Erotic Romantic Suspense
A Heart of Justice novella
Women respond to a man's testosterone without any thought...
Tainted by bad memories of past betrayal, Mary Wickes knows getting involved with SWAT team member Dace "Hard Man" Banovic would be a big mistake. Yet working with him for six months at the sheriff's department has proven that her hormones don't care what she thinks--only what she wants.
Men respond to a woman's softness without any thought...
Dace is puzzled by Mary's avoidance tactics, and although he's tried to ignore the powerful attraction he feels for her, he can't help wanting to learn everything about the woman he's desired for months.
When danger comes, sometimes it takes a special man and woman to see it through to the end...
When a hostage situation forces them to confront their fears, Mary and Dace must find the courage to face the feelings they've tried so hard to deny.
Mary gazed at her hamburger. She'd eaten her enormous burger and fries with complete, guilt-free relish. She'd craved iron all day, well aware her "eat it before it gets away mentality" was motivated by exhaustion and working overtime for a week. It explained her snarky reaction to the television psychologist, her 'tude about work, and her bone-aching desire to head home and rewrite her resume. It also explained her compelling desire to toss one certain man right on his gorgeous ass and tell him to find a life that didn't include annoying her with his sexual vibes. Prowess. Whatever the heck the psychologist on television had said.
She shoved aside her plate, satiated with red meat, and sipped her wine. Nothing like an alcohol jolt to substitute for bravery. She needed courage if she hoped to look for a new job soon. Spending part of her weekend designing a spiffy new resume didn't qualify as enjoying herself. Still, she must do it. Had to leave Gold Rush before his testosterone proved Amanda Prather absolutely right.
And my willpower in the toilet.
Once out of Gold Rush, she could design a new life unhindered by male complications. She could forget that this certain man had turned all her well-honed defenses on their ear.
Her luck didn't last.
In walked her living, breathing definition of sex on a stick. The bane of her existence. The reason she needed to run and run fast.
Dace "Hard Man" Banovic.
She almost groaned. She didn't want to notice him, but she did anyway. Dace didn't swagger, but danger defined his walk, and confidence radiated from him. His muscular, rock-hard form held all these qualities, and he didn't have to say a word. Tall, dark, and handsome described him superficially. No, he was all of those things and none of them, a dichotomy of textures and uniqueness she'd find difficult to describe to anyone who asked. As he came closer, she drank in over six feet of broad-shouldered masculinity. His pitch-dark hair had started to thin at the temples, and this probably motivated him to keep it military short. This took nothing away from the striking symmetry of his nose and penetrating grey eyes. A scar, just noticeable above his right eyebrow, added a tough man look women seemed to find fascinating. As he headed toward Mary, she knew he'd seen her. She couldn't run from the law.
SWAT had come to take her away.
As he walked by tables, women looked up and admired, tossing glances at him and smiling. Of course they'd notice him. After all, he defines all those things the television psychologists harped about, doesn't he? Still, a woman should be able to restrict her responses, control her physical urges, by God.
Finally, Dace stood at her table and glared. He bristled with energy in his long-sleeved SWAT uniform minus all the heavy-duty combat-like gear. But his gaze pinpointed on her, and she glared back. As she opened her mouth to make a smart comment, he slipped into the opposite seat. What reason would he have for glaring as if she'd committed murder?
She brought the merlot to her lips and took a leisurely sip. "What brings you here?"
"Coreen said you're leaving Gold Rush."
"You should never believe anything she says."
His nose wrinkled, which didn't flatter its aristocratic length one bit. "Coreen is a good dispatcher."
Mary's teeth ached, thinking about the woman. "She can also be a bitch. She's gorgeous, twenty-five, and thinks you're seriously hot. Which you're not ... of course."
"Now who is being the bitch?" The amusement in his eyes belied his words.
God, she hated it when he smiled, because two small dimples appeared in his cheeks and all that kick-ass-and-take-names attitude morphed into a devastating combo she never could ignore. How could one man contain that much testosterone and that much charm in one package? It isn't fair.