HOT TARGET, one scorching #military #romance by @JordanDane excerpt!

Available only on Amazon

 Outside Havana, Cuba

Five years ago

Rafael lay sprawled on his belly in the gritty dirt for hours, enduring the cool darkness before dawn to the now sweltering heat of the midday sun. He offered up his body to anything that crawled or slithered. With a single-minded purpose he remained as still and unmoving as the boulder he hid behind, dressed in camouflage tactical gear—BDUs, boonie hat, and boots.  Not even the heat or the sweat trickling down his neck distracted him.

His unwavering discipline kept him rooted to the land. This had to work.

Rafe cleared out every last cent of his savings—after he’d lost all hope for his future—to pay for his covert drop and extraction so he could bring his weapon into Cuba. Without an official stamp in his passport, there would be no record of him entering or leaving the country.

When he heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance, he knew his sacrifice had come down to this moment. His eyes shifted toward the horizon and his throat wedged tight. He fought the emotion that welled inside him as he shouldered his suppressed .300 Winchester Magnum. Rafe stared through the Nightforce telescopic sight with his eyes trained on the dirt road below his position.

Please let it be him. 

Not many used this desolate acreage of private ranch land, except for the man he dared to hunt. A truck barreled toward his position and kicked up clouds of dust. As he peered through the scope, adrenaline raged through his veins. Stay in control. Don’t lose it now. He’d come too far to fail. Rafe had his egress routed, but if he didn’t take his target out, he didn’t care what happened to him.

The truck would soon be in range. Rafael slipped on his ear plugs and checked for wind, spying the inconspicuous ribbon he’d tied to a downrange branch at dawn. He adjusted the knobs for windage and elevation and took the safety off his sniper rifle. His hand reached for the bolt action and he chambered a round.

One shot. One kill.

He relaxed his body and took a deep breath before he let it out slow. Rafe hardened his expression as callused as his heart had become. He lined up the man’s face until it centered in the floating crosshair of his scope—Adiós, cabrón—and without hesitation he squeezed the trigger.

The man’s head spattered red mist and brain matter onto the windshield. The back of his head severed from his neck. Target down. Confirmed. After the truck veered left and lunged into a ditch, the man’s dead weight landed on the steering wheel. The abrasive sound of a horn cut through the late afternoon air.

Rafael lay motionless and glared at the dead man through his scope. Time drained away and he could not move. Tears welled in his eyes. He expected to feel something. It was over, wasn’t it? His body shook and he fought the urge to puke.

You gotta go. Now.

It took everything he had to get off the ground and stay focused on his egress. He’d have to get to his extraction point and out of Cuba fast before authorities found the body. Out of habit, he policed his brass, grabbing for the spent shell casing ejected from his .300 Win Mag, but something made him stop. He stared down at the brass in his hand. An impulse gripped him hard. Maybe the urge came from his unrelenting respect for justice.

He’d built a career in law enforcement with the Chicago police department, his latest assignment in SWAT, special operations. Being one of the good guys was all he ever wanted to be, but today he shattered everything he ever stood for.

He’d killed a man in cold blood.

In a slow and deliberate gesture, Rafe wedged the spent casing into a notch on the boulder like an artist signing his work. He didn’t care what happened to him—not any more.

Hot Target

When Rafael reaches out to his sister for a job, Athena Matero—a founding member of the private security agency, the Omega Team—can’t help but be protective of her younger half brother. After a tragic hostage rescue and its aftermath, Rafael Matero turned into a solitary loner, only surfacing to fulfill his duties as team leader for an elite SWAT sniper unit with the Chicago Police. Athena decides to fast track his application by vetting him on the job—a mission to Havana Cuba to investigate a cold case murder.

But when the old murder is linked to the shadowy death of a powerful drug cartel leader, Rafael is burdened by a terrible secret from his past—and an unrelenting death wish—that puts him at dangerous odds with Athena and her team. He believes he’s beyond saving, but that doesn’t stop Jacquie Lyles from trying.

