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Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded Hard As You Can, you’re in for a real treat:’

Hard As You Can: A Hard Ink Novel

by Laura Kaye

4.6 stars – 144 Reviews

Kindle Price: $4.54

Text-to-Speech: Enabled

Ever since hard-bodied, drop-dead-charming Shane McCallan strolled into the dance club where Crystal Dean works, he’s shown a knack for getting beneath her defenses. For her little sister’s sake, Crystal can’t get too close. Until her job and Shane’s mission intersect, and he reveals talents that go deeper than she could have guessed.

Shane would never turn his back on a friend in need, especially a former Special Forces teammate running a dangerous, off-the-books operation. Nor can he walk away from Crystal. The gorgeous waitress is hiding secrets she doesn’t want him to uncover. Too bad. He’s exactly the man she needs to protect her sister, her life, and her heart. All he has to do is convince her that when something feels this good, you hold on as hard as you can–and never let go.

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

MID – CHAPTER 4

“Welcome to Confessions. What can I get for you this evening?” she said to the man sitting by himself in the next-to-last booth.

He lifted his gaze to her. And all the air sucked out of the room.

Steel gray eyes.

Pretty Boy.

She gasped and took an unthinking step backward. Oh, God. What is he doing here? Crystal forced herself to ease her posture. If she called any attention to herself right now, things could get bad. For both of them.

“I’ll have a beer, please. Whatever’s on tap. And Crystal?”

She almost asked how he knew her name, but then she remembered telling him when they’d spoken last night, when she thought she was helping someone who belonged here.

“Just breathe.”

She turned away, her brain sorting through a variety of choices. Tell. Run. Avoid. All of which were fraught with potentially negative consequences for her. If she told them she recognized this man from last night, it would reveal that she hadn’t told them everything she’d seen. Namely, the man’s face.

The man’s exquisitely handsome face. Chiseled jaw. Playful, full lips.

God, what was wrong with her? If he didn’t get his sexy ass out of here, they were going to be in deep shit.

Walker filled her order, chitchatting with her the whole time. His chatter helped calm her nerves. Just be cool. Nobody knows anything. Nobody sees anything. Just act natural. As her panic receded, anger rushed in. She’d helped him. She’d risked herself. Enough was enough. He had no freaking right to put her in any more danger than she was already in. She scrawled a note on a napkin and returned to the man’s booth with his beer.

“Here you go, sir.” She placed the napkin down first, waited until she was sure he saw her message—Leave now and don’t come back, then set the glass on top of it. “Will there be anything else?” She let every bit of the rage brewing inside her shine from her gaze.

It didn’t seem to faze him. “I’d like to talk to you, darlin’.”

She pasted a smile on her face and pretended the hint of Southern in his accent didn’t make her go warm. “Well, I wouldn’t like to talk to you.” She turned on her heel—

And he caught her hand in his and reeled her in against his side.

Crystal gasped at the contact, and her chest went tight with a growing panic borne of an old, horrible experience. Then her brain registered that he wasn’t hurting her, and he wasn’t trying anything else, and she managed to beat back her anxiety enough to hold it together.

He was damn lucky she was a waitress and not a dancer, because the club had a hands-off policy toward the latter. At least out on the floor. But the waitresses, her included, tolerated a pat on the ass or a hand on her thigh because flirting brought bigger tips. Every time.

Pretty Boy’s grasp probably looked playful from the outside, so Crystal forced herself to throw her head back and laugh like she was enjoying the attention. And, truth be told, between the unusual gentleness of his grip and the hardness of his muscles where they were pressed together, a flash of heat shot through her. Ridiculous. Dangerous. “You have no idea who you’re playing with,” she whispered, anger at herself mixing with her ire toward him.

“I need your help. And I think I can help you in return.”

She scoffed, leaned in closer, and prepared to let him know just what she thought about that—

“What happened to your cheek?” Anger slipped into his expression, sharpening the angles of his otherwise pretty face.

Well, shit. Not covered as well as she thought, then.

And why the heck would he care?

So, so gently, he stroked his knuckles over her cheekbone.

The tenderness of the gesture sent tingles through her belly. Bruno didn’t always hurt her, but he was almost never gentle, either.

Softness and compassion weren’t traits she was used to from a man. It was so foreign, she almost wasn’t sure how to respond. For a moment, she pressed into the touch, but then her brain restarted, and she jerked away. She tapped her finger on the napkin. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and moved to another table that blessedly needed her assistance. She had to keep busy, act normal, laugh, and make the men feel special—and, above all else, avoid the gray-eyed man until he finally got the message. Or her shift ended. Thankfully, she wasn’t closing tonight and only had another hour to go. She could keep it together that long.

