Hounded Release Day!

Pain exploded through Poe Madigan’s right cheek and eye. She slammed into the concrete wall, crying out when her shoulder hit with more vibrating agony, everything fragmenting into multi-colored pieces with layers of disconnection and disorientation. Shock coursed through her in a surreal I-feel-like-I’m-watching-from-a-distance way as she crumpled face down.

What the hell…?

A man. Above her. Masked? Had he punched her in the face? Where had he come from?

Edgar, the larger of her two Jack Russells, went crazy. He leapt at the man’s face and latched onto the mask concealing her attacker’s identity, the weight of the small dog dragging at the man’s torso. Allan’s ferocious barking peppered with mixed growls indicated he’d joined the fray. The signal to Poe’s brain to get up and fight short-circuited. Dazed and immobile from the blow, she could only watch helplessly.

A muzzy thought drifted along the edges of her awareness. Could this have something to do with that awful note someone had shoved under her door?

The man swung his arm and dislodged Edgar. Her dog cried out with a sharp yelp, and she tried again to get up. Edgar was hurt. She needed to help him. The man put his foot into the middle of her back and trapped her against the dirty pavement. He yanked at her purse, which was fortunately partially jammed underneath her. No way! He couldn’t have her too-cool zombie bag. Much too trendy for this lowlife scum. As he reached for the straps and tried to jerk her off the purse, Allan snapped at his hand, slashing it with his teeth.

Her attacker backed off, cursing and swatting at Allan, but the dog was too quick. Allan went for the man’s pant legs, shredding the fabric with his sharp little teeth while Edgar launched himself at him again. Someone shouted, but Poe couldn’t make out the words over the ringing in her ears. The sounds of her dogs attacking receded. Then someone touched her, making her flinch—no, wait, this was a helping touch, trying to find out if she was okay. She finally let go and drifted toward sooty blackness.

She jerked awake. One of the EMTs was talking to her in low, soothing tones as they loaded her into an ambulance, the glare of the blue revolving light making her head hurt. She thought she’d answered his questions, and he seemed satisfied.  Suddenly her throat closed up and lucidity rushed at her, tightening her chest. Where were her boys?

“Wait,” she cried out, trying to rise, but the doors closed with finality.

One More Day!

The rows of different apples made her feel like a demented Snow White. She was sure Snow never wore razor blade earrings and a red leather, spiked dog collar, though.

“In that apple dress and those kick-ass heels, you look like a lethal Betty Boop. Makes a man want to know if one bad apple spoils the whole bunch.”

Pi woof. One big, infinite woof!

She focused on his lips, and he stepped closer, smelling earthy and musky. She really liked cerebral guys, she told herself to stave off more tingles, but it was like trying to stop a raging flood with a bucket. No barrier at all. And all that testosterone was going to be releasing in her apartment every day for three weeks.  She hoped she could keep her hands off him.

“I should get my shower,” he said absently, now looking at her lips.

She nodded and waited a heartbeat too long for him to move first. He didn’t.

So they were officially staring at each other now. The sudden silence of the Y, devoid of the raucous sounds of men grunting and sweating, made the cavernous gym seem intimate. There was nothing but silence until the next pick-up game.

A silence that swelled in a way that boosted the potency in the very air between them. Heat radiated off his moist skin.
“Later, Taylor!”

Jared jerked and turned around and waved as Poe took a step back.

“Shower,” he grunted, pointing towards the locker room as if words were beyond his ability right now.

She nodded.

And she plopped down onto the bench because her wobbly knees just couldn’t hold her upright any longer.

Would it be immature and totally geeky if she bolted right now? Wait, no, she couldn’t. The whole reason she was here was to help her mom. That was her mission and should be the only thing she was focusing on. So no more touching clavicles—or anything else for that matter—even if they were a fine specimen of a horizontal bone.

Oh shit! She was doing it again. Shaking herself, she spent five minutes trying to eradicate the effect Jared had on her. Then bam, Jared came though the locker room door and all her composure went flying out the proverbial window.

Seeing him with his hair wet, his gym bag slung over his shoulder and the biceps on that arm pronounced, it took her a full minute to move. But she shook it off like a fighter with a near-miss KO and did her best to look nonchalant and cool as she walked toward him.

Three More Days!

From the shapely mounds of her breasts, it was a hop and skip up the satiny skin of her throat to the profile of her face, from the elegant angle of her jaw to the deep purple lipstick on her lips.  Geezus, he didn’t trust himself to stare at that mouth. For survival reasons, he moved on to the rest of her striking details—smooth, pale cheeks, a pert nose, and thickly lashed and darkly outlined eyes, almond-shaped, sultry.

Hoo-yah. She was gorgeous.

He felt it like a physical ache in his heart.

She shivered delicately. Had she sensed him ogling her, or was she truly cold?

From a very interesting zombie bag she produced the tiniest black lace wrap he’d ever seen. It fit over her arms and draped in ruffled folds beside each breast. It fit like a glove, and after it was on, she did one of those simply ultimate female things for which the common male simply had no protection—she slid one manicured hand up around the back of her neck and with the utmost unconscious grace, fluffed her hair, the black nail polish catching the overhead lights. The next move was also filled with so much fluid, female style. The head toss to settle her midnight dark hair in place, artlessly performed with mesmerizing skill.

And she did him in.

He waited to see what else she had in her bag of tricks—and so help him God, when she moved, it blindsided him—turning towards the door, she saw him.  When she made eye contact, she smiled. It was a genuine smile, which made it all the more dazzling, especially for a woman who had just recently been attacked.

For a man of stealth, a Marine who’d had to live and breathe evasion and concealment, to be so caught off-guard was astonishing.

One long-legged, spike-heeled stride after another, she walked toward him, towing the two Jack Russells with her. She pushed the door open and tilted her head.

Unbelievably, he found himself steeling his heart against the sound of her voice. The sultry welcome of her stunning cobalt blue eyes was only eclipsed by that voice.