Darkfire Kiss by Deborah Cooke

she said, her tone decisive. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d not only taken a chance to shower, but that she’d tugged on her favorite cashmere sweater. The deep purple hue was a good one for her. That she’d put on the freshwater pearl earrings her brother and his wife had given her for Christmas was a bonus.
    She could thank Mr. Conscience for making her feel good enough to make the effort.
    Or the prospect of his return making her want to look her best.
    Melissa used her computer’s camera to take a shot of herself, cropped and resized it, and e-mailed it to Doug with a click of the mouse.
    “No makeup,” she said into the silence. “That’s as bad as it gets.”
    “You look good,” Doug said, his relief clear. “A bit thinner, but good. The camera loves thin, anyway. How are you feeling?”
    Melissa ensured that her tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I’m all clear and ready to get back in the game. I just need my chance.”
    There was one beat of hesitation before Doug spoke. “Get me the pictures. In the meantime, I’ll talk to some people, see what I can do. You were damn good. I could use more good reporters.”
    Doug could make this happen, and Melissa knew it. He had an instinct for news and a talent for timely production that gave him cachet at the network. The ratings of the broadcast he produced were consistently higher than those of any other show. If he argued for her to have a job, she’d probably get one.
    “Worst case, the lump sum,” he said, his tone growing warmer with every word. He’d made up his mind. “But I’ll throw my weight behind the job idea.”
    There was a solid knock at Melissa’s door, a knock so resolute that she had a pretty good idea who was on her porch. Her heart leapt.
    He’d come back.
    “So, do we have a deal?” Doug asked.
    Melissa was staring at the door. Her mouth went dry as she rose to her feet. There was another knock, a more impatient one. A bead of sweat rose on her upper lip, and she licked it away, tasting salt, just as the third heavy knock fell.
    Before she could end the call, wood tore and steel bent. She gasped as her door was kicked into the foyer in pieces. It fell heavily, leaving a cloud of dust.
    “You can get the pictures, can’t you?” Doug asked, obviously misunderstanding the reason for her hesitation.
    Mr. Conscience had come, just as she’d expected. He stepped over the threshold of Melissa’s house into the debris of the foyer, looking every bit as delicious as he had the night before—an ethics cop with a mission. His gaze flicked over the living room.
    And locked on her. His eyes brightened, and he took a step closer, his anger and determination making Melissa’s knees weaken.
    “Oh no,” Melissa whispered.
    He glared at her, emanating hostility, and all she could think of was the way he had pleasured her the night before. There were better things they could do with all that passion than fight. For the second time in short order, she was glad to be looking her best.
    “What do you mean? Can’t you get more dragon pictures?” Doug demanded.
    Montmorency’s blue leather book was in her lover’s left hand. Melissa clutched the phone more tightly, anticipating that he wouldn’t give up the book without a fight.
    Or a negotiation. He glared at her, although she didn’t know what might have put him in a worse mood in the last five seconds.
    “Of course I can,” she said to Doug with new confidence. “Maybe even today.”
    “I look forward to it,” Doug said; then he was gone, the dial tone echoing in Melissa’s ear.
    Her uninvited guest stared at her, seeming not even to blink, but she already knew that he wasn’t inclined to hurt her. She had to hope that she didn’t change his mind. There was a shadow behind him, another guy with blond dreadlocks, but Melissa didn’t care if he’d brought a friend.
    Her business was with him, and that book.
    “I was hoping you’d come back,” she said,