TEMPTATION BY FIRE
Genre: Paranormal
Romance
Publisher:
Entangled Publishing (Ignite)
Release
Date: December 30, 2013
Length: Novel
Visions
of death haunt her . . .
Ava Keller
sees the future. When she suffers a horrifying vision of a man's violent death,
she knows from experience nothing she does will stop it from becoming a
reality. But when she meets a strong, broken man, he makes her want to believe
in second chances.
Vengeance consumes him . . .
Tortured by
his past, Karson has worked tirelessly to wreak vengeance on the demons who
murdered his family. But when Ava inadvertently disrupts his intricate plan for
revenge, his focus shifts to an all-consuming need to keep her alive and in his
arms.
Love could save their souls . . .
Love could save their souls . . .
Thrown together by fate, Ava and Karson explore their new feelings and discover hope for the future. But they must battle the demons threatening humanity to find a destiny worthy of their love.
Excerpts:
Ava’s POV:
“So who are these Venators? Are they like some sort of demon-hunting organization?” I asked
“They’re like a need-to-know organization,” Karson said.
“I haven’t held anything back from you.”
He shrugged and his hand dropped from my shoulder. “I’m trying to help you. That doesn’t give you the right to know everything about me.”
I opened my mouth to argue but he held a hand up, and his index finger touched my lips. The gesture was meant to shut me up, and it worked. In that moment every thought flew from my head. There was only him. The intense look in his eyes. The roughness of his skin on my mouth.
The immediate need that curled in my stomach.
What would it be like to be with a man like him? Rough and wild and freaking amazing, that was my bet. My body ached to find out. The rest of me knew better.
“You need to hide for a while. Then you can go back to your normal life. Promise me.”
With a quick jerk of my head, I promised.
Tension flowed out of him visibly, and a small smile touched his lips. “Good.”
And if I hadn’t already convinced myself that he was probably right, that laying low couldn’t hurt, his next words would have.
“Please don’t go back on your promise. Don’t make me watch them kill you.”
Excerpt:
Karson’s POV:
Ava’s eyes met mine, and the understanding there almost broke me.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Karson. And I won’t pretend I can even begin to wrap my mind around how that would feel. I would never ask you to give up your hunt for me,” Ava said.
Emotions rolled over me—so fast and hard I couldn’t quite grasp them. My old familiar pain, and new pain for her. They built under my skin, threatening to burst free if I didn’t find an outlet.
I pushed the bathroom door open the rest of the way. Ava let out a soft squeak, but I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. Brutally, I punished her with my mouth. I needed an outlet for my emotion. No. Not just an outlet. I needed her.
Only a moment of hesitation, and she was kissing me back. One hand clutched my shoulder while the other held on to her towel. Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her closer, anger completely drowned by the passion she elicited in me.
“This is such a bad idea,” I murmured against her lips.
“Shut the hell up and quit thinking for once.”
Still wet from the shower, she clung to me as I kissed her neck. I nibbled my way to her shoulders and then in one sweeping motion, picked her up—towel and all. Then I carried her out of the bathroom and set her on her feet next to the bed.
I tugged lightly on the towel she still clutched, but didn’t try to take it from her. This was her decision, and even if it killed me, I would stop if she wanted me to.
“We don’t have—”
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Her words were teasing, but her voice was full with emotion. With a jerk of quick movement, her posture stiffened, and then she tossed the towel to the floor.
Excerpt:
Ava’s eyes met mine, and the understanding there almost broke me.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Karson. And I won’t pretend I can even begin to wrap my mind around how that would feel. I would never ask you to give up your hunt for me,” Ava said.
Emotions rolled over me—so fast and hard I couldn’t quite grasp them. My old familiar pain, and new pain for her. They built under my skin, threatening to burst free if I didn’t find an outlet.
I pushed the bathroom door open the rest of the way. Ava let out a soft squeak, but I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. Brutally, I punished her with my mouth. I needed an outlet for my emotion. No. Not just an outlet. I needed her.
Only a moment of hesitation, and she was kissing me back. One hand clutched my shoulder while the other held on to her towel. Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her closer, anger completely drowned by the passion she elicited in me.
“This is such a bad idea,” I murmured against her lips.
“Shut the hell up and quit thinking for once.”
Still wet from the shower, she clung to me as I kissed her neck. I nibbled my way to her shoulders and then in one sweeping motion, picked her up—towel and all. Then I carried her out of the bathroom and set her on her feet next to the bed.
I tugged lightly on the towel she still clutched, but didn’t try to take it from her. This was her decision, and even if it killed me, I would stop if she wanted me to.
“We don’t have—”
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Her words were teasing, but her voice was full with emotion. With a jerk of quick movement, her posture stiffened, and then she tossed the towel to the floor.
Excerpt:
Ava’s POV:
I’ll grab my first-aid kit,” I said.
Karson looked like he wanted to argue, but I didn’t wait around long enough to see if he would. Instead, I slipped out of the room and walked down the short hallway to the lone bathroom in my apartment before he could open his mouth. I grabbed the kit from under the sink, and then leaned against the counter and took a moment to suck in a few deep breaths. A fiery death. A sexy scary dude with tattoos. A man who melted into nothing. This was so far removed from the almost-ordinary world I’d known the day before.
Karson had a sour expression on his face when I returned.
“Is this Cherry Pepsi?”
“Coke. Don’t insult me. Pepsi is gross.”
“This is gross.”
