RUNNING SCARED by Anne Kane

RUNNING SCARED by Anne Kane

Mercenaries Series 2

She was a genetic experiment that was never supposed to get out of the lab. If the government finds her they will kill her without hesitation. Her memories of her early life are sketchy but the one clear image she has is of a brother who saved her life, and then disappeared.

Jackson knows what it's like to lose your entire family in one bloody instant, and he vows to help Saralyn find hers. It doesn't hurt that he finds her irresistibly sexy or that the attraction is mutual. They enlist the rest of the mercenary team in a search operation that takes them into the heart of the corrupt government.

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Running Scared (Mercenaries)
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Anne Kane

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Saralyn ran her hands over the computer's input screen, sorting through the mess of icons with a speed that she knew suggested more than a passing acquaintance with technology.

There! She pulled the icon forward, tapping it gently to open its secrets. Closing her eyes, she splayed her fingers across the screen and let the information flow through the tips of her fingers, gigabytes of info flashing along the web of her nervous system to the storage cells in her brain. Later, she'd sort through the files and isolate the information she needed. Right now she just wanted to get out of here before...

"Looking for something?"

Damn! The overhead lights snapped on, and Saralyn turned to see the man they called Jackson lounging against the doorframe. Bad timing. Five more minutes and she would have been home free. One thing she'd learned at an early age was to hide her differences. Survival depended on blending into the crowd, not letting anyone know just how different she was. Just how much had he seen?

She plastered an innocent smile on her face. "Not really. Just couldn't sleep so I thought I'd see if I could find a game to play." She gestured at the bank of computers behind her. "I looked, but I can't find the game files. Maybe you can show me where they are?"

Jackson lifted one brow, a glimmer of humor shining in the depths of his dark eyes. He had nice eyes. Dark. Dreamy. Right now they seemed to see right through her, and she had to force herself not to squirm. Unfortunately that combination of bedroom eyes and the physique of a Greek god was making it hard for her to think.

Jackson pushed himself upright and sauntered into the room. "That's Trace's computer you were fondling, and frankly, I don't think Trace has ever played a game in his life. But you already knew that. I heard rumors about the government experiments, but I thought they terminated all of you years ago. How come you're still alive?"

My goodness, he was tall! Of course at five feet nothing, she was used to looking up at people. It didn't help that she was finding it harder to concentrate with every step he took toward her. She took a deep breath. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I've lived on the streets as long as I can remember. All the government has ever done for me is chase me away and make it hard to stay alive. And I was not fondling the computer!" At least not much. He obviously had an overactive imagination. "And how would I know anything about Trace's preferences? I thought all you geeky type guys were gamers. I've barely been here a week, and I'm still trying to sort you all out. Which one is Trace?"

He stopped right beside her, forcing her to tilt her neck backward to look up into his eyes. "Trace is our resident bloodhound. Tall, shaggy black hair, resembles a grouchy bear most days? Ring a bell? Set him onto something or someone and he'll follow the faintest of leads until he finally tracks them down. He can pull more info out of those computer banks than a buzzard pulls out of the garbage slews. I'm glad he's on our side, because he's one scary dude. I wonder what he'd find out if I sicced him onto you."

Saralyn did a mental tally of the men on Kaeden's team of mercenaries. Yes, she knew which one was Trace. That description was amazingly accurate. Then again, all of them were scary dudes, although she'd never admit that to them.

Living on the run all these years had taught her that any sign of weakness would bring the predators swarming in for the kill. She highly doubted he would find anything of interest on her, though. Her life, for as long as she could remember, had consisted of an ongoing struggle to stay alive and find enough to eat. It was the second part of the statement that intrigued her. "So this Trace can find stuff? Or people?"

Jackson nodded, his eyes narrowing. "If anyone can find it, Trace can. Why? There something in particular you need to find?"

Saralyn opened her mouth, and was amazed to find herself telling the truth. Trust was a foreign concept and if a person knew what was important to her, they could use it against her...

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HEAT SEEKER by Lucy Monroe

HEAT SEEKER by Lucy Monroe

Goddard Project Series - Final Book

Always ready, always deadly. That’s the motto of the Atrati—a mercenary organization of black operatives who specialize in doing what no one else can.

A former sergeant in the Marine special forces, Kaden Marks dreams of one day having a family. But he’s haunted by the deeds of his past and won’t let anyone get close. Then a new mission comes his way. A fellow operative has had her cover blown—and it’s up to Kaden’s team to bring her out safely. What he doesn’t realize is that the beautiful but stubborn Rachel Gannon has no intention of letting herself be rescued...

Rachel will come out only when she can promise adequate protection for her unwitting informant. As a former DEA agent, Rachel still blames herself for her sister’s death—and is unwilling to let someone else get hurt because of her. But she hadn’t counted on falling for Kaden Marks, and falling hard. Now she must convince him to help her bring down the enemy’s entire organization—without risking the life of the man she’s come to love...

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~Excerpt~

Rachel’s “interrogators” conferred in the corner of the starkly lit room, apparently unaware that one of the four languages she spoke fluently was the Farsi they were using. She understood another five well enough to eavesdrop with effect, but not to converse.

Not that her special affinity for languages was going to do her any good here. Even though she could understand every word they spoke, she couldn’t do anything about it.

The tallest, and coincidentally youngest of the three men, was shocked she had not yet broken. After all, she was only a woman. He was convinced she was what she claimed to be: a simple tourist who had been foolish enough to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

An older man with clear military bearing, and who the other two deferred to, said she had to have training in anti-interrogation techniques. Which meant: he did not believe her overly curious tourist story.

The third man evinced no opinion, simply glancing over at Rachel with unreadable eyes. He was the one who had attached her to the car battery and tightened her restraints by tiny increments every once in a while. They weren’t cutting off circulation yet, but they were close.

And it hurt. A lot.

