CONTESTS & FUN
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
October Book GiveAway!
Kim Christensen! Maggie selected her as the winner of my
September Book GiveAway contest, and she chose a title from
my backlist as her prize.
Since I have two releases coming up soon (CROSSFIRE
CHRISTMAS, October 21, and BAD GIRL, November 3), I thought
it'd be fun to share TWO excerpts! So here is your chance to
get a sneak peek at my 50th book for Harlequin, CROSSFIRE
CHRISTMAS, as well as a sneak peek at the launch story for
Harlequin's brand new digital-first line, Harlequin Intrigue
NOIR, with my book, BAD GIRL. Entering the contest is
simple. Read the two excerpts,
BAD GIRL, and then answer
this easy question (the same question is also posted at the
end of both excerpts): Which story would you want to read
Just email me your answer, along with your name and contact
information. Maggie will select a winner who will receive a
copy of one of my books, print or digital (depending on
availability), winner's choice. Deadline to enter is October
Rules for Julie's Contests
- One entry per person.
- By entering, entrants grant
permission for their name to be posted on the Julie Miller web site at
in Julie's newsletter.
- Winners will be chosen by random
drawing from among all entries.
- The odds of winning depend upon the
number of participants.
Void where prohibited.
Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch Facebook Event w/Elle
Julie in San Antonia, TX at the 2014 RWA National
50 Book pin
presentation is Craig Swinwood-CEO Harlequin
Enterprises, Dianne Moggy-Editorial Director, HQ
Ent, Moi, Leslie Kelly-fellow 50-book award
recipient, Lorianna Sacilotto-VP, HQ Ent
Sitting beside me
at the Harlequin party is Linda O. Johnston
Delores Fossen and me
Julie in Atlanta, GA at the 2013 RWA National
Julie with good buddy B.J. Daniels
Delores Fossen, Julie Miller, B.J. Daniels
Julie's local writing group, the Prairieland
Romance Writers, celebrates 20 years of
excellence in romance fiction at an
anniversary Open House in Grand Island,
||Prairieland Romance Writers celebrates 20
years of excellence in romance fiction!
Kearney, NE Booksigning, The Sequel Bookshop
Julie Miller, and Scott & Julie Miller
L-R Saranna DeWylde, Julie Miller, Janette Kenney,
Sherri Shackelford, Cheryl St. John
New York City at the 2011 RWA National Conference
View of Times Square from
Julie's hotel room
Julie at the Transformers movie
premiere (Hi, Bumblebee!)
Times Square and Broadway
My roomie, Elle James, Brenda
Jackson, and my agent Pattie Steele-Perkins at the RWA booksigning
The massive Literacy
Autographing at RWA
Los Angeles, CA, at the 2011 RT BOOKreviews Convention
""The Do's & Dont's of
Series Romance " workshop with Judy Duarte, Candace Havens, Julie Miller
and B.J. Daniels.
Party! the Series Romance Way" Reader Event
Back row: Kira Sinclair, HelenKay Dimon, B.J. Daniels, Lynn Raye Harris
Middle row: Judy Duarte, Crystal Green, Rebecca York, Candace Havens,
Janette Kenney, Jan Hambright, Delores Fossen, Brenda Jackson
Front row: Kathleen O'Reilly, Kimberly Lang, Jade Lee/Kathy Lyons, Carol
Erickson, Julie Miller
At the Booksigning
View from my hotel The Westin Bonaventure
in downtown L.A.
Went to hear Dean Koontz speak.
Delightfully witty and educational! (and one of my fave authors!)
Barn View from my hotel, the
Hollywood sign in the distance up in the Hollywood Hills.
Copyright ©2014 by Julie Miller
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.
Teresa drummed her
gloved fingers against the steering wheel and hummed along with the
Christmas music on the radio while she waited at the stoplight.
She tilted her gaze up to the big flakes
of snow drifting from the charcoal sky into the light from the
streetlamps. “See, Emilia?” She taunted the invisible big sister she
felt arching a warning eyebrow over her shoulder. “Shopping’s done.
Traffic’s fine and I’m on my way home with nary a problem whatsoever.
And I did it all by my little lonesome.”
Not like a couple hours of defiant
refusal to heed Emilia’s warning and go straight home in the nasty
weather could really quell the nagging, indulgent voices of her siblings
in her head.
so good with children, but if you want any of your own, you’ll
have to get serious about a man first.
already had Olivia and Maria by the time I was your age.
A girl can’t
But she could wait for the right one.
My husband has a friend I want to
introduce you to.
He has a good job at the college
business office and he’s
Dullsville. Sounded like another
overprotective trap in the making.
You should move closer
building new condos across the street.
a better neighborhood.
She liked her apartment—had it decorated
just the way she wanted. The neighborhood might not be prime real
estate, but there were some good people living in her building. Besides,
big brother AJ had taught each of his sisters, wife and nieces the
basics of self-defense and personal safety. She could take care of
want you driving without an emergency kit in your car, especially in
Make an appointment to get the
tires rotated, too.
Done, done and done. Even before AJ,
Emilia, Luisa or Ana had all mentioned reminders about winter driving
safety to her.
Just because she longed for her family’s
respect for her choices and a little bit of independence in her life,
didn’t mean she was a naive fool. An optimist, yes. A resourceful
go-getter. A hopeless holiday lover. But not a fool.
“Why can’t they see that?”
The light turned green and Teresa cranked
up the radio, turning her thoughts to something more pleasant. Like
sugar cookies. And wrapping gifts.
