Dark Taste of Rapture

A New York Times and USA Today best seller!

New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter captivates with a dark, tantalizing world of humans, otherworlders, and a powerful AIR agent consumed by his desire for a woman he can never have. . . .

With one caress, he can give unforgettable pleasure…or unending pain...

Hector Dean is shaved, tattooed, and totally ripped -- and he has a deadly secret.  He is a walking weapon, capable of killing with a single brush of his fingertips.  Little wonder he’s determined to remain on his own.  But Noelle Tremain is a temptation like no other.  She is beautiful and rich, with a party girl smile that hides a shocking vulnerability, and from the beginning his sizzling attraction to her is undeniable.  For the first time, his stone-cold resistance is tested.  But to be with her, he risks destroying her.    

When a wealthy businessman is murdered in New Chicago’s seediest district, the two are partnered, and there’s no escaping what they both want: each other.  Yet neither Hector nor Noelle knows what to fear more—the killer case, or their own lethal desires. . . .

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To read a deleted scene from Dallas's point of view, go here!

An excerpt:  

     They turned a corner.  A split second later, Hector slammed his shoulder into hers, shoving her into a shadowed brick wall in an abandoned alley.  Gasping in astonishment, the touch catching her off guard, she lost her hold on the box of candy.  Splat.  The bottom busted and the contents spilled out onto dirty concrete. 

     Oh, gross.  There went Ava’s surprise.  “Hey!  That was uncalled for, you—”

     A growling Hector got in her face, putting them nose-to-nose.  He glared down at her as the heat of his breath fanned against her, caressing her despite his obvious anger.  “You should be kicked out for this little adventure.  If I had my way, you would be kicked out, effective immediately.”

       And I should knee you in the balls.  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she snapped, keeping her knee to herself.  She hadn’t been this close to a man in a long time.  And that the one so close to her was Hector, a brute who shouldn’t appeal to her but did . . . her stomach fluttered with hot flames of arousal.  Her nipples tightened beneath the fabric of her bra, abrading deliciously.

     He pressed closer to her, caging her completely.           

      Suddenly she had trouble catching her breath.  Hector was the epitome of danger, a man who saved the day and demanded his due.  A man who took what he wanted, d*** the consequences. 

     What would he taste like?  How would his strong body feel moving on—in—hers?

     His pupils flared, black overshadowing gold.  Had she somehow given her thoughts away? 

     “You disobeyed orders, Noelle.  You put the entire camp in jeopardy.  How is that not doing anything wrong?”

     A spark of anger ignited, burning away the fear but somehow increasing the arousal.  “I get the order thing, but how did I jeopardize the camp?”  I want to bite him.  Claw him.  The good kind of biting and clawing.

     “What if an enemy had seen you exit that hatch?  He could next blow up the buildings around it, then sneak through the tunnel, no one the wiser, everyone too consumed with the outside chaos.  Should I go on?”

     The anger drained, a guilty flush heating her cheeks.  I want him to bite and claw me.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. 

    He slapped his hands at her temples and pressed the rest of the way in, his lower body brushing against hers.  For the second time in her life, she felt small and feminine.  “You play the role of airhead d*** well, but I’ve got your number now, honey.”

     Panic momentarily overshadowed her desire and guilt.  “And what’s my number?”  He couldn’t know.  He just couldn’t.  She didn’t want him to know.  “One eight hundred LOVE BUNNY?”

     She’d always taken a perverse kind of pleasure in throwing fuel on the she’s so silly expectation.  And yes, that pleasure was a double-edged sword because no one ever saw the real Noelle.  No one ever experienced pride for her or in her.  No one ever laughed with her.  Always they laughed at her.

     Time and time again, she could have proven everyone wrong, could have laughed at them.  One thought had always stopped her: What if they didn’t like the real Noelle, either?

     What if Hector had learned all about her, as he claimed, but found her lacking anyway?

     “The others think you lucked out tonight,” he said on a ragged exhalation, “but in all the years of camp, you’re the only trainee to ever successfully sneak away.  I think you knew to look for that hatch.  I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

     He suspected, but he didn’t know.  Part of her was relieved.  The other part of her was disappointed.  “Poor Hector, thinking he’s right when he’s so obviously wrong.  Didn’t Jaxon tell you all about my life choices?  About how childish I am, how frivolous.  Of course I didn’t know what I was doing.  I dropped a bracelet and crawled to get it.”  A high-pitched giggle.  “That’s how I found the hatch.”

     His eyelids slitted, the long length of his lashes fusing together.  Such pretty lashes, she mused.  Better suited for a woman, and yet, they were gorgeous on him.  Perfect.

      “Jaxon didn’t tell us s***.  We like to form our own opinions.  And you didn’t bring any bracelets to camp.  Try again.”

     Double shocker.  Jaxon had kept his mouth closed, and Hector had noticed her lack of jewelry.  That meant he’d paid attention, studied her.  I just plain want him.  Really, truly want him.

     “My big, bad instructor thinks he’s got me all figured out, huh?”  She’d meant to taunt him.  The huskiness of her voice merely revealed a lingering craving for him.  She’d probably been on low simmer for him since the moment she’d met him. 

     Probably?  Ha!  She just hadn’t recognized the signs properly.  Now . . . there was no denying what she felt.

     Ava would want me to have him, she told herself.  Dibs or no dibs. 

     “Whatever you’re thinking,” he snapped, “stop.” 

     The truth slipped from her on a whisper, a deliberate provocation.  “Stop thinking about what we could be doing right now?  Stop waiting for you to bend down and feed me your tongue?” 

     “S***,” he cursed quietly, punching the wall with a hard fist.  Dust plumed.  “Don’t talk like that.”

     “Like what?”  Hector . . . close . . . tonguing her . . . Unable to stop herself, Noelle blatantly arched her hips and rubbed her core against him.  A moan left her.  Sweet insanity, he had an erection.

     “Like I’m already inside you.”  A groan—but he didn’t pull away from her.

     “Well, if you don’t want to be, all you have to do is resist me,” she taunted.  Have to kiss him . . .  She slid her hands up his chest, his muscles jolting in greeting.  Heat radiated from him, wrapping around her.  Still he didn’t pull away.  “Are you scared I might get to you?”

     His breath shallowed, sawing in and out of his nose, and his gaze lowered to her mouth.  “Scared,” he parroted, as though in a trance.

      Doubtful.  Nothing would scare the intractable Hector, she would bet.  “Give me a taste, then, and we’ll both walk away happy,” she said, licking her lips, playing along.  “There’s nothing scary about that.”

     “A taste, yes.”

     They met in the middle.