About the Author
Award-winning author, Lisa Renee Jones, has published more than twenty novels in several languages, spanning multiple genres of romance—contemporary, romantic suspense, paranormal, and erotic. In each book the hero is dark, dangerous, and sexy. She debuted for Nocturne and Blaze on the Bookscan bestseller list. You can find Lisa on Twitter, Facebook, and her blog for regular updates. Her website is www.lisareneejones.com.
Read on for an excerpt from
The Legend of Michael
Available Now from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Nevada’s Area 51 was not only the subject of government conspiracy theories; it was now, officially, her new home. A good hour before sunrise, Cassandra Powell pulled into the military parking lot outside the launch pad leading to the top-secret underground facilities where the launch of the Project Zodius GTECH Super Soldier Program was a year under way. The ride from her new on-base housing had been a whopping three minutes, which considering the inhuman hours the military favored, she could deal with. The simplicity of a standard green army skirt and jacket—required despite her contract status—seemed to be working for her as well. The cardboard bed, not so much. It had, however, made a great desk for her laptop and all-night reading.
And considering she was only three days on the job—taking over for the former head of clinical psychology who’d transferred to another department—she had plenty of work to do. The prior department head hadn’t done one fourth of the studies that Cassandra deemed critical to properly evaluate these soldiers. And while the counseling aspect fell outside her clinical role, she wasn’t pleased with what was being offered. She’d certainly be nudging her way into that territory.
Files in hand, she exited her red Volkswagen Beetle and pushed the door shut with a flick of her hip. She walked all of two steps when the wind whipped into high gear, fluttering her suit jacket at her hips and tearing to pieces the blonde knot tied at her nape.
She shoved at the loose locks of hair and drew to a shocked halt, blinking in disbelief as four men dressed in black fatigues materialized in a rush of hot August wind at the other side of the long parking lot next to the elevator. She drew a breath and forced it out, trying to calm the thunder of her heart pounding her chest. Apparently she wasn’t quite as prepared for the phenomenon of GTECH Super Soldiers as she’d thought she was. Or at least not this skill her piles of paperwork referred to as “wind-walking.” It was one thing to be inhumanly strong and fast, even to be immune to human disease, but to be able to travel with the wind was downright spooky—and suddenly, so was the dark parking lot as the four men disappeared into the elevator.
Eager to get inside, Cassandra started walking, but made it all of two steps before another man appeared beside the elevator, this time with no wind as warning. Good grief, she hadn’t read about that stealthy little trick yet. Special Forces soldiers were already called lethal weapons, but these men, this one in particular, were taking it to a whole new level.
Still a good distance away from the building, Cassandra slowed her pace, hoping to go unnoticed, but she wasn’t so lucky. The soldier punched the elevator button and then turned and waved her forward. Oh no. No. No. Not ready to meet anyone yet. Not until she had a few of her ducks in a row. Cassandra quickly juggled her files and snagged her cell from her purse as an excuse to decline joining him, holding it up, and waving him off. He hesitated a few moments as the doors opened before he finally stepped inside and disappeared.
Cassandra started walking instantly, determined to get to the darned elevator before another soldier appeared. By the time she was inside, she had her file on wind-walking open—a good distraction from the entire underground, bomb-shelter-style workplace that made her more than a little uneasy.
Absorbed in her reading, head down, Cassandra darted out of the elevator the instant it opened, only to run smack into a rock-hard chest. She gasped, paperwork flew everywhere, and strong hands slid around her arms, steadying her from a fall. It was then that she looked up to find herself staring into the most gorgeous pair of crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen in her life.
She swallowed hard and noticed his long raven hair tied at the back of his neck, rather than the standard buzz cut—a sure indicator he was Special Ops. He could be one of the two hundred GTECH soldiers stationed at the base. A Wind-walker, she thought, still in awe of what she’d seen above ground.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was…” She lost the final word, her mouth dry as she suddenly realized her legs were pressed intimately to his desert fatigues, and her conservative, military-issue skirt had managed to work its way halfway up her thigh. “Oh!”
She quickly took a step backward, righting her skirt in a flurry of panicked movement. Three days on the job, and already she was putting on a show. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “I know better than to read while walking. I hope I didn’t hurt you.” He arched a dark brow as her gaze swept all six-foot-plus of incredibly hot man, all lethal muscle and mayhem, and knew that was unlikely. She laughed at the ridiculous statement, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. She was five four in her bare feet—well, on her tip toes—and she bet this man towered over her by nearly a foot. “Okay. I didn’t hurt you. But, well, I’m still sorry.”
