Zoey Williams - Tempted by His Wicked Kiss

New York City, December 31—Countdown to Eternity...

Jackson Holloway is running out of time. To pay for his life of crime, he must find a pure soul to take his place in the Underworld before the clock strikes midnight. Medium Charlotte Simms seems like the perfect target—all he has to do is kiss her. But one kiss leads to a sensual encounter unlike anything Jack ever experienced in life. And now he must choose between love—and eternal damnation....

Tempted by His Wicked Kiss

Zoey Williams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

When I told my AP English teacher from high school (who is still my dear friend to this day) that I was writing paranormal erotica, she said, “Paranormal erotica? What is that—sexy ghosts?” I laughed long and hard at that, but when I stopped, I sat back and thought, Well, what about a sexy ghost? Could I make ghosts sexy? And so began my journey of thinking up the plot of Tempted by His Wicked Kiss.

Inspiration struck next when I had a girls’ night with my mom, my best friend Mary and her mom, Kathy. We were eating, drinking and laughing as usual when Kathy took out an old tea-leaf-reading book from the 1920s and we all read our cups of peppermint tea. That’s when I knew my next heroine would be a fortune-teller and seduce the hero over a tea-leaf-reading session.

Tempted by His Wicked Kiss was so much fun to write, even more so than my debut novella, The Demon’s Forbidden Passion. I can only hope that you have just as much fun reading it. Feel free to tell me what you think at www.facebook.com/AuthorZoeyWilliamsor on Twitter, @ZoeyWilliamsAu. I would love to hear from you!

All best,

Zoey

Dedication

This novella is dedicated to “Hilda and the Pool Ladies,” Mary, Kathy, Amy, Zoey P., Paula and Marissa, for always being my biggest cheerleaders and dearest friends.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

For almost all of Jackson Holloway’s adult life, his name appeared everywhere. The headlines of newspapers, police blotters, wanted posters that had been hung so long on policemen’s bulletin boards the paper had yellowed and curled. But now, for the first time—standing in the middle of Times Square six days after Christmas—Jack was anonymous. Lights sparkled from every angle—from the flashing billboards above the street to the lit advertisements on top of the cabs that flooded the asphalt. All of them hocked overpriced restaurants, kitschy souvenirs, discounted Broadway tickets, cheap T-shirts. Men in sandwich boards and funny costumes attempted to thrust colorful flyers into the fists of tourists. Each had a different message typed out in the same loud font. Designer suits at bargain prices. $10 off your meal at such-and-such restaurant. Do you like free comedy?

A cacophony of horns honking, the swish of revolving doors, the tinny music being pumped out of the underside of Broadway theaters’ awnings: it was almost maddening. And there were people: throngs and throngs of people. Without tourists, Times Square was still an assault on the senses. With them, it was like the inside of a beehive—constant movement, constant buzzing, swarming.

Jack’s face blended into the crowd, completely unnoticeable among the sea of tourists. People bundled in hats, gloves, and scarves all across the color spectrum breezed by as if they could see right through him. He’d always enjoyed coming here for that very reason. Because when Jack was invisible, darting through the crowds, he never got caught.

Back when he and Cal were kids, they’d cut class (not like anyone cared when they left—teachers sighed in relief when the boxes next to their names remained empty as they ticked off attendance), take the C train from Brooklyn and spend the afternoon in midtown. As they traveled over the bridge, suddenly everything would turn from the gray, institutional look of the projects to the sparkling lights of Times Square. Jack liked the escape—to spend a few hours outside of their dangerous neighborhood. Cal liked the escape, too—because the pockets in Times Square were the easiest to pick.

The two would slither through the crowd, their hands diving into whatever back pockets or purses that were attached to a distracted traveler. They made a game of it—how much could they pick in an hour? Sometimes a wallet or two would contain bills in a foreign currency Jack wouldn’t recognize and scores were argued over. But then a quick trip to the exchange on 48th Street would reveal the true victor, almost always Cal. Because that was where a crumpled mound of gibberish notes was turned into cold, hard cash. And he and Cal would be able to eat that night.

But that was more than a decade ago, back when things were simpler. When their worst offenses were pickpocketing a few bucks and stealing a grime-covered banana off a street-adjacent fruit stand. Back then, it was mere child’s play. As Jack and Cal got older, petty crime slowly escalated to robbing ATMs, holding up convenience stores, muggings. Jack knew Cal also dabbled in hired hits from time to time—Cal getting paid to beat someone to a pulp.

It had all started because Cal and Jack’s drug-addled mothers cared about filling their syringes more than putting food on the table. With no one to look after them, it was all about survival. Then, in a moment so subtle Jack couldn’t put his finger on it, everything changed. It wasn’t about survival anymore. They were twenty-eight now. They should’ve grown past it, straightened up and done something with their lives. But for Cal, it had turned into fun. A career.

Jack shivered at the thought. A light flurry of snow had just begun to fall. It was cold out, but Jack couldn’t feel it. He huffed through the crowds, but unlike the people around him, his breath didn’t form an icy puff in the air. Cal had walked so fast in front of him he had disappeared from Jack’s sight. Again. As the New Year loomed closer, Jack found this happening more and more. While he understood why Cal had run off, his disappearances still sent a spike of anger through Jack. They were supposed to be in this together. They were practically brothers, in life and in...

“Hey!” Jack shouted as he caught a glimpse of Cal’s unmistakable combination of faded green army jacket and fiery red hair. “Wait up, man!”

If Cal heard him, he didn’t show any indication. Jack sped up his pace, practically jogging until he could walk in step with Calvin. Tonight he and Cal were on the prowl, just as they had been for the last year. Cal—his friend, his partner in crime—had once been so cool and collected. He’d walk into a room like he owned the place. And he’d had lots of practice; that’s what a life of crime had done to him.

Jack looked at his only friend in the world. Cal had taught him everything he knew. How to slip a hand into an unsuspecting bastard’s pocket and remove his wallet and phone. How to throw a right hook that did the most damage. Every scam, swindle, and crime in the book. It was every man for himself, except when it came to Jack and Cal. Or at least that’s what Jack had thought. With Cal’s disappearing acts growing more frequent, he was beginning to wonder.