Why should I provide my email address?

Start saving money today with our FREE daily newsletter packed with the best FREE and bargain Kindle book deals. We will never share your email address!
Sign Up Now!

Try Before You Buy! Free Excerpt of Sharon Hamilton’s super steamy military romance SEAL My Home

Last week we announced that Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL My Home is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

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

SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood 9)

by Sharon Hamilton

SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood 9)
4.6 stars – 24 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Bad boy Rory Kennedy was raised in foster care, bouncing in and out of trouble along the way. He finds his true family and real brothers as a Navy SEAL, one of the Navy’s elite warriors. When his BUD/S instructor barked the SEAL’s Motto: Only Easy Day Was Yesterday, he knew he had found home.Megan Palmer works in a bookstore and finds her passion in life through reading steamy romance novels. Her brief affair with a man she later found out was married has left her damaged, until she meets the handsome SEAL, who stands ready to open her world and give her things she’s only dreamed.

On a skiing trip, Rory suffers a possible career-ending injury and also comes face to face with a past he never knew of, and a family who had abandoned him. His relationship with Megan is tested to the breaking point as Rory wades through the dark waters of recovery and whether or not he can live without the life he loves. A home-grown terrorist cell forces his hand and he discovers his true purpose.

*  *  *

Free and Bargain Quality eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

button_subscribe

*  *  *

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

He didn’t have to be a Navy SEAL to understand Megan had a look about her that told him she’d not yet had her world rocked sufficiently. Special Operator Rory Kennedy figured once he got those big glasses off her and let her hair down, she’d be a beauty. She seemed to try especially hard to look plain and homely. He could see through all of that. Best of all, she liked to read and didn’t like to prattle on like so many of the San Diego crowd. He liked quiet girls who were not full of themselves.

He and his friends had commented often that women who were somewhat bookish and liked to read were the best lays. It was music to his ears when she told him she worked in the big bookstore downtown. That was where their first meet for coffee was arranged. And their second. And their third. She declined all his invitations to do something like lunch or dinner, and he decided he had the patience perhaps others wouldn’t have. He saw a prize under that plain brown paper wrapping and wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

He fantasized getting it on with her in her Santa suit, kissing her with the white moustache, getting her black velvet britches unzipped and pulled down so he could see what color panties she wore.

Does that mean I’m gay?

He answered himself by nearly choking on the latte.

No fuckin’ way I’m gay. He decided it was the velvet material and the anticipation of running his hand against her smooth thigh and then moving up to her midriff so he could feel her warm cleavage and get lost there.

He never admitted it to his fellow Team guys, but he loved those first encounters with a woman, especially a woman who hadn’t been awakened. Experienced women were a turn-off, as were those who wore lots of makeup and always had to be primping in front of a mirror. He liked it awkward for her. He planned to be careful, take it slow. He thought about what it would be like with her, everything fresh, new, and unspoiled. No baggage or track record. Just pure clean simple fun. Surprises under every bit of lace, under every moan she’d make. He loved gentling women, reassuring them they were beautiful, letting them know how much he enjoyed their company. He liked it when they developed the confidence to let the reins out a bit and see how far they’d fly and take him with them. If the truth were known. he wanted to see her desire for him more than he actually wanted to feel it.

It amused him she was dressed this way tonight. It brought back memories of his years growing up. He didn’t believe in Santa Claus when he was a child because there were no pictures of the benevolent St. Nick in the orphanage. He felt like Christmas was something other kids got to experience. Those were the kids who knew what a brother or sister was or what it felt like to be part of a family with real parents.

He recalled that one year the nuns put up a scrawny Christmas tree. Unlike pictures he’d seen in magazines, there were no presents under it. The Sisters removed the sad-looking spruce when Rory and a number of the boys took the glass ball ornaments outside and played catch until they exploded like snowballs.

They’d missed their dinner that night, but it had been worth it, he recalled. Their quiet giggles continued all through the evening. Instead of Christmas carols, they told ghost stories in the corner of the room they shared, secured at night with a sleepy nun sitting guard outside the door until morning. He took pride in the fact that he was part of the incorrigible boys, and though the oldest was seven, they had earned a reputation they liked: impossible to live with. They figured if they continued screwing up, they could stay together until their teens and then be a pack of friends “on the outside” as they referred to it. Despite the best efforts of the nuns, the cold, dark structure still felt like a children’s prison. In the five remaining years he lived there, he would never see another decoration reminding them of the holiday.

He angled his head and watched her until she looked up at him across the room, with her pale blue eyes, the dimple at the right of her light pink lips hidden by the glued-on facial hair. He could see the squint of a conspiratorial smile, and suddenly he was as hot for her as anyone he’d ever been with.

She finished the story to the clapping of small exuberant hands and the titters of several mothers who had gathered behind the semicircle of the rapt little audience. She signed some books as Santa, and then stood and straightened up her suit with the fake belly. Her black stretchy pants revealed just enough about her thighs and ass to drive him wild. Her boobs were enormous and having difficulty staying put behind the tight suit obviously made for a small male. He didn’t want to do her in the men’s bathroom, but damn, he sure felt like it. He couldn’t look in her eyes as she came up to him—his mind was so filled with dirty thoughts. Instead, he lowered his gaze to her chest, letting her get a glimpse of his lust for her. He figured it was way past time and she deserved to know his intentions even if he couldn’t tell her yet.

Her girlfriend, Brady’s wife, told Rory just yesterday that Megan was seriously interested in having a good time. Lindsay also whispered the magic words that Megan was very inexperienced and kind of intimidated by Rory, that he’d have to be careful. He knew Lindsay and her little breach of confidence were setting him up, but he didn’t mind one bit. He decided it was time to whisk Megan away to some place dark and dangerous, to help her with whatever fantasies she had about spending time with a SEAL. Whatever they were, he was happy to oblige.

“You want to go somewhere?” she asked. When he stared back into her pale blue eyes he saw fear residing there. He saw that she blushed a glowing shade of rose that made his groin react so fast he almost gasped.

“I’d like that, Megan.” He leaned in closer and kissed her on the ear. “Was hoping you’d be up for something other than coffee.”

She tilted her head and gave him a frown.

He wasn’t sure she’d understood him. “N-n-nothing wrong with coffee, sweetheart. Just thought a little change of scenery would be good.”

She blushed again, and he hoped she was having half the lush red thoughts he was having. Behind a shy smile, she continued softly, “I’ll go change.” Hoisting her backpack over one shoulder, she turned to head to the staff area. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back dangerously close to him.

His voice was raspy, and he was short of breath. “I always wanted to have a date with Santa. Sure as hell never had one when I was growing up,” he whispered. This last part was true. He’d never sat on Santa’s lap or had the luxury of being able to tell anyone what he wanted for Christmas as a child. Like he had a label affixed to his forehead that read, “Doesn’t deserve.”

“This material is scratchy though, Rory.”

“I can help you with that, sweetheart. No worries. I’m very easy to please, especially tonight.” He chased his comment with a smile.

Instantly, Megan’s cheeks flamed and her eyes skittered away from his. Rory did a quick location check around the store to make sure no youngsters had noticed them before he turned back to face her, stepped close enough to feel her body barely touch the entire length of his, and kissed her.

He felt how nervous she was, but also how needy. Her minted breath was punctuated by little catches and faint squeaking as if she tasted forbidden fruit. It sent waves of arousal down his spine. When they parted, he licked his lips to taste what she’d left behind. “Mmmmm. Nice, Megan.” He meant it.

She hesitated, then carefully placed her fingertips just below his shoulders, as if it was the first time she’d put her hands on a real man, and then allowed them to travel lazily across his pecs. He inhaled and let his chest cavity go huge which caused a flutter in her eyelids. No longer a skinny orphaned boy, he let her see how proud he was of his physique, how hard he had trained, how disciplined he was as a powerful killing machine. He could feel her heart thumping in a dull cadence. He let his right hand slip around her waist, barely touching the top of her ass with his fingers, which got the tiny reaction he was hoping for, the little inhale that told him she was afraid of him, but couldn’t stop herself. He pressed her thigh into his groin, maneuvering around the large Santa belly he wanted to get his hand under, loving the way they fit already, even with the costume. But mostly loving how she let him lead her.

He saw realization spread across her face that his body was hard and lean and he wasn’t afraid to show her what he intended to do. He smiled and said with his eyes on her lips, “You ready?”

She gave a nervous shrug, but allowed him to pull her backpack from her, sling it over his own shoulder, and tuck his other arm around her waist. She fit well next to him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

She pointed to her small red VW convertible partially obscured by a large white van. “You want to follow?” She was all pink and timid again as she removed her Santa hat and started to remove her beard.

“Hold on, sweetheart. I’ve been watching you read to those kids for the past hour, and I definitely have some plans for that outfit.”

She tented her eyebrows and shot him a questioning look. “Seriously?” She took a step backward and he followed, meeting her, not letting her get away, and whispering in her ear.

“You have no idea.” He kissed the side of her neck just under her ear and he heard her purr like a kitten.

So far so good.

As he followed behind Megan’s little VW, Rory recalled their first awkward meeting on a bright Saturday morning about three weeks ago. It had been a beautiful warm and cloudless winter day, so the chirping little birds had gotten an early start in the bright San Diego sunlight at 6:30 AM. The night before, he’d been at the Scupper, their local Team hangout and site for operations of the female kind, the pre-planning for something local or for discussing something happening overseas in the theater. But mostly it was to get shit-faced, talk smack and let off steam with several of his team buddies. Tyler and T.J. told him the early Saturday morning yoga class almost never had men in it. But it was loaded with frustrated, nubile young women who twisted themselves into some pretty suggestive poses, and who sometimes went out for coffee afterwards.

As he continued to follow her car down the narrow streets lined with old palm trees and modest stucco and red tiled homes, he smiled and a warm glow traveled all over his body as he thought about how it had gone.

He hadn’t been prepared for the tight yoga pants hugging their little asses, the colored toes and scrunchies holding up their hair with the special fluffed “come fuck me” look he loved. Coop’s father-in-law, the renowned psychiatrist Dr. Austin Brownlee, had diagnosed his itch to catch someone as being due to a lack of intimacy. Rory called it a failure to fuck. He was going to fix this before the weekend was up.

The nut-brown yoga instructor the girls all called Baba Omar, hid behind a salt and pepper beard, his large almond shaped eyes scanning every one of the lovelies. Rory was sure he too was surveying for his next sexual partner. He and the instructor were the only two males in the class.

Rory didn’t understand the terms, but soon understood by watching others what he was supposed to make his body do. This was sometimes difficult because he was looking right into the back of Megan’s ass, and God, did he wish the thin black seam that held her two butt cheeks together would fail. Her ass and thighs were encased in thin yoga pants with bright flowers down the leggings. He was praying for a major clothing malfunction. Something of epic proportions, and him right there to benefit from it. But God wouldn’t grant him that wish. Not yet.

With arms entwined in bent elbows, barely hooking thumbs together, backside of palms touching, he did the breathing exercises the little Indian man had shown them, but he felt like he was tied in a knot. Occasionally someone’s shirt would ride up and he’d get a view of the creamy midriff of one of the lovelies. Megan’s peachy complexion and her rose-colored lips were shockingly intimate on this Saturday morning as she closed her eyes, married her palms together and inhaled, her moist lips in a puckered “O,” sending her chest out toward the front of the room. He knew her nipples would be the same delicate shade of rose as her full lips, and that she would blotch on her chest when she got embarrassed or overly heated.

Rory noticed one of the ladies at the end of his row was using line of sight to get his attention and he pretended not to notice. The woman was very beautiful, and judging from her enhancements and careful efforts to hide her advanced age, she was obviously well off. He was not in the least bit interested in being a rich older woman’s date for coffee, no matter how much fun it would be and how well put together she was. He admired her for her efforts, but Megan’s naïve aura had snagged him completely. She simply enchanted him.

The instructor ended all his classes with a cow-cat breathing exercise, the class in a circle. The little brown yogi took the center, moving to face each student briefly while the warm-up breathing began. Once the powerful poses from rounded back of the cat to the swaying back of a cow intensified and the breathing became deeper and sucked the air out of the hot room, he began to get a boner. Instead of next to him on all fours, in Rory’s mind Megan was beneath him, begging to be penetrated. Each thrust of his hips got him harder and harder as he imagined plunging into her soft moist pussy and then out, only to plunge in again. This went on for nearly five minutes.

The teacher asked them to hold their breath and he gulped in air like it would be his last on earth, hoping his lungs would explode so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself with what he knew was coming next. As he exhaled, his cock erupted and would not stop. He collapsed on himself, thinking that would abruptly end it.

But he was wrong.

She had leaned forward, palms to the ground, her third eye pressing deliciously on the rubber mat of the studio, her breathing quieting down as in his mind he filled her cavity with everything he had. He grabbed the large green towel he’d brought to freshen up afterwards and pulled it to his pulsating groin area, rolled his neck to the side and looked at her. Her repose was sweet. The natural rhythm of her chest rising and falling, her knotted nipples daring to softly fall, barely grazing the mat. It was a thing of pure Michelangelo beauty.

At last, her blue eyes opened and, with a smoldering look, she viewed him, a question there he was sure.

“I just made love to you,” he whispered before he could stop himself, his voice cracking like a schoolboy. He watched her frown lines develop as she pretended not to hear. But he knew she had due to the blush streaking her cheeks. Her reddish-brown hair was piled high, nearly escaping the tightness of the scrunchie. At last, a trace of a smile started coming on, but she turned her long neck to the side and faced the other direction while her shoulders revealed a giggle she was trying to mask from him.

Perfect.

They headed for the co-ed lockers. The showers were occupied but he was able to get inside the men’s restroom in time to get a stall and wipe himself clean. He had not brought a replacement pair of pants, only a clean shirt, which he donned afterwards.

He thought perhaps he’d taken too long. The hallway was bustling with people, but Megan had already exited the studio, headed toward the parking lot, and he watched her drive away in her cherry red VW convertible. He hoped she was a regular and he would see her again soon.

That had been one heck of a way to meet a lady. Now, he watched her little VW pull into a shared driveway between two single story bungalows. She veered off to the left into a garage. Rory parked at the curb, stiffly got out of the car, and tried to walk casually toward the woman in red velvet, suppressing every dirty thought he didn’t have a right to think. He was thanking his lucky stars he’d managed to stay patient. The night was just coming on, the brilliant colors of dusk adding a peachy glow to everything, including her cheeks. He was on a mission after all. The plan had worked. He’d executed it about as well as he could, giving her time to decide to choose him.

Because he knew, the woman always chooses. He just had to wait until she did.

Click here to download the entire book:

SEAL My Home

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

A round of applause for KND brand new Romance of The Week! Sharon Hamilton’s super steamy military romance SEAL My Home

 Then you’ll love our magical Kindle book search tools that will help you find these great bargains in the Romance category:

And for the next week all of these great reading choices are sponsored by our Brand New Romance of the Week, Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL My Home:

SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood 9)

by Sharon Hamilton

SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood 9)
4.6 stars – 13 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

Bad boy Rory Kennedy was raised in foster care, bouncing in and out of trouble along the way. He finds his true family and real brothers as a Navy SEAL, one of the Navy’s elite warriors. When his BUD/S instructor barked the SEAL’s Motto: Only Easy Day Was Yesterday, he knew he had found home.

Megan Palmer works in a bookstore and finds her passion in life through reading steamy romance novels. Her brief affair with a man she later found out was married has left her damaged, until she meets the handsome SEAL, who stands ready to open her world and give her things she’s only dreamed.

On a skiing trip, Rory suffers a possible career-ending injury and also comes face to face with a past he never knew of, and a family who had abandoned him. His relationship with Megan is tested to the breaking point as Rory wades through the dark waters of recovery and whether or not he can live without the life he loves. A home-grown terrorist cell forces his hand and he discovers his true purpose.

5-star Amazon reviews

The love scenes are super hot. The action is on. The SEALs are back…”

This was a great read and I highly recommend it to those who like a story with some steamy chemistry and suspense. This is a story you want won’t to put down.”

Click here to visit Sharon Hamilton’s Amazon author page

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

3-in-1 Boxed Set Alert! Romance readers, it’s time to discover Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

Last call for KND free Romance excerpt:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

by Cynthia Eden

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3: Alpha OneGuardian RangerSharpshooter
 
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Harlequin Intrigue brings you a collection of reader favorites from the Shadow Agents series by New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden. Get all three edge-of-your-seat reads, now available for the first time in one volume!

ALPHA ONE
Juliana James has never forgotten the day Logan Quinn left her heart in pieces. But if she wants to stay alive, Juliana must trust the navy SEAL to protect her from a ruthless weapons dealer. Once she is safe, Logan will have a new mission: to get another chance with the woman he can’t lose again.

GUARDIAN RANGER
Veronica Lane knows that ex-Ranger Jasper Adams is the only man who can keep her safe. Posing as a ruthless mercenary is a cover for what Jasper is really doing—hunting a killer. What will happen once Veronica discovers that everything about him is a lie except his passion for her?

SHARPSHOOTER
Gunner Ortez has been watching Sydney Sloan’s back since he save her life two years ago. Sydney knows Gunner is her only hope at completing their hostage-rescue mission. But the ex-SEAL who arouses her passion also poses the greatest risk to the secret she carries in her heart…and in her belly.

*  *  *

Free and Bargain Quality eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

button_subscribe

*  *  *

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

ALPHA ONE

The first installment in the Shadow Agents series
by NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author
Cynthia Eden

 

 

If Juliana James wants to stay alive, then she must trust navy SEAL Logan Quinn. But trusting Logan isn’t easy…he’s the man who broke her heart ten years before.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

“You don’t deserve to die here.”

 

Juliana James looked up at the sound of the quiet voice. She couldn’t move her body much because she was still tied hand and foot to the chair in the dimly lit room. Tied with rough ropes that bit into her skin. Though she’d struggled for hours, she hadn’t been able to break free. She’d done nothing but slice open her flesh on the ropes.

 

“If you tell them…what they want to know…” He sighed. “They might let you go.”

 

Juliana swallowed and felt as if she were choking back shards of glass. How long had it been since they’d given her anything to drink? After swallowing a few more times, she managed, “I don’t know anything.” She was just trapped in a nightmare. One day, she’d been soaking up the sun on a Mexican beach, and the next—

 

Hello, hell.

 

It was a nightmare all right, and she desperately wanted to wake up from it. Ready to wake up—now.

 

John Gonzales, the man who’d been held captive with her for—what was it now? Three? Four days?—was slumped in his chair. She’d never met John until they were thrown together in this hell. They’d both been kidnapped from separate areas in Mexico. The men who’d abducted them kept coming and getting John, taking him.

 

Hurting him.

 

And she knew her time was coming.

 

“I’m not…perfect,” John’s ragged voice whispered to her. “But you…you didn’t do anything wrong… It was all your father.”

 

Her father. The not-so-honorable Senator Aaron James. She might not know who had taken her, but once her abductors had started asking their questions, Juliana had figured out fast that the abduction was payback for something the senator had done.

 

Daddy hadn’t raised a fool. Just, apparently, someone to die in his place.

 

Would he even care when he learned about what had happened to her? Or would he just hold a press conference and look appropriately saddened and grievous in front of all the cameras? She didn’t know, and that fact made her stomach knot even more.

 

Juliana exhaled slowly. “Perfect or not…” She didn’t know the things that John had done. Right then, they didn’t matter. He’d talked to her when she’d been trapped in the dark. He’d kept her sane during all of those long, terrible hours. “We’re both going to make it out of here.”

 

His rough laughter called her words a lie.

 

She’d only seen his face a few times, when the light was bright enough in the early mornings. Appearing a bit younger than her own thirty years, John had the dark good looks that had probably gotten him plenty of female attention since he was a teen.

 

Not now, though.

 

“Do you have any…regrets?” John asked her.

She saw his head tilt toward her as he waited for her response.

 

Juliana blinked against the tears that wanted to fill her eyes. Regrets? “A few.” One.

 

A pause. Then “You ever been in love, Juliana?”

 

“Once—” and in the dark, with only death waiting for her, she could admit this painful truth “—but Logan didn’t love me back.” Pity, because she’d never been able to—

 

The hinges on the door groaned as it opened. Juliana tensed, her whole body going tight with fear. John was already swearing, jerking against his binds, but…

 

But the men weren’t coming for him this time.

They were coming for her.

 

Juliana screamed.

 

Logan Quinn felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back. He didn’t move, not so much as a muscle twitch. He’d been in position for the past forty-three minutes, waiting for the go-ahead to move.

 

To storm that building and get Julie out of there.

 

Hold on, baby.

