Is she the woman he’s been waiting for? Or a corporate saboteur sent to take him down?
Warning: Contains several graphic love scenes. You know, on the bed, on the couch…whichever is closest at the time.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Between a Ridge and a Hard Place:
Ridge came to a dead stop at the door to his office, those fantastic navy blue eyes facing away from her, his hand resting on the knob.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
He cleared his throat. “Morgan?” His voice cracked despite how he’d tried to avoid it, but he didn’t turn.
His broad shoulders were rigid beneath the starched white shirt that tapered down to lean hips. His ass clenched under his slacks. Morgan did a double take. His ass clenched? Had to be her imagination. She openly gawked—he was facing away from her, after all. There! He did it again. This time she didn’t miss the action. No doubt his jaw was making the same movement. The man had a tic in his jaw whenever he was angry.
“Morgan,” he said with more force, snapping her out of her perusal of his very fine backside.
“Yes, sir?”
His shoulders relaxed, as did his butt. Damn. He nodded once. “Just making sure it was you.” Why did he sound so strangled?
Oh that’s just great. She’d worn the dang clothes for nothing. Ridge opened the door to his inner office and stepped through, having yet to meet her gaze. Stare. She’d been staring, no question. He paused again and she thought this time he would face her, but after a slight hesitation and a shake of his head, he continued on. Perhaps her boss had been more affected by her virtual state of undress than he was prepared to be.
The corners of her mouth lifted. Maybe today would be her day after all.
Holy shit.
What the hell had happened to his PA? Taking a seat behind the huge mahogany desk that had been his grandfather’s, he leaned a few inches to the left until he could see out the door to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming.
Holy shit.
Nope. He’d seen right. His tomboy PA wasn’t a tomboy anymore. She was all woman, and his cock agreed, coming to life to tent his slacks. Thank God he didn’t have any clients this morning. In fact, if he could make it to the front door and turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED, he could make fine use of his massive erection. Too bad shutting out the public wouldn’t keep the rest of the employees at bay. Hell, he needn’t go any further than his own door to do that. All he had to do was bring her in his office, lock the door and—
Stop. Stop right there. This is your PA, for God’s sake. He didn’t date employees. Or fuck them on his desk with that glorious chestnut hair spread out across his memos, her legs wrapped around his waist while he plunged in and out of her sopping…
Holy shit.
Ridge shook his head to clear it. He didn’t need this. It was hard enough to keep his mind from wandering to the woman just outside his door. The one he spent more time with and knew more about than any other woman in the world besides his sister and mother. The only one he really wanted to know more about.
Maybe she had a twin. Had to. Maybe Morgan was sick and she’d sent the identical twin she’d only met last night to take her place so she wouldn’t have to take a sick day. No way would his sensible, blend-into-the-crowd Morgan ever show up at work dressed the way she was. It was inappropriate. It was scandalous.
He had to see the whole thing.
“Morgan, get in here,” he barked. He should not be thinking about this right now. Their recent bid was what he should be focused on. The bid they should win hands down. But given the way their last two bids—which should have also been won hands down—had gone, he wouldn’t take an easy breath until he saw a winning result.
“Yes, sir.”
The shy, nervous reply made him lower his brows. She’d never been afraid of him. They had an easy companionship. He was her boss, she was his assistant, even though he wanted more and she’d never shown any interest. Hell, Morgan knew more about him than he did.
Holy shit.
Long, long legs—hell, those fucking pants she always wore had to go so he could see those beautiful legs of hers more often—balanced somewhat precariously on high heels. Not stiletto, but high enough, which made her legs look even longer.
A miniskirt covered the tops of her thighs. Barely. Just barely. Ridge swallowed and continued his open study of the transformed woman before him. A strip of tanned belly was visible between the fabric someone had deemed a skirt and the hem of her…tank top? Her small breasts strained the top, making his mouth water. He could even see her beaded nipples poking out, begging for him to take them in his mouth.
Holy—
“Goddammit.” How many times had he mentally repeated that phrase in the last few minutes?
Morgan jumped with a squeak and looked ready to bolt. Her gorgeous green eyes—now those he had noticed many times before—were wide disks on her petite face. Big enough to drown a man in. His erection jumped and he cursed under his breath when she took a step back.
“Stop.”
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and looked anywhere but at him. Better get to the bottom of this now before he did ravish her on his grandfather’s desk, OPEN sign and unlocked door, or not.
“Morgan, what’s going on, sweetheart?”
Forever an outsider…until love beckons her home.
Trust the Moon
© 2009 Jamie Craig
In the small shifter community of Delta, Utah, there’s no such thing as a stranger. Everyone knows everyone, so a new face in town doesn’t go unnoticed. When a woman Dylan Peterson doesn’t recognize shows up at his twenty-first birthday bonfire bash, he does what comes naturally as a host—he introduces himself.
The enigmatic Gena Pelletier is the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, and the most aloof. A scorching encounter with her under the moon blindsides him, leaving him wondering what just happened—and watching her disappear into the night.
