by Angela Smith | Feb 14, 2018 | Books
Valentine’s Day is one of those days that many dread, many love, and many ignore. Me? I’ve been married so long that we try to celebrate each other throughout the year, which is very important, so we don’t generally make a large fuss on Valentine’s Day. But I do love the red, and the hearts and flowers and chocolate! And any excuse for wine and/or champagne!
Copyright : subbotina 123RF
What I love most is the fact Burn on the Western Slope has a Valentine’s Day scene. It was such a fun scene to write, and is still a fun scene for me to read again and again.
Even better, Burn on the Western Slope is available in a 3 book set for 99 cents! Whether you prefer Kindle, Nook, Kobo, or many others, you can find this set on just about any platform. If you prefer print, Burn on the Western Slope is available (not as a set) in print.
Buy links on my page here.
And now for an excerpt! In this scene, we see our hero, Garret, up on stage singing karaoke, and our heroine, Rayma, thinking of … well, you’ll see. We also meet Chayton, the bartender and Garret’s brother, and Naomi, Reagan’s cousin. Those two end up together in the next novel, Fatal Snag.
Side note: I absolutely LOVED writing Reagan and Naomi! Some of my favorite characters, if a writer could choose.
Enough babbling! Here’s the excerpt:
After downing the Valentine drink, she asked for another, urging the dizziness to hit. The more the merrier tonight. She yearned to get wild with this guy like she’d never been wild before. To hell with the damn consequences. She was tired of worrying about consequences and right now, didn’t see why two bright, responsible people should cause many. Who cared if he was a neighbor? Who cared if she might accidentally run into him after they had sex?
Who cared if he professed only to be friends? Friends slept together all the time.
“How is it?” Chayton asked.
Warm and ready. She stifled a giggle as she turned and handed him the empty cup.
“Wonderful. I need another.”
“That good, huh?”
“I’ll run twice the distance tomorrow on the treadmill,” she said, though she hadn’t gotten on a treadmill once since she’d arrived in Montana. “Hit me with another one.”
“You go girl.” Naomi struck her shoulder against Reagan’s.
“I’m in lust,” Reagan said, staring at Garret. He sang another song, a low, guttural, sad song that wrenched her heart in two.
Damn, he was sexy, and his voice was sexy, and his hair, his eyes, his hands…
A man sat beside her. A man who couldn’t hold a candle to the one she currently lusted after, and she declined a dance. She drank another cocktail and by that time, the room spun.
It felt good. No, it felt great.
After a third song, this one quick and screeching, the crowd roared and asked for more. “It’s someone else’s turn,” Garret said as he dismissed the crowd with a wave.
Chayton already had a Guinness ready for Garret when he arrived.
“That was great,” Naomi told him.
“Thanks.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a singer,” Reagan said, the twitter in her voice hovering between desperation and completion, like she knew she was about to have the most magnificent sex of her life.
“I’m not technically. I like to sing and do it for fun but I’m not a singer.”
“Better than a lot of singers I know.” She swept a finger across his silken cheek, something she’d been dying to do since she first met him. “You could quit your day job, whatever that might be.”
“It’s your turn.” That same guttural voice in which he sang kept her on the brink of losing her composure, or her sanity, or her clothes.
“What?” She plunked a hand over her chest, steadying her pounding heart by planting her heel, which had been propped on the barstool, on the floor. “Oh no, oh no, not me.” If he did have an urge to sleep with her, that would change as soon as he heard her sing.
“Oh come on,” Naomi said. “I’ll do it with you. We’ll sing ‘It’s Raining Men’ or something like that.”
“You want me to make a total fool of myself, don’t you?”
“Yes. Come on.” Naomi pulled her up, and she gave Garret one last lingering look before following her cousin to the stage. Her legs wobbled as she walked up one step, two steps, to the stage.
Her heart pounded in her throat but Naomi, the perfect being she was, broke the tension.
“We’ve never done this before,” Naomi said, shaking her hips, looking cute, and gaining applause. “So don’t be too hard on us.”
They had a blast, and Reagan couldn’t hear how bad she sucked over the loud speakers. Other women joined in the fray, and before long the entire crowd sang.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off Garret, who stood by the bar and watched.
“Okay, okay,” she told Naomi when their second song ended. “I gotta go. I’m gonna see if that hunky man wants to go home with me tonight.”
