Miss Firecracker: Wild West Boys, Book 2 Read online

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “I wasn’t playing you. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  She blinked at him.

  “Please. Hear me out. I wasn’t trying to mislead you. I just… I’ve been damn confused ever since my dad’s stroke.”

  “You don’t have to do this now, Blake.”

  “Yeah, I do. Since selling the ranch I’ve felt…displaced. I didn’t know where I was going. Or what I was doing. Or if what I’d done for the last fifteen years of my life was pointless in preparing me for what comes next.” He smiled tentatively. “Then I met you. I was totally unprepared for you, sunshine.”

  Willow didn’t say a word.

  “These last four days have been amazing.”

  “For me too.”

  “You know I’ve gotta ask…why? I know why they were unforgettable for me, but why for you? Especially when yesterday afternoon you accused me of lying to you.”

  “I was mad. But I shouldn’t have said that… I…I’m sorry.”

  “Was what happened between us amazing for you only because the sex is so incredible?”

  “I’ll admit that’s part of it. I’ve never…clicked with anyone the way I have with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I liked working with you in the bar. I liked talking to you. You make me laugh. You make me feel like I am a sexy beauty queen. You make me hot.” She smiled. “You make me dinner.”

  Blake laughed softly.

  “You make me feel all those things plus a whole lot more. After I took off and calmed down, I realized I didn’t want…”

  His hopes sank. “Didn’t want what? Me?”

  “No!” Willow inhaled a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to leave. I want more than four days to get to know everything about you, Blake West.”

  “Thank God.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Does that mean you’re okay with me sticking around Broward and tending bar part-time at Dave’s until I figure some things out?”

  Her shocked expression was priceless. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Think maybe you could help me find a place around here to rent?”

  “You could live with me.”

  Blake shook his head. “I appreciate the offer. But I wanna do this right, Will. What’s started between us is too important to screw up. Seems I’ve been waiting for a woman like you my whole life.”

  “You’d better define woman like you,” she teased.

  “A perfectly sweet, perfectly hot, perfectly nice woman.” He touched the curve of her jaw. “I’m crazy about you.”

  “I’m pretty crazy about you too.”

  The moment floated between as sweetly as a promise.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Think your crew could do without you for a couple days? I need to go back to Sundance and get my dog and books and stuff. And I’d like to introduce you to my folks on the way back here.”

  “You sure you want me to come?” Willow smoothed the hair from his forehead. “Won’t you be sad to leave your family and home in Wyoming?”

  “But that’s the thing. I feel like I’m finally coming home.”

  “You and that sweet talkin’. I could get used to it.”

  “I sure hope so, sunshine.”

  “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you… Why do you call me sunshine?” Her brow wrinkled. “I’m not blonde. Or even golden skinned.”

  He grinned at her. “And your disposition isn’t particularly sunny when you have a hangover either, which was why it was tongue in cheek when I first started calling you that. But now…”

  “But now what?”

  “Now, I call you sunshine because you light up my world.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I could definitely get used to having you around, Blake West.”

  “I have a feeling it’s gonna be one long, hot summer.”

  About the Author

  To learn more about Lorelei James please visit www.loreleijames.com. Send an email to [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Lorelei. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoreleiJamesgang

  Look for these titles by Lorelei James

  Now Available:

  Rough Riders Series

  Branded As Trouble

  Rough, Raw, and Ready

  Tied Up, Tied Down

  Cowgirl Up and Ride

  Rode Hard, Put Up Wet

  Long Hard Ride

  Wild Ride Anthology

  Strong, Silent Type

  Wild West Boys Series

  Mistress Christmas

  Miss Firecracker

  Other Titles

  Wicked Garden: Three’s Company Anthology

  Running with the Devil

  Dirty Deeds

  Babe in the Woods: Beginnings Anthology

  Coming Soon:

  Rough Riders Series

  Shoulda Been A Cowboy

  All Jacked Up

  She can cover him with one hand tied behind her back. Maybe two.

