As she stroked Cherie’s cheek, she thought of the little one she’d left behind. She cried silent tears as she had often done. They would be the same age.
-End of Preview-
Scorched
Introducing the Archangel
The most exciting new hero in the action adventure genre
1: The Honeymoon
FOR THE ENGAGED COUPLE, the evening began with a stroll. Ambling hand in hand, giggling like young lovers, they walked along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Up ahead, the Eiffel Tower looked absolutely majestic. It towered over the City of Paris, standing guard, tall and erect. Throngs of tourists were queuing to enter the magnificent landmark so they opted to meander along the Boulevard.
‘Why go up the top to see the city when you can experience it up close and personal?’ John Paul said, more commonly known among his cohorts as Pope for his unfortunate name-surname combination.
He gazed at his lovely fiancée, June Callaghan. She was drop dead gorgeous to his rough and tumble persona. He still couldn’t believe his luck!
THEY HAD MET AT THE shooting range, of all places. Yet theirs was a match made in heaven.
Pope was a former commando with Delta Force, now a sniper instructor at the FBI Academy. He was drilling a group of recruits in the fine art of shooting when in walked June, accompanied by Heckler and Koch. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She set up and got ready for target shooting.
Her long, slim legs were apart, knees slightly bent. Her dominant right hand gripped the gun, while the other steadied it. Then, she fired off successive shots.
He had watched. Not her shooting, but those long legs in skinny jeans that were connected to a lovely shaped ass, up to a tiny waist, that was attached to a graceful neck and a pony-tailed head. The only thing that stopped him stripping her naked, albeit only in his fertile imagination, was the gun she was firing. The HK45 Tactical looked comfortable in her hand and with an aim like that, he wasn’t going to dare.
She had turned around and caught him staring. Feeling sheepish, he removed his FBI cap, smiled and bowed. She smiled back, which was a good thing because he wasn’t wearing his vest.
A little while later, he found out that she was with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, the Bureau’s serial killer catcher unit, among other things.
They got acquainted, became fast friends, fell madly in love, and got engaged. Finally, there they were, eighteen months later, still not sure about the wedding date. They’d had to postpone it several times for work-related reasons.
Contrary to common misconception, no thanks to Hollywood, the Bureau in actual fact didn’t have rules, written or otherwise, preventing agents dating other agents. It didn’t encourage it, but it didn’t discourage it either. The decision was left to the individual. It couldn’t be helped whom one got attracted to or whom one fell in love with. As a result, there were agents married to one another in the FBI.
Soon, fingers crossed, serial killers permitting, Pope and June would be added to their ranks.
PLAYFULLY TUGGING HER pigtail, he asked, ‘Hungry?’
She looked up at him with a smile and replied, ‘More than you know. All this walking....’
‘Let’s go back, change into something formal. I’m taking you out to the most famous restaurant in all of Paris,’ he said proudly. She giggled. Listening to him make every effort to be the romantic tickled her to bits. Though she was a seasoned and toughened law enforcement agent, she still wasn’t beyond feeling giddy when it came to Pope’s courting efforts.
For their long overdue holiday, a honeymoon-before-the-wedding kind of thing, Pope splashed out. The sky was the limit. Five months ago, when he asked her where she wanted to go, she had said Paris. So Paris it had to be. There were no ifs or buts.
And they were going to do it in style.
He booked them a room at the Banke Hôtel for the entire duration of their stay. Luckily, he got it at a special rate, otherwise a Federal employee like him wouldn’t have been able to stretch the budget that far.
Housed in a former bank, the Baroque revival hotel had an ornate columned façade. The interior was grand in scale and lavishly decorated.
The room didn’t disappoint. Charming period detailing had been retained; in their case, there was a marble fireplace that provided a romantic ambience. It was enhanced by modern furnishings and amenities. Conveniently located, the hotel was near the Chaussée d'Antin-La Fayette métro station and less than a mile from the Louvre Museum.
Upon reaching their hotel room, Pope called the concierge to confirm their reservation at Josefin, a fine dining restaurant just a short walk from their hotel. He was assured that a table was reserved for them.
‘In a quiet corner, sir, as requested.’
At his insistence, they showered together. To be fair, June didn’t need any convincing, for who in her right mind would refuse to be naked in the shower with a hunk?
The scrubbing led to kissing which led to groping which resulted in aerobics of a certain kind. The ecstasy that came in waves consumed them, but eventually, like all good things, it had to end.
Getting ready was easy for Pope. He had already decided on a white Hugo Boss shirt, black dress pants and leather shoes.
June selected a white strapless dress. It was fairly long, going all the way down to her mid-calves with a split in the side that reached near the top of her thigh. The material hugged her body, defining her shape and accentuating every curve, the swell of her firm breasts, her flat abdomen and the hips that reminded him of Halle Berry as she emerged out of the water in the film, Die Another Day.
