Witness
to Passion
Guarding Her Body # 1
Guarding Her Body # 1
By: Naima Simone
Releasing June 16, 2015
Entangled: Ignite
Under his protection and in his bed…
For
Fallon Wayland, birthdays are just another reminder of her looming
spinsterhood. This year is shaping up to be no different. Unfairly fired from
her job, dumped by her boyfriend, and oh yes, witnessing the murder of a
high-ranking lieutenant in the local crime family… Yeah, birthdays suck.
Ever
since a disastrous, hot-as-hell kiss years ago, soldier-turned-security
specialist Shane Roarke has avoided his baby sister’s reckless—and
gorgeous—best friend. Yet when her life is threatened after she witnesses a
gang hit, he insists on protecting her…even if she objects.
The
two are forced to hole up in a safe house. Alone. Passion long denied erupts
between them, burning away their inhibitions. But even as layers—and
clothes—are peeled away, danger closes in. Shane and Fallon might finally have
a chance at love…if they survive long enough to see it.
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/05/witness-to-passion-guarding-her-body-1_14.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25538635-witness-to-passion
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/153749-guarding-her-body
Naima's love of romance was first
stirred by Johanna Lindsey and Linda Howard many years ago. Though her first
attempt at writing a romance novel at 11 never saw the light of day, her love
of romance and writing has endured. Now, she spends her time creating stories
of unique men and women who experience the dizzying heights of passion and the
tender heat of love. She is the wife to Superman - or his non-Kryptonian, less
bullet proof equivalent - and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all
live in perfect, domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.
Excerpt
“Can’t sleep?” Shane asked.
“No,” Fallon murmured. “It’s too quiet.”
He nodded, rising to his feet from the couch. The dog
tags around his neck clacked against one another, drawing her attention to the
wide, naked expanse of his chest. How she managed to sound calm and unaffected
by the sight of all that taut skin should be filed under minor miracles. Especially
since inside her panties she popped, sizzled, and lit up like a damn Fourth of
July fireworks show.
“Here.” He scooped up the television remote from the
fee table and tossed it to her. “Take the couch.” He bent, picked up his pants,
and turned to step into them. “I’ll sleep on the—”
“Jesus Christ.” She caught the remote on autopilot,
the sheet dropping from her numb fingers. Horror poured through her in a thick,
choking deluge. Before her mind could catch up with her body, she was closing
the distance between them. Her hands were reaching for him, gripping his hips
above the low-hanging black band of his boxers and unbuckled, sagging pants.
Her eyes were drinking in the terrible scars marring
his back.
Shane went unnaturally still, and the tensing of his
muscles telegraphed his intention to jerk away. But she tightened her hold,
ignored the fact that she’d violated his unspoken edict regarding her touching
him.
“Please,” she whispered, unable to prevent the pain
and fear from seeping through. Maybe he detected it, detected the desperate
need. Because, though he didn’t relax, instead remaining as rigid as a statue,
he didn’t move away from her.
Didn’t leave her.
Emitting a sound caught somewhere between a whimper
and a sigh, she gently—reverently—traced the gouged-out flesh just below his
waist, the hard, puckered skin surrounding the old wound. Pressing her forehead
to his shoulder blade, she smoothed fingertips over the long, ridged scar
aligning the bottom of his spine. Stroked the raised, shiny mark the size and
shape of a nickel on the back of his upper arm.
Grief for his suffering, panic at the realization of
just how close she’d come to losing him pummeled the breath from her chest,
leaving a hollow, agonizing ache behind. Of course she’d known he’d been hurt;
only a serious injury could’ve kept Shane from returning to the Army he loved.
But four years ago when she’d received that call from
Addy about Shane being shipped home, her friend had told her he’d been shot.
That’s it. She hadn’t detailed the gravity the scars covering his body
conveyed. They’d kept her in the dark. Purposefully.
“You wouldn’t let me come to the hospital,” she said.
“No,” he stated, voice flat.
“Why?” she demanded softly. He didn’t reply, only
fisted his fingers at his sides. “I would’ve come. If you’d let me, I
would’ve,” she murmured, then bent and brushed her lips over the scar on his
waist.
Jolting as if struck by a bolt of lightning, he
whipped around, a fierce frown darkening his face. “What the hell are you
doing?”
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