Hell On Heels
Page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Edition License Notes
What others are saying
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
EPILOGUE
Excerpt from READY TO WERE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Connect with Robyn Peterman
Excerpt from PEYTON 313
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Other Books by Robyn Peterman
About Robyn Peterman
Hell On Heels
Book 3 of the HOT DAMNED Series
by
Robyn Peterman
* * * *
Copyright 2014 Robyn Peterman
Cover by Rebecca Poole of dreams2media
Edited by Mary Yakovets
Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.
This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.
What others are saying about this book
“Uproariously witty, deliciously provocative, and just plain fun! No one delivers side-splitting humor and mouth-watering sensuality like Robyn Peterman.
This is entertainment at its absolute finest!”
~ DARYNDA JONES
NY Times Bestselling Author of the CHARLEY DAVIDSON Series
Acknowledgements
Writing may be a solitary sport, but putting a book out is not. I am grateful and blessed to have many amazing people in my life. The Hot Damned Series is the series of my heart and writing it is a joy.
Mary Yakovets, I will never write a book unless you edit it. I will also try to avoid further and farther for the rest of my natural life. Thank you, you rock! Donna McDonald, without you I am lost. . .literally. Your patience and support mean the world to me. Audrey Peterman aka Mom you are the best freakin' proofreader in the world. For Real. Thank you and I love you.
My beta readers Candace, Donna, Kris, Christi, Kellie and Jennifer are the bomb. I adore all of you and thank you for the time you give me.
Rebecca Poole, my cover is everything I ever wanted and more. We are a warped team and I am so grateful for your creativity and your friendship. To many, many more!
My Pookiemammas are amazing! You delight me and I write for you!
My critique partners, JM Madden, Donna McDonald and Kris Calvert—you ladies are brilliant, and when I grow up I want to write like you.
And my girl-crush, Darynda Jones. . .your cover quote humbled me and made me cry. You are an amazing writer and a beautiful friend.
Last but not least I want to thank my family. Hot Hubby, you are my real life hero and you are hotter than Satan’s underpants. My kids, I love you. You are my finest accomplishment. None of this would be any fun without you guys.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my kids. Thank you for understanding that mom holes up in her office for days at a time and you're cool with eating a lot of peanut butter when I'm on a deadline. I promise that you'll be able to read my books eventually...Just know that I love and adore you and none of this would be worth it without you two in my life.
And second, for Donna McDonald—you are my Siamese twin from a past life. You calm my panic and you feed my brain. As long as you laugh, I know I haven’t taken the non-stop train to Crazytown and bought property. Thank you for being you.
Chapter 1
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked my father. He had a deck of playing cards laid out on his massive mahogany desk and he was putting tiny dots on the backs of the aces, queens, kings and jacks.
“It’s Thursday,” he replied.
“Yes…and?” I flopped down on the plush leather couch and waited.
“That bastard Hemingway won last week. That was unacceptable,” he huffed. He put down the red pen and picked up a blue one.
“So you’re going to cheat?”
He gave me a smile that had melted the hearts of thousands of women. Literally. “But of course.”
Being the daughter of Satan had its challenges. This was only one of many. I knew that explaining to him that cheating at poker was wrong would be like running up the down escalator for eternity, so I kept my mouth shut. Furthermore I was fairly sure that Hemingway cheated too. Poker Night in Hell usually consisted of Ernest Hemingway, Mr. Rogers, my dad and occasionally Mother Teresa. Since all of the players, my father excluded, resided in Heaven they basically took a bi-weekly field trip to Hell for game night. For real.
He finished his deceitful art project and gave me his full attention. “So, my beautiful girl, are you ready?”
I picked at my nail polish and considered my answer. Pleading had not worked, nor had crying or throwing a tantrum. Actually, the tantrum was a total bust. We ended up laughing because it was so far out of my character and I sucked at it. I suppose I could try the truth…
“Dad, being deported from Hell is not my idea of a good time. I’m not ready. I have no real power yet and I know I’ll disappoint you.”
“Dixie, the only thing that disappoints me is that you will be graduating from Demon College as the valedictorian and your obsessive need to do good.” He sighed dramatically and ran his hands through his jet black hair.
He was gorgeous. He was evil. And I loved him.
“Your sisters…”
“My sisters are thousands of years old. College didn’t even exist when they were of age.”
