On the Edge

by Shannon Stacey

Evan Hennessy, the small town sheriff of Skyler, North Carolina, has never forgotten the love he shared with his ex-wife and when she returns to his town, needing protection, he can’t refuse her. To do so would mean denying his own heart. And when she needs him to reassure her she’s as sexy as she once was despite her scars, Evan will do that, too. She walked out on him once and he’s been waiting five years for her return. Hell itself won’t be able to tear her out of his arms this time.

  Enjoy this excerpt from Burning Reflections:

  She was dead tired.

  A hot bath beckoned her and she only wanted to go home. But the dinner date she’d made with friends earlier that week still loomed ahead. Damn. Forgot to cancel. She’d certainly meant to, but time had gotten away from her. Her options were limited now. If she didn’t go, she’d get an earful from Tina, her friend from the post office, and then, of course, Tina’s boyfriend, Chuck, would chime in. No, best to go and get it over with.

  Shouldering her voluminous bag, she was halfway across the room when the lights went out. She came to a sudden stop, a tremor of trepidation catching her unaware. For a brief moment, her heart lurched before irritation crowded out the thoughts of her evening. As she calmed, she realized this was just another glitch in the electrical system of an old building. Every time it stormed, the lights went out. And she’d definitely seen a few gathering clouds on her way in from the hearing.

  A slight rustle caused a shiver of fear to build in the pit of her stomach. She looked around the room, desperately trying to see through the blanket of darkness. Then, trying to shake off the nerves, she took another step forward before a thump made her stop.

  She caught her breath and held it. Don’t panic. Sounds are magnified in the dark. The self-talk did little to help the weakness stealing her limbs.

  The darkness carried a hint of foreboding. Of awareness. She heard footsteps and the whisper of clothing.

  And suddenly, she realized, she wasn’t alone.

  Instincts told her to run and with a pounding heart, she took off toward the door. And collided immediately with a solid form. A body. A hand seized her arm. A scream bubbled in her throat, quickly silenced by a cold piece of metal pressed into her stomach. Shock curled in the pit of her stomach.

  Hot breath bathed her face.

  Then she heard his voice, a low, insidious whisper. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

  Disbelief snaked its way up her spine. This wasn’t happening. Panicked, she tried to turn, to see the face of her captor, but he clucked his tongue. “You mean you don’t recognize my voice?”

  The words spilled into her ear and she tried to focus on the nuances, the inflections which would give her the name of the rabid man now holding her. She did know the voice, but she refused to believe the man holding her was the one she knew. “I-I’m not sure…”

  “Unfortunately, Dexter, I can’t join you for dinner this evening. I have other plans,” he sing-songed. “Sound familiar now, bitch?”

  Oh my God. Dexter Canfield. Her associate in the law firm and until now, an overall nice guy. “Dexter, what are you doing?”

  He spun her around to slide the gun along her cheekbone. “You always turned me down. You know, a guy can only take so much rejection before he snaps.”

  She stared at the monster she had once called a trusted co-worker. “You’re not thinking clearly,” she began in the same voice she’d use for any of her clients who’d walked too close to the edge.

  He gave her a little shove and kicked the door shut. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear your pathetic attempts to pacify me. It’s too late.” His voice raised an octave. “Don’t you get it? It’s too late.” She heard the click of the lock as he secured them together.

  Her palms damp, she clutched at the visitor’s chair behind her, her nails biting into the soft leather. Night had fallen, thrusting the room into pitch black. Terror, cold and chilling, enveloped her and she began to shake.

  How many times had she sat across the conference room table from Dexter in daily meetings? And how many times had she rejected him when he’d asked her to dinner? He couldn’t have known her refusals had nothing to do with him. And everything to do with her ex-husband, Evan.

  Her heart racing, she heard his footsteps. Was he pacing or coming toward her? A gurgle of panic lodged in her throat. “Dexter, you can’t do this. Think of everything you’ll lose if you go through with this. Just walk away. We’ll just forget this ever happened.”