 

Not that she was his baby. Not anymore. But the minute Senator James had contacted him, asking for his help and the help of his team, Logan had known that trouble, serious trouble, had come to hunt him down.

 

Julie’s missing. You have to get her back.

 

That was all it had taken. Two sentences, and Logan had set his team up for a recovery mission in Mexico. His unit, part of the Elite Operations Division, didn’t take on just any case.

 

But for her, he’d do anything.

 

“There’s movement.” The words whispered into his ear via the comm link that all members of his recovery team used.

 

Logan barely breathed.

 

“I have a visual on the target.”

 

His heart raced faster. This was what they’d been waiting for. Movement and, hopefully…visual confirmation. They wouldn’t storm the place, not until—

“I see her. The girl’s being led down a hallway. There’s a knife at her throat.”

 

Visual confirmation.

 

Logan held his position even as fury pulsed within him. Juliana would be scared. Terrified. This was so far from the debutante balls in Mississippi that she knew. So far from the safe life she’d always wanted to lead.

 

He’d get her back to that life, then he’d walk away. Just as he had before.

 

“South side,” that same voice whispered in his ear. Male. Gunner Ortez, the SEAL sniper Uncle Sam had recruited for their black-ops division. A division most said didn’t exist.

 

They were wrong.

 

“Second door,” Gunner said, voice flat and hard as he marked the target location.

 

Finally, Logan moved. A shadow in the night, he didn’t make a single sound as he slipped into the building. To his right, Jasper Adams moved in perfect sync with him. The Ranger knew how to keep quiet just like Logan did. After all their training, stealth was second nature to them now.

 

Logan came up on the first guard, caught the scent of cigarettes and alcohol. One quick jab, and the guard’s body slumped back against him. He pulled the guy into the shadows, dropped him in the corner and signaled for Jasper to keep moving.

 

Then he heard her scream.

The blood in Logan’s body iced over. For a second, his vision seemed to go dark. Pain, fear— he could hear them both in Juliana’s scream. He rushed forward, edging fast on Jasper’s heels. Jasper knocked out the next guard, barely pausing.

 

Logan didn’t pause at all. He drew out his gun and—

 

“Please, I don’t know!” It was Juliana’s desperate voice. The voice he still heard in his dreams. Not soft with the South now, but high with terror.

 

They passed the first door. The second was just steps away. Hold on, hold on…

 

“Company!” Gunner’s terse warning blasted in his comm link. They barely had time to duck for cover before the rat-a-tat of gunfire smashed into the wall above them.

 

Made. Logan fired back, once, twice, aiming with near-instant precision. He heard a choked cry, then the thud of bodies as two men hit the ground. Jasper covered him, moving quickly, as Logan kicked open lucky door number two. With that gunfire, the men inside would either flee…

 

Or try to kill their prey.

 

Option number two damn well wasn’t going down on his watch.

 

But as Logan burst into the room, three men turned toward him. He fired at the guy on the left as the man drew his gun. The guy’s body hit the floor. Then Logan drove his fist into the face of the attacker on the right. But the one in the middle…the one with his knife pressed against Juliana’s throat…

 

Logan didn’t touch him. Not yet.

 

“Deje a la mujer ir,” Logan barked in perfect Spanish. Let the woman go.

 

Instead, the soon-to-be-dead fool cut her skin. Logan’s eyes narrowed. Wrong move.

 

“Vuelva o ella es muerta,” the guy snarled back at him. Step back or she’s dead.

 

Logan didn’t step back. He’d never been the type to retreat. His gaze darted to Juliana. She stared at him, eyes wide, body frozen. A black ski mask covered his head, so he knew she had no idea who he was. But Logan knew she’d always had a real fine grasp of the Spanish language. She understood exactly what the man had said to him.

 

“Step back.” Her lips moved almost soundlessly. “Please.” Then she repeated her plea in Spanish.

 

Still, he didn’t move. Beneath the ski mask, his jaw locked. He kept his gun up and aimed right at her attacker’s head. One shot…

 

“Vuelva o ella es muerta!” Now the guy yelled his warning and that knife dug deeper into Juliana’s pale throat.

 

Instead of backing up, Logan stepped forward. Juliana screamed—and then she started fighting. Her nails clawed at her captor’s hand, and she drew blood of her own. The guy swore and yanked back on her hair, but that move lifted the knife off her throat. Lifted it off just enough for Logan to attack.

 

He caught the man’s wrist, wrenched it back. Even as Logan yanked Juliana forward, he drove the guy’s wrist—and the knife—right back at the bastard’s own throat.

 

When the body hit the floor, Logan didn’t glance down. He pulled Juliana closer to him and tried to keep her attention off the dead men on the floor. “It’s all right,” he told her, attempting to sound soothing in the middle of hell. More gunfire echoed outside the small room. The sound was like the explosion of fireworks. The voice in his ear told him that two more men had just been taken out by Jasper. Good. The guy was clearing the way for their escape. Logan’s hands tightened on Juliana, and he said, “I’m gonna—”

 

She kneed him in the groin.

 

Logan was so caught off guard by the move that he let her go. She lunged away from him, yelling for all that she was worth.

 

“Damn it,” he growled and hissed out a breath, “I’m not here to hurt you!”

 

She’d yanked the knife out of the dead man’s throat. She came up with it clutched tightly in her white-knuckled grip. “You stay away from me!”

 

“Easy.” They didn’t have time for this. Logan knew that if he yanked up his mask and revealed his identity, she’d drop the weapon. But he had mission protocol ruling him right then. Their team was to stay covered during this rescue, until the target had been taken to the designated safe zone. No team member could afford to have his identity compromised at this site. Not until everything was secure.

 

“Back up and get out of my way,” Juliana snapped right back at him, showing the fire that had first drawn him to her years ago.

 

He hadn’t obeyed the dead guy. Did she really think he’d obey her?

 

But then Jasper leaped into the room at the same instant that Gunner barked on the comm link, “Extraction. Now.”

 

Logan caught the whiff of smoke in the air. Smoke…and the crackle of flames. Fire wasn’t part of the extraction plan.

 

“Two hostiles got away,” Jasper grunted, shifting his shoulders, and Logan wondered if he’d been hit. He’d seen the Ranger take three bullets before and keep fighting. One hit wouldn’t slow him down—Jasper wouldn’t let it slow him down. “And I think those fleeing hombres want to make sure we don’t get out alive with her.”

 

No, they wouldn’t want her escaping. Too bad for them. Logan spun for the window. Using his weapon and his fist, he broke the glass and shattered the old wooden frame. He glanced down at the street below. Second story. He could handle that drop in his sleep, but he’d have to take care with Juliana.

 

“Clear,” Gunner said in his ear, and Logan knew the guy was still tracking the team’s movement. “Go now…’cause that fire is coming hard for you.”

 

Juliana’s captors had probably rigged the place for a fast burn. The better to leave no evidence—or witnesses—behind.

 

Logan grabbed Juliana’s hand. She yelped. He hated that sound, hated that he’d had to hurt her, but now wasn’t the time for explanations.

 

The knife clattered to the floor.

 

Now was the time to get the hell out of there. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close against his body. “You’ll need to hold tight,” he told her, voice low and growling.

 

But Juliana shook her head at him. “I’m not going out that window. I have to—”

 

“You have to live,” Jasper said from his post at the door. “That fire’s coming, ma’am, and you need to get through that window now.”

 

She blinked. In the faint light, Logan saw the same dark chocolate eyes he remembered. Her face still as pretty. “Fire?” Then she sucked in a deep breath, and Logan knew she’d finally caught the scent of smoke and flames. “No!” She tried to rip out of his arms and lunge for the door.

 

Logan just hauled her right back against him. Now that he had her safe in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her get away.

 

“Area’s clear,” Gunner said in Logan’s earpiece. “Extract now.”

 

Logan tried to position Juliana for their drop. The woman twisted against him, moving like a slithering snake as she fought to wrench back and break free. “I’m not leaving!” she snapped at him. “Not without John!”

 

Who?

 

“Extract.” Gunner’s order.

 

“Stop fighting,” Logan told her when she twisted again. “We’re the good guys, and we came to take you to safety.”

 

She stilled for a moment. Heaving a deep breath, she said, “Me…and John.”

 

Seriously, who the hell was John?

 

“He’s back there.” Her hand lifted and one trembling finger pointed to the doorway. The doorway that was currently filling with smoke. “We have to get him out.”

 

No other civilians were in the building. Only Diego Guerrero’s killers. Logan’s team members were pulling back and—

 

“I’m not leaving without him!”

 

 

An explosion rocked the building. Juliana fell against Logan’s chest.

 

Jasper staggered. “Go time,” Logan heard him say.

 

And yeah, it was. Keeping a hold on Juliana, Logan tapped his receiver. “Is there another civilian here?” He had to be sure. He wouldn’t leave an innocent to burn.

 

He motioned for Jasper to take the leap out. He had Juliana; there was no need for the other agent to stay any longer. Jasper yanked out a cable from his pack and quickly set up an escape line. In seconds, he began to lower his body to the ground.

 

“Negative,” Gunner responded instantly. “Now move before your butt gets fried.”

 

Gunner wouldn’t make a mistake. He and Sydney Sloan had the best intel there was. No way would they send the team in without knowledge of another innocent in the perimeter.

 

Juliana blinked up at him. “Y-your voice…”

 

Aw, damn. He’d lost most of his Southern accent over the years, but every now and then, those Mississippi purrs would slip into his voice. Now wasn’t a good time for that slip.

 

“You’re goin’ out the window…” Another explosion shook the building. Her captors were packing some serious firepower. Definitely don’t want her getting away alive. “Your choice—you goin’ through awake or asleep?”

“There’s a man trapped back there! He’s tied up—he’ll burn to death.”

 

She wasn’t listening to him. Fine. He grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, held tight and dropped down on the line that Jasper had secured for him.

 

By the time she’d gotten any breath to scream, they were on the ground.

 

“Take her,” Logan ordered, shoving Juliana into Jasper’s arms. “Get her out of here.” She was the mission. Her safety was their number one priority.

 

But…

 

He’ll burn to death.

 

Logan wasn’t leaving a man behind.

 

He grabbed the cable and started hauling his butt back up into the fire.

 

“What the hell is he thinking?”

 

Juliana stared around her with wide eyes. She was surrounded by two men, both big, strong, towering well over her five foot eight inches. They had guns held in their hands, and they both wore black ski masks. Just like the other guy. The guy that, for a moment, had sounded exactly like—

 

“Alpha One,” the hulking shadow to her right said into his wrist. “Get back here before I have to drag you out of that inferno.” Wait, no, he wasn’t muttering into his wrist. He was talking into some kind of microphone.

 

Alpha One? That had to be the guy who’d jumped out of the window—with her in his arms. Her heart had stopped when he’d leaped out and she’d felt the rush of air on her body. Then she’d realized…he’d been holding on to some kind of rope. They hadn’t crashed into the cement. He’d lowered her, gotten her to safety, then gone back into the fire.

 

“There’s someone else inside… John…” Juliana whispered. The fire was raging now. Blowing out the bottom windows of that big, thick building. Her hell.

 

They were at least two hundred feet away from the fire now. Encased in shadows. Hidden so well. But…

 

But she couldn’t stop shaking. These men had saved her, and she’d just sent one of them right back to face the flames.

 

She couldn’t even see the men’s eyes as they glanced at her. The sky was so dark, starless. The only illumination came from the flames.

 

Then she heard a growl. A faint purr…and the man to her right yanked her back as a vehicle slid from the shadows. Juliana hadn’t even seen the van approaching. No headlights had cut through the night.

 

The van’s back doors flew open. “Let’s go!” a woman’s sharp voice ordered.

 

The men pretty much threw Juliana into the van.

“Where’s Alpha One?” the woman demanded. Juliana’s gaze flew to her. The woman had short hair, a delicate build, but Juliana couldn’t really discern anything else about her.

 

The man climbing in behind Juliana pointed to the blaze.

 

“Damn it.” The woman’s fist slammed into the dashboard.

 

But as Juliana glanced back at the fire, she saw a figure running toward them. His head was down, his body moving fluidly as he leaped across that field.

 

The van started to accelerate. Juliana grabbed on to the side of the vehicle. Were they just going to leave him? “Wait!”

 

“We can’t,” the woman gritted out as she glanced back from the driver’s seat. “That fire will attract every eye in the area. We need to be out of here yesterday.”

 

But—

 

But the guy was nearly at the van. One of the guys with her reached out a hand, and her “hero” caught it as he leaped toward them. When he landed on the floor of the van, the whole vehicle shuddered.

 

Juliana’s heart nearly pounded right out of her chest. Her hero was alone. “John?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Logan, what the hell?” the woman up front snapped. “You were supposed to be point on extraction,

not going back to—”

 

Logan?

 

A dull roar began to fill Juliana’s ears. There were thousands of Logans in the world. Probably dozens in the military.

 

Just because her Logan had left her ten years ago that didn’t mean…

 

“There was no sign of another hostage,” the guy—Logan—said, and his voice was deep and rumbling.

 

A shiver worked over her.

 

Juliana sat on the floor of the van, arms wrapped around her knees. She wanted to see his eyes, needed to, but it was far too dark inside the vehicle.

 

One of the other men leaned out and yanked the van doors closed. The sound of those metal doors shutting sounded like a scream.

 

“’Course there wasn’t another hostage!” This came from the woman. “She was the only civilian there. I told you that. Don’t go doubting my intel.”

 

He grunted as he levered himself up. Then he reached for Juliana.

 

She jerked away from him. “Take off that mask.” She could see now. Barely.

 

He pulled it up and tossed it aside. Not much better. She had a fast impression of close-cropped hair and a strong jaw. Without more light, there was nothing else to see.

She needed to see more.

 

“You’re safe now,” he told her, and his words were little more than a growl. “They can’t hurt

you anymore.”

 

His hand lifted, and his fingertips traced over her cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch and Juliana’s breath caught because… His touch is familiar.

 

His fingers slid down her cheek. Gentle. Light. It was a caress she’d felt before.

 

There were some things a woman never forgot—one was the touch of a man who’d left her with a broken heart.

 

This was her Logan. No, not hers. He never had been. “Thank you,” she whispered because he’d gotten her out of that nightmare, but she pulled away from his touch. Touching Logan Quinn had always been its own hell for her.

 

The van rushed along in the night. She didn’t know where they were heading. A heavy numbness seemed to have settled over her. John hadn’t made it out.

 

I’m not…perfect.

 

“We’re the good guys,” one of the other men said, his voice drawling slightly with the flow of Texas in his words. “Your father sent us after you. Before you know it, you’ll be home safe and sound. You’ll be—”

 

Rat-a-tat.

Juliana opened her mouth to scream as gunfire ripped into the vehicle, but in the next instant, she found herself thrown totally onto the floor of the van. Logan’s heavy body covered hers, and he trapped her beneath him.

 

“Get us out of here, Syd!” Texas yelled.

 

Juliana could barely breathe. Logan’s chest shoved down against hers, and the light stubble on his cheek brushed against her face.

 

“Hold on,” he told her, breathing the words into her ear. “Just a few more minutes…”

 

Air rushed into the van. Someone had opened the back door! Were they crazy? Why not just invite the shooters to aim at them and—

 

Three fast blasts of thunder—gunfire. Only, those shots came from the van. The men weren’t just waiting to be targets. They were taking out the shooters after them.

 

Three bullets. Then…silence.

 

“Got ’em,” Texas said just seconds before she heard the crash. A screech of metal and the shattering of glass.

 

The van lurched to the left, seeming to race away even faster.

 

Juliana looked up. Her eyes had adjusted more to the darkness now. She could almost see Logan’s features above her. Almost.

 

“Uh, Logan, you can probably get off her now,” that same drawling voice mocked.

But Logan didn’t move.

 

And Juliana was still barely breathing.

 

“Missed you.”

 

The words were so faint, she wasn’t even sure that she’d heard them. Actually, no, she couldn’t have heard them. Imagined them, yes. That had to be it. Because there was no way Logan had actually spoken. Logan Quinn was the big, strong badass who’d left her without a backward glance. He wouldn’t say something as sappy as that line.

 

Backbone, girl. Backbone. She’d survived her hell; no way would she break for a man now. “Are we safe?”

 

She felt, more than saw, his nod. “For now.”

 

Right. Well, she’d thought they were safe before, until the gunfire had blasted into the back of the van. But Texas had taken out the bad guys who’d managed to follow them. So that had to buy them at least a few minutes. And the way the woman was driving…

 

Eat our dust, jerks.

 

“Then, if we’re safe…” Juliana brought her hands up and shoved against his chest. Like rock. Some things never changed. “Get off me, Logan, now.”

 

He rose slowly, pulling her with him and then positioning her near the front of the van. Juliana was trembling—her body shaking with fear, fury and an adrenaline burst that she knew would fade soon. When it faded, she’d crash.

 

“Once we get out of Mexico, they’ll stop hunting you,” Logan said.

 

Juliana swallowed. Her throat still felt too parched, as if she’d swallowed broken glass, but now didn’t seem the time to ask for water. Maybe once they stopped fleeing through the night. Yes, that would be the better moment. “And…when…exactly…do we get out of Mexico?”

 

No one spoke. Not a good sign.

 

“In a little over twenty-four hours,” Logan answered.

 

What? No way. They could drive out of Mexico faster than that. Twenty-four hours didn’t even make—

 

“Guerrero controls the Federales near the border,” Logan told her, his voice flat. “No way do we get to just waltz out of this country with you.”

 

“Then…how?”

 

“We’re gonna fly, baby.”

 

Baby. She stiffened. She was not his baby, and if the guy hadn’t just saved her, she’d be tearing into him. But a woman had to be grateful…for now.

 

Without Logan and his team—and who, exactly, were they?—she’d be sampling the torture techniques of those men in that hellhole.

 

“We’ll be going out on a plane that sneaks right past any guards who are waiting. Guerrero’s paid cops won’t even know when we vanish.”

 

Sounded good, except for the whole waiting-for-twenty-four-hours part. “And until then? What do we do?”

 

She felt a movement in the dark, as if Logan were going to reach out and touch her, but he stopped. After a tense moment, a moment in which every muscle in her body tightened, he said, “We keep you alive.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Her scream woke him. Logan jerked awake at the sound, his heart racing. He’d fallen asleep moments before. Gunner and Jasper were on patrol duty around their temporary safe house. He jumped to his feet and raced toward the small “bedroom” area they’d designated for Juliana.

 

He threw open the door. “Julie!”

 

She was twisting on the floor, tangled in the one blanket they’d given to her. At his call, her eyes flew open. For a few seconds, she just stared blindly at him. Logan hurried to her. She wasn’t seeing him. Trapped in a nightmare, probably remembering the men who’d held her—

 

He reached out to her.

 

Juliana shuddered and her eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry.”

 

His hands clenched. The better not to grab her and hold her as tight as he could. But this was a mission. Things weren’t supposed to get personal between them.

 

Even though his body burned just looking at her.

 

Faint rays of sunlight trickled through the boarded-up window. Sydney had done reconnaissance for them and picked this safe house when they’d been planning the rescue. Secluded, the abandoned property was the perfect temporary base for them. They could hear company approaching from miles away. Since the property was situated on high land, they had the tactical advantage. They also had the firepower ready to knock out any attackers who might come their way.

 

And with that faint light, finally, he could see Juliana. She’d changed a lot over the past ten years. Her long mane was gone. Now the blond hair framed her heart-shaped face. Still as beautiful, to him, with her wide, dark eyes and full lips. She was still curved in all the right places. He’d always loved her lush hips and breasts. The woman could—

 

“Stop staring at me,” she whispered as she sat up.

 

Hell. He had been staring. Like a hungry wolf who wanted a bite so badly he could taste it. Taste her.

 

She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Is John dead?”

 

Logan didn’t let any expression cross his face. Here, he had to be careful. The team wasn’t ready to reveal all the intel they were still gathering. Another reason we aren’t slipping out of Mexico yet. They could have gotten her out faster, but his team didn’t like to leave loose ends behind. So a twenty-four-hour delay was standard protocol for them.

 

“I searched down that hallway,” he told her, and he’d found the room they’d been holding her in. Seen the ropes on the floor near not one, but two chairs. John had been there. Only, no one had been in the room by the time Logan got there. “I didn’t find another hostage.”

 

“They got him out?”

 

He didn’t want to lie to her. “Maybe.” He’d been trained at deception for so long, sometimes he wondered what the truth was.

 

He took a slow step toward her. She didn’t flinch away. That was something. “Did they…hurt you?”

 

She touched her cheek. He could see the faint bruise on her flesh. “Not as much as they hurt John. They’d come in and take him away, and later, I’d hear his screams.”

