I've been waiting and wondering and waiting and wondering, and it just arrived!
Without further ado....
Click to make it bigger.
So what do you think?!?!?!
Update:
In honor of the cover, how about an excerpt? This exerpt is the scene that inspired the cover.
WARNING: Sexually explicit!!! Spoilers!!!! (Oh, yeah, like that's going to stop you!)
From Unlawful Contact
Two white candles sat in silver candleholders in the middle of a coffee table, their golden flames reflected in the dark, polished wood. The coffee table sat in the center of the room between two plush sofas and across from the fireplace, where a cozy fire crackled. Two places had been set with linen, silver, and crystal. Nearby on the floor sat a silver champagne chiller filled with crushed ice. The sultry sound of jazz drifted in the background.
Hunt poured out the champagne. “How’d it go?”
“Wow.” For a moment, that’s all she could say.
“Are you hungry?” He bent down, stuck the bottle in the chiller, then stood and walked toward her. He was still wearing his jeans, but he’d put on a sleek black shirt and had rolled up the sleeves. He looked casual, sexy… delicious.
“This is amazing.”
When was the last time a man had done something romantic like this for her?
Never. That’s when.
“I hope you like salmon.” He slid his arm around her waist, ducked down and brushed a kiss over her lips.
“I love salmon. What are we celebrating?”
He pressed his forehead to hers, looked straight into her eyes. “Now, Sophie—we are celebrating now.”
She felt her breath catch, something bittersweet rushing through her, part hope, part despair. And suddenly she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Go make yourself comfortable.” He released her and strode down the hallway toward the kitchen.
She walked over to the coffee table, sat on the thickly carpeted floor, and stared into the fire, its warmth seeping into the cold places inside her.
There’s no “happily ever after” for us, sprite. There’s now. Only now.
Could it be that simple?
Could it be any more simple?
Neither of them had any idea what was going to happen tomorrow or even five minutes from now, but rather than worrying about it, Hunt was savoring every moment, trying to experience as many of the pleasures of life as he could before they were taken from him forever.
Tears pricked Sophie’s eyes, but she fought them back, determined not to spoil the mood Hunt had obviously worked so hard to create. She needed to put her fears aside and take hold of this little taste of heaven he was offering—if not for her own sake then most certainly for his. This was as close to a normal life as he was going to get.
There’s now. Only now.
Well, happy endings were overrated anyway.
Hunt walked back through the doorway and set two dinner plates on the coffee table. Sophie’s mouth watered. On each sat a grilled salmon filet covered with a relish of tomatoes and black olives next to buttery baby potatoes and steamed asparagus.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can’t—but I can read a recipe as well as the next guy.” He sat, a lopsided grin on his handsome face. Then he picked up his champagne glass and fixed her with his piercing gaze. “To now.”
She raised her glass, smiled. “To now.”
Champagne tickled its way down her throat straight into her empty stomach. She set her glass down and tucked her napkin in her lap.
He picked up his napkin. “So what did they say?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. “Tom said he’ll follow up on the request for the report and do the background checks. My attorney said he’ll subpoena the halfway house’s surveillance records if they have any.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“I can’t be sure, but I’m guessing we’ll have the information from the background checks by mid-day Monday. That usually takes only a couple of hours.”
“Perfect. That means we can spend the weekend searching this place for information about Megan’s life.” He picked up his fork. “Bon appétit.”
The food was delicious, the salmon soft and flaky, the relish adding tang and saltiness, the asparagus cooked to a perfect crispness. The champagne was cold and dry with a long mineral finish that went straight to Sophie’s head. The tension of the past week began to melt away, the shadows chased away by good food and drink, the warmth of the fire, and the heat of his gaze. She found herself telling him about her parents’ restaurant—how she’d all but grown up in the kitchen, being coddled, fed and fussed over by a staff of finicky French chefs and a sommelier who took her wine education seriously, even when she was six.
“That sounds like a wonderful way to grow up.”
“I probably would have become the manager or maybe the wine buyer if… ”
If her parents hadn’t been killed.
Marc saw the grief in Sophie’s eyes and knew where her thoughts had taken her.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m babbling.”
“No, you’re not.” He reached over, took her hand, gave it reassuring squeeze. “It must have been the most horrible thing in the world to lose your mom and dad.”