  Personal Protection

  © 2009 Leah Braemel

  Hauberk Protection, Book 2

  Sam Watson excels at keeping other people safe. Now a stalker is targeting him, but so what? A few doctored photos and a couple threatening phone calls are no big deal. He can watch his own back. Then again, the view from behind the sexy spitfire assigned to protect him isn’t so bad…

  Rosalinda Ramos has managed to keep her attraction to Hauberk Security’s owner tightly under wraps. It’s just as well he doesn’t know. One slip—in the bedroom or on the job—will cost her her heart and her career, so she’s got only one thing on her mind. Protect Sam, whether he wants it or not.

  The stakes—and the heat—rise exponentially when she discovers Sam belongs to an exclusive sex club—one she must investigate for potential suspects. Suddenly she finds herself immersed in a world that pushes her boundaries.

  Sam delights in leading Rosie deep into his sexual shadows—until they go one game too far. Making him wonder if he can allow the woman he loves to take a bullet for him.

  Warning: May incite the reader’s protective instinct, forcing her to throw herself on the nearest man.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Personal Protection:

  The limo pulled into the underground parking lot and past his Jag. A sigh escaped Sam as they cruised past his Harley. The crisp October day would have been perfect to drive his Road King. Instead he was cooped up like a damned dog in the back of the limo that finally stopped near the elevator where Rosie was waiting.

  Damn it, why had Chad insisted on Rosie Ramos as his lead CPO? If he’d wanted a woman to accompany him to any upcoming parties or meet ’n greets—the reason Chad had given him—why not McKee or Anderson? Neither of those women got his cock twitching like Rosie did.

  The fantasy he’d had of getting her alone in his apartment hadn’t included her wearing a gun and acting in as his personal bodyguard. All right, maybe one had. But, damn it, if a bullet was going to be aimed in his direction, there was no way in hell he wanted the little spitfire throwing herself in its path. He’d rather have her throw herself in his bed. Go down on her knees and unzip his fly… Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

  “All clear, Mr. Watson,” Rosie said quietly.

  “Of course it is.” Sam ducked his head and clambered out of the limo, then stomped to the elevator. Goddamn it, she’d even acquired a key to the elevator, locking the door open so no one else could use it. He ignored that it was standard operating procedure and lashed out, “You think other people might not need the goddamned elevator?”

  “Better than having the door open and somebody shoot you from inside. Besides there are other elevators still available.”

  Her voice was so damned reasonable. Placating. Like he was some baby to be soothed out of a tantrum.

  Which is exactly how he was behaving but goddamn it
, his people were supposed to be protecting others. Not him.

  She turned the key and let the door close, pressing the button for the penthouse. The elevator began to rise, a quiet chime announcing each floor they passed. And with each ding, Sam became more and more aware of the delicate smell of apricot shampoo and woman filling the confined area. He closed his eyes, trying not to deliberately inhale great lungfuls of that amazing scent.

  As long as she was around him, he’d not sleep. Instead he’d be staring at the ceiling imagining what it would feel like to cup her breasts in his hands, to unzip her pants and nudge aside that blue thong. Imagine going down on her and tasting her honey. When she’d been in the gym doing those stretches, he’d obsessed about some of the positions she could get into while he fucked her. Then in his office while Chad had been briefing her, he’d pictured her stretched out over his desk, her legs hitched over his shoulders. And now she’d be in the next apartment, so damned available.

  Damn it!

  “Mr. Watson, do you have a problem with me guarding you?”

  “Nope.” He couldn’t help that his answer sounded like a growl. He had one helluva a problem and at the moment it was punching against his zipper. He shifted his briefcase so she wouldn’t see his hard-on.

  “I mean, do you have a problem with a woman guarding you?”

  Shit! She thought he didn’t want her because she was a woman? Why not add sexual discrimination to the mix today? He exhaled and opened his eyes. “No, Ms. Ramos, I do not have a problem a female operative leading my team.”