“What about me?” Naomi asked.
“You’re not invited.”
“But where am I supposed to sleep?”
Reagan’s giggle sounded a tad tipsy, a tad silly, and a whole lot horny. “With Chayton.”
Reagan moseyed down the stage, attempting to appear sexy even after all the drinks she’d consumed. She couldn’t remember anymore. She didn’t care. The drinks provided the courage she normally wouldn’t possess, and she needed the courage to kiss Garret again.
“Water, please,” she said to Chayton.
“You’re not going to get up there and sing?” Naomi asked Chayton.
“Are you kidding? I can’t sing to save my life.”
“You and Garret are brothers. You didn’t inherit the singing gene?”
“Half-brothers. He took after his mother. I took after mine.” His eyes grew shuttered, his voice harsh and remote, as if to say no more questions. He turned away to tend bar. Reagan met Naomi’s gaze and shrugged.
“That’s obviously out of the conversation piece,” Naomi said.
Reagan hadn’t seen Garret since she left the stage and she looked around, eager to find him. A man and woman dressed in red hearts performed a skit. Cupid came along and had the crowd roaring with laughter.
Reagan couldn’t pay attention. Where was Garret?
“How’s everything over here?” Chayton asked as he returned. “More water?”
“Where’s Garret?” Reagan flicked a piece of make-believe lint from her sweater. She didn’t want to appear too interested, but the words gushed out more suddenly than she intended.
“He had to leave,” Chayton said. “He does that sometimes.”
by Angela Smith | Sep 10, 2016 | Books
I generally always have pets of some kind in my novels. Usually cats, because I’m a cat person. I’ve rescued cats and do feral feedings on top of having a few of my own. I love writing about them, and they are easy for me to write.
This is Mr. Meowgi, my inspiration for Beacon in One Wrong Move. Notice the clipped ear? It means he was a trap, neuter, and release! Although he is now part of my household, cats with ear-tips are harmless and should be left to live peacefully in the wild.
In celebration of #Caturday and the fact One Wrong Move is still at $0.99, I’m sharing a never before seen excerpt of One Wrong Move!
In this excerpt, Camden has already taken Rayma to a safe house (practically kidnapped, but that’s another except for another day). She is furious with him that she had to leave her cat, Beacon, who received his name when she discovered him beaten on her back porch after she’d moved to the Texas Gulf Coast. She considered him her beacon that she was in the right place.
So in this excerpt, Camden has gone to her house to rescue the cat and bring him to the safe-house where Rayma is staying.
***
“Beacon?” He explored the apartment, trying not to notice the femininity surrounding him. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called as he took shorts and shirts from the closet. He found her socks and panties, and stuffed them in a bag. The sooner he got them out of his hands, the better. He found shoes, sandals and her purse and by the time he filled the bag, it wouldn’t close.
He didn’t care. He needed to get out of here, away from the scents, away from her lacy thongs, and away from the tiny dresses hanging in her closet.
When he walked into the kitchen pantry in search of cat food, the cat waltzed up to him and circled his feet. Camden knelt to pet him. Beacon arched his back, purring.
“You hungry? Sorry about that, kiddo. Let’s get you back to your mom.” He found a few cans of food, dropped them into the bag wrapped around his shoulder and grabbed the cat, prepared to leave, when a shadow in the doorway stopped him.
Beacon scrambled from his arms and shot down the hall. Camden dropped the bag. Cans of food banged to the floor. The guy stopped one with his foot as it rolled toward him.
“Who the hell are you?” Camden hooked his thumbs in the loops of his pants, presenting a casual attitude but preparing to pounce if necessary. The guy filled the doorway, and there was nowhere for Camden to go but forward.
“Rayma’s boyfriend.” The guy remained still as a stone in a rippling pond. “Who the hell are you?”
“How did you get in here?” Camden asked. He recognized Dare’s accountant but had to play it cool.
“A key.” The guy held it up for Camden’s inspection, as if that would make the fact more powerful. “How did you?”
“What’s your name?” Camden asked.
“Excuse me. I am the one with the key to Rayma’s house, not you. Why don’t you tell me?”
