Elite CIA operative Zara Morgan has a reputation as a loose cannon with a penchant for breaking the rules. Now she’s got a chance to prove she can be a competent field officer, but the test doesn’t end there. She’s been paired with sexy covert ops team leader Lawson Vaughn, a man who lives and breathes protocol.
Methodical is Lawson’s middle name. He specializes in high-risk search and rescue, not missions that involve tracking down terrorists. Especially while trying to keep the lid on a partner who has a problem with authority and skates by on wits and bravado.
Even before they get on the plane for Paris they’re under each other’s skin…and fighting a scorching sexual attraction. Drawn into an unauthorized game of vengeance, Lawson is forced to dance a tightrope in order to protect his partner from their quarry—a terrorist who’s about to unleash a biological nightmare on the Muslim world. And Zara is the first target.
With her life, and that of millions of innocent people, on the line, Lawson must become the one thing he despises. A renegade.
Warning: Either you’re in or you’re out. There’s no playing it safe anymore.
Enjoy the following excerpt for I’d Rather Be in Paris:
He couldn’t believe it. Zara was kissing him back.
When she rose up on her toes and sighed into his mouth, all his brain processes shut down. The kiss turned wetter, hotter and when her hands went under his jacket, pulling him in tight, his brain exploded in an array of fireworks.
Jesus, she wasn’t just kissing him back, she was inhaling him.
This is wrong. She’d just been through a hell of an experience and here he was, jumping at the chance to wrap his arms around her and console her. He was taking advantage of her at a weak moment.
There’s not an ounce of weakness in her.
He broke the kiss and slid his lips to her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access, and he buried his mouth in the curve of her shoulder. She hitched her breath in that familiar way, and he enjoyed the response her body gave as she arched into him a little further.
She’d been emitting that whole woman-in-charge aura since the minute they’d walked off the plane at Charles de Gaul. Even up to a few minutes ago, she’d been cool, calm and collected every step of the way.
Jesus, he hated women ball-busters, but this take-charge woman was starting to grow on him. Hell, she wasn’t just growing on him. At the moment, with her hands tangled in his hair and her tongue halfway down his throat, he was ready to drop her robe on the ground and let her drive more than his getaway car…
The sound of a motorcycle cut through the lust building in Lawson’s body and he stilled, every sense on high alert. He raised his head and listened.
“Lawson?”
He put a finger to his lips and his eyes slid to the left, checking the dark highway. Traffic was light and the bike was still a half-mile away. No sirens, but something about it had his gut knotting and the spot between his shoulder blades twitching.
Lawson tried to place the make and model of the bike. High-precision, high-speed. Ducati.
“Get in the car,” he said and hustled Zara into the backseat. For once, she didn’t protest or ask why. He ran around to the driver’s seat and jumped in, jerking the car into drive and pulling onto the road in a spray of gravel.
Zara’s voice sounded calm. Too calm. “Police?”
The motorcycle’s headlight hit the rearview mirror. It was picking up speed. He planted his foot on the accelerator while he adjusted the seat to fit him. “Keep your head down.”
The Audi was an older model, but the owner had kept it in good condition. It wasn’t as easy to manipulate as the Duke but it was damn close. Germans, they knew how to build kick-ass cars.
“Darn it,” Zara said from the backseat. Her head was down but Lawson saw clothing flying around.
“What?”
“I don’t have any underwear.”
He was pushing one hundred miles an hour on the speedometer and the bike was still crawling up his ass. The headlight in his mirrors blinded him enough to keep him from identifying whether there was more than one person on the bike, and more importantly, whether or not either of them was armed.
He heard the sound of a zipper from behind him, and Zara muttered something in French. Then the back window shattered and she screamed.
His blood ran cold. Question answered. The men on the bike were definitely armed. Swerving the car from side to side to make them a harder target to hit, he asked the real question burning in his gut. “Zara? Are you all right?”
The second it took her to answer was the longest one he’d ever endured. “I think so,” she said, her voice still sounding unnaturally calm. “But there’s glass everywhere. I’m afraid to move.”
He let out the breath he was holding and zigzagged by a car in front of them. An oncoming car dodged out of his way, horn blaring, but the flustered driver blocked the motorcycle for crucial seconds.
He had two options. Evade the threat or eliminate it. “Get up here and drive.”
“What?”
“Come on, you’re a woman of action, right? You wanted to drive, so get up here and drive the damn car.”
Zara’s head rose from the backseat, her gaze catching his in the rearview mirror as she leaned forward. “Stop yelling at me.”
Lawson reached back and grabbed her arm, hauling her into the passenger seat. She flailed and fumed and once she’d righted herself, he saw she’d exchanged the robe for her leather jacket and miniskirt. She tugged the hem of the skirt down and sent him a scathing look. “What exactly—?”
“Take the wheel. We’re going to exchange places, okay?”
