Last Call: Hurricane

Moira Rogers

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Copyright ©2008 Moira Rogers

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ISBN: 978-1-60521-052-0
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Editor: Crystal Esau
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

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Last Call: Hurricane

Moira Rogers

Artist and witch Fiona Logan hasn’t had an orgasm since a bitter ex cursed her five
years ago. Whenever she gets aroused, bad things happen. Now, she’s come to Last

Call in hopes of gaining an audience with -- and help from -- its owner, a powerful
wizard named Benito D’Cruze. If anyone can break the curse, it’s him. And if he
won’t come downstairs to meet with her, she’ll bump and grind until his bar caves in
from the backlash.

Hurricane: Contents under magical pressure. Experience required.

Ben doesn’t get involved with patrons… not even the hot, sexually frustrated ones.

But when a lush-looking blonde threatens to wreck his bar with her curse and her
need, he decides it’s time to take matters -- and her -- into his own hands. After all,
even if he can’t break the curse, he can certainly ease her frustration. And what
powerful wizard doesn’t love a challenge?

Chapter One

Fiona took one last look at the printed menu in her hand and grimaced at her

friend. “I don’t need a drink. I need help.”

“Honey, this place is chock full of hot wizards.” Jenn snatched the menu out of

Fiona’s hands and studied the back of it. “And this menu’s the key. We just have to

decode it. Maybe they have a drink for ‘My castrated jackass of an ex cursed me to a life

free of orgasms, contents under pressure.’ Like… oh shit, you can get in on a vampire-

werewolf threesome? Hot.”

Leave it to Jenn to focus on the more salacious aspects of Last Call’s offerings. “I

like my blood where it is, werewolves are notoriously possessive, and a supernatural

hookup is not on the agenda. Remember what happened when I kissed that councilman

at your gallery opening last fall?” Fiona shuddered at the memory. “That poor cater-

waiter lost his eyebrows, and the sprinklers destroyed your mixed-media.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you need a supernatural hookup. Maybe there’s someone

in here powerful enough to survive the curse. Hell, maybe there’s someone who can

break it.” Jenn clutched the menu in one hand and grabbed Fiona’s arm in the other.

“Come on, let’s go ask the bartender.”

She knew who could break it. Someone who could lay wards so powerful they’d

keep garden-variety humans off of a property without any question or concern.

Someone who could maintain peace and order when vampires and witches were

partying with demons and faeries.

She needed the owner of Last Call.

Fiona grabbed the menu from Jenn and scanned the back, then slammed the

paper down on the bar. One way or another, the curse ended tonight.

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 6 -

The bartender walked over, his movements easy in spite of the churning energy

in the club, one eyebrow raised and a grin on his dark, handsome face. “Can I help you

ladies?”

Fiona took a deep breath. “I need to speak to Benito D’Cruze.”

“No, she doesn’t!” Jenn reclaimed the menu and held it up. “She needs… a

hurricane.”

“A hurricane?” The bartender glanced at Jenn before bringing his gaze back to

Fiona. “Hurricane’s for inexperienced witches and wizards. People who are liable to

blow the place up without proper handling.” Unspoken was the implication that she

didn’t look particularly inexperienced.

Fiona gritted her teeth. “Can I see Mr. D’Cruze or not?”

“Sorry, miss. The owner’s not available. You could call his office and arrange an

appointment during business hours, though.”

“Okay.” She drew in another breath and nodded. “Then I’ll need that hurricane,

please.”

One dark eyebrow curved up into a perfect arch. “You sure?”

Jenn, who had already indulged in a number of the bar’s more mundane drinks,

leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “She’s got a big bad curse on her. Things

blow up when she gets turned on. She may not be an inexperienced witch, but she still

needs proper handling.”

“Uh-huh.” Fiona grinned. She could just make out with the ones who thought

they could handle the curse. Sooner or later, doddering old Benny D’Cruze would make

his way down from his lavish office to inspect the damage. “Hope the property

insurance is paid up. Rum makes me horny.”

* * *

Ben knew there was something wrong in his club long before the bartender

called his office. The spells he’d wrapped around Last Call were some of the finest

magic in New York City -- hell, in the state -- and very little happened in his bar without

him finding out about it, sooner or later.

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 7 -

His wards had alerted him the minute she’d crossed the threshold, of course.

Black magic wasn’t allowed in the building, but people who were cursed weren’t

necessarily practitioners of the darker magics. So he watched them and made sure they

didn’t cause trouble.

A row of video screens covered a desk on the side of his office, but Ben wasn’t

watching them. The cameras on the dance floor were static, inefficient at following one

person. Instead he stared down into his scrying bowl and watched as the pretty little

blonde ground against a man on the dance floor, her ass rubbing his crotch as she

moved with the music. The wizard looked thrilled to death.

Ben didn’t blame him. Hell, his cock was hard just from watching her move. Of

course, it wasn’t just her body, lush as it was, that fueled his arousal. The scrying spell

painted her aura in bright colors he could almost taste, even as the curse clenched tight

around her. Sensuality, sexuality… and a deep, deep need that eclipsed desire and even

lust. She needed to be taken, claimed and fulfilled.

She was hungry. And he saw why as the wizard’s hand drifted around her body.

His fingers brushed her breast, and the curse flared so brightly that the rest of the scene

in his scrying dish faded. Power tore through the building, powerful enough that he felt

the ripples even in his office, three floors above her.

A second later the phone rang. Ben didn’t take his eyes from the scrying dish as

he reached out to pick it up. “What happened?” Something had to have happened. That

much power, released recklessly…

“Half the bottles of booze at my bar just shattered.” It was Bernie’s voice, deep

and slightly annoyed. “I think it’s the lady who just ordered the hurricane. Every time a

guy gets near her, the lights flicker or the music skips.”

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from those gyrating hips. “I’m coming down to

take care of it.”

“You better hurry, boss. She’s starting to look like a challenge, and you know

how that riles up the werewolves and demons.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 8 -

“I said I’d take care of it.” He slammed down the phone before Bernie could

speak again, and waved his hand over the scrying dish. The image vanished, leaving a

pool of dark water in its place.

He rose to his feet and glanced down at his worn jeans and battered T-shirt. Most

days he enjoyed his casual clothing. He could walk among his clients and no one

suspected they were in the presence of the mysterious and powerful Benito D’Cruze.

