Force by Deana Birch

Book 4 in the Covington Heights Crew series

General Release Date: 16th November 2021

Word Count:  88,302
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 334

Genres:

 ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MAFIA/GANGS
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Scarred pasts haunt bright futures.

A reformed hitman tries to right the wrongs of his dark past by saving a stranger from the clutches of a stalker.

Francis Ricci is a cold-blooded assassin. Correction…was a cold-blooded assassin. Now he’s legit—and, to be fair, it’s a good life. As the head of a top private security company, he’s gone from killing softly to protecting fiercely—especially all things family. So, when his sister-in-law finds a nanny but there’s not enough info for a background check, it’s him who hops on a plane to investigate the potential guard of the littlest Riccis.

Small-town girl Megan Walsh is ready to run away from a sad life and a serious stalker. She gets just that chance when Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious offers to take her to New York without a trace. Being a nanny might not be her dream job, but it’s a hop, skip and a jump away from her dream city…and just around the corner from her best-kept secret.

The intimacy of hotel rooms confirms a mutual attraction and, despite all arrows pointing to it being a horrible idea for them to date, Megan and Frankie’s relationship plows ahead. But scarred pasts haunt bright futures. And when the demons come calling, the couple will be forced to choose between who they want to be and who they truly are.

Reader advisory: This book contains violence against women, kidnapping, murder and stalking. It is best read in order as part of a series.

Excerpt

I parked my baby-blue Porsche in my brother Leo’s cobblestone driveway. He’d bought one of those huge historic homes and made everything inside modern. I thought it was flashy and a bit of a way to gloat about how much money we were making, but he’d done it to make his girls happy. Besides, who was I to judge? My apartment overlooking the East River was just as over the top.

In truth, I loved that Fiona and Violet had given Leo the shove back to putting his family first. His friend Anton had taken too much of his loyalty over the years. I was glad it was focused back where it belonged. I rang the bell for Sunday dinner with my favorite bottle of Tignanello cradled in my arms like the treasure that she was.

The door swung open, and Leo rolled his eyes. “Thank God you’re here. Can you please explain to my very pregnant and very stubborn wife that she can’t just hire a nanny after one Facetime because they ‘bonded’.” He air-quoted the last word, which was a mistake, because Fiona noticed it right away and stomped over. I had no idea how she moved so gracefully with her massive belly.

“I like her. She has a degree in early education. She’ll be great for Vi and the twins. Plus, I’m the one who will be spending time with her. It’s my opinion that matters.”

I scanned the entryway for any signs of my Aunt Chezzie, the dog or any damn neutral ally, but found none.

Leo made way for me to enter then turned to his wife. “Fi, I’m just saying let me do a background check. It will take twenty-four hours.” Calmer, and with a smile, he continued, “Then—if everything checks out—we can offer her the position.”

I leaned over and gave Fiona a kiss on the cheek. “You look great. How you feeling?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that, Francis Ricci. Don’t change the topic for his sake. But thank you…and I’m exhausted. Chezzie came early and took Violet to the beach, so I napped then hired a nanny.” She grinned at Leo, whose nostrils flared as he reached for the bottle.

“Nice,” he said as he read the label. Then, to his wife, “You gotta give me twenty-four hours. I can’t let a stranger into our house—our life—without at least running her social security number. Come on.” With his free hand he tucked a strand of her long, brown hair behind her ear. “It’s just to keep you safe. You know that.”

Fiona frowned, but Leo’s soft tone had worked its charm. “Fine. But you have to promise not to be biased against something stupid like bad credit. That was me three years ago. There are people out there who just need a break.” The little lift of her eyebrows and tilt of her head emphasized that she wouldn’t budge on her final point. My sister-in-law was clear on many things. One, her house had to be immaculate at all times. It was how she respected the wealth she was experiencing. Two, Sunday dinners were mandatory. And three, she always remembered where she came from.

Leo cut his eyes over to me in a ‘see what I’m dealing with here’ glance. And I did—not that I would admit it in front of her. But we had to at least run a credit check on the new nanny.

I pointed my thumb to the door. “I have my laptop in the car. I can run her details while we eat then have a look after. You’ll get your answer tonight like that.”

Fiona smiled but Leo scrunched his face like he’d smelled something foul.

He shook his head down the hall to the kitchen and mumbled, “Always gotta be the hero.”

It wasn’t far from the truth. Since Leo and I had changed the direction of our lives, I’d gotten a lot of satisfaction from doing the right thing. But it was odd to let a talent go to waste. Not that I’d enjoyed killing people, but I was just so damn good at it. Our father had been an outstanding teacher. It was fucked up—we were fucked up—but there had been a perverse pride in a job well done, another unsolved murder. With our new roles of keeping people safe, the feeling wasn’t the same. It was somehow status quo.

Fiona mouthed a ‘thank you’ and reminded me that I had work to do then quietly clapped her hands to the kitchen where she kissed her husband. His annoyed stance from before melted like chocolate on a hot day. It was pretty fucking disgusting how happy they were, especially since I’d failed—yet again—to find a spark with the last woman I’d gone on a date with. Chezzie had told me I was ‘emotionally unavailable’. To me, that sounded like a bullshit label to make a man feel guilty about not wanting to talk about stupid shit. Maybe my standards were too high. I’d seen what Leo had. I wasn’t sure I deserved the same thing, but I wouldn’t take any less.

I let myself out and grabbed my laptop from the small trunk then settled into Leo’s study. Fiona bounced in with a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Here’s everything I know about her.”

There was no date of birth or social security number, just a small photo, a list of odd jobs and her education. Yeah, little brother, I see what you’re dealing with.

But there was contact information, a current employer and an address, so at least I had something.

I faked a smile to Fiona. “I’ll get started. Call me when it’s time to eat.”

“You’re the best. I appreciate this so much.” She rubbed her hand over her belly, smoothing the white sundress, then was gone in a whoosh.

Okay, Megan Walsh of small-town Iowa, let’s find your secrets.

I started with social media. If she were a drunken party girl, there would be proof. But none of the Megan Walshes matched her photo or location. What twenty-something didn’t want her face plastered everywhere so her friends could tell her how pretty she was?

Without a social security number, I couldn’t run her credit, and finding her date of birth without some kind of hint from a public profile would require me guessing what county she’d been born in and hacking into their records—something I would have hired an expert to do. I did manage to find a picture of her apartment building, which was small and ugly. That only made her poor, but what person trying to be a nanny would be wealthy, anyway?

After about an hour, I didn’t have much.

“Hey.” Leo leaned into the study. “Please tell me she’s a serial killer so I can be right just one damn time.”

“She’s not anything for the moment.” I held up the piece of paper Fiona had given me and waved it. “There’s not a lot here to go by.”

Leo scrubbed his face. “What am I gonna do? I can’t bring a stranger into our house. Shit. But dinner’s ready. Let’s eat.”

I closed my laptop and followed him down the hall to where Chezzie and Violet were already at the table with Fiona. Leo had grilled some sausages and a massive steak. Three of Chezzie’s best salads were in the middle of the table. I kissed my aunt and niece then sat opposite them.

“Uncle Frankie? Did you know that Nana’s secret to making salad was to rub the bowl with garlic first?”

“I did.” I winked and unfolded my napkin. I loved how Violet had blended perfectly into our family and made it her own. Chezzie had a way of highlighting all the positive sides of our past and keeping the dark secrets dead and buried where they belonged. I also appreciated the bond that my aunt had with Fiona’s little sister. She’d never been able to have children, and my father had made her boyfriends uncomfortable, at best. No one had been good enough for his little sister. Leo and I hadn’t been the only ones who’d suffered from his need to keep his family under his insistent thumb.

Fiona waited until everyone was served and we’d started eating before looking at me and saying, “So?”

“Sorry. Big nada for the moment. But the agency must have run a check on her, right?” I wiped my mouth and short beard with the cloth napkin.

“I think so.” Fiona cringed a little and Leo pounced.

“Fi, seriously?”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I liked her so much. She’s young and her dream is to live in New York.” Fiona’s whine was chipping away at my brother before our eyes. She continued, “And I need someone. Chezzie has a business to run. Those beautiful babies we made could come any day. I don’t want a snooty old lady looking down on me for how I change a diaper or swear in front of Violet. I want Megan.”

Leo closed his eyes and Chezzie shot me a glance to fix it, probably because she knew I could.

