When her world
loses its color, he’s the only one who can help her find the brush again.
Lance
Loving a Lancaster Book 4
by Stacy Eaton
Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
As a Forensic Accountant, Lance Lancaster lives on facts and
the small details that get overlooked. When his firm takes on a new client, and
Aurora Moonshadow enters the room, the facts he lived by and relied on quickly
begin to vanish, leaving him in the unknown territory of protective gemstones
and Navajo folklore.
Aurora Moonshadow believes in signs and living every minute to the fullest.
After her father passes and she takes over the family business, she finds
herself unable to understand the dire situation her father left behind. That is
until Lance arrives to help her. The creativity that has been hidden by grief
quickly emerges after meeting him, and Aurora is on top of the world until her
protective bracelet breaks.
When Aurora goes missing, Lance returns to Sedona and will do just about
anything to help find her. Learning that she started painting again after their
one night together makes Lance even more determined to locate her and bring her
home safe.
Will they be able to find Aurora before everything she loves is destroyed,
including herself? Or will Lance be left with only her final painting?
Lance is the fourth book in the Loving a Lancaster Series.
This series spin-off of the Loving a Winston Series, which spins
off the Loving a Young Series.
Stacy Eaton is a USA Today Bestselling author and began her
writing career in October of 2010. Stacy took early retirement from law
enforcement after over fifteen years of service in 2016 due to a second serious
concussion. Her last three years on the job were in investigations and crime
scene investigation. She now writes full-time.
Stacy resides in southeastern Pennsylvania with her husband,
who works in law enforcement. She has a daughter in college and a son who is
currently serving in the United States Navy.
Stacy writes a variety of genres, but mostly romance. She
enjoys writing real-life stories that people can relate to with real-life
problems, emotions, and solutions.
Her favorites: Classic cars, photography, Disney, music,
coffee, and her favorite sweatshirt that says, You are dangerously close to
getting killed in my next novel.
Strange visitors have appeared in Ethel, their clothes and mannerisms jarring
against the familiar rhythm of the coastal town. The woman in Orla and Dave's
spare room speaks in archaic phrases and marvels at electric lights, while the
silent man staying with Molly and Cormac carries a translucent device that
glows with symbols no one recognizes.
As fog rolls in from the sea, bringing with it the now-familiar whispers and
cold spots that signal another haunting, the four friends realize they must
unravel the temporal mystery before them. The clock tower strikes at midnight,
and both past and future hang in the balance.
*Contains mature themes, open door sex scenes, and mature language.
Three years ago, the small town of Ethel, VA, was rocked to
its core when the lighthouse became a beacon for something an-cient and hungry.
Every year since then, we’ve cast a protection spell, tying knots in rope while
visualizing a protective shield, at the weathered tower a week before Samhain,
our voices car-ried away by the salt-tinged wind. This year’s no different.
Cormac’s slender fingers intertwine with mine as we
ap-proach Orla and Dave across the grassy shoreline. We’ve man-aged to mostly
heal from the toxic tendencies of the past—the jealousy, the competition, the
midnight arguments that left scorch marks on the walls. Magical abilities
complementing each other have a tendency to do that, like puzzle pieces finally
finding their fit.
The mid-October sunlight glints off Cormac’s long, blonde
hair, turning each strand into spun gold against the blue sky. We don’t meet
here at night anymore, not since the shadows began to move independently of
their owners. She gently squeezes my hand in reassurance, slight crow’s feet
crinkling around her eyes with a smile that blooms one of my own in return. She
tries to continue her broody exterior by wearing a scuffed leather jacket with
silver buckles, but her face is too full of light these days to continue the
façade.
“It’s about time you two showed up,” Orla says as she wraps
me in a hug, her dark curls tickling my cheek. Her automatic soul-possessing
ability takes hold straight away, a warm honey-like sensation flooding through
my veins. I feel her anxiety—sharp and metallic—and she feels mine. While hers
is about the treacherous events three years ago, mine is about the small
vel-vet box burning a hole in my pocket, holding a moonstone ring for Cormac.
I know she’ll say yes; I hear Orla’s thoughts echo in my
mind like a whisper in an empty room. To assuage her anxiety, I push forward
images of Cormac and me from earlier in the morning. We’d stayed in bed, all
consumed with passionate kisses and bodies moving in rhythmic dance together;
sheets twisted around our ankles, the taste of her still on my lips.