“She told me she broke up with you weeks ago,” Camden lied.
by Angela Smith | May 7, 2016 | Introspective
Embattled Hearts by JM Madden
Lost & Found Series; Book 1
262 pages
Published: December 13, 2013
Published by: J.M. Madden
Blurb:
John Palmer hasn’t felt like a real man since he was injured during combat in Iraq. Though not content with his new life, he is mostly adapting, just like the other vets at the Lost ‘N’ Found Investigative Service. When Shannon Murphy is hired on as the new office manager, life suddenly gets a lot more interesting. Before long, John finds himself wondering if he could ever be the kind of man Shannon needs.
Shannon Murphy wasn’t really looking for love when she hired on at LNF, but finds herself hopelessly attracted to the sex-on-wheels former Marine, John Palmer. The man is grumpy and nearly impossible to work with, but his brand of masculinity appeals to her on a basic level. Soon Shannon is wondering just what it would take for John to want her the way she wants him.
When an old enemy tries to settle a vendetta against Shannon, John insists on protecting her. He moves into her house, fanning the spark of attraction into a blaze. But the danger continues to escalate. Will the connection that they’ve found survive when they’re thrust into a fight for their lives?
Purchase Links:
Excerpt:
The Texans stood to make their goodbyes, and John pulled his attention back, glancing at his watch. He was eager to leave Duncan’s office and join Shannon for lunch. As often as he could he tried to join her in the break room. Even such casual contact calmed him, and made him appreciate relating to another person. They didn’t talk about anything in particular. For the most part, Shannon carried the conversation, and he was content to just sit and listen. And wonder. It sounded like she had an interesting life, with her animals and her family, and the house she’d moved into last year. Totally different than his own boring day-to-day routine. She didn’t badger him with questions about what had happened to his legs or try to dance around his disability. The only time she hesitated was when she told him she jogged occasionally. He knew by the reaction on her face that his own must have reflected a crushing desire to feel the hot asphalt beneath his pounding feet. Smiling softly, she had left the table, but not before she rested her hand gently on his shoulder. “Believe me,” she told him softly, “you’re probably faster in that chair than I’ll ever be on my feet. Maybe you can join me sometime.”
And, just that easily, she made one of his greatest losses just a bit easier to bear.
He powered out of Duncan’s office. He didn’t care if he was abrupt. They usually shook their heads at him no matter what he did.
Shannon wasn’t at her desk when he rolled by, nor in any of the other offices down the hallway. His heart began to pound as he pulled up to the break room door and looked in the half window. There she was. Laughing and gesturing with her hands to Roger Stottsberry, one of the Night detectives. Roger had been coming in every Friday for Shannon’s lunch since she started the practice. And John didn’t blame him. When not at the agency, it seemed he just sat at home and stared at the walls. There was only so much brainless TV you could watch before you slowly went insane. It was hard to go out in public, both physically and mentally, and these offices had turned into a haven for the men who worked here. Duncan had let them convert one of the empty offices into a multi-purpose room, with a couple of bunks in one corner in case somebody needed to crash. There was also exercise equipment and a TV and game system on the opposite wall to help them relax. The refrigerator was always stocked with easy, microwaveable foods. John found himself occupying that room more and more. As did a lot of the other guys.
Every week the shift teams—Day, Night and Graveyard— got together for some kind of tournament, be it darts or Jeopardy or anything they could think of to be competitive. It built camaraderie between the teams and was a great way to blow off steam. At first they’d tried to separate into whichever branch of the military they’d been discharged from, but because there were so many more Marines than any other branch, it hadn’t always worked out.
He rolled through the break room door and was immediately warmed by Shannon’s broad smile. Any aggravation she felt earlier in the day had apparently faded away. The tension in his own body eased.
“I was just telling Roger about my niece naming one of my kittens Boohini. I had called him Houdini because he kept getting out of wherever I put him, and somehow she changed it around to Boohini.”
That was kind of cute, and he chuckled along with them, before he wheeled around the table to the large Crockpot on the counter. His mouth watered before he even lifted the lid. Shannon’s food was phenomenal. But by the time he got his meatball sandwich made and situated on his lap for the return trip, Shannon had gathered up her things to leave. He almost dropped his plate as she stretched behind herself for a cola, her luscious breasts outlined by the cloth of her peach-colored sweater. Man, she looked nice in that sweater. Dragging his gaze away, he situated himself at the table. She plunked the cola in front of him, threw her stuff away and told the men goodbye.
He watched intently until she disappeared down the hallway, curvy hips swinging.