“I’ll fly out tomorrow. Leo, you stay close to home, and Jackson can handle the security detail solo for forty-eight hours. I will check out this Megan Walsh and report back. Happy?” I turned to Fiona and offered a small smile.

“Yes. Thank you.” Fiona beamed, Chezzie changed the subject and Leo discreetly flipped me off while pretending to scratch his ear.

As soon as dinner was finished, I excused myself to go home to prepare. I booked my plane ticket for the next day. For some ridiculous reason known only to the airline gods and their intelligent fuckery of how to make air travel the least enjoyable experience possible, I had to fly south to Charlotte in order to fly west to Iowa. That meant that my entire day would be wasted. But what was I going to do? Fiona had probably the closest thing to kids in her belly that I would ever have and was doing a stellar job of raising the little girl who had captured all our hearts. That bit of family, those Sunday dinners, they were the only things keeping me affixed to happy and normal. They were my reminder that my life had changed and needed to stay on its current path. There was no way I would lose them.

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About the Author

Deana Birch

Deana Birch was named after her father’s first love, who just so happened not to be her mother. Born and raised in the Midwest, she made stops in Los Angeles and New York before settling in Europe, where she lives with her own blue-eyed Happily Ever After. Her days are spent teaching yoga, playing tennis, ruining her children’s French homework, cleaning up dog vomit, writing her next book or reading someone else’s.

You can sign up for Deana’s newsletter here and visit her website here. You can also find Deana at Books + Main here

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Shiloh’s Secret by KD Ellis

Book 2 in the Out in Austin series

General Release Date: 16th November 2021

Word Count:  92,026
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 367
Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MEN IN UNIFORM
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Shiloh Beckett has a trust fund, a stalker and a secret. He doesn’t trust easily, but his new bodyguard might just break the cycle.

Shiloh Beckett might be the sole heir to Beckett Industries, one of the leading tech companies in the world, but the last thing he wants is to become another suit-and-tie. He’s learned the hard way that money can’t buy happiness, just a better brand of misery.

Gage Tucker lives by the motto Protect and Serve. Raised by a cop who failed his family, Gage chose to serve his country the only way he knew how—with boots on the ground and a gun in his hand. After a mission gone wrong, Gage came home with a broken body but the same drive to protect. Months of rehab later, he joined Eagle Security as a Personal Protection Officer and he’s been a bodyguard ever since. Protecting a trust-fund brat from the paparazzi isn’t what he signed up for.

Soon he learns that there’s more than just the media after Shiloh, and the secrets the boy is hiding will change everything. If he can’t convince Shiloh to trust him, how can he keep him safe?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, rape, reference to past child abuse, self-harm and suicidal ideation, and PTSD,. There are references to drug use, sex work, elements of BDSM—Daddy kink and power play—and parental neglect.

Excerpt

Shiloh hiked the hem of his baby-doll dress higher as he leaned his knee against the back of the chaise. He knew the drape of silk pooling in the hollow of his thighs barely left more than a teasing shadow to keep him modest.

Not that anyone in the frat house cared. He’d seen each of the Sigma boys naked at one point or another, while either on his knees or his back. In fact, the only man here he hadn’t seen naked yet was his bodyguard, a man who bought his muscles in a bottle of methyl-testosterone.

Brad sat in the armchair across from him. He was scanning the crowd of drunk college students stumbling from room to room, supposedly keeping an eye out for cameras. In reality, though, Shiloh caught the subtle glances toward the chaise, the way his gaze lingered on Shiloh’s exposed skin and the even-less-subtle looks into the corner, where a couple was doing lines on the glass side table.

Shiloh propped himself up on an elbow so he could see them. “Hey, Jorgie.” Shiloh feigned a slur. He’d been nursing the same glass of cheap whiskey since he’d arrived over an hour ago, though he’d skipped to the kitchen for a half-dozen refills for the sake of appearance. “Kiss you for a line.”

Jorgie, nearly as fabulous as Shiloh in a glittery pink tank and tight jeans, wiped his nose before grabbing the baggie. He stumbled over, his cheeks flushed, blue eyes nearly black as he leaned down. His lips were hot when they pressed against Shiloh’s.

Jorgie lost interest quickly, dropping the baggie on Shiloh’s lap as a girl Shiloh vaguely recognized stumbled past. Jorgie trailed after her, calling “Evie, those shoes!”

Shiloh popped the seal on the bag and turned it gently, letting the coke fall against the side. He shook out a crooked line on his thigh. By now, his bodyguard had given up all pretense of watching the room. Brad’s gaze locked on the powder.

Slowly, Shiloh ran a teasing finger over his skin to straighten the line. He admired the way it looked, even paler than his sun-starved flesh.

“I don’t mind sharing,” Shiloh said suddenly into the silence between them, and Brad dragged his gaze up to Shiloh’s. He wet his lips. He wanted it. That was obvious—wanted it even more than he wanted Shiloh. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

And that was all it took.

Shiloh was almost disappointed at how easy it was. Brad pushed his way to standing, stalking closer. Shiloh held himself still. Brad only loomed for a second before dropping heavily to his knees. There was the briefest hesitation then his bodyguard hunched over his thigh. He pressed one large finger against his left nostril, then the sound of sniffing made Shiloh wrinkle his nose in disgust.

He expected the man to sit back but Brad lingered, skimming his thumb over Shiloh’s thigh. It would be sexual in another circumstance—foreplay, a tease—but Shiloh knew he was just grabbing the last of the powder. Brad lifted his thumb to his mouth, rubbing it over his gums.

Brad’s brown eyes grew darker as the drug tightened its grip on him. Shiloh was on the clock now. He would be lucky if the drug stuck in the man’s system for a half-hour, with everything else in his veins.

Shiloh pushed Brad back then slid off the chaise and into the larger man’s lap in a single move. The thin lace of his panties was barely a barrier between them. He could feel the coarseness of his bodyguard’s jeans and, beneath them, the rigid hardness of his cock. Shiloh felt nothing as he rutted against it.

“I see how you watch me,” Shiloh mused, teasing one of the black buttons on the other man’s shirt between his fingers. “Are you finally going to do something about it?”

Brad groaned, clamping his hands down on Shiloh’s hips hard enough to bruise as he yanked Shiloh closer. He was grateful that years of ballet had left him with a flexibility most gymnasts would envy, because otherwise his hips would be screaming against the stretch.

Brad tangled his fingers painfully in Shiloh’s pink hair and yanked his head back. Shiloh turned his wince to a grin, then had to struggle to hold back a laugh as Brad growled—actually growled, like a wild animal instead of a man.

“C’mon, big guy,” Shiloh teased, grabbing Brad’s hand and yanking it free from his scalp, ignoring the painful way several strands of hair separated with it. “I’ll go find us a room. You go clean up, yeah?”

Brad blinked then shoved Shiloh off his lap in his haste to find a bathroom.

Shiloh smirked at his back. He hadn’t expected it to be difficult—seducing his bodyguards never was—but he’d thought it would be harder than that. Victor had lasted two months, and before him, Harry had made it almost four. Brad had only worked with him for one.

The cocaine helped, he supposed.

Shiloh slipped out of the party before Brad could come searching, not bothering to say his goodbyes to anyone else. Nobody there would notice he’d left until it was too late to stop him.

Shiloh dropped into the driver’s seat of his Bugatti and double-checked the backseat for his bag. Then he pulled off the manicured lawn and onto the street, leaving the townhouse behind him. He’d lived in Austin his whole life, except for brief vacations with his father as a child, so it wasn’t hard to find his way to one of the most exclusive clubs in the city.

He didn’t bother finding a parking spot. He grabbed his handbag and left his car on the street, throwing his keys to a man in a red velvet jacket standing on the sidewalk who, he realized as he strolled up the carpet toward the bouncer, had better have been a valet and not a man with poor fashion sense. At least Dad has good insurance.

The bouncer was moving the velvet rope for him before he reached it. “Mr. Beckett,” he rumbled, “always a pleasure.”

Shiloh fluttered his fingers in acknowledgment, paused for a handful of photos for the paparazzi loitering nearby, then sauntered into the club.

He headed straight to the dance floor. There was a VIP lounge on the second floor, but he didn’t come here to drink and schmooze. The strobing lights painted rainbows on his skin as he danced, his arms thrown carelessly into the air, rolling his hips, regardless of rhythm. He was a good dancer—more than good, great—but this wasn’t ballet, and he wasn’t performing. This was his attempt to briefly forget the real world and all the shit that came with it.

