SOLDIER COME HOME by Jane Leopold Quinn

SOLDIER COME HOME by Jane Leopold Quinn

Army Ranger Jess Crofton doesn't plan on one last fling before his second deployment. He gets that and so much more with memories of a gorgeous Lorren Samples to carry with him into battle.

Lorren has her own fledgling career as a women's rights lawyer. She lives in the whirlwind that Jess creates in their one day together, not knowing until the moment he's leaving that he's an elite soldier. They promise to e-mail each other, but war intrudes on that plan.

Can a long deployment, a horrific Afghan mountain battle, and a wounded hero rekindle the passion he found on a hot Chicago summer's day? Will Lorren ignore their age difference and accept a new love in her life?

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~Excerpt~

Lorren shivered in reaction to the change in temperature when they stepped outside the restaurant.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Ghah, I'd forgotten how hot and humid it was out here." She fanned her face with the flat of her hand. "The restaurant was so cold."

"I noticed."

"Hmm?"

"I could tell you were cold." He slipped his forefinger under the halter strap at her collarbone and lifted it.

She watched his finger, realizing that her popping nipples were quite visible under the thin material of her dress. "Oh."

"That's an amazing dress. The little checks look so homespun. Like one of my mom's old aprons."

"Well, thanks, I guess," she deadpanned.

"I wasn't finished," he said. "But the style is all sex."

She opened her mouth, closed it. "I just wore it because I knew it'd be hot today."

"Mm hum. Well, thank you! I applaud your decision." He bowed formally and clicked his heels.

She heated up. Inside and out. He was the sexiest man she'd met in a long time. Maybe in forever. Something had to be wrong with him. He hadn't burped, but maybe he farted regularly. Loudly and smellily. She chuckled to herself, doubting that smellily was even a word. But so far he hadn't done it. Maybe during sex. The laugh bubbled up and exploded out before she could stop it.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just enjoying myself." There was no way she wanted him to know what she'd been imagining.

"That's good. I always aim to please." He jauntily tapped the bill of his cap in acknowledgement.

They strolled up the esplanade alongside the Pier. "And do you? Please, that is?" He sure was a pleasure to look at. That absolutely masculine face, shaded by the bill of the ball cap, topping a navy blue linen shirt and khakis drove her mad. He wasn't wearing cowboy boots or his Stetson, just brown tie, soft-soled shoes and the ball cap, but he was casual and elegant and sexy hot. Like a model. A masculine model, not one of those gay looking ones.

"I think I do," he answered modestly. His arm tightened around her waist.

Oh, he has to fart big time, she mused as she shrugged him off. Capering ahead, she pranced backward facing him and announced playfully. "You're too much. I think I need to take a deep breath. I'd tell you that you're too sexy for your shirt, but you'd get a big head."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him. "Well, something big anyway."

"Oh nuts, I fell right into that, didn't I?" She chuckled.

"Yeah, I'd say you did." They reached the end of the pier, and he steered her over to the railing. "Are you going to let me kiss your sweet chocolate mouth any time soon? Don't you think I redeemed myself for being late?" He crowded her, his hands on the railing on either side of her blocking her in and nuzzled the tip of her nose with his chin.

Laughing again with lighthearted joy, she leaned back, shook her head, and let the breeze wild up her already unmanageable hair. The sun, the snap of the flags above them—it was glorious. Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, she said, "Isn't this a magnificent day?"

He placed both palms on her cheeks and positioned her face.

"It's not..." She didn't get to finish her sentence. The next thing she knew, he was kissing her. This time his tongue didn't just spear, it attacked. It hadn't before. He'd been a gentleman. He wasn't now. His mouth opened wide, surrounding her lips, taking them. He drove her to the edge with that thick, hot, wet tongue and overwhelming senses already ratcheted up all afternoon.

He released her lips. Crap.

But no, they weren't finished. He re-angled his head and started in again stroking, thrusting his tongue in and out until all she could think about was how he'd do it with his cock. With a cry, high-pitched and delirious, she clenched her fingers in the shirt at his back and pressed, holding him as firmly as he was holding her. Every inch of their body fronts embraced, locked together as they were, thigh to thigh, bellies and chests fused to the other.

