In the wilds of Maine on her way to complete an assignment, CIA Clandestine Ops agent Lorelei Randall is ambushed and nearly killed. She is rescued by retired Marine scout sniper Adam Stone and his spotter/partner, Lucian Duquesne, and taken to Sanctuary training camp. The men care for her, and sexual heat quickly develops between the three.
Unable to choose between them, Lorelei ultimately accepts both hard, muscled, determined men as her lovers—which puts her assignment, and her life, at further risk. With Lucian as their anchor, Lorelei experiments with both him and Adam, singly and together, realizing she's been missing such hot, over the top, ramped up sex. Although the men do their best to protect her, she stubbornly insists that she is totally capable of caring for herself. But changing the game plan at the last minute, her stubbornness places her at the wrong end of an assassin's gun.
Unable to choose between them, Lorelei ultimately accepts both hard, muscled, determined men as her lovers—which puts her assignment, and her life, at further risk. With Lucian as their anchor, Lorelei experiments with both him and Adam, singly and together, realizing she's been missing such hot, over the top, ramped up sex. Although the men do their best to protect her, she stubbornly insists that she is totally capable of caring for herself. But changing the game plan at the last minute, her stubbornness places her at the wrong end of an assassin's gun.
Excerpt:
Lucian Duquesne watched Adam Stone match his speed, then press the throttle lever with his calloused thumb. The all-terrain vehicle rocketed along the rough two-track trail, through the trees, and up the rocky slope. Once Adam reached the clearing, he parked, then shut down the engine.
Lucian pulled up alongside, took off his goggles, and continued the morning’s debate. “It’s not like we need to wire the whole camp. Let’s say, a thousand feet out from the buildings. Cut me some slack here, hoss. With our clientele, we should increase the efficiency of our perimeter alarms. Civilians, hikers, misdirected vacationers, poachers don’t need to be crossing the line of demarcation into our range of fire.”
A loud crack reverberated under the heavy canopy of tall trees, followed by a second, forestalling Adam’s response. Gunshots. Then a third sound, dull and metallic, like the slamming of a heavy door.
Lucian arched an eyebrow at Adam, attempting to radiate cocky vindication. He reached for the rifle stowed in the weapon carrier on the rear deck of his four-wheeler, then rested the weapon on his lap. “Shithead poachers.”
Adam picked up his rifle. He jacked cartridges into the chamber, aimed toward a slope away from the direction of the sounds, then fired two quick rounds.
“People here. Private property!” His strong voice echoed after the rifle shots. He cranked over the ATV, headed toward the original shots. Lucian brought up the rear.
They reached the road and were immediately enveloped in the cloud of dust obscuring an eastbound vehicle. Adam gave chase.
As the gritty powder settled, Lucian spotted two long black patches of tread marks. The acrid odor of vulcanized rubber lingered in the air.
Adam returned. “Someone was in a damn hurry.”
Lucian frowned, but not at Adam’s curt remark. “Yo, hoss, tracks at eleven o’clock.”
They dismounted and carried their rifles. Experienced trackers, they didn’t disturb the terrain more than necessary. The trail of churned earth led them to the edge of the clearing. Before the ground broke and dropped into the ravine, the way was blocked—the forward motion of a dark blue four-door SUV had been abruptly halted by a rhino-size boulder and a giant tree.
As they approached the wreck, Lucian took photos of the scene before they touched anything. Then he hurried to the driver’s door. “Driver still in place, window is pebbled from the inside, looks like blood. Door is jammed. Try the other side.”
Adam checked out the front passenger door. “Not gonna happen. Truck’s wedged tight. See if the back door opens. If not, we’ll go through the tailgate.”
The driver’s-side passenger door creaked and complained loudly, but Lucian managed to force it open by bracing a leg against the side of the truck and yanking. The car alarm sounded. From the backseat, he stretched past the driver to switch off the ignition, silencing the alarm.
The driver hung forward, suspended by her seat belt.
“Female, unconscious, has a pulse. That’s all I can tell from here.”
Lucian pulled up alongside, took off his goggles, and continued the morning’s debate. “It’s not like we need to wire the whole camp. Let’s say, a thousand feet out from the buildings. Cut me some slack here, hoss. With our clientele, we should increase the efficiency of our perimeter alarms. Civilians, hikers, misdirected vacationers, poachers don’t need to be crossing the line of demarcation into our range of fire.”
A loud crack reverberated under the heavy canopy of tall trees, followed by a second, forestalling Adam’s response. Gunshots. Then a third sound, dull and metallic, like the slamming of a heavy door.
Lucian arched an eyebrow at Adam, attempting to radiate cocky vindication. He reached for the rifle stowed in the weapon carrier on the rear deck of his four-wheeler, then rested the weapon on his lap. “Shithead poachers.”
Adam picked up his rifle. He jacked cartridges into the chamber, aimed toward a slope away from the direction of the sounds, then fired two quick rounds.
“People here. Private property!” His strong voice echoed after the rifle shots. He cranked over the ATV, headed toward the original shots. Lucian brought up the rear.
They reached the road and were immediately enveloped in the cloud of dust obscuring an eastbound vehicle. Adam gave chase.
As the gritty powder settled, Lucian spotted two long black patches of tread marks. The acrid odor of vulcanized rubber lingered in the air.
Adam returned. “Someone was in a damn hurry.”
Lucian frowned, but not at Adam’s curt remark. “Yo, hoss, tracks at eleven o’clock.”
They dismounted and carried their rifles. Experienced trackers, they didn’t disturb the terrain more than necessary. The trail of churned earth led them to the edge of the clearing. Before the ground broke and dropped into the ravine, the way was blocked—the forward motion of a dark blue four-door SUV had been abruptly halted by a rhino-size boulder and a giant tree.
As they approached the wreck, Lucian took photos of the scene before they touched anything. Then he hurried to the driver’s door. “Driver still in place, window is pebbled from the inside, looks like blood. Door is jammed. Try the other side.”
Adam checked out the front passenger door. “Not gonna happen. Truck’s wedged tight. See if the back door opens. If not, we’ll go through the tailgate.”
The driver’s-side passenger door creaked and complained loudly, but Lucian managed to force it open by bracing a leg against the side of the truck and yanking. The car alarm sounded. From the backseat, he stretched past the driver to switch off the ignition, silencing the alarm.
The driver hung forward, suspended by her seat belt.
“Female, unconscious, has a pulse. That’s all I can tell from here.”
Purchase Strength of Arms from
Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00UKLMBME
