Dangerous Passions: 12 Tales of Contemporary Sexy Hot Alpha Heroes
Publication date: March 3rd 2015
Genres: Adult, Romance
Dangerous Passions: 12 Tales of Contemporary Sexy Hot Alpha Heroes — Cops, Navy SEALs, Marines, Military, FBI Agents, Secret Agents, Police Captains, Spies, and More
A romance multi-author box set and romantic suspense collections and anthologies of action and adventure, contemporary romance, military romance, romantic thriller, and sexy romance.
11 by Kylie Brant
Five years after escaping from The Collector Mia Deleon stops hiding and teams up with security expert Jude Bishop to track her former captor. Jude’s efforts to help Mia are complicated by the growing attraction between them. Because their race to trail the sexual sadist brings Mia ever closer to the man determined to see his collection finally complete….
“Mia?”
He pushed open the door, took a step inside the small space. The
flimsy shower stall’s curtain was closed. His hand rose midway in
the air to open it. Then he heard a slight sound behind him and
immediately realized his mistake. Cool steel kissed the side of his
throat.
“I had a little time
to think while you were gone. And I decided that you owe me some
answers.”
“Not bad.” Jude’s tone, damn him, held a tinge of amusement.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you were that fast. You opened the
window, and hid inside it, right? Behind the shade?”
“I’m the one
with the questions, remember?” Mia increased the pressure against
his throat. He wasn’t taking her seriously, but he should. There
had been a few others in recent years that had underestimated her, to
their regret. Right now she was half convinced he’d sold her
information to Four and the demon that had enslaved them both.
Paranoia was running high, warring with reason.
“I’m not fond
of knives.” The humor had vanished from his voice. “Normal
enough reaction, after someone tried to peel my face off with one.”
With the speed of a striking snake his hand came up to clamp her
wrist, while he pivoted toward her. Anticipating his move she pulled
away, kicking his half bent knee while he was turning and danced out
of reach.
“Nice move.”
The compliment was delivered with almost clinical detachment. “You
shouldn’t attempt to use a knife in close proximity with someone so
much taller. It’s too easy to be overpowered, and you’re limited
by your shorter reach.”
“Am I?” Her
tone was derisive, her gazed fixed on his. “And yet here I am,
still armed.”
“Only because I’m
more interested in eating than in hurting you.” He started for the
door. Stopped when she deliberately stepped in his way.
“As I said, you
have some explaining to do.”
He spread his arms.
“You want to slice me up? Go ahead. Aim for a major artery. Any
other place and you risk the chance that I just take it away and use
it on you.” A moment ticked by. She didn’t move. “No? Then
I’m going back into the hall to get the food I left out there. We
can eat while we talk.”
She let him go
because she didn’t doubt that he’d return. Either because he
didn’t take her seriously, or because he was that confident of his
own defensive abilities. Probably both. Still wary, Mia lowered the
knife to her side but didn’t put it away. She wasn’t without
defensive moves of her own.
He reentered the
room, stopping to relock it before striding to the bed, paper bags in
his hands. She watched as he removed boxes from the bags, spreading
them across the bed before he rummaged for plates, chopsticks,
napkins and plastic silverware. He knelt in front of the bed and
nonchalantly filled a plate, as if used to having an armed woman
standing near him, only degrees away from doing him harm. Given his
personality, maybe it was a common occurrence.
“There’s no way
Four found me without help.” Her stomach growled, a reminder that
she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But she made no move toward the
food. “I was too careful.”
Jude sat on his
haunches, plate balanced in one hand while he expertly wielded
chopsticks with the other. “You must have screwed up. Left a
trail.”
The accusation had
her fingers curling more tightly around the hilt of the knife. “Or
you sold my information to her.”
He paused, the
chopsticks midway to his lips. “Why would I do that?”
Mia jerked a
shoulder. “The same reason people do anything. Money. Greed.
Sex. Power. Pick one.”
“None of the
above.” He continued eating, working around the different dishes
he’d served on the plate. “You got complacent. It happens when
people are on the run for too long. You must have let something slip
to the wrong person. Made a phone call that could be traced. Left a
cyber trail."
She could have told
him that complacency and carelessness set in only when people began
feeling safe. Mia doubted she’d ever experience that particular
emotion again. “Seems a lot of work when all she’d have to do is
go to you. If you didn’t sell the information outright—and I’m
not convinced you didn’t—maybe she hacked your computer files.”
He laughed at that,
seeming genuinely amused. “Not a chance. And if she had she
wouldn’t have found the information she was looking for there. You
think I leave evidence that I provide services that some narrowly
focused on the law might consider illegal?”
He had a way of
setting her teeth on edge. “You’ll forgive me if that, coupled
with your professed skepticism about my past doesn’t fill me with
confidence.”
“I didn’t say I
didn’t believe you. Exactly. I’m reserving judgment for the
time being. Forget about that. All that matters right now is that
I've found a fisherman who has agreed to get us to the Philippines.
With any luck we can be back in the States in a few days." He
finished eating, then disposed of the garbage before stretching out
on the sagging bed. “We have hours before we meet the boat. Don’t
forget to close and lock the window.”
Mia gaped at him,
vaguely insulted. He was sleeping? With an armed pissed off
suspicious woman in the room? “You do appear to enjoy living
dangerously.”
“If you were
going to use that knife on me, you’d have done it already.” He
didn’t bother opening his eyes. “And whatever doubts you might
have, I’m your best chance of getting out of the country.”
