Yeah! Discounted price, and getting it before everyone else - two of my very favourite things!
So to celebrate a little, and maybe encourage you to grab a copy on discount, I'm including an excerpt here. First off, I'll mention that even though it's Part 2 of a series, this particular title can be read as a standalone. For those who read Part 1, Set Ablaze, you'll be happy to know that we're still in the city of Mesa, Arizona and that we revisit a couple of places from the first.
Now here's a quick blurb on Arresting Behaviour, followed by an excerpt from when Jake takes Quinn to the station for questioning, regarding a string of killings that are the work of The Bondage Butcher. Is the hot and sexy Quinn responsible?
Native American Quinn and Detective Jake come from two opposing worlds. But when opposites attract, the result is explosive.
Maybe being alone was his whole problem. He shook his head, not in the mood to deal with any of this emotional crap at that exact moment, not with his neck on the line.
The door swung open and sure enough, it was the luscious cop. He looked at the ceiling.
I don’t need this right now.
Composing his expression to a blank slate, he lowered his head, and looked the man dead-on in the eyes. He’d found he’d been able to unnerve anyone with that stare. However, it didn’t seem to be working so well all of a sudden. The cop looked right back at him, clearly trying to hold that little curling smile at bay, the sexy dimple on his cheek threatening to appear at any moment.
Well fuck me.
Sensing a challenge, Quinn readied himself for the first parry. He would wait the guy out, not appear to be interested in anything he had to say, not ask direct questions, but allow him to spill his secrets. Quinn’s gaze narrowed, and the man gave him one quick peek at the dimple, then peered down at his notes before he sat—right across from him. In the tiny room. If Quinn stretched his long legs out, surely he would be able to hook his ankle around the cop’s foot. The thought of such an intimate touch with the officer caused Quinn to shiver a little, as if someone had just walked over his grave.
The cop glanced up from the papers he was so fascinated with, using just his eyes.
He didn’t answer. He needed to stick to his strategy.
Finally, he set the papers down and leant back in his metal chair, the epitome of relaxation.
Ooh, he’s good. I’ll just have to be better.
Quinn never let his stare waver. But neither did the cop.
“Well, Quinn Verdugo, I’m Detective Jake Gutierrez. It just so happens that my partner and I were assigned to The Bondage Butcher case.”
Detective? They haul them in young around here.
“Which is why I’m so interested in speaking with you today. It seems your boyfriend Cole thinks you might have something to do with these murders. He was so convinced, in fact, that he called us to come and save him since he thought you were luring him into the desert to tie and slice him up. I don’t know if you normally tie him up—he didn’t say—but maybe he just wasn’t into the slicing part. What do you think?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
What the fuck am I doing— Shut up!
“Oh, really? Because he insists that you two are quite the item. I think he even hinted that he might be moving in with you on the rez pretty soon, maybe have a little commitment ceremony…”
This guy was provoking him. He needed to keep it together.
Gritting his teeth, Quinn broke the stare. He had to. He wanted to tell this cop—or detective—that Cole meant nothing to him, that he was just a lay and nothing more. He was having an inner battle to keep from spilling his guts to this Jake guy, for some bizarre reason not wanting him to think he had ties to anyone.
Ridiculous. He’s probably married with eight kids for all I know.
Quinn was seriously pissing himself off, and needed to get back in control of things. But he was tired all of a sudden. It was exhausting trying to keep his feelings clamped down deep inside him all the time. All of those emotions were like a long-dormant volcano building up to an inevitable explosion. There were the endless dalliances with young men whom he forbade himself to feel any connection with—although he knew he purposely picked ones where there wasn’t any danger of that. There was all the guilt and rage over the killings of his lovers. And finally, there were the recent stirrings of something whenever he thought about or looked at this so-called detective. He wanted to pick up one of the hinky chairs, and bash it until it no longer resembled any piece of furniture. Instead, he looked back at the man.
“Just tell me what you want from me so I can get the hell out of here.”
To pre-order your copy - head over HERE - see you next month!