 

Another slow step, almost close enough to touch. “So they took you, but they never questioned you?”

 

“At first, they did.” She licked her lips. Now wasn’t the time to notice that her lips were as sexy as ever. It wasn’t the time, but he still noticed. He’d always noticed too much with her.

 

Not for me. Why did he have a problem getting that fact through his head?

 

They were thrown together at the moment, but once they got back to the United States, they’d be going their separate ways. Nothing had changed for him. The senator’s daughter wasn’t going to wind up with the son of a killer.

 

And now he was a killer, too.

 

Logan glanced down at his hands. No blood to see, but he knew it stained his hands. After all these years, there was no way to ever get his hands clean. Too much death marked him.

 

He was good at killing. His old man had been right about that. They’d both been good…

 

Too good.

 

Logan sucked in a deep breath. Focus. The past was buried, just like his father. “So when they were…questioning you…” The team needed this info and he had to ask. “Just what did they want to know?”

 

Her chin lifted. “They wanted to know about my father.” She paused. “What did he do this time?” Pain whispered beneath her words. Logan knew that Juliana had long ago dropped the rose-colored glasses when it came to her father.

 

As for what the guy had done this time…

 

Sold out his country, traded with an arms dealer, took blood money and thought that he’d get away scot-free. A normal day’s work for the senator. “I don’t know,” Logan said. The lies really were too easy. With her, it should have been harder.

 

She blinked. “You do.” She stood slowly and came close to him. Juliana tilted her head back as she looked up at him. At six foot three, he towered over her smaller frame. “But you’re not telling me.”

 

Being the guy’s daughter didn’t give her clearance. Logan was on Uncle Sam’s leash. The job was to get her home safely, not blow an operation that had been running in place for almost two years.

 

“What did you tell them about the senator?” Just how much did she know about his dark deeds?

 

“Nothing.” Her eyes were on his, dark and gorgeous, just like he remembered. “I didn’t tell them a thing about my father. I knew that if I talked they would just kill me once they had the information they needed.”

 

Yeah, they would have. He hated that bruise on her cheek. “So you didn’t talk, and they just left you alone?”

Her story just didn’t make sense. Unless Guerrero had been planning to use her as a bargaining tool and the guy had needed to keep her alive.

 

For a little longer, anyway.

 

Juliana shook her head and her hair slid against her chin. “When you found me…they’d taken me into the torture room.” She laughed, the sound brittle and so at odds with the soft laughter from his memory. “They were going to make me talk then. The same way they made John talk.”

 

But they’d waited four days. Not the standard M.O. for Guerrero’s group. All the signs were pointing where he didn’t want them to point. “This John…what did he look like?”

 

“Tall, dark…late twenties. He kept me sane, kept me talking all through those long hours.”

 

Yes, Logan just bet he had. But “tall and dark” could be anyone. He needed more info than that.

 

“You get a good look at his face?” Logan asked.

 

She nodded.

 

He offered her what he hoped was an easy smile. “Good enough that you could probably talk to a sketch artist back in the States? Get us a clear picture?”

 

A furrow appeared between her eyes.

 

“We’ll need to search the missing-person’s database,” he told her. Liar, liar. “A close image will help us find out exactly who John was.”

 

She nodded and her lips twisted. “I can do better than meet with your sketch artist.” Her shoulders moved in a little roll. “Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I’ll draw John’s image for you.”

 

He tried not to let his satisfaction show. Juliana was an artist; he knew that. Sure, she usually worked with oils, but he remembered a time when she’d always carried a sketchbook with her.

 

She’d always been able to draw anything or anyone…in an instant.

 

“We’ll want sketches of every man or woman you saw while you were being held.”

 

Now her shoulders straightened. “Done.”

 

Hell, yes. This could be just the break they needed.

 

“I want these men caught. I want them stopped.”

 

So did he, and Logan wasn’t planning on backing off this mission, not until Guerrero was locked up.

 

The mission wasn’t over. In fact, it might just be getting started.

 

He turned away from her. “Try to get some more sleep.” They could take care of the sketches soon enough. For the moment, he needed to go talk with his team to tell them about his suspicions.

 

But she touched him. Her hand wrapped around his arm and every muscle in Logan’s body tightened. “Why did you come for me? Why you, Logan?”

 

He glanced down at her hand. Touching him was dangerous. She should have remembered that.

He’d always enjoyed the feel of her flesh against his far too much.

 

With Juliana, only with her, he’d never been able to hold back.

 

Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d run so far. He knew just how dangerous he could be to her.

 

“The senator came to our unit.” Yes, that was his voice already hardening with desire—just from her touch. “He wanted you brought to safety.”

 

“Your unit?” Her fingers tightened on him.

 

He gave a brief nod. “We’re not exactly on the books.” As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the EOD, or Elite Operations Division, didn’t exist. The group, a hybrid formed of recruited navy SEALs, Rangers and intelligence officers from the FBI and CIA, was sent in for the most covert missions. Hostage retrieval. Extreme and unconventional warfare. They were the ones to take lethal, direct attacks…because some targets had to be taken out, no matter the cost.

 

“Does your unit—your team—have a name?”

 

Not an official one. “We’re called the Shadow Agents.” Their code name because their goal was to move as softly as a shadow. To stalk their prey and complete the mission with a minimum amount of exposure.

 

They always got the job done.

“My father really came to you? How did he even know you were—” Her hand fell away, and he missed her touch. Close enough to kiss, but never close enough to take.

 

It was the story of his life.

 

“He didn’t come to me for help.” The senator had nearly doubled over when he’d seen Logan sitting across the desk from him. “He came to my division, the EOD—the Elite Ops Division.” Because the FBI had sent him there. The senator still had power and pull in D.C., enough connections to get an appointment with the EOD.

 

Juliana shook her head. “I didn’t think he’d try to get me back.” A whisper of the lost girl she’d been, so many years ago, trembled in her words. Lost…but not clueless.

 

She knew her father too well. The mission to Mexico hadn’t just been about her. And if Juliana knew the full truth about the trade-off that had been made in that quiet D.C. office, she’d realize that she’d been betrayed by them both, again.

 

As if the first betrayal hadn’t been hard enough for him to stomach. For years, he’d woken to find himself reaching for her and realizing that she’d forever be out of his hands.

 

But she’s not out of reach right now.

 

He turned fully toward her, almost helpless, and caught her chin in his fingers. “I was getting you back.” Logan recognized his mistake. He was letting this case get personal, and that was the last thing he should be doing.

 

Hands off. Get her on the plane. Deliver her home.

 

Walk away.

 

But it had been so long since he’d held her. Even longer since he’d kissed her. One moment of weakness…would it really hurt? Would it really—

 

She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

 

Yes.

 

Logan let his control go. For that moment with her, he just let go. Logan’s arms closed around her as he pulled her against him. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he could feel the tight points of her nipples. She had perfect breasts. He remembered them so well. Pretty and pink and just right for his mouth.

 

And her mouth…nothing was better than her mouth. At twenty, she’d tasted of innocence. Now she tasted of need.

 

Seduction, at that moment, from her, wasn’t what he’d expected. But it sure was what he wanted. His hands tightened around her, and he held her as close as he could. His tongue thrust against hers. The moan, low in her throat, was a sound he’d never forgotten. Arousal hardened his body as her hands slid under his shirt and her nails raked across his flesh.

 

She was hot. Wild.

But this was wrong.

 

So why wasn’t he stopping? Why was he putting his hands on her curving hips and urging her up against the flesh that ached for her? Why was he pushing her back against the wall so that he could trap her there with his body?

 

Because I need her.

 

The addiction was just as strong as ever, just as dangerous to them both.

 

He jerked his head up and stared down at her. Juliana’s breath panted out. Her lips were red, swollen from his mouth. He wanted to kiss her again. One hot minute wasn’t close to making up for the past ten years.

 

A taste, when he was starving for the full course.

 

Get her naked. Take her.

 

She’d been through hell. She didn’t need this. Him.

 

He sucked in a sharp breath and tasted her. “This can’t happen,” Logan said, voice growling.

 

At his words, the hunger, the passion that had been on her face and in her eyes cooled almost instantly.

 

“Julie—”

 

But she shoved against him. “Sorry.”

 

He wasn’t. Not for the kiss, anyway. For being a jerk and turning away? Yes.

 

 

But making love then, with his teammates in the next room? He wouldn’t do that to her.

 

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.” She walked away from him and didn’t look back. “I don’t want this. I don’t want—”

 

She broke off, but Logan stiffened because he could too easily finish her sentence.

 

You.

 

Adrenaline. The afterburn. He understood it, had been through enough battles and enough desperate hours after them to know what it was like when the spike of adrenaline filled your blood and then burned away.

 

He headed for the door and kept his shoulders straight, like the good soldier he was supposed to be. “You should try to get some more sleep.”

 

They weren’t out of the woods yet. Until they were back in the United States, until death wasn’t hanging over her head, he would be her shadow.

 

That was his job.

 

Since they’d been forced together, he figured she deserved the warning he’d give her, and he’d tell her only once. “If I get you in my arms again like that…” His hand closed around the old doorknob, tightened, almost broke it off. Logan forced himself to exhale. If I get you in my arms again… He glanced back and found her wide, dark eyes on his. “I won’t stop. I played the gentleman this time.”

 

Right. Gentleman. Because he knew so much about that bit.

Her eyes said the same.

 

His jaw clenched. “I’ll be damned if I do it again. You offer,” he warned, “and I’ll take.”

 

Not the smooth words a woman needed to hear after her ordeal in captivity, but there wasn’t much more he could say. So he left. While he still could.

 

And of course, Jasper was waiting for him in the other room. The guy lifted a blond brow. His face, one of those pretty-boy faces that always fooled the enemy, hinted at his amusement. “Now I get it,” he drawled.

 

Angry, aroused, close to desperate, Logan barely bit back the crude retort that rose to his lips. But Jasper was a friend, a teammate.

 

“You’re always looking for the blondes with dark eyes,” Jasper teased as he tapped his chin. “Wherever we go, you usually seem to hook up with one.”

 

He was right.

 

Jasper smirked. “Now I know why.” The briefest pause as he studied Logan. “How do they all compare with the original model?”

 

Logan glared at his friend. There is no comparison. Instead of responding to Jasper, Logan stalked off to trade out for his guard shift.

 

Senator Aaron James stared down at the gun in his hands. Things weren’t supposed to end this way. Not for him. He’d had such big plans.

 

 

Easy money. The perfect life. So much power.

 

And everything was falling apart, slipping away.

 

The phone on his desk rang. His private line. Jaw clenching, he reached for the receiver. “J-James.” He hated the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid. Everyone else was supposed to fear him.

 

Once, they had.

 

Until he’d met Diego Guerrero. Then he’d learned a whole new meaning of fear.

 

“She’s dead.” The voice was low, taunting. No accent. Just cold. Deadly.

 

Diego.

 

Aaron’s hand clenched around the receiver. “Juliana wasn’t part of this.”

 

“You made her part of it.”

 

His gaze dropped to the gun. “She’s not dead.” He’d gotten the intel, knew that Juliana had been rescued. The price for that rescue had been so high.

 

His life.

 

“You think this will stop me?” Laughter. “I’ll hunt her down. I’ll get what I want.”

 

Diego and his men never stopped. Never. They’d once burned a whole village to the ground in order to send a message to rivals. And I thought I could control him? Perspiration slicked Aaron’s palms. “I made the deals for you. The weapons were transferred. We’re clear.”

More laughter. “No, we’re not. But we will be, once I get back the evidence you’ve been stashing.”

 

Aaron’s heart stopped.

 

“Did you think I didn’t know about that? How else would you have gotten the agents to come for her? You made a trade, didn’t you, James?”

 

“She’s my daughter.” He hadn’t been able to let her just die. Once, she’d run to him, smiling, with her arms open. I love you, Daddy. So long ago. He’d wrecked their life together. Thrown it all away but…

 

I wasn’t letting her die.

 

“I want the evidence.”

 

He’d tried to be so careful. He’d written down the names, the dates of all the deals. He’d gotten recordings and created a safety net for himself.

 

But now he was realizing that he’d never be safe. Not from Guerrero.

 

“I’ll get the evidence.” A deadly promise from his caller. “I’ll get you, and I’ll kill her.”

 

The phone line went dead.

 

Aaron swallowed once, twice, trying to relieve the dryness in his throat. Things had been going fine with Guerrero until…I got greedy.

 

So he’d taken a little extra money, just twenty million dollars. It had seemed so easy. Sneak a little money away from each deal. Aaron had considered the cash to be a…finder’s fee, of sorts.

He’d found the ones who wanted the weapons. He’d set up the deals.

 

Didn’t he deserve a bit of a bonus payment for his work? He’d thought so. But then Guerrero had found out. Guerrero had wanted the money back. When Guerrero started making his demands, Aaron had threatened to use the evidence he had against the arms dealer…

 

My mistake. Aaron now realized what a fool he’d been. You couldn’t bluff against the man called El Diablo. The devil would never back down.

Click here to download the entire book:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

A special treat for romance fans! Enjoy a free sample from Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

Last week we announced that Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3 is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3, you’re in for a real treat:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

by Cynthia Eden

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3: Alpha OneGuardian RangerSharpshooter
 
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Harlequin Intrigue brings you a collection of reader favorites from the Shadow Agents series by New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden. Get all three edge-of-your-seat reads, now available for the first time in one volume!

ALPHA ONE
Juliana James has never forgotten the day Logan Quinn left her heart in pieces. But if she wants to stay alive, Juliana must trust the navy SEAL to protect her from a ruthless weapons dealer. Once she is safe, Logan will have a new mission: to get another chance with the woman he can’t lose again.

GUARDIAN RANGER
Veronica Lane knows that ex-Ranger Jasper Adams is the only man who can keep her safe. Posing as a ruthless mercenary is a cover for what Jasper is really doing—hunting a killer. What will happen once Veronica discovers that everything about him is a lie except his passion for her?

SHARPSHOOTER
Gunner Ortez has been watching Sydney Sloan’s back since he save her life two years ago. Sydney knows Gunner is her only hope at completing their hostage-rescue mission. But the ex-SEAL who arouses her passion also poses the greatest risk to the secret she carries in her heart…and in her belly.

*  *  *

Free and Bargain Quality eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

button_subscribe

*  *  *

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

ALPHA ONE

The first installment in the Shadow Agents series
by NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author
Cynthia Eden

 

 

If Juliana James wants to stay alive, then she must trust navy SEAL Logan Quinn. But trusting Logan isn’t easy…he’s the man who broke her heart ten years before.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

“You don’t deserve to die here.”

 

Juliana James looked up at the sound of the quiet voice. She couldn’t move her body much because she was still tied hand and foot to the chair in the dimly lit room. Tied with rough ropes that bit into her skin. Though she’d struggled for hours, she hadn’t been able to break free. She’d done nothing but slice open her flesh on the ropes.

 

“If you tell them…what they want to know…” He sighed. “They might let you go.”

 

Juliana swallowed and felt as if she were choking back shards of glass. How long had it been since they’d given her anything to drink? After swallowing a few more times, she managed, “I don’t know anything.” She was just trapped in a nightmare. One day, she’d been soaking up the sun on a Mexican beach, and the next—

 

Hello, hell.

 

It was a nightmare all right, and she desperately wanted to wake up from it. Ready to wake up—now.

 

John Gonzales, the man who’d been held captive with her for—what was it now? Three? Four days?—was slumped in his chair. She’d never met John until they were thrown together in this hell. They’d both been kidnapped from separate areas in Mexico. The men who’d abducted them kept coming and getting John, taking him.

 

Hurting him.

 

And she knew her time was coming.

 

“I’m not…perfect,” John’s ragged voice whispered to her. “But you…you didn’t do anything wrong… It was all your father.”

 

Her father. The not-so-honorable Senator Aaron James. She might not know who had taken her, but once her abductors had started asking their questions, Juliana had figured out fast that the abduction was payback for something the senator had done.

 

Daddy hadn’t raised a fool. Just, apparently, someone to die in his place.

 

Would he even care when he learned about what had happened to her? Or would he just hold a press conference and look appropriately saddened and grievous in front of all the cameras? She didn’t know, and that fact made her stomach knot even more.

 

Juliana exhaled slowly. “Perfect or not…” She didn’t know the things that John had done. Right then, they didn’t matter. He’d talked to her when she’d been trapped in the dark. He’d kept her sane during all of those long, terrible hours. “We’re both going to make it out of here.”

 

His rough laughter called her words a lie.

 

She’d only seen his face a few times, when the light was bright enough in the early mornings. Appearing a bit younger than her own thirty years, John had the dark good looks that had probably gotten him plenty of female attention since he was a teen.

 

Not now, though.

 

“Do you have any…regrets?” John asked her.

She saw his head tilt toward her as he waited for her response.

 

Juliana blinked against the tears that wanted to fill her eyes. Regrets? “A few.” One.

 

A pause. Then “You ever been in love, Juliana?”

 

“Once—” and in the dark, with only death waiting for her, she could admit this painful truth “—but Logan didn’t love me back.” Pity, because she’d never been able to—

 

The hinges on the door groaned as it opened. Juliana tensed, her whole body going tight with fear. John was already swearing, jerking against his binds, but…

 

But the men weren’t coming for him this time.

They were coming for her.

 

Juliana screamed.

 

Logan Quinn felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back. He didn’t move, not so much as a muscle twitch. He’d been in position for the past forty-three minutes, waiting for the go-ahead to move.

 

To storm that building and get Julie out of there.

 

Hold on, baby.

 

Not that she was his baby. Not anymore. But the minute Senator James had contacted him, asking for his help and the help of his team, Logan had known that trouble, serious trouble, had come to hunt him down.

 

Julie’s missing. You have to get her back.

 

That was all it had taken. Two sentences, and Logan had set his team up for a recovery mission in Mexico. His unit, part of the Elite Operations Division, didn’t take on just any case.

 

But for her, he’d do anything.

 

“There’s movement.” The words whispered into his ear via the comm link that all members of his recovery team used.

 

Logan barely breathed.

 

“I have a visual on the target.”

 

His heart raced faster. This was what they’d been waiting for. Movement and, hopefully…visual confirmation. They wouldn’t storm the place, not until—

“I see her. The girl’s being led down a hallway. There’s a knife at her throat.”

 

Visual confirmation.

 

Logan held his position even as fury pulsed within him. Juliana would be scared. Terrified. This was so far from the debutante balls in Mississippi that she knew. So far from the safe life she’d always wanted to lead.

 

He’d get her back to that life, then he’d walk away. Just as he had before.

 

“South side,” that same voice whispered in his ear. Male. Gunner Ortez, the SEAL sniper Uncle Sam had recruited for their black-ops division. A division most said didn’t exist.

 

They were wrong.

 

“Second door,” Gunner said, voice flat and hard as he marked the target location.

 

Finally, Logan moved. A shadow in the night, he didn’t make a single sound as he slipped into the building. To his right, Jasper Adams moved in perfect sync with him. The Ranger knew how to keep quiet just like Logan did. After all their training, stealth was second nature to them now.

 

Logan came up on the first guard, caught the scent of cigarettes and alcohol. One quick jab, and the guard’s body slumped back against him. He pulled the guy into the shadows, dropped him in the corner and signaled for Jasper to keep moving.

 

Then he heard her scream.

The blood in Logan’s body iced over. For a second, his vision seemed to go dark. Pain, fear— he could hear them both in Juliana’s scream. He rushed forward, edging fast on Jasper’s heels. Jasper knocked out the next guard, barely pausing.

 

Logan didn’t pause at all. He drew out his gun and—

 

“Please, I don’t know!” It was Juliana’s desperate voice. The voice he still heard in his dreams. Not soft with the South now, but high with terror.

 

They passed the first door. The second was just steps away. Hold on, hold on…

 

“Company!” Gunner’s terse warning blasted in his comm link. They barely had time to duck for cover before the rat-a-tat of gunfire smashed into the wall above them.

 

Made. Logan fired back, once, twice, aiming with near-instant precision. He heard a choked cry, then the thud of bodies as two men hit the ground. Jasper covered him, moving quickly, as Logan kicked open lucky door number two. With that gunfire, the men inside would either flee…

 

Or try to kill their prey.

 

Option number two damn well wasn’t going down on his watch.

 

But as Logan burst into the room, three men turned toward him. He fired at the guy on the left as the man drew his gun. The guy’s body hit the floor. Then Logan drove his fist into the face of the attacker on the right. But the one in the middle…the one with his knife pressed against Juliana’s throat…

 

Logan didn’t touch him. Not yet.

 

“Deje a la mujer ir,” Logan barked in perfect Spanish. Let the woman go.

