Clone the Book of Axel (#4 in the Clone Series)

Clone ~ The Book of Axel is close to completion and I can't wait to share the newest release with you. I'm shooting for a release of later this year or early next year. Keep your eyes open, because things are about to come to a head.

What happened to Iia?
How did Axel get to California, and more importantly why is he there?
Are Iia and Axel fated for more?
Is Eli alive and is he bringing an army to the coast of California?

In this fourth installment in my Clone series, I will answer these questions and more. War is coming to California and it's not just Aeropia and the United Regions about to clash.

You will also get to meet Madelyn, the heroine in Clone ~ Madelyn's Prologue, Book #5 of the Clone series, a stand-alone tale of surviving WWIII, with a whole lot of courage and help from some unlikely friends.



And last but not least, Pilot will be there, doing what Pilot does best, building up to the much anticipated story of the guy everyone loves to hate--Pilot. He'll get his chance in the spotlight in the last book of the series, Clone ~ Pilot's Epilogue #6, also a stand-alone tale. Why? Because every bad guy has a story behind him, and Pilot's tale is not one you'll want to miss.

Clone the Lost Chapters is out!

The latest novel in the Clone series is out.

Buy Links:

Kindle
Nook
Kobo


Excerpt:

The coast of what used to be California, August 12^th, 2239

What was I thinking, bringing him here? I know little about him, other than he’s new to the city, not one of the locals, and he’s got a bio-mechanical hand that doesn’t work.

“So, do you have a name, or should I just call you woman who stole my pack?”

Yeah, that. I brush his question off, not quite ready to share more than I already have. “I did not steal it. You abandoned it.”

I will admit our first meeting went a little rough. I did grab his bag when he left it unattended, and he gave chase. The raiders came, and I decided he was the lesser of two evils. And here we are, standing in my home, tucked inside my compound; the very one I’ve somehow managed to keep a secret until now.

“You stole it.” This stranger I know next to nothing about stands across from me. He tips his head slightly while he stares. A phantom chill chases across my skin. I reach up and rub my arms. Something about my action speaks to him, because he turns away, focusing on my space instead.

“I gave it back,” I say, but he gives no indication he hears. I’m risking a lot bringing him to my compound. Outside of a few questions, he’s said little to me since we stepped inside my living area, nor has he given me any reason to trust him.

Actually, I have every reason not to. Yet here we are.

He stops looking and starts exploring, walking around the room, running his hand along the walls and furniture, then stopping in front of a gilded mirror. Reaching out, he touches the glass where dark spots from the corroded silver mar the surface. I can still view my reflection in the silver, but my image is not as clear as it would’ve been when first made. He turns around, taking in the rest of my space.

It seems so irresponsible, allowing someone I don’t know into my home. Yet, I’m not uncomfortable with his perusal of my space, as long as his attention remains there and not on me. I keep my home spotless. It always has been, along with my workspace. My mind will not function in disorganization. I’m not a fan of dirt, and my home proves it.

The tile floor, a terra cotta, has a couple of cracked sections, but they’re covered with a large rug I found in a majestic home within the quarantine area. It looks as though it’s never been used, still bright, with delicate, hand-woven details. Little animals and flowers sit within geometric designs of a balanced and repeating pattern. The exactness is a mathematical orgasm to my calculating mind.

The paintings on the walls also came from the same home. Bright contrasting colors vibrate off one another, the images insinuating buildings and people but falling short of enough detail to call them nothing more than a hint of a busy street captured on canvas. Unlike the rug, there’s no method to their design. I’ve stared at them for hours, guessing where the artist painted them and what subject he’d chosen to render on their surface. They are the most chaotic thing in my home, and perhaps that’s why I put them on my walls. Nothing in my world is perfect anymore. Perfection is an illusion.

“I like your home.”

“Thank you,” I say and glance around. Piece by piece, I’ve put my home together, all for comfort, because outside my walls, there isn’t any. Here, there is sanctuary. But the stranger in my space changes it.

He returns to studying me, as though my home isn’t as interesting. “So, are you going to tell me your name?”

“Why is it so important to you?” I take in his expression, doing my best to read his intentions and failing. It’s been months since I’ve had any kind of conversation. For reasons I can’t explain, I want to open up to him, tell him about everything. I finally have someone to listen, and it’s intoxicating and oh so tempting. However, I’ve already been burned for trusting someone, and I’m in my current situation because of it. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does. A name is a gift.”

“Right. A name is something your parents put on your birth certificate.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s an identity. It says that you belong somewhere, to a family. My name is Axel.” He holds my gaze. “And your name?”

“Iia Danner.” It comes out easier than I expect. What I give him is my true birth name, though I doubt he’d know I have gone by another or that Danner holds some significance in another place. I cross my arms over my chest, not sure what to do with them. I’ve never felt so on display. He’s examining me as intently as my home, and I’ve no idea the information he’s gaining from it, just that he’s learning something.