The downside, of course, was that few people believed he was Benito D’Cruze without

the trappings of wealth and money, which meant it might be wise to change into

something a little more impressive before trying to deal with trouble.

Another trembling ripple of power from downstairs made the choice for him. He

strode to the office door, determined to save his club from absolute destruction.

Chapter Two

Fiona groaned as the fourth wizard shot off the dance floor, driven away by the

strength of the curse that bound her. “God damn it all, anyway.”

A soft hiss behind her drew her attention, and she spun to find a handsome

blond man watching her. A smile curled the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flashed

red for a split second.

An incubus. Jesus Christ. His kind fed on sexual energy, and God knew she had it

to spare. Fiona trembled as she considered it. A demon might be able to slip past the

curse, might be able to make her come without blowing Manhattan off the map. And if

he gets greedy…

He could kill her. But she was getting desperate.

Fiona took a step toward him, still swaying to the pounding beat of the music.

Then a strong, tattooed hand curled around her arm, stopping her, and she found

herself looking up into a pair of dark, intense eyes.

He looked exotic, but the words he spoke were clipped, unaccented English. “A

demon is not a good cure for a curse.”

“Oh yeah?” The power coursing off of the man intoxicated her even more than

the expensive rum singing through her veins. Fiona stepped closer and stroked his

chest through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. “The last time I tried to get myself off, it

rained toads in my apartment.” She laughed and pressed her body to his. “That makes

it one hell of a curse, baby.”

Strong hands skated down her back to cup her ass, and he dragged her up his

body until her eyes were level with his. “You wanted my attention, sweetheart. Now

you have it. What are you going to do with it?”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 10 -

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog in her brain. “Uh-uh. No way

are you D’Cruze.”

“Really?” The rest of the bar faded away as power wrapped around her, making

her entire body tingle. She felt his lips against her ear as his fingers tightened on her ass.

“Then why can I do this without your curse blowing the hell out of my bar?” His teeth

closed on her earlobe.

The knot of heat inside her burst into raging flame. Fiona couldn’t stop the low

cry that slipped out of her, or the plea that followed it. “I need it,” she rasped. “Can you

get past it without getting hurt? Can you fuck me?”

“Oh, yes. I can get past your curse.” He lowered her again, setting her down on

unsteady feet. “Maybe, given time, I could even break it.” She caught a glimpse of a

wicked smile before his fingers curled around her arms and tugged her away from the

dance floor. “But first, we’re getting you away from my very, very expensive bar.”

She caught sight of Jenn at the edge of the floor and waved as they headed

toward the back of the bar. “I’m Fiona.”

“Mmm.” A gigantic bouncer moved aside as they approached, opening a small

door she hadn’t even realized was there. On the other side lay a short service hallway

with a single elevator at the end. His hand dropped to her lower back in a possessive

gesture as he urged her forward. “You can call me Ben.”

His warm fingers brushed the strip of exposed skin above her jeans, and she

shivered. The fluorescent lighting in the hallway flickered. “Ben.” It was equally easy to

imagine whispering it in his ear or screaming it into a pillow. “Nice to meet you, Ben.”

The elevator had no buttons, just a flat screen next to it. Ben laid his hand on it,

and a moment later the doors slid open with a soft chime. “Who did you piss off, Fiona?

Who did you make furious enough to curse you so viciously?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” she answered lightly as she stepped into the elevator and

leaned against one wall. “Five years ago. I call him Robbie the Jackass. He thought he

owned me, and I thought he was wrong. He took it badly.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 11 -

“So it seems.” The doors shut silently as he pressed his hand to a second screen

on the inside. A tiny jolt was the only indication they’d started moving. “Robert

Carmichael, was it?”

“That’s him.” Thinking about her ex squashed her buzz like a bug. “It was all

very romantic, I suppose. Two artists in a Tribeca loft. Turns out, twenty-seven was a

little long in the tooth for his tastes. I was supposed to look the other way while he

explored greener, more supple pastures.” She looked away with a snort. “No, thanks.”

He studied her with a slightly amused look. “Five years without satisfaction, and

before that you were wasting yourself on an old man. No wonder the curse took hold so

strongly. It feeds on sexual frustration, you know… and I imagine he provided you

with plenty of that.”

“So, if I hadn’t been so averse to stepping out on my boyfriend, I might not be in

this mess?” Fiona laughed and stepped closer, eyeing him through the fringe of her

expertly curled lashes. “I guess nice women really do finish last.”

“If you hadn’t stayed with an asshole who couldn’t begin to satisfy you, you

might not be in this mess.” He lifted a finger to trace along her jaw, then down the

vulnerable line of her throat. “I don’t usually fuck the people who come to my bar, you

know. Not even the ones who are so obviously in need of it.”

The slight but deliberate caress of his fingertip over her skin kick started her

libido again, and she let her head fall back with a quiet moan. “So why didn’t you tell

me to get lost?”

“You were tearing my bar apart.” The touch moved lower, skating over her

collarbone. “And none of those wizards were going to stop you.”

He’d been watching her. She rose up on the toes of her boots and brushed her

lips across his throat. “But you are.” It wasn’t a question.

He chuckled, a low sound that shot straight through her. “Five.”

Fiona leaned back and arched an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 12 -

“Five,” he repeated. His hand snuck around the back of her neck and curled in

her hair. “That’s how many times I’ll have to make you come before the curse is weak

enough to break, I think.”

At that point, begging started to seem like a valid option. She settled for melting

against him with a throaty moan. “Why would you break it? As a favor? Or something

else?”

His fingers tightened painfully and he wrenched her head back. “Is that the sort

of man you prefer? A man who would barter your sanity for sexual servitude?”

She should have been alarmed. Instead, she licked her lips and wiggled closer.

“Nothing personal. I just think some questions should be asked -- and answered -- up

front. That way no one gets confused.”

“I’ll break the curse because it’s wrong.” He didn’t release her hair, but his other

hand slid down the front of her body and inched its way beneath her pants, then into

her panties. “And I’ll make you come because you want it.”

“I want it.” It was an unbelievable understatement, but Fiona could think of

nothing else to say as his fingers slipped over her pussy, delving into the wetness his

touch had elicited from her body. She eased her head up until she could stare into his

eyes. “I want you.” The truth of the words shocked her. She wanted to believe he could

have been anyone, and she’d have reacted the same way in her need to have someone

fuck her. But she wanted him.