Three songs were all he allowed himself—three songs to be careless, three songs to lose himself in the bass and dance for nobody but him. Men groped his hips, ran teasing hands down his chest, even cupped his groin with grabby hands, but he didn’t care. He danced with a single-minded lack of focus.

And when his three songs were up, he dropped back into his body like an automobile crash, peeled himself away from the grabby hands and crossed the dance floor with the ease of practice. He’d been coming here for years before he was legal, and he knew the tricks like the back of his hand—the dip and sway to avoid getting tangled with dancers.

He took the stairs down to the lower bathrooms. The hallway was dimly lit, bodies little more than silhouettes shifting from shadow to shadow. More than one couple was pressed against the wall, their pants lowered to their knees as they copulated.

In these halls, he could be anyone, just another faceless stranger in a crowd. He ducked into one of the bathrooms—no one here cared about gender—and closed himself in a stall.

He stripped out of his couture dress, swapping it for a pair of knock-off jeans so tight that he might as well have not been wearing them and a white lace camisole with a stain near the hem. He replaced his Miu booties with pink All-Stars. Finally, he pulled out a pink wig and held it between his knees to keep it off the floor while he filled the bag with his discarded clothes. He spent a few seconds pulling his real hair up under a skull cap before he tugged on the wig. He couldn’t do much about his handbag. Hopefully people would assume it was a fake.

He stepped out of the stall and spent a few moments at the mirror readjusting the wig and touching up his makeup. He swapped his diamond eyebrow stud for sterling silver then stepped back, eyeing his reflection critically. He looked like himself, but…not. He looked like a knock-off of himself, which was exactly what he wanted.

He plastered on a grin and left the bathroom. The dance floor was even more crowded now. He merged into the sea of bodies, noticing several other wigs just like his. He grinned, enjoying the feel of anonymity as he started dancing again. Unlike earlier, though, this was a performance, every move just slightly off but geared to attract attention. He danced until sweat soaked his skin and thirst burned his throat.

He slid free of his current partner’s grip, ignoring the man’s groan as he headed for the bar. He pressed in tight between two men who were already waiting there, each brush of his body made to look accidental.

“Oops,” he yelled over the music as he bumped the man to his left with his hand. With the gold watch on his wrist, he looked like he could easily afford to buy Shiloh a drink—then an hour of his time as well.

“I’m Shiloh,” he introduced himself as the suited man looked down on him.

“Sure you are, and I’m Hugh Jackman.” The man laughed. It wasn’t cruel, but Shiloh feigned a pout. “What are you drinking, ‘Shiloh’?”

“Do they got an appletini?” Shiloh asked, playing up the wide-eyed, innocent look and poor grammar that a man like this would go for.

“Sure, sweetheart.” The man gestured to the bartender. Seconds later, a martini glass filled with the green cocktail appeared in front of Shiloh, complete with an umbrella.

“What’s your name?” Shiloh asked, stepping closer to be heard over the music, using it as an excuse to brush his hand over the other man’s hips. It was partly a tease, but also a subtle check. No gun or badge, at least not that he felt. He supposed a badge could be in the man’s wallet, but, short of pocketing that, he had no way to check.

Even a whore had to draw the lines somewhere—and he wasn’t a thief.

“Beckham.” The man leaned against the bar but didn’t try to escape Shiloh’s fingers. Shiloh removed them long enough to take a sip of his appletini. It was an indulgence he couldn’t allow himself often if he wanted to keep his figure. Then, he reached out and fiddled with a button on Beckham’s jacket.

“Just get off work?” he asked, peering up through his lashes.

“What gave it away?” Beckham drained the last of what looked like Scotch before abandoning the empty glass on the bar to give Shiloh his full attention.

“The suit. Are you a lawyer? You are, aren’t you?” Shiloh could tell a bespoke suit in one glance, and if Beckham’s didn’t cost at least a grand, he’d wear a pair of sweatpants out in public. Beckham lifted an eyebrow and Shiloh grinned. “I knew it. I knew you were a lawyer. Are you the kind that puts bad guys away? Or the kind that frees poor innocent people from behind bars?”

Beckham laughed. “Neither. I’m the kind who spends seventy hours a week cutting loopholes out of contracts—though I’ve been known to pick up a case or two to free up jail cells for the right price.”

Shiloh scrunched up his nose. “Gross. Well, you must be stressed after spending that many hours reading.” Shiloh shuddered like the thought made him physically ill. “How about we go back to your place and do something more fun? Tell you what… For a sexy man like you, I won’t even charge you full price.”

If the lawyer was surprised Shiloh was a professional, he didn’t show it. He just slid a handful of bills across to the bartender before putting his hand on Shiloh’s lower back, guiding him out of the club. A few paparazzi lifted their cameras as he exited, likely spotting the pink hair, before lowering them with a frown and a shake of their heads. He smothered his smile with a duck of his head, adding an extra sway to his hips for the hell of it.

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About the Author

KD Ellis

KD Ellis is a professional cat wrangler by day, and an author by night. She moved from a small town to an even smaller village to live with her husband and wife and their two children. She loves reading—anything with men loving men. She writes queer romance in between working her two jobs and cuddling her pets—all six of them, which confuses the turtle.

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Safe Harbour by Thom Collins

Book 2 in the Jagged Shores Series

General Release Date: 9th November 2021

Word Count: 58,382
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 229

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Two lovers seek shelter in a storm of jealousy and passion.

Matt arrives in the seaside town of Nyemouth for a much-needed vacation. As a successful lawyer, Matt has a hectic career, and with an ex-husband still pestering him for money, he is long overdue a break. A holiday home perched above the town and its breath-taking harbour seems like the perfect place to unwind. Matt can’t wait to explore the beautiful, jagged shorelines and lose himself for a couple of weeks.

Jake has made a home in Nyemouth. After growing up in the city, living on the coast is everything to him. Running a business with his sister and volunteering on the crew of the local lifeboat, he is exactly where he wants to be. But Jake’s life is far from peaceful. Though he left his domineering husband Vince a year ago, Vince refuses to consent to a divorce or loosen his controlling hold on Jake.

On Matt’s first night in town, he encounters the couple having a blazing row. When Vince turns violent, Matt intervenes and takes Jake inside to escape his angry ex. Despite what happened, Matt feels a powerful attraction to the younger man. Jake is bright, endearing and unbelievably attractive, but the young man’s life is complicated. Matt already has enough problems of his own. He came away looking for an escape, not a starry-eyed distraction. As Matt and Jake get to know each other better, the gamble on a holiday romance becomes hard for either of them to resist. They have both been unlucky in love before. Maybe this time will be different.

Vince will not be shaken off so easily. He has no intention of letting Jake go…ever. As Matt’s and Jake’s emotions deepen, they do not understand how far Vince will take things to keep his husband. As far as Vince is concerned, they made a vow to each other… “till death do us part.”

Reader advisory: This story contains stalking and assault, physical and emotional spousal abuse, attempted murder with a firearm and references to abusive parenting and substance additions.

Excerpt

“Will you be staying long in town?” the shop assistant asked as he ran items through the till.

“Two weeks,” Matt Ramsey replied.

“Really?” The assistant, a pleasant-looking man in his fifties, didn’t look up from what he was doing. “It’s a small place to spend such a long amount of time. Won’t you get bored?”

“I doubt it. I want to use Nyemouth as a base to explore the local area—country walks, coastal trails, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, then you’ll find plenty to keep you busy. There are some stunning locations nearby, both up and down the coast.”

Matt smiled. He’d already done extensive research into this area of Northumberland. He’d visited here a couple of times before, just for the day, and it was a place he’d always wanted to discover further. With two weeks ahead of him and no other commitments, there would never be a better time.

He had finished work at five p.m. promptly and got straight into his car. Despite the Friday evening traffic, he’d made good time on the journey from York to Nyemouth, arriving at the holiday home just before seven-thirty. The old man who lived next door, a friendly guy called Jacob, had greeted him at the door with the keys and given him a quick rundown on the property and what he could find in town. Matt had left home without picking up supplies, and Jacob directed him to the small shop near the marina, less than ten minutes from the house, where he could get all he would need to see him through the next few days. Matt had thanked him and hurried down to the store.

He intended to get a takeaway for dinner tonight, but picked up bread, eggs, bacon, milk and tea bags for breakfast. He also bought three bottles of red wine, a bottle of dark rum and two litres of Diet Coke. It was his intention to eat out as much as possible while he was there, but he wanted to have some alcohol in for the times he came home late, so he could unwind in the comfort of the beautiful house that looked down on the marina and the mouth of the river.

