Murmur, Book Five in my Pierce Securities series is LIVE!!! And for a limited time only, it's .99! Scroll down for all the details!
Valerie Dunaway is a former socialite who has hidden from the public eye for years due to a horrific attack that left her scarred—physically and emotionally. When a strange masked man makes himself at home with her, she’s unable to run. She calls the cops, but the agoraphobic won’t go into protective custody, so Detective Hollerman calls the only people he trusts: Pierce Securities.Quinten Pierce is a Renaissance man—artist, lawyer, fighter—but his latest assignment has him losing his ever-present control. He’s got one fight left in his career, and although he can’t wait for it to be over, his opponent seems to have ties to Valerie, thus forcing him to hold on until he finds out exactly who he’s working with.
With the help of the Pierce team, the scarred princess and the gentle giant must silence the murmurs of the past that threaten their future.
Want an exclusive excerpt? This one isn't anywhere else!
“We need to do a sweep.”
“What happened?”
“I fought tonight, and
my opponent knew her. He knew all of us. He wanted to make sure and tell me.”
“You didn’t get a chance
to talk to him? Did you at least kick his ass?”
Quinten didn’t deign to
answer that one. Of course he’d kicked his ass. Instead, using hand signals,
they split up and searched the house. Quinten took the east wing while Andrew
and Ryan took the rest of the house.
“Ms. Dunaway, I’m sorry,
but I need to do a sweep of your quarters.” They’d been friendly the last few
days, but he tamped that all down with professionalism. This needed to be done
right. The danger was too palpable. The dark side of his personal life was
bleeding into his professional life, and he couldn’t let it endanger Valerie
any more than it was already.
The click sounded at the
door almost immediately, and Quinten forcibly slowed his breathing and counted
to ten before he opened the door, gun drawn, pointed down.
He let himself in and
immediately moved to the side of the doorway, into a shadow. He stilled his
breathing, which brought down his heartrate as he absorbed his surroundings.
“Valerie?” he whispered.
Her voice came from the
shadow directly across from him. “I’m here.”
“Stay behind me.”
Her dizzying scent was
everywhere.
As Quinten moved from
room to room, checking behind doors and furniture, inside closets, he heard the
soft padding of her footsteps right behind him. When she reached for a tiny
handful of his shirt, he mentally cursed himself for scaring her. It couldn’t
be avoided, and he was glad he could offer her a tether to reality through his
shirt. He needed to make sure she was safe. When he got to her sunroom, he
looked out the windows onto the water, where the moon reflected. It was a full
moon tonight, and the yard leading down to the water was all lit up.
He strained his eyes but
saw nothing.
His shoulders relaxed
with a sigh, and he put his gun back in the waistband of his shorts.
“You’re clear. I’ll go
check the rest of the house with the others,” he said softly, hoping to sound
encouraging.
“I’m scared,” a whisper
at his back said. A whisper that melted his insides, almost as much as the hand
still clutching his t-shirt did.
Quinten turned, and
Valerie released him, standing with stiff shoulders. Tall, five foot ten or so,
she had long, blonde hair that was wild around her shoulders. She wore a plain,
flesh-colored mask over her face.
“Embrace the fear,” he
said softly. “It keeps you more alert. Feel your accelerated heartbeat?” He
could see the pulse in her neck pounding and her breasts heaving under the
peignoir set she wore.
“Your breathing is different?” She nodded at him, eyes
wide behind her mask. “That’s your body on high alert, trying to dissect each
new sensation. It’s a protective thing. Use it to your advantage.”
She tensed, and Quinten
held his breath in his throat while he watched her carefully. She was like one
of those birds she kept, dainty and delicate, ready to fly off at the slightest
movement from him. Only there was no flying from the cage they were trapped in.
Just like Valerie. So slowly he almost couldn’t see her movements, Valerie
reached out an elegant hand and rested it on his chest.
“You’re hurt,” she
whispered, her breath hitching.
He didn’t move. Allowing
her the touch, as if she were drawing strength from him, he breathed deep and
let his steady heartbeat calm her.
Her fingers didn’t do
anything; she only palmed his pectoral muscle. But her breaths matched his, and
soon enough she was calm. But he was electrified. On fire. Her touch seared
him.
“It’s from the fight.”
“Did you win?”
“Always.”
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