Not Without Risk

by Sarah Grimm

The last thing he wanted was what he needed most...

Six agonizing months after a slug collapsed his lung, Sergeant Justin Harrison manages to return to the one place where he shines—the San Diego homicide division. Nothing will stand in the way of proving he is fit for active duty. Especially not the long-legged brunette who just stumbled into his crime scene.

Photographer Paige Conroy spent years hiding from her past. Then a late night telephone call brings it crashing back. An old friend is in town and needs her help. When she arrives at his hotel room four hours later, he's dead.

Suddenly, she's the target of a madman, and Paige must turn to Sergeant Harrison for protection. But who is the bigger threat to her... the faceless assailant she fears will steal her life or the dark-eyed detective she knows could steal her heart?


Palm flat against his chest, her hand streaked up, slipped beneath his jacket and skimmed down his side. Her fingers curled into his shirt. From somewhere deep inside, sanity returned. Alarm bells chimed in her head like a gong. Her body tightened as a chill ran the length of her spine. She pulled her mouth from his, pressed trembling hands against his shoulders and staggered back, out of his arms.

“Paige…” His voice hoarse, and tinged with confusion, he reached for her.

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

The intensity of what they’d just shared rocked her foundation. Never before had she felt anything so powerful, experienced anything so right. When he touched her, when he pulled her to him he made her forget everything but him. Gone was her fear, her anxiety. In its place raged need stronger than she’d ever known. Longing so powerful she’d been helpless to resist. Until the placement of her hands upon his smooth washboard of muscle registered. Reality slammed back into place.

How could she have forgotten so quickly? The one thing she feared most was there, right there beneath her right hand, beneath the cool polymer of his Glock. The memory of him holding that same side of his body as pain stole the warmth from his eyes settled in. Followed quickly by the remembered pain of loss.

“This is wrong.”

“I want to take you home tonight,” he replied as if he hadn’t heard her protest.

“You ask too much of me.”

“It’s too much to want to protect you? Too much to believe you should be safe?”

Her body still vibrated from his touch. When her eyes darted to the bed near her and his followed.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. As much as I would love to carry you to that big bed over there, it doesn’t have to be like that. Let me keep you safe.”

Safe. She would feel safe with Justin. No longer alone, no longer afraid. But who would keep her safe from him? Being with him felt so right, so natural, and powerful. That was dangerous. She’d been that route before, had stood on that precipice of pain and loss and she was in no rush to return. This time, she didn’t think she would survive.

Sarah Grimm
where dangerously sexy & happily-ever-after collide

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GETTING REAL - m/m contemporary

Getting Real
by Christiane France

ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-401-4 (Electronic)

For TJ Delaney and Cole Labelle, it’s time to turn their lives around and get real.
TJ needs to exchange his playboy lifestyle for a job and prove he’s a responsible adult rather than a spoiled, rich brat.
Cole needs to free himself of his family’s control and their paranoid fears by proving being gay like his father is the only thing he and the man who gave him life have in common. And that by being openly gay he won’t cause them public embarrassment as his father did.

...Talking with Maggie had renewed my excitement about being entrusted with a job of this importance. So what if it wasn’t rocket science and I didn’t need to wear a three-piece suit or take clients to lunch? I was doing something I loved, and I made a silent promise not to do anything that might make Maggie regret taking me on.

Between deciding what to put where and checking with Kreber’s on availability, the rest of the week passed in a flash. I hadn’t seen Cole since the night I ran into him in the Falls. If he regretted our conversation and was avoiding me, fine. I might not agree with his reasons, but it was his life and his decision.

Friday morning, Maggie called to say she’d be over around ten. About a quarter to the hour, I heard a tap-tap on the door. Figuring she was early, I yelled, “Come on in. It’s open,” only to look up and find Cole standing there, looking smart and delicious in a charcoal suit, pale blue shirt and patterned tie.

“You doing anything for lunch today?” he asked.

“No. Why?” If I sounded suspicious, I was. “I thought—”

“I know. The thing is I’ve been thinking, so hear me out, okay?”

He shuffled his feet, as if he were nervous about something. Then he smiled, a shy, tentative smile that once again made me want to rush right over and give him a hug. Again, I resisted.

“After I left the club the other night, I drove around for a while and thought really hard about what you’d said. You were right. I knew my family was scared I’d do something to embarrass them, and I took the easy way out by going along with it. I figured it was only temporary and that once Carla came home… Then I recalled you saying what if she doesn’t? That was something I hadn’t even considered.”