“Have you lived here long?” he asked the cashier as he paid for his shopping.

“All my life,” the man said, sounding proud. “I know I knock the place for being small and there’s not a lot to do here out of season, but I do love it. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

Matt nodded. “Even in the winter, I imagine it’s still a lovely place to be.”

The man gave a good-natured laugh. “Come back in February when there’s a seventy-mile-per-hour gale coming in from the North Sea and see if you feel the same.”

“If the next fortnight goes well, I might just do that.”

“Well, if you do, I’ll be here.” He handed over the two bags of groceries. “Enjoy your stay. Hopefully I’ll see you around.”

Matt thanked him and left the shop.

That evening, it was difficult to imagine the brutal winter conditions the shopkeeper had spoken of. It was coming up to nine o’clock and the clear sky was deepening into shades of lapis and blueberry, marred by just a few wisps of cloud, high in the atmosphere. The perfect sky was mirrored on the still water of the harbour. The fishing fleet was home for the night, the boats lying motionless in their moorings.

There were a lot of people milling around the marina, couples and families enjoying the mild July weather. The bars and restaurants along the waterfront had set tables outside and looked to be doing a good trade. Matt had heard great things about The Lobster Pot, a bar-come-restaurant in the heart of the bay, and intended to treat himself to at least one good meal there during his stay—maybe one night next week when it wasn’t so busy.

He walked across the harbour, passing by the lifeboat station, towards the footpath back up to the house on South Bank Terrace.

Nyemouth’s lifeboat had made worldwide news the past summer when it was involved in the frantic rescue of the actor Arnie Walker and his young son. The publicity afterwards had brought hordes of tourists to the small seaside town. When Matt had been searching for a place in Northumberland to stay for his summer holiday, he’d almost discounted Nyemouth, remembering the scenes of chaos he’d seen on the news less than a year before. He wanted somewhere peaceful as a base for his hiking trips, and the interest Arnie’s rescue had created for the town made it far from ideal.

Matt had done some extra research and, while it was true that Nyemouth was now on the map as a major tourist attraction, the initial ghoulish interest people had taken in it had settled down, although he’d read that Arnie Walker was now a permanent resident here with a home on the north bank of the river. When Matt had discovered a house on the south side was available for the dates he required, those niggling concerns had disappeared.

Now he was here, breathing in the fresh sea air, and he knew he’d made the right choice.

At thirty-nine, Matt had no qualms about going on holiday by himself. He was a free man, able to do what he wanted and pursue his own interests without having to compromise for someone else. Some of his friends and colleagues had tried to talk him out of it and persuade him to join them for his summer break. Matt had no interest in their Spanish villas or their all-inclusive trips to the Caribbean. He’d always wanted to explore Northumberland, and now, divorced and one year short of his fortieth birthday, he intended to do exactly what he pleased.

Those same colleagues were always trying to fix him up with their gay friends. It was four years since he’d split with Clinton, and people seemed determined to pair him off with someone else.

It was all well-meant, but Matt didn’t need it. This was his time to do his own thing, and he intended to enjoy it.

He followed the path upwards, through the cobbled backstreets of the old town. Living in a city, albeit a modest one like York, gave him a greater appreciation of small towns and villages, especially those on the coast. The pace was much calmer here, more peaceful. He knew he was looking through the rose-tinted eyes of a tourist, but tonight he was happy in the belief that life was simpler in a place like this.

A middle-aged couple walking a small terrier smiled at him and nodded as they passed.

“Hey,” he said in return.

After a busy day at court, he looked forward to a quiet night in the holiday home. He would pour a glass of wine, order some food and unpack his stuff while waiting for it to arrive. He was too tired to explore the town this evening. There would be plenty of time for that tomorrow. He intended to get acquainted with Nyemouth this weekend, checking out the shops, pubs and cafés, before exploring the wider area next week.

Matt was a keen walker and hiker. Though the path from the marina to the house was steep, he managed it with the two bags of shopping without getting even mildly out of breath. The path levelled out as he reached South Bank Terrace and the last stretch was straight. The views from up here were second-to-none, taking in the entire valley and the river mouth. Maybe he’d be able to enjoy it with a glass of wine in the front garden before darkness cut in.

There were two men on the path that ran in front of the garden wall. He heard their raised voices as he approached.

“I’ve told you a million times before that the answer is no,” one of the men said. He was dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt—younger and slimmer than the other man. Pretty hot, Matt noticed the guy with long, muscular legs and dark brown hair that swept back from his face in luxurious waves.

“You’re being unreasonable,” the second man said. His voice sounded tight, like he was speaking through gritted teeth. He was stocky and thickset, with closely cropped grey hair and a narrow face. He wore grey suit trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the neck open.

“You’re the one who followed me up here,” the younger man said, sounding like he was close to losing it.

“What was I supposed to do? You won’t answer your damned phone. You don’t respond to my voicemails.”

“Don’t you get it, Vince? I blocked your number. I’ve told you before—I don’t know how many times—but I’ve had enough.”

A lover’s tiff, Matt guessed, though they seemed an unlikely couple. The young guy could do so much better for himself. Not that looks were everything, but he was way out of the older man’s league. Matt gave them a wide berth as he passed, but came close enough to see just how attractive the young man was. He had large, expressive eyes, a long, straight nose and a wide mouth. He looked wholesomely handsome in his running gear, giving off cute Clark Kent vibes.

The other man, he realised, was not as old as he’d first seemed, maybe early-to-mid-thirties. His prematurely grey hair and sharp features created a false impression. Even still, the two men did not look well matched.

“Just come with me,” the older man, Vince, snarled. “Listen to what I have to say.”

“Vince, I’ve heard everything before. There’s nothing you can say now that will make any difference.”

“How do you know if you won’t give me a fucking chance?”

Matt opened the gate and carried his shopping to the front door. He would not get involved. As a lawyer, he spent his entire working life dealing with the relationship problems of other people. These were two grown men. They could sort out their own issues. He put the key in the door.

“Get off me,” the young man snapped.

Matt glanced back to see him pull his arm out of Vince’s grip, and the man immediately lunged for him again. The young man dodged the grip.

“Stop being such a prick,” Vince said, his voice much louder now.

Matt groaned. This had the potential to get out of hand. He’d witnessed this kind of behaviour so many times—not just through work and handling messy divorce proceedings, but at home. Throughout his childhood, his father had been a pig, quick to anger and keen to use his fists. Matt didn’t want to get involved, but he couldn’t ignore this either.

“Is everything okay, fellas?” he asked, turning to face them.

Vince snapped his head around in his direction. “Piss off and mind your own fucking business. Prick.”

Matt ignored him and directed his gaze at the younger guy.

The man forced a smile. “It’s fine. Really.”

Matt nodded, unconvinced, but reluctant to involve himself any further in what was clearly a domestic argument. He carried his bags inside and through to the kitchen. As he put his supplies into the cupboard and the fridge, he could still hear their raised voices.

Vince sounded like the worst type of man—the kind of inadequate dickhead who tried to compensate for his own shortcomings with bullying and aggression. Matt knew the type well, having grown up with one until the age of twelve, when his mother had finally thrown his father’s sorry arse out. And he’d represented so many women and children during divorce and child protection cases who’d been caught up in relationships with controlling men.

Although he wanted to leave them to it, Matt’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to. He went into the living room and watched them through the window, hoping their argument would die down before it got any worse.

The young man had his hands up, warding Vince off to no effect as the little man puffed himself up and tried to get in his face.

“You stupid little prick,” he heard Vince say. “You’re worthless, you know that. Nothing. You were no one when I met you and you’re no one again.”

The skin of the young man’s face and neck was flushed. “If that’s how you feel, why don’t you go? Go on, and leave me alone.”

“I can’t leave you alone,” Vince said, changing tack. “You need me, Jake. You can’t get along without me. You’re useless on your own. You can’t cope.”

The young man, Jake, turned his back and tried to walk away. Vince grabbed his arm again and hauled him around, pulling him close, then wrapped his arms around him, taking him in a bear hug.

“Let go of me,” Jake protested.

“Enough of this shit. We’re going home.” Vince tried to lift him up and carry him.

Jake struggled, twisting out of his grip. Vince raised his hand to strike him.

Matt had seen enough. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on the video camera as he headed for the door. He was filming when he stepped outside, training it on the two men. They might not like it, but he was determined to have a clear record of what happened next in case he had to call the police to deal with them.

