HOT MESS
coming September 22nd
Hot summer rain. That was the scent that drew me. The soulful amber-green eyes that begged to be loved kept me. One look and I knew I wanted Lany Harris to be mine. Convincing him of my good intentions might prove to be harder than trying to convince my superiors that someone was out to get us.
Hot summer rain. That was the scent that drew me. The soulful amber-green eyes that begged to be loved kept me. One look and I knew I wanted Lany Harris to be mine. Convincing him of my good intentions might prove to be harder than trying to convince my superiors that someone was out to get us.
I was obviously insane.
Cinnamon and whiskey had a delicious scent and it was S.W.A.T.
commander, Lt. Salvador Delvecchio. I wanted to roll in that scent, sink into
it, and never come out. I wanted to be consumed by everything that was the
lethal man who had rescued me and decided I belonged to him.
I was a hot mess.
STORY EXCERPT
There are times in life when clarity suddenly hits a
person and one realizes that life is one fucked up mess after another. As I sat
on the floor of some dive bar I had forgotten the name of, cradling my aching
cheek in my hand, I realized this was just another dramatic moment in a long
line of dramatic moments which seemed to plague me whether I wanted them to or
not.
I was cursed. There was no other way around it. Either
fate really hated my ass or I had done something horrific in every past life I
had ever lived—if I believed in past lives, and I didn't—but still, how in the
hell did this keep happening to me?
I didn't go looking for trouble. I never did. It just
kind of happened to me. A simple trip to the grocery store turned into a
hostage situation and then a shootout with thugs. Buying a new pair of shoes
ended in using said shoes to run for my life when I witnessed an assault, and
tried to stop it. But, hey, what was I supposed to do? Let the poor girl get
kidnapped?
My last episode came from stopping in at a bar I was
passing when I took a different route home from work. The front door had been
propped open and the music from inside had poured out onto the streets, drawing
patrons inside. The voices and laughter had drawn me more than the need for
alcohol, and all I had wanted to do was soak in the atmosphere for a little
while, a few minutes at the very least.
But no...my desire to sit on the fringes of other
people's happy lives led to some guy taking offense when I stared at the
beautiful blond on his arm too long. If only he knew. Her breasts were big and
perky—which was what had me staring in the first place because they defied
gravity and I couldn't understand how.
Sexually, they did nothing for me.
If the guy hadn't been such a jerk, he might have
gained my interest. When he had his two friends corner me in the bathroom
before smacking me around, whatever interest I might have had in the
well-dressed man shot away faster than the fist to my face. All thoughts of
flirting with the guy evaporated with the first punch.
Okay, I wouldn't have flirted, but it was nice to think
I might have. The guy had clearly been with the blond, and I didn't poach. I
didn't do straight guys either. Which made flirting a useless action. My father
hated useless actions. So, flirting with straight guys was out.
Well, I tried not to anyway. There was that one time
and I honestly thought he was gay. It wasn't until I was running down the
street pulling my shirt back on with Brian and his best friend chasing after me
that I realized he was most decidedly not gay. In fact, he seemed a tad
homophobic.
I didn't stick around to find out if I was wrong.
This time, I had not tried to get friendly with the
pretty straight man. I hadn't tried to get friendly with anyone. I hadn't even
talked to anyone except the bartender when I ordered my beer. I was just
swinging around on my stool, people watching.
I like people watching. There were so many interesting
people in the world and I liked watching them. And no, I wasn't a creepy
stalker dude. I didn't follow people. Usually. I just sat and
watched...fantasizing.
Everyone from my mother to my therapist said I needed
to go get a life instead of fantasizing I had one. I didn't get it. I had a
life. It just wasn't a very exciting life. For the most part, anyway. Times
like this made me wonder.
I winced when one of the men reached for me, jerking me
to my feet. It wasn't so much the pain that bothered me—although that kind of
sucked—but more the knowledge that my pain was just beginning. I could see it
in the gleeful twinkle in the guy's eyes. He was enjoying himself.
When he pulled back his fist, I raised my arms up in
front of my face trying to protect it. I knew he would probably use that
opportunity to punch me in the stomach, but I still had my glasses on and those
things weren't cheap, especially not as often as I went through them.
My ophthalmologist knew me by first name.
I hated the fact that I could see through the small
slit between my forearms. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I didn't see
the fist coming at me.
They wouldn't close.
Terror stole my scream, as did the beefy hand wrapped
around my throat. I was well versed in the excitement some people seemed to
have when they were about to beat the shit out of someone else. I had seen it
often enough. I could see it in the man's eyes.
I was gonna die.
"Is there a problem in here?"
My world stopped.
I rolled my head toward the door, following the deep
timber of the voice that had spoken to a mountain of hard, bulging muscles. My
eyes widened at the absolute power before me. The hard body stretching the
seams of the guy's black tank top quickened my pulse. Despite the fear coursing
through my body, I felt my cock harden in response to the sheer masculine
beauty before me.
And he knew it.
One lone eyebrow rose, a peculiar smirk lifting the
corner of the rugged man's face.
There were a great many things I was good at. Picking
out the perfect china pattern to match a newly designed gourmet kitchen.
Organizing a squad room full of testosterone driven police officers. Even
duking it out over the phone with some schmuck who thought he'd get lippy with
me because I was only an office assistant.
Hiding my response from this man was not one of those
things.
The air hummed with tension, a hint of violence thrown
in for good measure. I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen.
Terrified that the man who filled my every fantasy in one glance would join in
on the beating that was sure to end my life, or hurt really bad at the very
least.
"Come to me, caro."
Oh. My. God.
