His fellow Reapers have always wondered about Phelan. Was he what he seemed or was he simply a man who enjoyed keeping his teammates guessing? Did his desires run to the ladies or did he crave different pleasures, stronger hands, harder bodies?
Gunman Fontabeau Sorn has a secret. Working undercover for the Triune Goddess, he wasn't looking for a mate. When Phelan walked out of the general store, Sorn's hormones began to heat, his body harden, and Beau made up his mind the handsome young Reaper would be his. Convincing Phelan was another matter.
Lucy is a Madame and right proud of her ability to turn a man inside out with her luscious body. One look at Phelan and that was all it took for her to decide he was the one for whom she'd been created.
Three hearts. Three bodies. But only two of the three will find their passions igniting into a raging inferno while the third will be left with a mouth tasting of ashes. Which one will it be?
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November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from BlackMoon Reaper by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Phelan sauntered across the street with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder and toward the loud music pouring from Miss Lucy's saloon and whorehouse The Ruby Load. The smell of roast beef wafted out to him through the batwing doors, and when he pushed them open, the place was bustling with customers, the tickety-tic of the roulette wheel and the click of dice. In the corner a piano was being played full tilt by a man wearing a black bowler hat, red suspenders and a red-and-white-polka-dot bow tie. His hands were moving rapidly over the keys as he plied the pedal with his right foot, a cigar clamped between his teeth. Garishly dressed whores strolled among the crowd or perched precariously on a miner's thigh as her breasts were pawed. None of the gilded lilies gave him a second look.
"Reaper," he heard someone say, and heads turned toward him, but no one seemed inclined to scatter, to move back or to make themselves scarce. They eyed him then went back to what they were doing.
Phelan snorted. Such behavior was not normal and it concerned him as he walked up to the bar, slung his saddlebags on the next stool.
"What'll it be, milord?" the barkeep asked.
"Whiskey," Phelan said, tilting his hat back to get a better look at the nude painting over the back bar. It looked almost lifelike and represented a woman who was by far the most beautiful he'd ever seen. With flaming red hair, dark green eyes and a voluptuous body that made the male in him stand to attention; he studied every detail of the painting from scarlet fingernails to the silver high-heeled shoes that were the only thing she wore.
"A real beauty, ain't she?" the barkeep asked as he poured Phelan's shot.
"That she is." Looking at her, Phelan felt as though he'd been poleaxed between the eyes she was so lovely. His shaft leapt as he studied the painting.
"She don't normally take on customers, but I know for a fact she'd make an exception for you, milord," the man said. "You being a Reaper and all."
Phelan paused with the shot glass almost to his lips. He stared at the barkeep. "She's a real woman?" he asked. "Who is she?"
The voice was sultry as it breathed into his ear and soft hands slid over his shoulders. The dual press of breasts pushed against the back of his shirt as she leaned into him.
Phelan turned his head as she moved to his side, sliding her body along his. Her left arm draped across his shoulders and her right hand curled around his biceps. He saw no fear of him in her gaze. No disdain. No dislike. She was smiling, her red lips glistening. When their eyes met, hers widened as though trying to take in every inch of his face. When she spoke, there was awe in her tone.
"Hello," she said in a throaty, sensuous voice.
Phelan's throat felt constricted as he stared in her verdant eyes. His heart began to pound so fiercely he could hear it thundering in his ears. He had to swallow before he could force any words past his lips.
"Hello yourself," he said, and his cock leapt again.
Her gaze shifted from the brim of his hat to his chin. From right cheek to left then she lifted her hand and ran the backs of her nails over the tattoo on the left side of his face then stroked her thumb over his lips. She seemed caught in a trance, her own lips parted slightly, eyelids half closed.
"You are Lord Phelan," she whispered. "Lord Phelan Kiel."
He nodded. He was fascinated by the color of her eyes. He'd never seen eyes that deep a green before and they were looking back at him in a way that stirred something within him he struggled to understand. He found himself wanting her so badly he burned with the need, ached with it. He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool.
"And you are?" he asked.
"Lucy," she said, her voice low and sultry. "Lucy Louise Springbrook. My friends call me Lucy-Lou."
"Lucy-Lou," he repeated, testing the name. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. It had a playful sound to it, a happy sound.
Once more her gaze tracked over his face then settled on his mouth. Her head tilted to one side as she studied him.
"What can I do for you, milord?"
It was out of his mouth before he thought.
"Anything you want to, wench."
Lucy smiled. "I want to give you pleasure such as you've never known," she said. "I want to make you happy."
I want that too, he thought. He felt drawn to her like a moth to flame. He wanted to crush her to him, take her right there on the barroom floor. No one else existed for him at that moment. There was no sound but the soft, excited rush and release of her breath as she looked at him. He could smell her arousal and it went straight to his cock like a lightning bolt.
"I am yours for as long as you want me," Lucy said in that husky voice.
The whiskey in his hand forgotten, he felt himself being pulled down into the vortex of her green gaze. Her hand moved down his face, his neck and into the V of his silk shirt where she stroked the mat of hair growing there. He shivered, experiencing a trill of pleasure at her touch that he'd never known.
"I've heard you are a large man, Lord Phelan," she said. "I promise you I can take whatever you care to give." She ran her tongue over her lips. "As much as you want to give for as long as you wish to give it."
Phelan shivered at her words. He found he could take sex or leave it and wasn't even tempted to take matters in hand--a restriction the goddess had imposed on all Reapers anyway. But he wanted this woman and he wanted her bad. So bad he realized sweat had gathered in his palms.
"Who told you that?" he asked. Despite being so aroused it was all he could do to sit there, it annoyed him that a whore would discuss his anatomy so openly even to a woman like the Madame standing there at his side.
"A little birdie," she said with a smile.
He slipped into her mind as easily as a hot knife going through butter and read the name of the culprit--which surprised him since it wasn't a prostitute who had revealed such personal information about him but a young man he'd encountered a few years back.
His eyes swept over her. "I want you so bad I can taste it."
His words shocked him since he had not come into the saloon for sex. He was here on business, yet the temptation her lush body was exerting over him had pushed that business right out of his mind. He found he wanted her hands on his naked flesh, her mouth enveloping him, and wanted to know what her own flesh felt like beneath his calloused palms. He wanted to know the scent of her sex in his nostrils and on his tongue, the warmth of her sheath slicking his fingers. He wanted to pleasure her as she pleasured him.
Lucy Springbrook smiled and pulled her hand from the V of his shirt to run it down his body so she could cup the heavy erection pushing at the leather of his pants. She leaned into him, putting her lips to his ear so only he could hear her. "I promise you a ride you'll never forget." Her tongue spiked wetly into his ear and she squeezed his cock hard.
Another shudder ran through him and it was all he could do not to sweep everything from the bar with the back of his arm, lift her onto it, toss up her skirts and feast on her cunt right there in front of everyone, her legs draped over his shoulders.
As though she had seen the image in her own mind, she smiled so evilly it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"I haven't had but one man in nigh on three months so I am going to do things to you tonight no woman or man ever has," she promised, and stepped back. She crooked her finger. "Come with me, Reaper man."