UPDATE: The winner of the Amazon gift card is…flchen1!

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Blue Collar hits the ebook stores on Tuesday! All the authors who contributed to this very fun, ultra sexy collection can’t wait to share it! Here, on this site, we’ll be offering you snippets from our stories to tempt you into paying that itty bitty price of just $0.99 for your very own copy. So be sure to come back here over the next few days.

I had the great privilege of reading a ton of great stories before making my selections. Then there was the editing process. In May, I was mostly done with the book, but still hadn’t found just the right idea for my own story. Then one day I was channel surfing while the 3-year-old napped, and I hit upon a cable network show called Rocky Mountain Bounty Hunters. I watched three episodes in a row, and by the time I finished watching, I had a rough sketch of my story. I loved writing this short story so much that I wrote a bounty hunter heroine in my brand new release, Big Sky SEAL. It’s a fever in my blood now… 🙂

Contest

For a chance to win a $10 Amazon.com gift card, tell me whether you would love to see an entire series of stories devoted to bounty hunters! And if so, what sorts of bad guys would you like to see them take down?

Blue Collar

When it comes to love…Blue Collar is better!

It’s time to set aside those sexy billionaires and enjoy stories about the everyday, even sexier bad boys you meet in real life. They may have dirty hands and wear tool belts and jeans instead of Rolex watches, but they’re earthy alpha males unafraid to get down and dirty when face to face with a woman in need–whatever her need may be!

Just a few of the titillating stories inside…

In “Elevation” by Megan Mitcham, an always-in-control policewoman trapped in an elevator shaft gets a sexy rescue from the handsome repairman. A lonely woman drives a thousand miles to meet an oil field roughneck ready for a long night of laying pipe in Mia Hopkins’ “We Drill Deep While Others Sleep”. Jennifer Kacey shows the lengths to which an enterprising gal will go to get the owner of an oil change shop to check her fluids in “The Boss”. And those are just a few of the sexy stories inside this collection about the everyday hero next door.

These are men who’ve built their powerful muscles from hard work rather than inside any gym, and they sure know how to use their hard-earned skills to pleasure a woman…

Go here for buy links!

Excerpt from Bountiful Lust…

The hunters I work with all have cool, dangerous-sounding handles: Catch, Dagger, Bulldog. My first day on the job, Dagger nicknamed me Buttercup, and it stuck.

Catch, the hunter who’d founded this agency, decided he needed a bounty hunter with “soft” skills. Someone approachable, whom mamas and girlfriends could confide in. Not that he ever expected I’d have to do the “heavier” tasks, like break down a door or take a target to the ground. Bounty hunting’s dangerous work and not meant for faint-hearted dudes—or girls.

I felt lucky when they called me Buttercup, but mostly, they called me “the girl.” Like this morning, when Catch handed out assignments and told Bulldog to take along the girl.

I didn’t make a fuss. PC communications weren’t part of any office handbook. I knew from day one I had to prove myself. Not that I’d gotten a chance, so far, to show them what I had. Being ex-military, and an ex-cop, didn’t earn me any points. I guess it didn’t help I was only five-feet-five and a hundred ten pounds soaking wet. Bulldog figured that with blonde hair and blue eyes, I looked more like a high school cheerleader—not a compliment, since he thought girls like that were stupid as hell.

Maybe I didn’t help my cause with the way I dressed. Ever since they’d named me Buttercup, I’d done my best to dress the part. Sure, I wore denim, tees, and boots, just like them, but my pink T-shirt emblazoned with “Girl Power,” and my purple-calico-lined jean jacket with lace inserts on the pockets, didn’t exactly fit with their leather jackets and black tees sporting bike club slogans. The few times I hadn’t been tied to a desk making phone calls to relatives to track low-lifes who’d skipped their court dates, I’d been relegated to staying in the truck while the guys did the dirty work.