  The tread softened and Morgan felt his hot breath bathe her face. She tried to lean back as far as the chair would allow. “Even now, she lies. Other plans, my ass.” The gun made a swishing noise as he whipped it frantically in the air. “You didn’t have other plans. You just didn’t want me. You couldn’t see yourself on a date with a man who wasn’t up to your standards. Yeah, you’ll help me now when you wouldn’t even give me the courtesy of a dinner date.” He pushed the lower half of his body against her and panic intensified. What was he going to do to her? How could she escape? “I wonder if your kind offer of assistance has anything to do with the gun I hold in my hand?”

  It had everything to do with the gun. Just the thought of it held her rapt attention and made Morgan’s fingernails dip even further into the leather.

  “Dex, please, listen to me. I have friends waiting for me. If I don’t show up and they can’t reach me, they’ll call the police. You don’t want that to happen. It’s better to end it now.” She spent her days in the courtroom convincing twelve people to free her clients. But she doubted her own abilities this time.

  Because her own life depended on her powers of persuasion and not someone else’s.

  “Just shut up. You just shut up. You don’t care for me.” Dexter stomped his feet and Morgan held her breath. She should be able to negotiate her way out of this, but the words wouldn’t come. She had no bargaining tool this time.

  He brought the gun to his lips and kissed the barrel. “I should just kill you now. Though, that was never my original intention.” He lowered the weapon only marginally. She heard him pat the front pocket of his suit coat.

  For a brief moment, hysteria took over and Morgan found herself thinking about the Dexter she’d seen just this morning. They’d shared a laugh over coffee. Had he been planning this even then? Or had she catapulted the lunacy by refusing his dinner request once more?

  Even now, she remembered what he was wearing. An expensive designer suit and polished loafers. And with the chiseled jaw and blond crew cut, he’d always given the impression of a more than capable opponent in the courtroom.

  “You really should pay more attention to me now, Morgan.”

  She heard his voice, a whisper away from her ear and she tried to swallow, but a lump the size of a fist lodged in her throat. He reached out one hand and Morgan closed her eyes.

  Dear God. He was going to touch her.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes. Her day had begun so normally. Coffee and muffin at eight followed by an intense meeting with a client accused of armed robbery. Conference call with the judge which segued into a long lunch with one of the senior partners.

  She’d come back to her office after a late hearing to grab some files to take home with her before heading out to join her friends for dinner. Would they really call the police? Dexter hadn’t accepted her bluff.

  An ominous click sent her mind racing back to the present. “You don’t want to do this. So far, it’s only kidnapping, but if you kill me, you know what could happen. My God, Dexter, you’ve spent the past three years defending criminals. You know the repercussions for your actions.” The words tumbled over themselves and the tears began, not a rush of moisture down her cheeks. Just a drop now and again. Tiny dots of wetness she didn’t bother to brush away. Her appearance mattered little now.

  Dexter wasn’t listening to her. He’d gone back to pacing.

  “Dexter, I…”

  “Shut up!” Morgan fell silent. “Just shut up. I never thought
I’d say this, but I’m sick of hearing your voice. I might have known you’d be a whiner, someone who would plead for their life like a weak-kneed baby.” He scrubbed the top of his head with his palm and his blond crew cut made the hair rasp against his skin. “No. Shooting you will be too easy.”

  He walked to the office door, but Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to think she’d been granted a reprieve.

  Morgan turned the chair and sank down onto the seat, not trusting her legs to keep her standing.

  Dexter hitched one leg up on the bottom rung of a Queen Anne chair which matched the small sofa in the corner of Morgan’s office. “You’d better hope your friends don’t call the cops, Morgan. I would really hate to have to track them down. One by one. You’d hate that, too, wouldn’t you?”

  The promise of evil in his voice terrorized her and Morgan whispered, “Please let me go.”

