Sylvia Day

Sylvia Day is the author of erotic romantic fiction set in most sub-genres. A former Russian linguist with the US Army Military Intelligence, she now writes full-time. When she's not working on her next book, you can find her chatting with visitors to her weblog, message board, and chat loop.

Stop by her website to say hi and meet all her bad boy heroes.

Heat of the Night

Bad boys are her weakness and no one is as wicked as Connor Bruce...

He is a vision from every woman's erotic fantasies. Existing in the twilight beneath sleep and consciousness, Connor brings them decadent pleasures, fueled by their sexual energy. But violence and strife now tear apart both worlds, and Connor must embark upon a quest into the mortal realm . . . and into the arms of one intoxicating enchantress.

Stacey Daniels has always been attracted to the wrong type of men—and the muscular, Viking-like champion on her front doorstep is no exception. She can hardly believe the wounded warrior is from another world, a world where erotic dreams are needed to survive, a world of terrible danger that has followed him to her home. Connor finds solace in her passion, but only time will tell if he can defeat the dark foe who hunts them . . . and if Stacey can surrender to the promise he offers with every electrifying touch.

Excerpt

Connor watched as she ran both of her hands through her riotous curls. Then he noted that her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. Suddenly, the need to fuck and forget became something else entirely. The need to share misery, to sympathize.

“Hey,” he rumbled softly, relating to the frustration and grief he heard in her curse.

She screeched and leaped at least a foot or more into the air.

“Fuckin’ A!” she yelled, turning to glare at him with a hand pressed over her heart. Tears hung on thick black lashes and stained her pale cheeks. “You scared me to death!”

“I’m sorry.”

Her gaze dropped to his hips and the boner that tented his towel, parting the two halves to reveal his thigh all the way to his waist. “Oh my god.”

His lust, her pain, and the Nightmares of just moments ago made false charm impossible. “You have the loveliest ass I’ve ever seen,” he explained.

“I have a lovely …?” She blinked, but didn’t look away. “You’re walking around the house half-naked with a hard-on and all you can say is ‘you have a lovely ass?’”

“I can be fully naked, if you prefer.”

“Oh, hell no.” Her arms crossed over her chest, which only served to accentuate her braless breasts. Desire, building for weeks, flared across his skin and left a light mist of sweat behind. “The house doesn’t come with those kind of benefits.”

“I don’t care what the house comes with,” he said honestly. She was soft, warm, emotional woman. That’s what he needed. “I want to know what you come with. A soft touch? Something rougher? Do you like to be loved fast and hard? Or long and slow? What makes you hoarse, sweetheart?”

“Jesus! Don’t beat around the bush or anything.”

Connor watched her pupils dilate, an unconscious invitation. He stepped closer. Carefully. No quick movements, because he could tell she was in the grip of the fight-or-flight response and he didn’t want her to run. Doubted he could let her run.

“I’ve no patience for lies at the moment,” he murmured. “I want you. A night with you would be heaven after what I’ve gone through recently. I don’t like it here. I’m homesick and just plain sick.”

“S-sorry—” Stacey swallowed hard, her eyes big in her piquant face, her tongue darting out to wet cherry red lips. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t tonight. I have a headache.”

He stepped closer.

She backed up and bumped into a barstool. Her chest lifted and fell rapidly, as did his. Her nostrils flared, sensing danger. Inside him, coiled tightly, was the need to snatch her close. To convince her to stay and say yes. To prevent her from denying that she was his, which some primitive voice inside him was whispering she was. Mine, it insisted. She’s mine.

Something inside her understood.

“We’re both having a crappy day,” he managed, his voice raspier than he would have liked. “Why should we have a crappy night, too?”

“Sex won’t fix my problem.”

As she wrapped her hands around the edge of the wooden stool seat, her chin lifted. The pose thrust her breasts forward wantonly, defiantly, stirring the need he felt into raging hunger. A rough growl filled the space between them and she gasped softly. Her nipples beaded up tight, pushing against the loose cotton ribbing of her tank top.

Connor’s cock swelled further, a response he was unable to hide as scantily dressed as he was. He wanted her. Now. Wanted to forget that he wasn’t at home, that he might never go home. Wanted to forget that he’d been lied to and deceived. Wanted to wrap himself around a warm, willing woman and help her forget her pain, too. It was what he did, what he knew, what he excelled at. What grounded him. And this time it would be for real. Not a dream or a fantasy.