She drove through the intersection after
the cars ahead of her turned off toward the highway, and she continued
on to the back-road shortcut to her neighborhood. The busy roads and
businesses open late for holiday shopping gave way to country homes on
hilly acreages. Then civilization thinned out to a recycling center and
a shooting range. Finally, she was winding through woods and farmland.
She’d pass through about two miles of bare trees reaching up like dark,
gnarled fingers in the foggy twilight and pretty hillsides of
Although the twisting road was more
dangerous than the straight lanes of bypasses and city streets, she
loved this drive, especially in the winter. When the stars were out and
the moon was full, it could be as bright as all the holiday lights on
the Plaza. And on cold, damp evenings like this, with big flakes of snow
swirling in and out of the shadows, it conjured up images of gothic
romance, with mysterious heroes, hidden castles and storm-swept moors.
Teresa was imagining a castle hidden
behind the frosted branches of the trees when she crested the hill and
saw the tire tracks cutting through the snow at the side of the road.
Automatically, she pumped her brakes and slowed, peering over the edge
of the blacktop.
“Oh, my God.”
A silent alarm tightened her grip around
the steering wheel. She braked again and pulled onto the shoulder for a
closer look, angling her headlights toward the trees.
The tracks ran down into the ditch and up
the next incline, leading to a black pickup truck that had finally been
stopped short by the trunk of an old pine.
The truck’s lights were on. The plume of
exhaust making a black spot in the churned-up snow meant the engine was
still running. The accident was recent. Or else the driver wasn’t able
to turn off the motor.…
is your middle name. Despite her sister’s teasing, Teresa
didn’t believe she caused that much difficulty or misfortune. But she
wasn’t about to walk away from trouble like this when there was
something she could do to help.
Teresa clicked on her hazard lights and
pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She glanced ahead at the dark
road. She checked the pavement behind her in her mirrors—equally dark. A
curtain of falling snow seemed to mask her and the accident below from
the rest of the world.
Had the driver called for help yet? Was
he or she even able to call?
Taking a deep breath, Teresa pulled the
hood of her parka up over her dark hair and unbuckled her seat belt. She
pulled out the flashlight AJ had insisted she keep in her glove
compartment and braced herself for the blast of winter outside. Deciding
to leave the engine and heater running in case the driver was able to
move and needed a warm place to sit and wait for a tow truck, she
climbed out and circled to the front of her car.
Dots of blowing snow melted on her cheeks
and nose and obscured her vision as she huddled inside her coat.
“Hello?” Her shout was swallowed up by
the cold, damp air. Her flashlight was too small to pierce the gloom at
this distance. “Is anyone in the truck?”
Her sigh formed a puffy cloud in the air.
The snow was knee-deep for a woman who was only five-three. And even
though she’d changed from her work clogs to wool-lined ankle boots, she
knew they wouldn’t be tall enough to get her past that first drift where
the road crew had piled snow when they’d scraped the road.
“What’s a little wet and cold, anyway?”
she dared herself, tightening her scarf against the biting wind.
She punched in 911, put the phone to her
ear and plunged into the shallowest part of the drift. By the third
step, she was sinking in up to her thighs, and the snow quickly chilled
her through the scrubs and long underwear she wore. When she lifted each
foot, she scooped the icy crystals into her boots, where they melted,
wetting her socks and freezing her skin.
The dispatch operator answered. “This is
911. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“I need to report a vehicle off in the
ditch by… Oh, heck.” Teresa glanced back up the hill. Since she’d been
daydreaming, she had no idea how far she’d come or how close she was to
reaching the nearest subdivision. “I’m somewhere along old Lee’s Summit
Road—between the medical center and 40 Highway. On the east side.”
“Are you in the vehicle?”
“No, I just drove up on the accident.”
She broke through the snow at the bottom of the ditch and stepped into
ankle-deep slush that soaked her to the skin in icy water. Her teeth
chattered through the dispatcher’s next question. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Is there anyone inside the truck?”
Teresa’s wet feet left her shivering as
she climbed out of the ditch. “Just a minute. Let me check.”
She tilted her flashlight up to inspect
the damaged vehicle. The driver’s-side window was down—no, it was
missing. It must have shattered with the impact of the crash, leaving
tiny blunt shards along its bottom edge. Still, with the coming night
and no light on inside the cab, she couldn’t make out any driver or
passenger. Not for the first time in her life, she silently cursed her
diminutive height. When she reached the door of the jacked-up truck, she
was too short to see in.
“Hello?” she called again. She reached up
and tried the handle, but it was locked. She knocked on the door panel.
“Is anyone in there?”
“Just a sec,” she warned the dispatcher.
Finding a safe spot to grasp the edge of the open window, she tucked the
flashlight into her pocket, stepped onto the running board and pulled
herself up. “Madre
There was a man inside, slumped over the
steering wheel. His dark blond hair was frosty with moisture. There was
blood oozing from a knot on his forehead, and his skin was far too pale.
“Sir?” The ice cubes of her toes and the
woman on the phone were forgotten as alarm, compassion and her years of
training kicked in. “Sir?” She stuck the tip of her wool glove into her
mouth and pulled it off with her teeth. She slipped two fingers beneath
the collar of his padded leather jacket and pressed them to the side of
his neck. Even with the thick jacket and the heater running, his skin
was cold to the touch. But she could feel a pulse. It was faint and
erratic, but it was there. “You’re alive.” She spat out the glove and
raised her voice for the dispatcher to hear. “He’s alive.”
Pushing up onto her frozen toes, she
gently leaned him back against the seat. With a groan, his head lolled
toward his shoulder. A quick glance across the cab revealed a heavy
nylon duffel bag but no other passenger to worry about.
