Monthly Archives: June 2017
Posted by Book Loving Pixies
Semper Fi Cowboy
Lone Star Leathernecks #1
by Heather Long
A Leatherneck by any other name can still kick ass, which is just what retired United States Marine Corps Captain Tanner Wilks plans to do when he returns to his Texas family ranch to care for his ailing father. And nothing will stop him from achieving his mission—not even a lithe, brown-eyed town veterinarian who seems hell-bent on driving him wild.
Captain Tanner Wilks, honorably discharged from the U.S. Marine Corps, returns home to find his father struggling after his latest heart attack. Worse yet, Julia Heller—the sexy new girl in town that he once spent a hot night with—is the resident veterinarian who’s made a home for herself at Round Top ranch, and doesn’t seem to be in a rush to repeat their time together.
It falls on Tanner’s shoulders to take on the ranch and keep an eye on his father before he falls victim to another heart attack. But Julia doesn’t appreciate Tanner coming in or pursuing her. Even if he’s hot as hell and can make her quiver with just a look. Ousting her may give Tanner the leverage he needs to corral his father, but first he has to wrestle with his own heart.
Mamas Please Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys
I remember playing cowboys when I was a kid, I grew up in and around Dallas. Not a block away from my apartment was a riding farm, and I used to escape to where they had the horses and visited them daily. I learned to ride young, and even went to a horse camp as a kid. I fell in love with the idea of cowboys thanks to the Cartwrights (Bonanza) and the Barkleys (Big Valley) when I was a kid. Then there were the John Wayne movies and flash forward to the most recent version of The Magnificent Seven and you can see why my life long affair with cowboys has me rooting for mamas to let their babies grow up to be cowboys.
Why do I love them so much?
- They love long walks or rides through the country, over hills and streams and through the woods. Weather doesn’t bother them, as long as their horses are all right.
- To be a cowboy is to be passionate and devoted to the land and animals. They don’t quit.
- Their word means something. In an age where we can’t always take people at face value, you can with a real cowboy. When they say something, they mean it and when they give you a promise, they keep it.
- They aren’t afraid of hard work whether it involves fixing fences, feeding horses, or spending long hours tending an animal in need.
- They know how to treat those around them with integrity and respect, men and women alike.
Really, what’s not to love?
Whoever the group was they had talent, and as Tanner studied the newcomers, he focused on a woman who slid over to the bar and drained a glass of water while the musicians found their rhythm. A minute later, she glided back onto the dance floor.
For the next three songs, she traded partners. The woman could move. Tall, long-legged, and beautifully curved, she also had a gorgeous face, from her generous mouth—which pulled into an easy smile—to her sweet, dark eyes. Dark hair clung to her cheeks, and her sleeveless white top gave Tan- ner a good look at her toned arms.
He didn’t know her. She didn’t even ring a familiar bell, but she sure as hell looked fun. When she waved off a fourth man swooping in for a dance and headed to the bar, Tanner enjoyed the light, strutting cadence to her walk. Someone had taken her spot, so she sidled up to the bar next to him.
Fanning her face with one hand, she gave him a cool, quick grin, then waved at Sully. The bartender slid a glass of water over to her. “You ready for a glass of wine yet, darlin’?”
“In a bit.” She took a long drink of the water. The slender column of her throat convulsed with each swallow, and a fresh wave of lust crashed through Tanner. Damn, what he wouldn’t give to trade places with the glass.
“Put her wine on my tab, Sully,” Tanner called. The number of dance partners and lack of a ring gave him hope she was free. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“No, thank you,” the country goddess declined in a smooth, polite tone. “I’ll take care of my own drinks.”
Sully hid a smirk, but he had other customers.
“No need to be testy, ma’am.” He lifted his beer. “Just offering to buy you a drink.”
“Not being testy at all.” She turned sideways and gave him a once-over. “And you didn’t offer—you just decided to do it, sir.” The cool dismissal didn’t possess an ounce of malice or disrespect. “I simply like to pay my own way, and I never accept offers from strangers.”
“Hard to make an acquaintance if you don’t.” Though he couldn’t fault her. Even the women in his unit or those he’d met on assignment at various bases around the world maintained a sense of control over their environment, both in what they would tolerate from others and what they would accept. “My apologies for overstepping. I’m Tanner, by the way.”
Offering his hand, he waited as she took a beat before wiping her palm against her jeans and then accepting the handshake. “My friends call me Jules.”
“Jules.” Was it short for Julianna? Or Julie? Something else entirely? He liked the sound of it. Maybe it was the beer mellowing him out. Maybe it was being home. Or maybe it was simply watching her, but he wanted to spend some time with Miss Jules.
“Is it all right if I call you Jules?”
“I said my friends call me Jules, you can call me ma’am.” She chuckled, then drained her glass of water and started watching the band. They’d switched to a slow song. Shaking her head, she lifted the hair from the back of her neck. From her ushed cheeks to the gleam in her dark eyes, she was stunning.
“I’d be happy to call you ma’am.” The sentence worked, and Jules returned her attention to him and her eyebrows raised.
“Tell me, ma’am, may I have the next dance?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today best-selling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
Posted by Book Loving Pixies
Note: An earlier version of this story was released under the title Awakened. It has been extensively re-written as Holden.
He slid two fingers between my legs and traced the seam of my sex through my lacy black panties.
“You’re wet,” he observed with a lustful growl. “I knew you’d be like this.”
“Like what?” I asked, barely able to focus on his words. They seemed to roll off my consciousness like water. Reality was hazy, the world falling away until all I could sense was him: his hard body beneath me, his masculine scent surrounding me, his deep voice rumbling through me. I was captivated by the power that pulsed off him. It caressed my body like a physical touch.
“I knew you’d be naturally submissive,” he replied. “I knew you’d be perfect.”
The praise sank into me to warm my chest.
A different warmth bloomed between my legs when he stroked my clit through my panties. I cried out at the light contact to my sensitive nub. It had grown achy from his ministrations; his gentle fingers contrasted with his stinging discipline. He was harsh and tender by turns, and the dichotomy messed with my thought processes.
“Do you want to come, little sub?” he asked, the question rough with his own desire.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Please, Sir.”
He let out a low groan. “Fuck, you’re sweet when you beg.” He lifted his hips slightly, pressing his cock harder against me. “Do you feel that? Do you feel what you do to me?”
“Please,” I begged again, on the edge of sanity. “Fuck me.” I’d never spoken so crassly, but the deviant words came naturally. I wanted him to claim me, to ravage me.
“You’re going to come first,” he said tightly, restraining himself. “You’re going to come so many times that you’ll be begging me for mercy and sobbing my name by the time I’m finished with you.”