by Susan Stoker
He narrowed his gaze at the latest listing. Three bedrooms. Two full baths. Vaulted ceiling in the main room, newly renovated kitchen. On paper, this one held promise. The last house they’d seen was an old ranch house, two story with clapboard siding and a front porch that leaned. “Looks sound,” he said.
“Plenty of nice improvements, too,” she said. “An updated kitchen. Even has a pretty island with a second stovetop. Great for entertaining.”
Cain grunted. Then he turned and gave her second look, taking in her entire length. He drew a long, unsteady breath.
Carina fluttered her mascara’d eyelashes. “I went shopping,” she said, then blew him a kiss from her rose-colored lips.
The woman was going to kill him stone-cold dead. Her hair was perfectly straight, so glossy dark some strands looked blue. She wore a gauzy top in deep sunset colors over skinny jeans and a brand new pair of cowboy boots. She was a vision. The prettiest thing he’d ever seen—on-screen or in real life. “Baby, you are so beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Glad you like, but what about the house?”
He drew a deep breath. This was the house she deserved. “You want to show it to me?”
He followed her throughout the rooms, letting her go on and on about its many attributes. When she’d finished, she closed the door and turned the key. Cain waited, wondering what was going on, because she took an extra moment before facing him. When she did, she placed her hands on her hips and got that stubborn look on her face. The one that told him she was prepared to argue.
Her gaze narrowed. “The house is perfect.”
Cain kept his smile hidden. “That it is. We can walk in and not have to do a thing.” He gave her a steady look while he studied her expression.
Her eyebrows drew together. “It’s too perfect.”
“Is it?” He smiled, hoping against hope about what she’d say next.
“Yeah. We’ll both be bored to death.”
“Will we?”
“The place has no personality, and no—”
“Butter cream?”
She blinked, and then a smile curved her perfectly painted mouth. “No butter cream,” she repeated, nodding. “You’ll probably call me all kinds of crazy—”
“Never!” He had to bite back a laugh.
“But I like that dump we saw yesterday. The one with the leaning porch.”
Her shoulders were raised and her face scrunched like she expected him to laugh at her.
“Thank God,” he blurted.
“Really?”
“Hell, yeah. I just didn’t want you worried we’d be taking on a money pit with no end.”
“I liked working on the old house. I liked painting.” She rested a hand on his forearm. “And I want to learn to do things, Cain.”
He let out a whoop and picked her up, twirling her around and around while she laughed.
When he put her down, she swayed. “Maybe we’re both crazy. But I know I’m crazy in love with you, Cain Whitfield.”
Cain held still and let her words sink in, enjoying the burn that filled his chest. “I think that house would be the perfect place for a man and his wife to set down roots and raise a family.”
Her eyes shot wide. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Since I plan on making babies with you, the marrying comes first.”
“That the protocol?” She tilted her head to one side.
“It’s the law.”
She walked her fingers up the buttons of his shirt and gave him another flirty look from her deep brown eyes. “Cain’s law?”
He flashed her a smile. “Damn straight, woman.” He hugged her against his side and pulled her down the pathway toward the driveway. “Better call the agent.”
She laughed. “No need. I already told her we’d be making an offer on the other house.”
He chuckled. “Think you know me that well?”
Carina wrinkled her nose. “Baby, I know you like leaving your mark.”
He patted her ass. “Mmm-hmm. That I do…”
The End
About Delilah Devlin
Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred fifty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.
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And if you’re hungry for more, there are plenty of sexy Texans awaiting your pleasure in the Cowboys on the Edge series!
Wet Down
Out with the old, in with the new…
Or so Sherry Thacker thinks. Problem is, her ex is always on her mind—shirtless, sweaty, sooty, way too handsome—and right across the street. When a “Wet Down” ceremony to retire an old fire truck is planned by the city council to raise funds for the firehouse, she has to put aside her hurt and anger and do her job. Texas fierefighter, Blake Thacker wants his wife back—in the house they shared, in their marriage bed. Still confused how Sherry’s becoming mayor managed to drive a wedge between them, he’ll use whatever means necessary to win her back.
Sex is always best served WET.
Controlled Burn
This flame doesn’t need a match…
One high school prank gone wrong shouldn’t define the rest of Carly Lohan’s life. But setting fire to Caldera Canyon isn’t something townsfolk will ever forget. As the last part of her final act of restitution, she’s among the group of volunteers assigned to keep a prescribed burn of underbrush and grass from “running over the rim” into the ranches ringing the park.
Local rancher and volunteer firefighter Jeremiah McCord doesn’t trust the reformed firebug anywhere near the canyon’s controlled burn. Determined to keep her on a short rein, he’s everywhere she is, watching her. His distrust and determination sparks a plan for some sexy revenge—one that will get them both too close to the flames.
