Breaking Daylight

by M. J. Fredrick

  He hated to admit he was getting weaker. His arms felt like lead and he could barely keep his eyes open. But whether it was from loss of blood or the poison moray eels were said to have, he didn’t know. He did know that Mallory’s grip kept him focused.

  She tugged and they swam up the line to the next stop. He shook his head, as if that would erase the effects of the bite. Mallory hung on, scanning the water. The good thing about the Caribbean at this depth—clear as a bell. They could see sharks coming from a long way off.

  He lost his grip on the line. She caught him with her legs, wrapping them around his, holding him to her. He tried to give her a leering grin as his hips nestled intimately against hers, but couldn’t manage an effective one with his regulator in his mouth and the muscles in his face refusing to obey his command.

  Finally they reached the barge. The three of them worked together to haul Adrian up on the platform. Mallory shed her gear with amazing efficiency before she tugged at his torn sleeve to see the damage.

  Her face paled above her bloodied nose, and he turned to look. The skin over his triceps was shredded. Blood oozed down his arm, coating his skin.

  “He took quite the chunk out of me, yeah?” he asked and blacked out.

  He came to with a start when Mallory spilled some liquid fire on the wound, and he sat up with a scream.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her tone was unapologetic. She’d stripped her wetsuit down to her waist and leaned over him in a bright bikini top. That could do for some distraction from his present pain. Someone had peeled his suit off as well. “The bacteria in those eels’ mouths are bad. We have to kill the germs.”

  “I am not a germ.” The slur in his voice surprised him.

  Mallory ignored him and took a syringe from Robert. Adrian barely opened his mouth to protest when she jammed it into his arm.

  He swore. “Is this payback? Geez, Mal, I didn’t know you had a vindictive streak.”

  She gave a small smile, her attention still on the wound. “I can’t say I’m not enjoying this a little. But you’ll be glad for the shot. I’m going to stitch you up.”

  “Why don’t you give that job to someone I wasn’t married to?” He glanced around the barge and saw Jacob and Robert back away. He cast Toney a pleading glance before turning his attention to Mallory.

  Her eyes sparkled as she threaded the blunt-looking needle with coarse black thread. “Why, don’t you want it to be pretty?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll make me look like Frankenstein’s monster.”

  She smoothed her hand over his skin. “I’m very proud of my work. Don’t worry.” She prodded his skin near the injection. “Numb yet?”

  “No. Look, I don’t know how good of an idea this is,” he added as she edged closer, parting her legs around his hips as she inspected the wound. Okay, maybe not such a bad idea.

  “It’s a four-hour drive to get to a hospital. And I let you stitch me up when I fell and split my chin in Mexico.” Tilting her head back, she showed off the thin white scar.

  He brushed his thumb over the scar and sighed. “All right. I’m ready.”

  Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she placed a damp palm on his arm, pulling the skin taut. “Hold still.”

  She scooted closer, surrounding him with the smell of ocean and sunshine beneath the coconut scent of her sunscreen. He would focus on that and not on the effect of her body wrapped around his as she tried to get a good angle to stitch his wound.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said, and stuck the needle in his arm. Yeow.

  The thread tugged at his skin and he winced, but the pain wasn’t enough to kill his growing desire. Soon the whole crew would know it.

  “Mal.” A lump rose in his throat and he swallowed. “Maybe there’s a better way?” When she looked up at him, he flicked his eyes to his lap.

  She followed his gaze and scowled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I can’t help it my body doesn’t know we’re divorced.” Hell, part of the reason he was aroused was because he hadn’t been with anyone since he left their house in Pensacola.

  She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but he could see her blush along the part in her hair. “Your body should know you just got bitten by a moray eel.”

  “My body prefers pleasanter sensations.”

  She jabbed the needle in a little sharper than he cared for. “Tell your body to get control. We have a long way to go here,” she said through her teeth.

  Blood ties run deepest—and deadliest.

