Thunder Running (11 page)

About the Author

Rebecca Crowley inherited her love of romance from her mom, who taught her to at least partially judge a book by the steaminess of its cover. She writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense with smart heroines and swoon-worthy heroes, and never tires of the happily-ever-after. Having pulled up her Kansas roots to live in New York City and London, Rebecca now lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Find her on the web at
www.rebeccacrowley.net
or on Twitter at
@rachelmaybe
.

Look for these titles by Rebecca Crowley

Now Available:

The Homefront Trilogy

Boots on the Ground

Alive Day

Elite Operators

Secure Target

It takes a strong heart to connect roots with wings.

Boots on the Ground

© 2014 Rebecca Crowley

Homefront, Book 1

With a life that started in foster care and nearly ended in the mountains of Afghanistan, Grady Reid is more than ready to hang up his sergeant's stripes when his Army contract expires.

Small-town Meridian, Kansas, seems as good a place as any to finally put down roots. He's dumped his savings into a ramshackle farmhouse and is on his way to trading bullets for bull breeding when an exquisitely beautiful, totally unattainable blonde turns his head faster than a pivoting cutting horse.

Dr. Laurel Hayes longs to escape the confines of stuffy, small-town life for an adrenaline-fueled, transient lifestyle delivering medical aid in unstable regions around the world. Then she meets Grady, a man with enticing eyes, a slow smile—and not an ounce of the wanderlust that tugs at her soul.

Their lives are headed in opposite directions. But as something more powerful than attraction, desire, or even lust draws them together, something's got to give…or their hearts could break under the strain.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Boots on the Ground:

“What's everyone having? This round's on me,” Kenny called over the music, his wallet already in his hand.

“I'll help you carry,” Laurel volunteered after Christina and Peter gave their drink orders. She followed Kenny's back as he wove toward the bar, skirting around the people dancing in front of the low stage. He reached the row of taps first, but just as she saw him turn to make sure she was behind him, one of the more inebriated dancers staggered backward and hit hard against her side. As she teetered on her high heels, one ankle twisting painfully beneath her, a firm, warm hand closed on her arm and dragged her upright.

She didn't need to look up to know whose touch it was.

“Why is it every time I go out for a drink, I end up rescuing you? I'm starting to think this is all some sort of elaborate plan.”

Grady released his hold and stepped back, transferring two of the six beer bottles he held by the neck into his free hand. She guiltily dragged her gaze up to meet his, and sighed in relief when she found amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Laurel, are you okay?” Kenny rushed to her side, concern drawing his brows together.

“I'm fine. I'll see you guys back at the table, okay? I'm just going to catch up with my friend Grady for a few minutes.”

Kenny gave Grady a skeptical once-over, and she knew exactly what he was thinking—he'd known her for years and never heard of this
friend
. But he nodded, shot her a look that was a clear reminder to be careful, and made his way back to the bar.

She indicated the bottles he carried. “Thirsty?”

“Saturday night special—three for five dollars.”

“It's packed in here.”

His smile was tight. “I'm trying to be okay with that.”

“Want to get some air?”

She was afraid he would hesitate, that he'd give her the pitying look that precedes a letting-her-down-gently statement, that he'd shift awkwardly and explain he was here with someone else. But to her thrilled surprise, he took a deep breath. “Yeah. I do.”

She trailed him away from the crowd and around a pool table, averting her gaze as they crossed near where Peter and Christina sat. He led her to a back corner, where she recognized his two friends from the bar near the highway. Chance was leaning forward and speaking earnestly, not even noticing as Grady clunked the full bottles down amid the empties. Ethan sat across from him, his face in his hands.

She didn't have time to say hello before Grady was edging past them to the back door, and she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. The door shut behind them with a slam, and then everything was quiet. They were alone.

Her stomach clenched with nerves as she realized the significance of this moment. This was her second chance—and almost certainly her last.

She pushed her lips into a bright smile.

Don't mess this up.

The taut ache in his shoulders eased the instant they stepped into the parking lot, where row after row of pickup trucks gleamed under the pole-mounted lights. The dark, crowded, booze-fueled atmosphere made him jumpy as hell, but Ethan refused to leave, and he and Chance agreed that they weren't comfortable leaving the captain in there on his own.

Still, he was wound so tightly that when he saw Laurel stroll in with some accountant-looking guy in a suit, he figured it was a trick of his imagination—not unlike the RPG teams and AK-47-wielding guerrillas he sometimes saw in his peripheral vision. After all, he'd thought about her a lot the last couple of weeks, always with a pang of regret and resigned disappointment. He wasn't ready for a woman like her—he might never be. It was a hard lesson but an important one.

