SEALed With a Twist
Page 24
A member of the Romance Writers of America, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the Long Island Romance Writers, Kiersten has been working in book publishing for more than twenty years in marketing and promotion. At other times in her career, she's worked back stage for a regional theater, managed advertorials for a commerce newspaper in the World Trade Center, and served as senior editor for a pharmaceutical advertising agency.
Writer, singer, editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. Born and bred in New Jersey (and accent free), Kiersten sings as easily, and as frequently, as she breathes, drives fast with the windows down and the music up, likes to randomly switch accents for kicks and giggles, and would be happy to spend all her money traveling for the rest of her life.
Check out the links below to see where you can find Kiersten regularly oversharing on social media and her website.
Website: http://www.kierstenkrum.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kierstenkrum
Twitter: https://twitter.com/kierstenkrum
Instagram: www.instagram.com/kierstenkrum
Acknowledgments
-- Roxanne St. Claire, you gave me a chance and let me run fast and far with it. Thank you for rolling with me through my many dramas.
-- This book quite simply wouldn’t exist without Anne Baker. Grant and Skye owe you everything. I owe you more. Love you, conference wifey.
Praise for WILD ON THE ROCKS
STARRED REVIEW from Library Journal "Super sensual and suspenseful, Krum’s book has a lot to offer as part of this inventive series. Besides hot sex between two characters with plenty of chemistry, there is a deeper story here, with serious moments touching on PTSD and suicide that add more bite than your typical romantic suspense fare."
FOUR STARS from InD'Tale Magazine and finalist for their prestigious RONE award
"In a sizzling hot, burn-the-pages romance, this story grabs the reader from page one! The chemistry between the characters is palpable as they struggle to understand the past and forge a future—whether together or separate...If one likes a steaming hot, yet slightly gritty love story, this one is top-notch!"
"What a ride! Wild on the Rocks is a fast-paced, smart-mouthed adventure and I loved every second of it!"
—USA Today bestselling author Megan Crane, author of Edge of Power and
Devil’s Own
“The whole book slides down like a tasty pina colada while you sit by the beach. So sweet and tasty you’ve slurped the whole thing before you know what happened.”
—Heroes and Heartbreakers.com
Listed on TWO ‘Best New Author” reviewer’s lists at Straight Shootin’ Book Reviews
“Wild on the Rocks, absolutely blew me away. Sometimes it’s hard to tell a story like the one [Kiersten Hallie Krum] told via a shorter word count but she told it amazingly well and had me more wanting more immediately.”
“[Wild on the Rocks is] a delightful, sexy, and fun second-chance romance for a fiery heroine and her Navy SEAL ex-husband. The combination of action and romance with extremely likable characters made for a very entertaining read. You know when you’re already making notes about which secondary characters you want to get stories of their own that you’ve found an author worth reading.”
"Highly entertaining, fast-paced, and sexy romance. 5 stars, and it’s going on my best reads of 2016 list."
Available Now
Excerpt from Wild on the Rocks
Nettie’s tray clattered onto the bar. “Holy shit,” she gasped, eyes fixed on the restaurant’s entrance. “Is it Christmas already?”
Quinn glanced over her shoulder as a trio of men crossed the threshold. The last rays of sun shined through the door behind them, blinding her and making the men little more than shadows. Large shadows with broad shoulders.
Hoo. Shah.
She shielded her eyes and turned back to the blender. “We should send God a fruit basket.”
“Full of gold.” Nettie nodded toward the man on the end. “That’s Luke McBain. He does the resort’s security. Very married to one of the wedding planners.”
“So looky, but no touchy.”
Nettie grinned. “Exactly.”
Quinn checked the men out again from the corner of her eye. All three wore black collared shirts tucked into belted black trousers and topped with aviator glasses they removed almost simultaneously as they came fully into the bar and approached the women. As classic a uniform for their job as her black and white get-up was for hers. Standing nearly at the same six-foot plus heights—though the one on the opposite end from McBain was an inch or two shorter—they were all armed, two with weapons in hip holsters while the guy in the center sported a shoulder rig.
To Quinn’s mind, shoulder rigs were the sexy, Mad Men version of gun holsters. In a good way. Intensely masculine but minus the infuriating sexism. So her eyes lingered on that man, skimming over his wide, muscular chest framed within the holster’s leather strips while she absently noted he alone of the three had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His thick throat rippled as she watched and sharp hunger spiked deep in Quinn’s belly, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in more than a year. What looked like two days’ worth of scruff covered his scarred chin, surrounding lips she’d bet were full and a shy short of too fleshy when not drawn into their current tight line. Coasting past raised cheek bones, the hair on the back of Quinn’s neck lifted and her nipples contracted into painful points as her avaricious gaze met eyes she already knew were a stunning golden hazel when not darkened with swelling rage that made his pupil expand until the color was a mere glowing rim.
“Can you imagine having that in your bed every night?” Nettie said.
“I can, actually.” Quinn replied on little more than an exhale. The bottle of wine in her hands trembled. She set it down on the bar with extreme care and deliberately laid her hands on either side of it before looking up into the breathtaking, hard-set face of her husband.
Ex-husband.
“Fuck, Roy, but you can pick ’em,” the third man said as he settled onto a stool, seemingly oblivious to the heaving tension.