Jacquie sees something in Athena’s mysterious brother that touches her heart. Chivalrous and brave, Rafael is as rare as a unicorn in her life as techno computer geek and white hat hacker for the Omega Team. After she joins the team on its mission to Cuba, she uncovers Rafael’s shocking burden and it breaks her heart.

Rafael stands in the crosshairs of a vicious drug cartel—powerless to stop his fate—and his secret could put Athena and her team in the middle of a drug war.

Tough Target

Coming May 2016

An Omega Team Novella – Amazon Kindle Worlds

Novella 2 of 3

By Jordan Dane

Target Rich

Coming July 2016

An Omega Team Novella – Amazon Kindle Worlds

Novella 3 of 3

By Jordan Dane

About the Author

Bestselling, critically-acclaimed author Jordan Dane’s gritty thrillers are ripped from the headlines with vivid settings, intrigue, and dark humor. Publishers Weekly compared her intense novels to Lisa Jackson, Lisa Gardner, and Tami Hoag, naming her debut novel NO ONE HEARD HER SCREAM as Best Books of 2008. She also pens young-adult novels for Harlequin Teen. Formerly an energy sales manager, she now writes full time. Jordan shares her Texas residence with two lucky rescue dogs.

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PRECIOUS CARGO @BrennaZinn's new #military #romance rocks! Out now!

AVAILABLE only on Amazon! 

   When protecting innocents and fighting dangerous enemies are the easy parts of the mission…Precious Cargo.
AVAILABLE only on Amazon! 

People who have read advanced review copies of Precious Cargo, my first romantic suspense, have repeated the same sentiments to me.  The first is – WOW! You must have done some serious research about Ukraine and its relationship with Russia.  Yes.  I did.  I have a degree in History.  I love doing research.

The second is – This book was intense, the action scenes were so well written I felt like I was watching a movie in my head, and parts of the story made me laugh.  My response?  FANTASTIC! That’s exactly what I wanted as I wrote the story. I can’t tell you how much I love hearing people laugh out loud when they read one of my stories.

The third and final remark is – The story ended too quickly.  I loved the characters and wanted more.  This is a much harder comment to respond to.  Here are some things that comes to mind when I hear this.  I’m so freaking delighted to hear that someone wants more story.  To me, that means they really did like the story, as well as the characters. I know I’ve read stories where I didn’t want the book to end, and the book was about 400 pages long.  (Any Diana Gabaldon fans here?)  But, take heart.  If you read Precious Cargo, you love the characters too and would like more story, then please, please, please let me know.  If I have enough feedback, I’ll add a sequel book to Precious Cargo with Mila and Duke.  Pinky swear.  How does the title Dangerous Cargo sound to you?  You can write me at Brenna.Zinn@gmail.com.  Trust me.  I’ll read your message and will write you back.  I promise a sequel if I hear from readers.

In the meantime, let me share a bit of Precious Cargo with you.  I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it.

Precious Cargo Blurb

Master Sergeant Duke Gunnison sucks at retirement. He has no intention of turning in his combat boots for golf shoes. His former life in Special Ops, where he protected innocents and fought dangerous enemies, provided the rush he continually craved. Without the constant missions to feed his adrenaline addiction, he’s lost his sense of purpose and he struggles to find meaning in his new life—until he gets a life changing phone call.

Grey Holden, a founder of the prestigious private security agency The Omega Team, offers Duke a chance at a second life doing what he was born to do—a special op to safeguard the daughter of an important Ukrainian diplomat. But Mila Bartosh is not only a special envoy’s daughter, sent to accompany her father as he negotiates the removal of troops in eastern Ukraine. She’s on a secret mission of her own—to exact revenge on a powerful Russian mob boss, guilty of unspeakable crimes.

Mila is determined to help protect her father and accomplish her treacherous undertaking at all costs. But as her tasks become more complex, she unexpectedly reunites with the man who stole her heart and then vanished into the night, never to be heard from again, until now. Her love’em and leave’em paramour is none other than her new American bodyguard Duke Gunnison. With innocent lives on the line, can she carry out her missions while avenging her broken heart?

