She wasn’t going to fall for it. She pitched forward in an effort to break the man’s hold, but his muscles barely tightened against her frantic movements. Struggling wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed a weapon—the sharper the better.
She shot out her hand over her immaculate desk. No stapler or letter opener in sight. Damn it, why did she have to be so organized? Her fingers wiggled, reaching, reaching for anything—
“Take it easy—”
—and connected with the handle of her ceramic mug. She closed it in her grasp, swung the cup off her desk in the direction of what she hoped was the man’s head.
His arm fell away from her shoulders and darted upward to block the quasi-weapon from connecting with his skull. He closed his hand around the mug and wrenched it from her grip.
“What’s with all the aggressive shit?” His eyes slid over her like molten steel. “I said I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Like I’m supposed to believe that.” Her chest heaved and she stiffened against the desk.
“I’m a man of my word.” From the way his gaze bored into hers and his jaw pulled tight into a serious kink, she could see he was telling the truth. But he ruined the effect with a scowl. “No need to go all Rambo on me.”
“You were attacking me—”
“I wasn’t attacking you. I was trying to keep you from doing something stupid.” He glanced at her mug and a short chuckle burst past his lips as he read the caption. “Nice.”
Heat crawled up her cheeks. She held out her hand. “Give that to me.”
“Scientists,” he read out loud in a voice dripping with laughter, “just regular people...who are way smarter than you.”
She notched her chin in the air. And because she was smarter than him, she refused to let herself get sucked in by the intriguing twinkle in those smiling eyes. “I’m calling security.”
The cocky bastard had the gall to grin at her pronouncement.
***
The moment Dr. McCain’s hand touched the phone Cam realized he’d taken the wrong approach. He’d hoped to intimidate her with his ruthless charm and sinister good looks, but hell if it wasn’t working. Maybe he should’ve combed his hair and popped a breath mint.
Damn. After escaping detection from the security guard, he’d hoped to finish his assessment of the lab’s security and be on his way. The last thing he needed was some uppity scientist ruining his careful plans. Unfortunately, she had the authority to put an end to not only this mission, but his shaky future as well.
What was Dr. McCain doing here in the wee hours of the morning? Hell, for a quiet research facility, this place had turned into Grand Central Station. Was there anyone who hadn’t been in this laboratory tonight?
The brassy redhead was getting ready to call security and have him thrown from the joint. He had to stop her.
Think, Cam. You alone know the powers of the dark side.
“You don’t want to do that.” He deepened his voice. That’s it, use the force, Young Jedi.
He covered her cold hand with his own sweat dampened one. Tension skated across his shoulders. If she called security he was sunk.
He ducked his head and caught sight of her French manicured nails peeping out from beneath his fingers then dragged his focus up to her pale face and her deep brown eyes as they shot daggers at him. Ouch. Yes, I’ll take a whiskey on icicles, thank you very much.
A single strand of her red hair straggled from the haphazard knot behind her head and drew his attention to the half-moon scar beneath her right eye.
“I don’t know who you are or what you want,” she said, “but the only way you’re leaving here is with an escort.”
“You volunteering?” He forced his brow into an arch.
Her jaw clenched. “Not without handcuffing you first.”
Ah, so she was a feisty one was she? He ran his gaze over her flushed face, down her baggy green t-shirt that concealed her figure, and followed through to the tips of her sensible sneakers before coming back to rest on her face. She narrowed her eyes at him and something raw and elemental jolted through him. He appreciated a woman with backbone. And this one—he blew out a breath—yeah, she was in a league of her own.
“You know, I’m just not into that kinky stuff.” He tsked. “I mean, a little spanking...maybe, but I—”
One of those pristine sneakers slammed into his left knee. His leg collapsed beneath him. Pain pulsed through his kneecap and he started to crumble toward the ground. He caught the edge of her desk and hauled himself to his feet, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.
Her eyes widened briefly on his leg but she shook her head and snatched up the receiver.
Man, she was one tough lab rat. She’d just injured his knee and his pride without so much as a blink.