His fingers slid over her clit in a slippery circle as lust flooded his eyes. It filled

the space between them, and she felt that familiar pressure, the one that tightened

painfully and burst just before everything went to hell. The light overhead exploded in

a shower of sparks and glass and the elevator ground to a screeching halt.

He bent over her to shield her from the falling shards. They both cursed, and she

rested her forehead against his chest and laughed mirthlessly. “Welcome to the last five

years of my life, Ben.”

“Poor thing.” He slipped his hand free and wrapped both arms around her. “I

suppose we’ll have to do this the other way.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 13 -

“The… other way?”

“Close your eyes.”

She smiled and did as he asked, another shiver running through her. “Promise

me you won’t let me blow up your apartment.”

He whispered something against her hair, low and impossible to understand. For

one endless second she felt as if she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. Magical energy

tore through her, setting every nerve ablaze in something that could have been pain or

pleasure -- it was impossible to tell which.

Just as quickly it was over. Ben released her and she opened her eyes to find

herself in a large, luxuriously-appointed bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed.

“That’s better.”

Everything had been decorated in warm, dark colors, from the furniture to the

artwork that hung on the walls. Fiona was surprised to recognize several of the

paintings as museum-quality pieces. “Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You have a good eye.”

He stepped behind her, pressing his chest to her back as his hands came around

to slide under her shirt and across her stomach. “You said you’re an artist?”

She leaned her head back on his shoulder and covered his hands with hers. “I’m

a sculptor.” She urged his hands a bit higher and shuddered. “How is this going to

work?”

He caught her hands and guided them up until her fingers were locked around

the back of his neck. “First I find out how strong the curse is.” His hands tickled the

inside of her arms as he traced back down. He cupped her breasts and laughed low in

his throat. “I might have to… provoke you a little.”

“Or a lot.” Her nipples hardened under the lace and silk she wore. She arched

her back, captivated by the heat of his body wrapped around hers, by the musky,

masculine scent of him. The pressure built along with her arousal, and Fiona groaned.

“It’s starting, Ben --”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 14 -

One hand left her body and twisted in the air in front of her. A moment later the

walls started to glow, as if the entire room had been painted in a thin sheen of power.

Behind her, Ben hissed in a sharp breath and curled his hand into a fist. “My God, this

curse is strong.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she made a frustrated noise. “‘Dark’ is

usually what I hear.” Dark and unbreakable. If the legendary Benito D’Cruze couldn’t

defeat it… “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” His breath tickled her neck, and he opened his hand again. Power

gathered around them so fast she felt it against her skin, like a soft, warm breeze. Her

hair tickled at her cheeks as the invisible strands of magic swirled around them. This

time when he closed his fist, the walls burst into incandescent light, a wall of sheer

magical energy.

Ben’s hand returned to her stomach, still warm from the power he’d gathered.

“There. Nothing that happens will leave this room, and your curse isn’t strong enough

to hurt me.”

He sounded so sure. Fiona let go of his neck and reached down to untie her

wraparound shirt. “I’m glad.” The scarlet-colored silk fell open, revealing the skimpiest

bra she owned.

“Now, now.” His hands caught hers again. “No distracting me, or I’m going to

blow us both into tiny little pieces.” He shifted his hands to her shoulders and turned

her slightly, until they faced a full length mirror on the wall next to a mahogany

dresser.

In the mirror, she saw the dark glint of desire in his eyes as he pulled her shirt

slowly from her body. “I’m going to do things to you that Robert Carmichael couldn’t

begin to imagine. And when you can’t take it anymore, when you’re truly satisfied for

the first time in years…” He pinched her taut nipple through her bra and watched her

in the mirror as she gasped. “I’m going to break your curse. And then I’m going to let

you fuck me.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 15 -

His low, confident words were as maddening as his hands. Her knees weakened,

and she sagged into his embrace. “It’s a deal. But you might have to tie me down.” Even

now, her hands itched to stroke his skin.

“No. I won’t have to.” Her shirt hit the floor and he reached around to undo the

clasp between her breasts, freeing them without touching them. The cool air whispered

across them, tightening her nipples, and he laughed softly as he lifted her arms above

her head. “Was Robert so uncreative with his power?”

Her arms might as well have been tied, fettered with invisible bonds. “If you

keep talking about Robbie the Jackass, it’s going to take you a while to bring all these

crazy orgasms you keep bragging about.” His fingers brushed her rib cage and she

shuddered.

“Oh, I don’t know…” His hands finally covered her breasts again, skin on skin,

and he caught her gaze in the mirror and held it. “Tell me. Your dirtiest, darkest

fantasy. The one you barely admit to yourself.”

She didn’t have any left. For five long, lonely years, she’d only wanted to be

touched. He’d already done that, deeper than anyone she could remember. “Hot guy,

focused on nothing but making me come over and over? I’d say this is pretty much it.”

* * *

Ben told himself he couldn’t lose it. Even now, safe within the strongest magical

shields he could call up, her curse pressed against him and threatened to bring the room

crashing in around them. How she’d lived for five long years under the crushing weight

of such dark magic was inconceivable.

And, when I’ve helped her, I’ll be paying Robert Carmichael a visit. The petty cruelty of

barring an ex-lover from the comforts of human touch was bad enough, but Robert had

tangled Fiona’s own magical power up in the curse, feeding it on her pain and

loneliness until she was hurting herself every time she yearned for human contact.

Protective anger filled him, and he used that to ground himself as he drew his

fingers in a slow circle around one nipple. It hardened even further under his touch, her

entire body hungry and so responsive it made him ache. He resisted the temptation to

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 16 -

rub his cock against her ass and pinched her nipple instead. “Do you have a preference

for this first time? It’s been so long, it seems only fair you get to choose.”

Her hair, dark in the dim light, flew around her face as she shook her head. “Any

way. I don’t care, just -- please. Please.”

He gritted his teeth and dropped his hands to her low-riding jeans. “Fast, then.

Fast and hard.”

“Yes,” she hissed, her hips bucking in his hands. He held her still so he could

unbutton her jeans and drag down the zipper, revealing the soft black lace he’d felt

earlier in the elevator. She tensed. “Are you sure I won’t hurt you?”

