The star player with a troubled past… Cash Greenwood escaped a difficult past by becoming a star baseball player. Now, one of the major league’s rare double threats, all his effort is thrown into the sport. He’s never had any interest in women, until he meets the one woman who wants nothing to do with him. The daughter of baseball royalty… Delilah Gray’s life revolves around numbers, research, and data. She has no time for anything messy like emotions or relationships. Especially not when they come in the sexy guise of a baseball player. She’s seen first-hand the devastation caused by dating a man obsessed with the sport, and that’s one risk she’s not willing to take. She is one curveball he never saw coming… But this is one pitch Cash is determined to hit out of the park. Sexual tensions run high and feelings start to develop, but will Delilah ever see that they could have a solid future together? Determined to make her his, she may just prove to be the hardest game of Cash’s life. WARNING: The Long Ball features an obsessed jock with six-pack abs in tight pants determined to get his girl. If syrupy sweet romance and fiery passions appeal to you, then hold onto your panties because this one may just hit them out of the park.
“Stop being a whiny bitch, Greenwood! Bottoms up!”
My best friend and resident troublemaker of the team smacked me on the back. His boisterous laugh and booming voice took up all the space around him. I loved many things about the man, but the thing I loved the most was that in his presence, I became invisible. Since the age of 16 I’ve been recognizable. Once you were a star athlete with a future and the hope of winning a championship, you became a commodity, something shiny. And being simultaneously a slugger and a pitcher was a combination so rare that those with it, like myself, were priceless.
It hadn’t taken me long to learn that being invisible keeps you safe.
“We have to meet that analytics chick in an hour. I don’t want to reek of alcohol. Coach will kick our asses.” I didn’t like to drink. Most days I can’t even stomach the smell of it, but for the sake of keeping up appearances I usually nursed a glass in my hand and always offered to be the designated driver so no one suspected anything. Rod was really good about covering for me when needed, chugging back the drinks people often bought for me, acting like the cocky best friend he was.
“It’s still technically the off-season. Another one won’t hurt.”
“Another always hurts, particularly in the form of a hangover the next morning,” I replied.
“You sound like a dodgy old fuck. Where’s the guy who used to party with me all night long? I want him back.”
I chuckled, thinking about all the times we’d been in trouble. I prided myself on how well I blended into the crowd and let him take the attention. Rodriguez and I had been buddies since our rookie year. We’d grown up together on this team, cut our teeth on the ins and outs of playing professional ball, but as time passed I found that faking it seemed to exhaust me more and more each day. I was tired of it all, and the only thing that still made me feel something was the game. Everything else was endless noise that passed by with no true meaning or intention. I felt like I was walking in a blur, just waiting for time to pass.
“I’m not twenty-one anymore. Coach said any more stunts like that one you pulled at warm-ups and we’re both benched. And you, motherfucker, are not getting me benched.” The idea of sitting out a game was unbearable. Rod and I were thick as thieves, and Coach knew that if anyone could reel him in, it would be me. But what the coach didn’t know was that the idea of losing baseball in any way was like a noose around my neck, tightening until all the oxygen was ripped from me.
“You’re my wingman, buddy, and ya gotta admit, spiking the water cooler was pretty genius.”
“And landed us in a shit load of trouble. Frankly, I’m just too old for this shit anymore. Let the rookies have at it. We had our fun.”
“You make thirty sound like a death sentence. Not for me. When I turn the big 3-0 next year I’m going big. I want my feet in the sand with a drink in my hand and a pussy on each arm. Fuck it, a limo full of pussy. I am gonna get more ass that night than a toilet seat.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.” I’d never liked how Rodriguez embraced the cliché ball player persona. He played ball hard—out on the field he was a beast. But he partied even harder, a revolving door of girls after every game. I was always up for a few drinks, but the groupies that surrounded Rodriguez always made my stomach turn. It was so obvious they wanted him for his status and money—his staggering salary was very appealing to bunt bunnies. I had absolutely zero interest in them.
All the women around ball players didn’t have much to offer, and my life was so messed up that I doubt any woman wanted anything to do with it when she found out. The only kind that would stay would be one that would hope for a staggering payday at the end. I had enough people standing by with their hand out, so I wasn’t interested in a woman who wanted that, too. Besides, I only had a few more years to play this game, and I wasn’t going to squander them for some chick. These women didn’t care about the men. They cared about the limos, the big ticket items the ball players paid for, and the thousand-dollar dinners. Rodriguez made hundreds of millions, just like so many of my buddies, and just like the other ball players, he had no issue living like a king. But that lifestyle didn’t interest me in the least.
This life wasn’t for everyone, I wasn’t even sure it was for me sometimes. I rarely liked to go out, and the women did nothing for me. I lived and breathed the game, so much so that I couldn’t imagine what else I would be doing if it wasn’t this. I had one single focus and that was to win the World Series. I had been playing ball for eleven years with the MLB, and that was the only thing that eluded me. I was known as the best player in the entire league and yet I didn’t have that World Series title under my belt. My years left playing ball were dwindling—a ball player was gettin’ some age by thirty—but it was the one dream I hadn’t yet attained.
“Let’s head over, man. Don’t want to piss off Coach.”
Rod slammed his shot glass down on the counter, his eyes shining with excitement. “Wanna place bets on how fast I can get up the analytic girl’s skirt?”
“You haven’t even seen her yet.” We walked out the doors of the corner bar, afternoon light heating my skin as we walked the short block to the stadium. Today we had a meeting with what would be the new official star analytics firm for the club, before opening day tomorrow. I’d been waiting months for this day, the time between playoffs and opening season always left a pit of dread in my stomach. If I could play twelve months of the year I would.
We pushed through the stadium doors and made our way down the dim hallway, headed for the conference room next to the locker room. I nodded at Coach when we walked in and greeted a few of the other guys as the entire team settled on benches around the center of the room.
“I don’t want to take up much of your time, so I’ll cut right to the chase.” Coach looked around the room. “A few of you have been fucking off, so we need focus if we’re going to have a good season. I don’t expect miracles, but I do expect you to listen. No more antics. Stay focused. I expect each of you to improve your averages by the end of the season. “
“Like it or not, stats are down, guys. We need all heads in the game if we’re gonna improve and have a shot at going all the way this year. Delilah Grey from Lionsgate Analytics is here to help us do that.. She’ll be with us—every game, every day—all season. She’ll be sending me the stats throughout the game, and I want you guys tuned in to your averages. Push yourselves every night.”
He glanced around the room, pausing for a moment on Rod. “And please treat Delilah with respect. She knows we need some help, but she doesn’t need to know you’re all a bunch of animals.” God, I loved Coach. So steady and calm. He was the reason this team was great. Without him we’d all be a bunch of animals on the field.
Coach swung open the locker room door and in walked a fucking vision. I noticed the heels first. Sexy stilettos with leather cutouts that made me want to get down on my knees and slip them off her feet one at a time. My eyes devoured her creamy, toned calves, and not even the conservative pencil skirt could hide the full curves of her hips.
“Jesus,”
Rod said under his breath.
I nudged him, for the first time in my life irritated by his overt appreciation of a woman. Looking at Delilah, the hairs on my arms stood to attention. As did something else. Damn, she was stunning, I’d never seen a woman so radiant in my entire life. She had dark silky hair cascading down her back in loose curls, so damn soft-looking that my hand itched to brush up against them. I, Cash Greenwood, for the first time in my life had a desire to brush up against a woman’s hair.