“So? You come to any conclusions?”

“That Carla has a life to live same as me. You were also right when you said I needed to forget about my family and concentrate on my own life. So that’s what I’m trying to do. If someone has a problem with us having lunch together that’s too bad. ”

“Okay, but one small step at a time, huh?”

Before Cole could reply, the phone rang, and I picked up.

“Hi, TJ. It’s me, Maggie. I’m afraid there’s been a slight change of plan. I can’t get there until sometime between noon and one. Is that okay with you?”

“It’s fine. See you then.”

I replaced the receiver with a sigh and looked at Cole. “How about a rain check for lunch?”


“That was Maggie. She was supposed to be here at ten to finalize our order for the plants. Now she says she can’t make it until noontime. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, the job comes first.” He reached out and briefly touched my shoulder. “You want to go for a drink later?”

“You mean here in town, after work?”

“Why not?”

“I think you need to slow down. Lunch is one thing, Cole. You hired The Birds to supply the plants for the building, so it could even be explained as a working lunch. What you’re suggesting is something else. It’s like a date. It’s like making a major statement to the entire world. What if someone sees us and your family finds out?” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that, but I wanted Cole to step back and think what could happen.

“I’ve thought about that, too. If I lose my job and my mom wants me to move out, that will be their decision. This one is mine. If I’m to have the kind of life I want, I can’t keep putting it off. I have to start somewhere, and this is it, TJ. With you at my back, I’m ready to take this first step. We can have a drink or two, and hang for a bit. Maybe later go get something to eat. You cool with that?”

I high-fived him, swallowed the sudden surge of emotion that made my chest tight and my eyes blurry and finally gave him a hug. He smelled delicious and his body was hard and sweet as rock candy just waiting to melt and mold against mine. He started hugging me back, so I cut things short before things took off in the direction I knew we both wanted to go. “You betcha, babe! Although, there are a couple of things you should know. Like you, I live at home, and right now I don’t have wheels...”

Cool mysteries and hot romance -
Latest Release: GETTING REAL -


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Seducing the Sexy Celebrity Chef

Seducing the Sexy Celebrity Chef

by Giselle Renarde

Holly wants more than just an autograph from TV’s sexy Chef Burley. Every time she watches the celebrity sweating over a hot stove, she imagines him sweating on top of her. Holly’s not usually the kind of woman who would throw herself at a man, but she’s willing to make an exception for Chef Burley.

Every woman at the book signing wants a piece of the sexy celebrity chef. How will Holly stand out from the crowd?

Fast-paced erotica from award-winning writer Giselle Renarde.

WARNINGS: This erotic short story contains explicit language and graphic sex.

Word Count: 7,900


Holly didn’t care if everyone thought she was crazy—she was going to get more than just an autograph from Chef Burley.

She’d arrived hours before the book signing, thinking she’d be first in line. She should have known better. Every horny housewife in town was queued outside the yet-to-open restaurant, drooling for a taste of the sexy celebrity chef.

“I can’t get enough of Chef Burley,” said one woman in the line-up.

“I know what you mean,” another chimed in. “Every time I watch his show, it gets me so worked up I pounce on my hubby. Poor guy doesn’t know what hit him!”

Holly hugged Chef Burley’s cookbook tight to her chest. As far as she knew, the sexy celebrity was single, just like her. Those women didn’t know how lucky they were, having husbands to warm their beds. If they realized their good fortune, they wouldn’t be hanging around out here, discussing all the dirty things they’d like to do with the chef.

When the line finally started to move, Holly’s stomach dropped. No, she couldn’t do this. Come face to face with the man whose presence, even on TV, made her ache with want? No. No way.

But she didn’t turn around. She didn’t leave. As the line moved forward, so did she, step by step, until an assistant asked her, “Who would you like your autograph made out to?”

“To Holly,” she said.

Without another word, the austere assistant tore the cookbook from her arms.

She was still three side-steps away from Chef Burley, but if she leaned forward and looked down the table, she could see him. He was right there, in the flesh! They were breathing the same air. Unbelievable!

Holly bit her lip to keep herself from squealing. She always squealed when she watched his TV show—squealed, and throbbed, and wished for just a few minutes alone with him.

When Holly’s turn came up, her knees nearly buckled. She’d worn a push-up bra, just for him. Bending forward, she let her low-cut blouse fall open. For Chef’s eyes only!

