Griffin Undone: Archai Warriors 1

Chapter One

Arik

Present day

 The roads were rank with the scent of recent rain, exhaust, and unwashed human. I stalked through the darkened streets, holding back an ugly grin at the expressions on the faces of the few bums and far-gone club hoppers I encountered. Fear sparked in every gaze that witnessed my passage through the night, and those that could, fled. I didn’t need the stereotypical trappings of a Hollywood vampire or shifter—no long hair flowing like a curtain behind me, no leather duster flapping in the wind. Who the hell needed the theatrics anyway? I existed; that was all that was necessary to terrify humans.

They should be afraid, and not only of me. I wasn’t the only one on the hunt tonight.

My senses flared as I tracked the group of rogue shifters through the maze of sidewalks scattered with flashing neon lights and the occasional roar of sound when a bar door opened abruptly. Downtown Nashville swam with nightlife, but the middle-of-the-night cold kept most of the revelry inside rather than spilling onto the streets as it did in the summer. Hunting was harder then, but tonight, with a full group of Anigma moving through the heavily traveled area, most of the population wisely kept their sport indoors. They might not understand the sense of dread any more than they understood their fear of my shadow, but sense it they did, and that dread kept them out of my way. Safer for them, faster for me.

A yellow cab, the “available” light a beacon for customers, passed on the narrow street. A blast of exhaust clouded the air, fucking up my nose, and I coughed, irritated. The sound echoed between the buildings, part bird, part lion—all animal—startling a drunk on the crumbling steps jutting out from a nearby alley. The man jerked, his bottle of cheap liquor rattling as it hit the concrete. Wild eyes skimmed me before the drunk hurried farther into the yawning cavern between the two buildings.

I ignored the interruption and continued on, focused on following my prey. Maddox was close; I could feel it in my bones. He and his cadre of Anigma soldiers wouldn’t escape me tonight.

As I approached the next corner, I allowed my animal to rise until I felt him just beneath my skin. My griffin’s superior senses enabled me to scan the next several blocks, and despite the darkness of this less frequented section of downtown, I instantly honed in on the group of males dispersing at the entry of a local blues bar. The lit sign that proclaimed the place to be Lenny’s shone weakly on the half-dozen black-clad figures entering the building, while the rest of the Anigma team faded into the surrounding shadows. Those males would stay close, I knew from past experience. If I followed their team members inside, the rest would know.

Not what I wanted quite yet.

My back ached as I allowed my massive wings to emerge. Holding in a groan, I stretched the thick appendages through the slits in my shirt and jacket, shaking out the stiffness. A feral grin escaped as a yelp echoed in the darkness behind me—the drunk venturing forth from his alley.

That booze is some good stuff, isn’t it, old man?

A psychic push allowed the words to whisper from my mind to the drunk’s, low and mean, rough with the hunger of my animal. I channeled that hunger, the adrenaline of the hunt, into my muscles and, too fast for human eyes to see, lifted my wings. A single flap down, hard, and I shot myself skyward.

The roof of the building was a wasteland of vents, tar, and debris, the line of sight broken by the occasional shed-like structure. I settled quietly and tucked my wings away, then strode toward the far corner and the roof access to Lenny’s Bar. A flimsy lock protected the door, but a quick jerk and pull gave me access to a set of stairs disappearing into a dim upper floor. Even this far up, a blue-gray haze hung in the air—smoke. Fuck that anti-smoking law, right, people?

My griffin rumbled under my skin, hating the filth coating our nose, but nothing could deter the animal’s sight as I descended to the first floor. An empty hallway waited, with closed doors and a couple of dingy bathroom entrances at one end. I turned in the opposite direction, following the sparse circles of light thrown from the occasional wall sconce.

The hazy air of the main room matched the hallway. Lenny’s patrons weren’t interested in seeing anything but their drinks, obviously, but my animal scanned the crowded area easily, peering through my eyes. A long wooden bar stretched the length of the wall closest to me, the majority of the barstools occupied with huddled figures nursing their alcohol and, occasionally, conversation. Likewise, most of the tables and booths scattered from the bar to the empty dance floor were filled. Humans mingled, drank, touched, on a hunt of their own for something far less dangerous than deadly predators. I quartered the room with my gaze, searching, senses on alert for the smallest hint of my prey.

What I found wasn’t a hint; Maddox wasn’t hiding. The bastard sat right out in the open, at a table near the grand piano tucked into the farthest corner from where I stood. There was no mistaking that bulk—most shifters were big, especially werewolves, but Maddox had always gone above and beyond, even in his build. The disheveled head of brown hair stuck out in all directions, exactly as it always had, and when the male shifted in his seat, I finally caught a glimpse of that hated face. The face that had incited my nightmares for the past nine hundred years, since the night of my parents’ murders.

My griffin snarled, hatred and an almost uncontrollable anticipation mixing with the animal’s volatile nature until I had to fight not to step forward and confront my enemy right then. Maddox might be out in the open, but the Anigma soldiers he’d brought inside with him were carefully hidden. No stupid mistakes for Maddox; the Anigma general was too intelligent, too savvy.

So was I. I hunkered against the wall to watch and wait. And what I saw surprised me. After a few minutes I realized Maddox’s focus was fixed on a single spot in the room—he had something or someone particular in his sights. I followed the shifter’s amber-tinged gaze to the piano, to Maddox’s prey. Not a warrior or another shifter; no, this was prey of the soft, delicate, female variety.

Interesting.

She sat at a piano on the small stage tucked into one corner of the large room, the smoky curtain hanging in the air obscuring her from prying eyes—but not mine. I easily traced the rounded slope of her hips as she bent toward the instrument. The gentle sweep of her delicate spine led to a bare nape visible above her collar. Her neck was fragile, vulnerable. Easily broken. Tendrils of autumn-red curls fell down from a gold clasp to tease that naked skin, and the sudden urge to brush them aside, to bend my body around her small frame and bring my aching fangs to that tantalizing curve where throat met shoulder roared through me without warning. The vivid image of biting her very human throat while gripping that mouthwatering ass, forcing her still for a hard, deep male thrust almost had a groan escaping. I straightened, tension gathering in my gut, not to mention my dick.

Using my griffin’s enhanced smell, I sifted the air, singling out the woman’s scent: tendrils of vanilla and something distinctly feminine even my shifter senses couldn’t put a name to. Something distinctly her, the blend smoother than the finest alcohol I’d ever tasted. The scent made my mouth water.

A quiet chuff escaped—my griffin declaring his interest. Before I could think, my foot stepped out, my body pulled toward her as if she were a lodestone and I was a willing—

No.

Holy shit. I barely drew back before making a fatal mistake. Why—

My eyes narrowed on the woman.

The animal inside me roared at the denial of his need. I resisted the pull of his instincts, the screaming awareness, and forced my attention back to Maddox. The shifter seemed fixated, just as I had been. Or was he?

What the hell was going on here?

Don’t get me wrong; I was no fucking monk. Such a thing was an impossibility, in my opinion, with the drive my animal and I shared. But I wasn’t here, in this bar, looking for a hookup or to scratch an itch. Females were a convenience, not a need. As the general of the southeast quadrant of the Anigma army, Maddox would be the same. The way he watched this woman, however…

My brain spun out options as I stared at my enemy staring at the woman. If she belonged to Maddox, what better revenge than to take her? As a start, anyway. Not like it would be any hardship. My dick hardened in a rush at the mere thought of finding the source of that tempting scent somewhere on her body.

My animal took the interest as permission and moved us into the room. The red light of the emergency exit sign a few feet along the wall drew my attention, highlighting the perfect niche to watch the woman’s performance. I’d barely settled my shoulder against the wall before the woman’s head turned from the piano keys and her gaze slammed into mine.

My breath choked off in my throat. Hazel eyes. The mysteries of humanity stared out of those eyes, swathed in a cocoon of softness that dared me to wrap myself up inside it.

Fuck. No wonder the Anigma leader was watching her like she was a rare steak dinner. That gaze was dangerous. I’d given up softness a long time ago—it only got you killed. You or the people around you.

And Maddox loved delivering the final blow.

I told myself to look away, screamed it in the deepest recesses of my mind, but still her gaze held me captive. One short moment stretched into eternity—

 “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

The words whispered through my mind on an all too familiar path. Maddox. Narrowing my eyes, I met the gaze of my enemy head-on across the dim room. “You’re a thousand years old. Could you get any more clichéd with a hello like that?”

Maddox’s laugh rolled like used motor oil through my mind. “Considering it’s been five hundred years since the last time you laid eyes on me, I’d think you’d be happy with us both being alive. Hello, brother.”

Every muscle in my body tensed almost to breaking. “I’m not your brother.”

I hadn’t noticed the song ending, but at that very moment, the woman stood from her place behind the piano. I turned my head, gaze tracking her movement across the room as I forced myself to breathe away the anger surging in my chest.

“Beautiful, isn’t she? Do you want her, Arik? She’d make a tasty snack. Too bad I plan to rip her throat out after I drink my fill.”

“I see your MO hasn’t changed.”

Maddox’s smile was all teeth as he tracked the woman as closely as I did. When she approached his table, Maddox said something too soft for even my animal to pick up.

The woman startled. I couldn’t see her face in that moment, turned as it was toward my enemy, but her body language screamed unease. She wasn’t working with Maddox, then. A twinge of pity surprised me. Whatever Maddox wanted with her, it wasn’t good.

“I dunno, Maddox. I don’t think she’s that into you.”

A flash of white teeth appeared in his sun-dark face, though those amber eyes remained fixed on the woman. “All the better.”

The woman shook her head and continued through the room, her movements hasty, lacking the grace her body had held at the piano. I watched, helpless to pull my focus away. That alone shouted a warning in my head—dangerous for me, even more dangerous for her. Especially with Maddox here. I knew better than to signal interest of any kind where that fucker could see. Maddox had taken advantage of my weaknesses plenty in the past nine hundred years. His hard-on for me was the only weakness I’d found in him, and I had every intention of exploiting it.

Of course, maybe there was another way. I could use the attraction surging inside me to my advantage. The woman could be the bait I needed to reel Maddox in. What was one human compared to taking out my mortal enemy?

 “You’re wondering what it is about her, aren’t you? You know there’s something, even if you can’t put a finger on it,” Maddox said in my mind.

“I’m wondering something, that’s for sure.”

Maddox chuckled. “Keep wondering, brother.” He gazed hungrily at the woman’s retreating figure. “She’s special, Arik. So special.”

I kept my smile inside. “How?”

I caught the shake of Maddox’s shaggy head. “That’s not how this game works. Or has it been so long you don’t remember?”

“I remember.” Every detail. Every human I’d dared to get close to who’d died, just for knowing me. My chest echoed with remembered rage and pain, but my words were casual in my mind, my gaze secure on the female as if nothing else mattered.

“I thought so.” Smug satisfaction dripped from his words.

A few yards behind me, three Anigma soldiers stalked into the room, taking the same route I had. They formed a wall of muscle blocking off my exit. I met the biggest one’s gaze as anticipation surged in my blood. Apparently it was time for a game of a different kind.

I strode into the crowd. When the goon squad followed, herding me toward the front door, my griffin reared its head. I passed the end of the bar where the woman now stood, absorbing the hit of vanilla in my nose, then pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped onto the street.  Frigid winter air slapped me in the face as the Anigma soldiers who’d remained outside walked into the light to meet me.

I didn’t bother to hide my grin. “Evening, boys.”

Phoenix Falling: Archai Warriors 2

Chapter One

Sun

The cacophony of music and laughter and humans on the hunt for their latest lay stirred the animal lurking restlessly within me. My phoenix was only a bird in the strictest sense—an integral part of my being, my alternate form, he was more mythical monster than modern-day member of any class of vertebrates. When I released him, his massive form was endowed with flesh-rending talons and unstoppable strength, not to mention near immortality.

And what he wanted right now, more than anything, was to pick the meat from the bones of the closest human body for daring to disturb his peace.

Only one thing saved them: the scent of the female we had come here to meet. Risk. Her essence mingled beneath the odor of human sweat and alcohol and sex, reaching my nose and my animal simultaneously. The creature stirred in my chest now for a far different reason than anger. This was hunger of a different kind.

Need.

Lust.

My all-too-human cock stiffened immediately. I’d had the same reaction to Risk before I’d ever met her, the first time I’d caught her scent in a bar very much like this one several weeks ago. She’d been a possible source for the intel my clan needed, intel that had led us to the discovery of the enemy compound located right on our doorstep. The Anigma contingent had since been decimated, its remnants scattered, but I had no doubt that the threat was just beginning. And I needed Risk’s help to prevent the war I feared would be coming all too soon.

“Sun.” Risk leaned against a wall in the darkest corner of the club, head tilted back to meet my much taller gaze. My phoenix enhanced my eyesight, seeing every detail of her clearly. The thick blonde hair draping her shoulders, with its garish red and blue streaks. The silky-smooth skin gleaming in the dim light. And oh, that kick-ass body. Risk was high-octane sex appeal wrapped in an athletic form prepared to take down any comer, and with my phoenix’s gifted sight, I couldn’t miss a single curve of a single muscle that came together to make that gorgeous physique.

My animal took it all in, staring from my eyes, breathing in her intoxicating scent through my nose. I barely managed to suppress his avaricious growl as it rumbled up inside my chest. When it came to this woman, being both animal and man seriously sucked—there was no chance of ignoring her.

“Risk,” I murmured, her name like gravel in my tight throat. The female had gone to ground not long after our battle with Maddox’s Anigma soldiers, a fact I still found suspicious, but since she’d also dropped Cale, my fellow warrior and her former lover, around the same time, Cale had convinced me it was no more than fickle female hormones rearing their ugly head. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t be watching her closely. My phoenix would ensure that, if nothing else.

One feminine brow arched above a deep blue eye.

I quirked my own. “What?”

Risk straightened away from the wall. “I should be the one asking you that. You requested this meeting, not me.”

I had, hadn’t I? And I was standing here dazed over the female’s erotic appeal rather than getting down to business. “Of course. Perhaps we could sit.”

She turned to lead the way. “Perhaps we could.”

A frown tugged at my mouth at the same time that a hint of uncertainty tugged at my brain. And wasn’t that a mind fuck in and of itself—the Archai prince unsure of himself around a human woman. My people survived because the strongest of us ruled, and I was first in line for the throne. As part of leading the largest Archai clan in the world, formality had been drilled into me for a thousand years. What did I care if Risk was amused by the precise way that I spoke? She had been drawn to Cale, after all, the playboy of the Archai Warrior’s Council. Her type definitely wasn’t tall, deadly, and decidedly stiff.

Her type didn’t drink blood or change into a giant immortal bird either, I was certain.

Risk preceded me along the back wall of the club. I focused on not staring at her well-shaped ass outlined in a tight red dress, watching our surroundings instead until she came upon an empty booth, raised on a dais to overlook the writhing figures on the dance floor. It was as private as things got in a place like this, but Risk insisted on setting the location of our meetups. Yet another thing I had no control over when it came to her.

My phoenix screeched his displeasure at the idea that we were not the ones in charge, particularly of her. I shook off his reaction and followed Risk into the booth.

The curved walls cut the chaos of our surroundings in half, insulating the two of us in a quasi-intimate atmosphere that did nothing for my current mood. I had never met Risk alone before; always Cale had accompanied me. Now, with Risk at the back of the circle, facing out toward the club, and me moving instinctively close to grant us a modicum of privacy, the draw of the female was impossible to ignore. I had never been close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin, to taste her blood with no more than a bending of my head toward her neck. I cursed under my breath at my body’s instant reaction and scooted back a few inches, bringing my knee up onto the seat to give myself more space.

If she noticed, Risk didn’t let on. This time when she arched a brow, I knew what she was thinking.

Time to talk.

“Your assistance with our previous problem proved to be invaluable, Risk.”

She raised her hand. “There’s no need to butter me up. I did a job, and I’m happy to do another one. For the right price.”

Agreed. But first, follow-up. “We’d like to know if you’ve seen any indications that the group we discussed previously has returned to Nashville.”

She tapped her red-tipped nails against the slick table. “Not as a group, no. Though there may be individuals out there—I’m not specifically hunting them anymore—I haven’t seen the kind of activity we tracked before.”

The word hunting on her full lips had certain parts of me throbbing harder than the bass line of the current song torturing everyone from the club’s speakers. I shifted in my seat. “Good.” I narrowed my eyes on her. “If you should happen to see—”

“You’d be the first to know, big boy. Again, for the right price.”

I tilted my head, finally putting my finger on what was bothering me about Risk’s words. She was saying the right things—the right Risk-sounding things—but her tone was flat, empty. No teasing, no laughing.

Had breaking up with Cale changed her this much, or was it something else? To say that I hated the idea of Cale affecting her like this was an understatement.

“You would be compensated generously, of course.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Of course she wouldn’t. That much was pure Risk—business first.

I’d carefully considered the next order of business before bringing it to Risk’s attention. Not only could information about possible Archai females hidden in the wider human population be a priceless commodity, as seen by the fierceness with which the Anigma had sought such females out, but that same information held danger if outside forces ever learned of the person to have gained it. Giving Risk even a hint of this information made her as vulnerable to the Anigma as it did us.

Then there was the matter of trust. Risk had begun to earn ours, but with something this important, our need to be sure was high. And no matter how much my body wanted hers, I still wasn’t a hundred percent certain of the female.

But I had no choice. We desperately needed her eyes and ears, and time was passing us by.

“The males you hunted… You are aware of their attacks on the local population.”

It wasn’t a question. Risk couldn’t have failed to see things that had made her suspicious during her surveillance, even if the Anigma had been careful to hide the actual acts of triggering from nearby cameras.

Risk’s eyes narrowed on me. “You mean local women.”

Neon lights hanging over the dance floor glinted off the metallic hoop piercing her nose. Despite looking like someone who played fast and loose with everything, Risk’s calculating brain made her dangerous. But also effective. And yet it wasn’t her mind that made my animal stir inside me. Every time I looked at her, the creature that shared my body raised his head, eager to stare out of my rainbow-hued eyes at the gorgeous female.

Not that I allowed him to. A female like Risk—wild, independent, secretive—was not for me.

And yet I couldn’t deny that her appeal had never waned. She was earthy, the air around her practically vibrating with energy, both carnal and emotional. A female made for sex. And a female who used that sexual energy often if Cale’s stories were to be believed.

Definitely not for me.

We could have her for a time.

True. And I was tempted. So very tempted. My animal knew that. But…

“Local women,” I agreed.

“I’m aware,” Risk said tightly.

I looked down at the table, at Risk’s fisted hand. “A member of our”—clan—“family, a young female, was attacked by members of the group before we stopped them. It was…brutal. Vicious.” Kat had been lucky her throat wasn’t torn out when her psych power erupted from her body.

Risk ducked her head. Her knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she recovered.”

“Eventually.”

Risk looked out at the crowd. “What does this have to do with me?”

“We would like to trace the other victims.”

“Why?”

Because if they aren’t dead, they might be Archai. But I couldn’t give her that much information. I couldn’t tell her we had no way to find the women hidden in the human population who might have Archai genes in their DNA. The only way to know was to bite them. Until we figured out how to differentiate them from human females, all we had to go on were the previous victims. Some of those females now lived with us, but there were others. Many, many others.

“We want to help them. Make amends. And we want to track any leads they could give us in regard to the group itself. Any victim, alive or dead or missing, could give us a clue. This is a time-critical mission, and we have no other place to start.”

It was the line we had decided to give Risk to earn her help. When I considered how close it was to the truth, something deep inside my chest felt broken. We were missing not one female but possibly thousands, the offspring of psychs who had been separated from the Archai for hundreds of years. Those daughters carried the genes that made them capable of conversion, and every one was infinitely valuable. My clan had only recently discovered that such psychs might be hidden, unknown and unknowing, in the human world. Unfortunately our enemy had figured it out long before the Archai had.

How many females were being tortured right now, like the women we had rescued from my old friend turned Anigma general, Maddox, and his nightmare army? How long would it take to find them? How many wouldn’t survive long enough to be found?

Risk pushed the fall of her long blonde hair behind one ear. She was known in the underground as the best finder money could buy—you name it, and she could find it. I was praying that included people.

“I might be mercenary, Sun, but I won’t put women in danger without a reason.”

“I assumed you wouldn’t.”

She drilled me with that deep blue stare. “There’s more to this than what you’ve told me. I’m not buying your story.”

I said she was smart, didn’t I? “You don’t have to.” She simply had to do as I requested.

“So you want information on every attack, not only the women who escaped.”

Kat was, as far as we knew, the only triggered female to have escaped. Lyris knew one other, but she had not been bitten. “Yes. If we could start locally and then expand outward?”

Risk leaned toward me. “If I find any reason to believe you would use that list to harm them—and I will be looking—you won’t be getting it. Once I’m sure they will be safe…” Risk shrugged. “It’s your money.” She named her figure.

The price was fair. I didn’t hesitate. The Archai had no worries about money, given we’d been accumulating wealth and investments for millennia. Not to mention that I was, in fact, a prince. I gave the female a silent nod.

“Will do.” Risk began to slide her way around the opposite side of the booth. “I’ll have an answer for you by next weekend.”

She paused at the opening, her stare on the dance floor. I waited.

She glanced back at me through the veil of her hair. “It was good to see you again, Sun.”

Her words startled me. Surely she didn’t mean them. And yet there was something almost…wistful in her tone. As if she truly had missed someone. Cale, more likely. Except she had been the one to break things off with the warrior, not the other way around. Why would she miss him?

That certain something underlying her words had me speaking without thought for the first time all night. “Risk, are you all right?”

I shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t want to know. Shouldn’t care for anything more than having her body or her blood. And yet I was unable to hold the words back.

She seemed puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Why indeed. I gave her another nod.

She stood, preparing to leave.

“Risk…”

She hesitated, gaze still on her exit.

Whatever had been on the tip of my tongue, I swallowed it down. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Silver Foxes of BWB 1: 40 and (Tired of) Faking It

Chapter One

 “What the fu—uh—freak are you listening to, JD?”

John David Lane laughed at his friend’s fumble for words. Lincoln Young had no problem giving his friends shit, but if he was at his restaurant and there were women present, certain words weren’t leaving his mouth. And since he spent most of his life at the restaurant, it stood to reason that was where he’d called from.

“Nice save,” JD said, thumbing the volume on the radio down and the call on his Bluetooth up. “And what do you mean, ‘what are you listening to’? U2 is classic.” It wasn’t Linc’s favored Def Leopard or AC/DC, but JD preferred to avoid aggravating the headache already banging around inside his skull.

“According to that train of thought, so are we,” Linc grumbled.

“And you’ll always be more classic than me; don’t forget that,” JD reminded him.

The staccato sound of a knife hitting a cutting board filtered through the car speakers. Definitely at the restaurant, then. Linc was the executive chef at a restaurant with three Michelin stars, which was why he’d be taking the lead on food when their new resort was up and running. “I’m a year older, but thanks for rubbing it in my face constantly.” Linc’s muttered “asshole” was just loud enough for JD to hear.

“A year older and a shit-ton grumpier. That’s what happens when you hit middle age.”

