This coming Tuesday, the first of two books (so far) in my Veiled Alliance series will release. This is one I wrote a long time ago, and now that I have the rights back… Well, we’ll see how you like it, and whether you want more stories. It’s super-sexy, and a different kind of paranormal.
Read an excerpt below, and see if this is something you might like to see more of!
Leave a comment for a chance to win one of my Night Fall stories!
Sin’s Gift
When police officer Sinead O’Rourke returns to duty months after being shot in an incident that claimed her partner, she knows it’s not going to be easy. Despite being cleared of any negligence, her fellow officers still wonder whether she’s responsible for his death. One more problem is that everyone knows she claims to have seen his ghost. After months of rehabilitation and lying like hell about the fact she’s not seeing spooks anymore, Sin’s determined to get back into the saddle.
Jake Chappa doesn’t want to partner with Sin. Been there, done that—couldn’t keep his hands off her the first time around. She’s too much of a distraction, and her penchant for rushing into trouble scares the heck out of him. Despite wishing she’d quit her job, he’s still deeply attracted. When an armed robbery goes down and something happens that rattles Sin to the core, he’s right there—ready to cover her back and her sweet body.
Jake didn’t let her have any room to slam her door in his face. He skipped up the steps behind her and practically pushed her through the door. The urgency gripping his entire body had him on the verge of exploding.
She didn’t demur. Didn’t utter a single protest. She also didn’t look back at him as she headed to her bedroom. She undid her utility belt, drew her weapon from her holster and locked it in the safe under her bed. Then she stood and began to strip. First her uniform shirt, then the Kevlar vest. Her bra. She toed off her boots and unbuttoned her pants. Only then did she glance up.
Horny as hell, the edgy anger that rippled through him was potent, explosive. He turned on his heel and stalked into her bathroom, bending to twist the faucet handle and start the shower.
No long leisurely bath. A shower, and she wouldn’t be taking it alone. He stripped, dropping his belt and clothing on the counter, and stepped under the water, letting it sluice over the top of his head, hoping it would take the edge off—make him a little less dangerous.
When the curtain swung back and she stepped inside, his stomach sank. Anger flared in her gaze, and her chin rose. This wasn’t going to be an easy reacquaintance on either of their parts. She was ready for a battle.
She reached for the shampoo bottle and turned away, ignoring him while she soaped her dark red hair.
Jake’s hungry gaze swept down her nude back, noting bluish bruises on her side and ass, along with admiring her lean, almost boyish figure. He lingered over her heart-shaped backside, wanting to reach over and cup each firm globe in his hands.
“Quit staring,” she said, not looking back.
“I’m not,” he lied, a smile quirking up one side of his mouth.
“I can feel it, crawling all over my ass.”
“Always loved that ass.”
“Yeah, well it isn’t yours anymore.”
“Then what are you doing here? With me?”
“It’s my goddamn shower.” She stuck her head under the water and long ropes of suds slid down her skin.
Jake began to relax a bit. The hard bite of her voice was all too familiar. God, the sex was gonna be great. He reached over her shoulder, deliberately sliding along her skin, and grabbed the soap from the tile dish.
Her back stiffened, and she slowly turned. Her chest rose twice, lifting her round tits. Then she placed her hands on either side of the stall and spread her legs shoulder-width apart. Just like old times. Her signal she wanted him to wash her down.
Jake ground his teeth, felt the flex of his jaw and the tightening of his shoulders, then went down on one knee in front of her. He rolled the bar of soap between his hands then dropped it on the floor of the tub and reached straight for her breasts.
Sin’s breath hissed between her teeth on a long indrawn breath, but her gaze locked with his. He rubbed his hands around her small, round breasts, careful not to touch her tender nipples, drawing out the moment because he feared she’d cut it short. Afraid she’d remember she had reasons to hate his guts.
She stared into his eyes, and slowly, her body softened, rocking slightly into his hands, urging him without words to touch her cinnamon-colored nipples.
He relented, gripping them between his slippery thumbs and fingers, and tugged rhythmically. She had the most sensitive nipples, had nearly come a couple times when he’d plied them relentlessly.
Her lips opened around another indrawn breath. “Lower.”
Jake smoothed his hands down her sides, careful of the bruises, and along the front of her belly, slipping a fingertip into her belly button before drawing away to soap his hands again.
When he looked back up, her lips trembled, and she spread her legs a little wider.
Breaking with her gaze, he lifted his hands between her legs, staring as he worked the suds into her auburn thatch, then circled deeper, scraping his fingertips along her outer labia.
Her thighs began to quiver, and he didn’t hide his smile. He had her now. Her resentment was melting away, for now, beneath the quivering. The only time Sin didn’t like being in control was when desire rode her hard.
He swirled his fingers along her slit, fingered between them, then thrust one digit up inside her.
“Jake!”
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured. “Everything’s okay.” He rinsed her with handfuls of water then spread her lips and leaned close, nuzzling her sex with his nose and mouth, rubbing the coarse stubble sprouting on his cheeks and chin to chafe her tender flesh.
Her legs wobbled, and he urged her to drape a leg over one shoulder, and then crouched lower and tilted his head to run his tongue along her seam, slipping between her folds to stroke inside, then curling his tongue upward to flick at her hooded clit.
Sin rocked forward and back, shuddering hard, and he rewarded her submission by thrusting two fingers inside her. He pulled up her folds to expose her reddening bud and latched his lips around it, sucking it hard.
Her fingers clutched his head as she jerked against him, and he could feel how close she was. Her pussy clasped his fingers, and soft moans, one after the other, rose inside the shower, echoing around them.
As much as would have liked to finish her now, his balls ached; his cock was stiff and riding high. He gripped her hips, kissed her pussy and shoved upward to his feet. “Get to the bed,” he said, wincing at the harshness of his voice.
