Carina Alyce's Blog - Posts Tagged "action-romance"

Since Smolder Carina Alyce comes out this week, I wanted to share a chapter that you are the FIRST to read.

It's the morning after the morning after . . .

His cell phone rang with an unfamiliar number with a Washington state area code. He answered on the first ring. “This is Chief Baker.”
“I thought you didn't want me to call you that,” Erin said.

“Sorry.” He moved from his kitchen to the couch. He was still in his uniform, the same one he wore to her place. He had quietly laundered his clothes overnight once he’d realized that when she wasn't having sex, she slept like the dead.

“It's okay. If I saw an out-of-state number, I might answer the same way.”

“About this morning… I had to run.”

“I figured. Got important stuff to do.” She was talking slightly above a whisper, likely because she was on shift.

“I couldn't be late for my morning meeting. You had equally important stuff.” Noah didn’t want her to believe he didn’t value her job.

“You’re very good at important stuff.” There was a pause. “Do you want to do stuff like that again?”

“Going to a morning meeting? Yes, I think I'll be doing that again.” Noah tried to contain the thrum going up his body. Was this her way of saying she was game to sleep with him again and again and again?

“You're funny. I meant tasting the cake. Savoring each bite and crumb. Licking off the frosting.”

His brain immediately went to the memory of her naked, spread beneath him. His cock sent him the message that it remembered, too. “It was the best cake I've ever eaten.”

“That good? Care to eat the best cake more regularly?”

There was the dangerous question. Yes, he wanted to see her again. Yes, he wanted to sleep with her again.

But he was still the ultimate final boss, and he couldn't solicit sex from his subordinates.
“In my position, I am not allowed to dictate the cake’s availability.” He hoped she understood his allusion.

“Oh, you're worried the cake is feeling pressured. Or the cake is trying to jump to the front of the line.”

“It had crossed my mind.” They could argue this weekend was a one-time lapse. It’d happened repeatedly over forty-eight hours, but a one-off was potentially more forgivable with fewer repercussions than a coordinated plan.

“This cake doesn’t line jump. What happens to the cake in the privacy of its own home shouldn't have an effect at work.”

“As long as we keep our dessert choices to ourselves, no harm in it.” She hadn’t said his name, which told him she was on board with discretion.

“Right. We can keep having the best cake ever whenever we want,” Erin told him.

“What if one of us wants to eat cake with someone else?” Noah had difficulty believing he was having a conversation in code about sex, but she was at work.

“You want someone else's cake?” She sounded hurt.

“No,” he kept his answer very direct. “I want this cake only, but I can’t speak for your appetite. You're not required to—”

Her silvery laugh pushed his dick to full erection. “I got it. I got it. Cake with only us. I’ll tell you if it’s time to stop eating cake.”

“If that's what you want.” He tried to control his elation over this beautiful woman agreeing to sleep with him exclusively.

And regularly.

More laughter. “Wow, no one’s ever been quite this intent on confirming my consent. Yes. I say ‘yes’ to this best cake plan because it was damn delicious.”

The coil of emotion inside of him slowly unfurled. “Then we've settled it.”

“Not exactly. I got interrogated by my new captain about my type of coffee, and I greatly prefer cake to coffee. Can I have cake now?”

“Now?” he asked.

“I'm alone in my bunkroom. I got my downtime, and I’m unbuttoning my uniform top because it's feeling tight.”

His body immediately responded. First, she’d agreed to keep sleeping with him, and next she wanted to have phone sex?

"You’re serious?" He would have never suggested this on his own. Then again, what firefighter hadn’t ‘helped’ himself during a slow shift?

"Like a heart attack. "

If you need more, it's available at all major retailers so click here to read because that phone call continues in a very sexy way . . .

Embers:A Strong Woman Firefighter Romance

Exclusive Goodreads Chapter!

PS - Hook-hand murderer not included.

It was neither a dark nor stormy night when Abigail Baker pulled off to the side of I-80 for the unlucky person hitchhiking on a stretch of highway outside of Vistula, Indiana.

Her mother always told her people who pick up hitchhikers end up as the faces on milk cartons. Abby had always laughed and told Mom she never should have watched those Urban Legend movies. Technically, her mom had cowered behind the door to the kitchen while Abby got to chaperon her brother and his date on the couch.

Though, to be honest, Abby had not researched the statistics on the number of hitchhikers with hook-hands. Her best estimate was that her odds of meeting one before lunch during a small rainstorm in Indiana were low.

As far as she was concerned, the world had ended yesterday. It was okay to abandon her common sense. Might as well live with it.