She moaned into his mouth as her breasts flattened against his hard chest, their ache not assuaged one bit. They wanted more.

His belt buckle molded a space at her belly, and it wasn't the only hard thing prodding her. Oh, my Lord, the length of his penis, the round shape of it pressed against her pussy. She rolled her hips, his answering groan heartening, arousing. She flexed her fingers open, dug her nails...

Shrieks filled the air. They both jerked apart, but didn't separate completely, still enfolded in each other's arms. What in hell was that commotion about? She peeked around. About a million kids swarmed the plaza, running to the railing, laughing, screaming about who got there first. Holy crap. They'd been putting on a live sex show for a bunch of grade school kids. She ducked her head to his chest, rolling her forehead back and forth, felt him shaking with laughter.

"Well." His hot breath wafted over her ear and neck. "I guess this is our cue to move on."

She looked up into his eyes. His lovely, sexy eyes. That's when it hit her. She hadn't felt like this in such a long time. This sweet, fulfilling, sensuously romantic awareness. The exciting spark with a handsome man that you didn't know where it would lead but knew it would be an outstanding experience. She smiled. And was rewarded with an answering grin. They were on the same page.

As if both tacitly agreeing to spend the rest of the afternoon in teasing foreplay instead of rushing off to bed, they wandered hand in hand back along the pier. They alternated between exhibits inside in the air conditioned building and enjoying jugglers and mimes and just plain, ordinary people watching outside in the sun. They availed themselves of soft drinks and ice cream, whatever looked good.

"What kind of law do you intend to practice?" he asked.

"I plan to do advocacy law for at-risk women and children."

"Wow, that's impressive."

"Well, it's kind of a personal thing with me." She pursed her lips in pained irritation. "My sister and niece were in trouble. The police and social services were useless. If you don't have family, you don't have anyone to help you. I intend to change the system." She gazed off into the distance. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get on my soapbox."

"Hey." He slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her companionably. "I understand. If there's a way to make the system better, you can do it."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest. It felt good to be there. Comfortable. She took a deep breath, felt her breasts swell against his chest. He tightened his hug, and then pressed her head to his shoulder in a heart-warming gesture.

***

Even though he held her in his arms to comfort her, the fact she was in his arms didn't escape him. Burying his nose in her hair, he savored her ripe, soft body, feeling every inch of her torso through the thin material of her dress. He liked her even more knowing that she was going to be a good kind of lawyer. Someone to be proud of. They stood like that for several long moments.

Finally, she straightened her shoulders and gazed up at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to depress you."

"I'm fine. How can I make you feel better," he asked, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. He'd had just about all the ice cream and Sno Cones he could handle. If he had to watch her lick and suck for one more minute, he was going to burst. And it wouldn't be pretty. It'd be messy, too. He needed to get her licking and sucking on something important. Like his cock.

"You are," she said noncommittally. "I'm fine now. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He gave her a quick buss on the top of her head. As much as he was enjoying their playtime out in public, he wanted her tucked away in his suite, on her back—or hands and knees—now! The hot, shimmering daytime had faded to dusk, and now, darkness edged in little twinkling lights cocooned them. Without discussion, they'd ambled with the crowd back to the end of the pier to watch fireworks. He leaned against the brick wall outside the Grand Ballroom and stationed her in front of him, her lovely, firm backside snuggled against his dick. All eyes turned toward the sky, and no one noticed the two of them hidden in the shadows.

He laced his fingers across her flat stomach and, with his thumbs, purposefully traced the elastic line of her panties stretched well below her belly button. That's my girl. Sexy dress, sexy panties. She wrapped her hands tightly around his wrists. Her stomach trembled in and out with nervous, rapid breaths. That she responded so easily to him was a huge turn on.

He hadn't told her that he'd be gone soon or that he didn't know for how long. He wanted her but had no right to seek a deeper connection than a one-night stand. He wished things could be different, but they weren't. Leaning closer, he nudged her hair back with his chin, nibbled kisses along her shoulder and up her neck to her ear. He felt her every gasp reverberate through his body and loved that her reactions to him were so powerful. He'd played nice all afternoon, acting the perfect gentleman when all he really wanted to do was slide his aching cock inside her hot, tight pussy. Time to see if she felt the same way.