Precious Cargo Excerpt

As far as European hotels went, the Grand Lutsk Hotel was near the top of the marks with its classy decorations, spa and guest services. The air conditioning was a definite plus. The majority of places Duke had ever stayed in boasted “rustic” accommodations, which generally meant the hot air outside was cooler than one could expect inside. Having grown up in the swamps of Louisiana, and then soldiering most of his life, sleeping in AC and on anything but the ground or a stained, second-hand mattress felt fairly high-class.

He’d barely settled in and managed a quick shower before his first scheduled meeting with Yure Bartosh. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had time to get a haircut or do more than stuff a bag full of washed clothes before jetting off for Ukraine. Now, as Duke rubbed the stubble on his chin and stared at his reflection in his suite’s swanky bathroom—what self-respecting man used a bidet, for Christ’s sake?—he had to admit he looked a little rough around the edges.

His hair was long enough to brush his shoulders, and its dirty-blond coloring had lightened from his many days fishing and combing the beach. The nicest outfit he’d packed—and currently wore—was a Western shirt, a pair of faded jeans and his snakeskin boots. Had his brother returned the one and only suit Duke owned, he would have brought that along too. But one simply couldn’t pack what one didn’t possess or have time to buy.

All in all, he could easily be mistaken for an American bum.

The thought made him grin.

No harm in being considered a bum. People didn’t expect much from that lot, especially in Europe, which worked in his favor. Anyone seeing him around would think he was an easy target. The men he needed to watch for would come out of the woodwork and try to take him on. Then they’d be in for a big surprise. The same thing had happened when he was a kid, and again when he’d joined the Army. This side job wouldn’t be any different.

The rush out the door and onto a plane, plus three sleeping pills, had also meant he couldn’t dwell on the fact he’d be playing bodyguard to Mila Bartosh. Jesus. Having her pop back into his life felt a little like karma giving him a swift kick in the ass. Their coming together again would no doubt top the charts for awkward reunions. He’d be lucky if the feisty woman didn’t haul off and try to shoot him with his own gun. Well, the Ukrainian government’s gun. Europeans didn’t take too kindly to folks flying in with weapons.

Someone knocked on the door, followed by a muffled, “Mr. Gunnison, Mr. Bartosh will see you now.”

The words were spoken in Ukrainian with a notable Eastern dialect.

“Here goes nothing,” Duke said to his reflection. “It’s your first day on the job. Let’s try not to piss anyone off, get shot or blow anything up. What do ya say?”

A tall man in a dark suit led him to the top floor of the hotel. They passed several more men in matching dark suits flanking the hallway and stopped outside a set of wide double doors. Plenty of time to get his pulse in check before seeing Mila. He was former Special Ops and here to do a job, not some angsty teenager dealing with an angry date he’d left at the prom.

His escort gave him the onceover before knocking. Duke hadn’t missed the man’s disdainful smirk.

“We all look like this in the states. Part of our dress code. You’d look like an idiot there.”  Duke spoke in English, not caring if the man understood. If this guy and the rest of the security detail were doing a bang-up job in the first place, he’d still be catching fish in the Gulf of Mexico rather than babysitting their boss’s daughter or facing his past.

Without any acknowledgement to what he’d said, the man opened the door then closed it after Duke walked into the room. There, an old but sizable gentleman with long gray hair and an equally gray beard and mustache sat at the end of a table. Based on the pics from files Grey Holden had e-mailed, the fella was Yure Bartosh, the diplomat. Mila’s father.

Also based on the pics, the stiff in the suit behind Bartosh was Burton Laramie. The other hired gun sent from The Omega Team. The way Laramie stood, ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back and feet spread slightly apart, were sure signs the guy had to be pure Boy Scout. Someone who always did the right thing and followed the rules down to the crossed T’s. Laramie was probably very good at his job, but he would definitely be no fun at parties.

Mila sat at the table as well, her attention focused on a pile of papers. She didn’t look pleased.

Duke’s mouth went dry and his heart began to thump fast and loud in his ears. Damn if the woman wasn’t even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her, and he’d seen a lot of her back then.

I’ve never felt this way about anyone.