  Proof of Life

  © 2009 Misty Evans

  Super Agent Series, Book 3

  No matter how many times he patches the holes in the wall, CIA Deputy Director Michael Stone can’t forget the night a terrorist took him hostage in his own home. Or the mistakes that transformed him into an overwhelming force to keep his country safe. And now that his niece, the daughter of the Republican candidate for President, has been kidnapped just days from the election, Michael vows to do whatever it takes to get her back.

  Dr. Brigit Kent, a consultant for the Department of Homeland Security, knows this particular kidnapper well. Exposing him, however, will reveal her sister’s secret ties to a terrorist group. The only way to keep her sister safe is to blackmail the sexy, rock-solid deputy director. A move that puts her directly in his line of fire.

  Brigit is undeniably beautiful, brilliant, cunning. But is she friend or foe? The answer to that question could break Michael’s personal code of honor—and his heart.

  Warning: Bullets and blackmail, good luck and laughter. Surprises and secrets and love ever after…

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Proof of Life:

  Brigit’s pulse hopscotched under her skin. Not because Michael had mentioned her father or offered to take out most of her problems in one grand slam. It was the way he was holding her and looking down at her, like a kid with a secret so big, he was ready to burst.

  In the hospital, he’d made the emotional walls between them fall like they were constructed of thin sticks. She’d confessed too much and now wondered if he felt the same way.

  Yet, if there was any awkwardness, she couldn’t tell from the way he was hugging her against his body. His beautiful, powerful, hard body ignited a hunger inside her. All her anger, frustration and common sense dissolved like the Irish fog when it met sunlight.

  As his eyes, devilish with amusement, invited her to ask about his plan, she tried to unscramble her brain. A nanosecond later, she gave up. Forget the plan. “I think I want to kiss you.”

  Michael’s intensity ratcheted up a notch and Brigit had to remind herself to breathe. They stared at each other for a long moment, his gaze as intimate as the hand stroking her spine. “Now that’s the kind of thanks I was hoping for.”

  She moved on him, going up on her toes and sliding her hands up his broad shoulders and solid neck to pull his face down to hers. Without resistance, he matched her boldness, taking her mouth with the same self-confidence he did everything else.

  A knock made her jump back out of his arms. Conrad Flynn’s voice was muffled through the door. “We’re going to get food. You coming?”

  The predatory look in Michael’s eyes made Brigit swallow hard and take another step backwards. The set of his jaw, the way he stalked toward her as he answered, continued to cause havoc with her pulse. “Bring us something back.”

  Seconds passed as the men left. Michael was nearly on top of her, and the instant the door latch clicked, he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and brought her to him again.

  Talk about crossing lines, sucking face with the Deputy Director of the CIA could only bring her more grief, but as his demanding lips parted hers, she didn’t care.

  For this moment, grief was far away. Guilt and responsibility too. He made her feel sexy and alive like she’d never experienced, and damn if she didn’t want even more.

  Enjoying his sensual lips on hers, she used her tongue t
o taste him. Coffee and a hint of spearmint. Power and control.

  He returned the favor, meeting her tongue with his as he shifted her body around to press her against the wall. She sucked in a breath, amazed at his gracefulness, but he mistook it for pain and broke the kiss. “Is it your ribs? Did I hurt you?”

  Brain muddled from an overdose of his lips, she shook her head in confusion. “My ribs?”

  Michael’s fingers grazed her rib cage, sending an electrical charge through her chest. “Your bruised ribs, remember?”

  She giggled, the sound almost a whisper. Had she really just been sticking her tongue in his mouth? “Oh, that, no. You didn’t hurt me.” Touching him in the same spot, she watched his eyes darken with desire. “I’m in tiptop shape.”

  “You were almost blown to pieces two days ago.”

  Two days ago was another lifetime she didn’t want to talk about. She didn’t want to talk at all. She wanted his tongue back in her mouth and his body pressed up against hers, trapping her to the wall. “I’m not done thanking you for today.”