Not enough to make her tell them the truth though. She was a highly trained operative, but her best preparation had come from life. She knew what kind of pain could break a person like her, but they didn’t have access to the means to do it. After all, she’d already lost everyone that mattered.

Her parents and Linny were dead. Grandma was in a home with Alzheimer’s and hadn’t recognized Rachel in two years. Kadin had left before she ever lost Linny.

There wasn’t anyone left to lose.

And they couldn’t break her with her body. Oh, she’d welcome death when and if it came. The torture was destroying her mind and her perspective, but Rachel would protect her unwitting source of information no matter what they did to her body. Jamila Massri reminded Rachel too much of Linny. An innocent young woman desperate for love caught up with a sadistic man.

It would take more than physical agony to force that name from behind the barriers Rachel had constructed in her mind.

She’d planned her escape route if those barriers started to fail and the idiots in the corner had no clue.
All she had to do was tip her chair sideways when the battery leads were connected to her body.
She’d fall into the puddle of urine and water they’d tossed on it to keep down the smell. The electricity would pass through her heart, but more importantly through her brain.

Instant fried cerebral matter.

And if she was lucky, the cement floor connecting with her head would kill her before the electricity even.

She hadn’t taken her only out yet because the part of her that wanted to do her job wouldn’t let go, the little part of her that still hoped, still believed in good winning over evil. She wanted to know who the top players in this information war were.

And maybe, just maybe...her agency would send someone to extract her in time for her to share that important news.

TGP didn’t leave their agents behind, but time was running out and she wasn’t counting on rescue. She never counted on anyone being there for her anymore.

Another bolt of electric agony jolted through her as she forced her mind to go over the escape plan again and again, even as she screamed the name of the one person she was absolutely sure she would never see again.

#

Kadin could hear the screams through the walls of the facility. His heart stopped in his chest as the agony in that voice paralyzed him.

He’d heard Rachel Gannon’s voice lifted in pleasure, he’d heard it broken with pain, but he’d never heard it scream like this. In that moment, he realized it was the one sound that might well break him.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Cowboy asked as he drew level with Kadin.

Kadin jerked his head in a nod and started moving again. He had to be all right, damn it. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Rachel’s life depended on him keeping his head in the game and hearing the proof of what was happening to her could not get in the way of that.

Not even when it came special delivery with his name on it.

One damn thing he had never expected was for her to call out to him in her time of need. It had to be a mind game she played with herself to keep her real secrets locked inside, but hell if it wasn’t wreaking havoc on his brain too.

#

Rachel was on count seven-hundred and twenty when she realized it had been longer than three minutes since the last shock. She opened her eyes slowly, but even so, it took a moment to focus. Her vision was so blurry at first, the room appeared dark. But it wasn’t. The single light in the ceiling was still on and the stark light cast by it revealed that the men tormenting her were no longer in her cell.
She hadn’t heard them leave.

That was not good. Maybe she was farther gone than she’d thought.

Had the time come to take her escape route?

She took several deep breaths, trying to assess her condition and how close she might be to revealing something she did not want to without realizing it.

As Rachel contemplated her options, limited though they were, the door opened and an old woman shuffled in. She muttered a prayer in Farsi under her breath as she offered a cup of water to Rachel to drink.

Rachel didn’t bother asking for help. This woman was as trapped as she was. The first couple of sips of water were as bitter as the acid in Rachel’s mouth, but then the clear cold flavor of well water took over and Rachel’s eyes stung with gratitude.

The woman helped her drink the whole cup before stepping back.

“Thank you,” Rachel croaked out in Farsi.

With a nod of the cloth covered head, the older woman turned to leave.

“Wait.” The word cost Rachel, coming out of a throat raw from screaming.

The woman turned, her eyes filled with resigned sadness. “I can do nothing else for you.”

“You can tell me where we are.”

Though Rachel could make a good guess based on the way the woman was dressed.

“We are in the mountains, far from any city.”

“In what country?”

“Morocco.”

Okay, that was a lot further from Helwan, the small city outside Cairo she’d been conducting her investigation in than she’d expected. She must have been out a lot longer before arrival than she’d thought, or they flown her here.

Either way, she now understood why she’d been left alone for almost a day after being dumped in this less than hospitable room. The fact the big dogs hadn’t arrived yet made more sense too.

Moving her to Morocco was smart, but hopefully not as clever as the locator chip in Rachel’s hip that Vannie at TGP headquarters had installed.

“Thank you. What is your name?”

The woman shook her head and left without answering.

“Mine is Rachel,” she croaked out as the door closed. Her head dropped, the tiny reserve of energy draining from her.

She had no doubts her people would find her, but she was fairly sure at this point that it wouldn’t be alive.

Moments later, the door opened again - this time silently. Only the shift of air in the room giving the movement away. So, not her captor’s return.

But who? Had her agency sent a rescue team? Hope seared through her as worry rose up to meet it.
A man stepped inside, closing the door behind him with an economy of movement and absolutely no sound. She would not know he was there if she could not see him with her own eyes. Big, both tall and broadly muscled, he wore the newer black digital camouflage. His face was covered by a cotton ski mask, but his eyes were eerily familiar.

She blinked her own, unable to process what her brain was telling her. But her rescuer had Kadin’s eyes.

She knew with every particle of her remaining sanity it couldn’t be Kadin. Not here. Not now. Just her fantasies playing tricks with her mind. This was much worse than losing track of time during her torture. Reality was colliding with imagination and that terrified her.

She had to keep her mental faculties together. It was the only weapon she had left. And apparently, she needed to stop using old memories to fight the horror of the present.

“Kadin,” she whispered almost silently, the fear she’d refused to give into up to this point nearly overwhelming her.

The man heard her. His head jerked, but he didn’t say anything. He moved forward on quick, silent feet, dropping to one knee beside her. He flicked open a lethal looking blade and put it against the zip tie holding her wrists together.

“Wait!” she gasped.

