Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  “Indeed? How am I to satisfy the conditions if I don’t know what they are?”

  “They are not your conditions to satisfy, Lord Ryland.”

  I blinked as her meaning sunk in. “You’re saying that you have to meet the terms?”

  Again she shrugged. “No favor from the Council comes without a price. I asked for the favor, therefore it is mine to repay.”

  “At what cost to you did my chance at Heaven come?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot say as the agreement must remain confidential between me and the Council.”

  How many more times could this woman leave me speechless? She’d not only interceded on my behalf, the Council had extracted some sort of sacrifice from her. Something that I knew had to be substantial.

  Why, why would she do that? Sacrifice something, anything for me?

  And suddenly the words she’d spoken earlier came roaring back, echoing through my mind. I care for you. I always have.

  I’d dismissed her utterance as nonsense, but clearly it was nothing of the sort.

  She cared for me.

  A heated shiver rippled through me at the realization. No one had ever said those words to me.

  But then I recalled what she’d said next. I’ve watched over you, every day. Every hour. Even during your life. A statement that most assuredly demanded an explanation, one I hadn’t received due to my Miss Heely emergency. One I was determined to hear now.

  “I want to know what you meant when you claimed you watched over me during my life.”

  Again something flickered in her eyes. “Perhaps we can discuss that when we have more time. Right now there are more pressing matters to deal with.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, to begin with, our living arrangements. Since part of my agreement with the Council is that we remain in London for at least six months, I think renting a house is our best option. As this is the off season, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something acceptable. I’d like something on the lake. Is that all right with you?”

  And there I stood, speechless once again. Really, her ability to rob me of words was becoming a most vexing habit. I cleared my throat. “Have you been hit on the head with a rock? What the bloody hell are you talking about? Why would we require a house? Indeed, why would we require anything? There is no we. There is you. And there is me. Completely separate. Now, if you would tell me where I am to exist-- ”

  “I just told you, Lord Ryland. Has your hearing become afflicted? Were you hit on the ear with a rock?”

  God, I wished I had a rock. So I could use it to bludgeon myself unconscious so I wouldn’t have to converse with this exasperating woman any longer. “Of course not-- ”

  “Then please put the modicum of intelligence you’ve assured me you possess to use and listen so that I may fully explain your new circumstances. Can you do that?”

  As a rock had not magically appeared in my hand, I gave a terse nod. “Yes. But in my defense, it cannot be a shock that I’d wonder why an angel would require a house.”

  She blinked. “An angel? But… ” A look of unmistakable consternation passed over her features. “Oh, dear. I just assumed you knew. That you understood.”

  “Understood what?” I shouted.

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lord Ryland. Given that you were aware you’d forfeit all claims to Heaven by using your Crisis Clause to save a human life, I assumed you were also aware that by doing so you gave up your existence in the spiritual realm. At least temporarily-- until you die again.”

  “Die again? What the devil does that mean?”

  “It means you are human. And will live a human life. Until you die as all humans do. How you choose to live that life will determine whether or not you go to Heaven when you expire.”

  This time I was so speechless my jaw dropped open. Had it not been attached to my face, my chin would have hit the ground. “Human? I’m… alive?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked down at myself. Wiggled my toes inside my boots. Spread my arms. Stared at my hands as if I’d never seen them before. Then I looked at her. “I’m human,” I repeated slowly, needing to make sure that me and my modicum of intelligence really, really understood.

  “Yes.”

  I pointed toward the police and firemen at the accident scene. “Just like those people over there?”

  “Yes.”

  Alive. A sound of disbelief escaped me. It didn’t seem possible. Another life. To live in this modern, technologically based world that was so completely different than what I’d previously known. An overwhelming sense of wonder and anticipation, coupled with a healthy dose of trepidation filled me. So much to do, so much to see and experience. My head spun. This was a great deal to absorb.

  “Just like those people,” Director Foscari said, “except you’ve carried over some powers from the spiritual world that they of course do not possess.”

  “What kind of powers?” I instantly wondered if I could leap tall buildings with a single bound.

  “I’m not precisely certain as each carry-over case differs, but nothing of a superhero nature.”

  Suspicion immediately slithered through me. The fact that her words so closely mirrored my thought… had she read my mind? It wasn’t the first time I’d wondered if she’d done so. It suddenly occurred to me that there was a great deal I didn’t know about Alessandra Foscari.

  Before I could ponder the matter further, she continued, “There are tests I can perform to determine precisely what powers you possess. I’ll do so once we are settled.”

  My brows collapsed in a frown. “There you go with that we again. There’s no need for you to remain. I can handle things from here.”

  “I sincerely doubt it as you have no money, no identification, no lodgings and no means to procure any of those things. Like it or not, you require assistance. And even if you didn’t, you have no choice in the matter. I am to stay with you.”

  “Says who?”

  “The Council.”