The man wasn't wearing a giant hat and black trench-coat signaling evil intentions either. He was a random guy soaked to the bone in a flannel shirt, thoroughly disheveled and clearly disheartened. The man was sticking out his thumb, and Abby wondered how many people had passed him by.

“Need a lift?” Abby asked, rolling down her window.

“Yes, anywhere.” He approached her door slowly. She got the vague impression of dark eyes and dark hair, but the rain made it more difficult. Unlike on Urban Legend, he had two real flesh-and-blood hands without even a single psycho murderer hook.

“I'm headed to Cleveland. You going in that direction?”

“I'll go anywhere that’s not here.” A few cars whizzed past them, uninterested in stopping at the shoulder of I-80.

“You didn’t just escape from an asylum, did you?”

“Does Michigan count as an asylum?” he said.

“Only to Ohio State fans. You can get in as long as you promise first you that won't rape or murder me." Abby considered that potentially binding.

Rather than sound exacerbated, he simply said, “I promise not to rape and murder you. Okay?”

“Get in.” She closed the passenger side window and unlocked the doors. He didn’t hesitate before climbing in.

“Thank you so much… Miss? Ma’am? Mrs.?”

“Abby works,” she said, since at thirty-four she was no ‘miss’ and, being single, was no ‘Mrs.’

“I’m Henry Finster. You can call me ‘Hank.’ Everybody else does,” the man, now to be referred to as ‘Hank’ and not ‘possible hook-hand murderer,’ said.

Abby examined the not-hookhand-murderer to get a sense of what exactly she’d picked up. Hank wore a waterlogged pair of jeans and a flannel shirt which was plastered to his chest. He was a relatively muscular White guy, and she had no clue what color his hair was. Brown? Black? It was hard to tell with it wet and water running down his goatee. His not-hook-hands were calloused and much tanner than Abby's.

Then again, almost everyone was tanner than Abby. Living in Wisconsin and having pale skin and blue eyes made her a skin cancer bullseye. Unfortunately, her T-shirt reading ‘Will die of melanoma’ was in the wash.

Though this week, odds were better than usual that something else would definitely kill her.

“Strap in. If you reach into the back, I might have a blanket.” Abby put her Ford Escort into gear.

“Sorry about that. The next time we stop, maybe I can buy dry clothes.” He took the wool blanket from the bag, leaving her black duffel undisturbed.

“No offense to you, random not-murderer named Hank, but I’m on a tight schedule. I filled up at the last town thirty miles back. This full tank should make it to Cleveland. I can drop you off at the next sign of civilization.”

“How far is that?” he asked, pulling the blanket over his chest.

She turned the heat on. “Depends on what you mean by 'civilization.' Bus stop might be Toledo, but then I’d have to get off the freeway. Or so it says on my map.”

He glanced down at her MapQuest pages laying on the center console. “I’m good with Cleveland.”

“Good choice,” Abby popped the clutch, skipped fourth gear, and moved into fifth.

“You drive a stick shift?” Hank stated the obvious.

“Yep. I’m going to assume you’re not about to make a dick joke, dude who promised he wasn’t a murder.” Abby wondered if she needed to find a weapon. Did a pair of old chopsticks in the door compartment count?

“It wasn’t. But now I sound like a jerk if I say I don’t know many girls that drive stick.”

“I know manual transmission is a losing battle, but on the plus side, nobody ever tries to borrow my car. Seventy percent of guys don’t know how to drive stick either.” She glanced over at him. “Same as the number of guys who think only with their stick.”

“I’m great with stick,” Hank said. “Wait. I’m not a creep. Let me explain what happened here.”

“You have ninety seconds before I dump you back on the side of the road.”

“Ninety seconds?”

“Yes; it will get you two more miles.” Abby tapped the digital clock.

“I’m not a creep. I was talking about vehicles.”

“Vehicles? Now you have sixty seconds.”

“I work in construction and demolitions. I get to drive heavy machinery, which are stick shift. I’m not lying.”

“Demolitions? Like blowing stuff up?” Abby said doubtfully.

“Yes, I’m a member of the National Demolitions Association and have taken OSHA courses in hazardous materials removal. I have a heavy equipment operator certification in Michigan and Indiana. I can show you my certification cards.”

“You’re telling me you can drive bulldozers and build bombs?” Abby asked. “Right, hold up your hands.”

“My hands?” He complied.

“You don't have creepy murder fingernail spikes but convince me you're unthreatening. Tell me two things to convince me!”