“One victim,” she reported. Hooking her
arm inside the door to free her hands, she reached across his lap to
turn off the ignition and saw more blood staining the front of his coat
and the left leg of his jeans. “How fast were you going?” she mused out
loud, wondering at the extent of his injuries. The wreck hadn’t looked
that bad from the road. Plus, he was still wearing his seat belt.
An answering moan silenced the random
thoughts and she moved her chilled fingers to his face, willing him to
open his eyes. “Sir? Hey. I’m a nurse. I'm here to help.” She pushed
aside the damp spikes of straw-colored hair on his forehead to inspect
the gash there. It might need a bandage, but no way could it account for
all this blood. She pushed open one eyelid, then the other. Honey-brown
irises looked back at her, trying to focus. She smiled. Good. Probably
no concussion, then. “I need you to talk to me. I’m Teresa. What’s your
His pale lips drew together. “Don’t need
a candy striper, kid. Run along.”
His speech was slurred. But it could be
from the cold.
A little defensive fire crept into her veins before common
sense reminded her to ignore the dig. The man was in trouble and needed
her assistance. “I’m a registered nurse and you’re badly hurt. You want
me to hike back to the road to get my hospital ID or do you want me to
“Bossy little thing,” he muttered. His
eyes blinked open again, long enough to assess her face. “You’re…nurse?”
“What’s your name?” she repeated.
He inhaled a quick breath, gritted his
teeth, then squeezed the words out. “Charles. I’m Charles.”
“Like Charlie? Or Mr. Charles? No, don’t
close your eyes.” She cupped her palm against the sandy beard stubble on
his jaw. “Keep looking at me. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”
He pulled his left hand from his lap and
grabbed the steering wheel. By sheer will, his vision seemed to sharpen
and his gaze dropped to the phone tucked to her ear. “Is that 911?”
“Yes.” When he reached for it, she handed
it over. “Good idea. You can tell them exactly what hap— What are you
doing? Give me my—”
“No cops.” He disconnected the call and
tossed her phone onto the dashboard. With a jerky shift of his broad
shoulders, he pulled his right hand from beneath the duffel bag.
He had a gun.
Teresa instinctively recoiled, but before
she could jump off the running board, a big gloved hand anchored her arm
to the door with surprising strength. “Let go!”
His fingers tightened around her wrist,
trapping her beside him as he pounded her phone with the butt of the
wicked-looking pistol, smashing it into pieces.
And then he turned the barrel of the gun
on her. Bleeding Charles tilted his eyes up to the shoulder of the road.
His voice was raspy, deep. “That your car, kid?”
Teresa’s answer was a frozen gasp in the
cold air. “Yes.”
The gun barely wavered as he pushed open
the door, forcing her into the snow. She landed on her butt and slid
down the hill a few inches, but her bare hand, numb toes and panic
slowed her efforts to scramble back onto her feet. He swung one long leg
out, then the other, his black cowboy boots sinking into the snow, his
breath hitching when his feet hit solid ground. Leaning against the cab
for support, he pulled the duffel bag across the seat and tossed it at
her. It hit her square in the stomach, knocking her onto her bottom
Judging by its weight and rattle,
whatever was inside was heavy and metal and… “Son of a…”
Teresa shoved the bag away and climbed
onto her knees, letting gravity pull her down into the ditch, farther
away from the bleeding man, until she could find solid ground and bolt
She’d come to the aid of some drug dealer
or gunrunner or mass murderer.
She was the one in
“I’d stop if I were you.”
The ominous double click of a bullet
sliding into the chamber of his automatic weapon rang clear in the
crisp, frigid air, spurring her to her feet.
“I said stop!”
The deafening report of a gunshot froze
her in her tracks. Teresa pushed her hood away from her face and turned
her head, lifting her gaze to the tall, pale man with the narrowed eyes
and bloody coat.
The mysterious Charles-slash-Mr. Charles
was still leaning against the truck to hold himself up. But the gun he’d
fired into the tree behind him was steaming in the cold air. The smell
of sulfur filled her nose as he pulled the weapon down to aim it right
at her. “Don’t get any idea that you’re going to run from me.” His
raspy, low-pitched threat was a whispery cloud in the night air. “Now
you’re going to pick up that bag and get me the hell out of here.”
Question: Which story would you like to read first?
Back To Top
(Harlequin Intrigue NOIR)
Copyright ©2014 by Julie Miller
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.
Doreen Riley sat in her
dark car beneath the harsh glow of neon lights and street lamps,
staring at the wrinkled old photo in her hand. There wasn’t much she
valued from her childhood, even fewer mementos she treasured.
This picture of her and
her younger sister, Megan, taken at some Fourth of July picnic in
the years before Sal Fusco had entered their lives, was one of the
few items she’d taken with her the night she’d run away nine years
ago. She brushed her thumb over the image of her sister’s
strawberry-blond hair, feeling a stab of guilt—along with something
darker, angrier, and something decidedly more ruthless—curling in
the pit of her stomach.
Riley—only her family
and people she didn’t care to know called her Doreen—looked up from
her past and surveyed the world outside her windshield. Rain fogged
up the autumn night, making the sidewalks and pavements shiny,
creating numerous places in the alleys and corners of this downtown
Kansas City street for the cockroaches and lowlifes to hide.