Sin didn’t hesitate, stepping over the rim of the tub and grabbing a towel which she used to blot her skin as she strode to her bed.
He didn’t bother taking the time to dry off, following on her heels, dragging away the towel, then turning her and pushing her down on the mattress.
Sin scooted backward as he climbed over her, allowing her only enough room between their bodies to crawl to the center of the bed. Then he lifted her legs, urging her thighs around his hips. He dipped to capture her lips and rooted at her sex with his cock, until he found her entrance and slid into her slick cunt.
Jake flung back his head, his eyes squeezing shut. “Jesus, fuck!” He wanted to take her slow, wanted to make it last, because he didn’t know whether she’d ever be weak again and need his brand of comfort.
But his body felt ready to explode. He glanced down, catching the glitter of tears in her eyes again. Damn, she never cried. He pulled out slowly then sank back inside, trying to savor the clasp of her pussy around his shaft, the silken texture of her inner walls. But it was too late. He was too far gone. He pulled out and slammed hard inside her, then did it again and again, until he bucked wildly against her, stroking deep and hard.
Not deep enough. He pressed her legs upward, slipped his arms under her knees, and crammed the fronts of her thighs against her chest. He hammered at her cunt, but he wasn’t the only one unraveling.
Liquid spilled from deep inside her, washing him in welcome. He came so fast all he could do was clench his teeth and force his hips to keep rocking against her, until at last he felt the little convulsions that rippled up and down his cock.
When his arms began to shake, he let go of her thighs, allowing her to ease them down his sides.
He didn’t move off her, wasn’t giving her space to think about what just happened, because he didn’t want her to kick his ass to the floor. Instead, he cupped her injured cheek and the top of her head and lay down on her, sliding his mouth over hers to keep her lips busy.
The way she kissed him back, slowly rocking her lips, her tongue lightly skimming his, felt a whole lot like she was memorizing the taste and feel. Like she expected this to be the last time. Again.
And while he knew it would be better for both of them, he thought he just might want to die rather than walk away again. So, he broke the kiss, pushed his softening cock deeper into her, and leaned on his elbows to look into her face. “I don’t wanna talk.”
Her chin jutted. “Never do.”
“I don’t want us to say things we’ll want to take back. Not tonight.”
“You want to pretend?”
“I want to stay with you.”
Her eyes narrowed, spearing him. “What’s the matter? Haven’t gotten any lately?”
“You’re starting…” he warned.
Sin huffed out a breath. “All right. So, maybe I haven’t gotten any lately either.”
He shook his head. Every discussion led to an argument. No matter how large or small. “So, we’re agreed. No talking.”
Her eyelids dipped. “What if one of us needs to give a little direction?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Now, O’Rourke, you know there’s only one person who gives the orders in this bed.”
What does a coffee CEO and reggae bandleader have in common with a cup of coffee?
-Hot
-Strong
-Keeps you awake all night
-Great to wake up to
When I planted the seeds of romance for Latasha, the heroine’s best friend in Jamaican Temptation, I didn’t know which man she’d actually get with in the next book. Fast forward to the day I sat down to write this book, and I still couldn’t decide. She demanded BOTH men. I’ve learned never argue with the characters, so here is her fantasy…
Having grown up in foster care, Latasha looks forward to a stable happily-ever-after with K.C., her Jamaican boyfriend. But his band, Caribbean Climax, is flat broke. When Jonathan Lance, CEO of Third Mountain Coffee, propositions her for one paid night of ecstasy, she does it for her and K.C.’s future.
Jonathan has admired Latasha from afar since the day he met her, but his company comes first. His father, who controls part of it, would never approve of an interracial relationship. After the business transaction, however, emotional ties remain, and Latasha is torn between two men who differ in every way.
And when the unthinkable happens, will her choice be easier—or impossible?
K.C. planted a proprietary hand against the small of her back as they stood in front of him. “You the one paying,” he told Jonathan. “What you want us to do?”
“Kiss her.”
Every nerve ending in Latasha’s body sizzled as K.C.’s dark, sensual lips lowered to hers. Knowing the other man observed them made everything feel twice as erotic. The stiff hairs of her boyfriend’s moustache scraped her upper lip. Jonathan had a slight one as well. Would it feel similar?
She rested her hands on K.C.’s shoulders when he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Her nipples hardened against the thin material of the dress, making her wish she’d worn a different one, with a bra.
Gentle but persistent, his lips claimed every bit of her mouth. He hadn’t kissed her so thoroughly in a long time. She guessed he wanted to give Jonathan a good show so he could get his money’s worth. Or maybe he wanted to prove no one could pleasure her as well as he could.
Whatever his reasons, she’d enjoy the ride. This wasn’t so bad. She could think of tougher ways to earn money.
When he finished, her fingers were interlaced in his braids, practically supporting her weight because she’d gone boneless. His tongue had also gone so deep she ached to taste the rest of him.
Encircling her waist, K.C. turned toward Jonathan. “Dat suit you all right, mon?”
“Perfect.” Had the other man’s eyes grown bluer since she’d last glanced at him?
“What next?” K.C. asked.
“Take off her dress. Slowly.”
Oh crap. Things just got difficult. A deep, insistent ache filled her cunt as K.C. stood behind her, giving Jonathan a full frontal view. She shivered as her man slid one thin strap off her shoulder, then the other, and unfastened several buttons.
The tight dress clung to her hips, which luckily kept it from falling straight to the floor. But her exposed breasts pebbled with gooseflesh. The nipples, already erect, swelled into large peaks.
She didn’t even have to look because she saw her nudity mirrored in Jonathan’s eyes. Her flesh burned, feeling raw and exposed. When K.C.’s hands slid down her sides, to push the rest of the dress past her hips, she covered half her face with a palm and clapped the other across one of her breasts.
“God, your tits are so full and beautiful,” Jonathan breathed. “I knew they would be.”
