by Jade Hart
In reality he saved me from a lot of complications and at the same time set me up for life with money and recognition. Heaviness sat on my chest. “I can’t take the report, Noah. That’s your work. You earned it.”
He shook his head. “It’s done. The findings are already registered in your name.”
The soft carpet cradled me as I ran through what I’d learned. Who was this man?
A smile sneaked over my lips as I figured out what I wanted. “I won’t leave if you do two things for me.”
His nostrils flared and his hips jerked in pleasure, stroking me, flaming me. “What do you want?” The edge of his voice had lost the sorrow and guilt; it was now rough and heavy. It was a command. He wanted to know what I wanted. And just like that he’d turned the serious conversation back to mind-altering sex.
“I want to know you. No more thinking you can’t have me. When you need me, you come to my room. Deal?”
He smiled. “No deal. How about you just move into my room, then I can have you every moment?”
My heart fluttered as he drove into me. It was an acknowledgement of what we were planning for our future.
“Second, you share the money that the pharmaceuticals will pay for your discovery. I’ll take half as we’re partners, but only if you agree.”
“Only if you let me have you at the lab with nothing but your coat and heels on.”
The image shot ripples through my flesh, and I gave up trying to have a logical conversation.
“Deal.”
He bent one elbow, lowering his face to mine. His hips rocked, pressing me deeper into the carpet, turning the simmer into full boil. His mouth captured mine, and he coaxed my tongue to be rough, fight him, dance with him. We got high on each other on the lounge floor, and the heat of the fire caused sweat to bead on our skin.
Just as the soft stars of an orgasm found me, Noah murmured, “Deal.”
Mirror Amour wasn’t intended to be as saucy as it turned out. The characters made me write it. I started writing thinking I’d stick to one genre, turns out, I like to dabble in multiple. I’m lucky enough to have a huge support of readers and friends who accept the books I write, regardless of the material. So, thank you to everyone for sampling my work.
Thank you to all the FFF girls (you know who you are) and thanks to all my closest writing friends (again you know who you are.)
Thanks to my wonderful cover artist Megan from Abuse of Reason and Art and Marcie from Looking Glass editing for her help shaping this MS. Also thanks to Robin and TJ at Cliff Hanger Editing for using me as their guinea-pig for their editing business. Loved it!
And a humongous thank you to you, the reader. Without you my words would mean nothing and my characters would be lonely with no one to read their stories.
Jade Hart can either be found spaced out in her imagination typing away, or with her nose deep in a book. If she isn’t writing or reading, she’s travelling the world with her hubby. She currently lives in Middle Earth, but has lived in Hong Kong, England, and Australia, and uses her many travels as inspiration for locations.
She’s English, so hence the English spelling in her work—hope it’s not too distracting!
If you have feedback on this book, or would like to review an eARC of upcoming titles, please don’t hesitate to contact her.
Seeing as Jade writes any book that a character demands—regardless of genre—she’d like to hear from you on what you enjoyed. If you want more Circotica series tweet her with #morecircotica. If you want more Ocean Breeze tweet #moreocean, etc. It helps keep her writing the books you want to read! J
Thanks for reading!
Blog: www.dreamwritepublish.blogspot.com
Joint Blog: www.falling4fiction.blogspot.com
Twitter: @JadeHart8
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: JadeHartAuthorPage
Sales link for her other work:
Ocean Kills:http://www.amazon.com/Ocean-Kills-Breeze-ebook/dp/B00AJDN5QE/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2
Coffee and Cockpits: http://www.amazon.com/Coffee-and-Cockpits-ebook/dp/B00CBWLWVQ/ref=pd_sim_kstore_3
“If I had to die, I wanted it to be doing something I loved, with a man who wanted to fly me to the moon.”
By day, Nina Poppins is a professional flight attendant, who lives to travel, and isn’t afraid to chase her dreams. By night, she’s an award winning salsa dancer who wears sexy corsets and garter belts. She wants to keep her two lives separate, but Liam Mikin knows her secrets.