Her
fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife, but doubt filtered
through her. Mia didn't trust any man, but she distrusted Jude less
than most. He didn't have to like her. Or believe her. She just
needed him to get her out of the country alive.
Dangerous Curves by Nina Bruhns
A spec ops transporter for STORM Corps takes on drones, bad guys, and car chases on the coast of Italy—and falls for a beautiful scientist whose curves are far more dangerous than the road!
With
as much dignity as she could muster, Linnea lowered herself into the
passenger seat of the sports car.
It
wasn’t easy. The thing was as low-slung as a damned dachshund.
She wasn’t super tall, but she felt like a giraffe folding
herself into the deep, luxurious seat. Once there, it felt
really nice, though. And it smelled good, too. Like a new car.
It
smelled even better when Darryl slid gracefully into the
driver’s seat—good grief, how did he even fit?—after
tucking her carry-on into the front trunk of the car. She
recognized the expensive European men’s fragrance he wore,
though she couldn’t put a name to it. She’d forever associate
the scent with the elegant men in the hushed paneled elevators of the
posh hotels she and her parents had stayed in during that fateful
summer vacation ten years ago.
Surprisingly,
the scent triggered only good memories. She’d been just sixteen
then, shyly budding into her womanhood, and the European men they’d
encountered at every turn had been charming and flattering,
directing an undercurrent of sexual interest toward her that had
been both flustering and flattering. Not to mention highly
arousing to a young girl with dreams of being swept off by an
honest-to-goodness prince charming. It happened in the movies
all the time, so why not to her, too?
In
the end, she would much rather have been rescued by a genuine
hero than a useless prince.
A
lot of her childish fantasies had been crushed to dust that summer.
But
the smell of that sexy cologne took her body back to before that
all happened. Against her better judgment, it got her juices
flowing and her foolish imagination creeping into the kind of
fairytale territory far better left slumbering in its stone
tower high above the grey clouds of reality.
She’d
learned years ago there were no such things as princes…or heroes.
A girl just had to learn to do the rescuing herself.
She
turned to Darryl and forced a smile. “Sorry I snapped at you,
Mr. Bachmann. I was—” Worried about her life’s work?
Freaked out by being in Italy again? Mortified by being so
turned on by him and the scent of his damned cologne? “It was
a long flight,” she finally managed.
He
pushed a button and the engine roared to life as he returned a
smile that actually seemed sincere. “No worries, doc. And if
we’re going to be hanging around together for the next two
weeks, you better call me Darryl.”
She
blinked. Momentarily distracted from him calling her doc again.
Wait.
“T-two
weeks? You a-and me?” she stammered in disbelief.
No.
That was not possible. She’d be a hot mess if she had to
share space with that ridiculous body and that impossible
cologne for more than a few hours.
“Sure.
Buckle up, ma’am. Safety first.” He looked at her expectantly.
She
stared back at him. “W-why would we be hanging around together?”
His
brows flickered, and when she still didn’t move, he calmly
leaned across her and reached for the seatbelt himself. As he
grasped it, he said, “Didn’t they tell you?”
Fireworks
were suddenly going off in her whole body. He was so close he
was practically touching her. Hell, he was touching her. His
broad shoulder was brushing hers, and oh, my God, his chest was
pressing lightly against her breasts.
No
wonder she was feeling fireworks.
She
felt like Marvin the crash dummy. Her body was frozen in place, her
muscles unable to move even a millimeter. Not even to answer
his question. If it was a question. She wasn’t sure. Because
that damned cologne had invaded her senses. And then he turned
his head and was looking at her with a weird expression on his
handsome face…that was actually more rugged and tan and
windswept than classically handsome, which was, naturally, even
more attractive in her eyes. And like Marvin, she could clearly
see the terrible crash coming right at her, lethal and
heart-wrenching and life-altering, but was unable to do a damned
thing about it.
Somehow,
she managed to pry open her mouth and croak out the words, “Tell
me what?”
She
felt the seatbelt stretch across her body, but for the life of her
she didn’t know how, because he wasn’t moving away. If
anything, his body pressed infinitesimally closer into hers. His
warmth invaded her, making her shiver, and his breath whispered
across her face.
“This
is your test vehicle,” he murmured, the dark rumble of his
voice penetrating the deepest reaches of her insides. Just the
car engine, she told herself, though she knew that was a lie.
“Oh?”
Slowly,
his gaze dropped to her lips. Which parted all on their own
in horrified delight.
Oh,
God.
The
seatbelt closed with a deafening snap. Her body jerked,
brushing against his just hard enough there was no way he could
miss feeling her pebbled nipples.
Her
pulse zinged into hyperspace. Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod.
“Yeah.
And I,” he said, meeting her desperate gaze again, “am
your assigned transporter.”
In Too Deep by Opal Carew
Angel has been deep undercover in the mob for far too long. Four years ago, she was forced to betray the only man she ever loved. He barely got away with his life, and now he hates her. Too bad they’ve been partnered to work together. As man and wife.
He had to get out.
Now. The thought sizzled through Frank's brain like a current of
electricity,
while across the
crowded ballroom the subject of his turmoil calmly played her game.
Stunning
in her shimmering
blue gown, she glittered like a precious gem in this setting of the
rich and
elite.
Emotions clashed and
careened wildly within him. Was that really Angel? The woman he
had once loved. The
woman he had hated for four long years. He couldn't be sure.
