It’s been a crazy week, thanks to it being yet
another competition week, coupled with family stuff (Spring Break!), final copy edits for ONE HOT SECOND, and a
car that has the hiccups. When it rains, it pours, right? I didn’t get Teaser Tuesday in (too
overwhelmed to remember it until Wednesday, heh), but I’ve got Thursday’s throwback post ready and waiting. ^_^
To celebrate the conclusion of The Earth Angels miniseries with DANGEROUS
ANGEL’s release on March 31st, I’m sharing bits and pieces of
the series from the three previously published books. Here’s the opening chapter of WOUNDED
ANGEL, the third book from the four-part miniseries. Ella Little may have been the most complex heroine I’ve
ever created, which means she’s one of my favorites. How else can I feel about a character when I
had to consult a psychologist just to make sure she was pieced together right?
:D Enjoy!
Chapter One
“Do you
want to be helpless? Are you happy with the idea of being someone’s prey? If so,
quit now and let the pain win. Quit, I say! But, if you refuse to be a victim, let’s do another five reps!”
Deaf to
the heavy metal beat thrumming through the kickboxing gym, Ella Little crouched
in front of the long black bag she’d already beaten to within an inch of its
life, and went through the drill for what felt like the millionth time. The
combination was a tricky one—three sharp left jabs and a fast uppercut right,
then into two side knee strikes, aiming for the ribs or kidneys. Next was a
flurry of half a dozen close-in body punches and an elbow strike before a front
kick to gain space, then finishing off with a pivoting roundhouse kick to the
head.
Balance,
speed, power. A kill shot in each hit. In order for it to be effective in real
life, putting deadly intent behind each hit was the way it had to be trained.
One.
Within
The Body Electric’s cavernous kickboxing training room—or the Doom Room, as the
more dedicated gym members called it—people were dropping like flies. No
surprise there. The trainer was Jacob Braun, perpetually rabid and an agent of
Mossad before deciding to retire to Chicago to torture its unsuspecting
residents. He was in fine form this blustery March evening; with his eyes
bulging and veins popping, he looked like a man who’d missed his daily dose of anti-psychotics.
His salt-and-pepper hair was shaved so that it was little more than bristles,
and he didn’t need the microphone headgear as he screamed his peculiar brand of
motivation while his mad eyes swept the room for easy prey. Ella hardly noticed
her co-worker and friend as he pounced on a flagging gym member, far more
intent on letting the power sing through each fluid punch and kick.
Two.
Though
she loved her job as a personal trainer and self-defense instructor at The Body
Electric, this was Ella’s favorite part of the week—kickboxing with Jacob. Where
else was it legally possible to let her violent flag fly, and even better, have
it encouraged? The front kick snapped out, zinging all the way up to her hip,
and she couldn’t stop the fierce smile. That one would have buckled an
opponent’s knee, no problem, and that knowledge shot satisfaction through her
system. That was what this class was all about—survival. Survival of both
Jacob’s wild-eyed instruction, and survival of the darkness that could swallow
a person whole.
The kind
of darkness that had once done its best to swallow her.
Three.
Man, she
was tired.
To keep
her mind off the lava-hot burn of lactic acid in her quads, biceps and deltoids,
Ella tightened her pink-gloved fists and let her gaze wander to her neighbors. One
of them was bent at the waist with his hands on his knees in a position that
showed he was either in the process of regaining his breath or about to hurl. Another
was barely managing to lift her foot high enough to reach the bag. Jacob would
make them pay for their weakness.
Four.
Her bag
jounced with the impact of her kick, and its movement coincided with another
bag off to her right and ahead a few rows. Someone else was determined not to
incur Jacob’s wrath, if the bag’s violent dancing was any indication. Her
attention drifted to the man working the bag over like it had done him dirty,
and her well-oiled rhythm skipped a beat.
Hello.
He was a
newcomer to their gym, but certainly no newbie to working out. She was sure he
was new, because even if the traumas in her former life hadn’t locked her
emotions up inside and thrown away the key, she still would have noticed this
living testament to testosterone-infused eye-candy the moment he walked through
the doors. It was impossible not to notice him. The expanse of his shoulders
bared by a tank top could have given Atlas a run for his Titan-y money. The
rest of him was just as spectacular; he was a well-proportioned giant in a
world that appeared to be toddler-sized by comparison. Like her, his black hair
was damp with sweat, and long enough to tumble in waving abandon over his forehead.