Surfing through online
porn sites that had left her skin crawling, and putting questions to
old friends and enemies she’d known from her time on the streets,
had all led her here, to the posh gentleman’s club called After
Dark. A sandblasted brick building, with etched glass windows and a
double front door, velvet drapes with gold trim, and a side door off
the parking lot sporting a secret panel reminiscent of a 1920’s
speakeasy made After Dark look like a modern, no-expense-spared
homage to times gone by.
But she was certain
there was more to After Dark than a million-dollar renovation and a
discreet ambience that promised titillating fun and an assurance of
privacy for its paying customers. Rumors she trusted more than the
online newspaper articles she’d researched warned her there was more
than a legitimate trade in alcohol and lap dances happening here.
And if this was where
Megan had ended up…
“It’s getting bad,
“Has he hurt you?”
“Not yet. I keep my
door locked or spend the night at Nate’s.” Riley didn’t think her
teenage sister’s twentysomething boyfriend was much of an
alternative to their stepfather, Sal. But when Megan had phoned her
at 4:00 a.m., talking in hushed whispers so she wouldn’t be
overheard, Riley sensed it was better to listen than to preach. “But
perverted inability to keep his hands to himself?”
“More than that. He’s
not just drinking and pretending like none of us knows what’s going
on. He’s gambling again.” That meant he was losing money. “He’s
angry. A lot. And he’s taking it out on Mom. I called the cops on
him last night.”
Like they’d listen.
“Did she press charges?”
“What do you think?”
Shit. “You can’t
protect her, Megan. She didn’t have to go back to him. I offered her
a way out.” Once Riley had gotten off the streets, landed a job and
found an apartment, that had been her first call. “Do you need a
place to stay? You know my door is always open. For Mom, too. I’m
not afraid of that son of a bitch anymore.”
“I’ll try to talk to
her. I’m going over to Nate’s after school.”
Okay, so she’d earned
the right to preach a little. “Sweetie, if he’s back with his old
friends, you can’t be with him, either.”
“Nate’s been clean
for months now. And he’s really sweet and protective when he’s
Riley had buried her
face in her pillow and groaned. She could see the same pattern
happening all over again. Riley might be alone, but at least she was
nobody’s punching bag or codependent or… No. Sal Fusco wasn’t even
an acknowledgment in her random thoughts anymore.
She sat up on the
edge of her bed, not bothering to hide her concern for Megan. “Keep
me in the loop. You know where my spare key is, right? Even if I’m
at class or work, and you need to get away, you come on over and
make yourself at home. Okay, sweetie?”
“I will. I’ll talk to
Mom before Sal gets home from work and call you tonight.”
Megan had never called.
Not that night.
Not any night, day or in
between for three days now.
Megan was gone. Missing
without a trace.
No one at her high
school and none of the friends Riley had talked to had seen her.
Nate Osborn, Megan’s
on-again, off-again boyfriend, claimed she’d been talking about
going away to a school for some kind of modeling opportunity, but he
hadn’t heard from her and didn’t know where she was. His clothes
smelled like cat urine and his speech and gestures were manic enough
that she knew he’d been using crystal meth again. She’d been half
relieved that she hadn’t found Megan with him.
Even a visit to the home
she hadn’t been to for nine years to talk with her mother and rat’s
ass of a stepfather about what might have prompted Megan’s
disappearance hadn’t revealed a thing. Her mother had cried,
spouting some nonsense about a modeling agent stealing her baby girl
away for her fresh face, while Sal had poured himself another drink.
There were no clothes or
personal belongings missing from Megan’s room, indicating she’d left
on a trip of her own free will. No money missing from her checking
account to show she’d paid for a class or bought a bus ticket or
even a square meal.
She was just gone.
Riley glanced down at
the photograph of a happier time and swore at the irony of it all.
KCPD had listed Megan as
a teenage runaway. But Riley’s gut was telling her that wasn’t
right. Riley was the runner. She was the bad seed who’d fought back
against her stepfather’s twisted abuse and paid the price. Megan was
the good sister. The responsible one who got top grades and kept a
part-time job at a grocery store, in spite of the trouble at home.
Megan was the one who’d stayed and tried to help after Riley had
finally had enough and left for good.
Riley knew about running
away. She knew about living on the streets and supporting herself in
necessary ways for two years until she’d saved up enough money to
walk away and go back to school to get a decent job in an office
while she earned her business degree.
That was why she was
Megan wasn’t the only
young woman to go missing in Kansas City apparently. Every rumor
she’d managed to latch on to said that the answers to the mystery of
the missing girls could be found right here.
Riley knew this part of
town. It was a haven for runaways and hard-luck cases needing to
make a buck. For every bright light and renovated exterior, there
were two shadows and a back alley where pretty much anything—or
anyone—could be bought or sold for the right price.
Her gaze drifted back to
the gentleman’s club across the street. The velvet ropes where men
lined up to gain entrance, and the dark wood blinds in the windows
didn’t change a thing—After Dark was just a fancy name for a strip
But she suspected it was
a different story behind the facade.
Yes, there was a
Mercedes-Benz, a BMW and two vintage muscle cars that had to be
worth a pretty penny in the well-guarded private parking lot on the
building’s west side. But the two bruisers at the gated entrance
weren’t any typical valets taking tickets and parking cars. The
blue-and-black security uniforms didn’t fool her.
She’d chatted with
counselors from homeless shelters, even an old friend she’d run into
outside the Cheap Peep on the next block. Word on the street seemed
to point to an illegal sex trade specializing in providing escorts
of a young age or with a certain look—like Megan’s fresh face.
Anyone who’d been willing to answer more specific questions had
indicated that one of the trendiest nightclubs in the Kansas City
area, After Dark, seemed to be the place where she’d find someone
who might know about Megan—or at least answers about where she might
look next to find where a missing eighteen-year-old
strawberry-blonde who hadn’t shown up in the morgue might have gone.
