Blurb:
Can Sloan tame his
raging jealousy or will it tear him from the woman he loves forever?
There’s trouble in
paradise…Torn by jealousy, Sloan leaves Abbey behind to run Sloan Enterprises
when the CIA sends him and Bartholomew on a secret mission looking for an arms
dealer doing business out of an Army encampment in Afghanistan. The couple’s paths cross overseas and Abbey
is ordered to join her husband on the mission.
Tension flares between them in the hot Afghani sun fueled by the camp’s
commanding officer hell bent on turning the two against each other. Can Sloan overcome his emotions long enough
to find the smuggler or will his raging jealousy tear him from the woman he
loves…forever?
Excerpt
Abbey
studied the display in front of her as she cradled a cup of coffee in her
hands. She had been staring at one screen after another since four o’clock that
morning. She nibbled at an apple and banana when she had a moment. Finding
Torelli was far more important. She watched the soldiers around her compute the
information they had on hand.
Shortly
after her interview at the CIA headquarters in Langley, they had moved her to
Fort McNair. Here, they could leave immediately if they got a location on
Torelli. Plus, Abbey was sure the CIA wouldn’t appreciate her using their
office for rifle practice.
Agent
Dunham approached her with a chuckle. She gave him a half-smile. “What’s so
funny?” she asked.
Dunham
put his phone on speaker for her to listen. The voice of a very irritated
Irishman blared out, demanding to be let in. Abbey sighed.
“You
knew he’d be coming,” Dunham reminded her.
“Yes.
I suspected he would. I would have liked to find Torelli first though.”
Dunham
turned as the gate guard pleaded for orders. He laughed again as he took the
cell off speaker and held it to his ear. “Let Mr. O’Riley and Mr. Evans in.
Show them to their barracks and then bring them here. And make sure they are
officer barracks, please.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Dunham
hung up his phone and slipped it in his pocket. He patted Abbey on the
shoulder. “Only a matter of time. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Abbey turned back to the screen ahead of her, scrutinizing the lines across the
world map indicating the confirmed paths Torelli and the weapons had taken.
Abbey
knew he was there before he said a word. The dominating presence, the
electricity his body gave off, sent shivers through her. Her heartbeat sped up,
not from fear, but sweet anticipation. It was how her body reacted around the
Irishman.
“I
thought I said we were done with this,” Sloan warned. “Dunham showing us to
barracks was pointless. We’re going home immediately.”
Abbey
took a deep breath to settle her quaking nerves then spun to face her husband.
“I don’t think so. Thank you for checking on me. You can go home now.”
“Like
hell I am!” Sloan roared.
“Then
grab a file and help.”
Sloan
took hold of her arm and pulled her against him. Abbey sucked in her breath.
The sensation of his body against hers set her on fire. It was difficult for
her to keep her bravado.
“What
is it going to take to get through that thick skull of yours, Abigail?” His
brogue was pure silk.
“Whatever
it is, you don’t have it, Sloan.”
“Are
you sure of that, little girl?” Sloan scooped Abbey into his arms and tossed
her over his shoulder like a rag doll. Without another word, he spun on his
heel and stormed from the control center.
Abbey
kicked her feet the best she could as she pounded her fists on his back. “Let
me down!” she screamed.
Her
protests were met with a firm swat on the rear. “Quiet,” Sloan ordered.
Abbey
was furious as she glanced around at the soldiers witnessing the scene. “How
dare you show up here—”
Another
smack. “That’s for taking off and worrying the entire family.”
Warmth
radiated across her rump. “Put me down!”
She
squealed a little at the next spanking. “That’s for making me chase you halfway
across the country.”
“I
didn’t ask you to follow—”
She
yelped as he slapped her behind once again. “That’s for disobeying a commanding
officer. I told you to be quiet. And believe it or not, Abigail, I am
your commanding officer in whatever faction we belong to.”
Abbey
swallowed back a sob. Between the embarrassment of being disciplined in front
of half of the camp and her now blistering backside, tears burned her eyes. She
went limp over his shoulder as he stormed into his barracks, not stopping until
he reached his bedroom. He gently laid her on his bed then stretched out beside
her.
Sloan’s
mouth trailed over her cheek, gently kissing the tears away. “This is for
losing you. This is for collapsing at your gravestone and realizing I would
never look into your eyes again, or kiss your lips, or make love to you. This
is for listening to your confession on your knees on that ridge in Afghanistan.
Abbey, baby, forgive me for what I’ve done. Please.”
Sloan’s
wandering lips set Abbey’s nerves ablaze. She shuddered as his strong hand
tenderly massaged her wounded rear. She turned against him, capturing his mouth
with hers, slipping her tongue between his lips to tangle with his. She heard
him moan in surrender.
She
struggled to tug her T-shirt off. Once she accomplished it, she tossed the
fabric on the floor then unzipped her pants. “Please, Sloan.”
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Author’s Bio:
Tricia
Andersen lives in Iowa with her husband, Brian and her three children – her
sons, Jake and Jon, and her daughter, Alex. She graduated from the
University of Iowa with a Bachelor of Arts in English and from Kirkwood
Community College with an Associate of Arts degree in Communications
Media/Public Relations. Along with writing (which she loves to do),
Tricia practices mixed martial arts, coaches and participates in track and
field, reads, sews and is involved in many of her children's activities.
Author Links:
2015 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
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