She nodded, took a deep breath—and then changed the subject. “So tell me about the Army. Did you grow up wanting to be a soldier?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell, no! I grew up wanting my mother to stop drinking and using and start acting like other kids’ moms. I didn’t spend a single moment thinking about the future. By the time I was a senior, it was clear that the Army was the my only chance to avoid mowing lawns and changing oil for the rest of my life.”
As they finished the meal, he told her about boot camp and how the meanest master sergeant on the face of the earth—a bastard by the name of Stracher—had kicked his ass into gear. He told her how he’d discovered he had skill with target shooting. He told her how he’d been transferred into Special Forces after 9/11 and deployed to Afghanistan as a sniper, where he’d spent a winter high in the frigid mountains near Tora Bora.
“It must have been very hard.” Her cheeks were flushed, her body relaxed, her gaze focused on him, a dreamy look in her big blue eyes. She was obviously feeling the champagne. “I’m so glad you made it home in one piece.”
“You know what kept me warm at night?” He leaned in closer, brushed a strand of hair from the satin of her cheek. “I kept thinking about this beautiful girl from my hometown. I only spent one night with her—just one night—but it was the sweetest night of my life. She gave me her virginity and told me to shoot for the stars. I tried, Sophie. I tried to shoot for the stars.”
He must have been feeling the alcohol, too, or he never would have said anything like that. Or maybe it wasn’t the champagne. Maybe it was just being near her like this. He seemed to be running at the mouth a lot lately.
She turned her head, nuzzled her cheek against his palm, her skin unbelievably soft, her eyes drifting shut. “Did you really think of me these past six years?”
He ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Oh, yes. I thought about you. Dreamed about you. Fantasized—”
Her eyes flew open, her pupils wide and dark. “About me?”
“Yeah.” Slow down, Hunter. Do you really think a woman wants to know that sort of thing? “Does that bother you?”
She shook her head, the flush on her cheeks going deeper, her lips parting on a breathy whisper. “I was just thinking we could… you know… try out a few of those, um, fantasies. While we have the chance.”
And that right there blew away any fantasy.
His tried to say something, but all the blood in his body had rushed to his crotch.
“So, Marc Hunter, where do you want me?”
Geez-us!
Where did he want her? God, he wanted her everywhere. Against the wall. Spread-eagle on the bed. On her hands and knees. In the hot tub. On the dining room table. In the Jag. Hell, on the Jag.
But one fantasy stood out above the rest. “It’s not so much where I want you, Sophie, as it is how. Nothing tastes quite like a woman, and no woman tastes like you.”
She gave an almost inaudible gasp. “Then you want…”
“I want dessert.” He stood, reached for her, drew her onto the couch beneath him.
He kissed her out of her blouse, suckling her through her bra until she was whimpering and writhing, her nipples straining against the wet lace. Then he moved on to her pants, drawing the fabric down her long legs, tasting his way down her silky skin, over her sensitive calves to the tips of her little toes. But as scrumptious as her skin was, this wasn’t the taste he hungered for most.
He worked his way back up her legs, nudging her thighs apart with his hands, inhaling the wild, musky scent of her arousal, filling his lungs with her. Yes, this was it, the scent he’d wanted inside his head for so, so long. But now he wanted a taste.
He licked her inner thighs along the edge of her panties, heard her gasp, her fingers sliding into his hair, rough lace and soft skin both sweet against his tongue. Then he drew back and licked his way up the lace where it covered her cleft, the soft folds of her labia beneath. When his tongue felt the tiny bud of her clit, he held himself still, flicking it through the thin cloth, feeling it swell.
She whimpered, lifted her hips eagerly toward his mouth. “Please, Hunt!”
He chuckled. “Sorry, but this is my fantasy, and I’m going to take my sweet time.”
She gave a pained moan. “Is this your ‘torture Sophie’ fantasy?”
“No, it’s my ‘Sophie lets me do whatever I want to do’ fantasy. I’m going lick you everywhere, until your scent is imprinted on my brain, until I can taste you in my dreams, until you saturate my skin. So settle in because this is probably going to take a while.”
He saw her belly contract, felt her shiver, and knew what he’d said excited her.
“But… what about you?”
