First Time ~ Morning After

It’s a First Time post and this month it’s the first Morning After… lol. Either it’ll be great or very awkward. For this one, I chose Carved in Ice, because I kinda love how their first morning after went. Harlequin definitely wasn’t sure what to expect. Hope you enjoy it…

I’ve included the whole chapter, because… well it’s also where you meet Rigs from Going in Blind and I so love him. Feel free to only read whatever floats your boat.

Sunlight bathed the room when Quinn finally managed to open her eyes. It was obviously well past sunrise and, judging by the shadows stretching out across the floor, closer to noon.

She groaned, still trying to shake the fuzzy feeling from her head, when she realized what felt off. Russel was gone, his side of the bed cold. She bolted upright, grabbing at the covers as they slid to her waist. The room was cool, and she was naked.

Naked. She’d slept with Russel. Or, not slept.

She lifted her knees and braced her elbows on them, palming her face in her hands. When she’d woken last night, having sex with him had sounded like a great idea. They’d nearly died. Had been dancing around the attraction between them every second they were together. So, blowing off some steam—having a few orgasms—had seemed a reasonable recourse to all they’d been through. A small celebration of life.

But then, Russel had shifted gears. Had gotten…personal. Christ, he’d basically said that, if she agreed to have sex with him, she was agreeing to be in a relationship with him. A relationship.

The guy was nuts!

He’d just fought off armed men—men sent to kill her. And he thought getting involved was wise? Was anything other than completely insane, because she thought it was insane. Who signed up to have a bullseye put on their back over a tumble in the sheets?

Crazy people.

And ex-soldiers, it seemed.

But what was crazier—what blew her mind—was that she wanted one, too. Wanted to think in terms beyond the next sunrise. Beyond the end of the weekend. That’s as far as any “relationship” had ever gone. Two days then done. Over. Nothing but a ghost.

Russel seemed to think two years was equivalent to a first date. Twenty to celebrating a few months. It was as if he lived by a different time scale. The Russel scale. Like dog years only longer. Twenty to one. Like a bet at the race track.

She should have told him no. Sorry. Can’t do it. Can’t put your life on the line. Because she’d forgotten to mention the part where her father was a crime lord. One who apparently had holdings in her name. Her name. Harlequin James, photographer and heiress to a crime empire. Which meant she might go down with the ship when it finally took on water—through the hole she’d been trying to blast in the hull. The reason Thomas was gunning for her.

But, instead of shoving him away, taking the initiative and going to sleep on the couch, she’d surrendered. Actually surrendered. She might as well have waved a damn white flag in the air because she hadn’t put up any kind of a fight. Hadn’t remembered all the reasons she’d pushed him away. Nothing had registered beyond the hot, wet press of his mouth on hers, and the white-hot need that had sparked inside her.

Heat billowed up from her core, increasing her breath. God, the things he’d done to her. After they’d gotten the first round over—the one that had been better than any other sex she’d ever had—he’d gotten serious. Had mounted her, again, pushing her through several more orgasms before pumping his body weight of sperm into her. Then, he’d carried her to the shower. Naked, but she’d just clung to his shoulders, trying to kiss him the entire way.

They’d showered, fucked, then showered some more.

Then, after carrying her back, he’d settled between her thighs and tasted every inch of her. She couldn’t even remember how their last encounter had ended, fairly certain she’d passed out before he’d climaxed. But, judging on the stiffness in her joints, it had been just as mind-blowing as the other times.

Quinn took a deep breath, scrubbed her hands down her face then sat upright. The situation was definitely screwed up. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about putting not only Russel, but this “team” he’d mentioned, in the line of fire. But it didn’t seem to matter what she thought. Russel had made it clear he was hell bent on protecting her. Period. Arguing now, after he’d saved her life, seemed pointless.

Instead, she lifted the covers and swung her feet over the edge. She hoped the fact Russel hadn’t stayed in bed with her wasn’t an indication that he’d changed his mind. He’d be wise to. And she’d tell him to get out while he still could a dozen more times given the chance. But a part of her didn’t want him to go. Didn’t want to face this alone. Face the future alone.

After pushing anyone and everyone away—limiting herself to mostly acquaintances instead of friends—to never allowing herself to care about anyone more than idle friendship… Having Russel open the door to new possibilities—to a bonafide relationship—had cracked through the tough shell she’d built around her. And, like it or not, her damn heart had started pouring out. Seeping through the fissures until it was sitting there, exposed. Raw. Ready to be broken. She just hoped it was broken because he’d walked away and not because she’d gotten him killed.

The thought had her moving, reaching for her clothes, which Russel had folded on a chair at the end of the bed. She lifted her shirt and a note fluttered to the floor. Quinn bent over, unfolding the paper then reading the oddly neat handwriting.

Gone out for supplies. Rigs is here. The guy’s top notch. Ex-Marine. If things go sideways, glue yourself to his ass. And it would be wise not to venture off alone. He’s got the place…secured.


P.S. You’re damn cute lying there, snuffling, hair a perfect mess. Especially since I was the one who messed it up. Be back soon.

The guy was smug. Smug and pushy, and it made her heart beat faster because, beneath it all, he cared. He wasn’t just tagging along out of a sense of duty. Every look, every touch, was a display of how deeply he felt for her. He’d willingly put himself between her and bullets. Bullets! And he hadn’t even insisted she talk, yet. Had spent the night making her feel as if she was the center of his world. Even now, he’d left a note so she wouldn’t worry. Wouldn’t assume he’d just left.

Which she would have. Because that’s what she’d always done. Left. Escaped before anyone could figure out who she was or get caught in the crossfire.

She folded the note and shoved it in her pants’ pocket then quickly dressed. He’d left another towel for her, and she took a quick shower before tentatively heading for the main living area. Other than their room and the bathroom, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Hadn’t met this Rigs guy.

She reran what Russel and his buddy, Midnight, had said in the truck the night before. Something about a firefight. About him having scars and what she assumed was PTSD. Which, hell, she understood. Just one round of having someone shoot at her, and she felt like she was losing her mind. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to face that day in, day out. Always putting your life on the line.

So, he likely had visible scars—the kind that some people wouldn’t understand. Would gawk at. Maybe had experienced some kind of amputation. She could deal with that. Had taken photographs of burn victims for an exposé and had seen her share of war veterans when she’d done the calendar spread. As long as he didn’t try to kill her, she’d manage.

The smell of coffee led her to the kitchen. A large pot was brewing in the far corner, a couple of mugs set out in preparation. She walked over, inhaling the rich scent, when a hand landed on her shoulder.

She screamed, grabbed the person’s wrist, locking it against her, then pivoted, ducking under the guy’s arm and successfully exchanging places. She turned to face the man, hands in the ready position, her weight shifted forward onto her toes.

A bemused smile greeted her before the guy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter, his right side in silhouette. “Not bad, Red. I wasn’t expecting you to counter.”

Her breath heaved in her chest, the frantic sound echoing around them. She took a step back when he groaned and shook his head.

“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you.” He extended his hand. “The name’s Rigs. Ice’s buddy.”

Of course. This was his house, so obviously he was her host of sorts. She should have guessed that, but after all she’d been through, her body was primed to fight, first, ask questions, later.