Okay, okay, you’re excused for being late, Orla sends
through the connection, her mental voice tinged with amuse-ment. Then it’s gone
as Dave, tall and broad-shouldered in his flannel-lined jacket, gently pulls
her out of the hug. He com-plements her power as Cormac complements mine, his
deep voice carrying over the crash of waves against the shore.
“Did you actually expect them to be on time?” he asks her,
his breath visible in the chilly air.
Orla looks at me, her eyes sparkling, and we snicker like
schoolgirls sharing a secret.
“Some of us know how to keep a woman in bed,” I goad Dave,
watching his cheeks flush crimson.
Before he can respond, Cormac says, “Guys, I think you
should come over here,” her voice tight with tension.
She’s rounding the other side of the lighthouse, her boots
crunching on the path. I jog over to her, worried she might be in danger, the
wind whipping my hair across my face. Once I’m next to her, I’m struck with
frozen terror, my breath catching in my throat. As Orla and Dave’s footsteps
catch up, I try to count the sleeping bodies sprinkled around the remnants of a
bonfire.
Sprawled across the damp autumn ground lies a peculiar
as-sembly of slumbering figures—some adorned in woolen cloaks and flowing
medieval gowns; others draped in shimmering flapper dresses and tweed vests and
flat caps. The incongruous sight sends a chill down my spine, conjuring
memories of that haunted night years ago when phantoms in pheasant feathers and
tarnished armor materialized from the mist. Could history be repeating itself?
I draw Cormac closer, my fingers tightening protectively around her shoulder. A
bitter wind sweeps through the clearing, rustling crimson leaves and stirring
the strange visitors from their dreams.
“Oh, halloo,” calls a woman with cascading silver-streaked
hair that catches the morning light. Deep laugh lines frame her eyes as she
rises gracefully to her feet, brushing debris from her embroidered skirts. Her
button nose crinkles above heart-shaped lips as she smiles warmly. “I’m Marie.
We weren’t expecting anyone so early.”
“You’re days early for Samhain,” Orla informs her, her voice
carrying across the clearing.
“Samhain!” exclaims a younger woman with stylish curls and
bright eyes. She leaps up, clapping her hands together with enthusiasm, silver
bracelets jingling at her wrists. “I’m Florian. I absolutely adore a proper
shindig.”
Another woman glides forward, her tweed vest firmly hug-ging
her body. She loops her arm possessively around Florian’s slender waist and
extends her other hand, adorned with bangles that glint in the early light.
“Kiersten,” she offers, her voice me-lodic but guarded.
“Molly, and this is Cormac,” I reply, mirroring Kiersten’s
protective gesture by drawing Cormac against my side, feeling her warmth
through her leather jacket.
“Might there be lodgings available in your village?” Marie
inquires, her eyes scanning the distant rooftops visible through the thinning
trees.
“Not anywhere that could accommodate a gathering of this
size,” Dave responds, his weathered hands resting on his leather belt.
A tall woman with anxious eyes approaches Orla hesitantly. A
man with sandy blond hair clutches her trembling arm as she nervously smooths
out her skirt. Dave and I don’t miss her flinch with his touch, juxtaposing
their closeness. It resurfaces memories from when Dave and Orla couldn’t touch.
“Hello, I’m Claudia,” she murmurs, “and may I present Alex?” Her delicate
fingers twist together nervously while Alex soothingly rubs her
goosebump-covered arms.
“Orla and Dave,” Dave announces, nodding curtly. When Alex
extends his hand to Orla, Dave intercedes and shakes his hand, so Orla doesn’t
have to.
“Um, Orla,” Alex interjects, his deep voice surprisingly
gen-tle. “Pardon our intrusion, but might Claudia ask you something rather
personal?”
“Of course, what troubles you?” Orla asks, leaning forward
with interest.
“Do you perceive others’ thoughts when you make physical
contact?” Claudia whispers, her pale cheeks blooming with a rosy flush that
spreads to the tips of her ears.
“Perhaps we should escort this assemblage to our
home-stead,” Dave interrupts, clearing his throat. “We have several spare
rooms. Not sufficient for everyone, but certainly prefera-ble to camping
outside.”
“We’d be eternally grateful,” Marie responds, casting a
con-cerned sideways glance at Claudia’s distressed expression. “A proper rest
would benefit us tremendously after our... unusual journey.”
Ghostly Howls
Ghostly Howls Book 1
Irish folklore meets
small town USA
A heartbroken half banshee, a cockle selling soul possessor, and a town haunted
by mysteries…if they don't find the killer, Orla and Molly might die before
finding their soulmates.