“While the car’s moving?”
Lawson flipped the steering wheel up as high as it would go. He set her hand on the wheel. “You’re going to slide on top of me, got it? Like you’re going to sit in my lap.”
Her hand tightened and Lawson saw her shift into spy mode. A second later, she climbed across the gearshift and slid between his legs.
He released the wheel and extracted his body from around hers. “Keep the car on the road, but don’t make it easy for them to shoot us again. When I give you the signal, I want you to pull the hand brake and crank the wheel to the left like you’re doing a hard U-turn. You’re going to turn the car counterclockwise and land on three o’clock. The car will be blocking the road and I’ll be facing the motorcycle. Got it?”
She dropped her hand and repositioned the seat. “And what are you going to do?”
Lawson hauled the gun out of his waistband. “My Dirty Harry impersonation.”
“Oh God.” She gripped the steering wheel in a ten-and-two position. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”
“No,” Lawson grunted, checking the clip in his gun. “We are not going to die. Ready?”
The road ahead was empty of traffic. He moved to lean out the passenger-side window and Zara said, “Wait! What’s the signal?”
“I’ll yell ‘go!’”
“My mother is going to spend the rest of her life scandalized because her only daughter died bare-assed in the middle of France in a stolen car.”
But then she said, “I’m ready.”
And Lawson yelled, “Go!”
Their passion rivals the fires they battle.
Hot Shot
© 2008 M.J. Fredrick
Peyton Michaels expected her assignment to be simple—write an article about everyday heroes. Heroes like Hot Shot firefighter Gabe Cooper. She never expected to find herself running up a mountain, a wildfire nipping at her heels, her life in his hands.
And she never expected to be drawn to Gabe. After the loss of her husband in the line of duty, the last thing she wants is to fall in love with yet another man who routinely puts his life at risk.
Gabe has had enough of women who want to make him into someone he’s not. Women like his ex, who couldn’t handle the heat of his job. Like Peyton, who sees him as a hero when he’s just a man doing a
job. Except time after time, the pesky reporter proves her mettle. And gets deeper under his skin.
But there’s an arsonist at work, and danger is closing in with the speed of a raging brush fire. Peyton and Gabe have to dig deep for what it takes to be a real hero—to find the courage to reach out and grab a forever kind of love. Before it’s too late.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Hot Shot:
After the sun went down, their headlamps put out miserly light in the pitch blackness. The only light was the glow of the fire beneath them; the smoke had obliterated the moon and stars. It was too dark to tell if they were still in the open or if they’d gone back into the trees. The ground had leveled off so it felt like they were moving sideways instead of up. Peyton hoped Gabe knew where they were. She was pretty sure he did, at least in relation to the camp.
Though she couldn’t see him, she sensed him, and not just because of the noise he made as he climbed, as he breathed. It had to be because they were the only two people on the mountain, right? She would feel this way about any person she was running for her life with, this connection, this need.
It wasn’t because he was a man, a strong man. A handsome man. A hero.
Her muscles trembled with every step. Her head didn’t want to stay upright on her neck, and sweat soaked her T-shirt through the fire shirt he insisted she wear.
Ahead of her, Gabe crouched and she almost tripped over him. She caught her balance with a touch to his back, damp with perspiration, hard with tension. He stumbled a bit, then stood slowly. She dropped her hand away.
“We’ll camp here,” he announced abruptly.
“Camp?” She turned back to where the fire glowed below them, reflecting off the smoke in an eerie red light. “But the fire—”
“We’re in the black. No fuel.”
Where had she heard that before? “We thought we were in the black where the helicopter landed.”
He sighed. Another question he didn’t want to answer. Then the ground around them was illuminated. She shielded her eyes from the sudden light of his flashlight. He walked around the area, kicking up burned grass and clouds of ash.
“It’s cool,” he assured her. “No embers.”
She was afraid to trust nature, but she did trust Gabe Cooper. In relief, she sank to her knees, fatigue quivering her muscles. “I’m so tired but I don’t think I can sleep.”
He dropped his pack beside her, sending up particles of soot and making her cough. He lowered himself to the ground next to her with a groan and switched off the flashlight. The darkness beyond the pale beams of their headlamps was overwhelming and silent, and she reached for him, then stopped herself. He wouldn’t interpret the touch as being a means for her to regain her balance, like on the climb. He’d attribute it to female hysteria, to cowardice, and that she couldn’t bear, for him to find her lacking in any way. She closed her fingers around her pack instead.
“Got any water left?” he asked, oblivious.
“A little.”
“Make it last.”
She dug out her bottle by feel, shook it to gauge how much water was in it. Less than half, probably. She would only take a sip to wash the dust from her throat. But when the tepid water touched her lips she wanted to gulp it down. Gabe pulled it away from her. In the dark, his fingers brushed hers, bare now, no gloves, and she almost dropped the bottle. At least he couldn’t see her fumble as she secured the container and stuffed it back in her pack.
