by Diane Saxon
Atlantic Divide Book Three
With a man’s name and a bad-ass attitude, will Bill prove to be far more than Special Forces Operative Michael Marsden was looking for?
From the moment British Special Forces Operative Michael Marsden meets Deputy Sheriff Bill Swann, sparks fly and lust flows.
When a man meets a woman who rides a Harley Davidson and wears a gun strapped to her hip, he’s bound to be in for a few surprises. Because long-legged tomboy, Bill, is definitely not what she seems.
Having made it clear he’s looking for a no-strings-attached fling, Michael realizes he has to use all of his tactical knowledge to negotiate his way around Bill’s five older brothers to get her alone. Then he needs to get past her defenses. And his own heart.
Note: This was previously published by Liquid Silver Books in July 2013. It has been newly edited.
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Content/Theme(s): Deputy Sheriff, Special Forces, Military
Release Date: September 1, 2016
Publisher: Hartwood Publishing
Excerpt & More
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Michael watched Bill from the weights corner. She wore a baby pink oversized T-shirt with a playboy logo on the front and a knot tied at the waist. If anyone looked less innocent in baby pink, then she certainly did. Her black cycle shorts emphasized the flatness of her stomach and her hip-bones were clearly visible, her leg muscles well defined. He couldn’t take his eyes off her backside as she pedaled with fierce concentration, the same pert little backside that had been pushed firmly into his groin not so many weeks ago.
She hadn’t let up in all the time he had been there. Her energy levels were obscene, her fitness amazing. She probably would have made a great member of his team if she could just leash the fury that pulsed around her.
He took long gulps of air through his nose, to prove that he could still breathe. His chest was tight and so were his loins. If he had ever seen anyone sexier than Bill, then it wasn’t a memory he could drudge up at that moment. He really hadn’t thought that tall, limber sweaty women were his thing, but then thinking wasn’t his strong point right now anyway.
He touched her arm gently and she almost leaped off the bicycle. She snatched her ear plugs out and glared at him
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t touch me.” As he backed off he lifted a placating hand.
“I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes. Ethan had to go, he said to tell you he would see you tonight at the game.”
“Uh … thanks. You finished yet?” Snappy and sharp, she checked her watch, climbed down, wiped the seat off, and rubbed herself with her towel. He found he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. A familiar kernel of lust unfurled in his belly. Her eyes flicked over him again, one dark eyebrow lifted, waiting for an answer.
Blank. His mind was blank. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t remember the question.
Heat and annoyance bounced of her in waves.
She smelled like cinnamon, sweet and spicy. His senses clamored, his brain clouded. Recalling how she had moved against him yesterday, how she’d demanded a response, she’d awakened his desire for her again with a kick start like a blowtorch.
He’d wanted her the first time he had ever seen her, when he’d touched her, his hormones had gone into over-drive. He had really thought he could have a quick, robust sexual work-out with her. No strings attached. She had given every impression of being interested. She claimed that was what she wanted from him.
Trouble was, he already knew that it was never going to be that simple between them. She wasn’t quite as worldly wise as he’d thought. And he wasn’t quite as detached as he’d believed.
He’d spent the last few weeks away distancing himself from her. Knowing that the best thing all round was to walk away before he found himself in deep water. Trouble was, all that convincing, all that self-belief just bit him in the ass the moment he saw her again. Not quite the very moment her saw her. He’d thought he was doing quite well, until she’d grabbed him. Desire had raged through him like an outback wildfire and when she’d strutted away, he’d damn near ran after her.
A bead of sweat trickled lazily from her throat down the line between her neat little breasts. He visualized his mouth there, his tongue tracing a path back up that track. He swallowed.
His eyes shot back up to meet hers.
“Uh… Uh… Yes, umm. No, just the rowing machine now.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, shot her hip out, and lifted her chin.
“You’re stu-stu-stuttering again.” This time it wasn’t said teasingly but with an impatient lash. He smiled. She might act like a teenager sometimes, but she wasn’t impervious to him.
She strutted across the room to confront the punch bag and started to give it a working over. He sat on rowing machine to watch her. Her movements were fluid and confident. She was sleek, powerful and sexy as hell.
Bare fist fighting. Probably pretending it was his face. He sat back to admire her form. Her body weight was evenly distributed, her balance steady, the way she hit the bag hard and fast, with a straight wrist, relaxed arms and shoulders. She’d have made a great boxer. He watched her leg come up and her foot smash the bag. Possibly a better street fighter.
Despite his resolution to remain distant, he couldn’t help himself.
“Do you want to give that a real go? A one on one?”
She stopped punching and gawked at him as if he were stupid.
“One on one, with you? Do I look like I’d kick a dog?” She replied as he stood up and walked loose limbed toward her.
“I think I could be a good match. One on one.”
She sneered at him her lips pulled back. “You’re so full of shit. You think you can take me on, fuck face?” She angled her body to hit the punch bag again.
He caught it on its backward swing and held it away from her. Tilting her head to one side, she slapped her hands on her hips and glowered at him. He felt the heat of her temper as it rolled off her. Felt it and enjoyed it. It turned him on.
“You’re language is appalling, woman. Your mother should have washed your mouth out with soap when you were little.
“My mother died when I was a little girl.” If she thought that might gain her a sympathy vote, she had another thing coming.
It gave him pause for a moment though, he felt his heart twist as he watched her still, serious face. He wasn’t here to give her sympathy. She knew it, he knew it. So he wiped it out ruthlessly. She wouldn’t want it if he offered.
“Then one of your brother’s should have.”
“They tried, the little fuckers. Never managed to pin me down long enough. I’d have kicked their balls through to their throats.”
She smiled, swift and feral. Quick as a flash he returned the smile, knowing she deliberately provoked him with her foul language and aggressive attitude. Mean simply didn’t cover it. She was vicious. Her eyes black and deadly.
“Well then, looks like you missed out on a vital part of your education.” He grinned wolfishly, twitched his eyebrows twice up and down looking forward to being the one to fill in that gap. “Looks like I’m going to have to rectify that.” He let go of the punch bag, watched it swing back toward her.
She side-stepped it easily, her flat eyes never left his.
“You and who’s army?”
“C’mon Bill, you can do better than that. That’s a childish reply.”
He knew he was too close to home with that remark. As a half-smile flitted across her face, she narrowed her eyes at him and he knew he had her.
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Be on the lookout for Diane Saxon's next book, Finding Zoe, coming September 2013
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