Scarred Hearts - ISBN #9781419909450
Once, all champion motocross racer Charil Ross needed from life was a powerful motorcycle under her, her family’s love and support, and an occasional male body heating hers. But everything changed the day her younger brother lost his life to Danny Tito’s greed. Now the drive for justice and revenge rules her.
Range is a hired gun. Short of murder, he’ll do whatever his clients pay him for. When Tito orders him to capture Charil in preparation for her plunge into sexual slavery, he believes the time he spends alone with the half-wild woman will simply be another job.
Everything begins to change the moment Range’s ropes bind Charil to him. Even as she fights her captivity, Charil senses she’s in the hands of the one man capable of giving her a reason to embrace tomorrow. It isn’t only sexual energy that rages between the two wary loners. As they tentatively share thoughts, their pasts and what brought them to this point, emotional barriers start to crumble and wishes for a shared future begin to form. But even as they explore each other’s bodies and hearts in Range’s remote cabin, Tito remains a dangerous force.
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Excerpt
Range had to hand it to her. Most women dropped their gazes as soon as they sensed the wolf in him, but she’d returned a hard message of danger with one of courage. Challenge meeting challenge. He hadn’t expected that, but then he’d insisted his client not tell him anything about Charil Ross until he’d picked up everything he could on his own.
Now his curiosity was off the chart, but not just for the obvious reasons. Oh yeah, her body could make a man cry. She wasn’t put together like some damn scrawny fashion model, but how could he ignore that strong and healthy frame? She made him think of an antelope or gazelle, slender but resilient on the inside, muscles made for survival.
He’d noted the reactions of the other men and had concluded there wasn’t a one of them who wouldn’t give their right hand to screw her. Hell, who wouldn’t want a prime representative of the species opening her legs for them, especially one who was succeeding in a male-dominated world?
Some men might try to throw that success in her face either by treating her like a hothouse flower or accusing her of being butch, but not him, not when he could strip her down and explore her for what she was. Accept what genetics and life had made her.
Stick to the assignment. Make an assessment of the subject, formulate a plan. And throw up your defenses.
Feeling like the panther to which more than one woman had likened him, he slipped through the sweating bodies until he was just below the platform. He waited until she handed off the microphone. Then he looked up, locked eyes with her and issued his challenge. Closer. Come close so you can feel my claws.
Her shoulders squared and her head high, she accepted his hand. Then she made a lie of any pretending she needed help by jumping down beside him. He had no intention of releasing her long fingers, which she must have known, because she made no effort to free herself.
Damn. She wasn’t as tall as he’d expected, and although he’d witnessed her strength, he sensed femininity, plain and simple. And eyes shadowed by grief.
Snagged by the need for answers, he let her fingers slip free. She could have turned and walked away and he sure as hell wouldn’t have blamed her, but she didn’t. Neither did she speak, which booted the ball into his court.
“Impressive. You did a hell of a job today.”
“So I’ve just been told.”
“No modesty?”
“I’m saying it like it is. What about you? Is this a come-on?”
What-or more to the point, who-had he gotten his hands on? Okay, so technically he didn’t yet have his hands on her, but that would happen. Before, delivering her had been nothing more than another assignment in a career distinguished by a lack of rules. Now, for the first time in too long, he felt alive.
In lust.
“Do you want it to be a come-on?”
“Depends. Are you married?”
“No.”
“In a serious relationship?”
There‘ve only been one of those, and I‘m not going there again. “No.”
“On the make?”
“Depends on what you mean by make.”
That elicited a laugh along with a wink of light in her too-somber gray eyes. “You know, I’m not sure what the word means.”
“Why don’t we play it by ear?”
“How?”
Shit, she wasn’t backing down. Men were supposed to be the pursuers, women shy and sly while they pretended they weren’t doing their own stalking, but she wasn’t playing by those stupid rules. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who didn’t give a damn about rules, which would be worth finding out. “Let’s get out of here before the other wolves close in.”
“So you’re a wolf? Shit. Forget I said that. I hate game-playing.”
“So do I.” Wondering if he was taking more of a chance than he could possibly know, he draped his arm over her surprisingly broad shoulders and ran interference.
More than one young buck issued a wordless challenge, but he let body language and eye contact let them know he was the alpha wolf. And for today at least, the alpha female belonged to him.
Shit. How hard was it to weave through the stereotypical mass of humanity? Why the hell was he so aware of the press of flesh and body heat?
Don‘t be an idiot! It‘s her you‘re feeling.
As a stupid kid of maybe eight or nine, he’d made the mistake of trying to crawl under an electric fence. Unfortunately, his back had made contact with the bottom wire just as his hands and knees were in mud. The resultant jolt had knocked him flat and muddied him from nose to toes. His clothes had been second- or third-hand, and no one would have given a damn if he’d made a mess of them anyway, but as he lay there trying to get his brain and nerves back, he’d wondered if he’d killed himself.
He wasn’t close to doing the same thing today, but he’d have to be fourteen kinds of a fool not to know she was just as dangerous as that hot wire had been.
What about when I‘m done with you? Will you still be dangerous?
Getting out from under the tent seemed to take forever, but now that he’d reached his first goal, what the hell was he supposed to do? She seemed to have the same thing in mind because she’d clasped her hands and was staring straight ahead.
“What made you decide to compete today?” he stupidly came up with. “As a pro in an amateur event, you wouldn’t be able to accept any winnings, right?”
“Right. I was in town to pick up the bike I rode when I heard about today’s event. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to give it a shakedown run.”
I know what you came for. That‘s why the hell I‘m standing here. “Did these weekend warriors give you enough of a challenge?”
“It’s me and the time clock I’m competing against, not them.” Her knuckles were turning white. Intrigued by what might be responsible for her tension, he started rubbing her shoulder. Hell, watch the sparks! Maybe she felt the same zing because she slid out from under him then whirled and faced him. Yes, definitely, sad eyes. Lonely eyes.
Why did Danny Tito hate her so much?
“Is that how you keep your edge?” he asked. “By kicking the local yokels’ asses?”
“No. Of course not. Besides, what do you care?”
Because you‘re making me care, he came too close to admitting. Instead, he pasted on a wolfish grin. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure out how to get in your pants.”
“At least you’re honest.”
If you believe that, you‘re a fool. And in more danger than you already are.
“I decided on the direct approach,” he told her. “Let’s turn that around. Do you want in my pants?”