Holding firmly with one splayed hand over her belly, he slid the other one down, around her hip to palm her ass cheek through the thin material of her dress. He felt her stomach jerk but couldn't hear if she moaned because fireworks had started exploding in the air above them. Slipping his hand further down, he trailed under the skirt to touch skin. Bare flesh. Her soft thigh. Curving around it, he brushed a thumb over the silk covering her pussy. Her nails dug into the hand on her belly, but it wasn't sending him a message to stop.

His thumb caressed over and over, lured to spread and play with puffy lips, until she squirmed and pumped her hips backward into his cock. Wiggling his fingers under the elastic, he came face-to-face, so to speak, with her pubic hair. Face-to-pussy would come later tonight.

 

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HOT UNDER THE COLLAR by Jane Leopold Quinn

HOT UNDER THE COLLAR by Jane Leopold Quinn

Preacher Prescott MacKay gave up gun slinging when he found God.

Isis Garrett, a mail order bride, doesn’t intend to become a bride. Instead, she opens a library in Paloverde, Texas.

Pres offers her a spot in his church and hangs around more than he should. She shows him no encouragement. In fact, she makes it clear she doesn't want anything to do with him.

Can Pres battle past her antipathy and prove to her he's one of the good guys? Will Isis let herself forget the past and see the cowboy preacher for the man she’s been waiting for all her life?

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Excerpt:


"What’s turned you against men?”

“I have nothing against…them.”

“I think you do.”

Shocked he had stumbled so close to her problem, she snapped, “Well, I never…” She tried to push herself up from the rock but couldn’t get her feet under her.

“Really?” he drawled, slipping his arm around her waist again to keep her close.

She tried to loosen his grip. He wouldn’t let her. She tugged again. “This isn’t right.”

“It feels good to me.”

Closing her eyes, she was almost fooled by the warmth in his husky voice. “You can’t mean that! I’m too…too plump.” She tried to pry his hand off her middle.

“I said, you feel good to me. Just hold still.”

Oh, God, this is torture. The only way she could think of to shove him away was to put her hand on his chest. The minute she did, he covered it with his own. She went motionless. His heart beat in continuous thuds, his shirt just one layer between hot skin and her palm curved around his muscles. She almost swooned. Hard male muscles. It brought back memories she’d tried to hold inside. Was his chest covered in rust colored hair? Her breath came out in fast shivery pants, but he held her hand possessively against him. His sky blue eyes darkened, his pupils enlarging. Then his hand no longer held hers. It cupped her cheek, long fingers wrapping around her nape and thrusting into her hair.

“Who hurt you, sweet Isis?” he murmured, his lips hovering over hers, his gaze focused on her mouth.

“No one,” she whimpered in denial. She didn’t know who made the first move, but she was truly afraid she had. Smooth and warm under hers, his lips tasted delicious with the salt of the fried chicken, sticky with the juice of apples, yeasty from beer. She welcomed the flick of his tongue, gave in to his intensely fierce response. Feverish and frantic, their lips melded, her tongue played with his, his with hers. He used his ruthlessly, stroking and massaging the length of hers, suckling, groaning his pleasure. She clung to his shoulders in a death grip and succumbed to the deliciousness of his sensual invasion of her mouth.

Pres lifted her in his arms, pivoted, and they went down together onto the cushion of thick grass. Her soft body above him, then under him, her lips open, he got lost in the craving of her. He ate at her mouth, controlling her head in one hand and working on the buttons of her tunic with the other. Opening them, he splayed a hand over the full lift of her breasts, round and firm, just the way he liked. Womanly and fine, he couldn’t get enough of her. He trailed his lips down her neck, nipped and licked, his tongue laving her collarbone. He folded back the edges of her gown to encounter a chemise with pretty little embroidered flowers. The undergarment didn’t deter him. Neither did its single button. Slipping open the delicate cotton, he bared a breast. A truncated moan caught in her throat as her back arched. His eyes feasted on the white, round, satiny smooth skin centered with a perfect, rosy brown nipple. A perfect, rosy brown, tightly furled nipple. Certain evidence she was equally aroused.