“Sweetheart, this is for me.”
Without further ado....
Click to make it bigger.
So what do you think?!?!?!
Update:
In honor of the cover, how about an excerpt? This exerpt is the scene that inspired the cover.
WARNING: Sexually explicit!!! Spoilers!!!! (Oh, yeah, like that's going to stop you!)
From Unlawful Contact
Two white candles sat in silver candleholders in the middle of a coffee table, their golden flames reflected in the dark, polished wood. The coffee table sat in the center of the room between two plush sofas and across from the fireplace, where a cozy fire crackled. Two places had been set with linen, silver, and crystal. Nearby on the floor sat a silver champagne chiller filled with crushed ice. The sultry sound of jazz drifted in the background.
Hunt poured out the champagne. “How’d it go?”
“Wow.” For a moment, that’s all she could say.
“Are you hungry?” He bent down, stuck the bottle in the chiller, then stood and walked toward her. He was still wearing his jeans, but he’d put on a sleek black shirt and had rolled up the sleeves. He looked casual, sexy… delicious.
“This is amazing.”
When was the last time a man had done something romantic like this for her?
Never. That’s when.
“I hope you like salmon.” He slid his arm around her waist, ducked down and brushed a kiss over her lips.
“I love salmon. What are we celebrating?”
He pressed his forehead to hers, looked straight into her eyes. “Now, Sophie—we are celebrating now.”
She felt her breath catch, something bittersweet rushing through her, part hope, part despair. And suddenly she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Go make yourself comfortable.” He released her and strode down the hallway toward the kitchen.
She walked over to the coffee table, sat on the thickly carpeted floor, and stared into the fire, its warmth seeping into the cold places inside her.
There’s no “happily ever after” for us, sprite. There’s now. Only now.
Could it be that simple?
Could it be any more simple?
Neither of them had any idea what was going to happen tomorrow or even five minutes from now, but rather than worrying about it, Hunt was savoring every moment, trying to experience as many of the pleasures of life as he could before they were taken from him forever.
Tears pricked Sophie’s eyes, but she fought them back, determined not to spoil the mood Hunt had obviously worked so hard to create. She needed to put her fears aside and take hold of this little taste of heaven he was offering—if not for her own sake then most certainly for his. This was as close to a normal life as he was going to get.
There’s now. Only now.
Well, happy endings were overrated anyway.
Hunt walked back through the doorway and set two dinner plates on the coffee table. Sophie’s mouth watered. On each sat a grilled salmon filet covered with a relish of tomatoes and black olives next to buttery baby potatoes and steamed asparagus.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can’t—but I can read a recipe as well as the next guy.” He sat, a lopsided grin on his handsome face. Then he picked up his champagne glass and fixed her with his piercing gaze. “To now.”
She raised her glass, smiled. “To now.”
Champagne tickled its way down her throat straight into her empty stomach. She set her glass down and tucked her napkin in her lap.
He picked up his napkin. “So what did they say?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. “Tom said he’ll follow up on the request for the report and do the background checks. My attorney said he’ll subpoena the halfway house’s surveillance records if they have any.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“I can’t be sure, but I’m guessing we’ll have the information from the background checks by mid-day Monday. That usually takes only a couple of hours.”
“Perfect. That means we can spend the weekend searching this place for information about Megan’s life.” He picked up his fork. “Bon appétit.”
The food was delicious, the salmon soft and flaky, the relish adding tang and saltiness, the asparagus cooked to a perfect crispness. The champagne was cold and dry with a long mineral finish that went straight to Sophie’s head. The tension of the past week began to melt away, the shadows chased away by good food and drink, the warmth of the fire, and the heat of his gaze. She found herself telling him about her parents’ restaurant—how she’d all but grown up in the kitchen, being coddled, fed and fussed over by a staff of finicky French chefs and a sommelier who took her wine education seriously, even when she was six.
“That sounds like a wonderful way to grow up.”
“I probably would have become the manager or maybe the wine buyer if… ”
If her parents hadn’t been killed.
Marc saw the grief in Sophie’s eyes and knew where her thoughts had taken her.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m babbling.”
“No, you’re not.” He reached over, took her hand, gave it reassuring squeeze. “It must have been the most horrible thing in the world to lose your mom and dad.”