  Silence fell for a long minute. “Why would I want to do that? You don’t really think this was a spur of the moment thing, do you?” He gave a little laugh which chilled her even more. “Oh, no, Mrs. Hennessy. I’ve been planning this for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that sometimes, I would lie awake in bed and dream of this moment.”

  She knew then that there would be no convincing him to free her. Dear God. She was going to die. She closed her eyes and tried to recall peaceful images, visions that soothed and comforted her.

  Evan’s face came to mind. With his boyish good looks and easy charm, he’d always comforted her. And now, she couldn’t even remember the reason they’d divorced. She wished he were here now. Holding her.

  “You’re not listening to me,” Dexter reminded her. “And on that note, I think I’ll give you something to remember me by.” He tucked the gun into the waistband of his dress slacks and Morgan stood. She wouldn’t go down without a fight, dammit. Now that he’d put the weapon away, maybe, just maybe, she had a chance.

  The glow of the moon showcased his angular features as he raised one finger. “No, no, no. No escape.” His hand dipped into the front pocket of his shirt. “Do you smoke, Morgan?”

  She didn’t want to answer the question, but fear of hastening her demise forced her to respond. “No.” Sweat dripped down between her breasts, soaking the front of her dry-clean-only silk blouse.

  He flicked a tiny gold lighter and the flame, a vivid orange, mesmerized her. Horror clawed its way up from the pit of her stomach as Dexter approached her. “I’ve always been a big fan of fire. It’s just one of the many things you don’t know about me because you never cared enough to learn.” He withdrew a silver flask from just inside his coat pocket. “Thirsty?” He offered her the container.

  Morgan didn’t know how he wanted her to respond, but as he continued to hold out the flask, she relented and lifted her shaking hand. He pressed her back, pushing her down into the chair once more.

  “You’d better sit. I wouldn’t want you to spill it.” His voice sounded cordial, almost conversational.

  The silver rim touched her lips and as she tipped the small bottle back, the heat of the whiskey burned its way down her throat. She coughed and sputtered, giving Dexter an opportunity to retrieve the flask before she dropped it.

  “Excellent, excellent. Now, Morgan...” he hitched one hip on the arm of the chair, “…do you know what happens when fire comes in contact with alcohol?”

  Her eyes widened. Dexter put his lips to the edge of the bottle and Morgan tried to push her way out of the chair. Terror so intense she was nauseated gave her the strength she needed to dislodge him, but Dexter rebounded quickly, snatching a handful of her long, blonde hair.

  He brought her face close to his, pressing his cheek to hers. “Oh, don’t run, Morgan. You’d miss all the fun.”

  He took a heart swig of the whiskey, struck the lighter and blew into the flame.

  It was nothing personal, just a business arrangement.

  Nothing Personal

  © 2007 Jaci Burton

  Ryan McKay is a multi-millionaire with a problem. He needs a bride to fulfill the terms of his grandfather’s will. Unfortunately, the one he chose just bailed on him and he’s hours away from losing his company. Enter Faith Lewis—his demure, devoted assistant. Ryan convinces Faith to step in and marry him, assuring her their marriage is merely a business deal. Ryan is certain he can keep this strictly impersonal. After all, he’s the product of a loveless marriage and for years has sealed his own heart in an icy stone. Despite Faith’s warmth, compassion and allure, he’s convinced he’s immune to her charms.

  Faith will do anything for her boss, but—marry him? The shy virgin sees herself as plain and unattractive, a product of a bitter mother who drummed into her head that she wasn’t worthy of a man’s love. But she agrees to help Ryan fulfill the terms of his grandfather’s will, hoping she doesn’t lose her heart to him in the process.

  But love rarely listens to logic, and what follows is anything but business.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Nothing Personal:

  She tried to stand patiently while Ryan slowly slipped each satin covered pearl button from its tiny loophole. But his touch did things to her sense of equilibrium. She shivered each time his warm knuckles brushed the bare skin of her back.

  “Are you cold?” Ryan’s voice whispered softly against her ear.