His tongue flicked out, anticipating the sensation of the hard bud on his lips. His teeth ached to tug it. The minute he put his mouth on her, her hands came up, fingers fisting through his hair, clutching the strands in clear permission. Suckling hard, he swiped his tongue back and forth across the tip of her breast, then blew a gentle cool breath over her just to see it stiffen even more.

“Oh, God!” She gave a high-pitched shriek and almost tore his hair out.

He heard it through his lust-filled, frenzied mind. It pounded in his brain. God’s watching. But like a starving child, he continued to draw on her, uncovering the other breast, stroking and caressing the soft pillows of flesh. Her body thrashed beneath him, rhythmically pumping, arching upward.

“Pres,” she whined. “Yes.”

He had to stop, meant to stop. He jerked up, the truth hitting him hard. Wrong. This is wrong. “Oh, God,” she moaned, her eyes tightly closed in ecstasy.

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UNDERCOVER LOVER by Jane Leopold Quinn

UNDERCOVER LOVER by Jane Leopold Quinn

Cop Sam Bolt's life is cold. Until a woman creeps into his heart, heating his blood.

Actress Liz Aspen finds the mysterious stranger enthralling and seductive. She digs through his barriers to prove he deserves what he truly wants in life...a family, a home, and love. With her.


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Excerpt:

“I want to tie you up,” he growled.

“Oh, God,” she groaned. Her eyes widened. Her tongue traced her upper lip. Her nipples ached, her sheath softening, open and wet.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, his lips hovering, his breath warming her face. He drew her lower lip between his teeth, the bite barely restrained, then his lips quirked. “I promise.”

She wanted to test the limits with him. Live life with him. “Yes,” she hissed.

He spread both palms over her belly, around her waist, and flipped her over onto her stomach.

She gasped when the bed bounced as he stood. She turned her head to watch him. Possession ran both ways. “Take off your clothes,” she commanded, but could only manage a whisper. “Let me watch.” He had such a spectacular body, and she wanted to take it all in.

His chest heaved, his expression suddenly unsure.

She wanted to assure him. “Whatever you want.” Her voice had a rough edge. She started to raise herself onto her elbows to watch.

He growled, “Stay down.” He dragged her arms above her head. “Don’t move.” He pulled his shirt off, unbuckled his belt, slid the zipper down, carefully, and dropped his pants, never releasing her gaze. His sexy black cotton boxers hugged bulging thigh muscles like a second skin. He looked great in clothes, great in underwear, and absolutely the greatest in nothing at all.

He shucked the boxers. Her gaze roamed over his body with its broad shoulders and that thick, black hair layered over his muscled chest. The lower half of him tapered to narrow hips and a flat belly. Yum. She licked her lips in a rush of greedy need. “I want to suck your cock.” The responding surge of his penis, its bob, the flex of his hips, made her grin. He wasn’t the only one with the power. She rested her cheek on her arm while he rustled around the room.

“Scarves, what do you have?”

She knew what he was looking for. Oh, God, he would really tie her up. Her breath came out in a sob. “Stockings…” Oh, yeah, she was willing to sacrifice an expensive pair of thigh highs for this.

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HOME TO STAY by Jane Leopold Quinn

HOME TO STAY by Jane Leopold Quinn

When Nickie begins restoring an old house in Parkersburg, Iowa, the last thing she expects is a stalker.

But when Deputy Sheriff Hank responds to her call for help, all thoughts of danger flee her mind. The more she's forced to be with him, the stronger her attraction grows.

He's never been the staying kind, but he can't fight his own growing feelings for her.

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Excerpt:


The hot, humid breeze had done nothing to cool off the players. In fact, the dust mixed with sweat on Hank’s face only made him feel worse. The deputies’ team, Nook’s White Sox, in honor of Chicago’s 2005 World Series champs, was playing the pathetic bunch from Raven’s Grocery Store. Waiting for his turn at bat, he leaned against the cyclone fencing and fanned himself with his batting helmet. His respiration picked up when, in his peripheral vision, he spotted a black Jeep Laredo drive by, make a U-turn, and come back. So far so good. He’d fantasized that she’d stop and watch, and here she was.

“Hey, Crossman, wake up. You’re up, boy,” taunted Pete. His knowing grin made it clear that he’d spotted the Jeep, too.