Quinn stared at his outstretched hand for a few moments before shaking it as she dragged her gaze up to his face. Rigs was handsome—with piercing blue eyes and symmetrical features. His hair was longer than Russel’s but a similar shade of brown with hints of blonde running through it. His skin had a healthy tan to it, as if he’d spent a lot of time out in the sun. Though she suspected it was most likely from his career in the military. Ex-Marine, Russel’s note had said. Which translated into badass. Rigs had probably spent the past few years overseas in one desert camp after another.

He took a deep breath then turned to fully face her, exposing two large scars crossing his left side—from his temple, through his eyebrow, then down past the corner of his mouth. The lines were raised, with a few ladder-type stitch marks visible. God, he must have had the lacerations closed in the field. No self-respecting plastic surgeon at a hospital would have left that kind of damage behind. She couldn’t imagine how much it had hurt, and not just physically. While they’d most likely fade a bit with time, they’d be a permanent feature for the rest of his life. Not that she thought they detracted from his appearance, but she understood why he’d be sensitive about them.

She met his gaze, thankful she hadn’t flinched and that any flush on her cheeks would be attributed to their brief interaction. “You’re Rigs? Then why the hell did you sneak up on me like that?”

He watched her, eyes narrowed, his hand still holding hers. He seemed to be waiting for her to react, which she wouldn’t. She’s just hoped it didn’t mean they’d be standing there all day. Because he could search her face until sunset, and he wouldn’t find the kind of rejection she believed he was looking for. The kind that made him feel like less of a man. Less human. She thought the opposite. That the scars were badges of honor. Proof he’d had the balls to face the unthinkable without fear. Unlike her. She’d spent a decade running away from it. Hiding under another name so no one would figure out her secret. Her scars were invisible, but far uglier.

He sighed then chuckled, finally releasing her hand. “I wasn’t sneaking. Walked up to you like I would anyone.”

“Except where you didn’t make a sound. Most people would have called out or at least cleared their throat. I’m not used to people touching me out of the blue.”

He shrugged. “Old habits. I was just trying to get your attention.”

“You could try saying my name, next time. And it’s Quinn, not Red.”

“Quinn. Right. So, Quinn, how long have you studied jujitsu?”

“How did you know that’s what it was?”

Another shrug.

Damn, what was it about military guys and being able to read her? “A few years. It became obvious one day that it would be wise to be able to defend myself.”

“Smart. Women still tend to be targets for violence, however unfair that is. It’s unfortunate those moves won’t stop a bullet.”

No, but Russel had. Christ, she bet Rigs could, too. Like Superman or Wonder Woman. Just deflect them off his bare hands without sweating. She was sweating, again. Standing there, the weight of his stare pressing in on her, made her nervous. As if he knew who she really was but wasn’t letting on.

Could he? She’d had the odd person give her a second glance, as if they were trying to place her face, but she knew she’d never met Rigs before. She wouldn’t forget a guy like him. Like Russel. They were unforgettable. The kind of men who stood out in a crowd. Like a spot of color in a black and white photo.

She pushed away the thought. She hadn’t been Harlequin James for ten years. And she’d changed a lot in that time. She no longer resembled the mousy, skinny teenager she’d been. So, the chances Rigs knew who she was…


She took a few steps back, sinking into a chair next to a small round table. “I was more concerned with being able to knock the odd drunken guy on his ass than anything else. Though, I guess I’ll have to up my training. Learn how to avoid getting shot.”

Rigs snorted. “That’s easy. Don’t put yourself in the position where it can happen.”

She cocked her head off to the side. “It’s not like I went looking for trouble.” Well, in a way she had. She’d been snooping around. Gathering evidence. So, yeah, she had been looking for trouble, and it had definitely found her.

Another snort. The kind that told her Rigs didn’t believe her. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve got Ice, now. And he’s very good at avoiding bullets. Stopping them, too.”

That name, again. Ice.

“I keep hearing people call Russel that. Ice. Is it his nickname or something?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

She tried not to cringe, hating the way her face heated. The man had spent the better part of the night inside her, and she still only knew his first name. God, she was pathetic.

“To be honest, we haven’t really talked about anything personal.”

“Right. You wouldn’t want to accidentally blow your cover.” He smiled at her sharp intake of air, continuing without making another remark about her past. “So, what do you know about Russel?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Enough.”

“Then, you know he’s a PJ. Or was a PJ.”

“PJ? What’s a PJ?”

Rigs shook his head. “Please tell me you at least knew he was military.”

“I saw his tattoo. I know he’s former Special Forces. I just…didn’t dig any further. So, what’s a PJ?”

“Pararescue. They’re the crazy sons of bitches who go in when Special Forces get ambushed or shot down. They rescue our asses. Usually in the worst possible conditions. Russel’s the reason a few hundred soldiers aren’t lying in a pine box.”

God, Russel was even more heroic than she’d thought. She didn’t need to look up his vocation. She knew what pararescue meant. He jumped out of planes. Went wherever he was needed, which according to Rigs was behind enemy lines. That’s what he meant by worst possible conditions. That’s why Russel carried guys for miles. Why he hadn’t seemed fazed at all by three men trying to kill him, compliments of her. He’d faced worse and lived.

She met Rigs’ gaze. “That explains his medical knowledge. And how he evaded those armed men.”

It explained everything, except why he was risking his life for her. She wasn’t a soldier. A brother as he’d put it. In fact, she doubted she deserved being rescued after sitting idly by for so long.

She glanced at her hands, doing her best to stop them from trembling. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know any more. Hearing how great Russel was, how honorable, only made her loathe herself more.

“Anyway, you’re right. Ice is his nickname. Most of the guys in the Teams either get labeled due to their personality or end up getting called by their rank or last name.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “So, why Ice?”

“Because of how he is under fire. Nothing gets to him. Nothing. Bombs going off, bullets kicking up the dirt next to his foot or ricocheting off the wall beside his head, and he’s stone cold. Always focused. Always steady. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy’s hand shake. Seen him let his emotions show.” Rigs’ lips quirked. “Until this morning, just before he went out. Standing here, talking about your safety. Just the thought of leaving you… Never seen the guy so nervous. I think he was actually sweating.”

She stared at Rigs, unable to answer. How could she?

Rigs shrugged. “Guess it has to happen to most of us, sooner or later. Ice held out a long time. He deserves to be happy.” He leaned in. “You will keep him happy, right?”

She swallowed, half choking in the process. “I—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rigs. Back the fuck off.”

Quinn gasped, jumping up and turning—practically falling against Russel as he moved in behind her, catching her elbow when she tripped on one of the chair’s legs. He had a couple of bags in his other hand, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting out of one of them.

He sighed, placing them on the table before pulling her gently against him. “Ignore him, sweetheart. He enjoys making people sweat.”

She nodded, still unsure how to respond.

Russel glared at Rigs—who looked more than pleased with himself—then cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “Hungry?”

Her stomach growled before she could reply.

He laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Good. I brought fresh bagels, some cheese, a fruit bowl and coffee that won’t peel paint.”