Liam Mikin is a co-pilot used to getting any air-hostess he wants with one blazing look of his blue eyes. And he wants Nina. But Nina is adamant she won’t end up as another notch on a pilot’s wingtip.
However, fate intervenes when their airplane malfunctions on a routine flight to Samoa, stranding all the crew on the Pacific island. Liam has his opportunity to prove to Nina he’s not what she thinks, but he wasn’t counting on competition in the form of an engineer. Nikolai Rivers dances as well as Nina and is linked to Liam’s past. As Nikolai fights for Nina’s affections, Liam is forced to face what happened all those years ago.
Being island-wrecked in a five star hotel is anything but relaxing. Fraught with male egos, dancing, and secrets, both Nina and Liam aren’t ready for what fate has in store.
Sneak Peek From Chapter Two… to read more head to Amazon to purchase.
Ten minutes into the flight, the seatbelt sign flickered off. So far, take off was smooth, and my new job was exactly as imagined. In the clouds—walking on air—literally. Alright, slight over-exaggeration. My feet were firmly planted on the aircraft floor, but a girl could dream.
Now, I had to face the air gods. The men who thought just because they worked in a confined space called the cockpit, it gave them free rein to be cocks.
Joslyn threw me a look while pulling vacuum wrapped cheese and crackers from the storage trolley. “We’ve been summoned.” Her tone was deliberately deep and sombre, while her eyes glinted with mischief.
I groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t get that hickey from a pilot flying us today?”
Her hands flew to her throat in mock horror. “Ms. Nina Poppins, how low do you think of me?”
Smirking, I said, “Gutter low, Ms. Joslyn Duncan.” Jumping out the way of her smack, I added, “You have no boundaries when it comes to a uniform and a man who can control his joystick.”
Samantha appeared; her lips twitched and she giggled. “What’s this I hear about you messing around with joysticks, Jos?”
Joslyn’s cheeks pinked as she licked her lips. “What can I say about joysticks? Love ‘em.”
The seat belt sign pinged on and off again.
I sighed. “Impatient much?”
“I’ve heard that’s how pilots ask for their tea and coffee. I didn’t think it was true though. Bit chauvinistic don’t you think?” Jos asked, wrinkling her nose.
Finally, someone thought like me.
I didn’t like pilots because of their hugely inflated egos. I doubted most of the planes needed wings; they could probably float on the hot air of the men flying them.
“I’ll go,” I muttered, plucking two Styrofoam cups from the galley and filling them with instant coffee.
Joslyn patted me on the back. “There’s the spirit. Go nab yourself a cockpit-sitting, joystick-wielding, sexy pilot.”
I stuck my tongue out at her. God, how old am I again? Blowing raspberries was hardly professional flight attendant material.
Collecting myself, I patted my French braid to smooth any fly-aways and rubbed my cheeks to get rid of any shine. It was rather hot in the cabin today. Mental note: tell the douche-canoes flying this metal tin can to turn the air conditioner up.
Grabbing my flimsy tray of scalding liquid, I flashed Joslyn and Samantha a smile. “Wish me luck.”
Joslyn laughed. “Don’t come back unless you’re pregnant.”
“Punch her for me will you, Sam?”
Joslyn hopped delicately out of
the way of Samantha’s half-hearted swing. Then quipped, “You know, you could just jump out of the plane with your black umbrella and float back to all the children you nanny. Saves dealing with men and their cockpits.”
Very slowly, I turned and placed the coffees on the counter. Smiling ever so sweetly, I backed Joslyn against the galley and tickled her. “Don’t ever refer to me and my last name again. It’s not original. I’ve put up with Mary Poppins jokes all my—”
“What on earth is going on here?” a sharp voice sounded behind me.
Joslyn immediately stopped chuckling and straightened her uniform.
Cringing, I turned and hung my head. “Sorry, Ms. Klein. Nothing’s going on. I was just about to take the pilots their coffee.”
Ms. Klein pursed her lips, tapping her pen against her clipboard. Glaring at Jos and me, she scribbled something on her assessment form.