I want to be with you.

I…I love you.

She finally looked up and her gaze met his. She tilted her head and pursed her lips, confused. Then her chest rose and fell as though breathing had suddenly become an effort. Her eyes widened. Color sprang up her neck and raced to her face. In an instant she was on her feet, smoke pouring from her ears.

“You! What the hell are you doing here?” she growled in her native tongue.

Brenna Zinn Bio and Links

I remember reading about Texas in an Illinois grade school and thinking I probably would never see the great state where real cowboys ride their horses to work every day and everyone wears western hats and boots. Then again, I never dreamed I would elope in Gibraltar with a Navy man who hailed from the Lone Star state. But here I am, smack dab in the middle of Texas, still married to the same wonderful man and boasting not only the greatest daughter on the planet, but three dogs who are as big as long horns.

In between grade school and now, my journey through life has taken me all over the United States, as well as many places throughout the world. Using my travel experience as a guide and peppering in interesting characters I’ve met along the way, I love nothing better than weaving tales of romance and leaving readers yearning for adventures of their own.

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This SEAL's pride was his grit. THE LION #military #romance #specialops OMEGA TEAM FB Party

Feb. 18 FB PARTY 

Be here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1674209029502298/

Mike Lyons’ pride was his success as a SEAL. Focused, driven, he put duty first…until an IED changed all that. Rebecca Tierney was the woman he always left behind…until he had to protect her from creeps who would rob her of her life.

THE LION, OMEGA TEAM, Crossover to Scorpian, SEALed Securities, Inc.

Former SEAL Mike Lyons goes to work locking down bad dudes, State-side, for the Omega Team. His PTSD is his biggest enemy but he’s doing an A1 job….

Until Grey Holden of Omega assigns him to protect the woman Mike has always left behind.  Mike’s on point for the mission but questions if Rebecca Tierney will give him a crack at a happily-ever-after.

Becka nixed hope for any long-term relationship with Mike long ago. Too bad she’s never been able to nix her love for him. When he shows up and carries her away Tarzan-style, she’s determined to chill.

But old habits die hard.

Even though mixing business with pleasure would be the worst thing they could do.

THE LION, Kindle World

A NIBBLE of THE LION!

Copyright 2016, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.

The shop door snapped open. The bells above the frame rang in an awful clatter.

And in walked Mikael Lyons.

Becka laughed. Am I dreaming?

But she wasn’t.

Mike stood, surveying the art gallery like a man with a mission. Focused, pointed, his gaze swept the large display floor jammed with furniture and paintings, sculpture and china, ancient, modern, all of it fit only for the upper one-percent’s purchase.

She shot from her chair. What was he doing here?

She hadn’t seen him since they’d argued and parted last summer after that summary meeting in the State Department. Days after the end of their Paris job. The end of our two-month affair.

She sucked in a breath, wrestling with her memories of how scrumptious The Lion had been as her lover. Instead, she zeroed in on what had happened to him after he’d left her on the sidewalk last summer holding pieces of her heart in her hands. His grandmother had notified her the day she’d gotten word of his injuries in Afghanistan. The elderly lady had faithfully kept her up-to-date about his wounds, his hospitalizations, his PTSD. Oh, but he looked so good now. The shock of sun-kissed hair, streaked with bronze and gold. The enormous shoulders tucked into a steel gray suit that fit his broad chest and powerful arms like a well-tailored glove. The height, six-four or more. Comforting to stand next to. Maddening beautiful. A little thinner than when they’d rolled around in bed together last July before they returned Stateside and he’d left for the mission that changed his life.

His neon blue gaze locked on hers. A ghost of a smile crossed his chiseled lips. And then he moved. Like quicksilver, he wove through the maze of furniture. His stride was long. His goal clear. He’d come for her.

Why?

Why now?

Today?

Panicked, she remembered the flash drive. The green bar on the screen moved an iota more. Almost done.

Mike rounded the doorway to her office. Up close he looked pained. But furious. At her? Really? What had she done?