He stopped. “Don’t worry, Rachel. I’m not here to hurt you.”

It was Kadin’s voice. Her mind had snapped.

Even knowing that, she asked, “Kadin?”

“Yes.”

Impossible, but he’d just said he was Kadin. Maybe her rescuer would have agreed to anything; maybe men like him were trained to deal with delusional torture victims like her that way. One thing she was certain of. The man, whoever he was, was here.

“I’m not dreaming.” She said it aloud because she needed to convince herself.

She was fairly confident that she was in too much pain to be dreaming though. Besides, in all her dreams Kadin had never shown up in commando gear.

The Marines had taken him from her; she wasn’t about to have fantasies of him dressed like a soldier.
“No.” He brushed her cheek with a black gloved hand. “You’re not dreaming.”

That voice again. It could not be and yet somehow, her nearly broken mind kept insisting that it was. “It’s you. Really.”

“Yes.” Never one for long speeches, her Kadin.

No, wait. Not hers anymore. Not for a very long time.

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. We have to get you out of here.”

“No.”

He made a sound a cross between shocked gasp and growl. “Yes.”

“No. Two of the top guys in the organization are coming tomorrow. One of them is an expert on interrogation.” And she was sure she knew which one held that dark claim to fame in his underlings’ eyes. “I know one, but not the other. We need that information.”

So, okay...her brain was still functioning. Which meant this man really was Kadin because she wasn’t so far gone she was turning fantasies into reality in her mind. She hadn’t done that for almost as long as Kadin hadn’t been hers.

“Then get it another way,” he growled in an almost sub vocal whisper directly against her ear. "You are not staying here to be tortured some more."

“They’re finished for the night.” At least she hoped they were.

“Bullshit. They’re giving you a chance to think it’s over before coming back and trying to break you.”

A more experienced interrogator might do that, but these guys? She was hopeful not. “They haven’t broken me yet.”

The sound of plastic snapping came from behind and then Kadin’s big hands were on her arms, massaging them as he slowly allowed them to relax downward. “This is going to hurt like a sonsabitch, but you can handle it, angel.”

The pain started then and she didn’t bother wasting breath on trying to argue or demanding he never, ever use that endearment again. She had to handle this and a lot more quietly than she had her torture. Yelling out Kadin’s name right now could get them both killed.

Once her arms hung at her sides, he made quick work of the ties holding her legs to the chair and then he swept her up into his arms. “They aren’t getting the chance.”

“Chance for what?”

“To break you.”

“And I won’t get the chance to identify the other major player either.”

“I’ll leave a team to do surveillance.”

“There’s no guarantee the bosses will show once it’s discovered I’m gone.”

“Is she for real, boss?” someone asked and Rachel realized Kadin was wearing an earbud communicator.

She wouldn’t have heard the voice except her head was right next to his. He should be carrying her in a fireman’s lift, so he had one hand available.

The fact he wasn’t messed with her head in a way the torturers hadn’t been able to.

“Boss?” the voice asked again.

“Yes.” Kadin didn’t sound happy when he said it either.

“Tell her we’ll take care of it,” another voice, this one with a distinct Texas twang, said.
Another day, another time...Rachel would have demanded to know how, but right now? It was taking every single one of her stay-with-it molecules to keep from passing out, puking or ignominiously doing both.


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ALPHA ME NOT by Jianne Carlo

ALPHA ME NOT by Jianne Carlo
White Wolf Book Three

Susie White wants no picket fences, no alpha, and no cubs. White wolf woman she may be, but no pack for her, no sireee. Alpha me not, that’s her motto. In all caps.

Mercenary and half-breed wolf Joe Huroq’s not looking for a mate. Stop and go screwing, that’s his motto. Hot and heavy between missions. Then he glimpses his new neighbor tanning nude and the situation explodes.

Literally. Susie’s house is consumed by fire. What’s Joe to do but offer Susie his hospitality?

Susie can’t resist the temptation of big, bad, mercenary, so she suggests a friends with benefits arrangement which he accepts with an amazing alacrity. The sex is frantic, hot, and frequent. Neither one can keep their hands off the other.

Then children go missing. The fire’s deemed arson. Bodies pile up. Susie refuses to accept Joe’s mate claim. Can he keep her safe when she won’t obey a single order?

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Excerpt:

 

Joe Huroq tossed his duffel bag onto the bed, scrubbed the week’s worth of stubble on his chin, and blew out a long sigh. It had been a hellish three months, and he’d seen the worst of the emerging Eastern European countries, but the mission had been successful.

Yeah. Right. The team had rescued the kidnapped daughter of an oil executive from the scumbags holding her for ransom. But he’d taken one look at the broken shell of what once must have been a normal thirteen-year-old, and known she’d never be whole again. She might have been better off dead.

He knew not to go there.

The plaintive notes of “Stairway to Heaven” wafted to his ears. Joe grinned.

His back-fence neighbor, Terri, was in one of her moods. He’d learned to gauge Terri’s state of mind by the music she blared while suntanning nude in her backyard. That particular rift meant she’d had a down and dirty fight with her girlfriend, had a twelve-pack of Heines on ice, and was halfway to being pissed.

Joe’s grin went ape-shit wide. Exactly what he needed.

Shoot the breeze with Terri, get a nice buzz on, jump in the pool, and forget the bleakness in the teenager’s eyes. He shucked his button-down shirt, tossed his boots, socks, shed his worn and grimy jeans, shoved off his briefs, grabbed a towel, and padded to the back door.

Spring in Hallie was his favorite time of year. A light breeze lifted the noonday heat, and the fresh aroma of just-mowed grass perfumed the air. A seven-foot wooden fence bordered his and Terri’s backyards. She upped the volume when Joe slipped the deadbolt on the gate between the two properties.

Must’ve been a doozy of a fight.