The honest answer would be no, but it was the last thing she needed to hear. He

dragged his hands down the outsides of her thighs as he sank to his knees and set to

work on the long zipper on the side of her left boot. “I’m stronger than Robert

Carmichael on his best day. And I’m rich enough that I’ll get over losing the furnishings

in here, if worse comes to worst.”

She laughed, a husky, almost shaky sound, and fidgeted under his hands. “I’d

never forgive myself if I incinerated your priceless art. Or, you know, you.”

Ben chuckled as he tugged the boot off her left foot. “I promise I won’t let you

hurt me. The art… Well, I’ll try not to let you hurt the art.” He brushed his lips over the

small of her back as he moved his hands to her other boot, enjoying the taste of her skin.

She hissed again and trembled, and not from pleasure. “I’m nervous. How

stupid is that?”

“Shh.” Of course she was nervous, if pleasure had brought her nothing but

tragedy for the past five years. Ben slid her other boot free and coaxed her pants down,

then whispered two words against the skin of her hip. The spell holding her upright

dissipated, and he caught her in his arms as he rose to his feet. “It’s okay to be

nervous.”

Fiona turned and wrapped her arms around his neck again. He felt the press of

her breasts through the worn fabric of his T-shirt. “I was sort of good at this, if memory

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 17 -

serves.” Her hips rubbed against his in a slow, sinuous motion, and the lights flared

and went out. “Dammit.”

“Plenty of time to be good at this again. Later.” He flicked his fingers and

whispered the spell to call fire. A moment later candles flared around them, filling the

room with flickering shadows as he hooked an arm under her legs and lifted her easily.

He set her down in the center of his bed and stepped back to admire the contrast

of her pale skin against the dark Egyptian cotton sheets, their burgundy color rendered

almost black in the dim light cast by the candles. “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s a

shame you’ve gone so long without pleasure.”

“Thank you.” Her blush was evident even in the candlelight. “I tried a lot. In the

beginning. But I’ve never been really good with it. The magic, I mean.”

Ben frowned as he toed off his shoes. “You mean you tried to use your magic to

break the curse?”

“I thought I could do it.” She stretched a little and flashed him a rueful smile.

“Yes, I already know I made it worse.”

His shirt followed his shoes, and he paused for a moment and enjoyed the way

her gaze slid over his chest. She was hungry for him. Not just for pleasure, though she

was desperate for that, but she wanted him. It was going to make her inevitable ecstasy

that much sweeter.

Caution made him leave his jeans on as he slid onto the bed and propped himself

up on one arm next to her. The temptation to sink into her body and drive them both

into oblivion was strong, but he was fairly certain his bar would follow shortly behind

them. So instead he dropped his hand to her stomach and traced his fingers lightly up

the center of her chest as he smiled at her. “The curse is tied to your magic. He’s using

your power to fuel his ill-intent. Even if you were good at using your power, you’re

crippled now. Every time you try, you wrap yourself tighter in this curse.”

“Mmm.” Fiona seemed too distracted by the movement of his lips to pay

attention to his words, and she leaned up to brush a soft kiss over the corner of his

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 18 -

mouth. “Tied to my magic. Got it.” She skimmed one hand over his chest and kissed

him again.

He laughed against her mouth and caught one nipple between his thumb and

forefinger. A whisper of magic warmed his hand, and a little bit more cooled the sheets

beneath her until she was trapped between conflicting sensations.

She dropped her head back to the pillow, her hair fanning out over the cotton,

and writhed under his touch. “God, that feels good.”

“Good.” Watching her move on the sheets did nothing to alleviate his arousal. He

fought a brief struggle against the urge to rub his rock-hard cock against her hip and

settled for dropping his lips to her other breast. The nipple tightened under his tongue,

and he steeled himself against her excited little noise as he drew the bud lightly

between his teeth.

On the other side of the room, a vase exploded.

“Fuck.” She tensed again, even as another breathy moan escaped her. “It’s only

going to get worse, Ben.”

He lifted his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he channeled

some of the sexual energy strung out between them into strengthening the shields. “I

don’t care,” he whispered hoarsely as the magic snapped into place. One hand fisted in

the delicate black lace of her panties, and he all but tore them from her body. “You can’t

live like this. You’ll die inside.”

She arched her hips and bit her lip to stifle a groan. “Touch me.” He could almost

see the guilt that tinged her words even as her legs parted. “Please --”

“Yes.” He slipped his fingers between her legs and found her wetter than he

could have imagined. A groan escaped him as he stroked her clit and watched her body

jerk. “Tell me, Fiona. Tell me what you need.”

“In-Inside me.” She shook and gripped his shoulder with one hand while the

other drifted down to cover his. Ben heard something else shatter. “I need your fingers

inside me.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 19 -

The candles next to the bed flared dangerously, and Ben swore as he poured

even more power into keeping the magic in the room from tearing them both apart. He

stroked his fingers down and slid one inside her, groaning again at the thought of that

wet heat gripping his cock. She was so damn tight, neglected for so long that even one

finger stretched her.

He worked it in and out for a few moments as she writhed and panted and

nearly made him come in his jeans at the noises she made. And when she was

whimpering with need and finally, finally, pushing toward release, he lowered his head

and dragged his tongue over her clit as he thrust a second finger inside her.

He was going to make her come if it was the last thing he did… and right now he

was starting to think it just might be.

Chapter Three

Fiona clutched the smooth sheets and fought back tears. Every single thing Ben

did, every breath he drew, drove her higher and harder toward what had to be a

blinding orgasm… if only she could let it come.

Relax, she chided herself, trembling with need. You have to relax. He was trying so

damn hard, too, angling his fingers inside her as he curled his tongue around her clit. He

was past teasing, shaking as badly as she was, probably as much from the effort of

keeping them in one piece as from pleasuring her.

“God damn it,” she ground out, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I can’t --”

“You can.” He crooked his fingers and brought his thumb up to ply her clit as he

whispered dirty words against her thigh. “You’re going to come so hard you’ll be

begging me for air. And then I’m going to do it again, Fiona. I’ll fuck you with my

fingers until your tight little pussy can’t take it anymore. And when you’re begging for

the pleasure to stop…” She felt phantom fingers brush lower, until a warm thread of

power teased around her ass. “Would you like it if I took you like that?”