  With slow smugness, he smiled and slid his face so his cheek was next to hers and his mouth was by her ear. “What were you doing hunting Peter by yourself? I told you we would come to Belfast together.”

  His low tone, the sound of pure sex in his voice, made her shiver. How did he do that? Talking about a terrorist and undressing her with his voice at the same time?

  She struggled to form coherent words. “Killing Peter would ruin your career.”

  He kissed a spot under her earlobe. “What about your career?”

  “Gone already.” Leaning her cheek against his, she breathed in his clean-smelling aftershave and hoped it would rub off on her. “No career. No family. No life.”

  “I told you”—he nibbled her lobe—“I’m going to get your dad back.”

  Sinking her fingers in his short hair, she sighed. “How?”

  “Peter’s the key.”

  “Peter will be dead soon, or at least very, very sick.”

  Michael’s lips stopped nibbling. “How do you know?”

  Shut up, she told herself. You’re ruining everything. But she couldn’t ignore his question, nor could she lie. “I poisoned him.”

  “What?” Michael put his face in front of hers so they were nose to nose. “How?”

  She let her hands fall to his chest. His sculpted-like-a-Roman-god chest. Now she’d blown everything. “The umbrella.”

  Michael stepped back and held up his hands, looking at them as if they were diseased. “You put poison on the umbrella?”

  “No.” She shook her head in earnest. “In the umbrella. It’s a Cold War technique. You use it like a gun to inject a poison pellet into your target.”

  His brows drew down and then he strode out of the room, clearly irritated, taking all his magnificence with him.

  Brigit slumped against the wall, deflated. Her luck hadn’t really changed after all. She didn’t belong with Michael any more than she belonged with her father or her sister or anyone else. She was alone. Totally alone.

  “Show me.”

  Her head snapped up at Michael’s command. The umbrella was in his hands and he was holding it out to her.

  Taking it apart, she laid each piece on the bureau and answered his questions about how it worked. Keeping her focus on the umbrella, she tried to let his annoyance roll off her back, but his obvious disappointment in her couldn’t be ignored.

  When his silence stretched into the painful zone, she peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest. “You built this?”

  Returning her attention to the umbrella, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes, and I followed Peter to the bar and injected him with rat poison. Got him right in the calf.”

  Silence again. Unable to stand it any longer, she turned to face him. “Say something.”

  A light had entered his eyes. He rubbed his chin with his fingers and thumb. “I think I’m turned on.”

  Relief slammed through her as he grinned wide, perfect teeth showing. In an instant, she was in his arms again. She wrapped one leg around his muscled thigh as their mouths found each other, and the next second he lifted her and swung her around to sit on the top of the bureau—umbrella parts scattering—all without breaking their kiss.

  Her legs instinctively parted to allow him access, and he slid her to the edge of the bureau where their hips snapped together. The bulge in his pants teased her as mercilessly as his lips.

  “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “I don’t normally,” she said, feeding him short, hot kisses. “But every time I think of Ella and Tory and what Peter’s taken from me, I hate him. I hate him so much I want to kill him a hundred times over.” She pulled back and checked his response. “Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? That I hate my brother enough to kill him? Holy Virgin, I’m fucked up.”

  “You have every right to feel mad, Brigit. Blood doesn’t mean shit in this case.”

  God, she loved him for saying that. Leaning into him again, she teased his lips. “Thank you.”

  He responded, speaking through her kisses. “Dangerous to go after him alone, though.”

  “I laugh in the face of danger.”

  One of his hands went under her sweater, raked her stomach. “Jesus, you’re my kind of woman.”

  Before she can build a future, she must dig up the bones of her past…

  Uncovered

  © 2009 Linda Winfree

  A Hearts of the South Story

  After nearly twenty years, her career in possible ruins, homicide detective Madeline Holton returns to her hometown for a temporary stint working with the local sheriff's department. The demons of her teen years lie in wait, rising once more in the form of a cold case she must solve. And when it comes to a handsome farmer who’s making good on her family’s former land, she can’t seem to keep her foot out of her mouth—or her hands off him.

