Stripping Her Defenses (24 page)

“I’m not,” she says, gazing out the window into the dark night.

How do I respond to that? Rather than involve myself in another man’s business, I stay quiet. Her phone rings from her purse saving me from continuing our conversation.

“What, Rex?” she answers with a dull tone. There is a pause for him to speak. “Yes, Shooter came. I’m on my way home.” Her brows draw together in frustration, but her voice remains impassive. “No, you can’t come over tonight.” She sighs deeply. “Rex, I told you, no more.” Another pause. “You couldn’t come get me because you were doing who knows what to some barfly. I’m not stupid. Rex, I told you, I’m done. The fact that you want to come over tonight shows the complete lack of respect you have for me. We’re over and have been for years. Hell, we weren’t actually ever officially together, so there is nothing to be over.”

Her voice never raises, never sharpens. She is calm, cool, and detached as she continues after allowing Rex to reply. “We’re nothing more than friends. Move on, Rex. I’m going to. Goodnight.” And with that, she swipes her thumb across the screen to end the call.

She lightly bangs her head against the window as we pull up to her house where she starts to unbuckle. Quickly, I reach in my back pocket and get my business card out of my wallet.

“Look, Tessie, if you need anything, I don’t care the time, call.”

When she looks at the card then up to me, a slight smile crosses her face. “Andy ‘Shooter’ Jenkins. You look like an Andy.”

“What?”

“In all the years you’ve been coming to the bar, I’ve only know you as ‘Shooter’ and ‘Jenkins,’ never Andy. You look like an Andy.”

Lights To My Siren

By

Lani Lynn Vale

Copyright ©2014 Lani Lynn Vale

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

You’re The Lights...

Sebastian had one rule.

No women on the back of his bike. Period.

The one time he broke that rule, he killed the woman that was carrying his child.

Then comes Baylee Roberts. She makes Sebastian want to break every single rule he’d ever implemented. Hell, but she even makes him consider that dreaded H word. A helmet.

To My...

Baylee Roberts innocently walked into her bathroom never expecting that she’d find a man in there. It is her bathroom after all, and she lives alone.

From the instant he placed his hat on her head to protect her from the sun, Baylee’s mind becomes filled with thoughts of a certain biker.

She really shouldn't go there. There’s no telling what kind of dangerous things he does for The Dixie Wardens MC.

Siren...

Nothing is ever as easy as it should be. Their relationship’s one of them.

Baylee’s brother is a cop. Baylee’s father is a cop. Which inevitably means that Baylee’s going to have certain hang-ups about being with a man like himself.

Sebastian has a lot on his plate with his busy job as a firefighter, a single father, and the vice president of The Dixie Wardens MC.

Not enough, though, to keep him away from Baylee.

When a series of arsons rattle their hometown and puts Sebastian’s life on the line, Baylee finally realizes the only fire Sebastian can’t put out is the one inside her heart.

Excerpt:

Baylee

With one hand, I lined the tip of my screw gun with the notched head of the screw. With the other, I pushed down while depressing the button. A movement out of the corner of my eye had me looking up in time to see the man a few yards down taking a picture of me.

Flustered, I turned back to my screwing, making a mental note to let my brother know sooner rather than later.

As usual, my coordination and lack of attention fucked me over, and instead of pushing down on the screw, the screw slipped. The head of the drill bit slammed down into my finger, shooting a burst of pain through my body.

Although I’d managed to pull back, the puncture still hit deep enough that blood started to pour from my finger. “Goddammit. Motherfucking bitch of a whore’s son.”

Painfully, I got up to my feet with my bleeding finger clutched to my chest, then ran to the backdoor, slamming inside without looking.

I ran straight to the bathroom, blood seeping through my clasped fingers.

I passed Winter
on my way, but didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, I went for expediency, forgoing the niceties in exchange for prolonging the life of my brand new beige carpet.

Blood wasn’t the easiest to clean up. I should know. I’d been a paramedic for eight years now.

Without thinking, nor acknowledging the fact that the door was closed when I’d specifically remembered leaving it open, I barreled through the door, and ran to the sink.

I cursed as the cool water hit my finger and shot a blast of pain coursing through my veins. “Goddamn, this hurts.” I muttered.

“Looks like it.” A man said from behind me.

Whirling around, I stared in shock at the man who was now zipping up the fly of his jeans. “What are you doing in my house?” I half screamed.

The man grinned.

If he hadn’t been so unbelievably hot, I might’ve had the common sense to be more scared than I actually was. However, my common sense took a flying leap out of the window and my attitude came out to play.

“I was using the john. Then you burst in.” He said by way of explanation.

“Why would you be using it in my house when I didn’t let you in?” I asked with a raised brow.

“That would be my fault. I informed them that they needed to come help.” Winter said apologetically.

Well if that didn’t take the wind out of my sails, nothing would. Reluctantly, I turned to the man I’d nearly seen with his pants down, literally, and smiled contritely. “I’m sorry. It was just surprising to have a strange man in my house.”

He nodded, and then gestured to my still bleeding hand. “Do you need some help?”

I looked down at my bleeding hand and groaned; I was a bleeder. I had von
Weelbrand’s disease, which pretty much meant that if I cut myself, I would bleed.

A lot.

The disease guaranteed that any cut I received bled much more than it should.

That didn’t even begin to take into effect my horrid periods. Those puppies lasted for way longer than they ever should have, which was how I knew I had the disease in the first place.

I held out my hand and extended it to him, showing him the wound. “It’s not too bad. It’s
actually just a scratch, but I have VWD, which makes me bleed more than normal. I end up pulling a Carrie way too often, if you ask me.” I teased.