He had never wanted
to see her again and yet now he couldn't stop staring at this woman
who
looked so much like
her. His mind screamed retreat while his burning emotions demanded
confrontation.
Frozen by his doubt, he forced himself to linger until he could
determine her
identity.
A waiter hovered by
a circle of guests offering hor d'oeuvres, cutting off Frank's view
of the
woman. The room swam
back into focus, and he damned the Bureau for forcing him to spend
his
first night in New
York at this glitzy, shallow party. But they'd given him no choice.
Somewhere
in this room his new
partner waited to meet him. If the woman really was Angel…. He
hooked
his index finger in
the collar of his white, pleated shirt and tugged. He didn't even
want to think
about the disaster
that would cause.
All about him people
tossed chips around and laughed, careless of how much they lost. The
theme was Monte
Carlo, the aim to raise money for cancer. Frank chose to observe.
Gambling
went along with his
job—along with the requisite losses.
The waiter moved,
and he gazed again at the woman in the blue dress.
At least once, he'd
lost more than he could afford.
His gaze followed
the curves outlined by the iridescent blue gown. So far, he'd only
seen her
from the side. She
stood at the roulette table. Her dark hair, sleekly pulled to the
back of her head
with a gold clip,
shone in the soft light. Could Angel have tamed her riotous curls
into a smooth
coil like that?
Probably not. His eyes narrowed. The graceful curve of her neck
looked the same.
As she turned around
and leaned over the table to scoop up the chips she'd just won,
laughing,
revealing the deep
crevice in the dip of her neckline, his pulse lurched. Surely the
woman didn't
realize how much
flesh she exposed. Every man near her did, however. Because, just
like Angel,
she had a generous
amount of cleavage to expose.
It couldn't be
Angel. The last time he'd seen her had been in Hawaii.
Hawaii. Four years
ago. He'd gone to the island on a case, following the notorious drug
lord
Domenic Cavaglione.
Frank's department had known something big was planned when
Cavaglione headed
there for an extended vacation. Frank and his partner had been
dispatched to
keep an eye on the
suspect's activities. Cavaglione had spent the first few weeks
attending a few
closed meetings, but
basically biding his time.
Frank and his
partner had cycled shifts watching their target and Frank used the
dead time to
work on his tan and
enjoy the sights. He'd soon found a sight worth watching in the beach
front
cabin three down
from his. Angel Tortina.
He remembered the
first time he'd seen her. With her long curls swirling around her
shoulders, she'd
been wearing a bright crimson bikini that made his heart pump triple
time. Her
legs were long and
shapely and she was generously curved in all the right places. With a
figure
most women would die
for, she still maintained an air of sweet innocence that attracted
him far
more than mere
physical attributes, though he couldn't deny that her body enticed
him. After all,
he was a normal,
healthy male.
He'd made a point of
meeting her and for three weeks they'd spent time together, enjoying
each other's
company, getting to know each other. She'd been just an interesting
diversion—until
he realized he was
falling in love with her.
Sweet Angel. His
body had ached for her. So many times he had come close to sweeping
her
up and carrying her
back to one of their cabins to make passionate love, but her
delicate, hesitant
kisses told him she
was…inexperienced. If he'd had more time, if he hadn't been on a
job… He'd
wanted to be the one
to show her the ways of love.
Then he'd found out
who she was—and who she worked for. Cavaglione!
Even then, smitten
as he was, he'd actually believed Angel could never be involved in
illegal
activities, that
somehow she had been unaware of her boss' shady dealings. Frank
didn't want to
remember what had
happened after that. He'd been a fool! He'd never made such a grave
mistake
in his life. He was
lucky it hadn't been a fatal mistake, not only for himself but for
his partner,
too.
A burst of laughter
nearby dragged Frank back to the present. He grabbed his drink and
gulped it down,
trying to drown the bitter taste of self-disgust.
* * *
Angel knew she was
being watched. A person couldn't get very far in her business without
developing a special
sense about these things. She glanced around and saw a scowling man
thump his drink on
the table, then glare into the liquid depths. Had it been him? She
continued
scanning the room.
She knew that prickly feeling.
She stacked her
chips in four neat piles. One white, two red, and one short pile of
blue. She
picked up a red one
and tossed it onto the square marked fifteen. Fifteen? That had been
her
cabin number in
Hawaii. She frowned. Why would that come back to her now after so
many
years?
Again, she felt the
prickle and glanced up, unconsciously fixing on the same man she'd
noticed earlier. His
expression neutral now, he stared at someone two tables over, yet
Angel was
sure she'd seen his
focus shift slightly when she'd locked her gaze onto him.
His features were
obscured by the dim light. Staring intently, she could make out an
angular
jaw, dark, wavy hair
cut short on the sides and longer on the top, and eyebrows that
angled up
and away from his
straight nose. He reminded her of the one man she'd do anything to
forget.
Frank O'Connor.
But of course this
wasn't Frank. As far as she knew, he was still in California. This
man just
resembled Frank. She
stared down at her hands and realized she was flipping a chip over
and
over between her
fingers. The croupier declared final bets before starting the wheel.
Frank represented an
episode in her life she'd rather not think about. He had fallen in
love
with her and he'd
gotten hurt. Well, damn it, that wasn't her fault. Fool. You should
have stayed
away from him as
soon as you started to fall for him.