His sharply angled brows hooded intense
eyes that even from this distance she could see were the color of onyx. There
was a leanness to his face that granted him a hungry look, with high cheekbones
shadowing concave cheeks darkened by a five o’clock shadow, and the faint sneer
snarling his upper lip would have done an Elvis impersonator proud. If
anything, he looked like he wanted to tear his punching bag a new one and was
ready to do it with his bare—
“Are you
enjoying your daydream, Ella?”
Her
attention snapped back to reality so hard she thought it might have made a
noise. With a sinking heart she realized that while she was checking out the
vision of sweat-slick masculine perfection a few bags over, Jacob had prowled
toward her with all the accuracy of a shark aiming for blood in the water.
Whoops.
“No daydreams here, Jacob.” With renewed focus
she attacked the bag in hopes of impressing him. “Just working the reps.”
“And do
you know what rep we’re on?”
“Of
course I do.” She could bluff with the best of them.
“What
number?”
Shit. “Four?”
A vein
pulsed down the middle of Jacob’s corrugated forehead. “You’re on your sixth
rep, which must mean you feel I’m not working you hard enough. Do you think I’m
not working you hard enough, Ella?”
“Um…”
“Thank
you for the suggestion. Everyone, Ella feels we should do more, so that’s what
we’re going to do. Five more reps, double-time!”
It was a
wonder she didn’t fall dead under all the lethal stares.
At long
last the torture came to an end. The man who had been bent over stumbled from
the room while a few others simply dropped where they stood. Ella didn’t bother
to look around to what the newcomer was up to; in all probability he was
wishing her six feet under like the rest of the class.
“I take
it you really like kickboxing?”
In the
process of toweling off her face and wishing she could strip out of her
high-necked, long-sleeved black compression shirt before she passed out from
heat exhaustion, Ella whirled around. Every nerve kicked into high gear as she
zeroed in on the man she’d noted earlier, now only a handful of feet away. First
Jacob, and now a stranger had snuck up on her. That went against her main
survival rule of always being aware of who was around her. This could not be
allowed.
“I
suppose.” Snappy comebacks weren’t a consideration when her touchy ideals of
personal security were compromised. In a world that was far more dangerous than
it appeared, getting caught off-guard was an absolute no-no. “Sorry about the
extra reps.”
His
smile was a slanted work of art, designed for the sole purpose of staggering
the planet’s female population. “Don’t be. I need the work, and this was a fun
way to do it.”
“I don’t
think fun would be the word everyone
would use to describe Jacob’s advanced kickboxing class.”
“It’s
all in the motivation. Take me, for instance—I’m not happy unless I’m pushed to
my limit. Not that I’m a big believer in limits.”
Somehow
this wasn’t a shocker. “I think a few people in class hit theirs.”
“You
didn’t. You were hitting just as hard at the end as you were at the beginning.”
So he’d noticed
her. Ella had no idea if this was a good thing or bad thing. “I’m a trainer
here at The Body Electric, certified in strength and conditioning, self-defense
and sports medicine. If I can’t take whatever Jacob dishes out, I don’t deserve
to work here.” Then she closed her mouth with a click. Good grief, it must be
her evening for breaking personal rules. Information meant power, and personal
information gave power over her to people who had no right to it. Yet she’d
just offered up a cartload of her new life to a perfect stranger like she
didn’t know any better. It was like she’d forgotten every stay-alive lesson she’d
picked up in the past two years.
Who knew
she was such a sucker for a pretty face?
“A
personal trainer, huh?” His knockout smile widened, and she made herself look
to the task of folding her towel before she blurted her Social Security number
and cup size. “That explains it. No wonder I couldn’t keep up with you.”
Ella had
to bite her tongue to keep from assuring him that he’d kept up just fine. If
she did that, he would know she had been watching him, and that would lead to a
conversational brick wall. She didn’t want him to know she’d been aware of his
existence. She didn’t want to notice him, period.