“It’s nice to meet you, Iia Danner.”

“Do you have a last name, Axel?”

He reaches up and touches the chip in his face, and then drops his gaze to a pile of books on the floor.

For a second, I panic. It’s as though he’s opened my underwear drawer. I was going through them when I heard the ships and left them there to sort through after investigating. I didn’t know I would have a guest, or I’d have put them away. I stare at the pile, as though it has flashing signs all over it: Look here. See inside her head. Know her secrets. My brain twitches, not liking the violation of my personal space.

“No, I don’t have a last name,” he says, snapping me out of the beginning of a panic attack.

“No?”

He shrugs but doesn’t take his eyes from my mess on the floor. “Until a few years ago, I didn’t even have a first name.” Then the man I only know as Axel stoops down and picks up one of my romance novels. A smile creeps onto his face, and he moves for my chair in the corner, sitting down and propping his feet up on my workbench. He opens the book and starts to read.

He dismisses me. Just like that.

“Excuse me?” Irritation prickles at my scalp. My space. My book. I’ve never had to share, didn’t plan on starting now, not in my home, most certainly not my sanctuary. “What are you doing?”

He looks up, peering at me over the top edge of the novel. “Reading.”

No, no, no. My stomach has about a million knots tightening all at once. I’m not used to people being around, especially those I can have a conversation with. I don’t want him to stay, but I don’t want him to leave either. Until I know he won’t bring an army back here to dismantle my compound, I can’t let him go. I programmed my bees upon entering to prevent him from leaving, but I haven’t told him so. He’s my prisoner.

A too damn comfortable one. Who’s the warden here?

“Are you going to stare, or sit?” He turns a page, and I shift from foot to foot. I’ve been alone for so long I’m not certain I can carry on a comprehensible conversation with anyone but myself. Nor do I have a clue what to say to him. I’d asked him his last name, and the conversation went silent from there. Now he’s sitting in my chair, reading my favorite book, using my workbench as a footstool and looking at home in my space. I don’t like it a bit.

I turn and walk to the other side of the room and pace back to where he sits. “That’s my book.”

He doesn’t bother to look up this time. “Kind of figured it was.” Using his thumb, he flips to another page.

“I mean that’s my book.”

He sets it down. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want me to read it?”

“No.” I bite my lip. “Yes.” I feel intimate with the people in the story. I know their habits, how they think, what they like and don’t. They are more real to me than the man sitting across the room. I just don’t know how to interact anymore, and by touching my book, it’s almost like he’s touching me, digging in my head, dissecting my thoughts. The people in the book are all I have. How can I explain my lame existence—my equally lame fictional relationship with people who don’t exist, who never have?

“Do you, or do you not?”

“I don’t.”

“Want me to read it, or put it down?”

“Why would you want to read that particular book anyway?”

He shrugs. “A friend of mine taught me to read with these. I guess they kind of grew on me. It gave me a chance to live a life I could only dream of at the time—through words. I know it sounds kind of weird, but when you are a slave from the moment you take your first breath, even a fictional world provides an escape.”

I sink to the floor beside him, forgetting the book for the moment. “How were you a slave?”

“I’m a clone.”

If he’d hit me with a sledgehammer, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. I move away from him. A clone? I’ve known of rumors that the states experimented with cloning before the war, but I hadn’t believed it. The only thing I’m familiar with that was created artificially, like a clone, is a bio-mech. I shudder and look down at his hand.

Nothing without a soul can be trusted.

“Why are you retreating?”

“Are you alive—human?”

“I am. Except for this.” He holds up his bio-mech limb. “I love. I hate. I hurt. I bleed.”

“You love?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

He looks away. “It’s not important. She’s with another now.”

I scoot toward him and wait until he makes eye contact. “What is it like—to love someone?”

“You’ve never loved?”

“I’ve only had one experience with it, and I don’t know if it was real. It was complicated.”

He watches me, his eyes not missing anything. I get the feeling he’s figuring out what my drives are, why I did what I did. I can tell him I’m not that complex, but from the way he looks at me, I know he won’t believe me. “This man, is he here?”

“No, he’s dead, but he was never really with me, at least his heart wasn’t.”

“The rejection hurts, doesn’t it? How do you get over it?”

Someone rejected him? Why? “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He nods. “May I read your book to you?”

“Read it to me?”

“Yes, it relaxes me.”

I move closer until my hip is pressed against his ankle. “Okay, but skip chapter twelve.”

“What’s in chapter twelve?”

“Sex.” My cheeks heat.

He grins. “Is that why the cover is so worn?”

My face grows hotter. “No, I’ve barely read it.” Liar. I likely can recite it line for line, but I won’t admit it.

“The sex scenes are my favorite part,” he says.

I laugh. “Duh, because you’re male.”