Riley also understood
the laws of the street. No one around here would be anxious to
answer a lot of questions, especially from an outsider.
So she was going to
revisit that part of her life she’d hoped she’d left behind and make
herself an insider. Again.
The thought of what she
was about to do made her cringe. Even after a lot of time and a lot
of hard work, the memories still felt fresh. They made her raw
inside. But she’d survived. She could harden herself against them.
Because the thought that
Megan might be going through the same thing—or something worse—would
As ready for this
charade as she was going to get, Riley hid the photograph inside the
glove compartment. She didn’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions
about her real reason for being here. Plus, she’d learned the hard
way not to get caught with anything sentimental that might reveal a
vulnerability that could be used against her.
After locking up both
the picture and her emotions, Riley unbuttoned her sweater down to a
glimpse of her black-lace bra, pushed up her boobs to deepen her
cleavage, and mussed her long auburn hair around her shoulders. A
touch of ruby lipstick and a smack of her lips in the rearview
mirror provided the final layer of armor. She was ready.
Climbing out into the
cool night air, she locked the car behind her and strode across the
street to interview for a job that hadn’t even been listed.
spared a coy smile for the line of men who lacked the money and
credentials to get in through the private side entrance. With a
purposeful sway to her ass,
she waltzed past the hungry looks and catcalls and pushed open the
double front doors to the din of music, clinking glasses and
“Hold it, sweetheart.”
The bouncer at the front
counter rose from his stool and grabbed her arm as she went past.
She was no shrimp at five-seven plus three-inch heels. But this
bruiser with the shaved head and surly attitude towered over her by
half a foot as he pulled her back to face him.
“No one gets in without
coming through me first,” he announced. His voice was deep-pitched,
resonating through a square jaw and a prominent nose that had been
broken at some point in his past. His brown eyes were dark and
shining with suspicion beneath equally dark lashes.
“Surely you aren’t
carding me,” she challenged.
His gaze traveled up and
down her body without apology or flicker of appreciation before he
snorted a sound that must be his version of a laugh. “You’re of age.
What do you want?”
His unfortunate looks
were offset by the midnight pitch of his tough-guy drawl and the
utter masculinity of his imposing build. Riley ignored a traitorous
ripple of feminine awareness at his brawny strength and bold
assessment. Focusing on the bear paw locked on her arm, she offered
up a dismissive smile. “I’m not here to talk to you, big boy. I’m
here to see the man in charge. I’m interviewing for the bartending
position. Mr. Russell is expecting me.”
She’d gleaned the
owner’s name from an online newspaper interview. Talking as though
she knew someone usually convinced people that she did.
“No, he’s not. Mr.
Russell isn’t here.”
“Oh.” She pursed her
painted lips into a frown. “Do you know where he is? I said I was
coming by this evening.”
But the big brute wasn’t
buying it. He wasn’t letting go, either. If anything, his fingers
tightened above her elbow as he dipped his head toward hers. She
heard his whisper loud and clear, despite the noise of the club.
“What do you really want?”
The man didn’t mince
words. Was he this distrustful of everyone? Of women? Or maybe just
Fine. Her bold sortie
hadn’t worked. So she’d go straight to plan B and pour on the sexual
distraction. If he liked to look, she’d show him. “I want a job. I
don’t suppose you could help me, could you?”
Riley shook her hair off
her cheeks and pulled back her shoulders, giving him a clear view of
the creamy swells of her breasts before she traced the barbed-wire
tattoo circling his left biceps. She lingered on his warm skin, as
if curious about the ink’s symbolism. Then she tiptoed her fingers
up his broad chest to touch the dimple beside his mouth, realizing
after she’d made contact with the rigid skin that it was the pucker
of a scar, not a smile line. But she didn’t let his harsh features
or shaved head dissuade her. Instead of pulling against his grip,
she aligned her body more fully with his and let the tips of her
breasts tease the swell of pectoral muscles beneath his snug brown
T-shirt. And though her nipples puckered into hard beads at the
intentional contact, he didn’t so much as bat an eye.
Was this guy gay? Back
in her street days, she’d pulled in fifty-dollar tips for giving a
guy a similar show. Unused to the snub, she put her brain to work.
Logically, she supposed a disinterest in making full-body contact
with her girls was probably a good qualification for a club like
After Dark, where security often meant protecting the women who
worked there without getting involved with any of them.
But she had more weapons
in her arsenal to get what she wanted if seduction wouldn’t do the
trick. Whatever this guy was into, she’d deliver it to get what she
needed—access to the inner workings at After Dark…without this
dedicated security chief getting her way.
Riley retreated a step
and gave the bouncer her best I-need-a-friend act. “I just got fired
because I wouldn’t sleep with the boss. But I’ve still got bills to
pay, and I like to eat at least once a day.” She tilted her green
eyes up to his and used her free hand to tuck her hair behind her
right ear for a more innocent, less outright flirtatious, look. “If
Mr. Russell isn’t here, is there someone else I can talk to? I’m a
good bartender. Guys like me.” She shrugged and tapped his chest in
apology. “Most guys do, anyway.”
At last the vise grip
loosened and he turned his head toward a black-haired man wearing a
suit with no tie. The short man was lecturing a cocktail waitress
who was nearly in tears at the end of the bar. “You’ll want to talk
to Rocky. He manages the place for Mr. Russell. No guarantees that
you’ll get the job. Not even sure why you’d want to work here. But
you can try.”
