HER ANCIENT HYBRID by Marisa Chenery

HER ANCIENT HYBRID by Marisa Chenery

Brolach is old. Ancient. A hybrid, half vampire and half werewolf, he’s a true immortal who can never die. He’s lived for three thousand years, but has slept buried for two of them. It isn’t until a female comes to the hill where he sleeps does he come awake, ready to protect her, his vampire side knowing she’s his mate.

Physically threatened by her ex-boyfriend while out on a hike in the grasslands has unexpected results for Waverly. A man, muddy and covered in dirt, explodes out of the ground to rescue her. After he turns into a wolf and chases off her ex, she soon loses it when he turns his attention to her.

With the help of Waverly, Brolach adjusts to the new world he’s awakened in to. The new life he sets about making with his mate is soon threatened by one of the vampires who’d killed his family and had buried him alive.

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Excerpt

Brolach was three thousand years old and had “slept” through two thousand of them. He was the only one of his kind—a hybrid, half vampire and half werewolf. Even though he’d been under the ground for so long he’d been partly aware of the surface world. People traversed the area, and as the years went by, the language they spoke changed. His mostly-asleep brain learned it enough to understand it.

Something brought his mind closer to wakefulness before he was ready to be roused. There was a presence on the hill where he was buried. It drew him and captured his attention as nothing had done for centuries. It was female, which caused a part of him to stir.

Soon a male joined her. Brolach listened to their conversation, his sensitive hearing able to pick up each word spoken. The longer he listened the more he awakened from his long slumber. The need to protect the female came to life. Never before had he’d felt like that toward a member of the opposite sex. The vampire side of him instinctively knew she was his. His mate. The werewolf wouldn’t know for sure until he had her scent in his nose.

The sound of the male’s voice raised in anger would have had Brolach’s hackles rising if he’d been in wolf form. It wasn’t until the female screamed did he come fully awake. The sound was full of fear.

Brolach burst out of the ground. His fangs lengthened at the sight of the male holding the female by the arm with a raised fist, ready to strike. Brolach snarled his upper lip and growled a warning. All his protective instincts roared to the surface. He latched his gaze on to the human who threatened his mate.

He surged into action. Brolach closed the distance between them, broke the male’s grip on the female and tossed him away. He landed with a shriek, then whimpered as Brolach approached him. He was tempted to kill the weaker male, to drain him of the blood he needed after his long sleep, but he decided against it. This new world he awoke to wasn’t the same as the one he’d known. Death wasn’t doled out so easily or frequently as it’d once been.

Rather than take the male’s life, Brolach reached for the werewolf half of himself and brought on the change. He took on his wolf form in a matter of seconds. His hackles rose and he growled as he made a threatening step toward the male. That was enough to send the human scuttling backward before he clumsily gained his feet and took off running down the hill.

Once he was sure the male wouldn’t come back, Brolach turned to take his first good look at the female who was his mate. She had long, light brown hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. She was the perfect height to tuck her head under his chin when he held her against his chest. Her hazel eyes were wide and filled with fear, but that didn’t take away any of her beauty. His cock stirred to life for the first time in two thousand years.

He slowly walked toward her, which had a whimper pushing out of her. Even though she was scared of him, Brolach didn’t stop until he stood directly in front of her. He shifted back to his human form, thinking she’d find it easier to handle.

He took a deep breath. Her scent filled his lungs and his head. He found it intoxicating, and it set off his werewolf’s senses. His wolf side recognized her as his mate along with the vampire. She was his. A mate. The first woman he’d ever wanted to claim.

Brolach reached out for her only to have her suck in a lungful of air and then let it out in a high-pitched scream. That didn’t bother him so much as how fast her heart beat. The sharp bitter scent of her fear grew stronger. As she opened her mouth to scream again, he caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look him in the eyes.

With his vampire ability to compel lacing his words, he said softly, “You’ll no longer fear me. You’re perfectly safe. No harm will come to you. We’ll leave this place and you’ll take me to your home to provide me with food and clothing.”

All at once, she calmed down. Her heart beat at a normal rate, and the scent of fear blew away on the slight breeze. She nodded as her gaze remained fixed on him. “Okay,” she said, sounding in a daze.

“What’s your name?”

“Waverly.”

“I’m Brolach.”

“Brolach,” she repeated in the same dazed voice.

“I’ll release you now. No more screaming. You’ll always feel safe with me.”

