He's a naughty fallen angel...she's a reckless mountain guide...together they're combustible!
Taking a look inside the erotic supernatural romance, SPARK!
Back cover blurb...
Calvin Ritchie wants solitude and isn't about to let a wildfire stop him from doing exactly what he wants. An action-adventure movie star, he is in Ouray for a weekend as far away from prying eyes as he can get. He is at a crossroads in his life. As part of a group of fallen angels that needs to either find redemption or be damned for eternity, Calvin is being tested by both light and dark forces.
When a sexy movie star wants to hire her to guide him into Box Canyon despite the wildfire raging miles south of town, local mountain guide Willow Leslie says yes. Never one to turn down an adventure—or a big payday—she ignores the warnings and trusts her skills as they head out for a holiday weekend.
What they don't know is that an arsonist is loose in the forest and has started a second fire that traps them in the canyon. Bound by survival, they embark on a journey of erotic exploration and internal reckoning as the flames spread closer each day.
Will Calvin find that spark of redemption he needs to rescue them from certain death? Can Willow learn to trust someone other than herself enough to let love melt her jaded heart?
An excerpt...adult content
"What's with your obsession over the drone footage? You look like a guy who is looking for something rather than a guy watching himself having a good time."
He laughed. He had expected a question about his personal life—at least that is what he had hoped for. "I would rather not answer that."
"You said I could ask you anything."
"In your show, you're always very chatty with clients."
She tilted her head toward the sky and declined to answer.
He smiled because, for the first time since meeting her, he sensed a crack in her detached facade. Maybe, in fact, she was more interested in him than he had assumed.
She started unbraiding her hair. He couldn't stop watching her do such a simple task. As her fingers worked out the braid, she hummed quietly to herself. He leaned back in his chair and appreciated all of it—the shadows across the canyon, the glow of the dragonfly lantern illuminating their little space on the bank, the sound of the stream rippling past only a few feet away. The bite of the cool mountain air licked over his skin.
"You have beautiful hair."
"Thank you." She stared at the water flowing several feet away and brushed her fingers through the waves that fell to her elbows. "Why did you want to do this? You were so adamant that it had to be this weekend, no matter what, fire be damned. Are you hiding from something, Cal?"
"You were right—I'm looking for something."
She smiled through the veil of hair. "I hope I can help you find it."
Damn, is she seriously coming onto me? Or am I imagining the signals? Are there signals?
He stretched his legs out in front of him and wondered what do now. The combination of the oxy and bourbon dulled the chatter that started as usual with the setting of the sun. A familiar restlessness gnawed at him from the inside to do more, be more. Silence usually called forth the demons that tormented him. He tapped his feet against the ground and waited for the inevitable pull from the darkness.
"What do you usually do overnight on your shoots for your show?" he asked because her silence unnerved him. He wasn't used to being with people who could simply sit and be quiet. Everyone he knew usually fell over themselves trying to compete for his attention with some stupid story or brazen move. Not Willow. She sat next to him, hair free around her shoulders, and stared at the water.
She looked sad, he realized. Not the sobbing kind of sadness that wanted attention, but the soft kind that hinted at deep sorrow. He wanted to know why and that surprised him. He normally didn't care about the pettiness of human stresses. He found that most people were oblivious to their blessings and consumed with greed—and that bored him. He knew that assessment didn't fit Willow Leslie.
"We normally chat and get to know each other," she said after a long pause. "The crew is usually here—Billy and Steve—so they liven up the conversation."
"Billy and Steve? You only have two cameramen?"
"Yes, just the two. You've seen the show," she cast him a long look, "They're good guys. They're up in Crested Butte this weekend."
"Why did you want to do the show? You're a former Olympic skier—shouldn't you be coaching or judging or commentating on competitions? Isn't that the usual path?"
"I don't like the usual path."
"Fair enough." He took another swig from his flask.
"Why do you drink so much?"
"To drown out the voices in my head."
"Seriously." He tapped his forefinger against his forehead. "They never shut up."
"We all have those voices."
"What do yours say?"
"That you're dangerous and I need to steer clear."
"They're right. I am the most dangerous adventure you could ever have."
"I've been known to crave a danger or two."
His desire grew when she actually looked excited at the idea.
"Want to know what my dare is?"
"Ah, the dare. I forgot about that."
He squinted at her profile and grinned because he knew that was a lie. His angel senses might be dulled but he knew a lie when he smelled one.
"Well? What is it? What would you like me to do?"
She twisted in the chair and gaped at him. "What?"
"It's only fair. You've seen me naked twice now and I want you to strip for me."
"You think I won't?" She arched an eyebrow.
"I know you will." His smiled widened.
"Fine. I need to change clothes anyway. It's getting cold. You're very predictable, Cal. I expected more creativity."
"Oh, I can be creative. If you're lucky, you'll find out exactly how creative I can be."
"I think you're all hype."
"Test me, baby, test me. I would love to prove you wrong."
He folded his arms across his chest, the flask dangling from his fingertips, and waited while she moved to stand in front of him. The glow of the lantern light cast golden shadows across her face. She smiled at him—completely confident and unafraid, almost as if she had wanted him to dare her to strip. Slowly, she rolled the hem of her t-shirt over her flat abdomen and inched it over her bra. She did so with such deliberation that he wondered if she had done this before. Over the sports bra it went. She cast it aside before peeling off her jeans with a swish-swish of her hips that had him shifting on the chair. She stood in front of him dressed in white cotton panties and a white cotton sports bra. Long arms, long legs, long hair—he wanted her wrapped around him.