“No, that’s not it. Relationships have always drawn me. For most of my life, I watched people interact, never really understanding what drove human emotions. The sex scenes are nothing but emotion, intimacy, something I’d never had or experienced for a very long while. These scenes gave me that, a chance to feel what it could be like to have someone care about you. What it was to love and be loved. And then when I was—loved, I finally got the book, understood what the author wrote.”

I frown. “Just what kind of childhood did you have?”

“That’s just it, I didn’t have one, or a family, or anyone until I met her.”

“The one you love?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but that is super depressing. And I thought I had it bad.”

“Tell me about it. How you found yourself here.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time. It will be a while before the raiders give up their search.” He places the book on a small table beside the chair and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What brought you to this place, Iia Danner?”

A peace settles over me. I can’t explain why I want to tell him, I just do. He makes me feel safe, and the more I talk to him, the more I like him. He isn’t demanding anything from me. He asks, and then he waits. I know if I say no, he will drop it. But I don’t want to. “Where should I start?”

“The beginning.”

Ashlyn Chases' newest book, Hooked

LOCKED IN A BANK VAULT TOGETHER...

THEY MIGHT REDEFINE THE MEANING OF 'SAFE' SEX

Misty Carlisle works as a bank teller in Boston's financial district. She's had more rotten luck in her life than most, except when her childhood crush shows up to cash his paycheck. Then her heart races and her mouth goes dry.

Gabe Fierro is a firefighter—and a phoenix. Like his brothers, his biggest challenge is finding a woman open-minded enough to accept a shapeshifter into her life. When his boyhood friend asks him to watch over his little sister Misty, he reluctantly agrees. But when the bank where she works gets held up, Gabe does everything he can to protect her. The two of them end up locked in the bank's vault...where things get steamier than either of them ever imagined.

http://www.books2read.com/HookedonaPhoenix

xcerpt:

Strolling down Massachusetts Avenue, she found herself actually looking forward to visiting with Gabriella Fierro. The woman had been like a second mother to her.

When she arrived on the doorstep and rang the bell, the diminutive matriarch opened the door and almost
threw herself at Misty, giving her a huge hug. “Come in, come in! It’s cold out tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s always freezing on my birthday.”

Gabriella Fierro gasped. “It’s your birthday? Today? I thought it was… Never mind. Happy birthday, my
sweet girl!” After another tight hug, she released her. “Let me take your coat.”

“I hope I’m not imposing. I was supposed to meet Gabe at his station, but they’re out on a job.”

“Oh, yes. We heard about a big fire in South Boston. Antonio thought he’d go watch for a while.” She chuckled. “You’d think he might have had enough of fires after thirty-two years.” She hung up Misty’s coat and led her to the kitchen. “I was just wishing I had some company. Have you had dinner yet?”

“Not yet. I have plans with Gabe, but I guess they’ll have to wait.”

Gabriella sighed. “Ah, yes. Plans need to be somewhat flexible when you’re involved with a firefighter.
It’s a shame they don’t work regular hours, but fires can be very inconsiderate.”

Misty smiled. The woman had such an easy way about her. She wondered if she’d ever be able to take
things so calmly. Misty tended to be “wound a little tight,” or so she’d been told.

“Can I get you some coffee and a small piece of cake? I imagine Gabe was taking you out to dinner, and I don’t want to spoil your appetite.”

“Coffee, yes. But no thank you to the cake. It might be easier if I just get takeout and save him the trouble of going out to dinner at this point.”

“Tsk tsk.” Gabriella shook her head as she gathered the cream, sugar, and spoons. “You can’t always make everything easy on them, especially when the relationship is new. They might grow to expect it.”

“Oh. I don’t think we have what you’d call a relationship.”

Gabriella was quiet until she sat down with two mugs of coffee and set one in front of Misty. Then she took a deep breath and held Misty’s gaze. “Be patient with him. He needs you. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Misty didn’t quite know what to say to that. Gabe needing anybody or anything seemed implausible. He
was always so self-sufficient.

Leaning back, coffee mug just below her lips, Gabriella smiled. “He’s a good boy. They all are. But
Gabe is the one who… Well, I worry.”

“Worry? Why would you worry about Gabe? Is something wrong?”

“Oh, honey, it’s not that. He’s just a little stubborn. He thinks he doesn’t need anybody, but he couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I see.” She didn’t see. She didn’t have a clue.

“So, how are things with you? Have you found any leads on a new job?”

“Um, no. I don’t think I’m going to look for a new job right now. I kind of need the insurance.”

Gabriella’s eyebrows raised. “Health insurance? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Well, no. Um, maybe.”

Gabriella gave her an indulgent look. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t divulge any secrets.”

“I know. It’s just that I need to have some tests first. I won’t know if there’s anything wrong or not until next week at the earliest.”

“What makes you think there might be a problem?”

“Between you and me, I’ve been having trouble with my balance. I was afraid it might interfere with
my dancing, so before quitting my job to find something in the dance community, I thought I’d better get
it checked out.”

“That’s wise.”

