Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
When friends become enemies and enemies become lovers.
Born in the blood of Sierra Leone’s Civil War, enslaved, then sold to the US as an orphan, Base Branch operative, Sloan Harris is emotionally dead and driven by vengeance. With no soul to give, her body becomes the bargaining chip to infiltrate a warlord’s inner circle, the man called The Devil who killed her family and helped destroy a region.
As son of the warlord, Baine Kendrick will happily use Sloan’s body, if it expedites his father’s demise. Yet, he is wholly unprepared for the possessive and protective emotions she provokes. Maybe it’s the flashes of memory. Two forgotten children drawing in the dirt beneath the boabab tree. But he fears there is more at stake than his life.
In the Devil’s den with Baine by her side, Sloan braves certain death and discovers a spirit for living.
For justice. For country. For love.
After witnessing her friend’s sexual assault, seven year senior, Magdalena Wells escapes an attack with a few bruises and a thousand questions. As a journalist in practice, if not in pay, Mags vows to utilize the skills she mastered in the Democratic Republic of Congo and answer every single one, just as soon as she gets the hell out of town.
Law Pierce’s aim is rest and relaxation after two years undercover in South Africa on an extended Base Branch mission, but restlessness puts him in trouble’s path. As a servant of justice, Law will do everything in his power to keep trouble safe. The fact that trouble’s petite stature and luscious curves stir his every primal instinct is a massive inconvenience he struggles to ignore.
Together Magdalena and Law uncover a web of corruption and dirty lies that could set their country’s top official ablaze, if the inferno doesn’t consume them first.
One takes control. One finds balance in letting go.
Base Branch operative, Ryan Noble is accustomed to taking orders whether from his commander or his overbearing mother. His best friend urged him to take control of his life, but the only thing worse than an angry woman is a teary one. He has no desire to upset his mother’s fragile emotions. Losing his sister was hard enough, his mom couldn’t bear losing another child. Even if it is to the other side of D.C. It’s a damn good thing she doesn’t know what he does for a living.
On a routine mission to destroy a cargo free human trafficking facility and exterminate it’s operators, Ryan blows his extraction to rescue a woman he finds chained inside.
Piper Vega is caught between metal and a hard place. She needs information and it has taken far too long to cull it from her leads, also known as her captors. She finally has the facts she needs to complete her task, but it’ll take a miracle to set her free and see it achieved. Santo Padre knows she never expected her good favor to come in the form of a man.
Ryan takes the reins of life in his sturdy grip while Piper discovers balance in loosening hers. Through intense battles of will, both find the unexpected.
Enemy Mine (#1)
The moment Sloan crossed the threshold into the sitting room all eyes were on her. Not in the, “Wow, she looks so good,” way, but in the, “Oh, she just stumbled on the high wire,” way. Lana perched on the edge of a settee next to Devereaux, legs crossed, leaning toward him, but her eyes sparkled with interest in Sloan’s direction. She, and the other ladies in the room, awaited her fall.
The Devil, busy tapping the display of his phone, paid her no attention. So, Sloan smiled sweetly and nodded to Lana like a good little escort. The damn butler stood next to the dining room door all prim and proper, waiting to be called upon.
Kobi had yet to arrive, but her real problem leaned against the frame of the French doors studying her.
Sloan knew how to take a hit. It was second nature for her to roll a shoulder, step back, block, weave, or absorb the force and use the momentum to throw her attacker off balance. Yet, there was nothing she could do to stave off the impact of Baine’s steady gaze. He looked at her and saw...everything. Like every secret she harbored, every hope and fear, were unveiled for his eyes alone.
She huffed out a breath at the idiocy of the notion, but still struggled to discredit it. Especially when he beckoned her with the slightest nod of his head. As she steadied her quivering nerves with bold steps in his direction, she examined him, looking for any signs of weapons or weakness.