  Agricultural businessman Ash Hardison won't lie to himself—despite Madeline's obvious issues, he's more drawn to her than any woman he's ever known. He's already laid the ghosts of his past to rest, and he's determined to help Madeline purge hers. Whether she likes it or not.

  Because he knows it’s the only way they have a chance to forge a future together.

  Warning: Contains deadly secrets, a prickly heroine and a determined man who knows what he wants.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Uncovered:

  Ash flicked on the small lamp sitting atop his dresser. In the soft light, he gazed down at Madeline, a quiet surge of need pulsing in him. She stepped forward and laid her palms on his bare chest. Sensation spread out from her hot hands and he shivered.

  He’d been right the first time. She was dangerous. Doing this, taking her to his bed, probably ranked as one of his less-than-smart decisions, but he was going to do it anyway, consequences be damned and consigned to be dealt with later.

  Because he simply couldn’t make himself walk away.

  He slipped a finger beneath one thin bra strap and slid the knuckle down her chest, her skin smooth and heated under his easy touch. She watched him, hazel eyes slumberous and dark, and she took another step toward him, gliding her hands up his pecs to his shoulders, fingers exploring the dips and rises of his muscles.

  Sensual mischief curled her lips and glinted in the depths of her eyes. “Nice.”

  Chuckling, he lowered his head to kiss her. She didn’t hold anything back, but opened her mouth beneath his, stroking her tongue between his teeth with teasing little curls. Oh yeah, she was dangerous, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this overpowering urge to get closer, to strip everything away until there were only the two of them and the building desire. He sure as hell hadn’t felt this way with Angie or Layla or any of the safe women he’d dated the last few years.

  “Madeline,” he mumbled against her lips and stroked his
hands over her curves to rest at her hips. He dipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her low-rise jeans. The skin there was soft and hot too. God, she was hot all over. He couldn’t wait to have her all over him.

  She purred and tilted her hips into his. Wanting spread through him, firing through his groin, his dick growing heavier, harder, with her nearness. She rubbed against him, a slow, naughty movement. “Very nice.”

  Leaning back, she grasped his belt and went to work on the buckle. His mouth went dry and she held his gaze while she wrestled the buckle free and popped the button loose before lowering his zipper.

  She wrapped her fingers around the waistband of his boxer briefs, brushing his stomach. Every muscle in the vicinity jumped. Shit, the woman wasn’t dangerous…she was deadly. She’d taken him from half-ready to damn-if-she-touched-him-he’d-lose-it in a few short moments. Was this Madeline, confident and utterly sexual, the real one? The wary, isolated Madeline had disappeared as soon as they walked through his bedroom door.

  Head tilted back, she lifted her eyebrows. “Can’t wait to find out if you look as nice as you feel.”

  He had to force air into his lungs, and his laugh came out shakier than he would have liked. “Damn, I like a woman who isn’t shy.”

  The woman actually laughed. She shoved his jeans and briefs down a few scant inches, not quite exposing him. “Then you should love me.”

  He opened his mouth, intending to parry with some smartass comment. Her hand cupping, squeezing, his pulsing erection through his jeans sent every coherent reply out of reach. Instead, he attempted to catch his breath and stiffened his knees so he wouldn’t end up on the floor.

  She eased jeans and underwear down, his happy-to-see-her anatomy bobbing free. Slipping his shoes from his feet, she tossed them behind her and nudged him into stepping out of the denim and cotton garments. Kneeling before him, she slid those hot palms up both thighs. His belly tightened with an unbearable anticipation.

  “Very, very nice.” She curved her fingers around him, tracing the vein running from base to tip. Holding him firmly, she swirled her tongue around the head. Sparks shot along his veins, and he groaned. Hell, he was gonna end up on the floor for sure, and God, if she kept that up, he was gonna cry.