The phone rang, and Gabriella rose to answer it. They had one of those old-fashioned phones on the wall. It even had a dial instead of buttons. The Fierros were complete Yankees. What was that saying? Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.

“Hi, honey. Yes, she’s here. We’re having a lovely chat.” Gabriella smiled slyly. “There’s no need to rush. We’re fine.”

As she replaced the receiver, she chuckled. “My son will be here in about five seconds.”

“Oh no. Is he worried about being late? It’s no big deal. Really.”

Gabriella grinned. “No, darling. He’s afraid of my talking to you.” As Gabriella sat down, she chuckled and shook her head. Apparently she wasn’t going to explain anything further. She just took a sip of her coffee and looked pleased with herself.

Misty couldn’t imagine why Gabe would be afraid of his mother having a conversation with her. Was there something he didn’t want her to know?

It took more than five seconds, but not much. Gabe strode through the front door and entered the kitchen. He was covered in soot.

“Hello, darling.” Gabriella rose and strolled to her son. He towered over her, but she grasped his broad shoulders and pulled him toward her for a kiss on his cheek.

“Mom, I’m filthy.”

“No kidding. I thought you’d take a shower at the station, but I guess you didn’t want to let Misty wait any longer than necessary. That was sweet. Why don’t you run upstairs and shower? I can find an old pair of your jeans and a sweater or something to change into…unless you need a suit. I don’t know what your plans were.”

Gabe focused on Misty for a moment. “I, uh… We were just going to get Chinese food and go back to your place to watch a movie, right?”

“Yeah. We never did decide what movie we wanted to see.”

Gabriella set her hands on her hips. “Is that the best you can do, Gabriel? Takeout food and a movie at her house?”

“Butt out, Mom.”

Misty had never heard him speak to his mother that way. It would have bothered her except that Gabriella was smirking. It was as if the older woman was in on some kind of private joke neither Misty nor Gabe understood.

“I really didn’t want anything fancy. Takeout food and a movie sounds perfect.”

Gabriella shrugged. “Well, if that’s what you really want…”

“It is. I never do anything much for my birthday.”

“I see. If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll go get some fresh towels and set those out for you, Gabe.”

“I’d rather shower at my place. I have something for her birthday there, and I’d feel more comfortable
in jeans that fit. Not something I wore in high school.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll just get Misty’s coat then.”

When Gabriella had left the room, Gabe looked over and gave Misty a smile. “I’m sorry I’m late. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Oh, I know. The dispatcher told me about the fire. Saving lives is a little more important than one person’s birthday.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way. Because about a dozen people are going to be able to celebrate another
birthday because of us.”

Misty rose and strode over to him. She placed her hands on his dirty coat, looked up at him, and said,
“My hero.”

Gabe leaned down and gave Misty a quick peck on the lips.

Gabriella cleared her throat, then breezed into the kitchen, carrying Misty’s coat, grinning from ear to ear.

Drum Roll Please.

The winner of the Kindle is Tina Gayle. Tina I will be contacting you about your prize

First place for the most traffic to their post is Ashlyn Chase. I have $25.00 Frog Bucks for Fantasia Frog Designs. I will be sending it to you shortly. .

Second place for the most traffic to their  post was Dena Garson. I have $15.00 in Frog Bucks to Fantasia Frog Designs coming your way shortly. 

Third Place for the most traffic to their post was Megan Slayer. I have $10.00 in Frog Bucks to Fantasia Frog Designs for you. I'll send it shortly. 

The winner for Garland and Gould was Alicia Backus. The authors will send you your prize.

The winner for D. L. Jackson's signed copy of Blown Away and the orange chocolates was Wanda Osepowicz. I didn't see an email contact for you. Please contact me a Paxton Summers @gmail . com.

The winner of Paxton's prize is Tina Gayle - You will receive signed copy of Clone - The Book of Eva and the box of salted chocolate-covered caramels. I'll be contacting you shortly to send you your prize.

The winner from Fantasia Frog's post is Debbie Gould.

The winner of Megan Slayer's prize is Ronda Barnes.

The winner of Ashlyn Chase's prize is Fantasia Frog.

The winner of Ginny Sterling's post was Charlene Burlison.

The winner of Dena Garson's post was Debbie Gould


Please check back to see if you are a winner as the authors notify me of who won, I will update this list.

Best,

Paxton

The Giveaways.

Thanks to everyone for joining the Bash. I had a lot of fun with your posts.
I will be announcing the winner of the Kindle tonight, and the blogger prizes. This will give Cate time to run your entries through a name generator. For every comment you made, you're getting your name dropped into the generator. So, the more you commented, the better chance you'll win.

Bloggers, if you can let me know your winners, I will announce them with the Kindle Winner.
Commenters, the authors will contact you on your winnings if you've left an email.
:)

Thanks once again for making this event fun. I enjoyed reading all the posts and comments.

Best,

Paxton

Please welcome Poet, Janeen G.

