Must Love Hellhounds

was an erotic fantasy come to life. Small, curvy, perfect. Gleaming coffee-and-cream skin, hair that probably fell to her waist when released from that tight braid, and brown eyes so big they saw right through him.
    This was not the woman Simon had described as his “sensible successor.” That made her sound about as interesting as shoe leather. It didn’t even hint at the power beneath the surface, the strength in that backbone. He’d met her only a couple of hours ago, and already he knew she could bust balls with the best of them.
    The woman would make a perfect Guild Director.
    Which meant he should keep his hands, and his thoughts, to himself. No sucking on sexy Sara’s neck. Or other parts of her body. The office of Guild Director was a necessarily public one. Deacon didn’t do public.
    “But she’s not director yet.” He tapped a finger on one jean-covered thigh, his eye on the bed.
    He wanted Sara. And he didn’t want lightly. But seducing her wasn’t on the agenda.
    “Keep her safe. She won’t accept a bodyguard, but you can accomplish the same thing by keeping her with you on the hunt.”
    “I work alone.”
    Simon’s face was granite. “Tough. She’s one of my best hunters—she won’t slow you down.”
    “If she’s one of the best, why does she need babysitting?”
    “Because the Cadre knows she’s my chosen successor. I wouldn’t put it past certain archangels to ‘test’ her.”
    Deacon raised an eyebrow. “Were you tested?”
    “They almost killed me.” Blunt words. “It’s tough to win against five old vamps on your own. I survived only because I happened to be with my wife at the time. Two pissed-off hunters against five vamps is much better odds.”
    So here he sat, listening to water cascade in the bathroom as he fantasized about kissing a slow path down Sara’s body. It wasn’t doing anything to lessen his arousal. And if she walked out to find him hard as fucking stone, he knew damn well he’d be spending the night in the corridor outside.
    That, he couldn’t chance—he had to keep her in sight. Simon had been very clear about that. If the archangels planned to test her, they’d do it when they thought her vulnerable. So he’d make sure she never was. Shoving a hand through his hair, he got up and checked the room. It was fairly secure. No outside windows—claustrophobic but safe, no entrances or exits aside from the door—which he jammed shut with a special tool of his own making, and no vents large enough for anything to get through.
    By the time Sara exited the shower wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe, rubbing at her hair with a matching towel, he was confident enough of her safety to go have his own shower. A freezing one. “Christ.” He gritted his teeth and bore the onslaught. Pleasing his cock wasn’t as important as ensuring that the Guild went on.
    He’d asked Simon about that. Why would the archangels potentially sabotage an organization that made their lives a hell of a lot easier?
    “It’s a game,” Simon had said. “They need us, but they’ll never allow us to forget that they’re the more powerful. Attacking me, attacking Sara, isn’t about stopping the Guild—it’s about reminding us the Cadre is watching.”
     
     
     
    Sara heard the water come on and quickly finished drying her hair before picking up her cell. She had no idea what time zone Ellie was in, but her best friend answered after a single ring.
    “Sara,” she said, “do you know what a skill it is to wrap three-feet-tall porcelain vases so they don’t break in transit? And I did it! These gorgeous babies don’t have a scratch on them. Genius, thy name is Elena.”
    “Do I even ask?”
    “They were a gift.” Ellie sounded delighted. “They’ll look perfect in my living room. Or maybe one in the bedroom, one in the living room.”
    Ellie’s preoccupation with her décor struck a familiar chord in Sara. Hunters made nests. It was a response to the fact that they spent so much time on the road, and in the gutter. Sara was worse than most—she loved her parents but they were feckless hippies at best. She’d gone to ten different schools by the time she was seven. A solid, stable home was as necessary to her as breathing. “Can’t wait to see them.”
    “You sound funny.”
    “I met the Slayer.”
    A pause. “No shit.” The whistle was a long one. “Scary?”
    “Oh yeah. Built like a tank.” If Deacon ever came after her, she’d have to make sure he