 

Instead, the soon-to-be-dead fool cut her skin. Logan’s eyes narrowed. Wrong move.

 

“Vuelva o ella es muerta,” the guy snarled back at him. Step back or she’s dead.

 

Logan didn’t step back. He’d never been the type to retreat. His gaze darted to Juliana. She stared at him, eyes wide, body frozen. A black ski mask covered his head, so he knew she had no idea who he was. But Logan knew she’d always had a real fine grasp of the Spanish language. She understood exactly what the man had said to him.

 

“Step back.” Her lips moved almost soundlessly. “Please.” Then she repeated her plea in Spanish.

 

Still, he didn’t move. Beneath the ski mask, his jaw locked. He kept his gun up and aimed right at her attacker’s head. One shot…

 

“Vuelva o ella es muerta!” Now the guy yelled his warning and that knife dug deeper into Juliana’s pale throat.

 

Instead of backing up, Logan stepped forward. Juliana screamed—and then she started fighting. Her nails clawed at her captor’s hand, and she drew blood of her own. The guy swore and yanked back on her hair, but that move lifted the knife off her throat. Lifted it off just enough for Logan to attack.

 

He caught the man’s wrist, wrenched it back. Even as Logan yanked Juliana forward, he drove the guy’s wrist—and the knife—right back at the bastard’s own throat.

 

When the body hit the floor, Logan didn’t glance down. He pulled Juliana closer to him and tried to keep her attention off the dead men on the floor. “It’s all right,” he told her, attempting to sound soothing in the middle of hell. More gunfire echoed outside the small room. The sound was like the explosion of fireworks. The voice in his ear told him that two more men had just been taken out by Jasper. Good. The guy was clearing the way for their escape. Logan’s hands tightened on Juliana, and he said, “I’m gonna—”

 

She kneed him in the groin.

 

Logan was so caught off guard by the move that he let her go. She lunged away from him, yelling for all that she was worth.

 

“Damn it,” he growled and hissed out a breath, “I’m not here to hurt you!”

 

She’d yanked the knife out of the dead man’s throat. She came up with it clutched tightly in her white-knuckled grip. “You stay away from me!”

 

“Easy.” They didn’t have time for this. Logan knew that if he yanked up his mask and revealed his identity, she’d drop the weapon. But he had mission protocol ruling him right then. Their team was to stay covered during this rescue, until the target had been taken to the designated safe zone. No team member could afford to have his identity compromised at this site. Not until everything was secure.

 

“Back up and get out of my way,” Juliana snapped right back at him, showing the fire that had first drawn him to her years ago.

 

He hadn’t obeyed the dead guy. Did she really think he’d obey her?

 

But then Jasper leaped into the room at the same instant that Gunner barked on the comm link, “Extraction. Now.”

 

Logan caught the whiff of smoke in the air. Smoke…and the crackle of flames. Fire wasn’t part of the extraction plan.

 

“Two hostiles got away,” Jasper grunted, shifting his shoulders, and Logan wondered if he’d been hit. He’d seen the Ranger take three bullets before and keep fighting. One hit wouldn’t slow him down—Jasper wouldn’t let it slow him down. “And I think those fleeing hombres want to make sure we don’t get out alive with her.”

 

No, they wouldn’t want her escaping. Too bad for them. Logan spun for the window. Using his weapon and his fist, he broke the glass and shattered the old wooden frame. He glanced down at the street below. Second story. He could handle that drop in his sleep, but he’d have to take care with Juliana.

 

“Clear,” Gunner said in his ear, and Logan knew the guy was still tracking the team’s movement. “Go now…’cause that fire is coming hard for you.”

 

Juliana’s captors had probably rigged the place for a fast burn. The better to leave no evidence—or witnesses—behind.

 

Logan grabbed Juliana’s hand. She yelped. He hated that sound, hated that he’d had to hurt her, but now wasn’t the time for explanations.

 

The knife clattered to the floor.

 

Now was the time to get the hell out of there. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close against his body. “You’ll need to hold tight,” he told her, voice low and growling.

 

But Juliana shook her head at him. “I’m not going out that window. I have to—”

 

“You have to live,” Jasper said from his post at the door. “That fire’s coming, ma’am, and you need to get through that window now.”

 

She blinked. In the faint light, Logan saw the same dark chocolate eyes he remembered. Her face still as pretty. “Fire?” Then she sucked in a deep breath, and Logan knew she’d finally caught the scent of smoke and flames. “No!” She tried to rip out of his arms and lunge for the door.

 

Logan just hauled her right back against him. Now that he had her safe in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her get away.

 

“Area’s clear,” Gunner said in Logan’s earpiece. “Extract now.”

 

Logan tried to position Juliana for their drop. The woman twisted against him, moving like a slithering snake as she fought to wrench back and break free. “I’m not leaving!” she snapped at him. “Not without John!”

 

Who?

 

“Extract.” Gunner’s order.

 

“Stop fighting,” Logan told her when she twisted again. “We’re the good guys, and we came to take you to safety.”

 

She stilled for a moment. Heaving a deep breath, she said, “Me…and John.”

 

Seriously, who the hell was John?

 

“He’s back there.” Her hand lifted and one trembling finger pointed to the doorway. The doorway that was currently filling with smoke. “We have to get him out.”

 

No other civilians were in the building. Only Diego Guerrero’s killers. Logan’s team members were pulling back and—

 

“I’m not leaving without him!”

 

 

An explosion rocked the building. Juliana fell against Logan’s chest.

 

Jasper staggered. “Go time,” Logan heard him say.

 

And yeah, it was. Keeping a hold on Juliana, Logan tapped his receiver. “Is there another civilian here?” He had to be sure. He wouldn’t leave an innocent to burn.

 

He motioned for Jasper to take the leap out. He had Juliana; there was no need for the other agent to stay any longer. Jasper yanked out a cable from his pack and quickly set up an escape line. In seconds, he began to lower his body to the ground.

 

“Negative,” Gunner responded instantly. “Now move before your butt gets fried.”

 

Gunner wouldn’t make a mistake. He and Sydney Sloan had the best intel there was. No way would they send the team in without knowledge of another innocent in the perimeter.

 

Juliana blinked up at him. “Y-your voice…”

 

Aw, damn. He’d lost most of his Southern accent over the years, but every now and then, those Mississippi purrs would slip into his voice. Now wasn’t a good time for that slip.

 

“You’re goin’ out the window…” Another explosion shook the building. Her captors were packing some serious firepower. Definitely don’t want her getting away alive. “Your choice—you goin’ through awake or asleep?”

“There’s a man trapped back there! He’s tied up—he’ll burn to death.”

 

She wasn’t listening to him. Fine. He grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, held tight and dropped down on the line that Jasper had secured for him.

 

By the time she’d gotten any breath to scream, they were on the ground.

 

“Take her,” Logan ordered, shoving Juliana into Jasper’s arms. “Get her out of here.” She was the mission. Her safety was their number one priority.

 

But…

 

He’ll burn to death.

 

Logan wasn’t leaving a man behind.

 

He grabbed the cable and started hauling his butt back up into the fire.

 

“What the hell is he thinking?”

 

Juliana stared around her with wide eyes. She was surrounded by two men, both big, strong, towering well over her five foot eight inches. They had guns held in their hands, and they both wore black ski masks. Just like the other guy. The guy that, for a moment, had sounded exactly like—

 

“Alpha One,” the hulking shadow to her right said into his wrist. “Get back here before I have to drag you out of that inferno.” Wait, no, he wasn’t muttering into his wrist. He was talking into some kind of microphone.

 

Alpha One? That had to be the guy who’d jumped out of the window—with her in his arms. Her heart had stopped when he’d leaped out and she’d felt the rush of air on her body. Then she’d realized…he’d been holding on to some kind of rope. They hadn’t crashed into the cement. He’d lowered her, gotten her to safety, then gone back into the fire.

 

“There’s someone else inside… John…” Juliana whispered. The fire was raging now. Blowing out the bottom windows of that big, thick building. Her hell.

 

They were at least two hundred feet away from the fire now. Encased in shadows. Hidden so well. But…

 

But she couldn’t stop shaking. These men had saved her, and she’d just sent one of them right back to face the flames.

 

She couldn’t even see the men’s eyes as they glanced at her. The sky was so dark, starless. The only illumination came from the flames.

 

Then she heard a growl. A faint purr…and the man to her right yanked her back as a vehicle slid from the shadows. Juliana hadn’t even seen the van approaching. No headlights had cut through the night.

 

The van’s back doors flew open. “Let’s go!” a woman’s sharp voice ordered.

 

The men pretty much threw Juliana into the van.

“Where’s Alpha One?” the woman demanded. Juliana’s gaze flew to her. The woman had short hair, a delicate build, but Juliana couldn’t really discern anything else about her.

 

The man climbing in behind Juliana pointed to the blaze.

 

“Damn it.” The woman’s fist slammed into the dashboard.

 

But as Juliana glanced back at the fire, she saw a figure running toward them. His head was down, his body moving fluidly as he leaped across that field.

 

The van started to accelerate. Juliana grabbed on to the side of the vehicle. Were they just going to leave him? “Wait!”

 

“We can’t,” the woman gritted out as she glanced back from the driver’s seat. “That fire will attract every eye in the area. We need to be out of here yesterday.”

 

But—

 

But the guy was nearly at the van. One of the guys with her reached out a hand, and her “hero” caught it as he leaped toward them. When he landed on the floor of the van, the whole vehicle shuddered.

 

Juliana’s heart nearly pounded right out of her chest. Her hero was alone. “John?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Logan, what the hell?” the woman up front snapped. “You were supposed to be point on extraction,

not going back to—”

 

Logan?

 

A dull roar began to fill Juliana’s ears. There were thousands of Logans in the world. Probably dozens in the military.

 

Just because her Logan had left her ten years ago that didn’t mean…

 

“There was no sign of another hostage,” the guy—Logan—said, and his voice was deep and rumbling.

 

A shiver worked over her.

 

Juliana sat on the floor of the van, arms wrapped around her knees. She wanted to see his eyes, needed to, but it was far too dark inside the vehicle.

 

One of the other men leaned out and yanked the van doors closed. The sound of those metal doors shutting sounded like a scream.

 

“’Course there wasn’t another hostage!” This came from the woman. “She was the only civilian there. I told you that. Don’t go doubting my intel.”

 

He grunted as he levered himself up. Then he reached for Juliana.

 

She jerked away from him. “Take off that mask.” She could see now. Barely.

 

He pulled it up and tossed it aside. Not much better. She had a fast impression of close-cropped hair and a strong jaw. Without more light, there was nothing else to see.

She needed to see more.

 

“You’re safe now,” he told her, and his words were little more than a growl. “They can’t hurt

you anymore.”

 

His hand lifted, and his fingertips traced over her cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch and Juliana’s breath caught because… His touch is familiar.

 

His fingers slid down her cheek. Gentle. Light. It was a caress she’d felt before.

 

There were some things a woman never forgot—one was the touch of a man who’d left her with a broken heart.

 

This was her Logan. No, not hers. He never had been. “Thank you,” she whispered because he’d gotten her out of that nightmare, but she pulled away from his touch. Touching Logan Quinn had always been its own hell for her.

 

The van rushed along in the night. She didn’t know where they were heading. A heavy numbness seemed to have settled over her. John hadn’t made it out.

 

I’m not…perfect.

 

“We’re the good guys,” one of the other men said, his voice drawling slightly with the flow of Texas in his words. “Your father sent us after you. Before you know it, you’ll be home safe and sound. You’ll be—”

 

Rat-a-tat.

Juliana opened her mouth to scream as gunfire ripped into the vehicle, but in the next instant, she found herself thrown totally onto the floor of the van. Logan’s heavy body covered hers, and he trapped her beneath him.

 

“Get us out of here, Syd!” Texas yelled.

 

Juliana could barely breathe. Logan’s chest shoved down against hers, and the light stubble on his cheek brushed against her face.

 

“Hold on,” he told her, breathing the words into her ear. “Just a few more minutes…”

 

Air rushed into the van. Someone had opened the back door! Were they crazy? Why not just invite the shooters to aim at them and—

 

Three fast blasts of thunder—gunfire. Only, those shots came from the van. The men weren’t just waiting to be targets. They were taking out the shooters after them.

 

Three bullets. Then…silence.

 

“Got ’em,” Texas said just seconds before she heard the crash. A screech of metal and the shattering of glass.

 

The van lurched to the left, seeming to race away even faster.

 

Juliana looked up. Her eyes had adjusted more to the darkness now. She could almost see Logan’s features above her. Almost.

 

“Uh, Logan, you can probably get off her now,” that same drawling voice mocked.

But Logan didn’t move.

 

And Juliana was still barely breathing.

 

“Missed you.”

 

The words were so faint, she wasn’t even sure that she’d heard them. Actually, no, she couldn’t have heard them. Imagined them, yes. That had to be it. Because there was no way Logan had actually spoken. Logan Quinn was the big, strong badass who’d left her without a backward glance. He wouldn’t say something as sappy as that line.

 

Backbone, girl. Backbone. She’d survived her hell; no way would she break for a man now. “Are we safe?”

 

She felt, more than saw, his nod. “For now.”

 

Right. Well, she’d thought they were safe before, until the gunfire had blasted into the back of the van. But Texas had taken out the bad guys who’d managed to follow them. So that had to buy them at least a few minutes. And the way the woman was driving…

 

Eat our dust, jerks.

 

“Then, if we’re safe…” Juliana brought her hands up and shoved against his chest. Like rock. Some things never changed. “Get off me, Logan, now.”

 

He rose slowly, pulling her with him and then positioning her near the front of the van. Juliana was trembling—her body shaking with fear, fury and an adrenaline burst that she knew would fade soon. When it faded, she’d crash.

 

“Once we get out of Mexico, they’ll stop hunting you,” Logan said.

 

Juliana swallowed. Her throat still felt too parched, as if she’d swallowed broken glass, but now didn’t seem the time to ask for water. Maybe once they stopped fleeing through the night. Yes, that would be the better moment. “And…when…exactly…do we get out of Mexico?”

 

No one spoke. Not a good sign.

 

“In a little over twenty-four hours,” Logan answered.

 

What? No way. They could drive out of Mexico faster than that. Twenty-four hours didn’t even make—

 

“Guerrero controls the Federales near the border,” Logan told her, his voice flat. “No way do we get to just waltz out of this country with you.”

 

“Then…how?”

 

“We’re gonna fly, baby.”

 

Baby. She stiffened. She was not his baby, and if the guy hadn’t just saved her, she’d be tearing into him. But a woman had to be grateful…for now.

 

Without Logan and his team—and who, exactly, were they?—she’d be sampling the torture techniques of those men in that hellhole.

 

“We’ll be going out on a plane that sneaks right past any guards who are waiting. Guerrero’s paid cops won’t even know when we vanish.”

 

Sounded good, except for the whole waiting-for-twenty-four-hours part. “And until then? What do we do?”

 

She felt a movement in the dark, as if Logan were going to reach out and touch her, but he stopped. After a tense moment, a moment in which every muscle in her body tightened, he said, “We keep you alive.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Her scream woke him. Logan jerked awake at the sound, his heart racing. He’d fallen asleep moments before. Gunner and Jasper were on patrol duty around their temporary safe house. He jumped to his feet and raced toward the small “bedroom” area they’d designated for Juliana.

 

He threw open the door. “Julie!”

 

She was twisting on the floor, tangled in the one blanket they’d given to her. At his call, her eyes flew open. For a few seconds, she just stared blindly at him. Logan hurried to her. She wasn’t seeing him. Trapped in a nightmare, probably remembering the men who’d held her—

 

He reached out to her.

 

Juliana shuddered and her eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry.”

 

His hands clenched. The better not to grab her and hold her as tight as he could. But this was a mission. Things weren’t supposed to get personal between them.

 

Even though his body burned just looking at her.

 

Faint rays of sunlight trickled through the boarded-up window. Sydney had done reconnaissance for them and picked this safe house when they’d been planning the rescue. Secluded, the abandoned property was the perfect temporary base for them. They could hear company approaching from miles away. Since the property was situated on high land, they had the tactical advantage. They also had the firepower ready to knock out any attackers who might come their way.

 

And with that faint light, finally, he could see Juliana. She’d changed a lot over the past ten years. Her long mane was gone. Now the blond hair framed her heart-shaped face. Still as beautiful, to him, with her wide, dark eyes and full lips. She was still curved in all the right places. He’d always loved her lush hips and breasts. The woman could—

 

“Stop staring at me,” she whispered as she sat up.

 

Hell. He had been staring. Like a hungry wolf who wanted a bite so badly he could taste it. Taste her.

 

She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Is John dead?”

 

Logan didn’t let any expression cross his face. Here, he had to be careful. The team wasn’t ready to reveal all the intel they were still gathering. Another reason we aren’t slipping out of Mexico yet. They could have gotten her out faster, but his team didn’t like to leave loose ends behind. So a twenty-four-hour delay was standard protocol for them.

 

“I searched down that hallway,” he told her, and he’d found the room they’d been holding her in. Seen the ropes on the floor near not one, but two chairs. John had been there. Only, no one had been in the room by the time Logan got there. “I didn’t find another hostage.”

 

“They got him out?”

 

He didn’t want to lie to her. “Maybe.” He’d been trained at deception for so long, sometimes he wondered what the truth was.

 

He took a slow step toward her. She didn’t flinch away. That was something. “Did they…hurt you?”

 

She touched her cheek. He could see the faint bruise on her flesh. “Not as much as they hurt John. They’d come in and take him away, and later, I’d hear his screams.”

 

Another slow step, almost close enough to touch. “So they took you, but they never questioned you?”

 

“At first, they did.” She licked her lips. Now wasn’t the time to notice that her lips were as sexy as ever. It wasn’t the time, but he still noticed. He’d always noticed too much with her.

 

Not for me. Why did he have a problem getting that fact through his head?

 

They were thrown together at the moment, but once they got back to the United States, they’d be going their separate ways. Nothing had changed for him. The senator’s daughter wasn’t going to wind up with the son of a killer.

 

And now he was a killer, too.

 

Logan glanced down at his hands. No blood to see, but he knew it stained his hands. After all these years, there was no way to ever get his hands clean. Too much death marked him.

 

He was good at killing. His old man had been right about that. They’d both been good…

 

Too good.

 

Logan sucked in a deep breath. Focus. The past was buried, just like his father. “So when they were…questioning you…” The team needed this info and he had to ask. “Just what did they want to know?”

 

Her chin lifted. “They wanted to know about my father.” She paused. “What did he do this time?” Pain whispered beneath her words. Logan knew that Juliana had long ago dropped the rose-colored glasses when it came to her father.

 

As for what the guy had done this time…

 

Sold out his country, traded with an arms dealer, took blood money and thought that he’d get away scot-free. A normal day’s work for the senator. “I don’t know,” Logan said. The lies really were too easy. With her, it should have been harder.

 

She blinked. “You do.” She stood slowly and came close to him. Juliana tilted her head back as she looked up at him. At six foot three, he towered over her smaller frame. “But you’re not telling me.”

 

Being the guy’s daughter didn’t give her clearance. Logan was on Uncle Sam’s leash. The job was to get her home safely, not blow an operation that had been running in place for almost two years.

 

“What did you tell them about the senator?” Just how much did she know about his dark deeds?

 

“Nothing.” Her eyes were on his, dark and gorgeous, just like he remembered. “I didn’t tell them a thing about my father. I knew that if I talked they would just kill me once they had the information they needed.”

 

Yeah, they would have. He hated that bruise on her cheek. “So you didn’t talk, and they just left you alone?”

Her story just didn’t make sense. Unless Guerrero had been planning to use her as a bargaining tool and the guy had needed to keep her alive.

 

For a little longer, anyway.

 

Juliana shook her head and her hair slid against her chin. “When you found me…they’d taken me into the torture room.” She laughed, the sound brittle and so at odds with the soft laughter from his memory. “They were going to make me talk then. The same way they made John talk.”

 

But they’d waited four days. Not the standard M.O. for Guerrero’s group. All the signs were pointing where he didn’t want them to point. “This John…what did he look like?”

 

“Tall, dark…late twenties. He kept me sane, kept me talking all through those long hours.”

 

Yes, Logan just bet he had. But “tall and dark” could be anyone. He needed more info than that.

 

“You get a good look at his face?” Logan asked.

 

She nodded.

 

He offered her what he hoped was an easy smile. “Good enough that you could probably talk to a sketch artist back in the States? Get us a clear picture?”

 

A furrow appeared between her eyes.

 

“We’ll need to search the missing-person’s database,” he told her. Liar, liar. “A close image will help us find out exactly who John was.”