Rigs grunted. “I welcome you into my home, and you insult my coffee? That’s harsh, bro.”

“You’ll live. Longer, now, that I brought real coffee.” Russel laughed at Rigs’ scowl, focusing on her, again. “Why don’t you sit? I’ll grab some plates.”

Quinn sank into the chair, again, eyeing Rigs suspiciously. While she suspected Russel was right, and Rigs had wanted to get a reaction out of her, she couldn’t help but feel that part of it was his way of protecting Russel. Maybe paying the man back for saving his life.

She thanked Russel for the coffee he placed in front of her, looking over at her host. “So, what about Rigs? Is that your name or…”

Russel snorted. “It’s more what he used to do. Explosives. Best ordinance specialist I’ve ever met. There isn’t a problem Rigs can’t fix with some wire and some well-placed C4. His real name’s Kent. Kent Walker.”

Great, now, she knew Rigs’ last name, but she still didn’t have a clue what Russel’s was. Maybe she could sneak a peek at his driver’s license because asking him, now, was beyond embarrassing. “I thought your buddy, Midnight, said he was a crack shot? Something about shooting the balls off a mosquito.”

Rigs laughed. Not a fake one for show, but one that shook through him from deep inside his chest. “Wow, is Midnight still sore I beat him that one time in sniper practice?”

Russel sat down beside her, laying one arm across the back of her chair as he piled some food on his plate with his other hand. “If by once, you mean every single shot, then yeah. You know he hates to lose.”

“The guy can track tangos like no one I’ve ever seen before. I swear he can smell them or see their trail as a colored mist in the air. Trust me. He didn’t need to be the best at everything.”

“You try telling him that. You know Rangers are touchy.” Russel took a swig of his coffee, looking over at her. “Sleep okay?”

She coughed, nearly spitting the liquid across the table at Rigs. Had Russel seriously just asked how she’d slept? Because she was pretty sure he was the reason she hadn’t gotten nearly as much as she probably should have.

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, mumbling an apology to Rigs. “Great. Thanks.”

Rigs chuckled.

Russel arched a brow. “You got something to add, buddy?”

The man’s mouth lifted then pressed into a line. “Nope. Nothing.”

Quinn groaned inwardly, heat burning a line through her cheeks then down to her chest. She vaguely recalled the bed squeaking—had the headboard hit the wall? Obviously, Rigs had heard them. Which wouldn’t necessarily bother her, but he knew they were virtually strangers. She hadn’t even known what Russel did in the military. Yet, she’d spent the night making love to him.

She didn’t make love. She had sex. Got off. But last night—it had been so much more. The way he’d held her. Touched her. Tasted her as if he’d die otherwise. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been gentle. Romantic. He’d made it intimate.

Russel leaned in close. “Like I said. He’s an ass.”

“And he’s sitting at the table, jackass.”

Russel glanced at Rigs. “I know. My eyesight’s fine.”

Rigs huffed then stood. “And to think I actually invited you here. I’ll go do a quick recon. Give you both some time to eat. Give Red, here, a chance to get her story straight, because when I get back, I’d like some answers.”

Quinn inhaled, watching Rigs disappear out a side door. She wanted some answers, too, only her questions involved the alien feeling in the pit of her stomach. The one making it hard to eat. To breathe. That had her longing to trust Russel. To tell him everything. Something she wasn’t sure she was willing to risk, just yet.

That’s it for me. Please enjoy the other First Times with the ladies joining in this week…

Bronwyn  |  Siobhan 

My Summer Highlights

OMG… how it is nearly September? Where did the summer go? It’s mostly a huge blur for me, and the reason is one of my summer highlights. Summer is a love/hate relationship for me. I love the long nights, the sunshine and no school. But I really don’t like the heat, the bugs… did I mention the heat?

But this was a pretty great summer, so far. guess there’s still a month left. And this will be my first year without “back to school” waiting in the wings. My youngest graduated in June. And while she will be going to Uni, it’s different. No more driving her to school. Picking her up. No after-school events. I’m sad and happy at the same time.

Anyway…here are some of the summer highlights…

Syd's Grad

road trip

Impromptu Road Trip to California

Shark tank at Six Flags just outside San Francisco.

Golden Gate Bridge and Lombard Street.

Our Destination. Newberry Springs and our newest member of the family. RIGS… 

My last kid to get their Driver’s Licence… 

Bandit showing Rigs the ropes…

The upgraded pool… We spare no expense 😀

And finally,, I just released Delta Force: Six! Book 3 in my Wayward Souls series. So excited to have this one out there. Six has been a fave character of mine since I first introduced him in Cannon’s book. And he’s still a fave. I quite love the man. 

His sixth sense never saw her coming…

Knowing when things are about to go sideways has been Casey “Six” O’Reilly’s saving grace for as long as he can remember. It saw him through a decade with Delta Force, and it’s still keeping him one step ahead of his targets as a recovery agent with Wayward Souls.

So, why his gift has decided to take a siesta with respect to his new partner—Kameron Monroe, ex-Military Intelligence officer and current pain in his ass—is a mystery. It’s bad enough the feisty blonde is headstrong and impulsive—his polar opposite. Being secretly attracted to her is torture. Seven months together, and he’s still stuck in the friend zone. Waiting. Watching. Planning the perfect time to make his move…

Until armed men beat him to the punch.

A heart-pounding chase and one hell of a Hail Mary escape plan keep them in one piece, but the threat is far from over. And if he wants a future with Kam—a chance to charm her into his bed for more than just a one-night stand—he’ll need all his skills to pull it off.

Six doesn’t know what the men want, where they’ll strike next, or how many will come gunning for Kam. But it doesn’t matter. With the help of his team, he’ll eliminate the threat, or die trying. Because sixth sense or not, Kam’s his new mission. And he doesn’t fail those.

That’s it for me. Quite the summer and I still have to see Syd off to Uni at the end of the month.  GASP!

Only one other brave soul joining in this week…

Wordless Wednesday ~ August

Before I inundate you with severe fluffiness and to-die-for cuteness, I should mention that Six will be releasing this month. Just need to upload and his story will be available… here’s the cover and blurb…

His sixth sense never saw her coming…

Knowing when things are about to go sideways has been Casey “Six” O’Reilly’s saving grace for as long as he can remember. It saw him through a decade with Delta Force, and it’s still keeping him one step ahead of his targets as a recovery agent with Wayward Souls.

So, why his gift has decided to take a siesta with respect to his new partner—Kameron Monroe, ex-Military Intelligence officer and current pain in his ass—is a mystery. It’s bad enough the feisty blonde is headstrong and impulsive—his polar opposite. Being secretly attracted to her is torture. Seven months together, and he’s still stuck in the friend zone. Waiting. Watching. Planning the perfect time to make his move…

Until armed men beat him to the punch.

A heart-pounding chase and one hell of a Hail Mary escape plan keep them in one piece, but the threat is far from over. And if he wants a future with Kam—a chance to charm her into his bed for more than just a one-night stand—he’ll need all his skills to pull it off.

Six doesn’t know what the men want, where they’ll strike next, or how many will come gunning for Kam. But it doesn’t matter. With the help of his team, he’ll eliminate the threat, or die trying. Because sixth sense or not, Kam’s his new mission. And he doesn’t fail those.

