Jillian Hallowell

Saucy women, packing heat and the men who love them
Writings

Jillian's Backlist

"Playing with Fire" www.champagnebooks.com
"Flashbangs and Nightsticks" www.champagnebooks.com
"Lace, Lust and Liars" www.champagnebooks.com

"Playing with Fire" (excerpt)

 She looked over at her latest entanglement. She hadn’t chosen him, so it would be a piece of cake to keep her feet on the ground and not be swept away by a handsome

face, tight butt, and…she gasped.

         Muscles.

         Was he trying to kill her? Tristan stripped off his wet shirt, leaving his tan, firm skin and rippling six-pack available for her intense gaze.

         Men.

She’d almost had a break-through this morning when this one called to her. Something was wrong in the mechanical gears. She had the proto type, and her orders for the parts. There was no way it could kill kids.

"How’re you doing? You okay?" His silky, dark voice seeped into her thoughts.

She looked up at him again. His chest was dusted with golden curls. She bit down on her cheek to keep from sighing. "I’m fine."

"The house feels like it’s rocking."

"What do you mean, rocking?"

They remained quiet, and Erin waited until she felt the house sway.

"Oh, my…"

His eyes grew wide. "You felt that too?"

"Yes."

"I wasn’t sure if I was having flashbacks to the rocking of the boat."

"No. I felt it. I don’t think we’re safe."

            "I’ve been thinking about that." Thunder crashed and lightening flashed simultaneously over their heads.

Erin jumped, her heart thudding.

            "I think we should go someplace safe," he stated matter of factly.

            "Where? We’re on a freaking island. There’s no place to go. We’re gonna get washed out to sea." The emotions coursing though her escaped in a rush of words. "I’ll never get married, have kids. I won’t be able to watch that bastard roast for…"

Another clap of thunder shook the windows. She immediately clamped her mouth shut. Tristan moved closer to her. "Problem?"

            "This isn’t the time. Where can we be safe?"

            "The bathroom. In the tub."

            She narrowed her eyes. "You’ve lost your mind."

            "No. It has a small window, which we can tape a towel over and then we can get into the tub to wait out the storm. Plus, I’m sure the tub will float if we’re washed out to sea."

            She punched him. It wasn’t meant to hurt, just a reflex from having two brothers. He didn’t seem to mind or even notice that she’d hit him. Instead, he grasped her arm and dragged her to the small bathroom.

            "What about the lighthouse—that would be safe."

            "Nope," he said matter-of-factly. "The run over there could get you killed. Plus it’s higher and there’s a lot of metal."

            "Fine. I can find the bathroom on my own," she grated between clenched teeth, pulling her arm free.

            "Then move," he commanded.

            Once in the bathroom, he helped her into the large clawfoot tub. He tossed her a blanket and two pillows he pulled from the closet. "Get comfortable." He pulled off a length of silver duct tape, ripped it with his teeth and began taping an orange hand towel to the window.

            "How come you’re not scared?" she asked. He didn’t answer for a few seconds, finishing taping another side of the towel. When he looked over his shoulder at her, his face showed he was dead serious.

            "I’m scared shitless. I hate electrical storms and out here we’re definitely the tallest things around, but all that said, I am a trained firefighter. I’m used to working under pressure when I’m afraid."

            "Oh."

             What could she say to that? He was scared, yet she was the one hiding in the tub. The storm frightened her too, but she couldn’t get his revelation out of her mind. He was larger than most men she dated. And she knew not one of them would have admitted they were scared for fear someone would call them a wuss.

            "Don’t look at me like that," he said, wiping his hand on his pant leg.

            She shrugged in response. What way? She didn’t think she was looking at him any special way.

            "I know it’s not m—" Thunder rumbled the window of the bathroom and shook the house, but the tape and roof held.

            She watched him jump and check the ceiling, window and door in that order. "What’d they make this house with, cardboard?"