“Hey guys, I’m Delilah Grey.” She nodded, her spine rigid as she leafed through a handful of papers in her arms. “If you could pass these around, I’ll tell you a little about me, then we can chat individually.”
“Individually?” Rod chimed, his horny grin sending anger racing through my stomach.
“Yes, that’s how I prefer to work. Deal with each player’s specific issues before we bring the whole team together.”
“I’ve only got one issue.” Rod shifted in his seat, his hand brushing over his crotch. My nostrils flared. Why was he such a dick?. At that moment I hated my best friend so much I wanted to pound his face into the ground. The thought made me feel ashamed and idiotic. I knew Rod, he was a joker, more talk than action on most days, but the fact that he was being crass to this woman upset me beyond all reason. I didn’t have an explanation, but I did not enjoy the idea of Rod looking at her like she was a piece of meat. Not one bit.
Delilah’s deep chocolate eyes narrowed in a flare of anger for a moment before she turned back to her paperwork. If one paid close attention to her, as I was doing, one could see the patch of red forming on the back of her neck. “I started Lionsgate Analytics nearly three years ago. I want you to be the best players, on and off the field, and excelling in this world isn’t just about home runs and fly balls. It’s also about measuring speed, distance, velocity.” Her eyes flicked over the team again. “I’ll be hanging out at all the games, laptop open and watching just how consistent everyone is, and hopefully it won’t take us long to get an average. Anyone have questions for me?”
“Yeah, got plans tonight, sweetheart?” That was Rod, and I nearly shoved my fist in his gut for that one. I watched as Delilah’s jaw ticked. She was tough, I could tell. I liked that. I liked that she wouldn’t take anything sitting down. I had had enough of women taking things sitting down, so the fighter in me was drawn to the fire in her.
“Let me make one other thing clear: if anyone calls me sweetheart, toots, doll, baby, or any other demeaning term of endearment again, I can’t promise you won’t feel my high heel in your balls. I don’t play well with men who act like animals. We’re here for one thing and one thing only—to get this team in shape to win this year. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make an ass out of yourself in the process. Have I made myself clear?”
Fire blazed through my veins when she spun and exited the very door she’d come from. Well damn, after thirty years I finally found a woman who could make me take notice, make me want to chase. And not only chase, but tie her up and hold her against me, bind her to me in every way possible.
Aria Coleis a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache. For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn’t take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book! Follow Aria on Amazon for new release updates, or stalk her on Facebook and Twitter to see which daring book boyfriend she’s writing next! Sign up to get a NEW RELEASE ALERT from me!
The woman’s shelter gave Gia two options. A house in the middle of Wyoming or share a duplex in Montana with a biker.From the first day of her arrival to Haugan, Gia pushes herself into Swiss’s routine. Then, danger moves her into his side of the duplex. The stoic biker with few words and more mystery than her body can handle pulls her under his protection with a profound commitment to keeping her safe from the men trying to kill her. But, close encounters and long nights fail to protect her heart, and she falls in love with Swiss. And, that’s the one stipulation guaranteed to push Swiss away from her.
Swiss’s ex-Army skills benefit Ronacks Motorcycle Club and the patch on his vest gives him the freedom to live without responsibilities. Responsibilities that nearly killed him in the past. He thrives off solitude until his isolated existence gets interrupted when a sexy lady moves into the duplex and his gut tells him something isn’t right.
He continued gazing at you and after a few seconds where she believed she’d crumble in her chair at the hypnotic pull from across the table, he said, “You and your dress, and the way you’re blushing right this second, has me thinking I’m going to kiss you.”She caught herself panting and closed her mouth.
“Not here.” He straightened and looked around the room and mumbled, “Later.”
“Later?” She ducked her chin. Oh God, she’d said that out loud.
He chuckled low. “Do you need a specific time?”
She looked through lowered lashes. “That might help because I can’t even think right now with you blurting out everything I’m thinking and looking at me that way and me being scared and not knowing what is going on with everything outside of us…and you. You scare me, Swiss.”
He ran his thumb and index finger down the outside lines of his goatee. “All you have to do is tell me no.”
“No,” she blurted. “I mean yes. I want you to kiss me.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. Gia sighed in impatience.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re like nobody I’ve ever known.” She glanced around making sure they hadn’t grabbed anyone else’s attention. “I’m also feeling guilty.”
“About?”
She sagged in her chair. “I came here with the intent to use you for protection like some big warning sign to keep the bad men away and instead…”
“Instead, you want me,” he said, shrugging. “It is what it is, sweetheart.”
She burst out laughing and shut off her nervous amusement instantly, mortified that she’d forgotten about everyone else in the bar and nodded. “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
Debra Kayn is the author of the Bestselling Bantorus MC series, Moroad MC series, Red Light: Silver Girls series, Hard Body series, Playing For hearts series, and a huge backlist of books.
She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful Northern Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and small-town living.
How do I dominate and enamor the woman who’s in charge of signing my paycheck?
That’s the one question, Joshua Timbers, has been asking himself since he first stepped foot into his own personal Hell. JT, or Yoshi—as his tormentor likes to call him—has lived a life of hardship and loss since an early age. Being the product of a single parent home, he’s accustomed to hard work and lonely nights.
Seeing the strong man that raised him suffer after the loss of his mother made JT’s own heart harden. All that mattered was seeking instant gratification to curve his enormous appetite. Until the blessed day he met his fallen angel, Janelle.
Beautiful, and with balls bigger than her entire crew, Janelle is accustomed to the leering looks of men, even though she’s their boss—the owner of Walker Constructions, alongside her brother.
Her beauty is untouchable to everyone, but how far will Joshua go to bend his hellion to his will and make her his?
If you asked a member of any church today, they’d say it was nightmarish—a dark and gloomy place filled with horrific images and boughs of endless pain. A place where demons roamed freely, feeding off the dregs of the deceased.
A part of humanity that lost its moral compass: the common sinner.
These pour souls sinned in order to achieve greatness; sold their very essence to attain the vanity-filled dreams everyone covets:
Money.
Power.
Respect.
And at the end they’d find themselves with nothing but eternal pain.
Then there were those we called our loved ones. Targeted, they lost the small morsel of their souls that made them good. It made them an easy target.
At the very least, that was what the religious people of the world claimed. Wanted us to believe.
Neither of those descriptions meant shit to me. Religion never mattered much. Not when you’d lost so much and witnessed firsthand just what losing faith did to a person.
I wasn’t most people.
Most had chosen to believe the words drilled into their minds from an early age, but I knew better. Hell wasn’t somewhere dark where the eternal flames glowed and the sinners were condemned to—to pay for the unforgivable deeds of their past life. Acts that were unforgivable in the eyes of the church.
Stealing.
Killing.
Coveting.
In my reality, though, that was a blatant lie.
Hell was here, surrounding us day in and day out. We paid for our sins in life, not death. One way or another, karma would collect those that wronged another. No one, no matter who the fuck they were, could escape this bitch named life.
Problem was that no matter how much I looked at my current situation, I was at a loss. What the fuck had I done to deserve her?
My hell—the one that tortured me while both awake and asleep—wasn’t dark or terrifying. It wasn’t painful in the general sense. Well, that was unless you counted the pain my cock had suffered to be life threatening. I guess it could be considered cruel; she loved to torture me when I couldn’t react or make her pay.
“You are here to work, not fuck me. My pussy’s not on your daily task sheet!”
