Working on the Excerpt Today

A machete strapped to his back, a semiautomatic slung over his shoulder, and an army knife on his belt, he walked into the cantina with a swagger that said he could beat any man in town and could take any woman to bed.

He was taller than the locals, his hair a few shades lighter, a couple of days’ worth of bristle covering the lower half of his face. He wore army boots, cargo pants, and a black T-shirt that did nothing to conceal a distracting amount of muscle.

Then he finally slid off his glasses, and the next second his unerring gaze pinned Clara, and it was too late to turn away or slide down in her chair, because he’d caught her watching him.

He gave a knowing smirk as he sauntered toward her, over six feet of pure muscle and laser-focused attention.

The scene should have been the opening shot of an action movie—light glinting off hills of muscles, determination in every masculine move, a cocksure grin. Casting directors all over Hollywood would have peed their pants at the sight of this guy.

He dropped into the chair across from Clara, his muscled thighs spread. She clamped her own thighs together. His white teeth flashed in the dim light of the cantina as he chomped on his cigar and took stock of her.

“Are you lost, Cupcake?” His I’m-a-bad-boy-and-you-know-it voice scraped along her nerve endings. He was definitely American. East Coast, if she had to guess from his accent.

Her grandmother used to say there were men the devil put on earth to test good women. Clara was tempted to ask the guy whether he’d just zip-lined in from hell.

“Go away,” she said instead.

“How can I, when your eyes begged me to come over?”

She rolled said eyes so hard, she might have caused permanent damage.

One: she hadn’t begged in her life.

Two: the only thing she wanted was to hit him over the head with the bottle of tequila between them on the table. She was trying to keep a low profile, and he was drawing every eye to them.

He smiled around his cigar. “What’s your name?”

DOD Investigator Clara Roberts, she badly wanted to say to wipe the superior smirk off his face. “None of your business.”

His eyes were a brilliant multicolor green like the rainforest, alive and full of secrets. He let his gaze travel over her chest from left to right, then from right to left with undisguised disappointment.

He tsked. “No tits, no manners.” He shook his head. “You should try to have at least one or the other. A pair of great tits covers a multitude of sins.”

    When his gaze reached hers again, the very fires of hell glinting in his eyes, he said magnanimously, “Don’t worry about it, Cupcake. You look like the brainy type. Believe it or not, that appeals to some men. I think I read that on the Internet.”
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CONTEST!!! --I'll be posting all kinds of bits and pieces, leading up to the Nov. 10th release date. Don't forget to comment here on the blog to the posts. I'll be raffling off a signed set of Hardstorm Saga (Reluctant Concubine + Accidental Sorceress)on release day among the commenters. GOOD LUCK!

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