She nodded, took a deep breath—and then changed the subject. “So tell me about the Army. Did you grow up wanting to be a soldier?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell, no! I grew up wanting my mother to stop drinking and using and start acting like other kids’ moms. I didn’t spend a single moment thinking about the future. By the time I was a senior, it was clear that the Army was the my only chance to avoid mowing lawns and changing oil for the rest of my life.”
As they finished the meal, he told her about boot camp and how the meanest master sergeant on the face of the earth—a bastard by the name of Stracher—had kicked his ass into gear. He told her how he’d discovered he had skill with target shooting. He told her how he’d been transferred into Special Forces after 9/11 and deployed to Afghanistan as a sniper, where he’d spent a winter high in the frigid mountains near Tora Bora.
“It must have been very hard.” Her cheeks were flushed, her body relaxed, her gaze focused on him, a dreamy look in her big blue eyes. She was obviously feeling the champagne. “I’m so glad you made it home in one piece.”
“You know what kept me warm at night?” He leaned in closer, brushed a strand of hair from the satin of her cheek. “I kept thinking about this beautiful girl from my hometown. I only spent one night with her—just one night—but it was the sweetest night of my life. She gave me her virginity and told me to shoot for the stars. I tried, Sophie. I tried to shoot for the stars.”
He must have been feeling the alcohol, too, or he never would have said anything like that. Or maybe it wasn’t the champagne. Maybe it was just being near her like this. He seemed to be running at the mouth a lot lately.
She turned her head, nuzzled her cheek against his palm, her skin unbelievably soft, her eyes drifting shut. “Did you really think of me these past six years?”
He ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Oh, yes. I thought about you. Dreamed about you. Fantasized—”
Her eyes flew open, her pupils wide and dark. “About me?”
“Yeah.” Slow down, Hunter. Do you really think a woman wants to know that sort of thing? “Does that bother you?”
She shook her head, the flush on her cheeks going deeper, her lips parting on a breathy whisper. “I was just thinking we could… you know… try out a few of those, um, fantasies. While we have the chance.”
And that right there blew away any fantasy.
His tried to say something, but all the blood in his body had rushed to his crotch.
“So, Marc Hunter, where do you want me?”
Geez-us!
Where did he want her? God, he wanted her everywhere. Against the wall. Spread-eagle on the bed. On her hands and knees. In the hot tub. On the dining room table. In the Jag. Hell, on the Jag.
But one fantasy stood out above the rest. “It’s not so much where I want you, Sophie, as it is how. Nothing tastes quite like a woman, and no woman tastes like you.”
She gave an almost inaudible gasp. “Then you want…”
“I want dessert.” He stood, reached for her, drew her onto the couch beneath him.
He kissed her out of her blouse, suckling her through her bra until she was whimpering and writhing, her nipples straining against the wet lace. Then he moved on to her pants, drawing the fabric down her long legs, tasting his way down her silky skin, over her sensitive calves to the tips of her little toes. But as scrumptious as her skin was, this wasn’t the taste he hungered for most.
He worked his way back up her legs, nudging her thighs apart with his hands, inhaling the wild, musky scent of her arousal, filling his lungs with her. Yes, this was it, the scent he’d wanted inside his head for so, so long. But now he wanted a taste.
He licked her inner thighs along the edge of her panties, heard her gasp, her fingers sliding into his hair, rough lace and soft skin both sweet against his tongue. Then he drew back and licked his way up the lace where it covered her cleft, the soft folds of her labia beneath. When his tongue felt the tiny bud of her clit, he held himself still, flicking it through the thin cloth, feeling it swell.
She whimpered, lifted her hips eagerly toward his mouth. “Please, Hunt!”
He chuckled. “Sorry, but this is my fantasy, and I’m going to take my sweet time.”
She gave a pained moan. “Is this your ‘torture Sophie’ fantasy?”
“No, it’s my ‘Sophie lets me do whatever I want to do’ fantasy. I’m going lick you everywhere, until your scent is imprinted on my brain, until I can taste you in my dreams, until you saturate my skin. So settle in because this is probably going to take a while.”
He saw her belly contract, felt her shiver, and knew what he’d said excited her.
“But… what about you?”
“Sweetheart, this is for me.”