“Point,” he agreed. “I just don’t understand why you couldn’t learn what you wanted and then flunk the tests on purpose. We have a reputation to maintain.”
“I know.” I let my head fall back and stared at the mirrored ceiling. What the…? When did he have the ceiling in his office mirrored? The reality was too much to take in. I shut my eyes and tried without success to block out what I’d just seen. I was from the most over-sexed family in history and I was a twenty-one year old virgin.
“I’ve done my best to help you past that little hump. No pun intended,” Satan said innocently.
“Get out of my head, Dad,” I snapped.
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He wasn’t lying, and he intended every pun he made. He’d thrown the cream of the crop at me. Of course they were smarmy and way too old. The last Demon he’d set me up with had ridden on the Mayflower, had no clue who Maroon Five was and smelled funky.
“Dixie, darling, all of your sisters popped their…”
“Hell to the NO,” I yelled as I slapped my hands over my ears. It was beyond unnecessary to hear about the sexual exploits of my sisters, the Seven Deadly Sins. It was bad enough that one of them was named Lust.
“Dixie, I’m just trying to help,” he pouted.
“Look, Dad…there is a guy. And, um…well.”
There actually was a guy—an amazing perfect guy, but I had no intention of telling my dad about him. He would ruin it. My dad thought it was hilarious to threaten the lives of all my sisters’ paramours. And what did it matter anyway? I was leaving. All Demon Princesses had to do their time on Earth and my number had come up. The only thing that made it bearable was that I’d get to see my cousin Astrid. She was very pregnant and furious that no one could tell her what the gestation time was for a half-Vampyre half-Demon baby. She’d apparently caused so much property damage that her mate Ethan had everything breakable in the compound nailed down.
“Do I know him?” my father inquired casually.
My stomach clenched. Nothing my dad did was casual. “Nope.” I smiled and stood up. “And you’re not going to. I don’t like him anymore.”
“This happened in the thirty seconds since you announced his existence?”
“Yes. Yes it did.”
“Dixie, Dixie, Dixie, you are so like your mother.”
Considering no one had the testicles to tell me who my mother was, his comparison drove me to grind my teeth. “And that’s a bad thing?” I challenged, hoping for once he’d slip up and give me a clue.
He paused and watched me for a moment. “Not good. Not bad. Interesting.”
I went back to work on my nail polish and bit back a nasty retort as the tears threatened.
“Will you attend the poker game tonight?” he asked as if nothing important had passed between us.
“Sure,” I muttered.
“Bring your guy. I’d love to meet him.” With that my frighteningly beautiful father disappeared in a blast of black glitter and smoke. He was insane if he thought I’d bring my friend—completely insane.
Chapter 2
“How was the poker game last night?” my best friend Stella asked as we tried to find something edible in the college commissary.
“Dad won.”
“Your dad always wins.”
“He cheated,” I muttered as I grabbed a sandwich and a bag of chips.
“So? He’s Satan.”
“Does anyone have morals here?”
“Dixie, we’re Demons. We live in Hell. What do you expect?” Stella asked logically. The crabby Demon with the unibrow behind the food counter slid a nasty-looking bowl of what could pass for beef stew onto my BFF's tray. Stella, never wanting to cause a scene, accepted the offending bowl and moved on.
She was correct, and I didn’t quite fit in. I never had and Hell knows I tried. I slid my tray quickly past the lunch lady and avoided the rank-looking stew.
"The commissary sucks," Stella lamented as she tried not to gag at the aroma rising from her tray. "I should have gone to college on Earth."
"Agree." I nodded as I made my way through the crowd to a table.
The Demon College looked more like a high school than a college—lockers and all. The commissary looked like a freakin’ high school lunchroom because up until a couple of years ago it had been. Most Demons, if they chose to pursue a higher degree, went to Harvard, MIT, Princeton, Yale, or Northwestern on Earth. From what I understood Angels tended to prefer the party schools. Since my father decreed I wasn’t ready to go to Earth four years ago, he created the Demon College—where my old high school formerly stood. While the education was top notch, the accommodations left a lot to be desired.
“Holy Hell, your boyfriend is staring at you,” Stella whispered gleefully.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hissed.
“Does he know that?” Stella’s smile broadened as she enjoyed my discomfort.