She stepped out of her sandals to steady herself, but the deep beige carpet caressed her bare feet, making her feel more erotic.
“Wait! I don’t know if I can do this.”
What was wrong with her? She had to earn that check and help K.C. keep his band. Convincing him to do this shenanigan had been harder than herding elephants. It was too late to chicken out.
Both men waited, silent, as they watched her.
After taking a shaky breath, she fanned her flushed face and nodded. “Sorry. I’m okay, now.”
“You sure?” K.C. asked.
“Take your time, sweetheart,” Jonathan said. “We have all night.”
Love a good spooky tale? This one’s coming October 2nd (never mind what Kindle says). And it’s the first of two, maybe more—if you like them. It’ll be completely up to you if I write more. So, let me know…
Sin’s Gift
When police officer Sinead O’Rourke returns to duty months after being shot in an incident that claimed her partner, she knows it’s not going to be easy. Despite being cleared of any negligence, her fellow officers still wonder whether she’s responsible for his death. One more problem is that everyone knows she claims to have seen his ghost. After months of rehabilitation and lying like hell about the fact she’s not seeing spooks anymore, Sin’s determined to get back into the saddle.
Jake doesn’t want to partner with Sin. Been there, done that—couldn’t keep his hands off her the first time around. She’s too much of a distraction, and her penchant for rushing into trouble scares the heck out of him. Despite wishing she’d quit her job, he’s still deeply attracted. When an armed robbery goes down and something happens that rattles Sin to the core, he’s right there—ready to cover her back and her sweet body.
The police substation didn’t sit at the end of the rainbow or anywhere near Kansas, but for some reason that stupid phrase ran like a mantra through Sinead O’Rourke’s head as she drew a deep breath and pushed through the double-doors leading into the station house. Once inside, she kept her gaze focused straight ahead, ignoring the way conversations died away as one by one the officers on duty noticed who’d entered their midst.
So, she’d been gone a while. No doubt San Antonio’s finest whispered she looked a little different than they remembered. A few even knew she’d gone nuts for a while. But their red-headed stepchild was back.
Fuck them, anyway.
Sin headed straight to the Lieutenant’s office and knocked on his door.
“Come in.”
Relieved to escape the thick atmosphere of the open floor, she knew she’d only traded one bleeding wound for another when the patrol shift lieutenant, Clayton Kalisek, glanced up and stiffened at the sight of her. “Glad to see you made it, O’Rourke.”
“Yeah, I finally got tired of sitting on my ass,” she said with more attitude than she felt. “Only so many Dr.Phil’s a body can stand.”
“Sit down for a second while we have a talk.”
She shut the door behind her and warily took the chair in front of his desk. Just as she remembered, his set expression didn’t give away a thing he was thinking. “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant? The doctors gave me a clean bill of health.”
His narrowed gaze landed on the scar on her cheek then locked with hers again. “If you’re not ready for this, just say so.”
Some things never changed. Lieutenant Kalisek still knew just where to stick his dull knife. “I’m fine,” she said, her tone curt since she wasn’t about to bother hiding her irritation.
“Sure, you are.” But he didn’t sound convinced. He leaned back in his chair and continued to stare. “I’m putting you with Chappa, again. I know you two have a history…”
Chappa. Shit. They had plenty of history, all right. Most of it bad. “Fine,” she bit out. “Have you broken the good news to him?”
Clay’s face tightened with a pained expression. “Told him yesterday.”
“Wish you’d waited until I was in the room,” she said, a mirthless grin sliding along her lips. “Bet he was loud.”
The lieutenant’s ice blue eyes narrowed. “He’s not going to cut you any slack.”
Her chin came up. “Don’t need any.”
His nod was curt. “Very well. Get out on the street.”
That was it? Feeling a little deflated, like she’d worried about nothing, she hesitated. “You’re not going to say anything about the psych eval?”
“Doc said you’re ready—that the meds and the time off did the trick.” His expression tightened. “Should I ask you if you’re still talking to ghosts?”
A lump burned the back of her throat as she caught sight of Danny standing just behind the Lieutenant’s shoulder. “No ghosts,” she lied, ignoring the grin splitting her late partner’s face.
She shot up off the chair and turned to open the door.
“Like I said, O’Rourke. Chappa’s not gonna cut you any slack.”
She nodded over her shoulder, not daring to look back.
Series: Romancing the Seas Book 1 Genre: Contemporary Romance, Erotic Romance, Romantic Comedy, Holiday Romance Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Publication Date: September 11, 2018
When Piper’s job sends her undercover to spy on Jack – the beyond sexy hook-up she can’t stop thinking about – she is forced to decide if her job is more important than her happiness.
HAPPINESS HAS A PRICE
Captain Jack Spencer owns and runs a whale watching company, Ahoy, Matey. When his business takes off, a jealous rival wants him and his company gone. Jack has no idea the delectable Piper Goldhirsch is tasked with scuttling everything he’s worked for – he’s too caught up in their magnetic attraction and her web of lies.
Piper Goldhirsch, head reporter for the tabloid TV show Business Buster, is all work and no play. When she and the all too tempting Jack Spencer have a one-night stand that turns out to be the greatest sex of her life, she is haunted by the powerful magic between them. Sent undercover to expose his whale watching business, she is torn between her assignment and the first man she has ever wanted. With her happiness on the line, Piper has only one choice.
She lifted her bare foot. He held her ankle with more delicacy than she’d expected from such a big man. As he slid the flat back onto her foot, his thumb grazed the indent near her anklebone. She shivered at the sensation. This close, the ocean blue of his eyes shone with intensity as he watched her. What did he look like beneath the costume and makeup? She’d noticed his sexy, crooked smile and the roguish way the corner of his mouth lifted up, as if he knew something she didn’t. His fingers wrapped around the back of her ankle, then stopped. She met his hungry eyes and nudged her leg forward into his hand. His fingers slid up an inch further, moving in a slow, barely there caress.
