by Marie Harte
They stared at one another before he said, “You realize that not only sounds impossible, it also sounds a little dirty, and a lot disgusting. Inside your uncle? Really, honey. I don’t swing that way.”
She just stared at him before it hit her. “Oh my God, that’s really gross. I mean, my uncle… I might be sick.” Then she shook her head. “You’re always thinking about sex, aren’t you? I swear, you’re such a guy.”
“Thank you.”
She snickered.
He cleared his throat, needing to know what really bothered her. For the past two weeks, she’d seemed a bit distracted. He knew she loved him. They planned to move in together. And he’d asked her to say “I do” after giving her his mother’s ring. But still, something wasn’t right.
“So, okay. If you’re not nervous about moving in with me, and you’re wearing my ring, then what is it?” He stared down at the square-cut sapphire on her finger. It looked right there, and when the light hit it in a certain way, it matched her eyes exactly.
“Something happened, J.D.” She blew out a breath.
He stopped teasing. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
Amidst the small crowd gathered to celebrate Max and Christine’s engagement, he pulled her into a small alcove overlooking the river. “Remy, talk.”
“I, well, after we merged with my uncle, and then you and I were one, it was so beautiful.”
He remembered the moment as well. “Heaven on earth.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “We were one. And I loved it. Except, when we came back into ourselves, part of me was…not me.”
“Shit.” She was scaring him. “Your uncle? What happened? Did you get a piece of him stuck with you?”
“No, no.” She drew him down for a kiss. “I’m saying this all wrong. It’s just, I’m a little nervous.”
He gripped her hands tight. “Remy, honey, talk to me. I love you. Just tell me how to fix what’s wrong.”
“I have a piece of you inside me.”
“O-kay. You’re inside me too. It’s all good.” When they merged a lot, as they’d been doing, their energies fluctuated and attached. It just made him feel closer to her and had no lasting effects. Or so he’d thought. “So…?”
“So we’ll have to come up with a name for him.” She took his hand and put it over her belly. “In another eight and a half months.”
It took him a minute to comprehend her meaning, and when he did, he felt dizzy. “Oh my God. A baby? We made a baby?” He couldn’t help his voice rising. He felt dizzy.
“Yes. Far as I can tell.” She glowed with joy. He didn’t have to ask if she was happy about it.
“But how?”
“I’ve been puzzling over that. We made love a few days before we met my uncle. I was on birth control, yet you somehow managed to knock me up. Now you have to make an honest woman out of me.”
He stared at her, filled with so much love he didn’t know what to do. He blinked and saw the world awash in electric blue, Remy by his side. His future, his love. His everything. “A baby.”
“A baby.” She nodded.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“No. Tell me again.” She pulled him close. “And then maybe I’ll show you how much I love you after the party.”
“Oh yeah. Show me all night,” he said thickly. “You’re my life, woman. And you know it. You have me wrapped around your little finger.”
She snuggled into his arms. “Shocking, isn’t it?” she said and ran a sizzling finger over his nape.
“Funny.” He paused. “We won’t hurt the baby by doing anything, ah, kinky, will we?”
She sighed. “No. You’re so sweet, even when you don’t try to be.”
He chuckled. “Good. Because I can’t wait to make love again. But first, let’s lay odds on how much the little guy takes after me when he’s born.”
Eight and a half months later, to the day, Drake Remington Morgan joined the world. He didn’t much care for the nurse and doctor who made him cry and jolted them both with a shock. But he soon rested quietly against his mother’s soft breast, basking in the calm blue nimbus that seemed to glow brighter as his parents stared at their son and each other with love.
About the Author
Marie Harte is an avid reader who loves all things paranormal and futuristic. Reading romances since she was twelve, she fell in love with happy endings and knew writing was her calling.
Twenty-plus years later, the Marine Corps, a foray through Information Technology, and children, her dream has finally come true. Marie lives in Georgia with her family and loves hearing from readers.
To read more about Marie, visit www.marieharte.com.
Look for these titles by Marie Harte
Coming Soon:
Cougar Falls
By the Tail
Now Available:
Cougar Falls
Rachel’s Totem
In Plain Sight
Feral Attraction
Foxy Lady
Outfoxed
A Matter of Pride
Right Wolf, Right Time
Westlake Enterprises
To Hunt a Sainte
Storming His Heart
A Scorching Seduction
Closing the Deal
Raising the Bar
Enjoying the Show
Print Anthologies
I Dream of Dragon, Vol. 1
Sins of Summer
He’s enough to tempt a Sainte to sin.
To Hunt a Sainte
© 2010 Marie Harte
Westlake Enterprises, Book 1
Telekinetic Alexandra Sainte is through serving time behind a desk at Buchanan Investigations. She’s more than ready to prove she’s capable of fieldwork, if only her uncle will give her the chance. Tired of waiting, she turns a sudden opportunity into something more.
Her unauthorized raid of a suspected kidnapper’s office goes off without a hitch—mostly—but as she makes her escape, she sees a pair of golden eyes watching her every move. Eyes that spark erotic dreams of a dark stranger taking her in ways that make her blush.
