Karen Whiddon - A Hunter Under The Mistletoe - All Is Bright / Heat of a Helios

The poinsettias had been a gamble. The plant was fairly hardy in the subtropical climates that had been its origin, but the Nevada soil was tricky, the desert climate something that required continued overcompensation.

Sort of like you.

Evangeline shook off the strange thought and stood. While she didn’t regret her earlier choice in firing two members of her team, the harsh words she’d had with Troy and Victor had left an unpleasant aftertaste that had tinged the edges of her thoughts while she worked.

Loosen up. What’s the big deal? No one cheated or anything after we let them in.

The big boss is so busy earning money and overcharging people for food and liquor he’s not going to notice a few guys in the back door.

You’re a bitch of a boss, anyway. Who wants to spend all day with some compulsive, anal need to plant some stupid flowers?

It had been the last that had struck with surprisingly sharp claws. She’d believed herself in tune with her employees, enjoying a relatively easy camaraderie and kinship over their work. From Troy and Victor’s abrupt exit interview, it sounded like she needed to rethink that perspective.

Perhaps she needed to rethink a lot of things.

With one final look at her handiwork, Evangeline resolved to shake off the malaise and the unpleasant memory. Careless employees didn’t matter. Her work spoke for itself. And if she needed to think about getting a hobby or find a way to spend more of her personal time off the Archangel’s grounds, then she would think about that in the New Year.

She wrapped her tools in the oversize canvas bag she carried everywhere, the heavy, jangling weight a comfort and reassurance as she walked down a small, nearly hidden curved pathway toward the greenhouse. She’d stow her things, grab her purse and would be home and asleep in less than half an hour.

The late November air wafted over her skin, a cool breeze that refreshed more than it chilled. Although the season was limited, Las Vegas did experience winter. The sunny days usually compensated for any cold, but the desert lost its warmth at night, here on the floor of the Mojave. Evangeline slipped into the button-down shirt she’d tied haphazardly at her waist, juggling the thick canvas holding her tools.

It was only when she came around the last corner, the hothouse in sight, that she came to a sudden halt. A wall of heat washed over her, the blaze searing in its intensity as it reflected off the floor-to-ceiling windows of the greenhouse.

Fire!

She instinctively stepped back, the heat blanketing her in another wave as she searched for the source of the blaze. Bright orange flames rose toward the sky, the heat immense even as she tried to focus on the source. The fire seemed…contained. Oddly still, even.

Was it possible?

The lawn appeared untouched, as did the building. Standing her ground and forcing herself to take stock of the blaze in order to understand how to fight it, Evangeline’s gaze swept the wide-open lawn, the two-story greenhouse, the rolling flower beds that edged toward the rim of the property.

It was only when she turned her attention once more toward the fire that a scream rose up in her throat.

As the orange and red snapped their fangs, forming and reforming in that strange, isolated blaze, she finally understood its shape.

And saw a man trapped in the flames.

Shit, hell and damn .

Those and several other, more inventive curses floated through Rafael Stavros’s mind in the few seconds before he lost consciousness, an image of the lovely Evangeline Kennedy imprinted in his thoughts.

He’d pushed it tonight, allowing a meeting to run long. Which meant he hadn’t made it to his rooms before the fire came upon him.

Before that lone moment in his pristinely ordered world when he lost control.

Chapter 1

She’d nearly called in sick the next day. Even with a frantic scramble to find hotel security and a solid belt or two of whiskey when she got home, Evangeline couldn’t shake what she’d seen.

A man on fire.

She’d been unable to move, shocked when the flames that had warmed her all over suddenly vanished as if they’d never been, the air and grounds once again still. It was only once she’d moved closer to the sight of the blaze, the grass untouched and still cooled by the night air, that she’d run for help.

Security had come with her to the site, then reassured her over and over there wasn’t anything wrong. It had only been her insistence to watch the security feed that had finally sent her home in a puzzled haze.

Mac, the lead on duty, had replayed the tapes of that quadrant of the grounds. She’d watched herself come around the corner. Had even seen the look of shock paint her face. But when she stared at the space where the burning man should be, the grounds looked as calm and peaceful as a baby sleeping.

But damn it, she’d seen him. His long, powerful form had been consumed by the fire, and the wall of heat shot off by the flames had felt like the combined power of ten furnaces. She’d never felt anything like it.

How could something so strong and powerful remain so contained? How hadn’t it spread? And why the hell wasn’t it showing up on the security cameras or in the spot where the fire had been?

“Miss Kennedy.” The office admin nodded to her. “They will see you now.”

Evangeline smiled at the woman, a perfect complement to the powerful outer office she found herself in. Thick, plush carpet muffled the noise of her steps and a soft, gentle hum of elegance pervaded the air.

Had she ever looked that perfect? From the artful makeup, to the stylish hair, to the trim jacket that stopped at the woman’s hips, the admin to the great and powerful Stavros family was perfection and grace personified.

“Thank you.” Evangeline scrambled to her feet, inwardly acknowledging that, no, she’d never managed that look. She was a woman who preferred dirt to pearls and comfortable, baggy cargo pants to a skirt any day. The outfit she’d managed for her meeting—a plum silk shirt and a trim pair of black slacks—was about as dressy as she got.

“Thank you for the tree.” The woman pointed toward the towering pine in the corner of the office, immaculately decorated in a wash of red and white. “I understand you managed the decorations throughout the property. They’re way better than what we had last year.”

The primary reason she’d snagged the job, but Evangeline didn’t say anything. Instead, she nodded. “Thank you. I have a supplier I’ve used for several years. His trees are the best.”

“No arguments here.” The admin held open the door to the inner sanctum of the Archangel’s brass, a secretive smile playing about her lips. “Knock ’em dead.”

Before Evangeline could attempt to respond, she was through the door, staring down the two brothers who ran the Archangel.

She’d met them before, of course, and had seen them around the grounds, but the wall of masculinity that greeted her was something to behold. Gabriel and Rafael Stavros, sons of powerful casino mogul Michael Stavros, were an impressive sight. Dubbed The Archangels by the press, they were as easily found in the business news as the gossip pages.

In fact, Evangeline amended to herself, their bachelor status ensured they occupied those gossip pages with shocking regularity.

She thought them both attractive—and had yet to meet a woman on staff who didn’t—but something about Rafael Stavros had always drawn her more intensely than his brother. With the dark hair that shagged a bit too long around his neck and the piercing gray eyes that always reminded her of a winter storm, he was a study in contrasts.