Raw

I to shred my insecurities in front of you,

I reveal my soul,

Imperfections are bare and wild,

The flaw of my skin and heart are right at your feet,

You know me now as who I am,

Inside and out,

Raw,

My love for you is all I can shed in the light... 

Biography 

Janeen G. is an author and writer of love poems, erotic fiction, and fantasy short stories. She writes with her emotions and fantasy is her passion. Writing has always been her escape from the real world. She wants to share her imaginations with the world. She enjoys reading, nature, binge watching her favorite TV show and sharing her real-life stories on her blog. She is a mother of four beautiful children and she is committed to her husband of 10+ years. She currently resides in Orlando, FL but she was raised in New York City. 

Blog-https://myyoungworldblog.wordpress.com/

Tumblr-http://my-youngworld88.tumblr.com/

Twitter-https://twitter.com/janeenmg25

Facebook-https://www.facebook.com/janeenmg25/

Instagram-https://www.instagram.com/janeeng25/

Pinterest-https://www.pinterest.com/neeneemg25/

Please Give a Big Shout Out to the Fabulous Cara Carnes!

Treat Every Day Like It’s Valentine’s Day

Hi, everyone! I’m thrilled to be a part of Paxton’s awesome Bash this year. This is going be such a great time. Thanks for helping us ring in another Valentine’s Day.

So, I’m single. Every year I have so many married friends feel sorry for me because I’m spending V-Day alone. *shrugs* But I always tell them that Valentine’s Day is about love and I spend three hundred sixty five days focused on love. I love what I do, I love those around me and I write books about love.

I AM VALENTINE’S DAY. Aren’t we all? The entire romance community is Valentine’s Day all the time, right? We celebrate romance in everything we do.

I’m never alone because I always have my heroes, the stories locked within my brain demanding to come out. And I have hundreds (okay, thousands probably) of awesome book boyfriends. I’m actually kind of a book boyfriend slut if I’m being totally honest.

How am I ringing in my V-Day this year? Well, I’m getting promo together for several upcoming releases. I’m so anxious for everyone to get a chance to read Vi’s story. She and Jud’s romance was a tense, rather harrowing ordeal, but she’s a strong woman who goes after what she wants. That’s what it takes these days to keep a romance going.

Sight Lines is the second book in The Arsenal series and I have to admit that I love, love, love the women in these books. They are strong, brilliant women who refused to be sidelined by the alpha men determined to protect them.

I hope we can all find a man like that—someone who won’t stand in front and handle things for us but stand beside us instead. Wouldn’t that be awesome? What about you? What qualities do you most admire in a love interest?

I’m also going to be reading. So I would LOVE to get some recommendations. What are your go-to romance reads? Who are your book boyfriends?

Thanks again for hanging out with us. However you are celebrating Valentine’s Day this year, embrace love in everything you do every day. We are blessed to be voracious readers and authors in the best genre there is in the book world.

Happy reading 😊

**P.S. I’m giving away one signed print copy of Jagged Edge to a random commenter. So don’t be shy. Pull up a chair and let me know you’re out there. 😊 **

Jagged Edge Links: books2read.com/u/mgrEOD

Sight Lines Links: books2read.com/u/3J0Y5E

Social Media Links:

Website: www.caracarnes.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/caracarnesauthor/

FB Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/457844991039936/?source_id=120084538047868

Newsletter:  http://eepurl.com/2FWUz

Twitter: https://twitter.com/caracarnes?lang=en

D.L. Jackson is here to Blow you Away

I got my start writing science fiction/military romance and the sub-genres have always been near and dear to my heart. In my opinion, there’s nothing sexier than a man or woman in uniform.

My Blown Away series is no exception, getting its inspiration from the men and women who serve in EOD, explosive ordnance disposal. It’s got sexy in spades.

I’m going to share some of my favorite “sexy” scenes from the series.

Buy Links:

Blown Away (#1)

Explosive Affairs (#2)

*Below scenes contain sexual situations and graphic language*

Blown Away (#1) 

The door to the shower opened.

MacKay turned, stared through the twisting steam, and found herself without breath. There Boomer stood in his pajama bottoms, chest bare. Her heart raced, pounding so hard against her ribs, she feared they may fracture.

“What do you mean, don’t worry about them?” he demanded.

What did she mean? She had to get the hell of here. No time for breakfast or further mistakes.

“I’m going home.” She closed her lids and tried to ignore him, hoping he’d get the hint and shut the door.

 “I thought you were staying the night?”

“I have too much to do in the office tomorrow.” MacKay opened her eyes again and did her best to pack her expression full of “we had a good time, now go away.” But the longer she held his gaze, the more she wanted to stay and dig herself deeper into trouble. Worse yet, something told her he wouldn’t back down.

He didn’t say anything. As Boomer stepped into the shower, his PJ bottoms turned translucent. The thin fabric clung to his body and accentuated every muscle he possessed along with a hard cock she’d gotten more than familiar with through the night. Her stomach fluttered, and a small gasp escaped her lips.

