Devil May Care

They were the baddest of the bad, the illegitimate sons and daughters of Satan, who had managed to make love, raise hell, and milk life in a manner worthy of their heritage. Until the day the devil himself needs to name his heir…

The mission? Each sibling must complete a task that is designed to stretch him or her to the limit. The prize? The Keys To Hell. The problem? Four mortals equally determined to ensure that the the Devil’s children fail…

So who will the next ruler of Sin City be? 

Raising Hell by Julie Kenner


As the second son of Satan, Nicholas Velnias is certain he has no chance of stepping into his father’s shoes. But when his older brother fails to win the keys to hell, Nick is suddenly the favored son. And the task to prove his worth is so simple he knows that he can’t fail—all he has to do is steal the soul of a woman. How hard can that be? After all, Nick steals bits of soul every day, infusing them into canvas and pigment to add that panache to the masterpieces that have brought him fame and fortune.

But when Nick meets Delilah Burnett, the innocent daughter of a preacher who’s bad for the devil’s business, all hell breaks lose. Because while Nick may have set out to steal the girl’s soul, in the end she’s the one who steals his heart.

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Lila fidgeted on her stool, unnerved by how much she’d revealed to this man. He probably thought she was an idiot, the way she’d blathered on and on. There was something about him, though. Something that drew her in and, apparently, affected her as potently as a few strong drinks.

Lord knew, he loosened her tongue. Not to mention that his mere proximity left her feeling warm and decadent. Itchy, even, but in a wholly sensual way. Like she might die if he didn’t scratch the itch… and she might melt if he did.

“So will you?” she asked, shaking off the languor in her bones. “Will you sketch me now?”

He leaned back, his silver-gray eyes examining her with an almost feral intensity as he looked her up, then down. She tried to sit still, but couldn’t quite manage. The heat of his gaze was so intense it might have been a caress, and her nipples peaked under his scrutiny, raising hard nubs under the soft Lycra of her top. Instinctively, she started to cross her arms over her chest, but fought the urge, keeping them at her sides, and feeling more exposed—and more turned on—than she ever had in her life.

His inspection finished, he met her eyes, the corner of his mouth curving up into a silent smile. He turned away, saying nothing, then took a quick sip of his scotch. He reached for two cocktail napkins, pulled them close, then patted his mouth with one.

Honestly, she wanted to scream. “Well?” she demanded, forcing her voice to remain calm and steady.

“Of course I’ll sketch you,” he said. He met her eyes, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “In fact, at the moment I can think of only one thing I’d like to do more.”

“Oh.” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “What’s that?”

One beat, then another. Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm so intense she was certain everyone in the bar could hear it.

And then, just when she was certain he wasn’t going to answer, he traced the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb, then leaned close. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed her hair, and his voice was a whisper against her ear, sending shivers trilling down her spine. “The only thing I want more than to sketch you,” he murmured, “is to paint you.”

Lila exhaled, her eyes still closed, her body burning from the remnants of his breath caressing her skin. That hadn’t been the response she’d expected. But somehow his words were all the more erotic, holding a promise of things more decadent and revealing than mere sex.

“Shall I?” he asked.

And then, opening her eyes to look at him, she nodded.

He grinned and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket to produce a stick of charcoal

She lifted an eyebrow and he shrugged. “Accountants carry calculators,” he said. “It’s not that surprising.”

“Do you have a pad in there, too?”

He drew the napkin closer. “No need. Now sit quietly,” he directed. “And watch me.”

He cupped her face, tilting her head just slightly, then urged her hand up until she found herself resting her chin on her fist, watching him from this posed position. And watching the image of herself come to life on the tiny cocktail napkin.

He started with a sweep of the charcoal. One line that seemed to have no connection to her at all. No connection, that is, except for the smoldering way that he looked at her. A smoky gaze that seemed reflected in the smudged charcoal image emerging on the paper.