His words raced through her like an electric shock, and Fiona shuddered. She

raised her head to answer him, but the sheer intensity of the desire etched on his face

stole her breath. He watched her, his jaw tight, eyes blazing through the dark fall of his

hair, and something inside her seized. Clenched.

Her head fell back, and she lay there for an endless moment, frozen. Then she

drove her hands into his hair and arched her back. “Yes --” The pressure snapped --

inside her and out -- and she closed her eyes as pleasure swelled inside her in an

unbelievable, overwhelming wave.

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 21 -

Oh God, finally… The world drew close, centered on the spots where Ben stroked

her, and she screamed as the wave crashed over her and exploded, sending sharp

spikes of pleasure through her body.

She faintly heard Ben’s voice, no longer whispering illicit things but chanting in

deep, rolling Latin. His fingers never stopped moving as he met magic with magic,

power with power. She felt the tiniest crack in the dark curse wrapped around her, and

he filled it with his presence as he twisted his fingers inside her and coaxed another

spike of ecstasy out of her already shaking body.

The magic swirling through the room tingled across her skin, and her cries

subsided to murmured pleas. Another orgasm swept through her, leaving her writhing

in choked silence. If someone had told her his words would be true, that she’d have to

beg him to stop, she’d have laughed. She’d gone so long without release, and yet his

hands on her, in her, coaxed such a sharp response that the pleasure bordered on pain.

“Wait,” she rasped. “I need -- fuck.”

He slipped away and rolled onto his back next to her, his breath coming in heavy

pants. “Are you all right?”

Maybe it wasn’t the magic in the room making her skin tingle, because the

sensation permeated her body. “I’m so far beyond all right. I think I’m floating.”

“Good.” His voice sounded hoarse and low. “Because not taking you this second

is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. Fiona stroked his chest as she sat up,

moving to kneel by his legs. “The curse is weak right now, drained. I can feel it.” She

reached for his belt and bent to lick a path across his stomach.

“Maybe --” A low groan left him as he curled his fingers in her hair. “Fuck,

maybe I just don’t care.”

“You care. You love this place.” His muscles trembled under her fingers, and

hunger stabbed through her again. She tugged down his zipper and opened his pants,

revealing sensuous black silk. A quick, appreciative smile curved her lips as she freed

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 22 -

his cock from the boxers. When she wrapped her hand around his hard length, he

arched up with a choked noise.

His cock pulsed in her hand, stiff and ready, the head already slicked with

moisture. She laved it away, humming her approval, and he swore as his fingers

tightened in her hair. His hips came up off the bed just enough to push him deeper into

her mouth, and he groaned. “That’s good, that’s really fucking good…”

Feeling how close he was to his own peak -- and knowing that touching her had

aroused him this much -- elicited a moan from her. It vibrated around him as she

dipped her head, swirling her tongue along the underside of his cock. She sucked him

in once, all the way to the base, and backed off with gentle, delicate licks.

“Again,” he demanded, voice trembling. The muscles of his stomach tensed as he

chased her mouth up again. “Harder. Fuck, more --”

His words cut off in another groan as she abandoned the teasing and obeyed, his

harsh, desperate demands turning her on as much as the taste of him. Fiona cupped his

balls and hummed again, fixing her gaze on his face. His entire body was tight, poised

on the edge, and she felt the heavy press of magic in the air.

He came with a hoarse shout and a pulse of magic that raised the hair on the

back of her neck. His hips popped up and his fingers tightened until he pulled her hair

a little, but a moment later he let go as he sank back to the bed with a ragged curse.

Satisfaction curled through Fiona as she kissed a path up his stomach and chest.

“Nothing caught fire,” she whispered against his shoulder. “That’s progress.”

A low chuckle left him as he plunged his fingers into her hair and dragged her

mouth to his. It was a hot kiss, hard and demanding, and she was so focused on the

delicious way his tongue explored her mouth that she didn’t realize they were moving

until her back hit the sheets again.

He lifted his head and grinned down at her through the fall of his dark hair. “It is

a crime for a woman like you to go without sex for five years.”

“No argument here,” she laughed. “But I plan on making up for lost time. You

might not be able to walk tomorrow.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 23 -

“And you may not be able to walk all weekend.” She felt the stirring of magic in

the room again a moment before those phantom fingers returned, teasing between her

legs to stroke her clit in a caress made all the more maddening by the fact that the touch

felt warm -- almost hot -- and continued even when his fingers twined with hers and

pinned her hands to the bed.

“Jesus.” Her flesh heated, and she bucked against the twin imprisonment of his

hips and hands. His grip held firm, and she grinned as a wicked thought occurred to

her. Two can play your game, baby. She bit her lip as magic flared again, and she knew

exactly what he’d feel -- the sharp scratch of fingernails down his back and over his ass.

“Naughty little witch…” He bit her chin before pulling back again to watch her

face. “Stop trying to distract me, unless you want to destroy my priceless art.”

“Heaven forefend,” she whispered, arching to rub her breasts against his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

His lips drifted over hers, soft and gentle, and in sharp contrast to the sudden

intrusion as that hot touch between her legs shifted to fill her. He licked at her lips as he

used magic to fuck her, spreading her almost to the point of discomfort before slipping

away again. “Better than a vibrator,” he whispered against her lips as he did it again. “I

can make it do anything I want. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Fiona gasped and bit his lower lip, a knot of tension already coiling inside her.

“That’s a dirty skill to cultivate,” she ground out approvingly. “Harder.”

“Mmm.” He slipped away from her body, but her hands stayed trapped against

the bed as he rose to his feet again to push his pants from his hips. He was already half

aroused again, and he smiled down at her and reached out to trail his fingers teasingly

down her leg. “I’m going to ask you again. What’s your deepest, darkest fantasy?”

“Fuck me everywhere.” It was the first thing that sprang to mind, and slipped

out before she could stop it. Maybe at another time she would have been shocked at the

need, but her blush didn’t stop her from clarifying. “It’s easy for you, commanding the

magic. Put your tongue in my mouth, and everything else is up to you.”

* * *

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 24 -

Ben froze with his fingers on the inside of Fiona’s knee and took a deep breath.

The dirty proposition brought him back to painful, raging arousal, but it wasn’t what he

wanted to do. He wanted to sink into her body and lose himself, or pull her on top of

him and watch her ride him over the edge. He wanted things that were less about the

dirtiest fucking he could imagine and more about sharing pleasure with her.