Terri and her significant other, Petra, had a tempestuous, passionate relationship. He’d come to believe Terri secretly loved makeup sex and deliberately picked fights with Pet.

He spied Terri on the opposite side of the pool. She lay nude on a lawn chair, her face covered by a wide-brimmed straw hat. Joe raised his face to the sun and rolled his shoulders. No place in the world like the good old US of A, and nothing washed away the sins of the universe better than an afternoon of dissing the latest political gaffes and arguing about sports teams while drinking beer and scarfing down pizza. He studied the wispy white clouds dotting the powder-blue sky as he made his way over to Terri.

A four-seater patio table with an open blue-and green-striped umbrella stood adjacent to the twin lawn chairs. He glanced at Terri and frowned.

She looked...different.

Those boobs. Perfect. Rounded.

At least a C-cup, with milk-chocolate areolae, and fat, pink-tipped nipples.

His cock stirred, and he stumbled. What the fuck?

He’d never felt the slightest attraction to Terri. He dropped his gaze lower and salivated. Inky, tight curls framed a heart-shaped mound of pubic hair from which peeked the prettiest pink pussy lips he’d ever seen, bar none. His jaw sagged, and his cock vaulted to commander-in-chief attention.

Holy Batman and Robin. He had died and gone to vagina heaven.

The song ended. His knees buckled. Joe grabbed a chair to try to steady himself. The metal feet squeaked on the pavers.

Terri jackknifed to a sitting position.

Not Terri. Not Terri at all. Whoa!

The female scrambled to her feet, grabbed the towel from the chair, and clamped the terry fabric over those perfect breasts. “Help! Help!”

Joe blinked.

She spun around and sprinted to the small deck connected to the back of the house.

A fine ass.

High, muscled, and sweetly curved.

He licked his lips and focused on her sleek thighs and the hint of pubic hair that did a stripper’s grind-and-tease peep show with each long stride.

And all the while she shrieked like a fire engine on full alert.

The high-pitched screams made him wince, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her backside, and he couldn’t have moved an iota even if someone had put a GLOCK to his head.

She threw open the back door, raced inside, and slammed it shut.

Joe shook his head, hoping the blood pooled in his groin would somehow speed back to fuel his lust-dazed brain.

The crack of a window being opened penetrated his sex stupor.

“I called 911, you pervert. Get out of my backyard!”

Fuck.

That’s all he needed. He snatched his towel, hightailed it out of Terri’s yard, and locked the gate between the two properties. The local police station was less than five blocks away, and the notoriously underutilized force jumped at the chance to ticket a jaywalker, so Joe knew they’d nail the naked-guy-invades-neighbor’s-pool call in a heartbeat. He barely had time to gather his far-flung clothes and shrug on his pants before the distinctive whirring and staccato rapid-fire sequence of police sirens fissured the quiet of the cul-de-sac. Inserting first one arm, then the other into his shirtsleeves, Joe sprinted to the living room and flung open the door just as two cops, weapons drawn, pounded up the five stairs to the front porch. Hands in the air, he froze. “I can explain.”

The good officers didn’t buy his version of events.

“Exactly what offense are you accusing me of?” Joe asked after his fifth reiteration of what had happened.

The policemen exchanged glances. “Trespassing.”

A finable offense. “You can’t take me in on that. And there is the fact that a stranger’s in my neighbor’s house. What if she’s a squatter?”

One of the cops snorted. “A squatter who calls 911? Nice try.”

“I’ve owned this house for five years. Terri’s been my neighbor for three of those five years. Why is this stranger in her house? Maybe what you should be concentrating on is the fact that Terri’s missing.” Joe’s temper surged. Damn it. He was tired, hungry, and pissed. Not even the memory of those perfect breasts alleviated his anger.

The two men conferred quietly with each other.

“What’s the verdict?”

“We’re running a check on the property next door.”

Three hours later, Joe headed to the shower.

He stood under the streaming hot water for much longer than he should’ve, and still the tension in his bunched shoulders wouldn’t abate. No matter how hard he tried, the vision of those perfect breasts kept popping into his head, and his blasted cock kept rising in hopeful anticipation.

So Terri was in Ireland on an archaeological dig.

Joe vaguely remembered Terri mentioning she’d applied to be a member of the team assigned to a recently discovered Celtic burial mound. And this Susan White had rented the house for the period Terri would be away. Joe shampooed, lathered, and rinsed. He toweled off and fingered his jaw.

He mulled the situation over while shaving.

Once he’d come into his wolf, there’d always been a string of available women. He both relished and hated one-night stands and had fallen into the habit of sticking to one woman at a time. He picked females who knew the score and wanted regular, safe sex with no emotional complications. His frequent stints overseas resulted in stop-and-go fucking. A three- or four-month absence proved the old adage about the heart growing fonder an out-and-out lie.

He wanted Susan White.

And he was going to have her.

Joe dressed, spent thirty minutes on the Internet investigating his new neighbor, and then went out the front door. Whistling, hands in pockets, he ambled down the sidewalk. His street, Elm Close, backed the one Terri lived on, Birch Crescent. Both cul-de-sacs were mirror images of each other and ended in the traffic circles that fronted his and Terri’s houses.

He rounded the corner to Mission Street, strolled past Treehouse Park, and turned onto Bonaventure Boulevard. Glancing at the park as he traversed the five-minute walk on Champion Avenue, he noticed two junior soccer teams kicking a ball around.

Birch Crescent was one of those Hallie streets that exuded old-world charm. He fixed his attention on Terri’s country-style bungalow at the end and dead center of the road.

More a cottage than a house, the dwelling oozed quaint southern country. A wide front porch held the requisite two-seater wicker swing chair, and three antique milk cans painted a soft ivory dribbled a variety of trailing ivies, daisies, and pink petunias.

Side-by-side beds of cabbage-patch flowers, lavender, and catnip led to the steps and the front door. Joe hesitated for a second before thumbing the doorbell.

