Tony and Adam are determined to get their girl back. Vicki has gone missing, and as volatile as she is, it's not like her to just leave them, especially so close to the first moon. Finding her trashed motorcycle in the desert doesn't give them a whole lot of hope, though.Lost and unable to remember anything, Vicki doesn't know what to believe. Tony and Adam are strangers to her, but she knows they're hot as the elusive ghost pepper. Can the boys convince her to come home like they want to, ahora? Now?
Available at Torquere Press, Amazon and All Romance Ebooks.
Author's Note: Ahora came from a What-If game in Las Vegas during the EAA Convention on a shuttle bus. I'm sure my fellow passengers were amused...
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~Excerpt~
"Who ate the last of the peanut butter?" Vicki slammed the cabinet door, the empty Jiff jar in her hand. Seriously? How fucking hard was it to throw the fucking jar away? Tell her. She'd made the fucking drive to town just yesterday for groceries.
"'Tonio did it," Adam said, not even glancing up from his magazine.
The magazine she'd picked up for him at the damned store!
"Did not. Adam's a fuckhead." Tony at least looked at her from over the pile of electronics he was systematically fucking up, dark eyes completely unconcerned.
She was going to kill them both. They were... lazy, insensitive, rude asshats!
Adam grinned at her finally, pushed the heavy mass of blond hair away from his face. "Okay, it was me. I forgot. Sue me."
She looked at him, then threw the peanut butter jar at his head, hard.
"Hey!" It barely missed him, possibly grazing his ear. "Are you fixing to start?"
"What?" She was going to bite his face off. Start? "Are you afraid I'll be in heat tomorrow and we'll get hung up?"
Lady save her from living with asshole males. Why she was the one who needed two frigging...
"You sure are bitchy for no reason, querida." Tony shrugged, looking so put-upon.
"No reason? No fucking reason? Y'all have been assholes all fucking day!" First there was the fact that she'd made a breakfast and no one had bothered to get their lazy asses up to even eat it. Then someone had dribbled all over the toilet seat and hadn't clean up after himself. Farts so bad that the bedroom smelled like a dog pen. Then her leathers had been crumpled up and... gnawed on.
Why the fuck did she get saddled with not one, but two mates?
Two shiftless, flea-infested, butthead mates. She was so out of there.
She flipped them off -- not that either one of the little shits noticed -- and grabbed her helmet and her leather jacket on the way.
Turds.
Fuckweasels.
Furbags.
She jumped on her Harley, slammed on her helmet. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge for a few hours, let the wind blow out her shitty mood.
Otherwise she'd just kill them both.
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