“I realize it’s none of my business,” he said. “But earlier, out in the ballroom…I don’t know what your friends said or did to make you upset, but if I can help at all, I’d like to.”
“I’m okay. Just shaking something off.” She took a sip from the wine bottle as she watched him. She moved her foot closer to his chest urging his hand closer to her calf. His long fingers stroked her flesh.
She closed her eyes. “Mmm, that feels nice. Don’t worry about what they said. You got a name, pirate?”
“Jack.”
His tone was serious. She looked back down at him and smirked. Two could play that game.
“Oh, of course. You’re Captain Jack, and I’m Little Red Riding Hood. C’mere.” He stood and met her eye to eye. At five feet nine, she often had a vantage point in height in the workplace, which served her well when she wanted to be intimidating, but he had well over four inches on her, easy. His big, muscular frame towered over her. She took another sip of wine and walked her fingers up the buttons of his waistcoat. “Can I level with you, Captain Jack?”
“Yes.”
She pushed aside the question of why she felt so at ease with him when all she’d wanted was to be alone and smoothed her palm over his white pirate shirt, his strong pectoral muscles firm beneath her fingers. When she next spoke, her voice broke as she remembered why she’d sought solace in the first place; she’d gotten a man and his whole family deported.
“See, I’ve had a hell of a hard year. I’ve pushed myself and made magic happen in ways I didn’t think I’d ever be able to, but that magic comes at a price, and I’m not okay with it. Every single day, people want a piece of me. And on normal days, I can handle it. But right now, all I want to do, since you’re here,” she moved closer, her lips inches from his, “and I’m here, is to forget it all and make some magic of our own I can hold onto, even if it’s just this little moment.”
His chest rose and fell as he scanned her. Clarity and kindness were evident in his eyes beneath the desire, and she knew she could have a little fun with him. She noticed that his palms clenched the more she rubbed against him. She smirked, grabbed the lapels of his waistcoat, and crashed her lips onto his.
THE WOMAN WAS unreal. Her thick, pouty lips moved against his, and no sooner had she kissed him full on the mouth than he seized her around her wasp-sized waist and laid claim. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, and her curves were soft and perfect in his hands. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and she met him eagerly. She tasted like strawberries and wine, and he groaned as his fingers slipped into her curls. It had been forever since he’d kissed a woman. She scored full check marks in every category, and then some.
Chances were she merely wanted a nice make-out session, but his body already demanded more. He wrapped his arms around her, spanned his hand against her back, and traveled down to the curve of her delectable ass. She shivered against him; the movement went straight to his hardened cock. He nipped her lower lip as he squeezed her bottom.
“Oh, you are one big firecracker, aren’t you? Tell me your name.”
She wrapped her ankle around the back of his calf as she hauled him in close. “No names,” she breathed.
He kissed her and moaned when she rubbed her core against him through their clothes. All right, he’d play along. For now. But he would take the lead.
About Roxanne D. Howard
Roxanne D. Howard writes sizzling erotic romance with Boroughs Publishing Group and The Wild Rose Press. She is a U.S. Army veteran, and a Columbia College alumni. She loves to read poetry, classical literature, and Stephen King. Also, she is an avid Star Wars fan, musical theater nut, and marine biology geek. Roxanne resides in the western U.S., and when she’s not writing, she enjoys spending quality time with her husband, children, and furry companions. Roxanne loves to hear from her readers, and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.
In Cabo San Lucas, Navy SEAL Carson “Beach-boy” Walsh is ready to live the good life. After surviving fifteen deployments in ten years, he bailed on the SEALs, figuring this cat had run out of lives. The only danger he faces now is choking on an oyster or drowning in beer—and then he meets her.
Gina Tripp is the Calamity Jane of bounty hunters, enjoying an unexpected vacation. She’s the stand-in for an absent groom on her girlfriend’s honeymoon in Cabo when she meets a cute guy with a nothing but sex on the beach in mind. As her luck would have it, her best friend winds up kidnapped, and now Gina’s embroiled in a dangerous rescue that deepens her attraction Carson.
Just when she thinks she can settle in and enjoy a few days of sin, an opportunity to prove herself to her boss lands in her lap. Now, she has her sights set on scoring a huge bounty—an ex-pat skip, hiding out in Mexico. What follows is a wild ride that leaves her feeling pretty relieved she hijacked a Navy SEAL to help her with the job.
**S*x on the Beach** is part of the Montana Bounty Hunter series. It is also in the SEALs in Paradise connected series. Each book can be read as standalone. They do not have cliff-hanger endings and do not have to be read in any particular order.
Carson “Beach-boy” Walsh pulled his dog tags from under his shirt, and then exposed the small medallion that rested against one rubber-clad tag, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it.
So, Saint Christopher wasn’t actually considered a saint anymore, and Carson wasn’t Catholic, but his aunt had given him the medallion the first time he’d shipped out. Kissing it for luck before a fight had become a ritual.
After tucking the medal back inside his shirt, he raised his MK17 to hold it crosswise in front of his body as he continued the march into the valley. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth to calm his heart and head. Another part of his “pre-game” ritual.
He was on his fifteenth deployment, and he’d lost count of how many missions. He’d just hit his ten-year mark as a SEAL, and he was one lucky guy. Everyone said so. Other than a little shrapnel and splinters, he’d never been seriously injured.
Sure, he’d had a moment during his thirteenth deployment, when he thought maybe he’d run out of luck—when he’d stepped on a landmine. But the second his boot had landed on the metal plate buried in the sand, he’d known exactly what was happening, and had pitched himself over a stone wall a split-second before it exploded, a luckily delayed reaction, which had showered him with dirt. His buddies had rushed to him, certain they’d be picking up pieces of his body, but he’d sat up, shook his head, and grinned.
“Goddamn, Beach-boy,” his best buddy Fischer had said as he slapped his back. “You are one lucky bastard.”
