Date With a Devil Read online

  ENJOY THE DEVILISH TOUCH OF THESE THREE BESTSELLING AUTHORS

  Anne Stuart

  “Anne Stuart delivers exciting stuff….”

  —Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Anne Stuart is an expert craftsman.”

  —Romantic Times

  Cherry Adair

  “One of the reigning queens of romantic adventure.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Adair’s captivating storytelling sizzles with tension.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  Muriel Jensen

  “Muriel Jensen has a flair for blending humor and romance.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Muriel Jensen has a definite skill for penning heartwarming, humorous tales destined to remain favorites….”

  —Romantic Times

  Anne Stuart has written over sixty novels in her more than twenty-five years as a writer. She has won every major award in the business, including three RITA® Awards from Romance Writers of America, as well as their Lifetime Achievement Award. Anne’s books continue to make national and chain bestseller lists, and she has been quoted in People, USA TODAY and Vogue. When she’s not writing or traveling around the country speaking to various writers’ groups, she can be found at her home in northern Vermont with her husband and two children.

  USA TODAY bestselling author Cherry Adair took nearly ten years to become an overnight success. Before deciding to channel her creativity into writing hot, steamy love scenes and nail-chewing, action-packed suspense full-time, Cherry owned an interior design business. She lives in western Washington dreaming up ways to torture her characters to make them find love. In addition to being a multiple RITA® Award finalist and having one of her books voted one of the Romance Writers of America’s Top Ten Favorite Books of the Year, Cherry has won dozens of awards for her action-adventure novels.

  Muriel Jensen is the award-winning author of over seventy books that tug at readers’ hearts. She has won a Reviewer’s Choice Award and a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine, as well as a sales award from Waldenbooks. Muriel is best loved for her books about family, a subject she knows well, as she has three children and eight grandchildren. A native of Massachusetts, Muriel now lives with her husband in Oregon.

  Date with a Devil

  Anne Stuart

  Cherry Adair

  Muriel Jensen

  CONTENTS

  BLIND DATE FROM HELL

  Anne Stuart

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

  Cherry Adair

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  HAL AND DAMNATION

  Muriel Jensen

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  BLIND DATE FROM HELL

  Anne Stuart

  CHAPTER ONE

  GIDEON RAN HIS FINGERS over the piano keys, his mind only half on his task. As far as hell went, he’d been in worse ones. The three hundred and forty-seventh level wasn’t bad at all, and his assignments weren’t particularly onerous. He spent his time at the piano, letting his long fingers dance over the pure ivory keys, and if there were screams of torment from his fellow damned, he couldn’t hear them.

  It wasn’t the first place he’d landed after his unfortunate demise at the hands of someone’s angry boyfriend. For some reason there’d always been a piano for him, and the heat had varied from suffocating to mildly tropical. Here on the three hundred and forty-seventh level it was practically balmy.

  Ralph wasn’t a bad host, all things considered. Right now he was looking more like a Wall Street shark than a ruler of a level of hell, but in the end Gideon wasn’t certain if there was that great a difference between the two.

  Then again, he wasn’t certain of anything, including his years on earth. He knew why he was in hell, though. He’d had an insatiable craving for women. He’d adored them, all of them, the tall, the short, the plump, the scrawny, old and young, sweet and sour. He just liked women. Which would probably have been fine, but he’d loved sex as well, and made it his goal to be the most inventive, astonishing lover. Maybe that wouldn’t have damned him either, except it had been his own pride and pleasure that had driven him, not altruistic feelings toward the women he’d bedded. He’d wanted them so blissed-out that any man who followed him would never measure up. And that had added up to a lot of men with inadequacy complexes, since he had never stayed with a woman for long.

  No, he’d signed his own contract with hell early on, whether he’d known it or not. Married, single, involved or even a holy nun, it had made no difference to him who the woman was. It was little wonder that sooner or later some jealous lover had caught up with him.

  He could remember the pain of the knife carving into him, but he couldn’t remember the place, the time or the man who’d done it. It could have been seventeenth century Venice—there was every possibility he could have been Casanova himself. Or it could have been the courts of Salzburg. The only thing that remained in his memory and in his hands was the piano, and when he tried to guess what kind of life he’d lived, he liked the idea of being a womanizing piano prodigy, like Liszt. Except when he played Liszt from memory he played it badly. Almost as badly as he played Chopin.

  For all he knew he could have been a child of the twentieth century. Or the twenty-first—time had no place on the three hundred and forty-seventh level of hell. At least playing piano was better than shoveling coal into the vast boilers that ran the pits of eternal damnation.

  There were times when he wondered if there even was a heaven. The bureaucracy of hell was so varied, obtuse and complex that even after eons, maybe centuries, Gideon had no notion of how it was organized. Every time he thought he was coming a little closer to understanding, he’d be whisked off to another level, his mind wiped clean of everything, only his fingers still remembering what they could do with the keys of a piano.

