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  Phoenix Kiss

  Lyric James

  Layla Martin makes her living exposing all the wicked little secrets of the rich and famous. Exposing Jordan Gaines, the mysterious millionaire, is exactly the break she needs.

  Jordan has spent his entire life protecting a dark secret—he’s a phoenix shapeshifter, one of the last of his kind. When he finds Layla hiding in his home after he shifts, he offers her a deal—he won’t call the police if she spends one night in his bed.

  Layla believes she’s stumbled onto the story of a lifetime. Jordan thinks sleeping with Layla will discredit any exposé she plans to write. Neither expects the hours of unrelenting, primitive passion, the fast bond that forms between them or their fierce desire to keep the night from coming to an end.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Phoenix Kiss

  ISBN 9781419937019

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Phoenix Kiss Copyright © 2011 Lyric James

  Edited by Carrie Jackson

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Photography: RomanceNovelCovers.com

  Electronic book publication December 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Phoenix Kiss

  Lyric James

  Dedication

  As always, to Henry, my happily ever after.

  Acknowledgements

  I don’t think I’ve ever been edited harder and tougher in my life than with this story but…that isn’t a complaint. It’s a sincere thanks to my editor, Carrie Jackson, for all her hard work and for making me a better writer.

  Chapter One

  Sunk low in her car, Layla Martin scanned the dark street as her thumbs rhythmically tapped the lower curve of her steering wheel. She gripped each indentation. From where she sat, the neighborhood looked exactly as it should. Half-acre lots with manicured lawns sporting elegant two-or three-story homes lined the clean streets. It was precisely what she expected from the filthy rich. On the outside, everything was home-and-garden picture-perfect.

  But secrets lurked behind those gilded French doors.

  Drugs.

  Kinky sex.

  Abuse.

  A place a reporter like her flourished.

  Her fingers slid over and around the grooves in the wheel. She removed her car key and tucked it into the front pocket of her dark jeans. She opened the glove compartment, slipped her remaining keys inside and took out her tiny digital camera.

  This was the night. She felt it and grinned as excitement and nervous energy thrummed through her veins.

  Calming herself, she tilted her wrist and checked her watch. It was now or never. With a couple of hours before the target of her next story came home with his latest date, she had just enough time to get in, hide and wait for the games to begin.

  Breaking this exposé was almost too easy.

  Of course, every scandal had its drawbacks. A rich society matron’s addiction to crack cocaine turned out to be marijuana. Some rich old guy’s kinky sex may only be a shoe fetish. But every now and again, a really juicy piece of information came her way and put her on the front page of the Tattler for a month.

  If all went well, tonight was her next cover.

  Gazillionaire Jordan Gaines’ kinky BDSM-ménage-sex fetish would be all over the news and on the front page of every newspaper in a matter of days. All because of her.

  Layla Martin.

  Reporter of the stars, extraordinaire.

  Once this scoop came out, everyone would know her name. The so-called respectable newspapers wouldn’t have a choice. They would have to take notice and respect her for the journalist she was. Well, maybe not respect her but they’d sure be mad as hell one of their reporters didn’t get the story first and they’d wonder how the heck she did. By the time her feature hit the stands, they’d be crawling on their hands and knees begging her to work for them.

  As if she ever would.

  Surprisingly, she enjoyed working for the Tattler. It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected when she graduated from college and started looking or a job. But after a few months, she’d come into her own and found investigating the lives of the rich and famous wasn’t so bad. No, it wasn’t the New York Times or the San Francisco Chronicle but every story the Tattler told was fact. Okay, she needed to correct that. At least every story she told was the truth.

  Some reporters did tend to bend the truth a little bit, especially with the articles about those alien babies. Unlike them, Layla was serious about her career.

  Sure, some things about people should be kept private and personal but if you chose to live your life in the spotlight, you set yourself up for the scrutiny of the media and the sheer nosiness of the general public. Privacy was for regular people. Those who didn’t live in the spotlight craved what happened inside it and wanted to know every freaking detail.

  That’s where she came in.

  Working for the Tattler wouldn’t get her nominated for a Pulitzer Prize but she staked her reputation on every piece she wrote. She didn’t tell half-truths, didn’t fudge the data or add a little extra here and there to get the buzz going as others did.

  If what she published couldn’t be backed up with sound, provable facts and absolute proof that couldn’t be denied, she didn’t write it. Sometimes her editor hated her for it but they’d never gotten sued and taken to court over anything she wrote and they never would.

  Every writer she knew wanted a piece of Jordan Gaines. From the Wall Street Journal to TV Guide, they all wanted an interview with him. The man was movie-star gorgeous, young and successful, almost as rich as Donald Trump. However, unlike The Donald, he never granted interviews.