            "Get in," she said, motioning to the meager amount of room left if the tub. Too late, she realized what she had invited. Tristan slid into the tub, sinking to the bottom, wedged up against her front. They were pressed against one another and she felt the roughness of his jeans and the heat from his body, which warmed her instantly. She felt the urge to curl into his big chest. He shifted awkwardly, brushing his forearm and hand against her breast.

            He stilled suddenly. Apparently realizing what he’d done, he turned his head to look at her. Less than an inch separated their lips. She saw his gaze flicker to her mouth and back up.

            Oh crap.

"Lace, Lust and Liars" (excerpt)

“Stop, Nina.”

She gazed up at him, her hair falling out of its carefully coifed style. It dropped and curled down over her shoulders, stopping at the tips of her perky breasts. He didn’t like her being covered by hair or anything else. It was a crime to cover such a wonderful body. She shook her head again and more hair fell out of the style.

“Something wrong?” she asked, a glazed look in her eyes.

“No, you just need to give me a minute.” He glanced around the room. “Come with me.”

He led her behind the last rack of lingerie. Pushing apart a curtain, he smiled at the scene in front of him. A couch sat in front of a huge bay window. Trees stood against the side walls and sound was muffled back here. Even if someone came up the spiral staircase, they wouldn’t find them.

“I don’t remember seeing that window from the back yard." She walked up to the glass and looked down over the frolicking guests.

“The seamstress used to do fittings back here and then she took her clients for a more personal consultation, if you get my meaning.”

She nodded before sitting on the white couch in her white bra and black pants. She ran her hand across the material, savoring the feeling.

“It’s luxurious,” she said.

He stood naked in front of her, his erection jutting away from his body. He wished she would run her hands across his chest again. The look of pleasure on her face from just the feel of the couch material made him ache for her.

“Can they see us?” she nodded toward the window.

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. Why? Do you want them to?” He leaned toward her with one hand on either side of her hips. She leaned back into the plush couch. He saw the excitement in her eyes.

“What would they see?”

“You, me, us...naked.”

She looked down his body and back up to his face.

He smirked. “You have on too many clothes.”

“Take them off then.” She grinned.

"Flashbangs and Nightsticks" (excerpt)

“Is he watching us?”

“Yes.”

He nipped at her shoulder. “Let’s get to it then, only to protect your cover.”

“Only?” She smiled down at him from where she hung as he spanned her waist with his hands.

He nuzzled her stomach. “I’ve been day dreaming about you since you left. I want you so bad it hurts.” The last part he said loud enough for Stan to hear in the other room.

Her heart pounded. She was thrilled that he still wanted her. That he’d been thinking about her. Relief mixed with anticipation of being with Dusty almost had her forgetting their unique situation and Stan watching from the other room. Had he set her up because they had the same last name? Had he thought they were brother and sister? Sick bastard.

“You like what you see?”

“You’re pretty hot,” Dusty said, running his hand over her chest. “I want to take this slow, to make it last, but I’m so hard it aches.”

 “I’m ready.”

~ * ~

Dusty reeled from her words. She was ready for him. He hadn’t been sure what her reception would be when she saw him for the first time. They’d ended it so suddenly. When he’d spoken to the captain, he hadn’t expected to be asked to meet with Kasey. Last he knew, no one wanted him near her while she was on assignment. His surprise at seeing her had been genuine.

He hadn’t expected to see Kasey looking like a virginal bride, hanging from a cement wall, her curly brown hair sticking to the wall making her look like Diana Ross.

A very delicious sight which made him want to kill the man who did this to her. What if he hadn’t been able to keep the appointment? Would Stan have still set her up like a trout on a platter for anyone?

Had Stan suspected something was off when he called using Detroit? Maybe he thought they were siblings. Sick bastard. Of course, that would be one way to out Kasey if she was a cop. Smart man.

Dusty wanted to kill him and thank him all at the same time. The desire he read in her eyes was like a punch to the gut. She trusted him. He knew it. He ran his hands over her flimsy white top. He stopped under her breasts, feeling her lungs expand and contract with little pants of air.

“Touch me.”
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