Glancing at the ball
spinning round the wheel, she sipped her wine spritzer. Right now she
had enough to cope
with in her job without worrying about a ghost from her past. Her
current
task was at a
standstill and her boss planned to bring someone else on to work with
her. She had
a very bad feeling
about that.
The clink of the
ball into its final destination triggered a groan from the man next
to her.
"Fifteen. You
won again." The woman beside Angel nudged her.
Angel focused on the
new pile of chips the croupier pushed toward her and started to sort
and
stack them neatly
onto her piles. She glanced in the direction of the scowling man and
this time
their gazes clashed.
Good Lord, it was
Frank! She knocked down two of her piles as her hand flew to her
chest.
He started to get
up. Panic flared within her. He was coming to confront her! No, not
here! He
couldn't!
After what she'd
done to him, how he'd looked at her with murderous intent the last
time
she'd seen him, she
realized he could. And would.
Her heart pounded
against the wall of her chest as she stepped back from the table,
trying to
ignore her roiling
stomach. She'd scanned the ballroom for all the exits earlier, a
precaution she
always took.
"Ma'am. Don't
forget your chips."
Her attention
flickered away from Frank's intent gaze for a fraction of a second
and she
glanced at the
croupier.
"I…uh… Take
them as a donation." She waved her hands distractedly.
He smiled and swept
them away from her into the house pot. "That's very generous,
ma'am.
Have a good
evening."
She glanced back
toward Frank, expecting him to be closing the distance between them.
But
he was no where to
be seen. She glanced around and saw a broad, tuxedo-covered back
disappear
out a side exit.
Seal's Embrace by Elle James
Injured Navy SEAL and the critical care nurse he’s attempting to woo join forces to stop a terrorist attack at a military hospital in Germany.
Irish
backhanded him in the chest. “I think you’ve met your match in
that one.”
By
the way Lt. McGee was shaking her pretty red head, Irish might have
it right. What Irish didn’t realize was just how much Caesar had
been working to break down the lady’s defenses. “Trust me, at
this very moment, she’s on the brink of raising the white flag.”
“And
her skirt?” Irish snorted. “I seriously doubt it. Wanna lay down
another bet?”
“Sorry,
I have to go. My future awaits.” Caesar took off across the floor,
his focus on the petite nurse with deep auburn hair and emerald green
eyes.
With
her full, luscious lips pressed into a thin line, she led him deeper
into the clinic to an examination room. All the way down the aisle,
Caesar couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swayed beneath the
flight suit that hugged her body like a tailored glove.
His
groin tightened along with his resolve to have this beauty.
“Sit,”
she ordered, pointing to the examination table.
Caesar
hopped up on the table and spread his knees wide. The only way she
was getting to that cut finger was to step between them. Still
wearing his PT shorts, he realized the mistake that was. With nothing
much to hold him back, he tented the shorts in an instant when the
door closed to the room and they were alone.
“You
really have to stop cutting yourself. This camp is full of all kinds
of germs. Keep this up and you might lose that finger altogether.”
She pulled a gauze pad out of a drawer, alcohol pads and a bandage
before she turned and met his gaze, her own green eyes dancing with
humor. “And the answer is no.” She pressed her lips together.
“How
did you know I was about to ask a question? I might really be here to
seek aid for my cut finger.”
“Uh
huh.” She shook her head and stepped between his knees. “Two
times in the same week is suspicious. Three times cutting the same
finger, and that the injuries just happen to be on the same days as
I’m volunteering at the clinic, is proof. You’re stalking me.”
She bumped the inside of his thighs with her hips and sucked in a
sharp breath, moving back quickly, her cheeks turning a rosy shade of
pink.
So,
she wasn’t immune to his presence. She just needed a little
persuasion.
Bridger's Last Stand by Linda Winstead Jones
When a one night stand makes Frannie a witness to murder and puts her in danger, Detective Malcolm Bridger refuses to let her out of his sight until the murderer is caught.
Flash Fire by Elle Kennedy
Navy SEAL Cash McCoy knows all about danger, but when it comes to the love of his life, this alpha soldier does everything in his power to keep Jen Scott happy and safe. When the tables are turned and Jen places herself in harm’s way for her job, Cash must learn to trust the woman he loves…or lose her forever.
Would it be wrong to
hit the man you loved?
Probably.
Besides, Jen didn’t
really want to hit him. Maybe kick him in the shin, though. Or
throw something at
him. Because…had he really just told her she couldn’t go?
As in, he was
attempting to dictate what she could or couldn’t do in her own
life?
“Okay, just to be
clear,” she said tightly. “You’re telling me I can’t go?”
“That’s exactly
what I’m telling you,” Cash shot back.
Anger and disbelief
twisted in her belly, making it difficult to keep the hostility out
of
her voice. “So you
make decisions for me now?”
“About this? Hell
yes.” He grabbed his jeans and yanked them on, his sculpted
shoulders rigid with
tension. “You think I’m going to let my girlfriend happily stroll
into a
war zone? No way.”
“First of all,
it’s not a warzone. And second, even if it was, how is me going any
different from what
you do?” she challenged. “You put your life at risk on a daily
basis!”
“That’s what I
trained for, Jen! I went through years and years of training that
taught
me how to handle
myself in dangerous situations.”
“And I can’t
handle myself?” she demanded, her skin prickling with offense.
“No, you can’t,”
he said bluntly. “You’re trained in self-defense, not in urban
warfare.
Central America is
too unstable right now. It’s too fucking dangerous, especially for
a
woman traveling
alone.”
