It's Release day for my Men of Honor box set which includes the first three books in the series.
Purchase it on all stores here
Ridge
He’s a former Army Ranger, a billionaire CEO of
MedBionics with a mission to improve the lives of wounded veterans. With the
big vote on his Veterans bill coming up before Congress soon, how had he ended
up on stage between two cover models with a hundred women shouting, “Take it
off, Tucker!”? That’s the question his family and friends would be asking tomorrow.
That, and “Who’s Tucker?”
Buffy Calloway's face and body were
recognizable worldwide but the 'face' she's looking for is the face of her
franchise. Interviewing cover models at the D.C. conference, she finds 'her
man'. Tucker - the late arrival - has the 'je
ne sais quoi' that will make her talent agency and photography studio an
immediate success.
The Calloways have always known what they
wanted and Buffy knows he's ‘the one’. There's just one problem. Ridge scoffs
at the notion of himself as a cover model. He has more important priorities.
Who is Buffy to argue with such a noble cause, but she’s determined to show
Ridge he’s underestimated the influence of a vast romance community.
Could this be the first
time a Calloway was wrong?
Luc
Not all tall, dark and
dangerous heroes are bad boys…
The first time Delilah Burke saw him was at the
crime scene, she assumed he was a certain type—tall, dark and dangerous, and a
robber—because he looked the part and he was holding the gun. She'd been wrong.
A cop should know better than to assume but dressed like a mercenary, how was
she to know? Under the circumstances a careful cop doesn't presume or assume
so, she'd followed protocol.
Luc relaxed as the cop's boot pressed him down
on the grimy floor of the small grocery. But then her cornflower blue eyes
peered upside down into his and his stomach lurched. She might figure out he
wasn't the perp but would he get a chance to find out more about this intriguing
and beautiful woman? As he watched her work, he decided she was just what he'd
been looking for, but Luc's part-time job required some unusual costumes and
equipment. When she found out he was neither a criminal or a hero, would she
listen to his proposition?
Each day reveals the former Naval officer to be
almost too good to be true. Then trouble arrives from Luc's past and Del faces
a choice – believe the evidence against him, or trust her heart.
Nick
Could his past get her
killed?
You’ve killed him, Bad Brenna taunted.
Brenna looked down the steps at the man lying motionless in
Brenna knew she was right, knew it was exactly
why Bad Brenna existed, to help her cope with the trauma that had turned her
into a scared rabbit whenever lightning was in the forecast. But her anxiety
over the approaching storm had been magnified by another premonition. Usually,
it meant someone was about to die. Had she been the means, this time, of
fulfilling her own prophecy? As always there were no clear answers. She needed
to start trusting her sixth sense if she was ever going to get rid of Bad
Brenna. First step—rescue her victim from the storm.
What happened? He’d been dodging the
lightning, fighting the wind and rain, looking for a place to hide…when he’d
seen the faint glow in the distance. There was no answer at the door so he’d
broken in … and there she was, a beautiful Valkyrie. Wielding her sword, she
screamed as she struck him—for no good reason—and then everything went black. Everything.
Excerpt from Nick
She’d been awakened before dawn by
ground-rumbling thunder that shook a candle loose from a its place on a nearby
shelf and sent it thudding to the floor. She was a light sleeper under these
conditions anyway and rose to peek out toward the west between the curtains in
the front room.
By midmorning, the lake's surface had been
turbulent and black. The wind blew sideways, bending trees and lifting waves
like aquatic enemy soldiers on a tireless march toward shore as boats slammed
against their docks in a frenzied tug-of-war. It was as if the Rain God had a
giant air gun driving rain bullets into every exposed surface while he tossed
capricious bolts from his dark tower.
“Your imagination is running amuk,” Brenna
muttered remembering a night filled with anticipation of tropical storm Ira.
Now, with the “perfect storm” riding down upon her little corner of Thunder
Point, dread bubbled in her stomach like acid. But she stayed at her computer,
collecting readings on her equipment, logging wind data, and working the
Electron Molecule Deformulator. It was imperative that she complete her work
before a loss of power. For this, the storm was critical to her work.
Brenna didn’t know what she feared more—the
lightning—or the near certain feeling that something bad was about to happen.
As usual, knowing so little didn’t help.
It wasn’t as if there was a bolt from nowhere and the outcome of her
premonition was magically written on her kitchen calendar. Most of the time she
didn’t know who was in danger, didn’t know where, didn’t know how…until it was
over. And sometimes, not even then.
Before—Brenna squeezed her eyes shut and pushed
the memories away. Before she’d left Storm Lake to attend college in D.C., this
would have been just another thunderstorm, another facet of life on the big
lake. Residents on the East end were used to it. It was the inexperienced
and newcomers to the area who found themselves stranded, or worse.
The cabin had come to her through her
great-grandmother who’d been a stalwart matriarch of one of the oldest families
in the area, the Callaways. The property ran along the tip of Thunder Point
offering spectacular views of the sky from sunsets to storms to meteor showers.
“Get a grip,” she chastised herself, and tried
to play down the feeling of doom.
On nights like this, she questioned the wisdom
of moving back from D.C., but she was determined to overcome the hysteria that
embarrassed her, haunted her, and still—sometimes—held her in a vice-like grip.
The Lake was home and while it contributed to her peace of mind and her work in
climate forensics, being here forced her to confront her fear.
There was something extra tonight, the
anticipation morphing into a living, breathing entity. She just hoped no one
was dying, or going to die. That whatever it was…this time, she would be
able to prevent someone from being hurt.
Her fingers sped across the keyboard, tweaking
the settings on the electronic instruments outside to make sure they would hold
up to a loss of electricity. They would, undoubtedly, but would she?
The next rumble of thunder surprised her with
its strength. Her fingers moved faster with nervous energy as she kept her eyes
glued to the monitor. Anxiety traveled along her nerves like the electrical
conduits in the EMD. Those horrific memories wouldn’t be far behind.
In that instant, a magnesium-white light turned
the living room into an overexposed movie negative and she found herself on the
floor, hands pressed to her eyes for agonizing seconds as a mighty trunk split,
striking other trees and sending chips and limbs like missiles against the
exterior of the house. A picture tumbled off the shelf by the fireplace and hit
the floor as the grumble continued.
The crashing seemed to go on forever, followed
by gradually diminishing thunder. Throughout the clamor and chaos, Brenna held
her breath, as if merely breathing would bring calamity down on her. As if not
breathing could keep the beast from finding her.
When silence reigned, she raised her head.
To black velvet darkness. “Crap.”
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