Diamond Authors Today

I'm at Diamond Authors today blogging about the decision to write full-time. Check it out, and happy Monday.

Now, I'm on to a cup of Grin and Bear It. Ah, the stuff of life. 

Wednesday Words: STORMING HIS HEART

A Westlake Enterprises Story

Storm Buchanan’s talent for mind control comes in handy as an investigator for a private agency, but it’s hell on her love life. Men bow to her every whim, so there’s no challenge. Where’s the fun in that?

Maybe that’s why she can’t trust herself around Rafe Savage. The smug, sexy, annoying investigator for a rival firm is the one man who seems impervious to her power. Worse, when he kisses her, she all-too-willingly slips under his control.

Rafe’s gift for seeing into the future doesn’t usually blindside him…until it comes to Storm. The beautiful seductress assaults his control on all fronts, and the spontaneous flashes of her life in danger have his every instinct on alert.

When attempts on both their lives escalate, Storm and Rafe must stick together to find a madman bent on vengeance. While it’s no surprise that their enforced proximity has their bodies going up in flames, neither expects lust to melt into love. Or that they’ll need every ounce of their combined skills to fight for a future that could die before it’s born.

Warning: Beware a heroine with mind control, a sexy hero with attitude, annoying siblings, smug psychics, sexualized danger, and a psychotic villain who can’t be caught

An excerpt from Storming His Heart, the second in the Westlake Enterprises series.

“What’s for breakfast?” Rafe asked, all the while skimming her features. She didn’t look any the worse for wear, so perhaps last night’s odd happenstance had just been a dream. But dreams didn’t leave him feeling sick and dizzy. He normally controlled his visions though, and last night had hit him squarely between the eyes.

“Wh—what…why…?” Storm continued to stare, obviously thrown by his untimely appearance. “What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

“Storm Buchanan, I’m Rafe Savage. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.” He turned on the charm and she blinked in bewilderment. Without asking, he reached for her limp hand and brought it to his lips.

Touching her made him hard as a rock. Thankfully, she continued to stare into his eyes, as if searching for answers there. He smiled, and her eyes widened. Her ripe lips parted on a breathy gasp.

He wondered if he’d gone overboard on the charm when she continued to say nothing. Then he noticed the rough abrasion on her palm. He turned her hand over, his heart racing.

“Where’d you get this?”

She pulled her hand away and moved to her sofa. Her movements were slow and clumsy, and he watched with suspicion as she carefully lowered herself to sit.

“I don’t know. Must have happened when I tripped the other day.” She settled into the cushions and gave him a wary look.

Not believing her in the slightest, Rafe followed her. He scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her protests, and moved as gently and quickly as he could.

“What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t try to leave his hold, conscious of her injury, no doubt.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

“The bedroom?” Her eyes flickered to the left. “Are you on drugs?”

He walked with her down the bright corridor to a bedroom that had to be hers. Done in soft blues, the room had feminine touches but wasn’t overly frilly. Her queen-size bed, to his disappointment, sported rumpled cotton, not silk sheets. He lowered her to the mattress and waited for her to try to escape.

She didn’t disappoint him.

He stopped her awkward attempt, pulled her to the edge of the bed and opened her robe.

Ignoring her stunned silence and his own heated reaction to her short nightshirt, he examined her first with his eyes, then his hands, conscious of her sudden stillness. Rafe felt the same curves he’d touched just Thursday night and shifted to relieve the building ache in his groin.

She flinched and he froze. A glance at the flesh under his hand told him the unfortunate truth. A large, purplish bruise covered her upper left thigh.

“We should get you to a hospital,” he murmured, still looking at the bruise. A surprising anger filled him. Storm had been hurt, and he was taking it personally, which made little sense. Conscious of what had to be extreme pain, he wanted to take it away, maybe kiss it better. His cock throbbed and he swore to himself, trying to get a handle on his suddenly whacked-out libido. This was no time to be lusting after the woman.

He wondered if she’d broken anything.

Storm wondered if she’d been hit on the head, or worse, maybe suffered from some strange delusion. She hadn’t moved a muscle while a near stranger—albeit a darkly handsome one—groped her. She wanted to attribute most of her response to shock, to deny the fact she actually liked the sensual pleasure of his touch.

She swallowed as his large, callused hands left trails of heat in their wake. She prayed he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing any underwear. But if he inched her shirt up any more, he’d see an eyeful.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. He crouched beside the bed, on the floor between her thighs, and studied her bruised leg. “And who gave you my address?”