It could have been the overwhelming protectiveness that had seized him when

she’d finally given in to release. In that moment he’d slipped under the curse and

touched her spirit, the core of magic that made up everything she was. And he’d found

something beautiful. Wounded, but beautiful.

It had been a long time since he’d touched someone else’s magic and found

anything clean. It didn’t matter that she was inviting him to violate her in ways he was

sure disqualified them both for purity; her aura was pure. Her heart.

And he wanted to protect the woman stretched out so trustingly on his bed. So

break the curse. Pull every dirty trick you need to pull and break it.

The drawer next to his bed held plenty of supplies for a night of illicit pleasure.

He pulled out a couple of condoms and an expensive silver vibrator that gleamed in the

flickering light from the candles.

Her expression was part nervousness and part sharp anticipation, so he smiled at

her as he dropped the condoms on the bed and stretched out beside her with his hard

cock pressed tight against her hip. “First I’m going to break the curse,” he whispered,

rubbing the vibrator slowly up the inside of her thigh. “But you need to come. Hard.”

She didn’t seem as tense or hesitant as before. Instead, she wiggled her hips and

tugged against the invisible bonds of magic that held her hands. “Are you going to

leave me like this?”

Even if he hadn’t been planning to, she sounded far too excited to release her

now. Instead he laughed and thumbed the switch on the vibrator to turn it on. “You like

it a little naughty, don’t you?”

“I just want you.” She offered him a shy smile in place of the wicked one he

expected. “I like the way you look at me when you touch me.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 25 -

“How convenient. I like the way you look when I touch you.” He nudged her

legs apart and teased the tip of the cool metal rod against her clit before sliding it down

and dipping it just inside. And I thought I was turned on before… It was hard to tell what

was worse, watching the end of the vibrator disappear into her cunt, or watching her

face as her lips parted and she let out the world’s sexiest little moan.

“Ben --” Fiona’s voice broke around his name, and she shuddered. Goose bumps

rose on her arms, and her nipples puckered as she twisted on the dark sheets. “You

have to break this damned curse,” she hissed. “I need your cock inside me like -- Yes,

God, like that.”

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He clenched his jaw and steeled himself against the way she

wiggled and rubbed up against his cock. The candles flared crazily and then all went

out at once as he lost his grip on his power.

Her dismayed moan melted into a shriek that pierced the darkness. The bed

began to shake just as she did, caught up in the throes of an orgasm that seemed to go

on and on.

It took every scrap of power he had to keep the backlash from bringing the walls

down on top of them. He closed his eyes and ignored the way she writhed against him,

ignored the way her first orgasm tumbled into another without stopping. All the power

that had twisted up inside her exploded outward for one brief second, and he slipped

into its place and wrapped her in his own magic, wrapped her in him.

The freed power hit the shields he’d brought up around them and rebounded,

flying back to sink into her again. Instead it hit him, and the backlash tore through the

room, ripping paintings from the wall and sending his stained glass lamps crashing to

the floor. Ben tossed the vibrator off the bed and covered Fiona with his body as the

whirlwind of magic slowly faded, leaving them in a tiny oasis of order in the otherwise

devastated remains of his bedroom.

He rolled over with a groan and brought her with him, letting her collapse

bonelessly on top of him as he smoothed back her hair with a tired but satisfied smile.

“That was some curse.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 26 -

“It’s gone,” she murmured, then raised her head and blinked, her face

illuminated by the light from the windows. “You did it. Holy shit, you did it.” A

laughing smile replaced her disbelief, and she kissed him.

Ben gave into the kiss, savoring the taste of her mouth as he slid his tongue

against hers. It was a slow, languid kiss, even though the press of her hips against his

aching cock was its own kind of torture. At least now he could relax into it and enjoy

the way she moaned and tilted her head, the way she teased at his mouth with the same

skill and enjoyment as she’d sucked his cock.

She broke the kiss as she pulled away, and he realized she was sitting up. She

rocked back on his thighs, her knees pressing into the bed on either side of him, and

gasped when she saw the destruction in the room. “Oh, God. Ben, I’m sorry.”

He dropped one hand to the tangled bed sheets next to him and groped across

them until he found the condoms he’d tossed there before. Contraceptive charms were

laid in every room downstairs, but even if he had thought to take such measures in his

personal bedroom, he doubted any spells that delicate would have survived the

backlash of her curse breaking. So he tore the package open and offered it to her,

hoping he didn’t look as desperate as he felt. “Can we worry about my room later?”

Fiona took the condom from him, a soft look in her eyes. “I’ll fix it,” she

promised cryptically, then rolled the latex over his cock, her delicate hand squeezing

down his shaft.

Maybe he should have cared more about what that meant, but she was gorgeous

and on display, and if she could ride a man half as well as she went down on one, he

was about to have the hottest sex he’d seen in years. He arched into her hand and gave

her his dirtiest little smile, the one that made women melt. “All I want right now is you,

sweetheart.”

* * *

The naughty smile Ben flashed her made Fiona’s chest tighten, and a flood of

tenderness washed through her. He’d touched her with nothing but gentleness and

patience, bringing her pleasure and -- more incredibly -- freedom.

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 27 -

It was enough to infatuate a woman.

She pushed the thought from her mind and braced her hands on his chest,

enjoying the play of his hard, lean muscles under skin. His jaw tightened again as she

aligned her hips over his, and the look in his eyes almost made her come again. She

moved slowly, lowering her body inch by inch, gasping when his cock stretched her.

His hands grasped her hips, and he held her poised a few inches above him as he

rolled his hips up to fill her. A groan of pure masculine satisfaction rumbled out of his

chest as he did it again, retreating and then thrusting up, this time yanking her down to

meet his advance.

If she’d known this was what she was missing, then the torment of her curse

really would have killed her. Even the sweet pleasure he’d brought her before couldn’t

compare with the way he fit inside her, hard where she was soft.

A shudder took Fiona, and she bit her lip, afraid to make a sound for fear of

breaking the sensual spell they’d woven. But when he drove into her a third time, his

name slipped out of her on a sharp cry. She grasped his hands and watched his face as

she took over, clenching her inner muscles around his cock with each movement.

