Bond Mason’s roots run deep in the backwoods hamlet of Trespass, Florida. Nestled against the banks of the Suwannee River, the only home she’s ever known holds bittersweet memories of a family long gone. Except one of her ghosts isn’t dead and possessive ex-lover James Kyle wants her back.
U.S. Deputy Marshal Nathan Gates sights are set on capturing fugitive Robert Kyle. Wanted for the cold-blooded murder of a DEA agent, Robert is suspected of being hidden away with his moonshine-brewing, marijuana-growing family of fellow lawbreakers, one of which is his brother, James.
Nathan expected high temperatures when he arrived in Trespass. What he hadn’t counted on is his searing attraction to southern beauty Bond Mason. She winds him around her finger like a tendril of Spanish moss, but his lawman’s intuition tells him she’s hiding secrets too. When he finally convinces her to talk, he’s not prepared for the dark truths she reveals about her hometown.
The Suwannee is deep, but Trespass’s sins run much deeper. For once, Nathan might be in over his head.
Bond rolled to her knees, still smiling, as she untied the sash to her robe. She let it fall open but didn’t shrug it off her shoulders. It parted in slow motion a few inches then stopped, revealing a swath of golden skin down the center of her body, the inviting valley between her breasts and the small patch of dark trimmed curls at the apex of her toned thighs. Nathan stood motionless, taking her in as he tried to decide what he wanted to set his mouth to first.
“Nathan.” Her fingers nervously toyed with the robe’s sash. He gradually raised his gaze to hers, tearing it away from the temptation of her body. “I have a small confession to make.”
His interest was piqued. “I’m listening.”
Color flooded her cheeks. He put one knee on the mattress and kissed her jaw reassuringly. She braced her hands on his biceps, the heat of a sigh warming his ear. “Last night when you were kind of … bossy … I liked it … a lot.”
He grinned. That was some admission. His single-minded cock wholeheartedly approved. It was so hard it threatened to bust through the teeth of his zipper. “You like me telling you what to do, huh?”
She nodded. Her fingers caught the hem of his t-shirt, stripping it over his head. “I like it when you talk.”
“Last night you said I talked too much.”
“I can’t be held accountable for the things I say during incredible sex. I want you to talk.”
Incredible sex. No argument there, it had been. Tonight was going to top that.
The robe slipped off one shoulder exposing her right breast, an enticement impossible to resist. Nathan ducked his head and made a lazy circle around her nipple with the tip of his tongue. It tightened to a stiff peak. He felt her fingers slide through his hair, heard the tiny moan she made in her throat. “Dirty?” he asked against her skin.
“Anything. I want to listen, not think. I like your voice, but if you were saying naughty things it would be even better.”
He chuckled as he eased off the bed. Bond sat back on her heels, resting her hands on her thighs expectantly. “Take your hair down.”
She released the clip, allowing the dark mass to tumble free. When she shook her head, damp curls slid over her shoulders. Nathan reached out and wound a long lock around his fingers, tugging gently. “You’re stunning.” More color flooded her cheeks and neck. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “Come closer.”
Rising to her knees, she scooted to the edge of the bed, pressing her chest to his. Nathan caught the lapels of her robe in his fists and pulled it down her arms, trapping them at her sides. He buried his face in her neck, trailing kisses across the tender, fragrant skin. Her scent made him drunk with desire, crazy with need. Never had he been so affected by a woman as he was by Bond. She was like some illicit drug, and he’d become a hopeless addict with one sample.
I started reading when I was four, thanks to a babysitter who found out the only way to get me to sit still was to put a book in my hand. By the time I entered kindergarten, I’d blown through just about every Little Golden Book ever printed. Ten years later, much to my mother’s dismay, I found her stash of paperback romance novels. She tried to divert me back to something more chaste by buying me Harlequins, but I still snuck copies of her Kathleen Woodiwiss’s and Johanna Lindsey’s when she wasn’t looking. Shanna, The Flame and the Flower, and Fires of Winter will always hold special places in my heart because they introduced me to roguish heroes, headstrong heroines, and the trouble they could get into together.
I live in a swampy little corner of north-central Florida with my family, both the two-legged and four-legged variety. I love to read, run hot and cold in regards to cooking, and I never miss an episode of Justified, Longmire, or Dexter. I guess I like justice in all its various forms.
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