Linc’s snarl rumbled through the car. “Keep it up and I’ll come down there on the next available flight and use this knife on you instead of this bok choy.”

JD didn’t bother holding back his laughter at his friend’s expense. When he topped the next hill, that laughter choked off

Black Wolf’s Bluff – 1 mile ahead.

Almost there.

As if he somehow sensed the tension rising in JD’s gut, Linc asked, “How much farther?”

JD took his foot off the gas, slowing as he steered the car onto the exit ramp. “About five minutes from the city limits,” he finally answered. “I’m just pulling off the interstate now.”

“See anything we can use?”

He surveyed the area as he brought the car to a stop at the intersection at the end of the ramp. When the new resort was complete, most of their guests would be coming off the interstate at this exit, whether they arrived here from Asheville, North Carolina, Chattanooga, or Nashville, Tennessee. There were only so many major roads through the Smoky Mountains. And amenities along the way were as few and far between as the interstates.

Unfortunately Black Wolf’s Bluff had been short on amenities when JD grew up here, and it didn’t look like that had changed. “I see a McDonald’s and a gas station.”

The same McDonald’s and gas station, in fact, that he’d stopped at the morning he left this “one-horse town,” filling up his belly and his car on the way to Columbia Business School thirty years ago. His acceptance letter had been the first time his grandparents, who’d raised him, had ever shown pleasure at one of his accomplishments. That moment of pride hadn’t extended to helping him get settled at the university. At eighteen, he’d driven himself to New York alone. Settled in alone. Built his life alone.

Well, not completely alone. He had his friends, the men who had become like brothers to him. He’d made a family for himself as much as he’d built a successful life for himself. New York was his home now. He’d never expected to return to the town that belonged to the family that hated him.

“Don’t think our clientele are going to consider McDonald’s an amenity.”

“Some people aren’t as much of a food snob as you are.” Though Linc had every right to be a food snob given his vocation. JD, on the other hand, wasn’t blessed with Linc’s skills in the kitchen. His friend’s snort of derision accompanied him as he crossed the road and pulled into the drive-through. Cuisine snobbery notwithstanding, he wasn’t planning a trek into Black Wolf’s Bluff proper until tomorrow. He’d stopped at the lawyer’s office in Nashville for the keys to the family mansion, but food wouldn’t be available until he scouted out a grocery store.

McDonald’s it was.

He’d have thought the area surrounding his childhood home might have built up, that things might’ve changed at least a little bit, but he should’ve known better. Nothing changed around here—at least until now. Now he was back, and everything would change. Whether the citizens of Black Wolf’s Bluff wanted them to or not. The resort JD and his friends planned to build would put Black Wolf’s Bluff on the map.

Excitement thrummed in his veins despite the fatigue of traveling all day. A new project always did that to him, but this one… They’d been planning a resort like this for a long time; they’d just needed the right property to do it. JD’s inheritance had given them the land. Now they could get the project off the ground—after he got permission from the planning commission to begin construction.

And he knew from past experience that planning commissions could be total dicks when it came to cooperation.

The sounds of chopping knives, dishes rattling, and Linc barking orders at his sous chefs—and his sneer at JD’s dinner selection—filled the car as JD ordered and picked up his food. He pulled onto the rural highway again, headed northeast toward Black Wolf’s Bluff. Through his speakers, the slam of a door told him Linc had retreated to his office. “I wish you had let me come with you,” Linc said in the sudden quiet. “Or Carter. One of us should be there, at least.”

JD couldn’t hold back a snort. “I’m fine.” He was; he wouldn’t admit otherwise, to himself or his best friend.

“You say that now, but if you’re not fine, both of us are too far away to be there quick.”

“Just get your bags ready. When I’ve got the planning commission eating out of my hand, you can swoop in and design your dream kitchen any way you like.” Black Wolf’s Bluff wouldn’t know what hit them when they got a taste of Linc’s cooking.

“If you manage to get the planning commission eating out of your hand.”

“And that’s why I’m meeting with Lillian Easton first thing in the morning. We’ve got a fantastic plan; you know we do. With the town mayor for support, hopefully we can get this project moving.” JD could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it. The lady mayor, as they’d taken to calling Mayor Easton, didn’t stand a chance.

“I hope you’re right.” Doubt colored Linc’s words.

“Of course I’m right. They don’t call me Mr. Charming for nothing, you know. This is my job. I do know how to do my job.” He might not want to be doing it here, in the place he’d left behind thirty years ago, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. “I’ll have panties dropping with my first steps into town, promise.”

“Speaking of panties…”

The words brought a groan from deep in his chest. The afternoon light became gloomier as he drove farther into the foothills, and he slowed as he racked his brain for the memory of the turnoff toward his family’s land. “Linc…”

His friend, of course, ignored the warning. “So Carter said Alicia was going off on social media last night about men being assholes.”

Shit. Exactly why he hadn’t been scrolling during the long wait at the airport this morning.

“I take it she was referring to you.” Linc’s statement was flat, not a question.

JD grunted. He really didn’t want to talk about his ex or hear about how much of an asshole he was for breaking things off. She’d known from the get-go that he enjoyed her, but he had never misled her into thinking he was looking for anything permanent. His career was his passion, not the women he dated. “She’d have been bored as hell down here anyway.”

Linc’s silence screamed that he wasn’t buying that excuse. Since JD’s divorce in his twenties, when his career first started taking off, all his energy had been targeted toward work. Having a steady girlfriend made sex convenient, but he wasn’t going to invest long term and his friends knew it. He sure as hell made certain the women he dated knew it. A permanent family wasn’t for him. He had his brothers, and that was all he needed. Or wanted.

“Someday some woman is going to knock you off your feet, bro. You won’t be able to walk away then.”

“I’m a bit old for that to be happening, aren’t I?”

“Forty-eight isn’t too old to find someone you care about, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s definitely too old to find someone. And to be a diehard romantic.” Which Linc was, gruff as he might seem. His tatted, buff-as-hell-despite-his-age friend was a widower, and losing his wife a few years ago hadn’t diminished his belief in love. JD couldn’t fathom having that much faith in anything. “I’ve yet to find a woman I couldn’t walk away from, and after this long, that’s the way it’ll probably stay.”

He slowed and put his blinker on—not that there was anyone else on the isolated highway—as he approached the winding road that went up the mountain the Lane family owned.

You mean, you own.

Exactly.

“You know what I can’t walk away from?” he asked Linc. “This project. Now get back to your kitchen and your bok choy and let me get up the mountain. I’ve got a lady mayor to impress tomorrow, and that means settling in and sleep. And shitty food.”

Linc’s laugh was lost as JD clicked off the phone.

HARVEL-BE3QH

Silver Foxes of BWB 2: 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It

Chapter One

So how does it feel to be a coward?

Claire glared at herself in the mirror, hating that she was calling herself names. Hating that she was right. She was too nervous to step out of the bathroom, because that would be the first in a short line of steps heading out of her apartment.

And those steps led to confronting ghosts from the past. Or rather, someone who wouldn’t stay a ghost.

Damn the man.

“Claire!”

She squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out her image, wishing she could block out her friend Erin’s voice as well. Why couldn’t she just stay here, hidden, and forget the outside world existed? This building, the one that held her bakery and apartment, was her haven, her sanctuary. Nothing outside these walls truly required her input, right?

She opened her eyes, gaze locking with the dark eyes staring out from the mirror.

Right. Hiding made her a coward. Got it.

“Claire?” A sharp rap on the closed door told her the time for hiding was up. “You okay in there?”

“Fine!” Okay, not fine, but what the hell. Was lying any worse than being a cowardly lion? Where was a wizard when she needed one? “I’ll be out in just a sec.”

“Good. Want me to get the food ready to go?”

Relief at the reprieve had her shoulders dropping from around her ears. “Please!”

She was a chef; she never went anywhere, including a backyard barbecue, without gobs of food. Except this backyard barbecue was being held to celebrate her best friend Lily’s recent engagement to JD Lane—and the arrival in Black Wolf’s Bluff of JD’s best friend, Lincoln Young.

The man who’d stolen Claire’s dream almost a decade ago.

“All right, girl.” She stared down her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Chocolate, that’s what her eyes reminded her of. Her favorite dark chocolate ganache, rich and shiny, gleaming in the bright sunlight. She’d always loved chocolate, from the time she was a little girl. She’d worked hard since her divorce to establish an actual friendship with that face, those eyes, to make sure that her first ally was the one staring back at her from the mirror every day, first thing in the morning. She wouldn’t let Lincoln Young steal that from her. He’d stolen enough already.

So no more of the word coward, okay?

“Okay.” She smiled. It might not reach her eyes yet, but it would. She just had to keep working at it. Straightening her shoulders, she gave herself a wink. “Let’s go.”

“Claire!”

She rolled her eyes at her reflection. “Coming!”

“Well get a move on, will ya?”

Erin didn’t tolerate delays well. She was a general contractor, a good one, and she knew how to herd cats. Even if there was only one cat, and that cat was as reluctant as all get-out to leave the safety of her bathroom.

Her friend was right, though. Claire gave her reflection a final survey, pleased that she looked damn good, forty years old or not. Minimal, effective makeup, curly hair bouncing around her shoulders—her favorite feature aside from her eyes—a light button-down and fitted skirt that showed off her curves. In her opinion it was impossible for a pastry chef to be stick-thin unless it was pure genetics—and her genetics laughed at stick-thin figures, so she was out of luck there. But she’d come to terms with her weight in the past few years—another benefit of age. Plus she had great legs. She might be short, but legs didn’t have to be long to be great. Hers were shown to advantage in the strappy berry-colored sandals that matched her shirt, the slightest heel perfect for walking on an uneven lawn while still giving her some lift. She couldn’t have chosen better armor for what was ahead.

She was as ready as she’d ever be.

A deep, full breath, then she grasped the doorknob and stepped out. Her apartment was small, a one-bedroom that fit above her bakery on Main Street in Black Wolf’s Bluff, and it took no more than a dozen steps to move from the bathroom to her tiny kitchen where Erin waited. Her friend sat at the miniscule bar, a glass of sweet tea sweating in front of her. Old-fashioned baked beans and fresh-baked sourdough, a bowl of coleslaw—the kind with mayo, not vinegar—and a carrel of cupcakes waited beside her.

“’Bout time,” Erin groused. She stood from her stool, smoothing down her pants legs. Erin’s love of overalls was a religion, but at least today she’d traded denim for cool linen over a thin silk shirt, the outfit elegantly draping her tall, athletic frame. “What was taking so long?”

“Just running late.” So it was a bit of a fib. No one else knew about her history with their new-in-town guest, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to share.

The shrewd way Erin eyed her said she might be running out of time on that. “Something’s been off with you lately, and it isn’t just your timing.”

Claire opened the fridge to grab the pan of strawberry-pretzel salad. That the move kept her from having to meet her friend’s eyes was a bonus. “Nothing is ‘off.’”

“Yes, it is.” Erin’s stare dug into her as she crossed the kitchen to add the dessert to the pile. “What’s going on? Are you worried about the expansion?”

“Absolutely not.” Total truth. She’d wanted to expand her bakery for years now, not just physically but pushing more into her art, adding more upscale pastries that the customer base here in her small hometown simply didn’t have an interest in and often couldn’t afford. The chance to add a second store in the upcoming Black Wolf Resort and feature her pastry skills in their top-notch restaurant would allow her to do exactly that. “I’m ready.”

“For the expansion or to go to Lily’s?” Erin teased. She finished the final swallow of her tea on the walk over to the sink, than added the glass to the top rack of the dishwasher. “And we’re not going until you tell me what’s up.”

“Wasn’t it you just nagging me about being late?”

Erin shrugged, a smile teasing her mouth. “Being late will just draw more attention when we finally do arrive.”

Claire blanched.

Erin arched a brow. “I knew it was something about this barbecue that was getting to you. You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof since Lily started discussing it. What’s going on?” Moving closer, she gripped Claire’s bare arm softly, frowning down at her. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

She did know. The problem was, she wasn’t sure spilling her guts would help. But she also knew that look in Erin’s eyes; it meant she wasn’t getting out of here without some kind of explanation.

Erin leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not intimidated by having a high-profile chef here, are you? Because you shouldn’t be. He might be from New York City”—Erin gave those three words the quirky cowboy accent from the Old El Paso commercials Claire remembered from the ’90s, making her snort—“but that doesn’t mean he’s better than you.”

Lincoln did have more talent than she did, at least as a chef; she had enough self-awareness to acknowledge that. Heck, he had more talent than 95 percent of the food experts in the world. Lincoln Young hadn’t gotten where he was in the culinary world on looks and charm alone, although he had plenty of that to go along with his genius. When it came to pastry, though, that was a whole other deal. Creating desserts people melted over was her passion, and though pastry chefs like the ones she’d studied under during her time at the Institute of Culinary Education in New York City might top her, no way could Lincoln Young ever beat her in a pastry stand-off. She knew that from personal experience.

Not that she’d tell Erin that.

“No, he doesn’t intimidate me,” Claire assured her. Not a total lie. He didn’t intimidate her on a professional level, but on a personal one? She refused to think about that. “Lincoln will oversee the restaurant”—at least at first, since he had a Michelin-starred restaurant and a celebrity-chef career to manage elsewhere—“and that would make him somewhat my boss, but no, I don’t think he can fault me where my food is concerned.”

Erin began gathering bowls and pans onto the small cart she’d brought to carry everything. “Good, because he shouldn’t. I know I’m no expert, but I’ve never tasted anything better than your food, Claire.”

Erin had never been out of the South, so she’d never experienced the wonders of the New York food scene, but her friend’s words touched her heart. “Thank you, Erin.”

Her phone buzzed in her skirt pocket, and Claire fished it out. Her heart took a nosedive as she read the text.

Dinner is almost on the table and everyone is here. Where are you?

“Is that Lily?” Erin asked as she finished transferring the last of the food.

“No such luck.” Following behind her friend as she steered the cart toward the back door, Claire typed rapidly in response: Mama, I told you tonight is Lily and JD’s engagement party. I won’t be at family dinner tonight.

Her mother’s response had her lips tightening before she thumbed her phone off and slid it back into her pocket.

A knowing look sparked in Erin’s eyes. “Mom giving you a hard time again?”

It would be funny if it wasn’t so painful. “Missing family dinner for time with my heathen friends?” Her eye roll shouted exactly what she thought of that label. No, her mother hadn’t said it exactly that way, but Claire read the subtext just fine. “Why would she give me a hard time about that?”

Erin snorted. “We’re more fun anyway.”

Her friend wasn’t wrong. Most family dinners were spent with her mother fawning over Claire’s brothers’ children and giving Claire disapproving looks anytime she discussed her business. According to her family, her place in the world was barefoot and pregnant while her husband “provided” for her and the brood of children she was obligated to provide in turn.

Yeah, she’d tried that route. To say it hadn’t worked out was the understatement of the century.

She moved around Erin and the cart to open the door, doing her best to ignore the ache behind her breastbone. “Y’all are definitely more fun,” she threw over her shoulder. “And you have alcohol.”

“You know it!” Erin pushed her load onto the stair landing, then waited for Claire to lock up.

Her friend’s response lightened Claire’s mood. She usually limited herself to two drinks at any gathering—she was definitely a lightweight when it came to alcohol—but she might have the first one quick when they got to Lily’s. Anything to ease the nerves that resumed with a vengeance as they maneuvered the cart down to the car and began to load the food into the back seat of Erin’s truck. She had little choice but to move forward if she wanted the opportunity at Black Wolf Resort, and that meant facing Lincoln Young head-on.

Who knew? Maybe she’d get lucky and their time together so long ago would be lost amid the excitement and demands of the jet-setting life he’d lived for the last nine years. Surely he’d forgotten one shy little pastry-chef intern by now.

Lincoln Young probably wouldn’t even recognize her.

But as they began the short drive over to Lily’s house, she knew the likelihood of that happening was nil. She’d never been that lucky.

HARVEL-LQXQF

Silver Foxes of BWB 3: 40 and (So Over) Fixing It

Chapter One

Carter Deveraux was going to kill his sister. No more blind dates, no more harassing him till he agreed. He wouldn’t have to put up with Emma’s pestering because she wouldn’t be around to pester him anymore. He would make sure of it.

“Carter?”

The woman standing beside his table had to be at least half his age. Maybe more, given he would be fifty in a few months and she didn’t look like she was out of her teens. That might just be the clothes, though; the barely knee-length plaid skirt she wore was more suited to a Catholic schoolgirl than a dinner at a restaurant listed in the top ten of New York City. Come to think of it, so was the tight white button-down. And God almighty, she was wearing knee socks.

Thank God he hadn’t taken her to the Prime—Linc would never let him hear the end of this.

He belatedly realized he was still sitting and came to his feet. “Chloe?” Was that the name Emma had given him? Or maybe it was Zoey? All the women she’d set him up with were starting to run together at this point, which probably meant he should take a long, long break from dating.

As he pulled out the woman’s chair, trying hard not to stare down the deep vee of her open shirt, he amended that thought. A permanent break would be best, at least if it was Emma engineering the dates.

“Zoey.” She smiled up at him, her lips a soft pink that reminded him of his cousin’s youngest daughter. He tried hard to shake that thought as he returned to his seat.

“I apologize, Zoey. It’s nice to meet you.”

Their waiter came by with the bottle of Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc he’d ordered before Zoey arrived, and Carter resisted the urge to card his own date to verify her age.

And he’d thought having a ten-year-old son made him feel old. He couldn’t resist rubbing a hand over the beard that covered his jaw—a beard that was more white than dark blond these days—as he stared down at the menu. Emma had to have set him up with Zoey just to mess with him. This wasn’t about making up for Carter being alone while Thad was with his mother for the weekend. This was about Emma fucking with her older brother, and when he finally escaped this nightmare of a date, he was going straight to wherever his sister was and strangling her.

After they ordered, Carter poured Zoey a glass of the wine, sticking to water himself. “Where did you say you knew Emma from?” His sister seemed to know everyone and made friends as easily as other people breathed.

Zoey fingered a strand of her silky blonde hair, which he had to admit was eye-catching as it fell over her shoulders. “We met at Zen.”

Of course they had. Emma’s favorite bar, right around the corner from her apartment. Sometimes he thought she spent more time there than she did at home. Of course, she didn’t cook, so Zen’s above-average kitchen made meals convenient. And everyone loved her there. Literally the entire bar lit up when she came in.

That was his sister for you. Life of the party—and the source of trouble, always.

“Oh. When was that?”

“Last week.”

As Zoey told the story of meeting a group of friends at the bar, then striking up a conversation with Emma over martinis, he resisted the urge to lecture her on the dangers of trusting people in the city, particularly on dates. He wasn’t her parent, after all.

Not that she seemed bothered by their age difference. She was currently fingering her wineglass as she stared up at him adoringly. That look had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“So…you’re a daddy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m a father, yes.”

She traced the soft curve of her glass, the long pink tip of her fingernail matching that baby-pink lipstick. “Do you believe in corporal punishment?”

He choked on the swallow of water he’d taken just to give himself something to do with his hands. “Do I what?”

She glanced up at him from beneath unnaturally long lashes that framed soft, innocent-looking blue eyes. “You know…spanking.”

His lips tightened. He really was going to strangle Emma. “No. No, I don’t spank my boy.”

“Boy?” Zoey straightened in her seat, the flirtatious facade falling away in favor of a confused pout. “You have boys?”

“I have a son.” Surely Emma had told her. Oh, not details about Thaddeus, of course, but that he had a child.

She tilted her head, and a lock of golden hair curved over one side of her face. “But have you ever wanted a baby girl?”

“Sure, maybe.” Although he was getting a bit old for that. His ex, Rachel, hadn’t wanted children until her career had been well-established. She’d also been ten years younger than him. Bringing home a newborn was a totally different thing at thirty than at forty. He was definitely feeling his age with Thad rapidly approaching his teen years.

At least his son hadn’t decided he was too old to cuddle with his old man yet.

“How about now?”

His gaze jerked from the cut-crystal glass he held to the woman across the table from him. What the hell was she talking about? “Now?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, the flirtatious curve of her lips dotted perfectly in the center with a drop of her wine. He watched in horrified fascination as her tongue sneaked out and swiped up the last lingering bit. “Now. There are plenty of baby girls available if you just…look around.”

Baby girl.

Daddy.

Baby girl.

Daddy.

Spanking.

“No.” The word shot from his mouth with zero finesse. “No, definitely not now. Not—”

Zoey’s flirtatious look shattered, laughter taking over. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

He couldn’t stop staring as Zoey leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach as if it ached as she laughed and laughed. Each time the sound eased off, she’d take another look at him and off she went again. He was beginning to get irritated when she finally caught her breath enough to explain.

“I’m sorry, Carter.” Chuckles bubbled up, interrupting her words. “I thought I could do this, but I just can’t keep it together. The look on your face…”

More laughter. What was wrong with his face?

And then he remembered.

“She put you up to this, didn’t she?” he asked sourly. He’d even considered the idea earlier. The Catholic schoolgirl outfit—and that’s definitely what it was, he could see now—had tipped him off, but he’d never considered Zoey being in on it.

And thank God she was. Saved him from some very awkward conversation after the baby-girl comment.

He ran a hand down his face, scrubbing hard. Now that he thought about it, strangling might be too good for Emma.

When he looked again, Zoey was still struggling to control her amusement. Her laughter made him feel about the same age as Methuselah.

“She did put me up to it,” Zoey confirmed. Her bright smile dimmed a bit as she watched him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His chuckle was still a bit reluctant. “You, I don’t mind. Emma…”

“She’s in for it later, I gather?”

“Definitely.” From the corner of his eye he noticed their waiter approaching with full plates of food and sighed, releasing his pent-up irritation at his sister—for now. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy dinner.”

And they did. When Zoey dropped the flirtatious facade, he found a pleasant young woman—still far too young for him at twenty-four—who was easy to talk to and spend time with. She told him how she’d met Emma during a “munch” her BDSM group was having at Zen, how Emma had overheard a bit of conversation and introduced herself. Which didn’t surprise him at all. And the sense of fun he got from Zoey told him exactly why she’d agreed to this blind date.

“Besides”—Zoey shrugged as they lingered a bit, waiting for dessert—“you never know when an older guy is going to be interested in someone a bit younger.”

“I don’t think it’s difficult to find an older man who’ll go for a younger woman.” That seemed to be the preferred scenario with too many men he knew.

“But not you, huh?”

“My son is nearly half your age, Zoey,” he told her.

Her laughter said she didn’t take offense. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

After dinner, he hailed a taxi in the early evening rush of traffic, settled Zoey inside, and prepaid the fare before giving her a wave as she drove away, all the while thinking about how many times in the past year he’d sent a woman home in a taxi, either after dinner or after something else. He wasn’t celibate and he had no objections to a little fun, but women didn’t stay overnight on the rare occasions Thad was with his mother and Carter found someone he was interested in. After this, though, he felt like a moratorium on dating was a necessity to cleanse his palate.

A daddy?

