Devil May Care Series, Book 2
Berkley Publishing, Pocito Press
Original paperback, 2007
They were the baddest of the bad, the illegitimate sons and daughters of Satan, who had managed to make love, raise hell, and milk life in a manner worthy of their heritage. Until the day the devil himself needs to name his heir apparent. So who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
Marcus Diablo is the third son of Satan. Starting his immortal life as El Diablo, a black-hearted pirate to rival them all, he prefers living on the edge. But modern day life has been a bit dull, so when Daddy Dearest pops in with the news that the Keys to Hell are up for grabs, he accepts his father’s quest. Bring back the Devil’s Delight and the entire underworld is his -- lock, stock and fiery brimstone.
Celeste Abbot has spent her life helping her father amass an exquisite private collection of some of the world’s most sought after items. Traveling around the world, jockeying for position with other treasure hunters, she’s fought for and won things that many people aren’t even convinced existed. But one treasure has remained elusive. A perfect ruby known as the Devil’s Delight.
Only one thing stands in her way. A green-eyed blast from her past who also seeks the stone, and will stop at nothing to get it. And to make matters worse, the devilish man once stole her heart. As Celeste and Marcus are thrown together again, the forces of good and evil collide in an all out battle of the sexes. Because when a devil meets and angel—all hell breaks loose.
"Sexy and romantic tales utilizing the world's ultimate bad boys....the sons of Satan. The characters are an amazing mix of charm, wit, and unmatched sex appeal, giving each story true zest!"
~ Romantic Times, 4 stars
"These superb paranormal romances affirm that even Lucifer dangling a hellish inheritance cannot overcome the strength of love."
~ Harriet Klausner
“Marcus is an Indiana Jones style escapade that will delight those who enjoy the combination of steamy romance and high octane action. Dee Davis produces an excellent modern day historical mystery. The twists and turns will definitely keep readers on their toes!”
~ CK’s Kwips and Kritiques
“Looking for something?” The lazy heat of his voice twined around Celeste Abbot like a cat or a lover, probably a bit of both.
“I should have known.” She turned the flashlight toward the sound of the voice, almost expecting to find it empty. The man was a shadow. “How long have you been here?”
“Just long enough to secure the journal.” Marcus Diablo smiled, his green eyes glittering in the light.
“So why wait for me?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it. Or deny it.
“I need your help.”
“You mean my father’s help.”
He shrugged, his smile potent. “It’s all the same, isn’t it?”
There was an insult in there, she was certain of it, but somehow he had a way of sugar coating the knife. But at least he was being honest with her. Unlike the last time. “Let me have the journal.” She held out her hand, her gaze locking with his.
“I hardly think that’s likely. After all, the last time we were together, you didn’t exactly wait around for me.”
The last time they were together was a moment she tried very hard not to dwell on. “What was I supposed to do? Hand the Degas over to you on a silver platter? You seduced me in the hopes that I’d tell you where it was.”
“I seduced you because I wanted to.” Somehow they’d shifted positions, standing only inches apart. “The Degas was a bonus. Besides, seduction is a two way street.”
“A lane and a boulevard, maybe. They’re hardly the same thing.” They were breathing in tandem now. She could see the muscles in his chest bunch with each inhalation.
“But a perfect fit, no?” His teeth were white in the shadows.
She shook her head, fighting for clarity. He was doing it again. Seducing her. And she’d sworn never to let that happen again. Once had been enough.
Okay maybe that part was a lie. But wonderful things could still be dangerous.
“I want the journal. It’s my father’s life work to find the Devil’s Delight. You know that. This isn’t the same as a painting or a statue.”
“It’s his heart’s desire. Yes, I know.” His frown held a hint of disapproval. “Unfortunately, I have a client who desires it as well.”
“And your client trumps my father?” She inched forward, still holding his gaze.
“In this case,” his expression changed, his face hardening like one of the marbles he so often procured, “yes. My client trumps everyone.”
“I don’t think so.” With lightening speed honed from years of practice, she grabbed the journal and pivoted to run, her emotions tumbling between regret and elation. To her credit, she made it as far as the sacristy door.
“Going somewhere?” His body pinned hers to the wall, every hard muscle pressing into her flesh with the searing precision of a carved relief, two halves that were ordained to fit together.
“Let me go.” She started to struggle, then stopped, the motion causing far more damage to her senses than simply holding still.
“Why?” His smile was crooked. “This is much more fun.” He dipped his head, his lips brushing against hers. It was meant as a tease, but something in his touch ignited a fire inside her, and without thinking she responded, letting passion carry her away, his remembered smell and taste combining into a potent aphrodisiac.
There’d never been anything wrong with his kisses, each thrust and stroke calculated to bring pleasure.
The word rang through her head. Gathering her wits, she pushed back, but she was too late. He’d already retrieved the journal. “You son of a bitch.” She swung her hand, intent on knocking the smirk from his face, but he caught her wrist, still smiling.
“Come on, Celeste,” he said, holding her firmly now, “no name calling. It isn’t ladylike.”
“Well, I’m not a lady,” she responded, immediately regretting her words when she saw the glint in his eye.
“Believe me,” he leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek, “I’m more than aware of that fact.”
Excerpt from HELL FIRE by Dee Davis, Copyright ©2013 by Dee Davis. All rights reserved. Reprint only with permission from author. Please contact firstname.lastname@example.org.