Cold Hard Secret (Secret McQueen) (35 page)

We watched the standstill traffic as we sped by in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t until we approached the Lincoln Tunnel entrance that I realized what seemed so strange. The sky was brightly lit, but every single light was out. Going through the tunnel was an eerie and downright frightening experience with no lights to guide us except the headlights on the car.

When we emerged into the city proper, I slammed on the brakes, sending us all lurching forward.

An abandoned police barricade blocked the road.

The city streets were completely dark. It reminded me of the blackout from several years before.

Sirens wailed, and more headlights moved towards the exit, but none of the buildings or streetlamps were lit.

I opened my car door.

“Secret, no,” Eugenia pleaded.

The familiar smell of smoke tickled my nose, and I looked up. If the lights were out, why was the sky so bright?

Desmond got out of the passenger door, his nostrils flaring as he got a whiff of the smell.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

I saw the flicker of orange glimmering off the side of a skyscraper, waving like the arms of a madman.

New York City was burning.

About the Author

Sierra Dean is a reformed historian. She was born and raised in the Canadian prairies and is allowed annual exit visas in order to continue her quest of steadily conquering the world one city at a time. Making the best of the cold Canadian winters, Sierra indulges in her less global interests: drinking too much tea and writing urban fantasy.

Ever since she was a young girl she has loved the idea of the supernatural coexisting with the mundane. As an adult, however, the idea evolved from the notion of fairies in flower beds, to imagining that the rugged-looking guy at the garage might secretly be a werewolf. She has used her overactive imagination to create her own version of the world, where vampire, werewolves, fairies, gods and monsters all walk among us, and she’ll continue to travel as much as possible until she finds it for real.

Sierra can be reached all over the place, as she’s a little addicted to social networking. Find her on:

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/sierradeanbooks

Website:
www.sierradean.com

E-mail:
[email protected]

Twitter:
www.twitter.com/sierradean

Look for these titles by Sierra Dean

Now Available:

Chasing Kings

Secret McQueen

Something Secret This Way Comes

The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters

A Bloody Good Secret

Secret Santa

Deep Dark Secret

Keeping Secret

Grave Secret

Secret Unleashed

Boys of Summer

Pitch Perfect

Perfect Catch

Coming Soon:

Secret McQueen

A Secret to Die For

Is their love a home run, or merely a pop fly?

Perfect Catch

© 2014 Sierra Dean

Boys of Summer, Book 2

Minor league umpire Alice Darling loves everything about baseball. That means hunky ball players are strictly off limits—dating one would be professional suicide. With a young daughter and a brother to care for, she can’t afford to slip up.

Truth is, as a young, stupid, nineteen-year-old townie, she did once date a player. That’s how she wound up with her precious, nine-year-old daughter…and a determination to never make that mistake again. Alex Ross’s arrival in Florida for spring training, though, shakes her resolve in a big way.

Alex, a catcher for the Major League’s San Francisco Felons, has never let much get in the way of his game. One look at Alice changes everything, and he finds himself pursuing her with a single-minded purpose that plays hell with his concentration.

Booted back to the minors, he returns to Florida with his tail between his legs to work on his swing…and heat things up with Alice. But when rumors of their affair hit the sports blogosphere, Alice’s career is put in jeopardy, and their love starts to look more like a strikeout than a home run.

Warning:
When a catcher struggling with his swing meets a stubborn single-mom umpire, his bat won’t be the only thing that heats up. Contains car sex, bed sex, sex sex, and a little angst for good measure.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Perfect Catch:

She was like a guardian angel.

A guardian angel who had been poured into some dangerously tight Levi’s and was now bent over his trunk, rummaging around to get the spare out. When she emerged triumphant, her cheeks were rosy from the dig and the cool night air. Her breath puffed out in a white cloud when she laughed.

“For a new car, you’ve sure managed to fit a lot of crap in the trunk already.”

“I like to be prepared. Six weeks is a long time to go without something.” He took the jack from her as she fought with the tire. When he realized she intended to wrestle it out herself, he put the jack on the ground and came to her aid, placing one hand on her back so she wouldn’t be surprised by his sudden arrival.

The heat of her skin was sensational. He hadn’t realized how cold his fingers were until he touched her. She, too, was taken aback by the chill of his hand, because the moment he grazed the exposed section of flesh above the waistband of her jeans, she jumped.

“Sorry. Colder than I thought, I guess.”

In her brief alarm she had dropped the tire and stood back from him, looking ruffled. “It’s okay.”

He pulled out the tire for her, kicking himself for letting her try it on her own. It wasn’t that he thought she was incapable—the woman clearly knew her way around a car—but it wasn’t too chivalrous of him to make her carry a fucking tire all by herself.

He could hear Jane, his eldest sister, saying, “What kind of gentleman does something like that, Alex?” His sisters often functioned as the angels on his shoulder, reminding him of how a woman ought to be treated.

His notions might be on the old-fashioned side, but he liked to believe even the most forward-thinking woman would want to be treated like a lady.

Alex leaned the tire against the car and recovered the jack he’d set down earlier. Alice shucked off her lightweight jacket and draped it over the edge of the trunk before locating the tire iron. She set to work loosening the nuts that held on the hubcap. When she let out a small grunt of exertion, he piped in, “Can I help?”