Chef Burley looked up, and his eyes bulged. A playful smirk bled across his lips. “Have you been waiting long?”

Holly giggled like a schoolgirl. Oh, his accent! He was so sophisticated, so unlike the blockheads in this town. She wanted to grab his white chef’s jacket, pull him across the table, and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.

Instead, Holly tittered and chewed her nail while Chef Burley scrawled his signature across the front page of his book. Every day on her way to work, she rehearsed what she’d say if she ever met him. Now he was right there, close enough to grab, and she didn’t know what to do.

“Thanks for buying my book,” Chef Burley said, looking her straight in the eye. Oh, those baby blues! They made her feel faint. “I hope you enjoy it, Sally.”

She giggled and nodded as a second assistant handed back her copy of the cookbook. Their gazes lingered while she backed away. She was so besotted she just about walked into the drinks table.

Wait… had Chef Burley called her Sally?

Taking a glass of white wine, Holly sat at one of the tables and opened her book. Sure enough, the inscription was made out to Sally, not Holly. That assistant must have given Chef Burley the wrong name. She thought to go back, but she didn’t want to make a fuss. She was embarrassed, even though the mistake wasn’t hers.

The afternoon passed in a haze. Holly leaned her elbows against her lonely table and gazed meekly at the celebrity. He was even more striking in person. His blondish hair was styled haphazardly, his face clean shaven, his features somewhere between chiseled and boyish. She wanted to see his arms, his chest, his whole body, naked. He was right there, and yet worlds away.

“We’re closing up now,” one of the assistants said...


Published by eXcessica:

Available from Barnes&Noble:

All Romance:



Amazon UK:


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So excited to announce I've got a new release out with Blushing Books called MAID FOR SPANKING! It actually came out years ago and has been out of print for a while, so I've reworked it. This version is totally different - and I think better - than the original. I'm excited about it! Hope you will be, too!
Happy Reading!

Colleen Palmer hates her job as a computer programmer. The pay is good, but the hours are terrible, and what’s worse, she never gets to work on anything interesting. Unable to take it anymore, she quits to go in search of her dream job. In the meantime, though, she still has to pay the bills, so she lets her friend talk her into becoming a maid for Silicon Valley’s rich and famous.

Cleaning really isn’t her thing, but polishing silver and dusting furniture doesn’t seem so bad when she meets her first client, the gorgeous Steven Hughes. It might not be her dream job, but on top of making some pretty damn good money and setting her own hours, she gets to spend her day with a hot and hunky guy.
There are some drawbacks to working for Steve, though. One, he tends to be a little obsessive compulsive about how he likes his house cleaned. And two, he has an annoying habit of spanking her every time she doesn’t follow orders. But everything changes when her curiosity gets the better of her and she sneaks into his secret room to discovers he’s a computer programmer just like her. And that working alongside him might just be the dream job she’s been looking for. If she can put up with all his spankings

Colleen ran the vacuum over the section of the rug on either side of the couch, then in front of the low-slung coffee table. She was thinking how incredibly easy it was to clean a carpet that had obviously never even seen dirt much less made friends with it when the vacuum suddenly stopped. Frowning, she flipped the switch off then on, but the vacuum still wouldn’t work. She turned to see if she’d jerked the plug out of the wall and was jumped when she saw Steven Hughes standing there with it in his hand.
He scowled. “What the hell are you doing?”
What the hell did it look like she was doing? “Vacuuming.”
Colleen gritted her teeth. He sounded like he was talking to a child who should know better.“You told me you wanted the rug vacuumed, so that’s what I’m doing.”
His brows drew together. “I also said I wanted you to keep the noise down.”
How the heck did he expect her to vacuum quietly? She would have asked, but getting into a fight with a client her first day on the job probably wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Fine. I won’t vacuum. But don’t complain that the rug isn’t clean.”
Giving the cord a jerk, she yanked it out of his hand and angrily wrapped it around the hooks on the vacuum. Across the room, Steven Hughes muttered something under his breath she couldn’t catch.
She whirled around to face him, pinning his with a glare. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you’d better start treating me with a little more respect, or you’ll be cleaning your own damn house.”
Colleen turned back to finish wrapping the cord, only to gasp when a hand caught her arm and spun her around. She knew Hughes was tall, but she didn’t realize how tall until now. He towered over her.
“You’re the one who needs to learn some respect,” he said. “I pay a lot for your cleaning service and I want it done right.”
She lifted her chin. “I was doing it right until you came out here and got in my way. I was even going to make sure the tassels on your overpriced rug were all straight and pretty just like you ordered—which is beyond stupid, by the way. I’m a maid, not your slave, Mr, Hughes, so you can just go to hell.”
Okay, so much for not getting into a fight with a client. She could kiss this job goodbye.
Abruptly realizing he was still holding onto her arm, Colleen tried to yank it free, but he tightened his grip. The next thing she knew, she was bent over the back of the sectional couch. What the hell?
She tried to push herself upright, but a strong hand on her back firmly pushed her down.
Colleen craned her neck to glare at him over her shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let me go.”
He glowered down at her with those incredible blue eyes of his. “Not until we get something straight. You might not be my slave, but I pay to have you come here and clean, not interrupt me while I’m working.”
She could officially add arrogant to his list of flaws. And why the hell did he had to bend her over the couch to lecture her? She opened her mouth to ask when she felt his hand come down hard on her jean-clad ass.
Colleen’s eyes went wide. She had to be imagining things, because there was no way he had just done that. But when his hand came down again, this time on her other cheek, she realized she hadn’t been imagining it at all. Steven Hughes was spanking her.