As he waited at the corner for the light to change, he snatched his phone from his back pocket, then crossed the street with the crowd, beginning the ten-block walk to his penthouse. His temples tightened with a headache as he clicked on his sister’s name and waited. Emma picked up just as he came to the next cross street.

She was already laughing.

“I guess you thought that was funny.”

“I don’t even have to hear your version of what happened to know it was damn hilarious,” Emma said, her laughter nearly choking her. She always reminded him of sunshine, which allowed her to get away with far more little-sister shit than he would like to admit. Today, though, he’d forgotten his sunglasses and wasn’t in the mood.

“Putting Zoey in that position wasn’t funny.”

Emma’s laughter didn’t dim the least bit. “She was in on the whole thing. How’d you like the outfit, by the way?”

He growled.

Emma snickered. “Lighten up, Daddy.”

“If you’d like I can come over there and show you what corporal punishment is all about.”

“Don’t think so,” Emma sing-songed. “Even our daddy couldn’t get away with that.”

Not that he’d tried much. Emma was a force of nature, bowling all of them over. When she got her head wrapped around an idea, there was no shaking it. Unfortunately his dating life was the idea she’d wrapped around, and she wasn’t letting loose.

He had to stop appeasing her.

“Tell me you didn’t have a little fun,” she said. “You could be at home in that New York loft, looking out on a bustling city with silence behind you. With Thad at his mom’s…”

“It’s quiet. I know.” He sighed, releasing his irritation with his breath. “I actually do like quiet every once in a while.”

“You’d wallow in it if I let you.”

“At least next week I’ll be gone and you won’t be able to throw any new prospects at me.” He and Thad were headed to the Tennessee mountains to see JD and his new fiancée. Apparently the mansion was surrounded by woods that would be perfect for Thad to get out and explore. Even if the idea of woods gave Carter hives. Talk about quiet. He definitely wasn’t a woods kind of guy. He wasn’t sure why JD seemed to enjoy it so much. Or Lincoln, who thrived on the adrenaline of his constantly packed Manhattan restaurant.

Guess sex could adle any man’s brains.

“Watch it or I’ll follow you down there,” Emma warned.

He shut up and let her babble on about meeting Zoey, which led to various other topics in a stream of consciousness he could barely follow. Yes, he was definitely looking forward to getting away next week. He loved his family, but their mission to make sure he was happy since his divorce was getting a little too intrusive.

Especially Emma. Maybe he’d get lucky and his cell phone wouldn’t get reception at JD’s place.

Emma was winding down about the time he reached the door to his building. “I’m about to hit the elevator, Sis. I’ll have to catch you later.”

“You better. I plan to get all the juicy tidbits from Zoey in the meantime. Bye!”

Carter groaned. Of course she would. And every last moment would be dissected until she found just the right pieces to rib him about.

Great.

When was he leaving?

HARVEL-6CNR3

Silver Foxes of BWB 4: 40 and Flashing (the Scotsman) A Small-Town Over-40 Christmas Story

Chapter One

“For someone who flies all the time, you sure hate planes with a passion,” Carter said.

Gavin Blackwood frowned at his best friend and business partner. “Nog planes. Seats. It’s the fuc”—he caught himself with a glance down at Carter’s wide-eyed son, Thad—“er…seats.” He shook out his aching legs as the three made their way down the concourse toward what would hopefully be an acceptable breakfast. Airport food was almost as minging as airplane seats.

Okay, call him a snob. He preferred the term particular, but whatever. He spent most of his life traveling, so it seemed counterproductive to also spend it denying that he enjoyed the simple pleasures in life. Multiple times he’d considered learning to fly himself or hiring a private plane, but why add to the greenhouse emissions for himself when he could spread the burden across a full flight?

“Was business class not comfortable for some reason?” his friend asked, guiding Thad into the line waiting outside the restaurant.

“I didn’t end up in business class.” And coach fucking sucked. There, he could say it in his head without corrupting young minds. Travel brought out the grump in him when not much else did. What he didn’t tell Carter was that he’d given up his business-class seat to a young mother with a crying babe halfway through the eight-hour flight. Long legs or no, he hadn’t been able to stand the wee one’s pitiful cries when he could provide a small amount of comfort.

The hostess found them a table, and the cheerful chatter of happy travelers wrapped around him as Carter and Thad settled on food. The holiday decorations and the joy of people on the way to their Christmas celebrations helped lift his mood, as did the cocktail he ordered with his breakfast. It might be ten a.m. in New York, but it had been noon when he left Scotland eight hours ago. That made it time for drinking back home despite the eggs and rashers on his plate. Carter and his son had arrived at the airport early for their flight in order to share a meal before the three of them took the next leg from New York to Nashville. Then it was a four-hour slog of a drive from Nashville to Black Wolf’s Bluff, where they should arrive right on time for JD and Lily’s rehearsal dinner tonight.

The thought of his friends’ Christmas Day wedding lifted his spirits even more. December was his favorite time of the year despite what was usually wet, gloomy Edinburgh weather, perhaps because he received a perverse delight out of loving something his father hated. Having lived around the bah-humbug attitude of his da all his life, he’d thrown himself into the Christmas spirit from a young age. He couldn’t think of a better time of year for a wedding, particularly in the lovely Tennessee mountains. They were even predicting snow.

The next leg of the journey felt twice as long despite taking half the time. Carter urged him to catch some z’s, but dealing with jet lag frequently had taught him to keep himself awake as long as possible for the early hours of the day in whatever location he found himself. When they landed in Nashville, Carter drove the SUV east toward the small town that JD had grown up in, so Gavin allowed himself a short nap in the car to get him through the evening’s festivities. By the time they exited the interstate and passed a McDonald’s Thad informed him was the landmark that meant they were “almost there,” he was awake and ready to be out of a moving vehicle of any kind for a good long time.

On a long stretch of winding road strangely reminiscent of rural Scotland, bare of any landmarks, Carter slowed and made a left turn that took them up a mountainside. Fresh pavement formed a three-lane road Carter informed him had been put in place in October when he and Thad first visited. In the back seat, Carter’s son was bouncing within the confines of his seat belt as they made their way up. The altitude put pressure on Gavin’s ears much like the airplane rides had. About halfway up the mountain, a stone fence appeared alongside the road, leading to stone pillars holding an open gate. Through the entrance was a large manor house, its wings spread to either side in a wide vee.

JD Lane stepped onto the small portico as they drove into the courtyard. His friend’s tall frame fit with the elaborate home his family had built years ago. Coming back to this town and this house had not been easy for the man, but he’d found a happiness none of them expected when he’d met the mayor of Black Wolf’s Bluff, Lily Easton. Now the two would be married in a few short days.

JD jogged out to welcome them as Carter parked the SUV. “Hey!” He snatched Thad up for a hug when the ten-year-old tried to zoom past him. “What’s your hurry?”

Thad laughed, squirming in his “uncle’s” hold. “I want to see Erin.”

“Well, give me a hug first.”

After JD squeezed a hug out of him, the boy sprinted uphill to find Erin, Carter’s girlfriend—although Gavin suspected the relationship was more serious than the term girlfriend signified.

“Don’t go up that mountain in the dark without me,” Carter called.

“Aw, Dad!”

Carter gave his son a stern look. “You can wait two minutes.”

And two minutes was all it took for Carter to unpack the SUV and turn to follow his son up the hill.

“Abandonin’ me so soon, brother?” Gavin asked his departing back.

Carter turned around but kept walking backward, a grin lighting up his face. “No offense, but you aren’t as good-looking as Erin.”

“What? I don’ believe that.”

“Believe it.”

“Dad!”

“Duty calls,” Carter said to Gavin. His face held no hint of regret.

“I don’ think it’s duty so much as”—he looked past Carter to Thad and his wee listening ears and held back the word on the tip of his tongue—“somethin’ else.”

“You know it.” Carter gave him a sarcastic salute. “Bye.”

Gavin chuckled as he hauled his carry-on inside.

“Ya’ve completed a lot more of the renovations than I realized,” he observed as JD showed him to a room.

“The manor should be complete by February. No thanks to Linc throwing us off schedule.”

“Oh?”

“Carter didn’t tell you that story?” JD chuckled. “Linc decided on his first visit to preempt Erin’s construction plans and start on the complete gutting of the kitchen so he would have an excuse to horn his way into Claire’s bakery.”

Gavin grinned. “Sounds like that twat.”

The kitchen was spectacular; Gavin had to give Linc that much credit. Chrome and stainless steel sparkled in the bright overhead lights as he and JD entered after stowing his things upstairs. Lily, JD’s fiancée, sat at the bar countertop, a glass of what he presumed was sweet tea—given that they were in the South—condensating at her elbow.

Gavin held out his arms. “Lily, love!”

“Gavin!”

They hadn’t met face-to-face before now, but he and Lily had spoken via chat and video calls with JD several times. The bride-to-be stood to give him a welcome hug. Gavin threw in a quick kiss on the cheek just to hear JD complain. Lily’s amused look said she knew his game well. He imagined Linc played the same one—JD was nothing if not predictable.

Settled at the bar with a hot tea, also sweet, he and Lily chatted about wedding details for a while, JD joining in between work phone calls.

“No one wants to lose the chance to talk to him before he goes offline,” Lily explained.

“And when is that?” Gavin asked.

“Right now,” JD said, clicking his phone off. He walked around the island to give his fiancée a quick kiss. “No more work till we get back from the honeymoon. My new admin is more than capable of handling anything else.”

“With Christmas four days away, everyone else will be going offline soon too.” Lily lifted her glass and sipped her tea, humming as the cool liquid hit her tongue.

JD cleared his throat, shifting behind the island. Gavin hid a smile. Good to know the sparks were alive and well for his friends.

Lily, seeming oblivious to her effect on her fiancé, glanced at her watch. “I need to get ready so I can swing by and pick up Scarlett on our way to the restaurant.”

Gavin paused, teacup halfway to his mouth. “Anythin’ I can help with?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask.”

Gavin gave her his flirtiest grin. “Put me to work, please.”

JD grunted his displeasure. “Yes, Lily, put him to work.”

Gavin winked at Lily from the side JD couldn’t see.

Lily chuckled but shook her head. “My friend Scarlett needs a ride to the rehearsal dinner, but navigating these hills can be a PITA.” She shot JD a frown. “I wouldn’t ask someone who’s never been here to drive them at night.”

Gavin scoffed. “Have ya no’ seen roads in Scotland? One lane and two cars, my bonnie lass.” He laid the brogue on thick.

“Let him go, Lily,” JD said. “Maybe he’ll get lost and we won’t have to put up with his flirting all night at the rehearsal dinner.”

Lily gave her fiancé a look.

JD gave her an insincere smile in return. “No, seriously, please send him. He can practice his playboy act on your single friends instead of you.”

Gavin’s ears perked up. “Single friends?”

Lily’s eyes sparkled. “That got your attention, huh?”

“It did.” He splayed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Did Carter not tell ya why I came to Black Wolf’s Bluff?”

“For our wedding?” JD interjected.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “O’ course not.” He turned his attention back to Lily. “Every time one of my friends comes here to visit, they find their dream woman. Why should I be any different?” Not that he was looking for a dream woman, if one even existed for him. His father, on the other hand, had been married six times. Gavin had put strict boundaries around his own love life for that very reason, long ago. But he wasn’t above a good time while he was here.

After a moment of thought, Lily gave in. “I should probably be offended by the fact that our wedding isn’t a priority—”

“Now, I never said that.”

“You didn’t not say it either,” Lily pointed out, her amusement plain. “So I’ll give you the directions, but no funny business with my friend, got it, Gavin? I don’t want any heartbreak after my wedding when you fly back off to Edinburgh.”

“Sure now, Lily. This charm is a weapon that must be wielded with care. I promise to leave all the female residents of Black Wolf’s Bluff with whole hearts.”

“You’d better.” After giving him directions as well as the address for his GPS, Lily sent him down the mountain toward town in JD’s SUV.

HARVEL-BE3QH

Southern Nights: Enigma 1 - Come For Me

Exclusive Excerpt

“Tap out, stupid bastard.”

“Tap out’s for sissies,” Saint wheezed. Considering Dain had the man’s shoulder pressed into his carotid, cutting off blood flow, getting out a single recognizable word would be amazing—three was a fucking miracle.

“Ten seconds, Saint,” Elliot said nearby, warning the man how much time he had before he was likely to black out. “Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—”

King swore from the other side of the mat. “Saint!”

Without warning Dain’s captive flipped his long legs into the air, his spine bending in ways that would seem impossible with his neck immobile. But he had the length in his torso to manage. In a blink his knees were on either side of Dain’s head and his calves were locked at Dain’s nape. Before Dain could duck his head to slip out of the hold, Saint flung him over his long body, loosening his legs at the end to keep from breaking Dain’s neck.

“One!” Elliot yelled as Dain’s back slammed into the mat. With a quick kippup, Saint’s massive weight landed on top of him, crushing the air from his lungs without warning.

“Goddamn.” It was Dain’s turn to wheeze.

“Dain!”

The yell from the workout room door brought all their heads up except Dain’s, stuck beneath one of Saint’s bony knees.

“Code Red,” Jack Quinn called. There was no hesitation in their response; all four team members were on their feet and running for the door in seconds.

“Where’s the party?” Dain yelled as they raced after his boss down the hall toward one of the conference rooms. Jack shook his head but didn’t answer, causing Dain’s heartbeat to pick up speed. Jack Quinn was the head of JCL Security, and the man was anything but reactionary; if he said it was bad, it was bad. Code Red was never anything less. They weren’t on assignment right now, though. Had someone else’s op gone sideways?

The four of them packed through the door to the conference room behind their boss. The massive table that dominated the space was empty, but at the end of the room the wide-screen TV hanging on the far wall blared one of the local channels. The sound assaulted Dain’s ears as his eyes adjusted to what was on the screen: a close-up of a female reporter he recognized from the usual early morning newscast holding a microphone to her red lips, the wind blowing her blonde hair into her eyes as she spoke.

“Officer Mays, what can you tell us about the situation? Any updates?”

The camera panned to a petite, dark-haired policewoman Dain recognized as one of the Public Information Officers at the Atlanta PD. “No updates as of yet. We are still establishing communications with the suspects and determining how many hostages are currently in the building.”

“Is the entire building at risk?”

The glint of impatience in Mays’s eyes wasn’t reflected in her words. “Not at this time. All floors except the top have been evacuated. Only the fourth floor suite is involved.”

“Where—”

Dain had barely gotten the word out of his mouth when the camera panned back behind the anchorwoman to the building in question. A familiar building. The one that held Georgia Financial Management Services.

Livie.

No. Fuck no. “Jack!”

His boss stood on the opposite side of the table, the office phone to his ear, but he jerked it down to tell Dain, “I’m trying to find out. Hang on.”

The blonde was speaking again. “For those who are just joining us, would you please recap what is known at this point?”

Officer Mays nodded. “We received a 911 call this morning alerting us to a situation at Georgia Financial. Responding officers determined that gunmen were present, as were employees we believe are being held hostage. Negotiations are forthcoming, and in the meantime, we have asked the public to avoid this area until the situation has been resolved.”

“Do we know how many hostages are inside? How many gunmen?”

Mays’s face revealed nothing. “Not at this time. We want to assure the public that the APD will do everything possible to resolve this situation. The safety of the hostages and of our citizens is of paramount concern.” With a nod at the camera, Mays walked away.

As the anchor promised more information soon and tossed the segment back to her cohort in the studio, Dain fought for breath. “King, I want to know what they know,” he barked.

“I’m on it,” King said roughly behind him before rushing from the room. Their PR liaison knew everyone who was anyone at the Atlanta Police Department. Dain gave his team member’s assurance an absent nod, his gaze still fixed on the television, the screen now showing the local studio and the male news anchor who normally had the blonde sitting next to him. Dain couldn’t remember his name and didn’t care. He picked up the remote and muted the chatter.

“Elliot,” he snapped.

The only female member of his team stepped to his side. Her petite stature forced her to look up at him, one eyebrow quirked in question. Worry clouded her eyes.

“Go to my desk and get my personal cell.”

Elliot nodded and ran for the door. Dain tried to force air in and out while he waited. Based on the strain in his heart and lungs, he was pretty sure he didn’t succeed worth a damn. The TV screen was showing a segment on grills. Who the hell cared about grills when his wife could be in danger? But he didn’t dare look away in case they showed more news on the standoff.

Jack slammed the phone down on its cradle with a hissed “Fuck.” No answers, then. Hopefully King—

Elliot swung through the door. “Here,” she said and tossed Dain’s cell phone across the room before her short legs could carry her to him. He snagged it out of the air and thumbed it on blindly.

“Come on, come on.” Livie had gone in to work early. She would’ve called—shit! He wasn’t thinking straight. Dain, who never lost his cool on a job, couldn’t think past the fact that his wife was in that damn building.

“She would’ve called my office phone if there was a situation, wouldn’t she?” Assuming she could call at all, but he refused to think about that. “Can you check my office voice mail?”

“Already done,” Elliot said. “No messages.”

He blessed her under his breath as his phone came online. A red circle with the number one inside sat in the upper right-hand corner of the phone icon.

One message.

He couldn’t breathe.

Forcing himself not to tighten his grip until the phone crumbled to bits in his hand, he tapped the icon, navigating his way to voice mail. Livie’s name waited at the top of the message list.

He tapped the Play button, then Speaker. Livie’s voice broke through the chaos in the room—or maybe that was just his pounding heart.

“Dain?”

He swore, the words blistering his throat with the effort to keep them quiet. He upped the volume, not about to miss a single word, a sound, anything.

The sound of her throat clearing came through, then a stronger, “Dain, there’s something wrong here. Stan’s— Stan’s dead. There’s blood.”

Livie. His wife…she was with a dead coworker. Dain choked on the emotion welling in his chest; he couldn’t stop the reaction no matter how unprofessional it was. He’d been in life-and-death situations before, but never… “Wife,” he whispered, straining to hear her next words. Would they be her last?

“I can’t find everyone else. I’m going to the kitchen. I’m in the kitchen, okay?”

“That’s good.”

It took him a moment to register Jack’s voice. He stared blindly at his boss. “What?”

“The kitchen. There will be weapons there, right?”

Right. And he’d trained Livie to recognize them.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll call your office after I call the cops, okay? I’m all right. I am…”

Livie hesitated on the recording as Dain met Elliot’s horrified gaze. “What’s the time?” Elliot asked him. When he shook his head, she nodded toward the phone. “The time on the message—what is it?”

He barely had the presence of mind to hit Pause before checking. “Nine thirty?” But that made no sense. Livie had left by seven. Why would she just be arriving at the office at nine thirty?

What time was it now? The clock on the conference room wall read 10:04. So Livie had called the police. She’d said she was going to, so surely—

Jack’s voice broke through Dain’s daze. “Play the rest.”

He stared down at the screen. Thirty seconds were left on the recording. If he played them, would Livie disappear at the end? Or would waiting mean she waited for him in real life too?

“Stupid idea. Trying hard to blanket the chaos in his head with a numbness that was usually second nature on an op, Dain clicked Play.

“Dain? Listen, I need to tell you, just in case. I know I’ll be fine, but just in case…” A pause. Tell him what? He bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, forcing back a scream. Tell him what? “Dain, I’m pregnant. Do you understand? I’m pregnant, husband. I’m having our baby, so you come get me, damn it. Come get us.” He heard a sigh that shook so much it told him exactly how scared she was. “I love you, Dain.”

When the message stopped, so did his heart. Pregnant?

“Fuck!” No way could he be numb after that. Tears stung his eyes, made the phone screen waver in front of him.

He raised the cell to hurl it across the room. Saint’s broad hand stopped him midswing. “I think we might need that, Boss.”

Dain cradled the phone to his chest and forced himself to get a grip. Blinked away the tears. Took a deep breath. Livie needed him; he had to focus. “I’m so going to spank her ass when this is over,” he choked out.

Elliot muffled a laugh behind closed lips.

King rushed into the room, and Dain forced back the emotions clouding his head once again. “What do we know?” he asked, sliding the phone into his back pocket. His team seemed to recognize the shift into work mode; they gathered around the table and started laying out the facts.

“Jerry gave me the basics,” King said as he joined them. “Livie works for Georgia Financial, doesn’t she?”

Dain didn’t need anything else; he saw the truth in King’s expression. “How many combatants?”

“More than one; that’s all Jerry knows. They received a phone call from a female that was cut short. Officers responding to the call found the doors locked. When they tried to force entry, the suspects showed themselves—and their weapons. Threats against the employees. The cops backed off.”

Following procedure. Dain understood it even as his heart protested.

“SWAT is on site now, setting up. The Crisis Negotiation Team is en route. Unfortunately that puts us in a holding pattern.”

“The call from the female, who was it?”

King shook his head. “Jerry didn’t have a name. Why?”

Because he needed to know if it had been Livie. Because he needed to know if his wife was alive before he completely lost every bit of the control he was known for.

He needed his wife, damn it. He couldn’t breathe without her. Couldn’t imagine waking up a single morning without her beside him, safe and sound. He wouldn’t—no, couldn’t accept anything else.

If that meant he had to be the one to make her safe, he would. Or die trying.

Southern Nights: Enigma 2 - Deceive Me

Chapter One

“I’m not a fucking nanny, Dain.”

“Not with a mouth like that.”

Elliot shot a deadly look Saint’s way, but her team member shrugged it off. She seriously considered strangling the man with the crucifix he wore around his neck, but it wouldn’t matter. Their boss would simply replace him with someone even more annoying just to get back at Elliot for the inconvenience. Instead she turned her back to the room and sought calm outside the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a perfect view of downtown Atlanta.

Okay, the calm came from avoiding the three amused sets of eyes behind her, but whatever.

The members of her team remained silent, though she could feel their stares burning into her back. Good men. She couldn’t have asked for better. Dain Brannan, or Daddy as they sometimes called him, was the head of their particular team here at JCL Security, the one who took care of the rest of them. Saint, or Iggy—the six-two, massive warrior took personal exception to the use of his full name, Saint Ignatius Solorio—was the joker of the bunch, always saying what everyone was thinking but would never politely admit. He also had an encyclopedic knowledge of weapons that made him invaluable despite the constant temptation to kick his ass. And then there was King—Kingsley Moncrief. No one would guess from looking into the man’s assessing eyes that he’d been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. Acting as their client and media liaison was a natural role for him, but Elliot had never doubted how lethal King could be in the field.

All three men stayed quiet, waiting for her cool head to take over. Waiting for the pressure of their silence to push her into complying. They knew her as well as she knew them.

“I don’t want to be shoved into a role because I have the requisite vagina,” Elliot bit out.

When Dain chuckled, she whipped around to glare at him. He raised a hand to stop her in her tracks, a smile still on his lips. “Think about it, Otter. A four-year-old girl. Look at us.” He gestured at the two men flanking him, both over six feet and muscular. Tough. Scary, if you weren’t Elliot. “Do you really think a child is going to be particularly comfortable with us? Or that she’ll trust us as fast as she needs to? This isn’t some forty-year-old visiting dignitary’s wife we can simply talk into complying; it’s a kid.”

Elliot refused to let Dain’s use of her call sign influence her. “She would trust you. Everyone trusts you.” And they did. Dain wasn’t called Daddy only because he watched out for his team.