I’d never been so hard…so fucking swollen, as I’d been in her presence. Twitching and pulsating against the zipper of my Levi’s, I hurt, and she refused to right the wrong she’d created.
“I don’t fuck my employees…not even the promising outline of your big cock will change that.”
You see, my personal hell was all wrapped up in a lustful package. A body created by God himself, made for the sole purpose of fucking up my quiet and ordinary life. This woman brought me down to my knees—demanded that I pay on a daily basis for the lustful thoughts and impulses she, herself, caused.
“Worry about making sure all the drywall on this floor is up; drilling me isn’t on the agenda and never will be.”
And I would gladly repent daily, on my knees at her temple, if she would just give in to me.
My version of hell was a woman. A cock tease.
A woman whose inner and outer beauty surpassed the normal standard society had deemed appropriate. Janelle was a temptress, my personal mistress.
Rendered me incapable of both speech and function at times when all I wanted to do was make her mine. One day Janelle would break me, of that there was no doubt. Problem was that in pushing me past my breaking point, she was losing her power over me and becoming my target. My prey.
When that day came, I would take her without mercy. With no remorse because by then she would be as consumed in her need for me as I was for her.
This woman, angel, or my personal demon, has had my dick hard, leaking and begging for her attention since she first entered my life all those glorious months ago. Now, it was her turn to be miserable.
To feel an eighth of the demands my body made whenever she entered a room. I would make her beg me. Come from a mere look.
Janelle would cry out for me one day, and only then would I gift her my cock.
Her time was up.
I was coming for her.
About the Author:
Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E.
Program and write an essay on what they’d learned. Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with
hours of pleasure. It wasn’t until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and
letting her characters grow.
The devil sat on my shoulder from my first breath, he watched my every move, and with the first strike of lightnin’ I was pulled under.
Walking into Boondocks the voice of an angel called to me and I vowed to live a better life. She kept me on the righteous path until Satan called one last time.
It was time to take him down or lose my angel forever.
Excerpt
Walker
Watching her place her perfect lips on the side of Logan’s face made me cringe. I know I have no right to feel this way, but those two have something that I can’t quite understand, and I’m jealous. The question is, what do I do about it? As she walks toward me with a huge smile on her face, all my craziness evaporates into the evening sky.
“You ready?” she asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply.
After swinging my leg over my bike, I pass Chauna a helmet, and we put them on together. As she swings her leg over, I hold still and wait for the moment she wraps her arms around me. I take a deep breath as she eases into me and rev the engine to life; all eyes are on us.
“Hold on tight,” I say, and she pulls herself even closer. We take the driveway slow, but when we hit the main road, I pull the throttle and we pick up speed as we make our way toward Sammy’s. As we approach the drive-in, I realize that Chauna is completely right; this place is nothing like it was earlier today. The Sammy’s Drive-In light is lit up like Christmas, and it reminds me of Flo’s Café in the movie Cars. There’s so much neon, and instead of cars, there are monster trucks everywhere. Pulling the bike in, we park, and I look to Chauna for direction as country music plays in the background.
“Welcome to Barber. Where the trucks are hot, but the girls are hotter,” she says with pure sexiness. In this moment, I know that this is just the beginning of an epic, new chapter in my life.
About the Author:
Casey Peeler grew up in North Carolina and still lives there with her husband and daughter.
Growing up Casey wasn’t an avid reader or writer, but after reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston during her senior year of high school, and multiple Nicholas Sparks’ novels, she found a hidden love and appreciation for reading. That love ignited the passion for writing several years later, and her writing style combines real life scenarios with morals and values teenagers need in their daily lives.
When Casey isn’t writing, you can find her near a body of water listening to country music with a cold beverage and a great book.
Homeschooled and under the stifling grip of an overprotective father, Talia Fielding’s life is pretty miserable. Playing her beloved ukulele and writing songs is as close as she comes to having fun. But that all changes on the night of her eighteenth birthday. She’s invited to her first party where she learns two things: girls can be very, very mean and Griffin Stanford kisses better than any fantasy she’s ever had. To most of his friends, Griffin Stanford is the handsome football star. However, under those good looks lies the heart of a geek. His passion for numbers has ensured him a life changing job straight out of college. The contract he’s signed has him boarding a plane to halfway around the world the morning after he meets the girl of his dreams. The obsessive draw Griffin feels toward Talia has him questioning his life’s choices. One night, one kiss and Griffin knows this may be his one and only chance to capture the perfect girl… How can he stop her from slipping through his fingers when the world seems determined to keep these two virgins apart?
Author Note: These two fall in love instantly. If you’re looking for a filthy fantasy fix complete with a Dani-style dirty talking hero topped with heaping helpings of swoony romance, you’re in the right place. This is a standalone novella, with Kindle melting heat, safe, no cheating and filled with virgins who magically know exactly what they’re doing from the very first kiss.
I’ve lost the power of speech. She’s wearing that gorgeous little daisy-yellow nightgown dress I sent her a few weeks ago. The soft light from behind her highlighting every contour and line of her lush body. A body that will soon be under my tongue and in my hands. I never dreamed I would see her like this, like she is right now. But here she is, and it’s glorious. I can see all her curves, the pink circles of her nipples pressing through and she’s not doing anything to cover herself. I’ve just won the lotto and a Nobel prize, and whatever trophy they hand out when you come first in life. “What are you doing opening the door wearing that, baby?” I’m not sure if I’m raging mad about it or just about as thrilled as any virgin ever was. My cock is about to snap in half, curved up and around where he can’t escape because my belt is holding his greedy, cum-dripping self in place. “I mean,” I shake my head and rub my hands over my face trying to reset, “I’m sorry. You are fucking stunning beyond words, but, baby, what if it wasn’t me?” As happy as I am to see her, the jealous beast in me lights up, the thought of another man seeing what’s mine has me off my nut. “I only opened the door after I saw who it was. I peeked through the peephole first. It’s a sign, I know it is. I just tried this on for the first time and here you are. Here you are, I can’t believe it.” She does this little bunny hop and I don’t miss how her full tits bounce and move with her, making my dick drip into my pants. I am fairly sure I could watch that little move for the rest of my life and never, ever get tired of it.
Her hands pull at the long tendrils of hair hanging over her shoulders and I realize I haven’t kissed her yet, so I remedy that right away. My arms pull her to me, sweep up and down her back, up and down the soft fabric that covers her equally soft body, as my lips mount hers. I kiss her with the force of a man here to finally claim what is his, letting her know I’m here and she’s mine. After a long kiss, I lean back to drink her in. “I love that you are wearing this. It means a lot to me.” I hook my thumbs into the ruffle around the neckline and trace it up and down, my vision drifting down to where it scoops low, barely covering her ample tits and I want them in my mouth so badly it hurts. “You must be hungry after your trip.” Her voice flutters around my head, soft and like a dove, not quite ready to fly away. Her breath between the words tells me I’m distracting her and I love that. I bring a hand up to comb my fingers through her hair. I’ve dreamed of how it would feel for so long. Silk is like twine compared with its softness. The black strands fall between my fingers and I’m hypnotized by the sight and feel of it. It’s so real and I’m so fucking gone. I taste her lips again with a quick kiss, then put my mouth next to her ear. “I’m hungry for one thing, and one thing only right now. That’s you, Wildflower, my mouth between your legs. I told you, that’s the first thing I want to do to you. I want to taste your first orgasm. I want to remember it forever.”