The curve of her jaw. Then the line of her neck. A flick of his wrist and the tendrils of her hair seemed to materialize from so many lines on the paper. And then, most miraculously of all, he caught the expression in her eyes. And, seeing that, she knew that he could never doubt that she’d agree to be painted. Because her expression was rapturous. And she knew the truth of what he’d sketched. Because with every piercing look—with every sure stroke of the charcoal—Lila realized that she couldn’t walk away without letting him paint her. His scrutiny made her feel both alive and unique. And even if she never did another bit of modeling, the portrait he’d create would fulfill her fantasies. More, Nicholas Velnias would be giving her the chance at immortality. And, really, what girl could say no to that?

Hell Fire by Dee Davis


Marcus Diablo is the third son of Satan. Starting his immortal life as El Diablo, a black-hearted pirate to rival them all, he prefers living on the edge. But modern day life has been a bit dull, so when Daddy Dearest pops in with the news that the Keys to Hell are up for grabs, he accepts his father’s quest. Bring back the Devil’s Delight and the entire underworld is his -- lock, stock and fiery brimstone.

Celeste Abbot has spent her life helping her father amass an exquisite private collection of some of the world’s most sought after items. Traveling around the world, jockeying for position with other treasure hunters, she’s fought for and won things that many people aren’t even convinced existed. But one treasure has remained elusive. A perfect ruby known as the Devil’s Delight.

Only one thing stands in her way. A green-eyed blast from her past who also seeks the stone, and will stop at nothing to get it. And to make matters worse, the devilish man once stole her heart. As Celeste and Marcus are thrown together again, the forces of good and evil collide in an all out battle of the sexes. Because when a devil meets and angel—all hell breaks loose.

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“Looking for something?” The lazy heat of his voice twined around Celeste Abbot like a cat or a lover, probably a bit of both.

“I should have known.” She turned the flashlight toward the sound of the voice, almost expecting to find it empty. The man was a shadow. “How long have you been here?”

“Just long enough to secure the journal.” Marcus Diablo smiled, his green eyes glittering in the light.

“So why wait for me?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it. Or deny it.

“I need your help.”

“You mean my father’s help.”

He shrugged, his smile potent. “It’s all the same, isn’t it?”

There was an insult in there, she was certain of it, but somehow he had a way of sugar coating the knife. But at least he was being honest with her. Unlike the last time. “Let me have the journal.” She held out her hand, her gaze locking with his.

“I hardly think that’s likely. After all, the last time we were together, you didn’t exactly wait around for me.”

The last time they were together was a moment she tried very hard not to dwell on. “What was I supposed to do? Hand the Degas over to you on a silver platter? You seduced me in the hopes that I’d tell you where it was.”

“I seduced you because I wanted to.” Somehow they’d shifted positions, standing only inches apart. “The Degas was a bonus. Besides, seduction is a two way street.”

“A lane and a boulevard, maybe. They’re hardly the same thing.” They were breathing in tandem now. She could see the muscles in his chest bunch with each inhalation.

“But a perfect fit, no?” His teeth were white in the shadows.

She shook her head, fighting for clarity. He was doing it again. Seducing her. And she’d sworn never to let that happen again. Once had been enough.

Okay maybe that part was a lie. But wonderful things could still be dangerous.

“I want the journal. It’s my father’s life work to find the Devil’s Delight. You know that. This isn’t the same as a painting or a statue.”

“It’s his heart’s desire. Yes, I know.” His frown held a hint of disapproval. “Unfortunately, I have a client who desires it as well.”

“And your client trumps my father?” She inched forward, still holding his gaze.

“In this case,” his expression changed, his face hardening like one of the marbles he so often procured, “yes. My client trumps everyone.”

“I don’t think so.” With lightening speed honed from years of practice, she grabbed the journal and pivoted to run, her emotions tumbling between regret and elation. To her credit, she made it as far as the sacristy door.

“Going somewhere?” His body pinned hers to the wall, every hard muscle pressing into her flesh with the searing precision of a carved relief, two halves that were ordained to fit together.