He stared down at her, his gaze steady, unblinking, the chiseled lines of high cheekbones and a square jaw, expressionless. Except deep in those strikingly blue eyes, she saw a tiny flicker of what she thought was amusement. “I’m not sorry,” he said, squatting down to pick up her files.
She blinked at the odd response, tilting her head and then squatting down to face him. “What do you mean?” she asked, a lock of her blonde hair falling haphazardly across her brow, free from the clip that was supposed to be holding it in place. “You’re not sorry?”
He gathered the last of her files, then said, “I’m not sorry you ran into me. Have coffee with me.”
It wasn’t a question. In fact, it almost bordered on an order. And damn, if she didn’t like the way he gave that near order. Her heart fluttered at the unexpected invitation. “I don’t know if that is appropriate,” she said, thinking of her new position. She stalled. “I don’t even know your name.”
The elevator behind them dinged open, and Kelly Peterson, assistant director of science and medicine for Project Zodius, appeared. “You’re early, Cassandra,” she said, amusement lifting her tone. “Morning, Michael.” She continued on her way, as if she found nothing significant, or abnormal, about Cassandra being sprawled across the hallway floor with a hot soldier by her side.
Cassandra popped to her feet, appalled she’d made such a spectacle of herself. Her sexy Special Ops soldier followed. “Now you know my name,” he said, and this time, his firm, way-too-tempting mouth hinted at a lift. Not a smile, a lift. God… it was sexy. “Michael Taylor.”
“Cassandra,” she said, unable to say the last name, dreading it more with this man than with the many others she’d been introduced to in the past few days. What was she supposed to say? Hi. I’m the daughter of the man who changed your life forever by injecting you with alien DNA without telling you first, and then claimed it was to save you from an enemy biological threat? Now you’re a GTECH Super Soldier for what we think is the rest of your life, but who knows what that really means long-term for you. But hey, I promise I’m one of the good guys, here to ensure you aren’t used and abused just because you’re a macho, kick-ass, secret government weapon? And did I mention I’m nothing like my father?
“Cassandra Powell,” he said, handing her the files, leaning close, the warmth of his body blanketing her in sizzling awareness. “I know who you are. And no, that doesn’t scare me away. I never run away from anything I want.” He leaned back, fixing her in another one of those dreamy blue stares. “So how about that coffee?”
Read on for an excerpt from
The Storm That Is Sterling
Available Now from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Rebecca Burns was s
itting behind a scuffed wooden table in the Killeen, Texas, library when he sauntered by, and every nerve ending in her body went on alert. “He” being Sterling Jeter, the hot blond hunk of a guy who’d graduated a year ahead of her. And try as she might to keep her attention on Bobby Johnson, the second-year high school quarterback who she was tutoring for his SAT test, she failed pitifully. As if drawn by a magnet, her gaze lifted and followed Sterling’s sexy, loose-legged swagger as he crossed to the computer terminals he’d been frequenting the past three weeks.
Sterling yanked a chair out from behind a desk, and she quickly cut her gaze back to Bobby, who was still struggling through the worksheet she’d given him. Unable to resist, she slid her attention back to Sterling only to find him looking right at her. He grinned and winked, holding up a Snickers bar. She blushed at the realization that he’d brought it for her, after she’d confessed an undying love for their peanutty goodness just the afternoon before.
“I just don’t get why I need to know algebra on the football field,” Bobby grumbled. Reluctantly, Becca tore her gaze from Sterling’s and refocused on Bobby who, at six foot two with brown hair and eyes and stud status at the school, was no grand dictionary of knowledge.
“Either you meet the required SAT score for the University of Texas,” she reminded him, “or you’ll be passing your ball to whoever is open somewhere else.”
He shoved the paper away and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “This is bull. I don’t want some fancy NASA-sponsored scholarship like you got, so I don’t see why I have to be some geeky bookworm like you either.”
She stiffened at the familiar jab, wondering why she let it bother her, why every once in a while she wished she was the cheerleader or prom queen. It wasn’t like she wanted to be some brainless blonde beauty. Her mother was a teacher, both pretty and smart. Darn it, Becca liked having her mother’s dark brown hair and brains, and she was proud of the NASA scholarship. Her parents were proud of her, and that’s what counted.
Resolved to ignore his remark, she pushed the paper back toward him. “Let’s try again.”
“I’m done,” he said. “I’m going to talk to Coach. He has to get me out of the SAT.”
