Home > Fashionably Hotter Than Hell (Hot Damned #6)

Fashionably Hotter Than Hell (Hot Damned #6)
Author: Robyn Peterman

Chapter 1

"If you tell anyone, I will deny it and decapitate you," she said casually as she pulled her panties on.

"Noted," I replied. Watching her through hooded lids, I pondered what it would take to get her to remove the offending scrap of material and go for another round. Was I insane? Yes. Did I have a death wish? Absolutely.

"I just said I would remove your head and that's all you have to say?" she snapped and glared.

"Depends on which head you're talking about."

"Oh my God. You’re disgusting," she yelled as she hurled a lamp my way.

Ducking the light fixture, I rolled off the bed and donned my jeans. I winked as I caught her ogling my backside. "I heard you and I raise you one. I will deflower, deny, and decapitate. Damn." I shook my head sadly while grinning from ear to ear. "Already deflowered… two hundred years ago."

"You're an ass. And I wasn’t a virgin for your information," she hissed as she yanked on the rest of her clothes, covering a body that was made for sin.

However, the mouth left much to be desired. I certainly didn’t enjoy hearing about other conquests. The need to kill any man who’d even looked at her wasn’t healthy for me or for them. She was much nicer with her mouth closed. Well, not when it was wrapped around my…

"This was a mistake and will not be repeated," she informed me haughtily as she twisted her red curls into some kind of sexy looking bird’s nest on the top of her head. "Never going to happen again."

I shrugged and grinned. Who was she trying to convince? Herself? Me? We'd been playing this game for quite a while. I was tempted to make a wager with her due to the fact she had a difficult time passing up a bet or a dare, but that could backfire on me in an enormous way.

"Heard that one before, Red." I slid my shirt over my head and quickly sidestepped a left hook from the insane woman I'd just given eight consecutive orgasms to.

"My name is not Red. If you value your jewels, you’ll remember that," she informed me.

She strapped a dagger to the sexiest thigh I'd ever seen and headed for the door.

Why were the hot ones certifiable? I slid my katana into its sheath and waited patiently for the next insult. Was I a glutton for punishment? You bet, but it was worth every damned second.

She paused and glanced back with an evil little smirk that made me simultaneously want to bed her and run for cover. She made me feel alive. In fear for my undead life alive, but alive nonetheless.

"You know," she purred, "you're not really that good."

"Interesting," I commented as I slipped a knife into my boot. "That's not what you screamed ten minutes ago."

The look on her face was priceless. The next words from her mouth… not so much.

"I faked it."

Rolling my eyes, I wondered for a sickening moment if that was true and immediately decided it was bullshit. I was over two hundred years old. I knew when a woman faked it. Didn't I?

I stretched, flexed my muscles and made sure she saw what she was missing. "Well, that's too bad because I enjoyed the Hell out of it. Especially when you screamed my name and your body clamped itself around my… "

"Enough," she shouted as she practically sprinted to the door. "You're an arrogant son of a bitch and I can't stand the sight of you. You will never touch me again. I will no longer slum it with lowlifes like you and your big mouth and your big ego and your big… "

"Dick?" I suggested politely.

"In your dreams," she informed me over her shoulder as she hightailed it out of my suite like the Devil was on her heels.

I flopped back down on my bed and smiled. Now I knew she was lying…

Score one for me.

***

Later that afternoon…

All Hell had broken loose. I hadn't had so much fun in ages. Literally.

The office was in shambles, but I couldn’t stop myself. Her anger was as sexy as everything else about her.

"Bet you can't nail my head," I challenged. Riling her up had become my favorite pastime.

"Bet this, jackass," she shouted as she hurled something colorful and large.

The object flew through the air like a bullet out of a gun. I couldn't even make out what it was.

"Shrew," I shot back with a laugh as I ducked. The crash was loud. I winced realizing she'd just annihilated an ancient Ming vase.

"Moor dweller," she hissed as she flung another irreplaceable artifact at my head.

"Very clever," I replied as I dodged the incoming projectile.

"I thought so… Heathcliff," she purred.

Her smile was infuriating and lamentably hot. The office was decimated. There was very little else to break, except for her.

It would be far easier to be in a room with the abomination if I didn't want to kill her or bed her. I was torn between which one would give me more satisfaction—tearing her arm off or losing myself inside her body. Unfortunately, neither was a viable option at the present time. Her fiery red curls had fallen out of the mess on her head and fell loosely down her back. Her creamy skin tempted me to distraction and her scent made me dizzy. She was every man's fantasy and my personal nightmare. Even the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, which she usually disguised with glamour, were making my pants tight and uncomfortable.

Working as a team had been a tremendously bad idea, evidenced by the rubble that used to be Prince Ethan's study. Ethan was my dearest friend and brother to the nightmare staring daggers at me from five feet away. Thankfully Ethan's son, young Samuel, our one and only student, had not been present for the latest showdown between his teacher, her… and his fight coach, me.

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