As leader of the Knights of White in the war between Good and Evil, the demon warrior known only as Des walks a fine line between beast and man. Sent into battle to reclaim the ancient Journal of Solomon--which contains a list of angelic bloodlines--before the Darkland Beasts find it, Des feels an overwhelming connection to its guardian, Jessica Montgomery. Vibrant, alive, seductive...only she has the power to draw out the beast, soothe the man...and endanger them both.
Des can't resist her touch, and craves it like an addiction. Jessica might be his salvation. Or he might destroy them both....
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February 29, 2008
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Excerpt from Beast of Desire by Lisa Renee Jones
A sexy eighties song filtered through the air of the elite Padre Island Men's Club, a lush brunette atop an oval stage, swaying to the beat.
Dim lights added flavor to a room designed for sin and seduction, dancers scattered at various other locations throughout the room, working the music and the men. In the far corners the walls were lined with couches for those who wanted to remain discreet, while private shows were available for those willing to pay the price.
Preferring both his entertainment and his women full of excitement, Des had chosen to sit front and center, at the edge of the stage. Here he had a perfect view of the dancer who called herself "Veronica" as she seduced the audience with her curvy hips and inviting, full breasts.
Beside him, two of his fellow Knights of White, Rinehart and Rock, each nursed a beer. Des preferred the bigger bite of tequila. He was immortal, after all. It wasn't as if the stuff was going to kill him. Even getting a buzz, for their kind, was nearly impossible.
"Veronica" eased closer, kneeling in front of Des as she sang the words of the song. Then she turned the song into a question. "Do you think I'm a nasty girl?" she whispered.
"I don't think, mi hermosa," Des murmured in a low voice, his hungry eyes taking in her naked body, her pebbled nipples. "I know."
She'd been quite the feast two weekends before. A hot Mexican mama who matched his heritage and did a good job of trying to match his lust. But as good as that night had been, he wouldn't be repeating it. He never allowed himself to repeat. Repeat performances invited questions about his past, about his life, that he didn't welcome.
Talk, no. Sex, yes.
Besides, tonight was about Rock, not him. The kid had it bad for their Healer, Marisol, which meant he was out of luck. Healers were considered off-limits, forbidden physical pleasure, a rule Marisol took seriously despite her own obvious desire for Rock. In other words, the consequences of following her desire would be some deep trouble. Of course, helping the kid was no easy task. Rock really was as stubborn as a rock, though Des doubted that's what the name meant to the kid. How ironic he'd chosen his immortal name to be something so fitting. They all chose one name to define their existence within the Knights, something special to them and them alone, leaving behind their past--or at least trying to forget what once was.
With Rinehart as an accomplice, Des had convinced the kid to join them for a night out, with one agenda in mind...hooking Rock up with a woman. This particular dancer's flavor of "nasty" was exactly the kind of distraction Rock needed.
Des drew a C-note from his pocket and leaned toward the stage. The Knights had money and he didn't mind using his. They'd all been given healthy trust funds after completing their training; money to live on. He'd been smart and invested his money well, though he didn't share that little bit of information with the others. If they were smart, they had as well. An eternity of living demanded funds. Besides, Des would be damned if the lack of money would ever make him feel beneath anyone again. He'd been there, done that, was never doing it again.
Motioning the woman forward, Des whispered in her ear. She leaned back and smiled, waiting patiently for her reward. Sliding his fingers up her thigh, he placed the money under her garter. She stood and walked toward the stairs in a sexy strut.
"Tell me you didn't," Rock said, running a hand over his short, sandy brown hair, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
Des eyed Rinehart, an ex-military man who sat arms crossed, cowboy hat pulled low over his buzzcut, shadowing his eyes. "Tell me you did," he said. Eyes that were normally cold and calculating now twinkled with mischief.
"Come on, Rock," Des said. "You know you have to."
Each Knight possessed a soul, but each had also been touched by a Beast. Each had turned into a demon later saved by Salvador, a recruiter for the Knights. Now, they lived with that Beast inside, some more than others, forced to fight their primal urges. To control the urges, they needed to put them to use. To burn them out. A task best achieved in war or sex.
But Rock was so hung up on Marisol he took risks he couldn't afford to take. He let himself live on the edge. "She knows, man." Des lowered his voice for Rock's ears only. "Marisol knows you have no choice. And you both know Healers are off-limits. As in, you're not going there, so stop thinking you are. You're wound tight. You need this. It's a woman or the battlefield, and since the Beasts are remarkably quiet right now, I'd say it's the woman."