And now for what you’ve really all been waiting for… Introducing RIGS… or as some have nicknamed him… Sir Most Fluffiness. Photos start around 7 weeks (before we got him) then to 8 and now up until, 12 weeks… he’s growing fast.

What he’ll look like when his ears finally stand up all the time, lol. He still needs a bit of help from gravity with his head tilted up. Or the wind.

And that’s it for me. I hope you enjoyed the cuteness. Now see what else is cropping up with the other ladies…

Bronwyn  |  Gwendolyn  |  Siobhan  

First Time ~ Orgasm

Wow, it’s been a while since I posted last. First, my site was down, then all the traveling…ever, lol. But, I’m back and trying to get back on track. And I love these “First Time” posts, and this month is a fab one. I think the hardest part is picking one because it feels like I’m picking faves. But, I kinda knew where I wanted to go with this one.

I’m currently working on Crow’s book, and I love that a lot of previous characters get to make some appearances, so I’m sharing the moment for Finley and Coen. Coen appears in both the Collateral Damage series and more recently in the Wayward Souls and Brotherhood Series. He’s in Colt’s book and in my upcoming release—Six, the next Wayward Soul book. And he’s already mentioned in Crow’s book and I suspect will continue to appear throughout this series. So… why not give him and Finley the spotlight for a moment.

Below is the cover and blurb, followed by their first romp…and I’m a big fan of some hot, angry sex, lol. Oh, and I included the entire chapter, so it’s long… sorry, not sorry… but it’s all entwined and well, I didn’t really want to cut anything off. I quite love these two. They were my faves for a lone time and still are one of my favorite couples I’ve ever written.

Just note, obviously, but the title, the scene is graphic, so… you’ve been warned. If you’re not at least 18 years of age, you should turn back now 🙂 

Read as part of Kindle Unlimited or grab at Amazon…

Love—an unparalleled force of nature.

Conservation Officer, Finley McKay, isn’t a stranger to criticism. Taking risks to protect delicate ecosystems doesn’t impress most people—including the doctor renting the cabin beside hers. The man’s arrogant, opinionated and far too sexy in his faded jeans and tees. She already knows he’s an ass—she just wished it mattered enough to make her keep her distance.

Dr. Coen Brady isn’t looking to fit in. Having recently retired from the military, he’s hoping to spend a few months hiding from the world in a small, out-of-the-way town in northern Washington. But just his luck, he has the misfortune of running into his next-door neighbor. A girl who seems determined to get herself killed before his time there is up. She’s reckless, stubborn and slowly driving him insane.

When anger morphs into angry sex, Coen knows taking her to bed is a calculated risk—one he might regret when her investigation turns deadly, leaving Finley’s life hanging in the balance. Breaking a few rules to keep her in the game doesn’t seem that dangerous, until it becomes painfully obvious she won’t stop until justice is served—even if the price is her life.

“It’s been two hours, Finley. We’ve gone from the Jeep, to the sheriff’s station and back again. How long are you going to give me the silent treatment before you realize I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me?” Coen paused in Finley’s doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame as he watched her lock up her weapons, muttering under her breath.

She glanced over her shoulder, color high on her cheeks, lips pulled tight. She snapped down the lid on her lockbox, wincing as it grazed her left palm before stowing the metal container. “Show’s over. I’m sure there’s somewhere else you need to be.”

“Not going to happen until you tell me what the hell was going through your mind back there. You damn near got yourself killed, and for what? Some punk kid you can track down later?”

Finley spun to face him, jaw set, body more than primed for a fight. “I was doing my job. That’s what I was doing. Just because you don’t think animals are worth dying over—”

“I never said that.” He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him, smiling when the entire cabin shook from the force. It eased the tight feeling in his gut—the one he didn’t quite understand. “Don’t put words in my mouth or twist what I say.”

“You said it wasn’t logical to risk my life for an animal that was just going to die, anyway. How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

A tinge of guilt gnawed at his conscience. “Simply that not many things in this world are worth dying over.”

“Which means some things are.”

“It’s about taking calculated risks.”

“That’s what today was.”

He snorted. “Oh, sweetheart. Today was anything but calculated. Desperate? Sure. Ill-conceived? Hell yeah. You had something to prove, and you’re just damn lucky you lived to tell about it.”

The muscle in her temple flexed, her good hand fisting at her side. “What if those men were leaving a trail of human bodies? Would it have been calculated, then? Worth my life, then?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?” She scoffed, closing her eyes as a low groan breathed free. The obvious pain only seemed to anger her more as she slammed her closed hand into her thigh, once again glaring at him. “You think what I do is pointless. I disagree. End of story.”

She turned, marching over to the window, visibly dismissing him as she put her back to him. But if she thought he was that easy to get rid of… He stalked over to her, spinning her to face him. Her eyes widened as he trapped her against the wall, one hand palming the wooden logs beside her head while the other stayed close to her waist.

He leaned in, noticing the way her gaze dropped to his mouth then back up. “What’s pointless is your decision to chase an armed suspect without backup through the damn forest. Injured, no less. Do you have any idea how many ways that could have gone wrong?”

She shoved at him, cursing when he simply stood there. “I’m not a rookie, and this wasn’t the first time someone thought they didn’t have to pay for breaking the law. I know how to handle myself. You don’t have to like it. No one’s asking you to become a conservation officer.”

“No, I’m just the guy who gets to dig the slugs out of your mangled flesh.” He closed his eyes against the flood of memories—the endless row of soldiers, the blank, unseeing eyes—before shaking his head. “Do you have any idea what bullets do the human body? And I’m not just talking a few holes. They tear and shatter and leave shrapnel in every fucking organ. Christ, you didn’t even fire back.”

“I’m intimately aware of what bullets do, which is exactly why I don’t use my weapon unless it’s my only option.” She shoved at his chest again. “Damn it, Coen, I’m not going to argue my worth to you, so just fuck off, already.”

He snapped—the pain in her eyes, her choice of words hitting him like a physical blow. He moved his hand off the wall, palming the back of her head as he drew his thumb forward, tracing a line along the edge of her ear to her jaw as he claimed her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside when she gasped in surprise. Womanly sweetness with a hint of coffee filled his senses, the firm drag of her tongue across his only making him more desperate.

Her fingers clenched around his sweater—not quite pushing him away but not drawing him closer as he finally eased back, his breath mixing with hers as he hovered an inch away. A thousand thoughts tumbled through his head, and he didn’t know whether to leave or kiss her again.

Finley swallowed noisily, her good hand trembling slightly against his chest. “If you think I’m going to admit I’m wrong just because you kissed me…”

“God, no. You’d never be that reasonable.” He brushed his lips along hers. “And I don’t give up when I’m not wrong, either.”

Her fingers tightened, inching him closer as she nipped at his bottom lip. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

He accepted her challenge, eating at her mouth as he crushed her chest against his. Her nipples peaked against his pecs, the hard tips spiking his dick against his zipper. All the reasons for not taking her as his lover blurred into the scratch of her nails across his scalp as she speared one hand through his hair, tugging on the short strands. He shifted his hips, aligning his cock with her mound. Finley moaned into his mouth, tilting her groin forward as she ground herself against his length.