Love hard-edged Navy SEALs? Try an Uncharted SEALs story!
Watch Over Me
Navy SEAL Deke Warrick’s unsanctioned detail is to keep tabs on a congressman’s daughter while she vacations in the Caribbean. He’s determined to keep his distance from the beautiful Nicky Martir, but finds his limits tested when Nicky sets out to seduce him. What seemed like a simple mission becomes deliciously complicated—and then dangerous, when she’s snatched from their hotel room.
Her Next Breath
Ex-SEAL Jackson Keller’s first mission with the Charter Group’s spec ops unit is a bust. Instead of capturing a drug lord in his Mexican compound, he finds a beautiful, naked woman. But she may have information they need to nail the narco-terrorist, so he takes her, sealing his fate. She’s his to watch, his to “manage” until the op’s done.
Suri McAnally’s made some mistakes—mainly trusting her college roomie who just so happens to be the son of one of Mexico’s most dangerous drug lords. If Jackson can save her, she’ll do whatever he says, mirror his moves, and try to keep her insta-lust under control. Her next breath depends on it.
Through Her Eyes
Ex-SEAL and expert sniper, Wolf Kinkaid, is taking a little downtime while he considers his options. Being wooed by two elite black ops groups, he’s enjoying Charter Group’s beach house while he considers his options. A loner by nature as well as occupation, he wonders if he’ll ever really connect to the people around him. Afraid his loner nature will sentence him to spending his life alone, he’s not sure he wants to continue looking down a scop
e, even if the pay’s good.
Bounty hunter Piper Ames loves the adrenaline rush she gets from her high-stakes hunts, but now, she has time on her hands as she waits for her collar to pop up his head so she can take him down. While she’s waiting, it doesn’t hurt that a big, buff, ex-military type is staying right next door. Not the least shy about going after what she wants, she’s surprised when he’s equally as aggressive. Their chemistry is off the charts, and the sex is the hottest she’s ever had.
While Wolf and Piper connect in the only way their independent natures allow, danger lurks. When her target comes, guns blazing, they have to pull together to make it out alive.
Dream of Me
After losing her partner and lover in a shootout, New Orleans police officer Aislin Dupree is tormented by memories of the past and the day she lost Marc LeBrun. At her darkest hour, she discovers that Marc had planned a romantic getaway on a Caribbean island before his death. All expenses paid. She decides to take the trip, hoping the island getaway will help her come to terms with her sorrow. Instead, she meets a man, a friend of Marc’s from his time served as Navy SEAL.
Sam Blalock is like Marc in so many ways that he makes her ache for what she once had. Strong, rugged Sam is her rock, holding her when she breaks, encouraging her to move on, because he knows about the pain of loss and the horror of violence all too well. She soon finds her waking hours consumed by Sam while she roams her dreams in search of Marc. As the time approaches for her to go home, she’s afraid to let go of the connection she’s found, and she fears she might be holding onto Sam for all the wrong reasons while she imagines another reality where dreams do come true.
Cowboy Lawe
A Dangerous Curves Novella
Book 4
Donna Michaels
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Author’s Note
Cowboy LAWE is a stand-alone novella set in Texas that’s part of my romantic military suspense series Dangerous Curves. If you enjoy Cowboy LAWE, you’ll love the rest of the agents in my stand alone novels and novellas that are part of the Dangerous Curves Series.
Copyright © 2016 Donna Michaels
Cover Art by Donna Michaels © 2016
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web. For information, please contact the author via email at [email protected]
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Dedication
During the writing of this book, one of my furbaby muses suddenly got sick, and after a week, we had to let the sweetheart go. There are two kittens in this novella, modeled after him and his sister, so I had to keep writing the story after he’d passed. I was unable to go into detail as much as I had planned with his antics. It was just too hard. I do apologize. But, I kept him in and want to dedicate this story to Heero. Yes, that was his actual name. Heero will forever be in my heart. ♥
I’d also like to thank my fellow Cowboy 12-Pack authors. I’ve been so blessed to be included in each collaboration. I fangirl these wonderful authors and am honored to have my stories in these sets with them.
Chapter One
‡
Nothing about the last seven days made any sense.
Callahan “Rook” Lawe leaned his forearm against the pane framing the large living room window and peered out at the fifty-two hundred acre Texas ranch he co-owned with his brother Remy. Cattle grazed in the pasture to the left. Horses galloped in the corral on the right. A dozen ranch hands tended to chores between the sturdy old barn in need of a paint job and the new twenty-four stalled stable with an indoor riding ring.
At first glance, everything appeared normal; livestock did their thing, ranch hands hustled around doing theirs. Nothing out of the ordinary except power outages, missing mail, a busted window. All small things his brother insisted he could handle.