He stopped compelling, releasing the hold he had over her mind. Waverly blinked a few times, coming back to herself. Brolach hoped never again to have to use it on his mate. If there had been any other way to have calmed her, he would have chosen it rather than take her free will away.

Waverly took a deep breath and looked him up and down. “Come on. We’d better get out of here before someone sees you.”

Brolach stayed at her side as she headed down the hill. As they walked, he gazed at the landscape around them. It really hadn’t changed much over the last two thousand years. He still recognized it as the land where he’d hunted buffalo and deer.

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IN HIS WILDEST DREAMS by Marie Treanor

IN HIS WILDEST DREAMS by Marie Treanor

Every dream can come true…in unexpected ways.

The only time Glenn Brody acted on the waking dreams his mother called second sight, he landed in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Now he keeps himself grounded in the real world, turning a neglected Scottish mansion into a co-op that gives ex-cons a second chance.

He’s almost managed to ignore the persistent, erotically charged dreams featuring a beautiful, passionate woman—until that woman accosts him in the street to ask for a job.

In hiding from her violent ex, Izzy Ross has made a peaceful life for herself and her young son in the isolated Highland village of Ardknocken. Handsome men with a criminal record aren’t high on her list, but when work dries up, she’s forced to ask Glenn for a menial cleaning job at the big, dusty house.

Their mutual attraction turns all their preconceived notions upside down, and stirs the mansion’s legendary ghost. Attracting the kind of media attention that could force Glenn to make a perilous choice to save the woman he’s grown to love.

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Excerpt:Copyright © 2014 Marie Treanor
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
He didn’t look like a laird. He was big and rough, wore tatty, mud-stained jeans and a baggy grey sweater, and he crouched on the roof of the largest outhouse, hammering nails into slates. His thick, too-long brown hair was tied back in a careless ponytail.

As Fiona and Jeremy emerged around the side of the big house into the yard, he lifted his head to face them. For the tiniest instant, he remained perfectly still, then he slid down the roof and dropped lightly to the ground. He still gripped the hammer in one large hand as he walked toward them. Something in his stride reminded Fiona of a caged animal, its violence temporarily controlled but far from tamed. It did things to her libido—until she looked into his watchful, scarred face and remembered, finally, why his name had seemed familiar.

Oh shit! He was holding a hammer, and Jeremy had no idea who he was.

Frozen, Fiona watched Jeremy walk forward to meet him, hand outstretched. “I’m told you’re the laird,” he said jovially.

“I’m Glenn Brody.”

She was right. It was him—Glasgow gangster and reputed hit man, recently released after serving ten years of a murder sentence. And yet G. Brody was listed as the owner of Ardknocken House and estate.

Clearly, the name meant nothing to Jeremy, who’d never had the benefit of working in Scotland. He beamed at the ex-con. “Excellent! My name’s Jeremy Danehurst. I work for a television company called Genuine. This is my colleague, Fiona Marr—whom you may recognize!”

Brody took his time to shift the hammer to his left hand before grasping Jeremy’s in his right for the briefest shake. Then he glanced at Fiona, who felt like a rabbit trapped in headlights. Or staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle. His lips twisted slightly, but no one could have called it a smile. To her relief, he didn’t offer to shake hands with her.

Jeremy said, “Fiona’s going to be fronting a new series we’re doing on haunted houses.”

“Another one?” Brody said sardonically.

“This one’s going to be a bit different,” Jeremy assured him. “We’re looking at historically significant places, bringing genuine background into the story of the haunting. So we’d love to feature Ardknocken House in one of our programmes. You should have had a letter, but we didn’t receive your answer, so I don’t know—”

“I didn’t send any answer,” Brody interrupted. “I understood that would be taken as ‘no’.”

Jeremy laughed easily. He was good at this stuff. But even his southern English ears must have picked up Brody’s accent, by now—hardly public school, or even regionless Scottish like her own. Brody’s was pure Glasgow. Although, admittedly, you could make out the words.

“Mr. Brody,” Jeremy said with an expansive wave toward the weathered grey turrets and stone walls of Ardknocken House. To Fiona, they no longer looked romantic and atmospheric; they seemed as threatening as the man who owned them. “You can’t expect us to give up on such a fabulous opportunity without a second try.”

“Is that why you’re here? Sorry you’ve wasted your time. My answer’s no. Unequivocally. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Somewhere, in prison or out, he’d developed enough social presence to make it impossible for them to stay. Almost like obedient children, she and Jeremy allowed themselves to be shepherded around the side of the house. From inside, a muffled cacophony of rock music and machinery drifted through the stone or from open windows. Fiona could hear a television too.