  As far as imps of Satan went, Ralph wasn’t bad. He had a snarky sense of humor but a real affection for Gideon’s music, and he tended to leave him mostly alone. Except for the unexpected summons that had materialized on top of the piano. A summons Gideon knew better than to ignore.

  He made his way through the dingy corridors, humming beneath his breath. He was reasonably content where he was, despite or maybe because of the total lack of women. There was no one to tempt him into his old ways, and celibacy had its own charms. And if the three hundred and forty-seventh level had an unfortunate resemblance to a decrepit military school dormitory he was hardly in a position to expect white palaces and cloudless vistas. He was in hell, after all, and deservedly so.

  Ralph had a vain streak and a weakness for theatricality. The first time Gideon had met him he’d been sitting on a white throne, surrounded by androgynous creatures draped all over him, and it had reminded him of some bad biblical epic. Today he was in an office on a lower floor of the dormitory, a battered steel desk in front of him, the curtains closed, lights off so that the room was flooded with darkness. Gideon could barely make out his form from behind the desk.

  “Nice hair,” he said dryly. Despite the darkness
, he couldn’t miss Ralph’s unexpected spiky mane of orange and blue hair that fell over one side of his face—he changed his hair almost as often as he changed his face and body. Only his eyes remained constant, watchful.

  “I like variety,” he said with a faint Russian accent. He changed his accents just as often, delighting in how long it took Gideon to identify his latest choice. But he didn’t seem in a playful mood today.

  “Have a seat,” he added, not moving out of the darkness.

  “Mind if I turn on a light?”

  “Yes.”

  Gideon hooked his foot around the steel leg of the office chair and pulled it under him, stretching back to survey his… He never could quite figure out what Ralph was. His boss? His friend? His mentor? His god?

  “Fiend from hell pretty much covers it,” Ralph said out loud.

  “I hate it when you read my mind,” Gideon said.

  “I’m devastated.” Ralph’s Russian-tinged voice was unmoved. “I have a job for you.”

  “And I would accept this because…?”

  Long silence. “Well, because I can pretty much make you,” he said. “But this will work much better if you’re willing. There’s a time element involved.”

  Gideon just waited.

  “And why is that, you ask?” Ralph continued, ignoring his silence. “I have a bit of a medical emergency, and you’re the one best suited to take care of it.”

  “I know nothing about medicine.”

  “Antibiotics don’t work in hell, Gideon. Ask Dr. Crippen. And if I don’t get this little problem taken care of, and soon, I’m going to end up blind. And a blind devil is a pissed-off devil, and no one likes a pissed-off devil.”

  Gideon resisted the impulse to inform him that no one liked any kind of devil. “Going blind, eh? I told you you should have women here. The hairy palms should have tipped you off.”

  He half expected Ralph to fling a lightning bolt at him or at least the jar of pencils on the desk, but he simply laughed. “You see, that’s why you’re exactly the man I need. Your thoughts immediately go to sex. And that’s what I need—a sexual professional.”

  “I’m not having sex with you, Ralph,” Gideon said flatly.

  “You should be so lucky!” Ralph scoffed. “I need you to have sex with a woman. A beautiful woman. Think you can manage it?”

  “Last time I looked this was a boys-only hell, boss. Where am I going to find a woman?”

  Ralph rose, moving around the desk into the murky light. He leaned down, shoving the brightly colored hair away from his face, to expose an eye swollen shut, pink and crusted.

  “That’s thoroughly disgusting,” Gideon drawled. “So you’ve got pink eye. Or a sty. Whatever. I don’t see what I can do to help. Get Crippen back in.”

  “I told you, Crippen can’t help. This is beyond his expertise. But not yours.”

  Ralph didn’t usually beat around the bush for so long. Gideon decided to shut up and wait until Ralph came out with what he wanted. He had little enough leverage when it came to Ralph, but he would use any that he had.

  Ralph sat back on the edge of the desk, letting the fluorescent hair drop back over his face. “’A woman’s chastity is a sty in the devil’s eye,’ he said glumly. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying? Didn’t you ever watch any Ingmar Bergman movies?”

  Gideon laughed, unable to help himself. “Can’t say that I did. And you underestimate me. I’m good, but not good enough to nail all the virgins in the world before you go blind.”

  “Not all the virgins. Just one particular one. Seduce her, and my eye clears up, and you get to move up another level. You’ve been stuck on the three hundred and forty-seventh level for too long. Aren’t you ready to move on?”

  “And miss your charming company?”

  “Oh, trust me, my boy. I’ll always be with you,” Ralph said with an annoying chuckle.

  “So how did you manage to narrow it down to one particular virgin? Think of all the nuns, lesbians, spinsters…”

  “They’re all in a state of annoying purity because they should be. Sam is an affront to nature.”