He slid his hands along both sides of her face and backed her against the tile wall, staring at her, hunger all over his face. “I warned you, I don’t do one-night stands.” He lowered his mouth to hers. No, she wasn’t leaving any time soon.

MacKay ran her hands up his chest and around his neck. She should say no. She should push him out of the shower, get dressed, and leave. Both of them needed to forget this had even happened. And gods, he’d sounded serious about the one-night stand thing. Perhaps she’d been mistaken, and it meant more to him. She broke the kiss and leaned back. “Boomer, I’m—”

“Pushing me away.” He leaned in and nipped her bottom lip, kissed the corner of her mouth, and stroked his thumb along her jaw. “Not going to let you.”

“Boomer.”

He pressed his lips to her ear and spoke in Odroxian. She’d no clue what he said, but each word jolted through her body. Her heart slammed against her ribs, racing. The man would undo her.

“Please. This isn’t a good idea.”

“What isn’t a good idea? Letting go? Living? Loving? Feeling something for someone? The harder you push, the more I want to melt the slush moving through your veins and take away the pain I see all over your face. You’ve been too long inside the iron fortress you’ve erected. I’m going to knock those walls down and show you it’s okay to let someone in.”

“I can’t.” But even as she said it, the walls he promised to knock down cracked. Her heart swelled, and breathing seemed impossible.

“I don’t believe it. Because, when we made love, I saw a woman who could. Open up, Alice. Let me in.”

“Don’t call me—” He leaned in and kissed her silent. MacKay surrendered her soul. She couldn’t deny the feelings growing inside her. She wanted him to knock down her walls, hold her, make her feel human again. She couldn’t fight the need or the hunger. Her hands slipped to his waistband and tugged the tie free. She pushed the fabric off his hips, and the water-laden pajama bottoms dropped to the tile.

Explosive Affairs (#2)

Happy trail: That sexy little strip of hair running from a man’s belly button to his—towel. Jenna stared at the fluffy white barrier blocking her view from traveling any farther south. She’d enjoyed the scenic route, visually devoured the hard ridges of his six-pack abs and the way the water trickled over his flesh while it took the path of least resistance. She shouldn’t stare. It was inappropriate to ogle the higher-ranking beefcake, but she couldn’t stop. What woman in her right mind would be able to?

He cleared his throat, and Jenna remembered her mission. She looked up. “Captain Rivers….” Gods he could stop a stampede with his stare. Jenna dropped her focus to something safer and began to examine the decking under his feet. Hard metal, gray. Nothing special. “Sir, I….” She swallowed, and her gaze drifted up, stopping on his midsection. He watched her, she could feel it, but Jenna couldn’t manage to bring her eyes up to his, no matter how hard she tried. So, she stared at his naked stomach, dying a little from embarrassment with each passing second.

What an uncomfortable predicament. She’d been ordered to find the explosives ordnance officer, and find him she had. For the last fifteen minutes, Jenna had searched the ship, from the galley to the indoor gym. The Gold Digger’s head had been her last stop, and her timing couldn’t have been worse. Tyson Rivers, the ordnance officer, had stepped out of the cleansing unit as she’d entered.

And she’d run head on into him.

No wonder he hadn’t been answering the com. The edge of the towel rode just under his hips, dipping where he’d tucked it in. Jenna bit her lip. “Sir, I’ve been sent—”

“I’m up here.” A deep voice invaded her wet daydream.

Jenna sighed. She could listen to him all day.

Oh gods! She blinked. Up where? Her brain connected the verbal dots. What he’d said sank into the mushy gray matter between her ears, sending a jolt of horror rocketing through her body. Heat rushed to her face, and she lifted her chin to address the subject of every naughty dream she’d had on the ship since she’d boarded, and found herself without a coherent thing to say. Jenna opened her mouth, and all that came out was silence. What would be the appropriate thing to say in this situation?

Nice towel?

“Do you have a reason to be here, or do you make a habit of hanging out in the male showers?”

Bomb Voyage (#3) Coming soon! 

Sam. Any other Sam would be male and not a big pain in the ass. When Captain Jayson Rivers requested a mechanic, the Trios Mechanic’s Union told him they’d send the best. So naturally he hadn’t expected a redheaded solar storm—a one-woman, wrecking force with freckles sprinkled over a cute little button nose. A woman who diligently worked at dismantling his ship, making his much needed shower impossible.

“Fuck!” She flung a part from under the boiler. It rolled across the deck and hit the toe of his boot.

Fuck? Did her eloquent choice of words mean he wasn’t getting his shower today? Time and patience weren’t on the agenda. He’d long since run out of both. “Is there a problem?” Jayson clamped his teeth to keep from growling.

“Working as fast as I can, sir,” her sweet voice called from under several tons of rugged metal.