But then she walked right past him, and as soon as he got a whiff of that fresh, fruity perfume, he knew she was the real deal.

It hadn't taken much time in combat for him to develop a firm belief in fate and a willingness to follow where it led. For the esteemed doctor to waltz into a down-home dive bar seemed to be fate's version of screaming in his ear.

Even in the harsh glow of the streetlights she looked gorgeous, her hair drifting loose around her shoulders, her luscious body poured into a patterned dress that matched the blue of her eyes.

Fate. He took a step closer.

“Who's your date?”

She frowned briefly, as if she'd already forgotten the poor guy existed. “Oh, Peter? He's a lawyer friend of my brother's.”

“Is he boring you?”

“To tears.”

Emboldened by the relief of the open space and the two bottles of beer he'd already downed, he put his hands on her waist. Laurel's body was trim but not skinny. She was taller than average, with full breasts and flared hips, and the robust, vigorous air of a woman unafraid to ask for what she wanted—and that made him harder than the gun on an M1 Abrams tank.

“What's boring about him?”

She ran her hand down the center of his chest, studying each snap on his shirt as she went. “His suit. His car. His season subscription to the Kansas City Ballet. His apparent inability to laugh at my jokes.”

“Maybe your jokes aren't funny.”

“They're hilarious.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

She looked up, and the harsh light illuminated a heartfelt emotion glittering in her eyes that was as soft as it was deep, and it made his throat constrict and his stomach twist. She raised her hand to his face, smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

“I see you,” she whispered.

He kissed her.

There was no tentative exploration, no slow build. Within seconds his tongue was pursuing hers, his mouth led hers in a quickening rhythm, and the hungry pressure of her lips started a fire roaring low in his groin with the speed of a match dropped on a puddle of kerosene.

She smelled like sunshine and cool spring mornings, and each time their mouths met and parted and met again, he sought the sweet, white-wine-tinged taste of her with renewed vigor. It was the kind of feverish, insatiable, shameless kissing he thought he'd left behind in the backseats and bleachers of his younger days, but any reservation about manners was soundly snuffed by her soft moan as their teeth clicked together in their haste to devour each other.

His hand moved to her lower back, pulling her closer, and she slid her fingers to the nape of his neck. The material of her dress was silky against his callused fingers, sliding over his skin in a way that reminded him she was not the type of woman he usually picked up in dives like this one, the type who either left before dawn or accused him of being a coldhearted asshole before slamming the door and driving off. Everything about Laurel felt somehow freer and more confident than what he was used to. She kissed with open desire. The hand at his neck was honest in its urging, while the fingers splayed on his cheek said she was ready to follow wherever he wanted to go.

Which, at this point, was all the way to the bold, bright moon hanging overhead.

One affair, thirty days.

His Taste of Temptation

© 2014 Cathryn Fox

In the Line of Duty, Book 3

Since his last relationship blew up in his face, bomb expert Brad Crosby has lost his appetite for “permanent”. But his kid brother's best friend? Now there's a curvy morsel he could wrap his lips around.

For years Brad has been the star of Madison Graham's fantasies. If only she were the kind of put-together girl he prefers, not a pastry chef whose makeup consists of a dusting of powdered sugar on her nose. A belief that's confirmed when her apartment floods and he offers to let her sleep in his bed—alone.

Wrapped in Brad's sheets, she dreams of his touches, his kisses, the feel of his body on hers. Except her dreams feel like reality—and come morning, she realizes it wasn't a dream at all.

Soon the two are burning up the nights. But as Madison's sweet love grows on him, Brad can't help but think of extending their time together.

Too bad Madison keeps reminding him their affair has an expiration date.

Warning: May contain heat, explosive sex, and Fourth of July fireworks that pale in comparison to the sparks between a sworn bachelor and a tempting pastry chef.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
His Taste of Temptation:

Laid out on his side on Madison's wet, tiled bathroom floor, Brad finished cutting the wall away to give him better access to the pipes, but how he was supposed to concentrate with Madison prancing around in those high heels of hers was beyond him.

She stopped by the bathroom door for the umpteenth time. “You sure you don't need anything before I go?”

Oh, he needed something all right.

“I'm good.”

She pointed to her medicine cabinet and he watched the way her blouse tightened on her breasts. “I just have to brush my teeth, then I'll be out of your way.”

“Yeah, okay,” he managed around a tongue gone thick. She went up on her toes, and he shifted restlessly at the sight of her curvy ass in that tight pencil skirt, her high heels giving her lush cheeks a sexy lift.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath as he assessed the pipes.

“What?”

“Nothing. There's just some water still leaking so I have to drain the system.”

