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BLOG TOUR ~ MERCURY STRIKING by Rebecca Zanetti
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Excerpt
What had she done? Lynne had actually fallen asleep on Jax Mercury. She awoke, blinking inside the stifling hood, just as he lifted her into the cool morning air and easily strode over uneven ground. A slight change of temperature hit her, and his steps leveled out.
Inside. They were inside somewhere. The smell of dust and burned tomato soup tickled her nose, but no sound provided a clue as to their whereabouts. All but blinded, she tried to tune in to her other senses. Jax’s boots clomped heavily across a hard surface, and his heart beat steadily against her shoulder.
His stride didn’t hitch as he climbed stairs, turned, walked in a too-quiet area, and opened a door. The world tilted, and he placed her, gently actually, on what felt like a fake leather sofa.
He yanked the hood off.
Light from halogen lamps assaulted her wide pupils, and she winced, her eyes tearing. “You’re an ass.”
Silver flashed, and he cut the zip ties. “So it has been said.”
Heat climbed into her face. The man had carried her easily and didn’t seem winded a bit. Even so, the legends whispered around campfires and refugee camps across the country had to be exaggerated. Nobody was that tough. “We need to talk,” she gritted out.
He yanked a kitchen chair toward her, turned it, and straddled it. Now, in the light, she was struck by how young he really was. Maybe mid-thirties, black hair, dark brown eyes, and rugged facial features. Handsome in a pissed-off kind of way. A scar cut under the left side of his jaw, white and deadly. “So, talk.”
She swallowed and tugged her backpack to her chest, glancing around what appeared to be a small apartment. A kitchenette took up one wall, an unmade bed the other, with dented furniture in between. Sofa, metal coffee table, woodlaminate kitchen table, paint peeling pink kids’ dresser, and mismatched kitchen chairs. Maps covered the table, spread out haphazardly. “Where am I?”
“You don’t get to know that.” He rested his arms on the top of the chair, muscles flexing.
She bit her lip. Men’s clothing littered the unmade bed, and the smell of musk and male filled the atmosphere. “Whose place am I in?”
“Mine.” He lifted a shoulder, his gaze unwavering. “And yours now, I guess.”
She pushed back into the torn pleather. “I’m not, I mean, I—”
One dark eyebrow rose. “You’re here because I’m keeping an eye on you and making sure you don’t infect anybody else.”
“I won’t infect anybody else,” she said slowly, her nails digging into the couch until the pads of her fingertips protested. “We don’t really know the truth about that statement, now do we? You’re the ultimate carrier of the most dangerous plague to ever attack mankind.” He lowered his chin, the movement somehow menacing. “You’re also here so I can make sure you’re not ready to check out.”
She rolled her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t have traveled this far to do it.”
“Fair enough.”
She glanced at the unmade bed. Too many women had become victims as the world had disintegrated; the strong overcame the weak. She wasn’t weak, and she was no man’s plaything. “I’m not here for your amusement.”
“I’m not amused.” He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t force myself on women, and neither do any of my men. Any people here, and anyone we come across, remain safe from personal attack. Rape is a crime dealt with by death, so you have no need to fear.”
She’d heard that in the rumors and tales, but she hadn’t known it to be true. “Women don’t earn their keep, earn their protection, with sex here?” Wherever here was.
“No.”
“You were in an inner-city L.A. gang. Years ago.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Rape was against the rules?”
His face blanked. “No, but I’ve never forced a woman.” Those dark eyes narrowed. “My past is my own. You sure know a lot about me.”
Not really. He’d become a folk legend fighting in L.A. before the news had shut down. Since then she’d been trying to gather facts, but there were still blanks. “Why did you leave the gang? I’ve never heard why you entered the army.”
He rubbed his chin. “Judge gave me a choice. Prison or military. I guess he saw something in me.”
She let her shoulders relax. “I wondered.”
“Yeah.” Jax eyed her shirt just at her neck. “Can I see again?”
Well, she couldn’t really blame him. She set aside the pack holding her father’s precious journal. Her fingers remained steady this time as she unbuttoned the blouse and drew open the sides.
Jax’s nostrils flared, while a tension, one she barely remembered as sexual, overtook the atmosphere. “Does it hurt?”
“The blueness?” She glanced down, her lungs suddenly
too tight “No. I don’t feel anything.”