Positioning himself so she wouldn’t be able to see his face from the windows, Joe listened to the sing-song ringing and sniffed. The aroma wafting from inside was pungent with the perfume of garlic, onions, and basil. His mouth watered. Italian sauce. Marinara maybe. His stomach complained its emptiness.

The door swung open.

Joe’s dick went loco.

Long hair, straight as a pin, glossy and blue-black, framed an angular face and caressed toned, tanned arms. She wore painted-on jeans, a skimpy tank that molded those perfect breasts with tongue-licking caresses, bare feet, and she appeared about to plow him.

He was so done for.

Her eyes widened, and her nostrils quivered. “You!”

Joe’d been a Boy Scout. Always prepared. He stuck a booted foot against the doorjamb.

She tried to slam the door shut. He countered by exerting pressure on the wooden panel.

“I’m here to apologize.”

Her fierce scowl and narrowed eyes, spitting fire, damnation, and intent to maim, didn’t faze him one bit.

“We got off to a bad start. Your landlord, Terri, and I are good friends and neighbors. I’m Joe Huroq.”

Big, black eyes widened. She planted fisted hands on curvy hips and gave him the once-over, pausing with a lip-curling sneer at his obvious arousal, which thickened in optimistic expectation.

She tipped her head and pursed a mouth too red and full to be anything but sinful. “So Terri mentioned. She did, however, fail to inform me that the two of you, good buddies, tanned in your birthday suits regularly.”

She crossed her arms and pointedly cast her gaze to his groin.

“Hey, I’m only human. My dick’s reacting the way it’s supposed to.”

“Well, tell it to take a hike and wait for Terri’s return. I am not her fill-in.”

“Terri’s a lesbian.”

He suppressed a smile when her brows arched and she blinked and then gave a little head shake.

“Terri?”

In her twenties, Terri’d been a centerfold of the year, and she hadn’t let her figure slide after turning thirty. Petite and curvy, femininity personified, she was the opposite of the female lesbian stereotype.

“Yeah. Go figure.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Can we start over? I’d prefer not to have to guard my back for the next year. That’s the length of your lease, right?”

A scowl pinched her onyx brows into a V, and she widened her stance, pelvis thrust forward. “And how in heck do you know that?”

Jesus. The memory of her pink, unshaved pussy had his mouth watering. He tried to erase all sorts of images from his cock-controlled head. “This is how it is. Terri and I get along. We’re friends. I’ve just returned to the US from Europe and haven’t had time to check e-mail. I thought you were her. You’re obviously not. Can’t we forget about what happened earlier and go forward from here?”

Her nostrils flared. “Why didn’t the cops arrest you?”

Now that comment made him want to connect his hand with her ass. “Say again?”

“Okay. Okay. I may have overreacted.” She shoved the door back and forth. “Terri did say you were one of the few decent guys still left on the planet. And that you could be counted on in an emergency.”

“Yeah. Well, that I am and you can.” Joe couldn’t stop picturing her fat, pink nipples. “So, want to start over?”

“I guess.” She toed a circle, and man, did she have adorable toes, especially the big one. Cute and plump and sloped to the left. Joe could think of a lot of uses for that toe.

“Is that a yes?”

“I guess.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can you be more specific? I’d prefer not to have the cops chasing me every time I speak to you.”

“They should’ve arrested you.” She twisted her lips. “Still, I guess it’s a case of mistaken identity.”

A big sigh.

Eyes to the ceiling.

She met his gaze. “Okay, I’m Susie White. Terri did say that you were a perfect gentleman.”

“Now I wouldn’t go that far.” He scraped both hands through his hair. “Pleasure to meet you, Susie White. Are we on the same page now? I’m not a sex fiend. And we’re going to play nice as neighbors?”

“Maybe to the first one. And yes to the second.”

She did that woman thing of tossing her hair and arching her neck, and his cock reacted with a vigor Joe didn’t remember existing since his twenties. Fuck. He sniffed, and her musk went straight to his head. He couldn’t wait to bury his nose in her pussy, and he rarely did the down under.

“Terri told me you have a key to this house.” Her mouth flattened, and she stuck her hand out. “I want it.”

Her lips were rose colored, and when she spoke, her mouth did this little dance with her teeth, kind of like a stripper’s bump and grind. Could she take him? Suck him down to the base? Holy crapola, he was falling fast and hard.

What the heck was she talking about? Keys. Oh yeah. He’d anticipated that move.

“Figured you might. Can’t say as I blame you. Here.” He pulled the key he’d stashed earlier from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “If you’re up to it, I thought we could walk to Mama Maria’s and grab a bite. Eat with the early birds.”

She stared at him for a few seconds and then stepped back. Eyed him from boots to tousled hair. “Damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Okay. Let’s do this. Kill two birds with one stone. The gas ran out for the stove, and I can’t figure out how to switch the thingy. Terri said you always changed tanks for her.”

“What?” He’d been too busy planning the path from dinner to hot and heavy fucking and missed every other word.

Tanks? As in battle?

“The kitchen stove. Gas tank. Needs to be changed.” She threw him a superior sneer and raised one brow. “You fix it and we’ll do dinner.”

“Not sure I like how this is going down.” Joe resisted the temptation to tuck her hair behind her ears, check out her lobes. He had a thing for succulent lobes. “Sounds like you’re only agreeing to dinner with me if I fix the stove.”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. So...what’s the verdict?”

“For the record, I would’ve changed the gas tank without the blackmail. And you’re appearing a lot less gracious with that last remark.” Joe stifled a grin when she colored from tempting cleavage to forehead. “I could’ve sworn I changed the gas tank for Terri before this last trip. Want me to do it now?”

“Damn it. Don’t you try to guilt me out. I’m not the one who waltzed into my backyard wearing not a stitch of clothing and a ginormous penis. And now you want us to cozy up and have dinner? Forgive me for jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

He held his hands up. “Whoa. How did we get from changing the gas tank to my ginormous--thanks for the compliment, by the way--cock?”