Roger had his head tilted to one side, and his dark brown eyes were squinted in laughter. “Oh, so it’s that way, huh?”
John picked up his sandwich. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The former Marine laughed and slapped his leg with his good hand. The molded right hand rested on the table, currently immobile. John admired Roger, because his amputated arm had been replaced with a state-of-the-art prosthetic that was actually wired into the nerves of his arm. It was truly a wonder to watch, because it was so lifelike. Even the skin tone was incredibly close to Roger’s dark walnut color. It was seriously cutting-edge stuff. There were military medical trials going on with paraplegics and quadriplegics using stem cells and spinal implants, but John had chosen not to participate in them. If he’d had a family, maybe it would have been a different story.
Roger had leaned down to try to catch his eye.
“What, damn it?” John shoved his plate away and sat back in his chair, ready to fight. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, disproportionate to the situation.
Roger held up his hands before sitting back in his own chair. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I think Shannon is a great girl. Why do you think I get myself out of bed so early every Friday?”
John narrowed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Was Roger interested in her like he was? He could understand some women would be attracted to him. The man wasn’t bad looking, even with the shrapnel scars covering one side of his face and the prosthetic forearm.
And Roger at least had legs.
“I didn’t realize you had a claim on her.”
“I don’t,” John grumbled. That was the whole problem in a nutshell. He had no claim on her. He didn’t even know if he wanted to claim her. Yeah, she turned him on, but what could he offer her? Certainly nothing long-term. What would an active, vibrant woman like her want with a broken man like him?
John tried to think of other things as he finished his sandwich, and ignore the ache in his chest.
Meet JM Madden~
NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author J.M. Madden writes compelling romances between ‘combat modified’ military men and the women who love them. J.M. Madden loves any and all good love stories, most particularly her own. She has two beautiful children and a husband who always keeps her on her toes.
J.M. was a Deputy Sheriff in Ohio for nine years, until hubby moved the clan to Kentucky. When not chasing the family around, she’s at the computer, reading and writing, perfecting her craft. She occasionally takes breaks to feed her animal horde and is trying to control her office-supply addiction, but both tasks are uphill battles. Happily, she is writing full-time and always has several projects in the works. She also dearly loves to hear from readers! So, drop her a line. She’ll respond.
Connect with JM~
~Enter our month long Giveaway~
by Angela Smith | May 6, 2016 | Introspective
Till Death Us Do Part by Cristina Slough
358 Pages
Published: December 29, 2015
Published by: Limitless Publishing
Blurb:
The fateful day Mimi Marcus has dreaded begins with a phone call…
The wife of a U.S. Marine, Mimi spent countless nights worried that her husband Joel would fall in the line of duty. He had fought valiantly and served his country with honor. That’s exactly what they tell her when they deliver the news—Joel was taken by the enemy in Afghanistan. Her husband is dead.
In desperate need of closure, Mimi travels to the one place Joel still has ties—The Marcus Ranch in Texas, inherited by his handsome younger brother Austin.
New beginnings are only an illusion…
The closer Mimi grows to the Marcus family, the more she considers it home. But when suspicions of Joel’s past surface, Austin refuses to disclose family secrets—even to his brother’s widow. It’s only by accident she uncovers evidence of Joel’s tainted past. Devastated by his lies and betrayal, she slowly opens up to Austin, and together they unfold layers of pain and grief.
Mimi is sure she’ll never love again, but is Austin the man to prove her wrong? Then the unthinkable happens…
Just as Mimi finds new hope in a future with Austin, Joel returns home from war. Enraged, traumatized, and teetering on the edge of insanity, Joel confesses to a history of deception, revealing yet another secret—this one too terrible to forgive.
In an awful twist of fate, Joel proves marriage vows are made to be honored.
No matter what.
Purchase links:
Excerpt:
She took the palm of her hand and wiped her face. “You don’t mean that.” She paused and looked at him. “Do you?”
“Yes, this is so fucked up Mimi. You don’t belong to me. You belong to him.”
“But…God, Austin, I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking or feeling.”
“I don’t care. The truth is, I got caught up in everything with you. I felt sorry for you; I pitied you.”
“Austin stop,” she cried “You don’t mean that.”
“Mimi, I do. The truth is. You were my final up-yours to my dear brother.”
“You’re lying.”