Orla and Dave's love has been unrequited for as long as they can remember.
Cormac and Molly are used to drawing outside the lines. None of them are
prepared for the new ghostly neighbors.
In a town that's always ostracized them, can Molly and Orla finally use their
powers openly in order to save the citizens?
*Contains mature themes, open door sex scenes, and mature language.
*Don't miss the YA series also by Stephanie Hansen - Altered Helix &
Replaced Parts
Stephanie Hansen is a PenCraft and Global Book Award Winning
Author as well as an Imadjinn finalist. Her debut novella series, Altered
Helix, released in 2020. It hit the #1 New Release, #1 Best Seller, and other
top 100 lists on Amazon. It is now being adapted to an animated story for
Tales. Her debut novel, Replaced Parts, released in 2021 through Fire & Ice
YA and Tantor Audio. It has been in a Forbes article, hit Amazon bestseller
lists, and made the Apple young adult coming soon bestsellers list. The second
book in the Transformed Nexus series, Omitted Pieces, released in 2022. Her
debut spicy paranormal romance, Ghostly Howls, released 2023. Her debut
historical magical realism, Armored Hours, released 2024. The Armored Hours
sequel, Guarded Time, released 2025 and the Ghostly Howls sequel, Ghostly
Returns, released 2026. She is a member of the deaf and hard of hearing
community, so she tries to incorporate that into her fiction.
The greatest danger may lie in the firestorm burning
between them
Jenna McCray dedicated her life and trust fund to helping others succeed
through her charitable foundation, Pathways Mission. After a self-imposed
hiatus, her first venture back into the dating pool is an unmitigated disaster
witnessed by many, including hunky Fire Marshall Thomas Donovan.
Donovan had a profound mistrust of the upper crust—until Jenna McCray. One
photo in the paper. That’s all it took. Regal. Composed. A killer smile. She
looked straight into the camera…and into him--and he hadn’t even met her yet.
When he finally did, the effect was seismic. Prim, proper, and utterly
magnetic. Something primal flared to life inside him, and he was powerless
against it. Calling her “The Ice Queen” didn’t help. Mocking was easier than
admitting she'd gotten under his skin long before they even spoke.
When a fire ravages her business on the same night someone vandalizes her home,
he wonders if the incidents are connected and searches for answers.
But someone wants to keep their secret buried.
As danger escalates, so does the blistering chemistry between Jenna and
Donovan, and he vows to protect her at all costs—even if it means risking
everything.
Jenna
shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair and stumbling into someone behind
her, who then collided with a waiter carrying a water pitcher, sending all
three to the floor in a shower of ice-cold water.
She
landed partially on top of the man, his arms around her waist as he bore the
brunt of the fall. Another scream lodged in her throat when she saw it resting
on her thigh.
Suddenly,
his hand moved, and the spider vanished.
“You’re
okay,” murmured a husky voice against her ear. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”
Laughter
filtered through a fog of humiliation. She’d freaked out—in a public place and
lay on the floor atop a total stranger while Oscar did nothing but watch, a
self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Something
wrong, Jenna?” he crooned.
“I
t-t-told you I h-hate spiders.” Her body trembled, and she couldn’t control the
quiver in her voice.
The
man’s arms tightened slightly.
“Did
you?” cooed Oscar. “I must have forgotten.”
***
Donovan
couldn’t believe his eyes when he first saw Jenna McCray in person tonight. All
prim and proper, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and his crazy heart
raced like a runaway train.
She’d
dominated his thoughts from the moment he saw her picture in the paper two
weeks ago. Hell, he’d even cut the damn thing out and kept it in his desk. How
pathetic was that?
Everything
from her regal posture to how she sipped the wine screamed money and class.
Coffee-colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, and pearl studs in her
ears emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face and the fullness of
ruby-colored lips. The basic black dress and single strand of pearls would look
simple on most women. On her, it was elegant.
When
their gazes locked briefly, the jolt of desire was so potent it shocked him.
The
returning look of interest stole his breath.
Every
unexplained feeling he’d endured the last two weeks hit like a tidal wave. It
took massive effort to walk calmly to his table.
Oscar's
joining her was an unpleasant shock. The man was dirty as mud. Why on earth
would a woman like her associate with him?
Thoughts
in turmoil, he decided to skip dinner and leave—until all hell broke loose.