It was maybe the slowest hour of Crystal’s life.

Everywhere she moved, she felt the man’s gaze on her. The one time she gave in to the urge to look at him, he appeared absorbed in the dancers onstage, but somehow she knew it was an act.

Maybe it took an actor to know one?

The guy was watching her even when he didn’t appear to be. She would’ve sworn it. Prickles ran over her scalp. Her awareness of him was so intense, it permeated the air all around her. This man was dangerous in all kinds of ways she didn’t want to explore. Couldn’t even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.

Then, ten minutes before the end of her shift, he threw a few bills on the table, shoved out of the booth, and strode across the club as if he weren’t Jimmy Church’s Number One Most Wanted.

And, God, if she’d thought his face handsome, the head-to-toe view was a total stunner. Tall, built, and all in black, the guy moved with a lethal grace that was quiet and powerful at the same time. She recognized the swagger a lot of the guys in the gang possessed, but his movements weren’t full of the posturing she often witnessed in the men around here. Like he was so bad-ass he had no need to prove it.

Crystal forced her gaze away and breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank God he’s gone.

She ignored the niggle of regret that settled into the pit of her stomach and made her way to clear his table and pocket his tip. At least for her troubles, Pretty Boy had left money—she could often keep a bigger portion of cash tips because the shift manager couldn’t track them with specificity, as opposed to the credit-card tips he could account for to the last penny. She wasn’t sure if the guy had been brave or stupid for returning after what he’d pulled the night before. All she knew was she hoped he didn’t ever return.

Niggle.

She groaned as she returned to the dressing room and changed out of the skimpy halter shirt and tiny skirt that just covered her ruined back but left her cleavage, midriff, and legs bare. Stepping into her jeans and flip-flops was like seeing an old friend. When she got out of this job, she might never wear heels again.

Crystal reveled in whatever crisis had kept Bruno away from the club tonight as she made her way out the door, across the parking lot, and into the dull red pickup that had been her father’s. Red, for the hair all three of the Dean women had had in common, not that she could remember much about her mom. She’d died in a car crash when Crystal had been so young her only real memory of the woman was her warm, happy smile. At least she’d managed to hang on to her mother’s sewing machine. Knowing that her mom’s hands had once worked at that needle made Crystal feel close to her every time she sat down to make her or Jenna a piece of clothing—one of Crystal’s few interests that had survived from before.

The engine started on a loud rumble, and Crystal’s hands gripped the wide steering wheel. The truck was so big it made her feel tiny, but a part of Crystal loved the fact that she owned a vehicle large enough to move all the important stuff she and Jenna owned. For when the time came to get away.

And it was coming. This year, she and Jenna were going to have the happiest Christmas ever. Because by then, they’d be somewhere new and far, far away.

In the grand scheme of things, eight months was nothing.

She just had to keep out of trouble in the meantime.

That meant no more taking chances. And definitely no helping strange, beautiful men. No matter what.

###

Shane sighed as he positioned his truck on the street so he wouldn’t miss Crystal leave. The trip to the club hadn’t been a complete waste.

Before he’d found Crystal, Shane had managed to place listening devices at the ordering station on the bar, near the bar’s phone, and in both public restrooms. He’d also double-checked that the receiver-transmitter that Easy had wired into the exterior cable the night before was still intact. That piece was key, enabling Marz to do some sort of technical voodoo whereby he could remotely access the live feeds the mics picked up. Or something. Shane loved the man like a brother, but Marz’s technospeak had the power to put him right into a coma. They still needed eyes and ears in the private spaces of Confessions, but it was a start.

Situated among a run-down strip of restaurants, dive bars, and stores gone out of business, the club’s property dominated the whole side of the block, a hotbed of activity in the midst of the otherwise subdued street. It was one of those neighborhoods through which the cops never patrolled and taxis never drove without a call specifically bringing them there.

Shane studied the club’s points of ingress and egress, assembling a mental catalog of the building in case he needed to return. But his thoughts keep coming back to Crystal.

She was more than a survivor—which the demand to hit her had already told him. She was also a fighter. Which was good. Whether she knew it or not, they were in this thing together, and she was going to need to be smart and she was going to have to be strong. That she’d come at him with all kinds of hellfire—all the while acting like he was just another customer—was reassuring. Not to mention damn hot.