He took his hands out of his jean pockets and placed them on her sunken shoulders and looked firmly into her eyes. “Yes I do. Everything I told you about loving you was a lie. And this, what we had was nothing but revenge. Joel played it well, the son of a bitch. He even cheated death. Now get your goddam bags packed and get the hell out of my life.”
She jolted back, falling out of his grip.
Austin stood in silence after the hard slap connected across his left check; it caught his lip, making it bleed. She turned on her heel and ran away, her long hair flowing in the breeze behind her.
He stood there for a second, but it seemed like an hour. He walked a little, and then for the first time in his adult life, he cried.
The digital clock read 2 am. He gazed out of the window. The sky was tar-black, the large clouds gathered fast and furiously. Soon, the gentle specs of rain flicked against the window. As it grew heavier, the tarmac on the car-park soon turned into a black river. He saw a man quicken his pace and slip into a beaten old truck. He opened the door, letting the rain fall on him, drenching through his clothes. He moved out into the stormy weather, needing to wash away the hurt that lay inside him.
He remembered having this feeling once before, after the death of his father. It was then that the divide between him and his brother had become even greater. It had torn them apart, ripping them at the seams. Austin had stolen Joel’s father, and now he was taking his wife. He had no control over the first time, but he swore that he wouldn’t let Austin win this time.
Blood pounded in his ears; he was still at war, but this time with himself.
Meet Cristina Slough~
Novelist, movie addict, and animal lover, Cristina Slough is the author of: Till Death Us Do Part, her debut novel.
Cristina has always been a bookworm, rarely seen without a pen and paper in her hand, she loves delving into a literary fictional world of her own.
At the age of 11, her junior school teacher told her mother that she would be wasting her life if she didn’t become an author. Throughout her teenage years and beyond, her parents spurred her on to keep writing. She later began a career in commercial real estate, working in London’s West End, a corporate bubble where she was unable to fuel her passion to write.
It was on her Californian honeymoon in 2012 that the bug to write was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. After visiting Yosemite National Park she was inspired by the natural beauty of the land that surrounded her. Holding a special place in her heart, Yosemite would later be written into her debut novel.
She finally gave up the ‘big smoke’ when her son, Lucas, was born in October 2013.
When Lucas was a newborn, Cristina was told to sleep when the baby sleeps. She never could. There was a calling inside her to write. After getting to grips with her new role as a mother, she began working a psychological thriller, but she couldn’t fully connect to the characters she created. She ditched the manuscript and started Till Death Us Do Part (Limitless Publishing, 2015).
Cristina is married to Adam, who runs a successful business; together they share their Bedfordshire home with their son, crazy white German Shepherd and three spoiled cats. They can be found trekking through woodlands, or around the many shops Cristina loves to explore. As a family, they love to travel frequently, the United States being a firm favourite.
Connect with Cristina~
~Enter our month long Giveaway~
by Angela Smith | May 5, 2016 | Introspective
Wounded Hearts by Jayne Rylon
Men in Blue Series; Book 5
242 Pages
Published: June 2, 2015
Published by: Jayne Rylon
Blurb:
In the year since Ellie escaped The Scientist’s ghastly dungeon, she still can’t stop looking over her shoulder. Or stop feeling guilty over the man who sacrificed so much to save her.
He lost everything. His career, his aspirations—even part of his body. It’s no wonder he wants nothing to do with her. Too bad he’s the only man she can think about.
Lucas has vowed to stay away from Ellie, but not for the reason she thinks. The woman he craves doesn’t need to waste her life taking care of a man with a missing leg, not when she needs to focus on her own healing.
Despite the best matchmaking attempts of the Men in Blue—and their wives—the emotional and physical gap between them seems uncrossable. Until Ellie is threatened again, and the only choice is to work together until she’s safe.
But to stay in the land of the living, they’ll both have to fight through their pain—and relive a few nightmares—to guarantee their demons won’t destroy her future.
Warning: Contains an alpha male with a broken body, but whose best bits are in fine working order. And a woman who survived hell, and is determined to fit enough of their jagged edges together to make a whole. Vivid PTSD flashbacks of sexual violence could be disturbing for some readers.
Purchase Links:
Excerpt:
Lucas kicked back in his leather recliner. It had been his favorite chair until his prosthesis had torn the footrest. Every time he looked at the ragged slash in the damn thing now, it only reminded him of the endless ways in which his life had been altered. He massaged his stump, especially the knee, which ached after the long run he’d pushed himself through earlier.
