Magic Ink: Dark Lotus
Now at Changeling Press!
He has been cold for nearly two centuries. A tattoo artist by day and an assassin by night, Kyoto Hajime must kill the ones chosen by Magik to keep the gift from twisting into something dark. Ensuring that monsters like his brother cannot consume the dark power they crave.
Jim’s ink will denote Magik’s choice. He must kill Tia Morse, the woman he had marked with the Dark Lotus — a Vegas bartender whose touch gives him the warmth he has not felt in years.
Duty must come before desire. But years of discipline may crumble when passion’s fire burns through ice and Magik’s choices are no longer clear.
Jim forced himself to stay still while he watched her. The ink that now connected them pulsed in an accelerated rhythm, and he couldn’t quite tell whether it was Magik or arousal or both.
He didn’t know if the guy who had grabbed her was Yoshida’s scout or simply drunk and mean with it. Without touching her, without seeing the ink glow, he couldn’t tell how much Magik coursed through her veins. He’d have to see the tattoo, touch it.
Unlike what he’d expected, Tia Morse didn’t show it off. She hid it under a thin layer of clothes, a satin top that revealed only toned arms, and skintight shiny pants that seemed to have been chosen more for their stretchy comfort rather than style.
He couldn’t help admire the way it outlined her sex. “I was referring to your friend.”
“I could’ve handled him.” She snapped the words and licked her lips.
She was aroused. Angry. Still in shock as to what had happened. A bit scared of him and valiantly forcing herself not to show it.
By the way she’d clenched her hands and stared at the shattered glass, he understood she didn’t like being out of control. Perhaps that was the key to finishing this task.
“You think you could’ve handled it.” He took a small step toward her, testing them both, watching her eyelids flutter, seeing a delicate pink flush on her neck.
Another step. Another.
Then he was kissing her, a soft and testing brush of his lips over hers, his hands splayed lightly on her hips, feeling the heat of her, that potent warmth that poured over the ice that was his core.
He didn’t know when practiced seduction roared out of control, when need overcame reason. He took, greedy for heat, for lust, for pleasure. He plundered her mouth, devoured her breaths, her moans, the little ragged growls she made somewhere in her throat in those rare moments when he let her breathe.
Now at Changeling Press
Visit Fiona Jayde at www.fionajayde.com