“Just give me a respectable hit,” he pleadingly muttered to what he hoped was an understanding God.

“Short! Eyes open,” the Raven’s third base coach warned.

He liked to drive ‘em along the left field line.

Whoosh.

“Stee-rike one!”

Shit, come on, I didn’t even see that. Concentrate, you fucker. He planted his feet, practice swung the bat a couple of times.

Whoosh.

“Stee-rike two!”

Loosen up, damnit! Hit it!

CRAAACKK. He tore down the line to first and heard the first-base coach yelling him on to second. Safely there, he panted, swiped a forearm across his brow, and tossed his batting helmet toward the sidelines. The rest of the game was a blur, even his run into home on Pete’s triple. Usually secure about his athletic prowess, he was shocked that Nickie Grace’s presence had distracted him from the game so completely.

Game over. He didn’t give a crap who won. This was when the teams playing that night went on to Nook’s for drinks, music, and pool. Sometimes he joined them if he was still feeling restless after playing softball.

Nickie wandered slowly over to the fence behind home plate where he was standing -- watching her. Well, well, well, doesn’t she look good? Jean shorts showed off her world-class butt. A white, short sleeved T-shirt with a revealing V-neck showcased the spectacular breasts, just as he’d imagined them to be. She seemed to be casually looking for someone. He sneered when she raised her arm and gave a little finger-wiggly wave to Pete. Of course, being an asshole, Pete waved back in the same manner. Fucking idiot.

She’s mine. He yanked his bat up out of the grass, knocked dirt out of his cleats, and asked, “Want to hit one?”

Her head swung toward him like she was surprised he was there. “Oh, hi. Um…Hank. I was just driving by and saw the lights. I didn’t know you were playing.”

Surprised my ass. “I’ll pitch, and you hit. Come on,” he cajoled.

“God, I haven’t played ball since I was a kid. And wasn’t too good at it then.” She toed the dirt with her gym shoe and looked at him with lowered lashes. “It might be kind of fun, though.”

She stuck her fingers in her back pockets. The position thrust those amazing hooters out.

He licked his lips in anticipation of perky little nipples poking through the thin material of her top, could almost feel the tight little nubs rolling on his tongue. “Come on, then. Try a few swings.” He tempted her with his voice while flipping the ball in the air. “I’ll toss ‘em to ya’ easy.” When she finally edged around the fence, she kept a few paces between them. Probably a good idea. She looked wholesome and sexy at the same time, and he felt randy and dangerously deprived.

Even under the harsh lights, her skin looked silky soft. His lips hummed with the desire to trace the firm line of her jaw down to the round chin, then over those lush lips…and…

Mentally shaking himself out of his X-rated haze, he took her by the shoulders and settled her at home plate. Closing her hands around the bat and lining her up with the pitcher’s mound, he instructed, “Swing a few times. Practice, Nickie.” Pretending that he was only appraising her swing, he gazed his fill at her body while advising her to keep her head up and shoulders back. “Bounce a little on the balls of your feet.” Yeah, bounce a little, baby.

She bounced, swung at the air a couple of times. “Well, okay, let me have one.”

“Be happy to,” he muttered meaningfully under his breath as he headed to the mound. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. He scrunched his shoulder up to swipe it off and threw his first pitch.

A swing and a miss.

“Yikes!” she cried. Running to pick the ball up and toss it back, then breathing heavily, she pointed the bat toward the ground and tapped it on home plate. “Can’t you do any better than that, big guy? Afraid to get it anywhere near the plate, huh?” She taunted and air swung again, twisting at the waist, showing off sweet, smooth thighs and plump little knees.

What the hell? She’s trash talking? “Oh, ho. Feeling cocky, are we?” he laughed. “You’re in my ballpark now.” He lobbed one in, harder this time.

A swing and a miss.

“Shit.”

“I heard that, sugar,” he crooned musically.

“Don’t sugar me. Throw a good one, and I’ll hit it,” she demanded, settling a serious expression on her face.

“Problems, honey?” he goaded. She looked so cute with her front sticking out over the plate and her ass jutting out behind. His cock twitched and lengthened as he envisioned coming up behind her, bending her over, and sliding his dick home right into her cunt.

