Romance Author, Lora Leigh

  • Increase font size
  • Default font size
  • Decrease font size

Rescue Me

Rescue MeISBN: 0312948425
Publisher: St. Martin’s

 

Order From Amazon | B&N | Borders

Featuring Atlanta Heat by Lora Leigh

Mason ‘Macey’ March has always known that the Admiral’s goddaughter, sweet Emerson Delaney wasn’t for the likes of him. But when terrorists kidnap her and Macey is sent to rescue her, the rules change. Things are about to get hot in Atlanta, and Macey knows once he touches her, they’re both going to burn.

**This is an unedited excerpt from Atlanta Heat**

Some women a man knew to stay the hell away from. It was a self preservation thing. Survival instinct. The lone wolf that reveled in its independence and sexual freedom knew when it was staring in the eyes of a sensual trap. A woman capable of making the male animal stand up, take notice, and tremble in his military boots.

Mason ‘Macey’ March was a man who liked to live on the edge though. He was all about the challenge, the risk, the excitement, whether it was a mission or a woman, or a terrorist out to destroy the world. He was a man who stared out at life with a defiant snarl and dared it to take first blood.

He was a man staring at his own destruction, and he had enough sense to recognize it, and to be equally terrified and drawn to it. Like a spectator to a train wreck. It was going to be bloody. It was going to be a mess. But he couldn’t look away because she had him by his soul and he knew it. One kiss. That was all it was going to take. One touch and he was going to be a goner. He was aching to touch.

Hazel green eyes twinkled mischievously from over lightly freckled cheeks. Lush lips curved enchantingly, and made a man wonder about things that mouth could do even as it threatened the fit of his dress whites.

Softly curved, temptingly delicate, and trouble with a capital T. Messing with this woman was the ultimate insanity, but no one had ever accused him of being sane.

“You know Lieutenant March,” she drawled with seductive southern. “You could always slip out the back door. I bet the Admiral won’t even realize you’re gone.”

He stared down at her, eating up the vision of her below the neck with his peripheral vision even as he kept his gaze steady on hers. Wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let the Admiral catch him leering at his goddaughters ample breasts. The way the sapphire blue silk clung to them, held over the luscious mounds with the tiniest of straps. Her long chestnut hair fell down her back in thick soft waves making his hands itch to touch it.

“Sweetheart, the Admiral would fry important portions of my anatomy if I dared.” He attempted to smile, but he was damned close to swallowing his tongue as he caught sight of those sweetly curved mounds lifting in a breath of a sigh. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a sheen of moisture popping on his brow as he fought to control the hard on threatening beneath his slacks. This wasn’t the best place to prove to the Admiral that he really was nothing more than a dog panting after a pair of pretty tits, as the bastard had recently accused him of being.

He didn’t pant after tits. He revered them. Worshipped them. He was nearly drooling over them. Maybe that did make him a dog.

He watched Miss Emerson Delaney smile then. A playful curve of her lips that was a warning in and of itself. And beneath that silk making his mouth to dry was the faintest hint of nipples hardening.

“You know, I could help you sneak away,” she whispered playfully. “Admiral Holloran is after all, my godfather. I’ll make your excuses. You aren’t looking well, you know.” She was laughing at him. Playfully. In amusement. But she was getting a kick out of the fact that he didn’t dare piss the Admiral off at this point. He’d already been busted down in rank for one misdemeanor, he didn’t need to get brought down again because Emerson was in the mood to play.

“Don’t do me any favors, imp,” he growled.

She pouted back at him playfully. “But Macey, doing you a favor would just make my day complete. Didn’t you know that?”

He snorted. Likely story. If he didn’t get the hell away from her the Admiral would barbeque his ass.

“Do me a favor then and find someone else to harass, kid,” he told her. “I’m in enough trouble.”

He caught the narrowing of her eyes as he made his escape, quickly. Before he lost control and let his gaze drop to those incredible breasts.

Okay, so he was a tit man. He couldn’t help it, and she had the most incredible set he’d ever seen.

He drew in a quick, fortifying breath as he made his way through the ballroom, the foyer, then quickly entered the silent, empty study that the Admiral made available to his men during these jackass parties his sister insisted on throwing in his name. Holloran should get married or something, to a nice shy little wife that didn’t like parties instead of letting his sister run his social life.

He stalked across the room to the bar, pulled a glass from the shelf and splashed in a healthy dose of whisky as he heard the door snick open behind him. And he knew. Hell, he knew who was back there.

He tossed back the whisky. “Go back outside and play little girl.” He grimaced as he caught sight of her in the mirror over the bar. “You’re biting off more than you can chew this time.”

