She wakes in a cell, darkness her only garment. Spec-ops soldier Clara Steel knows the price of capture behind enemy lines. And she is not alone. There is a man with her, one who fires her senses. His voice is velvet. His wicked words an electric current on her skin. They thrill and stir, stimulate and shock. Each decadent threat fills her mind's eye with images of raw abandon. He is a professional, he assures her, sent to break her. And when he begins, Clara's world becomes a feverish voyage into surrender and ecstasy.
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Ellora's Cave Publishing, Incorporated
November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from Thrill of the Hunt by Nathalie Gray
He did that thing with his finger, but instead of her upper arm, he traced her shoulder, went across her throat then caressed her other arm, up and down, slowly, lightly. She only realized then that he was writing on her skin with his finger. What was it? she wondered. What would a guy like him write on a woman's skin? She shuddered in spite of herself. Damn. What did he look like? Tall, judging by the angle of his hand and the voice coming at her from the darkness.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, taking a step back. Her shoulder blades hit something. A wall. Metal. A ship?
"I said I wouldn't hurt you, not that I wouldn't touch you."
"Oh, I get it." She snapped a vicious kick hard and low, caught nothing. She cursed. "Tough guy, huh? Take a woman in the dark, her hands tied behind her?"
"By the time I'm done with you," he murmured from her right, "you'll be begging for it."
"Like hell I will," she growled, leaning against the wall. At least she knew he wouldn't be coming from behind. That left one hundred and eighty degrees to cover. In pitch dark.
"You will. I know you, how you think. You don't believe me, but we have a lot in common. We both work for people we think often do a lousy job. Neither of us is afraid to give everything for what we believe in. And we believe in this."
He placed a hand over her breast. Not in a proprietary way, or even a sexual way. The heat of his palm seeped through her tank top. Her nostrils flared. She meant some snarled insult but could only grind her teeth.
Clara stopped breathing.