Coen broke the kiss, anger still clouding his head. If he hadn’t followed her… He maintained eye contact, resisting the smile that twitched his lips when her eyelids fluttered open, her eyes glassy with arousal. “Fuck, Finley.”

“That had better be your plan.”

“This doesn’t change what you did. You’re still reckless.”

“And you’re still an ass.”

He growled, fisting her hair as he tugged her head to the side, biting at the lean muscle threading into her shoulder. “It’s not going to be gentle, sweetheart.”

“Did I ask for gentle?” She pulled against his hold, moaning when he simply repeated his action. “God, Coen.”

“I knew you’d taste just a bit wild.” He eased back enough to squeeze one hand between them, leaving the other buried in her hair. He flicked open the buttons on her shirt, pushing it aside before shoving his hand inside her bra top. Her nipple pebbled against his palm as he lifted her breast out of the cloth, baring it to the harsh light of the cabin. “So fucking pretty.”

He dipped down, taking the hard bud in his mouth, pressing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Finley arched against him, her head connecting with the wall. He glanced up at her, enjoying the way her eyes squeezed shut as she seemed to force air in and out through her nose.

He licked at her flesh, chuckling when she pressed her groin against his cock again, a shiver trembling through her. “Are you trying to get yourself off without me? Dangerous decision.”

“I need—”

“What you need is to take what I fucking give you.” He kissed her mouth again, the punishing force leaving her panting for air. “Condoms are in my wallet. Back left pocket.”

She frowned, as if he’d spoken in a foreign language, before lowering one hand to his ass, fishing out his wallet. He didn’t move, didn’t give her any additional room as she managed to wedge the leather between them, removing a strip of foil packets before dropping the wallet on the floor. She glanced up at him, holding his gaze as she raised the edge to her mouth, keeping the top one steady with her teeth as she separated it from the others. She glanced over his shoulder, tossing the rest onto the bed.

He looked at the packets on the mattress, arching his brow when he made eye contact again. “You could have dropped them beside my wallet.”

She transferred the foil to her hand then nipped at his chin. “Did you think we’d only need one tonight?”


“You keep saying it…”

He shut her up with a brutal kiss, lifting her other breast clear of her top once he’d released her mouth. Her pale flesh gleamed in the light, a nice contrast to the tanned skin of his hands. He worked that nipple, sucking and licking, teasing her as he moved his fingers to her pants, popping open the button then yanking down the zipper. She moaned his name, fingers once again locked in his hair as he shoved her trousers over her hips, humming at the soft feel of his skin beneath his palm.

“No panties?” He smoothed his hands down her thighs, taking her pants all the way to her ankles. He bent low, inhaling her musky aroma as he pulled off her boots then freed her pants, tossing them behind him. “Something happen to them, sweetheart, because I know you were wearing them last night.”

“Does it matter?”

“Can’t you answer a question without it being a damn inquisition?”

“Fine. The truth is it hurt too much trying to get them up and down every time I needed to pee, so I took them off before going to the station.”

He looked up at her, skipping his gaze over to her bandaged hand then back.

She shook her head, her breath hissing out between her teeth. “Trust me. I don’t feel anything but what you’re doing to me. You can fix it later.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I should stop…see you take some Percocet then replace that stitch. Tuck you into bed again.”

“Are you trying to be an ass? Or is it your mutant ability?” She released a shuddering breath, chin falling against her chest. “Please. Coen. You can deal with my hand after we’re done for the night. Promise.”

“You might regret that. I plan on keeping you busy for hours.”

“God. You really shouldn’t talk. Not unless you want me to come before you get inside me.”

“Can’t have that. Not when I plan on tasting your next release. Having you grind your pussy on my face until you scream.”

Her eyelids fluttered as she took a ragged breath. “Not helping.”

She bucked her hips against him as he palmed her mound, sliding his fingers through her slick folds.

“Fuck. You’re sopping.” He eased his hand back, licking her moisture off his fingers before returning them to her sex. “So damn sweet. Spread your legs for me.”

She stared at him, openly challenging him before shuffling her feet sideways when he arched a brow. He smiled, watching his fingers disappear inside her again, the tight clasp of her channel making his dick throb.

He stood, fumbling with his jeans before finally opening the damn fly—pushing them to his knees. Finley reached for his cock with her sore hand, but he cinched his fingers around her wrist, holding it out to the side.

He tsked her. “This hand stays still, or we stop and I fix it, now. Understood?” He waited for her curt nod. “Good, now open the condom.”

She huffed, biting at the corner, ripping the packet then allowing the foil to fall to the floor as she held the contents out to him. “Unless you’ll let me put it on using only my teeth?”

“Next time.” He leaned into her, quickly sheathing his shaft before snugging it at her entrance. “Wrap yourself around me, sweetheart. Quickly.”

She lifted one foot, resting her thigh on his hip, using his body to raise her other leg, effectively locking her heels behind his back. The motion tilted her groin, sinking the first inch inside her. Firm pressure squeezed his crown, her wet heat seeping through the thin covering.

“Shit, you’re tight.” He thrust forward then retreated, allowing his forehead to fall to the wall. “So fucking hot.” He thrust again, deeper, savoring the way her body clenched around him. “First time’s going be hard. Fast.” He withdrew then pushed back in, not stopping until he bottomed out. “Fuck. Second time, too…maybe even the third.”

A rough breath grazed his cheek. “Christ, Coen, just fuck me already.”

He moved, canting his hips back then punching them forward, taking her pussy in long, steady strokes. Her hand cinched around his neck, her fingers digging into his back as he banged her against the wall, each pass echoed by a dull thud as her ass hit the wood. He didn’t try to meter his thrusts, increasing his pace until the burning glide of her channel consumed every thought.

“More. Yes, god. So good.”

Her breath caressed his skin, her words only driving him higher. He shifted his stance, angling her head so he could claim her mouth. He needed more—needed to possess every part of her as his release curled its way down his spine, threatening to unhinge him.

He clenched his jaw, fighting the burning sensation in his sac. “Just round one, Finley. Going to take you every way I can tonight. Your pussy, your mouth. Maybe that tight ass that you put in danger.”

“I didn’t… Shit. Yes. Now.”

Her body tensed, her back arching against the wall. Her pussy quivered, sending rhythmic pulses along his shaft.

“Are you coming? Fuck.” He grabbed her ass, forcefully tilting her hips more. “Give it to me, sweetheart. Give me what I want.”

His name rasped free as she stiffened then broke, a wash of warm fluid coating his shaft. He let go, allowing the climax he’d been holding off to blaze down his cock. His hips jerked against hers, his release holding fast for one more heartbeat before surging forward, taking him with it. He emptied into the condom, the steady contractions blurring his vision until nothing but Finley’s skin seemed to register. He held still, shaft twitching, thighs trembling until the sensation passed and he managed a gasping breath.

She clung to him, her head pressed into his shoulder, her entire body shaking. Another set of contractions fluttered against his cock, the warm feel of her pussy making him smile.

He slowly eased back, brushing his hand down the length of her hair. “You okay?”