Dani Wyattloves her alpha men; make them military, cowboys, MMA — any uber alpha with a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Receive a free exclusive unpublished title when you join Dani’s private readers groupfor updates, free chapters and discounts.
She’s a 40 something regular lady who just happens to love badass alpha males who pull your hair and love their women with a lethal passion.
When she’s not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can’t have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.
Ophelia Lang needs money, and she needs it bad. Her parent’s restaurant is going under, and ever since she lost her job teaching third grade elementary, scraping enough cash together to pay the bills has proven almost impossible. Her parents are on the brink of losing their home. The vultures are circling overhead. So when Ophelia is offered an interview for a well-paid private tutoring gig in New York, how can she possibly say no?
Ronan Fletcher is far from the overweight, balding businessman Ophelia expected him to be. He’s young, handsome, and wealthy beyond all reason. He’s also perhaps the coldest, rudest person she’s ever met, and has a mean streak in him a mile and a half wide. A hundred grand is a lot of money, however, and if tolerating his frosty temperament, his erratic mood swings and whatever else he throws at her means she’ll get paid, then that is what Ophelia will do.
Her new boss is keeping secrets, though. Awful, terrible secrets.
The ghosts of Ronan Fletcher’s past are about to turn Ophelia’s future upside down, and she can’t even see it coming.
Note: Between Here and The Horizon is a brand new standalone contemporary romance novel from USA Today bestselling author, Callie Hart. Between Here and the Horizon does contain some scenes of violence and sexual content, and so is directed at audience 18+.
Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
AFGHANISTAN
2009
“Get back, Fletcher! Get back! The tank’s gonna blow!”
I was running. Behind me, seven miles of desert stretched out toward Kabul city, glowing in places where burned out military trucks were being devoured by fire. Twisted metal rained down from the sky, on fire and sharper than a razor’s edge, impacting in the dirt. Thud. Thud, thud.Thud. Shrapnel whistled through the air, striking the ground a few feet away from me as I weaved my way through the wreckage. Smoke was biting at my lungs, acrid and burning, making it hard to breath.
“Fletcher! What the fuck, man!”
Behind me, Specialist Crowe was losing his mind. Alternating between shouting into his radio and shouting at me, he couldn’t seem to decide which course of action to take. I’d ordered him to follow, but I could understand why he hadn’t. The situation was more than unsafe; charging headlong into the fire and destruction was a suicide mission, and I knew it. I also knew that my men were trapped inside the upturned vehicle still a hundred feet ahead of me, however, and I knew the truck was going to blow any second. They were going to burn to death if I didn’t help them. I wasn’t going to abandon them to that fate.
“Captain! God, man, stop!”
My heart was surging, my veins overflowing with adrenalin. My boots hit the dirt, left, right, left, right, left, right, my fists pumping back and forth as I sprinted toward the truck that was laying on its roof up ahead. Through the fractured windshield, I could see Hellaman and Wicks still strapped into the front seats of the vehicle, upside down and unmoving. They were either unconscious or dead. Hopefully they were just out for the count, but there was a lot of blood splattered on the inside of the glass. A lot of blood.
Black smoke curled upward from the underside of the truck, and I could already hear the hissing sound of fuel burning and sizzling somewhere. Groaning. I could hear groaning, too.
I reached the truck just as something inside the engine caught fire, and Hellaman came to. His eyes were wide with pain and fear as I dropped down onto my belly next to the driver’s side window, which was smashed out, small cubes of safety glass scattered into the dirt.
“Captain? Captain Fletcher. Shit, I can’t breathe. I can’t…breathe.” His face was deathly pale, and his hands shook violently as he tried to claw at the seatbelt that was digging into his chest.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Private. We’re gonna get you out of there, okay? Just hold on a moment.” My bowie knife was in my hand. I took it and made quick work of slashing through the webbing holding Hellaman in place. There was nothing I could do to cushion his fall. Slamming into the roof of the truck, Hellaman groaned weakly, and then passed out again, either from pain or from the shock, I didn’t know. I stowed my blade and grabbed him by the shoulders, then wrestled him free through the window. His face was cut; his arms were striped with blood and running rivers of crimson out onto the ground. No time to be gentle, though. No time to be safe. I hooked my hands under his arms and I quickly jogged backwards, dragging him away from the wreckage. Twenty feet was enough.
I ran back to the truck. Flames were visibly licking at the underside of the vehicle now, snaking upward toward the night sky. Wick was still out cold. I ran around to the back of the truck and tried to force the loading doors open, but they were jammed closed, bent and warped, refusing to budge.
“Shit.”
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
There was someone alive inside. Running out of time. Almost no time left. I positioned myself by the truck’s rear right window, thanking god the thing was already splintered. The bulletproof windows on military trucks were no joke. You could take a semi automatic to them and it would take longer than I had to smash them. The impact of rolling three times had obviously been enough to compromise the glass, though.
“Shield your faces,” I hollered. “Glass, glass, glass!” Bracing, I spun around and smashed the sole of my boot against the window as hard as I possibly could. The glass groaned, fracturing some more, but it didn’t shatter. I kicked again, and again, and again. Finally, the window exploded in a shower of bright shards, giving in under the force of my boot.
“Captain, there’s fuel in here,” someone inside yelled. “Get back!”
I ducked down and lay flat on my stomach again, crawling in through the now empty window frame. Inside the truck, gasoline hung heavy in the air, burning my nostrils and my eyes. Next to me, Roberts was dead, his head twisted at an odd angle, eyes staring, unseeing into the abyss.
On the other side of the truck Private Coleridge, Sam, a nineteen-year-old kid from Houston, was lying on his back on the roof, holding his rifle in both hands, his body convulsing wildly. His eyes swivelled to look at me, but his head remained locked in position, his teeth grinding together.
“What…what happened, Capt’n?” he asked. “We were drivin’ along, and then…everything was…spinning.”
“IED,” I told him. “Desert’s full of them. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
“I can’t…move. I can’t feel…anything.”
He wasn’t paralyzed. If he were, he wouldn’t be shaking the way he was right now. He was just in shock. A sharp slap to the face would probably go a long way to getting him moving, but there simply wasn’t time for that kind of motivation. Grabbing him by the webbing stitched onto the strap of his pack, which was still on his back, I hauled him to me and then backed out through the window as quickly as I could. The fire was raging now. I dragged Sam back to where I’d left Hellaman and was about to run back to the truck when a loud metallic crack split the air apart, and then a ball of fire rocked the truck, a wall of heat and pressure slamming into my body, sending me reeling back into the dirt.
“Oscar!” Sam yelled. “Oscar’s still alive in there!”
“Fuck.” I was up on my feet and running. The heat was intense—so intense that I had to shield my face as I grew closer to the wreck. The fire had consumed the underside of the truck, the tires blazing, the gas roaring as the fuel line was engulfed. And I could hear screaming. The kind of blood curdling, awful screaming of a man being burned alive.
My radio headset crackled with static, and then Colonel Whitlock’s voice barked out through the speaker. “Fletcher, do not go back inside that vehicle. Do you hear me? Do not go back inside that vehicle.”
Disobeying a direct order from a colonel was an offence worthy of court marshal. I ripped my headset from my ears and threw it to the ground, ignoring it. Ignoring the consequences. Another blood curdling scream reached me, and that was it. I was on my stomach, crawling into the mouth of hell.
My side pressed up against the frame of the window, and pain tore at me, sinking its teeth into my skin. Heat. The heat was overwhelming, so fierce and violent that there was no oxygen inside the truck. Only smoke and confusion. Only death.
