Bedeviled
Table of Contents
“One of the stars in the ascendant . . .
poised for the next big step.”
—Publishers Weekly
Praise for the Novels
of Maureen Child
A Fiend in Need
“Amusing chick lit romantic fantasy . . . an entertaining tale.”
—The Best Reviews
More than Fiends
“Maureen Child . . . has a sharp, witty voice that will leave readers begging for more.”
—Katie MacAlister,
New York Times
bestselling author
of
Playing with Fire
“Fun, sexy, and incredibly entertaining . . . guaranteed to delight. Readers will love this fast-paced winner. . . . It’s simply exceptional.”
—Allie Mackay, author of
Highlander in Her Dreams
“A sizzling story . . . fun and fresh reading.”
—Romance Junkies
“A witty romp.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“Fresh, witty, sexy, and sure to please fans.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“The dialogue is smart and sassy.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Praise for Maureen Child’s
Other Novels
“Sassy repartee . . . humor and warmth . . . a frothy delight.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Maureen Child infuses her writing with the perfect blend of laughter, tears, and romance . . . well-crafted characters. . . . Her novels [are] a treat to be savored.”
—Jill Marie Landis,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Homecoming
“Absolutely wonderful . . . a delightful blend of humor and emotion . . . . This sexy love story will definitely keep readers turning the pages.”
—Kristin Hannah,
New York Times
bestselling author
of
Firefly Lane
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, January 2009
Copyright © Maureen Child, 2009
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
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eISBN : 978-1-101-01394-6
For my mom, Sallye Carberry
Thanks for all the trips to the libraries and bookstores.
You gave me a love of reading and you taught me to dream.
I love you.
Prologue
“ ‘Fifty ways to leave your lover’ my ass,” Maggie Donovan muttered, and turned off the stereo. “Not one decent example of how to dump a guy you
know
needs dumping.”
Well, since she was getting no help from the universe, she’d have to go with her standard
Sorry, this just isn’t working out
when she had a little we-have-to-talk conversation with her soon-to-be-ex, Joe. Unoriginal but to the point. “And so ends another sad chapter in the Maggie Donovan love chronicles. Pitiful, Mags. Simply pitiful.”
Decision made, she stood up and walked across the living room, stepping over her always-sleeping dog on her way to the front door. She’d just take a little walk to the Quick Mart a couple of blocks away for a pint of Häagen-Dazs Caramel Cone ice cream. Always a good plan.
Outside, a cold wind blew in off the ocean, rattling the leaves in the trees until it sounded like hundreds of whispers from an invisible crowd. Lights blazed from neighborhood windows, a game-show host shouted from her next-door neighbor’s TV and the soft whine of traffic from the nearby highway hummed in the background.
Maggie took the porch steps in two long strides, hit the lawn, then stopped dead.
A man stood in the shadows at the edge of her yard.
“Whoa.” Where the hell had he come from? And why did he seem . . . familiar somehow? It wasn’t likely she’d have forgotten meeting someone like this before.
He was tall, with shoulder-length black hair that whipped around his head in the wind. His green eyes were so pale, so clear, they shone like a cat’s eyes in the darkness. He was big and looked tough and just a little scary.
And,
she told herself helplessly,
so sexy he should be illegal.
Oh, good one. Be attracted to a lurking stranger.
“Who are you?” Maggie asked, taking one slow, tiny step backward toward the safety of her house.
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” he said. His voice was so deep, it seemed to rumble through the air like a freight train. “Who
you
are is all that matters.”
“Okay, well, I already know who I am.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, his clear, powerful gaze locked on her. “Not yet. But you will. Soon.”
“Okeydokey.”
He frowned, and Maggie swallowed hard, figured she could live without Häagen-Dazs for one night and took another step closer to home. “Look, it’s been fun, but I’m going inside and—”
She didn’t see him move, but suddenly he was standing right in front of her. How? What? Maggie took a shaky breath and told herself that this was not happening. People don’t move like that. Can’t move like that.