He reached out and gently took her wrist, shoving the sleeve up to reveal the track marks on her elbow. “This must hurt.”
His touch stirred awareness deep in her abdomen, and surprise paused her at the feeling. When was the last time she’d felt desire? Or even warmth from another’s touch? She glanced down at the scars caused by drawing so much blood. So many times, and outside of normal medical procedures after a while. “Yes. That hurts.”
“I knew a junkie once with an arm like this.” Jax shook his head and unrolled her sleeve. “The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it,” he murmured, securing the buttons at her wrist. She frowned as the familiar words rolled around her head. “Einstein?”
“Nietzsche.” Jax lifted an eyebrow. “Rumor has it you’re carrying an advanced form of Scorpius. True or false?” “False rumor to isolate me.” She tried to keep her tired eyes open.
Jax gestured toward her pack. “I get the food and water you have, but what’s in the journal?”
She sighed. “Sorry, but there’s nothing about Scorpius. My dad was a physicist and a philosopher. He wrote a lot down.”
Jax blinked. “That’s quite the combination.”
“Yes.” The words on paper were all she had left of her parents.
Jax studied her and then looked toward the gas lamp on the counter. “We have lanterns left, but not for long unless we get more fuel. So keep an eye on the lamp but extinguish it if you go to sleep.”
“I understand.” The guy was quoting Nietzsche? What kind of an ex-gang member turned army special ops turned leader of a vigilante group knew philosophy? She shook her head. Time to negotiate. “I’m here for a reason.” “I’m sure.” He eyed her blue heart again. “You can cover up.”
She fumbled in refastening her shirt. “I’ll teach you everything I know about the illness, and you provide temporary protection and one kill.” The mere idea she was contracting a murder banished the desire humming inside her and replaced the heat with a lump of cold rock.
A veil fell over Jax’s eyes. “What makes you think we don’t know everything you do about the illness?”
She shrugged, wondering if he knew what kind of information he might have stored away just from his ransacking labs. “The Internet went down fast, much faster than anyone would’ve thought, and the news and television thereafter. No way do you know what I know.”
He watched her patiently, as if waiting to strike. “The Internet went down because of a guy named Spiral.”
She blinked. Wow. So Jax Mercury had some seriously good intel. “True. He was infected with the illness and then reacted by creating a world-class computer virus. Figured if bodies died, so should technology, since it got us in this fix in the first place.” Her instincts hummed. Underestimating Mercury would be a colossal mistake. Suddenly, and for the first time in way too long, hope struggled to unfurl within her. “I still know more about the illness than you do.”
“Probably.” He studied her for a few moments longer before cocking his head to the side. “What else?”
She cleared her throat. “I assume you’ve scavenged the area you control?”
His chin lifted. “So?”
She swallowed, her body stilling. “Did you scavenge the emergency CDC outpost on the southeast side of L.A.?” Her blood pumped so fast she could feel a vein in her neck bulging.
“Yes. Why?” he asked softly.
The softness contained a deadly intent that rippled a shiver down her spine. Her fingers fidgeted. “They had the most recent research, and combined with mine, we might have hope.” They also had intel on where Myriad, the ultrasecret lab, might be located.
He studied her. “We raided the CDC outpost and took all medical supplies and paper records. Our limited medical personnel went through the files looking for cures, but I have to be honest, none of them are researchers with your background.”
Lynne leaned forward. “I’m happy to go through all the information and decipher it for you.” Oh God. Maybe the risk of heading into Mercury’s territory would actually pay off . . . if she could find Myriad. “Could I look through the data?”
He leaned back and studied her. “Sure. Are you telling me there may be a cure?”
USA Today Bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner – only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.
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VIRTUAL TOUR ~ RECKLESS by Kimberly Kincaid
Someone’s Bound To Get Burned…
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Excerpt
Alex sat back against his bar stool, his mood in the shitter despite the cold beer in his hand and the warm smile of the waitress who’d brought it. But the ten hours he’d spent hitting the bricks in Hope House’s kitchen today had done their level best to kill both his stamina and his patience.
The grunt work, however, couldn’t even hold a flamethrower to his new boss.
