Finalist: 2011 Launching A Star Contest
Rescuing damsels in distress is all in a day's work for Detective, Nate Stone. After saving a beautiful woman from a burning car and assassin’s bullet, he vows to protect her. But the determined assassin always seems to be one step ahead of the game.
Suspecting a leak within his Department, Nate takes her and runs. He soon discovers that the hardest part of the mission is resisting his desire for the woman who trusts him with her life.
She awakes in a hospital with no memory, only to discover that someone tried to kill her. Her only chance to survive an assassin’s game of cat and mouse is the man who saved her and who has promised to protect her. She may not know her past, but she knows her heart, and it longs for her protective warrior who ignites a passion in her she can't deny.
Suspecting a leak within his Department, Nate takes her and runs. He soon discovers that the hardest part of the mission is resisting his desire for the woman who trusts him with her life.
She awakes in a hospital with no memory, only to discover that someone tried to kill her. Her only chance to survive an assassin’s game of cat and mouse is the man who saved her and who has promised to protect her. She may not know her past, but she knows her heart, and it longs for her protective warrior who ignites a passion in her she can't deny.
Jimmy Thomas Video
Protecting Rose is at 3 min. 12 secs.
A man in
an orderly's uniform entered the room. Someone Rose hadn’t seen
earlier. He met her gaze and gave her a creepy smile that sent shivers of
apprehension through her. Something about him made her skin crawl and she
instinctively did not like him.
“Hello,”
she said. “Who are you?”
He shut
the door behind him.
“I’m here
to check on you,” he whispered in a gravelly voice.
The
sedative had worn off, and she’d been awake for a few hours, trying to make
sense of things. She eyed him cautiously as he silently moved toward
her. Something didn't feel right. He looked odd. His hair was
askew, as if it didn’t sit just right on his head. It was a wig; he was
wearing a really bad wig. Large black glasses hid his eyes when the
bright florescent lights glared on them, his hands covered with black leather
gloves.
Her
entire body tensed, and her instincts told her to be wary of this man as he
crept closer.
Something
glinted in his hand when he neared. Was
that a knife? She lifted her eyes and met his hard angry glare.
She froze. He reached the side of her bed and loomed over her. She
gasped when he raised his arm to strike. The sharp serrated edge of the
knife gleamed bright under the harsh florescent lights. She opened her
mouth to scream. He slammed his other hand over it and silenced her
cries.
She
grabbed the arm that held the knife and tried to stop its descent. He
maintained his cruel grip over her mouth. Chattering voices from the hall
covered the sounds of the life and death struggle in the room. Her heart
held hope when footsteps neared her door, only to be shattered when they faded
away, leaving her in the hands of a killer.
2013 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence: Finalist
2013 Write Touch Readers' Award: Finalist
Tasked with Angela’s safety after she’s targeted by an unknown enemy, Jake discovers the beautiful widow is not what she seems. He soon realizes that trusting her goes hand-in-hand with desiring her, and passion and duty collide.
Now it’s up to Jake to keep Angela—and their chance at happiness—alive.
What am I doing? Angela
raced to the refrigerator and opened the door to test the firmness of the
dough, taking time to clear her mind from the sensual daze induced by Jake’s
kisses.
Heat scorched her cheeks. If the
timer hadn’t gone off, would she have let him take her right there on the
table? She sprinkled flour onto the counter and placed the dough on it, forming
it into a square.
“Can I help?” Jake’s husky voice
drifted over her sensitive nerves as he came up behind her and heat radiated
from him as he positioned himself at her back.
She pushed hair from her face and
reached for the rolling pin, not looking at him. She felt like a gazelle being
stalked by a lion.
“No, I’ve got it, thanks.” She
rolled the dough into a rectangle, before folding the short ends over the
middle to make three layers. Turning the dough a quarter turn she rolled it
away from her into another large rectangle.
“That looks complicated.” Jake
placed an arm at each side of her, then gripped the counter and peered over her
shoulder. Effectively caging her in, his warm, minty, breath feathered across
her face. “Explain to me what you’re doing. I might like to make it for my son
sometime.”
Her hands trembled when she
folded the short ends over the middle again to make another three layers.
Normally, she’d place the dough back in the refrigerator at this point for
another twenty minutes, but if she worked fast enough she could skip that step.
And she wanted to get this done as soon as possible and put some space between
her and Jake. Afraid she would throw herself back into his arms.
She glanced over her shoulder and
met his heated gaze. His eyes smoldered with banked lust. “Seriously?”
He nodded, watching her with a
predatory gleam in his eyes.
She took another shaky breath and
glanced back down. “Okay. It—it’s a simple recipe really. I’m making dough for
Pear-Hazelnut Tarts. I’ll write it down for you.”
“That’d be great.” His body
pressed up against her.
Angela gulped. “Well—well, first
you prepare the dough, then you need to wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate
for about half an hour.”
“Uh huh.” He leaned in and
nuzzled her ear. “Refrigerate the dough. Got it.”
Her mind went into lockdown.
Nothing but silence and sexual tension filled the room.
“I’m listening,” Jake brushed his
thumb across her cheek. “Flour,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
“Oh.” Her body was wound tight
and desire pooled in her belly, and her breasts felt heavy and aching with the
need to be touched. A tremor ran through her.