“I won’t be
alone,” she insisted. “I already told you, the magazine is
arranging for a
military transport.
And there’s a whole unit of US Marines down there training the
local
military.”
“That doesn’t
mean shit if you’re in a town that’s overrun with gangs and they
open
fire on you, or
kidnap you, or kill you.”
“We won’t be
going into areas like that.”
“The whole country
is areas like that!”
Cash snatched his
shirt off the floor and threw it on, radiating waves of white-hot
anger.
But his response had
left her equally infuriated. It would’ve been one thing if he’d
calmly suggested
they talk it over, but to flat-out say she couldn’t go? With no
discussion? Without
even hearing the details?
She didn’t mind a
caveman in bed, but this was ridiculous.
“I’ll be taking
every precaution. And you know I’ve visited poverty-stricken areas
before. I only do
boring portraits for Today’s World, but I used to travel on my own,
remember?”
“The other places
you’ve gone haven’t involved drug cartels and—” He stopped
and
shook his head. “I
don’t know why we’re even still talking about this. You’re not
going.”
Every muscle in her
body seized to the point of paralysis. Jen could barely take a
breath she was so
furious. She stared at Cash’s inflexible expression as she
struggled
to control her
temper.
“You have no say
in this,” she said stiffly. “If I choose to go, then you can’t
stop me.”
She stuck out her
chin. “And I choose to go.”
Astonished blue eyes
stared back at her. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Does it look like
I’m kidding?”
“You’d really
put your own neck on the line just so your pictures can be featured
in a
lead story?”
The harsh words
stung. “It’s what I signed up for when I got into photography,”
she
snapped. “I never
wanted to be a bubblegum photographer who takes portraits of cats
and babies and
frickin’ fruit baskets! I want to shed light on real issues and
make a
difference.” She
glared at him accusingly. “You know that. And you always said you
supported it.”
“I do support it.”
He glared right back. “But not when there’s a risk to your life.”
“There’s a risk
to your life every time you go wheels-up. Every time you’re
deployed
for months on end.”
Frustration clawed up her throat. “I have to live with that every
fucking day. The
worry and the panic and the fear that I’ll never see you again—”
“Jen—”
“Well, it’s your
turn to live with it. I’m going, Cash.”
“Jen…” A
warning note crept in.
“I’m going,”
she repeated. “And as much as I would love your support about this,
I
don’t need it in
order to accept this assignment. Nor do I need your approval.”
Cash didn’t
answer. A noticeable vein appeared in his forehead, his mouth set in
a
tight, angry line.
He looked ready to explode, but Jen didn’t care. His high-handed,
domineering reaction
to this whole situation had seriously pissed her off.
“By the way,”
she said curtly. “I leave tomorrow.”
Into Danger by Gennita Low
Navy SEAL, Steve McMillan, has been pulled from his team to work with CIA’s Task Force Two, where he’s assigned to deal with the “world’s most glamorous assassin.” Marlena Maxwell proves to be as seductive and dangerous as her reputation as the assignment becomes a game of cross and double-cross. Into Danger is the winner of RT Book Reviews’ Best Romantic Intrigue.
From
Into Danger by Gennita Low, winner of RT Book Reviewers Choice for
Best Intrigue:
...Steve
McMillan liked kissing women.
Which
was not what he should be thinking about right now. He looked across
the room at his target. She was a lot taller than he’d expected;
dressed in black leather, she made a striking figure standing against
the bar, calmly sipping a drink. She didn’t look like she was
waiting for someone. Her stance was relaxed, her smile a little
bored. One or two men had approached with interested smiles, but she
had sent them away with a few words.
In
the dark corner of the bar, he’d been watching her for almost an
hour now, and her patience seemed endless, because she hadn’t
glanced once at her watch or looked around at the patrons. She didn’t
fidget with her dark auburn hair. She didn’t make small
conversation. She didn’t smoke. Once in a while she would turn
around and lean back on her elbows to watch the baseball game in
progress on a giant TV screen above the bar.
At
exactly an hour later, she finished her drink, picked up the small
suitcase by the bar stool, and walked off. She didn’t look back, so
she missed the appreciative glances admiring her long,
leather-encased, shapely legs. Steve stood up and followed. It was
dark and cool outside. He pulled on his jean jacket as he looked
around for the woman. She was nowhere to be seen. He turned the
corner, keeping to the shadows.
He
was a trained operative. He knew not to show his training. So he
allowed her to have the advantage for now.
Movement.
Speed.
He
was pinned hard against the wall, and a husky voice, whiskey-laced,
drawled in his ear, “It’s been an hour, sweetheart. If you plan
to make a move, you mustn’t make a lady wait.”
Steve
angled his head sideways, and the light out of the windows was just
enough for him to make out her face. Her eyes gleamed back, no fear
in them. Her lips were temptingly close and perfectly shaped.
There
were kisses that stole. And there were kisses that gave away secrets.
Steve wondered which kind would persuade a hired assassin to reveal
who her target was.
Her
strength didn’t surprise him. After all, everything he had profiled
about Marlena Maxwell showed a woman who knew how to take care of
herself. What caught him by surprise was how his body responded to
her. From his table watching her, he had appreciated her tall, sultry
beauty, but up close and personal, the appreciation became a growing
private interest.
“What’s
the matter?” she asked, when he didn’t say a word. “Don’t you
like it when a woman comes after you?”
“It
depends on what she’s after,” Steve answered.