Jesus, she was a slight little thing in his arms, tall and lean and warm. Beautiful curves and smooth skin. A man could lose himself in a body like hers.

And someone had taken a hand to her.

As he sat in the cab of his truck, a big bucket of rage parked itself in the center of his chest. When he’d seen the handprint under the extra layers of her makeup, it’d taken everything he had to not react in a way that would draw attention. He’d put her in harm’s way enough. Clearly.

But one thing was for goddamn sure. Whoever’s hand matched that print wouldn’t need two gloves come winter.

Just like Shane had seen what she’d tried to hide, he’d learn who’d hurt her. In the Army, Shane had been known for seeing what others missed. Like the inked eagle sprawled across his back, he excelled at sighting his prey from far, far away and attacking with a speed and accuracy that never gave them a fighting chance.

The son of a bitch who hurt her would never know what hit him. On second thought, yeah, he would. Abusers were bullies. Cowards. And Shane wanted to see the fear in the man’s eyes when he made him pay.

About twenty-five minutes later, movement caught his attention. A red truck made its way from the back of the lot to the gate at the street. With Crystal in the driver’s seat. Bingo. She had to leave at some point, and it would be easier to talk to her away from all the eyes in the club.

Crystal turned onto the street and passed him. He let two other cars go by before pulling out behind her. Bright and big as the truck was, he didn’t need to be aggressive with the tail. He could keep track of her just fine. And the fact that she was the Mother Teresa of drivers—obeying every traffic law to a tee—helped a lot, too. He found it oddly endearing since his foot was normally an anvil of pure lead when he got behind the wheel.

Speed was a fucking awesome distraction from the shit in his head.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a garden-apartment complex just outside the city line. Shane kept going straight, ditched his F-150 about a half block down the street, then hightailed it on foot, keeping to the shadows, until he saw her truck.

Crystal sat behind the wheel. Still. Head back. From this distance, it almost looked like she was sleeping. He didn’t want to scare her, but in case she lived with someone, maybe he should approach her while she was—

A strange moan caught his attention. His gaze whipped to the right, to the outdoor stairwell of the building he approached.

A girl sat on the next-to-the-bottom step. One moment, she had her arms around drawn-up knees. The next, she went rigid and started convulsing.

Shane was immediately in motion.

The seizure forced her muscles to contract, forming her into a ball that made her fall down the last two steps.

He went to his knees beside her, his medic training kicking in without a second thought. Gently, he rolled her to her side in case she vomited, then he whipped off his jacket and slid it under her head.

There was nothing else to be done until it was over. Damn it. The medical identification bracelet she wore announced her epileptic condition, so Shane held off on calling 911. If the seizure wasn’t too severe, she might be lucid within another minute and could tell him how best to help.

Aw, damn. This girl has red hair like—

“Oh, my God, what are you doing?” came a voice from behind him.

Crystal.

This was so not how he’d wanted to reveal himself. “This woman is having a seizure.”

She went to her knees beside him. “I’m here, Jenna. Hang on.” Worry poured off her as the younger woman’s muscles contracted, and her eyes rolled back. “She’s my sister.”

Yeah, he’d figured that much out. “She’ll be okay,” he said.

“I’ve been taking care of her for years. I don’t need you to tell me she’ll be okay,” she said, her tone equal parts anger and fear, beautiful green eyes flashing. “What are you, anyway?” Her gaze dragged over the holstered gun under his arm.

“Former Army medic.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” Crystal bit out in a hushed voice.

“No. You told me to leave Confessions. Which I did.”

“Yeah. And then you followed me home. Right?” She nailed him with a stare.

Shane’s gut clenched. No defense there. Instinct told him the truth was the only chance he had to keep her from shutting him out for good. “Yes. I really need your help. I thought maybe it would be easier for you to talk away from the club.”

Jenna’s muscles went slack on a groan, recapturing their attention. Her eyelids lifted sluggishly, as if they were made of five-pound weights.

“Okay, sweetie, just hang in there. I’ll get you inside,” Crystal said, sliding her hands under the other woman’s shoulders.

Shane gripped his thighs and forced himself still. “Let me help,” he said, itching to just pick Jenna up since it was pretty damn clear Crystal wasn’t going to be able to move her unconscious like this. But he sensed that doing it without her permission would bring down all sorts of shutters, and so far he wasn’t making great headway in winning her over.

The debate played out across her expression, then her gaze dropped to Jenna’s face. She stroked her sister’s cheek and sighed. “Okay. But just because I know I can’t get her up the steps like this. And she could be out of it for a good half hour.”