 

She nodded and her lips twisted. “I can do better than meet with your sketch artist.” Her shoulders moved in a little roll. “Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I’ll draw John’s image for you.”

 

He tried not to let his satisfaction show. Juliana was an artist; he knew that. Sure, she usually worked with oils, but he remembered a time when she’d always carried a sketchbook with her.

 

She’d always been able to draw anything or anyone…in an instant.

 

“We’ll want sketches of every man or woman you saw while you were being held.”

 

Now her shoulders straightened. “Done.”

 

Hell, yes. This could be just the break they needed.

 

“I want these men caught. I want them stopped.”

 

So did he, and Logan wasn’t planning on backing off this mission, not until Guerrero was locked up.

 

The mission wasn’t over. In fact, it might just be getting started.

 

He turned away from her. “Try to get some more sleep.” They could take care of the sketches soon enough. For the moment, he needed to go talk with his team to tell them about his suspicions.

 

But she touched him. Her hand wrapped around his arm and every muscle in Logan’s body tightened. “Why did you come for me? Why you, Logan?”

 

He glanced down at her hand. Touching him was dangerous. She should have remembered that.

He’d always enjoyed the feel of her flesh against his far too much.

 

With Juliana, only with her, he’d never been able to hold back.

 

Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d run so far. He knew just how dangerous he could be to her.

 

“The senator came to our unit.” Yes, that was his voice already hardening with desire—just from her touch. “He wanted you brought to safety.”

 

“Your unit?” Her fingers tightened on him.

 

He gave a brief nod. “We’re not exactly on the books.” As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the EOD, or Elite Operations Division, didn’t exist. The group, a hybrid formed of recruited navy SEALs, Rangers and intelligence officers from the FBI and CIA, was sent in for the most covert missions. Hostage retrieval. Extreme and unconventional warfare. They were the ones to take lethal, direct attacks…because some targets had to be taken out, no matter the cost.

 

“Does your unit—your team—have a name?”

 

Not an official one. “We’re called the Shadow Agents.” Their code name because their goal was to move as softly as a shadow. To stalk their prey and complete the mission with a minimum amount of exposure.

 

They always got the job done.

“My father really came to you? How did he even know you were—” Her hand fell away, and he missed her touch. Close enough to kiss, but never close enough to take.

 

It was the story of his life.

 

“He didn’t come to me for help.” The senator had nearly doubled over when he’d seen Logan sitting across the desk from him. “He came to my division, the EOD—the Elite Ops Division.” Because the FBI had sent him there. The senator still had power and pull in D.C., enough connections to get an appointment with the EOD.

 

Juliana shook her head. “I didn’t think he’d try to get me back.” A whisper of the lost girl she’d been, so many years ago, trembled in her words. Lost…but not clueless.

 

She knew her father too well. The mission to Mexico hadn’t just been about her. And if Juliana knew the full truth about the trade-off that had been made in that quiet D.C. office, she’d realize that she’d been betrayed by them both, again.

 

As if the first betrayal hadn’t been hard enough for him to stomach. For years, he’d woken to find himself reaching for her and realizing that she’d forever be out of his hands.

 

But she’s not out of reach right now.

 

He turned fully toward her, almost helpless, and caught her chin in his fingers. “I was getting you back.” Logan recognized his mistake. He was letting this case get personal, and that was the last thing he should be doing.

 

Hands off. Get her on the plane. Deliver her home.

 

Walk away.

 

But it had been so long since he’d held her. Even longer since he’d kissed her. One moment of weakness…would it really hurt? Would it really—

 

She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

 

Yes.

 

Logan let his control go. For that moment with her, he just let go. Logan’s arms closed around her as he pulled her against him. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he could feel the tight points of her nipples. She had perfect breasts. He remembered them so well. Pretty and pink and just right for his mouth.

 

And her mouth…nothing was better than her mouth. At twenty, she’d tasted of innocence. Now she tasted of need.

 

Seduction, at that moment, from her, wasn’t what he’d expected. But it sure was what he wanted. His hands tightened around her, and he held her as close as he could. His tongue thrust against hers. The moan, low in her throat, was a sound he’d never forgotten. Arousal hardened his body as her hands slid under his shirt and her nails raked across his flesh.

 

She was hot. Wild.

But this was wrong.

 

So why wasn’t he stopping? Why was he putting his hands on her curving hips and urging her up against the flesh that ached for her? Why was he pushing her back against the wall so that he could trap her there with his body?

 

Because I need her.

 

The addiction was just as strong as ever, just as dangerous to them both.

 

He jerked his head up and stared down at her. Juliana’s breath panted out. Her lips were red, swollen from his mouth. He wanted to kiss her again. One hot minute wasn’t close to making up for the past ten years.

 

A taste, when he was starving for the full course.

 

Get her naked. Take her.

 

She’d been through hell. She didn’t need this. Him.

 

He sucked in a sharp breath and tasted her. “This can’t happen,” Logan said, voice growling.

 

At his words, the hunger, the passion that had been on her face and in her eyes cooled almost instantly.

 

“Julie—”

 

But she shoved against him. “Sorry.”

 

He wasn’t. Not for the kiss, anyway. For being a jerk and turning away? Yes.

 

 

But making love then, with his teammates in the next room? He wouldn’t do that to her.

 

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.” She walked away from him and didn’t look back. “I don’t want this. I don’t want—”

 

She broke off, but Logan stiffened because he could too easily finish her sentence.

 

You.

 

Adrenaline. The afterburn. He understood it, had been through enough battles and enough desperate hours after them to know what it was like when the spike of adrenaline filled your blood and then burned away.

 

He headed for the door and kept his shoulders straight, like the good soldier he was supposed to be. “You should try to get some more sleep.”

 

They weren’t out of the woods yet. Until they were back in the United States, until death wasn’t hanging over her head, he would be her shadow.

 

That was his job.

 

Since they’d been forced together, he figured she deserved the warning he’d give her, and he’d tell her only once. “If I get you in my arms again like that…” His hand closed around the old doorknob, tightened, almost broke it off. Logan forced himself to exhale. If I get you in my arms again… He glanced back and found her wide, dark eyes on his. “I won’t stop. I played the gentleman this time.”

 

Right. Gentleman. Because he knew so much about that bit.

Her eyes said the same.

 

His jaw clenched. “I’ll be damned if I do it again. You offer,” he warned, “and I’ll take.”

 

Not the smooth words a woman needed to hear after her ordeal in captivity, but there wasn’t much more he could say. So he left. While he still could.

 

And of course, Jasper was waiting for him in the other room. The guy lifted a blond brow. His face, one of those pretty-boy faces that always fooled the enemy, hinted at his amusement. “Now I get it,” he drawled.

 

Angry, aroused, close to desperate, Logan barely bit back the crude retort that rose to his lips. But Jasper was a friend, a teammate.

 

“You’re always looking for the blondes with dark eyes,” Jasper teased as he tapped his chin. “Wherever we go, you usually seem to hook up with one.”

 

He was right.

 

Jasper smirked. “Now I know why.” The briefest pause as he studied Logan. “How do they all compare with the original model?”

 

Logan glared at his friend. There is no comparison. Instead of responding to Jasper, Logan stalked off to trade out for his guard shift.

 

Senator Aaron James stared down at the gun in his hands. Things weren’t supposed to end this way. Not for him. He’d had such big plans.

 

 

Easy money. The perfect life. So much power.

 

And everything was falling apart, slipping away.

 

The phone on his desk rang. His private line. Jaw clenching, he reached for the receiver. “J-James.” He hated the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid. Everyone else was supposed to fear him.

 

Once, they had.

 

Until he’d met Diego Guerrero. Then he’d learned a whole new meaning of fear.

 

“She’s dead.” The voice was low, taunting. No accent. Just cold. Deadly.

 

Diego.

 

Aaron’s hand clenched around the receiver. “Juliana wasn’t part of this.”

 

“You made her part of it.”

 

His gaze dropped to the gun. “She’s not dead.” He’d gotten the intel, knew that Juliana had been rescued. The price for that rescue had been so high.

 

His life.

 

“You think this will stop me?” Laughter. “I’ll hunt her down. I’ll get what I want.”

 

Diego and his men never stopped. Never. They’d once burned a whole village to the ground in order to send a message to rivals. And I thought I could control him? Perspiration slicked Aaron’s palms. “I made the deals for you. The weapons were transferred. We’re clear.”

More laughter. “No, we’re not. But we will be, once I get back the evidence you’ve been stashing.”

 

Aaron’s heart stopped.

 

“Did you think I didn’t know about that? How else would you have gotten the agents to come for her? You made a trade, didn’t you, James?”

 

“She’s my daughter.” He hadn’t been able to let her just die. Once, she’d run to him, smiling, with her arms open. I love you, Daddy. So long ago. He’d wrecked their life together. Thrown it all away but…

 

I wasn’t letting her die.

 

“I want the evidence.”

 

He’d tried to be so careful. He’d written down the names, the dates of all the deals. He’d gotten recordings and created a safety net for himself.

 

But now he was realizing that he’d never be safe. Not from Guerrero.

 

“I’ll get the evidence.” A deadly promise from his caller. “I’ll get you, and I’ll kill her.”

 

The phone line went dead.

 

Aaron swallowed once, twice, trying to relieve the dryness in his throat. Things had been going fine with Guerrero until…I got greedy.

 

So he’d taken a little extra money, just twenty million dollars. It had seemed so easy. Sneak a little money away from each deal. Aaron had considered the cash to be a…finder’s fee, of sorts.

He’d found the ones who wanted the weapons. He’d set up the deals.

 

Didn’t he deserve a bit of a bonus payment for his work? He’d thought so. But then Guerrero had found out. Guerrero had wanted the money back. When Guerrero started making his demands, Aaron had threatened to use the evidence he had against the arms dealer…

 

My mistake. Aaron now realized what a fool he’d been. You couldn’t bluff against the man called El Diablo. The devil would never back down.

Click here to download the entire book:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

3-in-1 Bestseller BOXED SET ALERT!
Cynthia Eden’s Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

 Then you’ll love our magical Kindle book search tools that will help you find these great bargains in the Romance category:

And for the next week all of these great reading choices are sponsored by our Brand New Romance of the Week, Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

by Cynthia Eden

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3: Alpha OneGuardian RangerSharpshooter
 
Text-to-Speech: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

Harlequin Intrigue brings you a collection of reader favorites from the Shadow Agents series by New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden. Get all three edge-of-your-seat reads, now available for the first time in one volume!

ALPHA ONE
Juliana James has never forgotten the day Logan Quinn left her heart in pieces. But if she wants to stay alive, Juliana must trust the navy SEAL to protect her from a ruthless weapons dealer. Once she is safe, Logan will have a new mission: to get another chance with the woman he can’t lose again.

GUARDIAN RANGER
Veronica Lane knows that ex-Ranger Jasper Adams is the only man who can keep her safe. Posing as a ruthless mercenary is a cover for what Jasper is really doing—hunting a killer. What will happen once Veronica discovers that everything about him is a lie…except his passion for her?

SHARPSHOOTER
Gunner Ortez has been watching Sydney Sloan’s back since he save her life two years ago. Sydney knows Gunner is her only hope at completing their hostage-rescue mission. But the ex-SEAL who arouses her passion also poses the greatest risk to the secret she carries in her heart…and in her belly.

About the author:

Award-winning author Cynthia Eden writes dark tales of paranormal romance and romantic suspense. She is a New York Times, USA Today, Digital Book World, and IndieReader best-seller. Cynthia is also a two-time finalist for the RITA® award (she was a finalist both in the romantic suspense category and in the paranormal romance category). Since she began writing full-time in 2005, Cynthia has written over fifty novels and novellas.

Cynthia lives along the Alabama Gulf Coast. She loves romance novels, horror movies, and chocolate. Her favorite hobbies including hiking in the mountains (searching for waterfalls) and spelunking.

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

Last call for FREE excerpt from Elizabeth McKenna’s historical romance Venice in the Moonlight

Last call for KND free Romance excerpt:

Venice in the Moonlight

by Elizabeth McKenna

Venice in the Moonlight
4.3 stars – 38 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Considered useless by his cold-hearted father, Nico Foscari, eldest son of one of the founding families in Venice, hides his pain behind gambling, drinking and womanizing.After her husband’s untimely demise, Marietta Gatti returns to her hometown of Venice in hopes of starting a new life and finding the happiness that was missing in her forced marriage.When Fate throws them together, friendship begins to grow into love until Marietta learns a Foscari family secret that may have cost her father his life. Now, she must choose between vengeance, forgiveness, and love.

Elizabeth McKenna’s latest novel takes you back to eighteenth century Carnival, where lovers meet discreetly, and masks make everyone equal.

*  *  *

Free and Bargain Quality eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

button_subscribe

*  *  *

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

Chapter One

Gatti Family Villa Near Verona, Italy, September 1, 1753

Marietta Gatti smashed a pea with the back of her silver spoon. Across the mahogany dining table, her husband Dario’s unfaithful eyes simmered with lust as the young maid served the evening meal. When the girl replenished his crystal wine glass, his fingertips brushed against her skin, lingering longer than well-bred manners allowed. Marietta fisted the linen napkin in her lap while Dario’s parents, sitting on opposite ends of the table, ignored the antics of their only child.

The maid’s rosy cheeks and full pouty lips reflected the child she once was, but her body showed the curves of the woman she would be. Dario liked them young, naïve, and fully ripe for the picking—as a barely fifteen-year-old Marietta was when they first met.

Drawn to his thick, dark eyelashes and heavy coin purse, these girls came willingly to Dario. Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . Marietta crushed a pea for each dalliance in their five long years of marriage. When she finished the tally, only two peas remained whole. At least his affairs kept him out of her bed most nights.

Admittedly, she welcomed his affections at first, considering she was the daughter of an artist who hadn’t painted in two years. Dario courted her as any other respectable nobleman would with nights at the opera in Venice and strolls by the Grand Canal on Sunday afternoons. However, he couldn’t conceal his faults forever, and when they became obvious, she wanted no part of the man. By then, it was too late. Her father insisted a bad marriage was better than starvation, and she couldn’t change his mind.

Dario’s disrespect bothered her the most. Her father cherished her mother until the devastating day that she died when Marietta was only thirteen. She assumed her own marriage would be the same, full of love and laughter, but it wasn’t. Now, she spent her days and nights trying to survive the cold-heartedness of the Gatti family.

Marietta relaxed the grip on her napkin and pushed at the lamb on her plate. When bloody juice oozed from the meat, she let out a small sigh and reached for a piece of bread instead.

At the break in the room’s silence, her mother-in-law’s head snapped up, almost dislodging the mountain of dark curls that compensated for her diminutive height. The black beauty patch that she carefully applied to her painted white cheek each morning twitched in displeasure before she returned her attention to her dinner.

As the older woman’s teeth worked the lamb in her mouth, her bony face grew more repulsed with each chew until she finally spit into her napkin. She pointed her knife at the maid. “Where did Cook get this meat?”

Dario’s latest amusement clutched the pitcher of wine to her bosom and gaped wide-eyed at the elder Signora Gatti.

Marietta’s stomach churned, as it always did when La Signora’s temper rose. Though the maid was inconsiderate enough to flirt in front of her, Marietta wouldn’t wish her mother-in-law’s anger on anyone.

When the girl couldn’t find the courage to answer his mother, Dario intervened. He drained his wine glass in one gulp and held it out to give the girl something to do besides tremble. “You don’t like it, Mama?”

Dario slurred his words ever so slightly, which was never good this early in the evening. If he continued to pursue the maid, she would be in for a rough night. Marietta didn’t know what Dario loved more—wine or young women—but there was no denying the explosive result when the two mixed. She needed to tell the housekeeper to keep the girl busy and out of reach until the morning hours.

“It tastes spoiled.” La Signora dropped her cutlery onto the plate. “Take it away.”

The girl hastened to the opposite end of the table and whisked the offending food out of the room.

Dario sliced off a large piece of lamb and stuck it in his mouth. Between chews, he said, “It seems fine to me. What do you think, Papa?”

Marietta almost forgot Dario’s father was there. The old man’s chin rested on his chest, rising and falling with each soft snore. With his sparse snow-white hair and a habit of napping at will, Marietta figured he was in his early seventies, a good twenty years older than La Signora. Obviously, Dario inherited his love of young things from the man.

She sniffed at her own meat and wrinkled her nose at the odd smell emanating from it. No matter, she’d had enough, though she hated missing one of Cook’s delicious desserts. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll retire early tonight.”

Her mother-in-law snorted derisively.

Dario gave her a few blurry-eyed blinks before he remembered his duty. When he stood too fast, the dinner wine rushed to his head. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady his teetering. “May I escort you upstairs?”

She shook her head. “No, please, finish your meal.”

Before Marietta reached the doorway, the maid slipped back into the dining room and reclaimed Dario’s attention. The girl’s ruined reputation was worth more than the few coins she would receive from him. But Marietta’s warnings had gone unheeded by previous maids, so she had no faith that this one would listen. She pressed her lips together to silence her frustration and gratefully left the room.

***

Marietta entered the breakfast room the next morning but stopped short at the sight of Dario at the table. Usually he ate much later, which allowed her to avoid him for most of the day. She took a seat and greeted him with a nod.

“You’re up early,” she finally said in the awkward silence.

He bit off a corner of toast. A few crumbs spewed from his mouth as he replied, “My stomach’s a bit queasy. I thought some food might settle it.”

When the maid entered with Marietta’s pastry and coffee, Dario’s head popped up. Once again, he failed to hide his admiration for the girl’s ample form. His eyes roamed up and down until they settled on her bosom. Dario whispered something to the girl, and she giggled. Marietta carefully stirred her drink, unwilling to watch his lecherous behavior.

The sound of jangling keys came from the hall followed by the appearance of the housekeeper in the doorway. The hunched old woman glared at the maid and then tottered away. The girl gave Dario an apologetic smile and shrugged her shoulders before she hurried after the housekeeper.

Her husband let out a long sigh. “I think I’ll go back to bed.” He peered in the direction of the kitchen. “Alone.”

Marietta remained at the table, staring out the French doors that opened to the Verona countryside. In her mind, she changed the last few minutes of her life so that a loving husband kissed her lips and wished her a good morning. They sat side by side so their bodies could touch while they told each other their plans for the day. After this loving husband departed, her heart immediately ached, missing his presence.

Marietta frowned. There was no use in daydreaming. This was her life—like it or not. Her fingers ripped the pastry before her until it was nothing more than crumbs.

***

Five days had passed since their meeting in the breakfast room and Dario still kept to his bed. In her own chambers, Marietta huddled with Zeta, her maid, to hear the latest news. Only a few years younger in age, Zeta was the sister Marietta never had. Their bond of friendship forged the first night Dario left Marietta battered and weeping in her bed. The maid cleansed her wounds and held her until she slept, earning Marietta’s everlasting gratitude.

In a hushed voice, the maid shared the gossip from the other servants. “His chamber pot is filled with blood. He can’t eat, his skin is burning, and all he does is moan.”

Marietta pulled the bedcovers to her chin. “Why haven’t they called for the physician?”

“La Signora did, but the man is traveling. Cook says the old lady summoned the priest.” Zeta’s slender hand darted to her head, chest, and each shoulder to make the sign of the cross.

Marietta gasped.

The maid nodded.

Chewing on her thumbnail, Marietta considered this news. She couldn’t count the number of times she had wished the vilest deaths on Dario. Now that her wish might come true, her legs began to quiver under the blanket.

“You haven’t seen him?” Zeta asked. Her fingers tugged and twirled a lock of her blond hair in a constant rhythm.

Marietta shook her head. “Not since he took to his bed. La Signora won’t let me.”

“Cook denies it’s her fault, but the old lady wants her head.” The maid dropped the lock of hair and slashed her finger across her slender throat.

This was more bad news. Marietta liked Cook. “Dario was the only one who ate the lamb. Maybe she should run away.”

Slow, heavy footsteps moved past the bedroom door, and then the smell of incense drifted into the room. “The priest,” mouthed Zeta, her brown eyes widening.

Marietta sucked a drop of blood off her thumb. She hugged her knees and began to rock. “I should go to him.”

“No! La Signora will—”

“How will it look to the priest and the rest of Verona if he dies and I’m not by his side?” Marietta threw back the covers and retrieved her robe. When she reached the door, she stopped, knowing Zeta was right. There would be consequences for her disobedience, but she had no choice. Her shoulders sagged, but she forced her hand to turn the doorknob. “I may hate him, but I am his wife.”

