KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (3 Powerful Heroines, 2 Complete Novels + Bonus Novella) by Leto Julie

Author:Leto, Julie [Leto, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Three Novels of women who get what they want
Publisher: Bookgoddess, LLC
Published: 2012-12-19T05:00:00+00:00

Five

Mariah squeezed her thighs together, determined not to lose her hold on the damned stone even if she crashed into the telephone pole she was using all of her driving skills to avoid. She eased off the brake and allowed the car’s momentum to carry it through a full rotation before she applied measured pressure to the pedal and counterbalanced the steering so that they went off-road, but missed hitting anything.

Once she had the ignition off, she scrambled for her gun again. Unfortunately, the spin had dislodged it from under her seat. She was unarmed and vulnerable to someone who’d just appeared out of the ether.

Maybe he wasn’t the crazy one?

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get back in the car? What do you want with me?”

For all his swarthy good looks, her mysterious rescuer suddenly looked a bit green around the gills.

“Is this how men travel now? In devices that make one ill? I much prefer a horse.”

“Typical Texan,” she muttered, reaching farther beneath her seat for the gun, finding nothing but a fast food wrapper that was likely over a year old. The last time she’d used this car—a getaway vehicle she’d kept stashed near the airport in case she needed a quick set of wheels—her main ride had been in the shop.

She gave up trying to find the gun. She had a strong suspicion the weapon wasn’t going to deter him. She could no longer deny that he had arrived from nowhere. For the third time. The first two times she’d written off his sudden appearance as a product of her attention being diverted elsewhere. This time, that explanation did not apply.

“Damn it, who are you?” she asked again.

He swallowed thickly, and when he turned, the nauseated look on his face had disappeared. His skin tone had returned to a healthy, sun-kissed complexion reminiscent of the men she’d met in Egypt—though not quite as dark. Set in perfect balance beneath thick lashes, his eyes were a startling gray. His mouth curved into a smile that might have stolen her breath under other circumstances.

“Rafe,” he replied. “My name is Rafe.”

She cursed inwardly as his mellifluous voice rode roughshod over her frazzled nerves. This Rafe was utterly hypnotic—like a living, breathing pendulum.

“Rafe what?” she snapped, determined to ward off any attraction. So what if he’d come to her rescue in the hotel room? Another minute or so and she would have taken control of the situation—though she had to admit that without his intervention, she might not have gotten a spare minute at all.

He eyed her quizzically before finally replying. “You require a surname? Forsyth. Rafe Forsyth, son of John, Earl of Hereford.”

“You don’t sound British,” she decided. Though the inflections of an accent tinged his words, his manner of speaking was more exotic.

“You do,” he said. “Sound British, that is. Only… not.”

“I’m Aussie by birth,” she explained. “American by living arrangements.”

“Aussie? American? I do not understand. Where am I?”

“Don’t you know?”

He leveled an impatient glare at her.

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