Yeah, that had been his closest call, but he didn’t take his luck for granted. He trained hard, kept alert to his surroundings, and trusted the men on his team. They were the source of his real luck.
He’d lost friends along the way, to death and career-ending injuries. He knew, someday, his streak would end, but it wouldn’t be today. Not this early morning when the sun was painting the prettiest dawn as it climbed over the rim of the valley. Bright yellow at the edge, a pale purple and orange just above it. While he preferred a bit more greenery, the sparse bushes and trees dotting the rocky valley below looked almost lush compared to the countryside they’d been quickly moving through. The walled compound below looked like a crumbling castle from some ancient tale. A castle they hoped contained their current target, an insurgent leader who’d escaped a series of raids, and who’d publicly mocked his would-be captors.
The team was eager to capture Ahmadi, who’d become a kind of superstar, even among those who wanted to see an end to the Taliban’s reign of terror, once and for all. They admired the fact he’d managed to survive, always staying one step ahead of his American pursuers.
When they reached the outer wall of the compound, Carson paused as his team moved past. Every one of them reached out a hand to rub his helmet, their own lucky ritual, before they took positions along the wall. Carson was on point. He’d be the first inside the compound—after he blew the thick plank door set into the wall.
Fischer rubbed his helmet then took a knee beside the door. “Don’t get killed.”
“You can have my helmet if I do,” Carson said with a quick, tight grin. Then he reached out, stuck the small explosive charge next to the lock on the door, set the timer, and then took cover.
He counted the seconds and covered his ears. As soon as the C-4 exploded, he pushed up and ran quickly through the opening, heading toward the side of the mud-stuccoed house in the center of the open compound. As he moved, the only sounds were the quiet crunches of boots behind him. Not a bleat from a goat, not a bark from a dog, not a shout. “Too damn quiet,” he said.
“Damn, I hope he hasn’t already slipped the noose,” the mission commander said in his earpiece. “Breach the door, but keep your eyes peeled.”
“Anyone tell him that never sounds good?” Fischer muttered.
Hunkered down with his weapon raised, the buttstock snug against his shoulder, Carson kept close to the wall as he moved toward the alcove shading the front door. He checked the dirt around the concrete porch but saw no signs of recent digging, so no mines, he hoped. Then he ducked into the alcove, Fischer right behind him, his back to Carson as he continued to scan their surroundings.
Carson moved to the door, reached out with his left hand, and pulled down on the latch. He heard a snick, but also a snap. His heart thudded, and he turned to Fischer, “Go, go, g—”
An explosion sounded behind him, a millisecond before the door slammed into his back and pushed him ahead of a blast of fire and air that picked him and Fischer up. When he landed, he scrambled toward his buddy. Fischer lay face down, his arms spread.
Sounds around him were muffled—pops of gunfire, distant shouts. He crawled to Fischer and gently rolled him over. His face was covered in sand and grit…and blood, seeping from beneath his helmet. No, his ear.
“Fisch,” he shouted close to him, but Fischer didn’t stir.
“Man down. Fisch is down,” he said into his mic, but couldn’t hear a response. Sounds faded. He knelt, knowing he couldn’t do a thing—not remove his friend’s helmet, not move him again. He swayed on his knees and nearly fell, but more of his team arrived, pulling him away, running their hands over his back.
He sucked a breath between his teeth when he felt a sudden sharp pain on the right side of his back. More muffled voices shouted into his ear. “Lie down, Walsh! Helo’s coming!”
At that moment, Carson realized his luck had just run out. Too soon to save Fischer. Maybe too soon to save himself.
Three months ago…
The sky was blue, the temperature was in the mid-seventies, and a light breeze filtered through the leaves of the cottonwoods. It was a gorgeous, glorious Montana day, and Gina Tripp was pumped. Her boss, Fetch Winter, had finally let go of the tight leash he’d kept her on since he’d hired her after she’d left active duty where they first met. Before he’d mustered out, he’d given her his number and told if ever she needed a job…
She’d accepted his offer and moved to Montana from her home in San Diego. So far, she loved the climate, the mountains, the people she worked with, and, especially, the job. Bounty hunting was damn fun, and from listening to the stories of the more experienced hunters, she was eager to experience the occasional adrenaline rush she’d grown addicted to in the Army. But she was the “new girl” and had to prove herself before they’d trust her with the scary shit.
The past two weeks, Fetch had finally let her take solo baby-steps—rounding up druggies who’d missed their court-ordered drug tests, picking up an old Buick from a seventy-year-old woman who’d signed away her car to bail out her deadbeat son, only to have him skip his date with the judge.
Nothing big. Nothing dangerous. She’d performed well on other tasks, working the phones to give the other hunters leads. At last, Fetch was trusting her to serve as part of the team going after Harland Oates, a once-convicted felon, who hadn’t been seen since he’d met his bail for a DUI offense that he’d compounded by assaulting the arresting officer.
Gina had “geared up” along with two other hunters from the Kalispell office, Sam Meacham and “Kid” Hagerty. They were armed with handguns, a rifle, and a pellet gun. She’d been given beanbag rounds for her shotgun, something non-lethal because the men were nervous she’d shoot them by mistake.
She’d snorted at that assumption, but they’d taken her new nickname “Trip” to heart. So, she’d faceplanted on the drive outside the office during an ice storm. And once, she’d slid like surfer across a sheet of black ice during a coffee run, only to hit hard snow and somersault. After managing to save one lidded drink, she’d thought that would count for something.
Nope. They’d taken the security camera footage and posted it on YouTube. Now, she was known as the Calamity Jane of the bounty hunting world, at least here in Montana.
Fetch had told her to stop trying so hard. Relax. She’d eventually find her feet in the job. She’d rolled her eyes, and he’d laughed at his joke. He predicted, that in the end, she’d be a hell of a hunter.
