good nite sms: Tour Stop: (Book Excerpt/Giveaway)The Seduction of Phaeton Black by Jillian Stone

The Seduction of Phaeton Black (Paranormal Investigator #1)
by Jillian Stone
Paperback, 1st Edition, 335 pages
Published March 27th 2012 by Brava

In the gaslit streets of Victorian London, phantoms rule the night, demons dance till dawn, and one supernatural detective dares to be seduced by the greatest power of all. . .He's The Man With The Magic TouchA master of deduction, seduction and other midnight maneuvers, Phaeton Black is Scotland Yard's secret weapon against things that go bump in the night. His prodigious gifts as a paranormal investigator are as legendary as his skills as a lover, his weakness for wicked women as notorious as his affection for absinthe. But when he's asked to hunt down a fanged femme fatale who drains her victims of blood, he walks right into the arms of the most dangerous woman he's ever known. . .
She's The Devilish Miss JonesPressing a knife to his throat--and demanding he make love to her--Miss America Jones uses Phaeton as a willing shield against the gang of pirates chasing her. As deadly as she is, with a derringer tucked in her garter, Miss Jones is not the vampiric killer he's been staking out--but she may be just what Phaeton needs to crack the case. As the daughter of a Cajun witch, she possesses uncanny powers. As a fearless fighter, she can handle anything from Egyptian mummies to Jack the Ripper. But when an ancient evil is unleashed on the world, she could be his only salvation. . .or ultimate sacrifice.

She had never met the like of such a man.
After a few deep draughts of spirit, he kicked a chair out from under the
table and straddled the seat. “The chair rails guard my bulging privates. Not to be
confused with filthy pirates.”
He took another swig from the bottle. “Tell me about these imaginary,
cutlass wielding corsairs. Miss––?”
“My name is America Jones.”
He set an elbow on the chair back and cupped his chin. He had a wary
way of studying her, as if she were some kind of curiosity. “Are you incapable of
answering questions in a truthful manner? Again, Miss––?”
She set her jaw and glared. “America.”
“Is the name of a continent, or two. I can never remember if there are two
continents designated north and south, or one continent designated south and north.
Which is it?”
Why did he play the Mad Hatter? Leaning far back off the chair, he had
to catch himself. The grog appeared to be having an effect. “And there is a new
country, the United States of America.”
Even with arms tied down, she still managed a shrug. “It is my name, sir.
America Síne Jones and I have learned to live with it these twenty-ought years.”
“I believe I may call you by your middle name.” His mouth twitched. “Sin–
ay. I do so admire the first syllable.”
Her gaze narrowed to a quizzical squint. “Is your mind always in the gutter,
Mr.––?
“Black.” Liquid sable eyes flecked with gold drank in every inch of
her. “Only when I am interested, Miss Jones.”
“And are you interested?”
“I once enjoyed a meal at the Langham Hotel, which I thought about
repeating for weeks afterward.”
“Is that what I am to you? A supper?”
He lowered his chin. “A banquet, my tempting dark dove.” Hooded ebony
eyes crinkled at the sides. He enjoyed taunting her.
Captivated for a moment, she mentally slapped herself. “I would love to
stay and chat, really I would, but I must be on my way.” She flashed the faintest of
smiles. “Now that we are introduced, certainly you can release me from bondage?”
“One more thing, Miss Jones. If you would kindly explain about the
pirates?” He tilted his head. “Your eyes are most extraordinary. Almost feline.”
What an exasperating man! While he swigged from the bottle, she tugged
again on her bindings. “Why do you insist on torturing me?”
She pressed her lips together and chewed the inside of her bottom lip. A
force of habit when vexed beyond endurance. Well, she supposed two could play
this silly, annoying interrogation game. “Are your parents still living, Mr. Black?
He sat up and blinked. “Mother died of a virulent meningitis years ago. My
father teaches advanced mathematics at Trinity College.” He ran a hand through
thick waves of dark brown hair. “He might as well be dead. We don’t get on.”
“I could not tell you if my mother is alive or dead. I’ve not been home
to Louisiana in many years. Buried my father four short months ago. Charles
Gardiner Jones.” She leaned forward purposefully. “A decent and honest merchant
trader. Acquaintances said he couldn’t face his business failure––that he died of
drink. People who knew him well, told a very different story. My father’s heart
was broken by his lying, scheming business partner.”
When her eyes threatened to tear, she lifted her chin. “After his funeral I
vowed to bring Yanky Willem to justice.”
“And how goes this pursuit?”
She frowned. “Not as well as I’d hoped. Last night Willem caught me rifling
through a year’s worth of cargo manifests.”
He arched a brow. “Searching for––?”
“Proof of piracy, Mr. Black.”
He smiled that maddening grin of his. “I knew if I was patient, we might
actually get round to the original subject of my query––the filthy pirates.”
“Chased me from the Docklands all the way down the Strand.” She laid her
head back against the padded chair and counted the cracks in the ceiling. “When
you stepped into the sharp edge of my blade, I was clean out of bullets.”
“Bullets? And where, pray tell is your pistol?
Now it was her turn to grin. “Untie me, and––“
“I think not, Miss Jones.” From behind protective rungs, Mr. Black stepped
over the seat of his chair and ventured closer. “Shall we search together?”