Nodding, Shane scooped up his coat and the woman and rose to his feet. She couldn’t weigh more than a buck twenty soaking wet. Jenna was totally out, exhaustion from a severe epileptic seizure often sent a person into a sleep state immediately afterward and left them drained for the next day or two. Crystal had a damn lot on her plate. Even more than he’d known.

For a moment, Crystal mother-henned over her sister in his arms, as if making sure he wasn’t hurting her. With a resigned expression, she finally said, “This way.”

As he followed Crystal up the set of concrete steps, he realized he’d learned something important about her tonight. She didn’t like to receive help. And she didn’t like to ask for it. But she would if her sister was the one who needed it.

Damn if he didn’t respect that.

And, Jesus, if he’d thought Crystal sexy with too much skin showing, she was even sexier in the tee and faded jeans, her hair swept into a long ponytail. Damn, even the painted toes sticking out of her flip-flops intrigued him.

At the door, she stopped and looked around, like she was making sure no one noticed them, then she let him in.

The apartment was small and plain, but clean and organized. Crystal led him through the combination living-dining room decorated in shades of blue and past the galley-style kitchen to a narrow hallway at the back. Three doorways stood in the dimness of the space, a bathroom and presumably each of their bedrooms. They entered the one on the right, and Crystal clicked on the small lamp on the bedside table.

The orderliness of the rest of the apartment stopped at Jenna’s bedroom door.

The room was like a bookstore with a double bed in one corner. One of those old, used bookstores where it was possible the removal of a single book from the shelf might bring the whole place collapsing in on itself. Towering stacks of books sat on every flat surface, including the carpeted floor, and one whole wall was lined with overflowing shelves.

“So, she likes to read, then,” he said as he gently laid Jenna onto the rumpled comforter. Colorful flowers and butterflies on a white background. A butterfly mobile hung from the ceiling in front of one window. Shane resisted the urge to check that Molly’s necklace still lay safe in his pocket. And to think this girl’s apparent fascination with his sister’s favorite creature was some kind of a sign.

Crystal smirked and busied herself with the covers. “What gave it away?”

It wasn’t the smile he’d been going for, but it was a start. He hoped.

Jenna’s breathing was raspy—not unusual after a seizure, and Crystal sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her palm over the younger woman’s forehead. “So, uh …” She frowned. “You were a doctor in the Army?”

Shane studied the reluctant expression she wore, the lines of worry settled into her forehead, the way the soft, red waves of her ponytail cascaded over her shoulder. “I cross-trained as a medic.”

On a long sigh, Crystal shook her head and stood. “Well, thank you for helping her. I … I don’t know how I would’ve gotten her inside …” Her gaze landed everywhere but on his.

He frowned, sensing the good-bye from a mile out. “I’m glad I was here.”

She hugged herself. “You should go.”

And there it was. “Crystal—”

She gestured to be quiet and led him out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind them. In the dimness of the hallway, she looked up at him, a war of emotions on her face. “You can’t be here.”

“Why not?” he said. Not only did he need her help, but the fact that she and her sister might need his had his feet rooted firmly in place. All of a sudden, his brain assembled the last few minutes into a puzzle picture he didn’t like. “Wait. Is she not receiving treatment for the epilepsy?”

Crystal’s eyebrows slashed downward, and outrage dropped her mouth into an oval. “Of course she’s receiving treatment.”

Shane held his hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It just seemed like you might want my help. For her,” he added.

She didn’t school her expression fast enough, and Shane saw the rightness of his analysis.

“Come on, Crystal. What’s going on?”

She turned on her heel and walked the short distance to the living room. “You really need to go.”

Shane sat down on the well-worn denim couch and crossed his boot over his knee.

She gawped. It was almost comical how expressive her face could be. When she let it.

“What’s going on?” he repeated.

“I don’t even know you.”

“That’s why I was hoping we could talk.” His gaze scanned the room and landed on the large flat-screen mounted to the opposite wall. Beneath it sat a bookshelf with a variety of high-end equipment—DVD player, receiver, stereo, speakers. Sweet setup, but not a single piece of it matched the worn-out nature of the rest of the women’s belongings. Odd, since Crystal didn’t strike him as the type to splurge on luxuries, not when the woman’s truck was likely so old it was flirting with a historic vehicle designation.

She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t be here.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. Jesus, if—”

Shane was off the couch and in front of her. “If what?” He tucked a few bronze wisps off her face and behind her ear, then let his fingers graze her cheekbone. The gentleness belied the storm whipping up inside him at the near reference to her tormenter.