But her training was taking a little longer than she liked. Like most of the people he’d hired, she was ex-military. She’d seen action as a driver in Iraq, driving in convoys transporting supplies across huge expanses of open desert. She’d had to bail out of a 5-ton truck a time or two to set up a quick defense against attacks from ISL forces. She’d even shot her weapon. Not that she’d ever hit a thing. Didn’t matter. She’d done her job. Had been prepared for worst case scenarios. She knew how to solider, how to follow orders, and she didn’t lose her nerve when things got grim.
She reminded herself of all these things as she trudged behind Sam and Kid toward a house, of sorts, deep inside the woods. The structure had begun its life as a school bus but had been “renovated” with wood-framed offshoots that sat on piers that looked like a stiff wind would shift them right off their foundations. This was Harland’s “hunting cabin” or so his buddies back at the bar in Bozeman had said.
Gina’s Kevlar vest was a little large, and the top rubbed the underside of her chin. She reached for the bottom edge and tugged it down to just above her hips, and then hurried to catch up with the guys on the trail.
They both turned and shot her harsh glares, but she gave them a smile. Kill them with kindness; that was her motto. They likely thought she was a bit of a snowflake she smiled so damn much.
Kid had already asked her on a date, but she’d told him she didn’t think it was a good idea—at least not until she was off her ninety-day probation. She had to be all about the job. Still, turning him down had been hard. The man was beautiful, although she was sure he wouldn’t like being described that way, but he did have the dreamiest gray-blue eyes, soot-black wavy hair that he kept cut short, and a body that any breathing woman, and probably a lot of men, would sigh over.
But it was better to keep her mind on the job, not the way his Levi jeans hugged his ass. When she headed back to California for her best friend’s wedding, she’d be sure to scout out a booty call to take care of any unrequited urges Kid inspired.
“Trip!” came a harsh whisper in her earpiece.
She glanced up and caught Sam’s signal. They’d circled to the back of the ramshackle cabin, and Kid had his back to the siding as he edged closer to a window to peek inside.
“He’s inside. Kitchen,” Kid whispered then ducked down.
Sam caught her glance, pointed toward the back door, and made some sort of hand signal. Not strictly military, so she wasn’t exactly sure if he was telling her to guard it or open it, but she nodded and moved toward the rickety back steps. When he disappeared around the front of the structure, she guessed she was supposed to wait, because he’d likely be the one to breach the front door. She edged quietly up the wooden steps to stand at the back door.
“Harland Oates, Fugitive Recovery Agents!”
Gina winced at the shout in her ear, but then almost snickered at the way Sam had said the felon’s name. It had sounded like “Hall & Oats” and, not for the first time, she was tempted to break out in song. “Maneater” came to mind.
“We have your place surrounded! Come out with your hands up!” A moment passed. “I’m goin’ in!” Sam whispered.
A crash sounded in the distance. Footsteps pounded through the bus, striking metal then wood. Then the knob on the door in front of her twisted. She only had a second to jerk back into the tiny space behind the door as it slammed open. When a man began to emerge, all she saw was wild hair, a wilder beard, and bare muscled arms.
Has to be Harland. Fuck! She pushed the door back as hard as she could against the large body hurtling out onto the porch.
She caught him, sort of.
Harland Oates slammed against the railing. “What the fuck!”
The porch shuddered then teetered to the side. She grabbed for Harland, caught his grubby wifebeater in her fist, but he fell through the rail, taking her with him. They landed on the ground, her body bouncing against his back, her shotgun banging against his head. When she scrambled to her knees, she was straddling him and fighting to get her shotgun turned in the small space between their bodies, when he bucked upward, sending her to the side.
Still turning the weapon, her finger got stuck in the trigger housing and a round went off, pounding into the ground beside his head, and he froze.
They both turned their gazes to the expended round. The lead-filled red “pillow” was disintegrated.
“Bitch, you almost shot me in the fucking head!” Harland whined.
It took everything not to blurt that it had been an accident. Instead, she gave him her meanest stare. “You gonna give me any more trouble?”
“Trip, what the hell?” Sam shouted from the back door.
She glanced up to see him tip back his cowboy hat. He couldn’t step out because the porch had collapsed. “We’re good, Sam,” she said, then dragged the muzzle of her shotgun closer to Harland’s belly. “Ain’t that right?”
Harland groaned and wilted against the dirt just as Kid strode to her side.
Sam shook his head and disappeared back inside, his feet clomping through the cabin.
Kid offered his hand. “Not exactly graceful, are you, Trip?”
She squinted up at him. “If you ever want that date, you better take that back. I got him, didn’t I?”
His mouth stretched into a huge grin. “Wish I’d had a camera. You should have seen your face when that porch fell out from under you.” He glanced down at Harland who’d reached out his hands, showing he was ready to surrender.
“Can ya get off me now?” Harland asked.
Kid cupped her elbow and grabbed her shotgun, holding it well away as he helped her to her feet. “I got this. Don’t want you to get those fingers stuck again.”
“They weren’t stuck,” she lied, her cheeks feeling as though they were on fire.
“Sure, and you meant to knock him out with the door, right?”
“I don’t suppose you could keep the after-action report to ‘Trip took down the target’, could you?”
He gave her a sly wink. “Oh, that’s exactly what happened, wasn’t it?”
Her shoulders fell. No way in hell would either of the hunters let her live this one down. She’d be stuck relieving grannies of their prized possessions for the rest of her days.
“Make yourself useful and get him cuffed before Sam gets here,” he said.
As she drew her handcuffs from the pocket on her web belt, Kid pulled out his cellphone from under his vest.
While he took pictures of the collapsed steps, she helped Harland to his feet. The man wasn’t very tall. She probably could have taken him from behind if she’d let him climb down the steps first. Instead, adrenaline had been her bitch.
As she led him back through the woods to their SUV, she heard laughter following her every step of the way.