He’d
never met anyone with arachnophobia, but judging by her reaction to a fake
spider, she suffered an extreme case. As snickers from the other patrons
registered, his protective instincts surged.
A
shudder rolled through her body, and she sucked in a jerky breath, mumbling
something he didn’t catch.
“It’s
gone,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”
She
made a move to stand, and he maneuvered to assist, one hand remaining on her
arm for stability.
“I’m
so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact and swiping at the water on her
dress. “I’ll pay to have your clothes cleaned.”
Face
flaming, she watched the waiter clean up the mess. “Oh, Alfred,” she asked. “Are
you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Miss McCray.” He nodded toward Oscar’s retreating figure. “And he’s to
blame—not you.”
Donovan
lightly squeezed her arm. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
She
managed a shaky “I’m fine,” then swallowed. “Th-thank you. For helping me.”
Donovan clenched his teeth as his fantasy
dreams went up in smoke. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she mumbled
insincere words of gratitude.
“Anytime.”
At
his terse response, dark, earnest eyes, filled with confusion and something he
couldn’t readily identify, whipped to his. Desire coursed through him, heady as
strong whiskey, leaving him off-balance.
She
frowned and retrieved a wallet from the bag on the table, pulled out a card and
some bills, then passed the money to Alfred. “If this isn’t sufficient for my
wine and the pitcher, please let me know.”
He
hesitated, then took the money. “It’s fine, Miss McCray.”
A
harried woman appeared from Donovan’s left. The manager—they’d met on a
previous visit, but he couldn’t recall her name.
“Oh
my God, Jenna. Are you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Katie. Embarrassed but unhurt.” She nodded toward Donovan. “This
gentleman broke my fall.” She nibbled her lower lip as though unsure of what to
do next. Inhaling, she passed him the card. “Thank you, Mr…”
“Donovan.”
“Mr.
Donovan. Please—”
“No
mister. Just Donovan.”
Lips
slightly parted, she hesitated. “Oh. Okay. Donovan. Please send me a bill for
the dry cleaning.”
“That’s
not necessary.”
“Yes.
It is.”
Cheeks
the brightest red he’d ever seen, her earnest expression softened.
“Please.”
That
one word curbed his resentment. He took the card, ignoring the tingle as their
fingers brushed.
“Donovan,”
said Katie. “Thank you for helping my friend.”
“No
problem, ma’am.”
“And
dinner’s on me tonight.”
“Actually,
I was just leaving.”
She
looked around. “Was something wrong with your table?”
He
shook his head. “Unexpected change in plans. I was on my way out when—this
happened.”
“Then
please accept a raincheck for next time.”
He
nodded, knowing he would never accept the offer, no matter how kindly extended.
Katie
rubbed Jenna’s shoulder. “Guess kicking him to the curb in a public place
wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?”
Donovan
barely covered his surprise. So that’s what happened—good for her.
Jenna’s
gaze skipped from him to Katie. “No. It wasn’t.”
“I’ve
never seen you react that way before.”
She glanced
at Donovan. “I—it just surprised me. That’s all.”
He
immediately recognized the lie. She wasn’t surprised. She was terrified.
“I
told him they bothered me.”
And
that’s the understatement of the century.
“And you’d already told him to back off,”
added Katie, “so the creep had a Plan B to get even. I’m just happy you weren’t
hurt.”
This
time, when she looked at Donavan, her gaze held, and the intensity floored him.
A dark chocolate brown enhanced by a golden ring around the edges, they
glistened in the restaurant’s ambient lighting.
Or
was it unshed tears?
Texas Winds
by Dana Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
Two hearts shattered by betrayal. Once chance to trust
again.
Jake Holloway discovered his wife’s infidelity as she lay in
a coma, carrying a child that may not be his.
Four years later, his heart remains closed to all emotion. Lexie Morgan’s dream
of happily-ever-after ended the day she stood alone at the altar. The need to
put distance between her and the pain places her in the path of feral hogs and
Jake Holloway’s life. Neither is prepared for the intense attraction.
When Lexie meets his four-year-old daughter, Katie, the timid child with
downcast eyes steals her heart.
Forced to rely on Jake’s assistance, it’s impossible to ignore the escalating
pull.
But the past never dies, and resurrected hurts threaten their fragile bond.
Will the ever-changing Texas winds hold them together or reduce their love to
dust?
Ankle and hip
throbbed in unison, and a growing headache added to the misery mix.