“Thank you. I heard tips
could be really good at After Dark.” Riley added a shy little twitch
to her smile. “I just need a break.”
At last he released her
completely. He stuffed his fingers into the back pockets of his
jeans, stretching the cotton of his shirt tightly across his chest
and shoulders, creating an even more imposing wall of defense for
the club. “Rocky’s in a mood tonight, so you be careful. I don’t
She ignored the dig that
he still suspected she might not be on the up and up. “Why is he in
A sharp rap at the door
diverted his gaze for a second. “Hey, when can we get in?” the man
at the front of the line shouted through the glass.
“When I say so,” the
bouncer answered, just loud enough and forcefully enough for the man
to retreat behind the velvet rope.
Riley glanced around the
club, taking in the stools at the bar, the small tables around the
U-shaped stage and the curtained-off private booths that lined one
wall. It looked like the place was certainly full to capacity. The
sex business was booming. Surely, someone here could answer her
questions about Megan, and where a slender young beauty like her
sister would go to follow a bogus modeling offer or to whom she’d
turn for help when her home and her boyfriend were no longer safe
places to be.
Then the bruiser’s brown
eyes were back on her to answer her question about the manager.
“When things aren’t running smoothly, Rocky takes it out on
whoever’s close by. So keep your distance.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
Riley shook her hair loose again and straightened the sleeve of her
red sweater, making a show of exposing just enough cleavage to be
sexy without looking like she was here for a job dancing up on the
stage. Still no reaction from the Neanderthal. She was definitely
leaning toward gay. What a waste of testosterone. “Wish me luck.”
His hand was on her arm
again. “If you get the job, you can stay. Otherwise, I want you out
of here ASAP. After Dark isn’t a place for ladies.”
Sweet. He thought she
was a lady. So chivalry wasn’t dead. Not that she’d ever relied on a
man to do the right thing by her. “You don’t have to protect me,
“Josiah Kemp.” He shook
his head. “I’m not worried about your safety, sweetheart. I’m just
doing my job. Mr. Russell wants the customers focusing on the women
onstage and buying drinks. He doesn’t like distractions keeping the
clientele from spending their money.”
Ah, so maybe there was a
chink in his male armor, after all. She pouted her lips into a
smile. “You think I’m a distraction?”
Nope. Her mistake. He
touched two blunt fingers to her chin and turned her focus out to
the soulful music, boozy smells, and velvet and brass, leather and
dark wood appointments of the club. “Do you see any other women
here? It’s staff only.”
Riley glanced around at
the colorful lights and secretive shadows. The only women she saw
were cocktail waitresses in short shorts and too-tight jeans—and the
dancer onstage with her leg wrapped around a pole, wearing little
more than a G-string.
When the stab of a
memory tried to take her back in time, Riley quickly buried the
thought and focused on the fact that not one of the women she saw
was Megan. She wondered at the back doors on either side of the
stage. Were there rooms back there for special customers? Maybe the
ones driving the luxury cars and coming in the private side
entrance? Could Megan be back there? Or inside one of the secluded
Her blood ran cold at
the thought of her innocent little sister being subjected to the
selfish whims of any one of the men here. “You don’t, um…” She
lifted her chin from Josiah’s callused touch and tilted her face up
to his. “The club doesn’t offer other types of entertainment besides
drinking and…dancing, does it?”
“What kind of question
is that?” His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re going to be trouble for
me, aren’t you?”
A firm no would
have been more reassuring. Riley chose not to respond to his
suspicions. If there was something more sinister than sleazy going
on at After Dark, and Megan had somehow gotten sucked into it… “I
just need the job.”
Doubt lingered in his
eyes. “Don’t play me, sweetheart,” he warned. “I’ve got no problem
tossing you out on your ass if I find out you’re up to something
besides that ‘poor me’ shit.”
Tough guys didn’t scare
her. Of course, she’d never met one so immune to her charms before.
But she’d figure out how to handle this one, too, if necessary. She
arched an auburn brow. “It’s okay, Josiah. I don’t trust you,
The snippy statement
earned her a chuckle and half a grin that bled into the rugged line
of that scar beside his mouth. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
He inclined his head toward the manager. “Go on. Give it your best
Riley schooled the urge
to breathe a sigh of relief. As she turned toward the bar, she
caught Josiah’s gaze landing on her butt. Maybe he was just keeping
an eye on a woman he didn’t trust. But her lips curled into a smile
as the half-hooded gaze followed her weaving path through the
Sucker. You’re not so
tough, after all. And he was definitely into women. Maybe even
into her, especially, judging by the unblinking interest warming her
backside. She just hadn’t offered him the right bargaining chip.
Savoring the silent
victory over at least one man here, Riley carried herself a little
straighter, strutted a little harder. She had this. The bad girl
who’d survived two years on the streets was alive and well, and
about to make After Dark—and whatever secrets it could share about
her sister—her own.
She spied the short,
muscular man who seemed to be in charge and sauntered right up to
him. “Are you Rocky?”
“I don’t want to hear
any more complaints. Now go make the customers happy.” The manager
swatted the rump of the waitress who was near tears at the end of
their one-sided conversation and sent her on her way.
The stab of compassion
she felt for the dark-haired woman didn’t show anywhere on Riley’s
full-lipped smile when he turned to face her. “I’m Rocky Calibrisi.”
His gaze settled on her cleavage. “What can I do for you, sugar?”
“I was hoping I could
get a job tending bar. I’ve got lots of experience.” Riley raised
her voice over the clinking of glass and chattering of voices around
the bar. “The bouncer, Josiah, said you were the man in charge and I
should talk to you.”