“Oscar!” I called out, reaching with both hands, trying to find him. “Where are you, man?” The truck was only a six-guy transport, but the billowing, rolling clouds of black smoke hid everything. I went by touch until I heard him cry out again, weaker this time, voice riddled with agony. He was at the very rear of the truck. A few seconds was all I had. Any longer and I would either suffocate or burn up myself. My head was pounding, my lungs begging for clean air, and I could feel myself start to drift.
The journey to the back of the truck took an eternity. One hand over the other, I pulled myself around an upturned transport box, and jammed my body in between the narrow gap at the right hand side of the vehicle, reaching out, groping, searching, until I found what I was looking for. A leg. A foot, to be precise. I grabbed hold of it and pulled. An agonised yell filled the truck.
“Ahh, my leg. My leg. It’s fucked!”
“I know. I’m sorry, man. I can’t get you any other way.” I gritted my teeth, and I pulled. In any other situation it would have been a crime that I was handling an injured man this way. The clock was running down, though, and if causing more pain, causing even more damage meant the difference between one of my guys being injured or being dead, then I was going to do what I had to do.
I somehow managed to maneuverer myself so that I was over Oscar—I couldn’t even see his face, the smoke was so thick—and then I started shoving. Six hard pushes and I managed to drive him through the gap in the window frame, out onto the desert floor. His body was ripped away, pulled free by someone else, and then he was gone. I was almost too tired to heave myself free, but I scrounged up my last scrap of energy and I crawled forward, determined to make it out before the entire vehicle was enveloped. Halfway out, my fingers clawing in the dirt, my body lit up with pain. Indescribable. Unbearable. A pain so sharp and breathtaking that I couldn’t even cry out. It felt like something was ripping my body in two. I spun around and looked up to see a burning line of fuel pouring down on me, hitting my side, burning into me. I was on fire.
I kicked and jerked myself out of the truck, ripping at my jacket. Tearing at the material, trying to get it off. The fabric seemed to come away in my hands, and then I was shirtless in the cold, cold desert, rolling on the ground, trying to put the flames out.
The world went black. Someone threw something over me, and then hands were beating at my body, slapping and trying to roll me. A strangled gasp worked its way out of my mouth, but that’s all I could manage. The flames were out. The thick, heavy material that had been thrown over me was pulled back, and Crowe stood over me, face covered in soot and grease, eyes the size of dollar coins. I could barely see him properly. Barely hear the words coming out of his mouth.
Colonel Whitlock appeared next to him, and then the sky was filled with the beating thump of helicopter blades. They spoke for a second, and the thundering drum of the helo overhead dipped long enough for me to make out what Crowe said to Whitlock.
“He didn’t stop, sir. He didn’t stop until they were all out.”
Whitlock scowled. “I can see that, Specialist. He disobeyed a direct order in doing so, too.”
“He’ll be reprimanded?” Crowe asked. He was speaking as if I was no longer present; both of them were.
“No,” Whitlock said sternly. “Ironically, I think Captain Fletcher’s more likely to be honored than punished in this particular instance. Now get him on the chopper before I change my mind. The crazy bastard’s bleeding everywhere.”
Calliehas experienced many changes throughout her life, and gone through many ups and downs that have all worked towards shaping and moulding her into the person she is today: fun loving, active, social, and hard working. The only thing that has remained a constant throughout her life is writing. Creating characters who will tear your conscience in two is a favorite pastime of Callie’s. There are few real saints and sinners in her books; more often, the denizens of her stories are all very human. Broken, flawed, and always with the potential for redemption.
Despite the subject matter being markedly hot and heavy in comparison to the stories she wrote in elementary school, there will always be an element of fairytale to her work.
Callie Hart is the author of the Blood & Roses Series. Zeth & Sloane’s story is now complete, but there are a number of stories still to be released under the Blood & Roses banner. 2015 will see Cade, Michael and Rebel’s stories being released, as well as a number of brand new stories, all of which will be Dark Romance novels.
If you would like to contact Callie, you can do so here.
If you would like to sign up to Callie’s newsletter for info on upcoming releases, exclusive teasers, excerpts and competitions, you can do so here.
From the USA Today Bestselling author of Magnificent Bastard comes a sexy, flirty, dirty standalone…on ice.
They say Jake “The Dragon” Falcone earned his nickname by setting fire to the ice his first season in the NHL. But just between us ladies, I’m pretty sure he earned it for the dragon in his pants.
Lord have f*cking mercy, but the man’s been given a gift. (And I’ve heard he knows exactly how to use it.) From my first hug as his fake girlfriend, it’s clear he’s packing below the belt. After a few fake dates I realize he’s packing…everywhere.
Heart, brains, sex-vibe, and the ability to make me laugh so hard I almost pee my pants—Jake is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.
He’s also my client and OFF LIMITS. Oh, and he has an ex who’s completely crazy and out for my blood.
I should steer clear, and I would, if my dragon weren’t so completely incredible…
***
The name sounded like a joke. Who in his right mind wants a “Miraculous Mess” running damage control on his f*cked up love life?
Well…me, it turns out.
By the time I leave her apartment on day one, I’m halfway gone on Shane “Miraculous Mess” Willoughby. By the end of our first date, I know my life won’t be complete until I’ve had this beautiful, sexy, perfectly wild woman in every filthy way I’ve imagined since our first kiss.
I want her, all of her, from the smart mouth that makes me smile to the wounded heart I know I can heal. If she’ll let me.
Can a Madison Avenue princess and a dragon from the wrong side of the tracks live happily ever after?
If I have my way, the world is about to find out.
Warning: Incredible You is a sexy, standalone romantic comedy told from BOTH the hero and the heroine’s point of view. No cliffhanger. Lots of hot steamy sexy times, laugh out loud textual healing, and an aw-out-loud happily ever after.
EXCERPT:
“You’re not a klutz,” I say, guiding her closer. “I love the way you move.”
“Yeah?” She bites her lip, bringing to mind that list of bitable body parts I hope to be getting from her later.
“Yeah,” I say, my gaze fixed on her sexy mouth. “I could watch you walk across a room all day long. Just the way your hips shift beneath your clothes drives me crazy.”
“Real life crazy,” she says softly.
“Real life crazy,” I confirm. “So crazy that on the way up in that elevator, it was all I could do not to flip the emergency switch.”
Her lashes sweep down and back up, heat flickering in her eyes. “And what would you have done after you flipped the switch, dragon?”
“I would have kissed you, princess.” I don’t bother to hide the hunger in my voice. “I would have pushed you up against the wall and kissed every part of you not covered by that sexy as fuck dress. And then I would have gone after the covered parts, just to see how far you would let me go before you told me to stop.”
“And what if I didn’t tell you to stop?” Her tongue sweeps across her lips and my cock jerks hard in my pants, losing the battle against what this woman does to me.
“Then I guess our first time would have been in an elevator.” I pull her closer, jaw clenching as her stomach presses against where I’m hard enough to slay dragons with my cock.
“Good God,” she mutters, her breath rushing out with this sexy little moan that destroys the last of my self-restraint.
“I would have had you up against the wall,” I say, speaking low so my words are for her and no one else. “But first, I would have made you come, princess. On my fingers, my mouth, my tongue. I’ve been dreaming about fucking you with my tongue since I left your apartment that first afternoon.”
“Me, too,” she whispers, arching closer. “But you have to stop.”