  “Then do you have a problem with me personally?”

  Was it a problem that he was imagining pinning her up against the wall and ramming into her until she screamed her release? How the hell did he explain that to her without getting slapped with a sexual harassment suit in addition to the discrimination one?

  “If I didn’t have complete confidence in your abilities, you wouldn’t work for Hauberk, and Chad wouldn’t have personally chosen you as team leader.”

  That must have been the answer she was looking for. She nodded, and her shoulders imperceptibly relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “I’m pis—ticked off at whoever is sending those damned photographs, and I fu—frickin’ don’t like having to accept that I had to ask my own people to protect me. Leaves me damned twitchy. So don’t take my grouchiness personally, Ms. Ramos. It’s not directed at you.”

  No, what was pointing directly at her was his goddamned dick.

  The elevator bounced once before the doors slid open, and Sam waited for her to precede him.

  Aw, crap. Now he had to watch that bitable ass of hers walk along the hallway and that did nothing to help him control his raging hard-on.

  She’s your employee. She’s a crack shot with that Glock 11 she carries. He almost groaned as the image of her bending over on the firing range, wiggling that ass at him, had his cock so hard it hurt.

  She can stomp on your nuts and have you singing soprano without breaking a sweat.

  Didn’t work. All his dick thought of was wrestling on the ground with her body pressing against him, over him, under him. Around him.

  What was in that coffee of Sandy’s today that left him so fucking horny? Spanish fuckin’ fly?

  As they approached the door to his apartment, the door to 1202 opened and Kris nodded. “Evening, Mr. Watson.”

  Sam couldn’t help but notice his newest and youngest operative standing at attention, a worried frown marring that baby-smooth face of his. Aw hell. He’d stomped on that poor boy’s ego pretty good earlier. Hadn’t he been a bucket of sunshine today?

  He stopped, and blew out a breath. “Look, Kris, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning. I’ve been…”—a festering pile of self-centered dogshit?—“under a lot of pressure lately.”

  Yeah, right, and if you buy that one, I’ve got some land in the Okefenokee for you.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Watson. I don’t think I’d be feeling too happy if someone threatening me had access to my apartment and personal information either.”

  He might have bought Kris’s smile if it hadn’t been for the Mr. Watson. Unlike some of his employees, Kris had never had a problem referring to him as Sam. Or even “buddy” on occasion in the gym. Mr. Watson meant he still had some fencing to mend.

  “Chad told me you and Walters got those cameras in place.”

  “Sir, yes, sir. It was no problem at all, sir.”

  First Mr. Watson and now sir. And not just sir, but the military sir, yes sir. Well, he supposed it was natural for Kris to fall back on his naval training.

  “I didn’t expect you’d have a problem with it, son.”

  Son? Son? Kris is twenty-five, you idiot, not eight the way you’ve just made him feel. He’s not young enough to be your son.

  Okay, technically he probably could have been a father at fourteen thanks to Becky Sue’s idea of a birthday present that year. Thank the good Lord above, she’d stolen a condom from her brother Billy’s bedside table before sneaking out. Not that he’d needed another condom for a coupla years after that, but if she’d not had the forethought that night, he could have been a daddy by his fifteenth birthday. But he sure as hell wasn’t old enough to call Kris son.

  “Mr. Watson?” Rosie said, touching his arm. “Are you okay?”

  An electric shock jumped from her fingers and crawled under his skin in a tingle that caused his breath to hitch. He’d noticed that she was a toucher, seen her patting people’s arms or hands to calm them or support them, but she’d never touched him before. His cock hijacked his thinking processes and started him imagining her tiny hands closing about Sam Junior, milking…

  Shit on a stick! She’s your employee, not a member of the Rouge.

  “Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as he forced his mind back onto the scene in the hall. “Look, Kris, I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a good CPO. Chad wouldn’t have assigned you to the team if he didn’t have confidence in you.”

