REBEL HEARTPublisher: XoXo Publishing
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Blurb:
Nick Red Cloud is a man content and at ease with his life. He does a job he loves, and enjoys the freedom of his motorcycles and all life has to offer. He's a private investigator, and a damn good one. When he's hired to find Francesca Daniels, he has no way of knowing that his life is about to change when the vulnerable and reclusive Frankie permits him to spend the night in her home, and his presence unleashes a nightmare in her world. As the pieces began to fall into place, Nick realizes he has placed the woman he's falling in love with in danger that might take her from him forever. It takes all his powers of persuasion and courage to tame Francesca's rebel heart and make her know that the passion they share can be the start of forever for both of them.
Excerpt:
She was double-checking the Jetta when she heard the distant rumble of an engine. Panic leapt into her throat, the reaction involuntary. Squinting, she turned toward the noise and tried to stay calm. In less than a minute the rumble of sound became more distinct, and by the time a gleaming Indian motorcycle had made the turn and come into view, she was ready to bolt for cover.
There was nothing on the road, only her house, and her father’s a little farther down, so it made sense the rider was either lost or looking for her. Neither possibility pleased her overmuch. It didn’t occur to her that he might be looking for her dad; Tom Daniels wasn’t known for his social activity. Her heartbeat began to thump in her ears, deafening her for several seconds as she watched the polished and chromed bike pull off the road and come to a halt a few yards from her car. The rider balanced the bike on the kickstand and rose, the motion seamless and well-practiced. As he walked toward her, Frankie was struck by the sheer size and presence of the man. He was easily six foot three, and had long legs encased in form-fitting black denim that accentuated both the muscular shape and the length of them. He wore a black leather jacket over broad shoulders, and was removing his gloves to reveal strong, elegant hands. He stuffed the gloves in his pockets and reached up to take off his helmet.
Frankie’s breath left her lungs in a sudden, powerful expulsion, and she forgot to draw in fresh air for several moments of time. In those suspended instants, she was lost in awareness of the man who walked ever closer to her. Within the emerging twilight, he didn’t seem quite real, yet he was more real than any man she’d ever seen in her twenty-nine years of living. Ebony eyes sparkled with natural warmth, and the perfect planes of his face were framed by long, blue-black hair. His skin tone told of Native American heritage, and the smile that flashed over his striking features revealed even white teeth.
“Can I help?”
His voice was smooth, tone rich and silky, modulation exquisite. She shivered, and remembered to breathe when tiny sparks danced before her eyes, haloing him as though he were some sort of dark angel.
“I’ve got a flat, and my spare is back at the house,” she replied when his head tilted to one side, his expression quizzical.
“Why don’t I give you a lift then?”
Every nerve in her body screamed yes, and it scared the hell out of her. The part of her brain that wasn’t attuned to every sinuous line of his body was still capable of reason, even if it was to a limited degree. She chewed her bottom lip for a few moments and considered her options, pretending for a second or two that she had any real options.
“I’m Nick Red Cloud,” he said, raking a hand through his dripping hair, and shaking the water away before reaching toward her.
She took his hand and tried not to choke on the leap of response that the simple touch elicited from the inner core of her heart. She’d never met anyone who rattled her deeply, and this man was already making her customary reserve a thing of laughable scorn. His grip was warm and strong, and he held her icy fingers for a breath too long before he withdrew.
“You are?” he prompted with a smile.
“Francesca Daniels.” She shook off the feeling of enrapture when a gust of icy wind shook her to her bones. “Most people just call me Fr…Frankie,” she added. “My house is about five miles down the road.”
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Excerpt:
She was double-checking the Jetta when she heard the distant rumble of an engine. Panic leapt into her throat, the reaction involuntary. Squinting, she turned toward the noise and tried to stay calm. In less than a minute the rumble of sound became more distinct, and by the time a gleaming Indian motorcycle had made the turn and come into view, she was ready to bolt for cover.
There was nothing on the road, only her house, and her father’s a little farther down, so it made sense the rider was either lost or looking for her. Neither possibility pleased her overmuch. It didn’t occur to her that he might be looking for her dad; Tom Daniels wasn’t known for his social activity. Her heartbeat began to thump in her ears, deafening her for several seconds as she watched the polished and chromed bike pull off the road and come to a halt a few yards from her car. The rider balanced the bike on the kickstand and rose, the motion seamless and well-practiced. As he walked toward her, Frankie was struck by the sheer size and presence of the man. He was easily six foot three, and had long legs encased in form-fitting black denim that accentuated both the muscular shape and the length of them. He wore a black leather jacket over broad shoulders, and was removing his gloves to reveal strong, elegant hands. He stuffed the gloves in his pockets and reached up to take off his helmet.
Frankie’s breath left her lungs in a sudden, powerful expulsion, and she forgot to draw in fresh air for several moments of time. In those suspended instants, she was lost in awareness of the man who walked ever closer to her. Within the emerging twilight, he didn’t seem quite real, yet he was more real than any man she’d ever seen in her twenty-nine years of living. Ebony eyes sparkled with natural warmth, and the perfect planes of his face were framed by long, blue-black hair. His skin tone told of Native American heritage, and the smile that flashed over his striking features revealed even white teeth.
“Can I help?”
His voice was smooth, tone rich and silky, modulation exquisite. She shivered, and remembered to breathe when tiny sparks danced before her eyes, haloing him as though he were some sort of dark angel.
“I’ve got a flat, and my spare is back at the house,” she replied when his head tilted to one side, his expression quizzical.
“Why don’t I give you a lift then?”
Every nerve in her body screamed yes, and it scared the hell out of her. The part of her brain that wasn’t attuned to every sinuous line of his body was still capable of reason, even if it was to a limited degree. She chewed her bottom lip for a few moments and considered her options, pretending for a second or two that she had any real options.
“I’m Nick Red Cloud,” he said, raking a hand through his dripping hair, and shaking the water away before reaching toward her.
She took his hand and tried not to choke on the leap of response that the simple touch elicited from the inner core of her heart. She’d never met anyone who rattled her deeply, and this man was already making her customary reserve a thing of laughable scorn. His grip was warm and strong, and he held her icy fingers for a breath too long before he withdrew.
“You are?” he prompted with a smile.
“Francesca Daniels.” She shook off the feeling of enrapture when a gust of icy wind shook her to her bones. “Most people just call me Fr…Frankie,” she added. “My house is about five miles down the road.”
3 comments:
That is really a beautiful cover. Who is your cover artist?
Rie McGaha
That is an Amanda Struz creation, she is the Art Director at XoXo Publishing. The image used is my friend, actor and singer Branscombe Richmond, he and his wife loved it, too - Amanda actually worked with Branscombe's suggestions to create the final cover.
Thanks, Rie.
Always, Denysé
Sounds like a good story.
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