  “Another condition for my chance at Heaven?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “How long do you have to stay?”

  “Until the Council decrees that you no longer need looking after. But definitely for the six months we’re to remain in London.”

  “So you’re here to spy on me.” The bitter words spit out of me.

  “No. I’m here to help you.”

  “And spy on me.” I suddenly recalled the odd heat I’d felt emanating from her. “Are you human as well?”

  “I’m now a Halfling-- half human, half angel, a temporary status Directors are granted whenever one of our angels crosses over to the physical realm, as you have done. It enables me to move freely between both realms so I can watch over you then report my findings to the Council.”

  “Just so we’re clear: watching what I do then reporting my movements to the Council? You can hang any euphemism you want on it, but that’s spying.” I dragged my hands down my face. Bloody hell, I was tired-- an all too human feeling I’d completely forgotten about. “So I’m stuck with you.”

  “Not the most flattering way to put it-- ”

  “I was not attempting to be complimentary.”

  “Then in that case, yes. You are stuck with me. As I am with you. So we might as well get on with things. As I mentioned, I think renting a house is our best option.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at her. “We are not going to reside in the same house. You’ll have to spy on me from some other location.”

  “Yes, we are going to reside in the same house,” she said in a tone normally reserved for dealing with recalcitrant children. “By Direct Order from the Council. Neither of us has any choice in the matter.” She regarded me through dispassionate sea-green eyes. “If your colossal ego is in any way suggesting to you that I’m delighted at the prospect of spending the next six months-- at least-- living with a grumpy, ill-mannered lout such as yourself, please allow me to disab
use you of that notion. You, Lord Ryland, are no picnic in the park.”

  I huffed out a humorless sound. “You say that as if you are.”

  “At least I try to view the world from a ‘the glass is half full’ perspective. You, on the other hand, possess a woefully ‘glass is half empty’ personality.”

  “Bollocks. In fact, right now my fondest wish is for a glass half full. Of brandy.”

  Disapproval was written all over her face. “Drinking will not help set your new life on the right path.”

  “Perhaps not, but it will make living with you more bearable. All I can say is it better be a damn big house. Which begs the question-- do you possess the funds and credentials necessary to procure lodgings? Because, as you’ve pointed out, I do not.”

  “I have everything we need.”

  There was that damn we again.

  She stepped forward and touched my hand. “Do not worry, Lord Ryland. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Heat sizzled up my arm. My gaze shot to where her hand lightly clasped mine. The sight, the feel of her pale skin against mine flooded me with memories of my previous life. Of what being touched by a woman felt like. And even though she was barely touching me, even though the touch was clearly innocent in nature, it flooded me with a desire and lust so raw, so powerful my entire body shuddered.

  I snatched my hand away as if she’d scorched me and took a hasty step back. Our gazes met and my gut tightened with dread. Damn it, I wanted her. More than I’d ever wanted any woman in my other life. Which utterly defied logic as Director Foscari was the most irksome creature I’d ever encountered. But there was no denying the desire gripping me in a stranglehold.

  Bloody hell, I was going to need a lot of brandy.

  This second life was not off to a promising start.

  It wasn’t too long ago that I’d thought it was hell being an angel.

  I could only wonder what the hell it was going to be like being a human again.

  THE END

  ~~~

  If you liked HE’S NO ANGEL, try Jacquie D’Alessandro’s romantic comedy KISS THE COOK.