Gena wasn’t born wild, but ever since her father’s murder she’s lived outside Delta borders on her own terms. She has no desire to return to civilization, not to its constraints, nor its rules. So what if Dylan is sweet and the sex is amazing? He’s just a way to scratch an itch. Funny thing is, Dylan is an itch a one-time scratch won’t satisfy.
Neither of them knows what to make of the other…and neither can walk away.
Warning: Contains graphic language, as well as hot shifter sex under the moon and in the water, long moonlit runs, and a hero bent on doing everything he can to show the woman he loves what happiness can be.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Trust the Moon:
Dylan sat perched on the roof of his house, his knees pulled up close to his chest, his eyes narrowed as he contemplated the moon. He clutched a pair of jeans in his fingers—her jeans—letting them dangle casually over the edge. If he waited one more night, the moon would be gone completely, leaving him only cold starlight to guide him as he sought her out. It would probably be easier to sneak up to her home, or her lair, or wherever she was living, in the dark. On the other hand, he didn’t think she would run far if she did notice him.
And he didn’t want to wait another night.
Gena Pelletier. It hadn’t been hard for Dylan to find out. Several people saw her at the party—a few even saw them leave together and witnessed his solitary return—and they were happy enough to volunteer her family name. Samson Watts added that Gena had been living in the desert, on her own, for twelve years. Or so he had heard. Samson Watts wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy source, so Dylan attempted to call his father and find out what he knew. Only Cory Peterson had been serious about his vacation to Hawaii, and Dylan hadn’t been able to get a hold of his parents at all. Dylan only hoped that if they were out scuba diving, they were actually using scuba gear and not darting through the crystal blue water as little fish.
He wanted his father to verify that Gena had really been living in the wild for twelve year
s because the thought startled Dylan. Was she living like an animal out there? Had she gone completely feral? And if so, what had prompted her to find him? Loneliness?
Loneliness was as likely as any other explanation. Even a feral shifter would have need for human contact every now and then. Which meant that if she got lonely again, and if she wanted to see him again, she was more than capable of seeking him out. He did not need to go to her. But he wanted to go to her. And the warnings he had heard—she was wild, her family had been crazy, she couldn’t be trusted—only made him hungry for her. Just the thought of her vibrant hair was enough to make his cock twitch. Though the scratches were gone, he still had bites and bruises from their fucking, and every time he brushed against the tender skin, his cock hardened completely.
Knowing how easily he could find her increased the temptation to unbearable levels.
Below him, Delta began to darken, lights clicking off one by one. It was a deceptive darkness, though. The shifters in town who felt more comfortable as nocturnal animals would begin to filter out of their homes soon, slinking along the soft dirt, or soaring through the warm, summer air. If he wanted to leave undetected, he would have to leave sooner rather than later. A lesson he learned at an early age. The first time he snuck out of the house he was ten, and he thought he was being quite clever. He moved with stealth, stayed in the shadows, and finally galloped down the street on four paws, ears flat on his head, tongue lolling. Only to run into his second-grade teacher and her family. Who, in turn, were going to meet up with the high-school track coach and his buddies. They kept an eye on him until his parents showed up to claim him. Of course, neither Cory nor Irene Peterson believed in punishing their children for shifting, but they did make sure he wasn’t to leave the house without their permission.
That didn’t stop him. Not completely. By the time he was twelve, he knew exactly when to leave to avoid meeting half the community.
He pushed himself off the roof and landed on the grass below with a soft grunt. It would be easier, and faster, if he flew into the desert, but he wanted to bring her clothes with him.
With that thought, he shifted into his totem animal. It wasn’t a part of who he was; as a shapeshifter, he could take any form he wanted. Totems were an expression of freedom, an animal of choice each shifter selected to commune with the greater earthly forces they were all a part of. Some were cats, others birds. His parents were canines, as were his grandparents. It had always seemed more natural to choose that shape than any other, to answer the call of the moon, especially since he enjoyed the protection and fellowship of being a pack animal. Choosing a wolf as a totem also had another distinct advantage. Nobody reacted with shock when he strayed from the pack to spend time on his own. Shifters with wolf totems were notoriously moody. His mother always insisted that he was just like his great-grandfather. A huge, white wolf who wandered around the new streets of Delta like he owned the place.
Dylan gripped Gena’s pants tightly in his jaw, the scent of her flesh and sweat invading his nostrils. He hoped it would be a simple matter of following that sweet smell once he ventured beyond Delta and into the desert.
He began his search at the site of the bonfire. She had suggested he leave her clothes there for her to retrieve later; maybe she’d come back to check. His first circuit found nothing. Neither did his slightly wider second. On the third, he was about ready to try a different tactic when the faintest of whiffs of her body’s unique scent drifted to his nose.
Dylan stopped and lifted his head. He had to concentrate to separate the scent of the jeans from that in the air, but eventually he found it, wispy tendrils that beckoned him to follow.