Buy it at Blushing Books!

Buy it at Amazon!


Sexy Romantic Fiction!

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Lindsay Townsend - The Snow Bride

An excerpt from my medieval historical romance, 'The Snow Bride.' The hero Magnus and heroine Elfrida are searching for missing brides in a snowy winter landscape.


He found the holly bush and not a moment too soon—limping beside him, Elfrida was already half frozen. Again, Magnus regretted having to bring her, but he knew she would never consent to remain behind and, most important, her sister did not know him. He had tried to learn some of her dialect but not enough to explain to a strange, frightened girl that he was a rescuer, not a beast. A token of Elfridas might be interpreted the wrong way, so for now, it must be Elfrida herself.
Sit down. He drew his shivering witch into the heart of the huge holly where it was dry, and he unpacked the bundle as swiftly as his numb fingers would allow. The fact that she did not shove him aside to do the task herself he took as a poor sign, but he kept his words cheerful. Fresh clothes here, so we shall soon be warmer. I have mead, too.
He had no women’s things in the pack but had filched two sets of woolen tunics and linen braies from a stripling squire called Hugh, who fancied himself a person of good taste. Elfrida stared at the braies and shook her head. “I cannot wear those.”
“You will move more freely,” said Magnus cunningly, “and it will be a good disguise. We shall seem two packmen.”
“Ripe for bandits, then,” came the tart response, but she peeled off her less-than-perfect gown and did not protest when he rubbed her down smartly with it, seeking to dry her before she re-dressed. She tied the braies as she might a girl’s belt, which made him grin, and the green wool tunic was too long in the sleeves, but she had more color.
More fight, too, when she launched herself at the living circle of holly as he was rolling his shoulders in his dry tunic and retightening his belt. He caught her round the middle. “Shoes?” he reminded her.
“But she comes, she is coming now! I can sense her!”
“And we shall pick up her tracks.” He buffeted her lightly away from the holly thorns and waved two bag-like socks in her face. “Put these on first.”
She stroked the cloth and wrinkled her nose. “This is not wool.”
“It is woolen felt, from my manor. We know how to make it there.”
“It is warm,” she said in wonder and began to pull them on. He handed her a leather shoe next and showed her how to wrap pieces of wool about her feet and legs.
It took longer than for himself, but he did not care. The laundress would not be hurrying in this fine, bright, windless day, and he wanted Elfrida to be warm.
He handed her a short leather cloak, a riding cloak truly, but it would be long enough on her. “Tuck your hair under this cap, also.”
She widened her eyes at the dull, russet hood but did as he asked. Packing their damp things into the old, gray cloak he had brought the changes of clothes in, she looked puzzled when he tucked two more pairs of socks and lengths of wool down the front of his new tunic. “For later, if we need them,” he explained and kissed her, briefly. “You make a pretty lad. The hat shows off your freckles.”
She had been taking a mouthful of mead, and she choked, her mouth quivering in amusement. “You should see me in summer for freckles.”
“Oh, I will,” said Magnus. He parted the holly branches for them to set out in pursuit of the trudging laundress, who had passed by their hiding place with no sign of noticing them.
Her feet were beautifully warm. The snow was crisp and fresh, not damp or gray or slippery, sparkling in the sunlight and a joy to walk on. Her tunic and leggings were far easier to manage than trailing a dress. Indeed, she would be sorry to give them up and was already bargaining in her mind with Magnus to keep them.
Magnus was tracking the laundress, staying back so she could not hear them and would not see them easily while he traced the woman’s clear, single trail. Elfrida sped behind him, admiring his serviceable leather cloak, his working shoulders and hips, his smooth, long-legged stride. How had she ever thought him clumsy?
About them, adding to her feeling of a festive day, a day where surely Christina would be discovered, safe and well, the woods thronged with life. A tiny wren beaked amidst some still-brown leaf litter. A squirrel ran up a pine tree in a blur of red tail. Deer slots showed up clearly on her left side. She shook Magnus’s arm, and he turned and nodded.