“Why is driving a bulldozer threatening?” Hank sounded a little panicked now.

“Have you seen Maximum Overdrive?” She cited the Stephen King movie where an alien possesses a Mack Truck and a bulldozer to attack people.

“Okay, okay. I play the guitar, and I knit.”

“Bullshit. Is knitting a normal skill needed to build bombs?”

“I don’t build bombs! I set up controlled explosions by… well, I guess I do build bombs. Legally!”

“Right. Since I’m an expert knitter, prove to me you know how to knit.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I don’t exactly carry knitting needles everywhere. If I did, you’d believe it’s part of my ‘murder-you’ kit.”

“Very true, though I don’t remember hearing a lot of knitting related murders in this part of the country. Talk about knitting.”

“Ahh… unlike most people, I prefer using light worsted weight yarn rather than regular worsted weight yarn. I started with acrylics but would rather use mohair over wool because it’s warmer.”

“Can’t argue with that. I don't actually know how to knit.”

“Then how do you know I was telling the truth?”

“It’s my job.”

Need more? Available everywhere on 7/31/21!

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★Contemporary Romance Sale Alert (11/17/2021)!★⌛

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That sexy tattooed deputy is every girl's fantasy of a bad boy gone good. If only he hadn't arrested her for being a terrorist. . .



If you want a signed hard copy - don't miss the Thanksgiving Give Away!

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Are you ready for this sneak peek?

Compromised by Carina Alyce

Compromised: A Steamy Forbidden Workplace Medical Romance (MetroGen Forbidden Love Duets #6)

The hospital may have torn them apart, but one doomed patient might just bring them back together.

Dr. Angela Perkins wishes her breakup with medical student Michael Harper had been the regular kind where she could pretend he never existed. However, they're stuck working on the same patient, and an accidental kiss proves their inescapable attraction is alive and well.

Passion doesn't change the fact that med students and doctors aren't allowed to date. Love doesn't matter when their careers and patients' lives are on the line.

And then the unthinkable happens. . .


WARNING: This steamy romance concludes the story of Angela and Michael from when they broke your heart in High Risk, and their HEA will make up for it. You should only read if you love Grey's Anatomy and Chicago Fire and need the smoking medical student to prove his love and devotion in total EPIC fashion!

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*****Keep reading for a sneak peek!*****




Michael stalked down the hall of L and D toward the resident call rooms. The cleaning crews came in the afternoon, so he’d have time to change and change back after his Most Eligible Bachelor TV date. The hospital and TV station had jointly issued him personalized scrubs to wear during the ‘date.’

This was purely publicity. He could do this.

He badged into the doctors’ hall and almost collided with Angela.

They ended up nearly on top of each other in the cramped space.

“Why are you here? This is my rotation,” Michael asked, more vehemently than his usual.

It wasn’t rocket science to why Michael was pissed, and the reason was right in front of him.

He’d thought he could avoid her for the duration of his time at MetroGen. Instead, he saw her daily, constantly in his space, in his head.

Like now.

She tried to straighten up. “The residents’ lounge is quieter than my office. No one is here at this hour.”

“I’m here.”

“Which wasn’t my choice.” She brushed the loose strands of her blonde hair out of her eyes.

This was the same motion which had led to his downfall back in October. They’d dated for a few months but concealed their actual jobs from each other. She’d let him believe she was an elementary school teacher, and he hadn’t corrected her assumption that he was an accountant.

Until they’d come face to face at the hospital and discovered the truth. Then they’d met at her house, and agreed to never speak again. Mid-argument, his hair got in her eyes, and he’d…

Michael seized her wrist and dragged her into his call room. He shut the door and locked it.

“What are you doing!” she whisper-shrieked.

“We have unfinished business,” he said. If he was going to go on a televised date, he would go with a clear conscience. They were going to have this out here and now.

“We do not,” Angela protested, clutching her ever present stack of papers to her chest. “We don’t exist.”

“Put the papers down.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll be upset if you drop them.” Michael removed the plastic cover from his special pair of scrubs.

She set her paperwork on the bed and scurried back to the door.

Once she had done so, he rolled his scrub top over his head and tossed it on the floor.

Her blue eyes got big, and he was angry enough to smirk. He was quite aware of how she responded to his body.

“What are you doing?” she stumbled over the words, the tension ratcheting up.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He came closer and bracketed her with his arms, not touching her.

Angela’s skin turned his favorite shade of rose, and her breathing sped up. “It is not. . .”





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Compromised: A Steamy Forbidden Workplace Medical Romance

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