Sitting in a plush armchair, his chin resting on his knuckles, Pope watched her the entire time, admiring the way she wriggled into the tight-fitting dress.
She finished dressing with a flourish. Tossing her long dark hair back put a quiver in his groin. Slipping her feet into her four-inch heels just about did him in.
‘Shall we?’ she asked.
‘We shall,’ he said. He rose from his seat and offered her his elbow grandly.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, peering into his eyes.
He flashed her that devilish smile.
They took the elevator from the sixth floor to the lobby, gave the valet a friendly nod and walked towards the restaurant on Rue la Fayette.
They introduced themselves to the maître d’, who led them to a corner table so that Pope could sit with his back against the wall, an acquired habit. Something to do with his Delta Force past.
The waitress, a lovely young Indian woman, approached to ask if they were ready to order. As she hovered, June rubbed Pope’s thigh seductively, causing his voice to raise an octave when he asked for a bottle of Champagne, ‘Möet, Rosé Impérial.’
Suspecting that something must be happening under the table, the gorgeous French-Indian waitress tried to suppress a giggle. She then said, ‘Good choice, Monsieur,’ before leaving to get his order.
He tried to peruse the menu while June continued to amuse herself with him. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked under his breath, unable to concentrate.
June giggled. She carried on teasing. Rubbing his thigh, higher this time, closer to his crotch. He gripped her hand and glared. ‘Stop it,’ he said.
‘Make me,’ she replied.
Instead, Pope guided her hand to his hard-on. She had another giggle.
The waitress returned with the bottle of champagne just as Pope’s brain was going into orbit. He coughed, spluttered, and rose from his seat quicker than she could say, ‘Boo!’
‘We’re taking it,’ he said as he fumbled for his wallet to pay for the bottle.
With that, he grabbed June’s hand and practically lifted her up. ‘Come on, we’re going.’ June had another fit of the giggles.
It was the longest mile for Pope.
The valet was surprised to see them again so soon. They got into the elevator, only to have to wait ‘til they got back to the room before he could ri
p the dress off her. With them in the elevator car were a Chinese couple and their six-year-old son.
Pope used June as a human shield to hide his erection, but to get even, he kept rubbing his hardness against her backside. She desperately tried to stop laughing but failed miserably, causing the family to wonder what was so funny.
Thank God for magnetic keys, because if he’d had to fumble with a traditional key to open the door, he was certain that they would just have to do it right there.
The rest of the evening was consumed with passion that was fiery, unreserved, and delirious.
‘I can’t remember having so much fun for one night,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she replied, stroking his bald head. ‘Too busy.’
‘Remind me not to take you for granted, ever.’
‘And me, you,’ she replied.
They cuddled in bed, naked, uncaring. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand: eight p.m.
He turned to his woman, kissed the top of her head and said, ‘Hungry?’
She had another fit of laughter. ‘Yes, order room service....’
Pope was about to get up when suddenly there was a loud explosion. The double-glazed windows shook.
Then, another.
Then, a third blast.
Each louder than the previous one.
He glanced at the window just as it spider-webbed from the concussive effect of the bombs. He jumped on top of June, rolled them down the side of the bed farthest away from the window just as it shattered!
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Did you love Promise Me? Then you should read Lifesaver in a Bikini by Angelin Sydney!
Lifesaver in a Bikini is the prequel to the Cameron Series.
This action-filled, high-intensity, romantic thriller will take you to the edge of your seat. Definitely unputdownable from the first chapter to the last.
When beautiful, sassy ballistics expert Queen Gomez finds herself thrust into the middle of a murder mystery, the media hails her ‘the lifesaver in a bikini’.'
Her hunky husband, New York SWAT Officer Giorgio Gomez, tells her to stay in the crime lab and let the detectives handle it. She wouldn’t listen. For her, the truth is out there, and she must seek it.
Now, fearless Queenie is in a world of trouble. G is going to have to put his life on the line to save the woman he loves more than Lego.
As a matter of fact, the mystery had started with Belle. A forensic accountant who got in the way of a sociopath’s global criminal enterprise.
Enter handsome Australian SAS Captain Bryce Mabo Cameron, and sparks between him and Belle fly. About the gamine beauty, he sums it up best: ‘I know why you’re in hot water. You ask too many questions.’
As the personal tragedies mount, it’s up to them, especially Queen, to solve the mystery and catch the madman before the game gets too rough to play.
Read more at Angelin Sydney’s site.
About the Author
Jack is an enigma.
He is an observer of people and a chronicler of life.
Read more at Jack O. Daniel’s site.
Promise Me Page 11
