BLURB:
What should be a wonderful trip to Paris turns menacing when Gwen
Morningstar’s daughter is kidnapped by The Red Hand terrorist group.
Fortunately, Jean-Luc LeFevre of France’s Counterterrorism Unit is there to
rescue her little girl. Gwen is grateful, but her need to apprehend the
abductors must override any desire she feels for the handsome agent with his
own brand of justice…and danger.
Jean-Luc is not pleased when Gwen, a crime scene photographer with just
enough training to get them killed, is assigned to work with him. Not only does
she take too many risks, she drives him to distraction.
As Gwen and Jean-Luc track the terrorists, their feelings for each other
grow as fast as the danger. Jean-Luc is determined to protect Gwen and her
daughter, but the sinister grasp of The Red Hand is strong and far-reaching. It
will take more than love to keep them all safe.
EXCERPT:
“Close
your eyes.” The tone of Jean-Luc’s voice gave no room for argument. She
complied—this time. With her eyes closed, the warmth of the washcloth
refreshed. His touch was gentle. When he ran it over the scrape on her chin,
the movement hurt.
“Ouch.”
“Big
baby.”
Her
eyes popped open. “Big galoot.”
He
held two fingers under her chin and lifted her head. Reaching over, he plucked
a pair of tweezers from the table next to him. “Ah, an American word I’m not
familiar with. What does ‘galoot’ mean?” He poked her scrape with the tweezers.
“It
means someone who’s overbearing and rude.”
He
probed deeper.
“Ouch.”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “What are you mining for? Gold?”
“A
pebble.” He held a miniscule stone between the tongs of the tweezers. “Tiny,
but sure to cause infection and scarring.” He stepped closer and twisted her
head slowly from side to side while he examined. His exotic musky cologne, an
unusual blend of warm woods and ocean air, filled her nose, creating sparks of
awareness throughout her system. The man was so big, his muscular silhouette
dwarfed her. Her body, shut down for so long after Tyler’s death, responded,
proof positive this man could bring her dormant femininity back to life.
Hadn’t
she promised herself to never open her heart again? If she did, it’d be to
someone in a less dangerous profession. No more soldiers. No policemen. For
sure, no government agents who thought nothing of jumping into dangerous
situations. A banker, perhaps, or an accountant. Someone
whose biggest danger of the day would be a paper cut.
“Let
me know if you have any discomfort.” With gentle movements, he cleaned her chin
again.
Despite
her previous conversation with herself, her eyes drifted shut. She imagined him
touching her all over. Gentle, confident, passionate touching. Her nipples
peaked as if begging for his touch—gentle or rough. Oh, don’t even go there.
“I
felt something.” She pointed, glad for the distraction. “Here.”
He
leaned in closer. His breath slowed, while hers grew more rapid. Heat radiated
from him. A lock of black hair swept across his forehead. Her fingers itched to
touch, to brush it back. Heaven help her, she even wanted to rub her cheek
against his dark stubble. She yearned to lean into his strength, just for a
minute; being the strong, independent woman got tiring after a while. I
repeat. Don’t go there.
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