That bleak fact was the only hope for her miserable future. Without Dario, she was penniless. If the Gattis turned her out, she didn’t know where she would go. She hadn’t spoken to her father since the wedding five years ago. She wasn’t even sure he was still in Venice.

As she approached Dario’s bedroom, the priest’s boys stood in the doorway, facing the bed. Before anyone could object, Marietta squeezed past, but then halted in midstride. Zeta’s gossip hadn’t done justice to the scene before her.

On one side of the bed, La Signora knelt with head bowed. Opposite her, the plump, balding Father Calvino stood with hands raised, praying in Latin. Between them, a gaunt figure—the same shade as the white linen sheets—lay with eyes closed. The smell of feces and sweat hung in the stale air.

“Dario?” Marietta said to no one in particular.

The old lady scrambled to her feet. “Get out! You do not belong here.”

Before Dario’s valet could reach her, Marietta scooted in front of the priest. “Father, I’m his wife. Please don’t deny me a final goodbye.”

The priest paused in his prayers, confusion clouding his face. Before he could object, Marietta spun around and grabbed Dario’s hand.

“Dario,” she said again. “It’s me, Marietta.”

Her husband struggled to focus on her face.

She forced a smile. “You’re looking better.”

His lips moved soundlessly.

“What’s that, my love?” She brushed back a lock of his sticky hair, hoping the gesture looked affectionate to the priest. She had a feeling she’d need him in her corner should Dario actually die.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Do not worry. Father Calvino has already absolved you.”

His head moved fitfully from side to side. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re upsetting him.” La Signora pointed toward the door. “Leave.”

“No, no,” Dario said in a feeble voice.

Marietta lifted her husband’s hand to her chest and gave her mother-in-law a smug smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry I never got to love you, my sweet Violetta.” Dario closed his eyes with a sigh. “You would have enjoyed it.”

Marietta’s mouth twisted at his words.

“Who’s Violetta?” Father Calvino asked, looking around the room.

Over the now lifeless body, La Signora’s cold eyes met Marietta’s. “Our maid.”

***

With the arrival of relatives and visitations from neighbors, the villa had been a blur of motion the past several days. Marietta ignored it all, though, preferring to stay in her bedroom. She rubbed at the tightness in her chest and forced herself to breathe. Today’s funeral would be the first time she appeared in public as a widow.

In the mirror above the dressing table, Zeta fussed with Marietta’s black hat and veil. The maid clicked her tongue whenever Marietta fidgeted, which occurred every few seconds. When Marietta reached up to pull the veil lower, Zeta slapped her hand away. “Let me do my job.”

Despite what the day held, Marietta smiled. If only her friend could be by her side at the funeral mass. “What time are the carriages leaving for the church?”

Zeta glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “La Signora told me one o’clock. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Zeta patted Marietta’s shoulder before leaving the room.

Marietta remained at the dressing table, staring at her pale reflection. She never imagined that at twenty years old she’d already be a widow in black. On the bright side, she was no longer married to Dario, but her future still looked grim. She wished La Signora would at least say one way or the other whether Marietta could continue living at the family villa. The last words they exchanged were over Dario’s body.

She closed her eyes and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Take one day at a time. That’s all she needed to do. She had almost calmed her fluttering stomach when the bedroom door banged open. Zeta rushed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed and her cap was askew.

“The carriages have left!” The maid hurried to the window facing the front lane.

“What? Without me? But it isn’t time yet.” Marietta peered over Zeta’s shoulder.

“Cook said everyone left at least fifteen minutes ago. Oh, I don’t see them anymore.” Zeta opened the window and leaned out, trying for a better view.

“Have Mario saddle my horse.”

Marietta waited until Zeta flew from the room and then sank onto the bed. So this was how it would be. At least when Dario lived, La Signora had to pretend Marietta was part of the family. Now, she was no one, left behind like a servant. She stared at the floral wallpaper until the roses blurred from her tears. Then she wiped away the wetness with shaking hands and pulled on her riding gloves.

She paused at the door and clenched her fists to still the tremors. As first a daughter, then a wife, and now a widow, she possessed few financial rights in her lifetime. It was a man’s world in all respects, but maybe she could gain the sympathy of Dario’s father. Though La Signora controlled the household, if Signor Gatti commanded it, Marietta could stay on at the villa. On her way to the stables, she pondered the best way to approach the old man.

Mario, the stable boy, shook his head as he helped her mount her horse. “Scusimi, Signora, you shouldn’t ride today. The rains have ruined the roads.”

“I have no choice.” She dug her heels into the horse’s side and headed toward Verona and the Catholic church the family attended.

When she arrived at San Giorgio, a footman from one of the many coaches lining the narrow street took her reins and helped her down. Except for the brief expression of shock that crossed his face, he averted his eyes and ignored the state of her widow’s weeds. Grimacing, she lifted her skirt and shook off the larger clumps of mud. At least the damage ended at her thighs.

A quick glance inside confirmed most of the townspeople had come to pay their respects and, for once, she was grateful for the church’s customary gloom. With head bowed, she made her way to the Gatti family pew only to find it filled with Dario’s parents and relatives. Marietta waited for room to be made, but La Signora, sitting closest to the aisle, simply pressed her petite hands together in prayer and looked straight ahead. Several of the more unrefined cousins shifted in their seats and craned their necks to see what would happen next, while the others studied their hymnals in earnest.

A low murmur rippled through the other mourners. Marietta’s cheeks burned in embarrassment, but she held her ground. She would attend her husband’s funeral from the aisle if need be. An elderly woman three rows back took pity on Marietta—or perhaps vengeance on La Signora. She tapped the man next to her with her fan and then beckoned to Marietta. With a final bitter look at her mother-in-law, Marietta grasped her soiled skirt and slid in beside the elderly woman and her family.

A few moments later, the priest and his boys filed in, while a trio of young castrati, dressed as cherubs, sang a hymn in their high soprano voices. Marietta shut out the rest of the funeral mass. Dario had sinned so often, whatever kind words Father Calvino spoke couldn’t save her husband’s soul. If anyone needed help now, it was she.

When it was time to say their final goodbyes, La Signora was first in line and Marietta last after the cousins. Staring down at her husband’s serene face, the strength in her legs threatened to fail. Night after night during their first year of marriage, she had lain shaking in her bed. Her heart stopped at every sound. Her ears strained to hear his footfalls at her door. Eventually, her fear turned to numbness and then apathy. She gripped the sides of Dario’s coffin to reassure herself that he was truly dead. Then, she lowered her face and pretended to kiss him but instead let a drop of spittle fall from her lips. As it trickled down his gray cheek, she allowed herself a small smile. Her loathsome husband would never again raise a hand to her.

The pallbearers hoisted the coffin onto their shoulders, signaling to more than a dozen paid mourners to keen and pull at their hair. The spectacle befitted someone who had lived a righteous life, yet it was all a charade. The family money could buy almost anything—anything except a place in heaven. Her husband roasted in hell.

***

In the fresh morning air, Marietta stood on the terrace and stared out at the villa’s meticulous gardens. Two weeks had passed since Dario’s burial, and she had spent the majority of the time in her bedroom waiting for some indication of what her future held. Today, La Signora broke the uneasy silence and summoned her to the salon.

She clutched her black crepe shawl tighter as the autumn wind tasted her exposed skin. Soon the brilliant orange, red, and green of the late blooming flowers and sculptured bushes would turn a lifeless brown that matched how she felt. With a sigh, she rubbed at the dull throb in her temples.

“What are you doing out here? You were told the salon.”

The voice chilled her more than the wind. When she turned, her mother-in-law stood in the doorway, her mouth set in its usual scowl, and her clothes colored black from head to toe. Zeta had remarked that La Signora’s appearance now resembled her heart. Over the years, the woman had provided plenty of evidence to support the sentiment.

“I was only . . .” Marietta waved a hand at the late September landscape.

“Inside.” The staccato beat of La Signora’s march echoed across the marble floor.

Marietta’s head bowed in submission. She took a few steps into the salon but left the French doors open to the cool air. Across the room, the older woman sat on a damask-covered settee with her ankles crossed and feet dangling above the floor. La Signora pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, even though no actual tears had fallen since her son’s unexpected passing.

Finally, her mother-in-law spoke. “It was no secret that I was against Dario marrying you, but I’ve never been able to deny him what he wanted. I lived with the disappointment of such a lowly match all these years, doing my best to give you a good home despite your ungratefulness.”

Marietta clenched her teeth to keep silent. Her life was much better than most, but the biting insults and degrading looks her mother-in-law cast her way on a daily basis still cut to the bone.

“All I ever asked from you was an heir, and you couldn’t even do that.” She shook a crooked finger at Marietta. “Now, we have no one to carry on the family name.”

At the callous reminder, Marietta’s hand found her belly. Two babies lay buried under the weeping willow tree, and her heart would forever ache from the losses. Though she had entered the marriage kicking and screaming, she had hoped for children. Fate just wasn’t on her side.

She learned long ago not to show any emotion in front of La Signora, so she breathed deeply to control her temper. When an acrid smell filled her nose, she crossed the room to peer out the floor-length windows that ran along the side of the villa. A dozen or so large rectangular objects burned in a pile near the carriage house. When the groundskeeper poked at one of them with a rake, sparks shot high into the air. Her mouth suddenly dry, she asked, “What is Fredo burning?”

La Signora tilted her head. “Your paintings.”

The words hit her like an icy bucket of water and her body jerked backward. Her love of painting was the only thing that kept her sane over the lonely years. To Dario’s credit, he allowed her the best materials the family’s money could buy. She had spent countless hours roaming the countryside for the perfect scene to capture, and now this spiteful old woman had destroyed her treasures. Marietta grabbed the nearest chair and dug her fingernails into its back. “Why . . . why would you do that? How can you be so cruel?”

La Signora ignored the question, her black eyes flashing with hatred. “You are no longer welcome in our home and will leave today. Signor Gatti insists on giving you a yearly stipend of 6,000 ducats.” The old woman flicked her wrist as if her husband’s offer was an offending odor that needed to be dispelled. “If it were up to me, you’d have nothing.”

Marietta silently promised to light a candle for the old man the first chance she got. It was far from a lavish amount of money, but it would ensure a roof over her head and food on the table. After Dario’s death, she had sent her father a letter addressed to the lodgings in Venice where they last stayed before her marriage, but so far, there had been no reply. If the letter reached him, perhaps he would welcome her home.

Another gust of wind entered the salon and brought Marietta to her senses. Hampered by the weight of her widow’s weeds, she hiked up her skirts and ran from the room and her vicious mother-in-law. She headed for her paintings, knowing it was already too late.

When she reached the bonfire, she gave in to the choking sobs welling up inside her. Ashes from the ruined creations swirled up in the air until gravity forced them down and onto her tear-stained cheeks in a sooty goodbye kiss.

Fredo rubbed a sleeve across his eyes and then pulled his hat down low. “Mi dispiace, Signora. They were pretty.”

Marietta wrapped her arms around herself and nodded at his kind words, but as paper curled and paint melted, her heart hardened. Her life here had ended and so would her false mourning. She grasped the bodice of her black gown and tore it open until the gown slid off her hips.

Perhaps fearing she intended to join her paintings, Fredo took a quick step toward her. In his haste, he tripped over the spikes of his rake and landed on the ground with a thud. He scuttled on all fours trying to reach her. “No, no, Signora!”

With a final cry, she threw the heavy dress on top of the remains of her landscapes. The wool quickly burned as the fire raced across the coarse fabric. She shivered in her undergarments, listening to the fire crackle and pop, until all that remained were burning embers, and then the world went black.

***

When Marietta’s eyes opened, she was in her own bed. The smell of smoke on her shift and in her hair confirmed that the bonfire hadn’t been a terrible nightmare. She covered her face with her soot-stained hands and blew out a long anguished breath. Her paintings were gone.

Overcome with fury, she pounded the bed with her fists, but it didn’t ease her rage. Her mother-in-law’s words sounded in her head, and she shot up. Three trunks stood in a row at the foot of her bed, as if standing guard while she slept. A wave of nausea swept over her. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to swallow the burning liquid forcing its way up her throat.

“Zeta! I’m going to be sick!”

Before the maid could help, Marietta grabbed a porcelain bowl from the bedside table and retched up the meager remains of her last meal. She fell back against the pillows and wiped her mouth with the corner of the sheet. Her eyes found the trunks again. “Are they packed?”

Zeta’s face reflected a mixture of guilt and misery. “La Signora ordered me.”

Marietta gave her a weak smile. “I understand.”

“Shall I help you get dressed? The carriage is waiting. La Signora said it will take you to Verona but no farther.”

Marietta held up her soiled hands. “Do I have time to wash before I’m exiled?”

While she waited for Zeta to clean the bowl, Marietta examined her face in the mirror. If it weren’t for the dark circles around her eyes and the splotches of soot, her bloodless complexion could have passed for one of the popular, white carnival masks everyone would wear in a few weeks. When she ran a brush through her blond hair, ash floated to the floor. Maybe Zeta could perform a small miracle. Marietta preferred departing the villa with some dignity instead of looking like the riffraff her mother-in-law claimed she was.

Her mind raced to form some sort of plan. She needed to buy passage on a coach from Verona to Venice. Though she never had to handle such arrangements, it couldn’t be too difficult to do. Then, she needed to find suitable lodgings. She could try where her father and she had last lived, but she remembered it as a dilapidated place. Her father had been a successful painter of portraits and frescos, but after her mother’s death, he had lost his passion. When he agreed to Marietta’s marriage, they were at the end of their savings, scrimping to get by each day. Maybe she should find rooms elsewhere and then approach her father—if she could find him.

Take one day at a time. How many times had she told herself that since her marriage to Dario?

Zeta returned with another plain dress made of black muslin. Marietta shook her head at it. “No, I will wear the blue silk with gold trim.”

The young woman gave her a conspirator’s grin and tossed the rejected dress on the bed. An hour later, Marietta stood fully dressed with hair curled and powdered. The French dress was one of her favorites, as it brought out the color of her sapphire blue eyes and made her smallish bosom look exceptional. She adjusted the mass of ruffles that fell from her elbows and then thanked Zeta. “I feel better already.”

The maid nipped the extra material at the sides of the dress with her fingers. “Forgive me for saying, but you’re losing too much weight. You must promise to eat more.”

“Maybe once I’m away from La Signora I’ll regain my appetite.”

Zeta frowned. “It’s not right—her turning you out like this. Where will you go?”

Marietta gazed out the window at the Verona countryside she had grown to love through her painting. “I’m going home to Venice.”

“What if you don’t find your father? Who will take care of you?”

Marietta reached for her friend’s hands. “Zeta, I couldn’t have survived living here without you, but now I must take care of myself.” It sounded braver than she felt. She had no desire to remain at the villa, but she also remembered how it felt to be hungry and poor.

A sharp rap on the door silenced them.

“It’s time,” her friend whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

Marietta gathered Zeta in her arms and gave her one last hug. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Two

The Gatti’s coachman deposited Marietta and her belongings outside the Cardinal’s Hat Inn in the center of Verona. As the family carriage pulled away, the urge to run after it overtook her. Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her feet to move toward the entrance of the inn.

When she opened the door, the building belched the smell of sour wine in her face. On the far side of the smoky room, a short elderly man stood behind a counter, engrossed in a game of piquet. From the foul language coming out of his opponent’s mouth, the cards were running in the innkeeper’s favor.

She approached the counter and waited to be noticed, but when it became obvious the game was more important, she tapped her fan on the well-worn wood. “Excuse me, Signore. I need a ticket to Venice.”

The old man scowled at the interruption but put down his cards. His hooked nose bobbed like a chicken’s as he took in the cut of her clothes and then peered over her shoulders. “How many in your party, Signora?”

“One,” she replied with a lift of her chin.

The innkeeper arched a gray bushy eyebrow at her. From his surprised expression, she could tell he expected her to have at least a few servants in attendance. Her mother-in-law knew traveling alone would draw attention. It was her final insult. But Marietta refused to be embarrassed, so she calmly stared back at the old man.

The man scratched at the few strands of hair left on his head and then shrugged. “There’s a coach early on the morrow. It’s a full day’s ride to Padua. You’ll stop there for the night. You should arrive in Venice by late afternoon the next day.”

“Then I’ll also need a room for tonight.”

After handing over the necessary coins, Marietta debated on whether or not to order something to eat but doubted even soup would make it past the lump in her throat. She turned a slow circle in the middle of the room and grimaced when a middle-aged man and woman sitting with a younger man about Marietta’s age eyed her with curiosity from a nearby table. With a snap of her fan, she covered her face and chose an empty table in the shadows.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, satisfied she’d made it through the first step of her plan without a hitch. She might have had servants at her disposal the past five years, but before that she had to fend for herself. When her father stopped painting after her mother’s death, there had been no money for luxuries. The few servants the family employed were the first to go. She could do this. People took care of themselves all of the time.

Her stomach rumbled at the savory aroma of the food being served to a family of three at the next table. When the serving girl placed a bowl of stew in front of the little boy, he clapped excitedly and shouted his thanks.

Marietta’s hand dropped to her belly, which no longer growled for food. Today she left behind the cruel Gattis but also the graves of her two babies that she would never visit again. She laid her head in her hands and fought back the tears. The self-confidence she felt only a moment ago drained from her body and left her weak.

A short time later, a slim, hooded figure approached Marietta’s table.

“Zeta!” Marietta’s hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming with you.” A worried look crossed her former maid’s face. “If you’ll have me.”

Marietta shook her head and then smiled to soften the refusal. “I don’t need your help getting to Venice. I’m fine.”

“I . . . I meant forever. I can be your maid again.”

“But I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Marietta replied with a lift of her shoulders. “You don’t want to give up your home at the villa.”

Zeta crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have a home anymore. I was dismissed.”

Marietta closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have known La Signora would punish you too.”

“I didn’t want to stay there without you anyway.”

“Maybe you should go home to your family,” Marietta suggested gently. “I’m sure they miss you.”

“I’d just be another mouth to feed.” Zeta studied the inn’s scarred floorboards, her hands twisting the fabric of her cloak.

Marietta hesitated. Her future was so uncertain, yet it was her fault Zeta lost her position. She couldn’t turn her friend away. “I’d love to have your company, but not as my maid.”

When Zeta raised her eyes, there was hope in them, but her brow creased. “But that’s what I am.”

Marietta reached for the young woman’s hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “No, you’re my friend.”

***

At departure time the next morning, Marietta and Zeta took their places on one of the coach’s hard wooden benches. A few minutes later, agitated English voices mixed with thuds and grunts, followed by the inquisitive group from the inn rocking the coach as they climbed aboard. The older man had the shape of a bullfrog, all stomach and jowls, while the woman looked like she might blow away in a stiff wind. The younger man took after the woman in form and had the added burden of a pockmarked face.

The older man took charge of the introductions. “Do you speak French or perhaps English? My Italian is horrible.” He barreled on in French before either Marietta or Zeta could respond. “The name’s William Brown, of B&B Shipping in Bristol, England. This here’s my wife, Penelope, and my son, George.”

Marietta smiled and replied in French, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you traveling to Venice?”

“That we are, young lady. We’re on the Grand Tour.” Mr. Brown waved his meaty hands at the scenery outside the coach’s window. “We’ve been to Paris, Rome, Florence, and Naples, and now on to Venice.”

Since Marietta grew up in Venice, she had met others on the Grand Tour; however, they were men in their twenties having illicit fun before marriage trapped them. They always had a tutor or guide to show them the way and keep them out of too much trouble. A whole family confused her.

“How nice for you, but where is your guide?”

Mr. Brown briskly rubbed the inside of his ear with his pinky before he replied, “The gentleman became ill in Rome and was unable to continue, but I told Mrs. Brown we could do fine by ourselves.”

Marietta stifled a laugh. The Browns seemed pleasant enough, but she imagined the guide preferred a different type of company. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, of course. How could we not? The food here is delicious.” Mr. Brown brushed several crumbs from his coat to prove his point. “But Venice is our last chance, I’m afraid.”

“Your last chance for what?” Marietta asked politely.

When Mr. Brown leaned forward, his protruding stomach pressed against Marietta’s knees. He gave her an exaggerated wink. “Why, to find my son a wife!”

Mrs. Brown clicked her tongue at her husband while poor George stared out the window, his mouth pinched tight. At his son’s discomfort, Mr. Brown slapped George’s knee and roared with laughter. His belly and chins jiggled from the exertion.

“You see, despite my money, none of the ladies back home fancy Georgie.” Mr. Brown pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow at such an inconceivable notion. Then he shrugged his round shoulders. “So, we’ve had to come abroad to try our luck.”

