Book 2 in the Kingdom series. Tall and lean, with a body as powerful as a god, the new King of Greater Thrall is intimidating and dangerous. Dye is a man of principle, determined to honor his obligations despite temptation. He's a man with a will of steel, but for the one weakness he cannot resist-the daring young captain in his army who possesses both an intoxicating beauty and a bold, defiant spirit. Dye struggles to fight his desire for Martigay-determined to avoid war by honoring his betrothal contract to a Vandal princess. But the ambitious captain isn't one to let an arrogant princess stand in her way. She intends to make her mark in Dye's army, and leave her mark upon the king. Together, they fight their own war upon a battlefield of unquenchable lust, only to learn that passion and hunger born from the heart cannot be denied. When Dye finally gives rein to his passion, he takes Martigay with the fire of male savagery and an unbending hand, leaving her breathless. And leaving them both…wanting it forever. Views: 12
Award-winning author Linnea Sinclair brings her special sizzle to science fiction with this action-packed blend of otherworldly adventure and sexy stellar romance.…After a decade of piloting interstellar patrol ships, former captain Chasidah Bergren, onetime pride of the Sixth Fleet, finds herself court-martialed for a crime she didn’t commit–and shipped off to a remote prison planet from which no one ever escapes. But when she kills a brutal guard in an act of self-defense, someone even more dangerous emerges from the shadows.Gabriel Sullivan–alpha mercenary, smuggler, and rogue–is supposed to be dead. Yet now this seductive ghost from Chaz’s past is offering her a ticket to freedom–for a price. Someone in the Empire is secretly breeding jukors: vicious and uncontrollable killing machines that have long been outlawed. Gabriel needs Chaz to help him stop the practice before it decimates Imperial space. The mission means putting their lives on the line–but the tensions that heat up between them may be the riskiest part of all.From the Paperback edition.About the AuthorA former news reporter and retired private detective, Linnea Sinclair has managed to use all her college degrees (journalism and criminology) but hasn't soothed the yearning in her soul to travel the galaxy. To that end she's authored several science fiction and fantasy novels, including Finders Keepers, GABRIEL'S GHOST and An Accidental Goddess (all of which Spectra will reprint). When not on duty with some intergalactic fleet she can be found in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with her husband and their two thoroughly spoiled cats. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Chapter OneOnly fools boast they have no fears. I thought of that as I pulled the blade of my dagger from the Takan guard's throat, my hand shaking, my heart pounding in my ears, my skin cold from more than just the chill in the air. The last rays of light from the setting sun filtered through the tall trees around me. It flickered briefly on the dark gold blood that bubbled from the wound, staining the Taka's coarse fur. I felt a sliminess between my fingers and saw that same ochre stain on my skin."Shit!" I jerked my hand back. My dagger tumbled to the rock-strewn ground. A stupid reaction for someone with my training. It wasn't as if I'd never killed another sentient being before, but it had been more than five years. And then, at least, it had carried the respectable label of military action.This time it was pure survival.It took me a few minutes to find my blade wedged in between the moss-covered rocks. After more than a decade on interstellar patrol ships, my eyes had problems adjusting to variations in natural light. Shades of grays and greens, muddied by Moabar's twilight sky, merged into seamless shadows. I'd never have found my only weapon if I hadn't pricked my fingers on the point. Red human blood mingled with Takan gold. I wiped the blade against my pants before letting it mold itself back around my wrist. It flowed into the form of a simple silver bracelet."A Grizni dagger, is it?"I spun into a half crouch, my right hand grasping the bracelet. Quickly it uncoiled again--almost as quickly as I'd sucked in a harsh, rasping breath. The distinctly masculine voice had come from the thick stand of trees in front of me. But in the few seconds it took me to straighten, he could be anywhere. It looked like tonight's agenda held a second attempt at rape and murder. Or completion of the first. That would make more sense. Takan violence against humans was rare enough that the guard's aggression had taken me--almost--by surprise. But if a human prison official had ordered him . . . that, given Moabar's reputation, would