“Hey, I told you I haven’t done this for a long time,” she hollered back. “Give me a break.” She swung again as the ball whizzed past her and bounced off the backboard. Squinting her eyes in irritation, she picked the ball up and stalked it out to him on the mound.

He grinned broadly, taunting her. “That’s three strikes. You’re out, cookie.”

“Sugar, honey, cookie? What are you doing out here?” Her eyes sparkled even as she growled, “Your weekly baking?” Then she hauled off and shoved the ball into his stomach.

He doubled over playfully, then straightened up to tower over her, giving her his most seductive smile. The need to touch her was overwhelming, and he pressed the back of his forefinger into the sweaty space between her upper lip and her nose. She gave a little shocked “ah,” and suddenly his fingertip landed on her plump, moist lower lip, dragging it down. He sobered, held his breath as his gaze clashed with her deep blue eyes. He recognized the same deeply blue, sensual gaze from last night at her house.

The heat steaming off them, around them, from the hot lights of the ball field in the sultry, humid Iowa summer night unraveled him, played havoc with his breathing. She looked pretty winded too, her breasts rising and falling unevenly, almost touching his chest. They hadn’t been playing that hard.

“I don’t like those cutesy names,” she hissed fiercely, but breathlessly. There was a discomfort in her gaze. A vulnerability along with the anger.

His head spun with how turned on he felt. Damn. “Get back there and hit one.” He sounded a little breathless himself, a little husky. “I’ll throw it easy.” Things had turned weird, and why he needled her, he had no idea.

“Don’t bother.” Her voice shook, too, but challenged him. “Just get a decent one over the plate, and I’ll slam it,” she promised. Back at the plate, businesslike, she balanced the bat on her shoulder and glared at him, daring him.

At least she wasn’t running away from him. “Ok, here goes.” He lobbed the ball faster than the previous ones and was rewarded with a loud crack as it sailed over his head into the outfield. “Youch, that’s a beauty. Good one,” he yelled admiringly as he sprinted out after it.

She jumped up and down, squealing, “I did it. I did it!”

“Run to first base!” he shouted from the outfield, then just about tripped over his big feet watching her breasts bounce when she took off down the base line.

By the time he belatedly snatched up the ball, she’d tagged first. He cut her off short of second, snaking an arm around her waist and sweeping her up off her feet. Pulling her back tightly against his front, he fanned his fingers wide across her midriff.

“Put me down, you oaf!” she shrieked when they collided. She squirmed in resistance, and when her feet hit the ground, her backside wriggled over his groin.

Oh, yeah. He thrust his happy cock against her soft ass, growling low, his lips brushing her ear. His head reeled at her lemony scent made more potent by sweat. One arm around her middle, the other trying to tame her flailing arm, he snuggled her back, crushed his hips into her enticing bottom, and his breath blew hot and harsh over the skin of her neck. Fuck, she smells good. And feels better.

She stiffened, went completely still except for her own rough breathing, then burst out of his grasp with arms batting at his. “What’re you doing…?” Her elbow slammed into his gut.

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I'LL BE YOUR LAST by Jane Leopold Quinn

I'LL BE YOUR LAST by Jane Leopold Quinn

Life dealt Mack Penchant a raw deal. He's hidden his sexuality, the secret he's carried since he was a teen, through the Marine Corps, and now as an undercover cop. The only relationship he believes possible for himself is the furry kind, with his dog Kiki. One young cop, though, drives him to a frenzy, and he fights his passions and needs every step of the way.

Woody Kane's gaydar spots Mack the moment they meet. And even though Mack rejects him, Woody lusts after the perfect masculine body and wants him in his bed. Woody believes in commitment. Mack makes it clear he does not. Can Woody prove to Mack that he's worthy of love? After all, he adopted a rescue dog. Isn't that a start?

What peril will it take for Mack to accept Woody's love and join him in a committed relationship?

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~Excerpt~

“Your partner…”

Mack sat back down with a thump. His eyes shifted from side to side, searching for a way out. “You don’t know—” But he must know something, or he couldn’t have brought it up. Just give the kid what he wants and get out of here. Panicked, he responded in a rusty, harsh voice, “Okay, here it is. I’m saying it just once and never again. Do you understand?” Narrowing his gaze, he tried to bore a hole through Woody in a mixture of agony for his former partner and himself and lewd desires about the kid, acts he had no business wanting.