“Aye, the hunt have missed those. They are a long ways off. I heard their horns, very faint, off over that hill of beeches. Better for us that they did not spot them.”
He smiled and, stretching out his hand, rumpled her cap, as if she was a lad. She grinned, feeling very young, as if the world and everything in it was made new for them. “Happy?” he asked, grinning like a lad himself. “So am I.”
They kicked on, a blackbird complaining about them out of another holly, and a small, unseen animal rustled at them behind frosted bracken. Elfrida paused to bow in respect to an ancient elder then had to scamper to catch Magnus as he crouched and slid down a steep slope, sitting on his behind.
“Easier than pegging my way down this,” he explained. “Your woman did the same.” He pointed to a set of parallel tracks.
But she will see our tracks and know we are following.
Only on the way back. She will not know who we are, and even if she guessed, whom would she tell?
Elfrida tried to imagine the timid, broken-skinned, chapped-lipped laundress braving the havoc of the great hall to speak to the wiry, weapon-laden Gregory Denzil, trying no doubt not to stare at the red wart on his forehead. She failed in her attempt. You are right.
She saw the flash of his grin before he turned about and marched on.
They approached another slope, and now the trees were all oak and lime and then solely oak, ancient and wide girthed, with spreading branches hung about with frosted lichens. Here the laundress had shortened her already slow stride and kept stopping for rests. Elfrida touched a place where a circle of flattened snow showed where the woman had rested her pack. She sensed fear. We are getting close, she murmured, straightening and listening intently, reaching out with her mind beyond the trailing lichen and sprays of mistletoe.
Mistletoe. Now she had seen one green-and-white plant she saw more, clumps and clusters of them, swinging from the oak branches, tucked within the oak trunks, trailing above Magnuss head. Their white berries looked like milky, dead eyes, and she shuddered. He watches through these.
Magnus, blind in that sense, too honest, too much of the middle earth of this world, was already climbing, butting through the thin snow here like a Viking ship on a raid. Speeding up, he was already touching his dagger, checking his tunic for other knives. She hurried to catch him, slipping once in her haste.
We must take care, she warned. We are close.
In answer, Magnus pulled a sprig of mistletoe off the fork of a tree and dangled it in his fingers. I should rush and catch that woman before she screams the wood down.
He turned, and she grabbed at his hand, crushing the mistletoe between their fingers. The waxy insides of the berries stuck slickly to her thumb, reminding her again of death. He does not need that kind of alarm. Listen to me!
Elfrida stopped, struck again by the strangeness of the place. No birds sang here, no animals lingered, and the sun cast misshapen shadows. She flinched, a picture forming in her mind of a small wooden watchtower with a single blue door. The wings and bones of ravens were pinned to the timbers of the tower.
Things are very wrong here, very amiss. She seized her own strongest amulet for protection and tore it over her head. Please, wear this for me.
He submitted as she slung it quickly around his neck but then was off again, striding forward. He crested part of the hillside and instantly dropped to his hands and knees, motioning to her to do the same.
“Look.” He pointed to the wooden watchtower on the hilltop, surrounded by oak trees and mistletoe. “That was once a hunting tower for our Norman lords, I warrant, and with a blue door besides.” He chuckled, his eyes and face alight with victory. “And there she goes, our washerwoman.” Speaking, he gathered himself to leap forward and snatch the laundress before or as she reached the tower.
“Magnus! What do we do with her?”
“Why fret?” He waved off her question, seeming amazed by it. “You worry overmuch. We must get on, finish here, and get back. Even those Denzil guard lads will get suspicious in time, so we cannot linger.”
“But can you not feel it?” She had felt this expectant, tense, terrible sense once before, in the woods close to her home, on the night Magnus had snatched her. “Something is very close, coming fast.” Something terrible.