“Maybe. But with you, it’s guaranteed.”

Because she was tiny. The truth of the knowledge burned in her gut. She didn’t like appearing weak, though she wasn’t above using it to her advantage. She’d taken down many a fighter in the ring because they thought she was an easy target. They learned otherwise quickly, much to their detriment.

So yeah, she got it. That didn’t mean she wanted to admit it.

Elliot sighed like a teenager being forced to wash dishes instead of a kick-ass security specialist being assigned a new client. “Do I really have a choice?”

No, of course not.

The side of Dain’s mouth quirked up in a smirk she knew meant he thought he’d gotten his way. Again. Bastard. “Not really.”

Another sigh. “Fine.”

That earned an all-out laugh. “Fine. Can we meet the client now?”

Elliot grumbled under her breath as she followed Dain to the door of his office. King chuckled as he fell in line behind her. Saint, of course, simply had to add an, “And don’t forget to watch your mouth, little Otter.”

Elliot growled back at him before she stepped into the hall.

JCL Security was headed by Conlan James and Jack Quinn. Their reputation in the United States security community was unparalleled. Even Elliot had heard of them before Dain found her and convinced her to join his team two years ago. She respected her bosses, and Dain’s influence on her life had been such that she’d do pretty much anything he asked, but he’d also never asked her to babysit children. She knew nothing about children. Even when she’d been a child, she hadn’t been “normal,” so how the hell—heck—was she supposed to understand how to handle a child? The mere thought had her wishing for a paper bag to hyperventilate into as their group came to the door of Jack Quinn’s office.

Dain glanced over his shoulder, one last assessment of his “troops” before presenting them to his commanding officer. His gaze settled on Elliot, and the warmth she recognized there eased the panic in the pit of her stomach. When he nodded, she found herself squaring her shoulders and putting on her game face.

Dain gave a peremptory knock and opened the door.

Here we go.

Her gaze shot immediately to the head honcho’s desk, but the sight of Jack was blocked by a set of wide shoulders wrapped in a tight black T-shirt. Wide, muscular shoulders. Elliot saw the same sight nearly every day—all of her team members were “built,” so to speak; they all dressed in what she called military casual, fatigues and tight tees. None of them had ever made the breath catch in her throat like this man did.

Brown hair left shaggy at the top, cut close in a semimilitary style as it tapered to a cropped V at the base of his skull. Tanned skin along his neck and heavy arms. The man’s back narrowed to a tight ass and legs that told her he was just as strong as Saint or King or Dain, so what did he need with them?

Oh, right. Kid.

Forcing herself to stop eating up his manly form with her eyes, Elliot fell into line next to Dain to one side of Jack’s desk.

Their boss made the introductions, alpha to alpha. “Dain Brannan, this is Deacon Walsh.”

Deacon? Actual name or military call sign? Their team all had call signs they went by while on mission, but clients typically didn’t. There hadn’t been time to brief them on more than the very basics of the assignment—number of clients, degree of threat. A call sign gave her a small hint as to why the guy looked like he’d be the last person asking for their help, though.

“Please, call me Dain.” The two men shook hands, and that was where Elliot focused. On their clasped hands, not on the sudden uneasy squirm in her belly. She didn’t understand what was wrong with her. She didn’t question clients, and she sure as hell didn’t have a…reaction…to them. But there was no doubt that everything feminine in her, all the parts she’d thought were good and dead, thank God, were doing weird dances in this man’s presence. And she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one fucking bit.

“Deacon, meet my team: Elliot Smith, Saint Solorio, King Moncrief. Elliot will be assigned to your daughter’s personal protection, of course.”

“No, she won’t.”

That jerked her head up. Her gaze clashed with grim brown eyes in a grim, hard face. Deacon Walsh stared down at her like she was a puppy who’d just pissed on his boot. “Excuse me?”

“I said, no you won’t.”

Dain shifted next to her. “Elliot is the best member of our team to—”

“You’re not assigning your weakest guard to my daughter simply because she’s a woman.”

It had been Elliot’s argument too, sort of, but instead of cheering, she gritted her teeth. Was this bastard saying she was too little to kick ass if she needed to?

She didn’t even realize she’d tried to step forward until Dain’s hand came out, blocking her advance. Elliot settled back on her heels and waited. Of course, she glared daggers into the man’s stern eyes while she did it, but what were they gonna do, fire her?

The thought almost made her snort. She held back just in time.

“Mr. Walsh…”

Dain’s words were cut off with an abrupt slash of Walsh’s hand. “My daughter is top priority on this assignment. Nothing else matters but her. She needs more than one scrawny wom—”

“Did you just call me scrawny?”

Elliot felt more than saw her team members take a step back, Dain included. A warm rush of pride filled her at their acknowledgment that she could fight her own battles, but she didn’t allow it to get in the way of her focus on Walsh. His gaze swept over her, and though she thought she detected a hint—a very vague hint—of embarrassment in their depths, mostly his eyes held frustration and anger. So did his response.

“I sure as hell did.”

The final word was barely past his lips when Elliot struck. A fake palm heel to the big man’s chin had him jerking back instinctively, giving her a mere second to connect a kick with his inner thigh. She did avoid the groin, though—no need to thoroughly piss off the client, after all. Her grin was probably a tad too exultant as the strike brought Walsh’s head forward, right into her elbow.

“What the fuck!”

“Smith!”

Chuckles from her teammates mixed with Dain’s and Jack’s shouts as she grabbed Walsh’s closest arm and turned, putting her back to his chest. When she dropped to one knee, Walsh flipped over her head. Ah, the joys of leverage. He hit the floor back first. A quick arch and push brought him to his feet—just in time for Elliot’s swift kick in the ass. Walsh stumbled forward.

Dain caught him, fighting hard to keep the grin on his face under control.

No more than fifteen seconds had passed, but Elliot was already briskly brushing her hands together like she’d finished taking out the trash. Or proving a point. Said point might get her fired, but what the hell. They were used to her lack of communication skills around here.

Jack sputtered behind his desk, his face a shade of red she’d never seen on him before. Not very flattering.

A loud laugh pulled Elliot’s focus to the client. Walsh bent, his back to her, the long furrow of his spine drawing her attention right down to the best ass she’d ever laid eyes on—and in her line of business, she’d laid eyes on a few. A warm hum that had nothing to do with a good fight sparked deep inside her.

Dain shook his head, one hand coming up to rub tiredly at his eyes. Elliot shot him a sheepish look.

Jack cleared his throat. “Mr. Walsh, I apologize—”

Walsh’s raised hand precluded any apology. “No need, Jack.” He turned, and Elliot read the amusement in his expression with relief. So maybe she wouldn’t be fired today. “I believe I’m the one who should be saying those words. Nice job, Smith.”

Not Miss Smith, which was what most clients labeled her with. Just Smith. As if she was one of the guys. The final bit of resentment fizzled out. Okay, I can work with that.

That was when she noticed the heat in her cheeks. Looking anywhere but at their client, her gaze met Saint’s. When she moved to stand next to him, he leaned in to whisper, “Don’t bother being embarrassed now, Otter. Too late.”

She punched him in the ribs. His groan was covered by Dain clearing his throat.

“Let me assure you, Mr. Walsh”—Dain threw her a “we’ll definitely talk about this later” look—“that Elliot will be much more circumspect with your daughter than she has proven to be here, won’t you, Otter?”

If she said no, she might get out of the whole nanny duty thing, but one glance at Dain said she’d pushed as far as he would allow her to. She cleared her throat of rebellion. “Of course.”

Walsh’s gaze skimmed her before returning to Dain. “I have no doubt.” He turned to Jack. “Now that we have that clear, perhaps we should get to the point.”

“Right.” Jack gestured them over to a conference area, where he, Walsh, and Dain took seats. Elliot stood next to Saint and King, lined up like good little soldiers behind Dain’s seat, looking on as Jack opened a thick file on the coffee table before him and pushed it toward their team lead.

Dain planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward over the intel. “Objective?”

“Protection,” Walsh said before Jack could speak. “My daughter is the primary objective. Despite my performance here today”—Walsh didn’t look her way, though his tone was filled with chagrin—“I don’t need protection from this bastard. But I can’t be with Sydney 24-7. I need someone who can.”

“What bastard?” Dain asked.

Jack answered this time. “Martin Diako.”

Elliot froze, even her breath stilling at the name. Martin Diako. She stared at the back of Dain’s head, pinning her composure on her lifeline to the man who’d taken her under his wing.

Martin Diako. Fuck.

Deacon and Sydney Walsh needed protection from Martin Diako. The man known as Mansa in most circles. Ruler. The monster in charge of the biggest modern-day African pirating organization operating today. The monster responsible for ruining an untold amount of lives in the last forty years, including Elliot’s own.

The monster who was her father.

Did you know there’s a FREE follow-up novella to Deceive Me? Download your copy of Surprise Me and learn new secrets about your favorite ENIGMA characters.  

Southern Nights: Enigma 3 - Destroy Me

Chapter One

These are not the droids you’re looking for.

One of the most overquoted lines in all geekdom, probably because it fit so many situations, including this one. Or rather, Lyse Sheppard had only found one “droid” she was looking for, but he wasn’t alone.

She shifted in her hard chair, the one from the dinette set that she’d snitched for a computer chair because all her focus had been on equipment, not comfort. She’d arrived in Ireland with nothing—no surveillance capability, no protection, not even a place to stay. The past two months she’d been able to establish her home base, but she forgot about padding until nighttime arrived and she was consigned to this damn chair. To aching hips and watching her former team live their lives without her.

Watching Fionn McCullough live without her. Not that he’d ever lived with her.

And why would he? She was just Bat Girl, right?

Pat the nerd on the head and give her a cookie.

Even knowing Martin Diako was dead—go, Elliot—Lyse hadn’t stopped watching over her friends, making sure they were safe from repercussions. Deacon and Elliot and Sydney. Trapper. Alvarez. Even Elliot’s team at JCL—King, Saint, Dain with his heavily pregnant wife.

And then there was Fionn.

Her heart sped up as he appeared on her computer screen. The image was grainy, rough. CCTV wasn’t the best source if you wanted clarity. It allowed her to follow her target with ease, though, watch his back.

This time his back—and backside—was being watched by a slender woman with long dark hair.

Lyse’s hands began to shake.

No, not this time. Turn it off. Don’t do this to yourself.

It was sound advice; she knew that. Just as she knew she wouldn’t take it. Not because she didn’t want to. She wanted with everything inside her to reach out, click the button, and turn the monitor off. But there was no button to shut her brain off. It would follow the path of Fionn’s sexy Lexus with the gleaming navy paint into the night, maybe to his house, maybe a hotel, who knew? It would follow him and the woman inside, and even if they were out of camera range, it would imagine exactly what happened the minute the door shut behind them.

Because torturing herself was her specialty—and no more than she deserved. 

Two months later and it still killed her inside to watch him. That was the point, after all. You didn’t try to blow your friends up and get away with it scot-free. Fionn might not be here to punish her, but he did just fine half a world away, whether he knew it or not.

His car was parked at the very back of Milligan’s lot, just out of range of the camera. The same place he parked every time he came, which was frequently. Milligan’s Pub was a favorite of Fionn’s. A couple clicks of her mouse and she’d switched to the surveillance camera used by the car dealership directly behind the bar. The one pointed in the direction of the chain-link fence and Fionn’s car on the other side. Under a streetlight. Perfect view for surveillance.

Fionn led the woman to the passenger-side door. He didn’t kiss her; Lyse never saw him kiss the women he was with. Instead he opened the door and ushered her in. His lips moved without sound, his cocky grin telling her all she needed to know about the conversation she couldn’t hear. And then he closed the woman in and circled the back of the car.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her lungs doing the same. Turn it off. Turn it off, Lyse. Stop punishing yourself for something that happened months ago.

Two months. Eight weeks. The night her life had ended. The night Fionn could’ve died.

She opened her eyelids, forcing herself to watch.

Fionn started the car, rolled down the windows. A pale hand appeared on his chest. Slid down.

A whimper escaped Lyse’s tight throat.

He turned off the car. His seat eased backward, giving her a better view of his face. It was the perfect face. Not as pale as most gingers. Wide green eyes that could narrow into intimidating lasers when he was angry. A strong nose, high cheekbones. A full mouth that made women fantasize, especially when he gave you that grin. Panties melted away when the man grinned.

Just like he did now, as the woman crawled over the center console and shimmied her way onto the floorboard between his knees.

A fist clamped down on Lyse’s heart.

Fionn seemed to prefer risky locations, in his job and with his women. Tonight appeared to be no different. The woman bent forward. Lyse didn’t know if the door blocking her view was a blessing or a curse. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this wasn’t only punishment; this was all she’d ever have of Fionn. As close as she’d ever get to her fantasies of him, the ones filled with the gravelly grunts and groans that escaped him now, she was sure. She’d imagined them over and over through the years. Hopeful years. Stupid years, filled with stupid fantasies for a stupid girl.

And yet her body heated at the thought of being between his legs, touching him, taking him in her mouth.

Stupid. What kind of woman watched a man with someone else and got aroused?

A desperate one. A damned one.

She clicked the mouse again, and the camera zoomed in just in time. Fionn’s face tightened. A soundless cry escaped him, his body jerking, emptying himself in the ultimate pleasure. Lyse watched, unblinking, until her eyes burned and her throat closed completely. Until the hard knot in her stomach grew so big, so full of bile and self-hatred that it rose up her throat and forced her away from the screen.

Thank God the trash can was close by. No puking on the keyboard, Sheppard.

When the heaving finally stopped—and when she could walk without her knees giving out—she carried herself and the trash can into the bathroom down the hall. The chilled water felt good on her flushed face, rinsing the bitter taste from her mouth. Hot tears mingled with the cold, but she pretended they weren’t there. Pretended she was okay. It was the only way to get through each day. Giving in to the pain didn’t help when it would only come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

Avoiding her reflection in the mirror kept the illusion of control intact for a few more, precious seconds.

She couldn’t even hate Fionn for what she’d seen. He was the resident lady’s man at Global First; everyone knew it. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t made for it. The man was an Irish god—one she wished she’d never met, most days. But then she wouldn’t be able to tear her heart out night after night, would she?

She walked back into the bedroom, grateful that whatever he’d done with the woman, she’d at least missed that part. Though watching him cradle her on his lap, his big hands running over her hair and down her spine, might be worse. Lyse could practically feel those long, rugged fingers on her skin. She shivered beneath the dream touch, then shuddered at her sick imagination.

The clang of water running through the pipes jerked her back to reality. Sean in the bathroom. Her next-door neighbor must have an early shift at the restaurant. Though their shared wall was insulated enough that they both had privacy, nothing could quiet the noisy pipes that ran through them.

She glanced at the clock display in the bottom corner of her computer screen to confirm the time, and relief flooded her. Time for coffee. It might be the middle of the night in Georgia, but here in Ireland the sun was just over the horizon. Though she didn’t deserve the reprieve, she clicked off her view of Fionn and began to cycle through her regular checks—Deacon’s property, Trapper’s apartment, the Global First compound—grateful when emotion began to ebb in favor of her critical thinking. Ones and zeros, observations didn’t require feeling. With anyone else she could shut it off, do the job. Retreat when the fuckup that was her life became too much to handle, which was exactly what she did now. Retreat. There was no shame in regrouping, right?

Right. Keep telling yourself that.

She rubbed at the ache in her chest, eyes on the screen.

The last house on her list wasn’t a team member; it was a house here in North Quigley Village. A quiet neighborhood off one of the main streets that bisected the town. The houses were small, cottages really, with bigger yards that allowed for plenty of the gardening that flourished in Irish country summers. The owner would be getting up soon, following her normal routine. Lyse paused her surveillance and rewound twenty-four hours, quickly scanning the video. Nothing unusual. Her finger tensed, about to close the program.

And that’s when she saw it—a shadow. Not near the house, but up on the street. The neighbors were all in bed, everything still, quiet in that way that only occurred in the dead of night. The dark, amorphous shape near the top-right corner of the screen didn’t cross in front of the house, simply lingered there near the hedgerow. Someone else might’ve thought it was a shadow cast by the full moon or a neighbor’s still-lit lamp, but Lyse had watched hours of surveillance on this particular house. She knew every branch of the trees, every nuance of the night hours as they passed. This shadow shouldn’t be there, but it was.

The emotional girl inside her retreated, allowing the intelligence-trained woman to take over.

An hour later her analytical mind and quick fingers had supplied a face, a name, and a trail that led her back to a part of Fionn’s life he’d kept a closely guarded secret from everyone but Mark Alvarez and Deacon Walsh. A secret she shouldn’t know and had prayed would never rear its ugly head—but it had.

She knew it and the shadow knew it, but Fionn didn’t. And now she had a decision to make: keep herself safe, or protect the one woman Fionn had always loved?

Southern Nights: Enigma 4 - Deny Me

Chapter One

The trailer park was definitely on the wrong side of the tracks, but Charlotte Alexander had never cared. She’d been here numerous times—to pick Becky up for appointments, drop her off afterward, to bring groceries or paperwork or supplies she’d stocked for the baby’s arrival. Three weeks. That’s how close they were to delivery. The couple planning to adopt Becky’s baby were ecstatic.

Tomorrow they’d be heartbroken.

This afternoon the dilapidated state of the white and rust trailer served to remind Charlotte of everything that was at stake, not just for the baby but for Becky. She parked her car in the patchy grass in front of the girl’s home, her gaze falling on shiny chrome and slick paint. A motorcycle gleamed in the weak sunlight filtering through the pines overhead. A very expensive motorcycle. She didn’t know enough about brands to identify it, but the sheer power in its body screamed money. Something Becky and her family didn’t have.

Or shouldn’t.

Her belly twisted as she stared at the machine, beautiful in comparison to the old pickup next to it, the neglected home beside it. Only one person in that trailer could drive a bike that size—Becky’s father, Richard Jones. Big and mean, he’d intimidated Charlotte from the get-go, but because she was helping get Becky’s baby “out of my goddamn house,” as he put it, Richard had kept his distance. Today might not go as well, but intimidated or not, Charlotte needed answers. Needed to make sure Becky and the baby were all right.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she pushed open her car door on the exhale and stepped out. Her heel sank into the red clay soil as she put her weight on it. There’d been no time to change after the late lunch she’d hosted with potential contributors earlier, and she was highly conscious of the luxury inherent in her dress clothes as she crossed the stubby grass toward rickety wooden stairs leading to the front door. Her usual daily uniform—dress slacks and button-downs—worked for the office and interacting with both less fortunate girls and couples from all walks of life, but schmoozing those in her social circle for funding was a fact of life she’d accepted long ago. And moneyed contributors preferred moneyed directors; hence, the fancy clothes.

Right now, though, the same clothes that helped draw large donations underscored the vast ravine between her life and sixteen-year-old Becky’s, something she never wanted to rub in the girl’s face. Today she had no choice.

The rail wobbled as she grabbed it on the first step up the stairs. When her foot landed on the second step, the sound of the chain lock sliding reached her ears. She paused in her climb.

The door cracked open a few inches. Becky’s features were pinched as she peered out of the narrow opening. “What are you doing here?”

The whispered words carried the rasp of fear. Anxiety was etched into the dark circles under her tired eyes, and a faint purple bruise marred her cheekbone.

“Becky, hon...” Instinctively her hand rose, needing to touch the girl, to reassure her. To yank her from the trailer and carry her far away where she’d never have to worry about being hit again. “Are you okay?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Charlotte.” Tears welled, but Becky sniffed them away. “You need to go. Now.”

“Come with me.”

The door opened a few more inches, allowing the swell of Becky’s belly to push through. Charlotte had walked beside the girl every step of the way after she’d come to Creating Families to talk about giving her child up for adoption. She’d watched that mound go from a tiny swell to a basketball. Taking a personal interest in the women who came to her organization was a point of pride with Charlotte. They didn’t only care for the babies they helped adopt—caring for the mothers, during and long after their pregnancies, helping them build new lives for themselves, was a hallmark of Creating Families’ work. But she’d always had a special place in her heart for Becky, maybe because the girl reminded her of herself at that age. Of what might have been had the love of her life not walked away without a backward glance.

Had her body not betrayed her.

Shoving the memories aside, she gripped the railing hard enough that a splinter sank beneath her skin. “Becky, please. Come with me. He can’t force you—”

“Yes, he can.” A wary glance over her shoulder told Charlotte exactly why Becky was whispering. “I know why you’re here. I know you don’t understand why I’d back out of the adoption. Trust me, if I had any choice, I wouldn’t. But I—”

“Who you talking to?” 

The barked question sent a jolt through Becky’s body. Her eyes went wide, her grip tightening on the door just before it was torn from her hand. Richard towered behind her, his unshaven face and stained white tank so cliché Charlotte would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so busy trying not to reveal a hint of fear. The man’s mean eyes narrowed on her, turning her knees to water.

“Why you here, rich bitch?”

Speak, Charlotte. Becky needs you.

“I came to check on Becky.”

A heavy palm landed on Becky’s thin shoulder. The girl jumped. “Nothing for you to check on here, lady.” The man sneered. “We don’t need your charity no more.”

How had such a sweet girl come from this asshole?

“Becky doesn’t—”

“That’s right, she don’t. Her bastard don’t either. She don’t have to go through with no adoption. Now get out of here before I make sure you regret bothering us.”

She glanced toward Becky, whose face had gone sheet-white. Worry for the girl kept Charlotte in place. “Sir, I just want—”

A growl tore from the man’s mouth as he shoved Becky aside. “Get off my property, bitch!”

His bulk pushing onto the stairs caused Charlotte to teeter backward. One heel slipped from the step. For a second she thought she could pull herself back upright, and then she was falling through the air, her stomach lurching at the loss of equilibrium. Pain slammed into her as her butt landed on the concrete pad below the stairs.

Becky’s father huffed a laugh. Staring down his nose, he hocked out a glob of spit that landed perilously close to her hand. “Remember what I said. Come back and I’ll make you regret it. Becky ain’t your concern no more.”

The door slammed behind him, the slide of the chain lock being repositioned reaching her ears past the ringing that filled them. It took a minute before she could gather herself enough to struggle to her feet, seconds when she searched the windows of the trailer in hopes of seeing Becky’s face, making some kind of connection with the girl she’d grown so close to, but no face appeared. No sound came. Nothing.

She stood, dusting dirt from her backside with hands that shook like leaves, uncertain what to do. Whatever it was, she couldn’t do it alone. “I’ll be back, hon. I promise,” she said, knowing Becky couldn’t hear her but desperate to let the girl know. It felt like a betrayal to walk back to her car, slide behind the wheel, but what choice did she have?

David hadn’t defeated Goliath empty-handed. Her only choice was to find her stones and return to battle. That didn’t make it easier to back the car away from the trailer and drive off. She didn’t feel like David; she felt like a monster, leaving the victim with her abuser.

Without conscious thought, without a decision on her part, she pointed the car toward home, but when she reached the turnoff, she kept going. That same mindlessness took her miles down the road, south of town, past Lake McIntosh. Toward the piece of land that, no matter how lush with trees and hills, no matter how soothing the rocky creek that wound through its heart, should not be a balm. It should be a reminder of all she’d lost because of her own foolishness.