Marietta’s heart went out to the young man. He obviously had more than his unappealing looks to overcome to find a mate. She smiled at George, making his face turn a mottled shade of light red. “Venice is a romantic city. I’m sure you’ll have success there.”

Mr. Brown laced his fingers over his stomach and nodded. “Well, we probably should have let him have a go at it on his own, but Mrs. Brown doesn’t like to let Georgie out of her sight. So here we all are. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be—”

Marietta assumed Mr. Brown was about to ask her marital status and for a moment she regretted the absence of her widow’s weeds. Thankfully, the jolt of the coach getting underway interrupted his question.

The group settled into a comfortable silence, with the exception of Mr. Brown, who had an unlimited supply of stories. Marietta kept a smile on her face and nodded occasionally, but her gaze stayed on the passing countryside and her thoughts on what awaited her in Venice.

For the past five years, she had not seen or received any letters from her father. At first, this satisfied her, but as time passed, she missed him dearly. She had finally written, but when the correspondence went unanswered, she gave up. She could hardly blame her father, though. From the day the wedding announcements went out, she had been a beast to him. First, she begged him to cancel the wedding. When that didn’t work, she called him every hurtful name her young mind could invent. When he had still refused to change his mind, her temper went from fiery hot to ice-cold, and she punished him with her silence. It was the last time they had spoken. She hoped time had healed his heart for if he didn’t welcome them, she didn’t know where they would go.

The coach stopped with a lurch, breaking Marietta out of her musings. The driver cracked his whip to urge the horses forward. They whinnied in protest but could do no more. The coach was stuck in mud.

“Everybody out!” The coach rocked as the driver swung down from his bench.

The men climbed out first and immediately sank ankle deep into the road. Mr. Brown bellowed a long string of curses in his native English that even Zeta understood. Using unexpected strength for such a thin man, George swung his mother over the muck and placed her on a drier patch of road. He waved his hands uncertainly over Zeta’s midsection before he settled on her waist and deposited her safely next to his mother.

Though Marietta didn’t think it possible, when she appeared in the doorway, George’s cheeks deepened to the color of a garden beet. In his haste to finish the deed, he didn’t account for Marietta’s fuller dress. Halfway out of the coach, her skirts snagged and she teetered in midair until with a grunt, he pulled her loose. With the shift in weight, George fought for balance until they landed at his mother’s feet in a heap with Marietta on top.

“Oh, my!” Marietta pushed off George’s chest and scrambled to her feet. “Did I hurt you?”

George mumbled something incoherent before he stumbled through the mud to where his father conferred with the driver. Mr. Brown, as usual, seemed to be doing most of the talking, but whatever he said was not agreeable to the driver who kept shaking his head.

After a few minutes, George came back to them. His shoes made a sucking noise with each step. “We’ll need everyone to push.”

They took up positions behind the coach and waited for the driver’s signal. At the crack of his whip, Marietta shoved with all her might. Her legs pumped while her slippers fought for a foothold. On the third push, the wheels turned a few notches, and then the coach bucked forward, shooting mud in every direction. Another crack sounded, but this time it came from the axle and not the driver’s whip. The coach came to an abrupt stop.

Marietta groaned at their failure. She didn’t know much about coaches, but she knew they needed four attached wheels, and now this one had only three. She pulled out a lace handkerchief and wiped the dirt from her face. Her fingers brushed at the mud spots scattered across her favorite dress, but the effort only made the blotches grow. With a disgusted sigh, she gave up and surveyed the others. Mr. Brown seemed to have received the brunt of the mud spray. His previously white stockings and olive-green silk breeches were now an earthy shade of brown.

“Do you have any other brilliant ideas?” Mr. Brown asked the driver in a gruff voice.

The driver rubbed the back of his neck and then turned his head to spit before replying. “Padua is up the road a bit. I’ll take a horse and get help.”

Marietta frowned at the late afternoon sun. “How long will that take, Signore? It’ll be dark soon.”

Before the driver could answer, a carriage moving at full speed rounded a bend in the road. The group hurried out of the way, but instead of passing, the coachman reined in the pair of massive Cleveland Bays pulling the red- and gold-trimmed carriage.

Two men, one about Marietta’s age and the other old enough to be her grandfather, hopped out. The younger man was tall with a trim build and dressed in a stylish light gray coat and burgundy brocade waistcoat. He wore odd spectacles with dark lens both in front and on the sides of his eyes and carried a walking stick in his hand. If it weren’t for how confidently he strode toward them, Marietta would have thought him blind. The other man was a bit shorter and, though obviously of an advanced age, moved easily. As the strangers approached, the younger man listened intently while his white-haired companion whispered in his ear.

“Buon giorno.” The younger one greeted Marietta and the other travelers with a formal bow. “I am Signor Nico Foscari and this is Signor Raul Orlando. Was anyone hurt in the mishap?”

Marietta shook her head. “No, we are all well.” For the benefit of the Browns, she repeated Foscari’s greeting in French and then introduced her group.

“The only injuries were to our clothes,” Mr. Brown said with a wave at his ruined stockings. He swiped at his nose with a mud-covered finger and left a long brown streak behind.

Mrs. Brown rolled her eyes. Exasperation seemed to be her only response to Mr. Brown’s actions.

“I assume you were headed to Padua?” Nico asked in French.

Mr. Brown nodded. “Only for the night and then on to Venice. The driver’s going to take a horse and bring back help.”

“It’s still quite a distance to Padua.” Nico paused to consider the situation. “My family’s villa is not far. You are welcome to rest there until your coach is fixed.”

Marietta exchanged a doubtful glance with Zeta. It was a generous offer, but she wasn’t sure they should impose on a stranger. The Browns, however, had no such dilemma.

“I tell you, you Italians are the nicest people.” Mr. Brown clapped a dirty hand on Nico’s shoulder. “You’re making it hard to return to chilly England. Say, you don’t have a sister, do you?”

Nico’s brows creased at the unexpected question. “Scusimi?”

Marietta hid a smile behind her hand. Mr. Brown was relentless in his quest.

Click here to download the entire book:

Venice in the Moonlight

FREE Excerpt from KND Romance of The Week:
Venice in the Moonlight by Elizabeth McKenna – 99 cents on Kindle

Last week we announced that Elizabeth McKenna’s Venice in the Moonlight is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

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

Venice in the Moonlight

by Elizabeth McKenna

Venice in the Moonlight
4.3 stars – 38 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Considered useless by his cold-hearted father, Nico Foscari, eldest son of one of the founding families in Venice, hides his pain behind gambling, drinking and womanizing.After her husband’s untimely demise, Marietta Gatti returns to her hometown of Venice in hopes of starting a new life and finding the happiness that was missing in her forced marriage.When Fate throws them together, friendship begins to grow into love until Marietta learns a Foscari family secret that may have cost her father his life. Now, she must choose between vengeance, forgiveness, and love.

Elizabeth McKenna’s latest novel takes you back to eighteenth century Carnival, where lovers meet discreetly, and masks make everyone equal.

*  *  *

Free and Bargain Quality eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

button_subscribe

*  *  *

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

Chapter One

Gatti Family Villa Near Verona, Italy, September 1, 1753

Marietta Gatti smashed a pea with the back of her silver spoon. Across the mahogany dining table, her husband Dario’s unfaithful eyes simmered with lust as the young maid served the evening meal. When the girl replenished his crystal wine glass, his fingertips brushed against her skin, lingering longer than well-bred manners allowed. Marietta fisted the linen napkin in her lap while Dario’s parents, sitting on opposite ends of the table, ignored the antics of their only child.

The maid’s rosy cheeks and full pouty lips reflected the child she once was, but her body showed the curves of the woman she would be. Dario liked them young, naïve, and fully ripe for the picking—as a barely fifteen-year-old Marietta was when they first met.

Drawn to his thick, dark eyelashes and heavy coin purse, these girls came willingly to Dario. Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . Marietta crushed a pea for each dalliance in their five long years of marriage. When she finished the tally, only two peas remained whole. At least his affairs kept him out of her bed most nights.

Admittedly, she welcomed his affections at first, considering she was the daughter of an artist who hadn’t painted in two years. Dario courted her as any other respectable nobleman would with nights at the opera in Venice and strolls by the Grand Canal on Sunday afternoons. However, he couldn’t conceal his faults forever, and when they became obvious, she wanted no part of the man. By then, it was too late. Her father insisted a bad marriage was better than starvation, and she couldn’t change his mind.

Dario’s disrespect bothered her the most. Her father cherished her mother until the devastating day that she died when Marietta was only thirteen. She assumed her own marriage would be the same, full of love and laughter, but it wasn’t. Now, she spent her days and nights trying to survive the cold-heartedness of the Gatti family.

Marietta relaxed the grip on her napkin and pushed at the lamb on her plate. When bloody juice oozed from the meat, she let out a small sigh and reached for a piece of bread instead.

At the break in the room’s silence, her mother-in-law’s head snapped up, almost dislodging the mountain of dark curls that compensated for her diminutive height. The black beauty patch that she carefully applied to her painted white cheek each morning twitched in displeasure before she returned her attention to her dinner.

As the older woman’s teeth worked the lamb in her mouth, her bony face grew more repulsed with each chew until she finally spit into her napkin. She pointed her knife at the maid. “Where did Cook get this meat?”

Dario’s latest amusement clutched the pitcher of wine to her bosom and gaped wide-eyed at the elder Signora Gatti.

Marietta’s stomach churned, as it always did when La Signora’s temper rose. Though the maid was inconsiderate enough to flirt in front of her, Marietta wouldn’t wish her mother-in-law’s anger on anyone.

When the girl couldn’t find the courage to answer his mother, Dario intervened. He drained his wine glass in one gulp and held it out to give the girl something to do besides tremble. “You don’t like it, Mama?”

Dario slurred his words ever so slightly, which was never good this early in the evening. If he continued to pursue the maid, she would be in for a rough night. Marietta didn’t know what Dario loved more—wine or young women—but there was no denying the explosive result when the two mixed. She needed to tell the housekeeper to keep the girl busy and out of reach until the morning hours.

“It tastes spoiled.” La Signora dropped her cutlery onto the plate. “Take it away.”

The girl hastened to the opposite end of the table and whisked the offending food out of the room.

Dario sliced off a large piece of lamb and stuck it in his mouth. Between chews, he said, “It seems fine to me. What do you think, Papa?”

Marietta almost forgot Dario’s father was there. The old man’s chin rested on his chest, rising and falling with each soft snore. With his sparse snow-white hair and a habit of napping at will, Marietta figured he was in his early seventies, a good twenty years older than La Signora. Obviously, Dario inherited his love of young things from the man.

She sniffed at her own meat and wrinkled her nose at the odd smell emanating from it. No matter, she’d had enough, though she hated missing one of Cook’s delicious desserts. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll retire early tonight.”

Her mother-in-law snorted derisively.

Dario gave her a few blurry-eyed blinks before he remembered his duty. When he stood too fast, the dinner wine rushed to his head. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady his teetering. “May I escort you upstairs?”

She shook her head. “No, please, finish your meal.”

Before Marietta reached the doorway, the maid slipped back into the dining room and reclaimed Dario’s attention. The girl’s ruined reputation was worth more than the few coins she would receive from him. But Marietta’s warnings had gone unheeded by previous maids, so she had no faith that this one would listen. She pressed her lips together to silence her frustration and gratefully left the room.

***

Marietta entered the breakfast room the next morning but stopped short at the sight of Dario at the table. Usually he ate much later, which allowed her to avoid him for most of the day. She took a seat and greeted him with a nod.

“You’re up early,” she finally said in the awkward silence.

He bit off a corner of toast. A few crumbs spewed from his mouth as he replied, “My stomach’s a bit queasy. I thought some food might settle it.”

When the maid entered with Marietta’s pastry and coffee, Dario’s head popped up. Once again, he failed to hide his admiration for the girl’s ample form. His eyes roamed up and down until they settled on her bosom. Dario whispered something to the girl, and she giggled. Marietta carefully stirred her drink, unwilling to watch his lecherous behavior.

The sound of jangling keys came from the hall followed by the appearance of the housekeeper in the doorway. The hunched old woman glared at the maid and then tottered away. The girl gave Dario an apologetic smile and shrugged her shoulders before she hurried after the housekeeper.

Her husband let out a long sigh. “I think I’ll go back to bed.” He peered in the direction of the kitchen. “Alone.”

Marietta remained at the table, staring out the French doors that opened to the Verona countryside. In her mind, she changed the last few minutes of her life so that a loving husband kissed her lips and wished her a good morning. They sat side by side so their bodies could touch while they told each other their plans for the day. After this loving husband departed, her heart immediately ached, missing his presence.

Marietta frowned. There was no use in daydreaming. This was her life—like it or not. Her fingers ripped the pastry before her until it was nothing more than crumbs.

***

Five days had passed since their meeting in the breakfast room and Dario still kept to his bed. In her own chambers, Marietta huddled with Zeta, her maid, to hear the latest news. Only a few years younger in age, Zeta was the sister Marietta never had. Their bond of friendship forged the first night Dario left Marietta battered and weeping in her bed. The maid cleansed her wounds and held her until she slept, earning Marietta’s everlasting gratitude.

In a hushed voice, the maid shared the gossip from the other servants. “His chamber pot is filled with blood. He can’t eat, his skin is burning, and all he does is moan.”

Marietta pulled the bedcovers to her chin. “Why haven’t they called for the physician?”

“La Signora did, but the man is traveling. Cook says the old lady summoned the priest.” Zeta’s slender hand darted to her head, chest, and each shoulder to make the sign of the cross.

Marietta gasped.

The maid nodded.

Chewing on her thumbnail, Marietta considered this news. She couldn’t count the number of times she had wished the vilest deaths on Dario. Now that her wish might come true, her legs began to quiver under the blanket.

“You haven’t seen him?” Zeta asked. Her fingers tugged and twirled a lock of her blond hair in a constant rhythm.

Marietta shook her head. “Not since he took to his bed. La Signora won’t let me.”

“Cook denies it’s her fault, but the old lady wants her head.” The maid dropped the lock of hair and slashed her finger across her slender throat.

This was more bad news. Marietta liked Cook. “Dario was the only one who ate the lamb. Maybe she should run away.”

Slow, heavy footsteps moved past the bedroom door, and then the smell of incense drifted into the room. “The priest,” mouthed Zeta, her brown eyes widening.

Marietta sucked a drop of blood off her thumb. She hugged her knees and began to rock. “I should go to him.”

“No! La Signora will—”

“How will it look to the priest and the rest of Verona if he dies and I’m not by his side?” Marietta threw back the covers and retrieved her robe. When she reached the door, she stopped, knowing Zeta was right. There would be consequences for her disobedience, but she had no choice. Her shoulders sagged, but she forced her hand to turn the doorknob. “I may hate him, but I am his wife.”

That bleak fact was the only hope for her miserable future. Without Dario, she was penniless. If the Gattis turned her out, she didn’t know where she would go. She hadn’t spoken to her father since the wedding five years ago. She wasn’t even sure he was still in Venice.

As she approached Dario’s bedroom, the priest’s boys stood in the doorway, facing the bed. Before anyone could object, Marietta squeezed past, but then halted in midstride. Zeta’s gossip hadn’t done justice to the scene before her.

On one side of the bed, La Signora knelt with head bowed. Opposite her, the plump, balding Father Calvino stood with hands raised, praying in Latin. Between them, a gaunt figure—the same shade as the white linen sheets—lay with eyes closed. The smell of feces and sweat hung in the stale air.

“Dario?” Marietta said to no one in particular.

The old lady scrambled to her feet. “Get out! You do not belong here.”

Before Dario’s valet could reach her, Marietta scooted in front of the priest. “Father, I’m his wife. Please don’t deny me a final goodbye.”

The priest paused in his prayers, confusion clouding his face. Before he could object, Marietta spun around and grabbed Dario’s hand.

“Dario,” she said again. “It’s me, Marietta.”

Her husband struggled to focus on her face.

She forced a smile. “You’re looking better.”

His lips moved soundlessly.

“What’s that, my love?” She brushed back a lock of his sticky hair, hoping the gesture looked affectionate to the priest. She had a feeling she’d need him in her corner should Dario actually die.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Do not worry. Father Calvino has already absolved you.”

His head moved fitfully from side to side. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re upsetting him.” La Signora pointed toward the door. “Leave.”

“No, no,” Dario said in a feeble voice.

Marietta lifted her husband’s hand to her chest and gave her mother-in-law a smug smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry I never got to love you, my sweet Violetta.” Dario closed his eyes with a sigh. “You would have enjoyed it.”

Marietta’s mouth twisted at his words.

“Who’s Violetta?” Father Calvino asked, looking around the room.

Over the now lifeless body, La Signora’s cold eyes met Marietta’s. “Our maid.”

***

With the arrival of relatives and visitations from neighbors, the villa had been a blur of motion the past several days. Marietta ignored it all, though, preferring to stay in her bedroom. She rubbed at the tightness in her chest and forced herself to breathe. Today’s funeral would be the first time she appeared in public as a widow.

In the mirror above the dressing table, Zeta fussed with Marietta’s black hat and veil. The maid clicked her tongue whenever Marietta fidgeted, which occurred every few seconds. When Marietta reached up to pull the veil lower, Zeta slapped her hand away. “Let me do my job.”

Despite what the day held, Marietta smiled. If only her friend could be by her side at the funeral mass. “What time are the carriages leaving for the church?”

Zeta glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “La Signora told me one o’clock. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Zeta patted Marietta’s shoulder before leaving the room.

Marietta remained at the dressing table, staring at her pale reflection. She never imagined that at twenty years old she’d already be a widow in black. On the bright side, she was no longer married to Dario, but her future still looked grim. She wished La Signora would at least say one way or the other whether Marietta could continue living at the family villa. The last words they exchanged were over Dario’s body.

She closed her eyes and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Take one day at a time. That’s all she needed to do. She had almost calmed her fluttering stomach when the bedroom door banged open. Zeta rushed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed and her cap was askew.

“The carriages have left!” The maid hurried to the window facing the front lane.

“What? Without me? But it isn’t time yet.” Marietta peered over Zeta’s shoulder.

“Cook said everyone left at least fifteen minutes ago. Oh, I don’t see them anymore.” Zeta opened the window and leaned out, trying for a better view.

“Have Mario saddle my horse.”

Marietta waited until Zeta flew from the room and then sank onto the bed. So this was how it would be. At least when Dario lived, La Signora had to pretend Marietta was part of the family. Now, she was no one, left behind like a servant. She stared at the floral wallpaper until the roses blurred from her tears. Then she wiped away the wetness with shaking hands and pulled on her riding gloves.

She paused at the door and clenched her fists to still the tremors. As first a daughter, then a wife, and now a widow, she possessed few financial rights in her lifetime. It was a man’s world in all respects, but maybe she could gain the sympathy of Dario’s father. Though La Signora controlled the household, if Signor Gatti commanded it, Marietta could stay on at the villa. On her way to the stables, she pondered the best way to approach the old man.

Mario, the stable boy, shook his head as he helped her mount her horse. “Scusimi, Signora, you shouldn’t ride today. The rains have ruined the roads.”

“I have no choice.” She dug her heels into the horse’s side and headed toward Verona and the Catholic church the family attended.

When she arrived at San Giorgio, a footman from one of the many coaches lining the narrow street took her reins and helped her down. Except for the brief expression of shock that crossed his face, he averted his eyes and ignored the state of her widow’s weeds. Grimacing, she lifted her skirt and shook off the larger clumps of mud. At least the damage ended at her thighs.

A quick glance inside confirmed most of the townspeople had come to pay their respects and, for once, she was grateful for the church’s customary gloom. With head bowed, she made her way to the Gatti family pew only to find it filled with Dario’s parents and relatives. Marietta waited for room to be made, but La Signora, sitting closest to the aisle, simply pressed her petite hands together in prayer and looked straight ahead. Several of the more unrefined cousins shifted in their seats and craned their necks to see what would happen next, while the others studied their hymnals in earnest.

A low murmur rippled through the other mourners. Marietta’s cheeks burned in embarrassment, but she held her ground. She would attend her husband’s funeral from the aisle if need be. An elderly woman three rows back took pity on Marietta—or perhaps vengeance on La Signora. She tapped the man next to her with her fan and then beckoned to Marietta. With a final bitter look at her mother-in-law, Marietta grasped her soiled skirt and slid in beside the elderly woman and her family.

A few moments later, the priest and his boys filed in, while a trio of young castrati, dressed as cherubs, sang a hymn in their high soprano voices. Marietta shut out the rest of the funeral mass. Dario had sinned so often, whatever kind words Father Calvino spoke couldn’t save her husband’s soul. If anyone needed help now, it was she.