Not so today, but only because we were going to reach out to Lenny Holcomb’s mama to see if she wanted to keep her house, seeing as she’d offered her home as collateral when posting his bond.

Bulldog gave me the evil eye as we walked toward the small, clapboard house on the bad side of town. “Shit goes sideways,” he said, “you stand back and let me handle it.”

I offered him a non-committal nod. “Think Mrs. Holcomb will give you that much trouble?”

He snorted and skewered me with a narrow-eyed glare.

“Ooh,” I said in my best little-girl voice and gave an exaggerated shiver, hoping he’d trip over his big feet. Not that I had to pretend my reaction too much. Something about the big burly guy did it for me. His face was too manly to be handsome—square jaw, crooked nose, laser-sharp blue eyes. Thick, gold-brown hair dusted the collar of his jacket. His six-foot-four, heavily-muscled frame made me feel feminine and soft and all those other useless qualities I despised in “helpless” females. Go figure—the thought of those big, hard hands rasping over my skin made me tremble.

At Mrs. Holcomb’s door, I knocked.

No response.

I knocked again. Still nothing.

Bulldog stepped to the left and peered into the window. “Don’t think anyone’s home. And since this is his address of record…” He backed up and raised a booted foot.

“Really want to knock down her door?” I pulled my lock-pick kit from my back pocket and knelt in front of the knob. A couple of twists of my tools, and the lock snicked. I turned the knob and quickly moved away from the door, giving way to Bulldog as he grumbled something under his breath about smartass women and strode inside.

Bulldog’s big frame filled my view, so I was taken by surprise when he cussed and rushed toward a hallway.

A crash sounded in a distant room. Light from an open doorway in the back glared as he ran through it. I followed, watching as our target ran for the chain link fence and vaulted it.

Bulldog cussed again, placed a hand on the top of the fence, but when he swung over his big body, the thin metal running through the top caved, and he fell to the dirt.

I picked another spot farther down the fence, grabbed a post and swung over, landing on my booted feet and shooting down the alleyway.

Behind me, I heard grunts and more curses, and finally, “Dammit, Buttercup, wait for me!”

I wasn’t waiting for shit. Lenny moved fast for a big boy. He was almost at the end of the alley. If I didn’t catch him quickly, I’d lose sight of him, and we’d lose our paycheck. With my breaths coming fast and sweat trickling into my eyes, I sped up, reaching out with my fingertips to snatch a handful of his shirt. With the fabric in my fist, I drew back and swung him.

He went sideways, but he didn’t go down. He twisted out of my grasp and raised his fists, his eyes widening as he looked me up and down, an ugly sneer stretching across his equally ugly face.

He swung.

But I was ready, ducking beneath and coming up to drive my fists into his fat gut, then bouncing back to avoid the next wide swing.

When he didn’t connect, his swing carried him forward, and he turned.

I rocketed to his back and wrapped my arm around his throat, grasping my fist to keep my arm in place, as he staggered then went to his knees, his fingers scratching my arms before reaching backward to pull my hair.

But he didn’t get a hank. His body crashed forward, bringing me with him, because my arm was trapped beneath his thick neck.

Boots pounded the pavement then slowed.

“Buttercup, need a hand?”

I wheezed, trying to drag in a breath as his weight crushed me against the pavement. “Roll him so I can get back my arm.”

Lenny’s body rolled to his side.

Bulldog lowered his boot then bent to offer me a hand up. His gaze went to the thick scratches on my arms.

Blood ran in rivulets from the deep gouges.

“Goddammit.” Bulldog’s scowl was scary as he blew out a deep breath, and then reached behind his neck to pull his T-shirt over his head.

He tossed it at me.

All I could do was stare at the grayscale tattoos covering his shoulders and chest, disappearing into his jeans.

“Wrap this around your arm. You’re gonna bleed all over my truck.” Then he went down on one knee and locked cuffs around Lenny’s wrists. When he stood, he kicked the low-life in the ass.