“Can I ask why?” Jeremy hazarded, still not giving up.

Brody shrugged. “Too busy. And besides, the house isn’t haunted.”

“We wouldn’t get in your way,” Jeremy promised.

Brody looked at him. “Yes,” he said, “you would.”

Even Jeremy blinked rapidly at that, a rare sign of fluster.

They rounded the corner to the front of the house, where they’d parked the car. Outside the impressive—and now open—front door, a young woman and a wiry, middle-aged man were arguing, although they shut up when they caught sight of “the laird” and his visitors.

“Good-bye,” Brody said with finality. He stood still as they walked on to the car. Fiona felt only relief.

But Jeremy, bloody Jeremy, paused with his fingers already on the door handle. He turned back and said over his shoulder, “You do understand that we’d pay you?”

It was, she supposed, inspiration. A place like this must cost a fortune to keep up. And even Brody, who didn’t look exactly tempted, gazed at him consideringly before he asked, “How much?”

Fiona gaped when the number rolled off Jeremy’s lips. Twice what they’d agreed to pay even the most mercenary of participants so far.

“F*ck,” said the wiry man on the doorstep with undisguised admiration.

Brody’s expression didn’t change. Then: “I’ll think about it,” he said abruptly, and turning on his heel, he walked up the steps past the two people at the door and disappeared inside.



“What’s to think about?” Chrissy demanded, following him into the house. “Money like that would solve more than a few immediate problems!”

Glenn could hear the car’s engine starting up outside. He shrugged but kept walking toward the dark oak staircase. “Whether or not we want them here. They’re making TV programmes about haunted houses, so they’d be under our feet day and night.”

“Meeting tonight, then?” Chrissy pursued.

Without turning, he could see the pound signs in her eyes. With the TV money, they could buy the new equipment now and still deal with the most necessary of the house repairs. Though she’d have to sell the idea of visitors to more grumpy ex-cons that him.

When he’d first got out of prison, Glenn couldn’t bear being indoors, even in the pouring rain or howling gales. But here at Ardknocken, it never felt like being enclosed. The house was too big, too gracious. Light poured in its big, Victorian windows, flooded all the way down the main stairwell from the huge skylight in the roof. It was why he’d first let others stay here, because even if you heard their voices, you never needed to see their owners, let alone walk into them. Unless you chose.

He chose now to leave the rest of the outhouse roof until tomorrow. Instead, he felt the urge to play, solely for his own amusement. And making these choices for himself was still a pleasing novelty. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, stretching his legs out, and strode along the landing to the next flight, which he took at equal speed.

At the end of the next hall, he pushed open his bedroom door and went in, swiping up his favourite acoustic guitar as he went. Then he sat cross-legged on his unmade bed, by the window, the guitar resting on his thighs as he gazed out over the rugged landscape to the scattered village and the sea beyond. Farther to the right, the hills loomed tall and ancient, reminding him of his own and everyone else’s tiny place in the hugeness of the world.

He strummed the guitar once, and then he saw her, the woman who’d been haunting his waking visions for months, a fraction of a second before the world altered.

That was different. The tilt into the dream usually happened first. Perhaps it had just been hard to perceive, because in the dream, he was still in bed, just not with the guitar. And it wasn’t this bed or this room.

But the really important thing was, he lay naked, cradled between the bare hips of a woman, pushing slowly and exquisitely inside her. Her long, black hair spilled over the white pillow. Her huge, liquid-brown eyes stared up into his with aching passion as she clung to him, undulating beneath him.

He was so struck with her expression, with his effect on her, that it was several moments before he recognized his own state of physical bliss—something he seemed to have no control over. He didn’t choose how or when to move, he just did, sliding in and out of her, arching to bend his head and kiss her beautiful dusk-peaked breasts. She had such beautiful breasts, full and pert, a perfect fill, surely, even for his big hands. He wanted to try, to see if the hand that caressed her was his, but he was stroking lower down, holding her hips steady.

He plunged faster now, licking the tiny beads of perspiration from her brow as she moaned and gasped with increasing intensity. Her fingers ran up and down his spine, digging, clutching. He could stay here all day and into the night. Oh yes.

When the storm broke over her, a smile split her face like sunshine, and yet tears spilled from the corners of her eyes as she writhed and convulsed beneath him. He took her mouth, swallowing her cries, driving into her again and again until, finally—

He sat on his own unmade bed, the guitar barely held in his slack hands.