“Fuck!” His fingers tightened on her hips, but he didn’t try to guide her. He

whispered something she couldn’t quite understand, and those maddening ghostly

touches started up again. Hot power teased down her back and lower, tracing all the

way to where they were joined. Then it split, one phantom finger sliding up to circle her

clit while the other drifted back and dipped into her ass.

“Jesus Christ.” Her head fell back. The combination of sensations was intense,

almost overwhelming, but exactly what she wanted. To be taken, filled. She ground

down against him even harder and moaned. “Tell me --”

“Tell you what?” The pressure intensified along with the heat, and he slid one

hand up her body to cup her breast as his gaze stayed fixed on her face. “That I love

watching your face while I fuck you everywhere?”

“Yes.” Need coiled inside her, and she leaned down to nip at his lips. “You have

no idea how good this feels.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 28 -

“I don’t?” His voice sounded hoarse and a little rough. “You have no idea how

good you feel. I’ve been desperate to be inside you since you broke my damn elevator.”

His sensuous words, his need, fueled her impatience, twisted the knot inside her

tighter. She slid her mouth over his, catching his surprised noise as she lifted herself

higher and slammed down on his cock. Already, she found herself rocketing toward the

edge. “Too fast,” she whispered against his jaw. “But I can’t -- I’m going to come --”

“Now.” It was a quiet, arrogant command, and his teeth caught her earlobe as he

thrust up against her with a rumbling groan. “Now.”

She drove both hands into his hair, threading the long, sweat-dampened strands

between her fingers. Her lips touched his again, and she pulled away to watch him as

the world spun away completely for the first time in five years. And the only thing that

shattered was Fiona, in a million tiny pieces tumbling after the ecstasy that splintered

through her.

And the best part was the way his fingers clenched on her hips as he arched up

one more time, hard and out of control, and groaned in release.

Her heart pounded as she lowered her face to his neck and rocked, slowly

settling into stillness. “Ben,” she breathed, shaken.

“Shh.” His fingers skated up her back until he cradled the back of her head, the

gesture gentle and oddly possessive. His other hand splayed across her lower back, and

he held her there for several endless moments while his harsh breathing steadied out.

“Rest, Fiona. You need rest.”

She rolled over onto the bed, her legs still tangled with his, and said sleepily,

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”

Warm fingers coaxed her tangled hair back from her face, and she felt the soft

brush of his lips against her forehead. “I’m sure you will be. After you rest.”

“Mmm.” The bed was deliciously warm under her, and she relaxed into it.

“Good night.”

“Good night, sweetheart.” A blanket settled over her, wrapping her in warmth

and Ben’s scent. “I’ll be right back.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 29 -

“Mmm.” Her limbs felt heavy, and she smiled. “Right back.” Then she drifted to

sleep.

Chapter Four

Ben didn’t bother to check the elevator. As soon as he had his jeans buttoned and

a T-shirt over his head, he closed his eyes and used magic to step from his bedroom to

the hallway that led to the dance floor. The first thing he noticed was that the

emergency lights were lit, tiny blue strips along the base of the wall that made it easy to

find his way to the door out to the main bar.

The electricity was gone. Ben fought a rising surge of panic as his senses

registered the unnatural quiet. The bar was never empty. Supernaturals kept odd hours

and it was well worth the money he paid his staff to make sure Last Call and its more

exotic services were always available.

A whoop from the far side of the room drew his attention, and a moment later

the lights flickered on. He squinted against the sudden glare and started across the

room to the shapes he recognized vaguely as Bernie and Karl, his on-call electrician.

Bernie looked up and waved him over. “Miss Hurricane did a number on this

place. Had to close up shop and call Karl.”

“Well, shit. What about the people already upstairs? They’re on a different

power source, right?”

It was Karl who nodded. “I wired the individual magical generators to trip in

case of an outage, mundane or otherwise.”

“Just not the main floor,” Bernie interjected. “And I am not hardcore enough to

tend bar in the dark.”

Karl laughed. “The upstairs rooms shouldn’t have been affected. I’ll have to

recharge the generators, though.”

It could have been worse. He opened his mouth to say so, but the words died

when the front doors blew open hard enough to knock back against the wall. His

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Last Call: Hurricane

- 31 -

remaining wards screamed a warning in his head as a familiar looking man stepped

through. Ten years had passed since the last time Ben had seen Robert Carmichael, but

judging by the graying hair and eyes bracketed by deep lines, time had not been kind.

Or the backlash of his curse breaking. Ben took a fierce satisfaction in that thought.

No matter how much Robert had suffered, it was nothing compared to what Ben would

do to him if the man wasn’t smart enough to turn around and leave.

He stopped in the middle of the deserted room, still littered with empty cups and

bottles, and cocked one eyebrow. “Where is she?”

Fury gripped him. “That’s none of your concern.”

Robert moved closer and peered at Ben. “D’Cruze. I should have known Fiona

would make her way here sooner or later.” He shook his head. “She’s always known

how to get what she wants.”

“Really?” He let his disdain show as he raked his gaze down Robert’s body.

“Seems to me like she wanted a little bit of satisfaction, and she never got that out of

you.”

“Fiona’s desires were a little more prosaic, I’m afraid. She wanted a career, and I

gave her one.” Robert shrugged. “I suppose I lost my charm after that. But you’ll see

that soon enough, Mr. D’Cruze. You vanquished the terrible curse and freed the

maiden, after all.”

“I freed this one.” His magical reserves should have been exhausted after the

efforts of the evening, but anger made it easy to gather just enough power…

He whispered the words before Robert realized what he was doing. Magic

tingled through the air, just enough power to make Carmichael think that some sort of

magic had been worked against him.

The older man jerked, and his jaw hardened. “What did you do, D’Cruze, and

how sorry do I have to make you for it?”

As if he had anything to fear from Robert. Ben offered him a lazy grin and

nodded for Bernie, who would be more than capable of tossing the man out into the

street. “Just a little taste of your own medicine, Robert. If you’re as charming as you

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 32 -

think you are, you’ll never even notice. But from now on, no matter how bad you want

it, you’re not getting off until your partner’s satisfied. Maybe that will give you a little

inspiration to learn how to please a woman.”