It’d been nearly seven months since his amputation. He’d never worked harder in his life to get back to “normal”, whatever the hell that was these days. Though he’d trained like a madman when his life had depended on his physical and mental abilities, he was more cut than ever. Endless gym time had guaranteed it. His gaze wandered down his ripped, freshly tattooed chest and the muscles of his abdomen, which were pretty damn defined, even while he slouched, completely relaxed.
Or as close to it as he ever got.
He picked up a controller and turned on his gaming console, ready to slay some aliens and save the human race again. Like he did most nights, until he nodded off in this piece of shit chair, which now sported a dent the size and shape of his ass. He couldn’t believe how much he sat. Before, he’d been active, only getting horizontal to hook up with a fine woman or grab a few hours’ rest before heading to the next assignment. Now he spent most of his time outside of his rehab efforts here, hoping to settle his mind enough to doze off. Sometimes, it was the only way he could sleep at all.
Lucas figured he’d give his other leg to be back out there, making a difference in the world. Except he knew if he tried, he’d only put others at risk. Endangering his team was something he would never do. Despite all his effort and therapy, he’d never be as agile, as stealthy or—probably most important—as mentally unhindered as he’d been before his injury. Blending in and hiding his identity on covert ops would be impossible with such an easy tell for his enemies to discover. The military probably assumed they’d done him a favor by medically discharging him with full salary and benefits for the rest of his life.
He scrubbed his hand over his face.
Then again, he wouldn’t take his leg back if it meant the evil he’d witnessed the day it had been crushed went unchecked. Often, he dreamt of that closing gate and his last ditch effort to keep it from trapping victims—Ellie included—inside a ghastly prison by using his body as a doorstop. They’d gotten her out of The Scientist’s clutches. Not in time to avoid being wounded, at least as badly as he had been, but in time to keep her—and dozens of other innocents like her—alive.
Both of them had survived, if in one hell of a state. His partner, Steve, hadn’t been as lucky.
Breath wheezed out of Lucas as he remembered the look on Ellie’s drugged face when their friend Lily had hauled her from the cloud of Sex Offender that had turned her fellow prisoners into monsters that had attacked her. During the tenure of his career, it was the single most disgusting thing he’d ever witnessed. Insane with chemically induced lust of her own, she had somehow struggled against the potent concoction.
The pure fight she’d shown in escaping the hellhole they’d yanked her out of had made it impossible for him to quit, even as his leg had screamed in agony. She’d clearly been assaulted. Repeatedly. Her moans and cries had been like an audible interpretation of his own debilitating pain as Jeremy had helped him hobble on his destroyed leg to relative safety. The sound of her terror was burned into his memory.
His fingers clamped on the arm of the chair, threatening to make more holes in the upholstery.
Recollections like that made him feel sick for wanting her. How could she ever welcome the kind of primal advances that had taken center stage in the thoughts he’d had of her since then? Why would she, or any sane woman, want a man like him now?
“Fuck.” He pounded his fist on his thigh, welcoming the thud that distracted him from his downward-spiraling thoughts.
Staring at the ceiling, he drew in a ragged breath and groaned.
After a solid five minutes spent wrestling the urge to blank out his overactive mind on the pain pills prescribed to him, his phone buzzed on the side table nearby.
Please don’t be Ellie.
Tonight he might not have the strength to ignore it, letting her go to voicemail then listening to her messages at night when he was wide awake. His fingers curled inward. Frequent calls from her were hard to resist. Even tougher than the siren song of his narcotics, which he’d been trying to wean himself off entirely. Late-night rings like these meant she probably slept as shittily as he did. Her attempts to contact him had slowed recently, coming fewer and farther between. While he’d tried to be happy about that, the fact was he missed seeing her light up his screen. That barest of contact had the power to make him smile. At least for a moment, until he remembered the shit ton of reasons they couldn’t be together.
The good thing about having a detachable foot was that he could actually shove it up his own ass if he kept acting like an idiot.
Lucas couldn’t help himself—he snatched the vibrating phone, hoping for a glimpse of her name or the profile picture he’d set for her contact. It was a formal shot of them, all dressed up, that had been taken at Lily and JRad’s wedding. She’d looked more gorgeous than usual that day. Hell, they’d even danced together once as he deluded himself into believing his leg might still get better despite the advice of his doctors, who’d encouraged him to amputate immediately.