Rafe ignored her. He grasped her leg at the knee and slowly pushed her thighs apart. Her hip protested, but the pain wasn’t so bad if nothing directly touched her skin. He ran a hand over her leg to the bruise. The sensation gave her goose bumps until he reached the injury. When she sucked in a breath, he stopped and trailed his hand back to her knee.

His gaze met hers. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m no doctor. You should see someone.”

Storm took a calming breath, trying to sound relaxed and not horny as hell for a Westlake agent. “First of all, my leg is fine. It’s a little bruised. Okay, a lot bruised,” she amended at his raised brow. “But who the heck do you think you are, busting into my house, issuing orders, touching me…” Her world centered on the large hand still covering her leg. His fingers stroked her knee and she had trouble breathing.

God, he is making me so hot.

He forestalled her next comment with a finger across her lips. It was all she could do not to taste him.

“I’m glad you’re all right.” He looked away from her face and examined her nearly naked body with burning interest.

Storm knew she was pretty but didn’t consider her looks anything out of the ordinary. Thanks to good genes and a steady exercise regimen, she had a slender build and long, toned legs. The thought of them wrapped around his waist made her wet, and she prayed Rafe wasn’t a mind reader. Talk about embarrassing.

His eyes darkened and he traced her lips with his thumb. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now.”

Thank God. Not a mind reader. But— She gasped when he slid his other hand to her uninjured leg.

“Hmm. Does it hurt here?”

“N-no.” Move, Storm. Tell this guy to take his grabby self and leave.

“How about here?” Rafe’s hand slid between her thighs. He teased closer and closer to her clit while subtly pushing her legs farther apart, careful not to hurt her. By now her lack of undergarments had to be apparent.

“I’m okay,” she rasped. Her nipples beaded under her shirt, needing to be touched.

Rafe glanced up at her face with a concentrated hunger. “Like I said, I’m no doctor. But I really think you need to be looked at.” He shoved her shirt up, exposing her from the waist down. She’d completely shaved for her date with Hank, on the off chance she got lucky. She couldn’t have imagined Rafe Savage’s indrawn breath would be her reward.

He eased his fingers along her folds, spreading her arousal over her responsive flesh.

“Does it ache?” he rumbled in a low voice.

Hell yes. She closed her eyes, unable to answer.

Then his finger found the heat of her. He pushed inside, knuckle-deep.

“Oh my God.”

“Damn, that’s hot,” he breathed and pulled his finger out, only to push it back in again. “You have to be really hurting here, hmm, Storm?”

She needed to tell him to stop, to demand this man that she didn’t know leave the house and never look back. But everything inside her told her that this was the man she’d been waiting for. Never before had she lost control from a man’s touch or been so ready to have sex.

He rubbed her clit with more and more pressure, manipulating her body as if he owned it. The ease with which he mastered her responses bothered her on a distant level. But she couldn’t think past the need to come hard all over him.

“This is insane,” he said, his voice thick. She opened her eyes to see him gazing between her legs. “Fuck me,” he swore, then removed his hand and covered her clit with his mouth.

She cried out and clenched his thick hair, holding on as desire burst through her in a torrential wave.

Rafe sucked and nipped, licking her like a starving man. He shoved one finger inside her pussy, then added another, thrusting them in a rhythmic pace that had her battling her climax all too soon.

“That’s it, baby. Come all over me. Let me eat it up,” he growled and resumed his course.

He drew harder on her clit and pushed deeper into her, sliding against a sweet spot that sparked stars behind her lids. She arched closer to his mouth and pumped her hips, needing what only Rafe could give her.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped as she came hard.

He devoured her response, licking and stroking with a tongue that wouldn’t quit. When the sensations became too much for her to bear, he eased off and planted kisses along her thighs.

Storm opened her eyes, sated, confused and helplessly caught in the rich brown gaze staring back at her with what looked like possession. “I, that, I—” She had no words to express the bewildered joy infusing her tired mind and body.

Rafe wiped his mouth and sucked the fingers that had been inside her, a gesture that had her licking her lips, wanting to know how he tasted. He stood and she unconsciously sought the erection straining his jeans.

In a thick voice, he said, “I’m going to make us some coffee. We need to talk.” He turned and walked stiffly from the room. She heard the hall bathroom door shut, then silence.

