Excerpt #1, NOTE: While this book is rated for over 18, the excerpt below is rated G.

***

From Love on the Run, © revised, re-release 2007, Marie-Nicole Ryan, Samhain Publishing    ©  2002, Marie-Nicole Ryan, WingsePress,        

Electronic Available Samhain Publishing, November 2, 2007   e-ISBN 1-59998-686-8             Print Available October 30, 2008, ISBN: 978-1-599998-950-6

SETTING: Small Pensione in San Remo, Italy. This excerpt PG 13

BACKGROUND: DCI David French has taken Miranda (Randi) Raines and her son Jamie on a dangerous hop-scotch across Europe. They’re on the run from her ex, a murderous arms dealer, who has escaped from a British prison and vowed revenge toward her and the chief inspector. Their enforced proximity has brought Randi and David closer, but tonight there’s one small problem. ☺

 David unlocked the door and walked into their room. To his surprise, Miranda had taken up residence in the armchair. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“No, you take the bed. You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in nearly a week. I had a long nap this afternoon.”

He shook his head. “I can’t sleep in the bed and know you’re trying to sleep in a chair.”

“It was good enough for you last night. It’s good enough for me tonight. Women’s Lib, you know.”

“Sorry, I just can’t.”

She unwound from her cramped position and walked toward him, a guarded expression in her eyes.

“There is only one other solution,” he suggested.

“Which is?”

“If we sleep like spoons, we’ll all fit. And it’s only for a few hours.”

Like spoons? The very thought of her spooned in his arms did wonders for his heart rate. How in blazes would he ever think he would be able to sleep like that?

“S-spoons?” Slowly she slid into the middle portion of the bed, scooping a sleeping Jamie up in her arms, then patted the portion of the bed behind her. “Like this? You’re insane. I can’t sleep that close to you.”

“Sure you can. Pretend like I’m your brother and we’re on a camping trip.”

“You don’t look like any of my brothers and my imagination doesn’t stretch that far.”

“Come on. It won’t be that bad. That way we can both get some rest.”

Lord, how he wanted to lie next to her. And her eagerness certainly was baffling and encouraging at the same time. How would he ever manage to not embarrass the two of them? Perhaps, if he kept his clothes on, it would help. He sat down on the side of the bed and kicked off his shoes.

“There’s plenty of room,” she said with a shy smile.

“Compared to what? A coffin?”

The woman had the temerity to snigger.

“I wasn’t joking,” he protested.

“Of course, you weren’t.”

“Grr.” He turned around and into position directly behind her, who, for some unknown reason, decided to wriggle into his portion of the bed. “You’re taking some of my space.”

“No, just getting comfortable,” she replied, giving a wiggle of her hips which connected with his groin.

He swore under his breath as his groin responded without his permission, straining against the confinement of his jeans. Lord, how he wanted her. She was actually teasing him. Why? Surely she had to know the effect she had on him.

“G’night.”

He groaned. “Good night, Miranda.”

His erection hardened further. Surely she had to be aware.

The sound of her breathing quickened. She was aware.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his own heart beat hammering in his chest. Could she feel that too?

She twisted a bit and looked at him over her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. The bed’s so small and we’re just so c-close. I’ll go back to the chair.” She tried to rise, but he restrained her.

“No,” he rasped. “Stay, please. I want to feel your body next to mine. Wanting you is driving me crazy.” He levered up on his elbow, leaned forward and touched her neck softly with his lips.

A sharp intake of breath.

“I won’t hurt you. I would never—”

“I know.” Her breath came in ragged gasps. “But we can’t. Jamie.”

“Come with me.”

Randi eased from the bed, dazed by the heat of her body’s response to David’s. She placed her hand in his and followed him into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

“Now,” David said, lowering his lips to hers, and a blaze of desire ripped through her body weakening her knees. She backed away and gazed up into his eyes. The night light she’d thought to include for Jamie gave off just enough light for her to see the look of surprise on his face.

“Am I moving too fast?” David groaned. “We don’t have to do anything, but I’m dying of wanting you.”