Glenn squeezed his eyes shut in desperation, but the vision had gone.

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NOT WITHOUT RISK by Sarah Grimm

NOT WITHOUT RISK by Sarah Grimm

He has a killer to find and doesn't need a leggy brunette clouding his investigation....She want to know who murdered her friend.

As Paige and Justin try to stay one step ahead of a madman, love comes...Not Without Risk.

Six agonizing months after a slug collapsed his lung, Sergeant Justin Harrison manages to return to the one place where he shines—the San Diego homicide division. Nothing will stand in the way of proving he is fit for active duty. Especially not the long-legged brunette who just stumbled into his crime scene.

Photographer Paige Conroy spent years hiding from her past. Then a late night telephone call brings it crashing back. An old friend is in town and needs her help. When she arrives at his hotel room four hours later, he's dead. Suddenly, she's the target of a madman, and Paige must turn to Sergeant Harrison for protection.

But who is the bigger threat to her... the faceless assailant she fears will steal her life or the dark-eyed detective she knows could steal her heart?

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~Excerpt~

Justin's frown deepened. "I know what you're thinking, you know. And you're wrong."

Paige swallowed past the lump in her throat. "What am I thinking?"

"Making choices that keep you alive does not make you weak. It would be much simpler to just give up and let this bastard win."

"I could stay where I am, refuse to run and face him."

"You could die in the process."

The thought sent a ripple of alarm through Justin. What if she refused? He couldn't hog-tie her, couldn't make her come with him. He understood her ill-ease, for he felt the same stirrings of discomfort as she at the low hum of sensual awareness that circled about them like a hungry shark. Even right now, he had to fight against the urge to haul her into his arms. And not to ease the clawing panic clearly visible in her eyes. No, his motives were not that heroic.

Against his better judgment, he allowed his gaze to drop, to caress the shape of her body outlined by her suit. He knew just what that suit of hers covered for he'd had his hands all over her just the night before. A high, tight rear end, slim hips, endlessly long legs that would pull him deep into her warmth. Desire shot straight to his stomach, swirled there. The palms of his hands begin to itch.

Paige wore her clothing like armor, each piece carefully chosen to broadcast an image, a strength she alone believed she lacked. She'd have chosen this one to disguise the fear he knew filled her. To tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she could handle anything thrown her way.

Anything.

Even the need to turn to him for help.

God, she impressed him. Aroused him, challenged him as no other before her had done. Justin scrubbed a frustrated hand across his face. He focused on the cool green gaze of the woman before him, the woman his brain told him to stay away from. He'd yet to fully recover from his injury. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a woman who screamed commitment. He was a loner. He didn't do commitment.

His body wasn't listening. He wanted Paige. Above him, below him, it didn't matter. He knew it was bad timing, but he wanted her just the same. And he would have her, sooner or later. If he had to keep his hands in his pockets, pants zipped until the threat that chased her was destroyed, he would. He could.

"Suppose I promised not to do anything you don't ask me to do?"

Paige eased out a breath. "What if I said, it isn't you I worry about?"

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HOLD ON by LaVerne Thompson

HOLD ON by LaVerne Thompson 

One phone call changed both their lives.

A real life knight in shining armor--except he isn't in armor, he's in a suit. But the first time Lena Douglas lays eyes on Stephan Grayson that's what he seems to her. He saves her from a violence that still haunts her nights, but at least he's there to hold her should she wake.

But the nightmare's not over; it stalks them both now. A mistake from her past that will not let go. But then, neither will Stephan.

Stephan’s saved her once and he's not about to let anyone, especially Lena, stand in the way of what is happening between them. But will he always be there to shield her from the danger she thought she left behind?

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~Excerpt~

“911 Operator.”

“Hello…listen, I’m at the corner of Broad Street and Denny Way. I’m looking into the second floor of a garden-style apartment opened onto Broad, and it looks like there’s a…a robbery taking place.” Stephan spoke anxiously into the phone, his voice cracking mid-speak.

The emergency operator on the other end replied in a steady tone, “I’m dispatching a patrol car to the area, sir. Stay on the line with me. Are you one of the victims or do you know the people involved?”

“No, no it’s not me and I don’t know them. I’m in my car. Hang on, the light’s changing. I’m going to make a U-turn and park on the street so I can keep watch.”