His dark eyes met hers.
“We’re not hiring, sugar. All our girls are on the stage or waiting
tables. Go home.” He walked away from her to shake hands with two
men at the end of the bar. “Are you gentlemen enjoying your
Uh-uh. Doreen Riley
didn’t give up that easily.
As the friendly guy talk
ensued between Rocky and his guests, she slipped beneath the gate at
the end of the bar, dropped her purse beside one of the cash
registers on the mirrored back wall and hurried past the bartender
filling trays at the waitress station to join them.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Riley poured on the flirt, and pointed to their watered down drinks.
“Old-fashioned and a Colorado bulldog? Can I get you another?”
The two men, maybe
little more than college-aged, trust fund frat boys, were suddenly
more interested in her than in Rocky.
“You can get me anything
you want, babe.”
Trading sympathetic nods
with the harried bartender, Riley quickly made fresh drinks and
returned to the end of the bar. She removed the used glasses, wiped
away the condensation on the bar top and slid the fresh drinks in
front of the frat boys. Both of them slapped bills on the counter,
eager to make an impression on her.
Riley looked beyond them
to the short man in the light gray suit. “That’ll be…?”
approvingly. “Four-fifty each.”
The young man who’d laid
down a twenty pushed it across the bar. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.” Riley rang up
the drinks on the cash register’s computer screen, then stuffed the
extra bills into her bra. When she winked her thanks, the two men
practically drooled into their drinks.
With a little direction
from the bartender who seemed relieved to have the help, Riley
filled several more orders. She made sure that the manager saw how
quickly and accurately she worked—and how her red hair and teasing
flirtations lured several more men to come over and buy drinks.
later, when the lights dimmed and the music changed for a new
performer to take the stage, Riley could finally catch her breath.
The mirror behind the prime-label bottles she was wiping down
revealed Rocky Calibrisi coming behind the bar to join her.
She smiled at his
approving nod in the mirror. She kept smiling when he palmed her hip
and pulled her aside. Riley had learned long ago how to hide any
kind of reaction to the free grope. She let him corner her against
the polished teakwood of the bar gate. “What’s your name, sugar?”
“What do you go by?
Doreen? Dorie? Dee?”
She didn’t have to look
up to meet his hooded gaze. “You can call me Doreen.”
He fingered the top
button of his silk shirt, perhaps hoping to draw her attention to
the black chest hair curling at the open collar. “When can you
This guy was almost as
easy to manipulate as the frat boys had been. “I already did.”
“Take a break at ten.
Pour a tray of sodas and take them around to the bouncers then.” He
pointed to the dark-haired waitress he’d chewed out earlier.
“Introduce yourself to Mary Sue. She can help you with the staff
drinks. She’ll show you the back room and an empty locker, too. Stop
by my office after closing and we’ll fill out some paperwork.”
“Will do.” Paperwork?
That sounded more legit than the kind of operation she was looking
for. But rumors about shady dealings at After Dark had to be
gossiped about for a reason. She’d find out the truth, and she’d
deliberately dropped a hint that she was willing to get closer to
him, and hopefully to the inner workings of the club. “I owe you
Rocky nodded, looking
smugly pleased with that response, before turning away and
disappearing through the door to the left of the stage.
“Hey, babe. How about
some service down at this end?” A customer slapped a twenty on the
bar top and gave her an order. Riley pulled two draughts and smiled.
Josiah Kemp could stuff
his suspicions about her.
She was in.
Question: Which story would you like to read first?
Back To Top
1 1/2 months later
“Reitzie.” Annie lifted the lazy Siamese from the domino
tumble of picture frames on the mantel where he was lounging while
Nick carried up their overnight bags from their weekend getaway to
St. Louis. She set the cat on the floor and shooed him off to
find where his counterpart, G.B., was hiding.
In between unbuttoning her coat and untying the pink scarf that
Grandma Connie had knit for her, she straightened one beloved
picture after another. When she reached the mutilated photo
from the Baseball Hall of Fame, she smiled. Without feeling
one pang of regret, she opened up her paisley messenger bag and
pulled out one of the souvenir post cards she’d bought on their trip
and quickly swapped out the old picture for the new one. She
crumpled the memory of her ex-fiancé in her fist and tossed it into
“There.” Annie was admiring the new picture of Busch Stadium
in St. Louis, and the new memory it represented, when Nick came in.
He locked the door behind him and hung up their coats. She
pulled the new picture on the mantel to a more prominent position.
Nick came up behind her to wind an arm around her waist and doff a
salute to the statue of Stan ‘the Man’ Musial. “Much better.
Maybe Stan and your dad are up in heaven playing some catch right
Feeling a pang of melancholy, Annie leaned back against his solid
warmth, and found even more comfort when he slipped the other arm
around her as well, and pressed a kiss against her cheek. The
sadness quickly passed and she folded her hands over his, soaking in
all the miraculous changes in her life since that fateful New Year’s
She had a reason to celebrate the holidays now.
She had a family--one that was bigger, crazier, more accepting and
loving than any she could have imagined for herself.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
She had Nick.
On New Year’s Day, Nick Fensom had promised her seventy-two hours of
personal protection and free chauffeur’s service. Now, he’d
promised her a lifetime together.
Annie held up her left hand and marveled at the beauty and symbolism
of the simple diamond solitaire he’d given her on Valentine’s Day.
He cupped her outstretch hand in his, angling it to catch the light
in each facet. “Happy?”