Her head lolled backwards, thudding against the wall as she blinked, finally focusing on him. “I’m not fragile.”

“Good. Because we’re nowhere near done.”

He pulled free, grinning at her rough exhalation. He didn’t want to be the only one still riding the edge—feeling strangely needy. This was just sex—albeit fucking hot sex, but nothing more than a release. And, after the adrenaline rush from the firefight earlier, he considered it a damn miracle he hadn’t jumped her in the Jeep.

He tied off the condom, tossing it in the garbage beside the table before picking her up. She gasped, wrapping her good arm around his neck as he carried her the few scant steps to the bed. Her gaze held his as he placed her on the mattress, pausing to stare down at her.

Her hair hung in a tousled mass around her shoulders, a few strands curling around her breasts. Her eyes were still glazed, her bottom lip slightly swollen from where she’d bitten it. He skimmed his gaze down her body, over her pert breasts still positioned above her bra top to her mound. She’d trimmed her pubic hair into a small strip just above her slit, the soft, brown hair like an arrow to her pussy.

He caught her stare and held it, shucking his clothes behind him. Then, he reached for her arms, easing her shirt free before lifting her tank over her head, finally baring her completely. Strong, lean muscles flexed beneath her skin, a testament to hours spent hiking through the hills.

He ensured she was still looking at him as he slowly went to his knees, wedging her thighs farther apart. Her breath caught, the raspy sound curling around his dick, sending a new rush of blood to it. He placed his hands on her knees, gradually smoothing them up her thighs, stopping just shy of touching her mound. Her pussy creamed at the gentle contact, the heady scent making him moan.

“Damn, you smell delicious. Tell me, do you still like the view?”

Her brows drew together, confusion creasing her forehead. “The view?”

“Last night. After the meds kicked in, I helped you get ready for bed.”

A deep flush laced up her neck and into her cheeks, a hint of uncertainty flashing in her eyes. “And?”

“And, when I bent down to remove your boots and your pants, I caught you staring at me pretty much the same way you’re looking at me, right now. I asked what was on your mind. Do you remember what you said?”

She shook her head, moistening her lips with her tongue.

“You said you liked the way I looked—on my knees between yours.”

“God.” Her chest heaved as she seemed to fight to draw in oxygen. “What did you do?”

“You were hopped out on drugs, sweetheart. I tucked you into bed and left. Like any decent man should do. But tonight…”

Her breath hitched, the sudden absence of the heavy whisper of air making him smile.

He dropped his gaze to her pussy, slowly trailing his finger through her slit, chuckling at her strangled moan. “Tonight, I plan on doing what I wanted to do.”

She waited, frowning when he didn’t continue. “And what’s that?”

He looked up, swirling the tip of his finger around her clit, watching as her mouth opened into a perfect O.

He laughed again. “I’m going to bury my face in your cleft. Lick you until you come on my tongue and then…oh, then, sweetheart, I’m going to fuck you until you’re so damn full of me, you won’t remember what’s it like not to have me inside you. Your body wrapped around me. You did say you wanted to wear me to bed. Seems only fitting I oblige.”

He smiled as her flush deepened, pushing up to take her mouth with his. He didn’t rush, tangling his tongue with hers until she gasped in a breath, another shiver working through her.

He reclaimed his position, using his palms to spread her thighs farther apart. “I want to see you, Finley. Every damn inch so I suggest you keep them open. Wouldn’t want to have to stop and resort to plan A…fixing your hand then tucking you into bed.”

“No, I’ll keep them wide.”

Her head tilted back, but she didn’t look away, staring at him through a layer of lashes. He waited then bent forward, swiping his tongue through her folds.

“Just like your skin. Sweet, but with a hint of something wild. Tell me…” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You still angry?”

That’s it for me. I hope you enjoyed Coen and Finley. Now, hop on over to the other ladies playing along and enjoy the ride…

Bronwyn  |  Siobhan  

Flash Fiction ~ Door Knocker

Hey all, how is it June already? This year is flying. And everything is so rushed right now. Getting ready to leave next week for our yearly retreat out East. I spend time with Jess Jarman and her awesome family then we both head up to the UP to meet up with the other ladies. Then Jess and I are road-tripping back to my place for more fun. 

Add in to that my oldest is trying to buy a car on my way out next week—I’ll be dropping him off in Kelowna if all goes well—my youngest is graduating at the end of the month and I’m trying to get ready to leave and do a few last minute renovations…

That is all a prelude to—this is going to be insanely short. Just a quick bit with Ethan Vale, aka Phoenix from my Wayward Souls series. You can read the last bit here (and I had to change his last name from Adams to Vale, so don’t get confused)…or just jump right in. Sorry, it will be sort of in the middle of things and I don’t even know if this will be in the final book or not. I’m working on Crow’s novel, so… not even sure if Phoenix is next, lol. 

“Changed your mind, Lieutenant Vale?”

Ethan sat in the back of the SUV, staring at the old brick warehouse. Half the windows were broken, the remaining glass smeared with dust and grime. A chipped green door stood out against the dull gray, an antique knocker like a rusty lesion against the paint.

Uneasy prickled his skin as he stepped out of the vehicle, staring at the guy across the top of the roof. Fuck, he didn’t even know the asshole’s name, not that it mattered. Ethan had been around CIA-types enough to know that anything the man told him was an illusion. A fabrication spun to entice Ethan in before trapping him.

Man’s version of a spider. And Ethan’s damn spider sense was going through the roof.

“This is it?”

The guy smiled, all smug. “Were you expecting something else?”

“Not being condemned would have been nice. Or are you waiting until I go in before you blow the charges? Bet it wouldn’t take much to have the whole damn thing collapse in on itself.”

“Someone’s been watching a few too many spy movies.”

“Or maybe, just the right amount. What was your name, again?”

“You haven’t asked.”

“Because I already know. Smith, right? Agent Smith.”

“But it’s spelled with a ‘y’. S-M-Y-T-H.”

“That makes it so much more realistic. Where’s Anna?”

“Safe. But you’re jumping the gun. You want Captain Cartwright, and I want the best sniper I can find. If that’s still you, and still the deal you want to swing, you’ll go inside.”

“And if I don’t?”

Smyth shrugged. “You’re not the only man on my list, Vale. I just happened to have your motivation at my fingertips. But there are others. There’re always others. And everyone has a price. Eventually, I’ll find someone willing to play.”

“But if it’s not me, Anna’s dead, right? For real, this time?”

“That’s the problem with motivation, Lieutenant Vale. It tends to be very specific with limited uses.”

Ethan studied the guy, but if he was lying, he was damn good at. Though, that was basically his job, so it shouldn’t be surprising. Still…

It didn’t matter whether Ethan believed Smyth. If he thought he was being set up. If this was some elaborate ploy to trap him—maybe use him to get to someone else. Or maybe he had intel they thought they could get.

He snorted. Cold day in hell before he’d break. And since he was on medical leave pending a decision if he was even fit to go back…

None of that mattered because, in the end, he had to decide if he could risk not going inside. Failing Anna. Because if there was even a glimmer of hope that she was alive—that he could save her…

Decision made. Never really was any other way it could go down. He’d do anything for her. Anything to save her.