His most prominent weapons called her attention first. Hooded by dark lashes, Baine’s blue eyes glinted in the final shreds of daylight. A fine suit matching the color of his dark hair covered his body and nearly hid the butts of two handguns nestled below his shoulders. Thighs about the diameter of her waist fit easily in his slacks and revealed no trace of a holster. Not that she discounted the probability he had one or two somewhere on his lower half. The scruff on his chin had turned into the makings of a close-cropped beard, and she discounted its significance...right up until she was forced to swallow the saliva that had pooled in her mouth.
The man was a weapon. Finely honed with little to no weakness about him. Not a lawyer. Not a friend.
“You look stunning,” he said when the toes of her heels were only a few feet away from his surely custom dress shoes.
“You don’t look stunned to me,” she replied, searching his face for any reaction.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Good. I can’t give you any advantage over me.”
He scanned the room before returning to her, then said in a quiet rumble, “When I answer, keep in mind where we are.”
Confusion furrowed her brow. Caution told her to back away. Curiosity kept her in place. “Okay?”
He waved the butler over and placed his empty glass on the tray he carried. “Scotch. Straight.”
Lawrence nodded. “Anything for you, miss?”
Sloan cleared her throat before she was able to speak, suspense and irritation having tightened it. “No, thank you.”
The butler winked at her playfully before turning away from them.
Baine ripped her gaze from the butler’s back by settling his hands on either side of her neck. Heat radiated from his big palms to the pads of each finger and sent what should have been a warning alert, but instead launched a pang of desire to her belly. He gathered her hair in his hands. The weight of it lifted from her chest and back for a moment before he settled it, running his hands down the back of her neck and spine to her tail bone. The motion pulled her to him. Her head automatically snuggled into the hollow of his neck, as he cupped her ass and pulled her closer still.
A hint of cologne and sex shot up her nose. Like the cocaine she’d been offered the previous night, his scent was a drug she’d best let alone. She exhaled him slowly, trying not to savor him or dread the room’s plain air she tilted up to inhale. Before she had a moment to lament, his teeth nipped a trail up her neck.
When he reached her lobe his lips enveloped it, diamond and all. She bit down on a moan. He removed the grip she hadn’t realized she had on his coat and kept her hands burrowed in his, not giving an inch of space between them.
“I wouldn’t have expected such an honest reaction from an undercover Branch Agent.”
As every muscle in Sloan’s body went taut, Baine’s grip tightened on her hands. Not painfully so. Just enough to pull her back from the edge of sanity. Back from pulling her knife and going to work on everyone in the room she could get to before she got blown to bits.
“Relax,” he whispered. “I don't want to fight you. I watched you take out Bull in D.C. and I know how handy you are with a knife.”
His lips grazed her cheek, and then he was there, resting his forehead on hers. Those deep blue eyes exploring hers.
“So,” he added, “do us both a favor and keep that purse tucked under your arm.”
He released her hands and straightened, her gaze now level with his throat. Sloan stood stunned like a piece of petrified wood. How in the fuck did he know she was a Branch Agent? Even Branch Agents didn’t know all of the other Branch Agents. She wasn’t one for profanities, but if ever a situation called for one or a hundred…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His lips spread into a thin smile and he leaned closer. “It takes brass balls to stand there after that kind of blow. I’m impressed.”
She smiled back, mirthlessly. “Don’t be. It doesn’t take balls when you’re a person with nothing to lose.”
Baine’s brow pinched and his smile faded. “That’s unfortunate, because I need you to have a bit of self-preservation, if we’re going to make it through this week.”
Justice Mine (#2)
Instead of knocking, Mags fished her keys out of the depths of her tote and let herself inside. Maybe she could sneak in like old times and avoid a proper dressing down. She slipped through the door and fastened it behind her. She turned to tiptoe through the warmly decorated living room, but abruptly teetered. Something metal caught the toe of her sandal and upended her world, yet again. Metal clacked and clattered around her body as she landed hard on…she didn’t know what the fuck it was, but it hurt. Heavy footfalls thudded down the stairs in a rapid beat. And instantly her heart revved a notch.