“Let me go.” She started to struggle, then stopped, the motion causing far more damage to her senses than simply holding still.

“Why?” His smile was crooked. “This is much more fun.” He dipped his head, his lips brushing against hers. It was meant as a tease, but something in his touch ignited a fire inside her, and without thinking she responded, letting passion carry her away, his remembered smell and taste combining into a potent aphrodisiac.

There’d never been anything wrong with his kisses, each thrust and stroke calculated to bring pleasure.


The word rang through her head. Gathering her wits, she pushed back, but she was too late. He’d already retrieved the journal. “You son of a bitch.” She swung her hand, intent on knocking the smirk from his face, but he caught her wrist, still smiling.

“Come on, Celeste,” he said, holding her firmly now, “no name calling. It isn’t ladylike.”

“Well, I’m not a lady,” she responded, immediately regretting her words when she saw the glint in his eye.

“Believe me,” he leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek, “I’m more than aware of that fact.”

Sure As Hell by Julie Kenner


They were the baddest of the bad, the illegitimate sons and daughters of Satan, who had managed to make love, raise hell, and milk life in a manner worthy of their heritage. Until the day the devil himself needs to name his heir apparent. So who will the next ruler of Sin City be? 

As the eldest child of Satan, Lucia is used to being Daddy’s princess. And she’s played that role faithfully throughout the years, being the only one of the devil’s children who has worked full-time in the family’s devilish business. As an assassin, Lucia is top-notch, but lately she’s been faltering, and when her father comes to her with a proposition—pull off one last job and move up the corporate ladder to take over all of Hell … well, that’s an offer that Lucia can’t refuse. More than that, how can she fail? Because even despite her declining enthusiasm, Lucia is the best of the best.

But when Lucia meets Dante Moreau, the deliciously sexy son of her intended target, things get a bit more complicated. Now Lucia has to decide between dancing with the devil … or following her heart.

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Lucia was having fun.

There was, quite simply, no other way to describe it.
And while the emotion didn’t exactly disturb her, the ramifications did. After all, she needed to be at her best if she was going to pull off this assignment. Distractions—especially of a sexual nature—would simply not do.

And yet…

And yet she couldn’t bring herself to walk away from this man.
There was something about his laugh. Something about the way he
was willing to put himself on the line for her. The wager. The banter. All of it delighted her. And, yes, all of it excited her.

And when he’d suggested room service rather than a five-star restaurant … well, honestly, the mere thought of being alone with this man in a room was almost more than she could stand. And after several millennia, Lucia had withstood a lot.

“Well?” He was looking at her, the query in his eyes as intent as the need she saw there. She recognized it, absorbed it, and reflected it right back at him.

More than that, though, she realized suddenly that he didn’t know her name any more than she knew his. The realization sent shock waves of relief and lust coursing through her. Anonymity meant freedom, and with this man she wanted the freedom to do anything.

And why not? Wasn’t she under the absolute worst kind of job stress? She needed a little stress relief. Not only that, she deserved it.

“Absolutely,” she said, unable to hide her smile. “Room service sounds positively delicious.”

His return smile matched hers, and that was all the response she needed to know that she’d made the right decision. After all, this was not a situation where she would be forced to try to complete her task with a clinging male dogging her every move. This man wanted exactly what she wanted—a quick fling. And the freedom to then move on.

“Your room or mine?” she asked, which broke her rule of never inviting a man to her room. But she was already breaking her rule of never seducing a man while on an assignment—unless he was part of the assignment—so she decided one more rule shattered wouldn’t hurt. Besides, the room wasn’t listed under her real name—or, at least, not under the surname she’d been using for the last dozen or so years.

Still, the fact that she’d so cavalierly offered made her uneasy, and she was about to rescind when he resolved the issue for her.

“Our room,” he said, holding up his winnings with one hand while slipping his free arm around her waist and pulling her close.

“Ours?” The word sounded weak, and she had only his touch to blame. The man had already turned her ignition up high. The added heat generated as he pulled her close set her near to combusting.