She took a breath
and looked around. The front bumper dug into the far side of the muddy
embankment, and the blown-out tire rested in muck halfway up the rim. Dingy
water in the ditch swirled around her feet and leached up her mud-coated pant
legs. Her disgusted gaze took in the filthy jeans and soaked and blood-coated
tee shirt. “Crap,” she muttered. “Brand new shoes.” She swiped a hand across
her cheek, leaving a streak of bloody mud in its wake. “Great way to start my
first vacation in years.”
She adjusted her
grip on the door and blew wet hair away from her mouth. “Alrighty then.”
Muttering under her breath, she reached past the dog and plucked the half-full
Swear Jar from the floorboard. An irritated swipe at the wet hair
clinging to her cheek left more muddy streaks behind. “Time for the big guns.”
She placed the jug on the seat near Biscuit and pulled two soggy one-dollar
bills and three quarters from her pocket. She took a breath and ceremoniously
dropped the quarters through a slot cut into the lid, mumbling after each one.
“Damn. Damn. Dammit.” She took a deep breath and crammed the wet bills through
the hole. “And son-of-a-bitch.”
“Don’t reckon
that’s gonna help much.”
An f-bomb exploded
before she could stop it.
***
Startled by the
man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her
shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg.
Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as
the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.
The brim of a dark
Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall,
at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs
encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather
gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat
left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves
revealed tanned, muscular forearms.
He hesitated, then
picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the
inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed
her the container before stepping back.
His husky,
just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily
speechless. “It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.” She glanced past him and noted a
grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the
road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally
calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You
shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.”
He made no effort
to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”
She gripped the
door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”
“You have blood on
your face. And mud.”
His intense gaze
traveled up and down her body, causing an involuntary shiver.
“Were you ejected?”
“No. I slipped when
I got out.”
He tipped his head
toward the back seat. “What about the dog?”
She glanced at
Biscuit, who showed no concern over the stranger’s sudden appearance, and noted
a little blood on the side of his mouth. How did she miss that before?
“Biscuit!” Dismissing the man, she leaned against the car and ran her hands
over the dog again, checking more thoroughly for anything broken. “I’m so
sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
The dog stoically
endured her frantic exam with only a slight whimper when she touched his front
paw before moving to his mouth. “Come on, baby, open up.” She slowly pried his
jaw open and saw blood on his tongue.
“Looks like he bit
it. Probably on impact.”
It took tremendous
effort not to react to the unexpected voice behind her left shoulder. “Yeah.
Probably. I’ll have him checked out when I get to town.”
He looked at the
luggage piled in the back of the SUV. “Where you headed?”
She glanced up and
discovered walnut-colored eyes watching Biscuit, his square jaw visibly tense.
His face was rugged and somber, bronzed by wind and sun and covered with dark
stubble. No laugh lines around full lips, and unspoken pain was alive in dark,
fathomless eyes. In a heartbeat, his expression changed, switching to
closed-off and distant as he took two steps back, hands stuffed in his front
pockets.
Multi-awarding winning author Dana Wayne is a
sixth-generation Texan and still resides in the Piney Woods. She routinely
speaks at book clubs, writers’ groups and other organizations and is a frequent
guest on numerous writing blogs. A die-hard romantic, her stories are filled
with strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.
“I’m all about the romance, so my tales are heartwarming,
have a splash of suspense and humor. While they are a little steamy, I believe
romance is more about emotion than sex, and the journey is more important than
the destination.
“I retired in late 2013 and published my first book in 2016.
I was over the moon when it was awarded first place in a contest through the
Texas Association of Authors, and I never looked back. My books have been
nominated for and/or received various awards and numerous five-star reviews. To
have my work validated in such a manner is very gratifying and humbling.”
Affiliations include Texas Association of Authors, Writers
League of Texas, East Texas Writers Guild, Northeast Texas Writers
Organization, and East Texas Writers Association.
The family he
didn't know he wanted might be the only thing worth dying for.
Baby ConSEALed
SEAL & Shelter Book 1
by Leah Miles
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Baby ConSEALed won
the 2024 Georgia Romance Writers' "Maggie Award"!
Rissa Parker struggles to support herself and her daughter
by working overnights as a home health nurse. After witnessing her employer's
murder, she has no choice but to grab her two-year-old and run toward the one
person strong enough to protect them, the Navy SEAL who fathered her child
during a one-night stand.