“I need to catch my breath.” She clung to his body, her legs still limp as worn out fiddle strings. She trusted him, was already in love with him. Could she—should she—give into a single night of lust?

“I won’t hurt you. I’m not Stefan.”

“I know.” She buried her face in his chest and inhaled his male scent. His erection was rigid and pressed firmly against her belly.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. You can go back to bed—I’ll die—but you can.”

She giggled. “No pressure?” She gazed up at him and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for your death.” Her heart banged against her chest wall like a cymbalist gone mad. Was she dreaming? Was she really about to make love with David?

***

From One Too Many, © 2008, Marie-Nicole Ryan, Samhain Publishing, Ltd., e-ISBN: 1-59998-963-1

Electronic release May 27, 2008, Print release April 1, 2009

It was quite dark and the air had a definite winter nip when David and DS Stafford pulled up in front of Richmond’s Nursery. From the ground level windows, the light cast a cheerful glow on the snow in the front garden.

Nan Richmond Morgan admitted them without protest. She was five-ten and solid from all the years of hard outdoor work. Her hair, a mixture of blond and gray, was pulled back with a plastic headband. Her clothes were clean and serviceable, probably purchased in the men’s department.

Once Stafford left the room to re-interview Freddie in another, David remained in the comfortable and cluttered living room with Nan. “Hope you’ve had your dinner,” he said.

“We just finished. It’s been a long time hasn’t it, David?”

“Yes, it has. We’re looking into the death of Riley Stubbs.”

“I’ve heard about it in the village,” she said with no affect.

“I hate to mention this, Nan, but your name has come up a couple of times in our investigation.” He watched for her response.

She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw. “In what respect, Chief Inspector?”

No more friendly “David”, but the more formal address “Chief Inspector”.

“Were you or have you seen Riley Stubbs…intimately?”

She jumped up, her large meaty fists clenched at her sides. “That bugger? Someone said I was having an affair with him?”

“That’s what a couple of people have told us, yes. He was reported to have closed his shop whenever you came in.”

“That’s because he didn’t want his other customers to know what a foul, cheating, lying piece of shit of a dealer he was. Bastard sold me fake Staffordshire dogs. I paid a month’s wages for them, too.”

“You never had an affair with him?”

“No, I’d rather take a bath in sheep shit than let that sod touch me.”

“This was seen to happen more than once.”

“And well it should.” Her face grew red. “I went there more than once to reason with him. First, I thought he’d been fooled and would reimburse me. ‘Buyer beware’ is what the bugger said to me. Buyer beware! I told him ‘seller beware’ because I’d see him in court.”

“Did this have any effect on him?”

“Bugger laughed and said…never mind. Doesn’t matter, now. He’s dead.”

“What did he say?”

“Just some rubbish about he knew my secret and I’d better be careful or he’d tell everyone.”

Interesting. “What did he know?”

“How should I know?” Nan scowled and her posture remained tense. “He was full of it, that’s all. I got no secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets, Nan.”

“Well, I got none I care for anyone knowing,” she huffed and averted her gaze. “It’s getting late. And I’m an early riser.”

“I understand, but one more thing. Where were you yesterday morning?”

“Alibi? You want me to give you my alibi? Aw-right, I was working at Lord Hutton’s place. That’s where I was yesterday morning.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“Dunno. Lady Jane asked me to look over the winter veg beds and renew the mulch if it needed it. I works alone most of the time. That’s the nature of my days.”

Stafford came back into the room. He tugged at his ear which was their prearranged signal he’d learned nothing new from Freddie.

“All right. We’ll leave you for the time being, but we need you to come down to the stationhouse for a DNA swab. Just on a voluntary basis as a way of eliminating suspects.”

“I’m a suspect?” Her voice rose an octave, and again those meaty hands of hers were balled into fists.

“We just need to clear you, Nan. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I’ll come down and let you swab anything you’re a mind to. I got nothing to hide.”

