Banished from Heaven as punishment for his sins, Taliesin has walked among humans for thousands of years. He's damned sick of it. Death would be preferable to the cultural bankruptcy of the twenty-first century, but what's a cursed immortal to do? It's not like he can kill himself.
Dr. Emerson Matthews has no clue what to do with the enigmatic, gorgeous man who has landed in the psych ward at the hospital where she works. Well, she knows what she wants to do, but it's unethical and likely illegal. Especially since he seems to be out of his mind. Why else would he claim to be a fallen angel?
Hell bent on seduction, Taliesin tempts Emerson, luring her tightly guarded passion to the surface and introduces her to sensual delights she's never dreamed of. As she learns more about the mysterious man in her care, she begins to question her own sanity as his claims of Divine origin seem more plausible with each passing moment.
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Copyright © Bronwyn Green, 2007
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Excerpt From: Solstice Seduction
Emerson Matthews watched her patient through the two-way mirror, and he gazed right back. Obviously, he knew he was being observed. Stretching out his long legs he leaned back in the chair and stared as if he could bore a hole through the glass. He shoved his shoulder-length hair from his face in irritation—chestnut coloured waves she itched to drag her fingers through. At this distance it was impossible to discern the colour of his eyes, but she had no trouble making out his high cheekbones and gorgeous mouth.
It was impossible to look at him and not imagine how his lips would feel against hers. He pushed up the sleeves of his knit shirt to reveal beautifully sculpted forearms. With his broad chest, she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like beneath his clothes. She’d bet his legs and ass were as tightly muscled as his arms.
She sighed. Getting worked up over a patient was number one on the no-no list for therapists everywhere. She’d clearly gone too long without sex and it was affecting her work. The slightly less rational part of her brain insisted that she was merely experiencing the logical response to being confronted with the single most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. No matter what he looked like, she needed to get her mind out of his pants and help him. Focus, Emerson. Focus.
She reread the scant information on his chart. Having attempted suicide by train, Taliesin No-Last-Name was brought into St. Mary’s Psychiatric Facility late last night by the local sheriff’s department. The train operator insisted that he’d hit the man, but the guy didn’t have a scratch on him. Even his clothes were fine. He’d complained of a headache, but that was it. He’d also initially demanded—loudly—to leave. But that wasn’t going to happen, not until he’d been thoroughly evaluated. Adjusting her glasses, she turned the knob and opened the door.
The man rose to his feet with a loose-limbed grace and offered her his hand as he read her name tag. “Dr. Matthews. I’m assuming it’s too much to hope that you’ve come to release me.”
“Why don’t we talk a bit first?” Trying to place his slight accent, she gestured to the chair behind him as she sank into the one opposite him. He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance as he sat and stared at her while she straightened the forms on her clipboard. His eyes were grey. Definitely grey. God, he was gorgeous. Focus.
“Despite what it likely says in your file, I wasn’t attempting suicide.”
She glanced at the chart. “I’m not sure how else to interpret standing in front of an oncoming train.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I was pushed.”
He shifted uneasily. “A friend.”
“Some friend,” she muttered.
His lips curved in a bone-melting grin. “Yeah. He can be a real bastard.”
Emerson stared at him trying to remember where she’d been going with that line of questioning.
Train. Death wish. Right. “The engineer’s statement doesn’t mention anyone else.”
Taliesin tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “It wouldn’t. My friend is rarely visible to humans.”
Rarely visible to humans. It was going to be a long night.
Emerson glanced out the window behind him and watched as huge fluffy snowflakes drifted to the ground. She might as well get comfortable. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to go—besides, she’d volunteered for the three weeks prior to Christmas, just so she could get time off over the holidays to spend with her family.
She studied the man across from her. He looked completely lucid, but his comments so far belied that. “Let’s start with a history,”
she said turning to a fresh intake sheet. “Name?”
He shifted in his chair and she tried not to admire the way the worn fabric of his jeans encased his legs. “Taliesin.”
“I don’t have one.”
Emerson tried not to frown. “What about your parents? What’s their surname?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a lock of hair partially covering his eye. “I don’t have parents in the strictest sense of the word.”
Emerson fought the urge to brush his hair aside and see if it was as soft as it looked. “You’re an orphan?” she asked. Perhaps she’d follow in Angelina Jolie’s footsteps and adopt him.... Okay, this was inexcusable. She was a professional, for God’s sake. Obviously she needed to get laid and quickly. This inability to focus was interfering with her job.