Deceptive, her voice. The woman underneath might look compliant, but he’d quickly discovered the opposite five minutes after she’d stepped her pretty ass onboard his ship and handed him her bags like he was some kind of valet on a pleasure cruiser. Bossy, yes. On her own schedule—most definitely. Stubborn—yeah. Opinionated—when didn’t she have one? Bendable, flexible, compliant—hell no.

Hmm, hmmm, hm, hm….

And not gifted with musical talent.

Jayson braced for the inevitable. He knew what came next. She’d start to sing. Then the howling would commence, followed by several hours of strangled versions of what used to be some of his favorite songs. He’d endured enough. The woman had put him to the test for last two hours, and he wouldn’t abide another minute.

“Rose!”

The boiler room dropped into blessed silence. He sighed deep and leaned back against the iron monster, which, if she’d done her job, would have heated the water for the cleansing unit. Instead, if one jumped inside to wash up, they were hit with icy blasts of mist, and though mist didn’t sound like a big thing, when the temperature sat close to freezing, you didn’t want it anywhere near your naked skin.

With his ballistics officer and personal assistant away on their honeymoon, it didn’t take Jayson long to sink up to his pits in ordnance and Jenna’s administrative shit, doing the work of three people. Dealing with Tyson’s bomb inventory turned out to be a dirty job, and by the end of the week, he couldn’t stand his stench anymore. A good scrubbing was in order. Except he didn’t have any hot water.

The simple technology Sam tried to fix had existed for hundreds of years. Primitive, but most the time it ran, and in the past, if it went down, it only required a kick or two to bring it back online. The heating system had basic engineering behind it. The boiler captured cold air and extracted heat from it. Since the inside of the ship had live bodies, and the crew generated more heat than space, no matter how cold the air outside the ship, the interior would always be warmer. In addition, as long as the technology functioned normally, the boiler could extract the warmth and multiply it.

Then, if the piece of shit worked like it should, it would continue to recycle the air, drawing heat from it until the water in the boiler turned scalding hot. Man created the heat, the machine harvested it—simple enough technology.

So why couldn’t she get the blasted thing to run? Jayson resisted abusing it more, not sure the toe of his boot could handle it, but damn, any time now would be good. He’d lived with the smell of his own funk and ice-cold sponge baths for four days now. He refused to go another day. Hence the reason he didn’t want to leave engine room, or at least that’s what he told himself.

Hmmm, hummmn, hum, hummmmmm.

Jayson growled. Pretty soon she’d be in concert. He clamped his hands over his ears and not a second too soon.

“Baby, ooooh babbbbbeeee…oooooooooo babeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy.”

Didn’t she ever lose her voice?

Jayson cringed as the last high note shot up his spine—pretty damn sure it hit about five octaves too high on the musical scale. At least, if he remembered his songs correctly, it did—but he could be wrong.

Jayson tipped his head side to side, cracking his neck. Before the tall redhead had arrived on his ship, he hadn’t thought anyone could sing that bad, the kind of awful which cracked glass, made dogs howl and small children cry. Hell, it could bring a grown man to tears.

“Come over hereeeeeeeeee! Woooo, woooo hooooo.”

And then he’d met her. “Gods damn it, Rose! Enough.”

“Oooo, oooo, ooooo, oh.”

But she didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe she’d rendered herself deaf? Jayson looked down. Her boots poked out from under the heating system, and her toes tapped in cadence with whatever song she butchered and he tried his hardest to ignore. Attached to the boots was a pair of incredible long legs and a body which shouldn’t belong to a grease monkey. Ever since he saw those stilts, all he could think about was how they’d feel wrapped around him while he pounded into her.

“Did you want something, sir?” That sweet voice again. Yeah, she’d heard him all right.

“Work faster.” He shifted on his feet, trying to focus on something other than the bane of his existence and forbidden fruit. A captain didn’t touch his subordinates. He didn’t dream about them night and day, no matter how bad they sang, and he sure as hell didn’t get hard every time they passed him in the corridor and gave him a smile.

“Do you want me to work faster, or do you want it done right, sir?”

“I want to get into the cleansing unit sometime this week, and since this is the end of the week, today.”

“I’m not stopping you, sir.”

“I’m not taking a cold shower.” Though her suggestion did have merit, and the longer he stood there staring at her bare legs, the more sense it made.

“Then you’ll have to wait, because this exchanger isn’t going to fix itself, and doing it right takes time—even if it’s the end of the week.” She rolled from under the boiler and smiled up at him. “Captain Rivers, sir.”

Damn, the way she said his name always sounded like an invitation to go to bed—and a hell of a lot easier on the ears than her singing. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why it sounded so good. After hours of the other…. No, he swore sometimes she said his name with a sexy purr to get the effect she got. He turned slightly, so she wouldn’t see that part of his body, eager to find out if she had.

Collateral Lives (#4) Unedited - Work in Progress.