“As you said.” David nodded. “That’s it then. Sergeant Stafford and I thank both of you for your cooperation.”

Outside, Stafford chuckled. “I thought she was going to pop you one, sir.”

“So did I, Eric. So did I.”

 *

 It was after ten when David and Stafford returned to the Green. David pulled up in front of the inn. “See here, Eric. I’m not bunking with you tonight after all. I’m going to make sure Miranda’s settled at the country house.”

“Of course, sir. I mean, it stands to reason that with all those servants, her ladyship’s likely to get lost in the shuffle.”

David noted the smirk on his sergeant’s face. “All right. I admit it. I just want to see my wife.”

“And no one blames you, sir. She’s a charming lady.”

“Thank you. I’m rather fond of her.”

Eric hoisted his bulk from the vehicle, turned around and snapped a salute in David’s direction.

He shook his head and gunned the motor. He was headed home to his wife.

Home. Wife. A year ago those words brought up only painful memories, and now they brought warmth to the very depths of his being.

*

After the travel arrangements were made and called back to Mina, I had a cup of hot cocoa, then went to bed at nine. Strange house, strange bed, and no husband to keep me warm. It’s no wonder I had trouble going to sleep. Right after dropping off, something, a bump in the night, woke me. I looked over at the clock and the red LED read ten minutes after eleven. I lay still for a moment and listened.

Thump.

There it was again. I wasn’t imagining anything. Surely all the servants had gone to bed. That could only mean someone was sneaking around the house and outside my room at that.

My heart pounding, I slid over to the far side of the bed and peeked over the edge of the mattress. I glanced around, but in the darkness, I couldn’t see a thing I could use as a weapon. I felt around the table beside the bed. A lamp. And a heavy one at that.

I picked it up and scurried across the room to hide behind the door. I held it high over my head ready to bash whoever it was on the other side. My skin tingled and grew cold with the fear racing through my body.

The door opened. I took a deep breath—

***

Holding Her Own, © 2008, Marie-Nicole Ryan, Samhain Publishing, Ltd. e-ISBN: 1-60504-068-1

Electronic release July 15, 2008, Print release June 1, 2009

Over 18 Excerpt. Do NOT click on this link if you're underage...and I mean it.

“About that cousin thing…”

“So that was part of your con? This place is yours?”

“Yeah.” She held out her hand for his coat. “Would you like some coffee? Then we can get to work.”

Jake shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

At the far end of the foyer a door opened, and a silver-haired woman peeked through. “Miss Chaney? Back so soon?”

“We decided to work here. Is there some fresh coffee?”

The woman grinned, a web of wrinkles wreathing her full face. She patted her hair; it was so fine it reminded Jake of a pile of white cotton candy. “You know I always keep a fresh pot on. I’ll have it for you in a jiffy. Dining room or…”

“The study will be fine, Bonnie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The door closed.

“Old family retainer? Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. Clearly Caitlin Chaney was used to the finer things in life. Probably thought being in charge of an operation was her due just because she was the Interior Secretary’s daughter. She wouldn’t have lasted twenty-four hours on the streets of the French Quarter.

“Bonnie isn’t just an employee to me. She’s a dear friend and the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had.”

“My mother didn’t run off. She died when I was two days old.” As if realizing how harsh she sounded, she stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Hurt rose in his chest, but it was an old hurt. He shrugged it away like an out-grown jacket. “Don’t be. Shows you’ve done your homework.”

She leveled her gaze on him. What now? he wondered.

“You have a way of pushing my buttons.”

“You’ll have to get used to it. We’re joined at the hip…”

Her eyes widened at the word “joined”. “If you think—”

“Until this op is over,” he finished, in a vain attempt to hide his amusement. God only knew what Jose was thinking sending this neophyte into an undercover situation. If they both came out with all body parts in working order, it would be a damned miracle.

“Let’s get to it then. The study’s this way.”

A lamb to the slaughter, he followed. Kate’s disguise for the evening included a short skirt that cupped her bottom like a second skin. He sucked in a breath. The rear view of her toned thighs…inspiring.

