Denise Tompkins - Pure Desire

Rhyan is an angel on the edge. Sent earthside to serve penance for her carnal lusts, she has been charged with gathering information on a fallen angel—while resisting the temptation to fall into his arms herself.

Working as a bouncer at Desire, the hottest nightclub in Atlanta, nephilim Dominic has no trouble hooking up with a new partner every night. Until he sets his sights on Rhyan, and suddenly, one night will never be enough.

But with Dominic’s heavenly face and body made for sin, Rhyan can no longer deny her passions. And now she will be forced to choose: a lifetime of love or an eternity alone....

Pure Desire

Denise Tompkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

Please accept my thanks for picking up Pure Desire, the second novella in my Desire trilogy. These books are very special to me, and I’m honored to share them with you.

Dominic and Rhyan are the second couple to find their way to each other in this series. Dominic is so much more than he seems, while Rhyan has so much more to offer than even she knows. Nephilim and angel, they’ve waited for each other for far too long. (Fun note: the scene with Dominic in the parking garage? The dialogue between the characters came to me right off “the bat” and sounded like Dominic’s voice in my head. So cool to know how he sounds!)

I hope you have half as much fun reading how these two dynamic characters end up falling in love as I had writing their love story.

Happy reading,

Denise

Dedication

To the woman most likely to be voted Best Cheering Section, the most amazing critique partner ever and the only reason I’m standing here today. Thank you, Tibby Armstrong—fellow author, best friend, owner of acreage in my heart.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

Copyright

Chapter One

Dominic strolled down the sidewalk, face to the sky yet hyperaware of his surroundings. He knew this path, from parking garage to the club’s rear entrance. He’d walked it more than a thousand times. No doubt it would have been faster, maybe safer, to take the garage’s elevator, but he needed to see the stars. They served as a reminder of what his life had been—just as the vacuum where his wings had been did. Together the reminders kept him grounded.

He snorted. “Grounded. Prime word choice.”

A homeless guy crouched by the back door to Desire—Atlanta’s hottest nightclub. He looked up at Dominic and smiled, his mouth missing more teeth than it retained.

“Hey, Pistol Pete. How’s it hangin’?” Digging through his pockets, Dominic pulled out a twenty and tossed it into the guy’s grungy plastic cup. “Tuck that away. I’ll order a pizza and have it delivered out here, cool?”

The man mumbled his thanks and a generic blessing.

Dominic waved him off. Thanks he could handle. Blessings got a little sticky, though. He rolled his shoulders, drew in a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. Time to put on his public persona.

Pasting a congenial smile on his face, he shoved through the doors to the nightclub.

His gig as head of security was pretty tight. Griff, the owner and an incubus, and Seth, the general manager and a rare type of djinn called an ifrit, were awesome to work for. They’d even become friends over the years.

“An incubus, djinn and nephilim walk into a bar,” Dominic called through the silent club.

Seth stepped out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. “The djinn is clearly superior and would never serve as the butt of a fallen angel’s moronic joke. Since the incubus is currently upstairs getting laid, he can be the fall guy.” They met on the empty dance floor and gripped hands, thumping each other on the back.

Breaking away, Dominic pushed his hair off his face. “So Griff’s upstairs with Bailey, huh?” He was glad the two had—finally—hooked up. It seemed like they’d found the real deal. The happy-crappy stuff could choke him a little at times, but he’d suck it up for Griff’s sake. Bailey’s, too, for that matter. That he was a little—or a lot—jealous of what they seem to have found so easily wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.

“We still on for poker at your place Sunday?”

“Yeah. And Griff’ll be there if I have to roll his naked ass up in a sheet and drag him out of that apartment.” Seth considered him, his stare a mask of collected calm. “As for you? No cheating this week, asshole.” Without warning, he cracked Dominic’s thigh with the bar towel.

Dominic danced backward, rubbing the stinging spot. “Ow! That hurt, bitch.”

The djinn chuckled as he turned to the bar. “For such a big guy, you’re a complete wuss. Sometimes I have to wonder if you really were a battle angel. You could have been a gardener for all I know.”

“And for a genie, your servitude button’s broken. Whoever rubbed your bottle must have been pissed at the payback.”

Seth glanced over his shoulder as he slid behind the slick mahogany counter. “I don’t serve anyone but myself, my friend.”

“Whatevs.” Pulling out his cell, Dominic hit speed dial for the pizza joint around the corner as he walked into his office. “Mike, it’s Dom. I need an extra-large supreme, and load it up.” He shuffled papers on his desk. “Charge it to my card on file and deliver it to the guy outside the back door. Oh, and throw in an order of those cheesy breadstick things. And a Coke.” Dominic shook his head and chuckled at Mike’s smart-ass reply. “You should know better than to insult a guy who’s six-nine and bench presses Volkswagens—plural. One of these days I’m gonna go Hulk on your ass.” He let the guy ramble for a second. The portly old man talked shit he could never back up, but he was a good guy. Dom finally interrupted. “Keep this between us and add your regular thirty percent tip. ’Night.”

The way his chair creaked when he dropped into it sounded ominous, like the rickety thing was simply biding its time before dumping him on his ass. Might be. Everyone teased him about the need to replace the decrepit piece of junk. They might have had a point. Its wheels constantly fell off and the arms were held on by duct tape. He couldn’t do it, though. The chair meant something to him, represented his time at Desire. It had been new when he was new, both at the club and on this plane. “And here I am getting sentimental over a piece of office equipment. I need professional help.”

Dominic glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes to opening. The crowds would have already built, the line to the entrance trailing down the block. He shoved out of the chair, his shaft semierect behind professionally faded denim, and headed for the main entrance. “Let’s fight the good fight, my man, and see what we take home tonight.”

* * *

Rhyan’s days were numbered. If she wanted to regain her place in the Realm of Angels, she had to make a choice, commit to one of two paths. She could hide in her barren apartment and pray that the Caste relieved her of her charge, but the governing body of seven high angels wasn’t known for their compassion. Besides, groveling and pleading had never been her style. Second option? She could suck it up and do what the Caste had persuaded her to do—gather intel on the only nephilim to defy cosmic law and retain many of his angelic powers after falling.