foyer designed in American Craftsman style, with darkened wood paneling, lofty ceilings and sweeping crossbeams. A red and green totem pole stood against one wall and beneath a chandelier of elk horns stood Donovan, straight-backed, arms loose at his sides. Riga felt a surge of pure, golden joy at the sight of him. His cousin/manager, Reuben Mosse, and Donovan’s executive assistant, Isabelle Locke, faced him.
“—regret this!” Reuben shouted.
Reuben carried the Mosse genes: startling green eyes, ebony hair, square jaw, dark good looks. But while Donovan was tall and broad shouldered, Reuben was slight. Donovan’s hair swept in dramatic waves, Reuben’s lay flat against his scalp, thinning at the top. Reuben was not quite Donovan and that, Riga suspected, was a problem.
She stepped into the foyer, the heels of her boots rapping upon the wood plank floor, and the three turned, taking notice of her.
“Riga,” Donovan said. His jade-colored eyes warmed, the expression on his sculpted features shifting from irritated to welcoming. He wore a tailored suit that was black as sin and Riga’s lips curved in a smile in spite of the tension in the air. Their relationship was still young and her stomach fluttered at the sight of him.
“Miss Hayworth,” Isabelle said, appraising. “How nice to see you.” She tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind one ear. Her pale green Jackie Kennedy-style skirt and jacket accentuated the alabaster translucency of her skin.
“Am I interrupting something?” Riga asked.
Reuben spluttered. “This isn’t over, Donovan.” He stormed past Riga into the elevator.
Isabelle tucked her lime green case beneath her arm. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Mosse?”
“No, thanks.”
She nodded and followed Reuben into the elevator, sparing Riga a bemused glance in passing.
Riga unbuckled the belt on her suede jacket, watched the elevator close.
Donovan sauntered toward her. “Sorry about that. Reuben’s having a hard time accepting some of my changes.”
“He’s been in charge here for a long time, hasn’t he?” Riga mused. And now, he had Donovan to contend with. It would be a tough adjustment. But family was important to Donovan and if he was second guessing his cousin, the problems at the casino must be serious.
“Forget about Reuben,” he said, nibbling at her ear. His arms encircled her, his lips grazed her neck and heat coursed through Riga’s body in response. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Mmm...” She leaned into him and Donovan did other interesting things with his hands and mouth. Riga felt herself melting beneath him, her brain disengaging. Reluctantly, she stepped away.
“You did say something about a bottle of Château Lafite, didn’t you?” Riga took a step toward the living room, with its wide view of the lake.
But Donovan clasped her lightly about the wrist, drawing her towards him. “Wait. I need to ask you a favor.”
Riga arched a brow. Donovan had a legion of minions at his command, and didn’t need favors from her.
“You know business is down,” Donovan began. “And not just here, in the whole region.”
Everyone knew it. It was why Donovan had moved into his Stateline, Nevada casino, rather than returning to his home in Vegas.
“I’m not sure a metaphysical detective can help you with that,” Riga said, playing along, “though I do know an excellent shaman...”
Donovan blanched. “No shamans.”
Riga looked at him, surprised. “What’s wrong with shamans?”
“What’s wrong with faeries?”
Riga stiffened. Faeries were her bête noir. “If you knew any, you wouldn’t have to ask,” she muttered.
“Huh. Well the Supernatural Channel sent a crew here to do a reality TV show about Tessie, the Lake Tahoe monster. The crew is here, but the host broke his leg skiing. They were set to cancel, but when I showed
“—regret this!” Reuben shouted.
Reuben carried the Mosse genes: startling green eyes, ebony hair, square jaw, dark good looks. But while Donovan was tall and broad shouldered, Reuben was slight. Donovan’s hair swept in dramatic waves, Reuben’s lay flat against his scalp, thinning at the top. Reuben was not quite Donovan and that, Riga suspected, was a problem.
She stepped into the foyer, the heels of her boots rapping upon the wood plank floor, and the three turned, taking notice of her.
“Riga,” Donovan said. His jade-colored eyes warmed, the expression on his sculpted features shifting from irritated to welcoming. He wore a tailored suit that was black as sin and Riga’s lips curved in a smile in spite of the tension in the air. Their relationship was still young and her stomach fluttered at the sight of him.
“Miss Hayworth,” Isabelle said, appraising. “How nice to see you.” She tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind one ear. Her pale green Jackie Kennedy-style skirt and jacket accentuated the alabaster translucency of her skin.
“Am I interrupting something?” Riga asked.
Reuben spluttered. “This isn’t over, Donovan.” He stormed past Riga into the elevator.
Isabelle tucked her lime green case beneath her arm. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Mosse?”
“No, thanks.”
She nodded and followed Reuben into the elevator, sparing Riga a bemused glance in passing.
Riga unbuckled the belt on her suede jacket, watched the elevator close.
Donovan sauntered toward her. “Sorry about that. Reuben’s having a hard time accepting some of my changes.”
“He’s been in charge here for a long time, hasn’t he?” Riga mused. And now, he had Donovan to contend with. It would be a tough adjustment. But family was important to Donovan and if he was second guessing his cousin, the problems at the casino must be serious.
“Forget about Reuben,” he said, nibbling at her ear. His arms encircled her, his lips grazed her neck and heat coursed through Riga’s body in response. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Mmm...” She leaned into him and Donovan did other interesting things with his hands and mouth. Riga felt herself melting beneath him, her brain disengaging. Reluctantly, she stepped away.
“You did say something about a bottle of Château Lafite, didn’t you?” Riga took a step toward the living room, with its wide view of the lake.
But Donovan clasped her lightly about the wrist, drawing her towards him. “Wait. I need to ask you a favor.”
Riga arched a brow. Donovan had a legion of minions at his command, and didn’t need favors from her.
“You know business is down,” Donovan began. “And not just here, in the whole region.”
Everyone knew it. It was why Donovan had moved into his Stateline, Nevada casino, rather than returning to his home in Vegas.
“I’m not sure a metaphysical detective can help you with that,” Riga said, playing along, “though I do know an excellent shaman...”
Donovan blanched. “No shamans.”
Riga looked at him, surprised. “What’s wrong with shamans?”
“What’s wrong with faeries?”
Riga stiffened. Faeries were her bête noir. “If you knew any, you wouldn’t have to ask,” she muttered.
“Huh. Well the Supernatural Channel sent a crew here to do a reality TV show about Tessie, the Lake Tahoe monster. The crew is here, but the host broke his leg skiing. They were set to cancel, but when I showed
Similar Books
The Great Scottish Devil
Starla Kaye
Bone Deep
Gina McMurchy-Barber
In Vino Veritas
J. M. Gregson
Wolf Bride
Elizabeth Moss
Just Your Average Princess
Kristina Springer
Mr. Wonderful
Carol Grace
Captain Nobody
Dean Pitchford
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Lisa Olsen
Paradise Alley
Kevin Baker
Kleber's Convoy
Antony Trew