It was around that time that I realized I was in my sports bra and short shorts that would be illegal in the state of Utah. “Uhh
, if you don’t mind, I’ll go change. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t wait for their agreement, I just ran to my bedroom. Then went to my stock of Band-Aids, double wrapped my finger, and then slipped out of my sweaty shorts, and bra.

Just as I was about to change into a more sedate pair of shorts, I realized that the hair on my legs could rival Chewbacca’s, and decided that a quick shave was in order.

Thirty minutes later, I was newly showered, shaved, and coiffed. Oh, and not to mention thoroughly embarrassed. I’d never meant to spend that long in the shower, but just thinking about the man I’d walked in on made my blood run hot.

When I finally emerged from the bedroom after putting on a fresh Band-Aid, the crew of five men Winter
had brought with her, were hard at work. On my deck.

“Shit.” I cursed and rushed out the door.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop.” I lied, holding up my finger and showing the group at large.

Sure enough, my finger was bleeding through the second bandage, but that was entirely normal for me. It’d stop eventually. It always did; it just looked bad until it did.

Winter knew of my condition, and didn’t look the least bit concerned. The big surprise was the man I’d walked in on earlier. He looked downright horrified.

Oh, and his shirt was off.

The man looked damn fine in his jeans. Shirtless, he could rival just about any man in the fire department I worked with. Which was saying something, because to be a firefighter, you had to be in shape. If you weren’t, lives could be at stake. People depended on a firefighter to save their lives; if their bodies weren’t honed into a perfect tool, then that could mean the death of someone.

This man had abs on top of abs, if that were even possible. He also had scars. One on his right lower abdomen that most likely indicated he’d had an appendectomy. Then there was a thin long one that ran down his side from armpit to hip.

Oh, and did I mention he had tattoos? They were delicious on his defined chest, and muscled arms. The entire length of the top of his arm was covered. A beautiful American Flag dominated his upper chest and bicep.

That would also make it hard to find a vein on the man if he ever needed emergency attention.

“You’ll have to forgive her. Baylee has an obsession with veins. She stares at everyone to judge how easy they’d be to get an IV on.” Winter teased.

Kale

By

Chelsea Camaron & Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

Copyright ©2014 Chelsea Camaron & Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

She is the shy, quiet, nerdy girl. He is the hero.

From childhood, she’s only had eyes for him. His only goal in life was to become a firefighter. One of the elite. A hotshot. He is one of the top smokejumpers from Krassel Yard.

Smoke has clouded his vision. Never noticing the relationship they were already forming, he is surprised when the girl next door, growing up, is suddenly all woman and all he can think about.

When the smoke clears, can he handle the flames of desire she draws out of him? Or will he leave her heart a smoldering pile of ashes?

Excerpt:

~Kale~

The crackle. The heat. The sweat. The smell of the burning pines, spruce, and fir trees all comes together.

The burn deep in my chest grows with every breath, as my body seeks clean air. The adrenaline is rapidly coursing through me from the jump and the mission at hand. Dig the fire line, contain the flame before it can jump and spread further.

The thankless, dangerous, exhilarating and, mostly, unnoticed job of a smokejumper. The job I proudly wake up and do without a second thought.

It’s June in McCall, Idaho; early in fire season and we have our first wildfire of the year. The
snowfall this winter was less than we usually get and the lack of rainfall has drawn all the moisture out of the underbrush. The small brush fire, from a campsite nearby, quickly and easily takes off. Rapidly becoming a full on wildfire as the campers try to flee to safety.

The local firehouse is unable to control the blaze and calls in my team. Within twenty minutes, the eight of us are suited up, packs and parachutes attached, and are up in the DC-3 twin Otter preparing to go up. The aircraft takes off at elevation; the drop location quickly scouted and chosen. The hatch opens and streamers drop as we line up for jump order. At the opening, I look down at the streamers blowing, judging the wind direction and gusts while I wait.

Deep breath in and the smoke hits my senses. It’s go time.

Ice

By

Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

Copyright ©2014 Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

*Loosely attached to Chelsea Camaron's Hellions Series and Jessie Lane's Ex Ops Series.*

She's an investment banker.

He's an outlaw biker.

A little bit of heaven is about to meet a whole lot of hell.

Morgan Powell was raised to be perfect, to set an example for her sisters to follow. Her life has been dedicated to making something of her career, so she wouldn’t know what to do with a man even if you gave her an instruction manual.

Brett 'Ice' Grady spends his days trying to keep up with his teenage daughter, his nights consumed in Regulators’ MC business. He has no time for anything more than a casual hookup.

Two worlds collide when the dangers of his life crash into the calm of hers.

Can she go beyond her own boundaries and chip her way through to the man known to be as cold as ice?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

~Ice~

“Suck harder. Right there… Fuck yeah, that’s it.”

The half-naked platinum blonde kneeling in front of me sucks dick like a damn champ.

“Shit! Dammit, Dad!” my teenage daughter Brooke suddenly shrieks from across the living room while covering her eyes with her hands. Her voice immediately kills my hard on.

Pushing the bimbo off me, I stand to pull up my pants, wincing as I tuck my still sensitive cock away. I move forward to find my daughter, who is not supposed to be home today, and the blonde paws at me as I go to make my way past her. I would have preferred it if she’d run her mouth and taken off; instead, she’s pouting at me because we didn’t finish. I wish Brooke would have just given me five more minutes to get off, then I could have gotten rid of the broad on her knees. Tossing this barfly would be a hell of a lot easier then.

“Get out. I’m done with ya,” I dismiss her, tired of the sulking look on her face. Damn, woman, take a hint already.

With a huff, she rights her clothes, collects her things, and scurries out.

Making my way down the hall of my not so modest home, I bark a sardonic laugh when I turn the knob to my daughter’s room and find it locked.