He could sense the vibrating anxiety in her, the tinge of desperation, the need to scream out her frustration and anger and hurt. The need to connect to someone who had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Someone blameless, without baggage or expectation, a guilt-free pleasure. She just needed a little push.

Tugging at his towel, Connor let it drop to the floor.

“Good grief,” she muttered. “You’re incredible.”

With a gentle smile, he deliberately took her statement in a way it wasn’t intended. “Ah, but I haven’t even started yet.”

* * * * *

The low, deep brogue wrapped around Stacey’s spine, then slid down in a heated glide.

Infuriated with herself for being aroused, she stared at the tall, golden, gorgeous—impossibly gorgeous—naked man striding toward her. Unable to look away from the beautifully honed muscles drenched in tawny skin. Or the dark honey hair that hung over a strong brow. Or the Caribbean blue eyes that roamed her body from head to toe, the gaze hot and lustful but tender, too.

His sinfully sensual mouth was framed by lines of tension and stress, a sight that tempted her to kiss his troubles away. Whatever they might be.

As if it that was possible. Connor Bruce seemed to be an island unto himself. There was something inherently dangerous about him, something savage and untamed. He seemed … dark somehow, tormented. A feeling she understood because she presently felt that way herself. Barely leashed. Tense. She wanted to drive up to Big Bear and tell Justin and Tommy both that one fucking ski trip did not make Tommy Father of the Century.

Frustrated with her inability to “get over it”, Stacey imprudently ogled Connor’s luscious cock instead. After all, he was waving it around …

“It’s all yours,” he purred, coming at her with a devastating combination of determination and mouth-watering finely-honed abs. She looked up and saw challenge within the depths of his blue eyes. He knew she couldn’t help but look and covet what he offered so bluntly. “And you’re all mine.”

God, how she wished she could laugh that off. Considering how long they’d known each other, that comment should have been funny as hell. But Connor was too primitive a male to dismiss when he became possessive. Just as she, apparently, was primitive enough to enjoy being dragged back to his cave by her hair.

There was something very wrong with a man being that perfect. Six feet plus of pure, potent male. He was big, broad, and bad. Irresistibly bad. And unapologetic about it. She might have been able to resist if that were all he was. But he seemed vulnerable, too, in a way she couldn’t define. It called to her, though, whatever it was. Deeply. She found herself wanting to soothe him, embrace him, make him smile.

Her gaze once again fell helplessly to the long, thick cock that led the way for him. That was perfect, too. She couldn’t find a damn thing wrong with his body and she was trying. Boy, was she trying. He was savagely beautiful and forbiddingly sexy, but she wasn’t giving in. No way. She was drooling over him, yes, but she was not going to repeat her past mistakes. She didn’t even know the guy, for chrissakes!

“Does that Conan the Barbarian act work for you?” she asked with an arched brow, acting for all she was worth. “‘Cuz it sure as hell isn’t working for me.”

His lips curved in a boyish smile. She was stunned by her reaction to it. It was the kind of charming curve that made one want to smile back.

“Prove it.” His long, easy stride made her shiver. She gripped the seat behind her with such force she broke a nail and a small sound of dismay escaped her. It gave away too much, that soft breathy cry. She could tell it did, because his gaze heated and darkened, and his cock swelled even further. Her mouth dried at the sight.

Lord have mercy. The thick length was lined with throbbing veins that forced her to bite back a moan of longing. Porn stars would pay for that cock. Shit, women paid for cocks such as his, molded in plastic with a speed control switch.

“Are you double-dog daring me?” she muttered, her gaze riveted by the sheer predatory grace of his movements. She wondered how he moved while fucking and the thought made her damp between the legs.

She was lonely, tired, frustrated by the hand life had dealt her, and pissed off enough to want to shed her unappreciated-mommy role for an hour or two. Get over it? Sure. What better way to get over it than to get under a man like Connor Bruce?

“Let me hold you,” he murmured, his accent a gentle enticement.

Stacey didn’t move. She couldn’t.

As he came closer, she held her breath, knowing that her resistance to his very attractive but impractical offer would weaken if she smelled him. The scent of his skin was unique. A bit spicy, a bit musky. One hundred percent male. Pure Connor. Inhaling would sharpen the images already in her mind of him suspended above her, his arms bulging as he held his weight aloft, his abdominal muscles lacing tight as he pumped his thick cock in and out of her, his gorgeous features taut with lust.

The way he looked right now.

Panicked at her craving, Stacey shook her head violently and jumped quickly to the side, hoping to skirt the dining table and … hoping he’d chase her.

Which he did.