Storm didn’t know what to think and lay back on the bed in a daze. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard Rafe exit the bathroom. The sounds of the kitchen cabinets opening and closing penetrated while she stared blindly at the doorway, her legs wide open, her sex wetter than wet.

Embarrassed she could barely remember her own name, she rose from the bed, grabbed a change of clothes and limped to her adjoined bathroom to clean up. She emerged fresh but no less embarrassed in loose-fitting sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Rafe stood in her kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. He said nothing, but his eyes darkened as he watched her near. When she reached him, he pushed a cup her way.

Baffled by what to say, and more, what to think, she went through the mundane process of fixing her coffee. She poured a cup and stepped toward the refrigerator when he shook his head.

“I’ll get it. Cream? Sugar?”

“Yeah. Sugar’s in the—”

“Top cabinet. Go sit down. I’ll join you.”

Both annoyed at his arrogance yet glad of it, she huffed and left the kitchen for her dining table in the open living area. At least now she felt the same aggravation she normally felt for anything or anyone connected with Westlake Enterprises. For a minute there, she’d confused incredible sex with affection.

He joined her at the table with a tray carrying their drinks, cream and sugar.

She frowned. “Where’d you find that?” She nodded at the tray, which had been missing for weeks.

“Next to the fridge. Drink up.” He downed his coffee like a thirsting man, and she had the distinct notion he wished it was something a lot stronger.

She fixed her coffee the way she liked it and took a sip, then ran a hand through her hair. It didn’t escape her notice that he followed the movement with intensity. She wondered if he imagined running his own hands through it.

Storm stopped that train of thought and cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?” And why don’t I want you to leave?

Cover Madness

Cover art is so essential to book sales. You see a crappy cover, you expect a crappy book. This often isn't the case, but when it comes to getting noticed, best not to blow it right at the starting line. It's not as if people try to have bad covers. Art is subjective. What one person likes, another hates.

I'm currently wrangling with one of my publishing houses about cover art. I'm sure someone else might love the covers I've been presented, and it's clear the artist is super skilled, but she/he is not quite getting it. The cover has to fit the tone of the book. Granted, not everything will be the same as described in the story, but it has to follow genre/tone and be eye-catching. 

Some of my favorite covers I've gotten through the years, to list a few:

 

As a reader, I'd find these certainly captivating enough to read the back blurb. And as an author, I'm clearly biased. All of my covers, with the exception of one or two, have pleased the heck out of me. My fingers are crossed that this next one turns out as good as I think it can be. 

Ideas

Image:  Freja sucht ihren Ehemann by Nils Blommer (1816-1853)

Translation: Freja Seeking her Husband

A lot of people like to know where writers get ideas. It depends. Sometimes the muse strikes where you least expect it. And other times, you write for a particular publisher, style, concept.

For example, I have a particular project coming up, a new one, that has to involve shapeshifters in some way. I really like projects with a common theme. This project is for a multi-author anthology. And we're all doing shifters. Therefore, I must make mine as different as humanly possible from any other shifter story in the collection. *grin*

I've bounced ideas around, from series I have already written to things I want to write about. Scarily, nothing was hitting. And considering I need to have this unplanned story in by August--that's not good. 

But I think I struck gold. My many research books about myths and legends have once again come to my aid. I'm partial to the Norse, and I think I have just the thing. A beginning story to a new world set in multiple places and overseen by multiple deities. I'm excited just thinking about it. As a teaser, I can tell you that my first story centers around some of Freyja's people. Cats, falcons, and Valkyries, oh my. 

Happy Monday. Now go grab some coffee. 

Happy Mother's Day

Publishing With Crazies

You know, it seems like every other day a new publisher appears. At first they look great,

are positive and seem to want to help their authors. And every day, a new author is grown. A person who acts like a professional and wants nothing more than to tell a good story. Fast forward a few months and the crazy hits the fan.