There’s a reason Hunter Greye can’t take his gaze off the sticky-fingered woman he catches ruining his investigation. She fights like a warrior. She bears a striking resemblance to a string of kidnapping victims. And she stirs a wildness within him he thought he’d learned to control a long time ago. She’s a dangerous distraction he can’t afford.
Thrown together in an undercover operation to find the mastermind behind the kidnappings, Alex and Hunter fall in lust, in love, and in danger. Only by trusting each other can they save the girl…and each other.
Warning: Beware psychics with attitude, a killer red dress, a ruthless villain with an angel obsession, and rivals who can’t figure out who’s better on top.
Enjoy the following excerpt for To Hunt a Sainte:
Despite the glass frame around the closed office door, Hunter needed more than perfect vision to see in the dim light. He took a moment to focus, and the office space brightened. High-quality leather furniture and expensive art decorated Omaney’s space. Photographs of the slick businessman shaking hands with prominent politicians graced the burnt orange walls while a state-of-the-art computer whirred to life on Omaney’s solid-oak desk. Where two masked figures waited.
The arrival of security stopped the intruders’ hasty search. The door burst open, and the largest guard waved a gun at them. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing? Get away from the damned computer, on your knees.”
The guards surrounded them, obviously expecting the masked figures to stop whatever they hell they had planned and kneel on the floor. Clad in black from head to toe, only one of the prowlers looked big enough to successfully engage his opponents. The other was smaller in comparison, a slim figure huddled behind the bigger male. So it came as a surprise to watch the smaller man attack first, taking down the largest guard with a kick to his gun hand and a punch to his neck. The intruder�
�s partner moved with an efficient grace. He looked as if he spared little more energy than needed to subdue the guards, working in tandem with his companion.
In minutes, all four of Omaney’s sentries sprawled bruised and unconscious on the floor, their guns in a pile on a nearby chair. The intruders had yet to speak. The larger of the two hurried back to the computer desk and plugged in a thumb drive. He typed at the keyboard, then waited, glancing repeatedly at the clock on the wall. The smaller figure remained still, vigilant while he—or was that she?—watched the doorway.
Hunter had sensed something odd about the smaller male, and now that he concentrated, he could make out a woman’s form under all that black. She had taken on her attackers with ease, dispatching them quickly. Her large partner had been equally skilled at hand-to-hand combat, and Hunter reevaluated his assessment of the pair, wondering exactly why they sought to invade Omaney’s space. These weren’t ordinary burglars.
Nor was Omaney an ordinary businessman. Due to new evidence Hunter’s team had unearthed a mere week ago, he had no doubt Peter Omaney was involved in their current case. But he didn’t know where these prowlers fit into the equation. It had taken his agency time and exhausting effort to get even a whiff of Omaney’s involvement. The philanthropic businessman was squeaky clean. But obviously someone else knew there was more to Omaney than met the eye.
What the hell had they copied? Hunter needed a bead on the computer, but knew he had little time. Though he’d kept out of the way of the security cameras, these two had activated the motion sensors in Omaney’s office. Even now, others rushed to investigate the warehouse’s silent alarm. He needed to get his ass out of here. Yet…how had these two known to come here, to this particular site? Omaney kept this place off the radar.
Unfortunately, nothing about the masked pair seemed familiar. Running out of time. He willed them to reveal some important detail as to their identity before he was forced to flee. Westlake Enterprises couldn’t afford to be linked to this break-in, or they’d blow their case.
As if hearing his plea, the man behind the computer did something fairly strange and decidedly stupid. He removed a black glove and placed his hand directly over the keyboard, lightly stroking the keys with his fingertips.
A chill bristled Hunter’s spine, even as he scented the faint trace of extrasensory miasma—a cloying aroma Hunter associated with anything remotely psychic in nature. Holy shit. Jurek needs to know about this, pronto.
The man placed his hand back in the glove, pulled out and pocketed the memory stick, and turned off the computer. His accomplice tossed him a spray bottle and rag and waited while he wiped the keyboard clean of prints.
Saying nothing, they moved together out the office door. Hunter remained still, watching with great curiosity as they backtracked their way to the exit. They paused while the large man listened at the top of the stairs. He nodded and exited, swallowed by the darkness.
Who the hell were they? More importantly, who were they working for? Hunter needed to get J.D.’s ass out here right away to look at that computer.
He waited for the woman to follow her partner and took a second shock to his system. She turned and looked right at him. Even in the dim light, Hunter could see her gray-green irises. With grudging respect, he studied those eyes that slowly examined his form hidden in the shadows.
When he remained unmoving, the woman disappeared into the darkness. He allowed her a small lead before he followed, his curiosity growing in leaps and bounds while he burned to know the woman’s identity. But, when he reached the ground level, he found the exit door stuck in place. Swearing under his breath, he wrestled with it until the frame cracked and the door swung open.
He pushed through and swept the perimeter. To his immense frustration, they had vanished.
She’d give anything to lose control.