  Color crept up Kris’s neck. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Sam.”

  “Sam,” Kris repeated, his smile breaking out.

  Feeling that at least one corner of the world was back on its axis, Sam headed toward the end of the hall and his sanctuary.

  Rosie stopped him as he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. “Let me get that for you.”

  His teeth threatening to splinter when his jaw locked down, Sam stepped back and let her unlock the door with her own key. She drew her gun and entered his apartment. Chad had reported they’d monitored the cleaning service doing their thing that afternoon, so they knew the apartment was clear. Though he couldn’t fault her vigilance, it was what she’d signed on for when Hauberk hired her, but damned if it didn’t shrivel his balls that she was willing to take a bullet meant for him.

  This professor’s final exam includes a spanking.

  Dear Sir, I’m Yours

  © 2009 Joely Sue Burkhart

  There’s no house restoration too challenging for Rae Jackson, a.k.a. “The Fix-It Lady”. There’s no fixing the past, though. Like the day she left college. A semester of flirting with her English professor ended when he spanked her to the best orgasm of her life. Afraid of her own eager willingness to comply with the sexy dom’s commands—no matter what—she fled.

  Yet not even five years can dim her memory of his masterful touch.

  Conn never forgot the one student who gave him a big fat “F” on the greatest test of his life. After all these years, he’s still haunted by his uncharacteristic loss of control. When he finds the very object of his shame—and desire—crawling around under his grandmother’s house, he swears to do anything to win Rae’s trust.

  Rae finds herself helpless against Conn’s slow seduction. Exactly the way she likes it. Instead of poetry, this time she learns the erotic pleasure to be found in bondage…and submission to the sexiest professor alive.

  Warning: Explicit
sex, spanking, light bondage, a crazy old lady who talks to ghosts, and one lethal pink parasol.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Dear Sir, I’m Yours:

  Dear Dr. Connagher:

  We all wear masks, whether to protect ourselves or others. Sometimes the mask slips, and it’s a very frightening thing when the beast is revealed beneath the pleasant exterior.

  Richard has so many masks that I can’t keep track of them all. He has the supervisor role he plays with the contractors, the good ole boy role with his buddies, the dutiful son-in-law with my father. All of them are fake—I just never noticed it before. One by one, those masks slipped enough for me to see the truth.

  Last night, he looked at my poor crippled father in that wheelchair with contempt, and I wanted to leap on Richard and beat him to death with my own fists.

  To be honest, it never occurred to me that he was only pretending, even with me. Especially with me. Oh, Conn, he can be so terribly mean. Of course, only at home where no one can see his mask pulled aside. It sounds ridiculously immature to whine about someone being mean, but I always thought that someone who loved me, really loved me, would never be able to speak to me so harshly.

  Like I’m stupid. Worthless. Dog manure to wipe off his boots.

  Later, he apologized, but the damage had been done. I saw, I heard, and I can’t forget. The man I thought I loved and loved me in return is no longer there. I suspect he never was.

  Whether in class or the hallway, you treated everyone the same, from lowly non-English students, to returning students you mentored year after year, to fellow professors. You never acted differently, until it was just you and me behind your locked office door.

  That’s when the real Conn peeked out.

  I loved him as much as the professor, even if you scared me half to death.

  I wear a mask now, putting on an “everything’s okay” face as soon as I get out of bed in the morning. I hate that damned mask. I hate pretending, losing myself a little more each day.

  I’m scared, Conn. I’m scared that I’ll forget who I am until I am the mask. You’re the only man who ever saw the real me. I hold on to her, but I feel her slipping a little more each day beneath this cold, numbing mask.

  The night I stop dreaming about you will be the morning I don’t have to put the mask on any longer. I’ll be a zombie, then, a ghost, the girl you knew dead and buried beneath a false façade of vapid smiles and broken dreams.