Monday, August 18, 2014

Spotlight on Lisa Marie Rice:

By Lisa Marie Rice
Morton “Jacko” Jackman isn’t afraid of anything. He’s a former Navy SEAL sniper who has been in more firefights than most people have had hot meals and there’s one thing he knows for sure. Lauren Dare scares the crap out of him.
 Gorgeous, talented and refined, she’s the type of woman who would never be interested in a roughneck like him. So he’s loved her fiercely in secret, taken her art classes and kept a watchful but comfortable distance. Until now.
Lauren had finally found a home in Portland, far from her real identity, far from the memories of her mother’s death, and far from the reaches of the drugged-out psycho who’s already tried to kill her twice. One tiny misstep—a single photograph—has shattered it all. She has no choice but to run again, but this time she’ll give herself a proper farewell: one night with Jacko.
Their highly charged emotional encounter changes everything. In Jacko’s arms there cannot be fear, there can only be pleasure. Anyone wishing her harm will have to pass through him—and Jacko is a hard man to kill.


“Girlfriend on your six.”
    A hard elbow jabbed into Morton “Jacko” Jackman’s
hard side. It would have knocked a lesser man down. Former
Senior Chief Douglas Kowalski wasn’t known for his
gentleness or delicate touch. But then neither was Jacko. He
was a former Navy SEAL too, just like the Senior. But both
of them were out of the service and working in the same
company, Alpha Security International, so Jacko could
knock Senior on his ass and not be court-martialled.
    Except, well, Senior was a good guy.
    Senior’s elbow couldn’t knock Jacko down, but his
knees nearly buckled at the thought of the woman behind
    “Not my girlfriend,” he mumbled, hoping the tan he’d
gotten over his dark skin this past week teaching Mexican
federales in Baja the fine art of fucking with the enemy hid
his red face.
    Senior shifted his eyes sideways, a hint of a smile on his
big ugly mug. “No?” He shook his head and jabbed him
again. “So why the chubby every time you lay eyes on her?”
    Fuck. Busted. Jacko pulled his tuxedo jacket lower.
    He’d learned to control his dick at 14. What was he—back in high school? Why couldn’t he be in jeans, like he was most
times he saw her? Tight stiff ones that kept the hard-on
down because it didn’t have anywhere to go.
    Except you don’t wear jeans to a fancy art exhibit.
Particularly not when your boss’s wife’s works were on
    “Bravo red, moving fast,” the chief murmured. Anyone
further than a foot from them wouldn’t have heard a word
and wouldn’t have understood anyway. The orientation
clock. Bravo red meant she was moving behind him to his
right. Man.
    Lauren Dare.
    Oh. God.
    Jacko thought he could smell her but that was crazy.
Still, why not imagine he could smell her because she drove
him crazy in every other way? Though smelling Lauren in a
room full of hundreds of people, every single one—man,
woman and other—wearing perfume or cologne, with
caterers walking around with hot food on platters and glasses of wine everywhere…well, that stretched even Jacko’s sense of his own craziness.

 Lisa Marie Rice is eternally 30 years old and will never age. She is tall and willowy and beautiful. Men drop at her feet like ripe pears. She has won every major book prize in the world. She is a black belt with advanced degrees in archaeology, nuclear physics, and Tibetan literature. She is a concert pianist. Did I mention her Nobel Prize? Of course, Lisa Marie Rice is a virtual woman who exists only at the keyboard when writing erotic romance. She disappears when the monitor winks off.

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