As Matt walked down the path, Vince hauled back and struck Jake, his fist connecting with the side of his face, sending the young man sprawling to the ground.

“What the hell?” Jake complained, scrabbling backwards in the dirt, shuffling on his butt to escape his attacker.

“Stop pissing about and get the fuck home,” Vince jeered. “I’ve had enough of this fucking around. Do what I tell you to for once.”

Matt’s own anger mounted. Now that things had turned violent, he couldn’t let it continue. “Pack it in,” he shouted, coming to the end of the garden path.

Vince twisted in his direction. Matt saw the uncontrolled emotions flicker across his face—surprise, confusion, anger, then the aggression was back. He bared his teeth like a feral dog. “I’ve told you once already. Piss off and mind your own business.”

“I was prepared to do just that,” Matt said, keeping his voice calm and even, like a headmaster addressing a petulant teenager. “But when you throw your fists about, I can’t let that go. And, yes, I got that punch you just threw on camera, in case you’re wondering. It’s something I’m sure the police will be interested to see.”

Vince’s focus flickered between Matt and Jake. The bastard was no longer so sure of himself.

“This is a private matter. Nothing to do with you or the cops.” He puffed out his chest as he spoke, trying to assert his manhood.

“Again,” Matt said, amazed by his own composure, “that was the case until you started punching in the street. Now, it’s very much a matter for the police. Why don’t I call them and see what they think about it?”

“You fucking busybody… You should stop twitching your curtains and getting involved in things that have nothing to do with you.”

Matt kept the camera trained on him. “You’re not very bright, are you, Vince? For the third time, you made it my business. Now, are you going to take yourself off down that hill, or do I have to call the police to do it?”

Vince strutted towards the garden gate. “Why don’t you try to make me? Show me if you’re man enough to take me on.” He clenched his fists.

Matt wouldn’t fight him, but there was a good chance Vince would take a swing at him, regardless. “We have different ideas of what makes a man,” he said. “Violence won’t get you anything other than jail time, Vince. Even if Jake there doesn’t want to press charges against you, my testimony and video evidence will be enough to charge you and get you in front of the local magistrates on Monday. Is that the way you want this to go? To spend the weekend in a police cell? Or would you rather leave before you make it any worse?”

Stalemate. They glowered at each other across the fence. Bigger and more menacing men than Vince had tried to intimidate Matt, and he had not backed down. He wasn’t about to cave under the glare of this prize arsehole.

Vince’s face twisted in an ugly expression before he spat at the ground. He stepped away, turning his back on Matt. “Are you coming?” he demanded of Jake, who had risen to his feet and stood brushing the dust off his shorts. Matt noticed a smear of blood on the younger man’s face.

Jake shook his head. “Just go—and leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again.”

Vince loitered, his fists still clenched, his arms trembling.

There’s so much anger simmering under his lid that he looks like he’s about to explode.

“I think the message is clear,” Matt said. “Why don’t you do everyone a favour and leave?”

“Fuck you,” he said at last, his voice low and contemptuous. And as a parting shot to Matt, “Cunt.”

He strutted down the road, his shoulders back, knees wide, trying to look like a big man.

Matt, realising he’d been holding his breath, exhaled.

This was not the quiet evening he’d intended for the first night of his holiday.

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About the Author

Thom Collins

Thom Collins is the author of Closer by Morning, with Pride Publishing. His love of page turning thrillers began at an early age when his mother caught him reading the latest Jackie Collins book and promptly confiscated it, sparking a life-long love of raunchy novels.

Thom has lived in the North East of England his whole life. He grew up in Northumberland and now lives in County Durham with his husband and two cats. He loves all kinds of genre fiction, especially bonkbusters, thrillers, romance and horror. He is also a cookery book addict with far too many titles cluttering his shelves. When not writing he can be found in the kitchen trying out new recipes. He’s a keen traveler but with a fear of flying that gets worse with age, but since taking his first cruise in 2013 he realized that sailing is the way to go.

You can take a look at Thom’s Blog and follow him on Twitter.

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Promising Love by Sara Ohlin

Book 3 in the Rescue Me series

General Release Date: 9th November 2021

Word Count:  73,343
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 279

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

When a glamorous spa owner seduces the grumpy neighborhood bartender, passion smolders…

Ruby Naylor, confident, successful proprietor of Spa La La, has been crushing on Lachlan MacGregory for ages and finally throws herself at the grumpy bartender as he’s helping her tipsy butt home to her apartment above his pub.

Ruby is the only woman Lachlan has ever loved—from afar. When she makes a pass, he finally admits he’s wanted her for a long time. He leaves her that night with three promises—a kiss, a special connection between them and an epic tomorrow.

Unfortunately, when tomorrow arrives and Lachlan is smacked with the knowledge that she’s already in a relationship with two men, he feels he has nothing to offer her.

His day gets worse when his addict father is on his doorstep again, demanding money. The thought that he could end up sick and miserable like his father eats at Lachlan, making him focus on what has never let him down, his successful pub in the burgeoning Corvallis neighborhood.

Learning that Ruby is not taken, Lachlan finally goes all out to win her back. With his heartfelt apology, it’s easy for Ruby to forgive him—she believes in joy, in romance, in happy ever after. What she never expected was how vulnerable Lachlan could make her feel.

Can their love withstand life-shattering events to lead them into a beautiful future?

Reader advisory: This book contains mention of a parent suffering from addiction and some violence.

Excerpt

“Lachlan MacGregory, are you ever going to kiss me?” Ruby whispered. Leaving the key in the lock, she turned so they fit flush together, front to front. What’s a successful, sexy woman supposed to do anyway?

She’d been waiting for an eternity, it seemed, for Lachlan MacGregory to make a move, or accept her move. Okay, so it had only been a year and a half, but everyone knew time could be its own demon or goddess when love was concerned. Either way there was magic involved when sashaying around her feelings for Lachlan. It definitely felt more demon than goddess-inspired to her. Time she’d spent watching him casually date other women, while she herself had occasionally casually dated other men. They’d circled each other. And yet the forces had never aligned in their favor. Either that or neither one of them had been brave enough to step up.

Until now. Now she was going to ask for what she’d dreamed of. “I want you to kiss me.”

Aside from the deep burn in his gorgeous eyes, Lachlan’s face was stone and his entire body was rock-hard. Large and sexy, but most definitely a fortress at the moment. Or most moments, she’d found, during all the months she’d been drooling over him. She almost spun away from the freeze.

Maybe he’s not interested? It didn’t seem so, standing this close to him—even though he held himself like granite, his eyes gave him away. Using that courage, she searched into those golden-brown depths of his. Swirling pools of secrets or desire, or maybe both. They had a mind of their own and she’d caught him many a time sneaking glances her way. There were a few occasions when she’d almost made him laugh, and she’d taken them as wins. Stoic statue of a man. Does he even know how to laugh?

She hadn’t actually ever gotten a laugh from him, but she had gotten a different, more subtle and—in her mind—no less cute reaction. His mouth sometimes quirked up on one side while his left eyebrow did this little curve as if to say, “Give it your best, woman. You can’t break me. But it’s damn amusing to watch.” The man tried so hard not to show emotion, not to ask her out, not to kiss her. So, right this perfect minute when he was walking her upstairs to her apartment above his pub, when neither one of them was dating someone else, when the tango had put them smack-dab together, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands, and words and mouth. That’s what a confident woman does.

Or was it the hot-and-bothered woman in her? Because his body was so supremely close to hers, whisking all rational thought away from her. She’d tried flirting with him, and she’d tried ignoring him. It was time to ask for what she wanted, and hope, hope he felt the same. She leaned against him. He was a wall propping her up by her apartment door. She couldn’t take it one second longer. Pressing closer, she reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders. His hands immediately went to her waist. Oh, the warmth.

“You’re drunk,” Lachlan said. He looked down at his hands on her almost as if he couldn’t believe how they’d gotten there. One twitched and he gripped her, steadying her or himself—she wasn’t sure. But he didn’t pull away. When he began to move his thumb on her waist, searching little circles, exploring the tiniest bit of her, he watched, lost in her. Goody, goody, goody!

Lachlan’s fingers seared a brand on Ruby’s skin and almost took her legs out from under her. Nothing casual about our connection at all. She’d known it. And maybe that gave her the power to push her luck.

“Not drunk.” She pouted and got to see that almost-smile with the eyebrow betraying his attempt to remain stoic. Okay, maybe a teeny bit drunk, which did not dull the fact that she desired him.