Disgusted
with her tangled thoughts, she tried to appear professionally aloof as she
back-pedaled in the direction of Jacob, snatching up the gym bag that doubled
as her bug-out kit. Packed with all the essentials she’d need in an emergency
that covered everything from earthquakes to zombie attacks, she never went
anywhere without it. “Take a few more of Jacob’s classes and you’ll be up to
speed in no time. Have a nice evening.”
“Hey—”
“Bye
now.” As she turned away, she winced at the faint wisp of the South rolling
through the words, overcoming her carefully crafted Chicago-Midwestern
monotone. Not good. Tiny imperfections like that might not mean much in the
grand scheme of things, but those little things added up. If she wasn’t careful,
she’d find herself having to pull up stakes before someone found her.
Out of
the corner of his eye, Nate watched as the woman made her retreat. She looped
her large gym bag’s shoulder strap across her body, all the while talking to
the bristle-haired sadist who’d ground his kickboxing class into the dust. She
was an animated little thing, gesturing with graceful hands as she offered up
what looked to be a heartfelt mea culpa with big, dark puppy eyes.
Pretty
eyes, certainly. Too bad they weren’t the color he remembered.
Bent
over his own bag, he wrapped his towel around a holstered semi-automatic
pistol, usually secured at the small of his back but now hidden in the bottom of
his gym bag. But his attention never veered from his target, watching her out
of the corner of his eye and cataloguing every detail. Aside from her gender, her
height was about the only accurate thing about her—somewhere around five-six or
five-seven. Her build was vastly different from the woman he’d met two years
ago. This woman was built like a long-distance runner—all long, lean limbs and
finely toned muscle covered in form-fitting workout gear. According to his
memory, the woman he was looking for had more meat on her bones. That was
definitely his personal preference.
And when
she’d looked at him, there had been no recognition. He’d done his best to catch
her off-guard, but when her gaze had met his there had been no telltale
reaction at all. At least, not on her end. He, on the other hand, was still
recovering.
Keeping
her in his peripheral view, he rubbed an absent hand over his brow. The way
she’d nailed him with that unwavering, bring-it-on regard sent an electrical
jolt of hot awareness through his system, momentarily short-circuiting his
brain. Beauty he could handle—she was a knockout, no doubt about it—but the
power to throw him for a loop with a single glance was flat-out stunning. There
was nothing about her that he didn’t find appealing; he even liked the lyrical
way she moved, as though gravity didn’t affect her as much as it did everyone
else. The way she wore her hair, boyishly short and asymmetrical, made him want
to brush the long black bangs out of her face so he could look into those puppy
eyes.
Again,
pretty hair. And again, wrong color.
Maybe he
was wrong. God knew it wouldn’t be the first time.
The kickboxing
instructor and the woman headed toward the heavy double doors that led back to
the brightly lit main reception area, the hub of the sprawling fitness center. In
unhurried movements he did the same, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he
went.
“…never
forget, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Then
what was the first lesson I taught you, girl?” The older man’s voice, rough
from screaming like a bloodthirsty maniac for the past hour, was now calm
enough for Nate to pick up on a faint accent. Something foreign, exotic. “Always
be aware of your surroundings. Be an animal. They have better instincts than
humans. This is what you must be.”
“I know
that.” The woman’s voice came as a surprise—cold and hard as steel. Of all the
things that didn’t quite mesh with the woman he was looking for, that deadly
tone was the one thing that fit like a glove. “Stupid me, I allowed myself to feel
safe in your class.”
“You are
safe when I’m around,” came the automatic response. “Naturally, you will be
safe here. But this lapse…”
“It’s
unacceptable. I agree.” Then she stiffened before she shot a deliberate glance
over her shoulder, pinning him to the spot—proof that she was more aware of her
surroundings than her companion. “Ah… Sorry. Are we blocking your way from
getting out of here?”
Translation—stop lurking behind us, creeper. “Actually,
I was hoping I could speak with you. I assume that as a personal trainer, you
take on private clients?”
It was
an impulse. But asking while in front of the older man, someone she clearly
trusted, seemed like a decent idea so he rolled with it. When she paused and
looked him over as if he were a side of beef that may or may not be rancid, Nate
cursed his foundering instincts. God, he hated flying blind like this. Six
months since he’d lost his inner compass and he still hadn’t gotten used to
running on normal human instincts.