“No, I wouldn’t have stopped,” I promise, deliberately misunderstanding her, because I need to make that blush staining her cheeks spread across her entire body. “I wouldn’t have stopped until you were completely fucking useless, Willoughby. Until you’d come so hard your knees were weak and I had to carry you out of the elevator.”
“Jake, I—”
“But I wouldn’t have carried you into the party,” I push on. “I would have hit the ground floor button, carried your fine ass straight into a cab, and told the driver to break every traffic law required to get us to my place in five minutes. Because I wouldn’t have been able to wait more than five minutes to have you, to be inside of you.”
She trembles against me as her forehead falls to rest against my shoulder. “This is so wrong. So wrong.”
“No, it’s not,” I insist. “It’s the rightest thing I’ve felt in so damned long. And as long as you want me, too, I don’t—”
“Oh, I do.” Her words send a fierce wave of relief rushing through me. “I want you, Jake. I want you so much I can barely think of anything else.”
“And I want you. I want to be inside you so fucking bad, princess,” I whisper, my balls aching miserably between my legs. “I want to feel you come on me. I want you naked and wet and—”
“Screw the pictures.” Her breath rushes out as she grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me to a stop at the edge of the dance floor, her eyes hungry and wild. “I need to be alone with you, Falcone. Right fucking now.”
And that’s all I fucking need to hear.
Without another word, I wrap my arm around her waist and aim us both toward the cocktail lounge.
Lili Valente has slept under the stars in Greece, eaten dinner at midnight with French men who couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths on their food, and walked alone through Munich’s red light district after dark and lived to tell the tale.
These days you can find her writing in a tent beside the sea, drinking coconut water and thinking delightfully dirty thoughts.
When I signed on to the NHL, I promised to give 150% to the
game. I’ve done that.
Little did I know, but they would ask more from me than
merely my skill on the ice. The team wanted me to be their captain. It’s an
honor, one I’ve done my best to fulfill. Although I can’t take all the credit,
I was there to lead when we won the Stanley Cup.
I’m still at the helm now, when we’ve hit rock bottom. I
know I have let my fears get in the way. I’ve let down the team, even if they
don’t realize what I’ve done.
Now that the new season’s underway, I’m being called out. I
deserve it. I can deal with that. It won’t be easy, but I’ll persevere.
What I can’t deal with is her.
She surprised me.
She came out of nowhere and blindsided me.
And there’s one serious issue.
Now that I have her, I refuse to let her go.
*This is a full-length, standalone novel. It is part of the
Austin Arrows series, but can be read independently.
The SEASON: Kaufman (Austin Arrows, 2) Chapter 1
Noelle
Thursday, October 6th
“I MADE AN EXTRA CHICKEN breast. You want one or two?” I
chuckle, can’t help it. “Seriously. One or two? Can I possibly ask a dumber
question?”
That unladylike snort … yeah, that was me.
While I fork my chicken breast onto my own plate, I don’t
bother waiting for a response. I know what the answer will be. Two. Always two.
Extra protein is never a bad thing.
After adding a heaping spoonful of steamed vegetables to my
plate, I grab my wineglass and head to the table. I’m starving because I missed
lunch today. That sometimes happens with my job. There are days that’ll go by
when I’m bored to tears, standing behind the bar, and others when I can hardly
stop long enough to take a breath. Sometimes I’ll snag some fried pickles if I
get a chance. Today was the lack-of-breath kind of day. Go, go, go. All day
long.
As I step out of my small galley kitchen, a knock sounds on
my door. My bare feet squeak on the linoleum as I come to an abrupt halt. I
manage to do that fancy lift and tilt thing to keep my wine from sloshing over
the edge.
Disaster averted.
“Noelle! Honey, it’s Mom and Dad!”
Or not.
“Crap, crap, crap.” I glance between my front door and the
small, two-seat table in my breakfast nook currently set up with, nope, not one
but two place settings. For the record, two is not a good number when the
single girl’s mom comes banging on the door.
“Open up, Noelle! We thought we’d surprise you!”
Okay, well, I have to say my parents definitely accomplished
their goal, because I am completely befuddled as I stand here debating what I
should do. To a normal person, it might be a no-brainer. Open the door, let the
’rents come on in.
I’m not so sure this situation is going to qualify me as
normal.
To answer or not to answer? That is the question.
On the other hand, I could be as quiet as possible and
pretend I’m not home. Which, with my luck, won’t work. The fact that all the
lights in my apartment are blazing and my baby blue Prius is parked directly in
front of my window doesn’t help my cause any. Since no one else in the world
drives a baby blue Prius, I can’t very well hide it.
Crap.
But I could’ve gone out with friends, right? Could I be so
lucky that they’d think that? It is a possibility. Maybe. Or, better yet, maybe
they’ll think I’m at the Penalty Box. I tend to work a lot.
Yes, that’s definitely more logical.
Except, yep, you nailed it, the car is here.
Then again, if I weren’t so pathetic and didn’t choose to
spend all my free time at home—unless I’m at my best friend Ellie’s—it might be
an easier sell. They know me. I’m not the going-out type. Plus, they’ve
probably already stopped by the bar to see if I’m there. They know that I much
prefer a microwaved dinner at home, especially on a rare evening that I don’t
spend waiting tables and slinging beer because I choose to.
Another knock makes my heart skip a beat.
“Stay calm. It’s cool.” I’ve been telling myself that far
too much lately.
“Noelle! Are you all right, honey?”
Knowing my grumpy upstairs neighbor is likely going to have
a cow any second now, I rush to the front door, unlock the deadbolt, and turn
the knob. Instantly, Marie Dexter barrels into me, pulling me into her arms,
crushing my face to her generous bosom.
My mother smells like roses. A sweet, familiar scent that
makes me hug her back, despite the inconvenient timing of her arrival.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, my words muffled against her boobs.
She pulls back to look at me. “What took you so long? I was
getting worried.”
My dad slips past my mother, giving me a knowing smirk. Ed
Dexter loves when Marie goes all motherly on me. Come to find out, when my
sister and I aren’t around, he gets to be the one Marie mothers. Not that he
minds. They’ve been married for thirty-six years, so he’s used to it, or so he
says.
“Ooh. You got new curtains.” My mother gently pulls away to
admire the floor-to-ceiling cream sheers hanging on the wide front window.
I follow her gaze, glaring at my car sitting right there.
Traitor.
I focus on the comforting hand my mother has on my arm.
Always keeping me close, that woman.
I’m the oldest—my sister, Julie, who is seven years younger
than me, was an oops baby—which should’ve meant my mother didn’t coddle me
quite so much. That isn’t the case. Never has been. I’m not sure if it’s
because there’s such a huge age gap between me and Julie, but whatever the
reason, my mother likes to baby both of us equally. I’m thirty-four. You’d
think she would’ve toned it down by now. Nope. In fact, I think she might be
getting more motherly.
Honestly, she’s been this way since I was little. And,
truthfully, I was the normal kid. The kind who wanted to do nothing more than
be outside. Yep, totally me. Right up until sixth grade, when we moved to
Austin, next door to the girl who would quickly become my best friend in the
world. Either there was something in the Texas water or someone injected me
with a doofus hormone, because upon moving here, I became stupid, which
translates to: boy crazy. I think my mother worried about me more then. That
lasted about two years. Three tops. When it became glaringly obvious that Tony
Something-or-other wasn’t going to fall madly in love with the short, frumpy
girl with glasses and braces, I decided to focus on my schoolwork and left the
flirting with boys up to my best friend, Ellie. She was much better at it than
me.