She stepped back. “It doesn’t matter.”

Like hell it doesn’t. Crossing his arms, Shane waited.

“God, I can’t get rid of you.” Exasperation had her throwing up her arms.

“I specialize in pain in the ass, darlin’.” He smiled, forcing himself to gear down the intensity.

“Well, congratulations, because you clearly graduated with honors.”

He grinned and watched as she twisted her lips to avoid doing the same. The problem was clearly that she didn’t think she should talk, but his gut told him she wanted to. That she was dying to. “I just want to be your friend, Crystal.”

All traces of humor disappeared from her face. “I don’t have friends.”

“You don’t have them? Or you’re not allowed to have them?” Shane worked hard to keep his voice neutral.

“The reason doesn’t matter. And it’s none of your business.”

Goddamn. Had he ever worked this hard to get a woman to warm up to him? Far from making him back off, the strength of her defenses had him worrying about why she felt she needed them.

He closed the distance between them. “Okay, no friends, then. But I could still help you and Jenna.”

She sighed and looked him in the eye. “We don’t need your help.”

Just then, a thump and a muffled cry sounded from the back of the apartment.

CHAPTER 5

Crystal was down the hall and through Jenna’s bedroom door in an instant. After years of dealing with this, her body reacted instinctively anytime Jenna needed help. Sure enough, Jenna had fallen out of bed and now lay disoriented and struggling to untangle herself from her covers.

“Hold on, Jen, I’m here,” she said, easing the blankets from her body. Jenna looked up at her with a confused stare that made Crystal’s chest ache. The disorientation was normal after one of her seizures. Sometimes she even had memory lapses. She’d been having them more frequently the past few months, but it had been a long time since she’d had one this bad. What in the world had triggered it?

Crystal didn’t know the answer, though she intended to question Jenna about her recent activities when she was well enough. Certain things could bring on an epileptic attack, and Jenna wasn’t always as strict about avoiding those as she needed to be. All Crystal knew was she absolutely hated not being able to do more for her sister when the seizures hit.

“Can I help?” Pretty Boy asked from behind her.

Twin reactions coursed through Crystal. A knee-jerk desire to tell him she’d love his help because, God, it would be so nice to have someone to lean on now and then. And he was a freaking doctor, for God’s sake. Or, medic. Whatever. Given Jenna’s condition, his skills would’ve been at the top of a perfect-man wish list. If she’d ever made such a thing. Which she hadn’t because dreams were for other people. She’d well learned that lesson.

But alongside that yearning for help came the soul-deep certainty that giving in to such a feeling was a one-way ticket to all kinds of trouble. Because this man and her boyfriend were obviously enemies, and Bruno wouldn’t tolerate her being friends with—or, hell, even talking to—this guy even if they weren’t.

Still, she did need to get Jenna in bed. And he was already here …

Clearing her throat, Crystal nodded without looking at him. “Would you help me get her back in bed, please?”

He was immediately beside her, heat and strength radiating off of him. “Of course.”

Crystal chanced a glance at him and instantly regretted it. Because his expression was filled with pure earnest desire to help her. To help them. And, no, she hadn’t forgotten that he was hoping for some sort of help from her, too. But he’d never once suggested any of this was a quid pro quo. She rose and gave him room to pick up Jenna.

He lifted her sister and, just like earlier, the gentleness and care with which he handled Jenna almost tempted Crystal to give in … to open up … One knee braced on the mattress, he leaned forward so he could place Jenna closer to the wall. So she wouldn’t fall out of bed again, so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Crystal didn’t need him to explain why he’d done it because it was exactly what she would’ve done. And there was that temptation again. Causing her stomach to flutter and her heart to race.

Without asking, the man retrieved the blanket from the floor and laid it over Jenna like she was a baby he didn’t want to wake. He was a big guy—tall, broad-shouldered, muscular—and the gun holstered under his arm said he was dangerous, too. But he was also the most gentle, kind man she’d ever met.

God, I need to get him out of here.

Holding a pile of books so it wouldn’t topple, he eased the nightstand a few inches away from the side of Jenna’s bed.

Crystal didn’t know whether to scream or throw herself at him—an odd thought for someone who’d lived through what she had.

“Come on,” she whispered. Not wanting to chance seeing him do one more thoughtful thing, she turned and marched to the door, then glared at him as he crossed the room.

The moment he registered her annoyance was clear because the concerned expression slid off his face in exchange for a confused one. “What?” he whispered, closing the door without making a sound.