This is just a reminder, in case you haven’t already pre-ordered it! I’m posting late because I’m still working on finishing up this book. Yeah, I’m last-minute-Lucy with this story. So many things happening in this crazy house, it’s hard to meet deadlines anymore.
Anyway, thought you might like a glimpse inside the story. It’s got a hot SEAL hero, a bad-luck bounty hunter, action, humor, hot-HAWT sex, so you know, the usual! 🙂
Have a peek! And if you’re wondering why on earth I didn’t spell out SEX in the title of the book, I didn’t want my book listed in porn-prison on Amazon.
S*x on the Beach
Navy SEAL Carson Walsh is ready to live the good life. After surviving fifteen deployments in ten years, he bailed on the SEALs figuring this cat had run out of lives. Now living in Cabo San Lucas, the only danger he faces is choking on an oyster or drowning in beer—and then he meets her.
Gina Tripp is the Calamity Jane of bounty hunters. She’s the stand-in for an absent groom on her girlfriend’s honeymoon in Cabo when she meets a cute guy with a nothing but sex on the beach in mind. But she has her sights set on scoring a huge bounty—an ex-pat skip hiding out in Mexico. All she has to do is figure out how to perform her own extradition of her target. One drunken night later and a wild ride on a drug-runner’s plane, she’s pretty relieved she hijacked a Navy SEAL to help her with the job, even if he’s an unwilling participant who has to put his rusty skills to use to keep them both alive.
Gina sat on the red leather couch in the honeymoon suite her best friend was supposed to be sharing with her husband. But as usual, Gina’s string of bad luck had struck again. Maggie had left minutes ago, hoping to figure out how her life had taken such a crazy turn, while Gina sat, a little dazed from the morning’s odd happenings. Well, truthfully, the “dazed” bit was likely the last remnants of all the alcohol she’d consumed the night before.
She’d been in the hotel bar the night before, ready to tie one on with her best buddy to prove to Maggie she didn’t need any stinking man, when the bartender had asked her what she’d wanted. She’d been ready to order her usual Manhattan, but she was on vacation, and she wanted something new, something she hadn’t tried before.
“I hear Sex on the Beach is pretty good.”
The sexy drawl had pulled her gaze to the side where she locked gazes with one of the most delicious looking men she’d ever seen. She’d glanced at Maggie, who seemed to be doing fine, chatting with an equally sexy, well-built man. So, what the hell? A girl only lived once. She turned to the bartender. “That’s what I want. Sex on the Beach.”
The man beside her had chuckled then lifted his chin at the bartender. “Put it on my tab.”
As easy as that, she’d allowed her future booty-call to buy her drinks then draw her onto the dancefloor where he’d pulled her close, tempting her with his hard body and sliding hands. As soon as they’d finished their second slow dance, she’d been so breathless and hot, she’d pulled him toward the exit and then led him all the way back to her hotel room—after she’d assured herself that Maggie was having a good time. Maggie had been salsa dancing and looked like she was having the time of her life—and was heading toward the exit, hand-in-hand with her sexy man. Gina had only felt a slight twinge of guilt letting her leave like that.
No, her mind had been on the wicked Navy SEAL, who’d proven to be very adept at giving a woman mind-blowing orgasms.
“Well, that was awkward,” Carson Walsh said as he stepped into hotel room door carrying two Styrofoam coffee cups. “I met your friend at the elevator. She didn’t look very happy.” His gaze raked over her. “Well, damn, you got dressed.”
He sounded so disappointed Gina almost felt sorry for him, but she wasn’t over feeling sorry for herself. Yes, Gina Trip had done it again—tripped all over herself and wound up in bed with a hunky Navy SEAL while her best friend had married a complete stranger the night before.
She blew out a breath that billowed her cheeks. Reality had settled in like a wet blanket the second Maggie had left with her brand-spanking-new husband, Chase Flannigan, on a hunt to fill in the missing pieces from their memories after their drunken binge—and to figure out how they could quickly annul their marriage. “I’m a terrible wing-woman. I just wanted Maggie to have some fun. Dance a little. Maybe get laid. She was into him, I thought. How was I supposed to know she’d go and marry a complete stranger? A little rebound sexy maybe, but married?” She shook her head.
Carson handed her the coffee he’d left to find. “Caramel latte, just as you ordered.”
She glanced up and really looked at him. Was she any better off than Maggie? She’d willingly, knowingly, slept with a stranger. Okay, so he was sinfully handsome with his broad shoulders, ripped abs and tattooed biceps. And yes, his shaggy, sun-kissed blond hair, scruffy bearded cheeks, and sexy blue eyes caused her heart to flutter, but she’d resisted handsome before. What was it about these Navy SEALs that had women throwing caution to the wind to get inside their pants?
“Okay,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “You just looked at me like I did something wrong. Want to talk about it?”
She took a deep breath, hoping to cool her motor before she reached for him and compounded the sins she’d already committed with the lug. “I’m not a good friend. I shouldn’t have laughed.” But she hadn’t been able to help herself. The second Maggie had slammed through her bedroom door, shouting, Gina! What the hell happened last night? she’d been stunned by the sight of Maggie fuming while a buff, naked man stood beside her.
The man had been as cool as a cucumber and hadn’t tried to hide a thing.
Gina had managed a squeal and a “Geez, woman. Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” But as Maggie had ranted on and on about how she’d woken up lying beside Chase, and that neither of them knew how they’d gotten there and why they were wearing wedding rings, Gina had realized something. Maggie wasn’t depressed anymore. There was color in her cheeks, a twinkle in her eyes, and her handsome husband had put that look there.
“This was supposed to be her honeymoon…” she murmured.
“I got that,” Carson said.
“Her fiancé ran off with the wedding planner. How cliché is that?”
“Got that, too.”
