by J. C. Wilder
Ro was right. This wasn’t the same man she’d left. Both physically and emotionally he was harder, more remote than she’d ever seen him. Her gaze dropped to his crotch.
Make that much harder.
And, if she wasn’t mistaken, he was angry…with her.
Narrowing her eyes, she glared up at him. If anyone had the right to get pissy it certainly wasn’t him. Summoning her mother’s heavy southern accent, she drawled, “Are you lost, stranger?”
A muscle in his jaw flexed.
Boy, he didn’t like that much.
“We need to talk.” He glanced in the direction of Ro, Miranda and Sissy who watched them with unabashed interest. “Alone.”
“I’m so sorry, sugar.” Fluttering her hand, a move her mother had perfected while still in the cradle, her fingertips came to rest between her breasts. “Do I know you?”
He rocked back on his heels, and she smiled harder.
“You see, Mama wouldn’t like it if she heard I was talking to some random stranger in a bar of all places.” Slowly, she walked around him, sizing him up as if he were a side of meat. “You know, you do remind me of someone I knew long ago.”
He turned his head as if to speak, but she cut him off.
“Then again I could be mistaken.”
“For old time’s sake?”
Cowboy’s tone was so soft that only she heard him. Her stomach clenched, and her knees went weak.
Move away. Get away from him…
Then he laid his hand on her arm.
Electricity shot through her nervous system and short-circuited her brain. Every cell in her body leapt to awareness as if she’d been asleep and he was the only one who could awaken her. Shaken, all she could do was stand there and stare at where their flesh joined.
His fingers tightened on her arm. The scar across his first knuckle—she’d been there when he’d cut himself. Barely ten, she was so panicked at the sight of so much blood that she’d screamed her head off. Ryan had come running only to slap electrical tape over it and tell Jeff to get back to work. The pale scar on his wrist was her fault. While repairing the fence she’d distracted him, and the wire snapped back and caught him. He’d bawled her out only to apologize minutes later.
She’d spent countless lazy summer days watching him work with the horses. He had a limitless supply of patience with even the wildest of animals. These were the hands of a man who worked hard and played even harder. And they belonged to a man who, once upon a time, made her feel safe.
Special.
“All right,” she croaked.
At night, she comes alive…but a madman’s fantasies could kill her.
Fantasy Girl
© 2008 Candice Gilmer
By day, Lynn Broadmore leads a boring life as a mild-mannered bookkeeper, enduring one blind date after another. But by night, she’s “Hush,” webmistress extraordinaire, writing naughty stories for her adoring legion of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan fiction minions.
Now that there’s a new guy working in the next cubicle, though, real life is getting interesting. All Jack has to do is smile, and her insides turn to goo. To her complete surprise, she might even stand a chance against the office bimbo.
Undercover FBI agent Jack Edwards is on the hunt for a serial killer who trolls the Internet for victims. The trail has led to Lynn’s virtual doorstep, and he’s ready to do whatever is necessary to bring the killer down—including using two secret identities to gain her trust. Things get complicated, however, as the goofy fan fiction writer gets under his skin and starts staining his brain—and his heart.
Distractions are something he can’t afford right now…not if he’s going to keep her from getting hurt in what she thinks is a safe, on-line hideaway. Because between the pixels lurks a murderer.
And he’s chosen Hush, his fantasy girl, as his next target.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Fantasy Girl:
“You have got to be kidding me.” I cried out as I kicked my rear driver’s-side tire. The thing was flatter than a pancake. A slew of cuss words slipped out of my mouth, rivaling the best sailors.
“Lynn?” came a voice from behind me.
I spun around. “What?” I snapped, realizing I was spinning around to glare at the one and only Jack Edwards.
Damn my luck. And didn’t it beat all, that a week after meeting him, I was still getting all gooey inside just looking at him.
I seriously needed some help. Professional help.
“Uh, need some help?” he asked with a brow raised, framing his rather amused expression.
“No, thank you,” I snapped, glaring down at the terrible tire. Anything to keep from looking at Jack. “I am perfectly capable of changing my own tire.” I opened the trunk, and tried to pull my tire out. Which really, it wasn’t that heavy. It was a spare…
And it landed with a thud, flat as well.
“Shit.”
Jack hid a smirk behind his hand. “Sure you don’t need anything?”
“I’m fine,” I said a bit too loudly.
“Sure you are,” Jack replied. He sashayed up next to me, and yes, it was a sashay, he was far too damn smug for his good looks. Damn me for getting all girly inside at the sight of him coming over to rescue my damsel in distress.
Then he became the ultimate man.
He picked up the flat spare, looked at it, and said “Yep, it’s flat.”
“What are you, a rocket scientist in your spare time?” I muttered.
“Only on the weekends,” Jack said with a grin.
I stuck my tongue out at him. Yep, I’m mature. Really.
Then Jack started rooting around in my trunk, pulling out the jack.