“Not exactly.” He stood and walked to the window.
She tried not to groan. His ass was as perfect as she’d imagined it would be. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Age?”
She studied his reflection in the window pane. If she had to guess, she’d say late twenties to early thirties. Time for a different tack. “I’ve noticed you’ve got a bit of an accent. Where are you from?”
“Lots of different places.” His lips curved in a sad smile as he stared out the window. “But I spent my formative years in Wales.”
That was an interesting coincidence. Her grandmother was from Wales. Of course, her sister, Beckett, would tell her there were no such things as coincidences, but Emerson didn’t buy into it. There were no mystical forces guiding hers or anyone else’s life. If God existed, and that was a huge if, as far as she was concerned, He sure as hell didn’t care about any of the people he’d supposedly created. If He did, He’d actually bother to answer prayers.
The pain of loss clogged her throat, but she pushed it away and stood, nearly colliding with the man she was supposed to be evaluating. Taliesin placed his hand under her elbow to steady her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern darkening his eyes.
The warmth of his body seeped through her blouse, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into him and forget. He stared into her eyes as if he could find the answers to the mysteries of the universe.
She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “I’m fine,” she managed and stepped back.
Book one in the Redemption Series
In all eternity Raphian never desired anyone more than Lissa Chase. As her guardian angel, he couldn’t touch her. Or shouldn’t have. Taunted by demons, he succumbed. One forbidden night in Lissa’s arms was everything he’d imagined it would be. And it condemned him, casting him to earth.
Lissa is stunned when the stranger from last night’s erotic dreams walks into her life to pick up where the dreams had left off. When she discovers last night was reality, she’s thrust into a battle of good and evil.
While she decides if she can allow Raphian into her life, every demon in the vicinity is after the fallen angel to bring him fully to their side—even if it means using the woman he loves as bait.
After all this time, he’d fallen prey to his baser desires and been banished.
Now of all times. When the portal between good and evil was thinned by the
Raphian watched the object of his lust as she sent her young charges onto
the large yellow busses lining the drive in front of the school where she taught.
She smiled at the children, waving as fat snowflakes swirled around her. A gust
of wind ruffled her hair into a golden halo and he swallowed hard as his desire
knotted through him again. He couldn’t escape it even for a moment—even
though it had cost him everything he was.
She looked more angelic than he ever had. She shivered, reminding him it
was cold as late December days were wont to be. He’d never experienced cold
before today. Now the bitter air stabbed at his skin, reddening the exposed areas
and making his bones ache. So this was cold… His wings had always kept it
from him before as he’d performed his duties on earth.
Now, he had no duties.
He had no wings…
He’d succumbed to human desires and dared to want her. Charged to
protect her, he’d betrayed his position. He’d lain with her during a dream, felt
the soft folds of her womanhood embracing his manhood as he plunged within
her. Bliss. Hours of incomprehensible bliss. He’d stepped from her sweet
embrace straight to judgment.
There was no denying his action. His punishment was etched in the stones
marking the kingdom. He’d broken the law given to the angels. Fallen.
The cold biting through him amplified the mark of his failure as he
shuddered. Each jarring quiver pulled at his back. Reminding him. He was an
angel no more. Angels had wings. He had pain.
Would it ever cease? Or would he forever feel the agony where the fiery
sword had shorn away his wings? Long red wounds ran from shoulder to waist,
seared closed by the flame.
Because he’d dared to want her.
For years, he’d protected her. Now, he’d protect her one last night. Today
might be his first and last as a mortal. Tonight as the portal thinned for the
winter solstice, the demons would break free. Every demon in the vicinity would
be after one man—the former angel they wanted to bring to their side. He could
once again have power and immortality. They’d offer him kingdoms and wealth.
They’d even offer him the woman.
He could have everything, but at what price? With them, he’d never again
know peace or love. Only hatred so deep his bones would ache worse than they
did in this wretched cold. His chances for survival were slim. It mattered little.
He may have fallen, but he wasn’t evil. Death and an eternity in limbo were
preferable to joining their ranks.
Raphian’s being stirred as the universe called him to protect. Even without
wings, that hadn’t changed. The demons would attempt to use her against him.
They’d threaten her life. And her soul. From sunset to sunrise, they’d battle with
every foul means at their disposal.
A wingless angel and a mortal woman against a horde? There was no way
either of them would survive the siege unless they were together. And soon. The
days were short and the sun already hung low in the sky. Every minute counted
as the night drew close. The woman didn’t know him, yet she had to trust him
before the looming darkness blotted the tiny spark of hope from his spirit.