Gina frowned. “I whisked her away from the wedding as soon as we realized Lloyd wasn’t coming—and right before her father was set to arrive. We knew he’d flip his lid. But then, I told her she should take the vacation she’d planned. When she said she didn’t want to go alone, that it would be too depressing, I offered to come. I promised to be her wing-woman. Help her get her groove on.”
“I’d say, you did that.”
She gave him a narrowed glance, sure he was secretly laughing at her, but his expression was…concerned. For her? Her heart fluttered again. “A wing-woman is supposed to keep her friend from doing something irreversibly stupid.”
“Would you feel better if we went after them and helped them sort this out?”
She frowned, remembering how Chase had seemed committed to sticking close to Maggie, especially after someone had sent a text to Gina’s phone, threatening to harm Maggie if her new boyfriend didn’t show up that night to settle some score neither Maggie or Chase knew a thing about. They’d both been so wasted every single detail of their night together was a big black hole of nothing. “Chase seems…capable. He’ll keep her safe.” She bit her lower lip, considering what a good friend would do at a moment like this. Then she glanced at Carson. “For all her shouting, she seemed…more herself. Maybe she needs him more than she needs me right now.”
He nodded. “Okay, so that leaves you here. Alone. With me.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Heat crept across her cheeks. “I don’t sleep with men I don’t know. And I know Maggie never has either. I mean, I have sex, sure, but I usually expect a little effort from a guy—dinner, a movie… What is it with you SEALs that makes women ready to drop their panties at hello?”
His mouth stretched into a wicked, very confident grin. “Last night, you said it was something about all the muscles…”
She wrinkled her nose. “I did, didn’t I?” Feeling pretty sexy herself beneath his smoldering gaze, she reached across his lap and settled her hand on the burgeoning knot between his legs. She didn’t know how to go slow with this man.
“Not a muscle, not technically,” he said, while his eyelids dipped, and he gave her that sexy look that had made her wet in a second last night in the bar.
“What the hell,” she whispered as she stood and then climbed over his lap. With her thighs spread, she angled her body to rub against his erection. “Maybe if we do this again, I’ll decide I’ve had enough. A girl can only have so many orgasms before she gets bored, right?”
“Think so?” he said, chuckling.
“Seeing as I hadn’t done this in a while, before last night, I should reach the point pretty soon where it gets uncomfortable. Then I’ll be able to resist.”
“Let’s see how that works for you…”
She gasped as he fisted his hair in her curls. Carson already knew she went wild when a man grabbed her hair. “Pull harder,” she whispered against his mouth.
Carson growled and fisted tighter. The sting caused the muscles up and down her channel to ripple and her core to heat. She’d never thought of herself as overly sexual, but with this man, she was a full-blown nympho. She could lose herself in the pleasure because he knew exactly how to touch her.
Gina pulled at his shirt, rucking it up to expose his chest, and then did the same with hers, unlatching her bra so she could press her bared breasts against his hot skin and silky, light brown chest hair.
Then she rose, set her feet on the floor and shimmied out of her shorts. He continued kissing her, cupping one breast with his free hand while she thumbed open his jeans. When he lifted, she pushed to get them down his hips, just far enough to free his cock, which sprang full and hard between them.
Again, she settled her knees on the cushions beside his hips and reached to guide him to her entrance. With a downward glide, she took him, bouncing gently on his cock as she consumed it.
Once their groins were flush, she circled her hips. Good Lord, she felt full. “Did I mention that you’re big?”
“Yeah, the second I lost my pants last night. I think you squeaked.”
UPDATE: The winners are…Colleen, Elysian, and Buttons! *~*~*
The Night Fall series was one of my first. I still love it, and I try to add to the series every now and then, because I can’t let that world go. I wrote the first story in 2003 or 2004, and I added Big Bad Wolf last year. I’ve had fun writing them. The stories are filled with danger, plenty of sexy encounters, and humor. One of the funniest, I think, is Frannie and The Private Dick. The title came first, and the adventure spun out from there…
For a chance to win your choice from among the Night Fall stories,
answer me this…
Is there a paranormal show on TV that you adore, past or present?
Click on the covers to learn more!
Frannie and The Private Dick
Bent on catching her cheating fiancé in the act, Frannie Valentine got sidetracked by a little thing like dying. When she awakens, Frannie learns her pampered life will never be the same, so she turns to the man responsible for her undeadness and demands he take on the responsibility of giving her a little job training—in the PI biz.
Niall Keegan never intended to make himself a mate, but Frannie’s string of minor disasters, which ended with her dying in his arms, took the decision right out of his hands. While the mating part isn’t bad, making the disaster-prone Frannie a PI may just be the death of him.
Francesca Valentine had died and gone to hell. No other explanation made sense. She swam back to awareness through a molasses-thick void to find herself suddenly spat out from a dark womb into a cold, hollow space. Blind, and so still she knew she didn’t breathe, her mind turned over like a sluggish engine before revving into high gear.
Quickly, she assessed what she knew. She lay on a hard surface, covered with a scratchy square of thin fabric, unable to move a muscle. A low whine, like that of an air-conditioner, came from the opposite side of the space. Harsh light shone from above, warming her face, but hurting her closed eyes. So, she probably wasn’t blind after all. But she was definitely dead. Stone-cold. Her chest wasn’t moving in and out, but she didn’t feel starved for air.
She knew who she was and what had killed her, but hadn’t a clue what new fix she’d landed herself in. From nearby came the scrape of footsteps and a tentative humming, then…
“Bee-ooot-ee-foll Dreeeeamer, wake unto me…”
She was in hell all right. A demented spirit hovered over her, emitting an off-key warbling that set Frannie’s teeth on edge. By the rusty sound of the grating voice, her tormentor must be an ancient female, and the she-devil was trying to remove the skin from her face in slow, abrasive circles with…apricot-scented facial scrub? Frannie’d had a chemical peel the week before. The last thing she needed was a dime store product applied to her professionally maintained skin. Read the rest of this entry »