Ethan walked over to the door, glancing back at Smyth. “I’ll play. Just remember—if you’re lying to me. If Anna isn’t still alive. If I can’t get her back—you’re dead. And that’s a promise you can bank on.”

He turned, grabbed the handle then knocked.

That’s it for me. See, fairly shot and definitely just sort of a moment out of time. But… hey I wrote. Now, please visit my partner in crime this week and see what she created…



Just what I need… a good ole check-in to see how 2019 goals are going… Well, this will be a very short post, my friends because I can answer it in one word…


That’s how the damn year goals are going. I’m behind. On everything. Okay, I’m not really behind on Cover Art, but on writing… Six should have been done in early April… or at least late April and I have just finished it now. Like last night. Sigh…

But, I’m supposed to Bright-side-Barbie shit, so…at least it will still be released either late June or early July. Maybe pre-order late June, lol. So… I’m making the deadline. Mostly. 

As for the rest of the year…

Heading off to retreat here, soon, so that should give me some focused writing time. I will probably be working on the next Wayward Souls book—it’s Crow’s turn to get a chance to win his lady over. Of course, she kind of wants to kill him on sight. Like stick a knife through his heart and watch him bleed out. But what’s love without a few speed bumps along the way. And if I can keep up the word count, I can probably still meet my goals. Basically, I wanted at least 6 new releases this year. I would have loved 7—but I think 6 is realistic. 

Which leaves me two more books for this year after Crow. Those choices are yet to be determined, but, I think I’m still on track enough to pull it off. I just can’t get distracted…and would you look at that cute little squirrel, right there…

Okay, that’s it for me There really isn’t much to say. I’m behind but not so far back I’m out of the race. But definitely not leading the pack. More like the team in most need of a beer. But, I’ll still cross the finish line having completed the race fully, and met the deadlines. That is my hope, people. 

Now check out the other two ladies playing along this week…

First Time ~ Kiss

It’s another First Time post. This edition is the almighty first kiss. Le sigh. I love first kisses. The expectation. The promise of more. I thought choosing one would be simple. It wasn’t. Ultimately, I’ve decided to give you a preview of my next Delta Force book. Six. I hope to have it out at least in pre-order in June.  Anyway, I’ll share the cover, not that I’ve officially released it but it’s so freaking sexy, why not. And here is their first official kiss.

Note: This hasn’t been edited, so…

He was going to kiss her. Right there in the bathroom. Her back against the counter. His arms braced to either side. Not touching, but holding her captive just the same. Trapping her between the sink and his body. The one she’d been dreaming about exploring for months. That was only inches away.

Kameron wasn’t even going to have to move. Tip-toe up to reach him. Not with the way he’d leaned forward. Placed that perfect mouth of his level with hers. Just waiting for her to give him a sign. Maybe a slight tilt of her head. A bat of her eyelashes. 

Six didn’t speak. Didn’t break eye contact. Give her an inch. He just held firm, all that intense focus centered on her. Waiting. As if he had nothing better to do than stand there, their breath mixing. Gazes locked. A minute shift, and their bodies were skimming each other. Barely touching. Yet, she felt his presence like a gravitational force pulling her toward him. A collision that had been taking shape since the day they’d met. 

Kam wet her lips, damn near moaned when he shifted his attention just enough to follow the slow swipe. She exhaled, his name rasping free on a breath of air. “Six.”

One side of his mouth lifted at the rough sound. Then, the other. Until he was smiling. Not smug. As if he’d been expecting her to give in. He looked genuinely pleased. Almost surprised. Though, that faded. Quickly replaced by that sexy confidence that glowed around the man like a damn beacon. The one she’d been blinded by all this time. Only, she wasn’t in the shadows, anymore.

Six angled down slightly, brushing his mouth across hers. Not a kiss. More a promise of one. A glimpse of where they were heading. Where they’d been heading all this time.


That did her in. Her name in that low raspy voice. The feel of it feathering across her skin. She closed her eyes, sinking against him as his mouth slid over hers. And god help her, it was better than she’d imagined. Better than kissing any other guy, and he hadn’t done much more than press their mouths together. Steal her breath. She wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. If he wasn’t convinced she really wanted this. If this was just a tease.

Hell, no. She’d been fighting her attraction for months, and she wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip past without a real taste. One she could put into memory—in case this was her only chance. That he’d realize he could do so much better than an ex-intelligence officer who’d had to piece herself back together. Who’d lost some of those pieces back in the desert.

Kam lifted her arms—speared her hands through his hair. Wrapping the silky strands around her fingers. Did every man have hair this soft? Like velvet? Caressing her skin as she crushed her mouth against his, opening when he licked at the seam of her lips.

Six paused for a moment, mouths open. Waiting. Then, his hands were on her back. Her ass. Sliding through her hair as he shuffled them sideways—pinned her to the wall. All that muscle hard against her. Making her mold into his frame. She vied for control, giving it over to him when he lifted her just enough to grind her cleft on his erection.

And if she hadn’t tensed every muscle. Hadn’t physically fought it off—she would have orgasmed. Right there. Shattered in his arms from nothing more than a kiss.

And it scared her down to her bones. That he had this affect on her. That she wanted—no, needed him. Not just as a partner. A teammate. But in her life. Her bed. Every day and night for the foreseeable future. Until death, just like in the damn vows. The ones that were nothing more than ghostly echoes in her head. Intangible memories that never quite took shape.

Had she tensed? Moaned? Accidentally shoved at him because he stopped. Mouths still joined, his body holding hers prisoner against the wall. But the fire—the intensity in his touch—had vanished. As if he’d flicked a switch.

Panic crawled along her spine, beading her skin, as Six eased back, tilting his head to one side. Glancing over his shoulder at the door. Kam frowned, wondering if he was trying to map out an exit strategy. If he needed a plan on how to untangle their limbs—navigate the four feet of space between them and the door. 

She should let go. Give him an out. But trying to get her fingers to open—release that mass of brown hair. Allow that sexy mouth to move out of range of hers… The signals weren’t getting through. Instead, she nuzzled his neck, licking at the pulse point near the base. “Six.”

He moaned. Or was it a growl? She didn’t know. Didn’t care because he was back. Rubbing against her, flexing his fingers as he tilted his head—granted her access. She kissed her way up to his jaw, nipping at his lower lip.

Dark brown eyes—more umber than coffee, now—gazed down at her, his eyebrow arching in question. “Was that a challenge?”

God, his voice. How could it make her ache? All wet and needy when he hadn’t said more than a few words? She could figure it out later. After she’d stripped him bare. Felt all that power moving inside her.

Six lifted his hands—cupped her face. Held her still as he ravaged her mouth. Tipping her head back then making his way down her neck. Teasing the sensitive spot behind her ear. Sucking at her skin. Heat seared beneath her flesh, through her core—so close to cresting, again—when he stopped. Did that weird glance over his shoulder, again.

Was he muttering under his breath? Moving back? Had he actually changed his mind, this time? Had she not lived up to the fantasy? Because he’d exceeded hers.

A curse, then his forehead resting on hers. His chest heaving against her. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill Cannon.”