Quinn ignored him. She knew better than to look away from the seething powder keg that was Jasper. “You look like a recruitment poster for Badasses ’R Us.”
He stepped toward the bar as though seconds from yanking her over it. “You look like you’re on your way to try out for the Coyote Ugly sequel.”
His friend split a grin between them. “Okay, now I believe she’s your wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Quinn and Jasper snapped simultaneously, which made the man crack up.
“Cut it out, Twist,” Jasper growled.
This was Twist? She risked taking her eyes off Jasper, fascinated to finally meet his closest friend, though it escaped her why it could possibly mattered after all this time.
Twist’s grin didn’t falter, but it didn’t reach his eyes, either, and the frank animosity there scorched her skin.
Okay by her. Not like she was trying to make friends.
“Luke McBain.” The other man introduced himself with a warm smile. She tore her eyes from Twist and reflexively accepted his proffered hand.
“Quinn McQueen,” she replied without thinking and immediately regretted it when Jasper’s entire torso recoiled.
The tailored shirt rippled over his muscled chest, mesmerizing Quinn so that Jasper startled her when he leaned those bare, cut forearms on the bar and got right back in her space.
Holy crap, arm porn. She was in no way prepared for her ex-husband’s delectable arm porn.
He glared at her hand still caught in McBain’s until she tugged it free. “Come again?” The sibilant whisper coasted over her skin. Quinn caught her breath.
Even though his arrival right now, right here, and all that might mean scared the holy shit outta her, even after all the bone-crushing, lonely days and weeks she’d spent without
him, even now, that deep rumble of his voice raised goose bumps on her arms.
“Jasp,” she whispered with absolutely no idea what to say beyond that or how to justify being Quinn McQueen again without telling him that simply having his name was a comfort when she felt more lost than ever before in her life.
His eyes flared with heat. They were close enough now for Quinn to see that ribbon of green gold around his pupil glow bright. She locked her knees and clutched her hands together beneath the edge of the bar to keep from grabbing him.
“You’re using my name again? Since when?”
“About a week ago,” she admitted, her voice small.
“For hell’s sake, why?”
Because I’m on the run from the Russian mob and the only place I’ve ever felt safe was with you.
Yeah, like either of them was prepared to detonate that cans of worms.
She forced herself to shrug. “I like the cadence.”
His hands spread wide on the wood. She half expected him to vault right over the bar. “You like the cadence?” he hollered back, practically in her face.
She huffed out a breath. “It’s not like I expected you to find out about it! What are you doing here anyway?”
He tossed an incredulous glance at McBain as though the answer were obvious. And to be fair, it kinda was. “Searching for buried treasure.”
Despite his dry tone, Quinn’s eyes went wide at the thought of such an adventure. “Really?” she breathed.
“Jesus, no. I’m working security for the wedding.” He shook his head with familiar exasperation. “Christ, you look ready to abandon everything to go buy shovels and rent a trawler.”
“Ah, is this gonna be a problem?” McBain asked.
Slowly, Jasper eased back from the bar. “That remains to be seen.” Quinn could see he was already locking himself down, pulling those pesky emotions back under his control. He’d always been able to get over her so easily when she’d barely been able to let him walk out of a room without her.
Guess nothing had changed on that front.
“What are you doing here, Quinn?”
Irritation quickly replaced her shock, and Quinn reclaimed her attitude along with it. “Uh, working. Obviously.”
“And I’ve no doubt my wife would appreciate it if your impending domestic didn’t upset her high-society wedding,” McBain warned without heat.
Quinn zoned back in on the unfinished tab before her. “Shit. Nettie, I’m sorry. Let me get you sorted.”
The waitress eyed her with rampant speculation. Quinn expected she and Jasper would be tasty fresh meat for the locals when this got out. Say in five minutes. Or however long it took Nettie to speed dial the whole world as she knew it.
Charity would have a cow not to have had first dibs.
“Don’t worry about it, hon,” Nettie reassured her, but Quinn was already dumping the trio of cocktails.
“These margaritas have settled. Take the wine out while I whip up a fresh batch.” Running the blender would hold off Jasper’s impending interrogation, too, maybe long enough for her to come up with an explanation that didn’t involve the words “Russian mob” and “murder.”
Because there was no way he was letting it go that easily. Jasper McQueen did not quit until he got what he wanted, be it answers or his ring on her finger or her ass in his San Diego condo.
“Queen, you and Twist stay here for the duration of the dinner. Rotate out with one of the boys in the dining room on the hour,” McBain ordered. “Time for me to walk the perimeter.”
She threw a look at him over her shoulder in time to see him give Jasper a shoulder clasp of male solidarity.
Great. He had reinforcements.
“More bartenders are coming tomorrow with the catering staff for the wedding,” she explained needlessly after McBain exited and Nettie toddled off. “But I’m it for tonight’s dinner, so I don’t have time for a chat.”
“I’ll wait,” Jasper promised.
Of course he would. “Ho-kay then.”
Since she couldn’t budge him and had zero hope of ignoring him, Quinn focused on the work. She finished the margaritas as Nettie returned with a new order, all the while feeling Jasper’s accusing gaze locked on her, his eyes tracking her every move as though she’d disappear if he blinked.
God, he looked good enough to eat.
Down girl. He wasn’t hers anymore, and while she might still look, not being able to touch would probably kill her before the Russian mob did.
Grab your copy now: Wild on the Rocks