  “You want me to make love to a man? I suppose I could, just to get out of here, but I’m not sure…”

  “Sam’s a woman. In fact, she’s known as Samantha. No last name, like Madonna or Cher.”

  “The Virgin Mother doesn’t need a last name, and who the hell is Cher?”

  “Not the holy mother, you innocent. Madonna’s something else entirely. As is Samantha, though on a completely different level. She’s a model. You know what that is?”

  He closed his eyes and the knowledge came. “Of course I do. Which means she’s tall and blond and pretty and brainless.”

  “Not quite. But you’ll have to come to your own conclusions. She lives in L.A., shares the house with another girl, and has somehow managed to keep her beautiful body pristine and untouched no matter who has tried. She’s resisted the best-looking men in Hollywood, the most powerful politicians, the dreamiest of artists, the richest of businessmen. She’s totally impervious to the male sex. And that’s where you come in. No one can resist you. Gideon, Gideon, he’s our man—if he can’t do it, no one can.”

  “Why don’t you just send someone to rape her? If you’re so convinced her chastity is making you blind, why waste time with niceties? Five minutes in a dark alley should take care of the problem.”

  Ralph frowned at him. “Are you offering your services? Personally I have nothing against rape or even murder—I am an imp of Satan, after all. But I thought you were a bit too squeamish for that sort of thing. I thought seduction was more in your line of expertise.”

  Gideon sighed. “It is. I’m just not in the mood. Send someone else.”

  “After all these years? Get in the mood! I’ve made all the arrangements, and no one’s even going to question it. The infection’s already spreading to the other eye, and I don’t have a whole lot of time to screw around. Neither do you. Get to it.”

  “I haven’t said I agreed to do it yet…” Gideon began, but the words were caught in a gust of wind, torn into the bright blue California sky.

  HE WAS DRIVING TOO FAST—funny, he hadn’t even known he could drive. That probably ruled out the notion that he might have been Mozart. He was driving an elegant, low-slung car in heavy traffic, and it felt like he was looking up the ass of every SUV and truck that surrounded him. The exhaust was thick in the air, but the traffic was moving fast enough to blow it past him, and anything was better than the faintly sulphuric tang of hell.

  “You’ll love her, buddy.”

  He wasn’t alone. He glanced over at the man sprawled in the passenger seat. He was tall, well built, well dressed, with thick blond hair, a chiseled jaw, teeth so straight and white they looked unnatural and hands the size of hams. He’d have a two octave reach with those hands, Gideon thought absently. Though with those thick fingers, he’d probably play like he was wearing boxing gloves.

  “I’m sure I will,” he murmured, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked the same as he always had, even though it must have been eons since he’d looked in the mirror. Narrow, thoughtful face, dark eyes, strong nose and a mouth that gave away no secrets, only pleasure. It was the same body, dressed in Armani this time. He was about five foot ten, lean and wiry, stronger than he looked. He wore clothes well—he remembered that much. It should endear him to a brainless, virginal model.

  “You’re a pal to do this, Gideon. I can’t get over running into you after all these years,” the man continued. Aaron, Gideon realized suddenly. Aaron McAndrews, advertising executive, smart only when it came to his own desires, ruthless and shallow and California handsome. Gideon had never seen him before in his life, but Ralph had worked his magic.

  “I wouldn’t set up Sam with just anyone,” he continued. “You know what they say—blind dates are an invention of the devil. It was all Jasmine could do to talk her into it. But I know I can trust you. After all the tim
e we’ve known each other, you’ve never let me down.”

  He’d known him ninety seconds and counting, Gideon thought, flashing him a cool smile. “Explain to me again, why are we doing this?”

  “I don’t know really. Because you’re new in town and you need a date? It’s not usually like me to be so altruistic, I know,” he said with a smile, then shrugged. “But once you’re seen with Sam your reputation is made. You can have all the chicks you want without lifting a finger. You’d do the same for me, old man.”

  Gideon smiled faintly. “I live to serve. Where are we going tonight?”

  “There’s a new restaurant in Hollywood that everyone’s raving about. I had to use Sam’s name to get a reservation—usually there’s a monthlong wait, and Jasmine isn’t enough to do the trick. Everybody who’s anybody will be there.”

  “Everybody who’s anybody,” Gideon repeated, half to himself.

  “Just don’t think you’re going to get anything in the way of the old horizontal rumba. Sam’s gotta be a lesbian.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She resists everything I’ve ever thrown at her.” There was no missing the disgruntled tone in Aaron’s voice. “But don’t worry—just being seen with her will land you knee-deep in willing starlets. One date with her will be worth it in the long run, even if she won’t put out.”

  “That sounds like a challenge,” Gideon said. He automatically reached into his coat pocket, but there were no cigarettes there. Come to think of it, he didn’t want to smoke. He’d had enough smoke for the last innumerable years.

  “Don’t even think about trying to seduce her, man,” Aaron said. “She won’t let you touch her.”