“What are you doing? I can’t put that flat spare on.” I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.
Jack positioned the lift under my car, and started raising the poor old Mazda that I drove. “But I can take you to get this tire fixed,” he said as he popped off the hubcap and started on the bolts.
What an arrogant ass! What am I? Incapable of taking care of myself? I mean I can very easily change a tire. It’s not like it’s hard. ’Course, truth be told, I would call my dad, and have him come do it for me, because, well, he’s my dad, and he lives for this stuff.
“What if I don’t want you to? I’m perfectly capable,” I started to argue, but with amazing pit crew speed, Jack had the flat tire off my car before I could finish my sentence. I threw my arms up in the air in frustration.
“What?” Jack asked. “You know where there’s a place that can fix this?”
I shrugged. “There’s a Pep Boys or something like that around the corner,” I said letting out a sigh.
’Course, I really couldn’t help the part of me that was excited that the new guy was helping me get my tire fixed. He led me to a huge black Chevy Tahoe, immaculate inside and out. I couldn’t help whistling at the perfection of it and feeling like crap that Jack had to see my Mazda that seriously needed to be traded in for something else.
The stars must have aligned just right, because as Jack and I were climbing in, Tina Smith and several of her minions were leaving the building. Instantly her gaze locked on mine, and she shot daggers at me.
It took all my strength not to stick my tongue out at her.
Pep Boys wasn’t horribly busy, and they managed to get me right in to fix my tire. While I was waiting, Jack and I roamed the aisles to see if there was anything that we couldn’t live without.
’Course, they don’t sell whole new cars at Pep Boys, so I was out of luck there.
I stared at some of the racks of cleaning wipes for the dashboard. And sprays. And rags. My God, did people really need all this stuff to keep their car clean?
“It’s no wonder my car’s a mess,” I muttered.
“Why?” Jack asked.
“If I knew I had to buy all this stuff,” I said gesturing to the shelves, “I might have given up on buying a car in the first place.”
Jack gri
nned, flashing a bright mouth full of pearly white teeth at me.
Be still my beating heart.
I spied one of my favorite car accessories. “Oh, look, air fresheners,” I said, darting down the aisle.
Nope, not one single one with Buffy on it. Darn it.
Jack smirked and came after me. “So who do you want to be when you grow up, Lynn?” he asked as we sniffed the different fresheners. He grimaced at a fruity one and hung it back up.
“I am grown up. I just don’t have to act like it,” I said. “Who do you want to be?”
“I want to save the world,” Jack said.
I raised my eyebrow. “Like a superhero or something?”
“Sure,” he said hanging up another one, straightening the row out as he did. “Why not?”
“Because you’re going to have to be better on the computer to be Super Jack—the Accountant.”
Jack laughed.
They called my name over the intercom and Jack and I headed up to the front. The guy behind the counter, smelling of grease rags and motor oil, stood there waiting for us. A smear of black goo covered part of his name patch, concealing the “J” in John.
“We got it fixed,” John said. “Looks almost like your tire got stabbed.”
“Stabbed?” I asked staring at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“Well, usually, if something’s been driven over, there’s a nail or what have you stuck in the tire. You didn’t have anything like that.”
I glanced at Jack. “Has that been going on lately?”
The guy shrugged. “Sometimes kids do it. You live somewhere around here?”
“I work down the way,” I said pointing over my shoulder toward the office.
“Probably just kids. I wouldn’t worry about it much,” said John. He handed me the bill, and Jack promptly yanked it from my hand.
“Hey,” I said, “I was going to pay for that.”
Jack shrugged. “I’ll pay, and you can buy dinner.”
I crossed my hands over my chest. “Oh, so you just assume that I’ll buy you dinner now?” Presumptuous ass.
“I’m fixing your tire, you should,” Jack said.
John couldn’t help adding his thoughts. “Sounds only fair to me,” he replied.
I gritted my teeth. Great, now I have to buy dinner for Jack.
Then my brain kicked in. Whoa, this would kinda count as a date, wouldn’t it? Dinner with Jack? Even if I just get Burger King?
Oh the possibilities.
With ghosts like these, who needs TAPS?
Marshall’s Law
© 2010 Denise A. Agnew
If Dana Cummings was inclined to list the best ways to meet men, having one arrest her for burglary—during a tornado, no less—wouldn’t be in the top ten. Dating isn’t high on her agenda, period. She’s sworn to never again fall for know-it-all men with fiery gazes and devastating smiles.
Besides, she’s only in Wyoming to help her eccentric aunt find out if horny ghosts really do haunt the family bed. And hopefully bust a hellacious case of writer’s block. Extracurricular activity with a gruff, hunky lawman is off limits, even if he does fire her libido.
Witnessing too much of life’s seedy side led Brennan Marshall to live by three simple rules: work hard, play hard, and never fall for a sweet-faced female with a witty tongue and snappy comebacks. Especially the ones with a dollop of vulnerability—like Dana. But their razor-sharp sexual tension cuts right through his defenses and leads them on a dangerous journey.
