As the first female operative
at Alpha Security, Charlotte "Charlie" Sparks has her work cut out
for her. Sure, she can wrestle a man to the ground and hit a target at 200
yards with the best of them. But sometimes, being surrounded by all that
testosterone can drive a woman to distraction—especially when that distraction
is six-and-a-half feet of cocky, confident, Alpha-trained muscle.
Ex-SEAL commander Vince
Franklin has been on some of the most dangerous missions in the world. But
pretending to be Charlie's fiancé on their latest assignment in Miami is his
toughest challenge yet. Vince and Charlie are like oil and water; they just
don't mix. And when their fake romance generates some all-too-real heat, Vince
learns that Charlie is more than just arm candy. She's the real deal—and she's
ready for some serious action.

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Excerpt
Vince slipped out of the truck just as she swung
open her door. A group of college-aged boys turned the corner, one of whom
immediately latched his lurid gaze onto Charlie’s toned legs.
“Hot damn, baby.” The kid whistled. His gaze
flickered to Vince. “Why don’t you ditch the geriatric and come party with us?”
“Unless you want this geriatric to rip those lips
off your face, keep walking,” Vince growled.
The kid and his friends laughed but kept going. At
some point during the exchange, the pimply faced valet attendant extended his
hand to Charlie.
“I got her. You get these.” Vince’s bark made the
teen jump.
“Yes, sir.” The valet caught the keys Vince tossed
his way and hustled over to the driver’s side.
Every inch of Charlie’s body brushed along Vince’s
as he plucked her off her seat and set her back on her feet. The hair on his
arms lifted as if he’d touched pure electricity, and in a way, he had. Charlie.
A live wire. Jolting. Heat-inducing.
Her teeth trapped her bottom lip in a sexy nibble.
Vince couldn’t help but glance down to her mouth, seeing that he wasn’t the
only one overtaken by a sudden burst of awareness.
“If I’d been the one to offer my hand to you, you
would’ve taken a hunk of flesh out of it with your teeth,” Vince half-joked.
She smoothed the front of his shirt, a coy smile
dancing on her lips. “Not a hunk. Maybe just a little nibble.”
Sucking in a groan, Vince wrapped an arm around
her waist and guided her away from the truck as another large group of
college-aged kids stumbled past.
Charlie let out a strangled noise.
“What?” Vince looked at her, confused.
She bit the corner of her mouth, obviously trying
to withhold laughter. “You and the look of excruciating pain plastered all over
your face. You can’t tell me you’ve never prowled the bars looking for a good
time.”
Vince steered them toward the entrance of the
club’s outdoor patio. “Yeah, a million fucking years ago. And I didn’t have to prowl for anything. Good times always
came to me.”
This time Charlie snorted with her chuckle, and
the sound of it made his lips twitch. It was goddamned cute, though he would
never admit it aloud and risk a punch to his kidneys.
“It’s a wonder headquarters hasn’t blown up from
testosterone toxicity,” Charlie murmured as they stepped to the end of the
club’s red-roped line.
The bouncer manning the entrance took a lazy-eyed
stroll over Charlie’s body. “You two together?”
Vince cocked a glance to his arm, still wrapped
snugly around her waist. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s too damn bad. But you both can go on
in. And if your lady’s interested, there’s a bar-dancing competition sometime
within the hour.” He eyed Charlie’s legs. “You’re a shoe-in for first fucking
prize, sweetheart.”
Vince would’ve loved nothing more than to swipe
the smirk off the bastard’s face, but Charlie intervened, threading her fingers
through his, and thanked the man for the invite. The people in line grumbled
their protests as the bouncer opened the gate and let them onto the club’s
patio.
Miami Heat lured in a who’s who of the rich, famous,
and privileged. Whereas the indoor section of the club catered to the couples
dancing to the loud, theatrical pound of the music, the outdoor patio was a
pool party on ’roids.
White Christmas lights wrapped every palm tree
and, and as if Miami wasn’t hot enough, bamboo torches lit up the patio’s
perimeter. Humidity didn’t seem to be keeping people away, because the line
wrapped around the circular bar was three people deep, and growing.
“Don’t people have anything better to do than
spend their money on overpriced booze?” Vince asked, inspecting the sea of
drunk people.
Charlie lifted her brow. “In Miami? No. It’s all
about twenty-dollar drinks and lots and lots of skin. You’re such a people
person, Navy. It’s a wonder you don’t have an entire entourage surrounding you
all hours of the day.”
“And you’re such the sparkling social gem, huh?”
Vince said dryly. A pair of overly bronzed women skirted past, outrageously
wearing less than Charlie. “I wasn’t the one who nearly made the pizza delivery
boy cry because he mistakenly left behind my order of fried mushrooms.”
“No, but now I’m sure that Christopher will never
forget them again. That’s the difference between us. I don’t see any point in
hiding my displeasure, where you take the whole brooding in silence thing and
turn it into an art form.”
“Some things can’t be changed by making a scene.”
Charlie turned toward him, the side of her breast
brushing against his chest. “No, but sometimes it can make you feel a lot
bloody better. Unleash the beast, Navy. Or at the very least, loosen the reins.
You may be surprised at what happens.”
When he’d been with the SEAL teams, Vince wouldn’t
have hesitated to let off a little steam—and without prompting. But both time
and experience had taught him the error of his ways. He’d learned it at the end
of his Navy career, had it drilled into his head working for bail enforcement,
and now with Alpha, it had become almost second nature—except when Charlie was
in close proximity. Then all those lessons flew out of his fucking head.
“You want to make ourselves visible?” Vince
slipped his hand over her hip and veered her toward the dance floor. “Hope you
can dance in those stilts.”
THE ALPHA SECURITY SERIES
HEATED PURSUIT, #1
HOLDING FIRE, #2
HARD JUSTICE, #3
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
April blames her incurable
chocolate addiction on growing up in rural Pennsylvania, way too close to
America's chocolate capital, Hershey. She now lives in Virginia with her
college sweetheart husband, two young children, and a cat who thinks she's a
human-dog hybrid. On those rare occasions she's not donning the cape of her
children's personal chauffer, April's either planning, plotting, or writing
about her next alpha hero and the woman he never knew he needed, but now can't
live without.
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