She gave him an amused look through the curtain of her white-blonde bangs. “I’ve got it. But thanks.”

Alex warred with himself. He was pretty sure he should insist on taking over the physical labor, but she was handling things okay so far, and he honestly didn’t know what to do. He paced nervously, not used to being unable to help when all his instincts told him he should.

For the next ten minutes he felt altogether useless, hanging back as Alice removed the tire and got the spare affixed. He dutifully provided assistance whenever she needed an extra set of hands or a change of tools, but otherwise his denim-clad savior was a one-woman show. When she was finished, there was a sheen of sweat on her chest, drawing his gaze down to her cleavage. She wiped her brow and attempted to get the grease off her hands by rubbing the back of her pants.

Alice wasn’t the skinny, plastic-type girl he was used to meeting in Florida. She had more curves than a Swiss highway, and between her ample bosom and the fine fullness of her butt in those jeans, Alex wasn’t sure where he could rest his gaze without leering.

“That doughnut will hold you for a bit, but you’re going to want to take it in and get a proper replacement. I can recommend a good garage in town where they won’t look at a Porsche like it’s a spaceship. They’ll be fair in the pricing too.”

“Thanks.”

Alice collected her jacket and replaced the tools in the trunk. Finally seeing a place he might be of use, Alex grabbed the busted tire and got it stowed.

“You live around here?” He wasn’t ready to see her vanish yet and was hoping he might be able to convince her to spend a little more time with him. Perhaps someplace nicer than the side of the highway.

“Yeah. There’s a small suburb about four miles down the road. We have a place there.”

We. “You and your husband?”

Alice gave a half-smile and shook her head. “No. No husband.”

Relief hit him with a whoosh. He didn’t know her, they’d only met once before, yet he was positive he would have been crushed to discover she was off the market. As it was he would be calling his friend Tucker Lloyd—the Felons’ ace pitcher—later that night for some help with Alice insight. Tucker was engaged to Emmy Kasper, and Emmy was friends with Alice. Alex would need all the intel he could get if he had a shot in hell with a girl who looked like Alice.

And it wasn’t only her appearance. She’d changed his tire like it was the easiest damn thing in the world. Impressive didn’t begin to cover it.

Surely Emmy would be able to get him an in.

Alice shifted nervously and glanced at her car, which made Alex realize with some horror he’d been staring at her.

Think fast, you idiot.

“Know anywhere good to eat? I drove in from Atlanta. I was planning to eat at the hotel when I checked in, but…you know, room service isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah, I have that problem all the time.” She snorted. She gave him a once-over, gnawing thoughtfully on her lower lip. He wouldn’t mind being allowed to nibble on it himself. “It’s nothing fancy, but we’re having pizza for dinner. I mean…if you don’t mind slumming it, you’re welcome to come.”

This mysterious we again. His curiosity was piqued. If she had a man at home, she wouldn’t invite him over for dinner, would she? But he hadn’t expected an invitation to her home at all, so Alice was already proving to be a source of confusion to him.

“I like pizza.”

“If you didn’t, I don’t think we could be friends.”

Friends.

That was totally what Alex had in mind.

Surviving will take a miracle. Happily Ever After’s going to take two.

Enigma

© 2014 Moira Rogers

Southern Arcana, Book 6

Anna Lenoir has always fought. First to escape her broken childhood, then to prove a female shapeshifter can stand shoulder to shoulder with the men. Now she fights for money, and her reputation is as legendary as her stone-cold heart. She’s never met a man she couldn’t walk away from.

Until him.

Bounty hunter Patrick McNamara has a scary reputation of his own, along with mysterious powers linked to his many tattoos. On the clock, they’re the perfect supernatural-crime-solving team. After hours, she’s ready to rock his world. But Patrick won’t settle for just her body, and Anna’s better at breaking homes than making them.

When the heir to the Southwest council goes missing, their combined skills are the best chance of averting a territory war. But the hunt will drag them through the most vulnerable parts of their broken pasts. Daring to risk her heart might be the first fight she loses, and the stakes have never been higher.

Because Patrick will sacrifice anything for her. Even his life.

Warning: Contains cheap motel rooms, gas station chili dogs, supernatural politics and a literal flaming sword. Also, sex. Angry sex, dirty sex, sweet sex and thank-god-you’re-alive sex between a tough-as-nails heroine with a fragile woobie heart, and a dangerous hero who will sacrifice anything to love her.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Enigma:

She hated this part.

Anna never bothered to tell anyone how much she disliked hunting because she wasn’t sure they’d believe it. People, as a general rule, wanted to think things were simple. Easily classified. She was good at tracking, even better at eliminating threats. Knowing she hated every moment of it wouldn’t fit with anyone’s expectations of a badass bounty hunter.

She stopped in her tracks as a breeze kicked the scent of iron and cotton into her nose. Anna pushed through the dense foliage of the forest floor and found a torn T-shirt under a pitcher plant, the blood so fresh it could only belong to the man she was tracking.

Wolf.
Forgetting wouldn’t do either of them any good. He wasn’t a man, had tried to be one again and failed because he’d discovered his human body didn’t fit right anymore. That was why he was there.

Why she’d followed.

She picked up the trail and ran, nose to the ground, paws rustling through the moss and ferns. The track ended in a shallow stream, little more than a trickle, and Anna growled.