He set off at a loping pace. The trail wasn’t straight. It veered in odd directions, and more than once, the scent pooled in a single spot, indicating she had stopped to rest. He put his nose to the earth in one of them, snuffling around in the dust. Part of him wanted to roll in it. He liked the way he’d worn her smells for the day after his party. He ignored the impulse for fear of distorting his tracking, and he picked up her jeans again to return to his task.
Delta was a faint glow in the distance when he saw the cave. No signs of civilization were nearby. He had no idea where the closest road was. But her scent was stronger here, and it led directly to the mouth of the cave. There was nowhere else to go but there.
Dylan dropped her pants to the ground before venturing farther, but he didn’t shift to his human form. If she was inside, and he startled her, there was a very good chance she would cause him serious harm. He’d be better able to defend himself as a wolf. He dropped to his stomach and pulled himself forward, slinking into the inky darkness.
The mouth was narrow. His shoulders scraped against the walls, and a few times he thought about shifting into something smaller. But it never got too uncomfortable, and so he kept moving forward, following her heady scent. Several yards into the cave, hints of light bounced off the walls. Encouraged, he moved faster, until finally, he came to a sweeping curve. At the other side of that curve was the den he had been hunting for.
The far wall glowed from a small kerosene camping lamp resting on the packed earth. It illuminated a small chest and a set of shelves with a few basic supplies on it, but most importantly, it showed Gena sitting cross-legged in front of a small mirror, brushing her hair.
She was more beautiful than he remembered.
She watched him in the reflection as he dropped into the cavern. Already, he was more than a little intoxicated by the scent of her home. Even more, she smelled delicious. Not wanting to give up the force of that sense, he slinked across the room to lie at her side. He pushed his snout around the ground near her, then against her smooth thigh.
“I was shifted when you crawled in, you know. I would’ve torn your throat out if I hadn’t recognized your scent. I only changed into human form to find out what you wanted.” Her hand dropped to his head, her nails scratching at the soft spots behind his ears. “But you really are the most gorgeous wolf. The best one I’ve ever seen, even.”
Dylan closed his eyes in bliss. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to kiss her again because nobody’s mouth had ever fit his quite like hers did. But he was loath to lose the contact and the simple pleasure that came from lying at her side, feeling her fingers, listening to the soft cadence of her voice.
Only in each other will they discover how to be truly free.
Puma
© 2008 Jorrie Spencer
Callie, a cat-shifter, is a loner by virtue of the puma that lives inside her. After a job gone bad, her very human need for contact sends her in search of the only family she has. Callie finds her foster sister in a disturbing living arrangement. Something is seriously wrong in a place where people “belong” to one man and silence is enforced to the point a seven-year-old girl pretends to be autistic.
Dev Malik thinks it’s odd to see a strange woman in the tall grass behind his house, but he doesn’t have the time to ponder why. He’s too busy trying to shelter the child and woman in his household from Scott, the control freak who lives with them.
The truth is more dangerous than Callie imagines. Scott’s control is powerfully real. And Dev’s need to protect the vulnerable is as strong as Callie’s own. Their desire is as inevitable as it is frightening, for only by looking deep within each other will they find the strength to free them all from an unspeakable evil.
Warning: This title contains explicit sex.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Puma:
Instead of replying, or even responding to her statement, his gaze dropped to her mouth. His hand slid over her shoulder, across to her neck; fingers forked up into her hair and made a fist to anchor her head so she couldn’t move. His mouth was a mere breath from hers.
“I’m going to kiss you, Callie.” He watched for her reaction and she didn’t know if she was supposed to give a verbal yes, or not. He must have seen something to encourage him. She thought he would kiss like before: sudden, deep, all hi
s for the taking.
His lips brushed hers and before she could protest his leaving, he returned, caught her lower lip between his gentle teeth, scraped it lightly. Like the end of this morning’s kiss, but this was a beginning. A noise rose from her throat, in question, in desire, and with the fist that held her hair in his grip, he angled her head.
“God,” he said, a guttural sound, before his mouth covered hers, forcing her mouth open, stroking her tongue with his. He tasted of mint and chocolate and Dev; and she tried to welcome him though all she could do was accept as he devoured her. She’d been kissed before and hadn’t much liked it, hadn’t liked the invasion. Dev was different, demanding, yes, but focused on her. His large hand splayed across her back, between her shoulder blades, and pushed her flush against him so they had full-body contact. The flood of sensation, from his talented mouth—she had never felt so thoroughly kissed, his tongue demanding hers to dance, then withdrawing to explore her lips before delving in again—to the warmth of his body pressed against hers.
She actually went weak in the knees.
As she sank against him, he cupped the back of her head, holding her in that kiss, while the other arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him. He slid his hand under her T-shirt and clasped her ribs, his palm and fingers warm against her skin.
His tongue released hers, and he retreated to nibble her lips. He kissed across her jawline and descended to her neck where he sucked at the sensitive skin there. Her throat vibrated, half-groan, half-purr, all pleasure. As he kissed across her collarbone, he said, “Callie, Callie. I want us to make love.”
He pulled back sharply then, as if to give himself a shake, and she reached for him, hands on his shoulders, scared he would go away. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t take being released by him now.
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