Too bad it was the only place she felt truly safe. 

The canopy enveloped her car in hushed shadows as she nosed her way onto the dirt road, the only access to the property. That was all it took for the hard shell she’d surrounded herself with back at the trailer to crack.

Why are you doing this? You know you shouldn’t be here.

And yet here was the only place she could just be, where she could let the shaking overtake her and cry the tears choking the back of her throat and give in to the fear shuddering through her in soul-sucking waves. Here, where no one could see. Where no one knew how weak she really was.

Where she could pretend that the arms that used to hold her safe, right here in this very spot, were still around her.

It was stupid. Senseless. That didn’t stop it from being true. The sobs came, shook her down to her bones. She sobbed until her stomach turned to stone and everything inside it threatened to come back up. Her chest went tight as a drum and she had a hard time breathing, but she let herself ride the waves until, finally, the stress subsided.

Long minutes later the muffled ring of her phone pulled her back to reality. Scrambling in her purse, she felt the cool rectangle of her cell all the way at the bottom and pulled it out. A glance at the screen brought a groan to her lips.

She tapped the green circle. “Mom.”

The word wasn’t as bright and cheery as she’d like, but hopefully it was close enough to fool her mother. Both her parents were supportive of her work, and at thirty they recognized the futility of convincing her to do anything else, but if they knew someone had threatened her? All bets would be off.

“What’s wrong?”

Thank God her mom couldn’t see the grimace that twisted her mouth. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“Don’t try that ‘answering a question with a question’ bit, young lady.” Kim Alexander might have been born and bred into the highest tier of Southern society, but she was also a hands-on mother who knew her daughter well, right down to the nuances of her voice. Damn it.

Leaning her head back on the headrest, Charlotte let a heavy sigh escape her, taking the last of her tears with it. The tension in her belly stayed behind. “Just some things going on at work, Mom. Really.”

“Did the luncheon go well today?”

Creating Families had gained generous donations this afternoon, no doubt about it. But it was what they’d lost, what Becky had lost, that consumed her.

“Very well.” She cranked her car, another sigh escaping her when the cool air from the vent hit her heated face. “I’m just about to head home.” It was early for her—normally she’d head to the office, work a few more hours, despite it being a Sunday, but today had been far longer than the actual hours she’d put in.

The silence on her mother’s end didn’t bode well for her chances of ending the interrogation. Then, “I’ll make some tea; how does that sound?”

Tea cured a multitude of ills, according to Kim Alexander. “Make mine iced and you got it.”

“Sacrilege!” A smile flavored her mom’s words. Delicate laughter filtered through the line, curving Charlotte’s lips despite her worries. “I’ll make it anyway. Be careful, hon.”

Careful. She glanced at the beauty before her. She needed to be careful with more than just driving.

Packing her emotions and her memories away, she put the car in reverse. Headed toward the highway and home. But with every mile, Becky’s situation nagged at her. The pain in the girl’s eyes. The bruise on her cheek. There had to be something she could do.

First things first. Time for a legal opinion. Hitting speed-dial on her console, she waited for the phone to ring.

“You’ve reached Wes Moncrief. I’m away at the moment. Please leave a message and I will return your call.”

Beep.

“Hey, Wes. It’s Charlotte.” She didn’t have to identify herself—they’d known each other practically since birth, which was part of why he was her closest friend—but she did anyway. Always. Because…

She skittered away from that thought.

“Listen, I was hoping I could talk to you about something going on with one of the girls. I just…I don’t know.” She paused to round a curve, trying to bring her words together and failing. Chewed the inside of her lip. “I need some help.”

Accelerating through the bend in the road, she eyed the short straightaway ahead. Could Wes help? He served as legal counsel for Creating Families, but Becky had already terminated her agreement. What could he do?

“The situation’s complicated, but I’m hoping...” What? She slowed for the next curve. “I don’t know. We’ll talk later. Will I see you at—”

A flash at the corner of her eye had her jerking her head around.

A pickup truck, its grill massive to her eyes, barreled toward her from a side road. There was no time to get out of the way. There wasn’t even time to scream. One second she was staring down that grill; the next, everything went black.

Southern Nights: Enigma 5 - Desire Me

Chapter One

It was her smile that caught Saint’s attention first. Small. Wary. Nervous. Every sense he had went on alert at that smile. Made him take a second look.

And holy hell, what that second look did to his libido.

She sat directly across the bar from him at Big Daddy’s, her focus on the waiter who’d just arrived bearing a platter of barbecue and fries. His mouth watered at the sight, but not because of the food. Because of the thick chocolate hair curling around her face. Brown eyes that zeroed in on her meal and darkened with greed. Full lips that went from tight and tense to genuine pleasure when she glanced back at the waiter. That pleasure made his gut go rock-hard.

Because Saint wanted her. And because the man serving her stood too close, seemed too interested. He had the sudden urge to stalk around the bar and chuck the guy across the room, then take his place, close enough to touch her. Take that fork from her hand and feed her himself.

Holy hell, indeed. What was wrong with him?

“What’s he staring at?”

“You mean who, right?” a wry voice answered. “[Who’s he staring at?”

A hard slap across Saint’s shoulder blades snapped his attention back to his companions. With a casualness that was a total lie, he reached for the frothy mug of local IPA in front of him before glancing toward his best friend, King. The man’s movie-star smile mocked Saint’s performance.

“What are you three going on about?” Saint asked.

It was his team lead, Dain, sitting on the other side of King, who answered. “Just remarking on your good taste.”

The bite of the alcohol in his mouth sharpened his tone after another swallow. “Good taste?”

King jerked his chin toward the opposite side of the room. “In scenery.”

“They’re not wrong,” Elliot said from her seat next to him, adding feminine input to the male-dominated conversation.

Saint graced her with a smile. “Usually I’d argue with that conclusion, but not tonight.” His gaze shifted back to the dark-haired beauty across the room. She was digging into her food with a gusto that made his cock stand at attention. The need to get closer, to discover what her voice sounded like, if her body held soft curves or lean angles, if her personality matched the one he was already building in his head based on no more than a look and a few avaricious bites of food, ramped up hard.

But he couldn’t abandon his team, no matter how interested his dick was. Or how long it had been since he’d experienced this kind of sudden interest. He dated plenty, maybe too much in some people’s opinions—his family, for one. They made no secret of their disapproval for his…what did his mom call it? “Footloose and fancy-free ways”? His sisters just called him a man whore. But keeping things casual worked for his lifestyle. Being a security specialist meant a lot of time on assignment, often living in with their clients until whatever danger had sparked their hiring passed. The job kept him busy, kept him happy, but it didn’t necessarily lend itself toward a focus on relationships.

Your teammates would beg to differ.

Of course they would. They’d peg him as being stubborn, needing to play the field. The truth was, he had no desire for a permanent relationship at the moment. Someday, definitely, when the time was right. That time wasn’t now, not for him.

Dain, Elliot, and King—all with respective significant others—worried about him “being alone,” feeling left out when they were all involved in relationships. That’s why they’d dragged him out for drinks. Not that he’d had to be dragged to spend time with them, but neither did they need to be concerned. He was content as he was, single and carefree.

Free to see anyone he wanted. And right now he wanted to see the woman he couldn’t stop staring at from across the bar.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your very pregnant wife instead of commenting on my choice of ‘scenery’?” he asked Dain. Their team lead’s wife was due to deliver their first child in only a few weeks. A Christmas baby.

“What does ‘very pregnant’ mean?” Elliot asked, tipping her beer toward Dain down the bar. “I mean, Olivia is either pregnant or not.”

“She’s about to pop; that’s what it means,” King said.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Saint advised. “Women do not want to hear words like ‘pop,’ ‘balloon,’ ‘basketball,’ or anything having to do with size when they’re…well…about to pop.” He knew that from vast experience, having four older sisters intent on single-handedly repopulating the world.

His teammates laughed. When the laughter settled, Dain leaned his forearms on the bar and shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s almost here.”

“He?” King raised a sharp blond eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“No,” Elliot answered for him. “Olivia has him by the balls. She hasn’t even hinted to me or Sydney about the baby’s sex, and Sydney can drag intel out of anyone. She’s going into military intelligence as an interrogator when she gets older, I swear.”

Elliot’s soon-to-be stepdaughter didn’t have to interrogate—she turned on the cuteness factor, asked a question, and everyone around her simply spilled their guts. Saint had a couple of nieces who were just as effective.

Dain ignored Elliot’s input. “No, Olivia hasn’t said anything. But I just know.”

“What he means,” King said, “is that the idea of having a daughter makes him feel like the guy in Alien with the monster tearing its way through his chest. So yeah, it has to be a boy.”

Laughter made the rounds again, but in the midst, Saint found his gaze wandering back across the bar. It wasn’t until Dain stood from his barstool that his attention came back to his friends.

“So, Monday?” Dain said.

“Monday,” the rest of the team groaned.

“Hey, at least we’re not on assignment this weekend,” Elliot pointed out. They’d been working more often than not lately, but the holidays were shaping up to be quiet, thank goodness. His mom would pitch a fit if he missed another Christmas dinner with his family.

Elliot stood as well, and then King. Time to go.

Saint glanced across the bar one more time.

Elliot and Dain headed for the door. King’s heavy hand landed on Saint’s shoulder. “Coming, bro?”

Saint hesitated.

King’s chuckle was knowing. “I thought so.”

He shot around on the stool. “You thought what?”

“I thought you might be staying behind.” King squeezed his shoulder, then gave him a hard pat that almost threw Saint into the bar. “We’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

Saint snickered. “Sure. Give Charlotte my love.”

King and Charlotte had been childhood sweethearts, but they’d only recently come back together when Charlotte’s life was threatened. Another reason Saint was happy to play the field. It seemed like anyone his team got involved with was already in danger. The thought of a woman of his being in danger… A red haze shifted across his eyesight.

“Will do.” King’s gaze shifted to the dark-haired beauty across the bar; then he gave Saint a wink. “Later.”

Saint grabbed his beer and downed the last swallow, enjoying the bite as it slid down his throat. The bottle landed on the bar with a faint rattle, and then he was off his seat and headed around to the other side of the room.

He’d made it no more than five feet when a heavyset man moved in on his target.

That red haze? It made a reappearance so swift the room spun.

His casual stroll turned into a charge worthy of a bull. Whatever the asshole was saying, it was clear the woman was increasingly uncomfortable. Saint could read the protests as they left her lips, practically hear the demand in the man’s voice despite the crowd separating them. But it was the meaty paw landing on the woman’s arm and clamping down that brought a roar to Saint’s lips, a roar he barely held back.

He had rounded the final edge of the bar, still several feet away, when the asshole reared back, his hands coming up to cover his nose. It was the man who roared, not Saint. No, as he watched the woman’s elbow lower back to her side, it was a laugh that escaped him. She hadn’t needed him after all. Why did that fill him with pride?

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman! What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t like being manhandled,” she said clearly. The words hit Saint like a one-two punch—appropriate, considering. The woman’s voice had a northern accent, not New York but something flatter, less pronounced, wrapped up in a husky tone that sent tingles down his spine straight to his balls, and a self-assurance that turned him on more than either of the first two. The intense need to meet her, to know her, skyrocketed the second her voice registered in his ears.

Mr. Asshole stumbled back toward a group of what had to be his buddies in the far corner—they were laughing too much to be anyone else but an interested party. Saint continued forward without even a consideration of stopping, and before he knew it, he was standing behind the empty barstool next to the woman. “Nice move.”

Beneath the fall of her dark, curly hair, the woman’s shoulders tensed, readying herself for another attack. The knowledge pierced his gut in a way sexual attraction didn’t.

“Hey.” He made no move to touch her, though his fingers itched with the need. “No worries. Just an observation.”

She snorted as her head jerked in his direction. Mouth open, no doubt to tell him to get lost. But the words died on her lips the minute their eyes met.

She felt it too. If the lack of words didn’t tell him that, the stunned look in her eyes did. And that made him one lucky son of a bitch.

Across the bar the sight of her dark eyes had drilled deep into him, but here, this close, mere inches away, they worked a magic that totally threw him. A magic he couldn’t resist. It wound around his body, tightened, holding him captive, and damn if he didn’t feel that look gripping his cock right through his clothes. His breath choked off in his throat.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, hi.” Her words were accompanied by a smile that was a one-eighty pivot from a moment ago. Softer. Sweet. Definitely interested, thank fuck.

“Hi.” He indicated the empty stool. “Mind if I sit?”

He wouldn’t barge in without permission, no matter how interested she seemed. He wasn’t Mr. Asshole.

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding. His sigh of relief escaped silently as his ass hit the cushion.

“I have to admit”—he grinned, more at his own arrogance than her—“I was totally riding to the rescue over here.”

A husky laugh left her lips. “Totally?”

“Yeah.” His chuckle mingled with hers. “Not that you needed it, or me. Or anyone, for that matter. Like I said, nice work.”

Her eyebrow rose, and she gave him a damn right look. “Thanks.” One shoulder lifted nonchalantly. “I’m used to dealing with jerks.”

“If I promise not to be one, would you promise not to introduce me to that elbow?”

Her eyes lightened to caramel when she was amused, he noticed. “How about I consider it? You’ll have to earn my trust first, though.”

The flirty tone in her words kicked his heartbeat up a notch. “I’ll earn whatever you let me earn,” he promised.

She smirked, the slight curl of her lips pulling his attention to their glossy surface. His mouth watered. “Sounds like a deal,” she said.

She glanced across the room toward his original seat, confirming his suspicion that she’d spotted him before. The space he and his team had occupied was now empty, but the confrontation had drawn the notice of several parties around the bar top. Catching the interested eyes, she dropped her gaze to the drink in front of her as if the attention bothered her.

“Forgive our nosy Southern tendencies,” Saint said. “Some of us have no idea how to hide it.”

Her snort was downright cute. “That’s obvious.” She gave him a small smile. “But some of you don’t need to.”

The sudden intensity in her eyes seemed to search his depths, though what she was searching for, he didn’t know.

He glanced around, seeing far too many people focused on them for his comfort. His gaze dropped to the drink she slowly twisted around on the counter—the bottom half still brown, maybe tea, but the top half clear, watered down. “How about you let me replace that”—he nodded toward her drink—“and find you a booth to enjoy it with more privacy? Someplace with less of an audience.”

No pressure, just an offer. Would she take it?

Tension returned to her shoulders, and he leaned back slightly, giving her space.

Dark eyes studied him for a long, long time, so long he figured her answer would be no. But then she said, “My name’s Rae.” Pushing her glass away, she held out her hand. “What’s yours?”

“Saint. Saint Solorio.” Her hand slid into his like it had been created to fit him. He gripped it firmly, warming her skin with his, savoring the feel of her against him. Wanting to feel far more. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rae.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her dark, determined eyes. “Saint,” she murmured as if testing his name out on her lips. “I wouldn’t mind someplace more private, if that’s all right.” Sliding from the barstool, she gathered her jacket from the back and slipped into it. “Let’s go.”

If Only 1: Only for the Weekend

Chapter One

God, it was hot.

The desert wind blasted Jane’s hair back from her face as she walked out of the sliding doors of the Las Vegas airport. Heat soaked through the base of her heels to sear her toes, and she imagined the sudden sweat popping out on her forehead looked nothing like the “glistening” most women claimed they did in the heat. No, she was definitely sweating. And hot. Really hot.

But at least her dress was cool.

The Marilyn Monroe lookalike was intended to give her confidence, and it certainly did that. The halter top left her shoulders bare, the nipped-in waist made her feel incredibly sexy, and the filmy skirt flitted teasingly in the air, reminding her of the scene in The Seven Year Itch where Marilyn stopped over the subway grate. Vegas didn’t have subway grates, but at least if the skirt hit the air in similar fashion, her new lacy underwear wouldn’t leave her embarrassed—much. Since she wasn’t in the habit of showing strangers her underwear, some embarrassment was inevitable, but not the ratty-panties kind.

You’re about to show a guy a lot more than your panties, Jane. Remember that.

The sudden flush in her cheeks had nothing to do with the air temperature. She wasn’t letting it stop her, though. She planned to do a lot in Las Vegas that would have her blushing; she might as well get used to it now.

The sudden sound of crickets chirping came from her purse. Her cell phone. More specifically, Kennedy’s ringtone—inside joke, since when they got together there was never any silence. Her best friend was probably running late, like always. Too many irons in the fire and not enough hands. Jane fished her phone out while she peered around the area. Where were the signs she needed?

“Hello?”

“Are you here?”

Jane grinned. “Just walked out of the airport.”

“Great!”

Jane could hear Kennedy shifting the phone around. Her voice was breathless, like she was hurrying somewhere. Definitely not in a car. A sinking feeling settled in Jane’s stomach. “You’re not out here waiting for me, are you?” she asked.

“You know me very well,” Kennedy said. “We had an unexpected crisis with a VIP event—it’s missing its VIP. But I sent James with the limo. Things should be settled by the time you get here.”

Kennedy had been at the Sovereign Resort and Spa for six months now, assistant manager of event planning. Jane couldn’t be more proud of her, even though it meant Kennedy no longer lived nearby. This was the first chance she’d had to fly out since her friend moved to Nevada.

Kennedy was half mumbling to someone near her and half instructing Jane where to go. Jane squinted at a sign to her left, but the letters blurred into a white blob on a blue background. With a sigh she fumbled her prescription sunglasses out of her purse and onto her nose. The utilitarian frames didn’t go with her fifties dress, more fitting her everyday image—stuffy librarian—but the instant they were on, everything went from fuzzy to crisp and the sign became readable.

“So where do I find the limo?” she asked Kennedy.

A few hushed, impatient words reached her ears, then, “Go to the reserved pickup area.”

The sign in front of her didn’t help, so she glanced around for another farther down. “I qualify for something reserved?” she asked.

“Of course! Now which door did you come out of?”

Jane told her.

“Good. Go left.”

She did, a little laugh escaping. Kennedy knew exactly how directionally—and optically—challenged Jane was. Being talked through the maze that was McCarran International would save her numerous trips backward when she got lost.

Heat waves curled up from the sidewalk despite the overhead canopy protecting it and her from the sun. The crowds, seeming unaffected by the heat, mingled in clumps, blocking her way as they waited for buses to take them to their respective lodging. Her heels added three inches to her height, just enough that she wasn’t swamped and blind in the swarm of people, but it was Kennedy’s directions that led her to reserved pickup without a hitch. Hopefully her friend had been equally successful finding what Jane needed for this visit.

Jane wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. Yes, she’d made this decision on her own—the Big Decision, capital letters—and what Kennedy had offered to do was the linchpin in this being a success, but a part of her hoped Kennedy hadn’t found anyone. After all, if Kennedy didn’t succeed, Jane wouldn’t have to put herself out there, so to speak.

All of me. Everything.

She stepped to one side, out of the flow of traffic, her grip on her phone making her fingers ache.

“Um, Kennedy, did you—”

“No, that won’t work!” Kennedy yelled in her ear. Jane jerked the phone far enough from her face to stare at it, as if the device could explain the problem. It stared silently back at her, but when she returned it to her ear, Kennedy was apologizing. “I’m sorry, Jane, but if I ever want to get away, I have to deal with this. I’ll see you in a few.”

“But—”

The line went dead. Kennedy was gone.

Jane wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not.

Just ahead, a section of the curbs on both sides of the road were labeled RESERVED. Since the area was empty, no limo in sight, Jane took her time, letting the swish of her skirt against her legs and the faint kick of wind soothe her rioting nerves. Lane, her ex, had hated this dress when she picked it out. Of course, he’d hated a lot of things, including what she’d suggested to spice up their mundane sex life, which was why he was her ex. She was twenty-six, not sixty; she shouldn’t have the sex life of a middle-aged woman. She’d suspected for a long time that what she needed couldn’t be had from Lane anyway—or any other man she’d dated, for that matter. They were all too…nice. She didn’t want a nice sex life. Passion, yes. Fire, definitely. To be controlled—at least, she hoped that’s what she needed. Otherwise this was all going to be a complete clusterfuck.

Her thoughts drifted without permission to the one time she’d experienced that fire. The memory stirred more nerves, though, and she shoved it forcefully away.

A black stretch limo turned the corner ahead. As it prowled toward her, Jane’s glasses allowed her to see the white square sign in the front window: JACOBS. That was her. Hitching her overnight case higher on her shoulder, she moved forward and raised a hand to gain the driver’s attention.

Before the vehicle could reach her, a hotel bus zoomed around the bend. Jane was close enough she could see the driver’s eyes go wide at the obstruction directly in front of him. To avoid rear-ending the limo, he whipped into the second lane. The rush of wind from the passing bus caught the hem of her skirt and, just like in The Seven Year Itch, threw the material into the air before Jane could put her hand down to catch it. She knew exactly how unsuccessful she was by the sudden coolness bathing her upper thighs—and the limo driver’s expression as he pulled to a stop at the curb.

A wolf whistle sounded behind her, then another one. Smoothing a hand over her bottom to be sure it was now covered, Jane chanced a look over her shoulder. Several tourists had dropped their bags and stopped their conversations to gawk in her direction. The awful rush of heat up her neck returned, damn it. How was she going to get through a night with a Dom if she couldn’t get down the street without blushing to death?

And then, just for a moment, she saw something that sent the blood in her cheeks back so fast Jane thought she might faint. A man, walking away from her, the details of his body obscured by the sudden glare of sunlight as he moved beyond the covered walkway in front of the airport. All she could make out was that he was tall, his shoulders broad and heavy and—her heart thudded—seemingly familiar, as was the glint of ginger in his hair. She caught a hint of sunglasses and pale skin as he turned to look at something nearby, and then he moved around the end of the building and was gone.

Not from her mind, though. Her heart was beating the inside of her ribs like it wanted to break out and follow the man, which was ridiculous because he couldn’t be who she thought he was. He couldn’t. Kennedy would’ve told her if Vincent was visiting Vegas at the same time. And Jane would’ve stayed home to avoid him, like she’d been doing for the past seven years, ten months, and she-really-needed-to-forget-how-many days.

But he wasn’t here. Weekend Washout, the indie rock band Vincent was a part of, had become a huge success several years ago. Kennedy had bragged just last night that V. was on the road again. Probably a different city every night. A different girl. Not that Jane was thinking about that. Or him. Ever again. Even if he was the reason she’d started on this godforsaken road down exploration lane.

Of course, the road would feel much less bumpy if she didn’t see his ghost around every corner. There was more than one sexy redhead with broad shoulders in the world. She just needed to get over what had happened and get a move on. Her future was waiting.

A throat clearing behind her dragged Jane’s attention back to the present. “Hello, miss. You wouldn’t happen to be Ms. O’Connell’s guest, by chance?”

She turned from staring after her mystery guy to find the driver of the limo standing in front of her, proper black uniform, cap, and all. His accent was even proper English. She didn’t know if it was real, but it was charming, as were his smiling blue eyes. Appreciative blue eyes, even if he was nearer fifty than twenty-five. Apparently her lacy underwear could be relished at any age.