fit only too well.I tuned out my own breathing. Instead, I listened to the hushed rustle of the thick forest around me and, farther away, the guttural roar of a shuttle departing the prison's spaceport. I watched for movement. Murky shadows, black-edged yet ill defined, taunted me. I'd have sold my soul then and there for a nightscope and a fully charged laser pistol.But I had neither of those. Just a sloppily manipulated court martial and a life sentence without parole. And, of course, a smuggled Grizni dagger that the Takan guard had discovered a bit too late to report.My newest assailant, unfortunately, was already forewarned."Let's not cause any more trouble, okay?" My voice sounded thin in the encroaching darkness. I wondered what had happened to that "tone of command" Fleet regs had insisted we adopt. It had obviously taken one look at the harsh prison world of Moabar and decided it preferred to reside elsewhere. I didn't blame it. I only wished I had the same choice.I drew a deep breath. "If I'm on your grid, I'm leaving. Wasn't my intention to be here," I added, feeling that was probably the understatement of the century. "And if he," I said with a nod to the large body sprawled to my right, "was your partner, then I'm sorry. But I wasn't in the mood."A brittle snap started my heart pounding again. My hand felt as slick against the smooth metal of the dagger as if the Taka's blood still ran down its surface. The sound was on my right, beyond where the Taka lay. Only a fool would try to take me over the lifeless barrier at my feet.The first of Moabar's three moons had risen in the hazy night sky. I glimpsed a flicker of movement, then saw him step out of the shadows just as the clouds cleared away from the moon. His face was hidden, distorted. But I clearly saw the distinct shape of a short-barreled rifle propped against his shoulder. That, and the fact that he appeared humanoid, told me he wasn't a prison guard. Energy weapons were banned on Moabar. Most of the eight-foot-tall Takas didn't need them, anyway.The man before me was tall, but not eight feet. Nor did his dark jacket glisten with official prison insignia. Another con, then. Possession of the rifle meant he had off-world sources.I took a step back as he approached. His pace was casual, as if he were just taking his gun out for a moonlit stroll. He prodded the dead guard with the tip of the rifle, then squatted down and ran one hand over the guard's work vest as if checking for a weapon, or perhaps life signs. I could have told him the guard had neither. "Perhaps I should've warned him about you," he said, rising. "Captain Chasidah Bergren. Pride of the Sixth Fleet. One dangerous woman. But, oh, I forgot. You're not a captain anymore."With a chill I recognized the mocking tone, the cultured voice. And suddenly the dead guard and the rifle were the least of my problems. I breathed a name in disbelief. "Sullivan! This is impossible. You're dead--""Well, if I'm dead, then so are you." His mirthless laugh was as soft as footsteps on a grave. "Welcome to Hell, Captain. Welcome to Hell."We found two fallen trees, hunkered down, and stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. It was just like old times. Except there was the harsh glow of his lightbar between us, not the blackness of space."I never pegged you for an easy kill," I told him. Which was true. The reports of his death two years ago had actually surprised me more than his reappearance just now. I balanced the dagger in my hand, not yet content to let it wrap itself around my wrist. "When I heard what happened at Garno, I didn't buy it." I shrugged and pushed aside what else I'd thought, and felt, when I'd heard the news. My feelings about the death of a known mercenary and smuggler mattered little anymore.He seemed to hear my unspoken comment. "It wasn't planned to fool anyone with a modicum of intelligence. Only the government. And, of course, their newshounds. But tell me the news of my passing pained you," he continued, dropping his voice to a well-remembered low rumble, "and I'll do my best to assuage your fears."A muted boom sounded in the distance, rattling through the forest. Another shuttle arriving, breaking the sound barrier on descent. He turned toward it, so I was spared answering what I knew to be a jibe. Regardless, I had no intention of telling him about my pain.Patches of light and shadow moved over his face. Sullivan's profile had always been strong, aristocratic, dominating the Imperial police bulletins and Fleet patrol advisories. He had his father's lean jawline, his mother's thick dark hair. Both were more than famous in their own right, but not for the same reasons as Sully. They'd been members of the Empire's elite; he was simply elusive.The lightbar