My heart sank. Why was I so stupid? This was the most important day of my career and I was screwing it up by joking and tickling a colleague. Might as well jump out the door without a parachute.
Standing straighter, I tugged my blazer down and sucked in a deep breath. “It won’t happen again.”
Ms. Klein titled her head. “Make sure it doesn’t. Go take the pilots their drinks, then report to me down the back.” Scowling at Joslyn and Samantha, she ordered, “Start the service. We’re already five minutes behind as it is. We’ll be in Sydney before passengers get their snack.”
With the coffee in hand, I slunk out of the galley and knocked on the cockpit door. I waited like a naughty child for admittance. God, this was a nightmare. I was so moronic to think I could have fun and let my guard down a little. No more. The fun was over, and I was all business from here on in.
“Enter,” a voice ordered through the door.
Rolling my eyes, I did as commanded and turned the doorknob in the special way that unlocks it. Every year the security measures increased. Soon there’d be fingerprint scans and eye retina probes. It was such a hassle, but it didn’t stop the pilots from demanding their coffee. Oh no, they had to have their caffeine.
I frowned as I entered, closing the door behind me. What the hell?
Captain Anderson had the local paper spread out in front of him, completely obscuring the window and the endless blue yonder, and Co-pilot Mikin had one foot thrown over his knee, rubbing his calf.
I knew we were on auto-pilot, but surely some sort of readiness was required if something failed?
Hiding my exasperated look, I said, “Two coffees?”
Liam Mikin turned to face me, silver aviators hiding his eyes. Confidence shimmered around him, setting my teeth on edge. I’d seen him around the airport and occasionally at the training facility but hadn’t spoken to him. I didn’t need to speak to him to know the type of man he was. Slut came to mind.
“Do you know how I like it?” His lips quirked; they were full and shapely. His jaw was well-defined, and his Adam’s apple drew my eyes to his tanned throat.
My heart fluttered, and I was instantly pissed at myself for such a feminine reaction to a good looking man who’s panty score eclipsed mine one hundred to one.
Captain Anderson guffawed. “Don’t they all, Mikin?”
Yep – there it was—admission to being a player.
My mouth pursed. “Black with two sugars?”
“Yep. You got it.” Liam smiled, removing his glasses with a suave flourish. He turned the full force of his pupils—blue as the sky and as icy as the cubes I envisioned him rubbing over my body—on me.
I had no idea how I knew his coffee preference, but I’d sure heard the stories about him. One rather elaborate tale about him getting a hosty fired for stealing her blouse after a tryst in an airport bathroom on a layover. She had to do service with only her blazer and bra.
Ignoring his blue-eyed gaze, I asked, “And you, Captain?”
“Milk and one sugar, sweetie.”
I shuddered at the endearment. However, he smiled a fatherly smile. He wasn’t so bad; even if he did have a giant ‘I’m a pilot’ moustache.
Guess I was always destined to be in the travel industry. My dad was a chopper pilot for the Royal Air Force, and boy he never let me forget it. I suffered his disbelief that I didn’t go into service every day, but the upbringing around other air force brats, moustaches, and aeronautical speak ruined me for any other career. Wings fluttered around my heart and jet fuel surged in my veins. It wouldn’t be long until I was the one flying the damn thing, not a trolley-dolly.
Around the world, murderers and rapists pick off the innocent. Killing loved ones, separating families, and ruining lives.
As an eight-year-old girl, Ocean witnessed her family’s massacre and something altered inside her. Twisting her genetic code… unlocking an ability to teleport.
Ocean Breeze was never destined to be normal, especially having been named after air-freshener. She’s a shadow, a ghost—a dark saviour of the innocent. Armed with a switchblade in her bra, and a box-cutter in her pocket, she hunts the filth of the world.
Callan Bliss is a Sydney police officer whose skill-set is far above that of a normal cop. All his fellow officers see is a hard worker who loves to catch perpetrators and surf, but that’s because they don’t know about his past. When Callan arrests a suspicious-looking prostitute, he comes face-to-face with a self-confessed vigilante, and suddenly, his secrets aren’t so easy to keep silent.
