(Base Branch #2)
Publication date: October 1st 2014
Genres: Adult, Romance,
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.
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.
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
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.
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