reached full power. It was almost like shiplight, crisp and clear. He turned back to me, his lips curved in a wry smile, as if he knew I'd been studying him.He'd aged since I last saw him, about six months before his highly publicized demise. The thick, short-cropped black hair was sprinkled with silver. The dark eyes had more lines at the corners. The mouth still claimed its share of arrogance, though--as if he knew he'd always be one handsome bastard.All the more reason to ignore his attempt at taunting me. His existence had been far more troublesome to me than his purported passing. "What went down on Garno? You cut a deal?" Moabar or death had been offered to a lot of people, but not to me. Most chose death. I hadn't had that luxury.He snorted and raised the rifle almost to my nose. "What's this look like? How long have you been here, three weeks?"I knew what it was. Illegal. Damn difficult to come by. A rifle didn't wrap around your wrist like my dagger, or fit in the sole of a boot.A thought chilled me. Maybe the Taka weren't the only guards the prison authorities used."Yeah, three weeks, two days, and seventeen hours. Time flies, you know." I held his gaze evenly. His eyes were dark, like pieces of obsidian, unreadable. "That's a Norlack 473 rifle. Sniper model. Modified, it appears, to handle illegal wide-load slash charges."He laughed. "On point as ever, Bergren. Dedicated captain of a peashooter squad out in no-man's land. Keeping those freighters safe from dangerous pirates like me. And even when they damn you and ship you here, every inch of you still belongs to Fleet Ops." He shook his head. "Your mama wore army boots, and so do you.""What do you want, Sully?" I jerked my chin toward the dead Taka. "You cleaning up after him? Or finishing what he didn't?"He turned the rifle in his hands. "This isn't prison stock. This is contraband, wasn't that how your orders phrased it? Stolen. Modified." He paused and pinned me intently with his obsidian gaze. "Mine."We'd had conversations like this before--me, on the bridge of my small patrol ship. He'd be on the bridge of the Boru Karn, his pilot and bridge crew flickering in and out of the shadows behind him. He rarely answered anything directly. He threw words at you, phrases, like hints to a puzzle he'd taunt you to solve. Or like free-form poetry, the kind that always sounded better after a few beers. He loved to play with words.I didn't. "Okay. So no deal was cut and you're not working for the Ministry of Corrections. Don't tell me you've added Moabar to your vacation plans?"He laughed again, more easily this time. But not easily enough for me to put my dagger back around my wrist."A resort for the suicidal but faint of heart? Don't bother to slit your own throat, we'll do it for you." H... Views: 12
Metho was the leader of the Crew, a band of outlaws who plied their trade on the mean streets of Rosetown, and he wasn't happy. The streets were changing. Gentrification had come to Rosetown. To make matters worse, Metho's business was going down the tube. Sales were down, even though the Crew were famed for selling the finest drugs in town. It was almost as if the new residents weren't human... Views: 12
She betrayed him. His wife. The woman he loved. She fled, and Captain Kobrah Jameson thought himself rid of her until the day she comes back. And Dara isn't alone. Kobrah doesn't want to believe the child by her side is his daughter. The facts don't add up, but the genetic testing doesn't lie. And apparently his heart hasn't learned its lesson because this captain is thinking of giving his wife a second chance. If they don't get killed first. ***This is a stand alone romance with a happily ever after. Views: 12
Archeologist Minarra Hunt is on a quest to find the ancient city of Shera-Sa, older than Egypt and buried deep in the desert by a curse. The last thing this feisty explorer wants is to give up control of the expedition to the one-time love of her life, gorgeous fellow archeologist Seth "Mac" Macallister, who dumped her six years ago. Minarra challenges his authority and finds herself over Mac's knee, as well as back in his bed. The harder she fights, the more her body yearns for the kind of loving only he can give her. Mac wants to forget, but every time he sees her, he is driven by the need to bind and possess this exciting woman. Minarra is being lured in her dreams by the ancient ghost of the last ruler of Shera-Sa, who seeks her soul as fuel to foment his return to earthly power. It is clear that Minarra and Mac love one another, but they are each carrying dark secrets that are keeping them apart. Yet only together can they defeat the demons that are trying to destroy them all. Views: 12