“Oh?
Like what?”
“I
don’t mind a lady after my body,” Steve said dryly, “but I do
draw the line if it’s my dead body.”
She
pushed an elbow hard against his lower back, forcing him to buckle
against the wall. “Let’s not bicker over details. It would save
me time if you introduce yourself,” she said, still in that husky
drawl, “and I hope you don’t mind. I have to make sure you aren’t
armed, sweetheart.”
Damn,
but the woman’s elbow was sharp. The hard stucco of the building
cut into the side of his face. “No problem,” Steve assured her.
“Look all you want.”
She
slid a hand into his jean jacket, checking for secret pockets. Then
her hand glided down his chest to his jeans, obviously knowledgeable
about the places a man could hide a weapon.
“Lower,”
Steve suggested, reckless desire spurring him now, “and you might
find something loaded.”
There
was a pause. Her eyes looked into his for a moment, then she took up
his challenge. And went lower.
Embattled Hearts by J.M. Madden
For the first time in years former Marine John Palmer has met a woman that makes him feel like the man he used to be, before his catastrophic injury. When a stalker threatens her, it’s his job to remove the threat. Why does the possibility of having his heart destroyed scare him more than taking on a killer?
The
business was doing great, but he couldn’t help but be resentful
that he was not part of the detectives out on the street. Looking
down at his worthless legs, he was once again swamped with anger. As
a Marine, it had been standard practice to run for five or ten miles
a day. Now he was lucky if he could get his thigh to twitch on
command. It was historic if he could get a hard-on.
Although,
he thought with a slight smile, it was happening more and more often
when Shannon was in the room.
The
first time he’d met her, more than six months ago now, she and Mrs.
Harrison had been kneeling on the floor going through files. Shannon
had straightened and arched her back to work out the kinks. She’d
been wearing a cute little pink outfit thing that clung to her lush
curves, but she’d kicked off her high heels. The lust that had
fired through his veins caught him totally off guard. For the first
time in six years, he’d gotten excited looking at woman’s ass.
Her legs were bare beneath the skirt. He sat stunned, soaking up her
subtle beauty and the exhilaration of being turned on.
The
women hadn’t seen him yet, so he cataloged everything he could
about Shannon Murphy. Mrs. Harrison had said Shannon was extremely
intelligent and would be a wonderful office manager, but she had not
told them how exceedingly beautiful Shannon was, with her petite
little shape and curly, dark chocolate-colored hair laying gently on
her shoulders. Shannon was a good bit smaller than the older woman
beside her, but curvy, and had a husky laugh that gave him chills.
His own lips curled up in shared humor, even though he had no idea
what she laughed at. Without conscious thought, he pushed his chair
forward to get their attention.
Mrs.
Harrison noticed him first, and pushed herself to her feet, then
urged Shannon to join her. John barely heard the introduction as his
eyes took in the details of her face. In honest fact, she was not
classically beautiful. Actually, “cute” would more likely be
applied to her mobile features and wide-set hazel eyes. Her broad
smile started with up-tilted lips on one side, then spread to
encompass her whole mouth.
He
held out his hand and was entranced as she pumped energetically.
Without blinking, he watched for any hint that the chair or his
disability bothered her, but she seemed almost oblivious to the fact
that he could not stand up to shake her hand. For the first time in
longer than he could remember, he had met a person that not by word
or deed made him feel like less than a man.
Deathtrap by Dana Marton
The only woman he could ever love, has a secret he could never forgive.
Bing drove them
home, led the dog to the back, and snapped off the leash, then shook
his head with a
smile when Peaches
took a leaping run as he spotted a squirrel at the back fence.
“Thank you.” She
grinned after the goofball before turning to Bing. “And thank you
for the gardening.
And the bath too.
This is more progress than I would have made in a month on my own.
I—”
“I enjoyed it,”
he said quietly, watching her face.
She blinked. “You
did? But it was just a lot of work.”
“I enjoyed
spending time with you.”
Oh. Pleasure spread
through her. “Me too.”
She walked him back
up front, feeling thrilled and awkward in equal measure. They stopped
on the stoop
outside the door.
A half smile came to
play on his lips. “You’re easy to be around. And easy on the eye.
That’s a bonus.” He
caught himself. Took
a step back. “I have no right to be saying that. I’m not in a
place where—”
“I’m attracted
to you too,” she blurted, then wished the earth would just open up
beneath her and
swallow her up along
with the wave of embarrassment that washed over her. She had no idea
how to act
around a man she was
attracted to. She was pitifully inexperienced when it came to dating.
He stepped closer
with an intense, thoughtful look on his face. “We shouldn’t do
this.”
Her heart gave a
hard thud.
“You probably
can’t kiss.” Another step closer. “What does the doctor say?”
“We never kissed,”
she deadpanned. “Dr. Pratt and I are not interested in each other
that way.”
The sound of his
deep laughter broke the tension between them. He moved a little
closer still.
“Dr. Pratt says
intimacy is all right, unless the other person is sick.” She
couldn’t believe she just said that.
Why not put a neon
sign on her forehead? DESPERATE FOR SEX.
“This isn’t
going to work.” He leaned his forehead against hers, the
skin-to-skin contact jolting. “This isn’t
the right time for
either of us.” His hands slid up her arms. “I shouldn’t kiss
you,” he said.
And then he did.
Holy heavens.