Down, boy. There’ll be no joining—at the hip or otherwise—tonight.

The study turned out to be a comfortable, almost masculine room. Two leather couches faced each other in the middle of the room, and a massive old desk was placed in front of the bay window. Books lined the walls and there was an oil portrait over the fireplace. He glanced around, half expecting to see a bewigged Thomas Jefferson penning the Declaration of Independence with a quill.

Caitlin plopped down on the closest sofa and motioned for him to take the other. “Get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night. Jake? Earth-to-Agent LeFevre.”

He gave a bark of laughter and sat. “This is a great room. For a minute there, I thought I’d stepped into another century.”

“It’s been like this ever since I can remember. It was my mother’s family home. She left it to me in her will. I guess she must’ve known she was dying and made it out right before she died. I was still a baby.”

He stretched out a leg and tested his long frame against the length of the couch. “Sorry about your mother. Must’ve been rough growing up without her.”

Kate’s gaze grew steely. “That’s my mother…up there, the portrait.”

“Beautiful woman. You’re very like her.”

“Yes, she was. Thank you. It’s odd. I’ve looked at her portrait so many times, but I’ve no clue what she was really like. Was she terribly in love with my father—difficult for me to imagine—was she afraid at the end? Her portrait tells me nothing.”

“But I’m sure your father must’ve told you stories about her. He must’ve been grateful to still have you.”

She glared back and ignored his comment about her father—why?

“We need to focus on the operation. This trip down memory lane is an unnecessary diversion.”

“Yes, ma’am, Special Agent—”

“And can the SAC crap, too. If we’re going to function as a team, we have to pull together and watch each other’s backs.”

Jake laughed. “You sound like you almost know what you’re talking about. I’m impressed.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I went through the same training at Quantico as you, LeFevre.”

“Let’s see if I’ve done my homework. You completed your training five years ago. All you’ve done since then is sit on your very attractive ass and crunch numbers. Tell me if I’m getting warm?”

An angry flush spread up Kate’s neck, splotches appeared, marring the soft, pale skin. “Go to hell.”

“That’s warm.”

“I’m as qualified physically and mentally as the day I left Quantico—if not more. I maintain a firing range and a gym in my basement.” She raised her chin a notch. “Care to test me?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather have you in one piece for the op.”

“Maybe you’ll be the one at risk.”

“Me? Chèr, have you lost your mind?” Amused, he stood. At six-feet, one-inch, he towered over her. “You’re five-six at most.” He paused and eyeballed her trim figure. “And at two-fifteen, I outweigh you what—a hundred pounds?”

“Not quite.” The muscle in her jaw worked, demonstrating to his experienced eyes just how pissed she was. What was she trying to prove and why?

“I’m solid muscle. No excess.”

Jake laughed. He knew full well she possessed one area that wasn’t solid muscle. He’d pulled her against his chest at the front door. Her breasts were full against him, and no set of pecs were anything like as sweet.

She stood, then gave him a mock uppercut to the chin. “You’d do well to keep your gaze on my face, LeFevre. You’re treading a fine line here.”

He grasped her wrist and held it firmly but gently. “I’m guilty of being all male. Can I help it if I’m easily distracted?”

Caitlin shook her head, then jerked her wrist from his grasp. He couldn’t get by with treating her like a sex object. “This is never going to work. I’ll call Jose now and ask for a replacement.”

“Hold on a damn minute. You need me.”

She gazed into his dark, impenetrable eyes. What kind of man was he really? “How’s that? Jose said you were replaceable.”

“He was blowing smoke, trying to mollify you. Listen, babe, I know casinos. I’ve worked in security. I’ve worked as a pit boss on a half dozen undercover ops. You need me, Chaney. And you don’t have enough experience to know how much.”

“Then get this straight. You will treat me with respect. I’m supposed to be your wife for Pete’s sake. We’ve only been married six months. We’re going to be living in the same small apartment. What’s your problem anyway? Do you hate all women agents, or is it just me?”