'Tis the season to be delightfully naughty. Oui? At least, that's the plan according to the sexy singles living tantalizingly close in New Orleans' ultra-chic town house complex Court du Chaud. Why not write the ultimate secret red-hot love note to kick off the holidays? All it takes is quickly slipping a sexy red-letter invitation under the door and suddenly three bold women -- driven Claire, caring Chloe and blossoming Josie -- are sighing with pleasure...and it has nothing to do with Chloe's scrumptious homemade beignets. But everything to do with three sexy men. No strings. No questions. Who knew delivering a Secret Santa challenge would lead to a sizzling gift that keeps on giving...and giving? Views: 12
Follow the wind. . .Forever Ecstasy. . .Whispered kisses. . .Readers everywhere look to Janelle Taylor for the very best in historical romance. And Stolen Ecstasy continues her beloved Savage Ecstasy series with one of her greatest love stories ever--that of Gray Eagle's son, Bright Arrow, and his beautiful white captive, Rebecca. . .Stolen EcstasySeven years had passed since the Oglala Sioux had banished Bright Arrow for loving the magnificent captive, Rebecca Kenny. And though his passion for her still blazed as brightly as the evening star, it was torture for the son of Gray Eagle to be apart from his people. He yearned to ride free in the wind and to sink his knife into the hunt with the other braves. Now, Bright Arrow had to make his choice again--between his desire for a white woman and his honor as an Indian! Views: 12
Not Me is a remarkable debut novel that tells the dramatic and surprising stories of two men–father and son–through sixty years of uncertain memory, distorted history, and assumed identity. When Heshel Rosenheim, apparently suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, hands his son, Michael, a box of moldy old journals, an amazing adventure begins–one that takes the reader from the concentration camps of Poland to an improbable love story during the battle for Palestine, from a cancer ward in New Jersey to a hopeless marriage in San Francisco. The journals, which seem to tell the story of Heshel’s life, are so harrowing, so riveting, so passionate, and so perplexing that Michael becomes obsessed with discovering the truth about his father.As Michael struggles to come to grips with his father’s elusive past, a world of complex and disturbing possibilities opens up to him–a world in which an accomplice to genocide may have turned into a virtuous Jew and a young man cannot recall murdering the person he loves most; a world in which truth is fiction and fiction is truth and one man’s terrible–or triumphant–transformation calls history itself into question. Michael must then solve the biggest riddle of all: Who am I?Intense, vivid, funny, and entirely original, Not Me is an unsparing and unforgettable examination of faith, history, identity, and love.From the Hardcover edition. Views: 12
A VINTAGE MURDER MYSTERYRediscover Gladys Mitchell - one of the 'Big Three' female crime fiction writers alongside Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers.Sir Rudri Hopkinson, an eccentric amateur archaeologist, is determined to recreate ancient rituals at the temple of Eleusis in Greece in the hope of summoning the goddess Demeter. He gathers together a motley collection of people to assist in the experiment, including a rival scholar, a handsome but cruel photographer and a trio of mischievous children. But when one of the group disappears, and a severed head turns up in a box of snakes, the superlative detective and psychoanalyst Mrs Bradley is called upon to investigate...Opinionated, unconventional, unafraid... If you like Poirot and Miss Marple, you'll love Mrs Bradley.;MORE VINTAGE MURDER MYSTERIES MARGERY ALLINGHAMMystery Mile Police at the Funeral Sweet... Views: 12
For the first time in decades The Eternal City is paralysed by a blizzard. And a gruesome discovery is made in the Pantheon — one of Rome 's most ancient and revered architectural treasures. Covered by softly falling snow is the body of a young woman — her back horribly mutilated…But before Nic Costa and Gianni Peroni of the Questura can begin a formal investigation the US Embassy has brought in its own people, FBI Agents who want the case closed down as quickly and discreetly as possible. But Costa is determined to find out why the enquiry is so sensitive — and as the FBI grudgingly admits that this corpse is not the first, the mutilations of the woman's body point to Leonardo Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man — and to a conspiracy so sinister and buried so deep, that only two people know its true, crazed meaning. Views: 12
An incredulous group of heroes. A traitor in the midst. Some dreams are written in blood. Views: 12