She scrambled to get her thoughts together and held out her hand. “Yes, Jane.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Jane. I am James.”

James, really? She barely held back a home, James!

The chauffeur didn’t seem to notice her sudden amusement, or maybe he was used to it. “Ms. O’Connell described you perfectly.” The man took her hand and actually bowed over it briefly. Did they teach that in chauffeur school, along with the accent and the proper name to use? Everything in Vegas was a show, it seemed. “May I take your bag, miss?”

An enjoyable show. She gave James her sweetest smile and a thank-you.

Her overnight case was summarily stored and Jane escorted to the rear passenger door of the limousine. Before she stepped inside, she couldn’t help one last glance at the spot where the mystery guy had stood. The yearning she’d fought for so many years bubbled up, aching for a single glimpse of his face, his smile, his eyes, but the crowd was empty of anything familiar. The man, so much like Vincent, was gone, leaving her behind just like the real Vincent had.

Jane slid into the seat and adjusted her skirt over her knees. V. might’ve left her behind all those years ago, but this weekend it was her turn—and she intended to do exactly the same. She had a life to live, and she was about to learn exactly how to live it.

If Only 2: Only for the Night

Chapter One

Sage Lyndsey fingered the button of her silky white shirt and wondered if she should change again. The oversize button-down draped her body, just see-through enough to reveal the black lace bra and tight mini she wore beneath it. Would Kevin approve?

The sound of a key in the front door lock filtered down the hall, speeding her heart and the churning in her stomach. She glanced at the clock: 6:30. The time triggered an all too familiar despair. Late again. There’d be no time to eat, to talk, to cuddle before they left. The pattern had been set for the past few months, and nothing she did changed it. She was beginning to wonder if anything could.

“Sage!”

The word jerked her muscles into action. One final look in the mirror, a finger tracing beneath each eye to erase any evidence of tears, and she headed down the hall.

“Sage, where are you?”

Kevin stood at the open fridge door, his suit still perfect, his black hair swept back from a hard, handsome face that still took her breath away. “Right here,” she said.

No response. When he lifted a water bottle to his lips, she waited, but he drank deep without turning toward her. The long line of his throat drew her gaze; she wanted to walk over, place a kiss on the faint stubble along his Adam’s apple, snuggle against his wide chest. She’d always preferred big men, tall and strong, and Kevin had fit her to a T from day one. Unfortunately she no longer seemed to fit him, and the fear that he wasn’t happy kept her from approaching him. Fear of rejection.

That was her. A coward. She shook with the need to go to him, to seek comfort, to know he still loved her, but the “stay back” sign he seemed to wear constantly refused to go away.

And so did her resentment.

Arms open to show off her outfit, she asked, “Well, do you approve?”

Her tone came out a touch too tart, too much sass, but regret wasn’t even a blip on her radar. She had feelings too; she wasn’t just a doll he could take out every Friday when he finally came ho—

Kevin turned. Big mistake. She tried to swallow at the burning disapproval in his dark brown eyes, but every drop of spit went desert dry.

“What did you say to me, sub?”

Dropping her eyes to the floor was automatic. Her hands went behind her back, where she balled them into fists to contain the shot of adrenaline her own anger sparked in her system. She was his girlfriend, his lover, not just his sub, even if that role seemed to be the only one he responded to anymore.

How much longer can I do this?

She straightened her spine, stepped closer. “Do you approve, Sir?”

Kevin advanced, his shiny black dress shoes tapping out a rhythm as he closed the distance between them. She peeked up from beneath her long bangs, wanting to read his reaction, but he was too tall, too close to catch a glimpse of his face. His suit jacket and slacks even prevented her from reading his body language. Would her appearance, her submission appease him?

She already knew the answer, but the needy part of her, the part she was beginning to hate more and more, couldn’t help trying. She sank to her knees, grateful for the slight pain of the impact. It gave her something to focus on as Kevin circled her, inspecting his sub.

That’s all I am anymore. Just…sub. Her mother’s death this past summer had left her anchorless, but she hadn’t been alone. Not until this moment, with the man she loved mere inches away.

Kevin’s dress shoes reappeared in her line of sight. “I approve,” he said. The words validated her efforts, but there was no gruff arousal, no hunger in them. Her failure bore down on her, slumping her shoulders with its weight.

Kevin had already walked away. “We should’ve left half an hour ago.”

She bit back a surge of words. Pointing out that he’d just arrived or that she’d been ready for almost an hour wouldn’t make a difference. He was late a lot, and she was lucky if she saw him for more than a few minutes before they left for Heathers, the BDSM club just outside LA where they played every weekend. The evenings they went to the club were the only nights she knew he’d be home, actually. Otherwise he was often working till midnight and dragging into the house long after she’d gone to bed. Her position as head pastry chef at LesMiz meant she was at work by dawn every day. She tried to understand—Kevin’s work was as important as hers, and he was working a major deal that had taken months of preparation. Being needy wouldn’t make any more difference than pointing out the obvious.

And fighting before a scene was not a good way to start off the night. Not that they’d be scening if he didn’t get his attention on her at some point. Even beyond her personal pleasure, playing with a distracted Dom wasn’t safe, no matter how much she longed for some small part of him, however she could get it.

Heathers on a Friday night was chaos, and tonight proved no exception. Sage entered the locker room as she usually did, went through the motions of leaving her shoes and shirt and purse behind, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling buried in her hollow stomach. She needed to talk to Kevin, make him see that tonight, no matter how much he wanted to, it was more important to get things settled between them than to play. But when she returned to the front and scanned the area, he was nowhere to be seen. He’d gone inside without waiting for her.

This was a clusterfuck all around, wasn’t it?

Minutes later she found him in a dim seating area surrounded by couples. Friends. His, at least. Since she hadn’t been a member of Heathers until Kevin had introduced her to BDSM, she hadn’t had the time to get to know the others much. Doms and Dommes didn’t interfere with someone else’s sub, and that included talking. Most subs were focused on their masters. The situation didn’t leave a lot of opportunity for chitchat. Tonight, as usual, some subs sat at the feet of their masters or mistresses, while others were cuddled in laps or stationed behind chairs, waiting to serve. The masters were all chatting, the subs happy, and Sage felt like an alien landing on the earth for the first time and trying to figure out how the hell to get her equilibrium.

“Kevin, I—”

He snapped her a look, and Sage’s racing heart skipped a beat. She hated this, hated it. Why couldn’t he give her anything to work with?

“Sir”—emphasis on the title—“I need to speak with you.”

“Is there a problem?”

The impatience of the words, in his expression hit her harder than a flogger. Everything inside her froze, then kickstarted back up with a jerk that hurt so much she realized she was rubbing her chest. She glanced down at her shaking hand, felt the rush of pain. She looked up, her gaze sweeping the circle of people enclosing her like an animal in a pen. They’d heard him; she knew they had. Everyone was watching, wondering why her Dom was upset, wondering what she wasn’t doing to make him happy. The weight of their stares swamped her as she sank to her knees.

And gave up. Talking wasn’t going to help. Nothing would help. She braced herself against the realization, expecting a total breakdown after the emotional chaos of the night, but all she felt was…nothing. Numb. In the back of her mind, a warning sounded, but even that couldn’t get through the heavy cloak slowly settling over her mind and body.

It’s just one night. Get through the night, go home, work it out then, away from all these people.

“Sage, I asked you a question.”

What was it? She managed to dredge up Kevin’s words and a wooden response. “No, Sir, there’s no problem.”

“Good.” His words were clipped. She should care about that, right?

Time passed, though she wasn’t sure how much. Her legs went as numb as the rest of her, and only when Kevin stood did she manage to climb her way out of it. Where were they going?

She glanced up just as Kevin shouldered his toy bag. No.

“Kevin,” she whispered, trying for his attention without drawing others into it.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Our turn.” His nod indicated the St. Andrew’s cross set back on a small stage nearby. He must’ve signed them up while she was in the locker room at the beginning of the night. If she’d known, she’d have pushed her luck earlier, but she hadn’t.

“Kevin, I don’t…”

He wasn’t there anymore. His broad back cut through the crowd as he strode across the room, obviously intent on his destination instead of his sub.

No. This isn’t good for either of us. I need to tell him.

It’s just one scene. How many have you done? Just suck it up, get it over with so you can go home.

Warnings screamed in her head, every step across the crowded room punctuated by a no no no that wouldn’t stop, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything once she reached the scening area. Once she caught a glimpse of his face. For the first time tonight, the steel was gone from his jaw. His eyes were lit with anticipation, and his lips had relaxed their tight press. He still hadn’t kissed her with those lips, she realized. But she was supposed to scene with him.

Playing doesn’t require kissing, Sage. Just do it.

She moved toward him. “Sir?”

At her approach, he stopped unpacking his bag and faced her. And smiled. Her breath caught on the longing that exploded in her chest. She wanted that smile, that look. She could do this to make him happy, and then they could talk.

She sank to her knees, returning his smile.

Kevin had never been big on a bunch of toys, and neither was she. She wasn’t a pain slut, either. She needed extensive warmup to take anything harsher than a flogger, and as she watched him line up his tools, she knew this would be a long session. He even set out the cane. Not something he’d used on her before, but they’d discussed it. Still, seeing it there knotted her already tight stomach.

He didn’t always use everything he had handy, though. She forced herself to wait, to trust. She could do this.

“Strip,” he finally told her. Sage took her time, wanting to do something she knew would please him. Her show brought another smile to his lips, and the knots building inside her loosened. By the time he had her buckled facing the St. Andrew’s cross, she was ready to submit.

Kevin went through the same stages as usual, warming her muscles, preparing her for a whipping, but the pleasure that usually accompanied the acts was somehow absent. Even when he started in with the flogger, her favorite, the soft, gradually increasing intensity of the strikes didn’t arouse her. Instead the numbness from before slowly morphed into tension, the weight of her failure worse than the first strikes of the switch he used after the flogger. Her butt and thighs screamed at each impact, and it was only then she realized her face was wet.

Tears. She might cry from release, but they weren’t even close to the end, nor was she crying out for more. She turned her head to the side, desperate for Kevin to read her, what she was feeling.

He’ll see me now. He’ll stop. She couldn’t think beyond that, the knowledge that her Dom would take care of her. Except Kevin didn’t seem to notice, and he didn’t slow. Maybe he was too far lost in the rhythm of the switch, in his own Dom space, or maybe they’d just followed the same pattern so much he no longer noticed her response—or lack thereof—on a conscious level. She certainly wasn’t aroused, but he didn’t check.

The switch whistled through the air. Sage couldn’t help it; she tensed, and an explosion of pain shrieked through her butt. The cuffs bit into her wrists as she pulled against them.

Breathe, just breathe.

Desperation hit her when her lungs refused to inflate. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She needed her safe word, needed Kevin to slow down and hear her, see her. She needed—

Thwack.

What air she had left in her lungs escaped in an anguished cry.

Thwack.

A shallow suck of air, then, “Kevin!”

He didn’t hear her above the sound of the switch hitting her thighs, couldn’t hear her strangling on the scream locked inside her throat. She hadn’t realized her eyes were closed, but she needed to see him, needed— Her gaze caught the movement of people at the side of the stage, watching, always watching. Didn’t they hear her, at least? But no, none of them were helping. None of them were supporting. No one saw her, deep down inside, or even bothered to try, and that included her Dom.

Have to stop. Have to—

Thwack.

Agony seared her body, her mind. She turned as much as her restraints would allow, her safe word on her lips.

The switch struck again, but instead of landing square across her upper back, the tip extended around to snap against the tender side of her breast. A high scream echoed in her ears.

Her scream.

“Damn it, Sage.”

Kevin’s curse was lost beneath the roar of denial, of pain that lashed her harder than Kevin’s switch could manage, and then all she could hear was her own voice. “Red! Red red redredredred!”

He was behind her in an instant, or maybe it was a year. She no longer cared. She jerked at her wrists until the bones threatened to pop, but still she couldn’t free herself, couldn’t get the pain to stop, couldn’t—

“Be still!”

Kevin’s command sliced through her panic. The heat of his body reached her back, and she cringed away, the wood of the cross abrading her skin. “Red, Sir, please!”

The words were nothing more than a whisper, but he was close enough; he could hear her now. He would hear her. He would stop.

Familiar hands traced her shoulders, her arms, her hands. He gripped the cuffs. He would let her go.

Her legs gave way. She slumped against the St. Andrew’s cross, nearly pulling her shoulders out of their sockets, but she didn’t care. He’d stopped. He would protect her. She waited for his reassurance, his comfort, but instead a low muttering filtered through in disjointed snatches.

“What the fuck— Sage. Can’t even… Shit.”

What she needed wasn’t coming.

“Stop,” she managed to squeeze out. “Just stop.” Not the scene this time. Everything.

Her scream had bled any power from her voice. A hoarse whisper was all she managed.

No acknowledgment. The slap of her cuff being released registered, then the exquisite feel of air on her bruised wrist. When Kevin gripped her there, she snatched her hand away. “Don’t! Don’t touch me.” She couldn’t stand it.

He let go to walk around the cross, facing her. “What were you thinking?” he barked.

She rolled her head against the wood beam enough to look at him. On the way, her gaze caught on face after face after face. All staring. All whispering.

All judging.

“I can’t do this right now; I just can’t,” she whispered. Closed her eyes. Cradled her aching wrist to her aching body. “I can’t.”

“Then when can you, Sage?” Kevin didn’t bother keeping his voice down. “This is the only time we have together. When else—” He clamped his lips shut.

She winced, raised her eyes to his, silently begging him to see her, listen to her—hell, just hold her. He saw her, all right, but what was in his eyes wasn’t understanding.

Words flitted through her brain, but she couldn’t seem to catch them, make sense of them. All she could focus on was, “I just can’t.” I can’t do this anymore.

Kevin stared a moment longer. Sage waited, every inch of her flaming skin, her entire being crying out for him. But he didn’t come to her; he paced away. Like she was the problem, like she was poison he couldn’t wait to get away from.

Is he right?

He was five feet away when he finally spun back to her. One look in his eyes and she knew. This was it. There wasn’t even time to brace herself before he spoke.

“I can’t do this either.” The cuff he still held hit the floor with a dull thud. Kevin’s face went hard as granite as he returned to her side, but instead of releasing the rest of her cuffs, he reached for her neck. Her collar. She’d worn it with pride since the night he’d presented it to her. Now that pride shattered as he unhooked the clasp behind her neck and removed the precious strip of leather. She was naked, strapped spread-eagle to a wooden cross, but she’d never felt as nude as she did with her neck bare of his collar.

He didn’t even say good-bye, just turned and walked into the crowd, her collar gripped in his fist. He left her there, to the murmurs and snide remarks that weren’t kept to a whisper. Sage turned away from them all, hiding her nakedness, her tears, her pain. Hiding the death throes as something inside her died.

Heavy footsteps approached.

“Master Kevin asked me to release you, Sage.”

Warren. The dungeon monitor had smiled at her earlier this evening. Now his voice was as empty as her soul.

Her shoulder screamed when he opened the second wrist cuff. While he knelt at her feet to undo the final restraints, she allowed the cross hold her weight. Only when he was finished and had stepped back did she straighten.

“Thank you,” she managed.

His nod wasn’t cold, but neither was there encouragement in his expression. “Would you like a blanket, some water?”

She closed her eyes against another wave of humiliation. “My clothes?”

Leaving her at the cross, he moved to the edge of the scening area and retrieved her bra and miniskirt. Sage struggled into them with trembling hands. The cloth against the welts left behind by the switch brought a curse to her lips, but she held it back. She needed to get out of here, get away. Now.

Blindly she crossed the stage, desperate to escape, her last bit of control barely holding her together. Warren let her go. At the edge of the stage, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, allowing her through while flooding her with stares that burned hotter than brands. She kept her eyes on the floor and forced herself forward, step by agonizing step. Her lungs refused to work until she’d reached the relative emptiness of the doors leading to the front of the club and the locker rooms.

“Sub.”

The word wasn’t angry. Respect laced the voice, reverence for the title so many people thought meant doormat. She stumbled to a stop, but making herself turn was more than she had the strength for. “Yes, Sir?”

It had to be a Dom or DM, though who, she wasn’t sure. When a tall figure circled her, she glanced up into the face of Master V. Shame dropped her gaze back to the floor.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?”

The tears pushing at her defenses burst forward. Sage brought a hand up to cover her eyes, hide herself from the man studying her. “Yes, Sir.”

It was all she could get out. Nothing else was left.

He had to know she was lying, but he didn’t call her on it. Instead his “Let’s get you home, okay?” quickened her tears. His hand on her arm was impersonal, yet still warmer than anything she’d felt tonight. It eased something inside her she couldn’t describe, didn’t want to describe or examine or even face. She needed to get out of here before she lost her mind.

And go where?

The thought brought her up short. She couldn’t go home; Kevin might be there. But everything she owned was at his house. She’d sold the home she and her mother lived in after her mother’s funeral.

She latched on to Master V. like the lifeline he was. “I need to get out of here, please.” Help me.

And somehow he made it happen. Sage left Heathers for the last time fifteen minutes later, the only word of good-bye that of a Dom she barely knew, despite how kind he’d been to her tonight. As the door of the cab closed behind her, she looked through the window, both hoping for and fearing a glimpse of the man she loved, the man she’d surrendered everything to, but all she saw was the look of pity on Master V.’s pale face, and then darkness as the night closed in around her.

If Only 3: Only for the Moment

Chapter One

Kennedy groaned as her tug on the door sent pain shooting through her shoulders and down her spine. She needed to get on the massage table before her overstressed muscles totally seized. Note to self: full urns are heavier than they appear. But heavy or not, the flowers had given just the right touch of fairy tale to the “wedding of the year” that she’d organized. The marriage of the costars in last year’s best film of the year had gone off without a hitch.

Too bad said hitch had ended up in her neck and shoulders. Thank God her weekly Sunday massage was scheduled in another five minutes. Assuming she could get the heavy-ass door to the Sovereign Resort Salon & Spa open. She pulled a little harder.

“Come on, weakling. We’re waiting.”

Kennedy turned to her department VP, Cooper, and stuck her tongue out. The man grinned unrepentantly, white teeth gleaming against dark skin.

“If I’m so weak, why don’t you use those enormous muscles of yours to get us inside, huh?”

Cooper shook his head, his look of indulgence getting her back up. She chose to ignore it when one massive paw reached out and tugged the door open effortlessly.

“What, you needed the whole hand? Wouldn’t two fingers have sufficed?” she threw over her shoulder as she waltzed inside. She’d never worked with anyone more knowledgeable than Cooper, which was why, when she’d been promoted to president of guest services at their exclusive Las Vegas resort last month, she’d recommended he be promoted into her old position of vice president—despite the fact that he cracked one too many jokes about how tiny she was. Given his size, everyone was tiny, a fact she took great satisfaction in reminding him of.

“Thanks, Gigantor.”

Cooper’s chuckle followed her as she walked to the wide, semicircular reception desk. “You’re welcome, Half Pint.”

Teri was already shaking her head at their antics. “Just another typical Sunday, huh?”

“Of course.”

Their simultaneous responses widened the receptionist’s grin. “Let’s get y’all separated before someone becomes testy, shall we?”

“Too late.” Cooper’s words shook with suppressed laughter that ended on an oomph when Kennedy’s elbow jabbed into his rock-hard belly.

Kennedy winced at the twang pinching her shoulders.

“Looks like you’ve done some damage,” Teri said, eyeing Kennedy’s posture.

A pout curved Kennedy’s lips. “And I didn’t even get to have fun doing it.”

A snort escaped her VP, echoed by a man she belatedly noticed leaning against the wall across from the door of the waiting room. Tall, dark-haired, and nearly as muscular as Cooper—nice. He was obviously waiting on someone, which meant he was either a husband or security, but anyone with security would’ve been important enough to call her in. Since no one had, she was betting on the former. She met his amused gaze and gave him a shrug before turning back to Teri.

“My usual room?”

Her friend focused on her computer screen, amusement still tugging at her lips. “I believe Melody put you there, yes. Just let me—”

Kennedy waved the help away. “No worries. I’ll find her.” She’d been here every Sunday morning for the past year, since the first week she’d worked at Sovereign Resort. One of the best perks of the job. She’d also booked hundreds of guest services at the spa and, in the case of high-profile clients, escorted dozens here personally. Intimate familiarity was an understatement.

The long hall leading from reception to the spa was swirled stone, laid to resemble rocks weathered by a swiftly flowing stream. She trailed a hand along the surface as she walked to the women’s dressing room, absorbing the peace and quiet. Inside, she exchanged her clothed for a fluffy white robe, then returned to the hall and made her way toward the massage rooms. Maybe before she left, she’d soak in the pool that took up the back half of the spa, overlooking the eastern Vegas skyline. The residue of the tension she’d gathered since her promotion, good or not, might take longer than a thirty-minute massage to erase.

The waiting area near the massage rooms stood empty. Kennedy skirted its edge, admiring the mini waterfall that was its focal point, and headed for the back room, the one Melody always put her in. It wasn’t the biggest, but it was her favorite. Thick shoji screens concealing built-in soundproof panels filtered the light and noise from outside, encapsulating her in the decadence of Turkish linens and the scent of lemongrass. She often started her time in the whirlpool tub inside the room. Just laying eyes on the door relaxed her muscles and eased her breathing. With relief she slid one screen aside and stepped into what she liked to think of as her own personal retreat.

And jerked to a stop. What the hell?

Her room—her room—wasn’t empty. She saw his feet first. It had to be a him, because the feet were long and wide and rugged. They hung below the cover of the white sheet, resting at the very end of the massage table. One twitched as if in sleep, and the sheet inched up, the white cloth a stark contrast to the deep tan of his skin. Muscular calves were outlined clearly under their shroud, as were heavy thighs, the sheet pulled taut across his—

Damn. Kennedy fanned the sudden flush of heat in her cheeks.

Narrow hips broadened to wide shoulders. His back was bare, the deep furrow of his spine a shadow in the candlelit room. She knew she was staring, but her feet wouldn’t move. They held her there, glued to the floor, and she could do nothing but gawk at the beautiful expanse of sun-kissed skin and the intricate tattoo of a sea turtle on the shoulder closest to her, fins extended as if swimming toward the shaggy dark-blond hair along the man’s nape. Deep blues and greens seemed to glow in the flickering light, the turtle’s dark eyes staring as if wondering who this creature was that had dared to interrupt his companion’s rest.

The turtle probably wasn’t alone.

She turned toward escape, her gaze lingering on the blond highlights in the man’s hair, the sharp edge of his jaw, the curve of a high cheekbone. Thank God his eyes were clos—

A loud click tore through the quiet—the door, no longer blocked by her shoulder, sliding shut beside her. Kennedy’s throat closed over a curse. On the table the man stirred, his muscles stretching like a lion waking from a nap. “I almost fell asleep there for a minute, love.”

Good. God. Putty in his hands, that’s what she was. He could be ninety with one foot in the grave and no teeth, and that Australian accent brushing his words would melt her just the same. Combined with that beautiful body? She couldn’t see the lips that formed the words, but her ovaries didn’t seem to care. Kennedy’s insides swelled with heat, preparing to burst at the next sexily accented sound.