He’d known her for years. Known her and avoided her and lived in dread and in anticipation of the chance to touch her.

“I had a message for you.” Her voice wasn’t teasing this time, it was a chilly snap. A proper, aristocratic, holier than thou, kiss my ass, whiplash of sound.

It made his dick hard. Made his balls draw tight in hunger and his fingers curl with the need to touch.

“So what’s the message?” He rubbed his hand over his face before glancing at the mirror again.

She was leaning against the door, her eyes were glittering with anger, and those lush lips were tight with irritation.

She opened the little evening bag she carried and drew a slip of paper free, extending it to him as she crossed the room then slapping it into his open palm.

Then, he made the biggest mistake of his life. He didn’t just take the paper and tuck it in the pocket of his slacks. And he sure wasn’t dumb enough to read it. Oh hell no. With his free hand, he gripped her wrist and jerked her to him, shoving the note in his pocket with the other and then, curling his hand around her waist and jerking her tighter against his body.

Hell. Fuck. Son of a bitch.

Those firm mounds pressed against his lower chest, her head tipped back, shock and lust brightening her eyes as his head lowered.

He was crazy. He was destroying his career, right here, with a single kiss.
His lips took hers. Like a man starving for passion, a man suddenly, forcefully aware of the hunger tearing into his gut.

And he was hungry.

Her lips parted on a gasp and he was there, his tongue stroking past them, daring her to do her worse with those sharp little teeth. Wishing she would, because then, maybe, he could find the strength to release her.

But did she bite him? Did she rack her knee into his tortured balls as she should have? Hell no, she had lost her mind too. Because slender arms were suddenly wrapped around his neck, fingers plowing into his hair and her lips parting, taking him, her tongue tangling with his as a rough cry whispered against his lips.

She tasted like honey and spice and she went straight to his head. Kissing her was like immersing himself in addictive sweetness.. He licked at her, his tongue tangled with hers and before he realized the idiocy of his actions his hands were tearing at the little straps of her dress, dragging them down her arms. His lips tore from hers to travel down her neck, down the arch of her throat, heading for nipples that, as the pads of his thumbs stroked over them, tightened further.

Ah hell, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He had to taste.
He lifted her against him, and set her on the padded barstool, his hands cupping those luscious breasts, lifting them to him as his mouth captured one tight, hot bud between his lips.

He’d have thought he could hold on at that point. He’d have thought that the sheer pleasure of finally tasting Emerson’s tits would be enough to give him the control needed to hang on and enjoy it. And in doing that, he could find at least a single thought to remind him that he wasn’t just playing with fire, he was playing with his own career here.

But did he think? Thought washed away when she cried his name in that breathless, shocked voice. It ripped out of his head and left him in a reality where the only thing that mattered was her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her breast as he sucked at that tight nipple like a man drowning in lust and pleasure.

Sharp nails pricked at his scalp, pulled at his hair, dragged him close as she arched and shoved her nipple tighter between his lips.

Thought didn’t control him now. His dick controlled him. Thick and hard and straining beneath his slacks. One hand dropped to her thigh and he began jerking that softer than soft evening gown up legs that he knew had to be softer.

This was what happened when a man denied himself. When he worked with no breaks to play. When he pushed back lust and refused to drown the hunger for one woman in another woman’s body. This was what happened. Because then weakness became hunger, and hunger became a ravenous instinct that refused to be controlled.

Until the door to the study slammed violently, caused his head to jerk to the mirror, his gaze to clash with the enraged gaze of the Admiral.. The Admiral who cherished his goddaughter like most men did their own children.

Admiral Samuel Tiberian Holloran. Known as the Commodore to most of the men who served under him. A tight assed bastard where his goddaughter was concerned.
Macey shielded Emerson with his own body, her bare breasts pressed into his chest as she struggled to straighten the bodice. He felt ice form in the pit of his soul as his gaze stayed locked with the Admiral’s.

“My office,” the Admiral snarled. “Now!”

Holloran jerked the door open, stalked out and slammed it with enough force that Macey was surprised the frame didn’t crack.

Drawing back, he stared down at Emerson. Her face was still flushed with pleasure, but her eyes were concerned.

“Thanks.” He snapped as he stepped back from her, watching as she dragged the straps over her shoulders, a hint of confusion, of hurt in her face.

“For what?”

“For staying away from me like I asked you to. You’re trouble Ms. Delaney. More trouble than I think I need right now.”

 

Lora Leigh's books are intended for readers 18 years of age or older. The excerpts and content on this website is not intended for readers under the age of 18.