He ignored the car honking at him because he cut in front of it. The building before him and the woman in trouble his only focus. The sun had been down for awhile now, but the open lighted walkway in the three-story building allowed Stephan a pretty clear view.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to remain in the car,” the operator insisted in a forceful voice. “How many people are involved?”

“Two, I think. A man and a woman, I saw him grab her purse and she tried to run. Hurry!” he cried.

“Help is on the way. Please try to stay calm.”

“My God!” Stephan exclaimed. “He just hit her…she’s trying to fight him off. He kicked a door open and…he’s…he’s trying to drag her in!” His words were coming faster, rushing to get the information out. “She’s fighting back. I can’t just sit here watching this.”

“Sir, please do not leave your car,” the operator stated firmly. “The person could be armed as well as dangerous. Wait for the authorities.”

“I’m sorry. I’m already at the building. Tell the cops, when they get here, it’s the second building from the corner, second floor, the door at the top of the stairs. I’m going to leave my phone on so you can listen in, but I’m putting it in my pocket.”

Without waiting to hear a reply, Stephan did just that.

As he ran up the stairs he heard a woman’s screams. Why isn’t anyone trying to help her? He had seen three other doors with apartment numbers on this floor alone. Surely one of them was occupied. It didn’t matter, he was here and he wasn’t going to do nothing. Too late, he wished he’d taken the time to grab a tire iron from his car. But he had stopped rational thought as soon as he glimpsed the woman in trouble. He’d just have to rely on being in good physical shape. It wasn’t like he was a fighter, in truth he used his mind not his muscle. Now he may have to use both, and so far he hadn’t been using much of his so-called intelligence tonight. An intelligent person would have waited on the sidewalk and pointed the cops in the right direction.

Stephan stopped at the now closed door he had seen the man kick open. A scuff mark near the bottom of the panel confirmed he had the right place. He put his ear to the wood but could hear nothing. Turning the doorknob he found it unlocked, and cautiously pushed it open. He slipped inside leaving it slightly ajar so the cops could enter easily.

Muffled sounds came from the interior of the apartment. Taking a step in the direction of the noise, ragged cries suddenly rent the air. A hallway, probably leading to a bedroom, stretched in front and to the right of him. There were no lights on, but the blinds were partially open, and the glow from a street lamp provided enough illumination to the small room.

Glancing to the left, he spied a kitchen. His already fast beating heart pumped more blood into his system, adding strength to his resolve. Moving quickly, he headed there first for a weapon. As soon as he pulled a knife from the block on the counter, the wail of a siren whined from a distance, at the same time he heard a scream that curdled his soul.

Throwing caution out the window he ran down the short hallway, the direction the cry had come from, fear setting his pace. Stopping in front of the only room, he gripped the open doorframe. The scene unfolding before him chilled his blood.

The dimmed overhead light showed a woman lying face down on the bed, and a man in dark clothing sat on top of her, straddling her legs to hold her down. She kept screaming and bucking to try to throw him off, but he kept laughing, and using one hand to hold both of hers on her head while he ripped her blouse with the other. So engaged in his activity, he didn’t even hear Stephan behind him.

Stephan wanted to stick the sonofabitch with the knife in his hand. But he spotted an empty metal potpourri bowl on a stand near the door. He didn’t want to shed any of the man’s blood on the woman if he didn’t have to. He put down the knife and picked up the bowl. Using all of his strength, fueled by his anger, he smashed it against the side of the bastard’s head.

Like a bowling pin toppling over, the man fell off the bed onto the floor, hopefully out cold for a while. When the weight holding her down disappeared, the woman on the bed flipped over. She raised her tear-streaked face and her eyes momentarily collided with Stephan’s before shifting to the man on the floor. As her gaze returned to his, fear flooded her beautiful chocolate-colored eyes. She gasped, and backed up against the headboard.

Even with puffy eyes, tear tracks on her face, and a bruise on her toasted almond-colored cheek her beauty still shone through. Stephan’s heart, which had been racing before, stopped in mid-beat.

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A SKINWALKER'S LEGACY by Shae Wynters

A SKINWALKER'S LEGACY by Shae Wynters

Her gift of second sight has enabled her to successfully aid the Phoenix Police Department in a number of investigations. Why wasn’t she warned of her own future? Now she’s facing danger on all sides . . . not least of which is her growing desire for the man who has sworn to protect her.