“I don’t hate women agents. I’ve worked with some—”

“So it’s me?”

“Yeah, it’s you. I don’t know how you made it through Quantico, but I suspect your father’s position in the government had something to do with it.”

Caitlin clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She took a deep breath and willed her hands to relax. “I don’t care what you’ve heard or what you think. My father has nothing to do with any of my accomplishments. As far as I’m concerned, he paid my school bills. I owe him my education and not another damned thing.”

“So, my father was a shit, too.” Jake shrugged.

Anger ripped through her as though LeFevre had waved a red flag in her face. “Never mention him again.”

“Translation: sore point.”

Another word and she’d have to shoot him. And how would she dispose of his body? “Excuse me,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll see what’s keeping the coffee.”

***

From The Man For the Job, © 2004, Marie-Nicole Ryan, Wings ePress        

Like an armored tank brooking no obstacles, Gwyneth strode along the busy streets of the Big Apple. For once she wasn't worried about being mugged or stalked--just let someone try.

“Wilford Wells, just wait until I get hold of you. I'll wring your wrinkled old neck for the trick you've played on me,” she muttered, knowing she must look as demented as half the people around her. Still, she didn't give a damn what anyone thought.

“’Now then, sugar’, Uncle Wil had said, ‘This Mike Carlton, I checked him out. He's the best.’”

The best? If that phony cretin was the best, she'd hate to see the worst. She'd show her uncle what she thought of the best. She'd pull his gray, stringy ponytail out by the roots.

Dammit. She'd presented herself at Mike Carlton's office, expecting to be treated with due respect, and instead he'd hit on her like she was a lap dancer in a stripper bar.

He'd even had the nerve to kiss her in the back seat of a taxi. Never mind that Richard's kisses had never made her hot and squishy inside. Mike's lips were tender and warm, and he'd tasted of his morning coffee. How could one kiss--a kiss that reminded her of a rich burgundy, dark and earthy--upset her so?”

What was the matter with her? She had no business thinking about Mike's lips or his earthiness--no matter that she already had. Keeping her head on straight was of paramount importance. At least it always had been.

Gwyneth entered her office building and managed a semblance of self-control while riding the creaky elevator to the tenth floor. True, she and her uncle could have afforded offices in a better location, but Uncle Wil had argued that their clients might be intimidated by more ostentatious surroundings. And these were certainly humble.

Humble or not, the sight of Wells and Wells, Attorneys-at-Law always made her feel proud, even if the faux gold paint was a touch tarnished. She loved her uncle, but he was in for a shellacking. And she was just the woman to wield the brush.

“He in?” Gwyneth asked the assistant she shared with her uncle. Without waiting for an answer, she flung open the door to his office.

“Good afternoon to you too, sugar.”

She leaned across her uncle's desk, resisting the urge to throttle the only relative with whom she could stand to be in the same room. “You have some explaining to do.”

An expression of total bewilderment took up residence on her uncle's grizzled face. Rearing back in his chair, he frowned. “What the hell's the matter with you?”

“Th-that detective you referred me to--he's a joke. That's what's the matter with me.”

“You saw Mike Carlton, right? Not one of his flunkies?”

“Yeah, I saw him. He's arrogant, rude and a throwback.”

Maybe it was the glint in her uncle's faded blue eyes and the twitch of his lips--or maybe it was the prickle on the back of her neck--but something made her stop mid-rant. “He's standing right behind me, isn't he?”

“You got that right,” came the already too familiar voice.

Gwyneth whirled. “You!” Advancing on the arrogant upstart leaning against the door frame, looking ever so pleased with himself, she shouted, “I can't believe you'd have the effrontery to show your face in my office after your unconscionable behavior in the taxi.”

“You hired me, Counselor,” Mike replied with a shrug, turning his palms upward. “What else could I do?”

“I distinctly remember firing you,” she bluffed, all too aware that she'd done no such thing.

His forehead furrowed, but crystal green eyes shone under thick, dark eyebrows. “Fired? No, I think I'd remember if you'd fired me.”