“Come with me,” he said in that bass voice that reverberated inside her like the roar of the huge male lion at the Washington zoo. He could say her name and her insides got all mushy. With that voice torrid in her ear, he could tell her fairy tales and she’d believe in Hansel and Gretel and reindeer that flew because stars always exploded when he was near.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, confused. He’d stormed away from her last summer, warning her yet again that he might not return. And he’d been prophetic, coming home from the mission to Kandahar badly wounded.

“I’ll tell you. But you have to come with me now.”

“Where? Why?” She shot a glance at her drive. Done! She grasped it and yanked it from the computer. Then she dropped it in her skirt pocket.

“Can’t explain. Need you to walk out with me.”

“No.” If she did that, if she stayed with him for more than five minutes, she’d hop into bed for a damn luscious lay—and then he’d be gone again. Messing up her life. Always. “Never.”

He winced, bared his teeth and shook his head. “Either you come quietly or I take you.”

She seethed. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Right now? I’m the guy who’s saving your pretty ass. So come quietly or you won’t like what happens.”

“No?” She folded her arms and glared at him. “Well, now hear this—“

“No time.” He stepped forward, hauled her into his massive arms and anchored her head with one meaty hand. “Kiss me, baby. Like there’s no tomorrow.”

There never has been. “You’re crazy if—“

“Crazy is my forte,” he crooned, turning her so her back was to the shop floor. And then he crushed his mouth to hers.

She was gone to heaven. His lips were hot as August, his demand heavy and urgent. She loved him rough and ready. She loved him tender and teasing. She loved him and part of her wanted to linger here, kiss him back, forget why he came and destroyed her. Again.

She pushed at his chest.

Why bother? With a man this freaking size, what woman had a chance? Not me. Never me with this man.

He pressed his thumb over her swollen lips. “Look like you want me. Hate me, but want me.”

Like that wasn’t the truth.

“Listen to me, Becka. Fast. You have documents?”

“What?”

“Documents? Sensitive?”

“Y-yes. How do you know?

“Tell you later. I’m assigned to help you.”

“Like we did in Paris?”

“Exactly like.”

“I have them.” She sidled closer to him, whispering, “On me. But I’m not going with you, Mike. Every time I do, I get myself in a helluva bind. I won’t do it again.”

He took her by her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “I have no time to argue with you. There’s a gunman out there. Maybe headed this way.”

Her jaw dropped. But her old Langley training kicked in. “What’s going on?”

“Dunno.”

“But—"
"Okay then.” He picked her right up off her feet and hauled her over his shoulder. “We’ll do this my way.”

 One hand to her ass, he pivoted and threaded his graceful way double-time through the tables and chaises, the mirrors and marbles.

As he passed Vince, her boss, and the senator, he said, “Thanks, got what I came for.”

“Rebecca?” Vince followed behind Mike.

She glimpsed his feet tracking her. She tried to raise her head, but all she could do was watch the beautiful muscular play of Mikael Lyons’ fabulous glutes. She suppressed the urge to laugh and indulged the need to bitch. “I’m fine, Vince. I know Superman, here. He’s harmless as a pussy cat.”

“For that,” Mike growled when they were on the sidewalk and he ran up Wisconsin Avenue with her ingloriously over his shoulder, “you will pay.”

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Who is Cerise?

Cerise DeLand loves to cook, hates to dust, lives to travel—and write! Publishing award-winning novels for more than 3 decades, she is #1 Bestselling Regency Author of spicy romances starring dashing heroes and sassy women.

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SEALs are hot for @cerisedeland's MILITARY MONTH! Yum!

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If you were saved by a SEAL from an abductor in a sizzling desert, you'd be grateful. You'd want to thank him. You'd also be astonished he came to visit you in the hospital and that he asked after you. You might even fall in love...and  seek him out to tell him that.

               * * * * *

Getting in the party mood for a weekend away with his SEAL teammates is no easy deal for “Zeus” Calderon. He’s hung up on a woman he saved from terrorists months ago, but he should be able to forget a gutsy blonde reporter who showed resilience and humor under fire. Shouldn’t he?