“We were ambushed.” Mack felt his face freeze into the most cold-blooded, do-not-ask expression he could muster. He didn’t want to talk about this, but if it got Woody off his back, he’d give him an abbreviated version of that day. The kid’s waiting gaze frightened him. He never opened himself up to anything this personal. Why he was willing to do it now, with this guy, he wasn’t sure. Oh. Yeah. To shut him up.

Woody’s eyes softened, just a little. It wasn’t pity. The kid was young but still a cop. He would understand.

Mack tightened his jaw and, through clenched teeth, began. “Serving a warrant. I motioned my partner, Mitch—” His voice caught on the name. “I pointed to the rear of the house, thinking it would be safer.” Then his gaze was lost in the past, directed at the bottle of beer gripped tightly in his fist.

“Fuck it,” he snarled. “All it boils down to is that he stood right in front of the back door and took a round that nicked his spinal cord.”

“Nothing he could blame you for,” was Woody’s calm reply.

“But he did.” Mack made the mistake of glancing at Woody. Those dark eyes, sparkling in the dim lights of the bar, offering—offering what? Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He’d been stupid enough to think he could work with another young guy, and look what had happened. “It was my responsibility to train him. My decision got him shot. Don’t look at me with pity.”

“I’m not,” Woody denied. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Mitch didn’t see it that way.”

“He doesn’t any longer.”

“How do you know so much about this, kid?” Mack snapped. “You been checking up on me?” His heart hurt. His stomach roiled with the familiar guilt. He couldn’t meet Woody’s eyes and turned his gaze toward the bar, at all the hazy dim reflections in the mirror behind the display bottles.

“I asked Fred.”

“I don’t like your going behind my back.”

“I had to ask someone why you seemed so hostile toward me. Fred gave me a very sketchy story. He said IAD cleared you, and that your partner doesn’t blame you any longer. He never should have in the first place.”

“I should have watched out better for him.” Mack’s voice dropped to a tormented whisper.

“Mack, this job is dangerous. Every day is a risk. We have the public to feel responsible for.”

“Don’t give me any lectures. You wanted to know what happened, and now you do. So just drop it.” Mack couldn’t meet Woody’s eyes.

“Okay, but don’t mistrust me because of what happened with someone else. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah.”

“Mack, I can take care of myself,” Woody repeated. “I’m not a rookie like your partner.”

The next thing Mack knew was the heaviness of Woody’s hand around his wrist, the one still holding the bottle. He looked down. Jesus, the kid has big hands. The jukebox had been on since he’d walked into the bar, and the song playing at that moment was “Need You Now.” Lady Antebellum really knew how to grab a guy by the guts and shake him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t remove his hand from Woody’s, couldn’t get any spit in his mouth to say one more word. At that moment, he wanted things he shouldn’t.

He froze. Shit. His hand. On me. What the hell is he doing? Thoughts pinged madly around in his brain. His wrist, his forearm tingled, his face heated, sweat formed on his upper lip.

An unbearably painful desire forced him to look up. An electric charge flashed between them. There was an instinctive recognition of like sexualities. The possibility of hot, luscious sex, of lying replete with limbs entwined. All this in the seconds of silence.

God knew he was weary of hiding. He’d been doing it so long that sometimes he didn’t know who he was anymore. What if he just turned his hand over and met Woody’s, palm to palm? What if he allowed himself to accept what was being offered?

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ANCIENT TIES by Jane Leopold Quinn

ANCIENT TIES by Jane Leopold Quinn

21st century teacher Janney Forrester needs a vacation. She gets one, across a stone threshold into the hard, muscular arms of 2nd century Roman soldier Marek.

When Marek seizes her, she decides to seize the day. Carpe diem!

Can a new world for her, timeless desire, and a loving exploration of each other's bodies forge a passion that survives centuries of separation?

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Excerpt:

Marek was familiar with strategizing warfare and solving problems, but he had never known a precedent for what just happened. Augusta seemed to believe the woman’s story, but he wasn’t so sure it was true.