Lexia Torrance is a young woman with the gift of second sight. Her ability allows the local police department to solve crimes based on the gift of touch. Her latest case leads her to the body of a local man left with the killer's calling card: an emblem burned on the victim's chest in the shape of a sun. She then senses the man's attackers: five men searching for the necklace with the same emblem…and they’re also searching for her.

Skinwalker guard Galen Cortes is intent on keeping Lexia out of harm's way. Like Lexia, he is stuck between two worlds as he shares both Skinwalker and Sith faerie blood. Soon the time draws near for Lexia to learn her family history and claim the throne of Skinwalker Chieftess to keep the Southwest Skinwalker community alive.

A prophecy within the Skinwalker tribe deems that only royals within the tribe families marry to continue ruling the community. As their training heats up, so does the star-crossed passion between the Chieftess and her guard. Soon Lexia must choose between saving a community and sacrificing her heart, or risking it all for her own desires.

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Excerpt:

Lexia stepped out of her clothes and into the warm shower. She couldn’t remember a moment of pure bliss before now. Steam rose around her body like a calming sauna. She could already smell the soft, woodsy scent around the green soap before picking it up. A generic brand of shampoo and conditioner sat on the shower basin.

Lexia ran a hand through her hair as she eyed the bottles. She forgot her blow dryer and flat iron in her rush for more important saves, like her life. She already felt like a mess with all she had been through earlier that morning. Something told her she wouldn’t really have time in the coming days to primp and fuss over herself. Might as well indulge while she had the time. She lathered up and inhaled deeply as she felt her muscles relax.

After her shower, Lexia hummed softly as she sat deep in thought. She squeezed her damp hair—now becoming wavy curls—and reached over to grab an extra towel to dry it before it soaked the towel around her chest. She barely noticed the dark figure flash out of the corner of her eye, passing by the cracked open door.

Sensing a presence closing in, she let out a sharp gasp and nearly felt her insides jump out of her skin. Her hand gripped the large towel wrapped around her chest, thankful that it held and didn’t add to her already embarrassing situation.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Galen’s green eyes sparkled as he looked at her. She caught sight of the tiny dimples forming at the sides of his mouth as he broke into a small smile. “I just wanted to make sure you have everything.”

Lexia knew if she wasn’t careful, she could get lost in those intense shades of green eyes and that boyish smile. Perhaps she had to build her own defenses from that alone. Trying to refocus her attention on the present, she raised a thumb over her shoulder and gestured toward the bathroom. “Yeah, it’s all yours.”

Galen caught the hint and nodded as he passed her and entered the bathroom. His gaze locked on hers as he gently closed the door until it clicked.

Lexia exhaled, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding until now. Right at that very moment, she realized he was unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. Her body tensed at the shot of pleasure igniting like fire within her. The sound of the shower starting echoed in her ears. Steam clouded her nose as if she were still under the running water.

With it came another scent.

Male, animal and purely instinctual.

Something inside her fired to life as if it had been dormant for so long. She sensed him as if his very essence were invading her entire body. All rational thought told her to step away from the door and leave the man in peace. Instead, her body was working all on its own.

Lex grabbed the doorknob and gently pushed it open before she realized what she was doing. Drawn to him, as if something stronger than her conscious mind, drove her to him. This wasn’t just desire closing the gap. This, she realized, was pure animal instinct between them. The scent mixed in with the steam and soap within the shower, but his aroma was most powerful of all.

“Lex?”

The towels fell from her hands—the one she used to dry her hair and finally the one covering her body. She walked to the shower stall and pulled the curtain open with one quick movement.

Galen wiped the water from his eyes. His sandy blond hair was slicked back, darkened by the water. Droplets fell over his face and down the hard lines of his body.

“H—How did you know I was here?” she asked softly.

His lips lifted in a slight smile. “The door.” His gaze traveled down her body, slowly taking it all in as his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. “And I can sense you. The rise of your heartbeat, the desire emanating off your skin. It gets stronger the closer you are to me.”

They both were quiet as she stepped in to join him. Lexia was thankful for the comforting silence between them for once. Their gazes locked. She peered up at him as he brushed his hand across her cheek. Heat rose from his body, enticing her with the purely male scent of him.

“Something’s happening,” she breathed. “I don’t know what it is, but I need you.” Before he could speak, she reached up and crushed her lips against his.

