way they encased her legs from toe to over the knee were a wonderful enticement, and his imagination flared to a deliciously wicked conclusion when she interrupted his assessment of her intriguing appendages by blurting out. "An STB."
How fresh, honest, and naive she was. Logan bit back a chuckle. Heroes and bartenders: everyone trusted them, confiding intimate details of their lives they'd never reveal to anyone else, an interesting quirk of human nature. He arched an eyebrow in query, and she clarified. "Soon-to-be-ex-husband."
He stopped himself before he could lick his lips. At the same time the essence of her blood rose from beneath her skin to mingle with the pungent leather of her boots. He inhaled more deeply, drawing it inside him, and swirled his tongue in his mouth to better experience the bouquet. Sweet, delicate, and exotic. Fit for the gods. He stopped his feeder teeth from slipping into place. A taste of her blood would never be enough, and an ocean too little for a man to quench his thirst. Stunned, he wondered where that thought come from, while trying to wish away the growing arousal in his groin. The whirr in his ears grew a little louder.