And that was when she realized. She’d been on the verge of cursing him out and tossing his unfairly sexy butt out the front door. But she didn’t know who it was she’d be cursing or tossing.

All this time he’d been in her house, and she’d never asked his name.

Smart, Crystal. Real smart.

And as much as she needed to stick with Plan A and make him go, that wasn’t what came out of her mouth. “I don’t even know your name,” she bit out.

He smiled.

Oh, my God, did he smile.

It was a smile that made her think of lazy summer afternoons spent lying in the sun. Warm and sweet and reassuring.

“Well, pardon my manners, darlin’.” He extended his big hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m Shane.”

“Shane, huh?” she said, dropping her gaze to his hand as he lowered it to his side again. Because the combination of the Southern lilt to his voice with that smile and that face was too much to take in all at once. “Just Shane?” She peered up under her lashes.

For an instant, those gray eyes narrowed. Assessing. Weighing. No way he was going to tell her his real name. Not after—

“Shane McCallan.” He said it in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone but her to hear.

And Crystal nearly gasped. If he’d have hit her, she would’ve been less surprised. Because her gut said he was telling the truth. And, God, that meant he’d just given her all kinds of power. And the intense cast of his gaze told her he was well aware of that, too.

“Shane McCallan,” she murmured, needing to try to name out on her tongue. Shaking away the sensation that the floor might be moving, she gestured him toward the living room.

“Wait,” he said, a thumb pointing over his shoulder. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

She couldn’t stop the eye roll. Because, suuure, why the hell not? He might as well just kick his shoes off and stay for dinner at this point.

He winked and turned for the door.

“Light switch is on the left,” she said.

He closed the door—quietly again—and Crystal stood there for a moment. When she realized she was staring at the door, like maybe she could will him out, she whirled and made a straight shot for the living room. Where she stood again, not knowing what to do with herself.

All at once, she became conscious of the apartment. When her father went to prison, they’d lost the house she and Jenna had lived in their whole lives to legal fees and their father’s debts to Church. And, with Bruno’s help, they’d landed at this inexpensive and not very nice apartment complex with a handful of their belongings they’d managed to hang on to. She’d been damn proud of every one of her garage-sale finds at the time, but now she wondered what Shane saw when he looked around. And would he wonder how a woman with a houseful of obvious hand-me-downs had afforded all the high-end media equipment? The flat-screen TV, various components, and stereo were all Bruno’s doing. His patience with her no-bells-and-whistles TV had lasted about five minutes.

Crystal fought the urge to plump the throw pillows, put her running shoes away, and try to make the yellowed blinds hang straight. She kept the place neat and homey for her and Jenna, but Crystal never worried about what others might think because she never had visitors. She paced into the galley-style kitchen and had to resist washing the breakfast dishes.

Gah! Whatever!

The only person who ever saw the inside of the place besides her and Jenna was Bruno. On a few rare instances, one of his guys had stopped by to see him on business. But Crystal could count the number of times that had happened on one hand.

Speaking of Bruno … Crystal tore her cell phone from her pocket and woke up the LED screen. Her shoulders sank in relief. She hadn’t missed any calls or texts while she’d been dealing with Jenna … and Shane. Bruno was obsessive about her responding immediately when he contacted her. A missed message could have him showing up at her door.

And that would be really, really bad right now.

Good thing he’d made it clear he wouldn’t be over tonight. And she felt confident in that. Because not only did he have a crisis to handle for Church, but he often stayed away for a day or two after he’d beat her. Like he didn’t want to see the evidence of his handiwork on her skin.

Frowning, she slipped her phone back into her jeans and wondered what the hell was taking Pretty Boy so long. Even though she now knew his name, she suspected the nickname wouldn’t disappear anytime soon from her thoughts.

Not that she’d be thinking about him or anything.

She rounded the doorway of the kitchen in time to see Shane turning out the bathroom light and striding up the short hallway toward her.

Guy had to be over six feet tall. And man, he moved in ways that made her curious about things she had no business being curious about. Like what someone so gentle and so kind and so mind-bogglingly sexy would be like in bed …

Heat immediately flooded her cheeks, the curse of her pale skin. At the same time, her stomach went on a roller-coaster ride. The thought of trying to be with someone else after what’d happened to her was like free-falling off the edge of a cliff—freeing and terrifying at the same time.

Shane lifted a single eyebrow, and it was like he knew she found him attractive. He was probably used to women throwing themselves at him, pretty as he was. His gaze trailed a quick but unmistakable path up and down her body, and she felt it like a physical caress. Her nipples pebbled under the thin cotton T-shirt, and arousal stirred through her blood in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe not ever.

