Bad boy Mick Donovan has dedicated his life to avenging his brother’s death, even aligning himself with an FBI Task Force to achieve his ends. Which leads him to the mess he’s in now–undercover as the husband of the woman he’s been fantasizing about, despite knowing how off-limits she is, to protect an innocent child.
After an ambush, Destiny Harper is on the run and out of places to hide from a ruthless drug lord hellbent on claiming his son. Charged with protecting the boy, Dez lands in the mountains on a collision course with Mick, a blizzard, and a past she’d rather forget. But even as the close quarters ignites the passion between her and the sexy biker, she knows there’s no future with him. Mick will sacrifice everything for revenge—even her.
Mick released her wrists to settle his large hands at her waist. “Put your hands on me, Destiny. I’ve dreamed about it long enough.”
Nerves fluttered through her chest like hummingbird wings. Had he really dreamed of this? Of them? Knowing he wanted her—had fantasized about her—grabbed her by the throat. She tilted her head to look him in the eye. His eyes were varying shades of amber, like a polished piece of tiger’s eye. Hard, like the stone, but with hidden pockets of dark and light. How had she never noticed before? How had he never drawn her in with the mesmerizing depth? The pupils were enlarged with desire and his lids dropped low. He licked his lips and her body clenched in response.
Screw it. Sometimes on a mission you had to improvise.
Decision made, she made the first tentative swipe across velvet skin. Muscle bunched and twitched beneath her fingertips. The Celtic sleeve wrapped around his shoulder and swooped down to circle one side of his massive chest. The dark ink lifted the skin slightly like reading braille. Dez paused, rubbed her thumb over the dips and ridges. It was exactly like reading braille. Mick’s emotions were literally on his sleeve, penetrating his skin like an ancient text. The man didn’t talk much, but his body art spoke for him. He had untapped depths which drew her as much as the muscles and the ink.
His body was every girl’s wet dream, but his heart was raw emotion. The tattoo was intricate, symbolic, showing anyone who dared to look close enough the soul of this interesting, complex man. She trailed her hands down his sides; let her thumbs smooth across his abs. They jumped beneath her caress, feeding a compulsion she couldn’t deny. Her hands weren’t enough. She wanted to climb inside his skin; wanted him under her skin, inside her in every way she could take him.
Drawn, she leaned close and pressed her lips to the tattoo that knotted over his heart. The heavy beat of his pulse thumped under his skin, against her lips, jumping to a faster tune as she tasted and explored. His hands skated under her sweater to brush bare skin. The touch was light, a contrast to such a hard, rough man. The caress moved up her sides, down her spine, to repeat, each sweep grazing closer to her breasts, building want like a hunger inside her. Her tongue grew more demanding against his flesh, until she nipped the skin and his muscles jerked in response.
It was heady stuff for such a strong man to quiver at her touch. Intoxicated by the power, she grew bolder; clamped her lips around his nipple and pulled. He sucked in a breath and yanked her close so his erection flexed against her stomach. In a swift move, he yanked the sweater over her head, had her bra off before she’d registered the cool air against her back.
Most of those stories were even true. She has ten siblings, some of whom are older than her mother, has nieces and nephews older than her, and once went to a horse auction with John Wayne. Well, with him in the sense that he was there, and she was also… there. She was the munchkin in line for his autograph with tangled hair and bruised knees that liked to dance on her daddy’s dusty cowboy boots and listen to his tall tales.
With her love of storytelling and heroes, it’s no wonder she turned to books and stories after her father died. She skipped most of the eighth grade to bury herself in books while hidden in her closet, because she was still looking for the perfect story and the last honest man. Her search took her around the world with the Air Force as well as around the world with her education. She’s visited more countries than she can remember, nearly every state in the U.S., and has more degrees than the Tin Man.
As a single mom, she’s still gambling, betting on herself for the first time in her life, turning her lifelong love of storytelling into the one thing she can’t live without: writing. She writes 10,000 words a week in cafes and coffee shops, and some of those 10,000 words are even worth reading. She has an MA in Creative Writing, is working towards her Master of Fine Arts, and has three jobs, two kids, a Pushcart Nomination, more pets than she can possibly handle, and more works in progress than the crew filling potholes after a long Colorado winter.