A new thread found elsewhere clued me in that Damnation Publishing is now shafting its authors. Termination fees (fees included in a contract so that if an author thinks of terminating his/her contract, they must pay to reimburse a publisher's expense for cover art/editing, etc.), not relinquishing rights, and a general air of negativity seem to be the order of the day. For some of their background, note this from one of their authors. And this was back in 2010. http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums/showpost.php?p=4920151&postcount=49

Now in 2013, another author (one of many, apparently) is having issues with them that started over a year ago. Read the link here. http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums/showpost.php?p=8153401&postcount=221

People always ask, if you knew the publisher was crazy, why did you sign with them? Well, most of the time, the publisher doesn't seem crazy when they open. My very first publisher (not Damnation Publishing) seemed normal. I made good money with them. And then... they stopped communicating. Readers had poor customer service and contacted me. When I contacted the publisher, I heard nothing back. Edits stopped coming. Releases were pushed out for no reason. Mind you, I'd had around six books with them at the time, and would not have signed ANY contract had the publisher been acting up. By the grace of God, I'm now beyond that place, legally, emotionally, and financially. And I learned some valuable life lessons. Just because a contract has been signed and is legal does not mean people won't violate it.

I firmly believe that all authors should do their due diligence and look around and talk to those in the know before signing a contract. Absolute Write Water Cooler is a wonderful tool to help figure out which publishers are reputable. Preditors and Editors is another. I like to email authors at said houses and ask them what they think. However, be warned-- sometimes the authors can be owners. I actually tried to ask a fellow author at my first publisher what she thought--back when everything started doing wonky--and she told me she was so happy there. Turned out she was one of the owners writing under a pseudonym. 

This blog post is not to be meant as a place to bash publishers. There are many authors out there just plain loco too. A few engage with other new authors to put them down in forums just because they can.Some authors take to the proverbial streets slamming reviewers and readers and even their publishes. It always baffles me when authors get on author loops (usually in-house to authors of a particular publisher) and air their laundry, complaining about payments or cover art or edits--things best discussed one-on-one with one's editor.

It's both sad yet fascinating when authors meltdown in virtual public, like on Goodreads or in blogs. And you have to wonder, do they think no one reads them? I'm extremely conscious of anything I blog about. Granted, I don't have all that many readers, but it only takes one to see the crazy and tell others. Then before you know it, Marie Harte is that psycho author hanging from a chandelier and screeching insanity. Nope. I prefer to do that within the privacy of my own home. :)

The point of this post was to warn everyone. The Internet is a big place, but it's small enough that what goes around comes around. Smart authors ask about publishing histories before signing on the dotted line. And smart readers avoid authors who have a history of being nutso. 

Now go have a happy Friday, and try not to be crazy.

Wednesday Words: To Hunt a Sainte

Well, I thought I'd do the next three weeks leading up to my new release June 4th--Love In Electric Blue. So this Wednesday, you get a snippet from the first Westlake Enterprises book, To Hunt a Sainte. Enjoy!

BLURB

Telekinetic Alexandra Sainte is through serving time behind a desk at Buchanan Investigations. She’s more than ready to prove she’s capable of fieldwork, if only her uncle will give her the chance. Tired of waiting, she turns a sudden opportunity into something more.

Her unauthorized raid of a suspected kidnapper’s office goes off without a hitch—mostly—but as she makes her escape, she sees a pair of golden eyes watching her every move. Eyes that spark erotic dreams of a dark stranger taking her in ways that make her blush.

There’s a reason Hunter Greye can’t take his gaze off the sticky-fingered woman he catches ruining his investigation. She fights like a warrior. She bears a striking resemblance to a string of kidnapping victims. And she stirs a wildness within him he thought he’d learned to control a long time ago. She’s a dangerous distraction he can’t afford.

Thrown together in an undercover operation to find the mastermind behind the kidnappings, Alex and Hunter fall in lust, in love, and in danger. Only by trusting each other can they save the girl…and each other.

 EXCERPT

Two days later, Hunter stood grimfaced in front of a slate blue door and pounded again. He smelled lavender and clenched his jaw at the effort it took to focus on his present course of action. He knew the damned woman was home.

When no one answered after a few more minutes, he set to work. The lock proved no problem, her security alarm even less of one. He’d have a talk with her about that…afterward.

Hunter had tried, but he could no longer avoid the inevitable. This had to stop. He moved silently and swiftly through her open rooms, noting the tidiness of her apartment. Alexandra Sainte decorated sparsely but with a warmth that was inviting.

An eclectic mix of styles accented the cozy feel of a living room well used. A plush leather sofa and matching chair congregated around a teak coffee table covered with home design magazines and the occasional fitness rag. A few plants, all healthy and thriving, sat in her picture window, overlooking a common courtyard. The few bookcases along a far wall boasted an assortment of titles, none of which indicated her preference of reading material.