Then his gaze caught hers and she thought she saw the pale green color of his eyes swirl silver. But of course she didn’t. That would have been nuts.
Heat from his body seemed to reach out for her, and Maggie came really close to leaning in toward him. What was up with that? A gorgeous stranger stares at her with his amazing eyes and she turns all hot and trembly?
He smiled as if he knew what she was thinking—and approved.
“You are . . . more than I imagined,” he said, his voice whispering up and down her spine like the soft touch of fingertips.
“Uh . . . uh . . .” God, she couldn’t even
think
let alone talk. Then it hit her.
More than he imagined?
“You know me?”
“Not as well as I will.”
“Oh boy.” She really should be screaming right about now. Or running. Or throwing herself into his arms. No, scratch that.
“Your time’s coming,” he told her, his voice so low that it was almost lost in the sigh of the wind.
“Time? Time for what? No. You know what? Never mind.” She shook her head, held up one hand and warned, “Back off, buddy, or I’ll scream so loud it’ll shatter glass.”
“No, you won’t.”
He smiled then, and she thought that he probably meant it to be reassuring. But it wasn’t. His expression was too wicked and too . . .
confident
for that.
“Just as you won’t remember this meeting.”
Right. Like she could forget a guy who looked like
him
. Maggie opened her mouth to deafen him with a scream the likes of which he’d never heard before. But before she could pull in the breath to manage it, he disappeared.
One minute, he was there.
The next,
poof
.
Frowning, she glanced idly around the yard, her mind wandering back to thoughts of ice cream. Right. That’s why she’d come outside. To satisfy her need for something cold and drenched in chocolate.
Mrs. Hardy, her neighbor, who had to be at least 150 years old, opened her door and shouted, “Maggie? Who was that young man?”
“Huh? What man?” She looked at the older woman, whose gray hair was snug to her scalp, held down in tight pin curls by a thousand bobby pins.
“That man you were talking to.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. Mrs. Hardy was always seeing burglars and aliens and imaginary FBI agents skulking in the neighborhood. Now, apparently, she was spotting them having chats with Maggie.
“Uh, he’s nobody,” Maggie assured her.
Just a figment of your imagination, you nosy old lady.
Honestly. Some people were just nuts.
Chapter One
W
ith a little 20/20 hindsight, Maggie Donovan never would have gone to see her ex-almost-fiancé that morning. Unfortunately, just like anybody else in the world, Maggie didn’t know something hideous was going to happen until she was in the middle of the freaking nightmare.
Dressed for work in her faded blue jeans, paint-spattered tennis shoes and a T-shirt that read DO IT IN PAINT, Maggie had had a simple enough plan: Take a box of Joe Ericson’s left-behind junk—including ABBA CDs, for God’s sake—to his office, drop it off and put him out of her life for good.
He wasn’t a bad guy, really. But she’d finally had enough. She just hadn’t been able to deal with the idea of spending one more night watching his DVD collection of the original
Star Trek
TV show and discussing over and over again how Kirk was a much better captain of the
Enterprise
than Picard.
So anyway, her plan was simple—until she walked into Joe’s office and found him being
eaten
. Not in a sexual way, either.
“Holy shit!” Maggie staggered back, eyes wide and locked on the icky scene in front of her.
The naked female sitting astride Joe wasn’t human— the long tail whipping around in the air was a dead giveaway, not to mention that she was currently devouring Joe. Wearing only a huge round gold-and-crystal pendant that glittered and sparkled with a weird inner light, the naked creature was so busy gulping her food, she didn’t even hear Maggie’s shriek.
Eyes bugging out of her head, Maggie dropped Joe’s box o’ crap and, with some delusional idea of somehow saving her ex-honey, grabbed hold of the tote bag slung across her shoulder with both hands. Her purse was always heavy. But today it carried an extra punch, what with the five new jars of tempera paint she’d just picked up at the art-supply store.