Kim Stansfield got the instant hots for the hunky Navy SEAL who led her out of harm’s way—and she’s got proof Zeus feels the same about her. He’s stubborn, but she’s devised a plan to conquer him.

When she shows up in Key West and surprises him on the beach, Zeus learns that once in a lifetime a man meets a woman he can’t forget—and every day without her is no easy day.

Excerpt, CONQUERING ZEUS by Cerise DeLand, 2012-3. All rights reserved.

   Pissed at himself for leaving Coyote and Ghost at the rockin’ Friday night beach bar scene hours earlier at Sunset Pier, he pushed through his temper and used it as fuel. Of all the women in all the joints in the world, the blonde bombshell who doesn’t walk in there tonight is the one I want.

   He pounded through the waves, spotting someone lean and female strolling the beach with a sizable dog.

   They were harmless. He had jumped in naked. No matter. Whoever it was would be long gone by the time he hauled his bare ass up the sands toward the house.

   SEALS ON FIRE:       PRINT: http://amzn.to/Uo5CSG       EBOOK:  http://amzn.to/1ndo6Sf

   He angled for the shore, fighting memories of doing a door-to-door in an Egyptian shantytown to find her. His team had landed the night before, marched hours over abandoned desert to the tribesmen’s village, then fanned out to search for her and her two fellow hostages. Amid machine gun fire, he discovered her in a tin-roof lean-to, weary and weak, dehydrated, blindingly beautiful and bravely smiling at him in her filthy rags.

   “Keep your head down,” he had whispered, pushing her to sit beneath the edge of the window in the hovel where the Bedouin tribesman had tied her to the post of an old iron bed frame.

   With a classic profile, Nordic and tall, Kim Stansfield, reporter and hostage, stared at him, sunburned and dazed from hunger and thirst. Despite her dire condition, she smiled, pointing at his face and the green and brown desert camouflage paint that disguised his features. “Are you wearing make-up?”

   “What? You don’t like a man to wear foundation?”   He fluttered his lashes at her, whipped an MRE drink from his vest and shoved it toward her. “Guzzle this.”

   Grasping the pouch with shaking hands, she downed it while he sawed off her chains with his Spyderco blade. She coughed, choked, then hacked some of it back up.

   “Cancel the guzzle. Sip it. Let me see how fit you are.” He ran his hands over her body, checking for sprains or injuries from beatings. God knew what these animals had done to a blonde Western woman who didn’t suit their ideals for dress or habits. After seven days of captivity, her body was still sleek, but limp from lack of nutrition. Outside, the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire and bursts from his buddies’ Sig Sauers told him his team had run into her captors and it was his job to snatch her and run.

   “I can’t go with you,” she rasped, wiping drops of the liquid from the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her dirty linen abaya.

   The hell you can’t. He shot her a look that spoke his thoughts. But hostages, especially women, needed assurances. He knew how to do that. Grandmothers, mother, sisters and cousins.  He had gentled them all.  The only man in a huge Tex-Mex family since his father had passed away when he was a baby, Jesus “Zeus” Calderon knew how to talk to women. “You’ll be fine. Do as I say.”

   This female, he knew, tended not to follow anyone’s orders. Not her newspaper editor’s. Not the American government’s. He had studied her top-notch professional background and her tough-as-nails character, all as part of his team’s mission prep. She might look like a runway model, but she was an Amazon in spirit and truth. Though she hailed from preppy American and crusty British diplomatic stock, Kimberly Morran Stansfield was a dare devil, thirty-one-year old investigative journalist who spoke fluent Arabic and had used her excellent skills to file stories from Bengazi and    Cairo during the Arab Spring. For more than three years in the Middle East, she had strolled through gunfire, air strikes and riots. Seven days ago, while working an angle on famine in Egypt after the overthrow of Mubarak, she had been abducted and held for ransom by a renegade tribe of Bedouin.

   “You don’t understand,” she objected, clutching his shirt in one fist. “They expected you. Planned for you.” She coughed again and he fretted about how deeply the spasms wracked her. “They’ll kill my cameramen Johnson and Hassan if you take me. Said they’d torture them first.”