“Take your shirt off.” My face immediately flushed with heat. Had I ever ordered a man to take his shirt off before? Pretty sure that was a negative.
I dropped the first-aid kit and it thudded against the coffee table. I went and grabbed a set of latex gloves from the box I kept under the sink. Last thing I needed was for a vision to hit while I was trying to treat the man’s wounds. I think I’d just give up at that point.
Even though the idea of touching him, feeling my skin sliding against his, was definitely appealing.
Karson had pulled off his jacket by the time I emerged from the kitchen, and the sight of him stopped me in my tracks. He’d turned so his back was to me, and I could see exactly why he wore a long jacket in early June.
Beneath his jacket, he’d hidden a shoulder holster. Against his hip was a long knife, still sheathed. He wore a black T-shirt, ripped and bloody. Clawed. The rips went from his belt line and halted at his leather gun holster.
He pulled off his knife and gun, then set them on the couch on top of his jacket. The shoulder holster was next. He pulled off his T-shirt, and I gasped.
Tattoos covered his shoulders and upper back. They were like, everywhere. I looked closer. No two symbols appeared to be exactly the same and with their complex arrangement, they were surprisingly beautiful. I’d seen small ones trailing down his arms, but had mistaken them for wanna-be tribal designs. These were different, and I could see now that the ones on his arms were different, too. Symbols rather than pictures, and all etched in black ink.
He peeked at me over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked as if asking me silently if I liked what I saw.
I licked my lips.
“Any day now.”
The low growl in his tone roused me from the half trance that staring at the designs covering his back had put me in. I turned my attention to the scratch marks.
“Scared I have cooties?” he asked after I pulled the gloves on.
The teasing in his tone almost made me drop the peroxide bottle. Who knew the man could tease?
“Scared you have another arsenal hidden in your pants.” Oh, damn. That wasn’t what I meant. “I’m just not big on touching.”
He hesitated, as if processing what I’d said. “I’m tempted to make a joke about you touching the arsenal in my pants, but it seems too easy.”
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I’ll grab my first-aid kit,” I said.
Karson looked like he wanted to argue, but I didn’t wait around long enough to see if he would. Instead, I slipped out of the room and walked down the short hallway to the lone bathroom in my apartment before he could open his mouth. I grabbed the kit from under the sink, and then leaned against the counter and took a moment to suck in a few deep breaths. A fiery death. A sexy scary dude with tattoos. A man who melted into nothing. This was so far removed from the almost-ordinary world I’d known the day before.
Karson had a sour expression on his face when I returned.
“Is this Cherry Pepsi?”
“Coke. Don’t insult me. Pepsi is gross.”
“This is gross.”
“Take your shirt off.” My face immediately flushed with heat. Had I ever ordered a man to take his shirt off before? Pretty sure that was a negative.
I dropped the first-aid kit and it thudded against the coffee table. I went and grabbed a set of latex gloves from the box I kept under the sink. Last thing I needed was for a vision to hit while I was trying to treat the man’s wounds. I think I’d just give up at that point.
Even though the idea of touching him, feeling my skin sliding against his, was definitely appealing.
Karson had pulled off his jacket by the time I emerged from the kitchen, and the sight of him stopped me in my tracks. He’d turned so his back was to me, and I could see exactly why he wore a long jacket in early June.
Beneath his jacket, he’d hidden a shoulder holster. Against his hip was a long knife, still sheathed. He wore a black T-shirt, ripped and bloody. Clawed. The rips went from his belt line and halted at his leather gun holster.
He pulled off his knife and gun, then set them on the couch on top of his jacket. The shoulder holster was next. He pulled off his T-shirt, and I gasped.
Tattoos covered his shoulders and upper back. They were like, everywhere. I looked closer. No two symbols appeared to be exactly the same and with their complex arrangement, they were surprisingly beautiful. I’d seen small ones trailing down his arms, but had mistaken them for wanna-be tribal designs. These were different, and I could see now that the ones on his arms were different, too. Symbols rather than pictures, and all etched in black ink.
He peeked at me over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked as if asking me silently if I liked what I saw.
I licked my lips.
“Any day now.”
The low growl in his tone roused me from the half trance that staring at the designs covering his back had put me in. I turned my attention to the scratch marks.
“Scared I have cooties?” he asked after I pulled the gloves on.
The teasing in his tone almost made me drop the peroxide bottle. Who knew the man could tease?
“Scared you have another arsenal hidden in your pants.” Oh, damn. That wasn’t what I meant. “I’m just not big on touching.”
He hesitated, as if processing what I’d said. “I’m tempted to make a joke about you touching the arsenal in my pants, but it seems too easy.”
About Tiffany:
CPA-turned-romance-author Tiffany Allee used to battle spreadsheets in
Corporate America, and now concentrates on her characters’ battles to find
love. Raised in small-town Colorado, Tiffany currently lives in Phoenix, AZ, by
way of Chicago and Denver. She is happily married to a secret romantic who
tolerates her crazy mutterings.
She writes
about ass-kicking heroines and the strong heroes who love them. Her work
includes the suspense-driven From the Files of the Otherworlder
Enforcement Agency series which revolves around a group of paranormal
cops solving crimes and finding love, and Don’t Bite the Bridesmaid,
a lighthearted paranormal romance (Entangled Publishing).
Tiffany has
an MBA in accounting and nearly a decade of experience in corporate finance.
All super useful stuff for a writer who spends far too much time trying to
figure out fun ways to keep her characters apart, and interesting ways to kill
people (for her books—of course!).
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