With a silent prayer to one who wouldn’t listen, he stepped forward.
Book one in The Watchers Series
Heavenly bad boys...these aren’t the angels they taught you about in Sunday School!
Gadriel is a Watcher—and a Fallen Angel. The Angel of War. Cast out of Heaven for hating humans, and for failing to bow before them, he’s come to Earth to enact his vengeance upon his brothers, and an unsuspecting mortal. When a human woman enters his life, events are set in motion that neither of them can stop.
For, unknown to the humans, there is a war in Heaven, a war between the faithful and the fallen that has been locked in stalemate for centuries. Gadriel alone has the power to change the tides—for either side. But does he want it? Can his desire for this human run deeper than physical lust, or has he truly fallen beyond redemption?
At last, he’d found her.
This was the woman’s apartment. He felt her, smelt the disease that was
eating away at her. This was the one—this human female—who they sought to
protect. She was part of a greater plan, a plan he was not yet privy to. But he
would discover it, and when he did, he would enact his vengeance upon those
whom he had once called brothers.
His boots made no noise on the carpeted floor as he made his way to the
female’s bedroom. Despite the fact it was only early evening, she would be in her
room, able to do little more than sleep and eat while waiting for the Angel of
Death to come and claim her.
Humans…they were so weak, so fallible. How was it possible that legions
of his kind had fallen for the pleasures of human flesh? He hated humans and
the power they’d been given. Despised how they had been raised above him and
his kind. How could the creator ask them to bow before such creatures? How
could He love them—the humans—more than him and his brothers?
Before the humans, He had loved them best. Now, he and his kind had
been replaced. Discarded and tossed aside; forced to protect and guide and revere
the creatures He had made out of clay.
What made the humans so damn special—and this one in particular? She
was dying. She could not be a part of God’s plan to oust the Fallen from Heaven
and end the war—the war between the faithful and the fallen—that had been
locked for centuries in a stalemate.
But, if she was useless to either side—faithful or fallen—why had Sariel
come to Earth and searched her out? No, there was a reason that Sariel, a devout
and dutiful angel, had been sent to seek out this particular female.
The bedroom door was already ajar. He shoved it open with the tip of his
boot, pausing on the threshold, his gaze taking in everything, from the walls that
were bathed orange from the reflection of the setting sun to the white curtains
that billowed and snapped in the wind as it blew through the opened window.
Outside, the distant sounds of police sirens and gun fire echoed amongst the tall
buildings. Shouts and screams and more gunfire rippled through the evening
The sun had not even set, and already the mortals were killing each other.
“Mary,” he called, stepping deeper into the room. When there was no reply,
he snarled and tore the comforter from the bed. She was not cowering beneath it.
Looking about the room, he sniffed at the air, smelling beyond the disease
that was wracking her body, to the scent of her floral perfume. Perfume that had
been sprayed not long ago.
She was not there. Fuck. Had Sariel already beaten him to the female? The
phone rang and his head snapped in the direction of the nightstand as he glared
at the answering machine with its red blinking light. On the fourth ring the
machine picked up and a soft, frail voice spoke in the darkness.
“Hi, you’ve reached Mary Murphy, leave a message at the sound of the
beep, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
The machine beeped and a breath whispered across the speaker. No voice
or words came, only the soft, steady rhythm of air being drawn in and out. Sariel.
The machine buzzed and the line went dead. He walked over to it and
picked up the black square box, examining it from all angles. Hitting a button, he
smiled in triumph when a robotic voice stated flatly, ‘you have three new
messages. First message, Thursday; 6:10 pm.’
“Hi Mary, it’s Jane from Dr. Archer’s office. We just got the results of your
last MRI. Dr. Archer asked me to call you to set up an appointment to talk about
treatments. Call me back as soon as you get this message.”
He pressed a circular button and heard, ‘message has been deleted’. Mary
Murphy wasn’t going to need that appointment.
“Hey, Mary, it’s Nadira. Where are you? I’ve been trying to call you all day.
I thought we could meet at Langdon Park. You know, take a stroll along the
paths. I’ll meet you there at eight, and we’ll watch the sun set. Meet me at my
favourite statue and I’ll buy you a cup of tea. Be there, Mary.”
He glared at the machine. The woman’s voice made his nerves taut. There
was something about the hypnotic quality of her voice. He played the message
again, not because he didn’t already have the information memorised, but
because he wanted to hear the woman’s voice.