And then he was right in front of her.

She wanted to retreat. She wanted to press herself against all that hard, male heat.

“So, what is it you want?” she asked instead, anxiety making the words come out more harshly than she’d intended.

Eyes like liquid silver, he stared at her so intently, she would’ve sworn he could see right into her soul. Then he shook his head, stepped to the bookshelf under the TV, and flicked a series of buttons on the stereo. Not so loud that it should disturb Jenna, a sexy, soulful song filled the air around them. “Do you like to dance, Crystal?” he asked in a low voice.

“Uh, what? Why?”

His smile was crooked, playful. “’Cause dancing’s something people do when they’re getting to know each other.”

“Really?” Maybe where he was from. Then again, she worked in a strip club. Dancing was something people did to make money. So, okay, maybe her view of dancing was a bit jaded.

“Absolutely. Ask anybody.” The song faded away, followed by the announcement of a Southern rock station’s call sign. A new song started, and Shane turned to her with a smile. “Dance with me.”

Crystal peered up at him without the slightest idea how to respond. Because her body was saying hell, yes!, while her brain was screaming bad idea, really, really bad idea.

He stepped closer, arms raised, expression full of all kinds of invitation.

The next thing she knew, her right hand was in his and her left had slipped around his neck. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ran over and over in her mind. What am I doing?

But then he tucked her hand against his chest and tugged her against him with the hand that settled at her lower back. And the closeness stole her breath.

He moved them to the beat of the song, a slow, sexy, bluesy number she didn’t know but would never forget. Some songs carried memories like the images were imprinted upon the very lyrics themselves, and she had no doubt this would be one of them.

All of a sudden, the air in the room felt ten degrees warmer. As they swayed to the beat, Shane’s body pressed against hers from thighs to chest. With every step and move and turn, Crystal’s breasts rubbed against the hard plane of his chest. Strong hands held and guided her body, making her want to feel them explore her everywhere. Arousal rose like a waking dragon inside her. Cautious. Curious. Dangerous.

This was wrong and stupid on so many levels. But, scary as it was, it felt so freaking good that she couldn’t force herself to pull away.

One song. It’s just a dance. Just a dance just a dance just a dance.

And, holy crap, she wasn’t the only one aroused.

Against her belly, Shane hardened.

Crystal sucked in a breath, and he pressed his lips close to her ear. “We’re just dancing here. That’s all. I promise,” he said.

But the adrenaline was already in her blood, setting her to a trembling she couldn’t control. Part curious interest and part instinctive fear.

“Sshh,” he almost cooed. “Just dancing.”

The echo of her own thoughts from a moment before allowed her to draw a breath that almost calmed. They turned and swayed to the music, moving closer, pressing tighter, Shane’s lips so close to her face that she could feel his breath shudder across her cheekbone.

He was a fire she had no business playing with. She knew that even as she leaned her face against his … and got exactly what she’d hoped for.

He kissed her.

Just a brush of his lips against her cheek, but a kiss all the same.

And as much as it made her head spin, it was the little catch of breath in the back of his throat that sent a jolt of electricity down her spine to settle low in her belly. Light as a feather, he caressed her cheek, her temple, her ear with his lips. With him, always such gentleness, so different from almost every other sexual experience she’d ever had. It made her feel safe to allow this to continue.

Between them, his erection was firm, long, totally unyielding. She shivered, caught between interest and fear, desire a river moving faster and faster inside her. The whole experience was a revelation—that her body had the capacity to respond this way, that a person existed who could pull these reactions from her.

For a moment, she gave herself over to the dizzying sensations. In her mind’s eye, she saw them undressing, fumbling their way back the hall, falling naked and wanting on the bed. What would it be like, just once, to take something that she wanted without worrying about anyone else, without being afraid? Just one wild, secret night, all for her? What would Shane be like?

The way the room started spinning around her made it clear Crystal wasn’t really up to finding that out. Not that it mattered. Because it would never happen anyway.

Crystal had been so deep into Shane, she didn’t hear the song ending. The moment of silence before the next song began captured her awareness, made her realize what she’d been doing—what she’d been wanting to do—and she gasped and jerked her face away from Shane’s worshipful lips.

“I know I can’t stay,” he said as if reading her mind. “Just give me one more song.”

That was two songs more than she should’ve ever agreed to. She knew it. But that didn’t stop her from nodding yes as the next song, a harder, faster, rock song with a driving beat, filled the room around them.

