Table Of ContentSynopsis:
Passion had clouded P.I. Celia Carter's judgment once. Never again. Now
she took on dangerous undercover assignments to deal with her guilt. But
P.I. Alec Sharpe was determined to reawaken Celia's sexuality… before
she got herself killed.
Wanton
Lori Foster
FALLEN ANGELS 2
HARLEQUIN®
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and
neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped
book.”
ISBN 0-373-83601-5
FALLEN ANGELS
Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as
follows:
WANTON
Copyright © 1999 by Lori Foster
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization
of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or
other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography,
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is
forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises
Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the
author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or
names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or
unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com Printed in U.S.A.
To Ashley Carter.
What a wonderful, sweet and very beautiful young lady you are.
I’m so glad you’re a part of our lives!
Love ya,
Lori
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Contents - Next
Celia bit her lip. She felt naked in the tight, flesh-toned dress, too made-up with
the cosmetics that had spent more time in her drawer lately than on her face. She
was very aware of her bare thighs, of her exposed arms and cleavage. Though
the air-conditioning hummed, she felt warm with embarrassment.
Heads turned appropriately as she sauntered through the dim interior and took a
direct path to the bar. She didn’t want to look too closely, but she was sure Mr.
Jacobs, the slime, was here. She had his description and knew this was his prime
picking ground. This was where he chose the women. Hopefully, he’d choose
her as well.
Slowly sliding onto a bar stool, she worked to gain his attention. Her heart
pattered rapidly. Though she couldn’t deny the underlying fear she felt, she also
relished the excitement, the anticipation… the end satisfaction. It had been
laughably easy to leave her old proper life behind, though her relatives were still
having a hard time accepting it. They expected her to show up at the company
office any day, dressed in a business suit, hair neatly tucked away in a
functional, professional style, begging for her old job back. Ha.
It didn’t matter that no one thought she could do this. All she had to do was
prove to herself that she was capable, that she wasn’t too pristine or squeamish
to see the job through. That she could make a difference in some other woman’s
life. She’d do that tonight.
It was a nice enough bar, she thought, smiling at the bartender as he took her
order. They made idle small talk, and she slipped in the fact that she was a
woman alone, new to town, without relatives or friends in the area. He lingered,
subtly, politely, asking her more questions. How long would she be in town, did
she have a job. He cautioned her to be careful, and she almost laughed. He
worked with Jacobs, she was sure of it.
Sipping at the drink she didn’t really want, she watched him walk away. Cool air
from a ceiling fan brushed her bare thigh where her dress had parted at the side
slit. Ever since they’d locked her fiance away for crimes too horrific to think
about, she’d done all she could to forget her carnal appetites, to deny an overly
sensual nature. Yet here she was, prepared to do her damnedest to get a man’s
attention by using her body.
Surreptitiously, she glanced down the length of the bar to the small round table
located there, situated in the far shadows. The man occupying the table, blond
and very good-looking, perfectly matched the description she had been given. It
was easy to recognize Jacobs; he had the same classic, refined, golden-boy
appearance as her ex-fiance, a look she now recognized as slick and phoney.
It took all her control to keep from reacting as he surveyed her through narrow,
contemplative eyes. His gaze skimmed over her from her loose tousled hair
down to her high-heeled sandals. Not wanting to be too obvious, to look too
anxious, she turned her head away and flipped her hair over her mostly bare
shoulder.
Seconds later her pulse jumped, then raced wildly as she sensed the approach of
a man. She didn’t turn to look but she could feel the tingling awareness of him,
could detect his male scent, not in the least subtle. Yes! He was going to take the
bait. Her palms began to sweat in nervousness but she ignored it. She felt him
brush against her while taking his own stool, and that brief touch felt electric,
making her jump in surprise. She struggled to moderate her accelerated
breathing. He was looking at her; she felt the burning heat of his gaze as strongly
as a firm stroke of flesh on flesh.
Mentally rehearsing the speech she’d prepared, she turned to face him, her smile
planted as she leaned slightly forward to display as much cleavage as possible,
given her small size. Her gaze slowly lifted, met his, and she froze in horror.
“Oh no.”
“Hello, Celia.” The low, barely audible words were said in a familiar growl
through clenched, white teeth.
“Oh no.”
His smile wasn’t a nice thing and sent gooseflesh racing up and down her spine.
His eyes locked onto hers, refusing to let her look away, and his lips barely
moved when he spoke. “Close your mouth, honey, or you’re going to blow your
own cover. And I don’t feel like fighting my way out of here tonight. But then
again, seeing you in that dress, a fight might be just what I need.”
She snapped her mouth shut, but it wasn’t easy. The eyes looking at her weren’t
blue, weren’t admiring, and didn’t belong to the man she was investigating, the
man still sitting a good distance away, now watching curiously. These eyes were
too familiar, a cold, hard black, and at that moment they reflected undiluted
masculine fury.
Her heart raced even faster, urged on by new emotions, new sensations. She felt
nearly faint, and collected her thoughts with an effort.
Forcing a shaky smile that actually hurt, Celia whispered, “Just what are you
doing here, Alec?” She tried to make it look as if they were merely conversing,
getting to know each other. She needed to maintain her camouflage, damn him,
and Alec knew it.
Rather than offer an answer, he tossed back a handful of peanuts from the bar
and watched her. His black hair—taken to curling toward the ends—hung loose
tonight to touch his wide shoulders and reflected the glimmer of colored bar
lights. Those same lights shone brightly in his narrowed eyes, eyes that made
many a man back up in nervousness without a single word being spoken. His
sharply cut, ruthless features seemed etched in stone, accurately reflecting his
mood. He even smelled of danger, a hot, spicy, masculine scent that appealed to
the senses, even as it amplified her nervousness.
Everyone in the bar seemed to be looking at them, waiting, but then Alec often
got that reaction. He exuded menace, and people picked up on the silent threat
quickly. He was a man who wore his tiny gold hoop earring and tattoo without
artifice; the small decorations merely seemed a part of the overall man. His
requisite jeans, scuffed boots and black T-shirt weren’t exactly appropriate dress
for the upscale bar, but Celia doubted anyone would be brave enough to ask him
to leave.
She was brave enough. “Look, Alec—”
His dark, devilish gaze did a slow burn down the length of her body, effectively
stifling her protest. He paused on her small breasts as they rose above the
neckline of the dress, thanks to the wonders of the push-up bra. She shifted
uneasily.
He smiled, not a reassuring sight, and his attention snagged again on her tummy.
She felt that look inside herself, then more so as his intense scrutiny lingered on
her exposed thigh.
She wanted to smack him for rattling her so, but then she always wanted to