“The gin and tonics were flowing to your table tonight, Ruby. And you ladies came in tipsy. I know Ellie wasn’t drinking them.”

This time there was no subtle eyebrow-lift, but both eyes—sparkly brown orbs that seemed to have a novel written in them, and boy she longed to read that story—lifted, his tone and his expression reprimanding. His voice was deeper. Perhaps because his eyes were both serious and searching, that reprimand went straight to her core. I wonder if he’d reprimand me in the bedroom?

She smiled, a full-on smile, because she, Ruby Naylor, had no problems showing her emotions, and leaned into his powerful muscles. “No, it wasn’t Ellie, although the ginger seltzer concoctions you made specially for her with the cute umbrella-cherry garnish were a huge hit and calmed her stomach. You thoughtful, thoughtful man.” Ruby gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. My God, the man even has sexy shoulders, powerful, firm. She’d love to get her hands all over him, massage all his muscles, investigate each and every one.

“Besides, I’m tipsy from talking about love, dear man. I only had a few of your spectacular drinks. Ellie sipped her ginger drink while swooning over her life with Jackson and the new baby coming, and Natalie drinks like a sailor. But I’m not asking you to kiss Ellie or Nat, Lachlan MacGregory. I’m asking you to kiss me. Don’t you like me? It’s hard to tell some days,” Ruby purred. She was not above using all the tactics in her arsenal to seduce him. The man was a vault and she aimed to crash through, so he’d never know what hit him. Watching and waiting on the sidelines had gotten her nowhere, except a lot of great dreams. Now, Ruby sought the reality.

He’d offered to help her drunk butt upstairs, and even though she could have made it to her apartment above his bar perfectly fine, she wasn’t stupid. And whoosh, did it feel good to be so close to him. Finally. She was tipsy. Tipsy on Lachlan contact. It was a real thing, she could say, now that he was touching her.

His one hand clenched and unclenched at her side, then he slid it around to her back bringing them into a nice snug fit. What is happening? Maybe I am dreaming? His other one braced against the door behind her, almost as if he needed to balance himself, to hold on. And, holy smokes, he was looking at her now. Looking was too calm a word. His eyes had woken from their stoic slumber and were piercing and hot. And to have Lachlan MacGregory holding her, finally giving her the full direct force of his gaze? Oh, she could melt into a puddle. It was all too powerful.

“I like you.” His voice was deep and quiet, with a sharpened edge to it.

“I like you, too.” She watched those eyes of his, a page flipped over, or perhaps opened to her. “I’ve liked you for so long.” He blinked. But he didn’t focus on her eyes—he concentrated on her lips. A battle waged in his expression. To stay through the storm or run away to safety…which would he choose?

“Please,” she whispered. Please don’t run.

He tightened his grip on her, his fingers molding her through her jeans. “When I kiss you, I want you to remember it in the morning,” he rasped out. He was standing up taller now, all traces of casual disappeared into the night. He was intent.

Yay! He does want to kiss me! Ruby almost jumped up and down in cheers, but she settled for putting her hand on his cheek, unprepared for the sigh that wove through his body at her touch, how it sang through her nerves, but also gave her joy and strength. “I promise, Lachlan. I’ll remember. Will you?”

“Yes, beautiful, I’ll remember,” Lachlan said. He lifted her gently against the door and ghosted his lips over hers, sending shivers through her as he moved those amazing lips of his over her cheek and down her neck. Ruby’s head fell against the door, while the rest of her body tried so hard to stay molded to his. He stopped right beneath her ear. “I’ll remember how soft your skin is right here.”

Oh, my! It was a good thing that he held her up or she might have blown away from lack of oxygen. The man hadn’t even kissed her yet, and he’d stolen the breath from within her. And she could shoot herself for wearing a coat and her blouse tucked in when she craved the man’s hands all over her bare skin, not just the tiny patch where he’d snaked his fingers underneath the fabric to reach her waist. Although it might cause her to combust. She welcomed that combustion.

“I’ll remember how you smell, that fucking sexy, musky perfume you command.”

Huh. I was wrong, I am drunk. The man has skills. Command? Does he realize he’s going to brand me with his words?

Keeping her close, Lachlan took one hand away to unlock her door and walked her through the opening. Ruby had had no idea such intense concentration could be so fucking sexy. Lachlan’s heady gaze on hers, while walking them to her kitchen island, without a sound, added to the feeling that she was floating. A whimper escaped her mouth and she gripped his arms to hold on. This was not the time to close her eyes—this was her chance, warm in his embrace, to see his beauty up close. A man on a mission. And his mission was her. No distractions allowed. The power of that type of gaze mixed with his words went right to her head and her heart and other parts of her body. All those other parts that wanted his skin, his lips on her.

“The way you feel in my arms, Christ, Ruby, you have no idea.”

I do! I so do. I feel it too.

Now he’d kiss her. Yes, please! Lachlan lifted her onto her counter and, keeping his hands braced on her hips, held himself at the tiniest bit of distance. She had been waiting for forever for this. She’d beg. I wonder what other talents he keeps close to his belt? She reached to pull him closer.

“Ruby.” He’d nearly lost his voice, raw, edgy need feeding out of him with one word. My name. Jesus, he was going to undo her.

“Promise?” he asked. No, he was going to break her heart open with one request. If she was this turned on and whimpering with the touch of his lips soft on her neck, whispering gorgeous words to her, his kiss would probably brand her. Stake your claim, Lachlan. I’m here waiting for you.

She nodded. “I won’t forget. I promise, Lachlan.”

He gave it to her then, not the kiss she was desperate for, but the smile, his true smile. It changed his face from broody stone to brilliant, handsome man one hundred percent zeroed in on her. His eyes caught the fire and a shade lifted from those dark mysteries, like he’d been searching for light and he’d discovered it in her, finally. Holy cow!

And he strode from her apartment with one final announcement. “Goodnight then.”

What? Wait! What the heck is happening? “Goodnight?” She slid down from the counter and tried to anchor her feet on the floor because her legs were wobbly noodles and her heart was trying to beat out of her chest. Lust raced through her blood and she gripped the countertop for support.

He paused in the doorway, his hands on the frame, facing away from her, gathering himself.

No! Don’t gather your wits—come here. Throw your wits out of the window with mine.

And when he faced her, he blew her world into a million pieces of stardust. “I’m going to kiss you all night, kiss you into the morning, make you remember every single caress I place on your skin because I’ve imagined kissing you since the day you filled out the lease and teased me about lacking any sort of smile. When I nearly fell over at your beauty, the shimmer in your gorgeous eyes, that glow you spread out to everyone in your path. You have no idea.” Lachlan shook his head, lost in his thoughts. Or a memory? “I’ve wanted to kiss you since…since you altered my world.”

“Lachlan,” she whispered and took a shaky step toward him. Her body pulled her to his. They were connected now and the path to him was the only one for her. It was the feeling she’d had when she first met him too, and it had only grown stronger over the months. His words validated her romantic heart that existed in a world with so many people who didn’t believe, who walked their gray path and were fine with mediocrity.

He held up his hand to stop her. “Now that I know we’re here in the same space.” He made a circle in the air with his hands. “Now that I get to taste you, there’s no way I’m going to rush it. I’m going to savor every damn second.”

The man knew how to seduce, wielding anticipation like a gift, not a weapon. But she enjoyed rushing too. She loved rushing. Rush me into bed with your kisses now, you wonderful man, you!

“See you tomorrow,” he said. Then the handsome, frustrating-as-hell man smiled and strode out, closing the door behind him.

Lost in the laser hit of that smile for a minute, Ruby swayed on her feet as if she were truly drunk. Then his words filtered through her loopy state, wove themselves into her heart and set her on fire. “Oh, my beautiful goodness!”

Well, she hadn’t gotten a kiss. Any other man, any other spectacular moment and she might be pouting. Instead, her world had been spun in gold. She gently pressed her fingertips to her heart to feel the flip-flops it was doing. Drop-dead gorgeous, kind, sexy Lachlan MacGregory had zapped lightning through her with merely the promise of a kiss. Yet so much more than a kiss—he had noticed her. He did want her. Ruby held tight to the special moment, closed her eyes and cherished the luminous glow bursting in her dreams, in her heart at the promise tomorrow would bring.