He sucked in a deep breath as the spasm in his knee passed. No time to work out a better solution. He’d have to call her bluff.
“Look, if you’re desperate to call someone, why not ring Charlie. He’ll clear this up. Do you have his cell number?” He reached toward his back pocket for his wallet.
Her brows drew together and the corners of her generous lips sank into a frown. She clutched the phone to her chest. “Ch—Charlie? Danvers?”
He planted an innocent expression on his face. “Yeah, you know, your boss.”
A flush rushed into her pale cheeks. “Of course I know Charlie, but how do you—”
“Good.” He shot her a smile, steeling his gut against the queasy doubt that decided to take up residence, and slid the phone from her grip. “Now that we’re one big happy family, I’ll just be on my way.”
He set the receiver in the cradle. A pinch of truth, a dash of manipulation, and he was done. Please, God, let him be done. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. McCain.”
He strode past tables of high-tech equipment and headed for the door with a confidence he didn’t feel.
“I’m sorry I can’t say the same for you,” she said, a hint of steel in her voice. “How did you say you knew Charlie, again?”
He froze. “I didn’t.” He rolled his shoulders. “You’ll have to take that up with Charlie.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
He reached out to grab hold of the doorknob, his molars grinding painfully against each other. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Oh. And I’m still calling security.”
He forced himself to look Dr. McCain in the eye. With one arched brow, she dared him.
Him. The one who’d made winning his life’s mission.
His fingers crushed into the knob. He opened the door a crack as she lifted the receiver, her fingers poised over the number pad.
Tension tightened his shoulders and crept down his spine. Perspiration popped on his forehead, spewing down his temples like a hydrant. Too bad it couldn’t put out the fire in his throat. His hand reached up to swipe the moisture away, but froze halfway to its destination. What was he doing? Falling apart was not his style—and losing was never acceptable.
Cam eased his hand back to the doorknob and matched Audra’s raised brow with a grin. “Race you.”
He shot her a crisp salute and slipped out the door.
About the Author
Cynthia's love of the written word began at a very young age, when a trip to the library meant packing a lunch and heading out on her bicycle for a day of fictional adventures, but it wasn't until Junior High that she discovered her own talent for storytelling and vowed to write a book someday. Cynthia went on to earn a Bachelor's degree in the chemical sciences, working at an engineering firm and as a lab manager for a high school science department, before turning back to her writing. Now, Cynthia writes gritty, action packed romantic suspense and thrillers.
Cynthia lives in Arizona with her husband and two sons. She is also a Stage IV cancer survivor, and living proof that hope and faith can work miracles.
For more information about Cynthia and her books visit http://www.cynthiajustlin.com where you ca
n subscribe to her newsletter, follow her on Twitter, and find her on Facebook.
The Good Daughter
Looking for another great read? Check out The Good Daughter by Diana Layne. Enjoy the following excerpt!
Naples, Italy
Hurry! Dai, andiamo!
Marisa Peruzzo slammed on the Audi’s horn, the blaring sound having little effect in the din and congestion. The tangled morning traffic crawled, and the cobblestone streets crammed with cars and lined with historic buildings, were too narrow for her to pass. Trapped.
No! Her brother had too much of a head start for her to be trapped.
“Merda.” She hit the redial button on her cell phone. She had called the number ten times in as many minutes.
“Come on, Paolo, answer,” she muttered.
His voicemail clicked on again. She screamed, raised her arm to hurl the phone, and just managed to stop herself before she smashed it on the dashboard. It would be of no use if it were shattered. And maybe, just maybe, Paolo would get her earlier frantic message and call.
“Be safe, be safe, be safe.” Her chants alternated with curses at her father and brother.
What she’d overheard--the casual way her father had told her brother to ‘deal with them’ and her brother’s sinister laugh in response had her dashing out the door the first moment she could escape.
What did Massimo have planned to ‘deal with them’? Them being Paolo and his father Giuseppe. It couldn’t be good.