Turned out wearing a prosthesis was actually better than hanging on to a mangled meat foot when it came to living an active lifestyle. He’d been screwed even then, but at least his denial had been strong enough that he’d enjoyed one last happy occasion with his friends. And Ellie.
It always came back to her.
“Son of a bitch!” he roared at himself. Especially since it wasn’t even her calling.
Instead, the face that flashed onscreen belonged to Jeremy Radisson, though the label said “JRad”, since his friends on the force used that nickname for the geeky cyber detective with an impressive Dominant streak.
A wave of mingled relief and disappointment washed through Lucas. Anxiety too. It was always kind of awkward talking to one of the guys who could understand exactly what he had lost—camaraderie, purpose, honor—along with his leg. Still, part of him was glad to have someone to talk to in the darkness.
Speaking of, why the hell was the dude calling so close to midnight? It must be important. Lucas swiped his thumb across the phone to answer.
Before he even had a chance to say hello, Jeremy was talking in a hurried, hushed rumble.
“Hey Lucas,” JRad greeted him with a cautious edge to his tone. This couldn’t be good.
“What’s up?” The guy never buzzed him this late. None of their mutual friends did anymore either, though they all worked fucked up shifts. Ah, the life of a peacekeeper.
It was like they didn’t want to interrupt his beauty sleep in case that would make his fucking leg grow back. In the military, especially his covert branch, he hadn’t been used to people tiptoeing around him.
He found he didn’t like it much now that he was disabled either.
“Wish I could say this was a social call. Sorry.” It felt oddly good that the first ten minutes of their discussion wasn’t something along the lines of, How are you feeling today, buddy?
Oh fine, just missing a foot, an ankle, and most of my shin, that’s all. Could be worse, could’ve had my dick chopped off. Ha ha…
In other words, the same old bullshit he’d been reciting for months now.
They dove into the important stuff without fucking around with feelings and shit. Finally, something like his regular modus operandi. Years of late-night summons, life-or-death emergencies and running on adrenaline had made his recent couch potato act all the more unnerving.
“The rest of the Men in Blue and I are on a case. Getting close to cracking it.” JRad’s urgency penetrated Lucas’s gloomy thoughts.
“You need help with something?” Sometimes they made use of his government connections or picked his brain, which was essentially a database on immoral dealings and the inner workings of criminal organizations after nearly two decades combating them.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. How can I help?” Lucas sat straighter, leaning forward in his ruined seat.
“It’s the girls—”
“Ah, shit. Some pussy assignment? I thought you actually needed me for important shit.” He deflated, sinking into the cushions again.
“They’re the most valuable things in our lives,” JRad was quick to correct him. “You know we wouldn’t trust their safety to just anyone.”
“Be honest, you’re trying to make me feel useful here.” He stopped short of rolling his eyes. Badass soldiers, even retired ones, did not roll their eyes. “What’s next? A crossing-guard vest? Jesus, JRad. Fuck off.”
“Hey wait. Don’t hang up. Shit. We need you.” A ragged breath from JRad convinced Lucas not to punch the end button just yet. “We’re stuck on this case. There’s no way we can bail now. Not even one of us could sneak out without blowing our cover. Sending in anyone else from the station would risk spooking Ellie.”
“Ellie?” Lucas could have decked himself for repeating her name. Letting the other guy know he was as obsessed as ever with the beautiful young woman wouldn’t be in his best interest. Not tonight or any time in the future when the guys and their ladies decided for the millionth time to try and play matchmaker with a hopeless pairing.
“Yeah.”
“What’s she got to do with this?” Fuck it, why hide it when it was obvious to everyone anyway exactly how much he wanted her? Felt responsible for her somehow. It was pretty common in their line of work, actually, to get attached to certain people they had a hand in helping.
Wasn’t smart, though.
“I guess Lily, Jambrea, Izzy, Lacey and Shari convinced her to go out to that new casino north of the city with them tonight.”
“Now I know you’re screwing with me.” Lucas took the phone from his ear for a second to glare at JRad’s picture. What kind of game was he playing? Ellie could hardly stand a stroll in a garden, never mind the chaos of a casino. She spooked as easily as a soft, pretty bunny. Not that he blamed her in the least.