Alex tilted his bottle to his lips, swallowing a long, smooth sip of pale ale to cover his frown. Yeah, he’d cop to the fact that he hadn’t come out of the gate with a stellar first impression, but it wasn’t as if he’d meant to drift off to dreamland while he’d waited for Zoe in the dining room. With the circadian rhythms that went hand in hand with Alex’s job, five minutes in the dark meant one of two things—either he was falling asleep or getting laid. He had to admit, when he’d first seen Zoe standing there in Hope House’s dining room, with those blazing brown eyes and jeans that showcased more curves than a Grand Prix racetrack, the option behind door number two had seemed awfully freaking appealing.
Until he’d realized who she was. But how the hell was
he supposed to know his captain’s only daughter had ditched out on her fancy career as an up-and-coming chef
to direct a small-time soup kitchen in Fairview’s projects? Or that she seemed to have been living on a steady diet of no-risks, all-rules since he’d last seen her five years ago?
Or that despite the fact that she’d pulled a Judge Judy on his ass over the way he’d landed his community service sentence, then met his cold shoulder with an equally arctic counterpart as she’d worked him into the kitchen tiles, he still found her unbelievably and unequivocally hot as hell.
God, he was screwed. And not even in a way that would leave a smile on his face.
“What’s the matter, Donovan? One day of plates and pots enough to send you around the bend?”
Alex blinked himself back to his usual table in Bellyflop’s bar area just in time to catch the good-natured glint in the eyes of his former squad mate Nick Brennan. If anyone knew the twists and trials of working in a professional kitchen, it was definitely Brennan. After suffering a career-ending injury two and a half years ago, the guy had spent his time doing exactly that before coming back to Fairview last month to teach at the fire academy.
After all, once a firefighter . . .
“Laugh it up, fry boy,” Alex said, giving up half a grin before sliding off his padded leather bar stool to shake his buddy’s hand. “I take it you heard about my disagreement with McManus.”
“Who hasn’t? The story’s all over the department.” Brennan tipped his darkly stubbled chin at their passing waitress, pointing to Alex’s beer bottle with one hand while holding up two fingers with the other as he parked himself across the table. “Gotta hand it to you, dude. When it comes to going all-in, you are definitely committed.”
Alex shrugged. He’d had the same philosophy for the last twelve years, and while it might’ve gotten him into a bunch of scrapes, his all-in, all-the-time mind-set was definitely better than the alternative. “From where I sit, there’s really no other way to be. After all, Cap’s not running a knitting circle. We either take risks or people get hurt.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. Believe me, I remember what goes down on shift.” Brennan plucked a specials menu from between the salt and pepper shakers on the table to give it a nice, long look-see, and even though his expression didn’t vary from its terminally easygoing status, guilt poked holes in Alex’s chest all the same. Brennan had been injured the same night they’d lost Mason in that gut-twisting apartment fire. One minute, they’d all been clearing the building, business as usual. The next, part of the third floor had collapsed, Brennan’s career had been shattered along with a pair of his vertebrae, and Mason was gone.
And wasn’t that one more balls-out reminder that life was short.
“Yeah.” He finished the last of his beer, the empty bottle finding the polished wood table with a thunk, and Brennan leaned in, his voice notched low against the music spilling down from the overhead speakers.
“Listen, Teflon, I get where your head is, but do you think maybe—”
“Well, well, look who it is! I heard this guy’s gonna be the next Martha Stewart.” Tom O’Keefe, one of Station Eight’s paramedics, arrived at the table, clapping his palm over Alex’s with a wry laugh. Cole followed behind him, sending a thread of relief beneath Alex’s breastbone. While he’d never disrespect Mason’s memory, giving his emotions airtime—especially in the middle of a moderately populated sports bar—wasn’t part of Alex’s game plan. The past was past. What mattered was the moment you were in, and not a whole hell of a lot more.
After all, if you weren’t busy living, you were busy dying, and no way was he going out with a fizzle instead of a slam-fucking-bang.
“You’re hilarious, O’Keefe. Really. Asshole,” Alex tacked on, but his buddy just lifted his brows in an exaggerated waggle.
“Oh, now you’re just flirting with me.” O’Keefe shrugged out of his dark blue quilted FFD jacket as the waitress delivered Alex and Brennan’s beers, and he twirled his finger in a tight circle over the table as he put in an order to make the round complete. “So,” he said, commandeering the bar stool across from Brennan and next to Cole. “All kidding aside, the house is too quiet without your mouthy ass. What’s the word with this community service thing?”
Alex rolled his eyes, suddenly grateful for the fresh beer in his hand. “The word is, the next four weeks are going to be an exercise in futility.”