Ocean hates the police with a passion, and has no intention of being held captive by a cop, even if he is sexy as hell. Teleporting from under his nose, Ocean hunts her next target—a man responsible for the largest sex ring in South Africa—and now he’s about to die. But she doesn’t count on Callan giving chase, nor the body-quaking lust that consumes them. However, Ocean's dark hobbies take precedence over what her heart wants—her thirst for murdering is killing her too, and not even Callan can save her.
Sneak Peek From Chapter One… to read more head to Amazon to purchase.
My name is Ocean Breeze. Yep. Ocean freakin' Breeze. It was my mom's attempt at some posh-sounding name. She was inspired by—get this—a bottle of toilet air-freshener. My heart squeezed at the thought of the cookie-scented woman with hugs as warm as sunshine.
The sound of my Nikes pummeling the pavement chased away my thoughts. The slapping of rubber against asphalt was similar to the slap the last prostitute-abusing john gave me. Stinking bastard. No one raises a hand to Ocean Breeze without losing an appendage. Or more, as the case may be.
I swiped my hands on my red vinyl miniskirt. It wasn't exactly an attractive outfit—Nikes with a miniskirt? But I've learned the hard way. Running in heels never worked. Ever. The sleazy men who paid for sex didn't care what was on my feet, only what was between them.
I jumped and jived through the crowd. It was two in the morning, and the streets of Kings Cross, Sydney, were a hive of activity. Drunken students hauled themselves from karaoke clubs. Rich business men back-slapped each other for the lap dance from the uni-student, who pocketed their tips to pay for her law degree. This place was full of clichés and smut.
And I loved it.
I could disappear here. I was a nobody. Even boasting a pair of ruby lips and a figure that could've graced the center fold of Playboy, I didn’t stand out. Beauty was coveted in the Cross, and plastic surgery was the salvation if nature didn’t do the work.
So why was I running?
I just killed a guy. That's why.
I bolted past the three-story-sized Coca-Cola advertisement, blazing red and white, and disappeared into an alley full of meth-heads and crack whores. I leaped over comatose figures, sprinting toward the city center. Keep running. Get far away.
The night was heavy with muggy heat, unusual for this time of year, and sweat made my miniskirt slide against my thighs.
Kings Cross embraced sin and naughtiness—the suburb encouraged unleashed pleasure and endless partying. It also encouraged rapists and murderers who lurked in the sha
dows. . . waiting.
A flash of blue and red lights.
Sirens.
Fuck! I pirouetted and charged down another alley, passing a gay club blasting Kylie Minogue. Ugh.
“You! Stop!”
Yeah, no chance of that, fat douche. I flipped him the bird and kept running. He jumped back in his cruiser and gave chase. Lazy bastard. Too many kebabs and doughnuts for that slob. He wouldn't catch me. No one ever caught me.
My ruby lips curved. I loved the chase. I loved the kill. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t enjoy murdering someone, but I did enjoy the knowledge that he’d never hurt another. My cut throat actions saved other would-be victims. Plus, that john deserved it.
Memories overtook my vision. Heavy breath on my cheek, rancid smell as he slobbered on my neck. Then warm, oozing blood as my weapon of convenience—a long skinny oyster knife—buried deep in the man's groin. Ridding him of a vital piece of his anatomy and draining his body of crimson. One moment alive, the next—not. Then rushed practicality: Dispose of my surgical gloves. Wipe the corpse with antiseptic wipes. Remove the man's DNA, fingerprints, and blood from my body.
Adrenaline spiked, dousing my already overloaded system. My heart thudded as fast as the bass at a techno club. The pavement flickered and I stumbled.
No, not now! My vision danced like a mirage. I no longer had control of my body.
Sirens were closer, screeching in my ears. Keep moving, Ocean! For freakin' sake, move!
No amount of yelling could stop the migraine from consuming me. I screamed and clutched my temples, slamming to the concrete. The sidewalk danced under my phantasm goggles, no longer acting like rock and tar, but candy floss and gossamer. I'm going. I'm going…
Cold claws grasped my bare shoulders. “You're coming with us.”