Easton Wells, her dad, didn’t get in a rush about anything, and he was a slender fellow. Not nearly as big as the thunder rumbling in her direction. Though her pulse ratcheted with each closing step, Mags’ brain kicked into gear after the tilt-a-whirl ride of the evening and she sighed in relief. Baine. Her brother was that big, but why in the world would he be in her father’s house?
Still weary, Mags scrambled to her hands and knees. At least, she tried. Tubular metal polls rolled under her palm, caught the edge of the bag on her arm, and sent her sprawling again.
“What the hell,” a deep baritone boomed. Not Baine. Baine’s voice was similarly bass, but this one held a rough quality that quaked its way down her spine.
“Dad,” she screamed with every bit of air she held in her lungs. What had he done to her dad? Who was he? What did he want? That fucking weasel from the apartment…he’d held true to his word and worked too damn fast…
A big hand clamped around her upper arm and pulled. Magdalena let the tote slip from her opposite shoulder as the behemoth hoisted her from the floor, and then balled her fist and rammed. She looked past the wide expanse of his bare chest and aimed for his throat, like Baine had shown her.
Before she could blink, he had her restrained. Thick arms coiled around her chest and arms as he pinned her to his body. Her face burrowed into a valley of muscle while her breasts smashed against the rippled tract of his abdomen. Heat radiated from the man, warming every inch of her exposed skin from brow to ankle. He touched her everywhere. Encompassed her completely.
Panic seized her as stories of sexual violation flooded her memory from the interviews she’d taken from Goma to Bunia. Now she’d have her own story, if she survived. Her arms and legs flailed of their own volition in a primal struggle for freedom. For life.
“Magdalena, calm down.” His voice brooked no argument. And damn her body, but it obeyed, going rigid as a board.
“How do you know my name? Where’s my father? Who are you? What do you want?” The questions, jumbled from her addled brain, fell out of her mouth in a breathless line of inquiry.
“Baine said you asked lots of questions.”
At the mention of her brother’s name she sagged into the man, completely spent. He accepted her weight without the slightest sway of his stance. On a pivot he leaned over her. Embarrassed and absolutely confused, Magdalena hid her face in the hard ridge of his chest as he hooked one arm behind her knees and collected her in his hold.
“What are—" Her question was a whisper he cut off with that rugged voice of his.
“No more questions. I’m still processing the last interrogation. You’d think you were a reporter or something.”
“College student,” he shot back.
Mags hated the smile that curved one side of her mouth because she didn’t understand it at all. Nor could she comprehend why the sweaty musk of his skin made her want to lap it clean with her tongue.
Stranger Mine (#3)
“Piper, regular sex is mundane. Mediocre at best.” He shrugged.
“Maybe you just haven’t done it with the right person.” She inhaled, stuffing her lungs full of his masculine scent, and enjoyed the hit. Like a pothead discovering crystal meth, she was hooked. Whether she liked it or not.
“No doubt. But what I’m talking about, if done right, blows regular sex out of the water every single time.”
“What makes you think you can do it right?”
“I can’t.” Ryan’s thumb mimicked the earlier caress over her left cheek. “We could.” He placed the pad between his lips and sucked off the moisture. ”It’s a trust so absolute I could aim a gun to your head. Smile. Pull the trigger. Kill the man sneaking up behind you. And all the while you’d smile back at me. Never for an instant believing I could harm a strand of your hair. An inch of your skin. A piece of your heart.”
Megan was born and raised among the live oaks and shrimp boats of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where her enormous family still calls home. She attended college at the University of Southern Mississippi where she received a bachelor's degree in curriculum, instruction, and special education. For several years Megan worked as a teacher in Mississippi. She married and moved to South Carolina and worked for an international non-profit organization as an instructor and co-director.
In 2009 Megan fell in love with books. Until then, books had been a source for research or the topic of tests. But one day she read Mercy by Julie Garwood. And Oh Mercy, she was hooked!
Megan lives in Southern Arkansas where she pens sizzling suspense novels.