###

Shane was well aware he was wandering off the reservation, but damn it all to hell and back, Crystal was pushing every one of his buttons. Her soft, warm body pressed against his. Her hands held him tight. Her gaze was an open book, begging him to stay, pleading with him to kiss her again, but also making it clear that those desires scared the hell out of her.

No part of his plan had been about seducing her. He didn’t use sex to manipulate female informants. Ever. The music had been about blocking any listening devices that might’ve been planted in her apartment. And the dancing had been about getting them close enough to communicate despite the tunes.

It might’ve been an unnecessary precaution, but it didn’t seem too great a stretch to think that whoever she was afraid of, whoever had hit her, whoever had given her reason to believe that Shane would be willing to do that, too, might be controlling enough to keep tabs on her. Even in her home.

And, given that his bathroom visit had been a cover for planting a few bugs of his own—one in the handset of her bedroom landline, one on the molding above the bathroom door, and one just now on the side of the stereo blocked by a collection of picture frames—he had surveillance on the brain.

Except her touch, her heat, her closeness has chased his rational mind into a corner until all he could do was feel.

As Crystal swayed with him to the music, her fingers softly, maybe even unconsciously, stroking the skin of his neck, he felt like a total prick for violating her space that way. And none of the good rationales made that feeling go away. Not that she was their best lead for learning what was going on inside Confessions. Not that his gut told him she wouldn’t open up, at least not yet. Not that the devices might give him the ability to help Crystal and Jenna if some bad shit ever went down here.

In her beautiful, hesitant expression, he could see the war playing out inside her. To trust him or kick him to the curb. To push him away or pull him tighter. To accept his help or reinforce the fortress of walls she’d clearly built around her. And he knew those bugs were a risk.

In the final analysis, though, he’d done right by his team.

But that fact wasn’t doing near enough to stuff a sock in the piehole of his guilty conscience.

Unthinkingly, Shane pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. His mouth went dry, and he had to restrain the urge to taste her there. To taste her everywhere. Goddamn. “What’s your last name, Crystal?” he finally managed.

“What? Oh.” Pause. “Roberts. Crystal Roberts.”

Annnd there it was. The hesitation, the touch of perspiration on her hand, her pulse kicking up everywhere they touched. He didn’t know who Roberts was, but it wasn’t her. The lie didn’t surprise him one bit, though. Just meant he’d read her right.

“Well, I really need your help, Crystal Roberts. Before I go, can I ask you a few things?”

The question shot tension through her body, but Shane kept them moving to the beat of the song. “I don’t know.”

“Fair enough. My asking doesn’t mean you have to answer. Just remember that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, skepticism coloring her voice.

“Do you know why Church was holding my friend hostage?” he whispered against her ear.

“No.”

Truth.

He nodded, his cheek brushing hers. “Do you know who Church was supposed to meet with last night at Confessions?”

She shook her head, inserting a tiny pause. “No.”

Also truth. Though his gut told him she knew something even if it wasn’t who.

“You’re doing great. Just a few more. Were they holding anyone else with my friend?”

There went her pulse again. “Uh, no,” she said, though there was an upward lilt on the end of that last word that gave it the hint of a question.

“Are you sure?”

“He was the only one I saw,” she said, anger swirling into her tone.

Truth. And it was clear Crystal was practiced at answering questions in their most narrow constructs so that, in absolute terms, she could tell the truth.

Shane nodded. “Okay, okay. Just stick with me. Now, this next one’s a doozy. There’s no way to ask it without just asking it.”

She released a shaky breath. “What?”

Their voices remained soft, hidden under the musical umbrella of the song. The conversation was holding Crystal on the very edge of her tolerance for risk. Shane could feel the truth of that in her touch, in her reactions, in her very physiology. But he had to ask. “Is Church involved in trafficking girls?”

Sure enough, the tension in her sweet body ratcheted up under his hands. “I’m just a waitress.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his voice soft, calm.

“Why do you care?” she asked, still dodging the question. And, in so doing, giving him the answer.

Sadness slinked through his gut at the realization that, in her world, caring was apparently so rare it was noteworthy, and maybe even suspect. He didn’t need the firsthand experience of Molly’s loss to be outraged that women were bought and sold like commodities on a shelf. He cared because he was a human being who couldn’t stand injustice. And because he was a soldier who had the skills, training, and knowledge to do something about it. “’Cause maybe I could help.”

Click here to download the entire book: Laura Kaye’s Hard As You Can: A Hard Ink Novel>>>