He crawled out and rose to his knees as she peeled the fire shirt down her arms. The T-shirt she wore under it was soaked in sweat and stuck to her like second skin.
Jackson’s breath lodged in his throat as he scanned her shapely body. Her arms had definition and tone that spoke of a rigorous fitness routine. Admiration tugged at him when he considered the rigors of her job and the effort involved, just staying in condition for those demands.
Jackson dragged himself to his feet, holding his left arm close to his body to minimize jostling his shoulder. “All right. Stay low or behind trees as much as you can. Let’s go.”
“You’re coming?”
“There a reason why I shouldn’t?”
“Well…you’d probably be safer under there.” She tipped her head toward the bush they’d just vacated. “Outta sight.”
“Probably. But I can’t hide forever. I want to help with your friend if I can.”
Her eyes brightened. “You’re a doctor?”
Jackson winced. “Not the kind you need.” When she frowned her confusion, he waved his hand, dismissing the comment. “Forget it. Ready?”
She glanced again across the field of wildflowers then at Jackson. “Okay. And…thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still gotta lose Rick and his trigger finger.” Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out to tuck a copper wisp of her hair behind her ear. The strands curled intimately around his finger in a silky caress that shocked him back to his senses. He snatched his hand away and cleared his throat. “Then you’re gonna help me find my daughter and get her off this mountain.”
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.
One death after another—will there be any customers left
for Kate’s decorating business?
Curtains in Stonington
© 2008 Rosemary Goodwin
A Kate Bart Mystery
British-born Kate Bart, the interior decorator in this New Jersey town, helps her friend, Dutch, with his P.I. investigations. He’s decided that he’d like to be more than just a pal, so things get hot when they’re working together. She’s been a widow for some time now, but although she’s attracted to him, she still needs time to learn how to love again.
The arrival of the new sexy undertaker causes a ripple in the traditional-minded townspeople. She slinks around meeting Tom Yoast, the general store owner. What’s she after? He’s certainly no trophy husband-to-be.
“You’ll have ta deal with two dead people very soon,” Carmella, an elderly Italian psychic, warns Kate. Just what she wanted, something more to scare her as she
and Dutch search for clues to solve the mysterious deaths. They follow leads, some to dead ends, but in the end the perpetrators are brought to justice.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Curtains in Stonington:
“I see dead people,” the elderly woman said mysteriously. “Following you. I’m like the kid in the movie. You’ll have ta deal with two dead people very soon.”
“What?” Kate asked, surprised at the suddenness of the homely woman’s appearance from the cramped kitchen. She looked over at her friend, Rachel, with a questioning look, then back at the woman. “What dead people are you talking about?”
“You want cawfee?” the elderly woman asked her in a thick New Jersey accent—ignoring Kate’s query. With shaking hands, she carried a cup of black liquid, which rattled on the matching saucer.
“No, thanks. I just dropped in to say ‘hi’ to Rachel.” Kate often dropped in to “chew the fat” with her friend whose occupation was making soft-sculpture dolls. They’d talk for hours about business and their love lives—or lack of same since neither was involved with a man at this juncture of their lives.
“Rachel, my bella niece,” the woman murmured. She kissed the tips of her fingers as though indicating a wonderful, delicious item.
Kate was impatient. “What dead people?” she demanded.
“You remember my Aunt Carmella don’t you?” Rachel interrupted. “She and Uncle Ralph are visiting today.” She winked.
“Of course. I remember you, Aunt Carmella.” Kate turned to the older woman. “It’s been awhile though.”
Carmella had settled herself down in a chair opposite Rachel on the other side of the dining-room table. With legs wide apart to accommodate her pudgy belly, and varicose veins bulging lumpily in her thick support hose, she blew on the coffee and sucked in a mouthful. “Hot.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Yeah, been busy lately. Everyone wants their fortune told.” She pushed her white-streaked black hair off her face and adjusted the waistline of her house dress printed with gaudy bunches of cherries.
“She reads tarot cards,” Rachel said.
Kate turned to the woman. “Interesting. So tell me what you’re talking about—dead bodies following me?” she asked.
“No, silly girl, they’re not following you. Just their auras are—their spirits so ta speak.” Carmella poured her hot coffee into the saucer, blew on it and slurped up the cooled liquid.
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