She nodded. “More than I have been in...” She laced her
fingers with his and pulled his arm back to complete the snug warmth
of the embrace. “...I don’t know how long. You gave me a
family, Nick. You make me feel like I belong somewhere, like I
belong to someone, like I’m never going to feel alone again.
“Yeah, but do you love me?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Well, a guy wonders, you know, because, um... technically, you
never said yes.”
Annie spun around in his arms, mortified. “I didn’t?”
Despite the grin, he was shaking his head as he twirled a lock of
her hair between his index finger and thumb. “As I recall, you
burst into tears, blubbered some stuff about how happy your dad
would be that I asked you to marry me in front of Musial’s statue,
and then you started kissing me.” Annie arched a skeptical
brow as his handsome blue eyes met hers and the Irish bluster
continued. “Now, while I’m not opposed to that sort of
activity, sometimes you’re hard to read--and it can be a little
tricky on a man’s ego not to be entirely sure.”
Annie caught his face between her hands. “Do you really have
any doubts about how much I love you? What was it you once
told me? You’ll know when I make a promise to you.”
“Pretty pithy stuff, huh?”
She pulled his face closer to hers and stroked her thumb across his
mouth. “Then let me make this promise to you, Nicholas
Fensom--I love you. I need you in my life. I want to be
your wife.” She stretched up to press a kiss to his lips
before standing back to raise her right hand and lay her left over
his heart. “In front of Mom, Dad, Stan and the cats... my
answer is yes.”
Nick’s grin was devilish as he wound his arms around her and pulled
her hips up against his. “I liked all the kissing better.”
“You...” She smacked his shoulder, taking care to avoid the
newly healed wound that could have killed him when he saved her
life. The crime lab building was under repair as well, and
both the detective and the lab were back at work. “You’re
With a laugh, Nick’s mouth covered hers, ending the teasing,
demanding that she prove with her heart and body what her words had
already confessed. And Annie willingly accepted the challenge.
Nick slid his deliciously warm hands beneath her sweater and dipped
his tongue into her mouth. Annie’s fingers went to the hem of
Nick’s shirt, untucking it from his jeans, taking the same liberties
to stroke and touch and grab that he took with her.
His thighs crowded against her, driving her back into the arm of the
sofa. Annie wrapped her arms around his neck and turned,
steering him around the couch. He pulled her along with him a
couple of steps, drawing his tongue along that sensitive bundle of
nerves beneath her ear. “I love the way your mind thinks.”
“I love the way your--” He gently nipped the spot and Annie
gasped, shuddering with desire.
She tugged on his belt buckle as Nick’s seductive assault backed her
into the wall. His hands were under her sweater again, making
it difficult to recall the rest of her sentence. But the power
of his kiss, the need of his hands, the hardness of his body made
her realize that words were no longer necessary. The tension
that had simmered between them from their very first meeting blazed
into white-hot passion. They were yin and yang.
Opposites attracting and completing each other. Perfectly in
sync. Perfect together.
Nick pulled her away from the wall to sweep the sweater off over her
head, exposing her torso to the chilly air of her apartment.
But he palmed her bottom and lifted her up against him, singeing her
body with the solid heat of his. Annie wrapped her legs around
his hips as he reclaimed her mouth and stumbled to the bedroom.
There, in a flurry of dropping clothes and stolen kisses, they fell
onto the bed together.
There was no more teasing, no more debate, no more doubt about the
unexpected love they’d found together. Nick sheathed himself
and settled between her legs as Annie impatiently drew him down on
top of her. There was nothing wounded about his compact,
beautifully toned body beyond the scar on his shoulder. He was
fit and fine and sexier than than the box score of a perfect game as
he began to move inside her.
His fingers tangled into her hair as he thrust himself in to the
hilt and whispered against her ear. “I love you, Annie.
I love you.”
Believing that promise with all her heart, she let go and flew over
the edge into pure bliss with him.
The cats had joined them in bed, anchoring the quilt around Annie’s
toasty feet, when stereo pagers went off sometime later. She
startled awake, pushing aside cats and covers to reach for her phone
on the bedside table while Nick rolled to sit up on his side to
retrieve his phone from his jeans on the floor.
“It’s work.” They announced in unison.
“I’ll call in.” Nick pulled on his shorts and jeans and tossed
her the pants she’d worn earlier. “You get some clothes on
before you distract me again.”
As alert and worried as she’d been replete and content moments
earlier, she quickly dressed. A call from Dispatch before the
sun was up could never be a good thing. The grim look on
Nick’s face echoed as much as he called his partner’s number.
“Spence? It’s Nick.” Annie tiptoed around the bed and
Nick circled his arm around her, drawing her close. “Yeah,
we’re both here.”
Annie caught most of the conversation with the task force commander,
and was glad she’d packed her spare kit in the back of Nick’s Jeep.
The men the Cleaner had blackmailed into killing Annie and
destroying evidence were either dead or jailed. The only one
who’d survived the assault on the crime lab had been unable to give
them a usable description of the woman who’d recruited him because
all the arrangements, from impersonating police officers to
infiltrating the lab, had gone through Raj Kapoor. But, thanks
to her and Nick, they had a trace sample to identify the rapist’s
blood type, and a fingerprint they could match to the Cleaner--once
they got the right suspect in custody. It was evidence that
could help put them both away in prison for a very, very long time.
But the grim report from Spencer Montgomery reminded them both that
there was more work to be done. Nick ended the call and
pressed a kiss to Annie’s temple.
“Time to go to work, slugger.” He strapped on his gun and his
badge. “The Rose Red Rapist has struck again. We’ve got
another crime scene.”
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