Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Nauti Nights by Lora Leigh

Nauti #2
Crista has gotten herself in the middle of a gun battle in a warehouse where she went to get a box that had been delivered to the wrong place. Just then she gets rescued by Dawg, who spent a night with her years ago. He was drunk because his parents had just died. He did not remember the night but she did.  He took her virginity. Crista could no longer stay in Somerset after that, so her brother moved her to Virginia.
Dawg knows that Crista is not involved in the mess in the warehouse.  He needs to protect her and settle the dreams that he's had of her for eight years. He decides to blackmail her into living with him until he solves the mystery of just what is going on. Will Crista agree to live with Dawg and be his lover until the end of summer or will he take her jail?

I liked this story.

From the author:
James “Dawg” Mackey has lusted after sweet Crista Jansen for years. Just as many as she’s spent running from him—and from that dangerous attraction that shot like a spark through her whole body. But now for Crista, running isn’t an option anymore because Dawg’s got a plan. It’s kind of low-down. And kind of hot.

Blackmail is a dirty word, but Dawg will use it if that’s what it takes to get Crista where he wants her. His hungers are too hard and fierce not to. He doesn’t realize that Crista has a longing too. She’s knows what he’s up to, what he’s capable of. He didn’t get that nickname for nothing. And before the night is through, Crista’s making him work for it.

**This is an unedited excerpt**

It was nightmare.

No, it wasn’t a nightmare because she was pretty damned sure she was awake. And in nightmares, bullets weren’t real. They weren’t real and they weren’t exploding around the warehouse like hellish fireflies destroying everything they lodged inside.

Nightmares came with a certain understanding that it was a dream. Not Real. This was a certain understanding it was definitely real and if something really good didn’t happen really soon then she was going to have holes in her body that were not supposed to be there.

She fought to hold back her screams as bullets whizzed over her head again, popping in the wood crates around her and sending a shower of wood chips and shattered glass from inside around her head.

This was bad. Very bad. She stared around, wide eyed and dazed as she scrambled around more boxes, more crates, fighting for as much protection between her and the bullets as she could find.

Crista Jensen was certain her horoscope hadn’t said anything about bullets today. Something about dark knights and ill-advised trips, but there had been nothing in there about bullets.

She would have remembered.

She would have changed her plans.

Oh boy would she have changed her plans.

Scuttling behind what she hoped was a very thickly packed crate, she covered her head with her arms as glass sprayed around her.

Those weren’t just regular bullets. Those were fast bullets. Automatic? Uzi? Something. The kind that spit fire as they pelleted out dozens of rounds at a time. And she knew because the red flashes of light in the otherwise dark interior of the warehouse were a pretty good clue, she screamed silently to herself.

A terrified squak, a cross between a squeak and a squawk fell from her lips as chips of wood exploded from the sides of the crate she found to hide behind.

They were serious out there. People were killing people and she was caught in the crossfire and wondering how the hell she was going to get out of this one.

She knew this was a bad idea.

She knew. She had felt that sick feeling in her gut the minute she stepped into the cavernous warehouse and realized the lights didn’t work. But had she, dumbass that she was, backed out and left? Oh hell now, she had just pulled her penlight from her back and trudged merrily on her way looking for that stupid box. She told the delivery company to deliver to her home, not here. Yet when she returned home from work what had she found? An official notice that her package had been dropped off at their local distribution warehouse and why, lookie, there had been the magical key to open the damned locker it was in.

Well guess what? There was no locker here, she told herself sarcastically. No locker, but plenty of bullets singing a macabre tune through the darkness.

So now, rather than collecting her belongings she was just trying to stay alive. When did fate decided to bust Crista Jensen’s ass? For God’s sake, hadn’t she had enough bad luck in the past eight years?

Read more here.

Pages: 356
Published: 2007

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