And oh the many ways he could make her pay. Who thought EOD training would include long distance running, which he claimed would build her endurance, enabling her to work on planets with a weak atmosphere, or strong gravity. And then there was the martial arts, bruised backsides and bloody lips and noses. Avery took it to the extreme and gave her the same treatment her enemy would, or so he claimed, since EOD was considered a primary target for anyone who didn’t want their bomb disarmed. And her favorite new skill—telepathy, designed to make her insane.

It won’t make you insane if you learn how to use it, and the only way you’re going to learn, is to use it.

Oh, you read thoughts too. Swell. How come I didn’t see it in the “welcome to hell, brochure?”

I don’t have to read your thoughts, when you project them at me. Conversation—over. Focus.

Aye, sir. Crushing pressure filled her head and she rolled to her hands and knees, using all her willpower to avoid crying out. Okay, she shouldn’t have pushed. Sometimes her mouth—brain, ran away from her.

Get up.

Trouble climbed to her feet and braced her hands on her knees, doing her best to catch her breath.

“Put up your guard.”

Back to verbal commands. Fantastic. What was it he said? When he started talking it was time for her to shut up and do what he told her? Prick. She lifted her chin and glared at the bane of her existence. He caught her with a roundhouse kick to her jaw, sending her flying back to the hard floor with a loud oomph. Trouble blinked and stared at the ceiling, stunned, with little stars circling her head. The room did the wave and she blinked again, bringing it back into focus. Ouch. She reached up and rubbed her jaw. Another bruise to go with the three dozen he’d already given her. Good thing she already had purple skin. Bastard.

She turned her head and Avery lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling as she had been, also rubbing his jaw. Not without cost. Every lesson was a lesson for Avery too. Trouble smiled. Served him right. Maybe she should punch herself in the lip.

“How’d that feel, big guy?”

“Wonderful.” He drew his knees to his chest and snapped to his feet. Avery cocked his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck. To look at him, one wouldn’t even know he’d been down and stunned moments before. “Get up.”

“Can we give it a break and practice basket weaving or something?”

“Get up.”

Trouble climbed to her feet. “I hate you.”

“Okay. Now put some of it into your attack and quit being a sissy.”

“First, tell me why we have to be linked if it makes us so vulnerable?”

He smiled and shook his head. Don’t you get it? It’s the League’s way of ensuring our cooperation. You’re linked to me because of your crime—running. I’m linked to you because of my crime—mutiny. They designed our punishment to fit the offense. You can’t run no matter how bad you want, and if I don’t keep you alive and under control, the orders handed down to me, I die. So suck it up princess and put your guard up. This is going to hurt me as much as it does you.

“You’re an asshole.” She didn’t care. Let him squeeze her brains. He got the same dose and after two weeks of this, she’d had enough of him telling her what she could say or think.

Wumpf! Her shoulders hit the mat before it registered in her brain Avery had struck. He landed in her guard, his torso pinning her to the floor and the inside of her thighs pressed against the outside of his. The rising and falling of his chest, matched the rhythm of her pulse. Face-to-face they stared at one another, so close she could taste the mint on his breath and feel warm heat on her lips.

“An asshole, you say.” He’d grabbed her wrists and yanked them over her head. “You haven’t seen my bad side yet. I said to focus.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to put my guard up.” She glared up into his stormy depths, daring him to deny it. Her belly fluttered.

“Do you think someone trying to kill you will give you the courtesy? We train for the real deal, Devoe. You weren’t paying attention or you wouldn’t be where you are.” Heat filled his eyes, kindling something wicked inside her.

His weight pressed against her in all the right places. Little tingles moved through her body, chasing their way through her blood. Even if he’d ordered her, she’d found it impossible to focus, nearly as difficult to breathe. She could care less he was a major prick, she’d wanted him, naked and inside her.

He cocked a brow and tightened his grip on her wrists. “You going to lie there all day, or are you going to break out of this hold?”

Trouble did her best to hook one of his ankles, but he moved his foot back and pressed more of his weight down on her. He didn’t try to hide his erection. The hard bulge sat against her clit, and even through their clothing she could feel the heat of his flesh.

His eyes glittered, and hunger blanketed his face. Trouble licked her lips, staring at his mouth. Needing. She’d curled her hands into fists, fighting the desire to both pummel and fuck him. Kiss me. He wanted her, or she wouldn’t be feeling this. I’m turned on—you’re turned on. His words echoed through her head as she stared back, waiting for the inevitable.

An odd look crossed his face and his grip eased. Avery backed off, grabbed her ankles flipping her to her belly. He dropped back down on her, pinning her face first to the floor, leaning in and pressing his mouth against her ear. “You want something.”

“Yes. For you to get off!”

“You want me off, remove me.”

Give Away!

I have a signed print copy of Blown Away (#1) and a 1/4 pound box of Ye Goode Shoppe chocolate covered orange creams to give away to one lucky commenter on the post. Don't forget, the more you comment, the better chance you have of walking away with the pretty red Kindle.

Good luck,

D. L. Jackson