“You’re actually going to do the whole four weeks?” Brennan’s dark brows winged upward, and as much as it burned, Alex met his buddy’s shock with a resigned nod.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not planning on any circle-oflove transformations while I log my time. But as far as the community service goes, I don’t have a choice.” Christ, this whole thing was such a waste of time and resources. He should be out there fighting fires, not serving up dry sandwiches in some cafeteria line because that idiot McManus was suffering from a bruised ass and an ego to match. “I’ve got four weeks before I go in front of the fire chief for my review. Until then, it looks like the department has got me by the short and curlies. I either do this community service as penance, or I lose my job. And I’m not losing my job.”
“Yeah, but if you do the whole four weeks, you’re also not getting paid,” O’Keefe said. “That’s got to sting.”
“I’m good there,” Alex replied, the words firing out just a little too fast. Ah, damn it. This situation was sideways enough without having to dig into the truth behind his statement. There were only three people at Eight who were privy to all of his sticky particulars, and Alex wasn’t about to bump the number higher, not even by one.
He forced his shoulders into their loosest setting, dialing his expression up to damage control status. “I’ve got some scratch saved up from my part-time gig. It’ll last.”
“Right. I forgot about that.” O’Keefe propped both forearms on the table, tilting his head as he thankfully switched gears. “Still. You spent all day at this soup kitchen place. You haven’t tried to sweet-talk the director into giving you a shorter assignment, maybe moving the whole thing along so you can get back in-house? This is you, after all.”
An image of Zoe with her hands locked over her lush, denim-wrapped hips as she ran him in circles around Hope House’s kitchen ricocheted through Alex’s brain, and he barely managed to cough out a humorless laugh with his answer. “Uh, yeah, no. As much as I want to trim some time off my assignment, sweet-talking the director isn’t going to be a viable strategy.”
Cole’s brows slid together, his gaze darkening in confusion under the low light of the bar. “Talking your way out of things is always your strategy. What’s so special about this director that makes her a game changer?”
“Well, let’s see. For starters, her last name is Westin.”
The stunned silence at the table lasted for a breath, then another, before O’Keefe finally broke it with a low whistle. “Ho-ly shit, Teflon. Zoe Westin is the director of Hope House’s soup kitchen? That’s the hush-hush project she came back home to work on?”
Alex’s sip of beer went down way more sour than smooth, and he made a face to match. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Kimberly Kincaid writes contemporary romance that splits the difference between sexy and sweet. When she’s not sitting crosslegged in an ancient desk chair known as “The Pleather Bomber,” she can be found practicing obscene amounts of yoga, whipping up anything from enchiladas to éclairs in her kitchen, or curled up with her nose in a book. Kimberly is a 2011 RWA Golden Heart® finalist who lives (and writes!) by the mantra that food is love. She resides in northern Virginia with her wildly patient husband and their three daughters.
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BLOG TOUR ~ The Sinclair Most Likely To…… J.S. Scott
The Sinclair Most Likely Blog Tour
In J.S. Scott’s contemporary romance series, the Sinclairs were born into one of Boston’s richest families, the siblings separate and leave their troubled childhoods behind…until life pulls them back together in the sleepy coastal village of Amesport, Maine.
There they meet their matches, discovering that the satisfaction of having billions in the bank pales in comparison to the passionate love affairs that are shaking up—and righting—their worlds.
Get to know each of the Sinclairs as J.S. gives readers a glimpse into each hero…
Which Sinclair is most likely to…
1) … spontaneously fly a date to Italy to show her his favorite restaurant?
Dante, from No Ordinary Billionaire, will go far and beyond to show the woman he loves how much he adores her and a spontaneous dinner in another country might do just that.
2) … go on an extreme sports vacation?
Jared, from The Forbidden Billionaire, as we all know is the daredevil of the Sinclair brothers so it is natural to think he would think of an extreme sport vacation as a type of holiday!
3) … forget an important birthday because they were working on a million dollar merger?
Evan, from The Billionaire’s Touch, has always been focused in his work. Being the eldest and the one responsible to take the role of the head of the family, makes it hard for him to let the business responsibilities to fall on someone else.
4) … write a romantic poem to their significant other?
Evan. However regardless of being 99.9% business focused he will still indulge in something as romantic as writing a poem for his significant other.
5) … take a ballroom dance class?