Maybe he
was wrong about her.
“My schedule
is pretty packed and I only train on-property. If you’re looking for concierge
service, you’ll need to talk to another trainer.”
He
allowed himself a small sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t a no. “I don’t even
know what concierge service is.”
“Jacob
here offers in-home personal training sessions, as well as dietary and lifestyle
guidance. If that’s what you’re looking for…”
“In-house
is good.” It was a cautious way of doing things, with no chance of putting herself
in a position where she’d be alone and at the mercy of another. A smart move
for any woman, but he liked how this wary trait fit his profile. If only he
could see her back, he’d know for certain that she was the one.
She gave
him another head-to-toe sweep, and for no reason at all his skin began to heat.
“Do you have a particular area you want to target?”
“My
focus is to beef up my training for the Chicago marathon. My endurance sucks.” Did
Chicago even have a marathon? He was almost sure it did, though he couldn’t
imagine anyone voluntarily running in a place that seemed as frozen over as
Santa’s backyard. “I’ve been working out on my own but I’ve hit a plateau. When
you told me what your specialty is, it seemed like a sign from above.”
Her
friend, Jacob, grunted a sound that could have meant anything before he took
his leave through the heavy doors. Nate watched the older man go with a surge
of two-toned relief. Not only did his absence signal that Nate had been deemed
harmless, but now that he had her all to himself he had a sudden urge to take
her off to someplace one hell of a lot more private than a gym doorway.
She
watched Jacob’s retreat as well before she turned her attention back to him. “The
marathon is in October, so…seven months from now. Plenty of time to get your
stamina up to the level you need, as long as you’re serious about this.”
“Trust
me, I’m serious about everything I do.”
“I don’t
trust without a very good reason.”
He
searched her face, trying to superimpose the memory of a shattered woman, pale
from blood loss and near death, over the woman who stood before him now. There
were many differences, but…yeah. She could be the one. “I’m guessing I’ll have
to work hard to earn that trust.”
“And
maybe not even then.” She dug through her packed duffle bag, a bulky nondescript
thing as understated as the rest of her outfit. To his eyes, everything about
her whispered at trying to be invisible. “Here’s my card with my email and the
number for The Body Electric—just leave a message for Ella. If you’re really
serious about this, give me a call or drop me an email that includes your
contact info so we can figure out a schedule that works for both of us. Though
I should warn you—as packed as my schedule is, it’s entirely possible I can’t
accommodate the times you’ll be free to train.”
“I’ll
make sure our schedules will mesh…” He looked down at the card. “Ms. Little.”
“Ella,
please. And you are…?”
“Nate da
Luca. Call me Nate.”
“Call me when you’re ready.” And before he
could offer a hand she was through the doors, while his hand inexplicably
tingled at the lost opportunity to touch hers.
***
By the way, something REALLY AMAZING also happened
this week along with all the other craziness. "March Madness" for the romance world
is starting again—the annual DABWAHA tournament has begun! Out of the thousands
of romance novels published throughout 2013, 64 titles have been chosen to go
head to head… and my novella, STARTING FROM SCRATCH was one of them! More on
this on tomorrow’s post. ;)
Blurb for WOUNDED ANGEL:
Book three of The Earth Angels
A descendant of the Angel of Vengeance, Nate da Luca was gifted
with an uncanny ability to find things. It made his job as a detective a
breeze—until he learned the hard way that some things should remain hidden.
After that, his powers vanished, along with his belief in himself. Which is
going to make tracking down Gabriella Littlefield for his latest client a
challenge.
Personal trainer Ella Little paid a hefty price for her life—now
all she wants is to live it in peace. Then a sexy hulk of a man turns up in her
gym, reigniting desires she thought she'd left behind along with her real name
and hair color.
Desires she can't deny even after she discovers Nate's no stranger
to her dark past.
Before he can convince her the attraction is mutual, Nate's going
to have to earn Ella's trust. But a demon is playing for keeps in the world of
humans, using Ella as bait, and the last thing they have is time…
Go back to the beginning with Nobody's Angel, available
now!
63,000 words
BUY
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