Twin slashes of red stamped her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t believe I actually said that.”

“How’s about we really start over? Wipe the slate clean.” He extended a hand. “Hi. My name’s Joe Huroq, and I’m your next-door neighbor.”

For a long moment she stared at his fingers. Then she grasped his hand. “Susie White. Nice to meet you.”

A firm grip, a quick shake, and then she dusted off his hold.

“Dinner at Mama Maria’s? Or should I switch out the gas first?”

“It can wait till we get back. Hang on while I get my purse and find my shoes.” She whirled around, stomped her way to a small table beneath which lay a pair of flip-flops and shuffled into them. She stretched an arm to the coatrack and grabbed a denim saddlebag from a hook, adjusted the purse’s strap, snatched keys from a china saucer, and announced, “’Kay, cowboy. Let’s rustle.”

“Huh?” He knew what she was about, but playing possum would get them halfway to where he wanted. “Care to explain?”

“Let’s have dinner and establish a truce. But it’ll have to be quick. I have to study for a test tomorrow.”

“No problem.” He folded his arms and leaned on the door frame. “You might want to grab a jacket. When the sun sets—”

“For cripes sake. I’m an adult, not a child. And you sound exactly like my brother.” She twisted back and snatched a denim jacket from a chair. “Terri said I was not to bug you about your occupation, but that I’d get a kick out of it. So what is it exactly that you do for a living?”

Fuck, she deserved to be spanked. Hard. He imagined those high ass cheeks pinkened and hand-imprinted, and salivated. “I’m a mercenary.”

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SAVOR THE DANGER by Lori Foster

SAVOR THE DANGER by Lori Foster

Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor Book Three

The one woman he couldn't have was the only woman he desired...

She may be aloof, and more pretty than gorgeous, but Alani Rivers is the kind of woman a hot-blooded mercenary can't forget, no matter how hard he tries. So when Jackson Savor wakes up next to the naked, sleeping beauty - with no memory of what happened - he knows he's been drugged...even if Alani doesn't.

After she was kidnapped, Alani swore she'd never trust another man again. Still, something about this strong, sexy hero with the tender touch makes her want to believe him. As Jackson hunts downs a mysterious intruder, he swears he'll move heaven and earth to keep Alani safe. But what really happened that night? And will the truth bring them closer than they ever thought possible - or put Alani squarely in harm's way again?

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Excerpt:

A little slack-jawed, Alani watched as Jackson meandered down the hall and disappeared into her home office. His long-legged, rangy walk set her heart to tripping; the thought of him going through her personal files slowed it again.

She snapped her mouth shut.

Had that parting shot of his been mockery, or a sincere statement reflecting what they’d shared, the bond they’d forged last night?

A bond that only she could remember.

Groaning, she put her hands over her face and slumped into her bedroom. She quietly closed the door and dropped back against it.

Being honest with herself, she had to admit that deep inside, she’d been expecting – maybe even hoping – that he’d press the issue of intimacy. He wanted her again. He’d been more than open and upfront about that.

But instead, he chose to honor her wishes, the wishes she knew to be more responsible. More reasonable.

It would be a very long night.

Taking her time, Alani freshened up, tidying her hair, brushing her teeth, giving her make-up a boost. With nothing more to do, she girded herself for Jackson’s impact, both emotional and physical, and went in search of him.

She opened her bedroom door and found him right there in the hallway, leaning on the wall, relaxed, waiting for her.

Before she could apologize for making him wait, he straightened.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

She stepped out, and his warm palm curved to the small of her back.

Alani felt the touch everywhere. But then, even if he hadn’t touched her, she’d have been acutely aware of him beside her. When Jackson was in a room, he occupied everything, the space, the air, the attention.

Knowing they were alone, with the bedrooms at their backs, quickened her breath.

“I parked down around the corner.”

Surprise slowed her steps, but since Jackson kept walking, she did too. It hadn’t occurred to her that his car was missing. If she’d seen it on the street in front of her house or in her driveway, she’d have been forewarned of his visit.

And maybe she would have avoided him.

“You didn’t want me to know you were here?”

“I didn’t want anyone else to know.” His hand slid to her hip, nudged her a little closer to him. “In case I was followed, no way did I want to lead anyone to you.”

Another reminder of the danger they might be in. “Well, you should bring your car up to my driveway now.”

“Maybe later.” He stopped at the entrance to her small living room, where so much drama had already gone down. “For now, how about we take your car?”

“All right.” She didn’t mind that. With all he’d been through, it’d probably be better if he wasn’t driving. Sure, he had to be macho and swear he felt no side-effects from being drugged, but how could that be? If she took cold medicine, it wiped her out, and he’d been given a drug so heavy-duty that it had obliterated his memory.

In the kitchen, she found her purse, keys, and Jackson’s hat. She rejoined him in the foyer.

He took the hat from her, slid it onto his head, and then held out a hand.

One brow raised, Alani looked at him in question.

“Keys?” he prompted.

She slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “That’s okay. I’ll drive.”

A priceless expression fell over his face.

“Oh please.” Alani had to laugh. “It’s not like I asked to carry your gun.”

Heartfelt, he tipped back his hat and scoffed. “I’d say no to that, too.” He scrutinized her. “But you do know how to shoot, don’t you?”

“I know enough.” And after her kidnapping to Tijuana, she’d done plenty of practicing to ensure she could handle a weapon.

He reached for her purse. “You carrying?”

“No!” Alani snatched the bag away. “Of course not.”

Considering that, Jackson declared, “We’ll get you a piece. You shouldn’t be out and about without it.” He gave her small designer purse a look of dislike. “You’ll need to carry something bigger, though.”

She did not want to be armed. “You’re here, so what do I need with a gun? Aren’t you protection enough?”