Luckily, I’m not so frumpy anymore, and I’ve shed the braces
and glasses. Sure, I’m still short, and my boobs never did really develop, but
that no longer bothers me. I’m me. That’s what matters.
What does bother me is the fact that Mom and Dad pop in
unannounced all the freaking time. Of all nights, why did it have to be now?
Title: Undeniable Series: Beg for It (Standalone) Author: Callie Harper
Genre: Hot Contemporary Romance Release Date: October 24, 2016
Blurb
Undeniable (Dom & Gigi)Dom’s the one she couldn’t have. Gigi’s the one he couldn’t forget.They haven’t seen each other for four years. He’s been serving in the Special Forces. She’s finished college. They’ve had time to move on. Neither one has.
Now there’s a death threat. Her family’s business has pissed off a drug cartel. Her life’s in danger.
They’re thrown together, on the run. He has to keep her safe. From everyone. Including himself.
NOTE: Undeniable is a standalone hot adult romance. It’s the fifth story in the Beg for It series—which can be read in any order—about the dominant, alpha males in the Kavanaugh family and the strong, sexy women who make them finally meet their match.
I took a step back, blending into the darkest shadows, but it was as if she alone saw me. She looked right up into my eyes with a shy smile, then left the center of the party to come stand by my side. Looking out the open window, her dress fluttered slightly in the breeze. I caught a waft of her scent, like roses in spring.“Are you keeping us safe tonight?” she asked in a low voice, as if it were just the two of us in on a big secret. I knew it must be how she always was, her M.O. She could probably charm the pants off of anyone she wanted. But that smile? It felt like it was just for me.
I nodded. It wasn’t in the job description for security guards to chat up the guests. I was there to protect and serve, not fraternize. But still she kept on.
“It’s such a nice night tonight. I almost feel like I’m wasting it, in here at this party. I feel like I want to head out, do something different. I don’t know, walk down to the beach or—”
“Don’t go down there by yourself.” I found myself cautioning her. It wasn’t really my responsibility, but what was this crazy talk about heading out alone into the night?
“Why not?” She laughed, light and bubbling up around my dark scowl. “Do you think it’s dangerous?” she teased.
“Yes,” I answered, certain that I knew what I was talking about. She might live in a world of diamonds and rainbows, but I didn’t.
“Really?” She tilted her head to the side, looking up at me, studying my face as if trying to memorize it. She shouldn’t look so fascinated. “I guess that’s your job. Do you see danger all over?” she asked expectantly. “Even right here?” We stood inches away from each other in the darkness. I could close the distance in half a second. She faced far more danger than she would ever know.
“Yes,” I answered, low, gruff and even more convinced. “You should be over in the middle of the party.” It came out rougher than I’d intended, but it was better for her that way. She shouldn’t be over with me lurking in the shadows. Bad things happened to good girls like her when they strayed off the path with men like me.
She looked down, her excitement dampened. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m over here talking to you like this.”
I took a step back, putting distance between us, crossing my arms up over my chest as an additional barrier. It made no sense that my fingers itched to reach out and stroke her soft curls, caress her slender neck. Better to curl them into fists instead. But I couldn’t help myself from reassuring her a little.
“S’all right, princess.”
That got her attention. “I’m not a princess,” she insisted, a spark in her eyes.
“Yes, you are,” I answered, firm and unyielding. It was true, whether she knew it or not.
“I’m Gigi.” She introduced herself, extending her delicate, pale hand in the moonlight. I looked down at it, keeping my hands to myself. Wrapping her soft skin in my steel grip, it would feel too damn good. Instead, I gave her a brief nod, then returned my attention to the party behind her. My job.
“What’s your name?” she asked, sounding shy but determined.
I looked back down at her. “Dom.”
Damn if she didn’t gaze up at me like she wanted to spend the rest of the night tucked right there in the corner with me. That spelled all kinds of trouble for all kinds of reasons. Number one on the list? The fact that I wanted nothing more than that. Except getting her alone and all to myself. That would be even better.
So I tore my eyes away and ignored her. Arms crossed against my chest, I looked over to my right, my left, anywhere but where she stood there so lovely and radiant and fucking breathtaking.
“I’m glad to meet you, Dom.” She placed a hand on my forearm and my stomach clenched it felt so good. She leaned in, stretching up to my ear where she whispered, “thanks for keeping me safe.”
She turned and walked back into the throng of the party. I devoured the sight of her smooth skin, the hollow of her lower back in that revealing dress. She had no idea how far from safe she really was.
Callie Harper writes hot, fun, page-turning romances. She is powered by coffee, wickedly sexy bad boys, and all things funny, intentional or otherwise. Born on the East Coast where she learned the joys of fast-paced sarcastic banter, she and her family are now kickin’ it in the West Coast sunshine. On any given day there’s a good chance you’ll find Callie outdoors enjoying the gorgeous Bay Area, but if she’s indoors she’ll likely be reading, writing or eating, preferably all at once.
Salvation doesn’t exist. It’s a lie people tell themselves in the dark, alone so their conscience might be eased. To give them hope that, in the end, we can all be forgiven. Except we can’t. And no amount of praying will change that. For me there will be no redemption, and I will leave this world with the same black heart I entered it with. The comfort in knowing who I am and what I am capable of keeps me warmer than any lie of having my soul saved. Because I know the truth. Because I know there is no Heaven. And there is no Hell. There is only the fall.
Michael has no one. No family. No Friends. And not a soul in the world cares about him, only a system that tried to break him. With a strong dislike for establishments and conformity, he has lived his life as a rogue. A hired thug with no allegiances except to his own word. Sofia has grown up in the shadow of her father—one of the most powerful drug lords in the city. She has vowed to bring him to justice, moving through the ranks of the Chicago PD in an effort to be as far removed from her father’s lifestyle as possible.
Two worlds collide when Michael shows up at her door, a gun in his hand and a look in his eyes that terrifies her. Suddenly, Sofia has a price on her head and Michael is the only one who can keep her out of the crossfire.
“Please.”An anguished scream ripped through the night as the rain pummeled against the thick stained glass. The heavy splat against the windows was not unlike the streams of unrelenting tears that rolled down her face.
Darkness had come, and with it the howling wind battered at the doors, stirring at the unrest. The fat white candles that littered the room were the only source of illumination, a lightning strike killing the power an hour or two before.
The sisters had gathered, huddled together as mumbled Our Father’s competed against the sound of the storm, fearing the Devil himself was knocking at their door.
It wasn’t just the gale and torrential rain that crackled in the dark. Evil was dense in the air, rolling in like an all-encompassing fog—heavier than the thickest winter coat.
Another scream pierced through the sound of the weather. The very voice tore from her throat like a soul desperate to leave its earthly vessel.
There was no hope. It was the sound of death.
“Please,” she begged. The accumulation of fear and pain weighted in that one word made the sisters’ skin goose bump like the cold that had yet to breach the room. “Please, save him.”
Labored breaths dragged in air behind her chattering teeth.
“Please.”
“Save.”
“Him.”
It was more than a plea, and there was no mistake it would be the woman’s last request.
“Mother?”
Sister Catherine’s gaze rose to Mother Superior from her place on the floor. Her knees had been cemented to the very spot for the last ten hours, but not for prayer like the others. She waited for direction as blood stained the cold blue stone rock around her. Both the mother and child were closer to meeting the heavenly Father than the dawn was to the new day.