   “No, they won’t.”

   “But—"

   “We’re getting your two guys. No worries. Then we’re putting down your captors.”

   “How many are you?” she asked, the reverence in her voice a prayer.

   “Enough.” He smiled at her then and it was as if the sun multiplied into a thousand more when she grinned back at him. “Drink all of that. Fast as you can. It’s got your meds in there.”

    She had a chronic condition of high red platelets. That was the reason the SEALs had come for her and her two colleagues as quickly as they had. Delay by even two more days and she would have died. Besides, this particular group of Bedouins had shown their hand at violence last year when they had kidnapped a French female television commentator. That woman they had brutally tortured and killed. Without a cause, save their own enrichment, this nomadic group tried to ransom those whom they abducted. And they always abducted women.

   “They’re cowards,” he told her as he checked her bare feet, concluding he would simply carry her with him. “And they’re dead meat.”

   Laughing hoarsely, she put a hand to her temple and swayed in delight. “Woosy. Think I’ve had too much to drink. Can you do that? Take them all?”

   “My only job is you.”

   She had laughed then, giddy with the strength of the MRE. Drawing his face down to hers, she planted a big fat kiss on his cheek. “Color me grateful, SEAL of my heart. Your wish is my command.”

* * * * *

    COME VISIT my website for more delicious tales: http://cerisedeland.com

Burn for a SEAL? Try 5 star BURNING FOR NERO @cerisedeland's for Military Month!

This is the BURNING cover
AMAZON DIDN'T LIKE! Too much skin!

BURNING FOR NERO by Cerise DeLand is #2 in SEALs GOING HOT series!

   Who is Nero? Tony Nero is a SEAL going home for July 4th weekend to see his family and the woman he has tried to forget for more than a decade!

   On leave due to an injury, Navy SEAL Tony Nero heads home for a little R&R and some Fourth of July fun. When his buddy’s widow Cass Phillips picks him up at the air station, Tony figures he’s in for a sexually frustrating few days. He’s had the hots for the blonde siren for years, but his best friend won her heart first. Even though Ray’s been gone more than a year, Tony bets Cass isn’t interested in any man. Not him. And especially not another SEAL.

   Cass has a bone to pick with longtime friend, Tony. After her husband died, he was the closest thing her little boy had to a father figure. His visits stopped abruptly and her son doesn't understand why. Neither does she. She's also unable to quench her growing need for the tough and tender man. She's already loved and lost one SEAL, but that doesn't stop her from burning for Nero.

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Copyright 2014, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.

   Wild to leave, Cass headed through the French doors. Across the patio to the lawn, she sank in the

lush grass. Catching herself time and again from turning an ankle, she strode toward the boathouse. She stayed there whenever she visited, not wishing to sleep in the room she and Ray had shared when Ray was alive. Jon still slept up at the main house with his grandparents, thinking it a vacation from Mommy and ordinary restrictions. Tonight, Cass needed the solitude the hideaway offered.

   The moon was bright and she made her way quickly. She got to the steps before Tony’s hand grasped her wrist, the strength of the man she wished to escape halting her in her tracks.

   “Stop. Cass, stop.”

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   “No.” No, she would not cry or beg or scream. She couldn’t demean herself like that. She took a step, but the giant in her path caught her against him. With just one arm, Tony could trap her.

Against his formidable body, against her better judgment, she wanted to simply stand there, never move.

   He crushed her close, nearer than he ever had before, and she felt the power of his presence. His one good hand pressed her fully against him, then glided down her spine to press her hips to his. She caught her breath. He was hard. And he wanted her.

   She turned to leave.

   “Stay. Stay.”

   She shook her head, her gaze beyond him. “Let me go, Tony.”

   “I don’t want to.” He lifted her chin with his injured hand. “Look at me.”

  Bravery was her forte. Hell, she’d been a warrior’s wife. To face this one was easy peasy. Right?   She met his gaze.

  Not the viper, not the seducer, not her friend, this man gazed down at her and absorbed her distress with sympathetic eyes. “You don’t want to go, either.”

