“Uh huh. So you’re one of those.”
She frowned at him again. “One of those what?”
“Control freaks.”
“I am not a control freak.”
Was it her imagination, or had she slurred that sentence?
He gave her the panty-dropping grin again. Yep, she’d slurred.
“Whatever you say, angel.”
Being called a control freak was kind of a hot button for Grace. It was something her ex-husband never failed to bring up when they’d argued, which had been often. And the fact that this total stranger would agree with her ex pissed her off. She also took exception to him assigning her a nickname. Grace unbuckled her seatbelt and stood up to tell him so.
And that’s when her memory got a little…fuzzy.
She had a distinct memory of poking him in the chest, telling him he didn’t know anything about her. He’d told her to sit down. To calm down. She’d refused, colorfully and loudly. She’d tried to badger a man in another row into trading seats with her. The guy had refused, colorfully and loudly.
Nick had gotten in the middle of that argument and tried to tell her something about who he was, what his job was, but she was too busy yelling about…something to catch all of it.
The next thing she knew, Nick had forced her back into her seat. He might’ve also threatened to cuff her if she got into any other arguments with passengers, which seemed a little excessive. And…kinky.
“I’m sorry,” she thought he’d said at that point.
“I’m sorry, too,” she vaguely remembered responding.
Then, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she might have leaned over and puked all over his shoes. After that…there was nothing but blissful, blissful unconsciousness.
Like it so far? You can pick it up right here
Caped and Dangerous
Being a superhero is not all it's cracked up to be…
Chapter 1
Being a superhero is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Evil doesn’t take a break because you have a date, or the flu, or just really want to stay home and binge-watch Supernatural on Netflix while wearing slouchy socks and sweatpants.
Nope. Superheroes don’t get vacation days. You’re pretty much on call 24-7, with crappy state-employee health benefits and damn near useless dental coverage.
And for what? The feel-good knowledge that you’re doing something good for your fellow man? The adoration of the public? Pfffttt. Sometimes the “adoring public” sues you because when you flew in to save them from a carjacking, you accidentally shattered their windshield with the bad guy’s head.
A thank-you would be customary in such situations, but it doesn’t happen as often as one would think.
And you know what else? Capes chafe the back of your neck like a bitch. They always feel like an irritating tag in the back of a $2 T-shirt.
These were all things Greer Glenanne, aka G-Force (a stupid nickname she did not choose for herself, mind you), wished someone had told her before she’d taken the gig as the official superhero for Gem City.
But that was twenty-ish years ago. Back when she was shiny and new and so idealistic it hurt. There’d been so many things she’d wanted to do, so many people she’d wanted to help. She’d been so sure she would save the world one day.
Now she got sued by the people she saved. (Yeah…that was a true story, sadly.) Her bum knee ached so badly every time it rained she was forced to limp on the job. Sometimes she woke up and her back hurt for no reason at all. Or she threw it out entirely because she sneezed wrong.
As it turned out, being able to fly and bench press a Buick didn’t protect you from all the typical middle-aged maladies that impacted normal folks.
Then there was the fact that she was in early onset menopause. That was a fun one. Hot flashes and heightened emotions. Just what every woman with superpowers should have.
So, if being a superhero sucked, being a middle-aged superhero sucked the biggest bag of dicks the world had ever known.
“Hey! Yo, G!”
Greer startled at the voice that popped into her ear, nearly causing her to spill the mug of hot chocolate she’d just pulled out of her microwave.
Yeah. That was another thing that sucked about being a superhero. The Bluetooth-enabled cochlear implant that allowed her team to reach her, anytime, anywhere.
Day. Or. Night.
The sheer number of times she’d taken calls while on the toilet was appalling.
“What?” she snapped, wishing more than anything that she could just drink her damn hot chocolate and go to bed. But Rio only said “Yo” in that tone when she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
Rio Flores was her tech support, her project manager, her personal assistant, and her best friend all rolled into one six-foot-tall, ridiculously attractive gay man who had better style than all the Queer Eye guys combined. He was her Overwatch—the Felicity Smoak to her Green Arrow.
And he was about to ruin her night. She could just feel it, from the tips of her messy bun to the soles of her fuzzy pink bunny slippers.
“I got a call from Hottie McStudly, my friend.”
Greer groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ugh. Not again. Please, don’t tell me.”
“OK. But he says he has something of yours. Again.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “See, I told you not to tell me.”
“Sorry,” Rio said, not sounding sorry at all. “But we don’t know for sure it’s her this time.”
Oh, of course it was her. It was always her. “Don’t patronize me.”
Bryn Terrell—no official superhero nickname yet—was and had always been a pain in the ass, ever since the state made her Greer’s trainee.
It wasn’t that Bryn was bad at the job. Quite the opposite, really. She was just overzealous. She tended to treat jaywalkers with the same “I am Justice” attitude she threw at bank robbers and muggers. She saw every petty thief and minor league crook in the state as evil. Greer had been at the superhero gig long enough to recognize all the shades of gray between good and evil.
There were so many shades of gray.
