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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.
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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.”
"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.
Find Cerise:
Goodreads: Cerise DeLand
Follow her on Twitter: @cerisedeland
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