  “Not really.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “Um…yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Liar.

  Ryan’s hands stilled. “Does my touch bother you?”

  His touch most definitely bothered her. But not in the way he thought.

  “No, it’s fine. Go ahead.”

  She steeled herself against any more outward signs of his effect on her. It wouldn’t do at all to fall into bed with him, no matter how much his skin on hers made her tingle. She’d made a bargain for two months and needed that time to get to know her new husband.

  These were new sensations, new feelings, and her senses were already on overload from the day’s events. She couldn’t handle much more without a complete meltdown.

  But then his hands moved lower as he freed the buttons near her bottom. The chills returned.

  “I think there’s enough undone now that I can get out of this thing,” she stammered.

  “Just a few more,” he said, ignoring her request. Obviously his touch on her skin didn’t affect him at all. “Do you need me to help you take it off?”

  “No!” Faith cringed, not meaning for her denial to sound so forceful. She turned to Ryan. His gray eyes darkened like smoldering storm clouds. Maybe he wasn’t so oblivious to the contact between them. “What I meant to say was, I can get this off by myself. But thank you, anyway.”

  He threw her a crooked smile. Now that her dress was all but slipping off her body, why didn’t he leave?

  “I’ll just wait here while you change, in case you need me again. No need wandering the halls half-naked for help.”

  Half-naked. Her cheeks flushed with heat. The dress was completely open in the back, and she had her hands firmly pressed against her chest to keep it from dropping to the floor. “It’s almost falling off me right now, Ryan. I hardly think I’ll need any more assistance. But thank you for your help. Goodnight.”

  Hoping he’d grab a clue that she wanted to be alone to undress, she fled to the dressing area.

  The satin nightgown. She had no other choice. It was either that or eat her sandwich naked. Bet Ryan would like that. The way his eyes had gleamed when he saw her in her wedding gown led her to believe there might be a spark of interest.

  She pushed the thought aside. Ridiculous. Ryan McKay had never been interested in her. Why would he be? She was nothing like the women he escorted. Not even close.

  Attempting to redirect her thoughts to her hunger, she removed her underthings and slipped the gown over her head. Unable to resist, she ran her hands down the cool satin. A quick glance in the mirror shocked her. The gown molded to her body like
a lover’s hand, clearly showcasing every minimal asset she had.

  Why hadn’t she heard the door close? Surely Ryan had left by now. Faith waited a few more seconds for the sound of the door closing, but didn’t hear anything.

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  He was still there but his voice was muffled.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Eating.”

  “Oh.” She peered around the doorway into the bedroom. He sat at the table next to her bed, eating one of the sandwiches Leland had fixed for her.

  “You haven’t eaten yet, Faith. Come out and have one of these sandwiches.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m not that hungry, really.” Right. She was surprised Ryan couldn’t hear her stomach grumbling in the other room.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Come out here now and eat with me.”

  Fortunately the gown had a matching satin wrap that she quickly donned. Hunger won out over modesty. She wanted to get some food before he ate it all. She tightened the belt on the robe and entered the bedroom.

  As she crossed in front of him, his eyes widened. Faith clutched the edges of the robe over her chest, feeling less than adequate in a gown that should have been worn by a goddess like Erica, not by her. She didn’t do it justice.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Faith nodded. “Starving. I hadn’t realized that I hadn’t eaten until Leland mentioned something about food.”

  Ryan smiled. “I know. When I saw the food on the table my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Why would I mind?” She grabbed a sandwich and tried not to shove it in her mouth. With as much dignity as she could muster considering the depth of her hunger, she took a bite of the delicious turkey sandwich.

  He sipped a glass of tea and watched her eat. At first she was self-conscious, but then her appetite took over and she downed the sandwich in no time flat.

  Satisfied, Faith sat back and took a drink. And still he stared at her.

  “Is something wrong?” She knew he wanted to say something, but didn’t. She chewed her lip in anticipation.