  ~~~

  Visit www.JacquieD.com

  Like www.facebook.com/JacquieDAlessandroReaderPage

  Follow www.twitter.com/jacquiedbooks

  Join Newsletter www.JacquieD.com/emaillist.htm

  (your email is never shared)

  ~~~

  Back to Table of Contents

  SPARKED

  by

  Wendy Etherington

  SPARKED

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  “What it lies in our power to do, it lies in our power not to do.”~Aristotle

  SPARKED

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nick Westin’s stride hitched as he passed the alley at 9th Avenue. Hoping the pause hadn’t been detected, he continued across the street where he leaned his shoulder against the outside wall of a Kosher deli while scanning the crowded street.

  What had caught his attention?

  Down the alley, a light flipped on behind the third floor window curtain, fourth apartment from the left. His heart pounded, though he forced his body to appear relaxed. The weight of his sidearm against his ribs reminded him of his responsibility, the one that never eased.

  As he cast another surreptitious glance toward the apartment building, a group of people crossed the street he had only a moment before.

  A faint clanging noise rang in the direction of the alley, but the group didn’t pause, didn’t stop talking—though they gave him a casual once-over. It was NYC, after all. You didn’t walk by anyone at one a.m. without taking their measure.

  After they strolled off, Nick ducked into the alley shadows. He kept close to the wall of a building, out of sight of street illumination and security floodlights. The recent rash of break-ins at Midtown apartments and boutique hotels appeared unrelated on the surface, but he knew there had to be a connection. Odd things had been stolen—a brass candlestick, a silver letter opener, a golden plate. Cash, credit cards and original paintings hadn’t been touched.

  And who used sterling silver letter openers anyway? Who got snail mail significant enough and on a regular basis for such a dandy ceremony?

  Strange.

  This whole case was seriously strange.

  He darted under the metal staircase outside the apartment building where he’d seen the light. The place didn’t boast a doorman, so he knew he could slip in the front, but an instinct honed over nearly a decade on the force urged him to stay put.

  Intruders often entered through the front, planning a discreet exit via the back.

  And this intruder, burglar...whatever he was, had discreet down pat.

  She was, he corrected, as the distinct outline of a female dressed in all black appeared in the opening of the ground floor back door.

  His heartbeat surged, but he kept absolutely still. He watched her creep around the corner of the building. He followed, expecting her to notice him any second.

  Surprisingly for a wily thief—at least up til now—she seemed completely unaware of his presence. He was absolutely certain he’d know if someone was behind him in the shadows, but then he—

  “Identify yourself!” she commanded, whirling to face him, her long, flaming hair catching a sliver of moonlight as she moved. She extended, not a gun or knife, but a foot-long stick.

  His pistol inches from her weapon, he smiled. “NYPD,” he said casually. “You?”

  The stick disappeared as quickly as it had been wielded. “You can see me?” she asked in an astonished voice.

  “Red hair, black turtleneck, long black coat, black jeans, black boots. You might want to cover that hair on your little excursions. It ruins the cat burglar effect.”

  “Strange.”

  Yep. Strange was the word of the night.

  And where had she tucked her weapon? It must be a baton of some type, he decided, one that collapsed to pocket size. He wasn’t lowering his gun until he had her in full restraints. “Put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”

  An audible sigh escaped her. “For walking around a building?”

  “For breaking and entering. Turn around.”

  Most perps either ran or did as ordered—especially with a nine millimeter semi-auto pointed at their vital organs. She, once again, sighed.

  Suddenly a pool of light appeared over them. He glanced up, wary of the source, then back at her when he saw nothing to explain the illumination. “Where—”

  Viewing her face for the first time, he stopped. She was stunning. The dark flaming hair surrounded fair skin and pale green eyes that stared into him like lasers. “Name?” she demanded.

  “Nick Westin,” he found himself answering, though he hadn’t made a conscious decision to do so.

  “Rank?”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Orientation?”

  “I—” Huh? Was she some kind of activist? He was all for personal rights. But gay, straight or bi, you couldn’t break into apartments without consequences. “S-straight,” he finally answered, again wondering why he had.

  “Oh, good grief,” she muttered. The pool of light vanished.

  Squinting to see via the pale moon while his eyes adjusted, Nick’s clenched his pistol tighter. “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m arresting you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He kept his gun pointed at her. “Please turn around,” he said, though his patience
was long gone.

  “I really don’t have time to—”

  “I can add resisting arrest to the burglary charge.”

  “Burglary? I was merely visiting a friend.” She extended her arms. “I haven’t stolen anything.”

  As if offering assistance, the clouds overhead parted, and the light glinted off a round object sticking out of her pants pocket. He cocked his head. “How about if you, very slowly, remove the item in your front pocket?”

  Her hand immediately covered the object. “It’s mine.”

  Keeping one hand wrapped around his pistol, he gestured with the other. “Let’s see it.”

  On another annoyed sigh, she complied, holding up the object by her index finger and thumb.

  It was a steel dagger with a large, blue stone the size of a golf ball decorating the knobbed handle.

  He returned both hands to his Beretta.

  “It’s purely ceremonial,” she said, as if sensing the suspicious direction of his thoughts. She jabbed the tip into her finger, then held it up for him to see her unblemished skin. “See, not even sharp.”

  Still looked like a weapon to Nick. “Drop it.”

  She didn’t follow his order.

  The situation was going from strange to dangerous, but no way was he calling for backup for a slip of a woman with a bejeweled blunt knife and a collapsible bat. His rep as a kick-ass investigator would never recover.

  He grabbed her wrist, but at the same time, she reached behind her and produced the stick, making a slashing motion. Before he could blink, he was jerked into darkness.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What the hell happened?”

  Glancing around her uncle’s cluttered and thankfully deserted shop, Abia Quinn ignored the cop’s disbelieving question. She didn’t have time for explanations to a mere caporal. “Stay put.”

  And with a flick of her wand, he did just that.

  “Uncle Malburn!” she shouted. How the man could be a legendary First Class wizard of four-hundred-and-thirty-three and not know how to solve his own hearing problem was beyond her. “I got the dagger.”

  Dressed in a deep purple robe befitting his royal status in the mystical world, her uncle shuffled into the room. “Wonderful! I knew you could— Who’s that?”