“I think that ‘almost’ is a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it?”

No no no! Shit!

Kennedy squeezed her eyelids shut. She hadn’t intended to talk, hadn’t intended to stay, even. The risk of a guest witnessing her faux pas was bad enough, but make that a sexy, sensually accented guest? No.

But she’d opened her big mouth now, hadn’t she?

That mouth is always getting you into trouble, Sis.

Vincent had warned her time and again. Too bad her tongue didn’t listen. It would when she told it not to share this story with him, though. She’d wear a ball gag if she had to, but no way would she give her older brother ammunition for their next sibling squabble.

A chuckle from the table startled her out of her panic. “Too right.” He said it like rye, as if the T was too much trouble to pronounce. “I did drift off a bit. Jet lag’s a bitch.”

Her feet propelled her forward without permission, a sympathetic murmur sounding in her throat. She searched the room, desperate for some way to excuse herself without being seen, some way to disappear without Mr. Aussie realizing his masseuse was actually some strange woman who’d barged her way into the wrong room. Thank God he hadn’t turned his head; the awkward angle over his shoulder would’ve given him the perfect view of her standing at the door, sweaty fingers clutching the fluffy robe she wore—with nothing underneath it.

Nothing underneath it.

A completely absurd need to howl with laughter choked into her throat. Of course she was naked. It wasn’t like he was wearing anything under that sheet either.

Oh God oh God oh God.

The man on the table stirred.

I am so dead. What the hell do I do now?

She reached up to rub her hands over her face, the shock of blazing-hot cheeks slapping her out of her adolescent tizzy. “We’ll get started in one moment,” she murmured. “Let me just check something real quick.”

Just get out of here, Kennedy.

“Check anything you want, love,” the man said drowsily, “as long as I’m on the list.”

There was no missing the flirt in Mr. Aussie’s words, no matter how slurred they were. The sound sparked something inside Kennedy too, something she really needed to ignore: mischief. It had been the bane of her existence and a constant source of amusement for Vince throughout their childhood, and now it stirred in her belly, bringing trouble with it, she knew.

Not this time. She could be a good girl. Really.

She shuffled back toward the door.

“Let me make you more comfortable first.”

What? No!

It’s just a little tease. It won’t hurt anything. He’ll never know who you are.

I’ll know, she argued, but her hand was already reaching for the warmer, lifting the lid, pulling out a hot washcloth. She waved the steaming cloth in the air for a few moments, allowing it to cool to a comfortable temperature, then walked it over to the table. “Here we go. Roll over for me, please? Eyes closed.”

The man obeyed, sighing deeply when the warm cloth settled over his closed eyes. Thank goodness, because Kennedy was sighing as well. Just looking at his gorgeous face made her sigh.

“Nice,” he said.

“Mm.” Kennedy retreated to the tabletop. An enclosed pot waited, the little red light on the front indicating that the wax inside was warm and ready for use. She lifted the lid to stare at the melted wax, her imp firmly in control now. “We’re just about ready. Shall we start with your waxing? That’ll get you nice and awake for your massage.”

“Waxin’?”

The faint note of apprehension couldn’t mar his lovely accent, but it did push a bubble of laughter up the back of Kennedy’s throat. She closed the warmer and shuffled through the papers on a clipboard sitting nearby. “Right. You asked for the Brazilian, correct? Adventurous man.” Every ounce of appreciation she could scrounge up went into the last two words.

A choked sound came from the table. “A what?”

“A Brazilian. Yes?”

“No!”

“Oh.” She kept her back to the table, barely able to control her laughter. “I must have something wrong here.” Grasping the clipboard, she turned toward the door, careful to keep her head down and turned slightly away from the table, her long bangs hiding her face from the man she was teasing. “Let me clarify my orders.”

The sound of shifting came from the table. “Definitely think you should check that.” She caught a shudder from the corner of her eye. “Not just no, but fuck no,” he muttered.

A tiny laugh escaped despite her best efforts. “Well, we wouldn’t want a fuck no, now would we? I’ll be right back.”

She managed to slip through the door. As it clicked shut, she came face-to-face with Melody.

“What were you doing in there?” her friend whispered, a spark of amusement in her brown eyes saying she already had some clue.

Kennedy shoved the clipboard at her friend and shook her head. “Heard that, did ya?”

Melody muffled her laughter behind a hand. “Every word. What were you thinking?”

No way in hell was she telling anyone what she’d been thinking—that Mr. Aussie was sexy enough to distract her until escape had been impossible. She went on the offensive instead. “I was thinking he took my room.”

“He’s also taking your masseuse,” Melody said. “He’s that important. Now get over to the blue room before someone realizes what you did. Kai will be there in a minute.”

Kennedy grumbled. If he was that important, why hadn’t she been told about him? Whoever the guy was, he was racking up marks that were definitely not in his favor, and racking them up quick. Kai was a great masseuse, but Kennedy wanted Mel, damn it. Routine was a must, especially when you needed to relax.

Her bottom lip pouted out.

Her friend swatted her lightly with the clipboard on her way to Mr. Aussie’s door. “Go and I won’t snitch on you.”

“Gee, thanks.” She slunk away, but not before Melody’s cheerful voice reached her ears.

“So, Mr. Anschau, we’re not having a waxing today, correct?”

Mr. Anschau's answer came through loud and clear. "No. We're staying the hell away from my balls, thanks."

If Only 4: Only If You Stay

(Only If You Stay is a novella set directly after book 3, Only for the Moment.)

Prologue

Nick Lewis held his breath as he walked through the door of the mansion, every sense straining, wanting, needing to see the woman he’d traveled across the world just to meet. His job was to protect his friend and client, Isaac Anschau, from harm, but that wasn’t why he’d dropped to his knees and given thanks when Isaac told him they were visiting Australia. No, it had all been about Grace .

His Grace.

“What in the world happened to you?”

Nick’s gut tightened at the lyrical voice even though it wasn’t directed at him. He knew that voice, had heard it hundreds of times over the phone, had replayed the memories in his dreams. His Grace.

But it was Isaac who gathered Grace’s petite frame into his arms, blocking Nick from getting a proper look. “How you doing, Grace?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Nick recognized the stubborn tone too. When she wanted something, Grace could be as stubborn as a dog with a bone. That was exactly how she’d gotten her lifelong friend back to his home country when he’d refused to visit for five years.

“Later, okay?” Isaac answered, releasing Grace. Still blocking Nick’s view.

Move the fuck out of the way, boss.

Isaac did, shifting to the side to introduce his girlfriend, Kennedy O’Connell. And giving Nick his first glimpse of Grace in person. He’d known from pictures that she was petite, maybe a handful of inches over five feet. Much, much smaller than his six-four. But he hadn’t realized how delicate she would be, like a fairy. Or, with the mischief sparkling in those eyes as she bantered with Isaac, a wood nymph. Something with wings.

How would she fit in his arms? Beneath him? He broke out in a sweat just thinking about it.

Grace directed Isaac to his bedroom so he could get out of his wet clothes. “Just don’t linger.”

Nick couldn’t help it; a snort escaped. “If Ken is going with him, the lingering is guaranteed.”

At the sound of his voice, Grace leaned a bit to see around Isaac, her gaze colliding with Nick’s—and kicking every last bit of breath out of his lungs.

A pink flush crept up her cheeks. “Nick.”

He grinned. “In the flesh. Finally.”

And the wait, as much as it had itched under his skin for far too long, had definitely been worth it. Grace was a fucking dream standing before him, just like he’d known she would be. Years he’d dreamed about her, imagining what it would be like to be in the same room, to see her, hold her. Right now, this moment—his dreams hadn’t even come close.

He was vaguely aware of Isaac and Kennedy heading upstairs. Very vaguely. Every ounce of attention was centered on the woman in front of him, the shy awareness in her eyes, the way she gripped her hands in front of her as if she was holding herself back. He didn’t want her to hold back. He opened his arms. “Come here, angel.”

The next moment he was pulling her against him—and oh God, did she feel good. When she whispered his name, he knew she felt it too.

 Her body molded to his perfectly, and he gave himself a moment to revel in the feel of her in his arms. When things south started to revel a bit too much, he stepped back. They had time. He had time to give her, to prove he was who she needed. By the time he got on a plane to escort Isaac back to the States, she would be his and they’d be planning the future.

“Show me to my room?” he asked. If his voice was a little rough, well, he couldn’t help it. Grace did that to him.

Grace stared up at him a moment, emotion swirling in her eyes. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Nick?”

A jolt shot through him, half surprise, half lust. “What?”

The ring of Grace’s laughter sent a flutter through his chest, right where she laid her palm. Warmth seeped into him at her touch.

“I know you, Nick. We may not have met in person, but I know you. Being all chivalrous and ‘give her some time.’” She shook her head, the scent of sun and coconut rising from her hair to fill his senses. “Stop protecting me. I’ve waited too long for this moment.”

Nick closed his eye tight. How could he have ever believed that Grace would let him ease her into anything? A chuckle escaped as he opened his eyes to stare down into her gorgeous blue gaze. “You never do anything halfway, do you?”

“Me?” Grace moved closer, her body brushing his again, setting his senses on fire. “I should bloody well hope not.”

Spearing his fingers into the silky fall of her hair, he cradled her head, tilting it at just the right angle. Grace went up on her toes, anticipation lighting her eyes and quickening her breath. And as Nick lowered his head, his lips meeting hers, he knew without a doubt, just as he’d known everything else when it came to Grace, that this would be the last first kiss he would ever have.

Assassins 1: Assassin's Mark

Chapter One

I’m not sure what I expected. I’d been to bars, but not the kind of bars with pool tables and smoke haze and men on the prowl for a one-night stand. The bars I’d been to specialized in cocktail hours and old men in business suits. The Full Moon wasn’t refined or elegant or quiet.

It was everything I was not. Exactly where I needed to be tonight.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked. He was staring at Candy’s breasts, but she didn’t seem to mind, just flashed him a sexier version of her friendly smile. Had she slept with him before?

It was Renee who answered. “Pitcher of strawberry margaritas, Dave.”

“Make that two,” Candy tacked on.

Dave the Bartender nodded at her cleavage. “I’ll send ’em right over.”

I followed my friends through the crowd toward a table Sarah had snagged while we ordered. The three women obviously had a routine. I’d known they were close, and the fact that they’d extended their little circle to include me from the first day we met in Nursing 101 class had touched me in ways they couldn’t possibly understand. They were normal girls with normal lives and normal homes. I wasn’t, but if they’d noticed, they didn’t mention it. No flicker of recognition at my name, no questions about where I lived or why I never went out when they invited me. Just basic friendship, no strings attached.

They had no idea how rare that was.

“So, Abby, see anything interesting?”

Too much, actually. Heat flushed my cheeks. “Um…”

Sarah giggled. “Wait till she’s got at least one margarita in her, Renee. Then ask.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “The selection always looks better the later it gets.”

The selection already looked pretty good to me. Most of the men were our age—early twenties—and not a suit and tie to be found. Jeans and half-buttoned shirts and messily styled hair were the go-to. A tattooed forearm or the wink of an earring wasn’t rare. Beers in hand, the men joshed each other while prowling the room, hungry gazes assessing each woman they came to. One by one they’d peel off with their choice, either to the dance floor or a table or the front door.

What was it like to be the women they chose? In the circles my family required me to frequent, the barrier of my father’s name and status kept men away from me. Here, there were no barriers except my friends and my own insecurities. The idea that I could choose to ignore both and do whatever I wanted quickened my breath. Either I was excited or about to hyperventilate; I wasn’t certain which.

I refused to let the terror win anymore.

The margaritas arrived and we each poured ourselves one. The fruity yet tart liquid set my tongue alight like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, a pleasure I hadn’t experienced before. I savored it as I listened to the girls’ giggling commentary about each man who walked by. It wasn’t long before the room went hazy with something other than smoke and I found myself joining in the conversation without reservation.

I was pouring my second margarita when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Two shorts, one long: my father. A healthy gulp helped bolster my confidence before I pulled the cell out for a look.

I shouldn’t respond, shouldn’t care, but I clicked on the message anyway, just to see. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was worried about me. Maybe he wanted to apologize, tell me he loved me for once in twenty-one years.

Where the hell are you?

Or maybe not. I returned the phone to my pocket.

Sarah leaned close, her voice low. “Everything okay?”

Renee and Candy were focused on the table of men to their right. I gave Sarah a wry smile. “My dad.” I took another drink. “It’ll blow over, I’m sure.”

Sarah laid her hand over mine on the table and squeezed. The gesture mesmerized me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched me because they cared. How sad was that?

My phone buzzed again. I ignored it.

“Holy shit.”

Sarah’s hand left mine to grasp her drink. She took a gulp, her gaze trained somewhere over Candy’s head. I followed it.

Holy shit is right.

The man was tall, dark, and dangerous with a capital D. I’d never seen anyone like him, anyone who made my insides clench just looking at him. Thick dark hair, long on top and shaved close on the sides, highlighted perfect ears and a jaw chiseled from granite. His eyes seemed too light for that hair and his olive skin, shining like spotlights beneath dark brows, almost too intense to bear. And those lips. God. They hinted at sensual pleasures I could only guess at.

He prowled across the room, a lean, muscular panther intent on prey—every woman’s fantasy, including mine.

And he was headed straight for us.

My gaze dropped to my drink. The tables around us held either men or couples, so I wasn’t mistaken about his focus. Which girl was he interested in? Sarah with her sweet smile? Or maybe Candy, with her unabashed sensuality?

An empty glass stared back at me. I reached for the pitcher.

“Hello, ladies.”

My hand froze on the handle as the words quivered through my body. Look up! Look at him! But I couldn’t; I could only sit there like a dumbass holding the pitcher in my shaking grip and praying I didn’t make a fool of myself.

No fear, remember?

No fear. I tightened my grip, lifted. So far, so good. Somehow I managed to pour a fresh drink without spilling, replace the pitcher on the table. Despite the sick pounding of my heart in my throat, I made myself glance up.

Gray eyes locked with mine.

Lord, he’s beautiful.

I expected him to look away, to focus on one of the other women. He didn’t. He stared—at me. Until the urge to squirm crawled up my spine and my cheeks burst into flames.

“Hello.”

Was that my voice, all breathy and…suggestive? It must’ve been; the other girls were staring, silent, their round eyes just as awed as I’m sure mine were. I looked back to the man looming over our table.

He reached a hand out to me. “I’m Levi.”

My fingers settled into his grip like they had been created to fit him. “Abby.”

My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.

“Hi, Abby.” He didn’t let go of my hand, didn’t glance around. Just held me captive with those intense eyes. “Would you dance with me?”

Me?

I barely managed not to say it aloud. Instead I looked to Sarah, who was frantically nodding. “Uh, okay. Sure.”

Could I be any more awkward if I tried? Where was the vaunted hostess who demurely handled every crisis that arose?

Maybe she’d died along with the dream that someday, somehow, my father would see me as his daughter and not his pawn.

Levi tugged on my hand, urging me to my feet. My body responded to his command automatically, breaking through the nerves that had held me frozen. I didn’t want to be frozen, not anymore. And I didn’t want to miss this, not a minute of it.

Assassins 2: Assassin's Prey

Chapter 1

Levi

The silken sheets caressed her skin, revealing more than they concealed. Too damn much for my peace of mind. I should be out there, on the hunt, but Abby tethered me to her like a fucking chain, refusing to let go. No matter how much safer she was without me.

A gasp escaped her, and she turned on her side, one hand reaching out, searching—for me. “Levi?”

The room was dark, her eyes glazed with sleep. She couldn’t see me in the shadows. It was better that way, but I couldn’t leave her searching. Something inside me, something I both hated and hungered for, held as tightly to her as she did to me.

With a curse I couldn’t quite hold back, I moved to the bed. And felt it the minute she saw me—my body lit up like I’d touched a live wire. Just like it did when prey appeared, every instinct sparking, every sense zeroed in on the body before me. Only I didn’t want to kill this one.

I wanted her life in my hands, not her death.

A smile touched her full lips when my knee settled on the bed. Sheets rustled as she shifted onto her back, tugging me closer with nothing more than her creamy skin and the curve of her mouth. “There you are.” The curve slowly flattened. “You’re dressed.”

Because it’s safer this way. Because I can’t sleep beside you and not let you all the way inside me.

I grabbed my T-shirt at the back of my neck and pulled. “Not for long.”

I stripped as I crawled onto the bed. Crouching over Abby’s body, I let the hunger for her take over, felt it in the tensing of my muscles, the lengthening of my cock, the racing of my heartbeat. A visceral reaction I was addicted to. That’s all it was. She was my drug, and I’d never get enough. Not till it killed me. I just had to make sure it didn’t kill her first.

“You should be asleep, little bird,” I growled down at her.

Her eyes left mine, focused somewhere over my shoulder. Telling me all I needed to know. Another nightmare. Less frequent now, but they’d never go away. I knew that from personal experience.

“I never sleep as well when you’re not beside me.”

Another link clicked onto my chain, choking me with the need to reassure her. I’ll always be here. I need you beside me to sleep at all. I crave your skin against mine until I sometimes think I’ll go insane.

I didn’t say any of it. I couldn’t. The risk was too high.

So I kissed her.

Abby opened to me, a needy flower, defenseless, so fucking innocent even now. I remembered the first time I’d taken her, the first time she’d let me inside, and a groan escaped into her mouth. Her tight fit, the resistance I’d had to force myself through… Just the memory broke me out in a sweat.

I should hate myself for corrupting her. I did hate myself. But it felt more like she’d corrupted me. With her sweetness, her fire. It made me weak when I couldn’t afford to be. But I couldn’t break free either.

Forcing myself back onto my knees, I fisted the sheet and pulled. A slow reveal—nipples, belly, that strip of auburn hair that pointed me straight to the entrance of her body. As if I could ever lose my way. The thought tightened the chain again, choking off my breath.

And then I looked into her eyes. Knowledge glittered there, too much for her own good. Every day it grew; every day she looked at me and that damn knowing was there. She knew my fear, but she never asked for more than I’d already given. Never asked for a commitment. Or if I loved her. As if she knew a yes would damn us both.

For the longest moment I wavered there, on the edge of leaving, fighting the bastard inside me that insisted I stay, the sight of her laid out before me searing my brain. And then Abby shifted, her legs parting, and the scent of her need filled my nose. The balance tipped. An agonized groan rumbled from my brain to my chest and out of my mouth.

I was between her legs before my next heartbeat.

Cream and spice, that was Abby on my tongue. I pressed my mouth to her pussy and pushed deep, seeking out every drop. Filling my senses with her until I knew I was drowning. Her skin was slick velvet against my lips, my tongue, her clit a hard bead against my nose. I licked up, took it into my mouth, and sucked hard, that primal need to nurse, to take my nourishment from her, hitting me like a bullet to the chest. She filled me, sustained me—with her body, her desire, the hungry cries echoing in my ears, the greedy fingers forcing my head closer. Her body and her mouth begged me for more, and I gave it, again and again and again until she exploded beneath my tongue.

I was inside her before the last ripple faded.

“Levi, God, yes!”

My cock was so heavy, so tight inside her hot, wet body. Too much. Not enough. When her seeking hands landed on my chest and slid downward, I knew this would be over before it had a chance to begin, and no way in hell could I allow that.

“No.” Her wrists were fragile in my rough hands, but I forced them back anyway, slamming them to the bed as Abby cried out beneath me. “Look at me, little bird. Now.”

Frantic, pleading hazel eyes snapped to mine. Abby rolled her pelvis, taking me deeper. “Please.”

“Look at me,” I demanded. “Don’t close your eyes.”

I pulled back, the drag of her body around my cock so perfect my eyes threatened to roll back in my head. Leveraging my knees out, I slammed back inside. Abby gasped my name, and I did it again. And again. Those beautiful eyes glazed over, going somewhere deep inside herself where hunger and pleasure roared for satisfaction, taking me with her. Letting me see what no one else had ever seen—Abby, bare, open, completely vulnerable. To me. Alive like no one I’d ever known before, filling and feeding the dead parts of me that I’d long ago given up hope of ever healing. She could; she did. With her body and her honesty.

I’d never met anyone like her before. And I knew it was only a matter of time before I destroyed her.

Without warning her eyes flared, her legs bending to hook around my hips, pulling me closer. She chanted my name, high and desperate, and I angled my hips up, the head of my cock striking that spot deep inside that made her clench around me, so tight I had to force my way back in. And I did.

My name morphed into a scream on her lips as she climaxed around me. Squeezed me tight and sucked every last drop of semen from my willing body.

The relaxing of her muscles beneath mine drew me out of the fog of pleasure a few minutes later. I raised my head from her neck, glanced down. Abby blinked, her expression smoothing out, but not before I caught a glimpse of the emotions there—longing, desperation, pain. My failure, all in one look. But it was how it had to be.

“I have to go.”

Before she could respond, I was up and headed to the bathroom. I cleaned myself up, wiping away the evidence of her pleasure and mine, thankful that with Abby’s birth control, condoms were no longer an issue. I could be skin to skin with her, mark her, smear my semen over her body so that no other man would dare to trespass on my territory. I needed it. The animal inside me needed it, demanded it. With her I could soothe the savage hunger.

But no kids. Ever.

I returned to the bed with a warm washcloth. Abby parted her legs willingly. When she was clean, I leaned down until my nose met her pubic hair, and breathed deep. My Abby. My woman!the animal inside me roared. But the man restricted me to a brief kiss on her sensitive clit before backing away.

Abby’s murmur of disappointment was a knife to the gut.

“I’ll lock up before I leave,” I told her.

She lay, silent, on the bed, legs bent, body gleaming in the faint light from the crack in the curtains, and watched me return the cloth to the bathroom, check the windows, and walk to the door. I’d melted into the shadows before I heard her voice. “What about a kiss goodbye?”

I couldn’t deny her, not when my body screamed for the kiss too. I returned to the bed, let the covers caress her skin once again as I drew them over her. “Sleep, little bird.”

Her kiss was the padlock on the chain that held me to her. I welcomed it in that moment—delved deep to tangle with her tongue, nipped her lips, buried my face in the hollow of her neck and the sweet scent of vanilla and flowers.

“Be safe,” she murmured as I backed away.

“Always.”

And then I was out the door. Every window, every door was checked, secured—I wouldn’t risk anything happening when I wasn’t here. The shadows in the backyard were deep this time of night, but unmoving. Same on either side of the house. When I walked out the front door and set the security system to on, I did so knowing she was safe inside.

So why did my soul scream at me to go back with every step I took away from her?

Assassins 3: Assassin's Heart

Chapter 1

Remi

Brown sugar and butter melted on my tongue, bringing a groan to my lips as I waited in the gloomy garage. Abby’s oatmeal molasses cookies. The vague memories of my mother baking when Levi, Eli, and I were children didn’t include the flavors of finished cookies, but if the memories were heaven, oatmeal molasses cookies would have to be in there somewhere.

I took another bite.