Travel through time was impossible. So he told himself. But how did that explain this woman and her insistence on what had been outside the front door? How did that explain her clothing that was like nothing he’d ever seen before? No stranger to a woman’s body, he did like the way it molded to her curves, the soft white, clingy covering over her breasts accentuating her attributes in a way that was almost more desirable than if she’d been naked.

Mmm…almost. He rolled his eyes. Well, obviously, naked would be better.

Strange blue cloth tightly sheathed her long legs all the way down to her ankles. The big white, puffy things on her feet looked clumsy and ungainly, but she was able to move around silently.

He decided to watch her carefully, which was certainly no hardship. Her face was fine-boned -- soft, pink, round apple cheeks, and a determined, pointed chin. Her eyes, the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, were at times pale with uncertainty, then bright with fascination at her surroundings. Spellbound, he watched. Something caused her breasts to be thrust out under her coverings, and a man would have to be blind to miss the hard nipples so visible. His fingers flexed, craving to touch them. He could almost feel their velvety softness on his lips.

Augusta had taken control of Janney Forrester, had invited her into the peristyle. Before showing her around, she took Janney to a bedroom and urged her to change into a tunic and stola. No one else in the villa had seen her yet, and until they figured out what was going on, it would be better if the servants didn’t suspect anything odd. He’d sent for Gaius, his friend and mentor, Augusta’s husband. Gaius would help sort this mess out.

As the woman wandered around the peristyle after Augusta left to see to the evening meal, he stood guard. Legs solidly planted, arms crossed over his chest, he scowled. She was not going to leave his sight. If he had to perform his self-imposed guard duty, a beautiful woman was a pleasant change from scruffy enemy Celts.

Occasionally, she would glance over her shoulder to see where he stood and throw him a wary look. Then, at times, she seemed to forget his presence and peered at carvings, benches, and the fountain with a near reverence, even tracing patterns of curves and hollows with her fingertips.

Hmm.

His face flamed, his jaw dropping open in surprise. He’d bedded a lot of women during his long years in the army, and he’d never been embarrassed before. But the sensuous drag of her fingers along the ridges of carved flowers felt like she had placed her hand on his hip and traced across his tightly clenching stomach muscles.

Vae!

He froze and gaped idiotically when she encountered the cool, smooth marble statue of a nude Hermes, one hand on its hip, a knee cocked forward. Her gaze rose to the top. When her gaze lowered to Hermes’ middle, she squinted, bit her lower lip, and stared at the God’s larger-than-life phallus. He squirmed awkwardly, shifting his feet on the gravel pathway.

At the sound, she turned, looked directly at him, and flushed brightly. Their eyes locked. Gods, what was happening to him? He couldn’t breathe with wanting to grab this woman and prove to her that he was every bit as impressive as the statue.

She bit her lower lip.

Marek suddenly realized he wanted to bite her lower lip. To suck on it.

“Umm,” she murmured, lost in his eyes.

And her upper lip…

Like a bolt of lightning, carnal heat ripped through his belly, and he gasped as if in pain. He turned on his heel and stomped off. Slamming the door to his bedroom, he stood in the center of the room, aghast.

Good Gods! I’m insane.

Marek Benin Verus had never run from a woman in his life. And he hadn’t this time, either. But what had he done? Shaking. He was shaking.

Stop! He ordered himself to think. Cut off the emotions and think. Yes, he wanted the woman. Naturally he did. What sane man wouldn’t want her? That innocent face surrounded by all that curly, yellow hair, and the body of a goddess. He hated that he was completely unnerved by her. This was a first for him. Women were a means to assuaging physical desires, but this one…

He knew her. Oh, not her name, nor specifically her face. She’d been in his dreams, though. Since his breakdown, he’d awakened many mornings hot and agitated, wondering what was wrong with him. It wasn’t unusual to awaken aroused, but remnants of the fantasy of a bright presence touching his body, the voice a mere gentle hum filtering through his brain, stayed with him even after he woke. The shock of the dream becoming reality staggered him. Why had this woman invaded his dreams? What plan did the Gods have? Because without a doubt, she’d been brought to him by the Gods. The question was why?

Humph. Do the reasons matter? The woman has been sent to me. I will have her. The omen is too strong to dismiss.

The yellow-haired woman was a gift to him from the Gods.

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