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FullyRaw Pasta with Cinnamon Beet Basil Marinara

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A Prince Among Men (a Red, Hot & Blue novel)

Who needs a prince when there’s a sexy soldier in your bunk? Hoo rah!

Red, Hot, & Blue, Book 9

Sergeant Ryan Pettit blogs anonymously as Groundpounder, recording non-confidential details of a deployment where every day feels exactly the same—until a female reporter shows up at his firebase. And he realizes nothing will ever be the same again.

Though his orders are clear—protect her, but make her life so miserable she high tails it back to London—the last thing he wants is to watch her leave in a cloud of Afghanistan dust.

Intrigued by Groundpounder’s blog posts, Vicki Vanover flirted, bribed, and outright threatened her way to the front lines outside of Kandahar. Nothing has ever stopped her from getting a story, but an accidental night in Ryan’s bunk is a distraction—and attraction—she never anticipated.

Yet Afghanistan leaves Vicki with more questions than answers. Why won’t Ryan let her anywhere near the local women she wants to interview? Who is the mysterious, red-headed Lt. Wales everyone treats with such deference? Worst of all, why is watching Ryan run toward danger, instead of away from it, enough to stop her heart?

This book has been previously published.

Product Warnings
Contains super-hot sexual encounters in the war zone.  
“Hawk, what the hell are you doing with a reporter?” And can I take her off your hands for maybe an hour…or a week?
Ryan pushed that naughty thought aside. For now. Unlike Hawk, who’d written off the entire profession as evil, Ryan was willing to give them a chance individually. Particularly the hot one who was now in his hut.
“Apparently I temporarily lost my sanity.” Hawk took a step closer to Ryan. “The damn woman offered to have sex with me if I brought her here so she could write a damn story about the local women.”
Ryan’s eyes flew open wide just as his cock woke up a bit at that information. How come things like this never happened to him? “And did you… I mean did she…”
Hawk’s deeply furrowed frown silenced the rest of Ryan’s stuttered question. “No. Of course not. Jeez, Pettit. I’m not going to cheat on Emily. Not with any woman, but especially not with a reporter.”
Ryan stood corrected…and hopeful. “Sorry. So why did you agree to bring her here then?”
Hawk sighed. “She’s totally clueless about pretty much everything, and if I didn’t take her with me she just would have found someone else to do it. Some guy who probably would have taken her up on her ridiculous offer. Suddenly, I pictured Emily wandering around Bagram just as clueless and helpless in the middle of that prison break and hell, I don’t know…”
“Your protective side kicked in?” Ryan grinned.
“Yeah.” Shaking his head, Hawk sighed. “So here she is, and what the hell I’m gonna do with her now, I don’t know.”
Ryan, who was extremely well-versed in the cramped lodging situation on base ever since the collapse, considered the logistics of having not only an extra body to deal with, but a hot, shapely female body, no less. He knew where he’d like her to sleep, but he didn’t think Hawk would take kindly to Ryan stashing the woman in his own bunk, so he came up with an alternate suggestion.
“Well, I guess she could sleep in the war room. Or even better, in the backroom of the operations center. At least there’s always someone on duty in there so she won’t be alone.”
“I guess.” Hawk sighed. His leader looked pretty helpless for a man who usually had all the answers. The mighty Hawk, taken down by a single female. It was the most amusing thing Ryan had seen in a while.
”Listen, Pettit, I have to go unload this wad of cash I’m carrying and explain to the higher ups why I came home with a woman. Can you go in and make sure she’s okay?”
“Sure thing, Hawk.” Ryan nodded. Easiest assignment he’d been given in a long time.
“Better make sure she’s not snooping around either, looking for some big story. And do not make her time here easy on her, Pettit. I mean it. I want her so miserable she’s begging for me to call Lou to take her back. The sooner the better.” An evil grin crossed Hawk’s face. “In fact, why don’t you show her the
pee tubes? That should be enough to send this girly girl running for home where she can get a manicure or something.”
Ryan laughed. “Probably. Okay, Hawk. I’ll do my best.”
Hawk turned to go, then halted. “Oh and Pettit? I’m pretty sure she still thinks I’m going to collect on her little offer. Don’t tell her any differently. I want to scare her enough she’ll never do anything that stupid again. Got it?”
SAMHAIN STORE (Read an alternate excerpt at Samhain)

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