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About the Author

Sara Ohlin

Sara Ohlin has lived all over the United States, but her heart keeps getting pulled back to the Pacific Northwest where it belongs. For years she has been writing creative non-fiction and memoir and feels that writing helps her make sense of this crazy world. She devours books and can often be found shushing her two hilarious kids so that she can finish reading. When she isn’t reading or writing, she’ll most likely be in the kitchen cooking up something scrumptious, a French macaron, shrimp scampi, a fun date-night-in dinner with her sexy husband, or perhaps her next love story.

You can follow Sara on Instagram and Pinterest and check out her website here.

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Under Pressure By Zoe Normandie

General Release Date: 2nd Nov 2021

Word Count: 70,284
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 284

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MEN IN UNIFORM

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Book Description

He stole her heart then left without a goodbye. A year later and he’s back, telling her she needs protection—but the only protection she wants is from him.

The pre-deployment fling Navy SEAL Matteo ‘Delta’ Valente couldn’t forget has tortured him for his entire tour. A year later, Delta thought he was over it. Finally, he gets home, but runs into Kendra Larose again. It has been so long—but not long enough. With one look, she stirs something inside him that he’d tried to lock up after all those nights thinking of her, sleeping in dirt with nothing but his helmet for a pillow.

The problem he quickly realizes is that she’s in real danger. Delta’s instincts prove too powerful to override.

Kendra isn’t so convinced. Delta has just shown up, out of nowhere, with big claims that she’s in danger and needs protection? Kendra wants to see the hard evidence. She’s hated him ever since he didn’t call. She’d fallen hard, and he’d broken her heart with no apparent remorse.

A forensic specialist working for LAPD, Kendra has blood samples to run in the lab to get to the bottom of her latest case. The thing that becomes apparent is that her case intersects a little too neatly with Delta. She can’t quite figure out whose side he is on, why he’s back in her life and whether she can trust him or not. So, she keeps one big secret close to her chest.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, sexual harrassment and assault.

Excerpt

Matteo ‘Delta’ Valente ran out of his Californian bungalow a little too damn early in the morning. Hell, he’d only been home for a few hours. After jamming his aching arm through his hunter green utility shirt, he buttoned it, trying to multi-task as he unlocked the dark truck which awaited him in his driveway. He was running behind—again.

For fuck’s sake.

Damn, sleeping a couple of hours a night is bound to catch up with me sooner rather than later. He grumbled as he slipped on his dark sunglasses to protect his hurting eyes from the blistering sun. Even in January, the sun was still beating down on him stronger than a direct RPG blast. Or maybe it just seemed that way because he was so damn drained.

“Matteo!” An elderly lady’s voice called out quietly from behind him, her Italian accent pouring through.

He whipped around, checking to make sure she was okay. The tiny old Italian lady stood at the edge of her bungalow’s stoop, a worried look in her eye. Using his hand to flatten back his chaotic dark blond hair, he regrettably realized another thing. He was way past due for a shave.

“Mrs. Romano.” Delta attempted a polite smile at his neighbor, hoping she wouldn’t notice the gashes on his knuckles from the previous night.

Mrs. Romano fretted, wringing her yellow dotted handkerchief as she batted her eyelashes up at him. He gritted his teeth under her gaze, willfully rejecting any concern she had—or judgment.

“Lovely morning, Matteo.” Her voice fluttered, darting her eyes down her empty driveway to the street.

Every other neighbor on the street had bins out. It was garbage day. Immediately, Delta realized that she needed help—but she didn’t want to ask.

“Want me to take your bins to the street, Mrs. Romano?” He shot that same, self-assured smile, like he was the most relaxed man in the world. It was a mask he was used to wearing.

A wide, relieved smile crossed her lips. “Yes, son. Please.”

Wasting no time, Delta moved around to the back of her home and shuffled out her garbage and recycling bins. It was the least he could do to try to keep up the ruse. He wasn’t an idiot. People had been looking at him funny since he’d rotated back from Syria again, three weeks before. Maybe it was the bruises that didn’t seem to heal or the fact that he always looked like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet the night before. Whatever it was, home had stopped feeling like home. He didn’t belong there anymore.

As he finished, Mrs. Romano waited at the top of her bungalow stoop with a homemade pistachio biscotti for him. Her kind eyes and compassionate spirit reminded him of his late mother’s—the last memories he had.

“Thanks,” Delta grunted as he took the baked good from Mrs. Romano.

His stomach was rumbling from the lack of sustenance. He was used to pushing his body to extremes, neglecting his own needs for the sake of his platoon, but things were going too far now.

“You’re a good man, Matteo…a very good man.” Mrs. Romano’s voice cut into his thoughts, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “When are you going to find a Mrs. Valente?”

Delta let out a loud, sarcastic laugh, sloughing off the question. Shrugging, he coyly took a bite of the biscotti and moved toward his truck, waving goodbye. All she saw was his façade, like everyone else. If she only knew.

Mrs. Romano’s gaze didn’t relent as he leaped into the cab. He was in a rush—but it wasn’t just because of where he had to be. It was because of what he needed to get away from. He was damn sure that Mrs. Romano wouldn’t think so much of him if she knew what lingered underneath the surface.

I’m not a good guy. Not even close.

Slamming the gears of his truck into reverse, he pulled out of the driveway of his place, saluting Mrs. Romano on his way out. The fun and games were over. Now, he really had to focus. He was on a mission that morning—and things could get ugly.

Barreling down Oceanside Drive, Delta flipped on the radio—local LA news—and listened to the newscasters talking about a body discovered in South Central in one of the roughest blocks. It had been on the news all morning—tragedy porn for LA’ers. Delta listened for any pertinent intel as he set his GPS for the crime scene. He had questions that needed answers.

Gripping the steering wheel, Delta rolled his shirt sleeves up to let a little heat off, revealing his winding tattoos. It was far too hot for long sleeves, even by LA standards. They were in the middle of a bizarre mid-winter heat wave. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to cover up. There were things he didn’t want anyone to see—like the fresh laceration on his arm that was only going to add another scar.

As he stopped his truck at a red light, he pulled off his sunglasses and absently traced his fingers over the long scar that ran from his cheekbone up to his temple and eyebrow. A little less than two years old, it was a reminder that he should have died in the Syrian mountains. Hell, he should have died in a lot of operations, but undeniably that one.

Now, he was on borrowed time. He could feel it. He was never wrong about those things. He was playing with fire and some sort of fucked up luck that was about to run out.

The light turned green, and he hit the gas hard, not wanting to think about how he was spending that second chance at life. It sure as hell would make a priest cry. His mother had always said that he didn’t need to be led into temptation because he already knew the way.

The drive from his bungalow up into South Central wasn’t fast, but he drove aggressively. He knew how to scare the piss out of LA’s richest, stalling out the fast lane in their luxury cars.

Revving his truck and nearly eating up some dinky coupe in front of him, he peeled off the highway. Rounding the streets in the impoverished neighborhood, he transitioned into a different type of vigilant and cautious. Those streets bled a type of desperation that he’d only seen in war.

Delta drove up to the vicinity of the taped-off scene and chose to park well off in the distance to keep a low profile. Before jumping out of his truck, he popped a black baseball hat on, pulling the brim down low for as much anonymity as possible. He adjusted his long sleeves across his muscled forearms so his unpolished appearance would help him not to stand out too much. He looked like any hungover blue-collar laborer who spent too much time at the gym. Then again, that pretty much described any SEAL.

He walked up to the periphery of a building that police were investigating—an abandoned commercial warehouse. Delta guessed that whoever owned the aging building had been hit hard in the economic crash, so they’d left it to rot. From the insecure doors and broken windows, he would bet that criminals and drifters had been trespassing for a long time.

Delta gripped the police tape surrounding the epicenter and glanced around to see if the cops off to the side had noticed him. They had their backs turned, just for a moment, so he took his chance. As he slipped past, he slunk around the building into the shadows, and he observed. He paused in an enclave, watching cops come and go from the building, listening to the broken conversations of the investigators.

In all his years in the special forces, he’d become skilled at going unseen when he needed to. He could be a goddamn ninja. A lot of it just had to do with confidence—and looking like he belonged. That had turned out to be damn useful the previous few weeks. He’d been on leave from work, but it hadn’t been a fucking vacation. He’d been working on something else—something serious. And, in true Delta fashion, he’d been going it alone.

Crouching low and moving slow, Delta approached a broken window near the back of the building. He checked inside, seeing the room was empty. A ton of blood was splashed across the concrete floor, but there was no body in sight. Fuck. Had the cops already moved the corpse out? He reached into his pocket, readying his cell phone to snap pictures of anything that could aid him. Delta scanned the room for pertinent info. The graying building interior had the feel of an unrealized horror film, and a chill ran up his back as he wondered what the fuck had happened there.

