Welcome to Amber
Lea Easton who brings news of her next release,
Reckless Endangerment...
Colonel Michael Cedars is a wounded marine returning home
from Afghanistan. He’s partially
paralyzed with his left leg, unsure how to fit into civilian life again after
being career military and questions whether or not he’s fit to be married to
his wife, Hope.
Hope Shane is a natural wild child. She met the Colonel while working as a war
correspondent, watched him get blown up and returned to Denver, Colorado to
bring him home. She’s an investigative
reporter who becomes tangled up in a human trafficking story. As far as Michael wanting a divorce and
giving up on life, she’s not one to surrender the fight. That goes for the
helpless victims in the story she’s chasing...nothing will stop her until she
has truth and justice.
As the danger of Hope’s story intensifies, Michael is tested
more than he ever imagined. Is he
capable of being the husband she needs?
Will he hold her back or, worse yet, get her killed? Is Hope and her penchant for finding trouble
a liability he can’t risk? Or is he still the hero she claims him to be?
Heroes come in many forms--soldiers who fall and rise, women
who battle for their marriage, reporters who fight for truth and justice, and
men who would put it all on the line for the women they love.
An
adult excerpt from Reckless Endangerment...
He winced. He deserved that.
Hell, he’d been singing the same song. It felt like a boulder crushed his
chest as he waited for the final blow.
“I understand,” he said. “You don’t
need to make any apologies. I’m a lot to handle. A disaster, like
you said. Just give me the divorce papers and that will be that.
End of our story.”
“You never really loved me, did
you? Look how easily you’ve discarded us, everything we were.”
“I’m sure you weren’t lonely.
A woman like you doesn’t stay alone for long. If you need someone’s
shoulder to cry on, I’m sure you’ll find a willing guy in a few hours.”
Nothing he said anymore made sense,
even to himself. Frustrated, he left her alone in the bedroom. All
those months--after all of those notes postmarked from around the world--all of
those images of her on television--he’d imagined the men drawn to her. He
had imagined her lonely and hurt by his silence seeking comfort from another
lover. Hell, maybe it had been easier to imagine that instead of believing
his actions hurt her.
“You don’t have any faith in me at
all, did you?” She stood behind him. “Not one ounce of faith.”
He flinched. Needing more
space, he moved to the kitchen and preoccupied himself with looking into the
refrigerator. What to eat, what to eat...
Arms folded across her chest, she
stared at her feet. “God, I’m an idiot. A big fool, that’s what I am.”
“I have faith in you. It’s me
that I’m not so sure about these days,” he said to the orange in his hand.
He peeled the orange without looking at her but knew she paced next to
him in the small kitchen. He chanced a glance up at her and winced at the
distant expression on her face. He hated looking up at her. Hated
it. He had once been able to lift her up and screw her against the wall
if he wanted, but now...now he peeled an orange and wondered what the hell to
say next.
It would be easy to let her back in,
as easy as breathing. Talking to her felt like a much needed shot of
normalcy. He dropped the orange to the counter. “You said we don’t
know anything about being married and you’re right. We don’t. So
what do you want?”
She perched on the counter, her
dress rising up her thighs again. “I’d like to eat the Chinese I
brought. Devon’s picking me up in a few hours...We’re meeting a source in
the park at midnight. There’s someone we need to find...anyway, I needed
a break and, for some reason, I thought you’d be a nice change of pace.”
He grinned without looking away from
the skin exposed between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots.
“You dress like this for a source?”
Her fingers touched his
forehead. “I never really got to dress sexy for you, except in Greece.”
He dragged his gaze over her body
before looking in her eyes. He had no idea what to do with her.
“Who’s Devon?”
“My producer slash
photographer. She’s good...annoying at times, but I like her.” She
caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared at him.
“Meeting a source at midnight sounds
dangerous.” He smiled because he knew it probably was and that she’d
always tempt Fate. People like her ran in when others ran out. His
smile faded at the memory of her running back into the line of fire to save
him. “I thought we were fighting a minute ago, now you want to eat
Chinese with me?”
“Yeah, well, I’m unpredictable like
that.” She broke the gaze and reached for the bags he hadn’t noticed sitting
next to her hip.
His hand smoothed up her
thigh. Her skin felt like heaven beneath his hands. His thumbs
pressed against her inner thigh. Both hands moved up her leg. He
wanted to undress her. Taste her.
She opened her knees...just a
little...enough. He pulled her close and kissed her knee. She
tasted even better than heaven. Fingers moved over red silk panties.
“I don’t want to hurt you and am afraid
I might. I hear stories of men turning on their wives in the middle of
the night, being lost in a nightmare and--” he said against her
skin.
“I can handle you.” She pulled
his hair. “Have a little faith.”
“Do you really want to deal with me?
Isn’t your life complicated enough?” Damn, she felt good. His hands
curved over her hips.
“Not really. I’ve been a
little bored.” She slid toward the edge of the counter.
He didn’t know what he was
doing. Stay. Go. Fight. Flee. But he did know
that this felt right. Being with her was the only thing in months that
felt real, that felt natural. His
fingers slid beneath the panties and pulled them down. He met her gaze,
thumbs pressed against her wetness.
She bit her lip, eyes alive with a
dare.
“This is crazy,” he whispered
without looking away from her. “You and me together again. It’s not
realistic.”
“We’re unconventional,
remember? A colonel and a reporter falling in love in a war zone was
pretty unrealistic, too, yet we did it. We couldn’t get enough of each
other, that’s what I remember.” She slithered her hips closer to the edge
of the counter, the heels of her boots resting on the arms of his
wheelchair. “You want to touch me and guess what? I want you to
touch me, too.”
Oh, yeah, he wanted to touch
her. Taste her. Bite her. Fuck her. But if he did any
of the things he wanted to do, that would seal the deal, reunite them, and he
wasn’t sure he wanted to be anyone’s husband.
“You’re bad for me.” He bit
her knee while his fingers slid down the zipper of the boot. “You’re
gonna send me over the deep end. Is that your plan? To have me
committed?”
“I never tell my plans.” She
drank from the bottle of oozo and he briefly wondered when she’d grabbed it.
He removed first one boot and then
the other until her legs were bared and open in front of him. He’d
always loved her shapely legs, the way the muscles curved, the way her skin
felt beneath his fingers. He ran his hands over them, always so smooth,
and cherished her compliance.
She held the bottle down to him and
he took a drink without looking away from her face. He loved that she was
equal parts naughty and nice, half badass and half angel. The liquor
burned his throat, reminded him that he had most definitely survived.
“I can’t make you any promises,” he
said before licking the inside of her thigh.
“I wouldn’t believe them
anyway.”
He grinned against her skin and
inhaled the heady scent of her. His fingers slid inside of her as he
closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her closing around him. Her hands
were in his hair, her ankles linked behind his neck. He pushed the skirt
up higher with his free hand before grabbing the liquor bottle and pouring oozo
between her legs. He licked her, sucked, delighting in the combination of
tastes. His fingers moved in and out, faster and faster. She poured
more alcohol for him as if feeding him from above. He sucked it up,
unable to get enough of her.
She wiggled her hips closer, hands
gripping his hair, feet pressing against the backs of his shoulders.
When her thighs pressed against his ears and her buttocks clenched, she moaned,
“I’ve missed you so much.”
And then she was sliding down and
over him until their mouths were clinging to each other like two people long
starved for the other. He pushed the dress up even farther, the palms of
his hands molding her breasts over her bra.
“You’re the best medicine a guy
could ever dream of having,” he said when she broke away to breathe.
****
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