So Rook had let him.
After all, the secret training facility hidden underneath the stable was Remy’s brainchild. The state-of-the-art underground bunker was used by the government, state, three letter agencies, and the military. Hell, even he had trained here for ten days with his team last year.
But, unlike then, something just wasn’t right now.
Hence his impromptu trip home last week. Rook prided himself on solving the unsolvable. He wasn’t leaving the ranch until he uncovered the person, or people, involved in the sabotaging.
His eight year stint as a Navy SEAL had trained him to endure, overcome, adapt, and find solutions. And even though he’d dropped his packet and retired from the teams two months ago, he continued to use his skill set as an agent for the Knight Agency run by one of his former commanders, Jameson Knight.
Granted, he’d only completed one simple protection detail in Atlanta when things started to hit the fan in Texas. Hell, he hadn’t even stepped foot in Camelot, KA’s headquarters near Alexandria, Virginia, or met all his fellow agents. Yet. But he would eventually.
After he figured out who the hell tried to kill his brother.
“You don’t need to babysit me, Rook.” Younger by two years, Remy put the S in stubborn.
He turned around and noted the permanent frown normally creasing his brother’s face deepened into a scowl as he glared from the couch.
“My shoulder’s broken, not my ability to defend myself.”
It was on the tip of Rook’s tongue to point out that, if that was true, he wouldn’t have suffered a concussion or broken bone. But, that was unfair.
According to Remy, he’d been in the process of rescuing kittens from the barn roof when someone had knocked the ladder out from underneath. His brother was ex-CIA and a highly trained former Green Beret. Nothing got past him. Cripes. The guy was born with more Spidey sense than Peter Parker.
So the incident only added to the strange occurrences. All the ranch hands and trainers had been vetted and hired by his brother when he’d converted their ranch into a covert training facility over two years ago.
Could one of them have turned on Remy?
And where the hell had the kittens come from? His brother insisted they didn’t have any. Rook’s gaze drifted to the two scrawny felines currently curled up and napping content as could be on Remy’s lap.
Apparently, they did now. Two of them.
He shifted his gaze to his brother’s face. Brown hair and brown eyes, inherited from their mother’s side, were always a chick magnet—that and Remy’s sense of humor. All of which had changed with his fiancé’s murder two years ago. His hair was no longer up to military regulation, and his eyes were…for a lack of a better word…closed. Warm, friendly, open—none of those adjectives described his brother’s gaze. So, it was good to see a slight softening in Remy’s features as he lifted his good hand to pet the gray striped kitten and its calico sister. Maybe the mysterious kittens were a good thing.
Rook blew out a breath and dropped into the chair across from the couch. “I never said you couldn’t defend yourself.”
“Then why are you here?” Remy’s brow quirked. “You just started with the Knight Agency. I don’t want you jeopardizing your job over me. Burly and I can handle things.”
A snicker rumbled up his throat. “He’s a cook. A spatula isn’t going to do much good if bullets fly.”
Chip Burly had been buddies with their grandfather. They’d known the man their whole lives. For as incredible as he was at grilling, the seventy-year-old lacked the skill needed to hit a target with a bullet. “Burly can’t shoot for shit.”
Remy’s lips twitched. “He can now. He’s been taking advantage of the facility.”
It was Rook’s turn to lift a brow.
“Someone’s a miracle worker then.”
“Yeah.” His brother nodded. “So, you can head back to Virginia. I’ll be fine.”
No sooner had the words left Remy’s mouth when a loud explosion boomed outside, and the accompanying percussion rattled every window in the house. The kittens shot off the couch and squeezed under his chair as Rook jumped to his feet, gun in hand, and rushed out onto the porch, his brother on his six. They raced to the side of the house, then stopped dead.
A plume of white and gray smoke spiraled into the air above what used to be Rook’s truck.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he growled, his gaze combing the area for any sign of the perpetrator. But his gut told him whoever just toasted his truck used a remote detonator.
“Sorry, bro.” Remy cupped his shoulder, his face tight with anger. “She was a beauty. Looks like I might not be the only target.”
He turned to stare at his brother. “I’m not leaving until we get to the bottom of this.”
To his relief, Remy nodded.
Amongst the chaos of ranch hands running to the fire with extinguishers, trainees spilling out from the stable, and Remy heading to meet a pale Burly who rushed from the side door on the kitchen, Rook holstered his gun and pulled out his phone to call his boss. Knight had told him to report any incidents.
The bombing of his truck more than qualified.
“Rook, I was just about to call you,” the commander informed.
Knight had that same kind of sixth sense as his brother. But now Rook wondered if something had happened to Remy’s. That was twice he hadn’t clued into the threats.