He urged them forward. “Come with me, Mrs. Smith.”

She kept in step with him, fighting a smile, because she had never once bowed to convention and checked in to a hotel with a man under an assumed name. With this man, though, the idea seemed not only brilliant, but erotic. And full promise.

They strolled through the casino toward the hotel registration desk, his thumb grazing her back, bare from the halter that tied at her neck and waist. Every few strokes, the tip of his thumb would ease below the waistband of her skirt, and each time it did, Lucia wanted to moan and beg.

She didn’t show it, though. She prided herself on that. The intense lust was under the surface, as was his. He kept up the playful banter as they walked, his tempting finger the only clue that his mind was on a more decadent form of play.

The dichotomy was overwhelmingly erotic, and by the time they reached the front desk, she knew her panties were soaked. One touch, and she would surely come right there.

Considering her desperate straits, the five-star service was much appreciated. She’d been in many hotels, but never in her life had she seen a hotel staff scurry so fast. This staff did, and all her companion had to do was ask. In less than five minutes, Mr. and Mrs. John Smith were booked into an executive suite on the twenty-fifth floor.

She clasped his hand, practically dragging him to the elevators with a ferocity born of a need that she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Had she ever felt this way about a man? This desperate? This out of control?

Lucia was no stranger to lust. To wild passion and physical abandon. She was, after all, her father’s daughter. But the hard-hitting drive of pure sex—while decadently wonderful—had an edge to it unlike what she felt with this man. With him, she wanted… what?

She didn’t know, and she told herself that there was nothing else to it. She wanted sex. That was all.

Sex. Abandon. To lose herself in this man and in this few hours of freedom before she threw herself hard and heavy into her final assignment.

She told herself all of that, and yet she didn’t quite believe it. Still, the truth hardly mattered at the moment, when all she wanted to feel was the press of his skin against hers, and as they moved toward the elevator bank, she barely even noticed the surroundings, the warm gold and dazzling gemstones little more than reflections of her own vibrant emotions.

The mirrored elevator doors reflected their approach—and her need. She could see it in her own eyes, and saw it equally matched in his. And it was that glimpse into the depths of his own desperation that convinced her that she was right to simply go with this. Tomorrow, she could be Lucia again. Tonight, she would lose herself in the heat of anonymity.


Jezebel Wyatt is the second of the Devil’s daughters. An Immortal with a gift for acquiring information, she has survived the centuries using her unique talent to obtain and sell crucial secrets to whomever offers the greatest prize. For Jessie, it’s only a game. Winner take everything. So when her father appears with the deal of all deals—steal the Protector of Armageddon—she accepts. But she knows she needs help, and the best alternative is also the worst—her ex-lover—David Bishop.

International operative David Bishop is obsessed with finding the Protector, and through it the man who killed his brother. The only time he’s ever been distracted from his quest was the time he spent in Jessie Wyatt’s bed. An ice cold siren with a red hot core, David isn’t sure he can trust her—even though she’s offering a partnership that would give them both what they desire. 

With Jessie’s ability to acquire information, and David’s uncanny knack for getting into and out of tight situations, they seem to have everything they need. But as the forces of evil mount, Jessie and David must face their past as well as their darkest demons. And together they’ll learn that only by relinquishing everything can they hope to fulfill the promise of love.

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Jessie cursed her own vulnerability. If time had taught her anything at all, it was that nothing was worth opening her heart. And even if there were something out there – it wasn’t David Bishop. She’d already been on that ride and the thrill was overrated. The cost too damn high. She’d spent the last couple of years trying to exorcise him from her system. Apparently without any success at all.

She told herself that it was just proximity. Sensory memory or something equally inane. Pheromones always seemed to have a mind of their own. But it was hard to ignore the real fear she’d felt when she’d found him cornered in Lewisham.

In all truth, it was a new and powerful emotion. An immortal didn’t really experience a whole lot of fear – and considering she’d been hung, poisoned, and shot to death on three separate occasions – she was more immune to the feeling than most. Basically, from her point of view, death was a less than frightening experience.

