Thursday, July 3, 2014


Hands-on assassin Rose has the best job in the world and no issue at all with taking out the bad guys. In fact, the only problem Rose has in her life is the game of sexy one-upmanship she’s playing with her biggest competition, Jane.

Jane is a sniper who likes to do her job from a distance, but no matter who manages to do the job first, the ladies get together afterward to argue over who gets the fee, and have hot make-up sex at the same time.

When Rose is burned by the family of one of her marks, though, the game changes. When Jane’s handler tells her she gets the honor of taking Rose out, Jane knows she can’t just kill her best girl. Jane must rescue Rose in time to keep both of them alive, or their lust-filled contest will end with a very final bang.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.


Copyright © BA TORTUGA, 2014

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Jane sat in the corner booth, on the right side, which was easiest to get out of and slip into the back room, should she need to make an escape. It was entirely possible Miss Rose would decide she was tired of playing and take Jane’s happy ass out this time. Unlikely, but possible. She’d ordered a plate of Irish nachos, and she had a Guinness and an appletini on the table in front of her.

She was waiting for Rose, pretty sure the stacked little redhead would show up. The last time they’d played this game had been less than successful, but Jane missed Rose, missed the quick wit, the sweet curves, the sound of needy moans.

Jane smiled to herself, thighs rubbing together as the thought of her favorite on-again, off-again made her ache. Rose had been pissed off enough that Jane imagined you could smell the smoke coming out of her ears. She’d timed that shot perfectly, damn it, and she’d managed it from a hell of a distance. Honestly, you’d think after working as long as they had that Rose would have learned not to get so emotionally involved in her marks.

Sometimes Jane had to just keep things from getting too personal.

“What the fuck are you about?” The rainbow-colored purse hit the table first, then Rose’s fine, fine ass hit the seat across from her, right on the edge.

“Is that an existential question?” Jane chuckled, sliding the appletini across the table. “Drink?”

Nice long fuck?

“That job was mine.” The palest blue eyes on earth snapped and crackled, and Jane could smell Rose’s soap—sandalwood and roses.

Yum. She wanted to wallow in the scent, get it all over the hotel sheets. “You were taking too long.” Jane shrugged, casual as all get out.

“Taking too long? I was trying to make sure the thirty assholes in the other room didn’t crash in.”

“Uh-huh. Have I mentioned that you make a shitty Mexican?” Jane asked. “Your skin is all wrong.”

“I’m going to hurt you.”

Oh, Rose might try, but there were things they did better together. Like fuck. “Have a drink with me first.”

Rose picked up the martini glass and sipped, smiling around the rim. Miss Rose did love a tart drink, the girlier, the better. They were a study in contrasts, she and Rose. Jane liked the earthy sourness of stout, the mouth-feel of a good steak. Rose liked vegetarian pasta. She was a hard-assed dyke, through and through, pure military, from her short hair to her ripped abs. Rose, though, she was all passion, all girl. They said opposites attracted, after all.

They didn’t chat. What did they have to say, really? Jane’s bank account was happier by a half-million dollars; Rose was going to make her pay for that in flesh. She shivered, her nipples going hard. God, she’d missed her girl.

Rose stared at her, pale-blue eyes blazing. “I should put an ice pick in your ear.”

“You have an ice pick? Here?” Fucking A. How cool was that? “You know I always pay my debts, honey. Get over it.” Jane pushed it.

“Fuck off, you bat.” Rose stuck her tongue out, and the sudden playfulness was incredibly, oddly erotic.

Jane wanted to suck on that tongue and taste the apple.

This was absolutely not the time or place for that, so she went for needling. “Why are you dressed like a hippie?”

“Because I make a shitty Mexican.” Rose reached for the bar menu. “Did you order food?”

“Irish nachos for my Fair Isle girl.”


“Always.” Eternally. No matter how they fought it.

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