  Ever.

  All they ever got was a press release from his publicist. The public knew next to nothing about him except the rare picture of him dating the newest “it” girl. What they knew was when and how he made his money. And no one ever got inside his million-dollar mansion.

  Except tonight. It was his own fault really. If he weren’t so secretive about who he was and what he did in his personal life, she wouldn’t have to resort to something so desperate. The lack of concrete information made her curious. Heck, it made every reporter on the face of the planet curious.

  Except she was the only one crazy enough to break in his home.

  When Layla stepped
on the driveway leading up to Jordan’s home, she saw headlights coming from the front of the house.

  Shit.

  No one was supposed to be here, damn it. Looking left then right, she realized the one place she could hide was a row of bushes.

  She dove headfirst into the hydrangeas. She hated the outdoors. Any moment she was sure a spider or a snake would smell her warm blood and slide up her pants. It gave her the creeps.

  When she saw the sleek black car, she panicked. Was it Jordan? Was her intel wrong? Had he ruined her front page story by leaving the damn house?

  She sneaked a peak as it drove by and almost laughed when she saw the white lettering on the side of the vehicle—Merry Maids. Thank goodness.

  It wasn’t just the story she was dying to get. Even she could admit a secret thrill of lust tingled up her spine every time she saw Jordan pull up in front of his imposing office building, which sat directly across the street from the Tattler.

  The Gaines Building towered over the moderately sized four-story, red-brick building that housed her paper. It had everything from a coffee shop, a bank, law offices, doctor offices and the conglomerate that was Gaines Enterprises, LLC.

  Because her cubicle was right by the window, she witnessed his daily arrival. She could set her clock to the man arriving every day precisely at 8:45 a.m. in his super-stretch black limo. And he was always impeccably dressed in a designer tailor-made suit in varying shades of brown, black or blue.

  It was definitely a treat to watch him. The man exuded confidence and wore class like a second skin. His long, muscular frame epitomized raw masculine perfection.

  Layla hated to admit she made sure she was at work so she wouldn’t miss seeing him come in each day. It was pathetic actually. But hey, after her last breakup over six months ago, she had to get her eye candy where she could.

  Watching Jordan Gaines was unquestionably mouthwatering eye candy.

  But regrettably, she always saw him from a distance. The thought of possibly seeing him naked, up close and personal tonight produced an ache. Every red-blooded woman alive wondered what he was like in bed and her blood definitely ran hot for the man, even though he did go through women like flour through a sifter.

  Unfortunately, no one ever kissed and told. They probably signed an I-won’t-tell contract before they fucked him.

  Not that she’d ever have a chance to do that. To her he was another story, another scandal to break. Besides, she’d sworn off men for a while after the last fiasco of a relationship she had. From now on, she would use men strictly for sex. Wham, bam, thank you sir, that was her motto. Love didn’t live here anymore.

  On her knees in front of the bushes, she swept her ponytail into her black baseball cap. She stayed low and sprinted along the hedges beside the front yard until she got to the back. There, she needed no cover. His fence was so high, no one could see into the yard.

  She stopped and allowed herself to appreciate the splendor. There was a deck, a hot tub and a pool. What she wouldn’t give to dive in and relax. No time for that though. A garden gazebo with shimmering white curtain panels tied at each corner sat tucked in a corner of the yard.

  Creeping forward, she eased toward the door. A small bit of digging at an alarm system company had turned up that most nights Jordan almost never switched on his alarm but he did lock his doors.

  She reached inside the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small pick, which she inserted into the lock. A tweak to the left and right then back to the left again and she heard the soft click. A little trick she learned from an ex-boyfriend. She said a small prayer, took a big gulp and pulled.

  After sixty seconds passed and she didn’t hear a supersonic blast to her eardrums, she released a sigh of relief. But for all she knew, he had a silent alarm as well. It gave her pause as trepidation tingled down her spine. If she got caught in his house, her life as a free citizen and her career would be over.

  A tiny part of her wanted to snoop around, take pictures. Shots of the inside of his home would solidify her story but again, there was no time for that. She had to find a good place to hide. And since she assumed all his kinky behavior happened in his bedroom, that was the room she needed to find.

  When her cell phone buzzed against her back, she jerked upright and almost sent a vase tumbling to the floor before she caught it. Fingerprints. She wiped them off with her shirt before putting it back down to look at her cell phone.

  It was her editor.

  She knew what he wanted, had heard the rumors swirling around the paper. Someone was getting canned. She needed this story so it wouldn’t be her, which was another reason she was so determined to get the scoop on Jordan Gaines.