“Tomorrow will be a long day without water.” He pulled his pack in front of him and pawed through it.
“I know.”
“Ever sleep outdoors?”
“Not in the middle of nowhere.”
He turned toward her. “Even in a tent?” he asked, disbelief in his voice.
Was he was teasing? So what if she hadn’t slept outside? She hadn’t had the desire. Did that make her weak?
“Do you have a tent?” she asked.
“A little one-man job. No sleeping bag, but it’ll be some protection.”
“From what?”
He paused. Then as if it was obvious, explained, “The temperature’s falling fast.”
“What do you mean, falling? I’m sweating like a pig.”
“Lovely,” he said, laughter in his voice. “As high up as we are, it will probably get down to the upper thirties. The tent will be some protection for you.”
Upper thirties? In July? “For me? What about you?”
“I’ll be fine outside. I’ve done it before.”
“Without a sleeping bag?” she asked skeptically. “Or a fire shirt?”
“Well.” He swallowed. “No.”
“Then you’re in the tent too.”
He paused again, giving her time to consider what she’d just offered. She was going to sleep in the same tent as a man she’d known a—was it only two days? How could this all have happened in two days?
“It’s real small, close quarters,” he said. “And I said I’d keep watch.”
Was it her imagination or did his voice sound huskier than it had a minute ago? Imagination or reality, it sent skitters down her spine to places long ignored.
Okay, get a grip, Peyton. Yeah, he’s a hunk. Yeah, she’d be sleeping next to him, but they’d both be fully clothed and too exhausted to act on any interest. If there was any on his part. Which there probably wasn’t.
Not that it mattered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re exhausted too, and you said we’re safe here. In the tent, at least we’ll be warm.” Okay, her voice was definitely huskier. Probably all the smoke they’d breathed today. Uh-huh, that was it.
The tent couldn’t be that small, could it?
Okay, it was. Um. Gabe straightened up from driving the last spike. The tent was no bigger than a coffin and she was going to share it with him. No way they were both going to fit. Maybe she could sleep outside. Hypothermia had nothing on sleeping next to a man who oozed virility. But she was already shivering, though earlier she could have sworn she’d never be cold again.
“Um, I think I’ll sleep outside.”
She heard him suck in an impatient breath, but couldn’t look at him.
“We can sleep with our heads toward the opening, can even leave it unzipped a bit if you want.”
He thought her claustrophobia made her hesitate. And she had to admire his patience. She didn’t realize he had the resources. He couldn’t understand—she wouldn’t admit—his size, his undiluted maleness had her heart hammering in her chest.
“It won’t be bad, Peyton. You’ll be asleep before you know it. And it’s going to be too cold out here.”
Come on, Peyton. You ran from a wildfire today, crawled through a cave. You can sleep next to a man you hardly know. She squared her shoulders and nodded, though he’d turned off the flashlight and couldn’t see her.
He took her arm, urging her into the tent. When she crawled inside, feet first, the nylon stretched over hard ground was like the bed of a five-star hotel.
Then Gabe crawled in and sucked all the air out of the tent. Her skin tingled with awareness as he tried to fit in beside her. She scooted toward the seam and still felt the press of him against her back. She held her breath, heard him clear his throat in obvious discomfort as he settled on his side also.
“This, ah, this isn’t going to work,” he said gruffly, his breath grazing her ear.
She couldn’t turn around to look, didn’t want to see how close he was, though his shoulder bumped hers as he tried to find a spot for his arm. “Um, what?”
“Maybe you could put your head on my arm. There doesn’t seem to be any other place for it.”
She lifted her head in surprise and he took that as agreement and slipped his arm beneath. She settled back down, at first hesitant to let the whole weight of her head rest on it. He grunted her name and she tried to relax. His arm was hard and warm and smoky. Just when she thought she was used to the smell, her senses had to come back in full force.
All of them. The change in position brought his chest against her and she wished for the extra layer of his fire shirt between them. His T-shirted chest felt naked and she cursed her fertile imagination.
He flipped her hair over her shoulder away from him and she immediately tensed.
“Sorry. It was tickling my nose.” His voice was so close, his words teasing the back of her neck. She tensed all over again.
“Oh.” She smoothed the ponytail against her throat so no stray hairs would bother him. Then she shifted her hips and bumped her bottom into his groin. Both of them went perfectly still. Then, as if not to draw attention to her movement, she eased her hips away infinitesimally.
“We both have to, ah, relax,” he murmured at last.
He placed a hand on her hip and she flinched. He shushed her and slid his arm about her waist, drawing her against his body, spooning her against him, careful to keep their lower bodies apart, which of course only made her focus on it. Had her little bump aroused him and he didn’t want her to realize it?
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