The man barely glanced at Bernie, just kept staring at Ben with a mixture of

disdain and pity. “Have it your way, D’Cruze. Look me up when she’s finished with

you. Drinks’ll be on me.” He didn’t wait for the muscled bartender to reach him. He

turned and stalked out, the doors slamming shut behind him.

Bernie spun and fixed a hopeful look on Ben. “Please tell me his dick is going to

fall off. You’d be doing the world a favor, because that is one bitter, bitter man.”

“What, that?” Ben snorted. “That was just a little flash and light to make him

think I’d cursed him. Maybe he’ll put a little bit of effort into his bedroom games until

he figures it out.”

“If he figures it out,” Bernie muttered.

“Exactly.” Benito nodded toward the door. “Put a sign up that we’ll open again

at sundown tomorrow, and get some rest. Oh, and Karl?” He waited until he had the

electrician’s attention. “I need you to look at my private elevator. It’s stuck somewhere

between the nineteenth and twentieth floors.”

Karl inclined his head. “I’ll get a crew out here within the hour.”

“Good. Tell them not to come up to the penthouse. I earned some sleep.” He

grinned at Bernie before turning to the door that led to the back hallway. “But if Robert

shows back up here, feel free to beat him within an inch of his life. Just don’t actually

kill anyone on the property.”

The empath yelled after him. “And who’s going to drive me to the hospital after I

pound on Mr. Grumpy’s face, Ben? You and Miss Hurricane?”

“Nope. We’ll be otherwise occupied.” I hope.

* * *

Fiona tugged the pilfered T-shirt down a little more and swore at the shards of

porcelain in her hands. “Where the hell are the rest of you?”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 33 -

Finding the rest of the vase would require a thorough search of the room, so she

set the pieces aside and picked up a ripped painting. “Oh, crap. Not the Soutine.” She

ran her fingers lightly over the rift in the canvas and closed her eyes. Biting her lip, she

concentrated until she felt magic run through her and into the canvas, mending the

fibers and smoothing the oil back into place.

The currents of magic in the room rippled, her only warning before she heard

Ben’s low voice a few feet behind her. “That’s amazing.”

Her eyes shot open. “It’s the only thing I can do, really. Put things back

together.” Just looking at him as he lounged inside the door made her heart race. “I

couldn’t sleep, and I told you I’d fix it, so I thought I’d get started. I hope that’s okay.”

He pushed off the wall and strode toward her in a way that did nothing for her

composure. “Don’t belittle that talent. I have massive power at my fingertips, but I

never could do anything delicate with it. All of the more subtle spells in the building

were cast by other people.”

“Mmm.” She rose and leaned the painting against the nightstand, then pulled at

the hem of the T-shirt she wore. “He was here, wasn’t he? I thought I felt him.” The

dread had woken her from a sound sleep and driven her from the bed, like the threads

of a nightmare she couldn’t quite remember.

Ben folded his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, into the warmth

and safety of his embrace. “I told you from the start, sweetheart. Robert Carmichael is

no match for me.”

It would be easy to melt into him, to ignore reality. “That isn’t --” She drew back

and stared up at him. “I know what he must have said. I heard the same things from

him when I left.”

“I’m not in the habit of listening to anything that a man like Carmichael says.”

He lifted a hand and rubbed his thumb along her jaw in a gesture that was more tender

than sexual. “Besides, I’ve given him something else to think about.”

Fiona tried not to smile. “You didn’t.”

“Mmm, I sure the hell did.”

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 34 -

Her shoulders shook with laughter as she hid her face against Ben’s chest. “Boils?

Chronic bad breath?”

“Nothing so crude.” His fingers stroked through her hair softly. “Let’s just say

I’ve given him good reason to pay more attention to whether or not he’s treating his

lady friends with the proper care.”

She grinned. “I’d better get back to work. The Tiffany lamps alone are going to

take all night.” Her hands began to tremble as she took a deep breath. “Thank you for

everything, Ben.”

He shook his head as if she’d said something amusing. In the next moment she

was in his arms and headed toward the bed. “If you want to thank me, you’ll ignore the

Tiffany lamps and come to bed with me. To sleep, that is. I think we’ve had enough sex

to last us at least seven or eight hours.”

“Maybe.” Fiona clung to his shoulders and kissed his neck. “You don’t have to

ask me to stay. It won’t hurt my feelings if you need me to leave,” she lied.

“And you don’t have to stay,” he countered. “But it might hurt my feelings a

little if you wanted to go.”

“I don’t want to go.” She felt almost shy, which was ridiculous, considering the

way they’d spent the evening. But she still had to fight the urge to hide her face again

when he dropped to his bed with her on top of him. “This is going to sound crazy, but I

feel… naked.” She trailed the tip of one finger over his jaw. “You don’t know my last

name, but you’ve seen me. Who I am.”

He was silent for several seconds, his dark eyes fixed on hers. Then he smiled.

“So look at me. See me. For who I am.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slid her hand to rest on his chest and closed her

eyes. His skin warmed under her hand, and she felt his wariness, his weariness. He was

strong, and his protectiveness wrapped around her, gentle and calming. Under it all

was what he’d seen of her, what he felt. Curiosity, fascination, and fondness. Desire.

She leaned down and caught his mouth with hers, pouring her own emotions

into the kiss. He responded with a low moan as he threaded his fingers into her hair

Moira Rogers

Last Call: Hurricane

- 35 -

and cradled the back of her head. He kissed her with breathtaking skill, a lazy

exploration of her mouth that finally gave way to something hotter, more demanding.

He kissed her until she was lightheaded, then tugged gently at her hair and

smiled up at her when she pulled back. “You need rest, sweetheart. Sleep here. Stay

here.”

With the magical connection between them still fading, Fiona knew he was

talking about more than a night. Still, her hesitation vanished, and she rested her head

on his shoulder with a soft, sure smile. She wouldn’t leave, not now. Maybe not ever.

“Yes.”

Moira Rogers

How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing

student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a

passion for gritty urban fantasy. Toss in a dash of whimsy and a lot of caffeine, and

enjoy with a side of chocolate by the light of the full moon.

By day, Bree and Donna are mild-mannered ladies who reside in the Deep South.

At night, when their husbands and children are asleep, they combine forces to unleash

the product of their fevered imaginations upon the page. To learn more about this

romance writing, crime fighting duo, visit their webpage at www.moirarogers.com.

(Disclaimer: crime fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered

imaginations.)