Ad copy

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Don’t buy it if you're offended by bad language, immoral behavior, sassy attitude, hot guys, hotter s3x... cuz it does it all - and its GREAT!!!" I opened the door and wandered into my bedroom, where I collided with a hard chest. I screamed. Or tried to. A strong hand slammed down over my mouth to smother my cries. I attempted my knee smash but was blocked before I could even finish the thought, much less execute the move. The intruder picked me up and tossed me on my bed. My memory foam mattress contoured itself around the shape of my butt. “You telegraph way too much,” a smooth voice said to me. Backyard guy was back. Ignoring the decadent images that his voice conjured up, I shoved my hand into the Doritos bag which contained about 237% salt, crawled to the edge of the bed, and threw the crumbs in the demon’s face. “Burn, mofo!” The demon glared at me as he wiped orange dust off his cheeks and sweater. “This is cashmere,” he said, frowning at the deep blue fabric. I scrambled to my feet, holding the bag out in front of me like a cross. Which, incidentally, did nothing against demons. And since vampires didn’t exist, did nothing against them either. Some demon happened to get its kicks feeding from the neck and suddenly everyone was rushing in with garlic and stakes looking to take down Count Dracula. Those who weren’t romanticizing them as life partners, that is. “There is enough salt in this bag to blister you back to your evil dimension.” Smirking, I batted my lashes at him. “Feel free to be scared.” He swiped the bag out of my hands, tossing it into the trash behind him. “A, if you’re gonna eat chips, at least eat decent ones. B, not a demon. And C,” he said, reading my baby doll tee, “love the outfit, Nava.” I scowled at him. “You are absolutely a demon.” He pulled out my desk chair, turned it around with a snap of his wrists, and straddled it. “Why?” “For starters, I never told you my name. Probably got it from the demon phone tree that went out about me.” He grinned at me, flashing toothpaste-ad-perfect, even, white teeth. “I’m not on the list. Any other proof you want to dazzle me with?” How about the fact that his grin made Josh’s seem like a neutered puppy’s and Josh was a lust demon. Half-demon. Which made this guy full-evil status. “You broke into my bedroom and are holding me hostage.” With your incredible looks. Damn. Why not roll over already, idiot girl? I hadn’t been able to scope out his body in detail on our previous two encounters, but now, under proper lighting, I could tell he’d be nicely cut under that sweater that molded to him like a second skin. Underwear model nice and not the low rent, flyer-insert kind either. One of those glorious torsos caught in haunting black and white by Herb Ritts, the stark white of his briefs throwing his generous package into sharp relief. Then there was his face. If it hadn’t been for the slight bent of his nose, indicating it had been broken, his South Asian beauty would have been too painful and/or depressing to look at. Killer cheekbones, firm chin, gorgeous brown skin and lips that were created to do bad, bad, wonderful things. It was going to be a crime against humanity to kill him. I leaned in toward the slight breeze drifting in through my open window, refusing to fan myself in front of him. He sat there under my scrutiny, totally comfortable. A sign of excess confidence and further proof of evil. Though the more I stared at him, the more I got a niggling feeling that I knew him. “Did we ever…” I made a fist and pumped away in a back and forth motion. Amusement lit his amber eyes. “I was the lead singer of Fugue State Five.” He smirked, saying the words as if obviously I’d heard of them. Fair enough. Rohan Mitra had been the broody frontman whose so sensitive lyrics and rough growl singing voice induced mass hysteria at concerts world-wide. It was rumored he’d averted an oil crisis with a personal visit to a Sheik’s daughter. Watching the beautiful jerk now, I believed it. Binge the complete series—now with a 20% bundle discount!