   “I couldn’t watch—” Oh, lord. Had she really blurted that? She was botching this.

   “She came on to me, Cass.”

   She stared at him, caught between delight at his words and regret at her. If she had more nerve, she could own up to wanting him. If she weren’t so stuck in her friendship rut, she could make a move on him. Was her pride more important than finding out if he could care for her as more than a friend?

   “Listen to me.” He stroked the small of her back. “I didn’t encourage her. Why would I, Cass?” His last words were so raw, she barely heard them. But the sorrow in them thrilled her and she looked up at him again. “Why would I when I just want to be with you? Tell you how I loved your song and dance with Jon. Praise you and say you are the finest mother, babe. Why would I want to be with her when you’re the one I want to talk to? Huh? Tell me.”

   She was speechless with joy.

   He cradled her near him as if she were fragile china. The feel of him was heaven, like coming home to a safe place she’d never known existed. He dropped kisses to the crown of her hair and his gentleness stunned her so that she wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed into him.

   He groaned and stepped out of her embrace.

   Unbalanced, she stumbled.

   But he clasped her hand and pulled her along, striding like a mercenary on a mission toward the front door of her boathouse. At the threshold, he halted, dropped her hand and looked down at her, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Invite me inside, Cass.”

   An order, a metaphor, a plea. His words were all of them and she reveled in their potential. In one lunge, she swept open the screen door and pulled him inside.

  He whirled her against the inside wall, pinning her there with his body and cupping her throat. “Tell me why I’m here.”

   Words would be too much, too soon. She’d show him. She undulated against him, this man she had watched and wanted for months now. Wrapping her arms around him, she brushed her mouth against the corded column of his throat, nuzzling the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple. She parted her lips to taste the musk of his very healthy body. She rose on her toes, pulling him closer, nestling her puckered lips into the hollow beneath his cheekbones. She slid her mouth to his and he waited, still as stone, letting her lead.

   Ah, god. She had hungered for this decadent taste of him for so long. She’d been so careful to tease apart her motives. Tony was kind, caring, no clone of Ray. No substitute either. She wanted him for his sweet, bad self. Could he want her because she was different from any other woman he took to bed? She paused to examine him.

   “Don’t stop now. What’s in your eyes is too raw to be best friends with benefits.” He grabbed a fistful of her curls and yanked her head gently. “I won’t trespass. Our ties are too old, too strong. So, whatever I’m here for say it, or I’m leaving and we forget this ever happened.”

   “Stay.” She took his mouth as if she were a dying woman, needing only the succor he gave. His lips were firm and willing. She grabbed him by the shirt, yearning to hold all of him, lose herself inside  him. “I want all of you.”

   “Since when?”

   “Months and months.”

  Growling, he pressed flush against her from chest to thighs He seized her lips, bestowing sizzling kisses, grazing her tender flesh, scouring her mind. He sent his tongue inside the cavern of mouth and probed and plunged, fierce, claiming and testing. She mewled.

   Breathless, he yanked away. “I’m hurting you.”

   “No.” She curled her hands around his neck and drew his mouth once more to hers. “I need you to need me like that.”

   “Christ, baby.” He sucked on her lips. “I’m trying not to gobble you up.”

   “Damn. You’d better.”

   He stopped, surprise living in his gaze, feral, dominant. This was that other Nero. Predator. Marauder. The sight of him in his splendor made her knees quiver. “What else can I do for you?”

   When had any man ever asked her that? She licked her lips. “Multiple orgasms.”

   He nodded, grinning. “Your wish is my command.”

   Helpless joy flooded her. She’d grown so tired of Ray’s selfishness, she’d questioned any man’s desire to satisfy her in bed or out. The one man she had opened her legs for last year had turned out to be a total dud. All slap and tickle, full of sound and fury signifying nothing but meh. “You can deliver, huh?”

   “Complain to me at any time,” Tony whispered with such utter compassion, that she realized he understood she lacked inspired loving. “One rule though,” he said against her mouth, his hand stroking her spine.

   To have this man in her bed, inside her, this man to roll with and rock with? Oh, yes. Yes. “Name it.”