Glancing around the commissary, I spotted the person I dreamt about on a nightly basis and I debated my next move. Did I stay or did I go? Being near my secret fantasy made me stupid. I’d far rather be mysterious than idiotic. He made me feel hot, cold and tingly at the same time and I’d barely uttered a word to him all year. Go. I would go—just put my tray down and be out of the commissary in a minute flat—or I could dematerialize…but then I could end up anywhere. I didn’t quite have the hang of dematerializing to places I was actually trying to go. Last week I tried to travel to the mall and ended up in my father’s chambers while he was getting busy with his pregnant consort Amanda. Bleach couldn’t remove that one from my brain.
"I'm out of here," I muttered as I started walking. Speeding up my pace, I hightailed it to the tray drop praying to every deity I could think of that I didn’t run into the man of my dreams. In all of my inexperience I was liable to either drool or bodily throw myself at him.
“He’s still watching you,” Stella whispered as she followed close on my heels.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not watching me.”
“Wrong,” she trilled happily.
“Stella, hush. Someone will hear you.” She was my best friend, and if I didn’t love her so much I would take great pleasure in killing her.
“Oh please.” She waggled her eyebrows and made smooching noises. Pretending I didn’t know her was impossible and I seriously considered dematerializing, but a healthy fear of seeing my father’s naked ass stopped me.
“He is totally gone on you,” she informed anyone within hearing distance—which was everyone—as she chased me. “And you are so gone. . .watch out,” Stella yelped.
I stopped short to avoid running into Vincent van Gogh, my art teacher. Dressed in a purple velvet cape and a frighteningly poofy hat, he was weaving his way toward the open bar. It was Hell, after all, where mixing alcohol and academia was the norm. Van Gogh had a very close relationship with his absinthe. When the great master died he had the choice between Heaven and Hell. He chose Hell, much to my Uncle God’s disgust. Van Gogh, while brilliant and extremely funny when he wasn’t morbidly depressed, was clearly intoxicated. Did no one notice or care about these things besides me? Much was overlooked in Hell, but drunk was drunk.
In an attempt to avoid body-slamming the great artist I veered left and unfortunately Stella had the same idea. She slammed into my back, covering what used to be my brand new hot pink Juicy sweat suit in rank beef stew.
“Shit,” she moaned as she tried to remove the potatoes, carrots and meat from my hair and the inside of my hood.
I froze and closed my eyes. As a child I used to think if I couldn't see anybody then they couldn't see me. It didn't work when I was five and I was fairly sure it wouldn't start working at twenty-one, but one could always hope. I also used to think that there were actual people in the TV.
“Hey Dixie.” An insanely sexy voice broke into my invisibility fantasy.
I pried open one eye, and much to my great horror and delight stood the object of my desire in the flesh. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen—Hayden Black.
“You okay?” he asked.
My stomach flipped, my tongue became sandpaper and I felt lightheaded. I shakily tucked my hair behind my ear in a move that I knew looked good on me and came back with a fistful of beef stew. “I’m great,” I lied. The heat crept up my neck and settled squarely on my cheeks. Holy Hell, could it get any worse?
“I’m going to skip the rest of the day and go cliff diving south of town. You want to come?” He smiled a lazy smile that made my breath hitch and all my unused lady parts tingle.
“I can’t,” I stammered. “I have a calculus exam. . .and I smell like beef stew, and I don’t have
a swimsuit and I. . .”
“Another time then.” Hayden grinned and my heart skipped a beat. He reached out and ran his fingertips along my jaw line and his thumb across my lips. The shock of his touch jolted through my body and my knees buckled a little. “Another time.”
He stood for a moment and stared, then turned and left the commissary. I watched his perfect butt in his loose-fitted faded jeans walk away from me. I didn’t like him walking away from me—it felt wrong. What the Hell was that about? Why was I so drawn to him? I was leaving and those were the most words I’d said to him in a year. My hand automatically went to my still tingling lips, which I silently vowed to never wash again.
“Dude.” Stella bounced like a ball. “He just asked you out!”
“No he didn't. He asked me to skip class. You know I don’t skip.”
“You need to pull the steel rod out of your ass and loosen up,” she chastised as she futilely attempted to remove the beef stew from my hair.
“I've been telling her that for years,” my sister Sloth chimed in as she appeared in a burst of sliver glitter dust.
I rolled my eyes and smiled at my beautiful lazy sister. She was by far the nicest of the Seven Deadly Sins and I adored her. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” She never came to the Demon College. Academia gave her hives. Literally. Panic knotted in my stomach.