He didn’t do more
than brush his lips over hers, and her head was swimming. Her heart
seemed to skip
several beats, which
gave her a moment of anxiety before she remembered that it might be
normal. Things
like that were
frequently mentioned in romance novels.
She’d just never
thought it was real, that she could ever feel a wave of desire as
intense as this.
Bing slowly put his
arms around her, drawing her closer, and suddenly her breasts were
snuggled against
his hard chest.
Tingles ran across her skin. Then he nibbled on her lower lip gently,
and her knees went weak.
She lifted her hands
to his waist, for support first, then they somehow slipped around him
and moved up the
rippling muscles of
his back. His body felt like a work of art under her fingertips.
A long minute of
bliss passed before he eased back to look at her.
She stared at him,
dazed, then gathered herself.
“I’m not like
this normally.” They barely knew each other, even if she’d felt
an instant connection, almost
from the moment
she’d met him.
He raised an
eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Brazen.” If
that was the right word.
He shook his head,
that half smile coming out again. “Think again. You just locked
lips with the police
captain on your
front stoop for everyone to see.”
She felt her face
flush as he watched her, conflicting emotions crossing his face. The
half smile
disappeared as he
stepped back.
“Don’t say it,”
she blurted. “Don’t say it was a mistake, or apologize or—”
She wanted to keep that one
perfect moment as it
was, even if they never had another.
His gaze darkened.
“Apologizing couldn’t be further from what I’m thinking.”
Did the air thin
suddenly? She felt like it did. He watched her with an intensity that
made it impossible to
look away from him.
As if he was wrestling with an important decision.
Shadow of the Hawk by Julie Miller
A Marine whose soul is tortured by his mystical abilities puts his life—and heart—on the line to rescue a Plain Jane school teacher and her students from an archaeological field trip gone horribly wrong.
You shouldn't be out
here alone." His voice vibrated across the distance, a bare
whisper in the
encroaching night.
" Are you
following me?" He advanced on her, and Sarah involuntarily
backed
away as he quickly
closed the distance with his long strides.
"Sarah!"
She jumped back from
his hoarse command. The flashlight clattered to the
ground, and her hair
snagged on something behind her. She reached back to
free her braid from
its entanglement, and Hawk lunged forward.
"No!"
He grabbed her wrist
and yanked her toward him. At the same instant, he
reached into a
pocket of his vest and pulled out a knife. Not a knife. A sword! A
wicked, twelve-inch
killing thing that glinted in the twilight.
He raised it above
his head and swung it down with deadly force. Sarah
screamed. She jerked
her shoulder away from the sure blow and rammed into
the brick wall of
his chest. His arm trapped her there like a steel vise and lifted
her clear off the
ground. She pounded with her fists and kicked with her legs,
pummeling for all
she was worth, frantic with the knowledge that he would
attack her,
desperately frightened to realize how much bigger and stronger and
unyielding he was
than she.
"Sarah! It's
over now. It's okay." Her feet touched the ground and his
shoulders
curved over her,
blocking out the rest of the night.
His chest muffled
her screams. Through her daze of panic she heard low-pitched
reassurances
crooning in her ear. The arm that had cinched her to him still held
her just as tightly
but he splayed his fingers and stroked up and down the side of
her rib cage,
soothing her like a frightened animal.
As the hazy grip of
panic began to clear, she realized that she felt no pain. He
hadn't stabbed her
after all.
"What?"
She gasped, gathering her composure as much as her breath. "Why?"
Her senses returned
and she remembered the knife. The big knife. She
angled her head back
because she could move no further and slapped at his
shoulder. "What
are you doing with a weapon like that here? It's stupid and
dangerous—"
"That's better.
I'd rather see you spitting mad than afraid." She wanted to stay
angry with him. She
wanted to vent her frustrations, but his unexpected teasing
undid her. She
stopped her tirade and noticed his mouth, mere inches from hers.
Smiling.
She caught her
breath at the sheer masculine beauty of it. Straight white teeth
framed by firm, thin
lips. They were close enough that she could feel his warm
breath fanning
across her face. She inhaled the soapy, clean, masculine scent of
him, tinged by the
faint pungency of the insect salve he, too, wore.
Sarah's stomach
flip-flopped. An unusual heat sparked there and curled lower as
a whole new set of
sensations vibrated through her, every bit as powerful as her
anger, but much more
pleasurable. His chest was so hard, his hold unbreakable
yet so gentle, his
mouth so tempting.
She stared at that
temptation and discovered she couldn't speak. Her throat
tightened with a
customary clench of shyness. She damned her cursed inability
to voice her
desires. She wanted to savor the rush of adrenaline coursing
through her. She
wanted to channel it in a way a woman and man could share
together. She wanted
him to kiss her. She wanted him to want to kiss her. And
yet she knew he
wouldn't. All she could do was lecture him. All he could do was
put up with her.
"You were
backing into a web." As if sensing her clouded ability to speak,
Hawk
took over the duties
for her. Grateful for the change of topic that doused both her
desire and her
embarrassment, she relaxed and followed the inclination of his
head.
He twisted his right
wrist and lifted his knife to eye level. Skewered at the end
was a brown, hairy
spider the size of two Ping-Pong balls stuck together.
"Spider! Big
spider!" she shrieked.
She spun and buried
her face in his shoulder. As hard as she had hit him before,
she now clutched him
tightly, clinging to fistfuls of his shirt and vest. She felt his
arm flinch as he
flicked the horrid creature into the jungle and wiped the blade
clean on his pant
leg.