“Get you out of the SAT?” she asked. “You can’t be serious.”
He pushed to his feet. “As a touchdown.” And with that smart remark, he headed toward the door.
Becca tossed down her pencil and sighed. Please let the summer end. She couldn’t get to Houston and her new school soon enough.
The chair in front of her moved, and a Snickers bar slid in front of her. “You look like you need this urgently.” Sterling sat down across from her, his teal green eyes a bright contrast to his spiky blond hair. She decided right then that her summer goal was to run her fingers through that hair just one time before she left for Houston. And kiss him. She really wanted to kiss him.
“It’s a wiser and safer man who brings a Burns woman chocolate when she’s upset. Or so says the Burns men. They swear it’s a better survival technique than anything they learned in basic training.” Both her father and brother were career military, same as her grandfather had been. She reached for the candy bar. “Thank you, Sterling.”
He grabbed the worksheet Bobby had abandoned and started working an algebra problem with such ease that she assumed he was just doodling. They chatted while she waited for her next tutoring session, and she decided he was the best part of her summer wait for college. He took care of his grandmother by doing computer programming work. She thought that made him amazingly sweet.
When it was nearly time for her next student, he abandoned the worksheet and studied her. “I should go.”
“Okay.” Dang it, she really didn’t want him to go.
He didn’t go. He sat there, staring at her, the air thick with something—she didn’t know what—but it made her stomach flutter.
“You want to catch a movie or something Friday night?”
She smiled instantly, knowing she should play coy—after all, Sterling was older and more experienced—but not sure she would know how if she tried. Dating wasn’t exactly something she’d excelled at.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like to go to a movie.”
His lips lifted. “With me, right?”
She laughed. “Yeah, with you.”
Once they’d arranged to meet at the library at seven the next evening, Sterling headed back to the computers. She glanced down at the math he’d done and smiled all over again. He’d gotten all the questions right. Good looking and smart. She might just fall in love with her hot cowboy.
***
With a smile on his lips, Sterling whipped his battered, black Ford F-150 into the driveway of the equally damaged trailer he called home and killed the engine.
He leaned back in the seat and pulled the wad of cash from his pocket. Ten thousand dollars and a date with Becca tomorrow night. He was going to kiss her, see what honey and sunshine tasted like, because that’s what she reminded him of. Ah yeah. Life was good.
“Yeehaw,” he whispered, staring at the cash again. How many nineteen-year-olds had that kind of dough? He was liking this new job. Hack a computer, get cash. He snorted. “And they say that government databases can’t be hacked. This low-life trailer trash proved them wrong.” That’s what the kids at school had called him after his grandmom had gotten arrested for public intoxication. Trailer trash. Misfit. “Screw you,” he mumbled to the voices of the past. “Screw you all.”
Once Sterling had counted the money, down to the ten thousandth dollar, he grabbed a hundred for his date with Becca and stuffed the wad of cash back in his pocket. Then he snatched the bundle of flowers on the seat. He left the Snickers bar for himself and then decided better. Candy had worked with Becca, after all. And he’d need all the sweetness he could muster to convince Grandmom to head to that fancy alcohol-rehab center he’d arranged for her to enter up in Temple, Texas. It was even close by, only twenty miles away, which he hoped would help convince her to go. She’d curse and probably hit him. She was good at that, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Hadn’t for years.
He knew she couldn’t help herself. He’d read enough about alcoholism to know she was sick. Yet she’d raised him despite that. Heck, he was to blame, he supposed. He was why his mother had died—the trigger that had set Grandmom off.
He climbed out of the truck and whistled down the path to the front door. The whistle faded the instant he entered the trailer. Grandmom sat on the couch, wrapped in the same crinkly blue dress that she’d gone to bed wearing, a big bottle of vodka in her hand. Two men dressed in suits sat next to her.
“Look what these men brought me,” she said, grinning, holding up her prize.
“We know how you like to take care of your grandmother,” one of the men said, his buzz cut flat against his skull.
“Kind of like your father took care of his family,” the other man stated, a clone of the first one. They had to be army or government. Fuck me!
“The resemblance between the two of you is amazing,” the first man said, picking up a picture of Sterling’s father. He was standing in front of a helicopter, his blond hair longer than it should have been because he wasn’t normal army. He’d been Special Forces, working undercover all over the map. And it had gotten him killed when Sterling was barely out of diapers. The man set the picture back down on the coffee table.
Lisa Renee Jones, Damion
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