“Oh, did you want me to do that for you?”

“Not dressed like that I don't.”

An almost uncomfortable look came over her face as she gave herself a once over. “My meeting—” she started to explain, but he climbed to his feet and cut her off.

“I've got it,” he said, his cock needing a reprieve from the sexy yet professional clothes draping her body before he did permanent damage to himself. Honestly, it didn't matter what she wore. Even dressed in sweats she rubbed him the wrong way, or the right way…or…fuck…if only she'd rub him.

He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the basement. He found the water tank and went to work on draining the system. Once complete he hurried back upstairs. He stepped back into the bathroom, and his feet splashed on the water still pooling on the tile. The hurried sound of Madison's high heels clicking on the stairs behind him had him spinning around.

Her voice sounded rushed when she rounded the corner and said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you… Whoa!”

She hurried into the bathroom so fast, her body crashed with his. His feet slipped on the floor, and he tried to grab on to something to right himself, but the impact had him faltering backward.

“Shit,” he yelled, knowing he was going down for the count and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

His boots went out from underneath him and he fell backward with an undignified oomph, Madison crashing to the floor right along with him.

His head connected with something unforgiving on the way down, but he couldn't concentrate on the pain shooting down his arm, not when Madison's floral hair fell over his face in a tumbled mess, and her soft body landed on top of his in the most erotic ways.

“Sorry,” she squeaked out. “I didn't expect you to be standing there.”

His hands slipped around her waist and settled on the small of her back. He sucked in a breath. “What…uh…what was it you forgot to tell me?” he asked.

She pushed her hair off her face, her mouth only inches from his. “Oh, I just wanted to let you know I made you a sandwich in case you got hungry. It's in the pastry fridge.”

Her lush warm body felt so good on top of his…so fucking good…his cock grew an inch. She squirmed, like she was about to slide off, but he held her tight.

He pinned her to him and groaned. “Stop squirming.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless.

“Because you don't want to get wet.”

Her eyes widened and her lips inched open. “Wet?” she asked, her breathing becoming a little harsher, more erratic. “Why…why would I get wet?” Everything in the way she said wet sounded so sinful, and he couldn't help but wonder how wet he could make her, if given the chance.

He jerked his head to the side. “The floor. It's still wet. If you slide off, you'll get your clothes wet. You won't be able to go to your meeting if your clothes are all wet.”

Christ, how many times could he say wet in one sentence?

“Right. Right. I knew that was what you meant.” She frowned. “How am I supposed to get up?”

“Hold on to me.”

With her body molded to his, he wrapped one arm around her waist while he pushed himself up off the floor with the other. She snaked her arms around his shoulders and held tight as he climbed to his feet.

Once upright, his head began spinning. Feeling dizzy, the room tumbling out of control around him, he stumbled, slamming her against the wall as he tried to regain his balance. Shit, maybe he'd hit his head harder than he first thought.

Madison gasped, and when her sweet, minty breath wafted before his nostrils all coherent thought fled. Her lush body fit so perfectly next to his, and her soft breasts were so hot against his chest that all he could think about was kissing her, having his way with her right here against the wall. Christ, what could one little taste hurt? One tiny fucking nibble…

As the bathroom faded in and out of existence, her voice sounded as if it were thousand miles away. He pushed against her, caging her with his body. Knowing he wasn't thinking straight, he dipped his head, and even though she was speaking, saying something to him, he couldn't hear her, not when his entire focus was on that sweet mouth of hers.

Before he could get his shit together, he closed his mouth over hers, and when he heard a heated groan, he wasn't sure whether it was his or hers. He sank into her mouth, reveling in the delicious taste of her. With little finesse, he pushed his tongue inside to play with hers.
So fucking sweet
. Greed urged him on and his tongue slashed against her mouth, his cock aching to sink inside her wet heat and stay there for the rest of the day. Jesus, her mouth tasted like mint, cherry and sugar all rolled into one—the best thing he'd ever tasted.

Some part of his brain registered that her hands were on his body, touching, tugging at his shirt, pulling on his shoulders. Jesus, did this mean she wanted him as much as he wanted her? But when she raked her fingers through his hair and pain zinged through him, reality crashed over him like the cold water from her broken pipe.

He inched back and stared at her. When he saw the way he'd smudged her lipstick and mussed her hair, and noted the almost frightened look in her eyes, his heart raced. Okay, so apparently her hands were all over him because she was trying to push him away, not because she was eager to touch him. What the fuck was he thinking?

“Jesus, Madison. I didn't mean—”

“Brad.” She carefully smoothed her hand over the back of his head. “I think you have a concussion.”