I adore a good mystery--and when I can have that and a romance, too, I am in heaven.
Hoping you might like that combo as well, I'm writing a series at EC called Irresistible Forces. The first was LAID BARE. The second?
CARRIED AWAY. www.jasminejade.com/ps-8399-50-carried-away.aspx
This begins in one of the most romantic cities I know. Venice. Then on to Paris, Jerusalem, the West Bank and Naples.
Hoping you will come along, I give you a nibble of my newest cherry.
She got to her feet. Drifted away from him. She’d told herself when she decided to recommend him for this job that she wouldn’t fall into bed with him. Even though she craved him like the earth needed the sun. It was not fair to him, given what she had to do. Now that she’d seen him, embraced him, she warned herself once more not to even think about starting a physical relationship with him again. Not because she didn’t want him. But because she still hadn’t told him everything about herself. What she did. Why she did it. Hell.
She smoothed her hands down her linen skirt and headed toward the door. “I should go.”
He stopped her with the velvet bass voice she’d heard in her dreams for three lonely years. “After what you’ve just told me, I don’t approve of you in a separate room.”
She curled her shoulders. Closed her eyes. How she wanted to move in, sleep with him, make love to him. “I didn’t think you would.” I can’t just walk back into our life and fall into bed with you like some broad with no brains and no remorse. “But—”
“I signed that contract, so it’s my job to keep you safe. Because I can’t put a bodyguard into place for you on such short notice, I am your security. Hence, you sleep here.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. She was exhausted from worry and the trans-Atlantic flight. Seeing Grant again had sapped her energy more than she anticipated. She was getting too old to be running around the world doing one job she loved—and a second that she’d come to hate. “Don’t push on this, Grant.”
He strode to his door. “You are not checking in. No one needs to know you are here. I’ll get the adjoining room and your luggage. We leave for Dubai tomorrow morning. I have my jet. You will fly with me.”
“I have a ticket.”
“On a commercial airliner?” he asked like she must have rocks in her head.
“I’m in first class.”
He huffed. “First class is no defense against C4 and crazy men.”
“You’re right.” She’d known it, but a cover was a cover. She nodded, grateful, but felt herself sliding down a steep slope that led straight into his arms and his bed. She rubbed her arms and turned to look out his window into an uncertain future.
“Have a nap,” he ordered, his guttural voice a sweet rasp against her skin. “We’ll have dinner together. I’ll make the arrangements.”
She didn’t turn, didn’t want him to see her face, her joy, her frustration at her inability to control her desire for him. “Eight?”
(Copyright Cerise DeLand 2010< No reproduction without permission.)
Soon to come my new website: www.cerisedeland.com