One that will test the limits of their beliefs—and could cost their lives.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Marshall’s Law:
“What did Lucille tell you about these strange occurrences plaguing her?” he asked, leaning his arms on the desk.
“She called my mother a few weeks back. Mom said Aunt Lucille had this trembling voice, like she was scared. That’s not normal for Aunt Lucille. She bends under pressure but never gives in. She’s one tough lady. Anyway, Aunt Lucille said that she’d heard noises in the attic and in the basement. Especially the basement.”
“What kind of noises?”
Dana wished she hadn’t opened her mouth and mentioned the basement. “Uh…well…” She glanced up and saw he waited, twiddling his thumbs like he had all day. “You’re not going to believe this but—”
“Trust me, I’ve heard just about everything at least once.”
“Not this you haven’t.”
He tossed her a smile. “Humor me.”
“Okay. You asked for it. You know that big…uh…heart-shaped bed downstairs?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she started hearing people having…” She squirmed in her chair and made a face.
“Go ahead. People what?”
“People having sex. She heard people having sex on the bed. But when she went downstairs there was no one there.”
Marshall never twitched. Yet Dana saw the suspicious twinkle in his eyes before he managed to smother it. Instead, he did something much more disturbing.
Rising from his chair, he came around the side of the desk and paced the broad area behind her chair. She craned around to watch him.
“What kind of sounds exactly?” he asked.
Her chair made an obnoxious protest as she turned it so she could observe his purposeful stride. Eight big steps one way, eight big steps back. Eight big steps one way, eight big steps back.
“I’m going to get hypnotized watching you do that. Would you mind taking a seat?”
He increased his pace. “I think better this way.” He came to an abrupt halt, leaned against the wall, cocked one booted foot across his ankle and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops.
She gulped. Good thing he wore that flannel shirt. If he’d stood there in that tight T-shirt—
“What kinds of sounds?” he asked, jerking her back to the real world.
She couldn’t say it. Come on, Dana. You aren’t a blushing teen talking to a boy in high school. Spit it out.
When she didn’t answer fast enough, he walked toward her and rested his hands on the arms of her chair. She leaned back, inhaling a quick, startled breath.
“What are you trying to hide from me? Maybe you know something about the sounds?” The query came filled with subtle, sensual nuances that caused his voice to vibrate in his chest and made her tingle in places that shouldn’t be tingling.
In defense she crossed her arms. “Of course I’m not hiding anything.” When he glared, she took the plunge and elaborated. “You have heard people having sex before, haven’t you, Marshall? Gasps. Sighs.” She shrugged. “Grunts. Moans. She said it’s like people having sex, and they never get to…you know.”
A thunderstorm seemed to build in his eyes, but not the kind that promised rage. The type that guaranteed sinful, daring pleasures. She’d never seen a man look at her this way. Predatory and intense all at once, ready to eat her alive. No mistaking that look.
His lips parted and she stared at his mouth.
“No, I don’t know,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me?”
A tiny, rebellious corner of her almost refused to speak. What could he do to her anyway? Spank her?
A hot blush swept into her face. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Marshall’s devouring gaze cruised over her face. His attention landed on her lips.
Crazy arousal spiraled through her, and she leaned forward until they almost touched noses. Dana couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so out of control and so turned on all at once. Hell, she’d never felt this way before. “These…these horny ghosts or whoever they are never get to finish—”
“Coming?”
Her entire body felt like it might go up in flames. Oh man! Why couldn’t he have said something like climaxing? Did he have to use a word that described the nitty gritty?
“Yeah. That’s it,” she said, licking her lips and swallowing hard. She slumped in the chair.
Loving Ranger
J.C. Wilder
A Men of S.W.A.T. story
Sissy Kolchek is a smart-mouthed waitress with a southern accent that’s thicker than honey and a life that isn’t nearly as exciting as some people think. As the daughter of the town tramp, she’s cynical about men, relationships and anything marked one size fits all. Beneath her wisecracks is a woman who secretly longs for a family and a place where she belongs.
Jason “Ranger” Diver is an undercover cop who has seen the dark side of love and wants nothing to do with it. With his chaotic lifestyle, he hasn’t the time or the inclination to become involved with only one woman—especially not his friend Sissy. He’s fantasized about her since high school and when they kissed, she rocked his world. Jace is captivated by the woman she has become and, as their relationship grows, he finds himself torn between the biggest case of his career and the love of a good woman.
Warning: Copious amounts of hot lovin’, random bad guys wrecking havoc, a goat named Casper, more sexy cops than you can shake your nightstick at and the deliberate destruction of the English language.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Loving Ranger
Copyright © 2010 by J.C. Wilder
ISBN: 978-1-60928-186-1
Edited by Bethany Morgan
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