He went so still, it almost made her laugh again. Until he said, “You suggesting I should stick around 24/7?”

“What?” A rush of heat hit her cheeks. “No, of course I wasn’t.”

Keeping her caught in his gaze for far too long, he studied her, and finally smiled. “Yeah, I’m protection enough. I guess as long as you’re with me, you don’t need anything else.” He snatched the keys out of her lax hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here….”

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TRACE OF FEVER by Lori Foster

TRACE OF FEVER by Lori Foster

Book Two in The Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor Series

Caught in the crossfire of vengeance and desire...

Undercover mercenary Trace Rivers loves the adrenaline rush of a well-planned mission. First he'll earn the trust of corrupt businessman Murray Coburn, then gather the proof he needs to shut down the man's dirty smuggling operation. It's a perfect scheme - until Coburn's long-lost daughter saunters in with her own deadly plan for revenge.

With a smile like an angel and fire in her eyes, Priscilla Patterson isn't who she seems to be. But neither is the gorgeous bodyguard who ignites all her senses. Joining forces to plot Coburn's downfall, Priss and Trace must fight the undeniable heat between them. For one wrong move, one lingering embrace will expose them to the wrath of a merciless opponent….

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Excerpt:

Priss stretched awake in the much cleaner and better smelling hotel room. The sheets were smooth, the pillows soft. She had enough space to actually move around without bumping into anything.

Sunlight crept in around the haphazardly closed curtains. It would be another gorgeous June day. Time to get up – except that she couldn’t move her legs, not with Liger stretched out in full splendor across her.

With a yawn, Priss crawled out from under the big cat and sat up on the side of the bed. For this particular morning, she was safe.

So many changes in such a short time.

Her mother’s death had been both a devastating loss and a blessing. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss her, but at least now she didn’t suffer.

Leaving her home should have been an upheaval, but with her motivation driving her, Priss had gotten through the packing, the road trip and the new town by rote. Comfort took a distant second to reaching her goals.

She’d settled in and even found Murray. She’d been right on track.

And then she’d met Trace... whatever his last name might be. She wasn’t buying the name he’d given her. Trace had as many, maybe more secrets than she did.

She enjoyed sparring with him verbally, found him physically appealing, and was intrigued by his cocky attitude. By far, he was the most tempting man she’d ever met.

Because she really didn’t know enough about him to be so captivated, her reaction to him was kind of... well, sick.

Sure, her instincts were good, and her gut told her that Trace was hero material. Despite a lack of facts, she’d already decided he was one of the good guys, an Alpha male who would step into danger to protect others, just as he had – so far – protected her.

And her cat.He was the complete and total opposite of Murray Coburn. So why was he working for that bastard? Or was he?

On her way to the bathroom, Priss glanced at the connecting door.

In the very next room, Trace slept.

Her heart pounded, and that was the biggest change of all. She joked with men, argued with and rejected them. But a pounding heart? Nope. Not once had she ever met a man who affected her that way.

Before leaving the bathroom Priss splashed her face and cleaned her teeth. A glance in the mirror showed her looking a little worse for wear.

Using both hands, she shoved back her hair from her face and gave herself a critical inspection. Before meeting Trace, she’d always accepted herself as a sexless woman, apathetic in most situations, methodical in her approach to life.

But around Trace she felt so much that her head swam. She’d gone to sleep thinking about him and, she just realized, she’d awakened with him on her mind.

Utterly pathetic.

She had just given Liger his food when a tap sounded on the connecting door. Priss’s heart leaped into her throat.

With excitement. Pure, sizzling stimulation. Suddenly she was wide-awake.

Tamping down her automatic smile, Priss leaned on the door. “Yeah?”

“Open up.”

Still fighting that twitching grin, Priss tried to sound disgruntled as she asked, “Why?”

Something hit the door – maybe his head – and Trace said, “I heard you up moving around, Priss. I have coffee ready, but if you don’t want any –”

Being a true caffeine junkie, she jerked open the door. “Oh, bless you, man.” She took the cup straight out of Trace’s hand, drank deeply and sighed as the warmth penetrated the thick fog of novel sentiment. “Ahhhh. Nirvana. Thank you.”

Only after the caffeine ingestion did she notice that Trace wore unsnapped jeans and nothing else. Holy moly.

“That was my cup,” Trace told her, bemused.

But Priss could only stare at him. Despite the delicious coffee she’d just poured in it, her mouth went dry.

When she continued to stare at him, at his chest and abdomen, her gaze tracking a silky line of brown hair that disappeared into his jeans, Trace crossed his arms.

Her gaze jumped to his face and she found him watching her with equal fascination.

A little lost as to the reason for that look, Priss asked with some belligerence, “What?”

With a cryptic smile, Trace shook his head. “Never mind. Help yourself and I’ll get another.”

Oh crap, she’d snatched away his cup! “Sorry.”

He lifted a hand in dismissal and went to the coffee machine sitting atop the dresser. His jeans rode low on his hips. The sun had darkened his skin, creating a sharp contrast to his fair hair.

Another drink was in order, and another sigh of bliss. Hoping to regain her wits, Priss said, “God, nothing in the world tastes better than that first drink of coffee.”

Trace looked over his shoulder, his attention zeroing in on her mouth, then her chest and finally down to her bare legs. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Sensually stroked by that hot glance and the low timbre of his suggestive words, Priss followed him in.

Trace gestured toward the small round table and two chairs. “Take a seat, Priss.”

“I don’t mind sitting.” But first... Priss finished off her coffee and looked at the full pot. “Is it all right if I get a refill?”

“Help yourself.”

When Priss moved toward the coffee machine, rather than give her room, Trace leaned back on the edge of the dresser and watched her. She could detect his early morning scent of warm skin, musky male and palpable sex appeal. Delicious.

Would he smell that sinful up close, if she put her nose in his neck, or near that solid chest? Or... maybe lower?She eyed his gorgeous body, and raised a brow. “Doing a little flaunting of your own this morning, huh?”