He entered her spotless kitchen. The counters appeared clean, as did her pristine white cabinets. The ceramic sink remained free of dirty dishes. Not even a speck of dirt in the drain. Dear God, did anyone actually live here? Then the scent of lavender hit him hard. Again. His pulse raced, his body tightened, and pure, sensual need spiked his blood.

Swearing under his breath, he continued his search for the feminine bane of his existence. He turned into a hallway off the living room and stilled. He could smell her there, could almost feel her delicate energy in the air.

Time to tie up a few loose ends.

Williams’ crew had given up their efforts at discreet surveillance and tailed Alex outright. Tonight, Hunter decided to take care of watching over Ms. Sainte personally.

Professionally. Finally.

The sound of water splashing drew him down the hallway and through an untidy bedroom—a surprise inconsistent with the rest of the house. He walked through the doorway into her bathroom and froze.

Even though he’d been expecting it, the vision of Alex covered in bubbles struck him with the force of a physical blow. Surrounded by lavender and warmed by the humidity in the intimate bathroom, Hunter was overwhelmed with a sudden need to touch her golden skin, wet and shining before him. Calling on every ounce of discipline he possessed, Hunter forced himself to remain still and studied the sleepy beauty he couldn’t get out of his mind.

A man would have to be blind not to appreciate her looks—golden hair streaked with honey, exotically slanted eyes that hinted at mystery, and full lips promising everything a man might want. Her body curved in all the right places, yet had a toned toughness that told Hunter she wouldn’t break, even under a bit of rough handling.

The thought aroused him into taking a step forward. Desire engulfed him, and he literally ached, needing to touch her, to be inside that glorious body and discover just what it was about her that captivated him. Only one woman had ever come this close to making him lose control, and look at how that had turned out.

Angered at reminders of the poor choices he’d once made, he locked down his traitorous body and forced himself to handle this—her.

“All right, Sainte. Enough is enough,” he growled.

She shrieked in surprise and sloshed in the tub, allowing him glimpses of slick flesh while she tried to gain her feet. Forcing himself to ignore the impulse to reach out and touch, he handed her a towel.

She grabbed it from him and hastily wrapped it around herself. “What— Who—” She took a deep breath. “How the hell did you get in my apartment?”

He frowned. “You need to update your security. Pretty sad that I managed your locks in less than a minute.”

Slicking her hair back, she regarded him with caution and kept a firm hand on the top of her towel.

He forced himself to look no lower than her chin. “We need to talk.”

“No shit.” Instead of the fear he assumed he’d face, the woman had the nerve to step out of the tub right in front of him. No more than three inches remained between him and her delectable body draped with a thin towel. “You can’t just barge into private property whenever you feel like it, Greye. Now get the hell out of my bathroom. Get the hell out of my apartment!”

“I don’t think you understand me, angel. I’m here to talk. All you need to do is listen.” He stepped closer and inhaled her scent—feminine, floral and damned arousing. Pressed so close, she had to notice his reaction. When her eyes widened, he gave her a grim smile and leaned closer, caught by her tremulous gaze. “I didn’t want to do it this way,” he said darkly. “But you keep playing your games.”

“Games?” she parroted, her gaze glued to his mouth.

Disturbingly pleased he wasn’t the only one affected, Hunter strove to focus on the topic at hand. “The coffee? The chocolate? The feel of your soft skin under my hands? Projecting your bullshit is only distracting me from the mission at hand.”

She blinked up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know.” He couldn’t help himself and latched onto the firm strength of her shoulders. His thumb brushed the side of her breast, and she gasped. “You’re a beautiful woman, and you know it. You don’t need to play games to get my attention. Just let me handle this job, and I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”

Her apparent anger stirred him past reason. Alexandra Sainte in nothing but a towel was bad enough, but in a passionate temper, her energy seethed and drew him like a moth to flame.

“Why you arrogant—”

The little witch thought to challenge him even now? The hell she did.

He kissed past her denial, knowing she didn’t mean it. He could all but sense her arousal as it pulsed through him. Feminine need and anger warred until her rage surrendered to the attraction between them. Everything she felt, Hunter felt as well, until he regained control once more, taking charge of his emotions.

Licking his way past her lips, he plunged his tongue inside and groaned. She tasted like candy, sweet and fresh. Angling closer, he ravaged her mouth, not satisfied until she panted, her taut breasts heaving against his chest.

Yanking the towel from her, he immediately cupped her firm globes, taken with the full swells and hard peaks beading for him. Reason lost to madness as he gave in to the instinctive need to take more.