Her hard nipples brushed against his smooth bare chest. His hands roamed her body, moving down her back, bottom and thighs to lock her leg around his hip. Pressing her hip forward, Lexia found him already hard for her. The tip of his rigid shaft brushed the swollen bud between her legs. She wasn’t in her right mind. She could only think about claiming him, to consume and devour him in heated passion. The primal need to mate coursed through her blood and the only one to satiate her was Galen. She needed him and could feel that he needed her just as much.

“Galen,” she breathed.

He kissed her shoulder and arched his head to brush against the concave of her neck then finally against her ear. “We can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice husky.

She pressed against him and threaded her fingers within his damp strands. “I know. This is wrong.”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“But why does it feel so right?”

“I can’t, Lex. My scent will be on you once we mate. And you are not mine to have.”

“So use your magic faerie dust and make it go away,” she said softly.

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PRIVATE SKIRMISH by Anne Kane

PRIVATE SKIRMISH by Anne Kane

Mercenaries Book One

When her little sister disappears, Dee vows to find her. She follows a lead to Loden Province but is picked up by Government troops and convicted of crossing provincial borders without a permit. The punishment? She is sent to be sold at auction.

As the auctioneer calls for bids, she hears a voice from her past. Kaeden! The lover she ran out on in order to raise her little sister. He's found her again, and he has no intention of letting her escape a second time. He and his band of mercenaries will do whatever it takes to reunite the sisters and keep them safe.

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Mercenaries: Private Skirmish
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Anne Kane

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Dee glared at the guard as he nudged her back into place with the barrel of his plasma rifle. One lousy moment of inattention and here she was, waiting her turn on the auction block.

"Sold!" The auctioneer's voice rang loud as his gavel hit the podium and the dusky beauty from Uranus Prime was led to the holding cells on the far side of the room, a sultry smile curving her full lips.

"You're up, blondie. Smile pretty and you might fetch a decent owner." The young wrangler smirked as he grabbed the lead attached to the heavy collar around her neck. Dee followed quietly as he led her to the auction block, not because she wanted to be sold off like an animal but because she knew this wasn't the time to make a run for her freedom.

She glanced around. Too many guards. Too much security. The holding area was crawling with people of every description and not one would lift a hand to help her. She had been looking for her sister in one of the outer provinces when they arrested her. The penalty for leaving her home province without permission was indentured service for the remainder of her natural life.

When the Military Alliance ousted the democratic government of Earth, things had changed drastically for the inhabitants. The new rulers had lots of rules and little tolerance for those who didn't follow them. They found a creative way to get rid of citizens who didn't obey their every whim, without having to pay for expensive prisons. Sell them, and pocket the profit. Military efficiency at its finest.

Dee had every intention of escaping, but now was not the time. Maybe the wrangler had a point. A lax owner would make her eventual escape so much easier. If she played her cards right, she could be on her way by nightfall. She mustered up her sexiest smile and looked out over the room full of prospective buyers.

"What am I bid for this healthy young specimen?" The auctioneer beamed at her like a fond uncle. "Strayed into the wrong province and arrested without any damage to the merchandise. Turn around, sweetie, and let the crowd see what they're bidding on."

Dee gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes downcast to hide her initial reaction. Merchandise, indeed! She turned in a slow circle, ignoring the catcalls of a rowdy bunch of miners in the front row. They were just here for the show, they wouldn't have the credits to actually bid.

"Let's start at one thousand." The auctioneer launched into his well-practiced spiel, and Dee watched as the bidding became a contest between a jovial fellow with two dark beauties sitting quietly at his feet, and a rather nasty-looking man who smacked a riding crop against his boots every time someone bid against him. Lordy, if he won she'd have to make a break for it before he carted her off to whatever rock he'd crawled out from under.

"Come on, people. Look at her. New to the block. I'd bet my finest leather duster that she's never been used by more than one male at a time. Just think what fun you could have training her to your own tastes. Do I hear six thousand?"

"Six thousand, five hundred." The Nasty Guy's smile was as cold as an arctic outflow.

The Jovial Fellow hesitated a moment, and Dee's heart sank. She eyed up the exits, wondering which one was the quickest route to outside and freedom. There was no way she was going to let Nasty Guy take her anywhere.

"Ten thousand."

Dee's head jerked up at the sound of that familiar voice, her heart rate soaring. Kaeden! Where was he? And what the hell was he doing at a slave auction? He hated the government-run auctions with a passion that bordered on obsession. The only time he'd ever attended one was to start a riot and watch the slaves bolt for freedom.

Nasty Guy stood, his crop whistling though the air in agitation, and for a moment Dee thought he was going to bid higher. Her breath caught in her throat. He glared at the back of the room before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the hall.