Voices echoed from the front hall of the building, and Delta ducked down outside the window. He could hear the voice of someone entering the room, calling back details of the scene to the front of the building. His first instinct hadn’t been wrong. The victim had been using. And, unfortunately, his second instinct had been right too. She was there.

His body stiffened and his skin prickled, awareness flushing over him. He’d never forget her voice, even though he hadn’t heard it for a while. He’d bumped into her at Carrick’s wedding, just weeks after they’d hooked up, but that hardly counted.  Had it already been a year? Hearty, feminine, sincere—every word she said danced out of her mouth. As he tried to regain focus, he slowly looked up and into the open window, enough to fully take in her candid, clever words. Her voice alone ran a wave of sensation up his spine that surprised him, after all that time. But it was nothing in comparison to when he finally laid eyes on her.

Sergeant Kendra Larose’s natural blonde hair bobbed into view. Delta adjusted his position, getting eyes on the interior of the crime scene and a better view of her—a woman he hadn’t seen since he’d deployed, spending the year fighting enemies with half the resolve that she had. A woman who had grown to hate him—and rightfully so.

I can’t let her see me.

After she tucked a stray lock behind her ear, Kendra was focused on the warehouse floor. Delta’s cock twitched as he watched her shift on her feet, her hips swaying. Blood pumped through his shaft as he drank in her body—a form that drew him to arousal so quickly, without fail. Never had he met such a natural beauty as her. Some guys might find her ordinary or plain, but he found her simply intoxicating. There was always just something about her—something that really got to him.

Even at a distance, he admired the machinations of her clever mind. She was looking down at a cluster of blood where a body once had lain, her lips and nose twitching that certain way that showed when she was really deep in thought. She was on to something. How much did she already know? Delta tried to see what she was seeing. He flexed his jaw, wondering if maybe it wasn’t fate that they’d met again. On his own, tracing the source of the drugs had proven to be an impossible task.

And just as a familiar man’s voice echoed through the space, Delta realized he was biting the side of his cheek, breathing heavier than usual and gripping the edge of the window like he was going to snap.

“This city is falling to pieces.” The man scoffed, coming into view.

Delta recognized him immediately as Staff Sergeant Hunter Greenwood. Delta had met the guy a year ago, around the same time that he had met Kendra. The Navy had put on a one-week training course for partners in law enforcement, extending the invite to LAPD. At the time, Delta had shown Kendra the ropes—training her how to safely rappel, while realizing that he needed to train her on protecting herself from creeps. Something about the way that Hunter looked at Kendra…

“He’s another military vet.” Kendra shook her head and furiously scribbled in her notebook. “They’ve already identified him.”

Prickles ran up the back of Delta’s neck as he watched Hunter stalk Kendra in the middle of the crime scene. Everything in Delta’s body screamed for violence as Hunter licked his bottom lip, carefully examining her. The scowl on his face deepened as she furthered her point.

“What do you bet his blood has traces of doxycycline?” Kendra turned to her boss.

“Come on.” He shook his head dismissively, straightening his jacket. “It’s a common antibiotic. Stop.”

“This is real, Hunter. We’ve seen traces of it in the other two bodies.” Kendra glared at her staff sergeant, standing her ground. “There’s a pattern here. Are they being targeted?”

“For what purpose?” he asked, an underlying threat in his voice.

“I don’t know yet.”

Hunter stilled, clearly judging her. The man looked damn tired, like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

“Let’s not start jumping to conclusions,” Hunter snapped back, his eye twitching. “Anything is possible, Kendra. Let’s check with the gangs first.”

“Hunter, please. The first two have been soldiers, not gangbangers,” Kendra replied slowly, flipping through her notes. “But why? Who’s after them—?”

A flash of rage visibly taking over, he cut her off. “We don’t have any reason to believe there are links between cases. This is LA. Murders happen all the time.”

“But there must be a connection.” Kendra glanced between her notebook, the blood splatter and Hunter, apparently confused by his messaging. “It’s this doxycycline. Isn’t it known to be used by the military as an antimalaria drug?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” Hunter strode toward her, his face darkening.

“Yes, but doxycycline—”

“You don’t get it.”

“They were soldiers—” Kendra countered again but halted as Hunter’s hand whipped up into the air, matched by a growl escaping his lips.

For a split second, Delta’s protective instinct thrust him forward, ready to fuck the guy up. But Hunter had recovered, using his raised hand to smooth back his hair.

“Fuck,” Hunter grumbled, shaking as he regained control.

Delta stiffened, his eyes wide open. What the fuck is he going to do with that hand? Kendra stumbled back in surprise, audibly sucking in breath. But before Delta could jump to her side, the enraged staff sergeant spun and marched toward the front of the building. Whatever he was up to, Delta saw a man who was losing control—a man who posed a threat. He was a ticking time-bomb. Didn’t she realize it?

Stunned, Kendra stood there alone, tightly clutching her notebook. She bit her lip, trembling, as if trying to get back to work. Delta sat back, confused as fuck at what he’d just witnessed. Delta knew right then and there that he had little choice. Things had just gotten more complicated.

I have to protect her.

Pulling out black gloves from his pocket, he slipped them on, preparing to leave no trace of what he was about to do. The scene before him had validated everything he’d seen since he’d been back from deployment. The body count was climbing.

Moving around the building a little farther, he gained entry to the interior. As he stalked through the shadows, making note of everything he saw, he was careful not to disturb anything, not even caked-on grime from years of abandonment. In stealth-mode, he slid out of the hallway into the darkest corner of the large room, not too far from Kendra. For a split second, he found himself just staring at her, drinking her in—the way she poured over her notebook then sharply analyzed the room before her. He had no doubt that her cunning mind was finding every anomalous detail.

And, yet again, he was proven right.

“And why are you here?” Kendra’s exasperated tone echoed over to where he stood, though she didn’t flinch or glance up from scribbling in her notebook.

Delta sucked in his breath, wondering if she meant…

“Yes, you.” She turned her chin slightly and shot a warning into the darkness, seeming to slice into his core. “Do you think I’m daft?”

Releasing the air in his lungs, he stepped forward—confident and relaxed, offering her a sly look as he crossed his arms. His charming ruse was too goddamn easy for him to make people see his way.

“Sergeant.” Delta shrugged. He narrowed his focus on her, giving her that grin that women loved. “Here we are, crossing paths again.”

“Crossing paths?” She balked.

“That’s right.” He kept his gaze intense, his body squared.

Turning away, she scoffed, “You’re acting like we’ve stumbled across each other at the grocery store.”

She shook her head in deep discontent, seemingly impervious to his charm. A chill ran up the back of his neck, her rejection biting. He hated it—but deserved it. Still, he stood there, watching.

“I’m too busy for this right now.” She spun, crossing her arms tightly, as if shielding herself. Her body language screamed of a woman who would not be fooled again.

“Too busy for me?” Delta pushed.

“I’ll go back to my original question.” She raised her eyebrows accusingly. “Why are you here? This is a secure crime scene, so you don’t belong here. I don’t care what security clearances you say you have.”

All the air got sucked out of the room, and he found himself momentarily searching for a response. Her bright, intelligent eyes left no stone unturned and demanded answers. She anxiously chewed her lip, giving him a rare glimpse of her girlish vulnerability—the type of vulnerability that made him voracious.

“We have a mutual purpose.” Delta let his face become stone cold serious, imparting the intensity he felt.

“Which would be?” she asked.

“Keeping you safe.”

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About the Author

Zoe Normandie

I’m a mom with three sweet young daughters. I have three jobs – mom, author, and analyst. Years ago, I grew up in a military family, went to a military university, worked alongside the military as an intel analyst, and my husband is (surprise!) a veteran. I’ve tried to write for anyone who wants to feel what it’s like to be with someone from that world – with all the good and the bad.

My heroes are grounded in reality, and are inspired by guys I know in the special forces. Guys who’ve been in combat, tasted war, and fought for what they believed in. They are really heroes, but raw and rough and broken in their own ways.

My heroines similarly come from the best parts of the women I know, and the challenges we all face. The relationships that they fall into have familiar characteristics for many, myself included. These heroines represent all of us, with our good and our bad laid bare.

In my stories, I illustrate, romanticize, and celebrate the harsh realities of duty, service, and sacrifice.

You can find Zoe on Facebook and Twitter.

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