She gave the dough another turn
and again folded the ends over. “After you remove the dough from the
refrigerator, you need to roll it flat, and shape it into a large rectangle,
then fold the short ends over the middle so that it makes three layers.” She
demonstrated it for him, although she didn’t really think he was paying
attention.
“Right. Three layers,” he
repeated. One hand slid to her stomach, tugging her closer.
Angela’s pulse raced. “Umm.
Repeat this four times,” she managed to say. “The dough needs to remain firm,
if not . . . if not, put it back in the refrigerator for another fifteen
minutes before continuing.”
“Mmm, sounds like a lot of work.”
The woman Rick Smyth desires has shut him out of her life after being brutally beaten in her own home.
But as a new threat arises, Sheila now turns to him for protection.
This time, not only does he vow to keep her safe, but he’s determined to win her heart as well.
But as a new threat arises, Sheila now turns to him for protection.
This time, not only does he vow to keep her safe, but he’s determined to win her heart as well.
Rick paused,
leaning heavily against her. Fear curled in her stomach at the sight of his
blood stained shirt. His hand covered the wound and the sticky substance oozed
between his fingers.
The sound of voices
could be heard in the distance and coming their way. “Find her!” a growling
voice snapped.
Rick glanced at her
bare feet and his mouth set into a grim line. “I’m sorry, honey, we can’t stop.
It’s not safe yet.” He stumbled forward, tugging her along behind him.
Sheila couldn’t
tell how badly he was hurt, but knew they needed to tend his wound soon or he’d
bleed to death right in front of her. Pure terror clutched her heart in a
vise-like grip at the thought of Rick dying. Her feelings for him went deep,
deeper than she’d wanted to admit to herself. But there was no denying those
feelings now. A bone-deep anguish cut a path through her at the thought of a
world without Rick in it.
They ran further
into the woods as day slipped into night, and she could no longer hear anyone
behind them. “Please, Rick. I can’t go any further,” she lied, growing
desperate for him to rest.
Rick paused again
and peered down at her. He reached out to steady himself on a tree, taking his
weight off her. “Okay.”
A relieved sigh
whooshed from her.
He scanned the area
with narrowed eyes, then straightened, staring over her shoulder. “There.”
Sheila glanced over
to see what he was looking at but saw nothing. “What?”
Is he delirious?
That thought sent
another spike of fear through her. What would she do if he passed out . . . or
worse? Before panic had a chance to take over again, Ricked tugged her toward
an overgrown area of shrubs. As they got closer a shack of some kind began to take
shape, until she finally realized it was a camouflaged building. A little
larger than an outhouse, it was set deep inside the brush.
Rick pushed open
the door and gently shoved her inside the small space, then stepped in behind
her. The door swung closed, shutting out the view of the woods. The structure
had slim, horizontal windows on each wall allowing streams of moonlight to
filter in. A small sense of relief fluttered through her. Even if the people
chasing them followed them here, there was a chance they wouldn’t see this
well-hidden structure.
“It’s a hunting
blind,” Rick said, telling her something she’d already figured out. He sat down
hard and leaned against a wall. Scowling, he struggled to check the chamber of
his gun, before placing it next to him. His long legs almost touched the
opposite wall.
Blood continued to
soak his shirt, dripping onto the wood floor. With her heart in her throat, she
wedged herself next to him. “I need to stop the bleeding, Rick.”
He nodded. Leaning
back against the wall, he took a deep breath and reached up to unbutton his
shirt. His hand shook slightly with the effort.
“Let me,” Sheila
said softly, moving to her knees and pushing his hand aside. He opened his eyes
and watched her as she quickly unbuttoned his shirt. “Can you lean forward?”
His lips twitched.
“I think I can manage.” The growing weakness in his voice indicated otherwise.
He managed to sit
up straight and with her help slid the shirt off his muscular torso. There was
a wound at the upper edge of his shoulder that looked raw and angry. Bile rose
up her throat, but she tried not to show her distress.
“The bullet went
straight through.” Rick gave her a lopsided grin. “Don’t look so grim, darlin’.
It’s not the first time I’ve been shot. Compared to my leg, this is a piece of
cake.” The pain in his voice belied his words.
Sheila’s mouth went
slack and she stared at him in disbelief. Then she narrowed her eyes. He was so
full of it. Although he tried to sound casual, she could see he was weakening
fast.
She removed the
ribbon from her hair and glared at him. Not sure if she was mad because he’d
joked about being shot or the fact that he had been shot . . . twice. But she
did feel a little less panicky that he seemed strong enough to tease her. “We
need to wrap it, Rambo. So bite down on a bullet or whatever you heroes do at a
time like this.”
His mouth curved
into a sexy smile. “A kiss might help.”
She snorted and
barely refrained from rolling her eyes, although her pulse raced a little. Even
with his injury, she wasn’t unaware of how sexy he looked without his shirt . .
. broad, hairless chest, and abs rippling with more than a six-pack.
At the sound of
crunching footsteps, she froze. Her gaze shot to Rick’s and the ribbon slipped
from her fingers and floated to the floor. He reached over and covered her
mouth with his hand and shook his head in warning. Sheila nodded and settled
back on her heels, taking a deep breath through her nose. She concentrated on
keeping her breathing under control.
Rick removed his
hand from her mouth and shrugged his shirt from his other shoulder. He returned
her nod. His steady gaze offered her comfort, even as he slowly reached for his
gun and turned his body toward the door.
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