Navy SEAL Bernard "Burn" Cruz is a straight arrow,
approaching work and play in equal parts. He doesn't regret much in life,
except for one woman he's never forgotten. Nearly three years after their
initial encounter, she shows up in San Diego at the bar his team likes to
frequent, and he believes Forever might have knocked on his door. Until a child
cries, and all hell breaks loose.
As bullets fly and bodies drop, Rissa must outrun a killer
whose connection to her past threatens to destroy any chance at a future with
the father of her child, and Burn discovers the family he didn't know he wanted
might be the only thing worth dying for.
Baby ConSEALed, an award-winning contemporary
romantic suspense novel, is fast-paced, steamy and suspenseful. Pick up your
copy today!
“A tightly
plotted, fast-paced whirlwind of a ride fraught with secrets, danger, and an
emotional love story that focuses on family—the kind you choose.” —Lena Diaz,
Publishers Weekly best-selling author
“With a
to-die-for hero, sizzling tension, and edge-of-your-seat suspense, this romance
delivers all the feels in an unforgettable, heart-pounding read!” – Charlee Allden,
Goodreads Review
“A fast-paced,
slow-burn romantic suspense where danger, secrets, and second chances collide…. With
bullets flying and hearts on the line, Leah Miles delivers high stakes and
emotional impact in equal measure.” – Cam Torrens, Goodreads Review
“A Cosmopolitan, please.” After this, she’d
call it a night. Get a cab back to Liesel’s place. Maybe read a few chapters of
a book. Wild and crazy. That’s me.
She took a sip of the
drink the bartender delivered, letting the tart cranberry linger on her tongue
as she watched the television mounted above the bar. A bowling tournament
played, of all things, the announcer droning on about a perfect strike. A man
slid between her stool and the next one, close enough that the heat of his body
radiated toward her.
“Sorry to crowd you.” His voice was deep, smooth, and impossibly
calm despite the chaos of the crowd around them.
She turned—and nearly forgot how to breathe.
He was tall and
built like he actually used his gym membership. His dark skin contrasted
against the crisp blue of his button-down, and when he tilted his head, the
light caught his short black curls. But it was his eyes that stole her
attention, a golden shade, piercing yet unreadable.
For a moment, she
thought he might be about to hit on her, but he only raised a hand, signaling
to the bartender. Of course, he wasn’t interested in her. She needed to finish
her drink and go back to the apartment. Rissa gulped down a large swallow and barely
managed not to cough.
“Patrick. Beer for
me and one of those for the lady.”
She blinked.
“You’re buying me a drink?”
Amusement flickered
in those striking eyes. “Only if you want it.” He wedged himself farther into
the space, turning sideways to fit, with one elbow propped on the bar and his
free hand tucked in his pocket.
She absently swirled a finger through the condensation on her
mostly empty glass. One more drink might be too much. “I think I want a soda,”
she said.
He gave a slight
nod of approval and called out the order to the bartender. While he did, she
took the chance to study him more closely. The sharp angles of his face, the
short-cropped hair, and the faintest hint of a scar cutting through his left
eyebrow.
“The golden color of your eyes reminds
me of a stray cat I sometimes feed near my apartment. I mean, they’re nice,”
she added quickly, when she realized that may have sounded a little weird. “Not
that I’m calling you a cat.”
He chuckled, a
low, rich sound. “I’ve been called worse.”
She glanced down
at her glass, unsure what to say next.
“You here alone?”
he asked.
“No. My friend is
over there.” She motioned toward Liesel, who was dancing with a guy who looked
like he belonged on a recruitment poster.
His gaze followed
hers, and something flickered in his expression. “The guy she’s dancing with is
from my SEAL team.”
Rissa’s stomach dropped at his words. “You’re a Navy SEAL?” He
was so far out of her league.
“Nine years.” His eyes locked on her, and he seemed to be
waiting for her to comment.
She didn’t know much about military ranks, but the way he
carried himself suggested he wasn’t just some guy on weekend leave. “I’ve seen
that TV show, Navy SEAL, but I don’t know anyone in the military.”
His eyes crinkled
at the corners. “You do now.”
Leah Miles writes romance and paranormal fiction from her
small-town in South Georgia, where she lives with her husband and cocker
spaniel while running an insurance agency and Airbnb business.
After a dozen
years in news production at CNN, Leah Miles now manages an insurance agency and
an Airbnb business in rural Georgia, while writing romantic suspense and
paranormal romance featuring take-charge heroes and fierce heroines.