Kill? Cannon?

She went to question him when she heard it. Knocking on the door. A voice calling out their names. Had Six sensed the other man coming back? Is that why he’d kept looking over his shoulder?

He traced his thumb along her lips, waiting until she stared up at him. “God, you’re beautiful.”

I hope you enjoyed the sneak peek. And please join the other ladies playing along this week for their first kisses…

Jessica  |  Bronwyn  |  Siobhan  |  Kayleigh  |  Gwendolyn

Promptly Penned ~ April

Time for our monthly promptly penned. This time, the prompt is…

“Why are you glaring at me?”

“I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.”

Not sure if it’ll be exactly like that without added words but…and I’m jumping back in to Gib and Dungeon because they are far too much fun. And because I can totally see this playing out. It’s not directly connected to the others I’ve written lately, in terms of starting and stopping. More just little snippets. As usually, not sure if/how/what will make it into their book. It’s just fin to play around with them. If you do want to read the other snippets, you go to Gib or Dungeon…. or just start reading.

Gibson was going to kill Coen. Slowly. Painfully. And he was bloody well going to enjoy it because the man had singlehandedly screwed Gib’s arse. And not in the good way. The way he wanted with Dungeon. The unspoken tension between them that had been brewing since Gibson had met up with the other man at Cannon’s office. Attraction that was so damn thick, it made simply breathing a freaking event. One Gib would have lost because…damn, did Dungeon look good.

Tight shirt. Tight jeans, and fuck Gib, the tightest looking arse he’d seen in a long time. The way it filled out the denim—with muscular thighs to match. Not staring at it was another miraculous feat. And another of Gibson’s failures.

Pretty much like this entire op. 

Dungeon slapped him in the chest. Hard. “Would you close your damn mouth and stop gawking at everything? You’re supposed to be my gaming partner. Not some newbie who’s never seen a set of cards or dice, before.”

Gibson crossed his arms over his chest. “You said we were going to a gaming convention.”

To Dungeon’s credit, the man didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t sock Gib in the jaw, or go for the nine mil Gib knew was holstered at the man’s ankle. Instead, Dungeon took a deep breath, held it, then closed the distance between them.

Which did nothing to ease the tight press of Gib’s prick against his jeans. Or allow him to focus on something other than how fucking hot Dungeon looked in the fake glasses. The ones that were supposed to make him more of a nerd and less of the lethal warrior he was.

It might fool others, but the Clark Kent act wasn’t fooling Gibson. If anything, the thin black-wire frames gave the other man a hint of boy-next-door charm. Which matched perfectly with the shadow of scruff and long locks that sat in a perfectly tousled mess about Dungeon’s head.

But, damn it, Gibson had trained long and trained hard. And he would not give in to temptation. Wouldn’t reach his hand behind the other man’s neck and drag him in close. Finally taste that sarcastic mouth that had been haunting his damn dreams for far too long.

Dungeon glanced around, shifted closer, letting one hand slide onto the waistband of Gib’s jeans. Those long, broad fingers wrapping around his belt as he tugged him to a secluded section of the lobby. “I told you back at the office. This is a tabletop con.”

Gibson should not be that turned on by the low rasp of Dungeon’s voice. Not if he wanted to remain sane over the next few days. “I know what you bloody well said. I was standing right there. But I don’t see any of those ridiculous foosball tables or even ping pong.”

“Foosball? Why the hell would there be foosball, here?”

“What other games do you blokes play on a table? Which makes no sense. If you all wanted a round of footie, why not grab some mates and go play? And while we’re at it, where are all the monitors streaming the latest release of Fortynight.”

“It’s called Fortnight, and that’s a video game.”

Gibson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, arching a brow when he gazed at Dungeon, again. “This is a gaming con, yeah? So, it stands to reason there will be games. Betting I can hold my own in those shooter ones.”

Dungeon chuckled. “I bet you could. Too bad there aren’t any of those, here.”

“Afraid you’ve lost me, mate. Why doesn’t a gaming convention have any games?”

“It does have games—tabletop games. Dungeons and Dragons. Torchbearer. Neon Black. They involve cards and dice. Some are RPGs—role-playing games. Some revolve around live action role playing, or LARPing.”

Well, fuck. 

Dungeon inched closer. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re pissed.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then, why are you glaring at me?”

“If you must know, I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust, and I can call it a day.”

“You said you could handle this. Shit, Gib, if you can’t pull this off—”

Gib grabbed Dungeon’s shirt and yanked him against his chest, his mouth crushing down on Dungeon’s. The man gasped in surprise, allowing Gib to slip inside—trace the soft contours of the other man’s mouth. The only part of the ex-Delta soldier that was remotely soft.

Dungeon fisted the hand on Gibson’s waist, digging his knuckles into Gib’s waist, and damn if the firm contact didn’t feel like heaven.

Dungeon blinked when Gib finally released him, mouth still gaped open. Eyes wide. Slightly lust-blown. His chest heaved as he drew in a series of quick breaths, glancing around before tilting his head to the side. “What was that?”

“The solution to our problem. If we get in a tight spot, I’ll simply kiss you. Public displays tend to distract people from their train of thought.” He leaned in, brushing his mouth of Dungeon’s but not lingering. Not really kissing him, again, because he’d already broken the rules. Already knew he’d be lost if he got another taste of the man’s flesh. “And I bet I can derail any conversation. Now, are we checking in, or what?”

And that’s it for me. Please read along with the other ladies joining in…

Jessica  |  Kayleigh  |  Siobhan  |  Bronwyn

Wordless Wednesday ~ Colt

Welcome to Wordless Wednesday. As per usual, I have words, lol. But…Delta Force: Colt is releasing on Tuesday as part of a crossover between Wayward Souls and Brotherhood Protectors, and I’m so freaking stoked. So, just a few words… okay just the blurb and some teasers…but the teasers have images, so that counts, right! And I didn’t technically ‘write’ the blurb today, lol. 😀 


Colt had one rule. But for Ellis, he’ll break it. Again.

Delta Force soldier Brett “Colt” Sievers lives his life by a creed—anything for the sake of the mission. There’s no risk too high. No sacrifice too great. No rule he won’t break—except one. No falling in love. So, losing his heart to Ellis Baker is more than a breach of protocol—it’s a colossal mistake. One he’s still paying for five years later. And the reason he’s never crossed that line, again.

Newly discharged, and working for his former commander, Colt’s determined to keep his life simple. Until Ellis stumbles across his doorstep. Tortured. Hunted. Undeniably sexy. Colt doesn’t want to care. To be anything other than her temporary savior. Too bad his heart didn’t get that memo.

Getting involved, again, is dangerous. She’s got secrets—the kind that end bloody. That could get him, and his team, killed. But Colt’s never failed a mission before, and once he commits, there’s no turning back. He’ll unearth the truth, save the girl, or die trying. Even if it means breaking that rule one more time. Because if Colt can’t keep Ellis alive, he’ll never get his second chance at his first love.

That’s it for me—breaking rules and keeping it real. Please join the other ladies playing along this week…

Bronwyn  |  Jessica  |  Kayleigh  |  Gwendolyn