Her brother, capable of many atrocities, took a special delight in torture, breaking legs, crushing hands. Once he’d castrated a man for making a pass at his girlfriend.
Marisa’s stomach clambered up high to her throat.
Don’t think about it. Concentrate on reaching Paolo. If only she hadn’t been delayed by her father trying to initiate trivial early morning chitchat. At least he hadn’t caught her eavesdropping, hadn’t learned her secret, that she’d been the one feeding information to the Guardia de Finanza, Italy’s anti-Mafia force, in an attempt to stop him and his dealings. He would have had his ever-present bodyguards take her hostage if that had happened.
Carlo Peruzzo had that kind of power. After what he had done to her mother, Marisa wouldn’t put anything past him. When she learned the truth that his actions had robbed her of a sane, cognizant mother, it only made Marisa more determined to bring her father down. Her life had been hell with no one to protect her from her father’s machinations.
No, that she was still free to come and go was proof she hadn’t been the reason for his order, and she grasped hold of the slender tendril of hope that he said ‘deal with them’ and not ‘kill them’.
Paolo Zambrotta, a policeman dedicated to ending organized crime in Italy, was her chance to get out of the family crime business, her chance to make a new life for herself. Her chance for love, something she had never planned until she met him. Recently, she had even allowed herself to entertain visions of holding her and Paolo’s child in her arms.
She couldn’t let that chance be ruined!
Carlo had tried one warning already. He had ordered the Zambrotta family restaurant burned. Only Paolo’s father Giuseppe had witnessed the crime and was willing to testify. Paolo now held hope of getting at least some La Cosa Nostra, if not her father, locked away.
It had to be the upcoming trial. Carlo must be worried about a conviction. Giuseppe had been sequestered and untouchable. Perhaps poppa thought to send another message to the older man by going after Paolo this time.
“Oh, hurry!” Marisa punched the horn again.
As if in an answer to her prayers, the snarl untangled just enough so that--
At the unexpected opportunity, she stomped the accelerator, bullying her Audi V8 through a small opening in the traffic, somehow managing not to crash into another car.
Springing free of the congestion, she sent her thanks heavenwards and floored the gas pedal, working the gearshift like a pro to race up the steep hill to Giuseppe’s house. Paolo was due to pick up his father from protective custody for the first court date--she glanced at her watch--oh, no! Her heart thudded. He would have to pick Giuseppe up in mere moments to arrive at court in time.
More than a block away, she grabbed her phone again. Hit redial. She swerved around the corner onto Giuseppe’s street.
The phone was ringing.
But she was almost there. She could see the house, Paolo’s familiar dusty white Fiat parked out front. She smiled. The day suddenly seemed brighter. Relief almost made her limp--
The explosion rocked her Audi. Flames shot fifty feet in the air, glass shattered. She slammed on the brakes, her car screeching as it slid to a stop. The impact threw her head into the deployed air bag. The phone flew out of her hand.
Then everything went silent.
Her head pounding, blood dripping from her nose and a cut on her forehead, her vision blurred, she dragged her gaze upward and stared in horror at the fire blazing before her.
Paolo’s car engulfed in flames.
Want more? Buy The Good Daughter Now!
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About Diana
Diana Layne is an award winning writer. She’s an RWA Golden Heart® finalist, and has won or finaled in contests such as Romantic Times Follow the New Writer contest. Active in her writing chapters, she’s held positions ranging from treasurer to president, and is a member of the Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood. Diana is a founding member of their successful blog and regularly contributes. (www.rubyslipperedsisterhood.com). A homeschooling mother of six, she balances her hours between nurturing her children and making up stories. Please visit her website at www.dianalayne.com
Praise for The Good Daughter:
“With THE GOOD DAUGHTER, Diana Layne delivers all the elements of a classic romantic suspense--fast pace, a layered and twisty plot, memorable characters and the perfect blance of sensuality. An exceptionally well-executed element of Mafia culture combined with a high level of danger make the book fresh and impossible to put down.”
~Linda Castillo, New York Times bestselling author of Breaking Silence
Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) Page 29