“Mother, we’re losing her.”
Mother’s eyes closed as she drew out a long, deep breath—Sister Catherine was right—the end was coming quickly.
“We will do all that we can, child. Be at peace.” Her hand brushed against the damp forehead of the expectant mother.
They had been the only words of comfort Mother could offer without betraying the cloth. She couldn’t lie to her. Not because of the promise she had made when she had accepted the habit, but because her very eyes watched as mortality slipped from the blessed child on the floor, the gray pallor of her skin already making her look like a corpse.
“One more push.” Sister Catherine’s attention was refocused, her actions determined to keep Mother’s promise. “I can see the head, but you need to help me.”
Sister Catherine’s hands worked swiftly, her fingers doing their best to work with the limited knowledge she had. Her calling had come during her second year of medical school; the important things not yet learned. But she was young, just barely having accepted her final vows, and her determination to serve was stronger than her fear.
This was not how she’d imagined her vocation, but one did not question when it came to serving the Lord. She would do whatever she needed to do, and tonight it was the experience of her pre-cloistered life that was desperately needed.
There were no further words, not from Sister Catherine nor from the woman who lay in front of her. The last gasps of energy were needed if the mother was going to be able to birth her child, and only the Lord himself knew if either of them would survive.
“Agh!” The mother fell back, the rock beneath her biting into her skin but she no longer felt pain. Not from her body at least, her agony had long been numbed. It was the heaviness in her heart that was her only emotion.
Just a little more.
She wasn’t sure if it had been Sister Catherine’s urging or her own internal thought that spoke those words, but it had been enough to keep her going. Her face strained from the effort as she bore down through the constant contractions. It would have to be enough. She had nothing left.
The child she had carried for nine months slipped from her body, finally making his entrance as she whispered her offering to the Father. That offering being her own sacrifice.
Take me, she prayed. Let him live, take me.
Her eyelids closed as Sister Catherine delivered the son, but there had been no cry. Not from the mother and not from her child, the eerie silence settling into the room as she accepted her fate. In fact, there had been no sound as she took her last breath, her eyes not having the luxury of gazing on the boy she’d been so desperate to save. Whether or not she’d succeeded, beyond her control.
“He’s breathing, barely.” Sister Catherine’s hands swaddled the boy with her own veil, his entrance into the world only a few moments before. “He’s weak, but he’s fighting.” She hoped it would be enough. They had already lost the mother; losing the boy would surely be too much.
“A fighter. Yes, we shall call him Michael.” Mother genuflected beside the altar, offering quick word of thanks before she rose to her feet. There wasn’t a lot of time; they needed to get the child to the hospital and fast.
“Blessed child, Michael.” The tiniest drop of holy water rolled off the infant’s forehead. Mother’s hand hovered above it, her lips moving quickly as the sacred words of baptism spilled from them. It was the best she could do without a priest, but at least she’d given him hope.
“There’s no time for an ambulance. Sister Mary, bring the car around. I will keep him breathing if needed.” Sister Catherine’s resolve kicked in. He would live. He would not die on the cold stained floor of the church.
“Go.” Mother clutched at the crucifix that hung close to her breast and slowly removed it from her neck. “I will care for the mother.” The gold chain placed gently upon the lifeless body of the mother who would never know the child she had birthed.
Sisters Catherine and Mary wasted no time; the boy’s breaths shallow as they ran out of the church into the courtyard toward the old used sedan. The rain soaked their clothes in minutes, the doors closing quickly behind them as the engine roared to life. Thankfully the hospital was not more than a few miles away.
And while it had been Sister Catherine’s previous expertise that had kept Michael alive, Sister Mary’s reputation for her lead foot was exactly what they needed now. The church and the convent quickly faded in the rearview mirror as they sped away.
Catherine and Mary’s attention had been about reaching the hospital, while Mother knelt beside the woman whom she hadn’t known nearly long enough, but had loved like her own child. She remembered the very day she had come to them, the day they had accepted her as one of their own.
She had been so brave; even as the end came her strength had not waned. Fearless, even in the face of her own death. She was safe now, seated with the Father, free from pain and sorrow. The Lord would protect her and do what Mother had been unable to do. God forgive her, while it had been Sister Catherine’s hands that had been bloodied, it had been Mother’s who had worn the biggest stain.
Had her vow of silence been responsible for the death?
“Should we call the police?” Sister Bridget offered, her bright eyes blinking away tears they all felt welling. “Mother? What would you like us to do?”
It was a question Mother had been contemplating for weeks. What she would do when the time came and the child was born. Had she done the right thing? They should have taken her to a hospital. It was insanity to try and handle this within the walls of their sanctuary, and yet it was exactly what she had promised. No one would ever know about the child. Not how he came to be in this world or who his parents had been, his existence hidden by not only her resolve, but that of her devotion to the mother.
No. No one could know.
The plan was set.
The boy was to be reported as abandoned, left in the church’s vestibule with no indication of who the mother was. It was a lie and one she would take to her grave. Her father would judge her, but when that time came she knew he would understand.
“No. No police.” Mother’s voice was hoarse as she removed the veil from her head and covered the body. “Our sister is gone. We will see that she is buried with the faithful at the back, but there can be no record.”
“Mother?” There was a collective gasp, the very fabric of their lives called into question as she told them her plan.
“We must honor her. We must give her the peace in death she was unable to gain in life. I have prayed on it and it is the only way. In this you must trust.” Her voice maintained its steely resolve, even if underneath her heart was breaking.
Did she do everything she could?
God help her, she couldn’t be sure she had.
“Save him.” Mother’s eyes rose to the crucifix mounted on the wall, the words more a prayer than a request. “Please, Lord. Save him.”
Her thoughts returned to the boy, his mother giving her own life so that he might live.
Only time would tell whether it had been enough.
Author Bio
T Gephart is an indie author from Melbourne, Australia.T’s approach to life has been somewhat unconventional. Rather than going to University, she jumped on a plane to Los Angeles, USA in search of adventure. While this first trip left her somewhat underwhelmed and largely depleted of funds it fueled her appetite for travel and life experience.
With a rather eclectic resume, which reads more like the fiction she writes than an actual employment history, T struggled to find her niche in the world.
While on a subsequent trip the United States in 1999, T met and married her husband. Their whirlwind courtship and interesting impromptu convenience store wedding set the tone for their life together, which is anything but ordinary. They have lived in Louisiana, Guam and Australia and have traveled extensively throughout the US. T has two beautiful young children and one four legged child, Woodley, the wonder dog.
An avid reader, T became increasingly frustrated by the lack of strong female characters in the books she was reading. She wanted to read about a woman she could identify with, someone strong, independent and confident and who didn’t lack femininity. Out of this need, she decided to pen her first book, A Twist of Fate. T set herself the challenge to write something that was interesting, compelling and yet easy enough to read that was still enjoyable. Pulling from her own past “colorful” experiences and the amazing personalities she has surrounded herself with, she had no shortage of inspiration. With a strong slant on erotic fiction, her core characters are empowered women who don’t have to sacrifice their femininity. She enjoyed the process so much that when it was over she couldn’t let it go.
T loves to travel, laugh and surround herself with colorful characters. This inevitably spills into her writing and makes for an interesting journey – she is well and truly enjoying the ride!
Based on her life experiences, T has plenty of material for her books and has a wealth of ideas to keep you all enthralled.
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