He shifted his
stance and wrapped both arms around her, catching her more fully
in his embrace. He
tugged at her braid, picking out the sticky white residue that
had caught her hair.
He bent his head and cooed into her ear, calming her with
whispers in a
language she didn't understand. The ups and downs of the day
caught up with her
and she sagged against him, weary with emotional fatigue,
grateful for his
gentle, steadying strength.
"That's it,
honey. You're gonna be all right. You'll beat this like you beat
those
bureaucrats back
home."
Imposter by Karen Fenech
Chemist Dr. Eve Collins, wrongly accused by the CIA of developing a chemical weapon, learns someone has set her up as a scapegoat. That “someone” wants her dead.
Eve left the Porsche
and stumbled out onto the asphalt. She was still holding her
phone and dropped it
onto the pavement as she ran to the sedan.
She reached it and
seized the lid just as the dark-haired man was about to slam it.
“You can’t move
Richard’s body. Drive back to the nearest city and send the
police.”
What was the name of
the last place they drove through? She shook her head in
frustration. She
couldn’t recall it. She eyed the two men. “There’s a city about
a forty
minute drive east of
here. Since you were on this road, you would have passed it as well.
There’s bound to
be a police station there.”
The man slammed the
trunk and turned to his companion. “You’d better get
going. I’ll be in
touch.”
“Will do.”
The men acted as if
she hadn’t spoken. Eve reached out and seized the dark-
haired man’s
forearm. Beneath the conservative gray suit was hard muscle. Instead
of
digging into skin,
her nails bent. She bit down hard on her back teeth “Did you hear
what I said?”
He met her gaze.
“Every word. I’m afraid, however, that we will be removing
the body.”
She could see the
promise in his eyes, and her anger spiked another notch.
“Listen to me— ”
“Dr. Collins—”
“You know me?”
She searched her memory, but could not recall ever meeting
him. He obviously
knew her though, and though he had yet to harm her, that fact
unsettled her,
reminded her that this man and his companion had been following
Richard.
Who were these men?
Eve’s stomach went as tight as a fist. Her body went cold
with apprehension
but she knew better than to show it. She crossed her arms and
narrowed her gaze on
the dark-haired man who appeared to be leading the other man. “I
asked you a
question.”
“We’ve never
met. I’m John Burke.” Burke indicated the man beside him. “This
is Michael Lanski.
We work for a division of the Central Intelligence Agency.” Burke
withdrew a small
folder from inside his suit jacket and opened it for her inspection.
It
was his picture ID.
He replaced it, then repeated to Lanski, “Get going.”
Lanski got behind
the wheel of the sedan, and Eve’s heart thumped. “Where is he
going?” she asked
Burke. “Why were you following Richard? What does the CIA want
with Richard’s
body?”
“We’ll talk on
the drive to Rowland,” Burke said. “Let’s go, Dr. Collins.”
Eve narrowed her
eyes on Burke. “You know where Richard and I were going?”
Burke gave her a
level look. “Oh, yeah. We know a lot of things about you and
Richard.”
Eve arched her
eyebrows at the cryptic statement. “What is that supposed to
mean?”
Before Burke could
respond—if he’d intended to—Eve’s attention was drawn by
the sedan. Lanski
spun the car in a U-turn then, tires squealing, sped down the road.
Dust swirled in the
air where the car had been an instant earlier, and Richard was gone.
Again, Eve felt
tears burn. She forced them back and confronted Burke. “I asked
you what the CIA
wants with Richard’s body.”
“And I told you we
would talk on the way to Rowland,” Burke said.
The sun had lowered
and dusk had descended. In the interval between day and
night, there was a
stillness, a quiet time. In the silence, Eve became aware of the hum
of
the Porsche’s
engine. She’d thought the car was disabled by the accident, but
Burke or
Lanski had started
it. Obviously, Burke intended that they leave there in Richard’s
vehicle.
Eve crossed her
arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Mr. Burke.”
He braced his hands
low on his hips. “Are you thinking to wait out here, hoping
another car will
come along?”
“Oh, no. I am
leaving. You’re not. I’m taking the car. You should have gone
with Lanski.”
Eve’s cheeks warmed. “This isn’t over. If you won’t tell me
what I want
to know, I’ll get
my answers from your office. I will get Richard’s body released. I
will
find out why the CIA
even knows my name.”
Eve moved past him
toward the car.
“You aren’t
going anywhere without me.”
She glanced back at
Burke. He hadn’t moved, but his eyes had hardened and she
knew he meant what
he said. He outweighed her by at least seventy pounds and topped
her by a good eight
inches. Did he intend to use physical force to detain her? When
she’d been on the
job, she’d taken down men of his size before. Still, he would need
a
reason to insist
that she accompany him. He was an officer of the law, after all, not
a
thug.
She raised an
eyebrow. “If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to place
me
under arrest.”
Burke reached into a
back pocket and held up a pair of handcuffs.
Eve’s lips tensed
briefly. “You have to be out of your mind, Burke. I’m a
chemist not a
criminal.”
“You set the
terms, Doctor. We are going to talk. If I have to arrest you to do
that, I will.”
“This is
ridiculous. You can’t arrest me without cause.”
“Oh, I have
cause.” He leaned in close to her, and his voice lowered to a near
whisper. “You’ve
been named in a terrorist plot, Doctor. The charge for committing an
offence against your
country is treason.”
No comments:
Post a Comment