Saturday, August 25, 2012

Supernatural Saturday: Superhero Sneak Peek


Pre-Order Today
 I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about my upcoming September release of Yesterday's Heroes. The book marries my two loves of superheroes and romance. So to celebrate the kids going back to school and my upcoming release, enjoy the teaser excerpt after the jump and pre-order your copy today and get it downloaded on the day of release!

Aurora “Rory” Graystone 
Codename: Halo
Abilities: superior reflexes, I.Q. and aptitude for calculating probabilities
Mission: find missing teammates

Rory knows she’s being watched, and she’s not about to let the hunter catch her in his trap. She’ll confront her stalker, a man she suspects is involved in the disappearances of other superheroes–if she can ignore the sensual heat that fills her every time he’s near…

Michael Hunter
Codename: Hard Target
Abilities: expert tracker and sniper
Mission: kill Rory Graystone

One of five desperate men sent back in time to save the future, Michael believes eliminating Rory is the key to his mission. But even as he takes aim, a split second of doubt causes him to miss his shot.

Drawn together by passion, and on a collision course with fate, can Rory and Michael work together to change the future? Or have they set in motion the horrific history the time-travelers are trying to prevent?

Black hair, so dark it was blue, filled his scope. The sweep of it kissed Aurora Graystone’s cheeks, emphasizing the pixie nature of her bone structure and the fine porcelain of her skin. He knew the lashes fringing her eyes were the same dark, luscious color. More startling than her hair or skin were her eyes, so deeply violet they swept his soul like an unheard sigh.
He’d seen photographs of her.
They didn’t do her justice.
Michael Hunter lifted his eye from the scope and tilted his head left, the crack of relief easing the pressure on his spine. He followed the target’s lithe figure as she stepped out of the boutique, her hands loaded with designer bags. He was fifty yards away, sixty yards up, and the distance did nothing to diminish the strain of the white t-shirt over her pert little breasts. He let his gaze drift below her neck. The interior of the shop had to be colder than the exterior. Her nipples stood at attention lovingly moulded by the soft cotton.
Sweat trickled along his hairline, but his bandana soaked it up before it reached his eyes. For months he’d watched her.
For four weeks now, he had dared closer contact, tracking her, studying her and attempting to penetrate the perimeters of her life.
The target shopped. She visited with friends. She dressed simply. Today, snug jeans cupped her tight little ass and hugged a pair of long legs he imagined would grip just perfectly around his broader frame and larger hips.
His cock jerked at the thought, stiffening to a full salute in his khaki fatigues. He fought the urge to shift to a more comfortable position, the erection a painful reminder that he needed to stay focused on the task at hand.
What did it matter? She was about to be dead.
He followed her path, cross hairs moving smoothly over the curve of Aurora’s—the target’s—neck. Her pulse beat steadily beneath the vulnerable flesh. He imagined she tasted of the cool oranges and tart lemons he’d scented when he deliberately bumped into her the night before.
Fuck. The target. Michael. The target. She’s just another damn target. Keep your eyes on the prize.
Her hips rolled as she paused at the window to a cosmetics shop. She perused the window display, bags held carelessly in one hand. The target tilted her head, one finger gliding across her gloriously full lower lip. Her hand dropped to her pocket and she palmed open a small lipstick.
She cut her hair.
The transient thought bounced across his consciousness, much like a rock skipping across the water. It rippled through his thoughts. Why did she cut her hair?
It didn’t matter. She was just another target.
Michael flexed the finger that rested against the trigger, gliding it over the cold metal as though outlining her kissable mouth coated with “fuck me red” color. She didn’t need it. Her ripe figure was curved perfectly and his palms itched with the desire to scrub over her, teasing her flesh, torturing it until her sexy-little-mouth pleaded for release. His cock jerked in agreement.
Michael closed his eyes and exhaled, forcing his heart rate back to a sluggish, disinterested pace. He was a Boomer. Bio-mechanical recon one. This was his task. He’d been chosen for just this moment. When all else failed, he could do the job.
When he opened his eyes again, his target was on the move, disappearing into the coffee shop. She would be six minutes before she stepped back out. Six minutes to enjoy her morning foray into this world’s preoccupation with shopping. Six minutes to savor the black Arabican brew he had learned Aurora preferred.
Six minutes to live.

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