“I did,” she insisted, barely refraining from stamping her foot. “I'm sure I did.”

“Were we in the taxi when you supposedly fired me?”

“Of course we were.” The nerve of the man--acting so innocent, when all the time he knew exactly what had transpired between them.

Removing his fedora, Mike ran his fingers through wavy, dark-brown hair while he appeared to consider her words. Honestly, if she weren't so mad, she wouldn't mind tangling her fingers in those curls and…

Great! The man had cast a spell over her. She was on the verge of turning into a gibbering, over-sexed hedonist.

Then he smiled. He had such a sexy mouth and gorgeous eyes, but she didn't trust his expression. She took it as a sign that he was about to say--or do--something totally outrageous.

“That's not what I remember happening in the taxi.” Then, as if remembering they weren't alone in the room, Mike stepped around her and approached her uncle. “Sorry, Mr. Wells. We weren't properly introduced. I'm Mike Carlton.” Mike offered his hand to her traitorous uncle who was actually smiling at the P.I. “Your niece has hired me to find out who's stalking her.”

“I fired you!” Gwyneth gave in and stamped her foot.

“You didn't.”

“Well, I am now.” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a roll of bills. “Here. Take this for your time and no effort. You are officially fired--as officially fired as I know how to fire anyone.”

Mike took her money, ruffled the bills, then handed them back to her. “Too much, and besides, the taxi ride was pure pleasure on my part. You're very entertaining, Counselor.”

Outraged, she turned back to her uncle. “See what I mean? He's… he's… “

“Got you all stirred up. That's what I see, sugar.” Uncle Wil’s shoulders shook with laughter.

Exasperated, Gwyneth took a deep breath in a feeble effort to regain control--then another. “Why aren't you leaving?” she managed to ask in her most dulcet tone. “You have been dismissed. I no longer have any need of your services. Must I say it in another language perhaps?”

“I understand English, Counselor. It was my first language.” He nodded at her uncle. “Sir, it was a pleasure meeting you, however brief our acquaintance.”

“What's this butter-won't-melt-in-your-mouth act you're putting on for my uncle? That's not how you talked to me.”

All she received for a reply from the outrageous phony was a smirking half-grin as he turned to leave.

“Mike,” Uncle Wil called after the wretched detective. “I think we can do business. Since my misguided niece has fired you, I take it you're free for another job?”

“No!” she cried, unable to stop herself.

Ignoring her, Mike stopped, turned around and smiled. “Yes, as it happens I am.”

“Good, 'cause I'm putting you on retainer. I want you to find Gwyn's stalker.”

“I'd be more than happy to work for you, Mr. Wells.”

***

From See You in My Dreams, © 2003, Marie-Nicole Ryan, Wings ePress

The laundry room door opened. Max stepped out, clad only in a forest green bath towel, wrapped around his trim waist.

Good grief. As if she needed any more temptation. "Max, really."

"Excusé moi," he said, his eyes alight with mischief. "Everything I had was soaked."

"Yeah, well you'd better get some dry clothes before you catch cold." How in the hell could she concentrate with him parading around wearing a towel? His body, sculptured like a Greek statue, had broad planes of muscle rippling across his back. And she didn't want to think about his firm butt, except there it was, covered only by a towel that looked like it might fall any second.

Inspiring. To say the least. Too bad she wasn't writing a romance novel. Having Max around would certainly spice it up.

"I'm going. I'm going. I don't want to risk offending your tender sensibilities." Max bowed and turned to leave.

Nikki stood up and huffed. "I'm not offended. I'm--" she abruptly stopped, stunned by what she'd almost said.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Were you tempted, Nikki? I'm tempted every minute I'm in the same room with you." He walked toward her. "And when I'm not in the room with you, I'm thinking about you," he murmured, his voice deepening with emotion.

Her knees grew weak. She always turned to jelly whenever he spoke in those soft, sensual tones, his accent stronger than usual.

Like a fool, she backed away.

***