Breaking from her lips, he leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth. He wanted to purr with satisfaction when she gasped his name and tugged his hair. Instead of pulling him away, she pressed him closer, shifting hungrily beneath him.

“God, Hunter. What are you doing to me?” She moaned again, soft and pliant under his hands.

“You feel like silk,” he murmured, tending to her other breast. He ran a hand over her hip and belly, seeking the heat between her legs. Thrilled when he found what he sought, he thrust one finger deep.

Alex let go of his head to grip his shoulders. “Hunter, please.”

He didn’t know if she pleaded for more or for him to stop, but he didn’t care. He would stop after he’d made his point…just as soon as he could remember what that was.

“You’re hot and wet, angel. So pretty under my hands,” he whispered, chancing a glance into her eyes. They darkened, gleaming like emerald green pools, slumberous yet lit with sexual energy. “Yes, that’s it. Follow my lead. Let me take you.”

“No, I…” She broke off when he shifted his thumb and began stroking that tight bundle of nerves at her core. “Oh, Hunter. Oh, yes. Please,” she begged.

Yes. Please her. Rip away the clothing separating you and please yourself as well.

He pushed at Alex’s will until she crumbled under his touch, helpless to stop the desire exploding throughout her body. She cried his name as she came, stirring his temper anew. God, he hurt. The need to possess her was animalistic, an intuitive need to conquer, the way he used to feel during his days in the military…and during his courtship of Anna.

Not liking this lack of control where she was concerned, Hunter strove to find distance. He withdrew his hand from between her legs and took a step back. Reaching down for her towel, he found it and wrapped it around her.

He made his second big mistake of the night when he looked into her eyes, because he saw not just an erotic playmate, but a vulnerable woman staring out at him. Not liking this need to offer comfort, he strengthened his inner defense with a harsh offense.

“Think that can tide you over until we’ve found Rebecca?” he asked. “Or do I need to fuck you to get the job done?”

The hurt on her face made him feel as if he’d kicked a kitten. But he should have remembered kittens have claws.

Lightning fast, Alex slapped him hard across the face. She fisted her hand by her side, and he wondered if she meant to hit him again, and if he should let her. “I didn’t ask you here. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Sure you did. Tell me you didn’t want it.”

She paled.

“That’s what I thought. Now listen up, angel, and listen good. I don’t have time for your petty mind games. Quit screwing with me. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”

“I don’t.” Yet she sounded less certain than she’d been before.

“Yes, you do.” Dammit. Did she think he was playing? “There’s a time and a place for fun. But not during a mission. I had the impression your uncle feels the same way. You put this case in jeopardy, and you’ll answer to more than me.” Unable to stop himself, he pinned her fists to her sides and kissed her again, a hard reminder that, as much as he might wish it, he wasn’t immune to her charms. “You’re good, but a piece of ass isn’t worth some innocent woman’s life. Rebecca is all that matters right now. You get me, angel?”

Alex tried to break free, but couldn’t under his firm grip. She scowled like a thundercloud. “Oh, I get you.”

Hunter’s pulse raced. He couldn’t have explained why, but Alex in a fury turned him on like nothing else. Which made no sense and had no place in his life, especially not now.

The plan he and Jurek had concocted would work, but only if the players kept strict attention on the game. Hunter wouldn’t allow anyone, not even Max Buchanan’s sexy niece, to endanger the mission.

With regret that he couldn’t ease his present sexual frustration, he let her go and stepped back. When she made no move to follow, he nodded. “Glad to see we’re on the same page.”

She didn’t say anything and continued to stare holes through him. Even annoyed, she captivated him, and she wasn’t even trying.

He sighed. “Let the big boys do what we do best. You find anything we might need, let us know.” He paused, realizing he might have been overly harsh. It wasn’t all her fault he couldn’t control his dick. “Don’t worry, angel. When I’m done, we’ll pick up where we left off. Count on it.”

Hunter turned and left without a backwards glance, knowing that if he looked at her again, he might not have the willpower to leave. And God knew, someone needed to think with more than their hormones on this case. The Bureau hadn’t been able to pin a thing on Wraith in more than a decade. Omaney was squeaky clean. And in two more weeks, seven innocent women would be sold off like cattle. For Hunter and the others to succeed, they needed to be at the top of their game. Not pawns on someone else’s board, no matter how much his body might want otherwise.

TO HUNT A SAINTE

Westlake Enterprises