Aww Grady, from The Billionaire’s Christmas, known to the residents of Amesport as “the eccentric beast” he still has a soft side and will take pleasure in learning to ballroom in order to see Emily happy and have an excuse to be close to her.
6) … have the most children?
Grady (but they all have a bet running on who will succeed).
This one was a tough one as all the Sinclair men love nothing but to show their women their Alpha and possessive side, however we thought Grady after discovering the miracle of Christmas and being surrounded by children in the youth center would love to see Emily carrying his babies.
***
And now get to know the Evan, the newest Sinclair hero, better with an excerpt from The Billionaire’s Touch:
“Can I ask you a question?”
She lifted a brow before asking, “What?”
“Does Beatrice give out these stones to everyone?” Evan pulled the crystal from his pocket and held it out to her.
Hesitantly, Randi reached out and took the rock into her own hand. She turned it over and over a few times before handing it back with a perplexed look on her face.
“Hardly ever,” she admitted. “You got one, too?”
“She mailed it to me with a letter a few months ago, telling me I was going to be married within six months,” he answered reluctantly, slipping the Apache tear back into his coat pocket. “I think she might be demented.”
Randi laughed, and a bolt of pleasure raced through Evan’s body at the husky, sultry sound.
“She’s not crazy. She’s just a little eccentric. Sometimes her predictions actually do come true.”
Evan shook his head. “She’s destined for disappointment with me.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Randi admitted, reaching for the door of her rapidly defrosting vehicle. It was a deep-purple SUV that somehow suited her bold personality. Evan could finally see the make and model clearly.
“Randi?” he questioned huskily.
“Yes?” She turned and looked at him, her expression no longer hostile.
“Don’t worry about my coat. I have another one.”
It wasn’t what he really wanted to say, but he couldn’t exactly tell her what he was thinking. She was likely to apply a knee to his balls, and he rather liked them intact.
“I told you to send me a bill if the stain doesn’t come out. You might try the dry cleaners here. They’ve done miracles with some of my clothes. Stains are a job hazard for teachers,” she told him amiably.
It was her smile that made Evan snap. Her eyes were warm and happy, her lips curving into a beautiful expression of joy when she talked about her profession. But the grin was aimed at him, and Evan couldn’t possibly resist seizing the moment. He’d never made an impulsive move in his entire life, but he couldn’t seem to control his mind or body when she smiled at him this way.
He stepped forward without debating his options first, pinned her body against her vehicle, and without a cautionary thought in his head, he kissed her.
Evan groaned as his lips crashed down on hers, knowing that he’d just made a mistake that would probably cost him his sanity. Her body stiffened as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand threading through her hair to protect her head and keep it exactly in a position that allowed him complete access to her mouth. An unfamiliar sense of male satisfaction moved deep in his gut as the clip holding her hair fell to the ground and the dark strands tumbled around her shoulders.
About the Book
Title: The Billionaire’s Touch
Author: J.S. Scott
Publishing Date: February 2, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Summary
After a troubling childhood, wealthy Evan Sinclair likes his life orderly and controlled. He rarely gives in to spontaneous urges—until he begins a chance correspondence with a mystery woman who sounds like his complete opposite. She intrigues and amuses him, and the interest seems mutual…which is more than he can say for his current obsession, Miranda Tyler, the tough-as-nails, sexy schoolteacher who’s made it clear she’s not impressed—or interested.
Miranda finally has it all: a good job, friends, and the security of living in the quaint coastal town of Amesport, Maine. She even has an anonymous pen pal—a man she’s never met yet has bonded with almost effortlessly. The only thing unsettling her life is Evan Sinclair. The handsome billionaire is arrogant, pompous, and far too used to getting his way. Miranda tries her best to avoid him, until Evan’s steamy kiss turns her world upside down.
Soon their red-hot desire is scorching the sheets and has them both spinning out of control. But when secrets are revealed, will their insatiable attraction keep them together or force them apart? In J.S. Scott’s The Billionaire’s Touch, the eldest Sinclair just might have met his match.
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About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author J.S. Scott is an avid reader. While she loves all types of books and literature, romance has always been her genre of choice. Because she writes what she loves to read, she excels at both contemporary and paranormal romances. Most of her books are steamy and generally feature a to-die-for alpha male, and all have a satisfying happily-ever-after ending. She just can’t seem to write them any other way!
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