Six and Sexy

Eve Powers
Samhain Publishing

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Death has never been so tempting.

As a reaper, Six is a right hand to Death herself. It's his job to end a cycle so a new one can begin. Now the feared Lady has given him a new assignment…and reaping has never been more difficult. His beautiful new target calls to him, not as a reaper, but as a man. But no one's ever defied Death before, and Six must stay focused on the task-to kill Shelby Morrison-before another reaper gets to her first.

At first, Shelby thinks she dreamed up the dark, handsome stranger who's following her. Yet slowly she realizes he's very real-and so are the sparks between them. Though the only thing she knows about him is his name, Six is too sexy to resist. She aches for his touch.

And no one's ever died from a few little kisses…

Excerpt

The last thing Shelby needed on this, her very important day, was anything urgent. Sticking her list into her purse, she cursed under her breath as she attacked the lobby floors, heading toward the ballroom where the reception was to be held.

She was in such a rush to reach the double doors that she slammed into a wall that seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere. A wall of muscle. She went as still as a statue, her gaze slowly sliding up a broad, corded neck and landing on a hard, tanned face. His face. A face from her dreams.

She gasped. “You.”

A smile appeared and his voice skimmed over her flesh like a caress. “Me.”

Heart, please stop it, Shelby thought, the ramming inside her breast only accelerating more. “You. From the other night,” she said, taking a cautious step back.

He took one forward. “Me. From the other night.”

Oh my God, he was no dream. The urge to either pinch herself or feel him up to make sure he was for real became acute. “But you…” She bit back the words “kissed me” and instead fell silent, remembering her dream of last night and knowing it couldn’t possibly be true. But then he did say it was him. From the other night.

How strange all this was. Did she have amnesia or maybe something worse? First thing Monday she ought to see a doctor. That sudden dizziness, breathlessness, feeling-like-shittyness was starting to worry her.

The double doors leading to the ballroom had been propped open to allow workers through, and both he and Shelby had to move a step back to let several men pass.

“Well,” Shelby said then, tilting her chin up. Since speaking of those mysterious evenings and that very memorable kiss was out of the question, she clasped her hands in front of her and smiled with false brightness. “Are you also here for the wedding preparations?”

Those lips of his shouldn’t even be allowed to smile. “I’m here for you,” he said softly.

Shelby did not hear that.

No. She’d made that up—a natural cause of going mental. If her knees were quaking, it was probably a side effect. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said cautiously.

“Shell, there you are!”

God bless best friends, saving one from making a fool of oneself.

As if on cue, Ollie snatched her elbow and promptly dragged her past open doors. Before Shelby even realized, they were halfway across the ballroom.

Ollie looked rumpled this morning. Shelby was sure she was wearing her pajamas—the ice cream pattern on her flannel pants and button shirt was extremely telling—but then Ollie had always been protective of her Saturdays. She hated waking early, because her Friday nights were usually a big event. Unlike Shelby’s evenings spent home.

Her long-time friend and associate halted her before a round table and signaled to the dozens of roses scattered across the top, her brow creased with worry. “The roses aren’t fully bloomed yet. What the hell are we going to do now?”

“They’re out of the coolers. They’ll bloom in no time,” Shelby absently said. Rather than stare down at the buds, she glanced past her shoulder, stiffening when she saw he was still there. Still looking at her.

The epitome of masculinity—looking at her. The way his body oozed and shouted I’m a man was anything but subtle. The obvious way her own responded to him was almost vulgar. Really. Shelby was certain the whole room could see her hardened nipples through her white and old and plenty-times-washed cotton t-shirt. But there was nothing she could do about it as long as he was here. Looking like he did.

His muscles completely filled an old pair of jeans which snugly hugged every inch of his long legs. Broader than she remembered, his shoulders tapered to his waist and lean, narrow hips she knew would look damned good from the back side.

Horrified by the turn her thoughts had taken, Shelby jerked back quickly, but Ollie had followed her gaze and was now openly staring at him, maybe even a second away from starting to drool. Her hand tightened reflexively on Shelby’s elbow. “Oh, my. Who’s that?”

It would’ve been far too telling if Shelby played dumb like she wanted to. She knew exactly who Ollie was referring to and was discomfortingly aware of him still being in this same room, state and country. “He’s just a guy I met the other night,” she said, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t kissed that very same guy Ollie was referring to.

Looking as though she’d made a monumental discovery, Ollie smiled. “He’s looking at you.”

Sucking in a breath, Shelby gripped the edge of the table for support, her brow furrowed. “Oh, God, I know. I swear I can feel it.”

“He coming to the wedding tonight?”

That made Shelby scowl. “No. Why would he?”

“I don’t know, I thought you asked him. I asked Paul, remember?”

Shelby shook her head so fast she felt lightheaded. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

Ollie’s gaze stayed on him, now narrowing like a detective’s. “He’s still looking at you.”

“Shh. Stop saying that, you’re making me nervous.”

Her friend let out an exasperated breath, as if they’d gone over this a million times already. “Well why don’t you go talk to him, Shell?”

“I kind of was until you came in and dragged me back here!”

“Well then go back. I hadn’t realized you were…you know.” Ollie plucked a carnation from one of the rolls and calmly inspected it as she waited for the verdict.

Shelby sighed drearily. This was the day she’d been waiting for for ages. She was not going to spend it flirting. She had a wedding to do, for crying out loud. And so did Ollie. She turned her attention back to the table. “Let’s just focus on the flowers right now, all right.”

But Ollie didn’t seem to hear, because she bent into her ear and almost whistled the words, “He looks like he could eat you up, girlfriend.”

And the way she felt now, Shelby was sure she’d enjoy it. She closed her eyes, struggling with herself, with what uninvited lust raged inside her. Today. Of all the days in a year. “Oh, God,” Shelby said in despair.

“Come on, Shell. Go on and flirt with the guy.”

Shelby drew in a breath, frantically holding onto the last remnants of common sense. “Ollie. Really. I don’t even know him.”

“Well that’s the purpose of a date, Shell. To get to know each other.”

Ollie, being an expert at that herself, of course. While Ollie loathed getting too intimate with anyone, preferring a casual night with a stranger, Shelby had always found more comfort in the tried and true. And yet…

He was no stranger to her. At least not anymore.

She might not know his name, who he was or where he was from, but my goodness, she knew his kiss. Throbbed for another one. And a couple of dozen more. “Ollie, I can’t think right now, okay? Let me just…” With renewed determination, Shelby spread her hands above the centerpiece and narrowed her eyes. “Do this.”

“Fine. I’ll go tackle the other table.” But before Ollie went to do just that, she bent close to her ear. “By the way, the guy? He’s checking out your ass.”

That made Shelby straighten, the words filling her with both outrage and annoyance and even…lust.

Shaking off the sensation, Shelby slammed her brows together, fixed her gaze on the centerpiece and tried to concentrate but failed.

Yes, yes, yes. She felt that hot gaze on her back and most definitely on her ass. Her legs and arms quivered.

Men were moving around the room—working to set the rest of the tables, hauling in the gold Tiffany chairs—and yet Shelby was aware of only one. The One. Right there.

She stole another look at him and found him casually lounging against a wall, one foot propped up, his arms across his chest as he watched her. Her lungs and heart both fought for her undivided attention, struggling to perform their usual tasks, and failing.

Though she pretended to be hard at work, she glanced back at him every minute to double and triple check and she’d find that, yep, he was still there. And now she could hardly do anything else but check and check and verify his presence again. And yep, yep, yep. He was still there, looking as though there weren’t a dozen more people to look at or several dozens of other things to see. He looked at her and only her. All the time. Every single time she checked.