When her Uncle Jack is arrested on drug charges, Sammie Murphy hops the first plane to Key West. Being rescued isn’t on her uncle’s to-do list, though. When he admits guilt and instructs her to go home, Sammie knows with 100% certainty something is seriously wrong.
Veteran DEA agent Enrique Santos knows when a bust is solid. So why is he allowing Jack Murphy’s niece to mess with his head? He’s been set-up and nearly killed by a woman like her before, and he’s not about to make that mistake again.
But then things at Murphy’s bar take a turn for the dangerous, leaving Sammie entangled in Enrique’s dark past. Forced to second-guess his convictions, Enrique has no choice but to kidnap the one woman who could destroy everything...including his heart.
There were vices. And then there were V-I-C-E-S. For some people it was food. For others it was booze or gambling.
Not her. Sammie had the much more lethal variety. What stood before her was the epitome of her particular V-I-C-E.
The guy had bad boy written all over him. From the bandana he wore over dark hair, to the five o’clock shadow on his face, to the piercing black eyes, to the biceps made of granite, to the long legs, well-defined and visible through the tight fit of his jeans, he was one heaping dollop of trouble. She could see it, sense it, and smell it with every fiber of her being.
He removed the wobbly tray from her with one hand while he held out his other to help her up. She grabbed on and tried to ignore the fireworks sparking up her arm. As soon as she got steady on her feet, she let go and scooted away. No sense tempting fate.
Her willpower was for shit when it came to this particular vice. One touch was enough to sway her to the dark side.
Think safe. Think predictable. Not this guy before her with a silver earring in his ear and an enigmatic smile.
“Are you all right?” Deep and sensual, his voice sent shivers racing down her spine. Her head spun while her hands felt clammy. This could not be good.
Damn. Couldn’t he have a squeaky feminine-like voice, or at the very least some kind of good-ole-boy drawl? Either one would be enough to sidetrack her hormones, at least temporarily.
“I’ve got this.” Reinforcing her take-charge statement, she retrieved the tray from him and shook off the sparks arcing between them. Had to be her imagination. She didn’t have time for flirting, even if she couldn’t help but notice his gaze trailing up her legs.
Self-conscious, Sammie yanked down her jeans skirt, scurried to an upright position, gathered what remained of her dignity, and made her way behind the bar. Absorbed in the mundane tasks of setting up, she kept her focus off the fact Mr. Trouble followed right behind.
“Those swinging doors should have hazard lights around them.” His lips curved in an almost smile, revealing a set of nice white teeth. “I didn’t think—”
“Really, I’m fine.” She didn’t need the distraction of a flirty way-too-good-looking-to-be-for-real guy messing with her head right now.
“At least the beer mugs made it out alive.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “There’s that.” Sammie pulled at the towel in her hands to avoid looking at him. But she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze averted—sort of like train wreck. She needed him to ‘Step Away from the Bartender’ but couldn’t think of a way to get that done, especially since she didn’t want him to.
She tamped down the lustful sensations running rampant through her body. He was so close she could practically see the testosterone floating in the air. She pushed back the carnal thoughts spinning through her head even as his sultry vibe threatened to suck her in.
Leaning over onto the bar top, he moved his face inches from hers. Every nuance popped into her awareness: dark, thick eyelashes surrounded those deep coal-colored eyes, prominent cheekbones brought an angular quality to the shape, a straight nose nestled between those cheekbones, a strong jaw complimented the sharp edges, but the slight curve of his mouth pulled everything together.
Wendy lives in the Chicago area. She has a Masters in Social Work and worked in the child welfare field for twelve years before she decided to pursue her dream of writing.
Between teaching college classes, trying to get her morbidly obese cat to slim down and tempering the will of her five-year-old granddaughter, who's determined to become a witch when she turns six so she can fly on her broom to see the Eiffel Tower and put hexes on people--not necessarily in that order--somehow Wendy still manages to fit in writing. She spends the remainder of her days inflicting mayhem on her hero and heroine until they beg for mercy.
She has written three books in the Hard Targets trilogy, Hard to Kill, Hard to Trust and Hard to Stop. In addition, she has two books through Entangled Publishing, The Millionaire’s Deception, and Bad to the Bone, two self-published books, The Christmas Curse and Accused, and two interracial romances, Fractured and Mama Said.