When it was time to say their final goodbyes, La Signora was first in line and Marietta last after the cousins. Staring down at her husband’s serene face, the strength in her legs threatened to fail. Night after night during their first year of marriage, she had lain shaking in her bed. Her heart stopped at every sound. Her ears strained to hear his footfalls at her door. Eventually, her fear turned to numbness and then apathy. She gripped the sides of Dario’s coffin to reassure herself that he was truly dead. Then, she lowered her face and pretended to kiss him but instead let a drop of spittle fall from her lips. As it trickled down his gray cheek, she allowed herself a small smile. Her loathsome husband would never again raise a hand to her.

The pallbearers hoisted the coffin onto their shoulders, signaling to more than a dozen paid mourners to keen and pull at their hair. The spectacle befitted someone who had lived a righteous life, yet it was all a charade. The family money could buy almost anything—anything except a place in heaven. Her husband roasted in hell.

***

In the fresh morning air, Marietta stood on the terrace and stared out at the villa’s meticulous gardens. Two weeks had passed since Dario’s burial, and she had spent the majority of the time in her bedroom waiting for some indication of what her future held. Today, La Signora broke the uneasy silence and summoned her to the salon.

She clutched her black crepe shawl tighter as the autumn wind tasted her exposed skin. Soon the brilliant orange, red, and green of the late blooming flowers and sculptured bushes would turn a lifeless brown that matched how she felt. With a sigh, she rubbed at the dull throb in her temples.

“What are you doing out here? You were told the salon.”

The voice chilled her more than the wind. When she turned, her mother-in-law stood in the doorway, her mouth set in its usual scowl, and her clothes colored black from head to toe. Zeta had remarked that La Signora’s appearance now resembled her heart. Over the years, the woman had provided plenty of evidence to support the sentiment.

“I was only . . .” Marietta waved a hand at the late September landscape.

“Inside.” The staccato beat of La Signora’s march echoed across the marble floor.

Marietta’s head bowed in submission. She took a few steps into the salon but left the French doors open to the cool air. Across the room, the older woman sat on a damask-covered settee with her ankles crossed and feet dangling above the floor. La Signora pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, even though no actual tears had fallen since her son’s unexpected passing.

Finally, her mother-in-law spoke. “It was no secret that I was against Dario marrying you, but I’ve never been able to deny him what he wanted. I lived with the disappointment of such a lowly match all these years, doing my best to give you a good home despite your ungratefulness.”

Marietta clenched her teeth to keep silent. Her life was much better than most, but the biting insults and degrading looks her mother-in-law cast her way on a daily basis still cut to the bone.

“All I ever asked from you was an heir, and you couldn’t even do that.” She shook a crooked finger at Marietta. “Now, we have no one to carry on the family name.”

At the callous reminder, Marietta’s hand found her belly. Two babies lay buried under the weeping willow tree, and her heart would forever ache from the losses. Though she had entered the marriage kicking and screaming, she had hoped for children. Fate just wasn’t on her side.

She learned long ago not to show any emotion in front of La Signora, so she breathed deeply to control her temper. When an acrid smell filled her nose, she crossed the room to peer out the floor-length windows that ran along the side of the villa. A dozen or so large rectangular objects burned in a pile near the carriage house. When the groundskeeper poked at one of them with a rake, sparks shot high into the air. Her mouth suddenly dry, she asked, “What is Fredo burning?”

La Signora tilted her head. “Your paintings.”

The words hit her like an icy bucket of water and her body jerked backward. Her love of painting was the only thing that kept her sane over the lonely years. To Dario’s credit, he allowed her the best materials the family’s money could buy. She had spent countless hours roaming the countryside for the perfect scene to capture, and now this spiteful old woman had destroyed her treasures. Marietta grabbed the nearest chair and dug her fingernails into its back. “Why . . . why would you do that? How can you be so cruel?”

La Signora ignored the question, her black eyes flashing with hatred. “You are no longer welcome in our home and will leave today. Signor Gatti insists on giving you a yearly stipend of 6,000 ducats.” The old woman flicked her wrist as if her husband’s offer was an offending odor that needed to be dispelled. “If it were up to me, you’d have nothing.”

Marietta silently promised to light a candle for the old man the first chance she got. It was far from a lavish amount of money, but it would ensure a roof over her head and food on the table. After Dario’s death, she had sent her father a letter addressed to the lodgings in Venice where they last stayed before her marriage, but so far, there had been no reply. If the letter reached him, perhaps he would welcome her home.

Another gust of wind entered the salon and brought Marietta to her senses. Hampered by the weight of her widow’s weeds, she hiked up her skirts and ran from the room and her vicious mother-in-law. She headed for her paintings, knowing it was already too late.

When she reached the bonfire, she gave in to the choking sobs welling up inside her. Ashes from the ruined creations swirled up in the air until gravity forced them down and onto her tear-stained cheeks in a sooty goodbye kiss.

Fredo rubbed a sleeve across his eyes and then pulled his hat down low. “Mi dispiace, Signora. They were pretty.”

Marietta wrapped her arms around herself and nodded at his kind words, but as paper curled and paint melted, her heart hardened. Her life here had ended and so would her false mourning. She grasped the bodice of her black gown and tore it open until the gown slid off her hips.

Perhaps fearing she intended to join her paintings, Fredo took a quick step toward her. In his haste, he tripped over the spikes of his rake and landed on the ground with a thud. He scuttled on all fours trying to reach her. “No, no, Signora!”

With a final cry, she threw the heavy dress on top of the remains of her landscapes. The wool quickly burned as the fire raced across the coarse fabric. She shivered in her undergarments, listening to the fire crackle and pop, until all that remained were burning embers, and then the world went black.

***

When Marietta’s eyes opened, she was in her own bed. The smell of smoke on her shift and in her hair confirmed that the bonfire hadn’t been a terrible nightmare. She covered her face with her soot-stained hands and blew out a long anguished breath. Her paintings were gone.

Overcome with fury, she pounded the bed with her fists, but it didn’t ease her rage. Her mother-in-law’s words sounded in her head, and she shot up. Three trunks stood in a row at the foot of her bed, as if standing guard while she slept. A wave of nausea swept over her. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to swallow the burning liquid forcing its way up her throat.

“Zeta! I’m going to be sick!”

Before the maid could help, Marietta grabbed a porcelain bowl from the bedside table and retched up the meager remains of her last meal. She fell back against the pillows and wiped her mouth with the corner of the sheet. Her eyes found the trunks again. “Are they packed?”

Zeta’s face reflected a mixture of guilt and misery. “La Signora ordered me.”

Marietta gave her a weak smile. “I understand.”

“Shall I help you get dressed? The carriage is waiting. La Signora said it will take you to Verona but no farther.”

Marietta held up her soiled hands. “Do I have time to wash before I’m exiled?”

While she waited for Zeta to clean the bowl, Marietta examined her face in the mirror. If it weren’t for the dark circles around her eyes and the splotches of soot, her bloodless complexion could have passed for one of the popular, white carnival masks everyone would wear in a few weeks. When she ran a brush through her blond hair, ash floated to the floor. Maybe Zeta could perform a small miracle. Marietta preferred departing the villa with some dignity instead of looking like the riffraff her mother-in-law claimed she was.

Her mind raced to form some sort of plan. She needed to buy passage on a coach from Verona to Venice. Though she never had to handle such arrangements, it couldn’t be too difficult to do. Then, she needed to find suitable lodgings. She could try where her father and she had last lived, but she remembered it as a dilapidated place. Her father had been a successful painter of portraits and frescos, but after her mother’s death, he had lost his passion. When he agreed to Marietta’s marriage, they were at the end of their savings, scrimping to get by each day. Maybe she should find rooms elsewhere and then approach her father—if she could find him.

Take one day at a time. How many times had she told herself that since her marriage to Dario?

Zeta returned with another plain dress made of black muslin. Marietta shook her head at it. “No, I will wear the blue silk with gold trim.”

The young woman gave her a conspirator’s grin and tossed the rejected dress on the bed. An hour later, Marietta stood fully dressed with hair curled and powdered. The French dress was one of her favorites, as it brought out the color of her sapphire blue eyes and made her smallish bosom look exceptional. She adjusted the mass of ruffles that fell from her elbows and then thanked Zeta. “I feel better already.”

The maid nipped the extra material at the sides of the dress with her fingers. “Forgive me for saying, but you’re losing too much weight. You must promise to eat more.”

“Maybe once I’m away from La Signora I’ll regain my appetite.”

Zeta frowned. “It’s not right—her turning you out like this. Where will you go?”

Marietta gazed out the window at the Verona countryside she had grown to love through her painting. “I’m going home to Venice.”

“What if you don’t find your father? Who will take care of you?”

Marietta reached for her friend’s hands. “Zeta, I couldn’t have survived living here without you, but now I must take care of myself.” It sounded braver than she felt. She had no desire to remain at the villa, but she also remembered how it felt to be hungry and poor.

A sharp rap on the door silenced them.

“It’s time,” her friend whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

Marietta gathered Zeta in her arms and gave her one last hug. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Two

The Gatti’s coachman deposited Marietta and her belongings outside the Cardinal’s Hat Inn in the center of Verona. As the family carriage pulled away, the urge to run after it overtook her. Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her feet to move toward the entrance of the inn.

When she opened the door, the building belched the smell of sour wine in her face. On the far side of the smoky room, a short elderly man stood behind a counter, engrossed in a game of piquet. From the foul language coming out of his opponent’s mouth, the cards were running in the innkeeper’s favor.

She approached the counter and waited to be noticed, but when it became obvious the game was more important, she tapped her fan on the well-worn wood. “Excuse me, Signore. I need a ticket to Venice.”

The old man scowled at the interruption but put down his cards. His hooked nose bobbed like a chicken’s as he took in the cut of her clothes and then peered over her shoulders. “How many in your party, Signora?”

“One,” she replied with a lift of her chin.

The innkeeper arched a gray bushy eyebrow at her. From his surprised expression, she could tell he expected her to have at least a few servants in attendance. Her mother-in-law knew traveling alone would draw attention. It was her final insult. But Marietta refused to be embarrassed, so she calmly stared back at the old man.

The man scratched at the few strands of hair left on his head and then shrugged. “There’s a coach early on the morrow. It’s a full day’s ride to Padua. You’ll stop there for the night. You should arrive in Venice by late afternoon the next day.”

“Then I’ll also need a room for tonight.”

After handing over the necessary coins, Marietta debated on whether or not to order something to eat but doubted even soup would make it past the lump in her throat. She turned a slow circle in the middle of the room and grimaced when a middle-aged man and woman sitting with a younger man about Marietta’s age eyed her with curiosity from a nearby table. With a snap of her fan, she covered her face and chose an empty table in the shadows.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, satisfied she’d made it through the first step of her plan without a hitch. She might have had servants at her disposal the past five years, but before that she had to fend for herself. When her father stopped painting after her mother’s death, there had been no money for luxuries. The few servants the family employed were the first to go. She could do this. People took care of themselves all of the time.

Her stomach rumbled at the savory aroma of the food being served to a family of three at the next table. When the serving girl placed a bowl of stew in front of the little boy, he clapped excitedly and shouted his thanks.

Marietta’s hand dropped to her belly, which no longer growled for food. Today she left behind the cruel Gattis but also the graves of her two babies that she would never visit again. She laid her head in her hands and fought back the tears. The self-confidence she felt only a moment ago drained from her body and left her weak.

A short time later, a slim, hooded figure approached Marietta’s table.

“Zeta!” Marietta’s hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming with you.” A worried look crossed her former maid’s face. “If you’ll have me.”

Marietta shook her head and then smiled to soften the refusal. “I don’t need your help getting to Venice. I’m fine.”

“I . . . I meant forever. I can be your maid again.”

“But I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Marietta replied with a lift of her shoulders. “You don’t want to give up your home at the villa.”

Zeta crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have a home anymore. I was dismissed.”

Marietta closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have known La Signora would punish you too.”

“I didn’t want to stay there without you anyway.”

“Maybe you should go home to your family,” Marietta suggested gently. “I’m sure they miss you.”

“I’d just be another mouth to feed.” Zeta studied the inn’s scarred floorboards, her hands twisting the fabric of her cloak.

Marietta hesitated. Her future was so uncertain, yet it was her fault Zeta lost her position. She couldn’t turn her friend away. “I’d love to have your company, but not as my maid.”

When Zeta raised her eyes, there was hope in them, but her brow creased. “But that’s what I am.”

Marietta reached for the young woman’s hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “No, you’re my friend.”

***

At departure time the next morning, Marietta and Zeta took their places on one of the coach’s hard wooden benches. A few minutes later, agitated English voices mixed with thuds and grunts, followed by the inquisitive group from the inn rocking the coach as they climbed aboard. The older man had the shape of a bullfrog, all stomach and jowls, while the woman looked like she might blow away in a stiff wind. The younger man took after the woman in form and had the added burden of a pockmarked face.

The older man took charge of the introductions. “Do you speak French or perhaps English? My Italian is horrible.” He barreled on in French before either Marietta or Zeta could respond. “The name’s William Brown, of B&B Shipping in Bristol, England. This here’s my wife, Penelope, and my son, George.”

Marietta smiled and replied in French, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you traveling to Venice?”

“That we are, young lady. We’re on the Grand Tour.” Mr. Brown waved his meaty hands at the scenery outside the coach’s window. “We’ve been to Paris, Rome, Florence, and Naples, and now on to Venice.”

Since Marietta grew up in Venice, she had met others on the Grand Tour; however, they were men in their twenties having illicit fun before marriage trapped them. They always had a tutor or guide to show them the way and keep them out of too much trouble. A whole family confused her.

“How nice for you, but where is your guide?”

Mr. Brown briskly rubbed the inside of his ear with his pinky before he replied, “The gentleman became ill in Rome and was unable to continue, but I told Mrs. Brown we could do fine by ourselves.”

Marietta stifled a laugh. The Browns seemed pleasant enough, but she imagined the guide preferred a different type of company. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, of course. How could we not? The food here is delicious.” Mr. Brown brushed several crumbs from his coat to prove his point. “But Venice is our last chance, I’m afraid.”

“Your last chance for what?” Marietta asked politely.

When Mr. Brown leaned forward, his protruding stomach pressed against Marietta’s knees. He gave her an exaggerated wink. “Why, to find my son a wife!”

Mrs. Brown clicked her tongue at her husband while poor George stared out the window, his mouth pinched tight. At his son’s discomfort, Mr. Brown slapped George’s knee and roared with laughter. His belly and chins jiggled from the exertion.

“You see, despite my money, none of the ladies back home fancy Georgie.” Mr. Brown pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow at such an inconceivable notion. Then he shrugged his round shoulders. “So, we’ve had to come abroad to try our luck.”

Marietta’s heart went out to the young man. He obviously had more than his unappealing looks to overcome to find a mate. She smiled at George, making his face turn a mottled shade of light red. “Venice is a romantic city. I’m sure you’ll have success there.”

Mr. Brown laced his fingers over his stomach and nodded. “Well, we probably should have let him have a go at it on his own, but Mrs. Brown doesn’t like to let Georgie out of her sight. So here we all are. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be—”

Marietta assumed Mr. Brown was about to ask her marital status and for a moment she regretted the absence of her widow’s weeds. Thankfully, the jolt of the coach getting underway interrupted his question.

The group settled into a comfortable silence, with the exception of Mr. Brown, who had an unlimited supply of stories. Marietta kept a smile on her face and nodded occasionally, but her gaze stayed on the passing countryside and her thoughts on what awaited her in Venice.

For the past five years, she had not seen or received any letters from her father. At first, this satisfied her, but as time passed, she missed him dearly. She had finally written, but when the correspondence went unanswered, she gave up. She could hardly blame her father, though. From the day the wedding announcements went out, she had been a beast to him. First, she begged him to cancel the wedding. When that didn’t work, she called him every hurtful name her young mind could invent. When he had still refused to change his mind, her temper went from fiery hot to ice-cold, and she punished him with her silence. It was the last time they had spoken. She hoped time had healed his heart for if he didn’t welcome them, she didn’t know where they would go.

The coach stopped with a lurch, breaking Marietta out of her musings. The driver cracked his whip to urge the horses forward. They whinnied in protest but could do no more. The coach was stuck in mud.

“Everybody out!” The coach rocked as the driver swung down from his bench.

The men climbed out first and immediately sank ankle deep into the road. Mr. Brown bellowed a long string of curses in his native English that even Zeta understood. Using unexpected strength for such a thin man, George swung his mother over the muck and placed her on a drier patch of road. He waved his hands uncertainly over Zeta’s midsection before he settled on her waist and deposited her safely next to his mother.

Though Marietta didn’t think it possible, when she appeared in the doorway, George’s cheeks deepened to the color of a garden beet. In his haste to finish the deed, he didn’t account for Marietta’s fuller dress. Halfway out of the coach, her skirts snagged and she teetered in midair until with a grunt, he pulled her loose. With the shift in weight, George fought for balance until they landed at his mother’s feet in a heap with Marietta on top.

“Oh, my!” Marietta pushed off George’s chest and scrambled to her feet. “Did I hurt you?”

George mumbled something incoherent before he stumbled through the mud to where his father conferred with the driver. Mr. Brown, as usual, seemed to be doing most of the talking, but whatever he said was not agreeable to the driver who kept shaking his head.

After a few minutes, George came back to them. His shoes made a sucking noise with each step. “We’ll need everyone to push.”

They took up positions behind the coach and waited for the driver’s signal. At the crack of his whip, Marietta shoved with all her might. Her legs pumped while her slippers fought for a foothold. On the third push, the wheels turned a few notches, and then the coach bucked forward, shooting mud in every direction. Another crack sounded, but this time it came from the axle and not the driver’s whip. The coach came to an abrupt stop.

Marietta groaned at their failure. She didn’t know much about coaches, but she knew they needed four attached wheels, and now this one had only three. She pulled out a lace handkerchief and wiped the dirt from her face. Her fingers brushed at the mud spots scattered across her favorite dress, but the effort only made the blotches grow. With a disgusted sigh, she gave up and surveyed the others. Mr. Brown seemed to have received the brunt of the mud spray. His previously white stockings and olive-green silk breeches were now an earthy shade of brown.

“Do you have any other brilliant ideas?” Mr. Brown asked the driver in a gruff voice.

The driver rubbed the back of his neck and then turned his head to spit before replying. “Padua is up the road a bit. I’ll take a horse and get help.”

Marietta frowned at the late afternoon sun. “How long will that take, Signore? It’ll be dark soon.”

Before the driver could answer, a carriage moving at full speed rounded a bend in the road. The group hurried out of the way, but instead of passing, the coachman reined in the pair of massive Cleveland Bays pulling the red- and gold-trimmed carriage.

Two men, one about Marietta’s age and the other old enough to be her grandfather, hopped out. The younger man was tall with a trim build and dressed in a stylish light gray coat and burgundy brocade waistcoat. He wore odd spectacles with dark lens both in front and on the sides of his eyes and carried a walking stick in his hand. If it weren’t for how confidently he strode toward them, Marietta would have thought him blind. The other man was a bit shorter and, though obviously of an advanced age, moved easily. As the strangers approached, the younger man listened intently while his white-haired companion whispered in his ear.

“Buon giorno.” The younger one greeted Marietta and the other travelers with a formal bow. “I am Signor Nico Foscari and this is Signor Raul Orlando. Was anyone hurt in the mishap?”

Marietta shook her head. “No, we are all well.” For the benefit of the Browns, she repeated Foscari’s greeting in French and then introduced her group.

“The only injuries were to our clothes,” Mr. Brown said with a wave at his ruined stockings. He swiped at his nose with a mud-covered finger and left a long brown streak behind.

Mrs. Brown rolled her eyes. Exasperation seemed to be her only response to Mr. Brown’s actions.

“I assume you were headed to Padua?” Nico asked in French.

Mr. Brown nodded. “Only for the night and then on to Venice. The driver’s going to take a horse and bring back help.”

“It’s still quite a distance to Padua.” Nico paused to consider the situation. “My family’s villa is not far. You are welcome to rest there until your coach is fixed.”

Marietta exchanged a doubtful glance with Zeta. It was a generous offer, but she wasn’t sure they should impose on a stranger. The Browns, however, had no such dilemma.

“I tell you, you Italians are the nicest people.” Mr. Brown clapped a dirty hand on Nico’s shoulder. “You’re making it hard to return to chilly England. Say, you don’t have a sister, do you?”

Nico’s brows creased at the unexpected question. “Scusimi?”

Marietta hid a smile behind her hand. Mr. Brown was relentless in his quest.

Click here to download the entire book:

Venice in the Moonlight

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small