Except when it was happening to David.

Even with Henri, the only other man who’d managed to penetrate her shell, she’d never felt such raw, physical anguish. And she’d watched him die. At the time she’d mourned Henri’s loss, her pain real, but it had been nothing like the stark desperation she’d felt upon walking in on David at Iverson’s.

She glanced over at him, sitting in the plane seat next to her. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. Obviously he’d taken the adventure in stride. In fact, he’d managed to act as if nothing of importance had happened at all.

Of course there was the little fact that Iverson had quite possibly known the location of the Protector. Her father wouldn’t be to happy when he discovered she’d saved a mortal and in doing so had lost the key to the quest. But then she didn’t have to tell her father.

“Having a little bit of trouble, are you?” The monitor embedded in the seatback sprang to life, her father’s head sort of bobbing in place against the dark blue background.

“What are you doing here?” Jessie whispered, shooting a sideways glance at David and the passengers across the way. Thank God for first class – she’d learned along time ago that people with money tend to tune out everything around them. The epitome of turning a blind eye.

“Just checking on your progress.” Her father’s smile was jaunty, but his black eyes were not amused. “I see you’ve picked up the garbage.” For reasons Jessie had never really understood, her father had reacted almost as violently to her liaison with David Bishop as she had. Practically ordering her to stop seeing the man.

But Jessie had never listened to anyone. Particularly her father. And of course the irony was, he’d been absolutely right.

“I told you I need his help.”

“Blast and damn, girl. You don’t need anyone’s help,” her father thundered. Fortunately, no one but her could hear him. “Especially not a mortal. What do they know?”

“Well, this one is an expert on the Protector of Armageddon, remember? And if you want me to find the damn thing, I’m going to need his help.”

“I assumed you’d simply use your gift – after all that’s what gives you the upper hand in finding things, am I right?” His smile this time was genuine. Her father liked it when she played by his rules.

“I tried. More than once as a matter of fact.” Since she was a tiny girl, Jessie had been able to see things, visualize who exactly held the information she needed. Sometimes it was quick and to the point, sometimes it was so vague it took her weeks to work it out, but always it was ultimately on target.

Except with the Protector. She’d tried to find it years ago – for David. And she’d been trying now – for her father. With absolutely no success at all – except that’d she’d managed to locate David, and stop him from being killed.

“I’m blocked. Or the box is protected in some way. Long and short of it is, that if I’m going to find it, I’m going to need help, and David’s been hunting the thing for years. He’s my best shot.”

“Well, I’d think the very fact that he hasn’t found it, would mean just the opposite, but who am to question your choices. I’ll just believe in your resourcefulness, and remind you how much is hanging in the balance here, for you – and for me.” Leave it to her father to make it all about him.

“I’ll get the box, Daddy. I promise. But no more popping in to see how I’m doing. You owe me that much.”

For a moment, her father’s frown seemed to reach out from the monitor, his eyes shooting flames, but then with a sigh, he capitulated. “Fine. Have it your way.”

It was an old battle. “I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’d think the last few centuries would have more than proved the fact. ”

“What can I say?” her father’s head bobbed, “I’m your father. I worry.”

“And the moon is made of green cheese.” She started to laugh, but swallowed it, worried that David would wake to find her father ensconced in the little monitor. “Look, Daddy, I learned my lesson. Relationships can’t work. Not for someone like me. So I’ll handle this – without your interference.”

She waited as her father digested the information.

“I’ll have your word.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head. “If you can’t give me that, then I won’t even try to find the box. You can take your request to Lola.” She knew he couldn’t, her little sister was capable of a lot. Wrecking havoc among men being chief of the list. But she wouldn’t be able to find the Protector.

“I gave you the quest. And I guess I’ll just have to trust that you know how best to find the box.”It wasn’t a glowing endorsement, but considering this was the devil, she’d take it.

Devil May Care Series

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