Besides, most people wouldn’t notice because of the tough mask she wore. But he was a trained observer. So were the rest of the Men in Blue. The tick of her sculpted jaw or the rapid blink of her mesmerizing blue eyes, which caused thick lashes to flutter onto the pale, creamy skin of her cheeks—all of it screamed how scared shitless she was of the world around her.
Lucas figured she was the bravest woman he’d ever met for not falling apart with that bucket-load of terror coursing through her veins constantly. The adrenaline aftereffects alone had to be exhausting to her system.
“I’m not shitting you.” JRad huffed at that. “I didn’t think they’d con her into doing it either, but they did. She’s getting better lately, Lucas. Healing. Not so raw as she used to be. Which you’d know if you hadn’t cut her out of your life, dickhead.”
“Stick to the facts.” He’d had enough lectures from her five female cohorts. Additional shit from JRad was entirely unnecessary.
“Look, they went out tonight. Sexy as hell. The six of them dressed up, sending us enough naughty selfies to torture us while we’re stuck in this damn apartment spying on druggies.” His clear sexual frustration had Lucas grinning. Too bad, so sad. The man would eventually go home to his feisty sometimes-submissive-but-only-for-him Mistress Lily soon enough.
“At least Matt and Clint can suck each other off in the bathroom. Mason and Tyler, too. It’s just you and Razor that are screwed, huh?” Lucas shrugged, though no one could see him and despite the fact that he knew they wouldn’t. Not on the clock. They took their jobs as seriously as he had once.
“Anyway, the girls headed over there after dinner at some fancy place downtown. Ten minutes ago our phones started lighting up at once. Scared the shit out of us,” JRad confessed. Each of their ladies had fought through some hard times and survived their own personal threats. It had their guys on edge still.
“They’re okay?” Hopefully they hadn’t been in a car wreck or something like that. Lucas swallowed hard, preparing himself for bad news.
“Actually, yes.”
“Then what the hell?” He scratched his head.
“Turns out Ellie must have taken her lucky rabbit’s foot along.” JRad paused, as if he’d realized the absurdity of that mental image for Lucas.
Instead of getting pissed or being offended, he laughed. “Huh. Wonder if some bunny’s got my damn foot in its pocket.”
“Er—”
“Anyway, she’s up for the night? Beating the house? Are they partying to celebrate? Need a designated driver or something?” He steered them back to their discussion. Good for Ellie. He knew money was tight. Had contributed as much as he could manage as an anonymous donor to the fund he’d set up for her recovery before handing it off to the Men in Blue to administer so she wouldn’t get suspicious.
“We’re not talking about a couple hundred bucks here, Lucas.” JRad sighed. “She won almost fifty-grand on the fucking penny slots. Cash. They’re driving home with it right now.”
“Are you shitting me?” Call him cynical, but that seemed nearly impossible. In his world, that usually meant something was up. “That place isn’t going to be in business long if they’re handing out sacks of money like that. Why wouldn’t they have written her a check?”
“Lily says the claim form wasn’t clear and they didn’t feel like wading through the paperwork again to switch the payment type. Six smoking-hot women and a huge chunk of cash. You know every man in that place noticed them and they’re going to talk. Shit, it’s probably plastered all over social media by now. TV will be next. That’s a fuck ton of temptation. Maybe you could stay with Ellie tonight and escort her to make a deposit once the bank opens in the morning?” JRad cursed under his breath. “I know that’s not ideal for either of you considering the circumstances…”
“Don’t worry about my end of things. It’s fine. She shouldn’t be alone with that much money on hand. People have done stupid things for less. Sleeping in my car, or her backyard, isn’t a problem either. I’ll just go over and let her know I’m out there, keeping an eye on her place.” Lucas might have been avoiding her, but only for their own good. He cared for her. A lot. If she was in danger, he would be there, regardless of their twisted personal relationship.
Meet Jayne Rylon~
Jayne Rylon is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She received the 2011 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Indie Erotic Romance. Her stories used to begin as daydreams in seemingly endless business meetings, but now she is a full time author, who employs the skills she learned from her straight-laced corporate existence in the business of writing. She lives in Ohio with two cats and her husband, the infamous Mr. Rylon. When she can escape her purple office, she loves to travel the world, avoid speeding tickets in her beloved Sky, and–of course–read.
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