And Bryn’s righteous quest for justice was topped off with a mountain of blonde curls, perky, 20-year-old boobs, and a sweet, lilting voice. All of that made Bryn almost more than Greer could take on a good day.
And today was not a good day.
Bryn had, for some reason, made it her life’s mission to take down Killian Morgan, who Rio lovingly (or lustingly) referred to as Hottie McStudly.
About once a month for the past two years or so, Bryn got caught breaking into Killian’s billion-dollar, corporate high rise, looking for “evidence of wrongdoings”, as she put it.
Greer wasn’t entirely sure what Killian had done to make his millions, and she wasn’t certain what his employees did in that lavishly appointed high rise of his. What she did know was that he was way too smart to have any “evidence of wrongdoings” laying out where Bryn could stumble upon it.
And it wasn’t like Killian didn’t know that Bryn had X-ray vision. If there was anything in the building that could incriminate him, she would’ve seen it. Then she would’ve gleefully reported it all to Greer in that annoyingly pretty voice of hers, and Greer would’ve gotten a migraine.
Greer was willing to admit that, on some level, it irked her that Bryn might be at least a little right about Killian. The odds that he was completely innocent were most likely not favorable. After all, were any hot billionaires under fifty not crooked as hell? Greer didn’t see how they couldn’t be.
But as far as Greer knew, whatever Killian was doing wasn’t actively hurting anyone. If anything, he was probably guilty of a bunch of white-collar crimes and money-making schemes that Greer didn’t give a crap about. And Bryn wasn’t going to find evidence of any of that in his building, or she would’ve already.
So, here she was, again, in the position of going to the Morgan Enterprises building, and being
forced to sweet talk Killian Morgan into not pressing charges against her trainee.
Which left Greer in yet another uncomfortable position. Because as much as she tried to ignore it, Killian Morgan was wildly attractive. And she did mean wildly. Like, throw-him-down-and-mount-him-like-a-rutting-beast wildly. She couldn’t afford to develop a crush on him or indulge in any flirting. She did not need a sexual harassment suit on her record.
Greer fanned her face. Great. Now she was having a hot flash. Just the thought of sexually harassing Killian gave her hot flashes. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Kiss him ‘hi’ for me, G,” Rio said.
Greer let out an unladylike snort. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that,” she said, still fanning her face.
“Honey, if I was you, I would’ve got on that years ago. Now, go collect the B-Team.”
“You know she hates it when you call her that.”
“I could call her Plan B, if you’d prefer? Betamax?”
Even in her foul mood, Greer got a chuckle out of that. “You know I love you, right?”
“Pfffttt. Of course you do. Who else would pick up your hormones from the drugstore and iron your capes?
Like it so far? You can pick it up right here
Also by Isabel Jordan
Contemporary romance/romantic comedy
You Complicate Me
You Wrecked Me
Paranormal Romance
The Harper Hall Investigations series reading order:
Semi-Charmed
Semi-Human
Semi-Twisted
Semi-Broken
Semi-Sane
Semi-Obsessed
Semi-Magical
The Harper Hall Investigations complete series boxset
Superhero Romance
Caped and Dangerous
Connect With Isabel
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About the Author
The normal
Isabel Jordan writes because it’s the only profession that allows her to express her natural sarcasm and not be fired. She is a paranormal and contemporary romance author. Isabel lives in Indiana with her husband, her son, a neurotic Shepherd mix, and a ginormous Great Dane mix named Jerkface. (Don't feel bad for him. He really is a jerk.)
The weird
Now that the normal stuff is out of the way, here’s some weird-but-true facts that would never come up in polite conversation. Isabel Jordan:
Is terrified of butterflies (don’t judge…it’s a real phobia called lepidopterophobia)
Is a lover of all things ironic (hence the butterfly on the original cover of Semi-Charmed)
Is obsessed with Supernatural, Game of Thrones, and Dog Whisperer.
Hates coffee. Drinks a Diet Mountain Dew every morning.
Will argue to the death that Pretty in Pink ended all wrong. (Seriously, she ends up with the guy who was embarrassed to be seen with her and not the nice guy who loved her all along? That would never fly in the world of romance novels.)
Would eat Mexican food every day, if given the choice.
Reads two books a week in varied genres.
Refers to her Kindle as “the precious”.
Thinks puppy breath is one of the best smells in the world.
Is a social media idgit. (Her husband had to explain to her last week what the point of Twitter was. She’s still a little fuzzy on what Instagram and Pinterest do.)
Kicks ass at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Stole her tagline idea from her son. Her tagline idea was, “Never wrong, not quite right.” She liked her son’s idea better.
Breaks one vacuum cleaner a year because she ignores standard maintenance procedures (Really, you’re supposed to empty the canister every time you vacuum? Does that seem excessive to anyone else?)
Is still mad at the WB network for cancelling Angel in 2004.
Can’t find her way from her bed to her bathroom without her glasses, but refused eye surgery, even when someone else offered to pay. (They lost her at “eye flap”. Seriously, look it up. Scary stuff.)
The Has-Been and the Hot Mess Page 17