"Why don't you help me with the rest?" she asked.
He leaned forward, unsure that he had heard her correctly. "What did you say?"
"These sports bras can be so hard to get on and off. A little help please?" She smiled the smile of a woman who knows her power.
Without waiting for an answer, she walked into the round tent with the wild pillows and stood at the center, back to him.
He jumped from the chair, dropped his flask to the ground, and followed her inside with a degree of awe. He hadn't expected her to strip...let alone ask him to help. Perhaps a part of him had hoped she would tell him to fuck off—but this unexpected response only deepened his fascination.
He stopped behind her, an inch away and allowed his gaze to roam over the hair that fell to the middle of her back. He traced one finger down her spine and over the indent of her waist before sliding it up her arm toward her shoulder. He had seen beautiful women—Willow wasn't beautiful in an expected way, yet he had never before felt so enchanted. She emanated power and grace and stood before him like a goddess. Goosebumps rose on her skin where he touched. He heard her slight intake of breath.
He skimmed his fingertips beneath her hair and across her bare shoulder before sliding both hands over the front of her bra. He couldn't remember ever stripping a woman out of a sports bra before, but he liked the feeling of rolling it up and over her head, freeing her breasts to the night air. He dropped the fabric to the floor, slipped his fingers into her cotton panties and rolled them down her hips, and over her thighs. Kneeling behind her, he lifted first one foot and then the other until she stood naked with him holding both her ankles.
The lantern's light illuminated her like a spotlight. Still kneeling, he slid his hands over the backs of her legs, kissed the back of her knees, and cupped her ass as he stood. He lifted her hair and pressed his mouth against the back of her neck. His hands roamed beneath her arms to cup her breasts. Keeping one hand on her breast and moving the other down her abdomen, he savored her surrender.
She tilted her neck to the side to give him full access to nip and lick and kiss her throat from neck to ear. She leaned against his chest.
He turned her around to face him and kneeled in front of her. He nudged her legs apart and looked up at the curve of her breasts above the flat abdomen. He grinned when he noticed the piercing in her belly button and the tattoo of an angel curving across her hipbone. He knew without being told that this was the angel she claimed to have seen that day of her crash. He leaned up and kissed it. He grabbed her ass. He licked and sucked her clit while gripping her ass to hold her steady. He feasted on her, felt her thighs tremble against his face. He devoured her as if she were a sacrifice given to appease him. Her fingers curled in his hair and she ground her hips against his eager tongue.
He moved quickly and pulled her to the pillows and spread her legs wide before she could say a word or move. He thrust his fingers inside her and returned to her clit.
She twisted against the pillows, her hips thrusting and back arching. When her body quaked beneath his tongue, he rose up only far enough to free his cock. He needed to be inside her and he needed to be there now.
He reached for his backpack and retrieved a condom while she propped herself up on her elbows and watched. Anticipation rolled off of her in waves of pheromones that urged him to move faster.
He peeled off his clothes, managed to roll the condom onto his cock and rammed himself inside of her. Her cunt clenched over his penis and held him tight as he buried himself to his balls and ground his hips against hers. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, claiming her.
Her hands were all over him—moving across his back, along his shoulders, into his hair.
They kissed—finally—mouths hungry for each other and breath tangling while tongues danced together. He fucked her like a wild animal and kissed her like a starving man. The orgasm ripped through him from his toes, through his torso, through his lungs, and through the top of his head. He arched his head backward as he came—hard.
Her legs held him to her. Her fingernails sank into his biceps.
A familiar itch slid down his back and the felt the stirrings of his hidden wings aching to be set free. He shoved deeper into her until she cried out from a combination of pain and pleasure. His wings spread out behind him and blocked out the lantern light.
Her head was back, eyes closed, body writhing underneath him like an untamed creature succumbing to primal urges. Her blonde hair spread out across the neon pink and green pillows.
He slid his cock from her, grabbed her hips and flipped her over before she could see his wings. He pounded into her from behind and grabbed her breasts—squeezed until she moaned. He reached one hand around and touched her ass. He wanted her every way he could have her. He slid a finger into her wet cunt before sliding it over her asshole. Slowly, he slid off his used condom and pushed the tip of his cock into her. She froze but didn't protest. Instead she pushed her butt back against him. He grabbed her hips and eased his girth into her until she screamed and bent her head back. He wrapped her long hair around his fist and thrust into her, rode her ass and yanked her hair until he came again.
Her scream became a low purr of satisfaction. She pressed her forehead against the pillow.
His wings shuttered at his side, their mass taking up the entirety of the round tent. He pushed her head back down when she tried to turn to look at him. He didn't want to use his powers to make her forget what had happened and wasn't prepared to show her his true self.
He had never shown a woman his wings.
He kissed her spine from between her shoulder blades down to the curve of her ass. He nipped the side of her hip and waited until his wings settled back inside before turning her onto her back.
Her hair wrapped around her face and neck. She blinked at him with a slow smile stretching across her lips.
"That was unexpected." She flung an arm above her head.
He took the opportunity to trace the outline of her breasts and to simply look at her. He could lie and tell her that this hadn't been part of his plan—but he had known all along that would end up balls deep inside her. It had only been a question of timing.
He had never faced a challenge he couldn't win.
He focused on the tattoo and his smile slipped when he recognized one of the angels who pestered him on a regular basis—Marisol—staring up at him from the woman he had just thoroughly fucked and who he planned on fucking again and again until dawn.
Every fiber of his being quaked with anger—sudden and hot.
This had been a trap.
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