  Peripheral shots of a large fireplace, a sixty-inch television, hardwood floors, black granite countertops and luxurious sofas stuck in her head as she headed for the staircase that wound up to the second floor. She peeped in room after room until she knew she’d found his.

  It was amazing.

  A large masculine, mahogany-stained bed sat in the center, anchored by two nightstands. A massive chest of drawers and a dresser sat in opposite corners of the room and a lingering scent of him filled the air.

  Sandalwood and sage. Clean and masculine.

  Her breath caught at the view of the city from the balcony. She wished she had time to stop and enjoy the late-evening spring breeze. But she didn’t. She was on a mission.

  She opened one door and found the bathroom. “To die! Man, this guy really knows how to live.”

  A quick scan of the room with its whirlpool tub and walk-in shower didn’t reveal a good hiding place. Either he or one of his guests might have to use the restroom anyway. Plus there was no shower curtain to hide behind.

  Opening another, she found the perfect spot. His closet. And not just any closet. It was a room a sane woman would kill for. It had shelves, cubby holes, drawers and spaces to hang everything imaginable in a person’s wardrobe. The man had more clothes than a large department store.

  Because of all the area, this space provided the perfect hiding spot and there was even a quaint little stool to park her tush. Even if he came in the closet, she could tuck herself behind a rack of clothes or slip inside one of the other doors. She smiled.

  Hopefully he’d be so involved in getting down and dirty into kinky sex, he’d drop his clothes where he was standing and not bother with the closet. She pulled the little chair up to the door, cracked it open an inch and sat down to wait.

  Less than an hour later, she heard…something.

  A soft whoosh. But that didn’t fit quite right. She peeped out the door and saw something flash in the sky out of the corner of her eye and turned her head. She squinted. It looked like a large ball of fire.

  “What the hell?”

  It was moving.

  Fast and close.

  “Shit.”

  The next thing she knew, a ball of flames dropped right on the balcony. But it didn’t look dangerous. It was dazzling. Majestic, even. Brilliant shades of crimson and gold made her fingers itch to reach out and see if it would be hot to the touch. Were those wings? Almost immediately, the shimmer of light began to shift and change. Her eyes widened as it disappeared.

  Layla slid forward off the stoop and blinked. “Oh my…”

  In place of the brilliant, shimmering fire stood Jordan Gaines, splendidly naked.

  She inched closer to the door. “What the hell?” she whispered.

  He stepped inside the French doors and stretched. Every inch of his body seemed to ripple as the radiant shades of red and gold slowly slid away, almost melding to his skin to reveal corded sinew and muscle.

  Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders to his well-defined bare chest, which had a sprinkling of dark, silky hair. His abs, a perfect six-pack, led to a thatch of curls around a magnificent, even though not aroused, penis.

  Her tongue snaked out and licked over her dry bottom lip. My, my, my. She knew it. He was absolutely gorgeous, ever
ything she imagined and more. She wanted to jump out of the closet, attack him and see how long it would take to make him aroused with a few delicate swipes of her tongue.

  Okay Layla, this is not what you’re here for.

  She was supposed to catch him in an illicit sex scandal, not become a part of it. But, shit. Did she just stumble upon the biggest story…like…ever? Was this the reason Jordan Gaines was so aloof, so secretive?

  Because he was a…hell, she didn’t know what he was.

  Chapter Two

  Jordan stretched his muscles and waited for the tingle of cool fire to seep out of his system. It had been a long flight from Seattle and he was glad to be home and back in his human form. He wanted to take a shower, relax and drink a cold beer.

  He walked naked across the stretch of plush, carpeted floor to his bathroom and scrubbed his hands over his face. The endless round of meetings seemed tedious this time. He hadn’t been able to focus for some reason and he still couldn’t figure out why.

  At the door, he stopped and swiveled, tilted his face upward and sniffed.

  Surely not, he thought and glanced around. But he definitely smelled a faint trace of wild cherry. It was a woman’s scent but that was impossible because he never—ever—brought women into his home, his sanctuary. The only place he could truly be himself. Even the cleaning service he used twice a month sent a man.

  Then he heard it, the slow, shallow breathing. His gaze darted around the room, lingered on his closet door. He began to move forward but had a thought and turned instead to the security alarm panel on the wall inside the entrance to his bedroom.

  Even though he rarely used the system, he’d had several panels installed inside the house so he could initiate it from different places if he needed to. It saved him from having to walk into the kitchen by the garage door every night before he went to bed.

  This instant, he knew he’d made the right decision in case the person hiding in his home tried to make an escape.

  After he keyed in his code, he slowly stepped toward the closet. Had someone really been stupid enough to break into his home? Were they still there? As he glanced around his bedroom again, he didn’t see anything out of place, nor did he see any items missing but that meant nothing if the motive wasn’t burglary.