I’d popped the last bit into my mouth when I caught sight of her. Fulton County Memorial needed actual fucking lighting in here to keep their employees safe, but even in the dim light I knew it was Leah coming out of the elevator onto the third floor of the parking garage. My Leah. Everything inside me stood up and took notice, like a live wire buzzing through my veins. Lighting up every nook and cranny of my body. That’s what she did to me every. Damn. Time.

Shifting to ease the suddenly tight stretch of denim across my dick, I picked up another cookie. Leah walked toward an old Toyota Camry with a booster seat in the back. A reliable car for a woman who didn’t make much despite her long hours and compassion. Compassionate people rarely earned what they deserved; it was the bastards like me that got ahead in this world. I waited for her to pull toward the down ramp, just out of sight, then shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth, cranked my nondescript SUV, and followed.

Atlanta traffic was a bitch any time of day, but trying to get out of town in the evening... She’d have no chance to lose me, even if she knew I was behind her. Gridlock had us inching our way south, and from the way she rode her brakes, I knew she was as impatient as I to escape it. For far different reasons, but still. Her reason had blonde hair identical to hers, shades of yellow, caramel, and brown mingling together to provide a rich depth that made my fingers itch to touch it. Brown eyes just like hers too.

The child was six, I knew that. I knew her name and everything important about her, just like I did her mother. Not that either of them would ever know.

This far back, I couldn’t catch a glimpse of those brown eyes in the rearview mirror. I wished I could. Every time I fucking saw her, I ached to stare into those eyes. They’d mesmerized me from the first moment I looked into them, drugged and disoriented from the coma, but Leah’s dark eyes had stared down at me, grounded me, settled the fear in my gut.

There was nothing to settle the fear now, because that fear was reality—I’d never look into those eyes again. I would ache for her until I died, but I wouldn’t give in. Leah and her child deserved a lot more in this life than a man with blood on his hands.

My cell rang as we exited the freeway at Union City. Leah’s car headed west while I debated answering. I knew who was calling, and I knew he wouldn’t be happy with me. He never was lately. Not that I gave a rat’s ass, but I had no desire to waste time arguing.

I finally pressed the button on the console and answered. “Yeah?”

“Did the intel on our target pan out?”

No hi, how are ya? or even how’s it hanging, bro? Levi was all business except on the rare occasions that his girlfriend, Abby, could trick him out of it. He’d raised me since I was ten, so I was used to it.

“It panned out,” I told him. Butch Clarkson was definitely an abusive asshole. I didn’t know who’d put a hit out on him, but he deserved everything he’d had coming his way. His wife was currently in a long-term care facility from a “fall down the stairs” that hadn’t been an accident after all.

“Fine. Eli will start tracking his movements so we can—”

“Don’t bother.”

The silence that followed my words was heavy. Tense. Angry. And didn’t faze me in the slightest.

“Why shouldn’t I bother, Remi?”

“Because I took care of it.” Clarkson would never throw another woman down the stairs. His associates wouldn’t care, but I did.

Curses filtered through the speakers of the SUV. I barely paid attention, more interested in the little red Camry slowing ahead to turn into a neighborhood that was showing its age. The houses were a long commute from her work, smaller, with a bit more yard than new construction, but solid. Leah chose wisely, on a lot of things.

“I don’t trust promises from men like you.”

“Why the fuck would you do a job without full intel and without backup?” Levi growled, pulling me back from memories I should’ve buried a long time ago. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

The thought didn’t bother me as much as it should have—a warning sign in my business. I brushed it off with a mental shrug. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. I knew all I needed to know.”

“What I know is you have a fucking death wish. You’re taking too many chances, Remi. You know better than that. I taught you better than that.”

You taught me a lot of things, big brother. Unfortunately lessons couldn’t make you feel when all you wanted was to stop feeling.

I slowed, taking the same turn Leah had taken, far enough behind that she wouldn’t notice. When she left the main road that bisected the neighborhood, I turned off my headlights and followed.

“This has got to stop, Remi.”

Levi’s words jerked me out of the fantasy of belonging in this little neighborhood with a woman and a little girl who deserved far better than me. He was right, too; he had no idea how right.

“You’re risking too much and you know it. I can’t lose you, brother. Either you rein it in or—”

“Or what?”

My words were deadly quiet. I could feel Levi’s shock in the silence after them, knew he understood what I was saying—there was nothing he could do to stop me. I worked with my brothers because I wanted to, not because it was necessary.

The silence ticked by with the passing of car after car parked in front of each square of idealized domesticity. Levi finally spoke.

“Look, I love you; you know that. I even understand where you are coming from.”

Because he knew about Leah. Or rather, about a woman; he didn’t know her identity.

His voice went from gruff to dark and deadly, much as mine had been moments before. “But Remi, if you don’t curb yourself, if you put Eli and Abby in danger, I will take care of business, don’t you doubt it. I won’t want to, but I will.”

I didn’t doubt it one bit. Levi would storm through hell to keep his woman safe. I knew because I felt the same. “Noted.”

I clicked to end the call before either one of us could say something we really would regret—or before Levi could. I’d gone far beyond regret even before I took care of Mr. Wife Beater Clarkson.

Leah had parked in the driveway of a small gray house with weathered white trim. I pulled into a spot in front of a house catty-corner to hers, at just the right angle that I could see her fumbling to gather her things and get out of her car. I could see her walking up the sidewalk, her curves pulling my gaze down her body as she moved. I could see her sidestep to avoid the crack at the turn in the pavement just before the steps up to her porch. I didn’t need to see any of it—I had watched her so many times that I knew each move by heart—yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

And because I was watching, because I knew her body language better than my own, I saw the moment she hesitated outside the front entrance. Saw her keys fall from her hand to patter on the concrete before she yanked on the screen door.

Something wasn’t right.

I was out of my car and crossing the street, heart pounding to the rhythm of my running feet, without a moment’s hesitation. Leah’s name escaped my lips over and over again, a mantra against the jacked-up fear I couldn’t escape, no matter how irrational. It had been a single moment, one fleeting glimpse, but something inside me—instinct, paranoia, I didn’t know what—said this wasn’t irrational at all.

Put me in front of a gun with a round in the chamber and a finger on the trigger and my breath wouldn’t even hitch. But Leah in danger? There was plenty of hitching. And swearing. And pleading with whatever spirit ruled the universe to keep her safe when I saw the broken-off knob on her screen door and the deep white gouges scarring the inner door’s wood.

Someone had broken in—with Leah’s child inside.

“Leah!”

Inside, chaos reigned though the room was empty. Furniture was out of place—the couch cushions split open, the coffee table overturned, the TV on its back as if its cabinet had been shoved. Toys and books and throw pillows were scattered among glass from a broken lamp and a tea cup and plate shattered into pieces. Every drawer, every door was open as if someone had been searching for something.

I took it all in with one sweeping glance as I struggled toward the kitchen to the left. “Leah!”

The kitchen was empty as well, the destruction in the front room repeated here. A tornado had torn through the house, but still, I saw no sign of the people who lived here.

Until a startled scream came from one of the back rooms.

I cursed, stretching my long legs as far as they would go, taking the hallway like a sprinter with the finish line in sight. I hit the back bedroom in time to see Leah kneeling beside an older woman on the floor next to a heavy dresser. The angle of the woman’s neck told me all I needed to know, but Leah couldn’t read the story—one shaking hand was reaching to find a pulse.

I snatched her back before her fingers could make contact.

Assassins 4: Assassin's Game

Chapter 1

Eli

Good evening, Assassin.

I’ve been an admirer of your work for some time. The problem, of course, is exposure—you don’t want it, but I have the means to make it happen. The tie between Hacr Technologies and the Assassin might be well-hidden, but for someone like me, with my connections, they are both easily uncovered and easily exposed.

Neither of us want that, I’m sure. A partnership would easily solve the issue.

Your target is Bram Sullivan, CEO of BSGA Holdings International, headquartered in Atlanta. Natural causes are imperative. Contact me within two weeks when the job is done, and the information I have will remain between the two of us.

I look forward to working with you.

X

“Son of a bitch! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I reread the e-mail one more time, as if the contents might change between one second and the next. I wished they would.

I wished a lot of things, but apparently they weren’t going to fucking come true.

I mean, I’m the contact for a well-known—and feared if not respected—killer. I’d received some freaky e-mails in my time. Most crazies aren’t savvy enough to find the site on the dark Web, much less brave enough to actually make contact with the boogeyman of the US criminal world. But this particular crazy, X?

He’d not only made contact; he’d threatened to expose everything we were if we didn’t work for him.

Assuming he was a “he.” He or she, the fucker had signed their own death warrant.

The bat cave was dark, the thump of old-school Metallica reverberating off the concrete walls. I shoved back from the computer, spinning as the chair moved, and pushed to my feet seconds later. Ignoring the bang of the chair as it hit the edge of the desk, I stalked toward the elevator and access to my brothers. Some things I wrote off on my own, but this required a family meeting.

The first floor was quiet as I exited. Dark. The mansion our parents had raised us in until their deaths had become a home, the walls drawing me in instead of keeping me out. Sometimes I didn’t think I deserved it. After all, I’d been nine when our uncle murdered our parents in cold blood, right upstairs. I had memories of them, sure, but as the years passed, they became more and more fuzzy. Sometimes I couldn’t remember my mother’s face.

No, I definitely didn’t deserve to be here. But these walls accepted me anyway, just like they accepted my brothers.

These days Remi was in bed early, and not only because his woman was now sharing it. Between his new day job at Hacr, preparing to take over security, and the fact that he and Leah were managing an almost seven-year-old still in school and Leah’s nursing position at Fulton County Memorial, late nights weren’t even on their radar. And a new baby in six months. All that shit had my head spinning, and I wasn’t in the middle of it. Remi had gone from stone-cold killer to slavishly devoted family man (with the stone-cold still there, just on the side) the minute the opportunity had presented itself. I couldn’t blame him, either. He and Leah belonged—there was no other word for it.

I wouldn’t wake them if I didn’t have to. Remi could declare war on the asshole targeting us tomorrow just as well as tonight.

After scanning the living room and kitchen just in case my oldest brother was skulking around, I took the front stairs two at a time up to the second floor where Levi and Abby lived. They’d talked about trading their floor for Remi’s given that he would soon have four people in his half of the third floor, but Remi had refused. Said they would probably be filling up their floor with kids soon anyway. Levi had actually turned green at the thought, a fact I gave him shit for, for a solid week.

Levi could be an ass. No matter how much I loved him, I was always looking for something to rag him about.

Tonight his floor of the house was dark too. Down the hall I saw a flicker of light coming from the living room doorway, and headed that direction. Looked like the TV was on. Bracing myself in case Levi and Abby were gettin’ freaky on the couch—not unlikely, but I’d rather not be exposed to my brother’s hairy ass—I stepped inside.

The TV hanging on the wall was running some movie with Sandra Bullock on silent. Hot chick. I checked out the rest of the room, but it wasn’t until I gave up and turned to leave that I caught sight of the huddled figure in the wide recliner to one side. Levi’s recliner. I never thought my badass assassin brother would have a favorite recliner, like some creaky gramps who had to steal little blue pills just to get it up, for fuck’s sake. But damn if he hadn’t claimed that thing in a hot second. I tried not to think about what he’d said he’d do with Abby in that chair. There was a reason I was cautious when entering.

Right now it wasn’t Levi sprawled in the recliner; Abby was curled up in it, the sound of her crying reaching me as I crossed the room.

What was that line from Stephen King’s It? “Your hair is winter fire, January embers.” I thought of it every time I caught a glimpse of Abby’s auburn hair. Even now, in the dim light of the flickering TV, it shone. It wasn’t just her hair that sparked warmth, though; she wrapped anyone in her vicinity up in that shit the minute she got close. She’d made us a real family instead of a collection of dickheads who didn’t really know how to love. How to settle. We might’ve wanted it, but it was Abby who showed us the way.

She’d earned my loyalty before my brother had ever gotten his shit together and gone after her, just by loving him. Us.

My sister. Always.

Yeah, she tended to make me maudlin. It was embarrassing and I tried to hide it, but really, who gave a fuck?

“Hey.” I knelt in front of the chair, my heart contracting at the sight of her flushed face and the liquid pain in her eyes. Those eyes flared as they settled on me. “What’s going on? Where’s Levi?”

Abby’s lips twisted. “Who the hell knows anymore?”

Shit shit shit. I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed the nightly exits. I didn’t know what was up with my brother, but I knew it was something. And the only way Levi knew how to deal with worry riding his ass was to run from it. Literally. He’d stalk the night until he couldn’t go a step farther, then come home and collapse. Usually after Abby was asleep, or so I’d thought.

Guess that plan went down the toilet.

“Abby—”

“Don’t!” She put up a fragile hand, ignoring me as I plucked it from the air to warm between mine. “Don’t make excuses for the bastard.”

When Abby cussed, things were bad. Apparently things were bad.

“He’s my brother; making excuses for each other is what we do.” I ducked my head until I could meet her eyes under the curtain of her hair. Cocked the corner of my mouth up in that way I hoped would draw a smile. Apparently I’ve lost my touch, because Abby closed her eyes and released more tears.

There was only one thing left to do when words didn’t work and tears wouldn’t stop: avoid all possibility of putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come here.” I clamped my mouth shut and, with a tug on her hand, led Abby to the couch, then sat beside her as she curled into the arm. She didn’t need words, and I didn’t give any, just held her hand and let her cry it out.

“I don’t get it,” she finally sniffled. “He has everything. We have everything.” Fisting the sleeve of her pajama top, she swiped it across her nose. I’d have offered her a tissue if I had a clue where one was. “Why does it feel like, with all of this”—she gestured around—“we’re going right back to where we started?”

How the hell did I know? Levi did what he did; for too many years it could’ve cost me my life to question his commands. He’d kept me safe, trained me, loved me, even if it meant knocking me around a bit to get my head on straight. We’d been on the streets, grown up hard, and that sometimes came out in Levi in ways I didn’t understand. In ways I was sure he didn’t always understand.

“He’s just trying to clear his head.”

Abby sighed hard, letting her head fall back onto the couch arm. “Of what? Of me?”

“No, of course not!”

Her head jerked up, the glare in her eyes shouting that there was no of course about it. If she could see how much things had changed since Levi had committed to her, she wouldn’t question it any more than I did.

“Tell me the truth,” she finally said. “Is it me? Really, Eli, is he doing this because of me?”

“Abby.” I laced our fingers together, tugging her until she turned in her corner to face me. “This is not about you. This is the same dumbass shit he pulled before you came into our lives. Just Levi being Levi, trying to handle some problem the way he always handles things.” I grinned. “He’s got a harder head than most. He hasn’t gotten the message that the way he always handles things doesn’t work anymore.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” she muttered under her breath.

That tight feeling in my chest eased the slightest bit. I squeezed her hand. “You’re our glue; don’t you know that? When are you going to trust it? There’s no ‘one foot out the door’ here. He’s not trying to get away from you. This probably has nothing to do with you, whatever this is.”

“Yeah”—she sucked in a deep breath—“whatever this is.”

Whatever... Well shit. My eyes went wide as I realized what she might be crying over. “You know he’s not with another woman, right?” I mean, Levi committing to Abby had been a miracle. One thing about my brother, he was loyal to a fault. He was with Abby for the long haul. Whatever was bothering him, it wasn’t another woman.

“No.” She shook her head, and suddenly fatigue swamped her face, slumped her shoulders. “No, I know he’d never do that. I just...” A small, sad smile tugged at her lips. “I guess we all grow up with patterns, don’t we? I grew up thinking every little thing was my fault.”

And assumed this was too. “Levi grew up solving his problems on his own,” I pointed out. “On the streets, where every decision could kill you. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but he’s trying to protect you from it.”

Abby nodded, but I couldn’t tell in the dim light if she believed me.

“Want me to kick his ass?”

That got the laugh I’d been trying to get for fifteen minutes. With the sound, the muscles in my chest fully relaxed. Things might not be fine, but I’d lifted her burden a little. That was my job.

She stood, and her glance back at me was soft as she turned to leave. “I’m going to bed, but hold that thought. I might take you up on it.”

I shot her a wink. “Anytime.”

It wasn’t till Abby had left me at the stairs and headed toward her and Levi’s bedroom that I remembered my whole purpose in coming upstairs. Someone needed to know about the bastard threatening to out us. I glanced up the staircase toward Remi’s rooms, but the image of Leah this morning, dark circles under her eyes after throwing up her breakfast—of course Remi’s baby would make things difficult—decided me against going up. Save it for Levi...after he fixed his fuckup with Abby.

Instead of making my way up to my wing of the house—third floor left—I turned toward the elevator and headed back to the basement. Maybe I could dig up some dirt on this X before Levi got home. Better to present him with facts than speculations.

Looked like I had a long night carved out for me.

Southern Nights 1: Teach Me

Chapter One

What the hell are you doing here?

This wasn’t the first time in the last five minutes that Conlan had asked himself the same question. Maybe if he had an answer, the revolving door in his brain would stop spinning, but that didn’t seem likely. Not anytime soon. Not with the beautiful brunette he’d come to see sitting close enough that, if he let himself look, he could detect the light dusting of freckles across her nose. But he wasn’t looking, and he shouldn’t be here, so how had he ended up standing in line behind the thirtysomething latte league? It sure as hell wasn’t for the coffee.

Legs braced wide, he shifted from one hip to the other, the creak of his motorcycle chaps reminding him he could be enjoying a few extra minutes on the Harley before work instead of spending that precious time here, mooning over a woman. Doe Eyes. The first time he’d seen her all those months ago, he’d thought her eyes reminded him of sweet Georgia pecans and skittish does. The name stuck, as had the memory of her eyes—and a hundred other glimpses he shouldn’t have taken.

Another name called, another latte dispensed, another shuffle forward.

He hadn’t seen those eyes in eight weeks, and yet still he’d shown up every Monday, like clockwork, hoping for one more glimpse and calling himself an idiot. Wasn’t like he planned on asking her out. So why the hell did he torture himself with these weekly forays into enemy territory?

Sex. Or sex appeal, at least.

Another step closer to the counter. The move didn’t ease the constriction behind the zipper of his jeans. This was what she did to him, thinking about her. Especially now, after so long apart.

The thought had a snort escaping. Ahead of him, Mr. Suit and Tie startled and glanced over a shoulder, but Conlan ignored the look. He was too busy figuring out when “this” had become enough like a relationship in his head that he would think things like “after so long apart.” Doe Eyes might appear prominently in his thoughts from time to time—especially certain times—but he’d never seen her outside of this coffee shop. And he wouldn’t. A quick roll in the hay was one thing, but Doe Eyes wasn’t the kind of woman who had one-night stands. He could tell that much just by looking at her. She was a relationship kind of woman, and he was a relationship-phobic kind of guy. Which meant he seriously needed to get a grip—and not on the part of him growing even harder at the idea.

Idiot was right.

He should be at work. Southern summer heat brought out the crazies almost as well as full moons did, and JCL Security was feeling the impact, juggling cases like they had eight arms, which they didn’t. Too many sleepless nights had been spent at his office, especially with the Bennett case coming up. Just a couple more weeks before Thea Bennett had her bastard of a husband before a judge and hopefully out of her life, but the paper- and prep work to get the high-profile bastard there had been a bitch. He seriously needed to—

“Conlan, hey!”

For a passing moment he was convinced the voice belonged to the woman filling his thoughts. But when the high, candied voice called again, he realized it was coming from the counter. The cashier. Tonya, Tammy? Tracy? He couldn’t remember. She was blonde with a deep tan he would’ve deemed impossible in a landlocked city like Atlanta, the shade a stark contrast to her white smile. Stepping up, he threw her a grin. “Hey.”

She batted long lashes, almost hiding the way her glance slid down to the crotch of his jeans, framed in his leather chaps. “Long time, no see.”

He winked automatically. “It’s a long wait between Mondays.”

The girl giggled. “Your usual?”

“That’s right. Thanks,” he said, passing over a ten-dollar bill.

She made change, certain to caress his hand as she laid the money in his palm. Conlan was more interested in the dark Colombian roast another employee was walking toward them. High-octane all the way. The sight of the near-black brew had him salivating for something other than Doe Eyes for the first time that morning.

He reached the condiment counter just as his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Probably Jack. Retrieving the cell confirmed his suspicion.

Where the hell are you? his partner had texted.

Piss off, Con replied, a grin tugging at his lips. The irony that he’d spent too much time asking himself the very same question didn’t escape him. In a half hour he’d be at the office and they could both stop wondering.

With a little back-and-forth he managed to cram the phone back in his tight jeans. He glanced around absently, and his gaze snagged on a pair of amber-brown eyes that suddenly met his.

He froze.

Doe Eyes dropped her chin and shifted over the slightest bit, enough that her friend’s position blocked her from view, but not before he caught the blush coloring her creamy cheeks.

His cock banged against his zipper as if begging to be let out. The bite of pain caught his breath in his throat. Jesus, what the hell was he—

Don’t! Ask. Again. He knew what the hell he was doing here, and he needed to go; he really did. He needed to stop letting his dick run this show, grab his coffee, and get back to reality.

He was restless, that was all. He was a man who needed action. Needed to be doing something, anything, not sitting behind a desk like he’d been for weeks while prepping Thea’s case. Usually he worked off his frustration in a way that involved cool silk sheets and bare skin and satisfaction on both sides, but there’d been no damn time. Just his hand and the additional chafing it provided, which wasn’t near as effective—or satisfying. That had to be the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about his mystery woman.

Of course. That had to be it.

Popping the lid off his cardboard cup released the rich aroma of ground coffee beans into the air. He lifted his cup and blew across the hot liquid, the sound almost a sigh of relief. He was already reaching for the packets of sugar when black squiggles caught his eye. There. On the part of the paper sleeve now facing him, he could see a name and number were clearly written: Tiffany. A 470 area-code phone number.

So that was her name. Sounded like an eighties pop star. A glance over his shoulder found the cashier leaning across the bar where drinks were picked up, her mounded breasts shelved there, on display. Come back soon, she mouthed, her shoulders doing a little wiggle. On reflex, he threw her a grin, but her seemingly seductive move couldn’t pull his glance downward. His dick didn’t even twitch. Apparently only one thing could trigger his runaway libido this morning.

He added the sugar, trying to ignore the panic in his gut and his one-track mind. The latter was impossible. He wanted to know Doe Eyes’ name, her phone number. Were her breasts as full as they looked beneath that starched white button-down? Was her hair as soft as he swore it would be when he fisted it between his fingers?

He stirred a bit too vigorously, and coffee sloshed over the side of the cup.

Don’t look. Don’t. He realized he’d closed his eyes. A sigh escaped as he rubbed a thumb and finger against them, but as soon as the lids popped open, he searched for her. Had to see her. Felt his heartbeat pick up knowing she might meet his eyes.

He was so screwed—and smart enough to admit it. He let go, let the conflict and the churning in his gut and the tension cramping his muscles go. And then he looked toward her table.

It was empty.

“Well shit.”

He stood for a moment, cursing himself, the coffee, and everything else he could think of. When another customer stepped up behind him and cleared his throat, wanting access to the counter, Con grabbed his cup and headed out the door. On his way, he chucked the coffee in the trash without a single sip.