Dee let out a relieved breath, her eyes scanning the crowd until she found him. Kaeden. The only man who'd ever managed to break through the wall of ice she kept around her heart. He stared straight at her, the hard glint in his eye telling her he hadn't forgiven her for walking out on him.

"Ten thousand! Now that's more like it. Anyone want to go ten one hundred?" The auctioneer paused, his gavel held in midair and a happy grin on his face. His cut of the sale price would keep him in black market ale for the next few moon cycles. "No? Going once? Going twice. Sold, to the gentleman in row nine!" The gavel hit the podium with a decisive thump, and Dee gave a sigh of relief. Kaeden might be pissed at her, but at least she didn't have to worry about being a slave.

He and his band of mercenaries went out of their way to disrupt the slave trade. He'd read her the riot act first, but he'd sign her freedom papers and she could be on her way. Next time, she'd check for government forces before she waltzed into a bar on the wrong side of a provincial border. If she hadn't been so intent on finding Wren, she might have noticed the captain's bars on the man's shoulder and avoided this whole unfortunate incident.

The wrangler led her off the block and over to the holding pens. Before he managed to shove her into one of the iron holding cells, Kaeden materialized at her side, his hand held out for the lead. "No need for that. I'll take her from here."

Dee watched the wrangler open his mouth to protest. There were forms to fill out, money to change hands and receipts to be issued. It didn't surprise her that after one look at the mercenary's hard face, the wrangler closed his mouth and handed over the lead without protest.

"You can collect the paperwork over there." He pointed to the harried-looking secretary and made a quick escape. Dee didn't blame him.

She looked into the chilly eyes of her former lover. He had aged in the time she'd been gone. The harsh angles of his face were more pronounced. She still found him absolutely irresistible. "You here specifically for me, or just slumming?"

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RUN THE RISK by Lori Foster

RUN THE RISK by Lori Foster

Love Undercover Book One

When Detective Logan Riske goes undercover to find Pepper Yates, a potential link to his best friend's unsolved murder, he vows to gain her cooperation by any means necessary. But the elusive beauty is more suspicious - and in far more danger - than he expected. And the last thing Logan needs is to start caring for her...

Pepper has spent years dodging the corrupt club owner who will stop at nothing to keep her silenced. She can trust no one, not even the handsome new "construction worker" who's moved in next door. The heat between them is undeniable. But will surrendering to passion bring her the safety she so desires - or will her feelings for Logan draw them both into a killer's crosshairs?

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~Excerpt~

“Let me leave you my number. Anything comes up, or if anyone bothers you –”

“You’re bothering me.”

His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. “That’s why you’re flushed?”

Oh God. More heat rushed to her skin’s surface. “Really, Mr. Stark –”

“Logan,” he corrected softly. “Say it for me. Just once. Then I’ll go.”

He wanted to… seduce her?

So it appeared. And worse, he succeeded just by presence alone. “Logan,” she agreed through stiff lips. “I need to go.” Before I do something stupid – like invite you in.Or kiss you.

Or drag you down to the floor and –

He pulled a card from his pocket. “My number. Seriously. Any problem at all – or if you just want to visit – give me a call, okay?”

“All right.” Not on your life. “Thank you.”

As if he knew her thoughts, he gave a warm laugh and stepped out of the doorway. “See you later, Sue.”

Not if I see you first. “Goodbye, Logan.” She started to close the door.

And he said, “Now that wasn’t so painful, was it?”

She clicked the door shut in his face, then dropped against it.

Painful? Not exactly.

Stirring? She felt like a blender on high speed, all her emotions, all her dormant desires, churning together in a frenzy.

It had been too long – like forever – and she was too deprived to be around a specimen like him without imagining the impossible. She needed to find a way to avoid him, but she’d have to do it without causing suspicion. And there was the rub.

Avoiding him was suspicious.

Pepper turned so that it was her shoulders against her door. Head down, eyes closed, she struggled to come up with a plan.

Maybe, she reasoned to herself, she was going about this all wrong. Any woman would be flattered by Mr. Stark’s attention.

A woman like her, especially so.

Slowly, she lifted her head. Did she have a good reason to engage him in conversation? To get to know him better?

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and fought off a smile.

Yes, that’s what she would do. She would stop deflecting him, and instead – she’d shyly reciprocate. If that didn’t scare him off once and for all, she didn’t know what would.

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