“In deference to your delicate sensibilities, I pulled on jeans. Isn’t that enough?”

Enough for what- her peace of mind? Ha. Being around Trace, especially with him half naked, sent her heart racing like a marathon runner’s. “Maybe it would be,” Priss admitted, “if you didn’t look so good…”

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WHEN YOU DARE by Lori Foster

WHEN YOU DARE - Book of one The Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor by Lori Foster

The tougher they are, the harder they fall...

Professional mercenary Dare Macintosh lives by one hard and fast rule: business should never be personal. If a cause appeals to him and the price is right, he'll take the mission he's offered. But then the lovely Molly Alexander asks him to help her track down the men who'd had her kidnapped - and for the first time, Dare's tempted to combine work with pleasure.

Fiercely independent, Molly vows to trust no one until she's uncovered the truth. Could the enemy be her powerful, estranged father? The ex-fiancé who still holds a grudge? Or the not-so-shy fan of her bestselling novels? As the danger heats up around them, the only anchor Molly has is Dare himself. But what she feels for him just might be the most frightening thing of all...

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Excerpt:

Dare came into the hotel room quietly, saw Molly curled on the bed, and frowned. The towel barely covered her, and with her knees pulled up, he would get one hell of a peep-show if he moved to the foot of the bed.

Not that he would. In many cases he lacked scruples; it was a hazard of the job. But with women, with this woman, he wasn’t about to take advantage. Despite her bravado and commonsense reaction to her nightmare, he’d never seen anyone more emotionally fragile.

Besides, the less involvement he had with her, unscrupulous or otherwise, the better. He needed to figure out what had happened to her, and the quickest way to safely remove her from his care.

He’d known she was spent, on the ragged edge, but the fact that she hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself proved her level of exhaustion.

More than anything, she probably needed to eat. But should he wake her for that when she also needed sleep?

He wasn’t a damn babysitter, but since he’d personally gotten her out of Mexico, he couldn’t very well just dump her somewhere. By rescuing her, he had accepted an implied responsibility.

Trying not to rattle the bags and juggling the food with his other purchases, Dare closed the door and locked it. A glance at the bedside clock showed the time at one-thirty A.M. He’d only been gone a half hour, tops.

Luckily the WalMart across the street stayed open twenty-four hours. He’d found not only clothes for her, but food, too. Dressing and feeding her would go a long way toward resolving her most pressing issues.

With barely a sound, he stowed the drinks in the tiny fridge and put her share of the food into the microwave to keep.

Removing his wallet, change and cell phone from his jeans, he placed them neatly on the desk. Next he took out his knife and the Glock 9mm he carried, and set them beside his other belongings. He stretched out his knotted muscles. Too many hours crawling over rough ground, ducking for cover and demolishing men without enough sleep or food had left him tense and weary.

After pulling a chair out from the round table, he opened the covering on his pancakes and coffee.

He’d taken only one bite when she stirred, sniffed the air, and drowsily opened her eyes. Dare turned toward her.

She gave him a “deer caught in the headlights” look.

He studied her, a small bundle huddled tight on the bed, face still ravaged and eyes wounded. Never had he seen a woman look so vulnerable.

He swallowed his bite and, sounding as casual as he could under the circumstances, asked, “Hungry?”

She stared back, then struggled up to one elbow. Her expression changed, the wariness hidden beneath that intrepid bravado. “Starved. Literally.”

With all the dirt removed, her big eyes dominated her small features. More marks showed on her fair skin, one on her cheekbone and under her left eye, one on her throat, and a darker, angrier bruise on her right shoulder.

She breathed deeply, her eyes closing and her nostrils flaring. “That smells so good.”

Out of his seat already, Dare fetched her food. “Do you want to sit here, or eat in the bed?”

She hesitated, looking down for a moment as if uncertain of her welcome, not wanting to inconvenience him. “Table please, but... I should dress first.”

“All right.” He set the food on the table and opened the bag of clothes, pulling out a few T-shirts, panties and a pair of pull-on cotton shorts. “You can get more stuff tomorrow if you feel up to it. Something warmer, maybe, and nicer for the plane ride. But for now, I figured this would fit.”

She didn’t look at the clothes. The arm she leaned on barely supported her, and her breath went choppy with effort.

Voice weak, strained, she said, “I’m sorry, but... I haven’t eaten in too long and I’m feeling kind of... faint.”

Dare straightened, going on alert. Would she pass out on him?

“If...if you could help me into the bathroom, I’ll dress in there.”

Shit. He did not want her passing out alone, maybe hitting her head. “Yeah, no problem.”

Dare moved to the bed and slipped an arm behind her, then drew her to her feet. She swayed into him, one hand clutching at his shirt and holding on for dear life.

She made no attempt to step away. He didn’t ask her to. “What would you like to do?”

“I can’t...” She choked, cleared her throat, and her voice was so low he barely heard her when she said, “This is embarrassing, but the shower...” She swallowed. “I think I’m depleted.”

Easing her back onto the bed, Dare knew he’d have to be firm to get her agreement. “Okay, Molly, listen up.” He kept his tone as impersonal as possible. “This isn’t a big deal. I can dress you. I can even feed you.”

She rolled in her lips with embarrassment, a habit he’d already noticed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” he lied.

That brought her dark eyes up to his.

Damn, but her eyes could melt a man’s soul. “I’m in the personal protection business. You’re not the first woman I’ve rescued. You’re not even in the worst shape.” Another lie. Most women he retrieved were found in the first forty-eight hours before too much damage had been done—or they weren’t found at all. “Okay?”

Still with her gaze locked on his, she nodded.

“Good girl.” He grabbed the clothes from the bag, not really discomfited with the task, but he’d just as soon get past it.

Taking clothes off a woman, yeah, he had plenty of practice with that.

Dressing the near-dead... not so much.


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