Storming His Heart
© 2011 Marie Harte
A Westlake Enterprises Story
Storm Buchanan’s talent for mind control comes in handy as an investigator for a private agency, but it’s hell on her love life. Men bow to her every whim, so there’s no challenge. Where’s the fun in that?
Maybe that’s why she can’t trust herself around Rafe Savage. The smug, sexy, annoying investigator for a rival firm is the one man who seems impervious to her power. Worse, when he kisses her, she all-too-willingly slips under his control.
Rafe’s gift for seeing into the future doesn’t usually blindside him…until it comes to Storm. The beautiful seductress assaults his control on all fronts, and the spontaneous flashes of her life in danger have his every instinct on alert.
When attempts on both their lives escalate, Storm and Rafe must stick together to find a madman bent on vengeance. While it’s no surprise that their enforced proximity has their bodies going up in flames, neither expects lust to melt into love. Or that they’ll need every ounce of their combined skills to fight for a future that could die before it’s born.
Warning: Beware a heroine with mind control, a sexy hero with attitude, annoying siblings, smug psychics, sexualized danger, and a psychotic villain who can’t be caught.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Storming His Heart:
Storm spotted the study door and hurried. A glance at the bedside clock showed she was running out of time. She dragged her shoes with her, careful to leave no evidence of her presence behind.
Using the codes Thorne had also appropriated from Locklen’s mind, she unlocked the door and entered. The light from the bedroom illuminated the moderate space. She noted the shelves of old books, nautical charts and antiques encased in glass. And there, atop his large mahogany desk, a wrought iron statue of Captain Michael G. Locklen, founder of the family’s dynasty. That statue meant the jewels were close.
A sudden bang made her jump. Outside, the wind shrieked and blew a tree limb against the study window overlooking the back gardens. With her luck, the power would go out. Not needing more of a headache than she already had, Storm closed the heavy drapes and the study door before turning on the desk lamp. Shadows darkened the corners of an already dim room, but she didn’t dare expose herself with more lighting.
In this room, Locklen relied on simple locks to secure his valuables. His antiquated security matched the aged valuables he held dear. She made short work of his desk using a lock pick she’d hidden in the heel of her shoe. A search through his things turned up nothing. She tapped her foot in frustration.
“Where are you?” The statue was here; therefore, the jewels had to be here. She looked again around the room and noticed an antique lamp standing over a plush leather reading chair. It was hard to see since the desk light didn’t illuminate much more than the top of the desk.
Storm approached the lamp for better study. She still didn’t want to turn on the main light on the off chance one of the guards patrolling outside the house might notice. And then she saw it. A sparkling, emerald necklace atop the lampshade, right in plain sight. From a distance it had looked like part of the lampshade’s decoration. Relieved she’d finally found it, she reached for the necklace.
“Move and you’ll be very sorry,” a voice whispered in the darkness a split second before someone yanked her back against a hard frame and covered her mouth with his hand.
Storm froze. She didn’t necessarily need to see this intruder to get him to bend to her will, but eye contact always strengthened her bond. She struggled to get free.
“Don’t scream or I’ll gag you,” he threatened and released her mouth, keeping his hand close should she try to yell.
“I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure you don’t want me,” she whispered, her voice smooth, like the deceptive calm before a hurricane. She concentrated on an image of herself walking out of the study. “Why don’t you just let me go and I’ll forget you were ever here?”
The arm around her tightened—not what she’d expected. He secured her hands behind her back with a speed that betrayed expertise then turned her around
. Unfortunately, she could see nothing of his face through his ski mask but brown eyes and a firm mouth.
Those eyes… Damn it. She knew those eyes. Her own widened. “You were at that bar trying to steal my witness three weeks ago,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless.
“Whose witness?” he drawled, humor in his deep voice.
“Who are you?” But she knew. Just her luck that of all the agents she might have run into, she had to encounter the one she had nightly fantasies about. Rafe Savage—sexy asshole extraordinaire.
Thorne’s rumor had turned out to be true. Westlake was definitely involved.
Buchanan Investigations was one of two firms of its like—a top-notch investigative service whose investigators possessed psychic abilities. Though their paranormal talents remained fairly secret, the success of the firm did not. The only fly in the ointment was the equal success of their competitor, Westlake Enterprises. It just figured the only man Storm found even remotely interesting worked for the enemy.
“Maybe I should be asking you that question,” he rumbled in a low voice. “You stole my witness, started a bar fight I had to clean up and left before we could be properly introduced. Now you’re here in the middle of my business once again.”
Oh man, Savage was even bigger and faster than she remembered. And just as sexy, something she had no business thinking about with the job on the line.
Now how to distract him until she could collect the jewels?
“I can almost hear you plotting.” He pushed her into the leather chair, forcing her to sit with her hands behind her back, and turned on the antique light. Removing his mask, he studied her as she squinted under the light’s glare. Dark brown hair cropped a face filled with hard planes and a granite jaw, to say nothing of his lethal stare. No two ways about it, Savage was not only tough but incredibly handsome. And he works for Westlake.
